by Jeff Altabef
The pretzel tightens as we reach the lobby. Troy must sense my apprehension because he grabs my hand; his warmth and certainty make me feel better.
The lobby is empty, so we drift past Stuart’s desk toward the hallway to the left, where I shove open a plain oak door with a brass sign that reads “Private Dining Room.”
Already seated, Blake and Akari look up as we enter. They both smile and nod, but their anxious expressions tell me they’re also eager to meet the Host. Akari wears a plain gray T-shirt, and Blake has on an expensive-looking navy polo shirt with a fancy logo that hangs on his thin frame.
A long rectangular table with eighteen chairs fills most of the room. The table is divided into fourths with each one of our symbols carved into the wood in the different boxes, and a crystal chandelier hangs over the center of the table, which provides the only light in the room.
The table is set for five people—five people. My spirits drop. We’re five without the Host. What does that mean?
Blake and Akari face each other on the far end of the table, sitting in front of the boxes matching their signs.
We settle into the two empty chairs next to Akari, close to where the twisted arrows are carved. “No sign of the Host yet?” I ask them.
“Just us so far.” Blake slides the menu toward me, which is printed on pale yellow linen paper with elaborate cursive words scrolled across it. There’s something for each of us: New England Clam Chowder, assorted sushi pieces, grilled salmon, and bangers and mash.
My stomach growls, the only thing I’ve eaten all day being the cold soup Troy gave me. Just reading the menu makes my mouth water.
“We won’t go hungry.” Troy licks his lips.
“You guys haven’t met this Host yet?” Akari asks.
“Not yet,” answers Troy.
Blake points to a clock on the wall. “Well, he’s already fifteen minutes late, isn’t he? What could he possibly be doing that’s more important than this?”
Akari rolls her eyes, and I shrug.
Just then the door flings open and bangs against the wall.
Bam!
Connor strolls in with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face, holding a half finished water bottle in his hand. “You haven’t started the party without me, have you?” He saunters toward Blake and settles next to him. “I see the elusive Host hasn’t joined us yet.”
Troy huffs lightly. “Wow, nothing gets past you.”
Connor leans forward, but before he can respond a waitress in her twenties strolls into the room holding a silver tray with five soup bowls. She’s dressed in black, has a golden tan, a thin build, full lips, intelligent blue eyes, and is otherwise gorgeous. Her dirty blonde hair cascades into a waterfall of ringlets that ripple as she walks.
I’ve always wanted curly hair, but mine is pin straight. I tried to make it curly once, and it turned into a total disaster. Imagine frizzy snakes that puffed from my head at weird angles that would have embarrassed Medusa.
The waitress places a bowl in front of each of us. “My name is Sydney and I’ll be your server for the evening. The Host is delayed. He sends his apologies and wants you to enjoy dinner. He’ll join you when he’s available.”
Her husky voice smolders across the room like heat from red-hot pieces of coal. She beams a bright smile at us, but her eyes linger on Troy. He has that effect on women, even older women.
I immediately hate her and imagine strangling her as she leaves the dining room.
“Terrific.” Blake looks at Sydney as she closes the door with a question in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else.
Troy grabs a spoon. “It could be worse. He might’ve wanted us to wait until he showed up.”
Everyone but Connor starts eating. He stares at Troy for a moment and drinks him in with an odd look on his face. “No offense, but I don’t understand what you’re doing here, mate. They’ve monkeyed around with our DNA and made us into....” He smiles at Akari. “Well... different. We’ve got some bloody obligation to save the planet and all, but you seem normal enough.”
I don’t like the tone in his voice, implying that Troy’s not welcome. “He’s with me.” I add bite to my words to make sure he understands I’m serious. I glare at him to clarify, just in case he’s a bit dumb.
He lifts up his hands palm out. “I’m just asking.”
“I’m in the Order of the Twisted Arrows, so I’ve probably known about this longer than you guys.” Troy shrugs as he shovels another spoonful of soup into his mouth.
“What’s the story behind your Order?” asks Akari.
Troy leans back. “Juliet’s grandfather told me an old Native American prophesy. Once humans forget how to live in harmony with Mother Earth, the world will regenerate and humans will vanish. The dark spirit, Coyote, thinks that time has come. He wants Mother Earth to return to her natural state, the way she was before First Man.”
“Well, he’s probably right. We’re certainly messing up the planet. Climate change will affect everything and likely wipe us out,” Blake says.
Troy smiles. “Hopefully not yet. The Great Wind Spirit protects us. She wants to give us another chance to remember the old ways. The two spirits are locked in a battle over Mother’s Earth’s future.”
“Who are the bloody Deltites then?” Connor leans forward.
“That’s easy. They’re Coyote’s pawns, doing his bidding.”
When Troy finishes, Blake and then Akari explain the legends behind their Orders.
Akari’s English is surprisingly good, but she stutters over some words. When she finishes, a reluctant Connor talks about the Order of the Twisted Long Swords.
He takes a swig from his water bottle. “My Order isn’t all that different from yours. They believe Satan is about to return to Earth. It’s our job to defeat his minions. Blah, blah, blah. If we don’t win, the world turns to chaos and becomes ruled by Beelzebub himself. Blah, blah, blah.”
By the time he finishes, we’ve already eaten through the sushi and salmon. Sydney returns with the bangers and mash—a messy looking dish with two sausages on top of a pile of mashed potatoes. She smiles at Troy when she places a plate in front of him, and the fingers of her left hand brush against his shoulders.
I grip the armrest of my chair so hard my knuckles turn white. I have to resist the urge that swells inside of me to rip out her hair.
There’s no reason for me to act this way. Troy and I are just best friends; he’s had more than a few girlfriends over the past few years. We’ve never been anything more than friends, but her flirting irritates me—she acts as if I’m not even here.
“Why’d you say the stories are all the same?” says Akari. “They sound different to me.”
“Not really.” Connor spears one of his sausages. “They all use the local religion to create an end of world scenario. Either the Order keeps this secret and does as the Alphians require, or our world gets overrun by evil forces that will destroy it.”
Connor’s right; every story boils down to the same elements. I should have seen that right away; he’s smarter than he looks.
He continues, “Of course, we know it’s all wonky rubbish at this point.”
Troy shifts forward in his seat and leans on his elbows. “None of these stories have to be wrong. The way I see it, everything is consistent. If you guys don’t defeat these... Deltites, the world will fall apart and who-knows-what will come of us. The stories still work. The Deltites could just be Coyote’s henchmen or the devil’s minions or whatever.”
Blake clanks his fork against his plate. “Well, I don’t know why we have to be the ones to stop the Deltites in the first place. We have governments with militaries who’re trained for this type of thing. What if we just go back to our homes and tell them we did whatever we’re supposed to do?”
Akari rolls her eyes again.
Connor takes another pull from his water bottle. “Listen, I don’t like being forced into this situation any better than you, but I
don’t see as we have a choice. One way or another these guys need to be taught a lesson, or it’s going to get a little awkward when they take over.”
“If we don’t hunt them,” I say, “they’ll hunt us. And trust me, you don’t want to meet one on your own.” I look up and find three faces staring back at me.
I wonder if I said something crazy when Akari whispers, “You’ve seen a Seeker?”
Now I realize why they’re looking at me as if I have two heads. None of them have run into a Seeker.
I nod. “Right before I took the fusion from the third book, a Seeker found me. He kidnapped my mom, so I had no choice but to face him.”
“What was he like?” Blake rubs his hands together as if he’s chasing away a chill, and his eyes widen.
Memories flood back to me—Sicheii dying in the villa, his last words, and the expression on the Seeker’s face when my sword plunged into his chest. I won’t mention those details. That would be too hard, so I stick to the facts and speak in a numb voice. “He looked like the visions from the fusions—tall, thin, bald, beautiful. His blue eyes were specked with violet and burned right through me. We fought. He was incredibly strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, but he underestimated me. He thought I was nothing, just a weak girl, so I caught him off guard and stabbed him with the sword.”
Connor’s eyes sparkle. There’s newfound respect and maybe even a little admiration in those eyes that wasn’t there before. “Brilliant, now we know they can die.”
Awkward silence chills us for a minute.
I look down at my mostly empty plate and remember Sicheii—his sacrifices for me, his wisdom, the way he always blessed the food before eating it and left a small portion of his meal uneaten as an offering to the spirits. I miss him, his weirdness, his unique way of seeing the world, his horrible singing voice, and even his stories, which never seemed to make sense.
Troy probably senses my sadness, so he asks Akari, “So how did you and Blake meet up? Do you know each other from before?”
“Well, not exactly,” Blake answers before Akari can speak. “I found her wandering around Perry Street and thought she might be one of us. If I hadn’t said anything, she’d still be looking for the place.”
Anger burns in Akari’s eyes and her face turns pink. “I would’ve found its location without you. I knew it was here somewhere nearby. It felt like an invisible Yokai had shoved me toward the Inn.”
“Yokai?” asks Blake.
Akari’s face turns a slightly darker shade of pink. “Oh, I mean spirit.”
“How did you know where to look?” Connor points his fork at Blake.
Blake smirks. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I knew what the symbol looked like, so I searched the Internet for it. It took an advanced image recognition program, but I found the circle in an old Village Voice article. The story wasn’t about the Inn, but it had a label that identified where the photo was taken. From there it was easy.”
“Oh bollocks,” says Connor.
“What’s wrong?” asks Akari.
From the look on Connor’s face I can tell we have the same idea, so I say, “If you could find it on the Internet, that means they can find it.”
Blake shrugs. “Only if they know what to look for, and what are the chances of that?”
“Higher than I’d like,” I say. “They know about the Twisted Arrows by now.”
“They’ve also learned about the Samurai Swords.” Akari pushes her plate away from her. “I just barely escaped a Seeker before I left Tokyo.”
“Great. What a bloody cock-up.” Connors scowls as he drains the last of his water bottle. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Just then Sydney—with the pretty smile and flirty ways—returns to take away our plates. “The Host has arrived. He’ll be here shortly.” She glances at Troy one last time and I swear she winks at him.
I focus my mind on the Host and ignore the flirty waitress for once. Finally we get to meet him. So much depends on him.
The dining room door creaks opens, and he stands in the hallway.
My jaw drops.
Alex Gagarin inhales, and lilac scented air fills his lungs. Of all the many things he despises about this planet, he hates the stench worst of all. The fragrance of lilacs somewhat covers the stink, but he can still smell the offensive odor. He can’t avoid it—it hovers in the air, sticks to his clothes, and worst of all, clings to the people around him. Humans, with their acidic body odor, reek horribly.
He frowns as he weaves his way among the exhibits. The prior owner of this estate used the vast underground structure as a garage for an army of exotic automobiles. Alex has replaced those cars with new displays, more exotic ones that he likes better.
Two Deltites march five feet behind him. Having just delivered bad news, they are weary of his explosive temper. “How could Damien be so stupid?”
He keeps his eyes focused in front of him as he examines a recent addition to his collection, a perfectly stuffed silverback male gorilla. His fingers comb through the coarse fur on the gorilla’s shoulders. In life the animal had strength; now, only the illusion of strength remains.
Bailey answers him, her voice high-pitched and measured. “Damien was the weakest among us.”
“Did he die with his sword in his hand?” Alex glances at Caleb, who shakes his head.
“We recovered the sword from the local police department.”
“Good. He doesn’t deserve to go to the next life as a warrior. Let the imbecile stew with the less deserving. Make sure you purify the sword before we let another use it. We don’t want the stink of failure to remain on the weapon.”
Caleb nods. “It will be done.”
“He must have underestimated the hybrid,” says Bailey. “Perhaps he thought he had turned her so we could use the information fused within her?”
“Maybe.” Rage ripples through him. If he had gotten rid of Damien years earlier, this folly would never have happened. He should have chopped off his stupid weak head when Damien had first failed him—a dumb mistake Gagarin would not repeat.
He leaves the gorilla and ambles onward. It takes all his willpower to keep his gait steady as he stops in front of an African elephant. The animal’s head lifts toward the ceiling; ivory tusks immense, fluorescent light glistening off the points. “Do you think he was convinced this hybrid is the Alpha?”
“Completely,” Caleb answers. “Her name is Juliet Wildfire Stone. She was born in Arizona almost sixteen years ago. Nothing about her seems remarkable in the least, until now.”
Gagarin stalks toward a giraffe. “Where’s this Juliet Wildfire Stone now?”
He clenches his hands into fists as anger courses through him—anger at Damien’s foolishness, anger that the Alpha has eluded them, anger at so many things. Thirty years he has spent on this stinking planet, stuck making plans on how to use these humans—thirty years of befriending them, learning their pathetic ways, living with them. Now, so close to the end, Damien acted like a fool and let the Alpha slip through his fingers! Thirty stinking years!
“We don’t know where she is,” answers Bailey. “She’s vanished.”
Gagarin speaks through gritted teeth. “Vanished? Really?” Energy pulses within him. He wants to explode, to hurt someone, but that would be weak and he can’t appear weak to his subordinates, so he keeps control and continues through the exhibits.
After a long moment, the jagged edge in his voice subsides. “Tell me about the other hybrid—the one from Japan. Somehow she also snuck beyond our reach.”
“They almost captured her on a train in Tokyo. She escaped before one of our people could get there, but we think she left Japan,” says Bailey.
Gagarin stops in front of his favorite exhibit. He takes three deep breaths and steadies his trembling fists. “Two hybrids so close. After all these years they’re scurrying from their hiding places like cockroaches. It must be time for them to gather.” He chuckles. “What stupid, wea
k creatures. How could the Elders think they might defeat us?”
Bailey and Caleb stand tall with smooth hairless heads and pale skin that glistens in the harsh light. A light sheen of nervous sweat coats their faces.
Good. Let them fear me. For a second he imagines crushing Caleb’s skull, his finger snapping bone, blood spurting from the wreckage. As his superior, it would be his right to end him if he so wished. The quick fantasy relaxes him.
All three wear loose-fitting white silk shirts and pants that flow as they move. Alex turns from the Deltites and touches the cheek of an adult male human, one of six different humans clustered together in his favorite exhibit. The youngest, a newborn, nestles in the arms of her mother.
He remembers fondly how he selected this family for his exhibit. He wanted the set to match, so he couldn’t pick random humans—no, he needed a family. The media had dubbed the baby a miracle child. Having been born with a heart condition, she survived a dozen surgeries over six months before she was well enough to go home. They called her will to live extraordinary—only one in a million could survive those operations.
The news reports had intrigued him, so he visited the family when they brought the miracle child home. He watched them through a window. Joy filled the house. They had strung a “Welcome Home” banner across the living room, dozens of pink balloons floated in the air, and a giant stuffed panda bear sat in one of the chairs. The three siblings took turns holding the baby. The youngest daughter cried when she rocked her baby sister.
A thin smile graces his face as he recalls the details. They were easy to kill, weak, harmless really. He simply opened the door and froze the entire family with his mind—all except the miracle child. He lifted her so they could watch. He wanted to see something extraordinary, but as he squeezed her neck, she just wiggled, turned red, and expired. He took his time with the rest, going from youngest to oldest. By the time he turned to the father, the man had wanted to be killed. He begged Gagarin to end his life, tears streaming down the man’s face. Gagarin hesitated. He thought about leaving him alive to live his life in agony, but the man had seen Gagarin’s face.
