A warm smile curls her lips. “Maybe you can show me how it’s done.”
“If you train me to use your sonic sayzers, I’ll teach you how to earn their confidence.”
“When do we start?” she asks in a conspiratorial way.
“After I shower?”
She rises from her chair and walks to the white-cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. Gathering a robe that was waiting there, she brings it to me. “It’ll have to be after our repast. Mamon has been preparing food all day. She’ll be disappointed if we don’t partake of it.”
As I don the robe, I try not to smirk at her formal way of speaking. I’m used to it, having been forced to speak it at the palace, but I much prefer the causal, humorous way the Cavars communicate. I nod. Charisma leads me to the lavare. It’s a modern interpretation of a mountainous waterfall. The walls are gray stone, probably quarried from the hills in the distance. Enclosed glass hems in the cascade of water that spills out from a reservoir near the ceiling and down a round granite rock. When Charisma leaves, I stand beneath the rock, allowing the steaming water to pound away some of the tension that is my constant companion in this world.
The water shuts itself off the moment I step out of the glassed-in area. I head to the vanity and touch the stone wall, triggering warm air that blows down on me from the ceiling. I no longer marvel at all of the conveniences afforded us in this world. It’s funny how fast I got used to them.
A long, lilac-colored gown is spread on the bed waiting for me when I return to the bedroom. I eye it skeptically.
“Vessey wants us to dress for dinner. It’s in honor of your first meal as part of the family. I think secretly that she’s also worried that it could be our last celebration together as a family.”
I glance over at her. Her hair is stunning, pulled back on one side with a sparkling diamond comb. It allows for the beautiful soft waves to spill over her shoulders. Her dress is a ruby-colored silk and so thin that it looks liquid. It clings to her perfect silhouette.
“I’ll wear it,” I say softly, so that she doesn’t feel the need to explain further. I understand the need for a last meal.
She offers to fix my hair and I agree, sitting with her as she pulls it into shapes that make me look older and more elegant. Braiding it off to the side, it falls over my left shoulder, leaving my back completely bare as the dress intended. She hands me the automatic makeup artist that she brought with her, and I quickly close my eyes after I bring it to my face to apply a thin, subtle layer of cosmetics.
“These shoes may be a little big,” she says as she hands me a pair of silver sandals. They are too big, but since they’re flats, and they wrap around the top of my ankle, they aren’t too bad.
“I can manage with these. Thank you,” I say.
We go down to dinner together. Charisma directs me through a maze of hallways and staircases to the main floor. The house is a large estate. It could have been used for hunting at one time, because it has that sort of manorlike feel to it that my other residence at the palace had. Linking arms with me, Charisma shows me to what must be the grand hall. The ceilings in the room have to be at least three stories high. Everything within the rectangular room is big. Big fireplace on the shorter wall, transparent walls that rise high above our heads. Four grand chandeliers spread soft light over all the occupants beneath them. Large, masculine chairs and divans anchor the room, presiding over sumptuously woven area rugs and a stone floor of the same gray that was in the mountain lavare.
Off to one side, beside the fireplace, Trey and his father sip amber liquor out of stout glasses. They both stop talking as Charisma and I join them. When we sit down to eat, I find myself between Trey and Charisma. Trey’s dad raises a toast. We all settle in to eat.
I listen mutely to the banter as it flows around the table. Wayra tells stories about the first time he was at their estate in Thistle. Vanderline relates a story about how inseparable Trey, Victus, and Charisma were growing up. He calls them the tonic triad, because they managed to keep a constant tempo going without ever a lag in the action. I smile, because they were troublemakers.
“That was mostly Trey,” Charisma says, smiling at Victus. “We were just trying to keep up.”
Victus chimes in and relates some escapades from their youth. Throughout it all I listen, laughing with them, gleaning new information about these close-knit people.
From the other end of the table, Trey’s mamon smiles at her husband, Vanderline. “All this talk of childhood and we haven’t heard a thing from Kricket.”
I smile and look down at my plate. “I’m enjoying hearing about life on Ethar. It’s much more interesting.”
She laughs. “Oh, we’ve heard all these stories before. Tell us something new. What was it like on Earth?”
“It was nice,” I reply.
Wayra snorts and Jax winces a little.
“You must’ve played some games there, surely?” Trey’s mom persists, trying really hard to draw me into the conversation.
I wrinkle my nose and shrug. “I played stickball a few times in my neighborhood—on the south side of Chicago—that’s a game where you use a stick to hit a ball and then you run around three bases then try to run to the home plate before someone tags you with the ball.”
“Were you good at it?” Vessey asks, happy that she’s succeeding in having a conversation with me.
“No. Not really. I had to stop playing when I lost. As losers, my team had to give up our shoes. It took me a couple of weeks to earn enough money to get some new ones, so I didn’t play it after that.”
Vessey looks startled. “Surely there were games that you weren’t expected to give up your shoes if you lost?” she asks in an unsure tone of voice.
“Where I’m from, most games are only played if there’s a bet involved, or else why play them?”
“So no one plays games for fun?”
“No, they do. I just wasn’t one of them.” I can see that she’s confused, so I sigh and explain, “One of my fathers was a hustler, so he taught me to play games that not many of the other kids’ parents let them play like: find-the-patsy”—I tick that one off on my finger—“kick-the-bum’s-can-and-steal-his-stash”—I add another finger—“pick-a-pocket-hide-and-seek”—a third finger joins them—“and convenience-store-boogeyman-candyland. That’s when you shoplift as much candy as you can, and then sell it door-to-door pretending it’s for charity. I got tired of playing boogeyman-candyland, so I just started stealing forties of malt liquor for Dan. It was more efficient and cut out a couple of steps.”
I stop talking when Vessey abruptly rises from her chair. Picking up her own dinner plate and Victus’s next to her, she doesn’t seem to notice that he’s not finished with his meal, or that his fork is halfway to his mouth. “That sounds very labor-saving, Kricket. Would anyone like anything else from the keuken?” she asks, but her voice is raspy like she has something stuck in her throat. Her eyes skim over the table and she patently ignores Wayra as he lifts his plate, about to ask for more of something. Before he can comment, however, Vessey clears out, practically running from the room to the kitchen.