by M. L. Ryan
“That’s the supplemental information. Stuff supposedly found with, or related to, the hypothetical person that encoded the message. It’s supposed to help me figure out what the hell this says.”
She ran a hand through her spiky locks and grimaced before continuing. “I can sort of understand the benefit of knowing some of this crap, like when and where he was born and his political affiliations. But it is beyond me how knowing his alcoholic beverage of choice or his favorite song will be of any use.”
This last bit made me take more notice. “His favorite song was included in the information you were given?”
“Yeah. And his favorite color is magenta, for all that’s worth,” she huffed.
“I could be completely off base here, but have you considered a VIC cipher?”
Once again, she looked at me like I had two heads.
“The VIC cipher is an old, Cold War-era field cipher that no one could break until some spy defected and told how it worked. It’s not as secure as modern, computer driven ciphers, but it did the trick in the nineteen-fifties. It’s complicated, but I remember that it used a few different steps, each of which required a different key. I’m pretty sure that the keys included the lyrics of a song, a date, and another random number, less than sixteen.”
Suddenly wide-eyed, she shifted her gaze back to the papers. “It never occurred to me to investigate human ciphers.” She stood and quickly gathered up the pile. “Wow, thanks for the info, maybe I’ll finish this yet!” she called out over her shoulder as she hurried away.
“Happy to help,” I uttered to her retreating form.
“How do you know about VIC?”
I didn’t realize that Alex had returned and I jumped a little when I heard his voice behind me.
When my heart stopped thumping wildly, I admonished him with, “For god’s sake, Alex, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you but I was surprised that you would know so much about arcane encryption techniques. Is that something everybody with a degree in physiology knows or have you been hiding your secret ties to the CIA from me?” he said with a grin.
I briefly contemplated making up an interesting explanation, but I settled for the mundane truth instead.
“When I was an undergrad, I dated a guy that was obsessed with cryptography. He would send me encrypted romantic notes and I would have to figure out what they said. They started out simple, you know, one letter substituted for another, then got progressively more difficult. I know it sounds really geeky, but they were like puzzles, and I found I was pretty adept at breaking codes. The one he gave me that used VIC took me about a month to crack, and he further complicated it by making the first sentence complete gibberish, even when correctly decoded, to throw me off. I think I broke up with him after that.”
“You are correct, my dear. That is extraordinarily geeky,” Sebastian quipped.
I knew Sebastian couldn’t see me roll my eyes, but I was pretty sure that he could sense my exasperation, so I did it anyway.
Alex laughed. “I take it Sebastian was giving you grief over your former boyfriend’s unusual seduction methods?”
“I knew I should have concocted a story that made me look better,” I muttered under my breath.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not sure which is more impressive, your skill as a code cracker or your apparent ability to swear in a multitude of languages,” Alex said mischievously.
I hadn’t realized that he had been standing there that long. “Thanks so much,” I responded sarcastically. “I’m truly gifted.”
“I am still trying to determine which is more troublesome, that you did not end your relationship despite this fellow’s seriously inadequate romantic acumen, or that you did so because he used an added dimension of trickery to try to thwart you.”
I’d really had enough of Sebastian at the moment. “Hey Sebastard,” I sputtered. “Yumago! Do prdele! Haista paska! Jebiesz jeze! Foda-se!”
Obviously puzzled because he was not privy to the voice in my head, Alex raised one eyebrow before saying “What was all that?”
I stood and huffed out, “Korean, Czech, Finnish, Polish, and Portuguese!”
~14~
Alex didn’t stop snickering at my Sebastian-directed tirade until well after we left the hidden command post and returned to the quiet of the house above. I realized that my outburst was out of proportion given the moderate amount of snark in Sebastian’s assessment of my prior dalliances, but there was no way in hell I was going to apologize.
Unfortunately, my over-developed sense of right and wrong made me feel really bad about that. So I decided to check out the kitchen and see if there were sufficient quantities of either chocolate or tequila with which to assuage my guilt.
Whoever stocked the place made sure no one would ever go hungry. Baskets on the counters were filled with fruit and loaves of bread and a quick glance into the pantry revealed anything anyone could ever want or desire in the way of dry goods.
The fridge looked like the display case at a fancy delicatessen—there must have been eight different kinds of cheese in there, for god’s sake! It was also packed with sliced meats, salads, homemade soups, a giant veggie tray, various flavors and types of yogurt, and a plate of pastries that looked too perfect to eat. The freezer was filled with plastic containers labeled with delicious sounding things like eggplant parmesan, coq au vin, and lamb vindaloo and enough frozen desserts to make Baskin-Robbins jealous. There was so much, in fact, it made it difficult to decide what to eat.
I made it easy on myself and opted for a chocolate-covered éclair. I didn’t even bother with a plate—I just ate it while standing with the refrigerator door still open.
As I was licking the last of the creamy custard filling from my fingers, Alex came in and set a bottle of Glen Fiddich and a bottle of Patron on the center island. Someone thought of everything, apparently.
“If those are éclairs in there, you better save me some, or I’m not sharing the alcohol.”
“Deal. But the Rocket Pops are mine.”
“What’s a Rocket Pop?”
I was astounded. “Over one hundred years old, and you never heard of Rocket Pops? You have been missing a wondrous piece of Americana, my friend.”
I opened the freezer, grabbed two popsicles, and handed one to Alex. I un-wrapped mine to reveal the missile-shaped treat with its red layer on top, followed by a white mid-section, and ending with a layer of blue.
“The Rocket Pop,” I began, gesturing at it like I was Vanna White showing what you’ve won, “is the quintessential Independence Day dessert that skillfully juxtaposes three delicious flavors in one yummy confection.”
Alex definitely did not look convinced, but he peeled away the paper on his and took a bite off the top. He rolled it around his mouth, swallowed, and then looked thoughtfully at what remained.
“Not bad. The top part is cherry flavored, what do the other parts taste like?”
“The middle is kind of citrusy and the bottom…”
Now that I stopped to think about it, I had no idea what the bottom flavor was supposed to be. Alex looked at me expectedly while I paused. “The bottom tastes blue,” I proclaimed.
He looked skeptical, but took a tentative nibble from the bottom. “You’re right. It definitely tastes blue,” he said, laughing. “But I’m not sure I share your enthusiasm; I freely concede the Rocket Pops to you.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t come begging when you realize you’ve made an epoch gastronomic mistake.”
“I seriously doubt anyone with even a modicum of culinary refinement would grieve if deprived of these things,” Sebastian snorted dismissively.
I pondered that for a moment as I finished the last of my popsicle.
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste, but believe me, on a steamy hot day, there’s nothing better.”
“I suppose that could explain my somewhat underwhelming reaction. It is, after al
l, below freezing outside at the moment. Maybe if you dipped it in the scotch…?”
Despite having eaten dessert first, Alex and I were still hungry. We heated up some lobster bisque and made smoked turkey sandwiches. Everything was delicious, and I used a leftover bit of sandwich crust to mop up the very last of the soup in my bowl.
“Whoever provided the food is my hero,” I stated contentedly.
“The support staff downstairs does it. If there’s anything that you want that isn’t here already, let me know. They will obtain it and bring it up.”
Given the wide variety of provisions currently on hand, I couldn’t imagine needing anything else.
“There’s more than enough food here. Didn’t they realize it was just the two of us?”
“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, actually. To be on the safe side, I thought it would be best if we kept a low profile and not venture into town. Because we can’t run out to the grocery store ourselves if we need something, they went a little overboard because the dietitians were concerned that you might have… cravings.”
I could tell from his expression that Alex was bracing for me to get mad, and hoping that I wouldn’t. I didn’t like that he thought I might not be able to go with the flow, or the lack thereof given my pseudo condition.
“Look, I told you I get why people have to think I’m pregnant. And while I admit that, at first, I was none too happy about it—if I had known carrying Sebastian junior would get me access to all this fine eating, I would have been on board from the get-go. So stop worrying.”
“I was a bit concerned that the pregnancy ruse was asking too much. We have disrupted your life and you have done everything we have asked, regardless of the potential danger. You haven’t had much choice in all this, and I want you to know how grateful I am that it was you who received Sebastian’s Kindle.”
“Indeed, my dear. You are a credit to your species.”
I was taken aback by this sudden wave of gratitude. Alex looked so sincere that I fought my initial urge to temper their praise with my usual flippant banter. I really needed to work on my non-facetious communication skills.
Unfortunately, in the absence of glib, my response was an ineloquent, “Wow, guys. Ah… thanks.”
The ensuing silence was as uncomfortable as my inability to receive compliments with grace and self-assurance. Fortunately, the awkwardness was dispelled by the ringing of Alex’s phone, and he went into the living room to take the call. By the time he was finished, enough time had elapsed that other priorities required attention and the prior conversation was, thankfully, not picked up where we left off.
So as not to waste energy heating the upstairs, we decided to use the two downstairs bedrooms. Alex put my bag in the one that faced the lake, but the frosty window made it difficult to see anything. I used a blow dryer I found in the cabinet under the bathroom sink to warm the glass enough to take in the view.
The lake was probably beautiful when not frozen solid—but now the smooth, glassy surface was stark and uninviting, and the absence of any soothing sounds of gentle waves lapping against the nearby shore made the wide expanse of thick ice all the more austere. The snow-dusted trees that surrounded the lake were spectacular, particularly when the sun glistened off them. I hadn’t spent a lot of time in this type of climate, and its novelty made it immediately appealing. I was really, really happy that I didn’t have to spend an entire winter here.
The next few days were filled with a lot of doing nothing particularly productive. We were still waiting for some credible information about the location of Sebastian’s body and for me at least, it was way too cold to go outside to pass the time. Alex was often occupied with following up leads, so I amused myself with my newly created fake Facebook page playing online games. I could have used the time pursuing more intellectually stimulating endeavors, but most of the books I found were either saccharine romances filled with throbbing members and heaving breasts or long, boring historical novels where political party members were given the heave-ho. Even though, at Alex’s request, I brought the Kindle along, given the events of the last few weeks, there was no way I was firing up that Pandora’s Box.
There was lots of time to eat, and the wide array of goodies coupled with my reluctance to venture outside for a much-needed run was making me sluggish. When I mentioned this to Alex, he introduced me to the underground workout facility, which conveniently provided weight-training and elliptical machines, along with a running track and a lap pool. There was even a place to get a massage. It was like a weird, militarized spa.
By the end of the fifth day, however, the novelty was wearing thin. I enjoyed spending time with Alex, and the verbal sparring with Sebastian, but I had been doing that at home. I was tired of being cooped up in unfamiliar surroundings and I missed my cat. I was also losing patience with people’s pitying looks when they encountered the poor human, incubating her presumed dead, man-ho of a lover’s child. One afternoon, while in the sauna with one such sympathetic soul, I amused myself by confiding in her that I was originally unsure of who was the father, but before Sebastian’s signature developed, I had the baby’s paternity narrowed down between him and the offensive line of the Arizona Cardinals. Sure, it was sophomoric, but it made Sebastian cackle for the rest of the day.
The lack of progress must have bothered Alex as well—he seemed much more fidgety than normal. We had planned to watch yet another pay-per-view movie, but after finishing dinner, we decided neither of us was in the mood. Instead, we sat on the couch in front of the big stone fireplace and just talked.
The conversation was casual and light, and when he started reminiscing about his earlier days as Sebastian’s apprentice, I realized that I had absolutely no idea what Sebastian looked like. When I asked, Alex extended his hand, palm up, and soon a cloudy image appeared in the center. In another second or so, a three-dimensional image of a man, handsome and sporting a rather amused smirk, came into focus and floated a half-inch or so above Alex’s hand.
“This is Sebastian,” Alex said as the figure rotated slowly so I could see it from different angles without having to move.
Based solely on his voice, I had always pictured him as impeccably groomed with not a hair out of place. Surprisingly, he seemed more rugged than I expected, as if he had spent a lot of time climbing mountains or sailing the oceans.
Sebastian looked like he was fortyish, with straight, shoulder-length dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail, with a touch of grey at the temples. His features were masculine, with an aquiline nose, chiseled jaw, and cleft chin.
It was difficult to judge his height, but he was heavily muscled—not the sinewy, swimmers body like Alex’s—but bulkier, like a football player. Even in holographic form, he looked confident and powerful; I could see why women would find his attractive, bad-boy appearance appealing.
“Pretty studly,” I acknowledged.
“Thank you, I am indeed. Although I fear Alex’s rendition pales in comparison to the real thing.”
Alex closed his hand and the image faded away. “True, Sebastian,” Alex began, “it is challenging to duplicate that which makes you so… you.”
“That’s a pretty cool trick—can everyone conjure up something like that?”
Alex nodded. “It does eliminate the need to carry photographs in one’s wallet.”
I went over to the fireplace and as I tossed a new log onto the now dwindling flames, some of the glowing embers flew up, instantly burning my exposed forearm.
“God fucking damn it, that hurts!” I shouted, waving my arm frantically.
I started to move toward the kitchen to run some cold water over the painful, red blotch that had already begun to blister when Alex stopped me.
He calmly placed his fingers just over the burned area and I felt a cool sensation wafting down from his hand. Within a few seconds, the pain subsided. I examined my arm and was surprised that not only did it no longer hurt, but also the blisters were gone. Only
some residual redness remained.
Alex surveyed his work. “That was a nasty burn. You should be more careful next time. It might stay red for a day or so, but other than that, you shouldn’t have any problems.”
“And I thought the holographic Sebastian was amazing,” I said as I poked tentatively at the now healed flesh. “As long as you’re fixing stuff, can you make my thighs thinner?”
I think Alex didn’t realize I was joking, because his response was completely serious.
“Healing is an entirely different matter than changing the way one looks. If I maintained physical contact, I could alter your appearance, but once the connection ended, so would the modifications. I could change myself for a longer period, but it would take a lot of magic and it would not be permanent.”
I remembered him telling me something about this before, when he was describing how the Coursodon might have been responsible for werewolf folklore because some had the ability to make themselves look like animals.
“I was just kidding about the magical liposuction, but just for fun, I’ve always wondered what I would look like as a blonde.”
He frowned slightly, and I figured I had crossed some inter-dimensional line of propriety. I was about to apologize, when he guided me into the bathroom. Alex positioned me in front of the mirror over the sink, and stood behind me with his hands resting on my shoulders. He closed his eyes for a moment and I felt his magic tingling from his fingertips through my shoulders. Then my hair was the same color as his—golden with lighter highlights.
It was cool, but also kind of disappointing. I definitely wasn’t meant to be fair-haired, and the lighter color made my skin look washed out.
“Huh. Not the transformation I was hoping for. I think I need a total makeover.”