Kioto tries to ignore me this morning, yet she keeps peeking at me out of the corner of her eye as I get dressed. She doesn’t exactly know what to expect of me right now—whether I’m going or staying since I’m usually gone by now. I go to her and sit by her on my bedroom floor, nuzzling my head into her neck. She licks my face and smiles at me in her own dog way.
After a few minutes, I decide what I must do. I grab both my ring and pendulum and toss them into my pocket, then grab a cranberry-orange muffin—which I don’t even like, and only accidentally bought on a recent grocery stockpiling expedition (I don’t like venturing out much on my own)—and head toward the door. For a brief moment, I want to scream, because I don’t know what course of action to take, but I decide that not rehearsing will be the best way to handle it.
“Just go and see what happens, right?” I say to myself. I step across the hallway, knowing it’s Monday and that Philip is most likely at school, but knock on the door anyway.
Before I even finish the third knock, Philip opens the door. I hold out the muffin, and he stands, motionless, inside the door. He puts his hand out, brushing my skin, and a small sigh escapes his mouth as he pauses before taking it, examining it, and sniffing it. I grab my hand where he touched it and mixed feelings of hostility, admiration and a sort of longing, meld to form a troubled sensation.
“Cranberry-orange—my favorite,” he chuckles. “Trying to butter me up? Ha! No pun intended.” I stare at him. “Butter, get it?” he says as I continue to stare. He leaves the door open, turns around and starts walking away, not waiting for my reply. I assume he wants me to follow, so I move forward, but for some reason I cannot walk in. I bump against what seems to be an invisible wall. I shiver at the strange energy that seems to flow over my skin. I put my hand up, and against the barrier. It doesn’t seem threatening, but more like a simple hindrance.
“Philip, if you want me to come in, I can’t. I think you know this, don’t you?”
He turns around and walks back, then takes a post-it note off of the wall, just near the doorway and places it on a table near the door. “Try now,” he says as we stare at each other.
“I swear we’ve never met,” I say, “but you seem awfully familiar to me.”
“I live next door, for God’s sake. You have to have seen me at some time. Or maybe you’ve seen me on the cover of GQ magazine—wait, make that Parenting.” He laughs.
I attempt to enter the apartment again, slowly, and sure enough, I can. In turning around once inside, I see Sharpie scribbles written across the door frame—a matching set to the ones outside on the balcony. Removing one of the symbols somehow breaks the chain that protected the doorway.
He turns around and heads toward the kitchen. When he’s not looking, I grab the post-it note off the table, for fear of being trapped inside this apartment, somehow.
He grabs a mug and some milk, which seem harmless enough for me to stay. He then lights a flame on the stove and places a tea kettle on it.
The whole apartment is green—and not the walls and carpet, but rather plants and flowers, situated in every possible foot of the place. Lush and vibrant, they look as though they were just plucked from a rainforest.
Then I notice the itty—bitty little ball of mud in Philip’s hair, near his neck.
“You have mud on your neck,” I state, matter-of-factly.
“What can I say? I have a green thumb and a muddy neck,” he says, as he places a tea bag in a cup and then pours hot water over it. His actions resemble someone quite familiar with the kitchen—someone independent.
“Philip, I think if your mother came home right now and found me, a stranger, in your apartment, it would be very bad, and she may try to shoot me.”
“Don’t worry. She won’t be home soon.” Philip responds. “We don’t own a gun. She’d only try to stab or strangle you.”
“Great.” I make sure to move as far from the kitchen and its knife set as possible.
Without even asking me, Philip adds a bit of milk and a dollop of honey to the tea cup—just how I like it—then hands it to me. As I take the cup, he places his hand on top of mine. I don’t pull away, but instead, find myself curious of this boy’s emotions. He pulls his hand away.
“How old are you, Philip?”
He looks in my eyes and hesitates. “Seven,” he blurts.
He walks to the kitchen set and pulls out a seat. “Please sit,” he says. “Before you ask me questions, I need to ask you one.” Philip pulls out the chair next to me, and brings it close. “It’s a simple question,” he says. “How about I ask it, and you choose to answer or not. Deal?” He stares at me with what might seem to some like puppy-dog eyes, but I’m thinking “lion” is the better description.
“Agreed. Ask.”
“Who is that creature that waits outside your door all night?”
The bile creeps up through my esophagus and I immediately jump up. “Outside my door at night?” My eyes are wide now, and he seems to realize that I honestly do not know what he’s talking about. He grabs my arm lightly and pulls me back down into the seat. He then holds his hand over mine, in my lap, and looks at me with a soft face, one that holds years of experience—one that looks years older than seven.
“He’s a stinky, big, brown, ugly thing with big eyes,” he says as his hand tightens over mine, coercing me to stay seated. He stares into my eyes, looking as though he can read my thoughts. “He’s always holding a necklace or something, and he just sits there, like he’s guarding your apartment.” My shoulders release the tension built up as I realize who’s been at my door.
“Oh. Philip, do you know Renhala?”
His eyebrows raise and he lets go of my hand as he sits up straight. He then gathers himself and speaks. “I feel you are an honest person, Kailey, and I’m really hoping that I am right,” says Philip. “Let’s be frank with each other, and I will share whatever information I have with you, as long as you reciprocate.”
“Okay then,” I say. “Special needs?”
“I am in whatever categories the doctors here want to lump me in.” I see his throat force down a swallow before he continues. “I tried so hard to not be me, but we are who we are, Kailey. How do you explain the things I saw as a three year old, or how I understood the genetic makeup of an amaryllis at the age of six? Not genius, but ‘special needs.’ They just didn’t like that I was smarter than them. I can guarantee you that a large percentage of us in this particular category also know of Renhala. There, I answered two questions for you. Please answer mine.”
I agreed, so there’s no backing out now. “I’m going to assume you’re speaking of the young greble I recently befriended. His name is Bu, and is seemingly a gentle soul. Don’t be frightened of him—he wouldn’t hurt you.”
He laughs. I furrow my brow.
Philip looks out the window at a morning dove sitting on his windowsill. The dove turns to him, and I feel an unspoken connection is made between them. The dove then turns away and closes its eyes. “I’m not scared of him,” Philip finally says. “It’s you who should watch out. He’s more dangerous than you realize.”
I feel the sudden need to defend Bu. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve been warned you are the one to be careful around.” I was raised not to beat around the bush, so I might as well run around the mulberry.
“And who told you that?” snaps Philip, his voice suddenly petulant.
“A small Asian man by the name of Gunthreon,—” I am interrupted by his hand.
“I know Gunthreon, Kailey,” he says.
“Care to reveal how?”
“I bet he fed you lots of stories, didn’t he? Special abilities, quests, legends?”
I clench my jaw as his face sprouts a sarcastic-looking smirk.
He seems on a roll as I feel anger growing in him. “And I’m sure he didn’t even mention to you his power—maybe given you any clue of what he can do?” He’s staring at me like I missed out on some joke, which at this point I’m sure
I did. Come to think about it, Gunthreon never told me about any gifts of his, and I never bothered asking, either, even after he spoke of Russell.
“The power of persuasion—that’s what he possesses,” says Philip. “He can persuade anyone to do almost anything. Pretty powerful if you think about it, huh? If he gets in a fight, he can just persuade the aggressor to not fight. He can persuade a penguin it needs a pair of Nikes. It’s the perfect gift, don’t you see? He can persuade anyone to take up with any cause he may have. Do you see this now?”
Suddenly, I feel like I’ve been used. Maybe I never made any decisions on my own. Maybe that’s why Gunthreon seemed so very trustworthy to me, breaking down my defenses so easily.
“Kailey, I don’t want to be caught up in his or anyone else’s stupid plans,” squawks Philip. “I just want to live a normal, happy life.” He looks down at his muffin.
As I contemplate what Philip has said, watching him stare at his muffin, I decide being angry at Gunthreon will get me nowhere, and I’m assuming it’s the same story with Philip. There’s definitely some sort of animosity between the two, and Philip is trying to sway me from believing Gunthreon. “Sorry, Philip, but your life doesn’t seem very normal,” I say. “Where do you go to school? Why aren’t you there now? What games do you play at the park? Huh, Philip? You don’t look too happy.” I know I’m taking some long shots—I only met the kid yesterday—but I feel lucky right now.
And when I see his eyes are wet, I know I’ve hit a sore spot.
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Philip.” I get up from my seat and hug him tightly, letting his body lean into mine. I stroke his hair as I talk to him. “Yeah, maybe Gunthreon is using me,” I say, “but maybe I’m being selfish, too. I need something to be strong about—something to bring me out of my rut. And if it’s gonna be a threat of monsters from an entirely different realm than the one I reside in that does it, sobeit.” I kiss him on the top of the head and raise his face so I may see it. I take a step back.
Philip looks at me and just when I think he’s going to feel sorry for me, or agree that Gunthreon may be on to a great plan, Philip sighs and says, “You are one foolish girl,” as he drinks his last sip of milk.
I refuse to feed his jumbo-sized, too big for a seven-year-old, ego. “Thanks for the tea and enjoy your damn muffin!” I say as I storm to his front door.
Just as I reach Philip’s apartment door, tossing the post-it note back on the table, I hear, “Tell Gunthreon I’m willing to see him, as long as he doesn’t try to cut my other eye out, my karmelean friend.” When I exit, he locks the door, most likely reapplying his post-it note.
Why can’t my life be simple? And why the hell does this feel like a break-up with a boyfriend and not an argument with a total stranger?
Chapter 13
Helpless
The whole rest of my day is spent lounging around and watching those horrible talk shows you just can’t ignore, no matter how many educational cable channels you flip through. Let’s see, Dr. Phil or The Fascinating Life of Dung Bugs? Hmmm, easy choice.
I start off laughing, telling myself how stupid these people are, but by the end I’m usually egging some baby’s momma to punch the deadbeat father in his head. I don’t even call Gunthreon, even though I know I really should.
Nighttime soon rolls around, and the moon is beautiful, just shining silently through my balcony door, lending me a brief moment of peacefulness. Watching one more TV show, I decide, won’t destroy that many more brain cells than I’ve already lost today, so I sit on the couch sipping a relaxing cup of chamomile tea. I examine my favorite teacup in my lap as I sit, thinking it’s just like me—damaged, but still able to perform its intended purpose. As I stare, my eyelids become heavy and when I slowly start dozing off, I feel I need to get up and go to bed before I spill the tea.
As I rise, Kioto turns toward my front door and I hear the beginning of a low growl from her throat. I stare at the door, recalling Philip’s comment about Bu. I watch as the fog of Renhala form before my eyes.
“Bu, you don’t have to sit at my door,” I say as I start for the door, quickly opening it. “If you want to come in—” but that’s all that comes out before I realize that the horrible thing before me is not Bu. It’s far uglier than Bu. It’s a greble all right, but bigger and grosser, if that’s possible.
I try to slam the door as the fog rolls in around me, but the greble catches it in its hand. Kioto snarls and growls, but I can tell she doesn’t want to go near the creature. The marble ball my mom gave me lies on the table, catching my eye, so I scoop it up in my hand and throw it at its head, but it catches it mid-air and it crumbles in its grasp.
I grab Kioto by the collar, and as I start to drag her to my bedroom, the apartment suddenly disappears, and I find myself standing in a pool of slime the color of pus, surrounded by fog, without Kioto. I have no idea where I am. I pull myself out of the puddle, with much force, and stand still, listening.
Kioto barks frantically in the fog, and I yell to her, trying to coax her to me. Her barking abruptly stops, and then I feel soft fur rub against my leg. I feel better knowing she’s safe, and I pet her head, only to find that the head I’m petting is some kind of giant raccoon with fangs.
Immediately, I scream and start running, but to where, I have no idea. I try relaxing in the hope that the fog will lift.
The greble laughs somewhere in the haze, and I try to pinpoint where the voice is coming from. “Kailey, Kailey, do you think you can run?” he says. “I see you. Mmm, your flesh is so soft and inviting. I’d really like to squeeze the life from it. I should have finished you when you visited last night.”
I realize he must be talking about my dream. Once again, I didn’t distinguish between a dream and reality by realizing the difference—the simple fact that I felt. Felt their feelings.
“You won’t escape this time!” the monster grumbles in the fog.
I remember Gunthreon telling me my monk’s spade should always be at my back, but as I grab for it, I don’t feel it. I know it has to be there, but I can’t bring myself to relax enough to really grasp it. The fear of what this creature can do to my fragile body is overwhelming, but I gather my courage and in a final attempt at defending myself, reach to the creature’s own anger. Maybe there’s a chance. I can do this. Black sludge.
Just as I grab the energy of the anger, I’m slammed by something so massive I am literally lifted off my feet. My head hits a huge rock, which resembles a headstone.
The blood is warm as it starts pouring down my forehead, dripping into my eye. As I sit, disoriented, the creature grabs at me, barely touching my shoulder. Then, he starts yelling, trying to swat away something at his feet.
It’s Kioto. She’s found her way to me. She bites the greble’s legs and feet, dodging his blows.
Right before I faint, I see another figure running full force at the creature. This time, it’s Bu with his fists raised, charging the larger creature.
Blackness consumes me.
Chapter 14
Tense
The pain is excruciating. I sit up as slowly as I can and feel the top of my head, discovering it’s still in one piece, and as my eyes peek open, I notice my own comforter is covering my legs, so I know I was not admitted to a hospital. Philip sits across from me in my desk chair, sleeping, while Bu, squeezed into the recliner beside him, also sleeps. Gunthreon stands next to me, staring at me intently.
“How are you feeling?” he asks very quietly. “I called in sick to your work for you, so don’t worry.”
The pain in my head leaves abruptly. I look to Gunthreon, confused. Smiling, he responds, “It was the last thing you felt, so the sensation just lingered. Your brain had to catch up with the rest of your body.”
“What the hell happened? Where’s Kioto?” I try to stand up quickly and almost fall on top of her. She jumps up and puts her tail between her legs, cowering from the surprise. “No, no, it’s all right, baby, come here,” I say, pa
tting her head and checking her over, feeling every bone in her body. She seems to be fine. But me on the other hand, I don’t feel I’m ready to deal with another realm. “Gunthreon, I can’t do this. I choked.” I hesitate. “I should be dead now!”
“You have all your friends here to thank for your life, Kailey,” says Gunthreon. “You’ve made wonderful, sacrificing friends, simply by being you. Don’t give up that easily. That greble that attacked you is long gone. Bu and Kioto put up the fight of a lifetime. As for your head, ‘Philip’ fixed you.”
I look at Gunthreon inquisitively.
“’Philip’ has quite a coveted gift, you know,” says Gunthreon, “something so special that wars have been started over it.” He watches as my expression turns to one of worry. “That very being, sitting right there,” he points to Philip, “somehow, magically, knows the genetic mapping of every living creature and how their life force flows. Everything from platelet regeneration to photosynthesis! With this, comes the gift of healing, along with a few other magic tricks. See why I was so excited you found him?” He smiles. “He is known as Ladimer, and as long as I’ve known him, he’s never looked like that.”
“I only kept my scar to remind myself.” Philip’s head rises, and his eyes are open, staring directly at Gunthreon.
Gunthreon puts his head down, looking like he’s been run through the mill. “Ladimer, you have got to let go of your anger.” He turns his face to Philip, with eyes suddenly full of power. “You know I can make you forget it, right?”
“Don’t use those words on me, you fool.” The anger between them rises, and I can feel the tension between them, as thick as maple syrup—but not so sweet. My lungs feel like they may collapse.
Philip turns to me and sternly says, “I can also take life away. He tends to forget that.” He then turns to Gunthreon. “Oh, and so you know, I told Kailey of your special and unique gift. I, at least, thought that was of importance.” Gunthreon ignores him.
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