Until Midnight (Alienated)

by Melissa Landers

  But now she didn’t want it anymore.

  Just the weight of the leather in her pocket made her stomach squirm. She wondered how offended Jaxen would be if she accidentally “lost” his gift. He didn’t know she could use Silent Speech, so he’d never find out if she lied. Maybe she could tuck the headband beneath her mattress when the transport reached L’eihr. By the time anyone discovered it, they’d never know whose it was.

  She’d just made her decision when a metallic clatter rang in her ears and vibrated the tabletop beneath her palms. She flinched hard and glanced up to find a new tray of food occupying the space across from her. Her gaze wandered higher and settled on a pair of expressionless silver eyes beneath a slash of chestnut brows. The teenage L’eihr never opened his mouth, but his stare said, Piss off. This table’s mine now.

  Cara darted a quick glance over both shoulders. The dining hall had filled quickly, rows of uniformed travelers sitting shoulder to shoulder on the benches. But there were plenty of vacant seats in the room, some of them directly behind her.

  Clearly, this standoff wasn’t about the table. It was personal.

  Which meant Cara wasn’t moving.

  She made a show of settling in, resting both elbows on the steely tabletop, and faking a bored yawn. Then she grinned for effect and tore off a chunk of letterblanket. She held the boy’s gaze as she brought the bite to her lips, then chewed with exaggerated slowness, pressing a hand over her heart and groaning with fake culinary rapture. To drive the point home, she arched a brow in the universal gesture for Game on, motherfasher.

  He accepted her challenge by plopping into the seat across from her and shoving a full serving of flatbread into his mouth. His dead-eyed glare gave her the heebie-jeebies, but Cara stared him down as they engaged in edible warfare. Bite for bite, she held her own…until her stomach began to feel like an overstretched water balloon. It was then that she began to see how foolish it was to challenge a teenage boy to an eat-off.

  Her appetite was no match for his. If she wanted to keep her table, it was time to call in the reinforcements: Troy Sweeney, two-time winner of the Midtown hot dog–eating contest.

  Cara used her com-sphere to message her brother, but he never accepted the connection. That could only mean he’d moved out of range, probably to the showers. L’eihrs were required to carry their com-devices at all times, but because Troy wasn’t a citizen, the rules didn’t apply to him.

  Just her luck.

  Her nameless opponent showed no signs of relenting. In fact, he now held a t’ahinni—ground meat wrapped in flatbread—in each hand and double-fisted his breakfast with a gusto that nearly triggered Cara’s gag reflex.

  As horrible as the letterblanket tasted going down, it would taste even worse coming back up, which was what would happen if she took one more bite. She rubbed her distended belly and decided there was no shame in walking away. Let him have the stupid table. What did she care?

  She stood from the bench and gathered her things, expecting the boy to sneer in victory or at least crack a cocky smile. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, he quietly stood up and mirrored her actions, going so far as to follow her to the waste receptacle and the tray collection bin at the other end of the dining hall.

  Sharing her table was one thing, but this crossed a line.

  When she locked eyes with the boy, her insides turned cold. A new emotion flickered behind his gaze, something achingly familiar and very human. It was malice. She’d seen it enough times to know. Like many others of his kind, he probably blamed her for the exchange student’s death. Cara wanted to tell the boy to leave her alone, that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she didn’t bother. Troy was right—she was a scapegoat, an easy outlet for the grief and anger that some L’eihrs didn’t know how to process.

  She turned on her heel and left the cafeteria with her head held high, but she only made it twelve paces before realizing the stranger had trailed her into the hallway. Her stomach dipped an inch, and then another when the slow click of his boots followed her around the next corner.

  Cara refused to glance over her shoulder and give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d unnerved her, but that didn’t stop her heart from rising into her throat. With each new footstep, she wondered if he was steadily closing the distance between them, waiting for the right time to lunge at her from behind.

  Without so much as a car key, she had no defenses. The puzzle links in her pocket weren’t long enough to wrap around her knuckles, and even if they were, she’d probably break her hand trying to land a punch. As panic set in, her peripheral senses started to go fuzzy, and she lost her bearings. A fork appeared in the hallway ahead, but she didn’t know which way to turn to get back to her room. Returning to the dining hall wasn’t an option, not with the boy at an arm’s length behind her.

  At the last moment, she decided to continue straight.

  She reached inside her tunic pocket and curled a hand around her com-sphere. Troy might not answer, but Aelyx would…unless his leaders had instructed him to silence his sphere during their meeting. It was a chance she’d have to take. Whatever the boy’s intentions, she didn’t want to play his game anymore.

  She brought the sphere to her lips and spoke the passkey to activate it. But before she had a chance to summon Aelyx, the extra set of footsteps fell silent and Cara glanced over her shoulder to find herself alone. The stranger must’ve turned down another hall when he’d seen her pull out her com-sphere.

  Or maybe his room was that way and she’d overreacted.

  Regardless, she blew out a sigh of relief.

  Perhaps the danger was in her head. This wouldn’t be the first time her path had crossed with another passenger’s. Once, she’d followed another L’eihr from her floor all the way to the infirmary, not because she had stalked him, but because she’d had a headache. It was probably a little egocentric to assume that everyone was out to get her.

  Cara tried to convince herself that her imagination had spiraled out of control, but deep down, it felt like a lie. If she was honest with herself, she had to acknowledge that the boy from the cafeteria had made it a point to intimidate her. And he’d succeeded.

  She stopped to draw a few calming breaths, then regained her bearings and made her way back to the room she shared with Troy.

  After that, she didn’t leave again.

  Ten hours pre-departure

  Aelyx

  He must’ve fallen asleep in his chair, because Aelyx awoke to the sharp jab of an elbow in his ribs, courtesy of Syrine, who sat beside him. He darted a quick glance around the table, relieved to see that nobody else seemed to have noticed.

  Syrine cast him a sideways look, arching her brow as if to say, You’re welcome. In response, Aelyx folded both arms and ignored her. If she thought he would thank her for this—or anything else—she was mistaken.

  He had nothing to say to her until she apologized.

  Even then, he didn’t think their friendship would ever be the same. Through Silent Speech last week, she’d probed his mind for his deepest fear—losing Cara—and then sought to bring that nightmare to fruition. Eron’s death was no excuse. Aelyx grieved for their friend, too—and he did it without inflicting misery on others.

  He wasn’t sure if he could ever trust Syrine again. Or if he wanted to try.

  “…to avoid a repeat of Eron’s slaughter.”

  The name refocused Aelyx’s attention to the head of the table, where Alona lectured them in the sleepy monotone unique to her generation. The light had nearly died from her eyes, but a sudden tightness at the corners of her mouth showed that her anger over Eron’s death hadn’t faded. Nor should it.

  Aelyx was still angry, too, though mostly at himself.

  “The humans have promised impenetrable protection this time,” she continued, extending a wrinkled hand toward Aelyx and Syrine. “They’ve allotted an entire unit of soldiers to your personal security detail. The man called Colonel Rutter will take custody
of you upon arrival on Earth, and afterward, you’ll never be alone.”

  She probably meant that as a message of comfort, but Aelyx had to suppress a groan. Toward the end of his stay with the Sweeneys, he’d experienced day-to-day life under the constant guard of the American military. He’d found the attention stifling, and truth be told, safety was an illusion. The soldiers’ presence hadn’t stopped a mob from storming Cara’s home—or beating her father half to death because he’d disguised himself as a L’eihr.

  If a human had the will to commit violence, he’d find a way.

  “In order to salvage this alliance,” Alona said, “both sides must be willing to forgive past transgressions.” Her voice took a hardened edge when she added, “But don’t mistake forgiveness for frailty. The humans need this alliance for their very survival. We do not. During your interactions with them, be cordial, but never grovel. Remember your place.” She tipped her head. “Do you understand?”

  Aelyx gave an enthusiastic nod in hopes that she’d dismiss him, but then the topic turned to public relations, specifically the means with which The Way proposed to undo the damage he, Syrine, and Eron had caused in blighting several fields of crops on Earth. Pinching both temples between his fingers, Aelyx slumped back into his chair and pretended to listen when his thoughts were with a girl on the other side of the ship.

  He wished The Way would delay the debriefing until tomorrow and call in with their spheres for a virtual meeting. Once he was away from Cara, they could consume an entire week for all he cared. But right now, with only a handful of hours to spend with her, each minute wasted inside this tomb felt like a year shaved off his life. Worse yet, he knew Cara felt the same way. It killed him not being able to give her what she needed.

  He rubbed his bleary eyes and hoped the kitchen staff had remembered to slow-roast the h’alaf the way he’d requested for his imitation Christmas dinner. The tiny fowl were the closest things to turkey he could find. He supposed they would taste good stuffed with breading, assuming he could stay awake long enough to eat them.

  Oh, to be in his bunk right now…

  “Aelyx!”

  He jerked awake again, this time to a voice sharper than an ice pick. Alona narrowed her eyes at him from across the room. He’d never seen her composure crack like this—it’s how he knew he was in trouble. Face heating with embarrassment, he sat up in his chair and tried to disregard the stares of everyone in his periphery.

  He locked eyes with Alona and told her privately, Please accept my apology. It won’t happen again. To make sure of it, I’ll stand for the rest of the meeting.

  Why are you not rested, brother? she asked. Are you unwell?

  Instead of forming a response, he projected snippets of memory from last night, when he’d foregone sleep in favor of recreating his misinterpretation of Cara’s holiday. Had I known about today’s debriefing, he told Alona, I would have made sure I was prepared.

  She closed the connection between their minds and watched him for a moment. When she engaged in Silent Speech with him again, he sensed a trace of levity in her mood.

  You are dismissed to your chamber, she said. One corner of her lips hinted at a grin. Or that of your l’ihan. But when we reach the spaceport and you’re summoned for departure, I expect you to report to the docking station at once—not a second later.

  You have my word, he promised.

  Bring Miss Sweeney, if you choose, Alona said. I assume she’d like to see you off. She can return to this transport with your shuttle pilot.

  Aelyx thanked her, knowing this wasn’t an offer The Way typically extended. On his planet, only approved travelers and vendors were permitted at space stations. Friends remained at home with no fanfare, and L’eihrs generally didn’t understand the human custom of accompanying loved ones to their vessels before a voyage.

  But he understood it now.

  He excused himself from the meeting with a two-fingered salute to the nine other members of The Way. Briefly, he met Jaxen’s gaze, and Aelyx concealed a satisfied smile knowing the young man would be trapped in this eternal meeting, powerless to meddle.

  Then Aelyx left the conference and headed for the nearest washroom to splash cool water on his face. He wouldn’t be of any use to Cara asleep.

  Seven hours pre-departure

  Cara

  Cara frowned at the picture she’d drawn of two young lovers holding hands in the snow, their noses touching in an Eskimo kiss. She’d spent an hour on this scene, and the reindeer in the background looked like a diseased jackal. She had never considered herself artistic—as evidenced by her crooked stick figures—but deprived of glitter, glue, markers, and proper scissors, she didn’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell of creating anything that vaguely resembled a Christmas card.

  She couldn’t give this garbage to Aelyx.

  Cara swore under her breath. Aside from a few protein packets and some L’eihr uniforms, nothing on this ship belonged to her. Not that Aelyx would find any of her possessions useful since he was neither human nor a teenage girl. She didn’t have a single credit to her name, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know how to spend it.

  “What can I give Aelyx that he doesn’t already have?” she asked herself.

  A snort came from the top bunk. Troy suggested, “A life.”

  “Shut it.” She smacked the mattress above her. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  His head appeared upside down, and he peered at her drawing. “Is that a donkey? It’s the nativity scene, right?”

  “Not important,” she said, flipping the paper over. “Because I’m not giving it to him.”

  “Probably a good idea…unless you don’t like him very much.” Troy grinned. “In which case, add my name at the bottom.”

  Cara glared at her brother. “Please tell me you have a girlfriend on L’eihr. Because I can’t wait to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

  Troy elected not to answer, but the way he lowered both brows before whipping his head out of view told her she’d plucked a nerve.

  “You do have a girlfriend!” Cara said, fiendishly rubbing her palms together. He sure worked fast. He’d only lived on L’eihr for a few months. “Who is she?”

  “She’s nobody.”

  “Nice try.” Let him play it coy. She’d figure out the mystery L’eihr’s identity sooner or later. “It’s probably not anyone on the transport, or you’d be trying to sneak out at night instead of me.”

  “Drop it, okay?” Troy said, his tone darkening. “She’s not my girlfriend. She never even looks at me. Any shot I might’ve had died along with that L’eihr kid on Earth. She probably hates me now, just like everyone else does.”

  Cara felt a prickle of sympathy for her brother’s unrequited alien love. Sometimes she forgot that he had a heart. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll drop it if you’ll help me think of a Christmas present for Aelyx.”

  He grumbled something that she interpreted as consent.

  “You’re a guy,” she said, stating the obvious. “What do you think he wants?”

  “I know exactly what he wants,” Troy told her. “And he’s not going to get it.”

  “Can you stop being a jackass and help me?”

  Troy huffed a loud sigh. Even though the mattress blocked her view, she could practically see him flinging both arms in the air. “I dunno. All he probably wants is to be around you. Just spend some time with him and don’t overthink it.”

  “But it’s our last night together,” she said. “And we’re celebrating Christmas. I want to do something special.”

  “We don’t do anything special at home,” Troy told her. “After the presents, we just sit around all day playing movie-chug.”

  He had a point.

  Back home, one of their family traditions was turning movies into drinking games, minus the alcohol. Mom would make the most amazing root beer floats—with homemade ice cream and a dash of vanilla syrup—but nobody was allowed to take a sip until a designated mome
nt during the film, usually a tag word. A few years ago, Troy had chosen Scarface and told everyone to drink each time a character dropped the f-bomb. The root beer floats didn’t last long that night.

  Cara’s lips parted as an idea came to mind. “Did you load any movies on your laptop before you left Earth?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “No Christmassy ones, though. Mostly action flicks.”

  “That’ll work.”

  There was only one downside to movie-chug—the frequent bathroom breaks. Maybe in the spirit of Christmas and mistletoe, she and Aelyx would kiss with each tag word instead. He’d love that. With a few tweaks, she could easily transform the bottom bunk into an impromptu movie theater.

  Her spirits lifted—this activity had tradition potential written all over it.

  Cara raided the closet for some extra blankets and rolled them into makeshift pillows, since those didn’t come standard on L’eihr beds. And because her brother was unlikely to budge, she tucked a few sheets beneath the upper mattress to create a privacy curtain around the lower bunk. The ambience reminded her more of a kid’s blanket fort than a romantic haven, but beggars couldn’t be choosy.

  She’d just finished scrolling through the media files on her brother’s laptop when a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Cara’s heart leapt with excitement as she palmed the security pad—but it sank just as quickly.

  One glance at Aelyx and she could see that he was dead on his feet.

  The whites of his eyes were webbed with scarlet, and the hollows beneath were so dark it looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. There was no way he’d make it through a movie, or even the opening credits.

  So much for her big plans.

  He flashed a tired grin and lifted a covered platter for show. “I picked up our dinner,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, then cleared his throat. “A pair of h’alaf stuffed with herbed bread crumbs. It’s the closest bird to turkey we have on board, similar to your quail.” He lifted the cover, and a waft of savory steam escaped. Two golden-brown roasted birds rested atop a beige pile of mash. “And imitation mashed potatoes,” he added, “made from a mixture of L’eihr root vegetables.”