Red

by Tracey H. Kitts

  "Creepy,” she mumbled around her second waffle.

  "You know what's sad? I didn't get anything from Peter."

  "Except a broken heart,” Kat pointed out.

  "Yeah, except that."

  Before Kat left, she made plans to come over Friday night and spend some time with Elijah and me. She was excited to get back to her shop and put up the pictures she'd had framed since Ms. Wilson's tea party.

  The remainder of my week was spent in meditation and when I wasn't meditating, I was training. My dreams, which were seemingly absent for a few nights, had returned with a vengeance. My mind had been once again filled with images of a man whose presence I knew by heart, though I'd never seen his face. I'd had a few reoccurring dreams in my life, and he was one of them. He was tall, dark, and I had no doubt that he was handsome. By dark, I don't mean his skin tone, but rather something about him. Darkness hung about his image like a cloak. Pictures of him were fleeting, as they always had been.

  Aside from the tall, dark stranger, my dreams were visited by someone else. The more I closed my eyes, the clearer the face in my sketchbook became of the man with the kind eyes and blond hair. It was the opposite with him. I knew his face by heart, every line, every nuance of expression, but I had never felt his presence. I saw him speaking, but I did not hear his voice. In my dreams, I saw the rest of him, but when I awoke, only his face was clear.

  Truthfully, it was his eyes that stuck with me the most. They were no ordinary brown, but the soft color of a pale honeyed tea without cream. His hair that I'd known the color of instinctively looked soft and dusty in my mind. It wasn't quite a medium shade of blond, but a silvery almost gray version of the color.

  These dreams might seem strange to someone else, but to me they were a comfort. I'd had dreams about the dark stranger since I was sixteen, so having him show up was almost like a visit from an old friend. I'd told Kat about him before and she said he was just a fantasy based on my ideal. As far as the reoccurring part, we'd both speculated that my mind produced images of him when I needed comfort. It made sense. What's more comforting than a vision of some tall, dark, and handsome man?

  The only problem with that theory was if it were my fantasy, there'd be more sex. What's the point of having a tall, dark stranger around if you keep him at arms length? Besides, as often as I'd dreamed of him, we weren't exactly strangers anymore. I had no doubt that should we ever meet, it wouldn't matter that I'd never seen his face. I would know him.

  As for the man in my sketchbook, I hadn't told anyone about him. Looking into his eyes felt more intimate than most of the sex I'd had. I still felt like he would mean something more to me one day. But at the time, he meant a good night's sleep.

  * * * *

  Friday came and I'd never been so excited about playing a board game. It bothered me to admit it, but without Alfred around, I was lonely. It had never occurred to me before how isolated I was, not just by physical location, but emotionally. I spoke to Kat a few times during the week, and Elijah had called once to confirm our plans. But pretty much, if people didn't call me, I didn't call them. I didn't feel like writing. I was out of paint, and the werewolf community was keeping very quiet at the moment.

  My father called early Friday morning and discussed with me briefly how my job might change in the event that the hearing went in favor of the wolves. There was a possibility that a special task force might be formed on Earth to help police the werewolf community. This would be a branch off The Hunters, and I would most likely head up the unit in my area.

  I was glad to see his face and glad to have a reason to talk to someone. Once my dad had briefed me on the latest news, Alfred appeared. I truly didn't know how much I had wanted to see his face until he smiled.

  For a moment, I considered telling him to come home and forget about The Hunters and my dad's spy games. I needed him. But then I came to my senses, and instead said, “Hello."

  We chatted politely for a few minutes, after all, only so much could be said in front of my father. Finally, he said, “I've got something for you."

  "Really? What is it?"

  "Give me about an hour and check the transporter."

  "Alright."

  I saw my dad in the background become distracted with checking his other messages. Alfred's hologram leaned in and whispered, “How are you?"

  "I'm fine,” I lied.

  "No, you're not. You're giving me that face again. What's wrong?"

  He kept looking over his shoulder.

  "It's nothing."

  My father cleared his throat and Alfred jumped.

  "Come on, Lilith,” he whispered urgently, “don't screw with me, I don't have time."

  "I'm lonely."

  With that confession I let some of what I felt show in my eyes and Alfred whispered, "Mi manchi molto." (I miss you very much.)

  "What's that?"

  Alfred jumped again at the sound of my father's voice, though less forcefully. He clearly did not know what to say, so I took over.

  "Alfred's been teaching me Italian,” I answered.

  "Oh, that's nice. You learning how to cuss people in a new language doesn't surprise me."

  I couldn't help laughing. That really was the first thing I'd learned.

  "I hate to cut this short, but we've got work to do.” My dad smiled as he continued, “Relax, Lilith. In all the time we've known each other, I've never learned Italian."

  And with a sarcastic smile, my dad's communication ended.

  It was unclear exactly what he'd meant by that last comment, but my father was no fool. If he suspected something was going on between Alfred and me and he didn't like it, we'd have known about it by then. I felt better after hearing from them and went to make breakfast while I awaited Alfred's ‘surprise'.

  After making some coffee, I decided to take a cup in the sitting room where I could watch the gathering storm through the window. I love a good storm and hurricane season was rapidly approaching. I stretched out across the couch facing the fireplace. Here I had a good view through the bay windows on either side of the large hearth. As I watched the steam rising from my coffee where it sat on the table, I felt myself drifting toward sleep again.

  Sighing, I thought to myself that I might as well sleep. It was the weekend. I reached for an oblong shaped pillow and hugged it tight underneath my chin. My mind wondered in and out of consciousness as I noticed how well my golden silk pajamas matched the sofa with its startling crimson upholstery. The pillow I hugged so tightly was an off white, almost a cream. That reminded me I'd forgotten to put cream in my coffee. My thoughts continued to drift aimlessly until I heard the first drops of rain begin to fall. The wind roared, the thunder rumbled, and I got a really good nap.

  * * * *

  Lightning cracked like a whip in the sky. This was my wake up call several hours and a cold cup of coffee later. I stretched out catlike down the length of the sofa, pointing my toes at the height of my stretch.

  I got to my feet, stumbled over to the window and took a good look around. Judging by the way the yard looked, I'd slept through a flashflood. For a second I wondered if Elijah and Kat would cancel their plans with me because of the weather. However, before I had time to pursue this thought any further, I remembered that Alfred was sending me something.

  I went back upstairs to get my bedroom shoes before going down to the lab. The cold stone steps felt like ice against bare feet. I'd been stupid enough to walk on them barefoot before and I had no intention of doing so again.

  On my way to get the key from its hook in the kitchen, I put my coffee cup in the sink. Maybe when I came back up, I'd try again with breakfast. The same key that opened the dungeon also unlocked Alfred's laboratory. Two copies of the key had come with the house and Alfred kept the other one. It probably wasn't the brightest idea to keep my key in the kitchen, but it wasn't as if a werewolf could pick up a solid silver key. Not without waking everyone in the house.

  Alfred's lab had the same ar
ches and pillars as the dungeon, except it was lit by large lamps which hung from the ceiling. Sometime before I had purchased the house, someone had run electricity to the lab. Entering this part of the house always felt like stepping into a bizarre science fiction novel. There were gadgets in nearly every corner that made no sense to me whatsoever, but they were interesting to look at. Three long stainless steel tables sat in the middle of the room. Along the tops of these tables were various pieces of machinery, among them microscopes, slides, and a variety of unsavory looking specimens in jars.

  Alfred's desk sat at the back of the room, looking like it belonged in a mad scientist's lair. It was stainless steel like the table tops, with another strange array of contraptions which nearly covered its surface. His chair was silver with large clawed feet that gripped the stone beneath, and was upholstered in black leather. Behind the desk, there was a door which led to his private library.

  There was an open shower in the far upper left corner of the room in case anyone was splashed with a dangerous chemical. In the corner opposite the shower was the transporter. Sitting in the middle of the circle of small white tiles was a black box. The box was light and I almost shook it do see what was inside, but thought better of it. Knowing Alfred, there was no telling what he had sent. It might very well be alive.

  So, I carried the box over to his desk and cleared a spot among the scattered apparatus to set it down. I noticed with a smile that he still had the letter opener I'd gotten him a few years ago. It was a large silver dragon wrapped around a mountain. The actual letter opener was a sword whose hilt stuck up from the mountainside.

  When I turned my attention back to the black box, I noticed a card on top and decided to read it first.

  Lilith,

  I saw these and thought of you. The blades are solid silver, and they're SHARP. I really hope you read this letter before trying them on. The sheaths are leather, and should fit well to your forearms. There is a molded rubber grip that should fit across the palm of your hand. In the middle of this grip is a small indention. When pressed, this will cause the blade along the top of the sheath to extend. BE SURE TO HAVE YOUR WRISTS FLEXED DOWN WHEN YOU PRESS THIS BUTTON. I really don't want to test your regenerative qualities to see if you can re-grow a hand. I hope you enjoy your new toy. Be careful, Lil.

  Yours truly,

  Alfred

  p.s. Your other blades are in the top left drawer on my desk. I hope you haven't needed them before now. I meant to tell you earlier, but there wasn't time. Sorry about that.

  To hear his warning, you'd think I was a either a total moron, or he worried about me. Since I knew my IQ to be well over one hundred and fifty, I assumed he was worried. When I slid the cover off of the box, I smiled my approval at Alfred's gift. The leather sheaths were black, sleek, and soft. They would fit easily underneath clothing if I needed to conceal them. I slipped my right hand through the straps and was impressed to find that the sheath was the exact length of my forearm from wrist to elbow. The rubber grip he had mentioned fit perfectly in the palm of my hand, and I could feel the indention with the tip of my middle finger. Careful to flex my wrist downward, I pressed the button and jumped as the thin blade extended from the sheath with an intimidating slicing noise.

  "Wow,” I breathed, as I turned the blade to the light.

  I could see myself reflected in its perfect shiny surface. A second press to the palm caused the blade to retract. I slipped the sheath back off, placed it beside its twin in the box and scribbled a hasty note to Alfred thanking him for his thoughtfulness. Of course, I was careful not to say more than that in case my father picked up the note first.

  After sending the letter to my father's office, I quickly climbed the stairs and dashed to my bedroom. I was eager to see how the blades would work with one of my cat-suits, so I went to the wardrobe in search of them. I have a large walk-in closet that connects to the upstairs bathroom. This was where all of my normal clothes were stored. However, I special ordered my leather cat-suits from a seamstress on Terra, and I stored them in a large antique wardrobe that sits in my bedroom. At the bottom of the wardrobe are two drawers where I normally stored all of my blades.

  Alfred was forever trying to get me to carry more guns, but I preferred to be up close personal with a blade. The way I saw it, if someone was attacking me, it was damn sure personal. I wanted to see the faces of my enemies when they realized that they'd made a mistake. I also ordered the bodysuits in vinyl and spandex, though it was leather that I wore to hunt. Leather offered more protection, but I liked the way I looked in the vinyl.

  After fishing around in the wardrobe for a few minutes, I retrieved a black spandex cat-suit. I normally wore spandex for training purposes only, since it was a cooler fabric, but I wouldn't dare wear it out in public. Anyone wearing spandex and hunting werewolves is just asking for superhero jokes to be made. Some of the suits had a slightly different style, and I liked the zipper on that one. The zipper ran up my left side over my breast, and up the side of my throat, finishing in a mock collar.

  I rolled back the sleeves and placed the sheaths over my forearms. After adjusting the blades for a more comfortable fit, I decided against wearing boots, opting instead to practice barefoot.

  As I walked into the training room, I passed the full length mirror near the door, paused and looked again. My first thought had been that maybe I should reconsider wearing spandex in public. I extended the blades simultaneously and found I looked deadly. The blades let you know that this was no petting zoo, and you'd better keep your distance.

  Having the blades attached to my arms left me free to do a wider range of movements. I found that I could slice, stab, and chop almost simultaneously. I had gotten used to the feel of the large machete I normally carried. These would take some getting used to, but I liked them. Being able to retract the blades at a moments notice also allowed me to move more quickly, without having to worry about replacing them to a holster.

  What I lacked in finesse at the time, I made up for in ferocity. It would take some practice to develop my skill with the new blades, but I was no stranger to an edged weapon.

  Several hours passed. The rain was still coming down outside, and I'd sweated until I looked as if I'd been caught in it. I deliberately didn't keep a clock in the training room. If I had a clock I'd only talk myself out of working harder, thinking that I had somewhere else to be. However, without Alfred to come and get me at a particular time, I could easily waste hours in that room.

  What I used as a training room had once been a large formal dining room. But, it was perfect for my purposes. It had a cathedral ceiling, and like the room beside it, three floor to ceiling windows that faced the rainy afternoon outside. The windows, like the one in my bedroom, arched gracefully near the top, except in this room, they were draped in a sheer white fabric.

  The windows were separated only by a narrow strip of wall in this room, but in the next, there was a door between the second and third window. This door led onto a small balcony which nearly touched the ground, but gave a beautiful view of the woods.

  The room next door was another reason I'd wanted the house. It was a ball room, with a large grand piano that sat off in one corner. Sadly, it was never used. It remained bare of furniture and I kept the beautifully polished wood floor dusted, but no one ever danced in it, even me. I'd thought about dancing in that room, but Alfred didn't dance and it seemed a tragedy to dance alone in such a room. So, I kept it clean and let it be.

  My exhaustion helped me to realize how much time had passed. I retracted the blades one final time, and made my way back through the house to the kitchen. According to the clock, it was three thirty, and I still hadn't eaten. After opening the box, I'd forgotten all about breakfast, but my stomach reminded me that it hadn't.

  Nausea nearly overpowered me and I cursed myself for not remembering the last time this had happened to me. I sat at the table for a few minutes, still breathing hard from my workout and tried to focus on s
omething besides the flips my stomach was doing.

  That's one thing werewolves and I have in common, we both have to eat. Their extremely fast metabolism means that they have to consume food at least three times a day. It's a very rare thing to see an overweight werewolf. Only compulsive eaters could manage that feat.

  Werewolves are also practically immune to aging due to the constant regeneration of their physical tissue, and are completely immune to physical disease. Lycanthropy actually lengthens the life spans of those infected. Marco, for example, who was already of Terran descent and then infected with lycanthropy could expect to live a very long time.

  That was something else that had been bothering me lately. My life was already most likely extended as his had been, even though I had not contracted the disease. On top of that, to find out I had a wizard in my family meant I could possibly live to be a thousand years old ... or more.

  I wasn't sure I liked the idea of living that long. In theory it sounded good, but I didn't want to end up like Mathias, watching everything I love fade before my eyes. People admired wizards, but their lives were often times a sad existence.

  My line of thinking had only succeeded in making me feel worse. I rushed to the half bath underneath the stairs to throw up. After I spent several minutes ‘worshiping the porcelain god’ I decided to make my way back to the kitchen.

  Normally, throwing up makes you feel better, but I think it had only made me worse. I rummaged around in the fridge until I found something carbonated then took a slice of bread down from the cupboard and forced myself to eat it. I needed something heavy enough to soak up the acidity of my empty stomach and bread normally did the trick. The soft drink was mostly just to help get the nasty taste out of my mouth.

  About twenty minutes and three slices of bread later, I felt better. One glance at the clock told me Elijah and Kat should be there within the hour, and I was still sweaty and unwashed.

  I went upstairs as quickly as possible, but careful not to move too fast just in case I got sick again. After peeling off the sweaty spandex and placing the new blades in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, I padded gratefully to the shower.