Sam's shoulders drooped. "Damn. Jefferson said something about purifying ourselves, but I thought he just meant meditating and stuff. I thought getting off your face on fermented fruit was an accepted spiritual practice in ancient religions."
"Depends on which ones you're picking and choosing from, I suppose. Where's your protégé?"
Realizing that he did not know, Sam scanned the room until he spotted Julia Rose at the other end of the tables, heaping her plate with grilled asparagus and courgette and chatting to Cody. "Over there," he said, nodding toward her. "On the case, by the looks of it. How about Purdue, where's he?"
"Upstairs ordering room service. He has a migraine."
They lapsed into an awkward silence. The natural next step should have been for Sam to dig for a little more information about Nina and Purdue's relationship, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, and she couldn't quite bring herself to volunteer it. Instead they picked at their food and watched the other delegates. Some had splintered into little groups of people they already knew. Others were clearly feeling more isolated and either standing alone, feigning interest in the catering or the draperies, or attempting to start desperate, socially anxious conversations.
Sara had reappeared and was gliding among the delegates, pausing for brief conversations in which she would lay a delicate hand on the subject's arm or shoulder, or clasp their hand in hers. Her exchanges with them were intense, her gaze locked with theirs, and then in a moment she would be gone, moving to the next person. To Sam, it looked like a lot of hard work. He found himself speculating about what a life like hers must be like, with every aspect of her work persona so carefully cultivated and so well performed. He was extremely glad that no one expected him to be so poised or so groomed in everyday life.
"Sara! Hey, Sara!" Cody's nasal Valley twang sliced through the gentle babble of small talk. "We have a question over here that I think you should answer — and I think everybody would want to hear it."
All eyes turned in the direction of his voice. Julia Rose was cringing next to him, her hands half-raised as if she had tried and failed to stop him from attracting the attention of the entire room. Sara strode toward them, the crowd parting before her.
"A question?" her voice remained smooth and gentle, though it carried to ever part of the room. "By all means… Julia Rose, isn't it?"
Julia Rose's eyes widened. Evidently she had not expected Sara to have any idea who she was. "Um, yes… " she gulped, then took a deep breath and tried to recover her composure. "I don't mean to be rude, Ms. Stromer—"
"Sara."
"Sara. Ok. I don't mean to be rude, Sara, but I was just asking about the rumors about FireStorm. You know. The ones about people not being allowed to leave once they get involved and having to give really personal information and money if they want to progress to higher levels."
For a long, long moment, no one made a sound. Sara, smiling beatifically, tilted her head to one side in apparent contemplation of the question. Then at last she straightened and spoke. "Thank you, Julia Rose — not just for asking those questions in the first place, but for having the courage to ask them openly, in front of the whole group. That was a brave thing to do. Before I answer, I would like you to do something for me. I would like you to drink with me. Will you do that?"
Julia Rose nodded with a confidence that Sam was sure was false. Sara snapped her fingers and one of the servers scurried off and returned with a small stone bottle and two carved obsidian glasses. Into these, Sara poured a creamy white liquid. She held one out to Julia Rose, then locked eyes with her while they drank. It's just two people drinking, Sam thought. It's funny how making it a bit ritualistic gives it power. I can see it's affecting Julia Rose — she's totally caught up in all this, I can tell. Poor girl can barely stand up straight. Still, she'll learn a lot.
"Now, to answer your question," Sara continued. "Of course, we don't force anyone to stay in FireStorm. Joining us is entirely voluntary, and there are some people who come to our earliest courses and decide that what we offer is not for them — at least, not yet. Once people have joined, they tend to stay. It's not through any coercion, but through a simple lack of desire to leave us. As for the sharing of personal information… What we do, what we encourage our members to do, involves a high level of self-awareness and trust. Those things can't be achieved without getting a little personal — but again, these are free choices that our members make."
She turned in a slow circle, taking in the whole room. "No doubt there are plenty of you who have questions just like Julia Rose's, but who felt less able to ask. Or perhaps she simply beat you to it. Either way, this is why we have brought you here. The best way to understand FireStorm is to experience it. There are questions to which you'll never have a satisfactory response without living the answer. That's what we have chosen to give you. We hope that you'll choose to give us your trust in return."
As she finished, she stepped toward Julia Rose and enfolded her in a tight embrace. Julia Rose froze briefly, taken by surprise — then, to Sam's astonishment, wrapped her arms around Sara and allowed herself to be held close.
Chapter Eight
As dawn broke the following morning, Sam joined the line of FireStorm delegates staggering out of the Verbena into the first rays of Las Vegas sunshine. It was too early to be up, and judging by the amount of squinting and groaning that was going on, Sam had not been the only one to retreat to his room and drain the mini bar following the welcome dinner.
"Mr. Sam Cleave?"
Sam lifted his head to see one of the hotel's perky young employees flashing her perma-grin at him. She was one of three people standing a little way outside the Verbena, between the doors and the waiting luxury coaches. Two others were holding large trays full of Starbucks cups. The girl who had spoken picked up one of the drinks and held it out. It had his name written on the cardboard.
"Breakfast tea with a little milk and three white sugars, is that correct?" She pressed the cup into his unresisting hand, then a look of horror flashed across her face. "Oh no! It's four, isn't it? Four sugars. Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Cleave. Here!" She dived into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out an extra packet of sugar and a long wooden stirrer. The smile returned. "You have a great trip, now!"
The young woman turned her attention to the person behind Sam, greeting him by name and reciting the type of drink she had anticipated he would require. He wanted to stop and ask how they had learned what he liked to drink, especially because he never frequented coffee shops, other than greasy spoons. Jefferson could have told them, I suppose, he thought, eavesdropping as the person behind him was given a triple latte with hazelnut syrup. But still, it's a lot of effort to go to.
Drink in hand, he allowed himself to be marshaled onto the coach. It was nothing like his previous experiences of buses. There was nothing resembling normal bus seats — instead the interior was ringed with leather couches. At the far end, a large screen showed landscapes from around the world, accompanied by a gentle ripple of soothing string music. Out of habit, he looked around to see if any of the others were aboard the same coach, but they were not. Jefferson and his family were visible in the coach parked parallel, and Sam saw Purdue and Nina being ushered aboard the same vehicle. Of Julia Rose, there was no sign. Sam guessed that she must be aboard the third coach. Grateful for the peace and quiet, he dropped into a corner and rested his eyes, just for a moment.