Adriana Seranno's life in New York City is not as she hoped it would be. But on a girls' night out she meets the handsome Solaro through what she believes is a chance encounter; electricity sizzles the air between them. Solaro has lived 12,000 years as an elite member of the sacred Brotherhood of Light, a spiritual sect of an ancient Egyptian society. Its members stand for all that is holy, and they uphold the truths of God against the dark forces of the material world. Solaro and eleven of his brotherhood were chosen to remain on Earth for a special mission. But Solaro's greatest test will be his attempt to reunite with Adriana, his soul mate from the distant past, and help her evolve into a master. Together, they will set the example to lead the human race toward a new dawn. First, she has to fall in love with him all over again. While Solaro and Adriana forge their relationship, fallen members of the White Brotherhood attempt to stop their reunion. The newly reunited lovers find their lives in danger and become immersed in a game of faith and illusion where nothing is as it seems.

FUTURITY

A Lifetime and MoreBy MICHAEL MARAVIGLIA

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 Michael Maraviglia
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-2548-9

Chapter One

La Tempesta

Solaro stood in front of the monitor, checking to see if his flight was scheduled to take off on time. He feared that the coming storm would delay his trip to Paris. Every second counted; the timing of events had to be perfect. One mistake, and all could be lost. He scanned the list until he arrived at flight number 1056. The plane would depart on time, despite the weather reports. A rush of relief warmed him.

He was about to turnaway from the monitor, when he glimpsed his image reflected in the glass. Momentarily mesmerized, he remained in place. He almost didn't recognize the man looking back at him. His hair was dark and fell to his jawline, curling at the ends. Stubbly hairs covered most of his face, and his eyes were dark and fierce. A quick glance at his hands showed that a summer spent traveling up the Italian coast from Palermo to Rome had darkened his olive skin considerably.

He raised his hands to examine them more closely. They had touched so much in this world. And he knew the day would come when his hands would be used to destroy life once again. This time the mission would be personal. The enemy was his own kind.

A feeling of uneasiness distracted him from his thoughts. The energy around him intensified, and he felt an increase in the negative charge. He looked around, turning up the collar of his peacoat to hide part of his face. One of them must have followed him. How was that possible? He had been careful to cover his tracks. Still, the energy was unmistakable. Backing slowly away from the monitor, he turned and walked toward the shops lining one side of the terminal.

A man's voice, amplified by the airport's sound system, announced departing flights in Italian and English. Numerous people of many different nationalities walked past him in both directions. Solaro understood every word that was spoken, regardless of the language. His heightened abilities could sense the deeper meaning of human consciousness. Therefore, all speech was translated into one frequency, which he easily deciphered.

A strong sensation of energy prickled along his spine. He glanced back as he turned a corner and spotted a large figure moving quickly through the crowd, following him. It was Leiro. Solaro diverted his path and went into the men's bathroom. He had to settle this matter in private and as quickly as possible. He couldn't let Leiro cause a scene in public and detain him. Leiro had always been impatient and quick to anger. Solaro planned to use that to his advantage. He would meet Leiro on his own terms, not Leiro's.

A teenage boy was drying his hands and listening to music on an iPod as Solaro entered the bathroom. He waited for the boy to leave and then checked the numerous stalls. The bathroom was empty, but he knew it wouldn't remain so for long. He walked over to one of the sinks and splashed cold water on his face. After shaking the water from his hands, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and grasped the key he had put there. It was the key to his safe box and the only weapon he had on him.

The door to the bathroom creaked open. Out of the corner of his eye, Solaro saw Leiro enter. He turned his back to Solaro as he closed the door and waved his hand. The lock on the door clicked. Solaro took a deep breath and stood up straight. Leiro walked down the line of sinks, stopping about fifteen feet away.

Solaro watched him in the mirror. He'd forgotten how tall Leiro was. Tall and imposing. He must have carefully selected that yellow sweater to contrast with his jet-black skin. Solaro scanned Leiro's chiseled features for a hint of what was to come, but the set jaw betrayed nothing. Leiro wet his hands and stroked them over his bald head.

"Vanity is not a becoming quality, Leiro."

The man stopped midmotion, grunted, and then finished the last stroke. Turning to face Solaro, he stretched his neck from side to side. The outline of his muscular frame could be seen through his thin sweater.

"You never were one for words, were you?" Solaro asked. "I have a flight to catch. Could we hurry this up?"

Leiro walked closer to Solaro until he towered over him. Staring up at the big man, Solaro wondered if he could take him. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and he knew he had to tamp down his fear. Fear would cloud his judgment, and he needed his wits if he wanted to survive. He had to survive. She needed him.

"I am here to help you," Leiro replied. His African accent had become corrupted over time.

"Really?" said Solaro. "How kind of you."

"You have a choice. Join us and live."

"That doesn't sound like much of a choice."

Leiro snickered. His narrow eyes nearly vanished when he smiled. He looked down his long thin nose at Solaro. Again he stretched his neck from side to side, producing a cracking sound.

"She was never one of us," Leiro said. "As it was then, it will be now. Your mission has no chance for success. It is useless." He waved his hand dismissively. "The prophecy was always meaningless."

"I intend to see that she has a chance to change the past."

Leiro laughed and shrugged.

"This conversation has been quite stimulating, but I do have a plane to catch," Solaro said.

Leiro looked stoic. "You are not going anywhere."

Solaro felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face. He quickly raised his right hand to strike Leiro, but Leiro was too fast for him. He caught Solaro's arm at the wrist and with his other hand gripped him by the neck. Picking up Solaro, he threw him against the wall by the door.

Pain shot through Solaro's left shoulder as he slid down the cold tiles to the floor. Bursts of light flashed in and out of his vision. He saw a distorted picture of Leiro's hulking frame lumbering toward him. As he slowly got to his feet, he heard loud voices from outside the bathroom. People were talking about getting security to open the door. He had to act fast.

Regaining his composure, he blocked an incoming punch and immediately countered with three quick shots to Leiro's face and midsection. The colossus stumbled backward, gasping for breath. Solaro was not about to give him a chance to recover. He grabbed Leiro's head and slammed it against the counter. Leiro screamed, covering his face with his hands. Specks of blue light glowed from a gash above his nose. He swung wildly, unable to see.

Solaro dodged his attempts and took out the key from his pocket. Gripping it in his fist between his index and middle fingers, he jabbed the key into Leiro's stomach. The tip pierced the other man's flesh. Leiro gasped in pain and lost his footing, falling backward into one of the stalls. Solaro stood over him, as Leiro held his stomach.

"It hurts. I know," Solaro said.

Leiro coughed, continuing to hold his hands over the wound on his stomach.

"Forgive me, brother," Solaro added, "but you left me no choice."

Leiro kept trying desperately to stand up by bracing his hands on the toilet seat. His feet slid out from under his massive body each time he attempted to lift himself up.

Solaro turned to the door, flicking his finger to unlock it. He stepped outside to face a crowd of angry men, who were bewildered by the sight of him.

"Sorry for the trouble, but the door must have stuck somehow," he said in Italian.

As he spoke, he could see two officers of the Polizia di Stato striding toward the crowd. Wanting to avoid attention at all costs, he quickly walked away, past a coffee bar from which arose the delectable smell of freshly brewed coffee and a bar where several patrons enjoyed glasses of wine. His departure gate was only a short distance away. Passengers were boarding already, and he checked his watch. The plane was leaving in twenty minutes.

Getting in line, Solaro glanced at the large windows that looked out over the tarmac. Dark clouds rolled in. The storm was fast approaching. As the line inched forward, he kept looking around, his adrenaline still flowing. He needed to get to Paris, where he would connect with a loyal member of his brotherhood, before Leiro could make a last-ditch attempt to block his escape.

The sound of thunder drew his attention back to the windows. The clouds shifted across the sky with frightening speed. Solaro understood the storm. It would follow him everywhere he went. The violent forces of nature mirrored the fear and hate produced by men. Reuniting with his lost love was only the first part of Solaro's mission. After that, the two of them would need to find the strength to save humanity from self-destruction.

Lightning suddenly flashed across the sky.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind. The pain in his shoulder continued to nag him. Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he took out his ticket as he approached the gate attendant. He was the last passenger to board. As he walked onto the Jetway, a feeling of dread engulfed him. He paused and turned around. Leiro stood at the entrance to the Jetway, about thirty feet away. He was holding his stomach, and a faint blue light emanated from the cracks between his fingers.

Another figure emerged from behind Leiro. Sansevir stood there, staring at Solaro. He was a tall, lean man, although shorter than Leiro, with olive skin and a shaven head. His features looked too small for his face, and his nose was hooked at the end. Sansevir scowled at Solaro, and his dark eyes penetrated Solaro's mind. He spoke, but no sound could be heard.

See you soon.

Solaro turned away, breaking Sansevir's hold over him. When he looked back, they were gone. As he boarded the plane, a crack of thunder shook the earth.

* * *

As Solaro waited for a taxi at the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, he cast furtive glances about him, half expecting Sansevir or Leiro to materialize out of the shadows. The plane trip had done little to calm his nerves. He still felt anxious.

A white four-door Mercedes suddenly halted before him. The driver's door flew open, and at the same time, the trunk popped up. An older man got out of the car, wearing a navy blue driving cap and a cracked and faded bomber's jacket. He was fairly short and walked briskly up to Solaro, squinting as rainwater rolled off the brim of his cap and onto his cheeks. He was a little scruffy and hadn't shaved in a while.

"Where to, monsieur?" he asked as he placed Solaro's bags into the trunk. "Twenty-eight rue Saint-Paul," Solaro answered in French.

"Very well," the driver responded, seeming surprised that Solaro spoke French. He pressed the trunk shut and opened the back passenger door for Solaro.

The city felt cold and distant, despite the life it contained. The bright lights illuminated the night as the taxi sped through the busy streets. American pop music was playing on the radio. The driver hummed along, occasionally singing in broken English.

"Where are you from?" he asked after several minutes.

The man's voice echoed in Solaro's head. His thoughts began to race. Where was he from? How could he answer that question anymore? Words automatically slipped through his lips.

"Many different places," he said.

"Oh. I was only asking because you speak French very well."

"I have had lots of time to practice."

"You are a light traveler. Business, I assume?" asked the driver.

"You could say that."

The taxi continued to zoom through the narrow streets. Solaro watched the raindrops slowly slide down the window. Not many people were out. The roads looked empty.

Solaro was exhausted. He needed to meditate. Sleeping and eating had become luxuries of late. Fortunately for him, he could go for long periods of time without nourishment and rest.

His shoulder still ached. Pain was something he had never had to become accustomed to throughout the years. Only his own kind could hurt him. They had never attempted to do so before, but times were changing.

He adjusted his coat and tried to get comfortable. His head fell against the seat back, and he took a deep breath. The scent of the worn leather invaded his nostrils, and his eyes closed for a moment. He forced them open, but they drooped once more. He needed to stay conscious and alert.

"Excuse me, monsieur," the driver said. "There is a magazine that an American tourist left back there. Feel free to read it if you like."

"Thank you," Solaro replied.

He picked it up and thumbed through the pages. In the shifting light, he saw articles about the city of New York, including museums, restaurants, and historic districts. There was even an article on nightlife, featuring a new lounge called Blu.

Solaro knew that everything was a sign leading him along on his mission. The magazine was no accident. Nothing was random. The world was too complex. He was on the right trail. His intuition couldn't be wrong.

"You are staying in a nice place. Right in the heart of Marais," said the driver.

"I have only heard good things about the area."

"So you have never been around here before?"

"Not really, no. I saw an ad for this apartment when I was in Italy. The tenant needed to sublet his studio for a few months."

"You are Italian, then?" asked the driver.

"No. Just another business stop, I'm afraid."

"It must be nice to travel around the world like you do. Although I suppose it could get lonely." The driver's voice drifted off with those last words.

"Yes, it can be."

"Nice or lonely?"

"Both."

The driver smiled and nodded. Solaro noticed he had nervously tapped his fingers on the armrest of the door during the conversation. Now he fiddled with the radio dial, cursing about how there weren't any good French stations anymore. The car came to a sudden stop at Twenty-eight rue Saint-Paul.

The apartment was in the heart of Marais, one of the oldest and most beautiful areas of Paris. Solaro had seen it at the height of its splendor in the eighteenth century, before it fell to decay after the revolution and had to be rebuilt by Napoleon III. Marais actually meant "swamp," and the area had originally been very wet indeed. The sweeping boulevards, lined with boutiques and coupled with elaborate plazas, made it an entrancing place to visit. The Renaissance-styled buildings eased Solaro's anxiety. The mist combined with the cool air refreshed him.

The driver pulled his bags from the trunk. Solaro handed him enough euros to cover the fare, plus an additional fifty euros as a tip.

"Monsieur, do you need change?"

"No. Money cannot create happiness, but it can bring enjoyment."

"That is extremely generous. Merci, merci. Do you need help taking the bags inside?"

"No, but would you mind if I hold on to this magazine?" Solaro rolled it up in his hands.

"Of course not," replied the driver.

So laro nodded and picked his bags up. He could feel the driver watching him as he walked up the stairs of the apartment building.

* * *

Solaro woke the next morning as the sun rose in the sky with only one thought in his mind. Palomar. They were to meet by the river at eight thirty. He prayed Palomar arrived safely. Solaro understood that he couldn't do this mission alone. He needed help. Most of all, he needed someone he could rely on.

Scenes from their childhood formed in his mind as he stretched and practiced his deep breathing. He remembered how they would explore for hours the dusty, rock-strewn hills around the village where they grew up. He had not seen Palomar in over thirty years and looked forward to seeing his friend again. Solaro pictured his tall, lanky frame and the light brown curls that would bounce against his forehead as he walked. He had always admired Palomar's ability to laugh at the perplexities of life.

After stretching, he got dressed and checked the street from each window. Everything looked clear. His body was no longer tired or sore, and his shoulder had healed. Wasting no time, he left to attend his appointment.

The season had already begun to change. The sun's light periodically pierced through the gray clouds that covered the melancholy October sky. Solaro walked briskly down rue SaintPaul toward the river, cutting through the chilled air like a knife.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from FUTURITYby MICHAEL MARAVIGLIA Copyright © 2010 by Michael Maraviglia. Excerpted by permission.
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