GRIP

Except for two small, oddly similar birthmarks near the middle knuckle, there was nothing remarkable about Hayden's left hand. The skin was normal and pale. The nails, trim and clean. He wore no rings.

Yet, against all logic, Aliya could not stop looking at it.

Wrapped around the paper cup on the dark, wooden cafe table, the hand seemed to emit an unsettling energy. Maybe she was imagining, but the cup's green logo, half-covered by Hayden's hand, seemed to glow.

"Finally, we meet," Hayden said.

"Yes." Aliya pulled her eyes to where they belonged: Hayden's face. His surprisingly young and handsome face. Hayden's short brown hair was neatly combed to the side. His warm gray eyes appeared sedate and calm. "I've been looking forward to this," she added.

This was a more wholehearted truth than Hayden could know. Aliya had been out of work for three months. With the tech companies laying off workers by the thousands, the industry had little need for recruiters. Even experienced, well-connected tech specialists like Aliya.

She had depleted her savings and maxed out her credit cards. The rent was due.

Hayden Vivant was new in town, the CEO of a startup so secret, even the rumor mill hadn't heard a peep. The opportunity to join his company with the steady paycheck of an in-house recruiter couldn't have come at a better time.

But for some reason, eye contact--a vital skill for tech recruiters, all recruiters--was difficult, no, impossible with this man.

Aliya could tune out the mid-morning coffee shop cacophony. No hiss of the espresso machine, patter of laptop keys, chatter of customers, or piped-in pop-rock could distract her. But the irresistible pull of Hayden's hand was more than she could handle.

Hayden lifted the coffee cup to his lips. "Odd to be meeting about a secret startup in such a public place," Aliya offered. Not the smartest small talk, but it was all she could think of during the few seconds that Hayden sipped coffee. The few seconds his hand was near enough to his eyes for contact.

"Not really." Hayden brought his coffee cup and hand back to the table. "I'm new to this town, and nobody knows me. But you're well-known. If candidates see us together in a coffee shop, word will get out that you know somebody who's looking for people, and you'll get calls."

Oh, no. At some point during Hayden's explanation--Aliya didn't know when--her eyes drifted back to his hand. She again forced her chin up to make eye contact. "Had I known you wanted to be seen, I would have suggested a busier, better-located coffee shop. This neighborhood isn't exactly tech central."

Hayden smiled. "I'm not necessarily looking for tech people."

"So why did you call me? I work in technology."

"We need someone who knows how to network, pinpoint suitable candidates, and meet discreetly. I believe that's a prerequisite in your profession."

Aliya nodded and faked a smile. Eye contact was also an essential recruiting skill, but Hayden's hand, now absent-mindedly tapping a finger on the deep reddish-brown alder wood table, was becoming too seductive and irresistible for her to see anything else. She barely managed a glance towards his eyes. "What kind of people are you looking for?"

"Risk takers and visionaries. People with a passion for making connections." Even in the whispered conversation of a coffee shop, she could hear the enthusiasm in Hayden's voice. She would have liked to check out his body language to gauge his sincerity, but her own body language was blowing the interview. Her head was down. Her demeanor was noncommittal. All Aliya could focus on was Hayden's hand, now slowly rising from the table.

"That sounds like the engineers and executives I work with," Aliya muttered, the energy in her voice sapped. "But if you're not only looking for tech people, where would you want me to find these types?"

"Look around," Hayden lifted his hand off the table and flinging his arm towards the tables and customers.

Aliya followed Hayden's rapidly moving hand to the customers in the store. They looked like the mid-morning regulars in any residential area's strip-mall coffee shop. People, young and old, busying themselves with laptops, iPads, and scrunched-up magazines. At a nearby table, two college girls leaned into each other to share gossip and giggles. A gaggle of older people near the window squabbled over nothing intelligible.

"What kinds of positions do you want me to fill?" Another wrong thing to say. Hayden would only answer that with a signed non-disclosure agreement. But her eye contact issue would cost her the job anyway. There was nothing to lose. "What skills will you need? How much experience and education? What type of culture are you looking to build?"

She asked the questions while staring at Hayden's hand, now stroking his chin. The battle for eye contact lost, Aliya brought her own hands down on the table, one timorously clasping the other. Her chai latte remained untouched.

"For one thing, we need people who won't have a public meltdown over something so innocuous as my left hand."

Aliya recoiled.

"It's okay," Hayden said, taking his hand off his chin. "You've done better than most. Some scream. Some cry. Once, a 260-pound boxer broke out in tears and ran. All because he couldn't stop looking at my hand."

Hayden wiggled his fingers between his face and Aliya's. Aliya stared straight at and straight through them. Hayden's warm, gray eyes now appeared hot and blue. The neatly combed hair came to spiked points. All inexplicably beautiful, but not enough to explain her involuntary gape.

"I thought by now you would have pretended to get an emergency text and run out. Why didn't you?"

Aliya had no answer. She had ended many unproductive meetings that way. But today, that possibility hadn't occurred to her. "I need the job," she babbled.

"Is that the only reason?"

"No."

"Are you afraid?"

"No."

"Angry?"

"No."

"Look at my hand," Hayden said. "Look closely."

With permission to look, the hand now induced an inexplicable, tranquil sensation. The feeling grew more serene as glimmers of a mesmerizing blue light emanated from the pores.

"Do you see the energy?" Hayden's voice took on a new, soothing energy.

"Yes."

"Does it make you nervous?"

"Not really,"

"Sad."

"A little."

"That will pass. What are you feeling?"

Aliya didn't answer. There were no words for the unusual, sensual fascination. Never had she seen an object of such deep beauty.

Hayden moved his hand back to the table. "Place your hand on mine," he said.

Touch the hand? The blue light exuded a warm, intense geniality, a desire for contact. But a glint of self-doubt crept in. Aliya didn't know if she was worthy.

"It's okay." Hayden smiled. "Pretend we spent the night falling in love and are now sharing a cup of coffee. Put your hand on top of mine."

Tentatively, Aliya brought her hand down. A shock hit her where her palm connected with the twin birthmarks. A bolt of electricity that didn't repel. It attracted. Her body filled with tiny tingling charges, and her world seemed to shimmer. A soothing vibrational hum embraced her soul.

Aliya no longer heard the giggling college girls or smelled the fresh-brewed coffee. The espresso machine could explode and she wouldn't move.

Hayden's whisper penetrated the altered reality. "There are many myths about our kind. The most popular are the most detached from reality."

Aliya nodded. Her pulse and breathing mirrored the cascading energy in her body.

"We are not so-called vampires. Undead is a higher plane of existence, not lower. We don't sleep in coffins, hate garlic, or turn into bats. And we certainly don't bite necks. We expand our ranks by placing our hands on each other's. As in a two-handed handshake or lovers in a café."

Aliya's reflexes wanted to pull her hand back. Yet she made no effort. Her hand had attached itself to Hayden's, and she liked it. Blue light now cascaded from her pores, too. It got bluer as her energies commingled with Hayden's.

"You and I are becoming one," Hayden said. "Two bodies, one soul. There are many, many more like me. You will be one with us all. One consciousness sharing many lives, bodies, and dreams."

The swirling blue light grew in intensity, held back by an invisible membrane. Hayden brought his other hand down on top of Aliya's. A flash of blue engulfed them and their table.

When it dissipated, there was no typing or tapping, no rustle of magazine pages, and no giggling or squabbling in the store. The espresso maker was silent. The pop tune from the speakers had given way to a haunting guitar riff.

Everyone stared at her and Hayden, some with prolonged gasps.

"I think you got more attention than you wanted," Aliya suggested.

"They saw something, but they don't know what. And they're not going to."

Hayden stood up and smiled to everyone in the shop. He flashed his open left hand to show nothing inside it. Then he pulled a quarter from the air.

Hayden let the quarter levitate and covered it with a handkerchief. When he pulled the handkerchief away, the quarter had become a top hat.

Hayden reached into the hat and retrieved a bouquet of roses. He tossed the hat into the air, where it disappeared. Then, with a flourish and a bow, Hayden pivoted and handed the flowers to Aliya.

The customers and baristas clapped.

"Simple tricks you can learn in a magic school," Hayden whispered as he sat down. "Let the people here think the blue flash of your transition was an illusion."

Accepting the flowers, Aliya realized she had experienced Hayden's magic show from two places: a physical presence in the store and a spiritual body above the universe.

She lay the flowers down on the table and noticed two small birthmarks had formed near the middle knuckle on her hand. Millions of sparks coursed through her soul with a familiar, new energy. She looked Hayden in the eye and smiled.

Hayden smiled back. "We're looking for a recruiter," he said.

THE END

Bio: Mark Spector wanted to write speculative fiction more than forty years ago but set the pursuit aside to become an advertising copywriter, make a living, and raise a family. Now mostly retired, Mark’s having a lot of fun developing new skills to pursue an old dream.

E-mail: Mark Spector

Website: Mark Spector's Website "MarkSpectorWrites.com"

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