A Time to Mourn A Time to Dance - A SciFi Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novella

Prologue

"To every thing there is a season,

and a time for every purpose under Heaven."

― Ecclesiastes 3:1

The Hive Collective hackers had done their work with the precision of a neurosurgeon; twelve virtual monitors were laid out in a grid on the wall before me, each displaying an exact mirror of a computer screen somewhere around the world.

One belonged to Lila, a brilliant climatologist working with the U.N. in Denmark. Another was for Roger, an insightful professor of divinity in London. Penjani was researching cutting-edge genetics in South Africa.

My gaze strayed to the twelfth –

I reined myself in.

There. Number seven. That was the one I had to pay attention to. It was the wildcard of the bunch. The carefully calculated risk.

Finally. Mary had at last arrived at her desk, undoubtedly with her double-espresso latte in hand. I could see the mouse-clicks as she reviewed her email.

I flicked a finger, and the audio kicked in. The Hivers were nothing if not thorough.

She blew out her breath in exasperation. "What's this nonsense? A seven day seminar in ... where? Manila? Isn't that in Singapore? And it's in two weeks?"

She yelled, "Sarah! Get in here!"

The sound of running feet echoed, and a woman's voice said, "You needed something?"

"Damn right I needed something – why'd you let this ridiculous offer come through? You may have won some shiny awards in those Ivies, but you're here at my think tank now to learn real-world knowledge. And if you can't even manage to figure out which email messages are important enough for me to read –"

Sarah's voice was low but calm. "Please continue on to that next paragraph."

"In two weeks ... all paid ... at the end of the seven days, if you choose not to participate in our full offer, as a thank-you for your time we will deposit $500,000 in any account ..."

Her voice dwindled away. Apparently Mary was now re-reading the material more seriously.

I smiled, but my hands clenched.

Please ... please ... please ...

Mary's voice took on a more unctuous tone. "Sarah, you know what? I think it's time that you show us what you've got. I'm going to give you that opportunity. I'm going to send you to this conference. You wanted to see the world, right? Well, I hear Singapore's beautiful this time of year."

"The Philippines."

"Huh?"

"Manila is in The Philippines."

"Yeah. Right. In any case, they say it's all expenses paid. So use the link. Reserve your ticket. Go out there for the seven days."

Her voice grew rich with delight. "And then, of course, you'll refuse whatever follow-up plan they might have. Make sure the $500,000 is immediately deposited into my personal account."

Sarah's voice held no emotion. "Of course, Mary."

"It says here not to tell anyone – that this is a private offer." Mary snorted. "Of course it is. They don't want anyone else trying to horn in on a half-million dollars." Her tone grew sharp. "We can't risk losing that. So make sure nobody else knows about this seminar, whatever it is. I'll just tell people you're ... you're in a rehab facility. Nobody questions that sort of thing. It's just for a week, anyway. You got all your shots?"

"I'm ready for travel, Mary."

"Good. Good. Go get your schedule arranged. Make sure you arrange for a temp to cover for you. Keep it all hush-hush."

Footsteps faded away.

Mary chuckled with glee. The screen changed to a search engine. A few more clicks, and she was on an auction site featuring vintage cars. Apparently she was interested in a cherry-red Ferrari Spider.

She groaned in pleasure.

I flicked off the sound.

Relief coursed through me. If that sequence had gone poorly, the focus group could have included Mary herself. I wasn't sure I could last the full seven days without strangling Mary in her sleep.

Or maybe even while she was awake.

Anastasia had suggested we could just invite Sarah directly, but I'd seen huge risk in that gambit. Sarah could easily have requested permission to attend the seminar from Mary, and if Mary had thought she'd missed out on a plum offer she could have simply not allowed Sarah to go. Or Mary could have used her influence to delve into what the seminar was all about.

And we just couldn't have that. Not now. Not when everything balanced on the head of a pin.

One by one, as the day progressed, the other emails were opened. The audio feeds and resulting web activity showed that each custom-crafted message had done its job. Some of our invitees responded best to flowery flattery. Others preferred straight talk and clear objectives. We had invested days into optimizing each email to lure in its target as surely as a petunia's long, delicate throat was a siren song to a hummingbird.

At last I allowed my gaze to go to that twelfth screen.

To Jason.

He was a night owl, of course, like me. There had been countless late evenings where he and I had virtually strolled a lavender-sand beach, or walked along a boardwalk in a sentient forest, or simply sat side by side on a swinging porch bench, gazing out at a double sunset.

But we'd never met in person. Not once. He had no idea what I looked like. He didn't even know my real name.

His screen shimmered. He'd woken up.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

This was silly. There were far more important things for me to worry about. The stakes for this project were as high as they came. We seemingly had the other eleven invitees on board. One additional participant would not make or break the mission's success.

And yet, if Jason didn't ... if he didn't ...

He was reading the message.

There was a pause.

Was he ... was he hesitating? Was he unsure about coming?

If he didn't come, if he wasn't there, I didn't know, I wasn't sure ...

He clicked the link. The one to start the acceptance process.

I collapsed back into a chair, relief coursing through me. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until the long gasps came, refilling my lungs.

It was going to be all right. It was all going to be all right.

And in two brief weeks, we would at long last begin.