Dating an Alien Pop Star
Page 13
When you need to help aliens attract a secret society by way of a flourishing music career, you have to start with the basics—finding out how to attract the secret society. And according to a quick Internet search, the best man for the job is a conspiracy theorist who Kammie loves, but he lives in Scotland and is famously reclusive. The best man in New York City to help with that sort of thing is one Kyran Gray.
A woman who says her name is Primrose answers for Kyran, setting up an appointment for us that afternoon on the front steps of the New York Public Library by Bryant Park. Griffin puts on his yellow sunglasses and his best mysterious, pouty pop star façade, and we head to the meeting with all of Griffin’s very concerned bodyguards sticking quite close by.
Among the tourist-littered front steps of the library, I notice a bearded man wearing a smart gray trench coat and heeled black boots, carrying a big, leather man purse. His square face is set off by a wave of light brown hair shaped into a faux-hawk, and he generally has the appearance of a model who secretly eats cake. Before I can even point him out to Griffin, the man has made a beeline toward us, hand extended.
“You must be Daisy,” he says to me. “I’m Kyran Gray, paranormal detective. I’m also Lady Grieve’s second in command in the New England Chapter of North American Witches, as you may have noticed by the pins on my lapels.”
Griffin steps toward Kyran, inspecting him from behind the oversized sunglasses. “You’re a witch? I thought witches were females.”
“Welcome to the future, time traveler,” Kyran says. “Any other stupid questions before I decide if I’m going to offer you my services?”
“I’m not a time traveler. I’ve traveled through space and two small dimension doors, almost instantaneously. But you won’t know how to do that for another four hundred years or so, at the rate of your governments’ current space programs. If ever.”
Kyran’s big eyes widen just a little, and it takes him a few seconds before he speaks again. “Did Arson send you to screw with me?”
“I’m not interested in screwing you. I need to know important information about the Origin Collective.”
“It was Arson, wasn’t it?” Kyran demands. “That damn faerie. He’s not satisfied with his millions of little zombie girl admirers and his leather pants. No, no, that’s not enough.” Kyran takes a step backward. “Tell him I didn’t find this amusing, and he can go f—”
“No one sent us,” I say, reaching out to put my hand on Kyran’s arm. “Look, this is crazy, I know, but you have to give us a chance to explain. You came highly recommended as someone who can help us.”
Kyran looks between Griffin and me as if considering. “Of course I’m highly recommended. I’m an expert in magic, history, and three types of combat.”
“Then please listen to what we have to say.” I take a deep breath. “My friends here are from another planet—”
“Oh please. Prove it.”
Griffin snaps his fingers a little louder than strictly necessary and a burst of blue light appears at Kyran’s feet, shaking the ground. Kyran yells a word I don’t recognize and holds his trembling hands out over the blue light, causing the light to turn orange. Then, all at once, the light is gone.
“Alright, alright. Whoa! Alright. Either you’re one of Viktor’s relatives and you’re lying to me or you’re… well, what you say you are. And if you’re the latter, then ha-ha, I guess I just discovered aliens, too. Wait until Primmy hears about this.” Kyran straightens his jacket and the blue scarf knotted neatly at his throat, and then sniffs and says rather reluctantly, “You’re wearing white Diesel jeans. That’s a good choice.”
Griffin perks up at that. “Thank you. I do look quite good in them.” He motions at Kyran. “Yours aren’t bad either.”
“Rag & Bone. You can’t go wrong with Rag & Bone.” Kyran sighs heavily. “Come sit down and explain your dilemma to me. First consultations are free.”
To Kyran’s credit, he listens to our explanation without interrupting or looking too shocked, and he’s patient even when Griffin interjects into almost every sentence Devon or I say. As we reach some point of conclusion—or rather, when I have nothing to say but “uhhhh…,” Devon has finished his very polite and concise explanation, and Griffin has stopped talking and has instead crossed his arms over his chest in a snobby manner—Kyran sits back and considers everything.
“Okay, first of all, you’re British.”
“Yes, British pop stars.”
“Do you have those accents at home, too? Are the English just a superior race? Because I wrote a paper on a similar subject once and got a ninety-three.”
Griffin and Devon exchange a glance, and then Griffin says something in their weird alien language. Apparently, that’s enough for Kyran, because he stares at them, wide-eyed, and then shakes his head and continues speaking.
“Secondly, it’s wise of you to contact the Origin Collective, since they tend to shape the world in positive manners, rather than going around and bumping people off and pretending to do important things.”
“Good. I was quite concerned when we arrived and I found out that your planet only recently discovered its moon.”
“We didn’t recently discover it. We walked on it!”
“That’s what concerns me. We walk on our moons all the time and never make a big fuss about it. If I can’t prove to my father that your planet has something to offer, I’m stuck with a war, most likely, and an evil wife.” Griffin spreads his hands wide and shrugs. “So tell me, Kyran Gray, is the Origin Collective going to be able to help me? Will they have advice for my planet? Will they have some kind of perspective on peace that might prove useful? Will they perhaps know of developments in science and medicine that would impress an Emperor President of an advanced world?”
Kyran scowls at all of us in turn, and I can’t help feeling shocked that Griffin’s revealing all of this so easily to a stranger, especially after everything I went through to get it out of him. The bodyguards circled around us don’t say anything, either, which seems strange. I’d think they’d feel a bit more cautious with all of this vital and secretive information.
“If you want help with important matters of science or thought, you should have just come to me,” Kyran says. “The New England Chapter of North American Witches is one of the best chapters in the world. Perhaps even the best, but I prefer to remain humble.” Kyran pauses for a few seconds to let his humility sink in. “Anyway, if you’re looking for answers to questions about the direction of the world or want to ask for help for your planet, you want the Origin Collective.”
“How will we attract their attention?” Devon asks.
Griffin sits up straight. “Bono! We need Bono, don’t we?”
A car rolls by blasting Griffin’s song just then, which makes him nearly leap up from the steps. Devon grabs his arm before he can do anything crazy.
“You’ll need to create a spectacle… either a major televised performance or a concert event that they can’t ignore, and you’ll need to signal them with their symbol,” Kyran says.
“Oh. This?” Griffin holds up his long, pale fingers slanted into a pyramid.
“No, no, not that. Here.” Kyran holds his hands up, fingers curled to form a big circle.
I laugh without meaning to, but stop when Kyran shoots me a withering look. He’s actually pretty intimidating for a metrosexual witch carrying a man purse.
“Once we make contact, it will be no problem for me to charm them and convince them to help my cause, of course,” Griffin says, more to himself than anyone else. “Thank you, Kyran Gray. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Good. Now we can discuss rates. I have to charge according to my worth, of course, and that’s determined by the New England Chapter of North American Witches, so don’t be surprised when you hear the figure. You have to pay for quality.”
Griffin stands up and jams a finger into Kyran’s neck. Kyran flops back against the steps, limp and silent.
&nbs
p; “Oh my God! What did you do?” I say, and Devon shushes me. “What did you do, Griffin? What did you do? Is he okay? Did you kill him?”
“I just wiped his memory. He’ll be fine. He’ll wake up in about twenty seconds and have no idea he ever spoke to us at all.” Griffin stifles a yawn, and then plucks a handful of money from the back pocket of his jeans. He tucks the money into Kyran’s jacket pocket before turning around to smile at me rather brightly. “Brilliant! Shall we start planning our big event before or after my performance tonight?”