Alien in the House

by Gini Koch

  Bent down to oblige.

  “Wipe the shocked look off your face, for God’s sake,” Camilla hissed in my ear. “I’m filling in as Reyes’ ‘date’ and working. Be happy I’m here, something’s going down tonight.”

  CHAPTER 18

  I KISSED CAMILLA’S cheek on autopilot. It was amazing how I was suddenly laser focused and extremely alert.

  As with every other table, my seat was across from Jeff’s. I’d seen every dude in this room, and I could confirm that, as always, he was the hottest looking guy around. He also looked pleased and like he was suddenly glad Raj was around, too. Jeff shot me a proud look. “Everything fine in the kitchen?”

  “Absolutely. Chef has things well in hand.”

  All the men at my table stood, and Jeff looked like he was going to leave his seat to help me into mine. But I had Representatives Brewer and Reyes on either side, and they both reached for my chair. “Allow me,” Reyes said with a smile for me and Brewer, who laughed and sat down.

  The way the tables were arranged, Nathalie Brewer’s back was to Eugene’s. This should have meant he wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on, unless he was ready to share his affair with his wife.

  However, this wasn’t the case. Before Reyes could do anything else, Eugene leaped up from his table and somehow beat Reyes to my chair.

  “Here, Kitty, let me help you,” Eugene said, almost slamming the chair into my leg.

  “Thank you, but I’ve got it,” Reyes said, giving Eugene the look normally reserved for the crazy aunt in the attic. Couldn’t blame him.

  “No, no, please let me.” Eugene seemed strangely intent on being weirdly chivalrous. This didn’t compute.

  Worried for a moment that Reyes and Eugene were going to fight over my chair. However, Reyes chose the path of least resistance and shrugged. “Okay, if it means that much to you.”

  I looked at Jeff, to see if he had a clue as to what the hell was going on. Received the “what the hell?” look back. Clearly he had no idea what Eugene’s damage was, either.

  As Eugene clumsily shoved me into the table, he accidentally banged against Brewer, which ended up rocking the table. Fortunately nothing much went over, though Reyes’ water slopped around and Brewer had to catch Eugene who almost fell over onto the table.

  Eugene blushed, but was still intent to help me get properly situated. “Kitty, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he moved my chair back so my stomach wasn’t shoved into the side of the table.

  What was it about this party that everyone wanted to whisper to me? Were all Washington dinner parties like this and, if so, could I hope to avoid them in the future?

  But once Eugene had stumbled back to his table, things went more smoothly. Being between Reyes and Brewer wouldn’t have been my first seating choice, but Brewer was always good for winery talk, and Reyes was big on New Mexico’s wineries. I was able to add in here and there, but the men were doing the conversational heavy lifting.

  Camilla was chatting with Senator McMillan, Jeff was chatting with Senator Armstrong and Kelly McMillan, Nathalie Brewer was engaged with Elaine Armstrong. So far, so good.

  Glanced around. The other tables all seemed fine. I spotted Caroline and Michael close by and they were the only A-C insiders at their table. How we’d missed stopping by that table was beyond me, but Whitmore’s bad attitude had clearly thrown off Raj’s groove as much as mine.

  Considering that Caroline worked for McMillan and Michael was an astronaut, they should have been with another couple from our side of things. Ergo, using my brilliant deductive reasoning, they were acting as Serene’s replacements. Wondered if I should get up to go say something to their table, but the possibility that Eugene would try to “help” me again seemed high, and one experience of that weirdness was enough.

  We had a five-course meal coming, which was great because by now I was starving. Appetizers were served, each person receiving an artfully arranged plate filled with bite-sized works of art. I almost didn’t want to eat mine. Did, however, and enjoyed. Chose not to agree with Brewer that a glass of wine would have gone nicely. We had a variety of sparkling water and juices that were covering the beverage side of things.

  The soup arrived, and it was delicious. My promises to every guest about the greatness of the meal seemed to be coming true, for which I thanked God and Pierre.

  It was during the salad course that Reyes started choking. The bad kind of choking. And after a few moments, it was clear he wasn’t getting any air.

  “Drink some water, Santiago,” Brewer suggested. Others offered similar ideas, and Camilla patted him on the back. Nothing was helping.

  Everyone looked concerned, but my high school had prepared me for this. I shoved my chair back, went behind Reyes, and did the Heimlich on him, being careful not to squeeze too hard—I wanted to open his airways, not crush his ribs.

  Performed the maneuver perfectly and a crouton popped out of Reyes’ mouth. My high school gym teachers would have been proud.

  “Thank you, Kitty,” he gasped. “My God, I seriously thought I was going to die.”

  “Do you need water?” Camilla asked.

  Reyes’ glass was empty. “Here,” Brewer said, “take mine, haven’t touched it.” He winked at me. “I only like the hard stuff, like my virgin piña colada here.”

  Reyes took Brewer’s water and drank it gratefully. “Thanks, Ed.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Whew. Dinner and a show, huh?”

  We all laughed, I sat down amid a small round of applause, and we finished the salads. Everyone at our table moved the croutons to the side.

  Talk turned to lifesaving and such, and I was called upon to explain my prowess with the Heimlich. Good schooling got interspersed with lifesaving as the main course arrived. As with everything else, this part of the meal was amazing, and I started to relax and enjoy myself. Once you’ve popped a crouton out of someone at your fancy dinner party, really, there’s nothing to worry about from a decorum standpoint.

  The conversation went from lifesaving to what we were afraid of. Shared my fear of snakes, which got a firm agreement from Nathalie, Kelly, and Elaine. Brewer claimed a fear of heights; Reyes felt that choking to death in public was now his fear; McMillan said that after war what he feared were closed minds, which got a lot of impressed nodding. Armstrong said he feared making his wife angry, and Jeff jumped on that bandwagon to a lot of laughs.

  Camilla said she worried that the wrong people would be in office. Figured this wasn’t a real fear of hers, but a great way to move the conversation toward something where she wouldn’t have to reveal a weakness. I was impressed, because it worked like a charm at a table full of politicians, especially since one of them was indeed running for the presidency.

  Our table agreed that Armstrong was a great presidential choice. Considering our current Commander in Chief was at the end of his second term, the idea of a President we were on good terms with wasn’t a bad one. McMillan was extremely pro the idea of Armstrong taking the highest office in the land and, as with so many other things, his vote of confidence made me feel much more inclined to support Armstrong.

  Because the incumbent VP wasn’t interested in seeking his time at the top, the field was wide open. “You’re sure to get the nomination, aren’t you?” I asked.

  Armstrong shook his head. “Nothing’s sure until the national convention, and that won’t be until the year after next. As you well know, Kitty, a lot can happen in a short period of time, let alone in more than a year.”

  “True enough. So, will you end up having to ask someone who spent months running against you to be your vice presidential nominee, or do you get to choose from a wider range of options?”

  Armstrong shrugged and McMillan laughed. “We’re powwowing on that. I’m helping Vincent sift through his options. None of which are me, by the way.”

  “Why not?” Jeff asked. “You’d make a great team.”

  “Oh, we do make a good team,” McMilla
n said. “But I don’t have the drive to survive a campaign, at least not right now. As long as someone I believe in is running, I’m happy to help and remain where I am.” He winked at me. “I like going home to Arizona too much to give that up willingly.”

  “But to answer the ambassador’s question,” Armstrong said with a smile, “Don and I are trying to figure it out. There are a lot of options.”

  “Not me or Santiago,” Brewer said with a laugh. “We’re too new.”

  “Nothing wrong with new,” Armstrong said with a grin. “Nothing wrong with old. The issue is where you stand on the issues, and who you’ll protect or sell out, and why.”

  The others nodded and the conversation was off onto what was good and bad about politics.

  “Jeff, you should consider running for office,” Reyes said, after the discussion of what made a good politician had been going for about five minutes. The other men at the table chimed in with their agreement, while the wives nodded theirs. I kept what I hoped was a poker face on and focused on my potatoes.

  Jeff looked shocked. “I’ve never considered it.” The way he said it, I knew he also didn’t want to consider it.

  “You’re a natural,” Brewer said.

  Managed not to mention that in our Embassy that was probably considered an insult.

  “You would have a lot to offer,” McMillan said thoughtfully. “And you’re a U.S. citizen, so there’s no issue with eligibility.”

  “I don’t want to run for any office. Why would I need to run for office?” Jeff sounded confused and a little stressed.

  “For the good of your country and fellow men,” Armstrong said without missing a beat. “Could be good for smoothing over certain . . . issues.”

  “I don’t see how my being a politician would make anyone happier that we A-Cs are here. Besides, there are no elections for two more years, so no point in thinking about it right now.” Jeff’s tone of voice said that, as far as he was concerned, this topic was done. The expressions on the faces of the politicians at our table said that it was only done for right now.

  Reyes grinned. “Aw, c’mon. You’d be great, and if you ran for something, then I wouldn’t be the new kid on the block any more.”

  Jeff managed to laugh as a nice distraction arrived—dessert. We were treated to individual-sized Baked Alaska, all beautiful to behold. “I only thought they served that dessert on cruises,” Reyes said.

  “I don’t tell Chef what to make and Chef doesn’t tell me how to perform the Heimlich.” I was managing not to drool, but it took some effort.

  Reyes laughed as we were served. The dessert was really yummy and it was nice to get to have it basically in our own home. Decided having a gourmet chef around wasn’t a bad trade-off for having to host the party.

  “Are you alright to have a dessert like this?” Nathalie asked. “It is made with alcohol.” She sounded worried, not nasty.

  “It only has alcohol in it if it’s flaming.” I knew this because the only part of the meal I’d been interested in was the dessert course, and Pierre had already reassured me that we weren’t going to be setting the Baked Alaska on fire, and therefore all the A-Cs could eat it in safety.

  Everyone dug in and the conversation slowed a bit and turned toward who’d been on a cruise and where they’d gone. Shocking no one, everyone had hit a cruise somewhere along the way, so there were a lot of sea experiences to cover. Coffee and tea were served, or another round of sparkling water or fruit drinks, depending on preference.

  Armstrong was regaling most of the table with a rather hilarious story about their first cruise ever, when he and Elaine were in a cabin so small he couldn’t stand up straight, when Reyes put his hand on his stomach. “Excuse me a minute,” he said quietly to me. “Think I need to go to the powder room.”

  “Are you okay?” He looked a little pale. Tried not to worry that something in the food had made one of our most important guests sick. Failed.

  “I don’t think I should have had another fruit drink with the Baked Alaska.” He grimaced. “That’ll teach me not to like hot drinks with dessert. I’ll be right back. One floor down, right?”

  “Right.” Tried not to contemplate how Reyes getting sick at this party would get spun by everyone, Marcia Kramer in particular. Failed again.

  “I’ll go down with you,” Camilla said. She shot me a look.

  “I’ll join you both. Group trip.” Reyes didn’t argue and no one else was really paying attention. The three of us got up quietly. “Bathroom break,” I said softly to Brewer when he turned to give me a questioning look. He nodded and turned his attention back to the Armstrongs.

  The three of us either had to work our way through the room in order to get to the elevators or we could take the stairs on this side of the room, which meant we only had to walk past one table. Offered Reyes the choice. “Stairs,” he said firmly.

  We moved quickly past Reader’s table and headed downstairs. Reyes was sweating, was definitely pale, and, when my hand accidentally brushed his, felt clammy. This was so not good. The heck with the party—Reyes was clearly not doing well. Didn’t know what to do for food poisoning, but Camilla was trained in medicine, and Tito, Nurse Carter, Lorraine, and Claudia were only a floor away.

  “Santiago, did something in the meal disagree with you?”

  “Maybe. Not sure. Maybe I’m coming down with the flu, which would be the worst timing in the world.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kitty, I don’t want to wreck your party.”

  “That’s okay, I just don’t want you to feel bad or get sick. Are you allergic to anything you might have eaten?” I smelled garlic on his breath and tried to remember which of the courses had had a lot of garlic in it.

  “No, no allergies to anything.” He swallowed hard. “I really think it’s either the flu or the combination of the fruit drink and the dessert, that’s all.”

  “I’d say botulism,” Camilla said. “But we had nothing that would have been suspect and, as far as I saw, no one else seemed to be in distress.”

  We reached the second floor and got Reyes into the stall closest to the stairs, which didn’t have the gate in it. We were the only ones racing someone to the bathroom, so Camilla’s impression that food poisoning wasn’t to blame seemed potentially correct.

  The individual stalls were unisex and each one was large and nicely appointed. In addition to the usual amenities, Pierre had installed small couches in each one, in case someone wanted to lie down. He insisted these were necessary. I’d let him win that one, because I was much more excited about the fact that we had stacks of real hand towels, not paper ones, in the bathrooms. Hey, it’s the little things you treasure.

  The stalls were also really soundproof, which everyone considered a good feature.

  All this was great for Reyes, but made getting to talk to Camilla alone in the bathroom awkward. “Do we talk out here or do we share a stall?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t actually need to go. If you can hold it, we can sit on a couch.” She looked around. “Or we can just stand here. The kitchen staff isn’t near enough to hear anything.”

  “Okay, so, what’s going on?”

  She dropped her voice. “We think one of the ‘captains’ from the invasion has infiltrated and is nearby. Not sure who or what his target is, but we figure it’s either the Pontifex, the hybrid children, or you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THERE WERE A LOT of responses I wanted to give to this statement. All of them related to Colonel Hamlin who was, if all was well, being guarded by Buchanan in the basement of the Embassy.

  Or course, my experience said things rarely went well. “Um, can you hold down the fort here for a couple minutes?”

  Camilla was a rarity among the A-Cs—she could lie believably and well. She’d told me the few A-C liars that existed were found early and trained in the various arts of spying and such. We were all still alive because Jeff’s father, Alfred, had put Camilla in place when Jamie was born, an
d Camilla had done her triple agent duty perfectly, helping us thwart Operation Confusion.

  Chuckie had put her on assignment to sniff out which A-Cs were traitors, or, in their minds, which A-Cs were Purity of the Race Patriots still supporting either their former leader, Ronald Yates, or the former Diplomatic Corps. So I hadn’t seen Camilla for a good long while.

  However, the reality was that the flip side of Camilla being a world class liar was that she was also world class at spotting liars. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you up to that no one else knows about?”

  “Oh, um, some others know about it. Look, we’re on the same side.” I truly hoped. “Give me about five minutes, or less, and then we can bring each other up to speed.”

  She nodded. “Fine. One of us has to stay here until Representative Reyes feels better anyway.”

  “Right.” I took off, using hyperspeed. I wasn’t enraged, but I was really, really stressed, and that seemed to be working for me in the same way rage did—I was in control of my A-C talents.

  Zipped from the Zoo, over the walkway, through the Embassy, and down into the basement, without hitting into anything. Which was good, because no one was there.

  Resisted the impulse to curse. Buchanan had moved Hamlin before; maybe he’d moved him now. Where to was the question. Dug out my phone and hit Buchanan’s speed dial button.

  It rang and went to voicemail. Hung up and called again. Same thing. Tried this three more times. Either Buchanan was somewhere where he couldn’t hear or see his phone, or something bad had happened. Or both.

  Had a lot of options, but decided freaking out really couldn’t be one of them. Instead, I called Christopher. Thankfully he answered.

  “Hi, Kitty, why are you calling me right now?”

  “Too much to explain. First, a question—is anyone at the party acting sick?”

  “Uh . . . no, not that I can see.”