The Seven: A Taste for Jazz: Book 3 of The Seven series Read Free Page A

this thing?"
    "Yes."
    "Why?"
    "Please."
    "Fine." Jazz placed her hand, palm down, inside the circle of the mandala. A maelstrom of swirling images and sounds sent her mind spinning, separating her from the reality of her own body.
    When she was abruptly released and found herself once more sitting on the divan with Stanzia, she shoved the book away and did something she hadn't done since she was ten. Burst into tears.
    Stanzia remained silent. At length Jazz's sobs turned to hiccups and sniffles and she turned her gaze to Stanzia. "It's horrible. Horrible. What was that and please tell me you can take it out of my mind."
    "I'm afraid it cannot be undone," Stanzia said softly. "What you experienced is a possibility of what may come to pass. If you turn your back on him."
    Jazz shook her head, trying not to remember what she'd seen and heard. It was worse than any nightmare vision she could imagine To think it was something that could actually happen made her shake with cold dread.
    She looked into Stanzia's eyes and for a long moment they were frozen, joined to one another in non-verbal communication that went deep into a place in Jazz's mind she had never accessed. All confusion, disbelief and indecision fled. Jazz knew herself to be a warrior at heart and this was the battle she had unconsciously been preparing herself for her entire life.
    Her natural cockiness returned with a rueful smile. "Okay, I'm in. What do I do?"
    "Prepare." Stanzia stood, offering her hand.
    "I'm ready now."
    "Actually, my dear, you are not. But soon you will be."
    "Well, it seems to me that we don't have time to waste." Jazz didn't like to be told no, or to wait. Once she was committed, she was ready for action.
    Stanzia laughed. "Time has little meaning here, my dear. When you return it will be as if no time has passed."
    "Back to the shootout?" Jazz's right hand went reflexively to her gun.
    "Oh no. Now come, take my hand and let us begin your training."
    Jazz studied the picture of soft femininity standing before her and chuckled. "You're going to teach me how to fight?"
    "Most assuredly."
    Jazz stood and took her hand. "This should be interesting."
    Stanzia laughed lightly. "You have no idea."
     

 
    Chapter Two
     
    I'm pretty sure I need to check into a psych ward. I mean, damn, this sort of thing is way beyond normal. And the screwed up part is I bought into it hook, line, and sinker.
    So, the question is am I being played and if so, how is she accomplishing it? The skeptic in me says I should run, not walk, but run from this. But after what I saw how can I? If any of it is possible then how could I walk away with a clear conscience? And how could I ever think about collecting a bounty on anyone like him, most particularly him? He just might be superman.
    And maybe that's the hook she got me with. I always did have a crush on Superman.
     
    Jazz blinked and turned slowly, taking in her surroundings. "Whoa," she murmured appreciatively. When Stanzia told her all arrangements were completed for her housing, she wasn't lying. Jazz found herself standing in the foyer of a well-appointed house.
    The foyer was tiled in white ceramic, with a twelve-foot door bordered by equally tall glass sidelights and topped with an arched window that spanned their width. A glass chandelier hung from the sixteen-foot ceiling.
    Inside the foyer and to her right was a seating area of metal benches with fringed cushions and a bubbling fountain. To her left an entry table of metal and glass upon which sat an intricate metal lamp, flanked by two art deco sculptures of entwined couples. A large ornate mirror hung on the wall behind the table, reflecting the seating area and fountain. A large arched entrance led into the great room, a large airy room with cathedral ceilings.
    What drew her eye was the wall of glass on the opposite side of the great room. At least twenty feet , from floor to ceiling, beyond lay a vision of tropical splendor. She crossed through the