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you when I got you out of there—they're tucked somewhere between you and the bedspread."
    She wasn't cold now, she was hot. For reasons she didn't want to think about she tended to be extremely inhibited, more so since her mother had always made it a practice to prance her perfect body around the house in various stages of undress, particularly if there happened to be men around. And the thought of this exquisite, enigmatic man hauling her own wet, naked body around was enough to make Summer wish those monsters had ended up drowning her, after all.
    Except then she would have been naked and floating in her tub.
Please, God, if I'm going to die, could I at least do it with my clothes on
? she begged. Particularly if the oddly named Takashi O'Brien was going to be there.
    Though if he were around, chances were she wasn't going to die. He'd saved her twice. Whether he admitted it or not, he was her guardian angel, and she was going to have to get over the fact that he'd seen her naked.
    "Okay," she said in a hollow voice. He was once more driving like a bat out of hell, and she had no choice but to hang on. "Where are we going?"
    "My hotel."
    He was protecting her, she reminded herself, squashing down the needless additional panic. "And I'm supposed to walk in wearing only a bedspread?" she said.
    "I told you, I brought some clothes. You can get dressed while I drive."
    She glanced behind her, but there was no back seat in this tiny sports car. "I don't think so," she said. "Take me outside the city and I'll go change in the bushes."
    "I've already seen you, Summer," he said in a bored voice. Unfortunately, that didn't help.
    "Then you know you're not being deprived of anything spectacular. Find me a darkened street and some bushes and I'll be fine."
    He glanced over at her, and for a moment she thought he was about to argue. She was going to forestall him when she started coughing again, finally leaning back against the leather seat, exhausted.
    "All right," he said. "I'll find you some bushes." She must have imagined the odd note of guilt in his soft, emotionless voice.
    What did he have to feel guilty about? He'd saved her, again.
    Hadn't he?
4
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    H is holiness, the Shirosama of the True RealizationFellowship, sat in meditation, considering his options. His practice was a far cry from the traditional forms. When he freed his mind the visions would come, the plans would form and true enlightenment would beckon like a bright white light.
    He knew what he had to do to attain that permanent state, and the thousands of faithful were well trained, well organized to follow in his ways. He had the best scientists, the best doctors, the best soldiers, and the supplies were stockpiled, ready to be used. Awaiting his signal.
    The blindness was increasing, a sure sign that all would soon be ready. His eyes were a milky brown—he still needed the contact lenses, but not for long. His colorless skin had needed no ritual treatment, and he hadn't had to bleach his hair for months. It had stopped growing, and what remained was the pure white he'd managed to achieve. His transformation was almost complete.
    It was really all very clear to him. A simple matter of various forces coming into play, and he had learned to be patient over the years.
    He knew his destiny. Karma had brought him to this place and time. It was his task to reunite people with their lost souls, reintegrate them into a new life past pain, suffering and need. He would bring them all to that place of white-light purity, leading the way, a beacon of truth and retribution. The more they suffered in the task of being set free, the greater the reward, and flinching from what needed to be done was unacceptable.
    Pain and death were merely transitory states, to be moved through with as little fuss as possible, and those who weren't willing to embrace the change would be helped along by his army of followers. The gift he offered was of immeasurable value—the gift of a