What did happen? If not for his reaction now, she would have sworn she’d imagined what she’d seen, that she’d been hallucinating. She pressed a hand to her throat, almost afraid to ask the question, but she’d been through too much to shy away. “How—how did you change color like that? Why are your feet blue?”
“I’m losing the personification.”
“The person—what?”
“I don’t have nipples because I didn’t realize male humans had them. Where I’m from, only females have them. The man on the billboard was wearing clothing, so I didn’t know. I’m not human,” he said. “I’m Xeno. I come from a planet in another arm of the galaxy.”
Her snort of laughter died a sudden death at the seriousness on his face. It was the craziest thing she’d ever heard, but his feet were still blue, and he didn’t have nipples. I do not have an alien in my kitchen.
But that meteorite… Wary, she backed away. Her heart thudded.
“I usually have much better control, but you make it hard to concentrate. I know I’m not the handyman you expected. I flooded your kitchen. I’ve made other mistakes. You were so kind to keep me on. I don’t want to lie to you anymore. I can transform myself to mimic other life-forms. But in my natural state, this is what I look like…”
Ripples moved under his skin as it turned the color of a summer sky. He seemed to grow several inches taller and broader. As his towel fell away, any salacious ideas were erased from her mind when his back hunched and a ridged tail thrust out of his spine.
Cam Leon still had two eyes, two ears, and one nose, but the shapes were unhuman, and his mouth—he had freaking fangs!
An alien. A real alien. Oh my god. Oh my god. Her knees shook. Encountering an extraterrestrial for real was nothing like a science fiction movie—except for the ones where the aliens killed all the humans. This man was not human! “What are you? Stay back!” He’d tricked her, lied to gain admission to her house. Oh god. She backed into the stove.
Cam flinched but held out a claw-tipped hand. “Kevanne—” His expression beseeched, but she wasn’t about to be fooled again.
An alien. A real alien. “Don’t touch me! Get out! Get out of my house!” She dashed to the other side of the small butcher block island.
His expression closed up, he turned, and he marched out of the kitchen.
Moments later, she heard the front door close.
Heart pounding, she crept to the living room window and peeked through the curtains to see Cam, dragging his tail, walking down the driveway toward the woods. She ran to the door and locked it then returned to the window in time to see him disappear around the bend.
It’s cold out there, and he’s naked. I didn’t even let him get dressed.
He’s an alien! From outer freaking space! He pretended to be human! He could have killed me. Or beamed me aboard his spaceship. When will I ever learn? First Dayton, now an alien.
She had no reason to feel guilty for chasing him away.
But she couldn’t forget his expression of hurt before he’d masked it. He’d revealed himself, she’d recoiled, and he’d looked crushed.
Chapter Ten
In the week and a half since Chameleon’s arrival on Earth, Argent hadn’t ever been this crowded. People lined up outside to get a seat at Millie’s Diner, and the bait shop and the antique store were doing a bustling business. Parked cars lined bumper to bumper along Main Street from the highway to the school.
I shouldn’t be here. Kevanne had communicated her wishes, but he couldn’t stay away. He had to see her one more time.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the double doors of the gym—into pandemonium. He’d never seen so many humans congregated in one place. Their jabbering voices melded into an indistinct, cacophonous noise, overwhelming his translator. Screaming children dashed back and forth. People waited in long lines at the half dozen food booths at the front of the gym, while the back two-thirds was taken up by white canopied stalls, laid out in neat rows. On the stage at the far rear, a group of performers played music, singing a ballad about a man who lost his beloved pickup truck and his girl all in the same day.
Cam could empathize with the loss. His heart ached.
Switching the personification had been a wise call. For sure, he would have been recognized from the billboard, and he wished to avoid attracting any attention. He would check on Kevanne, and then he would leave. She would never need to know he’d been here.
Four days had passed since she’d ordered him out of her house. He’d guessed many humans would have difficulty accepting an alien, but he’d hoped Kevanne would be different. He hadn’t intended to ever bother her again, but then, this morning, he’d gone for a ride on the scooter and found himself in Argent.
He started up one aisle, peering left and right and over heads. He spied all manner of handcrafted objects, primitive, yet appealing—baskets woven from grasses and reeds, colorful glazed pottery, paintings of landscapes, botanicals, and animals, hats and scarves knitted from woolen yarns, carved wooden figurines and boxes, metal sculptures, and dried bouquets.
Down the third aisle, he spotted the sign: LAVENDER BLISS FARM. Sucking in air, he halted, and somebody slammed into him from behind. He moved out of the way and crept down the row, ducking into a space between two booths diagonal from her. In a quick perusal of his surroundings, he noted the booth on his left sold wooden toys; the one on the right purveyed fantasy paintings of…outer space, he supposed. It wasn’t any galaxy he recognized. The artist had taken creative license to a whole new level, he noticed before focusing on Kevanne. Her dark hair curled around her beautiful face, lit by a smile as she talked to customers who examined the dried floral arrangements, scented candles, bottles of lotion and vials of oil, metal boxes of tea, and sachets and tiny pillows filled with the blossoms. She looked happy and well.
The last time he’d seen her, he’d scared her. She’d been afraid of him. His heart contracted.
She handed each customer who talked with her or entered her booth one of the little bags. He remembered her filling them in her living room. He could smell the lavender from across the aisle. He would always associate the scent with her.
A customer purchased a vial of oil and a tin of tea. Kevanne swiped the woman’s plastic card through her phone and bagged the purchases. “Thank you. Come visit Lavender Bliss Farm in the summer. The opening date will be posted on my website, which is on the tag.” She held up one of the little lavender bags and dropped it into the sack.
“Will do. I love lavender. I find it very calming.” The woman left, and two other women in the booth followed her out. “Thank you for stopping by,” Kevanne said. “Here—have a free sachet.”
She rolled her shoulders and then scanned the crowd, smiling and saying hello to people as they passed by. Her gaze skipped over him then skidded back.
She doesn’t know it’s me. She can’t—unless I’ve turned blue.
Quickly he checked himself and let out a sigh of relief. Still good. When he looked up, another customer had entered the booth, striking up a conversation while sniffing the oils and lotions.
She’s fine. She’s happy. She’s well.