by Craig Zerf
A tall man dressed in a chauffeur’s outfit complete with cap, was waiting for Emily when she came out of arrivals. He was holding a sign with her name written on it in beautiful gothic script. Emily Hawk.
She walked up to him, carrying her one and only bag.
‘Hi,’ she said, holding her hand out. ‘I’m Emily.’
He didn’t acknowledge her hand or her greeting but simply turned slowly and started to walk towards the exit. Emily shrugged and followed.
Outside, parked in the no stopping zone, was a Rolls Royce Silver Wraith. The chauffer walked over to it. As they approached a young man got out of the car. Maybe early to mid twenties.
He was dressed in casual but ultra expensive gear. All of it the same shade of midnight black. Gucci Sneakers. Levi vintage jeans, Valentino t- shirt and an Elder Statesmen cashmere hoodie. At least $6000 worth of designer clothing. Emily didn’t get out much but she did have a computer and spent a lot of time online. Vogue, Elle, Iconique. And although she didn’t actually remember reading about the man’s exact ensemble, she obviously had. Because she knew what each item was, as well as its retail value and where one would shop for the items. It was like her new found abilities had provided her with instant access to everything that she had ever seen or read. Talk about information overload, she thought to herself. I’ve become a walking version of Google.
The man scowled at the chaffer before he spoke, his voice well modulated but obviously used to command.
‘Phineas,’ he said. ‘Help Miss Emily with her bag, this instant.’
The chauffer stopped mid stride, turned on his heel and snatched Emily’s holdall from her before continuing to the Rolls and placing in the trunk.
‘Sorry about that,’ said the young man. ‘He’s an adequate driver but his social graces are far from exemplary.’
He walked up to Emily, his hand outstretched in greeting.
Emily took in the rest of him, the person beyond the clothes. Blond hair, cut short on the sides with a bit of length and some volume on the top. Carefully styled to look as if it hadn’t been styled at all. A hint of stubble on his chin. Eyes a bright summer-sky blue. Teeth as white as hotel sheets. Maybe two inches taller than her, which put him at five nine or ten. A gymnast’s body. Moved with confidence and grace.
For some reason the mere sight of him irritated her. Too much confidence, too much money and simply…too much.
But he seemed friendly and Emily wasn’t long on friends at the moment so she took his hand and shook it.
‘Emily, I’m so pleased to meet you,’ he said enthusiastically as he shook her hand. ‘My name’s Nathan Tremblay, I believe that we’re from the same neck of the woods.’
‘Umm...Alaska?’
‘Well, Canada actually. But practically neighbors.’
Yeah, thought Emily. Give or take four thousand miles or so.
Nathan opened the door and ushered her in.
Emily settled into the plush soft leather seat and stretched her legs out in front of her, marveling at the amount of room in the back of the huge limousine.
There was a privacy screen in between the passenger seats and the driver, as well as blinds on the windows, reading lights, armrests and a small bar and refrigerator built into the back of the driver’s seat.
Nathan opened the fridge and took out a pack of protein bars. Twelve of them. He offered the pack to Emily.
‘Here, I’m sure that you’re starving. I remember when I first manifested. Body went mental for protein, could have eaten a horse. Don’t worry, it stops after a while. Well, actually, it never stops, but it gets better. The insatiable hunger, I mean.’
Emily stared at the box of protein bars and then suddenly realized that Nathan was right, she was ravenously hungry. She took out a bar, unwrapped it and took a bite.
‘You see,’ the young man continued. ‘Because you’ve just turned, your body is adjusting. Over the next few weeks you’re going to probably double in weight. Maybe even more.’
Emily flinched ‘Eek – what? Good God, I’ll be huge. That’s awful. I’ll need one of those gross cart things that people use in Walmart so that they can buy their Reece’s Pieces and Pop Tarts to keep topping up their obesity problems.’
Nathan laughed. ‘No, silly. You’ll stay the same size. Perhaps even drop a size. But the density of your muscles will increase as you get stronger and stronger. You see, the denser you get the heavier you are. I mean denser as in mass, not as in Doh! Not sure what you weigh now.’
‘One hundred and thirty two pounds,’ blurted Emily.
‘Cool, then I would figure on topping out at around three hundred plus in a few weeks time.’
Emily shuddered. ‘I’ll be like Baby Huey, grotesque.’
She opened another bar and hoovered it up without even thinking. After a minute or so she looked down in surprise to see that the box was empty.
Nathan grinned and handed her another box.
Emily blushed but opened it and got to chewing.
‘Where we going?’ She asked between bites.
‘Pankhurst Manor. It’s a huge Victorian pile on the outskirts of London. Mind you, we don’t spend as much time there as we used to, mainly we use it for training. There are so few of us now – tend to rattle around in the old place a little. It’s not like the old days. I tell you, Emily, those were golden days. The manor was full, honored guests, balls. We were all feted by world leaders, great actors and the cognoscenti. Great days indeed.’
Emily raised an eyebrow. Nathan was talking like some old codger, rambling on about the golden days. The expressions didn’t sit well coming out of such a young mouth.
She shook her head and slapped her thigh. ‘Well, goldarnit. Dem old days was just peachy keen weren’t they?’ She chuckled.
Nathan displayed the mere ghost of a smile.
‘Oh come on Nathan,’ continued Emily. ‘You sound like someone from one of the old timey movies banging on about the glory days. I mean, hell, what are you, twenty two?’
Nathan nodded. ‘Almost right. Just put a one in front of the equation.’
‘What, twenty three?’
He laughed. ‘No, actually, I didn’t say add a one. I said put in a one in front of the twenty two.’
Emily paused for a few seconds. ‘One hundred and twenty two?’
‘Spot on, Emily. One hundred and twenty two years old.’
‘But that’s impossible.’
‘A bit of advice, Emily. You’re going to have to drop the word, impossible, from your vocabulary for a while. Because you’re probably going to see at least two or three impossible things every day from here on in.’
‘But one hundred and twenty two?’
‘We age slowly.’ Nathan looked her up and down, his expression one of appraisal. ‘So,’ he said. ‘I hope that you’re relatively happy with the way that you look right now, because that’s pretty much how you’re going to look for the next fifty years or so. If we were allowed to live out our natural lives in peace then we’d probably check out at around a millennium. A good one thousand years old.’
Emily shook her head. ‘Wow,’ she exclaimed. ‘Imagine the size of the cake that you’d need to fit all those candles on.’
She went to grab another protein bar but the box was finished.
Nathan handed her another one.
Chapter 3
