Cherry Blossom Girls Box Set

by Harmon Cooper

  We’d need to get rid of our current vehicle, but that would be easy once we found a family member.

  We left Dorian in the car as we approached the front door, where Veronique worked her magic to let us in.

  The first person to greet us was a kid, a boy about ten years old, who was walking across the living room to get something from the kitchen. Grace immediately took over his mind and told him to introduce her to everyone in the house.

  She followed him, and soon, Grace also had the husband, the wife, and a teenage daughter in the living room and under her spell.

  “The first thing I want to happen is for you to get rid of our vehicle,” I told the husband, “and come back here with an UberLyft.”

  The husband was a fit guy, someone who worked out regularly, with a sprinkling of white in his beard and large eyebrows. He simply nodded at me and left.

  The other three stood before us, completely transfixed.

  The wife had had a lot of work done on her face and body; Botox and a boob job – those were just things I noticed off the bat. There was nothing that really stood out about the boy, aside from the darkness of his hair. And the teenage daughter looked pretty much like the boy, only taller, with zits on her chin and wearing designer pajamas.

  “Shall I get Dorian?” Veronique asked me. “Also, I’m a little hungry.”

  “Yeah, bring her in the living room.”

  I didn’t know if the place we were standing in was a living room or something else entirely. I would later find out that the house had two living rooms, and this room – which featured a piano and a floor-to-ceiling view of the lake outside the window – was simply the foyer.

  Or something like that.

  Like I said, I’m not great with architecture.

  Veronique returned, dragging Dorian behind her. The family ignored Veronique as she placed Dorian on one of the sofa chairs and made sure she was properly drained of her energy.

  Grace yawned. “I’m getting tired, Gideon,” she said and went to sit next to Dorian, which was a bit strange considering the circumstances and the fact the family still stood there, waiting for orders.

  “We need to handle the family before you can go to bed. Have them all to go to one of the bedrooms upstairs – the son’s bedroom, that’s fine. Whatever. Does he have a bathroom in there?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Great, tell them to turn off their phones and stay there for the next twenty-four hours. Eventually, they’ll snap out of it and wonder what the hell’s going on, but we’ll be long gone by then.”

  She yawned. “And can I go to bed after that?”

  “Sure, just stay up long enough for the husband to get back.”

  While Grace sat in the living room waiting for the husband’s return, the rest of the family went upstairs to the boy’s bedroom. That was the last I’d see of them. Meanwhile, Veronique and I took a tour of the place.

  It had seven bedrooms, six bathrooms, two living rooms, an enormous workout room, two offices, and a very nice, but small backyard that overlooked Town Lake with access to the water via a dock.

  “Let’s see what vehicles we’re working with,” I said.

  We entered the garage through the kitchen to find a Cadillac Escalade and two Porsches – one an SUV and the other a sports car. The teenage daughter had a Volkswagen, and there was also a completely restored 1955 Thunderbird in the carport farthest from the kitchen.

  I don’t know what they did to get all that money, but it didn’t involve publishing $0.99 ebooks.

  I pressed the button to open the garage door just as lights flashed in the driveway – the husband returning in an UberLyft.

  He hardly made eye contact with me as he went back into the house and, I assumed, straight up to his son’s bedroom.

  Before going back inside, Veronique and I stood on the bridge that led from the garage to the front door. It was a warm night, and mosquitoes buzzed in the air. It was also humid, and I was glad I didn’t grow up with this type of climate. Sure, the cold and the snow could get old, but this heat …

  Rather than think about how I was from New England and wasn’t used to the South, I went inside to find Dorian still sitting on the couch in the foyer.

  “Let’s just make sure she sleeps for the night,” Veronique said as she approached the teleporting rocker. She placed her hand on Dorian’s head, and a red aura formed around her fingers.

  I looked around for Grace and found her asleep in one of the living rooms. Figuring it’d be nice to get a good night’s sleep as well, I found one of the guest bedrooms and lay down on the bed.

  Dammit. I should have bought something aside from this ironic Houston Texans jersey I got at the mall.

  I took off the jersey and tossed my pants and socks to the floor. Most of my clothes were for colder weather, not this heat. I figured I would check the guy’s closet for things to wear tomorrow, but I had a feeling he and I didn’t share a style. Still, maybe he had some collared shirts.

  As I lay there on the bed, I heard the door handle twist open.

  Even though my glasses were off, I knew who it was just by the sound of the door. It didn’t sound like a door being opened normally; I’d heard Veronique use her power enough times to notice the subtle difference between something natural and her ability to command metal.

  Or maybe I just intuited it was her.

  “How are things?” she asked, almost deadpan.

  It was then I remembered that her charisma was quite low; maybe she didn’t mean to be as stiff as she came across.

  “Things are okay. I’m a little nervous about tomorrow.”

  “Why?” she asked and sat on the bed beside me.

  “I just have a feeling we’re going into something kind of strange. We need to be ready. I don’t want you two to kill anyone if you don’t have to, nor do I want to do something that’ll get us in even more trouble than we’re already in. This guy may actually have information that could help us.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  I placed my hands behind my head. I could feel that my hair was already starting to grow out, and if I was truly going for the shaved-head look, I’d need to get a haircut in the next week or so.

  This got me thinking about when I’d decided to shave my head at the black barbershop in New Haven. It was right after I received the scar on my face – a scar I had since grown used to. It was still healing, actually, still a little pink. Once the skin hardened, I’d look like a fucking mercenary. So that was something to look forward to.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Just getting high on my own supply, sorry.”

  She lay down next to me and I felt tension increase between us. We looked at each other for a moment. My mouth opened, and words spilled out. “So, like I was saying, I’m a little worried about tomorrow. Yep, definitely worried. Damn tomorrow. Today was nice though. But tomorrow, who knows what could happen?”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Of course you aren’t. You can pretty much do anything with your abilities.”

  Veronique moved just a little closer to me. She now lay on her side, strands of blonde hair in her face. “You place too much confidence in what we can do.”

  I reached out and brushed the hair from her face.

  “Damn right I do. All I can do is drive, write, and try to put the pieces together so maybe we can actually complete this puzzle. I mean, not that it’s a big puzzle. We’re talking about a government experiment, super soldiers … that sort of thing. Nothing deeper than that, I’m afraid. I get it. Sorry, I’m talking out loud. I just worry sometimes about the endgame.”

  “Endgame?”

  Her hand landed on my cheek and I swallowed hard.

  “Yeah, endgame. Let’s say we do this – we destroy the facilities and take care of Mother, unite the people with superpowers and play that whole thing out. What next?” I asked, my voice softening.

  It was strange to be this close to Veronique, esp
ecially knowing she could drain my energy in a heartbeat. Even as I stared into her dark eyes, I knew she could turn the tables very quickly.

  But would she?

  That was the thing about her; even though she’d shown me no sign she would double-cross us, or that she would turn on me, I still remembered the Veronique who burst into our room back in East Haven and later took me hostage.

  It was still hard to separate the two; the trained soldier and the Veronique I had come to know.

  “Why are you so worried about our endgame?” she finally asked. “This ends when it ends, and there’s little we can do to stop it from ending at that time. We don’t know the future, we only know what happened in the past. And for Grace and me, what we are doing now is far better than what was happening to us in our past. So, was that our endgame? What happens after an endgame?”

  I smirked at her. “I don’t think you understand the term ‘endgame,’ at least in the same way I do.”

  “Oh?” she moved her hand from my cheek to the side of my neck.

  “And I’m not trying to mansplain here, but the whole idea of ‘endgame’ is that it is the end of the game – hence, ‘endgame.’”

  “I see. In that case, we will win, and Grace and I will design a very nice home for all of us to live in. Somewhere secluded. But with access to a city.”

  “And by ‘we,’ do you mean me too?” I asked, a slight hesitation in my voice.

  “I suppose. I suppose you can live with us. I’m sure Grace would like that. Maybe I would like that too. But you’re going to have to write more books because that is your superpower. Your superpower is writing books. So, if you live with us in this beautiful house we’re going to customize and remodel, you have to write books. You can have a writing room and a nook, I believe it is called.”

  I laughed. “That is a great fantasy right there.”

  “Maybe we can get a dog and have some kids.”

  I gulped. “Have kids?”

  “We can start a family, I don’t know. Just dreams, endgame dreams.”

  The door opened, and Grace walked in, wearing a robe. She yawned, saw that Veronique was on the bed, and stopped.

  “We were just talking about our dream home,” Veronique said, getting up from the bed and leaving the room. “The one you and I discussed.”

  Holy shit, does Grace have Veronique in check?

  Yes, I do.

  I froze as I heard Grace’s voice in my head.

  But if you’d like her to stay in here for tonight, that’s fine by me.

  Veronique was gone before I could respond.

  Grace got into the bed, yawned, and turned to me as if nothing had just happened. “I’m very tired tonight,” she said, her eyes going from slightly white to iceberg blue. “Too much shopping, disco, pizza, and barbeque.”

  “Goodnight, Grace.”

  Try as I might to fall asleep, I lay awake for thirty more minutes, thinking about all that had happened.

  I didn’t know where I stood on polyamory, having more than one love interest at a time. And I didn’t want to figure that out right now. I wanted to be prepared for tomorrow, but I had no idea what to prepare for. For all I knew, we would just meet this guy and he would give us some information and things would go fine.

  But they could go the opposite way as well.

  Chapter Fourteen: Dorian Wakes

  I was up earlier than anyone else in the house. I knew that because it was just a little after five a.m., a time when no one in their right mind should be awake. My email inbox was full; my new book had been published.

  I looked at my smartphone for a moment longer just to confirm this. I could check my sales and ranking later. It was actually the last thing on my mind as I moved out of the bedroom and into the hallway to get something to drink.

  We were on the upper floor, and I was thirsty.

  Rather than drink from the faucet, I headed downstairs and was greeted by a beautiful sunrise underscored by a zigzag of pink on the surface of the lake.

  It was weird to see Dorian just sitting there in the sofa chair, perfectly still, her eyes closed. Eerie didn’t begin to describe it.

  I got some expensive juice from the fridge and filled a glass.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you,” I said as I returned to Dorian and sat across from her. Her black hair, her punk rock accouterments, her petite body – she looked the exact opposite of Grace and Veronique.

  But then again, who knew what Grace actually looked like? I hadn't forgotten the time she showed me a thin, dark-haired woman with acne when I asked her to show me her true form. She hadn’t shown me that form since, and for all I knew, she was just messing with me.

  There was a lot I’d never understand about shapeshifters. And I always had this feeling she was hiding something from me. Whereas Veronique wore her personality on her sleeve; I understood who she was, and I usually understood her intent.

  But Grace, not so much.

  They’d make great fictional characters, though. One, almost a girl next door but with a secret. The second one, dangerous, but soft at the core. Maybe after all this was finished, I would get to writing fiction again, and I could let those characters play out in my mind.

  My rambling, author-centric thoughts came to a sudden halt when Dorian’s eyes opened.

  I gasped as her black eyes locked onto me. I could feel the blood draining from my face.

  “Uh …” was the only sound my throat could make.

  I felt as if I’d woken a sleeping lion, that I had come face-to-face with a carnivore.

  “Thirsty …” she whispered, her throat quivering.

  “You’re thirsty?”

  We both glanced at my juice.

  Oddly enough, I’d had this feeling of complete and utter apprehension before. And it was with Veronique, when she assaulted Grace in the hotel at Stamford and had come for me.

  One thing I’d learned about these types of encounters was that you could either stare the beast down and figure out what it wanted – which could result in your death – or, you could run.

  As I had before, I chose to make peace with the predator.

  Not saying a word, I took my glass of juice to her. She tilted her head back slightly and I brought it to her parched lips. She quickly finished the juice.

  “Do you want more?” I asked, my nerves tingling.

  She nodded. I looked toward the kitchen, which now felt like it was miles away.

  For all I knew, she could teleport away by the time I returned. Or she could create a person made of kinetic energy to kill me. It didn’t have to be a person … could be anything, really.

  But my name is Gideon Caldwell, and I am an idiot.

  So I went to the kitchen and got her some more juice, and she was halfway through the next glass when Grace and Veronique appeared.

  Veronique practically launched herself at Dorian. Her hand fell on Dorian’s head, and as it glowed red, the teleporter’s eyes rolled back. Veronique narrowed her eyes at me. “You are an idiot, Gideon.”

  “I was just thinking that.”

  “I’m just glad I heard you leave the room,” Grace said.

  “Wait, were you able to see what I was doing up here?” I touched my face. No way she’s that powerful.

  Grace nodded. “But you already knew I was.”

  It was true; I’d already sensed this. But it was early, and I was still a little bit delirious.

  Veronique continued to drain Dorian.

  “Lighten up a bit,” I told her. “She could have done something, but she didn’t. We’re going to have to deal with her at some point. What if we can turn her?”

  Grace placed a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t trust everyone, Writer Gideon.”

  “I trusted you,” I said to her. I looked at Veronique. “And I trust you, even though you once basically tried to kill her and imprisoned me.”

  “People change,” was all she finally said.

  “Exactly
, which is why I think Dorian could change.” Confidence returned to my voice. “It’s just a hunch right now, but we’re going to have to work with her if we want her to join us and see our side. We can’t kill her – or at least we shouldn’t – and her abilities would be monstrously helpful to our cause.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Veronique said, “But for now, we keep her sedated.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  “Who’s hungry?” Grace asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “It’s five in the morning,” I reminded her.

  “Almost half past five now.”

  “Actually, that’s a great idea.”

  Once again, Grace had implanted a thought in my brain.

  Magnolia Cafe on Lake Austin Boulevard was open twenty-four hours.

  From the reviews I’d read, it looked like it had pretty damn good food. But there was also the Omelettry, another GoogleFace recommendation, and they had amazing pancakes, apparently.

  It was a tough call, but I had to go with the pancakes.

  We found the Omelettry and got there about twenty minutes after they’d opened. It was a well-lit place, with a drawing of anthropomorphized eggs on the walls.

  Our waitress came, a tattooed and pierced Austin hipster with short hair on one side and long hair on the other. Cool.

  The coffee was poured and even Veronique had a cup.

  I ordered ‘The Economical’ with buttermilk pancakes, and Grace had a yogurt parfait with gingerbread pancakes. I got a couple looks from the guys who came in, especially when they saw me sitting with Veronique, a hot blonde with strikingly sharp features, and Grace, who had gone with her brunette in yoga pants yet again.

  I had never been the envy of other guys, never been a bro’d out guy’s guy for that matter, and it was still strange to see people look between me and the two women with me, trying to figure out how I had pulled it off.

  “No shifting in public,” I reminded Grace as her hair began to change to match our waitress’s. I finished my coffee. The waitress spotted it and went for a fresh pot.

  “Okay,” she whined.

  The food came, and we dug in.

  I started with the pancakes, spreading out the big lump of butter on top and smothering it in syrup. From there, I moved to the sausage, the eggs, and another cup of coffee to boot.