Rating: PG
Summary: One of his student's draws Blair into an intricate web involving the FBI, the CIA and emerald smugglers who won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way.
Notes: *First published by Neon Rainbow Press in Sensory Overload #8, May, 2003.

Flies in an Emerald Web

by Freya-Kendra

Blair Sandburg's lecture was running late, but he could not stop talking, not when his class was finally starting to reach a level of understanding it had taken weeks to achieve. "Yes," he nodded excitedly and pointed to the student who'd made the last comment. "But remember, to the Mayans sacrifice isn't just about keeping the gods happy, it's about maintaining a sort of balance between the layers of reality. Here. . ." He held up his hand in the universal gesture meaning "wait," and turned from his class to leaf through a series of papers until he found the one he wanted. When he returned to the podium, he noticed a small number of students closing books and filling backpacks.

"Okay, just give me a minute here," he said with a quick glance at the clock before returning his attention to the excerpt he'd found. "As Martin Prechtel put it, 'shamans are sometimes considered healers or doctors, but really they are people who deal with the tears and holes we create in the net of life, the damage that we all cause in our search for survival. In a sense, all of us even the most un-technological, spiritual and benign peoples are constantly wrecking the world. The question is: how do we respond to the destruction? If we respond as we do in modern culture, by ignoring the spiritual debt we create just by living, then that debt will come back to bite us, hard.'"

Blair paused only for a second at the muffled sound of chuckles. Good. At least some of them were still listening. "'One is to try to repay that debt by giving gifts of beauty and praise to the sacred, to the invisible world that gives us life. Shamans deal with problems that arise when we forget the relationship that exists between us and the other world that feeds us, or when, for whatever reason, we don't feed the other world in return.'"

Pointedly ignoring the clock, Blair looked back at his class. "With the Mayans, sacrifice isn't just about feeding a hungry god, or even about appeasing an angry one. It's about a mutual exchange between the worlds, or between the layers of this one."

The minute hand had already passed the hour mark and that small number of restless students was rapidly growing to a majority. "Okay. I'm sorry we ran late, but. . ." Blair's words were enough of a cue to get the class to its feet and moving toward the exits. He would have to shout to get his last message heard. "Martin Prechtel, Secrets of the Talking Jaguar. Be prepared to discuss it on Monday. And some of you still owe me your papers on Popol Vuh."

In seconds the room was empty, or nearly so. One student remained. A tall, bony, redhead with a seemingly permanent slouch, Jake Connelly never appeared to be particularly eager to leave Blair's classroom. It was always as though he had something important on his mind, something he needed to discuss with Blair that would require a certain degree of privacy, hence the need to wait for his classmates to leave the room. Yet whatever those vital words were, they never materialized. Blair could almost imagine them hovering on the edge of Jake's tongue, frequently close to escaping past his soundlessly moving lips, but inevitably giving way to a timidly uttered, "Have a nice weekend, Mr. Sandburg," or something equally inane.

Whatever Jake might say this time, Blair knew he should be able to deal with it in his usual easy-going manner, seeing it as nothing more than a minor interruption in his day - especially since he was already buoyed into a kind of adrenaline-high that had everything to do with discovery and learning and nothing at all to do with chasing bad guys with his sentinel and partner, Jim. But he wasn't really up for another of Jake's empty conversations. He'd already tried about a million different ways to push Jake's magic button, the one that would release the flood of swallowed words. Sure, he'd occasionally be rewarded with a comment or two about Jake's absent parents - who apparently spent more time globe trotting than speaking with their son - or about an uncle living in Cascade; but even then there was never any depth to the words. The heart of Jake's thoughts always remained unspoken. The odds that today might bring anything different were negligible. And since Blair had already held the class late and was due to meet Jim in less than an hour, it was hard to keep his frustration from showing.

Nonetheless, he managed a friendly, "Hey, Jake," and forced a smile, trying hard to ignore the clock. "Any big plans for the weekend?"

Jake just shrugged and looked down at his desk.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It went against the usual pattern. Jake should already be standing, shuffling from one foot to another while his eyes danced back and forth between Blair's and any number of spots in the room.

Blair forgot about the clock. "Is something wrong, Jake?"

The student's bright, green eyes glanced up for a split second, then just as quickly his gaze dropped back to the desk where his hands had begun tearing away at the edges of a notebook. "Mr. Sandburg?" His voice was surprisingly firm even while his eyes remained downcast. "You know how you said emeralds from the Muzo mine are still considered to be among the finest in the world?"

"What-? Oh, you mean from last week's lecture about Popol Vuh?" Blair smiled in earnest. "I'm impressed you remembered that. I'm not even sure I remember saying it, but emeralds did play an important role in the creation myth, and-"

"I have some."

Blair's smile gave way to surprise. "You . . . you what?"

"I have some. Emeralds. From the Muzo mine."

"You mean you have one, right Jake?" Blair laughed uncomfortably. "I mean, to say you have 'some' sort of sounds like-"

"My uncle brought them back from Columbia. He's a broker."

"Oh. Okay. That's-"

"Did you know emeralds are supposed to have mystical powers?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. There are all sorts of myths associated with gems and crystals."

"It's not a myth." Jake raised his eyes, meeting Blair's more steadily than he ever had before, while his cheeks took on the glow typical of fair skinned red-heads.

Blair wasn't quite sure whether Jake was embarrassed or angry, or perhaps even a little of both. Whatever emotion had triggered the reaction, Blair was feeling increasingly unsettled. "Okay," he nodded. "Yes, you're right. A lot of people still believe there are certain mystical properties associated with them."

"Do you?"

"I don't discount it."

Jake's assertiveness of a moment before died in an instant. His gaze dropped to the floor. When he spoke again Blair could almost believe the student was reading words he'd found in the tiles. "Emeralds are said to be a friend to the seeker, assisting in deeper spiritual insight and introducing the higher self to the divinity within."

"That's interesting. Did you read that in-?"

"They're also valued by healers. They're said to act like a magnet, drawing life force into them."

"Jake, I'd-"

"I'll show you."

"What?"

"I'll show you - tomorrow."

With that the young man grabbed his books and hurried from the lecture hall, leaving Blair bewildered. He felt like he'd somehow missed half of the conversation. "Whew," he sighed softly and looked at the clock. At least he wouldn't be late meeting Jim.

* * *

2

Jake Connelly slipped into his new Inca-Gold Chrysler Prowler, a car with power and attitude, two traits Jake felt he could only possess when he was behind the wheel of this magnificent machine. It turned heads at every corner. Yet no one ever knew who was inside. He could hide away behind the narrow windows. He could let the car speak for him, let it tell people that he mattered - at least until he pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped outside. Then he was on his own.

He drove for half an hour through the kind of winds and turns that ignited his adrenaline, urging him faster and faster. It was too fast in the end. He arrived all too soon at the great iron gates of "Dracula's Castle," his own private name for the house that could never feel like a home to him.

Pulling into the long, curved drive in front of his parents' multi-million dollar white-pillared monstrosity made his stomach churn. He much preferred the small spaces of his own campus apartment to the great, arched halls here, halls with cold marble floors and priceless rare antiques that might as well be housed behind velvet ropes in a museum somewhere, for all the horror the maids displayed anytime he wandered near them. Even the garage housed untouchables, half a dozen cars that could never be driven, cars his father polished and pampered with more pride and attention than he'd ever given Jake.

Sucked into the vortex of the house's vampiric spell, Jake's thoughts roiled into a kind of rage. He slammed the car door and stomped up the wide stairs to the massive mahogany doors, punching his entry code into the keypad with more force than was advisable. Part of him wanted to hear alarms wailing, warning him away as an intruder. When the door benignly clicked open instead, he almost felt cheated. He would love nothing better than to argue with someone. It might as well be the police, since no one else was around. His parents were in London, or Vienna, or wherever their whims had taken them today. And his uncle was in the city selling gemstones, or whatever it was he did.

Jake had long ago decided Uncle Will was something more than a broker. Actually, he would be surprised if he were to learn the man was not a thief. After all, Will had stolen Jake's life from the moment he walked in the door all those years ago and forced out another relative, Aunt Sue. Jake's memories of Aunt Sue were dim, but he knew her as someone he could trust implicitly, a woman who'd been more of a mother to him than his real mom had ever been - a woman who used to serve him chocolate pudding that was so heavenly it must have been blessed by the gods themselves.

Yes, Jake would have loved a run-in with the police just then, especially since he had every right to be there. But the house was as empty and quiet as a mausoleum. Draconian, indeed. Jake settled for throwing his backpack into an empty corner and yelling his throat raw in the echo chamber that was the foyer. He could scream and yell all he wanted. No one would care. No one ever did. Even the maids had become pros at ignoring him. The only person who had come close to caring lately was Blair Sandburg, and Jake knew he was starting to lose that tenuous relationship as well.

The screaming helped, temporarily anyway. It gave Jake enough of a release to walk confidently to the library his uncle took over whenever Jake's father was out of town - which was most of the time. The door was locked, as he'd expected. It didn't matter. His uncle was as foolish as his father, thinking Jake too stupid to know how to break in. The stupidity really went the other way. The kinds of goons Uncle Will brought around weren't exactly college types. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. There had been plenty of times when Will ordered a particular goon named Kirby to keep Jake occupied. And good old Kirby had been known to teach Jake things he would never have learned in school.

In a few seconds the bolt clicked open.

Jake stepped through the doorway and quickly moved past the endless shelves of books no one ever read. Crossing to the mahogany desk, he pushed the dark green, leather chair aside and dropped to his knees. In one fluid movement, he opened the upper, right-hand drawer, pressed a small button inside, and swiveled to the section of raised panel wall beside him that had already begun to peel away, revealing the safe within.

The rest should be equally as easy. Jake had played the spy game on both his father and his uncle for years. Already grinning in anticipation, he turned the dial once to the right, twice to the left, and once more to the right, a satisfying click assuring him neither of the room's guardians had bothered changing the combination.

Jake breathed in the musty scents of polished wood and old paper as he reached for a familiar velvet lined box. His smile broadening from the thrill of the crime, he pulled the box forward and lifted the lid, finally drawing back the dark blue cloth meant to protect the precious gems within.

They were magnificent! He wasn't entirely sure of the total value, but he knew there was more than a million dollars worth of emeralds there at his fingertips. He could take them and run, start a whole new life for himself in Switzerland or Brazil, or some other faraway place. But no. That wasn't why he was there. He didn't care about money. He didn't care about exotic places. Those were the status symbols of his parents' life. Jake didn't want any part of it. Instead, he was determined to be anything they were not.

He grabbed a small handful, intending to take only what didn't spill from his fingers, just enough to make his point, to let Blair Sandburg know he wasn't a total loser. Yet when he spotted a boulder amidst the pebbles, he couldn't resist grabbing it as well. Yes, the missing boulder was more likely to be noticed. But maybe - just maybe - he could put it back before Uncle Will noticed anything was missing at all.

With more care than he'd shown thus far, Jake replaced the box, locked the safe, slid the panel back into place, closed the desk drawer and returned the chair to its original position. Then, standing back to study the scene for a moment, he decided to inch the chair back just a touch. Perfect! No one would ever know he'd been there.

He smiled and started toward the door - until a new thought inspired him.

Touching another hidden button, he watched as another section of wall slid away, this one the size of an ordinary door. When he stepped through, the wonders housed within caused him to hold his breath, as they always did. He couldn't help but feel as though he'd been granted a special honor for gaining entry among them. This secret closet didn't hold a cache of more gemstones. It was not a treasure chest of pirated proportions. No. This was better. It was a haven for herbal pharmaceuticals and ceremonial tools used by ancient peoples in their most sacred rituals, a repository for archeological finds that had never been reported to the governments responsible for them.

And it was the private stash of Jake's parents, thieves in their own right, hoarders of history.

So be it. Now Jake would make them the tools of his thieving heart - which was something he'd come to realize must be an inherited trait. He would use the wisdom of the ancients to steal his freedom from a lifetime of abandonment, to release himself from the clutches of this dark house.

Searching through a collection of herbs that would rival anything found in hippy heaven, Jake remembered the words Blair Sandburg had read earlier in class: ". . . shamans are . . . people who deal with the tears and holes we create in the net of life, the damage that we all cause in our search for survival. In a sense, all of us . . . are constantly wrecking the world . . . If we respond . . . by ignoring the spiritual debt we create just by living, then that debt will come back to bite us, hard."

Uncle Will had snagged the net of Jake's world long ago. By now that snag had grown into a vast, gaping hole. "Bite me," Jake said aloud to his absent uncle as he filled a small, leather, draw-string bag with an assortment of dried leaves.

"Shamans deal with problems that arise when we forget the relationship that exists between us and the other world that feeds us, or when, for whatever reason, we don't feed the other world in return."

Still thinking of Mr. Sandburg's lecture, Jake frantically scanned a wall filled with relics until he spotted a crudely carved, ritualistic dagger.

"With the Mayans, sacrifice isn't just about feeding a hungry god, or even about appeasing an angry one. It's about a mutual exchange between the worlds, or between the layers of this one."

Jake grinned like the child he'd once been and had almost forgotten as he tested the weight of the blade. It felt comfortable in his hand, like something that was designed for him alone. Everything was finally going to come together. He finally understood how to regain his balance. Blair Sandburg had given him the message. Jake's parents had given him the tools. Now it was his turn. There was a whole other world waiting for Jake Connelly, one that included laughter, love and the gods' own chocolate pudding.

* * *