Chapter Twelve
He knocked on the door so soon after Jahia left, Jordan thought it was Jahia returning. When he entered, she felt both relief and anger. Relief because even though she was frightened and she didn’t understand enough about her source of fear, she felt he would do anything within his power to protect her. But she felt angry because she hadn’t signed on for any of this, and suppose “within his power” wasn’t good enough?
Jordan had been on her own long enough to know when she was in deep stuff, and, judging by the way these three were acting, she suspected she needed to be out shopping for hip boots.
“Is it safe to come in?” he asked.
“Looks to me like you’re already in.”
“I’m sorry, Jordan. I had no idea until five minutes ago that things are as crazy as they are. I never would have. . .” Then he trailed off.
“Why did you stop yourself?” she asked.
“I had to stop myself. I couldn’t lie. Nothing Tyler said, or anything that happened today, would stop me from meeting you all over again if presented with the same opportunity.”
Since that was just about the nicest thing a man had ever said to her, she tried to smile. Not trusting herself with him on the bed, Jordan pointed to the only chair in the room to let him know he could sit. She sat on the foot of the bed.
“I’m not going to leave your side tonight. I’ll even sleep in here.”
“Oh will you?”
“I’ll sleep on the floor, but I’m not going to leave you unprotected.”
“I thought you said they couldn’t come in here.”
“They’re not supposed to, but strange things have been happening. Maybe rules are being broken too.”
Her temples had begun to throb. She rubbed them as she asked, “you mean it’s just a rule? I thought it was like kryptonite or something!”
He laughed. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, Artest, let’s review. You been transporting me all over town without a Starship or Mr. Spock anywhere around. Some guy stuck his face through my back door, and then he had the gall to show up later claiming he was collecting for the blood bank . . .”
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“The nerve. I promise you, he will pay for his arrogance.”
She saw a look cross his eyes that could have cut glass. “Maybe I have a sick sense of humor, but I wasn’t offended by what the Bloodsucker asked. Or maybe I should say I wasn’t nearly as offended as I would have been had he drained me of my blood.”
“I interrupted you. Please continue.”
Suddenly she felt foolish recounting all that had happened. “Suffice it to say, things have been very unusual since I met you.”
As she spoke to him, she remembered a conversation she’d had with Leeana not a month earlier. They were leaving a movie that Leeana loved and Jordan hated. The main thing that she’d hated so much was that the heroine seemed unnecessarily stupid. “I just don’t understand why she was so surprised by every little thing that happened,” Jordan had said. “She knew she was with aliens; why was she so surprised by every new thing she saw?”
Leeana had accused her of taking it too seriously or something like that. But the kryptonite thing and recounting the movie had her thinking, am I being just like the heroine? If he can transport me, why wouldn’t he be able to read my thoughts? You can, can’t you, Artest?
“Okay, let me explain that,” he said, to her unasked question. “I can’t read all of your thoughts. But if it’s about me, I can sometimes hear bits and pieces. And I can hear just about everything that is said to me.”
“Well, so can I. Only a deaf person or one hard of hearing would have a problem with that!”
He looked at her like he couldn’t tell if she was pulling his leg or not.
“I mean things said to me mentally. We used to travel in pairs too. We believe it was something Hunters developed centuries ago to help them in fights.”
“Thank you for telling me that.”
He smiled that beautiful smile of his. She wondered how his teeth could look so good and be so old. I have a hard enough time keeping mine white. Okay, Artest, what did I just think?
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Yes. I want to know the extent of this, or I’m not having another thought. Answer me or be prepared to hear my sorority sweetheart song over and over.”
“You were thinking something about my teeth. I figure either I have something in them or you like the way they look. Whatever your thought was, it wasn’t sad. I can usually feel an emotion like that.”
“I was thinking they look nice.”
“Thank you. Now, about this song, did you call it a sweetheart song?”
“It is, but don’t read anything into that. It just happens to be a song I know all the words to.”
He laughed but stopped when she didn’t join him. She smiled, and he laughed again.
“My friends like you, Jordan.”
“I like them too, but I like a lot of people and yet I never move in with them.”
“Just give me a little time to make sure you’re safe, okay?”
“You want to tell me what’s going on, don’t you?” she asked.
“I do. Are you ready to hear it?”
She really wasn’t. She didn’t want to feel any more fearful than she already did, and that was considerable.
“Your face tells me no,” he said. “I don’t want to frighten you.”
There was a time before she was placed with Mama May that she had decided to kill herself. She just couldn’t take any more placements. She decided she wasn’t going to fight off any more foster fathers or brothers, she wasn’t going to clean another house that she couldn’t enjoy, and she wasn’t going to sleep on any more floors. Jordan wasn’t sure if there was a heaven, but she knew she didn’t do anything to deserve the hell that was her life. After she made that decision, she found herself becoming free and nearly fearless.
It was just a matter of choosing the time, place, and whether or not she wanted to take anybody out with her. Every day she decided to live, and knowing that she wasn’t forced to do the same the next day made her strong.
Then Jordan was placed with Mama May, and her life took a one-eighty. But by the time she was away at college, the fear slowly crept back. She came home on the occasional weekend and holidays, and each time, her chosen mother was smaller and weaker. By the time Mama May came to her graduation, Jordan knew for sure that she wasn’t well, and all the little aches and pains about which she occasionally complained would eventually take her. Her only regret was the time wasted in a relationship with Len when she could have been living with her mother and making her life easier. Jordan did move in with Mama May during her last eight months, which allowed her to die at home, but she still felt the guilt.
“I guess I should say yes. They do say the truth will set you free. What’s going on? Why do I need to stay here?”
She didn’t interrupt while he gave her the digest version of his conversation with Tyler. It was serious, and she understood that innocent young people were in danger, but there was a part of her that couldn’t feel anything about his words.
It was just too much. Her mind had snapped into overload, and all she wanted to do was take something for the headache that had been building but was now pulsating in three different and distinct spots in her head.
“I’ve upset you,” he said at some point that she was fairly certain was not the end as he listed the havoc the Sangsue might mount against the city. It was just too much too soon. She was reminded of a movie where a character kept saying, “I’m just the cook,” as people around him expected him to save the world. I’m just the teacher, and I’m ready to go home.
“Hearing about creatures that want to dine on me and young people like the ones I teach is likely to have an upsetting effect on an individual.” She didn’t mean to sound so cold, but she feared that was how it came out.
He
squinted like whatever he was thinking caused his head to hurt too. “I’m sorry. This must be awful for you.”
“Yes, but I understand that it’s your everyday life. I’m not blaming you.”
“You should. I brought these creatures, as you call them, into your life. And, Jordan, it’s not my everyday life. Most of the time, my life is fairly normal. I have a job that I do, and then I go about my normal existence until the next time I have to do that job. It’s not consistent like teaching, but it’s not unlike being a soldier or maybe a freelance agent of some kind.”
She nodded, and the movement caused her to grimace. “Will you check to see if your friends have something I can take for a headache?”
“I thought that might be the case. They won’t have any drugs, but I’ll go get something if you insist—but I’d rather try another method.”
“Like what?” She was seriously hoping he wasn’t going to suggest anything sexual. She wasn’t in the mood to be taken lightly.
“Jordan, actually the saying is the knowledge of truth will set you free. The truth I know is that there are many natural substances that will offer you some relief, and I’m sure Jahia can give you a cup of tea that will work. She’ll bring it up shortly. . . ”
“Should I go ask her?”
“I just did.”
“Are we being observed?”
As an adult, she had vowed not to allow herself to remain in a situation where she didn’t have privacy. That had been her fate at two foster homes.
“No, we respect each other’s privacy, but I asked her as I told you she would help.”
“I guess you all can never gossip about each other?”
“We can cloak our thoughts, but that’s rarely necessary.” He stood up and started toward the bed as he said, “if you’ll allow me to massage your temples while we wait, I believe I can help.”
She nodded, and he sat down next to her. He didn’t touch her right away; he looked at her head as if he could see the pain. Maybe he could, because he touched the exact spots on her temples. He didn’t massage them, he just pressed lightly.
“Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” he said.
She did, and it hurt like hell, but as she exhaled, it seemed as if some of the pain exited with her breath. “Do that again, but exhale slowly this time.”
She did, and it too seemed to relieve some of the pressure. “Come in,” he said softly to a door that hadn’t been knocked. Jahia entered with a steaming cup. “What took you so long?” Artest teased.
“As my darling mother used to say, ‘Don't insult the crocodile until you cross the water,’” she said with a smile.
She placed the cup and saucer on the nightstand. “I did what I could to sweeten it, my dear, but I’m afraid it tastes like Seydou’s sandals. Drank it fast, when it cools.”
“Thank you,” Jordan said.
“Yes, thank you, Mother Crocodile,” Artest said, and as she passed him, she swatted and just missed hitting him.
“She’s very beautiful.”
“More so every day,” he said. As he massaged Jordan’s neck and shoulders, he told her a little about the aging process of content couples.
“Wow. Wouldn’t it be great if the rest of us found beauty in aging?”
“Yes. Our attitude can make being in the human world quite confusing. I’ll hear something on the television about a beauty, and I’ll look up to find a child just barely out of her teens. What baby isn’t beautiful?”
She loved what he said. A man who believed in “too young;” how refreshing!
“How’s that head?”
She had to think about it, but the pain was gone. There was still a slight soreness from where it had been, but the throbbing had stopped. She downed the tea to make sure it stayed gone. It might not have tasted like a shoe, but Jordan wouldn’t have been surprised if somebody told her feet were used in the preparation. That reminded her. “Who’s Seydou?”
“That’s Tyler’s given name.”
“Do you all use other names?”
“Jahia is using her own name now that African names are popular again, but yes, at one time or other, we have all used names more contemporary for the times.”
“What did your mother call you?”
She expected him to smile since he did so easily, but he looked sad when he answered. “That’s something to tell you another day. Today we will enjoy the company of my friends.” He frowned. “I should apologize now for the meeting I will ask you to attend downstairs. Even if we start out in English, before long I expect the languages to shift to those that are easier for us.”
“I’ll just wait up here until it’s over.”
He looked at her and studied her face again. “I’d feel better with you in my sight.”
“Can’t you just do the wash now?”
He grimaced again. “No, I think it’ll be better to wait. I want you to enjoy tonight, and for that you’ll need your memories. You’ll need to know why you’re here.”
“What is it about that African accent that makes everything sound so intelligent?”
He laughed. “I am an educated man, Jordan. I have many degrees—we all do. Going to university is a good use of time while we wait for the next attack.”
“Most people would have just said thank you.”
“Oh my, did that sound arrogant? I’m very sorry, thank you, my dear. I know Americans say they like accents.”
“Why do you say it like that? We do like accents.”
“I find that Americans likes certain accents more than others. If I speak with a French accent, I’m treated better than when I use a Spanish accent. If I use a southern accent, I get no respect.”
“Why would you ever use it, or any other for that matter?”
“It depends on what I want the person to think about me. When I’m on the telephone and I want someone to underestimate my intelligence, I speak with an urban home boy dialect.”
“Hmm, you’re right., I never thought of ghetto as being an accent, just like the rest.” She tried to picture him with his pants hanging off his butt but couldn’t. “Do it—do a home boy accent. I’ve got to hear this!”
He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back. He looked at her as if he was adjusting his head for farsightedness. “Yo, yo, yo, Mama, listen up. Let me get the digits.”
She couldn’t stop laughing. He stopped her with a kiss.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Because seeing you laugh makes me happy. I haven’t been happy in a long time, and for that, I thank you with a kiss.”
Jordan didn’t know how to respond to that. If a girlfriend had been telling her all of this, she would tell her friend she was being played—no man is so open. At least no man in her history. She looked at him, and his smile had dropped; he seemed hurt.
“Jordan, when a person has lived as long as I have. . . okay, let me start over because nobody lives as long, but what I’m trying to say is I’ve found it makes more sense to just tell the truth, because it’s impossible to remember all the stories if I lie.”
“Okay,” she said, not really knowing where he was going with this.
“In other words, I don’t even know what it means to play a person.”
He’d done it again! She was furious. How dare he? She wanted to scream out every curse word she knew, and she knew them all. She balled up her fist and planned to hit the bed, but something caused a detour. She ended up hitting his arm as hard as she could. “I don’t care if you smell like cinnamon, nutmeg, or ninety dollars a dozen roses! You-will-not-read-my-thoughts!” She punctuated each word with another blow to the arm.
He grabbed his arm, and when that didn’t stop her, he grabbed her hands. “What is wrong with you?”
She struggled to break his grip, an effort which, of course, was useless.
“Hey, calm down.”
“Let go of me!”
“I will if you promise not to hit me.”
&nbs
p; “Let go of me!”
“Jordan, I’m a Hunter. When you attack me, I can react from instinct and hurt you before I’ve had time to think about it.”
That made sense, and she stopped struggling. He looked her in the eyes as he let go of her wrists.
“Okay,” he said. “Did I hear right? Does your anger have something to do with my scent?”
“Of course not. I like the way you smell. What I don’t like is you reading my thoughts and then commenting on things before I say them aloud.”
Scented Lust Page 7