Misfortune Teller

by Dima Zales

  I chuckle, but nearly choke on my mirth when he gives me a stern look. Clearly, Dr. Hekima is a black belt when it comes to dealing with impertinence during his lectures.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Please go on.”

  “The X-Men reaction,” he says, “would be to fear us—following the proverbial ‘fear what you do not understand’ tactic. Those of us with great powers would be treated as weapons of mass destruction, while someone with powers like yours might be used as an intelligence gathering tool—”

  “Sounds dystopian,” I say, suppressing a shiver at picturing myself locked in some underground bunker and making geopolitical predictions for the CIA—a task that would make even Nero’s research fun in comparison.

  He nods. “Dystopian indeed. And well contrasted with the ‘Jedi scenario,’ which is quite utopian. In The Star Wars franchise, the Jedi were extremely powerful, but they were neither feared nor used for anything they didn’t wish to be used—”

  “Until they all got wiped out,” I mutter. “Spoiler alert.”

  “Right, but that was the Sith.” Still holding his phone, he sneaks a peek at his wristwatch.

  Since I find the conversation fascinating, I pretend I didn’t see the gesture.

  “I’d consider the Sith a sub-type of Jedi,” he continues, “at least for the sake of this analogy. It wasn’t humans who committed genocide—which is the main thrust of this scenario.”

  “But don’t vampires have powers that can make people forget the Cognizant exist, even if the secret did get out?” I say. “Doesn’t that make this discussion moot?”

  He glances at his watch again, and I pretend not to notice again.

  “I can already see how stimulating it will be to have you in my classes,” he says. “You ask the right kind of questions.”

  “Thanks. But I notice you didn’t actually answer.”

  “Given how young and impressionable my students are, I typically stay clear of this topic,” he says, this time sneaking a look at his phone. “However, you seem like a mature and intelligent young woman, so I can tell you that yes, even if our secret got out, depending on how it got out, things could be managed.”

  He glances at his stupid watch again. “The vampires and other Cognizant have access to humans at every level of power, from heads of corporations to leaders of countries. They can nudge them in the direction that’s good for the Cognizant. In some cases, the Cognizant themselves are in important positions. For instance, the lynchpins of most organized criminal enterprises are probability manipulators, as that position in society lets them thrive on chaos in a way that doesn’t reveal the existence of the rest of the Cognizant.”

  I find it easy to picture someone like Chester in charge of a drug cartel. I also recall Nero’s comments about the vampires at Goldman Sachs, and my head starts to spin.

  He must’ve meant that literally.

  A bunch of questions swirl in my head, so I blurt out the one that seems most pertinent. “What if the secret got out in a big way? Say, some shifter turned into an invisible pink unicorn on live TV?”

  “Humans might still deny the truth,” he says. “Explain it away as CGI or something of that nature. But if they started to believe it, I fear we’d find out which of the many fictional scenarios was the most realistic.” He unlocks his phone this time and stares at it for a moment before finishing with, “I personally suspect we’d be—as my students would say—screwed.”

  “Right, but what if—”

  “I’m so terribly sorry to cut this short.” He looks up from the phone with genuine remorse in his gaze. “I have another engagement scheduled, and we’re running over our allotted time.”

  “Just a couple of last questions,” I say swiftly. “If you don’t mind.”

  He bobs his head.

  “Was the material you covered in the early lectures a prerequisite for the upcoming curriculum?”

  “No.” He runs his hand through the wild tangles of his hair. “I don’t think we’ve covered anything too fundamental thus far.”

  “In that case, can I start tomorrow, but then take a few makeup lectures when the next group of Cognizant starts their semester? I’d hate to miss anything, but I’m also very eager to start learning as soon as possible.”

  “Hmm,” Dr. Hekima says. “It’s unorthodox, but Mr. Gorin spoke so highly on your behalf that—”

  I’m in such shock I miss whatever he says next. Nero spoke highly on my behalf?

  “—and thank you so much for coming to see me today,” I hear when I refocus on what Dr. Hekima is saying. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at three.” He gets up, extending his hand. “It was very nice to meet you, Sasha.”

  “Pleasure to meet you too.” I shake his hand and reluctantly take my leave.

  On the way to the car, I ponder the things I learned. Despite the prospect of being surrounded by teens, I’m extremely psyched about tomorrow’s class—and the others after that.

  “How is good ol’ Dr. Hekima doing?” Ariel says as I climb into the car.

  “I don’t have a good point for comparison,” I say. “He was pretty busy.”

  “I’m surprised he made time for you at all.” She starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot. “No one ever sees him outside those classes.”

  “It might’ve been a favor for Nero.” I buckle my safety belt. “I guess my boss is performing some Mentor duties after all.”

  “I’ve always had a feeling Nero isn’t as bad as you make him out to be,” Ariel says with the most evil expression on her face. “In fact, it’s almost as though you’re—”

  “Starving,” I say sternly. “Should we stop by somewhere to eat?”

  “Felix texted.” She honks at a yellow cab and flips off another driver as she suddenly switches lanes. “He made something called ‘dolma’—which, according to my Google search, is stuffed peppers and/or cabbage with meat.”

  “Then home we shall go,” I say, my stomach rumbling. “We wouldn’t want to discourage Felix’s cooking hobby.”

  “Right.” Ariel smiles mischievously. “Remember the evil plan—we say thank you as though we mean it, even if we don’t, and don’t forget to compliment the chef profusely.”

  “I came up with this ‘evil plan’ myself, remember?” I say and take out the bullet.

  This way, I can practice some more when we get on the highway, and Ariel goes into that non-talking driving mode again.

  “This is amazing,” Ariel says as she bites into a large bell pepper stuffed with spicy meat.

  If she’s faking, she’s so good that even I (the mistress of deception) can’t tell, and Felix is practically beaming with delight.

  “Mom emailed me the recipe after our lunch with Sasha,” he says. “She meant for me to give it to one of you—but I figured that would be offensive, plus you know how much I like to cook.”

  “Also,” I say through a mouthful of delicious pepper and meat, “if Ariel cooked, it certainly would be offensive. To our taste buds.”

  “You’re one to talk.” Ariel licks her fork clean. “We all remember the illusion feast.”

  Felix visibly shudders at the memory, and Ariel laughs.

  “Hey.” I have to work really hard to keep a straight face. “I still say it was one of my best ideas.”

  “I have no idea what everyone is talking about.” Fluffster raises his head from a plate of alfalfa hay. “I didn’t know Sasha cooked.”

  “I cook,” I say defensively, but Ariel and Felix snort.

  I glare at them, then turn to Fluffster. “In any case, what they’re talking about is that one time, I wanted to create a culinary illusion using synsepalum dulcificum. It’s a plant also known as the miracle berry,” I add when everyone looks at me with a blank face. “The miraculin in this berry does something very strange. It binds to the sweetness receptors on the tongue, so a person eating acidic foods, such as lemons, perceives them as tasting sweet.”

  “Right.” Ariel
chuckles again. “So she made a cake out of lemons. Not to be confused with a lemon cake.”

  “The sourest cake ever,” Felix chimes in.

  “Right,” I say. “But I snuck the miracle berries into our pallet cleanser.”

  “Without explaining anything,” Felix says.

  “In her defense,” Ariel says, “the result was very sweet. On the day of the illusion, that is.”

  I grin. “Yep, they loved it. But the next day, I came rushing out of the bathroom because there were all these desperate curses and screams. You see, they tried to eat the leftovers—without first munching on the miracle berries.”

  “It was horrible.” Felix shudders again. “My jaws literally seized up.”

  “Sounds like more food being wasted,” Fluffster says, his mental voice disgruntled, but I detect some laughter in it too.

  Felix shakes his head, then looks at me and Ariel. “So, I have a question for you two.” He gives Fluffster an apologetic look. “As females.”

  Ariel—who was stuffing a stuffed pepper into her mouth—chokes so badly I prepare to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

  “So anyway.” Felix drops his gaze to his nearly empty plate. “Say I was going to entertain a lady… Do you think I should cook this exact meal for her?”

  With a loud gulp, Ariel swallows the pepper she was choking on and rattles out, “Who? What? When? How?”

  I’m about to join her in bombarding him with questions, but then I recall he mentioned a girl to his parents.

  Looks like he didn’t make one up just to appease them.

  “It’s not someone you know,” Felix says. “I’m not even sure where this might lead. I’m just trying to decide what activity would be best and—”

  “I think cooking on the first date might be a bit much.” I put down my fork a little too suddenly. Something about this bothers me, and I have no idea why.

  Could I actually be jealous?

  No. That doesn’t make sense.

  If I am upset, it’s only because Felix has always kept his girl crushes in-house, lusting after either me or Ariel—as a good polygamous husband should. Now it turns out that his heart is a fickle creature.

  Oh, well, good for him. If he wants some floozy, he can have her.

  “I’d ask her out for coffee,” Ariel says. “And if it goes well, Netflix and chill.” Apparently, she doesn’t share my qualms about this situation.

  Felix doesn’t redden, so he must not know that N&C is code for sleeping together.

  I force myself to smile and say, “I second that.” Picking up my fork, I stab another pepper. “And if she does come over, and you happen to have yummy leftovers of something you personally have cooked, she’ll be properly impressed, without any undue pressure.”

  “I’d suggest ‘leftovers’ of your smoked salmon deviled eggs.” Ariel takes a hungry bite of stuffed pepper. “Or maybe that Russian version with the red caviar?”

  “And,” Fluffster says in our heads, “let me show her how I wash myself in a dust bath. It seems to really impress the two females I’ve been exposed to.”

  “Or anyone with eyes,” Ariel says.

  “And sense of cuteness,” I second.

  “Thanks, you guys.” Felix takes out his phone and makes notes.

  “Of course,” I say, “you can scrap everything we just said and bring your new friend with us to Earth Club tonight.”

  “Assuming she’s a Cognizant, of course.” Ariel almost jumps up and down in excitement. “There will be dancing, music—”

  “She’s not Cognizant, and she’s busy tonight.” Felix hides the phone and takes his plate to the sink. “Besides, I like the low-key idea much better.”

  “How about you, then?” Ariel asks him. “Are you coming with me and Sasha tonight?”

  “I don’t think I should.” Felix rinses his plate and puts it in the dishwasher. “It would be like cheating.”

  Ariel goggles at his back. “You didn’t even have a proper date.”

  “And we’re just going to a club to dance, not to partake in an orgy,” I say, then look at Ariel. “Right?”

  “No orgies,” she confirms. Under her breath, she adds, “Unless you want one.”

  “Imagine what my lady will say if we got married, and then I told her that I went to a club without her, after we’d already met,” Felix says, looking utterly serious.

  “What’s an orgy?” Fluffster asks.

  We all (with the exception of the chinchilla) nearly fall on the floor laughing.

  Through spasmodic guffaws, I manage to squeeze out, “I guess we found the limits of YouTube-based education.”

  My comment makes my friends laugh even more, until I notice Fluffster staring at us with his black eyes narrowed into slits—at which point I nearly burst with more laughter.

  Eventually, we stop teasing Fluffster, and Ariel volunteers to explain what an orgy actually is.

  “We have to go,” she says after she’s done corrupting the poor chinchilla’s innocent mind. “Sasha and I have mani-pedi appointments before our quest to Earth Club.”

  I didn’t realize we had anything of the sort. If I’d been consulted, I would’ve pointed out that my nails still look perfect after the Jubilee, but what are you going to do?

  Ariel always gets her way in this sort of thing.

  We get the mani-pedis, which escalate into facials.

  Soon, it becomes clear that Ariel decided to recreate the Jubilee makeover Nero had organized for me the other day, but on a more reasonable budget and with me choosing my clothes.

  When we get home after all the pampering and shopping, I escape into my room to get dressed.

  I put on the new jeans, the stylish buttoned-down blouse that was my concession to Ariel, and the new pair of boots. A glance in the mirror is all I need to confirm that this ensemble will work really well with my new leather jacket.

  As usual, to make the chore of putting on makeup more palatable, I remind myself that face paint is a type of illusion. That way, I can force myself to apply some, so Ariel won’t have to pretend we didn’t arrive together.

  To complete my outfit, I stick my new gun into a messenger bag that I sling over my shoulder. If I’m going to carry the gun around like this, I’ll have to get more bags to go with various outfits.

  “Oh my,” Felix exclaims when I strut into the living room. “You look great.”

  Fluffster looks me over as well, and since he doesn’t complain about the unnecessary shopping, I take his silence as a compliment.

  Then Ariel walks in.

  No one finds the words—not even Fluffster, who can speak telepathically.

  She cheated.

  This isn’t something we just bought—because we didn’t shop at BDSM“R”Us.

  Ariel’s entire body is tightly wrapped in black leather—though it could be latex. The shiny skintight pants show off every muscle of her dancer-like legs, and the black pumps further highlight her assets. Her top adheres so closely to her skin that it outlines her abs. I have no clue how she got into it, or the pants for that matter.

  To top everything off, her hair is up, held together by something like a knitting needle or a screwdriver—it’s hard to see under the waves.

  She couldn’t exude more sex appeal if she were standing there in Victoria’s Secret lingerie.

  “Are you a dominatrix or Catwoman?” I ask, trying and failing to break the spell. “And if it’s the latter, don’t you think you’re taking your Batman addiction too far?”

  “No,” Felix says, his voice hoarse. “I think this is a much, much tighter version of Trinity’s outfit, from The Matrix.”

  “This is just something that’s in vogue at Earth Club these days,” Ariel says, smoothing her palms down her torso. She sounds a bit self-conscious. “I can change if—”

  “No,” Felix and I say in unison.

  “You look amazeballs,” I clarify.

  “You don’t need to change.” Felix clears his throat.
“Trust me.”

  Ariel gives everyone a megawatt smile. “Great. I’ll go put on some makeup.”

  “That was without makeup?” I say to no one in particular.

  “She’d make so much money modeling,” Fluffster says in my mind. “I already told her that. Why doesn’t anyone in this household care about building up savings?”

  “You furry pimp.” I grab the chinchilla and rub the heavenly fur against my cheek. “If Ariel wants to be a doctor, she should be a doctor, not a model. Besides, doctors do make good money.”

  That seems to pacify the domovoi, and we settle in to wait for Ariel.

  She comes out after what feels like an hour. We all gape at her again, struck speechless—though I’m not sure if it’s the newly applied goth-style makeup or the continued impact of the sexy superhero outfit.

  “We better get a head start,” she says to me. “Time flows differently at our destination.”

  I get up from the couch and stretch.

  “Make sure to bring something warm with you,” Fluffster demands in our heads. “It’s nippy out.”

  Resisting jokes about someone looking like a perfect fur mitten, I pocket my black leather gloves, loop my favorite scarf around my neck, and put on a beanie hat.

  Ariel slips into a long raincoat, which brings to mind scenes from romantic comedies where the girl comes to the boy’s house wearing nothing under a coat like that.

  “Leave the bag,” Ariel says about my gun holster/messenger bag.

  “But I have the—”

  “They wouldn’t let you in with such a… crime against fashion.” She purses her lips and shakes her head as though to say, “Don’t argue, or else we’ll have to explain the gun to the others.”

  “Fine.” I take off the heavy bag with some relief.

  “This is why you keep me around,” Ariel says, and I can’t help but smile at the double meaning.

  “You’re not driving?” I ask Ariel when I see her leave the keys to her Hummer hanging on the hook by the door.