by Alex Hayes
I push off the comforter and wonder if someone rescued me from that lizard-faced guy or if the lizard-faced guy saved me from the freezing cold. Either way, I’m surprised his face didn’t freak me out. Startled me, yes, which explains my telekinetic reaction to push him away, but I wasn’t scared. Much the opposite, in fact. I sensed something familiar, which is totally crazy.
My eye catches movement as I scan the room for evidence of food. I drag my fingers through my hair in an effort to alleviate bed-head. Maybe I should be afraid of whoever’s lurking, but I’m not. Nor is my crystal, which hums in a way that makes my toes tingle. I turn toward a cracked-open door. “You can come out; I already saw what you look like.” No response, so I add, “Do you have any food?”
My vision wavers and I grab for the dusty glass table that fills half the room. Odd decor for a guy who, I’m guessing, doesn’t entertain much.
Not people, anyway.
A shadow shifts, but my sights lock onto a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter on the countertop across the room. With careful steps, I head that way. “Do you mind?” I ask, lifting the loaf and turning to face my host, who remains a shadow in the doorway.
“Help yourself.”
Nice voice. Low to mid-tone with a hint of gravel. Got to be the lizard-faced guy though. Why else would he be hiding?
I inhale the first slice of bread naked, then locate a knife and drag a smear of peanut butter across the next, fold and inhale that too.
“Guess you’re hungry.” There’s a smirk in his voice.
I nod in response because I’m already working on a third slice.
He eases into the open, a hoodie pulled over his head, covering a baseball cap that’s dropped low over his eyes. “Why were you knocking at my door? What do you want? And how did you throw me across the parking lot?”
I study his half-covered face. Green, scaly and, actually, pretty awesome. “Tae kwon do.”
He laughs. “Bullshit. You’re half my weight. There’s no way in hell you could’ve thrown me that far.”
I lick peanut butter off my lip and wonder at the odd, almost musical attraction I’m feeling toward this guy. “Looks can be deceiving.”
His head shakes. “Try again.”
“I’m telekinetic.” Given that he looks like a lizard, I figure no one will believe him if he tries to pull a Dean on me.
“And I’m Kermit the Frog,” comes his colorful response.
I tilt an eyebrow. “You do bear a striking resemblance.” I swing my eyes around the room to keep from staring at the visible half of his face. Conference table, eight chairs, that killer leather couch I was napping on, a nice little kitchenette with a small fridge and sink. Presumably, a bathroom behind one of those doors. “Is this where you live?”
His arms cross. “Yeah, why? Do you have a problem with it?”
“No,” I answer, eyes still wandering. “Don’t suppose…” I turn to look at him again. “I could hang out here for a while?” I really need to figure this guy out.
He stiffens. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” My attention slips back to that odd sound, a soft hum I can feel.
“Because I’m a hermit and don’t like company.”
“Hermit the Frog then.” I smile. “I’m kind of on hold till I get my phone back…from the pawnshop down the street. Maybe you know the guy who runs it.” Or then again, maybe you don’t. “Nice guy, but he won’t give the phone back unless I pay him a hundred dollars. It’s new and worth a lot more.”
I take note of the thick layer of dust around the place and wonder how he can stand living here. Makes me appreciate how spotless Mama and I keep the farmhouse.
An idea forms in my mind. Maybe I could earn the hundred dollars off this guy. It would give me an excuse to stick around, while I work out why my crystal guided me here. “I’m real good at cleaning.” My eyes focus on the part of his face that’s visible. “I could make the whole place spotless for a hundred.”
He drops on the couch and crosses his legs. “I kinda like it the way it is, actually. Dust makes the place feel, um…homey.”
“Hmm.” A gentle buzz at my chest; my crystal really wants to stay. I attempt eye contact with the lizard-guy, but the more I lean over, the lower his head tips.
“So, what are you doing here?” he presses.
The same question I keep asking myself. “Looking for someone.” I think. “I thought I might find him here, but…maybe, I picked the wrong house.”
A soft chuckle edged with derision. “This isn’t a house; it’s a nightclub.”
Interesting. “So when’s it open?”
His shoulders lift in a soft shrug. “It’s not. Closed down a couple of years ago when the guy who owned it was killed by a car bomb.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?” Wow.
“That’s the story I heard.”
“So, do you own the place now?”
He shakes his head. “A friend owns it. His mother, actually. She got the place cheap after the owner…well, you know.”
“And you’re renting it?”
Another noncommittal shrug. “Sorta.”
My eyes fall to the half-eaten loaf of bread and peanut butter on the counter. Is this what he lives off? If so, he definitely needs nutritional guidance. “I’m pretty good at cooking too.”
His head tilts up and his eyes meet mine for the first time. They look human, almost. A little larger, perhaps. A deep, deep brown, almost black.
“Wasn’t looking to hire a chef.” Those dark eyes narrow. “What’re you doing out here, pushing for work, anyway? You a runaway?”
I close the bread bag and seal it with a twist tie. “No, my mama sent me here. I’m on my way to a place she owns, but…” Oh, no!
My breath seizes in my throat. Oh my god. I was supposed to meet Victoria Lakewood at seven o’clock this morning.
“What’s wrong?”
My eyes stumble back to his. “What? Uh, nothing.” Crud, and I have no way to reach the woman without my phone, but I’ve got to do something. “Um, I…don’t suppose you have a phone?”
His lips purse. “Pretty high maintenance, aren’t you?”
I sigh. “Not really. It’s just…” How do I even begin to explain? “Sorry. I’m a bit of a mess right now. New town. No phone. I was supposed to meet someone this morning, and…well, I was here when I should have been there. This lady was going to take me to the local high school, get me enrolled.” With a groan of defeat, I collapse onto the other end of the sectional and drop my face in my hands.
“Here.” A nudge on the arm brings my attention to the iPhone he’s poking me with. “Call her.”
Rapid blinking washes away the tears gathering in my eyes. “I don’t know her number. It’s on my phone.”
“But your mom must,” he says. “Call her.”
I sniff and accept the phone. Only knowing the farmhouse number by heart, I dial. The phone rings a thousand times, then goes to voicemail. I sniff, again, and speak. “Mama, it’s Cadi. I missed my meeting with Victoria and I don’t have her number. It’s on my phone…” Ugh. “I’m really messing up here. I’m so sorry. Could you let her know? As soon as I get my phone back, I’ll call her and apologize. Maybe Sam or Jessie should take me to the high school when they get back from—” Voicemail cuts off and a despondent sigh closes my monologue.
As I hand back the phone, I catch the look in his eyes. “Yeah, I know it was stupid I didn’t write down all the important numbers I’d need. I’m hoping Mama can pay the pawnshop guy long distance, so I can get my phone back. Unless I can earn the money myself. Look, I probably don’t strike you as being too smart, but I’m really great at cooking and cleaning. And I’m honest.”
Vague interest brews in his eyes, then they narrow again. “What are you planning to cook with?”
Close the deal, Cadi. “I can start by seeing what you have on hand.”
Can’t see his eyebrows. Does he have eyebrows? Either way
, he’s frowning.
His chin lifts. “You can cook lunch and clean this room as a test.”
My heart lifts and I grin. “Okay, deal.” Swinging back to the countertop, I open the cupboard under the sink and search out a cleaning cloth and a bottle of Windex.
21
Idris
I get off the sectional, before she cleans me off, and retreat to the bedroom door. I can’t figure out why she isn’t freaked out by my face, though I’m not sure what I’m hoping for. A more natural response to meeting a monster, maybe. Some shock. A spot of outrage. “Where you staying while you’re in town?”
She stops dusting the black leather and looks over. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrug. “Just making conversation.”
“At a hotel downtown.” A quizzical frown lowers over her eyes. “Are you warm-blooded?”
My arms cross unbidden. “That’s a very personal question.”
“Just making conversation,” she echoes.
“Last time checked, my temperature was 99.2.”
“Oh.” She nibbles on her lip and seems to wrestle a smile. “You run kinda hot then?”
My hairless eyebrows twitch as I lean against the doorjamb. “Guess so.”
She laughs and it’s contagious. Cute even. Well, kind of.
She goes back to lip nibbling. “You’re doing it again.”
I straighten. “Doing what?”
“Sending out signals.”
What is she talking about? I imagine a lizard-man waving his arms about, making semaphores. “What kind of signals?”
Her eyes are smiling. “Like me, signals.”
She’s crazy.
“Similar to putting on a charming smile, but through a rhythm, a vibration. Almost…a sound.”
I frown. Deep. “You think I want you to like me?” She’s got to be kidding. “Sorry, but you’re not my type.”
The smile in her eyes evaporates and she looks away. “Not green enough, I guess.”
“Or the least bit scaly.”
She meets my eyes again. “It’s more like an all-points bulletin, a signal going out to anyone who can hear it.”
“Why on god’s earth would I do that?”
Her mossy eyes stare into mine. “You tell me.”
I sigh, loudly.
She steps toward me and places a hand on my chest. I’m tempted to swat it away, but I’m half curious to know what she’s planning on doing next.
“It’s coming from here.” This close, she has to look up to meet my eyes. Her face isn’t unpleasant, but a little more color would do wonders. Where has she lived all her life? In a cave?
Her lips twist. “It’s a bit like a cat’s purr but more subliminal. Infrasound, I think it’s called. Too low a frequency to be heard by the human ear.”
“You just said you heard it.”
Her eyes reflect surprise. “I did, didn’t I? Well, I can hear it, but it’s right on the edge of being audible, I guess.”
I inhale, inflating my chest, to remind her about the hand still resting there. She withdraws her fingers and something tingly leaves with her touch. Something subtle that I choose to ignore because she’s starting to annoy me.
Still, I can’t quite pull my eyes away from hers, so I lift my chin. “You’re talking hocus-pocus.”
“Maybe I am.” She turns away and gets back to dusting, and I get this weird sense that I’ve hurt her feelings.
Shit. Why should I care about her feelings? She’s the uninvited guest, not me.
“So what brought you to Hopper?” I ask.
She stops rearranging the dust and heads to the kitchenette. After dipping her head to look inside the refrigerator, she pulls out the block of cheese I swiped from home.
“I mean, really,” I add, just to be clear.
“I’m heading to Mama’s cabin.”
Then I was right calling her Little Red.
“I arrived a couple of nights ago, and… It’s hard to explain, but there’s someone I need to find.” She rubs at her chest, low, near her breastbone, like she’s feeling for a necklace but comes up empty-handed. Her eyes shift quickly around the room. “Did I have a backpack when you found me?”
“At the top of the stairs.”
She nods and puts the refried beans Marek bought into the pan, then glances over her shoulder. “I forgot to ask you your name.”
“Idris.” I find myself tapping my fingers against the doorjamb and feeling antsy.
“That’s a Welsh name, isn’t it?”
How’d she know that? Not that I’m the least bit Welsh, but she’s right.
“Mine’s Cadi, from Catrin.” Her eyes connect with mine. There’s curiosity in them. “It’s the Welsh form of Katherine.”
Interesting coincidence. Nothing more.
I wander a little closer as she sticks a fork into a slice of bread and holds it over a hotplate. “So, what’re you making there, Cadi?”
“Molletes. A Mexican version of beans on toast.” She turns the bread over once it’s brown on the first side. “It’s better grilled in an oven, but you have all the ingredients, so I figured I’d try.”
I drop into one of the conference chairs and lean an arm on the table. A refrain slips into my head and my fingers move across imaginary piano keys.
“What happened to you?” Her back is turned to me and her voice is soft.
My shifting fingers pause. “That’s the million dollar question.”
She sets the toast on a plate and turns around. “Have you always been—”
“Green? Nah. Happened a few days ago. The parents whisked me off to a skin specialist in the city. The doctor said I was metamorphosing, which is shorthand for didn’t have a clue.”
“Metamorphosing? Like a butterfly.”
I laugh. “Yeah, like I was an ugly caterpillar before, and now I’m a…”
Her smile plants dimples in her cheeks. “Whatever you’ve become, you’re stunning.”
I rise to my feet, my lips curling into a sneer. “As in so horrifying you’re stunned?”
Her eyes turn sad like I’ve totally misunderstood her. “I don’t find you horrifying at all. Your skin’s beautiful. It reminds me of a chameleon or a tree frog with its delicate markings and intense colors.”
Is she from another planet? “Yeah, quite the frog prince,” I jeer. “Come on over and give me a kiss.”
“Thought I wasn’t your type,” she says, turning away to grab another slice of bread.
“I dare you.”
She hesitates and her head drops forward. Slowly, she puts the bread down and makes an about-face. Her eyes are glossy, like she might cry, and I want to take back what I said, but I can’t.
My heart hardens. Beautiful? Stunning? Give me a break. She got herself into this mess, now let her backpedal out.
She walks forward, pulls me by the front of my sweatshirt and plants her mouth on mine. Firmly. No hesitation.
I’m shocked.
Her eyes have changed into glimmering emeralds as they look into mine. “Did it work?” she whispers. “Have I turned into a frog princess?”
22
Cadi
The answer is, no. I didn’t turn into a frog princess, but part of me wishes I had. Idris looks stunned, speechless even, then blinks.
I turn back to the stove, before he can say anything, unsure I want to know what he thought of that kiss.
What is it about this reptilian whatever-he-is that I find so attractive? When I stepped up close, the crystal in my chest almost flipped over. I assume this means he’s what we’re looking for.
“You said you were telekinetic,” he comments.
And you said you were Kermit the Frog.
I focus, and with my mind, I lift two forks from a cardboard box sitting on the counter and push them through the air to the table, setting them directly in front of him.
He jumps away. “Holy shit! You weren’t kidding!”
“Not anymore than you w
ere about being green.”
“Wow, that’s damn cool.” He examines a fork, probably looking for invisible wires, and sets it down on the table. “So why’d you pass out when you used your abilities to throw me?”
“Another million dollar question. Seems we’ve got more in common than either of us realized.” I smirk at him, then return to toasting bread.
He grunts, like he’s not so sure.
“When I use my abilities to move anything big, I get drained. It’s only happened once before.” My voice grows thick, thinking about Papa trapped under the tractor.
He seems to pick up on the change in my tone. “What happened?”
I tell him the story, minus all the crap that went down with Dean afterward.
God, thinking about Dean is difficult enough, telling Idris about him would be beyond awkward, though I’m not sure why.
After a thoughtful silence, Idris says, “Is your dad going to be okay?”
“I think so, though Mama said his recovery will take a while.” I wonder how he’s doing. I really need to figure out what this crystal business is all about and get my phone back.
“So, are you their only kid?”
The question strikes me as so strange I hesitate to answer.
He frowns. “What?”
“They don’t have any children. They’re fostering me.”
He looks surprised. “You been with many families?”
“Dozens.”
“You seem, um…balanced, on the whole. How come you never settled?”
I offer a weak laugh and dish up the food. “Because sooner or later someone catches me doing this.” I push our plates from the counter to the table. “And then it’s bye-bye.”
He shakes his head. “That really sucks.”
Yeah, it does.
We eat the molletes, which aren’t half bad considering the lack of an oven. Idris cleans his plate and nods his approval. Once the dishes are done, I ask if I can freshen up.
“Sure. Through there.” Idris points to the right most of three doors lining the interior wall of the basement room, then heads into the door on the opposite end.
