“You’re very wise, my old friend.”
“Flatter me later. Go back to your friend now.”
Artest was on a city street as he spoke by cell phone. Jordan’s apartment was in a well- populated area near the university and a large mall. They were never supposed to let humans see them disappear, as they needed to do to transport, but Artest was getting more and more concerned for Jordan’s well being. He knew he couldn’t go back without the car, and it was miles away. He stepped into the doorway of a restaurant and pictured his home.
When he rematerialized in front of his home, her car was where she left it—not that he’d had any doubts. A thief could do better. It might have been her first purchase of a new car, as she’d mentioned outside the bar, but it couldn’t compete with the cars in his neighborhood or the two in his garage.
When she mentioned her cars with such pride, he realized how limited her upbringing must have been. Humans tended to annoy him talking about their things, but she spoke of it with wonder, the way a child speaks of a valued toy.
With his sister already in the Service a year before he was “made,” Artest had very little memory of true poverty. He imagined his family had little compared to an American child’s, but they were on top in his village. They really were on top, literally—his village was built on a cliff, the Badiagara Cliffs.
Where else would a people who are the conduits between heaven and Earth reside?
Her car seat was so close to the steering wheel he almost broke his knees. He found that interesting because he didn’t consider her short. It made him think of her as the cautious person her friend had described, more so than anything he’d seen in her behavior.
He didn’t judge her for sleeping with him; he would never do that. Artest considered himself a good judge of character—it came with a long life. He’d known she was a quality person within minutes of speaking with her. What he’d had a hard time recognizing was that her failure to ask a lot of questions ad nauseam, the way most American women did, wasn’t due to a natural, carefree personality. She was a woman who’d had very little stability in her early life. As a child, she couldn’t anticipate the next event, so she stopped trying. That kind of freedom came with a certain sadness.
Over the centuries, Artest had come to know all manner of beings that walk the earth—gods, angels, demons, fairies, Bloodsuckers, and more. They all wanted approval. He’d met pure good and pure evil, and each group wanted approval from their own kind.
In talking to Jordan at the club, he’d sensed she was a person who hadn’t been told often, or maybe hadn’t been told recently, that somebody who cares approves too. Not knowing what was going to come next in this woman’s life, because of him, was causing a pain deep inside that his rapid-repair metabolism couldn’t fix.
It took him only about twenty minutes to get back to her apartment, and the fear that it wasn’t quick enough was eating him from inside out.
He caught the Sangsue’s decaying metallic scent as soon as he entered her building. Some said they smelled of dying flowers, but he found nothing flowery in their scent. Artest knew it couldn’t be that strong if it was left over from their earlier encounter. They were there now—and the elevator or stairs would have taken too long. He left her building’s entranceway and materialized in her living room, not considering whether anybody could see him.
The room was empty, but the only scent in the air was hers. He stood still and concentrated on the scents. Nothing unusual, just her sweet, fresh floral essence.
“Jordan,” he called out. There was no answer. He looked in her kitchen first and then the bathroom. Her bedroom door was closed. He was afraid to open it. Since she hadn’t answered him, he didn’t know if he wanted to find her behind the door or not.
He slowly edged it open. She was on the bed. It wasn’t until he got closer that he could see she was wearing ear buds and listening to music with her eyes were closed. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Sensing his presence, she opened her eyes. He waited for the scream, but once again she surprised him.
“You’re back. That was quick,” she said, smiling.
He didn’t want to alarm her, but he had to know what had happened. Sitting on the bed, he tried to smile back at her. He tried to stop the pounding in his head.
“Tell me what happened while I was gone,” he said in a slow, measured, single breath.
She sat up. He could tell by the look on her face that he hadn’t been successful in not alarming her.
“You were right—they came. Well, one of them came, the one who stuck his face through my door.”
“What happened?”
“He left.”
“Tell me everything.”
He sat patiently and listened to every word. She’d handled herself well. He wondered if she knew she had the instincts of a warrior.
As she finished her recounting of the encounter, he found himself becoming more aware of the thin robe separating him from her body. They needed to get out of there, and that wasn’t going to happen if he continued to sit next to her. He rose.
“Jordan, I need you to get dressed and come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere safe until we can figure this out.”
“Figure what out?”
There was a playfulness in her voice that he didn’t want to see her lose, but she had to know the situation was serious. “You’re in danger. I’m afraid I’ve put you at risk.”
“Are you talking about a health risk?”
“Yes,” he said, but he couldn’t help but wonder what other kind of risk was possible or noteworthy.
“We used condoms, Artest. What are you saying?”
Her question threw him. It wasn’t often that he was so involved in what a person was saying that he didn’t have a clue what she was thinking. The two were often quite different. He stilled himself and felt her fear. The word “AIDS” was screaming through in her thoughts. He rewound the words he’d used; “at risk” was a catch phrase. Humans tended to think and interpret in sound bites.
He looked at her and willed her to feel his sincerity. “I want you to listen carefully.”
She nodded, her already large, luminous eyes like saucers with fear.
“You have never met a person healthier than me. The last time I was ill was centuries ago, when I was a child. I could cut myself right now, and before the next hour passes, you would see signs that I am repairing. Do you understand?”
She nodded again.
“The kind of danger you are in is much more serious than a sexually transmitted disease. Hold your questions for now and, I promise you, we will talk later.”
Chapter Ten
His seriousness was scaring her. Over the years, Jordan had learned to let music take her away. When she was twelve, a foster father who was priming her for seduction bought her a walkman. With that gift she was able to escape through music without disturbing others, which is always a foster child’s concern.
Even though she ran away from that home when the father tried to kiss her, she never lost her love for music.
At first she thought Artest was reacting to her limited covering. Her life had taught her that horniness was something men took seriously. She figured that was all his grim expression indicated. She made sure nothing was hanging out and pulled the robe tighter. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying and not his presence. Jordan was not usually so scattered— she’d been accused of the opposite—but being around Artest made her mind wander. She wondered if he might have taken a shower too, because he smelled so fresh and newly sprayed with that wonderful scent.
“Tell me what happened while I was gone,” he said, and she heard the words in the normal way, but she heard them in her mind too. It was stereo, loud stereo. It reminded her of the time she’d had her tonsils out as a seven-year-old and the anesthesia caused her to hallucinate. Her heart skipped, and she panicked.
He reached out and caught her by her shoulder
s with both of his hands. There was something about the way he held her still that made her look into his eyes. She immediately calmed down. She heard the words, “it’s okay, it’s okay,” inside her head, but it wasn’t her voice. Again, it was something that should have freaked her out, but she felt fine, and she thought she would continue to feel fine as long as she looked at him.
She told him exactly what had happened. Jordan expected him to be pleased, and he was, but her story had done nothing to eliminate his deer-in-the-headlights expression. He told her she needed to come with him to a safe place, but he didn’t explain what was unsafe about her apartment.
As she’d told Leeana’s machine, she fully expected to spend the day with him, but she wasn’t quite getting his urgency.
Jordan chose a pair of jeans that made her butt look great and a long man’s style shirt in a pale lilac that she’d been told was a good color for her. She wanted to look like she hadn’t tried too hard but looked great nonetheless. She started to put on a pair of pumps but decided on sneakers at the last minute. “Are we going to be out long?” she asked, wondering if she should take a jacket. She was trying to picture one that wouldn’t look stupid with the extra-length shirt.
He stared at her a moment before he answered. “Yes, take a jacket.”
Jordan started toward her closet when it dawned on her that she hadn’t said anything about a jacket.
“Who said anything about a jacket?” she asked.
He smiled. “Why else would you ask?”
That was how he wanted to play it. You’re going to give me a straight answer about this mindreading stuff before you dip into the honeypot again, my friend. She thought it with her eyes locked on his.
“What?” he asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason.”
He sounded the laugh he was trying to hold back.
“Wait for me out there,” she told him, pointing to the living room.
When she was dressed, with her jacket in hand and her toothbrush in her purse, she came in and announced that she was ready.
He stood and looked at her. His expression said he approved, and she liked the way that felt.
“I guess we’re taking my car?”
“Let’s talk about that,.” he said as he walked toward her. He opened his arms like he wanted to give her a hug. Of course she opened her arms too. He kissed her.
When she opened her eyes from the kiss, they were standing in a large, empty room.
She screamed.
He caught her in a bear hug. She didn’t know what he was planning to do, but run was her first instinct. “Jordan, Jordan, let me explain!”
She stopped fighting his hug and waited. “Okay, explain.”
“We couldn’t afford to be seen together outside your apartment.”
“Couldn’t you have just told me that?”
“Let me apologize for my friend.”
The speaker was a tall black man standing close enough to her that she should have heard his approach. Jordan looked down at his feet. He was barefooted, but she still thought she should have heard something. He was wearing a green and gold robe that almost reached the floor. His thick salt and pepper hair was in shoulder-length dreadlocks, and there was a regal tilt to his chin.
“One would think Artest is old enough to have learned some patience.”
His accent was that perfect Queen’s English that educated Africans use. It had the same soothing cadence of Artest’s voice. He held out his long hand.
“I’m Tyler. Welcome. Your beauty provides my home with some much needed art.”
His hand was one of the softest she’d ever felt. She found that interesting because there was a story on his face that wasn’t one of luxury.
“Jordan Greene, pleased to meet you.”
“I can certainly see his attraction to you, but you, my dear, can do so much better than this old goat herder.”
He winked at her before he turned to Artest. The two men hugged.
“Don’t you dare start with your charm, Tyler. That’s not why we’re here.” Artest said, but she could tell he was teasing and was pleased to have his friend’s approval. “And you know I’ve never in my life herded or otherwise engaged a goat!”
They both laughed, a little more than she thought warranted.
“Miss Greene, are you a tea drinker?”
She really wasn’t crazy about the stuff, but he seemed so pleased to ask she couldn’t disappoint him. “Sure,” she answered.
“Then why don’t you allow me to show you to my parlor, and Jahia will serve you. I need to steal Artest away for a while.”
They walked as he spoke. The room he called a parlor was in the front of the house, and Jordan would have called it a living room, but the furniture was old enough to have once stood in a room when the word “parlor” was contemporary. A tall, beautiful older woman was standing in the archway that led to the dining room. She bobbed her head in a slight bow as Tyler represented his serpentine-back sofa with an outstretched hand. It wasn’t often that Jordan saw such a tall woman over the age of fifty.
“I hope you don’t think I’m going to be satisfied with a nod,” Artest said as he hugged the woman.
She melted into his arms like a mother might with a long-lost son. “You stay away so long,” she said. When they parted, Jordan saw tears in her eyes.
“I’m afraid Jahia has become a bit sentimental in her advanced years.”
“Advanced, yes, but still younger than you, my husband.”
He wrapped his long, thin arms around Jahia’s shoulders. “Jordan, this is my better half, Jahia.”
“Better half indeed,” Artest said. “And the best teacher I ever had.”
That was when Jordan saw her smile. Jordan wondered what Jahia looked like when she was Jordan’s age. Everything about her was long, thin elegance. She reminded Jordan of the model Iman. Her skin color was very close to Artest’s—a little darker, with a red undertone. A thick gold choker circled her long, thin neck. She also wore a long robe, plainer than the shiny silk Tyler was wearing, but the same shade of green. The fabric in her robe appeared to be cotton. Her hair was locked too and down past her shoulders. Her eyes were captivating, perfect almonds with the whitest of whites and very dark pupils.
“Darling, our guests will honor us with their presence during tea.”
She nodded and left the room. Jordan noticed she moved like she was floating.
“Since we talked, I’ve become aware of a matter of some urgency,” Tyler said to Artest while they waited.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You won’t.”
Jahia returned with a tray that must have been ready beforehand. She placed it on the old, though highly polished, Victorian table. Jordan noticed there were only two cups.
“Why don’t we go to the back?” Tyler said to Artest.
Artest stood. Tyler begin talking immediately, but she didn’t recognize the language. At one point, whatever he said was so shocking, Artest stopped walking and they stood in the dining room having a rapid fire exchange. Artest said something that caused Tyler to look at his wife, like he hadn’t wanted her to hear. Both men glanced at Jahia with an apologetic look. They didn’t say anything else until the women could no longer see them, but could still faintly hear them.
Jahia looked at the spot where they had stood for a moment or two after they left, and then Jordan saw her swallow with some difficulty. She was very curious as to what was said but thought it best to wait and ask Artest. Jahia finally snapped out of it; she looked at Jordan and tried to smile.
“What language was that?” Jordan asked her as she poured the tea from a lovely ceramic pot.
“Which one? Of course there was Dogon, but I heard some Bamanakan, Maninkakan, French, and even some Fulbe thrown in. When they’re excited like this, they tend to use the language that has a word that best des
cribes what they want to say. It can be very confusing.”
“Tell me about it—you’re talking to a woman who only speaks English.” she said. Although she could read a little Spanish, she didn’t feel it was enough to mention.
“English is a good enough language. Difficult, but certainly utilitarian.”
That struck Jordan as funny, but she didn’t laugh. “How long have you known Artest?”
Whatever upsetting thing they’d discussed seemed to be on Jahia’s mind. She looked at Jordan, and she could tell Jahia was trying to figure out how to talk about the passage of time in a way that Jordan could understand.
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