Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

that circle of collegiality.
    Sure, she tended to keep people at a distance. It wasn‟t the gloves; in this age of Deal or No Deal , with Howie Mandel openly talking about his OCD issues, nobody thought a self-professed germaphobe was too far outside of normal. But still, when people became friends, they hugged. Touched. Wanted her to touch things. Hold their baby. Pet the dog. Admire the new object they‟d acquired.
    It was too hard to avoid it all. Too hard. Too conspicuous.
    She couldn‟t tell them the truth. She could never tell them the truth. She‟d learned that the hard way with a few close friends in high school, and then with the one man she‟d ever thought she loved. He‟d left her. Called her a freak.
    She hadn‟t been able to deny it back then. Still couldn‟t, now.
    But it didn‟t matter when she worked. Who needed personal connection when the ancient world unfolded before her very eyes? She‟d counted on at least another six months at the Lupercale.
    She should have known better than to count on anything, or anyone.
    Now that the shape-shifters were out in the open, it had put a whole new spin on the Romulus and Remus mythology. Not to mention changed the face of jurisdiction. The Italian contingent of the European werewolves had taken over, throwing her team out.
    “We‟ll call you if we need you, Dr. McDermott,” one of them had all but sneered at her as he shoved her out of the dig headquarters. “Don‟t hold your breath.”
    The laughter that had followed her out had echoed disturb ingly with an edge of moonlight-induced madness, and mindful of the twilight hour and the nearness of the full moon, she hadn‟t argued.
    She hadn‟t gotten as far as she had by being suicidal, after all.
    Shaking off the memory, she realized she still held the now-buzzing phone in her hand. She replaced it in its cradle, looking around her dusty office again. Undisturbed welcome or abandoned neglect?
    Funny how such a simple thing as the lack of phone messages could change a person‟s entire perspective.
    Phones worked two ways, she reminded herself, reaching for the phone again. There was one person who would always take her calls. With her free hand, she ran a finger over the dusty edge of the only framed picture on her desk. The woman nervously smiling at the camera looked so much like Keely. The red hair was a little less vibrant. The laugh lines more pronounced. The athletic build had softened over the years, but she was still a beautiful woman.
    Once, Keely had thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. Before the doctors, the disbelief, and the doubt.
    The phone rang four times before the familiar click came through. Something about the phone lines out in the woods of eastern Ohio always made the connection sound like she was talking inside of a jar.
    Either the bad connection or the resonance of twenty-eight years of mutual disappointment.
    “Hello?”
    Keely swallowed, then managed to speak over the sudden obstruction in her throat. “Hi, Mom.”
    “Keely?”
    Keely stifled the familiar impatience. Who else could it be? Her parents hadn‟t wanted to risk a second pregnancy, since Keely had been . . . defective.
    “Yes, Mom, it‟s me. How are you? How‟s Dad?”
    “Oh, are you finally home from that terrible place? We just saw on the news that the vampires are trying to take over the Russian throne. That woman said something about being the princess Anastasia, who was turned vampire when her family was murdered. Do you think that could be true? You stayed inside after dark, didn‟t you? We put in a whole second crop of garlic and are selling it like hotcakes, although who would want garlic hotcakes, right?
    Did you—”
    “Mom,” Keely interrupted, marveling that her mother hadn‟t seemed to take a single breath during the barrage of questions. “Mom, yes, I‟m home and I‟m fine.”
    She knew from experience not to answer individual questions, or the conversation would never veer back on course. “But how about you? How‟s your arthritis? How‟s Dad?”
    “Well, we‟re fine, honey. But Daddy‟s worried about you, especially since we haven‟t heard from you in so long. Have you been suffering any from . . . your condition?”
    Guilt mixed with pain bit into Keely. Somehow her parents could always cut her the deepest, even though they meant well.
    Especially because they meant well.
    “Mom, you know my condition is not a disease. I‟m just a little bit psychic.