by Ashley West
She hopped in the shower, taking her time with her waist length hair and soaping away the memory of what had happened to her the day before.
Well. Not the entire memory, of course. She couldn't forget about Samel. He was a strange one, what with his large frame and ability to shoot fire out of his hands. In a way, it struck her as odd that she wasn't more concerned about...whatever he was. He could be some kind of monster or genetically mutated...thing. He could be getting her involved in some kind of weird plot with the government or something.
She laughed at her own wild thoughts. More than likely, he was just a lost and confused person who needed help. The fire was just an added bonus. Or something. Either way, he had saved her. Whatever those other things had been, they were clearly ready to rip her apart, and she had rapidly been losing faith in her ability to outrun them.
Luckily Samel had been there. Figuring out where he came from was going to take some doing, but she'd meant what she'd said to him when she'd shown him to his room the night before.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she'd said. "I don't have a lot of experience with memory loss, but in the movies it always starts to come back once you stop worrying about it so much."
He'd given her a solemn look. "I don't know that I can not worry about it. What if I'm meant to be somewhere important?"
"You can't remember one way or another," she'd pointed out as gently as possible. "So how would you get there?"
Samel had just stared at her, as if that hadn't occurred to him. He looked exhausted and overwhelmed, and it was a feeling that Naomi was familiar with and one she'd seen on a lot of faces over the years.
"Sleep," she urged him. "You can worry about it more in the morning if you want to."
Naomi hoped he had slept. Being overtired wouldn't help anything, and he'd looked like he could use the rest.
She stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, shivering slightly as she got her fleecy bathrobe on and then hurried back to her room to get dressed.
Ten minutes later she was stepping into the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea.
She hummed under her breath as she considered her options for breakfast. She was the only one who even bothered with the first meal of the day on the weekends, while everyone else chose to wait until lunch or weren't at the house to eat anyway. Sometimes she just chose cereal and toast, but she was feeling elaborate that morning, and, if their unexpected new housemate was going to make an appearance, it would be nice to have food made for him. Especially considering how much of Priscilla's warm, herby chicken and dumplings he'd put away the night before.
That settled it, and she pulled out a large mixing bowl and began gathering the things she needed to make waffles from the cupboards.
As usual, she hummed while she worked, letting songs drift aimlessly in and out of her head as she moved around the sundrenched kitchen.
When the kettle boiled she brewed her favorite cinnamon mint tea, and let it steep while she whisked eggs in a smaller bowl.
"What are you making?"
Naomi jumped, nearly sloshing egg whites all over the counter. Apparently she'd been so absorbed in her task that she'd missed the sound of Samel's footsteps on the stairs.
She turned her head, and there he was, hovering in the doorway of the kitchen, looking unsure.
She'd been half convinced that she had been misremembering how large he was, but nope. He was definitely as big as she'd thought. He had to duck his head just to stand in the doorway, and she was sure that he had nearly two feet on her. Naomi had never seen anyone that tall before, but it worked for him. He was broad and muscular enough that it was all in proportion, and everything from his biceps to his thighs seemed like they could crush a man.
He had skin that seemed tanned rather than just dark, and his eyes were a rich brown that seemed to glint and glow under the kitchen lights. His hair was dark and cut short, and he had a clean cut look to him that made him seem younger than he probably was. All in all, he was very attractive, and Naomi blinked for a moment before shaking her head.
"Breakfast," she said, motioning for him to come in. "Are you familiar with breakfast?"
A ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. "Yes," he said. "I am. And I'm..." He trailed off.
"You're?" Naomi prompted.
"I'm hungry," Samel admitted, looking a bit sheepish.
She laughed at that. "I'm not surprised. You're a very large person. Have a seat, and I'll make you some waffles."
"Waffles?"
While she couldn't be sure, of course, she was confident that amnesia didn't wipe all the details of a person's memory. Just who they were and where they were from. So if he'd had waffles before, Naomi was willing to bet that he'd remember. Just what was this man?
"You'll like them," she said. "Sit."
He looked like he was on the verge of saluting her, which said more than it didn't about his background, and he dropped into a chair at the small kitchen table and proceeded to watch her every move.
It didn't feel predatory at all, and she was good at knowing when someone was thinking shady thoughts about her after spending plenty of time running away from creepers on the streets, more just curious. Like he didn't know what to make of her. That wasn't unusual. Most of the new people to the house spent their first few days trying to figure her out, and she just let them get on with it.
"Any insights in the night?" she asked him, glancing over her shoulder.
"What do you mean?"
"I dunno. In the movies and books, whenever someone's suffering from memory loss they have dreams about whatever it is they can't remember, you know? And then they wake up wondering if it was a real memory or if it was just a dream."
Samel furrowed his brow, clearly trying to think. "I dreamed of fire," he said finally.
"No surprise there. That really is a neat trick you can do with the whole whoosh thing." She mimicked the hand motion he'd made when he'd been staring down those things.
"Are you really not afraid of me?" Samel wanted to know.
"Why would I be?" she asked.
"The...whoosh thing, as you put it," he said. "How do you know I won't hurt you?"
"Do you want to hurt me?"
He shook his head vehemently. "No, of course not, I only...I don't know how much control I have over it. I don't even remember what it is. I could..." He trailed off again.
Naomi tipped her head to one side and looked at him. There was tension and worry in every line of his body and face, and her heart went out to him. If she'd woken up one morning with strange powers, it was hard to say how she'd react. Although, she supposed it was different to not remember you had them in the first place.
"You could," she agreed gently. "But I don't think you will. I think you have more control than you think."
"How do you know that?" he asked, and there was an edge of desperation to his tone that made her want to help him.
"Think of it like this," she said. "You said you woke up in the middle of the wreckage of whatever put you in this position in the first place, right?" Naomi waited for him to dip his head in confirmation before she continued. "I bet you were scared then. Freaked out. Volatile. Did you burn anything up then?"
"I...no. The first time I used the fire was when those things were coming for you."
Naomi nodded and gestured with her whisk. "Exactly. You didn't use the fire until you were using it to protect us. Which seems to imply that it's not triggered by your emotions. Maybe you used to use it to protect people and the power still knows that's the case, even if you don't remember." She shrugged and turned back to the bowls, adding the fluffy egg whites to the batter.
When she moved to get the waffle iron heated up, Samel was still staring at her. "What?" she asked.
He shook his head and lowered his eyes to the table. "I don't know. Just. When you said that, I felt...something."
"Something that makes you think I'm right?" she asked, grinning.
H
is answering smile was small, but it was there. "Perhaps."
"Then that's all that matters."
Naomi had been curious about how many waffles Samel would eat. She remembered when she was a little kid, her dad would make waffles on Sundays, using the ancient waffle iron that he'd gotten from his mother when she'd died. It was cast iron and made huge, circular waffles that took up an entire plate. One particular morning, he'd told her that if she could eat three waffles on her own, he'd give her twenty dollars.
Twenty bucks was a lot to a seven or eight year old kid, and she'd tried her hardest, but had barely made it through one and a half waffle sections before she'd had to give up.
Now, she had one of those newer waffle irons that did four square waffles at a time, and she usually managed to eat all four and then maybe part of another if she was really hungry.
Samel had already put away twelve and was still eating.
She was glad she'd made extra batter.
"So," she said, licking syrup from her knife before she cut another square away. "You like waffles."
Samel looked up and nodded, eyes bright. "Yes, thank you. They're very good."
Naomi smiled. "No problem. I wanted to talk to you a bit about how living here works."
It was impressive how quickly Samel tore himself away from shoving waffles into his mouth so he could give her his full attention. It was also something she wasn't used to. She blinked and then cleared her throat. "Right. So. Most of the people who live here have jobs or go to school. The house is already paid for and the utilities are covered. Those who can afford to, give a rent contribution every month. It's not a lot, just enough to make sure we can afford to fix stuff when it breaks and that we have enough money for groceries and food and stuff. Everyone who lives here has been in a vulnerable place before. I'm not going to go into details because I don't believe in telling other people's stories for them, but just know that they've all got history. We've all got history, I guess. I'm no exception. Anyway, I'm just letting you know because you have to be sort of...careful. With what you say. You never know what might set someone off."
"What sets you off?" Samel asked, and the way he said the words made her sure he'd never said them before in his life.
"A few things, but we're not talking about me," Naomi replied. "The point is, just be careful. If you do offend someone, just apologize. We've all done it before, and we all understand. We also all help with the upkeep of the house. Dishes, vacuuming, sweeping, those kinds of things. There are too many of us living here for there to be any real system, even though we've tried, so whenever you have time and see something that needs doing, just jump in and do it. Dinner gets made on a rotating schedule, in theory, but some people can't cook to save their lives, so they get exempt. If no one wants to cook and we have enough extra house money, then we'll get pizza or something. Do you cook?" she asked.
Samel blinked and furrowed his brow. "I...don't think I do? At least, I don't think I'm familiar with the things you like to eat."
"That's fine. People who don't cook get to do extra dishes just so things balance out. Does that make sense?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yes, it does. And it seems very fair."
"That's the goal," Naomi said cheerfully. "I want people to feel safe here, but I also want everyone to have fair treatment. It takes some doing because there are so many of us, but it usually works out alright."
"Thank you," Samel said. "For letting me stay. I'll try not to be a bother."
“I don’t think you’re going to be a bother,” Naomi replied, smiling at him. “I think you’re going to be interesting.”
"So where'd he come from?"
Naomi looked up from the stack of mail she was sorting to see Finn standing in the doorway with Camille as his quiet shadow. There was something in his face that made her pause and give him her full attention. "Where did the rest of you come from?" she asked. "He came from where he came from."
"Is that just a fancy way of saying you don't know?" Finn asked, arching an eyebrow.
She sighed and dropped the mail back onto the table. "Is he still in the living room?"
"No," said Camille softly. "He went upstairs a bit ago."
Well, that was slightly better than having a conversation about a person behind their back when they were just sitting in the next room. "It's not really any of your business," she said. "Or mine, for that matter."
"I know, I know," Finn said. "But you have to admit that he's...weird. He's huge for one thing, and he talks like he's from another century. This morning he asked me how to work the shower."
"He has memory loss," Naomi said, trying to give Samel the benefit of the doubt, even though she was terribly curious where he could have come from that led to him not knowing what waffles were and how showers worked.
"That's not how memory loss works," Finn argued. "And you know it. He's weird. I'm not saying he shouldn't be here, I'm just wondering what he is. Which isn't something I ever thought I'd have to say."
"You said that about me when I first moved in," Camille countered, and Naomi laughed.
"Just let him be, Finn. He's not hurting anyone, and he doesn't remember where he came from anyway. Pestering him about it isn't going to help anything."
Finn made a face. "Okay, okay. You're right."
"I'm always right."
"Hey, come look at this."
Naomi blinked at the sound of Camille's voice coming from the living room.
"How does she do that?" Finn muttered.
"Who knows?" Naomi replied with a shrug. By all accounts, it was the least strange thing she'd had to deal with recently, so she'd take it. "What are we looking at, Cam?" she called, stepping past Finn and into the living room.
It was a cozy space with floral wallpaper that everyone hated but couldn't bring themselves to do anything about and an abundance of couches and chairs that were squashy and covered with various pillows and blankets. Someone was always falling asleep in front of the television, so it was prudent to have supplies handy.
Camille was perched on the back of the couch that faced the television, socked feet pressed to the cushions and hands holding her up. Her eyes were glued to the TV, and Naomi and Finn came to stand near her to watch.
The news was on, and the meteorologist was just giving her prediction for the rest of weekend's weather, right before the camera switched back to the pretty redheaded anchor behind the main desk.
"Our top story this evening is still the appearance of these strange creatures in the downtown square," she said, looking right into the camera. "No one can say for sure what they are or where they came from, but there have already been injuries and one casualty due to their strange appearance and aggressive behavior. Thomas Caine is live on the scene in the square with someone who claims to have seen these things in action in the early hours of the morning. Thomas?"
The camera cut to a tall, bearded man who was standing right in front of the Furniture Emporium. "Thanks, Trisha," he said. "I'm here in front of the Furniture Emporium with Carlisle Christie, who had a dangerous run in with these creatures. Can you describe them for me, Mr. Christie?"
The man, who was hunched and wearing at least three coats, nodded. "Sure, sure. They were tall, y'see. Real tall. And all spindly like. Real thin and gaunt looking. Grey skin like something out of the movies, and kinda hunched over with their arms dragging the ground. And they had these....these spikes! Or talons or something. I dunno what y'call 'em, but they were thick and sharp looking. Long as my forearm and coming outta their wrists. Made this awful scrape scrape scrape sound when they walked down the street."
Finn was snorting with amusement, and Naomi knew him well enough to know that his next comment was going to be about how some people needed to learn when to leave the bottle alone or something like that. But she was barely paying attention to him or Camille in that moment.
Because she knew exactly what this man had seen. Well. Not exactly since she still had no idea what they were o
r where they had come from, but she knew what he was talking about because they were the same things that had come after her. The same things that Samel had lit on fire right in front of her.
"How many of them were there?" Thomas Caine was asking the man.
"Four of 'em, just skulking around in the alley back there near the dumpsters. Looked like they were looking for something, only they weren't having much luck because they could barely see."
"Because they can't see in the dark," she murmured under her breath, heart pounding.
"What?" Finn asked, and when she looked up, he and Camille were both staring at her.
"Nothing," she said. "Just thinking out loud. So...what. You think this guy's crazy?"
"Drunk, probably. He looks like he smells like gin even through the tv screen."
Camille tipped her head to one side. "Or he really did see something."
"Yeah, like a really big dog or something," Finn said dismissively. "Not some weird bone claw creature thing. Those aren't real."
"How do you know?" Camille asked. "Have you ever seen one?"
"No, because they don't exist."
Naomi was barely paying attention to their argument, mind working overtime. She supposed it was foolish to assume that just because Samel had killed the ones who were after her, there weren't any more. They had to have come from somewhere, after all.
"Are you okay?"
She turned her head to see Finn looking at her, clearly concerned. "Yeah," she replied. "Sure. Why?"
"You just looked like you were spacing out for a bit."
"I'm fine," she said. "And if this guy thinks he saw those things, then maybe he did." No sooner has she said that, than they were going to another live witness who had claimed to see them, too. And then they interviewed a police officer who had found a woman bleeding on the sidewalk from a long, deep cut in her side.
By the time they were switching from this story to talk about sports, even Finn looked a bit concerned.
"So what, they're all drunk?" Naomi asked, pinning him with a look.
