The Door (Part One)

by Lizzy Ford

Chapter Seven

  “Can you cook?” Carey asked me the next day.

  I let the axe handle rest on my shoulder. Chest heaving from effort, I squinted at him. He stood a few feet away, observing. In a tank top and leggings, I was soaked through with sweat from hacking at the tree trunks in the hundred-and-ten degree afternoon sun. “Why?”

  “The Caretaker was up all night. She made breakfast but is too exhausted to cook dinner. I can’t cook anything at all. My visitors end up with pizza and bagels.”

  I snorted. “My grandparents on both sides are Italian. I spent the weekends with my grandma. Yeah, I can cook,” I said. “Will it get me out of tree chopping duty?”

  “Today. Why are you chopping trees anyway?”

  “Because the Caretaker hates me.” I straightened from my stance and started toward the shed. “How many visitors is she expecting for dinner?”

  “Same number as last night. Thirty three, plus us three,” he replied and followed.

  “That’s a lot of food.”

  “We can order pizza.”

  “No way. I’m sick of frying my ass off in the sun.” Putting my equipment away, I closed the shed and joined him on the porch. “Any requests?”

  “Anything. I never complain when someone takes pity enough to cook for me.”

  I smiled. Carey was a nice guy and a much needed friendly face to the Caretaker family. Entering the air-conditioned kitchen, I sighed and drank a bottle of chilled water as I considered the contents of the pantry. The Caretaker really did make everything from scratch; she had nothing readymade at all, just an abundance of raw material. The pantry was the size of my bathroom and much of its contents bulk sized.

  Pulling out my phone, I checked my email to see if I still had my favorite of my grandmother’s recipes. Pleased to see it there, I tucked the phone away.

  “Definitely beats chopping wood,” I said and began gathering the items I’d need.

  I spent four hours in the kitchen, working up another sweat over the oven and stovetop. Cooking reminded me of all the weekends I spent with my grandparents and of life before the incident. It made me happy, and time passed quickly. I made handmade pasta and spent twenty minutes in my garden to pluck the best vegetables for the filling. Once the chopped veggies were flavored, soft and fragrant, I tucked spoon-fulls into small pockets and then placed the large raviolis in the oven to bake. The sauce was a little harder. My grandmother swore a good sauce took at least a day to cook and a ham bone or two. I didn’t have the time or pork bones, so I made red sauce with sausage in the largest pot I could find then shoved it in the deep freezer while the raviolis cooked. I was hoping a quick chill would help it thicken for when I reheated it.

  Salad with vinaigrette and steamed vegetables were quick, easy sides. And then there was dessert. I used my mother’s red velvet cake recipe to create sheet cakes large enough to feed close to forty people.

  People began arriving before I’d finished. Carey was quick to answer the door and situate people in the parlors and office according to what clan they were in, leaving me to work the meal issue. Rather than a buffet, I created separate dinner plates for everyone, partially to keep people out of the kitchen, and out of my way, and partially because … well, we didn’t eat off paper plates for dinner. My mother had few rules, but this was one she had gotten from her parents and refused to bend on. Dinner was a sacred time for family, never to be rushed or cheated of importance by paper plates.

  I missed her. I never knew how much I loved our dinners together until I was sentenced to eating alone in my room every night here.

  When everything was ready, I prepared the individual plates and Carey delivered them. We were a good team, and neither of us got a break until everyone had dinner. Carey joined me in the kitchen where we ate our own servings quickly, before the others were ready for the cake I’d just frosted.

  “This is amazing,” he said and devoured his raviolis faster than anyone I’d ever seen.

  “What is amazing?”

  We both turned to see the Caretaker, appearing as critical as ever, in the doorway.

  “Her cooking,” he replied.

  “You should know not to encourage her,” she snapped to Carey.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carey replied, trying not to smile.

  “I trained him. You wouldn’t know it, given how lazy he’s gotten.” The Caretaker complained.

  Carey grinned.

  “Trained him?” I echoed. I got her a plate of food, more so she wouldn’t yell than because I wanted to.

  “Caretakers are apprenticed for about a year or two before going out to their own assignments. The Caretaker has had nearly forty apprentices,” Carey explained. “The art of keeping peace under one’s roof is not a simple matter.”

  “You say too much. As always,” the Caretaker complained. “Girl, cake.”

  I obeyed. It was impossible, even for her, to find fault in my grandma or mother’s recipe.

  “Speaking of cake …” Carey set down his plate. “Time to serve up some sweet stuff to the others!”

  I nodded and began cutting pieces and placing them on dessert plates. Carey carried them out and brought back the dirty dinner plates to pile them beside the sink. It was then I realized the flaw in my plan to have dinner on real plates: I’d have to wash them all. The kitchen was too ancient to have a dishwasher.

  Always something around here.

  “You did well,” the Caretaker allowed as she finished her last ravioli.

  It was the first nice thing she’d ever said to me. I rejoiced inside, not expecting her praise to cause such a reaction. Outside, I simply nodded, unwilling to let her know she had some sort of hold on my emotions.

  I swept up her plate and placed it with the others. “Will anyone ever really tell me what’s going on here?” I asked.

  “What makes you think you deserve to know?”

  God, I swear, there were days when I wanted to bludgeon her over the head with a shovel.

  “Because I do all the work around here,” I retorted. “This is my home for another ten and a half months, and I deserve to know what’s happening.”

  The Caretaker glanced at me. I assumed an order to go to my room was coming. But instead, she set down her fork. “If you have your eyes set on Teyan, you best change your mind. The purple tattooed Tili are off limits.”

  “I don’t have my eyes on anyone,” I snapped. “I’d be a complete idiot not to notice what’s going on here, and to sometimes be curious!”

  “Fair enough. Your parole officer said you were a bit naïve, if not dense. He couldn’t tell the difference.”

  “He’s a probation officer, not parole,” I replied icily.

  “Since I’ve never lived a life of crime, I wouldn’t know!”

  Don’t. Kill. Her.

  She made it so hard to talk to her about anything! I gritted my teeth and stuffed a huge bite of cake in my mouth. I really was interested in knowing, but getting too snappy with her meant she’d order me to my room.

  “You’ve noticed this place is … different,” she began after a long silence.

  I nodded and held my breath, barely daring to hope she was going to reveal something amazing to me.

  “It’s a haven for those people, the Five Peoples.” She waved towards the sitting rooms. “They trust only humans to house them. We have nothing to gain from their wars and nothing to motivate us to take sides. We are harmless bystanders who manage the neutral territories and feed them when they visit. We welcome everyone who comes to us, and they in turn, respect the laws of the great Discovery.”

  I was stuck on the word human. I knew the people out there were different, but it hadn’t clicked they weren’t human. “Wait … okay. Discovery?”

  “It’s what their races call the event where they learned their universe was larger than they thought, that there were alternate worlds out there. We exist in an alternate universe. Or maybe they do,” she explained. “Either way, when
they found humans and our dimension, they made a bunch of rules about when and how their people could enter our space and interact with us. They had no history with us, like they do the other universes they’ve known about since the beginning of time.”

  “Universe. Like …” I looked up, imagining the stars beyond the ceiling.

  “You can’t see it, girl,” the Caretaker said with a snort. “Think of it as a different dimension rather than a place in space you can see. Their universe lives next to ours. We’re separated by a thin layer, one that has holes in it in some places whereby those who know where the doors are can pass through them to visit.”

  Science had never been my strong suit in school. I didn’t quite understand her explanation. “They’re aliens.”

  “Visitors.”

  I swallowed hard. Even knowing this place had something weird going on, I was surprised by how crazy the explanation really was. I was still secretly hoping for a rational explanation based in our universe.

  “So all those visitors … they’re from some other planet,” I murmured. “It’s why they look different and dress funny.”

  “Basically. There are multiple bed and breakfasts that exist in the corridors between universes where Caretakers live and help those who need it. I am charged with helping these Five Peoples. There are other universes and other Caretakers assigned to them, although we don’t discriminate whenever a visitor not on our usual list comes through. Carey is assigned to different peoples so his enemies in his home world don’t think we play favorites.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know other planets existed with life on them.”

  “No surprise, Yankee.”

  “Does everyone outside New York know this stuff?” I asked.

  She eyed me. “No, girl. No more than a handful of people do.” Cutting off a huge chunk of cake, she stuffed it into her mouth.

  I rolled my eyes at the not so subtle hint she was done talking.

  “Done!” Carey reported as he stepped back into the kitchen with the last load of dirty plates.

  “You want some cake?” I asked.

  “I’m full.” He patted his belly. The man was skinny enough for me to believe it.

  I gazed around, pleased with my afternoon and evening cooking, even if I had no idea how to digest what I’d just learned about the people eating it. A little overwhelmed by the idea of being in a house full of aliens, I decided to go to my room and clear my head for a few minutes before I tackled the arduous chore of dishes. I went to the stairs, slowing to glance into the room where the Tili and Komandi were gathered.

  Teyan was here again, along with the Komandi I’d punched the day before. I wasn’t sure why my stomach fluttered to see Teyan, especially after hearing Carey discuss the dangerous race of aliens. His chameleon skin now made sense. Maybe on his planet, it was some kind of genetic thing everyone had.

  I went to my room and changed into leggings and a t-shirt. It was going to take me some time to clean up the kitchen, and I wanted to be comfortable. I had no hope the Caretaker would volunteer. My gaze settled on the penny Teyan had given me. It sat on the top of the nightstand, next to the black obsidian rock I gave him.

  Picking up the penny, I studied it. It didn’t seem valuable to me. Then again, maybe on another planet, it was. Tili could’ve been the poorest man in the clan who chose to offer his most valuable gift to me, and I’d turned down his offer of friendship by keeping it instead of returning it.

  Carey claimed the Tili wouldn’t be offended, but I couldn’t help regretting the misunderstanding, however innocent it was. A one way friendship, no matter who the friends were or if one of them was an alien, was always wrong in my book. I’d learned that after many of my own friends ditched me following the drama of the past year and a half.

  I debated what to do. Teyan’s race was probably murderous, given what Carey had told me, and I didn’t want friends anyway.

  But it didn’t feel right to keep the penny, now that I knew what it meant.

  Not yet certain what I planned to do with it, I pocketed it and returned to the main floor. The Caretaker was in her office with a member from each clan, and Carey was in the parlor with his people. I went to the kitchen and began cleaning up, proud of my dinner despite the mess.

  Lost in the rote, mechanical movement of washing dishes and cleaning, I let my thoughts wander. At least, until someone entered the kitchen and spoke.

  “Gianna.”

  Twisting from my spot at the sink, I found myself looking too long at Teyan, whose eyes were as dark as the night tonight. I wiped my hands dry and turned to face him.

  He’s an alien.

  The idea totally weirded me out.

  He didn’t speak, only gave me the penetrating stare. I cleared my throat, not sure what he wanted, and finally motioned to the leftover cake.

  “Good?” I asked.

  He glanced at it and nodded once.

  I pointed to his chest, where he’d been wounded.

  He rested a palm on it with another nod.

  This is awkward. It was also an opportunity. Somewhat nervously, I drew off what courage I had and inched closer then pulled the penny out of my pocket.

  “I get it now,” I said lamely, aware he didn’t understand me. I held it out. My heart slammed into my chest. I didn’t know if this was the right thing to do or not, but it wasn’t like he was always around. If we were friends who saw each other once a month, it was probably the only kind of friendship I could handle. He’d never have the opportunity to learn about my past and reject me, either, if we met twelve times and never again. “Thank you.”

  What did it say about me that my only friend was an alien?

  He accepted it.

  “We’re friends now,” I murmured and looked up at him. He still made me uncomfortable, overly aware of his heated strength and reminded that I’d barely survived a man much smaller than him. “Sorta.”

  His gaze was on mine. Was friendship such a serious matter to them? A little unnerved by his intensity, I stepped back. He said something quietly and lifted the penny in front of his face.

  “He said thank you,” Carey voiced from behind him.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied.

  “Watch.”

  Teyan released the penny. It didn’t drop like I expected but floated in the space between us. Slowly it began to twirl, and symbols scrawled across the back of it, chiseled into the metal by an unseen hand.

  My breath caught at the supernatural scene, and I watched, mesmerized, as the tiny symbols circled the penny, round and round, until there was no more room. The glow around the penny faded, and Teyan held out his hand. The penny fell into his wide palm.

  “What just happened?” I asked.

  “Your alliance is recorded,” Carey explained. “Anyone who touches the penny will see who the friendship is between.”

  Teyan withdrew a small chain similar to those the others had carried. He had only four other tokens and charms on it and touched the penny to it. It stuck – no hole to loop the chain through, no fastener, nothing. Just remained where he placed it.

  The amount of tokens made me think he really was poor. Every man in the room who had displayed his charms had several dozen at least. But if they were required to give something of value, and Teyan had little of value, it made sense he couldn’t form as many alliances if he had nothing to offer.

  I felt better about returning the penny when I considered he might not have many friends or much money.

  Teyan turned to see Carey, his features hardening even more. He spoke and motioned to me.

  “He wants to know if I’ll translate something for him,” Carey said and moved closer. “He says …” He paused, listening. When Teyan finished speaking, he began again. “He says he didn’t know returning your gift was an insult.”

  “It’s okay. I get it now,” I said.

  Carey replied to the stoic guy, whose focus was back on me. “He wants to know if retur
ning his gift is part of your tradition or his.”

  My cheeks grew warm.

  A flicker of knowing crossed Teyan’s eyes. I had a feeling I didn’t have to explain.

  Teyan spoke again, and Carey started to smile. “He’s funny. Thinks you handled yourself well with the Komandi yesterday. Says not enough women punch Komandi men but more should.”

  I rolled my eyes. Teyan thought my punch purposeful when I’d simply reacted out of fear.

  The two addressed each other briefly before Teyan brushed by Carey into the hallway, returning to his parlor.

  “You sure you want him as a friend?” Carey asked with a sidelong look at me.

  “No. But … I felt bad for not understanding his tradition.”

  He handed me the rest of the plates on the table. “I guess it’s better to have an ally among their kind than not,” he mused and then shrugged. “Visitors rarely return to the same neutral zone anyway. You probably won’t have to see him again.”

  “Yeah.” I took the plates and turned away to place them in the warm, soapy water. For some reason, I hoped he was wrong and Teyan would return. I was curious about the boy with the chameleon skin and eyes. Talking to him, he didn’t seem like I thought an alien would.

  Then again, I’d never once in my life thought about how I’d react, or what I’d expect, if I met an alien.

  I straightened up the kitchen then went quietly to my room. No one said anything about the food, but I was too tired to care.