by M. L. Ryan
The restaurant was packed; it was located within an old fashioned, western-themed town so there was never a lack of tourists jockeying for a table alongside the locals. Alex, Sebastian and I arrived a few minutes late, but we managed to find Rachel amongst the throng of hungry customers. I noticed she was alone; I had expected her boyfriend, Harrison, a hot, hunky fireman, to join us.
When I finally navigated through the crowd to where she was waiting, I gave her a huge hug. Eventually, she pulled away and held me at arm’s length while she gave me the once-over.
“You look fantastic, Hails. I figured you would lose some weight, but you don’t just look thinner. Except for the lack of spray-on-tan, you could be a Figure Competitor.”
Tonight, I was wearing a sleeveless tank top that emphasized my now nicely-cut biceps and a pair of form-fitting skinny jeans with high-heeled sandals that made my legs look long and lean. While even I had to admit that I was looking pretty fine these days, her compliment — comparing my physique to that of female bodybuilders who intentionally forego gigantic muscles and bulging vasculature — sent a warm flush of embarrassment across in my cheeks.
Rachel continued to examine me, and as she scrutinized my face, she shook her head in disbelief. “I was worried that you might need to see a dermatologist or a plastic surgeon, but there’s no scarring at all.”
I felt bad perpetuating the fake disease ruse, so I answered with “Yeah, I’m happy with the way everything turned out,” and quickly changed the subject. “Where’s Harrison?”
“He decided to take an extra shift to cover for someone whose wife just had a baby. He said to say hello, though.” She quickly moved over to greet Alex, and then glanced expectantly at Sebastian, waiting for an introduction.
I had forgotten that they had technically never met. Sebastian had “seen” Rachel many times while he inhabited my body. In fact, he was rather enamored of her. Not that I could really blame him, she was gorgeous. But after a while, his Rachel-themed fantasies, which he freely shared, got on my nerves.
“Rachel, this is Sebastian; he’s a colleague of Alex’s. Sebastian, this is my best friend, Rachel.”
Sebastian stepped toward Rachel and grasped her proffered hand, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. He was a handsome man; tall and muscular with shoulder length, dark, straight hair. A smattering of grey at the temples gave him the distinguished air of a man perhaps in his mid-forties. Of course, he only looked forty. He was, in fact, much, much older. Like born-before the-Revolutionary-War old. I had been told — mostly by him — that he was quite the player. And now that I was getting a look at him in action, I could sort of see why women would find him so appealing. I knew he already thought Rachel was stunning and sexy, but now he was looking at her like she was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen and she was the only other person in the room.
“Rachel, Hailey has told me so much about you. Her description, however glowing, could never do justice to your beauty.” Sebastian’s voice, deep and full of promise, flowed in silky, seductive waves. Rachel smiled back at him, and didn’t pull her hand away. For a moment, he even started to draw me in with his bewitching tone. Then I realized that he might be bespelling her. I narrowed my eyes and shot him a dirty look.
Alex must have seen my disdain, because he moved in closer and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Is Sebastian using magic on Rachel to try and seduce her? The way she’s looking at him, she will need a drool bib shortly.”
He surveyed Rachel for a moment, then turned his head slightly to scrutinize Sebastian. They had finally broken their physical contact, but now they were leaning into each other, enmeshed in conversation.
“I don’t sense any magic,” Alex concluded. “He isn’t doing anything to influence her, at least nothing arcane. It’s just Sebastian. Women adore him,” he finished with a shrug.
I huffed out an exasperated sigh. What the hell? Sebastian was certainly handsome, and could be charming when he wanted to be, but he was way too full of himself for my taste. Of course, maybe being full of him for so long skewed my perception somewhat. But while it was one thing to have to put up with his spiritual-self inside of me, there was no way I wanted his physical-self inside of Rachel. And why is she so enthralled anyway? You’d think such a purported babe-magnet would have better pick-up lines.
I was just about to break up their tét-a-tét, when the hostess told us our table was ready. As we all started to follow her to the other side of the restaurant, I lagged behind and pulled Sebastian aside.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I growled once Alex and Rachel were far enough away from us. “Rachel is in a committed relationship.”
Sebastian placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not trying to seduce her. I can’t help it if women find me irresistible.”
“Well, try to be less appealing, Casanova.”
“Ah, Giacomo,” he remarked with a wry curve of his lips. “Nice fellow, eager student. But I must take some exception to your comparison. While his name has become synonymous with the art of seduction, in truth, it was I who taught him everything he knew.”
“Really,” I said skeptically. “History isn’t my best subject, but wasn’t he born way before you?”
“No, it is actually the other way around. I met him around 1742 or 43, I believe. He was not yet twenty, and I was already close to forty-five.”
“I thought Alex said you were two hundred and fifty-ish?”
He removed his hands and began to guide me toward where Alex and Rachel had been seated. “It is not just a woman’s prerogative to lie about one’s age, my dear.”
Sebastian did tone down his awesomeness during dinner. Or at least he maintained a more socially acceptable distance between himself and Rachel. And once the “leaning-in” was halted, Rachel seemed to regard him with more appropriate attentiveness. Maybe his allure was relative to the distance between him and his intended alluree. If that was the case, all I had to do to make sure Rachel was safe was to somehow maintain a three-foot, Kess-free zone around her at all times.
I was probably wasting my time worrying about it. Now that I was a model of paranormal restraint, there was no reason for Sebastian to stick around. It’s not that I had anything against him, if fact, I was quite fond of him as long as he wasn’t riding my ass or working me to the point of collapse. But it would be nice to not have three adults living in a space that was snug even for one. I never understood why Sebastian wouldn’t get a nice hotel room, but I suspected it was another one of his fiendish ways to keep me on edge during my schooling.
In any event, we finished our meals and after lingering over coffee for at least another hour, we settled the tab — including a big tip for the waitress whose table we commandeered for so long — and then headed for our cars. I gave Rachel a hug goodbye, and made tentative plans to meet up again in the next few days. She didn’t seem at all enthralled by Sebastian at this point; their parting was cordial and brief. But I did notice Sebastian never took his eyes off of her as she walked the short distance to her vehicle.
I gave him a perturbed look when he glanced my way. Sebastian had boasted of a penchant for casual sex with multiple partners; numbers so vast, Wilt Chamberlain’s claim of bedding ten thousand women paled in comparison. But as much as I was put-off by Sebastian’s mega-promiscuity, he wasn’t a scumbag. As I drove us back to my place, I decided there was little chance that he would go out of his way to make a serious play for my attached best friend, so I decided to let it go.
When we pulled into the driveway, there were three black Mercedes-Benz limousines parked in front of the house, engines idling. Their headlights were off and there was no interior illumination either. Alex, who was in the passenger seat, visibly tensed at the sight and held his hand up to silently signal me to stay put. Did he really think I was planning to leap out and ask whoever they were in for a nightcap? I peered into the rearview mirror, and noticed Sebastian pulling a semi-automatic handg
un from the small of his back beneath his jacket. In unison, the back doors of all three autos were flung open, and shadowy figures exited. It was difficult for me to tell for certain, because my headlights were only pointed at the trunk of the last limo, but it looked like there were at least eight callers. The group gathered together, and then began walking slowly toward us. They stopped a few feet to the right of our car, still avoiding the headlights, then fanned out to form a line. I could just make out some vague features, but most appeared to be male. Two of the eight, both a bit more athletically built than the rest, continued toward us, but at a quicker pace than when they had been part of the whole.
Okay then. Apparently, the pleasant part of our evening has ended.
~4~
Fear rose in me and I instinctively pushed back into the seat, in a likely futile attempt to put as much distance as possible between me and whoever — or whatever — these folks were. In my peripheral vision, I noticed that Sebastian had leveled his weapon at the approaching figures. The two front-runners made their way into the beams of light pointing out in front of my RAV4 and stopped, hands raised.
In the glare of the headlights, my brain registered something familiar about them. Before I could make a positive identification, I heard Alex let out a huge breath and the tension ratcheted down a few hundred percent. Lowering the window, he exclaimed, “Hounds in heat! Identify yourselves next time. Sebastian almost blew your brains out.”
I, too, let out a breath that I wasn’t aware I had been holding and looked into the smiling faces of Aiden and Cortez, two Courso Xyzok who had helped us in the past. I referred to them, at least in my mind, as Opie and Mr. Mochaccino because Aiden had a baby face and red hair and he reminded me of the kid in Mayberry — which I had seen a few times on one of those cable stations that specialize in old-school TV shows — and Cortez had skin the color of a creamy expensive coffee concoction. Alex and Sebastian stepped out of the vehicle and Alex grabbed Aiden’s freckled throat and pretended to strangle him.
“Sorry about that,” Aiden croaked out. “We tried to tell them to wait until we properly identified ourselves, but you know how the big-wigs never listen to us.”
“With regard to the two of you, who could blame them,” Sebastian barked as he returned the now unnecessary pistol to its hiding spot in his waistband. You’d think a gun would be superfluous for beings capable of flinging things with a mere thought. Supernatural power was useful in a fight, but only one-in-a-million Courso could out-magic a bullet.
Me, I was still frozen in place. My brain had figured out that we weren’t really in danger, but I guess my body hadn’t quite gotten the message. As I concentrated on regaining normal breathing along with the use of my limbs, I could see that the other six people had moved forward and were now standing near the passenger-side door.
There were four men and two women. Three of the men sported dark, knee-length jackets that were fitted at the waist and flared out at the bottom. On their right lapel, each had an elaborate medallion — similar but not exactly alike — much like a coat of arms. The fourth guy and one of the women, who both seemed a bit younger than the others, were less formally attired in what I considered standard job interview garb — nondescript suit jackets, neckties and gray trousers.
The last woman was clad in a richly colored, calf-length dress with flowing long sleeves. She even had a wide sash, worn diagonally across her chest and dotted with medals and elaborate badges. Sort of like a mix between Girl Scout and beauty pageant contestant sashes, except hers was adorned with gold, silver and precious stones and was made of fine, iridescent cloth. And she didn’t look like she was here to sell cookies or twirl flaming batons.
She also was the oldest looking Coursodon I had ever seen. Not that I had met that many, but she had the appearance of a 60-year-old human, albeit a really, really fit one. She was elegant and tall, with white hair swept off her face into an elaborate braided chignon at the nape of her neck. Nevertheless, she looked like she could still hold her own in a brawl. Given what I knew about Alex and Sebastian and their “youthful” countenance, it probably meant she was born somewhere between the writing of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Columbus’ first excursion across the Atlantic.
Miss Courso Eagle Scout stepped away from the others and stood before Alex and Sebastian. They bowed their heads and crisply saluted her by placing their right hands onto the opposite shoulder. She responded by doing the same, and then embraced both men warmly.
She began to speak in what I assumed was Courso as it had no recognizable similarity to any language I had ever experienced. I had no clue what they were talking about, but at least everyone looked relaxed and friendly. After a few minutes, Alex turned and motioned to me to get out and join him. As I walked over, I nodded at Opie and Mochaccino. They too were smiling, so I was fairly confident that I wasn’t about to meet an untimely end.
Alex placed a reassuring hand on the small of my backand gestured toward the woman.
“Hailey, this is Karttyx, the esteemed leader of the Xyzok. Karttyx, this is Hailey Parrish.”
I had no idea what I was supposed to do; Alex had been quite remiss in my education on how one greets an esteemed leader, much less his esteemed leader. Given that I was not a Xyzok, I didn’t think it was correct to do the head-bow fist-across-chest greeting. Fortunately, Karttyx was much more adept at these sorts of social pleasantries because while I was still dithering over the proper protocol, she extended her hand and grasped mine firmly.
“I am so very happy to meet you, Hailey. Please excuse our unnerving entrance. I don’t travel to this dimension very often and I always miscalculate the inter-dimensional time change. We thought we were arriving mid-day. We didn’t mean to alarm any of you.”
Karttyx smiled cordially as she spoke. And not one of those typical bureaucrat smiles; she actually seemed as if she was really happy to be making my acquaintance. Either that, or Courso public servants had to have some acting chops to move up in the ranks.
Again, I was at a loss for words. Okay, actually I had a lot of things I really wanted to say, like, “Why would anyone be alarmed when a hoard of unknown people appear unannounced out of the darkness?” or “Not the best idea to seemingly ambush two well-trained, deadly inter-dimensional enforcers.” Instead, I settled for a polite, “No problem.”
Alex leaned down so that his lips brushed my ear. “Perhaps we should invite everyone inside,” he whispered.
“Oh. Of course,” I sputtered. “Please, all of you; let’s go in the house.”
As soon as I extended the invitation, however, I frantically tried to remember the last time I had dusted or if there were dirty dishes in the sink. Not that my place was ever horribly messy. The tiny guest house I called home was way too small to not keep it in a semi-orderly state at all times. It was compact, but I loved the location and the rent was cheap. Plus, I’d never seen hide nor hair of the owners of the “big house,” as I liked to call the ginormous edifice located down the driveway. Crap. I should have listened when my mother told me to always keep my home sparkly clean, in case unexpected guests drop by. I guess the whole next to Godliness thing chafed at my inner agnostic.
I unlocked the door and rushed inside in an attempt to survey the premises before any of the V.I.P.’s entered. Fortunately, everything looked okay in the living room and kitchen. Unfortunately, all bets were off if anyone asked to use the bathroom, I feared.
As the group traipsed into my living room, I quickly realized that my worries about tidiness were minor compared to figuring out where everyone might sit. Karttyx gracefully alighted upon the sofa, and the other female and the younger man sat down on either side of her. That left three chairs — two from the kitchen and the one in the living room — for five people (I figured Alex, Sebastian and I could stand). Happily, Aiden and Cortez leaned against the kitchen counter near the sink, allowing seating for the other company. When it became obvious that we were three chairs short, Karttyx nodded at the
man sitting next to her, a shaved-headed brute who I figured must be her bodyguard. I thought it was her subtle way of telling him to get his burly butt off the couch, but instead of leaving, he raised his hand and gently flicked his fingers upward. And three small chairs materialized in front of us. Alex and Sebastian sat, and as I was about to do the same, it occurred to me that I should offer refreshments.
“Would anyone like a drink?” I asked as I made my way to the kitchen and perused the contents of the refrigerator. There wasn’t that much in there: some juice, chocolate milk, one can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer that someone had brought to a party I had about two years ago. Not a terrific assortment. I closed the fridge door and said, “I could make coffee.”
Karttyx looked expectantly at me. “Do you have any alcoholic beverages? The libations in your dimension are far superior to our own. It’s always a treat for us.”
Huh. I pegged them as a bunch of teetotalers. I’m not sure why; maybe because they seemed so formal.
“Of course, let me check what I have.” I rifled through the kitchen cabinet where the booze was stashed. Luckily, Alex and Sebastian had expanded my selection beyond my usual, inexpensive tequila. “Well, there’s some red wine, Grey Goose, a couple of single malt scotches, Laphroaig and Glenfarclas, tequila, oh and mezcal….”
“I’ll have a mezcal,” Karttyx proclaimed.
The rest requested scotch, except for Aiden, who inexplicably wanted to try the ancient Pabst Blue Ribbon. Cortez and Alex helped me assemble the drinks, which mercifully were all ordered straight. I distributed them before I finally sat down, clutching my Kirkland-brand tequila, which was in a coffee mug because I had run out of regular glasses.
Karttyx leaned forward, raised her glass, and said, “Arriba, abajo, al centro y pa’dentro,” and downed her drink. The rest followed suit, and I hastily chugged mine as well.
