Free Wynter's Horizon by Dee C. May Page B

Katherine’s condo, two floors with incredible views of the gulf. They had bought it back in the early 2000s, and it served us well as a meeting place. A little out of the way, it let us be secluded from the rest of the world, and warm.
    Quinn and Sara, reunited after a separation of months, quickly disappeared into their bedroom. They were the only ones who had a designated bedroom but, after replacing more than one antique set, Katherine decorated their room with Ikea furniture and told them to have at it. Controlling our strength while succumbing to desire was a difficult balance—one which we didn’t always achieve. Also, Sara had a temper that was even worse than mine; after sex, they always resumed fighting. It was only a matter of time.
    Nathaniel grinned as he poured a scotch. A soft breeze from the open doors brought the smells of the ocean into the room. “We won’t see them for days.” He nodded in the direction of Sara and Quinn.
    “As long as I can’t hear them, I don’t care,” I replied.
    He raised his glass to me, chuckling. “Good luck with that.”
    “I know,” I admitted. Katherine, Nathaniel’s wife, breezed into the room. Her long skirt fell almost to her flip-flops, her flaming orange hair spilling haphazardly in waves below her shoulders.
    She planted a kiss on my cheek. “You all right, Beck?” Her voice was smooth as silk.
    “I’m good.” She cocked her head to one side, looking me up and down, and I felt a wave of guilt. I hadn’t been all right now for months, if not years. We had an unspoken code about lying. When we were home with each other, we dropped the charade of who we were and what our jobs were. We told the truth on all matters.
    If Katherine noticed any difference in me, she didn’t let on, instead, her eyes sparkling, she said, “You look all healed. Fiona will be happy to see that. She’s coming after Christmas. She got delayed getting a flight from India.”
    Fiona was an old friend, one whose bed I found myself in more than anyone else’s throughout the years. She knew me almost as well as Quinn and Sara. She tolerated my many moods and, on some level, understood my ghosts better than anybody. Though we enjoyed each other’s company, we never discussed altering the arrangement. It seemed pointless to change something that functioned well.
    I smiled back at Katherine in appreciation, but Fiona was not the image in my mind; Wynter clouded my thoughts. I could trace the outline of her face with my eyes closed, hear her whispered voice, and smell her perfume, even a thousand miles away.
    We spent the next few days swimming, boating and fishing, knowing that, at least for a short time, we could just be ourselves, unnatural abilities and all.
    But our euphoria over being together didn’t last. Halfway through dinner on Boxing Day, we got a call about an old friend, Michael, who had been planning to join us for New Years. He had been found hanged in his apartment in Paris. As with anything involving us, the Forum—our secret division with the British government— had swept in and taken over the scene, whisking the body away. The preliminary report called it a suicide, but they wouldn’t release the body or any other details.
    Michael’s partner, Audra, arrived the next day. Barely speaking, she wandered the rooms of the condo like a lost soul, pausing to pick up a figurine or picture, then returning it to its place without looking at it. She had been the one who found him.
    “Hello, Beck.” She finally greeted me after several hours. She looked haggard and haunted. I reached out and hugged her.
    “How’re you holding up?” I asked. She shook her head in answer, the tears spilling down her cheeks, gulping in a breath to control the sob that struggled to escape.
    “I had a job. In Berlin. He seemed fine. Maybe a bit sad but okay when I left. We made plans to come here after Boxing Day.” She paused, staring at her hands for a while. “I shouldn’t have