The gun fire made me jump, and I nearly screamed, but covered my mouth. It was important they didn’t find us here. I knew that much. Not for our protection, but for theirs…? Why I cared about theirs, I didn’t know, but Kane cared. He wanted them alive.
Raw, the large one with red hair, would kill them, as soon as they opened the door or became a threat. Slate, the tall one with platinum hair, would as well. With less violence, but they would be just as dead. Quinn, my Spanish admirer, would play with them, but he would never get the chance before Slate or Raw turned them into corpses — and Quinn wouldn’t care they were dead either. He wouldn’t stop his brothers or even suggest they waited. He would be just as happy watching as playing with them. Like a cat, I thought to myself. Happy either way, as long as it was amusing.
More gunfire erupted from across the hall. The enemy was inside the room now. The carpet on the floors was too think to hear them moving, and I couldn’t see the laptop screens any longer. I curled up in the chair, pulling my legs close to my chest, and hugged myself. I thought about my garden salad, and the cherry tomato I had speared and tortured out of boredom. How long ago was that? Days? Hours? Another lifetime ago?
The shortest one, the one dressed in a long dress coat and loose clothing, nearly oriental in style, with vibrant golden hair, the cold one, moved toward the door of the room.
“Ore?” Slate asked, concerned.
Ore? Like iron ore? Is that what he called him. Why did he feel like the eldest, even though he looked like the youngest?
Ore reached the door, “I wish to speak to one of them.”
I expected Slate to object or say something, but he didn’t. He turned his attention back to Kane, as if the matter was settled.
Ore opened the door and stepped out into the hall way. Just as the door began to close I heard his calm voice saying, “Excuse me, may I…”
The door closing clipped off the rest.
I wanted Ore to come back inside. I felt fear for him out there. Those men had guns, big guns and they didn’t mind firing them at all. In fact, I believed they enjoyed firing them, and would like nothing better than to will Ore six feet under with one of their bullets.
Ore didn’t look threatening. Not at first glance. You had to stop, and really look at him to see that he was a threat. But they wouldn’t do that. They would see his wide blue eyes, and corn-silk golden hair and put bullets in his loose clothing. Then Ore would look at himself, with a curious expression, and die. I didn’t want him to die!
The door opened again, and Ore stepped inside. He turned, and made sure the door closed behind him, and then returned to the bed where Kane was, and began working on him again.
“Find what you wanted to know?” Slate asked.
“No, not really. Kane put too much value on them, again. I took care of them, though, if that’s what you’re asking.” This didn’t settle things, but it did give a hint of clarification despite the cloudiness surrounding the how. How did he take care of them? Again, I didn’t ask, partially because my vocal cords didn’t work and partially because how he took care of them wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other.
“Then,” Quinn said, rebuilding his long ponytail of thick locks, “we better keep him alive or we’ll never know what the hell is going on, and who set this up.” He glanced over at me, and his expression became severely protective.
“She’s safe,” Slate told him. “Don’t become distracted. Raw is useless right now. I don’t even think he’s trying. Raw? Go to the closet, and get her some clothing. Try to be useful doing something. Alright?”
Raw grumbled, but stepped away from the bed, and crossed the room to the bedroom door. His bulk didn’t appear to be as much as it was before. He didn’t have to duck to go into the bedroom area, or turn sideways. I studied him closer when he returned, carrying some folded clothing, which turned out to be a set of jeans, a thick t-shirt type top, panties and a bra. He was at least six inches shorter than I remembered. At least.
“Here,” he said.
“Thanks,” I answered, and took the clothing. “I’ll go change.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
After a pause, he said, “Well?”
Of sound mind
In the bathroom I stripped out of my panties, and got dressed. Of course, everything fit perfectly. I wasn’t even surprised. Kane was also aware of my preferred dress code it seemed. Casual Post Disaster Comfort. The jeans were beaten and baggy, the socks loose on the legs but tight on the feet. Running shoes were cross-trainers, with an orange stripe. He thought of it all. All the little details.
“Fucker better live,” I swore quietly, and sat down on the toilet with the lid closed. Across from me was a long mirror, and in the reflection I saw something sticking out, back by the wall, under the bowl. Reaching down, I found a cellphone complete with power cord.
Once it powered up, a program ran, and there was my man in video, “Hey Misty,” he said, his greeting low and personal, as he sat down on the toilet like I was, from the way the video looked.
“Hey,” I answered, even though I knew it was a recording.
He looked around and then back to the camera. “I guess I’m probably out there in the room right now, being worked on by my brothers. That’s awkward. They call me the subtle one, but they do it like it’s an excuse. Since I’m subtle, they don’t have to be. I hope they aren’t giving you grief.”
I shrugged, and hugged my knees up to my chest.
“So, I’m out of it. I suck at that. I can read just about anyone, except for me,” he confessed. “So, apologies, but you probably aren’t concerned too much about that right now. You want answers, and knowing me, I promised them.”
I nodded my head, but he was wrong. I was concerned about him. More concerned about him, than whether him, and his brothers were space aliens or some shit — which kinda seemed obvious at this point. What else could they be? Citizens of Atlantis or some crap? Who cared? I just didn’t want him dead.
His face looked quizzical for a moment, and the video cut. Then he had the shower in the background, with him standing. He started to say something, his eyebrow raised, and the video cut again, and he was back on the toilet, looking at the screen again, “This is impossible.”
He looked up at the ceiling, “You have no point of reference, no idea of what is going on, and I messed this all up. But I don’t have time to alter anything. If I try, you’ll die in that restaurant. Hell, we’re lucky I even found you in time. Fuck.”
He pinched his nose and thought for a moment. “Alright. This is all going to be bullshit. I thought I could tell you everything, and explain it all, but it’s just not going to work like that.”
He rubbed his eyes, as if he had been awake thinking all night. Now there was a plant standing in the background, and the room window.
“Your story,” he said, and the clip changed to him laying on a pillow. “You are looking for who is in bed with the Cartel. Who’s feeding them information. It’s a good story.”
“If I don’t get killed,” I muttered.
“If you don’t get killed, but there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have. See the guy behind this whole thing isn’t Cartel, and your story can’t touch him. The Cartel people might not see it that way, but he would. Even if he confessed to you during an interview, the only thing your story could do for him is advertisement. Hell, if he did learn about your story, he probably would’ve cleared a path and given you an exclusive.”
Giving the screen a quizzical look, I said, “Talk about bullshit.”
The clip changed, and now he was pacing in the room, “No, we haven’t gotten to the bullshit part yet. I’m serious. This guy, let’s call him C-Source, he’s using the Cartel, playing them for meat puppets. The Cartel understands this, but C-Source is giving them so much in value, that they don’t really care. What he’s doing isn’t illegal though. Not for a citizen of another country. He’s providing information, right? What’s ill
egal about that?”
I thought about that and couldn’t see a downside for C-Source.
The clip put Kane shaving at the sink. “See what I mean? You’re not a threat, you’re advertisement as a reporter because he wants power. The more people know about him, the more they’ll want him to do for them what he does for the cartel. And through that, his influence will grow. His ultimate goal is to run the show, to gain so much power that eventually, even the government is his. And that wouldn’t be a good thing at all. C-Source wants chaos, he wants blood, he wants to turn this world upside down, for no other reason than…well, he thinks it’d be fun. At least that’s what we believe. Me and my brothers are a threat to him. Through the same means that he’s gathering information, he’s figured out that we exist, and are a threat. But he doesn’t know who or what we are. Where we are or why we are a threat. He only knows we are.”
I crinkled up my nose. “Well, are you?”
The screen changed, and now he was in the shower washing his hair. “We’re an even bigger threat now, I can tell you that much.” The clip changed again, and now he was brushing his hair. “He fucked up. He tied you to us, which is correct. You are more important than anything to us — me and my brothers. We were all going to meet up here very soon anyway. That was in the stars. In fact, it was planned, and then you disappeared, and we have been searching for you using all of our resources. You showing up to the restaurant as frequently as you did, put you on C-Source’s radar. Couple that with the fact that he found out we’ve been looking for you and well…you can’t fault him for putting the pieces together the way he did. He connected you to us and doing so led him to believe that you weren’t actually a journalist, but an enemy. And now,” he said, laying back on the bed, wearing the shirt I would see him in at lunch, “we’re really a fucking threat.”
The clip changed, and it took me a moment to realize he was standing on his head.
This can’t be fucking real, I thought.
“This is realer than you think,” Kane said and I frowned. Him answering my thoughts through a video he made in the past was intriguing, sure. But it was also irritating as hell.
He stuck out his tongue, and then sat forward. “So C-Source is still after you, and we’re in the same spot. We’re not quite sure what he is. A power, possibly. But we’re not one-hundred percent sure. What we’re sure about, however, is that we need to find him and work this out, before he succeeds in killing you. Since he’s tied you to us, even if you stop your story now, and print a retraction of your theory and apologize publicly — again, that’s not his worry. C-Source’s worry is me, and my brothers — and he’s equated you with us. So, his worry is you walking around on the earth.”
“So, what do I do?” I asked.
“You finish your story of course. When in doubt, attack,” he said. “Now, I’ve run out of time. My brothers will have to fill in the gaps. Ore is likely the best to ask, but Raw is good too. Either one. For this, the other two will be all thumbs, and start you off at the Big Bang, then start giving you apple pie recipes.”
No time for pie
Raw stood between the bath and the bed area, facing sideways a little, with an expression of deep thought.
“Hey,” I said, walking gently up to him. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”
He turned his head slowly, coming up from depths and decompressing as he rose, “No.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t want that.”
A flicker of confusion came and cleared. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Not afraid — it’s not fear, it’s desire, Raw. I wouldn’t like it, that I had upset you,” I said, hoping it was convincing enough, because he did scare me. His size was just wrong. His strength equally upsetting, just standing next to him. “While they’re busy, could you fill me in on a few things?”
Raw looked over to the bed, “Slate is …”
“No,” I said, interrupting him. “I don’t want an apple pie recipe and the history of your family back to the Big Bang. I just want a few answers.”
Raw turned back to me, amusement in his eyes, “Apple pie? Where did you hear that? He does that, you know. Everything is a pie.”
I looked around Raw to the bed. “He looks like a pie man. So, maybe just a couple of answers, before I get the lecture and get taken to the kitchen?”
He appeared to have some issues with being the answer person, but after some internal struggle he nodded. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I need. If I need more I’ll ask Slate or Ore, right?” I said, putting my hand on his, and marveling at the size difference. Holy fuck!
This little assurance relaxed him further. “Right.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Ok, do you know who C-Source is?”
His eyebrows came together, but he nodded. I don’t think he was expecting such a direct question. Something about being aliens or something along those lines, maybe. But I really didn’t care what planet they were from. They were here, where I was, and I needed to survive. We could get into those discussions with beers on the beach sometime.
Raw reconsidered something before he spoke. “We need to find him. He’s dangerous.”
“Why? What makes him dangerous?” I asked, pulling him over to a long couch to sit with me.
He looked at the couch, and then to me. “Because he’s a power. Or at least we think he is.”
“And you are a power, right? So, C-Source is like you?”
“No, he’s nothing like me.”
“So, what is he?”
“I don’t know.”
I sat down, pulling him gently to join me, which after a doubtful assessment of the couch he did. “It’s like a black hole,” he said, sitting slowly, listening to the couch take his weight.
I wasn’t really up on my galactic physics or whatever the fuck covered black holes, “In what way?”
After a moment, divining he wasn’t going to crush the furniture, he spoke. “You can’t see them. They’re black.”
“Right…?” I prompted.
“But you can see what they do. You can see where everything goes black. How fast, how big, how much.”
“Ah,” I said. “Hey, that’s really good. I’m going to use that.”
He turned to me. “Use it?”
“I’m a writer,” I said, somewhat proudly. “A reporter.”
He nodded. “A good one.”
“You’ve read my stuff?” I asked, marveling at my ego, and vanity in this situation. Did I really have no sense of priority at all?
“All of it,” he said, looking over at the bed.
Wow! “Seriously? All of it?”
“Back to your poem book,” he agreed, returning his attention to me.
“The one I did in high school? No, you didn’t read that. No one reads that. No one.”
“I did,” he smiled. Then he looked up slightly, and quoted, “Over lake surface, swallows churn, sunlight bugs the trout yearning, rising…”
I threw up my hands, “Ok, ok, ok, ok, I believe you. Oh my god. That’s like the worst one.”
“It really is,” he agreed, his large voice ponderous.
I squinted at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “So, you see this person shaped black hole out there, and that person is a power. Right?”
He gives me a non-committal shrug. “Yes.”
“Why do you care?”
Raw rubbed his bearded chin, the red whiskers were thick like wire, but moved pliant under his fingers like they were soft and warm. I found myself staring at them, wanting to touch. “First, I suppose, because he wants to hurt you, but more because he doesn’t care.”
“You care, because he doesn’t care?”
At first he didn’t like that, but then he nodded. “Yes.”
“What doesn’t he care about?”
“No. It’s not a what or a subject. He doesn’t care,” he corrected me.
I had to think. Kane wasn’t the only subtle one in this family. Raw wa
s surprisingly adept. “Do you mean that he is careless?”
He nodded, but that wasn’t telling me much.
“How?” I pressed. “Is he indifferent? Or desperate? Does he act without discrimination? Is he, unwary?”
“Remiss. Shoddy. Slapdash,” Raw explained, and I felt a little impressed.
“He’s not doing what he should, but not because he doesn’t know — rather because he doesn’t give a shit,” I offered. “He’s smoking while filling up the gas tank.”
Raw nodded to this. “Yes. He won’t burn though.”
“Everyone else will,” I finished for him.
Raw agreed by frowning, showing his deep disapproval. “Husbandry is a position of honor, and should be addressed that way.”
Husbandry? “Taking care of those in your charge?” I offered.
“Cultivation, management of resources, guidance, growth. Those in the care of a power should not fear careless acts, and whimsy,” he said, in a hushed voice reserved for the sacred. “There are plenty of threats in this world already for the mortals.”
Mortals? Now I was curious, and a little scared. “Are you, immortal?” I asked, happy to hear I didn’t squeak when I did.
His large blue eyes met mine, and he nodded. “Yes, we all are. All five.”
“Kane is immortal?”
“Yes,” he agreed, and brushed something off his thigh. “That’s why I don’t understand why we are still here, doing this. We could be gone, and going back to Inanna’s House now. The time of the Age Choosing is here, and you are safe. Let Kane pass. It’s his fault.”
***
I had no further questions. Not for Raw. For the fabric of reality and all I held to be real and true — oh I had questions. Lots and lots of questions — but nothing further from Raw. Not now.
Why Alien from another Planet, was easy to accept, and Immortal shook my spine with panic and awe, I couldn’t tell, and didn’t understand. I did shake, was shaken — had the crap shook from me. So much so that I trembled for several minutes.
Raw expressed no awareness of my state. Then he stood and walked over to the desk and looked down at the three laptops.
Five Immortal Hearts Page 4
