Dating an Alien Pop Star

by Kendra L. Saunders

  The estate is huge, absolutely enormous, but it’s not all dark, goth, and scary like I’d expected it to be… rather, it’s painted a very plain eggshell sort of color and sits in the middle of a lot of neatly trimmed bushes and some tasteful fountains.

  A servant rushes out to open our car door for us, greeting Griffin and Devon by name. Griffin ambles out of the car first, casting the servant a big smile.

  “Thank you for having us, thank you,” he says, and then turns back to watch his best friend climb from the car. “We’re not late, I hope?”

  “You’re quite on time, Mr. Valentino. And you’ve brought some friends…?”

  “Daisy Kirkwood, and this is Kammie. Errr, I… Kammie…?” Griffin says, extending his hand for me while squinting at Kammie.

  “Kammie Sophia Glorianne Rosemary Wooldridge.” Kammie climbs down from the car and curtsies, which makes her sparkly red dress look worthy of a princess. “But you can call me Kammie, of course.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful. I’ll mention to the Collective that we’ll need room at the table for two extra guests.” The servant glances around at Griffin’s bodyguards. “But perhaps not more than two…?”

  “No. They’re my security team. We don’t want to inconvenience the Collective.”

  The servant smiles. “No inconvenience, sir. Please follow me?”

  Despite the innocuous outside of the Origin Collective’s headquarters, I expect the inside to be creepy. Maybe full of torture devices, strange symbolism, and monks in red robes, chanting in a foreign language. Instead, we’re greeted by a gentle floral scent in the lobby, a brightly lit hallway just after that, and smiling servants who offer to take our jackets.

  “Oh, I’ll keep mine,” Griffin says, his pale hands straying idly down his front, over the buttons of his tuxedo jacket, and then back up to his lapels. He stands up on tiptoe and turns a full spin in his attempt to take everything in. “Beautiful home. I love all the color, especially the yellow. I’ve never seen yellow walls like that before.”

  The servant who met us outside just smiles and nods his head once to Griffin. “Please follow me,” he says, leading us from the lobby.

  Griffin slides his arm around Dev’s waist and whispers to him as we make our way down the lemon-yellow hallway.

  I pull at the waist of my silver dress, dropping my gaze briefly downward. Griffin had pulled the dress out of one of his bags like some sort of stage magician, grinning proudly when I said I liked it. Of course, liking an expensive designer dress and actually wearing one are very different things, and this particular designer dress seems to be made of glorified silver tissue paper.

  You’ve never known true fear until you’ve worn glorified silver tissue paper to a meeting between your alien friends and a secret society.

  We’re escorted to a huge, wood-paneled room with red curtains, red cushions, glass chandeliers, a long table, and high-backed chairs. Bowls of fruit and a few candelabras sit atop the table, which is covered in a white tablecloth and set with shiny silverware and fancy plates.

  The servant stops us in the doorway, motioning behind us. “The Collective is quite private. As discussed earlier, I think perhaps it’s best if your security team remains out here.”

  Griffin hesitates, considering. “Alright, of course. Daisy and Kammie—”

  “They’re more than welcome to join you.”

  “I’ll be just here,” Griffin says to his bodyguards, turning to look at them. None of them say anything, but between the tingling sensation on the top of my head and the way one of the bodyguards nods, I have a feeling that they’ve communicated with Griffin in some other manner.

  “Please, follow me.” The servant leads us to the table, pulling a chair out for Griffin and one next to it for me; he seats Devon and Kammie across from us. “The Collective will join you shortly. Until then, tea?”

  “Oh yes, please!” Griffin says, then clears his throat and slumps a bit in his chair. “That would be nice, thank you.”

  The very instant we’re alone in the room, Devon leans forward a bit and locks eyes with Griffin. “Shouldn’t we at least have a few of them with us?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Once we reveal the reason for our visit, it might be best if we’re not alone.”

  Griffin shakes his head.

  “Griffin…”

  “They’re just in the other room,” Griffin says, and a man and woman arrive just then with a teacart, effectively cutting Dev off from saying anything else. That doesn’t stop him from shooting Griffin a lot of serious looks, and then looking at me as if he thinks I can do something about it.

  I offer a helpless shrug as we’re served tea and cucumber sandwiches. Griffin’s too busy accepting his little cup to listen to anything I might have to say, and besides, there’s no way I could speak to him in this quiet room without being overheard.

  The teacart has barely been wheeled away when a group of five men walks into the room, all of them probably over the age of fifty and wearing similar black suits. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were a bunch of pleasant English bankers and lawyers, sitting down for dinner and cigars.

  Griffin leaps out of his seat, standing tall and sucking in a deep breath. “Sirs,” he says. “Thank you for your invitation here.”

  One of the men, visibly the eldest, waves a veiny hand and takes a seat at one end of the table. “Please, sit down and enjoy your tea, Mr. Valentino.”

  Griffin remains in place for a few seconds, stiff and watchful, but then he finally slides back into his seat as our hosts do the same.

  “How was your journey?” one of the other men asks, his tone casual.

  “Errr, good I suppose.” Griffin twists in his chair so he can turn more fully toward the old man at the end of the table. “Your invitation—”

  “And your concert? How was that, Mr. Valentino?”

  “Probably the best concert this planet has ever seen.” Griffin clears his throat. “Well, not only because of me, of course. Daisy and Kammie helped out a lot.”

  “Yes, yes. And England? How do you find England?”

  “Wonderful, quite as I expected, though I haven’t seen Mick Jagger or David Bowie yet, anywhere. I’d rather hoped to meet David Bowie. Do you know where he is?”

  “Bowie? No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Our meal arrives then, carried by smiling men and women wearing white shirts and black pants. We’re served a full plate of assorted foods, none of them even slightly familiar, except for the orange slice that sits atop a blob of gray stuff. Griffin stares at everything with his hands held up, palms out, as if he’s about to be arrested.

  “Please, enjoy your meal,” one of the old guys says, which makes me wonder if he’s blind or crazy.

  Or maybe all the food will taste surprisingly delicious. I pick up one of my two forks and try to convince myself to actually eat something.

  Griffin takes my lead and picks up one of his forks, so Devon does, too. Kammie shoots me an extremely unimpressed look and crosses her arms over her chest.

  After a bit more hesitation, Griffin takes a bite of the gray blob on his plate. His expression changes from cautiously disgusted to vaguely confused. He polishes off the rest of his food before I can force myself to eat a first bite.

  “I’ve heard very positive things about your organization,” Griffin says. “Your dedication to improving your world, for instance, and your secret acts of charity for those in need. It’s admirable.”

  A subtle ripple of uneasiness flows around the table, and the oldest of the Collective offers Griffin a grim nod and smile. “Your compliments mean much to us, friend, but it is us who are honored by your presence.”

  Griffin sits up taller in his chair. “Yes, but—but you—but you—if I were to ask you about… well, what if—I wondered—”

  Dev clears his throat, pushing food around his plate with his fork. “Griffin means to say we’re both thankful for your invitation, but there
’s something important we must tell you.”

  “We need your help, actually,” Griffin says, leaning forward in his seat so he can look around me at the old man at the end of the table. “What we’re going to reveal to you must be held in the upmost respect and—and confidentiality. I’ve chosen to trust you with this information.”

  The old man gazes silently back at Griffin, and then glances at me.

  “We must insist on the confidentiality,” Dev adds.

  “I can assure you that anything that takes place within these walls will never be revealed,” the old man says, and I feel uncomfortable laughter bubble up in my throat. It sounds so creepy that I kind of want to grab Griffin’s hand, wave for Dev and Kammie, and immediately run out of the room.

  “You know, I thought you’d look a bit different,” Griffin says, all at once, and then he lets out his own nervous laughter. “Well, you’re all so… You’re like fathers, or grandfathers.”

  “Bankers,” I mutter.

  “Not a bunch of big, frightening men in robes, chanting about death and blood. In fact, it feels so homey here, I could fall asleep.” Griffin shrugs. “Dev and me, we’re not really pop stars, you see. We need to tell you the truth.”

  The doors to the room open then; several of Griffin’s bodyguards approach us, two of them taking their places behind Devon and two behind Griffin.

  “Well, what’s this about?” Griffin twists in his chair to look at his bodyguards. “You’re supposed to wait in the hall, remember? That’s quite rude.”

  “No, no, I asked them to join us,” a voice says, and a sturdy-built, black-haired man steps into the room. His dusty-red uniform seems to be a size or two too big for him, and his hair looks as if someone has recently shorn it all wrong. “After all, they’re here for you, aren’t they, Prince Griffin?”

  “No!” Griffin leaps to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in the process and filling the air with panicked static. He grabs for my hand, but the bodyguards behind him force him back down in his chair, and the two behind Dev act just as quickly, hauling him from his chair. Before I can process what’s happened, Dev’s held with his back against one of the hulking, silent guards. He has a knife pressed tight against his throat. The blade of the knife glows, casting eerie blue over Devon’s pale, fearful face. “No, leave him alone. Leave him alone!”

  “Griff—” Devon says, but his words are cut off by the knife cutting into his neck just enough to make him bleed a little. He gasps and wheezes out Griffin’s name again. “Get out of here, Griff. Go!” As Devon’s dragged away from us, Griffin breaks free of the grip holding him and twists around, hitting one of his bodyguards hard enough to make the man stagger backward.

  Griffin makes it all of a few steps before he stumbles and falls to his knees.

  “How much did he have?” the man in the red uniform asks, and the oldest member of the Origin Collective waves one of his wrinkled hands.

  “He ate it all.”

  “Of course he did, greedy little bastard. And of course, his friend—what do they call him here? Devon?—only ate what was required of him. So polite, as always.” The man in the red uniform strolls toward Griffin, who’s kneeling with his palms pressed to the carpet and his head hanging low, gasping and spluttering. “Have you enjoyed this little planet as much as you thought you would? It’s made up of everything you love, of course. Wastefulness. Whores. Gluttony…”

  I do the only thing that you can do in this situation. I jump out of my chair and position myself in front of Griffin.

  “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m assuming you’re the other alien,” I say before I can stop myself. “Maybe you’re friends with the evil fiancée, and maybe you’re all pissed off about your planet, but you are not going to hurt my aliens. This is my planet, and they’re—they’re under my protection, as a citizen of this planet!”

  The bad alien smiles. “My name is Taug,” he says, bowing to me. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Daisy.”

  “Good! Then you know that I’m—I’m not to be crossed. I command you to return to your planet. You have no right to anything on my planet. I can call the president for backup if I want to. And Will Smith. And Jeff Goldblum.”

  “All of these wonderful men before you are citizens of your planet as well, Daisy. And they all believe in preserving the integrity of your people. More importantly, they believe in your planet continuing to circle slowly around its sun, in one decaying, ugly little piece.”

  I look toward the Origin Collective, glimpsing only fear mirrored back at me.

  “So, that's how you did it? You threatened them?” I ask, and Kammie takes her place at my side.

  “I simply informed them of our superior weapons. Threats were unnecessary,” Taug says. “We have no quarrel with your planet—not yet.”

  “And Griffin’s bodyguards? Did you put them under some kind of spell?” I demand.

  “Spell? No, no, I don’t think you understand. We are a unit, a team, the last hope there might be for our planet, given the direction it’s headed. Unlike the citizens of your world, we won’t sit back and watch everything we’ve done come to nothing.” His voice rises a bit at the end, a sinister edge to it that I haven’t heard up until this point. “They’ve been very helpful through your trip, keeping me updated on your location.” He hesitates. “Well, not all of them. A few had to be removed from their posts, just now.”

  A sick, sinking feeling spreads through my insides. All this time we’ve been in the company of traitors? “You—you need to leave,” I say at last.

  “We’ll leave soon enough; don’t worry. But first, we have a little task for Prince Griffin.”

  “Bring Dev back in here!” Griffin says, and I turn to find him struggling to his feet. “Where is he? Bring Dev back, or I won’t do a sodding thing for you.”

  You know when people say they lost their balance? Well, that’s exactly what it feels like when Taug fixes his glowing, green eyes on me. I fly backward and fall against the hardwood floor with enough force that I lose my breath, and it takes a few seconds for me to regain my wits and sit up again. Kammie, across the room, has also been thrown to the ground.

  “Leave Daisy alone!”

  “I can snap her neck from here, if I want to. But, luckily for you, I don’t want to do that. Not now! That would upset you greatly, wouldn’t it? I want you unharmed and unmarked, because you’re a—what do you call it? Superstar. A superstar with an extremely important task to complete.”

  Griffin’s head and shoulders slump, as if he’s very tired. “Let. Them. Go,” he says in a quiet voice.

  “So tired, Prince Griffin! Perhaps you should take a nap. You’ll need your strength for later.”

  Griffin growls something in his language, and most of the members of the Origin Collective jump from their seats and run out of the room. The last of them, the old man, leaves when Taug responds to Griffin.

  Taug’s garbled words rattle the windows and send a wave of crackling, cold energy around the room. I have to fight the powerful compulsion to run away.

  “Daisy,” Griffin says, faltering and falling to his knees again. “Daisy, go. Take Kammie and go.”

  Taug smiles in my direction. “He’s right, Daisy. You may leave.”

  Oh, God. If my mom were here right now, she’d have plenty of advice. She’d probably tell me to make a run for it, right? To run as far away as possible and then call the cops or Ghostbusters or whatever, whoever. Someone bigger, stronger, and more qualified than me.

  Griffin crumples forward, his eyes closed even before his cheek hits the floor, and Taug stands over him for a few seconds before motioning for the bodyguards.

  “Get him off the floor. He won’t be out for long.” Taug steps over Griffin, glances down at Kammie, and then turns back to me. “You’re still here? Collect your friend and get out of here while you still can. You’re lucky I’m letting you live.”

  My mom’s voice runs through my head, telling m
e to get out, to run and get help, but I shake my head. “I’m not leaving,” I say. “And you’re not going to hurt Griffin, Devon, or Kammie.”

  And just like that—