[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

  “I could just ask the instructor to switch…”

  “No!” she said hastily, reaching out to touch his arm. “Please, do not bother with employing an instructor. It will be my pleasure to teach you.”

  She smiled, moving her hand in a simple pattern, followed by another. “This is ‘hello,’ and this is ‘how are you?’”

  He repeated the motions with his hands, “Like so?”

  “Perfect,” she answered. “Try that with Elandria next time and maybe she will not run away in fear.”

  He laughed, and continued to practice to drill the words into his muscle memory.

  Meanwhile, upstairs, Elandria was explaining what had happened to Corallyn.

  “So that’s what he’s been doing for the last few days,” Corallyn said in admiration. “He said that guy was his stockbroker!”

  “I did not know what to do, and I panicked,” Elandria said. “I could not understand him… he probably thinks I am psychotic.”

  “Nah,” said Corallyn, poking her sister in the side. “You’re the only sane one among us.”

  “You seem unimpressed,” Trevain remarked as he observed Aazuria’s reactions—or rather, the lack thereof. Her youngest sister was bouncing all over the museum, zipping from plaque to plaque to devour every word she could find.

  “Oh, no,” Aazuria responded as they strolled along. “The exhibit is fascinating. Just staring at the bones of all these creatures which have been dead for so long… I find it a bit macabre.”

  “You’re difficult to please. You are always bored to tears when we go shopping and won’t purchase a single thing unless I force you. I thought women were supposed to like shopping! And then you order rice and bread whenever we go out for dinner.” Trevain shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t understand you.”

  “Where I come from, rice and bread were very rare,” Aazuria explained. “Plus they are usually the most affordable items on the menu. I do not wish to take advantage of your generosity.”

  Trevain sighed. “I wouldn’t have invited you all to stay if I couldn’t afford more than rice and bread!”

  They came upon Elandria, who was standing before a colossal collection of bones arranged in the shape of a dinosaur-like sea creature. The silent woman had her hands clasped behind her back, and she seemed to be examining the exhibit intently.

  “There!” Trevain said, gesturing to the quiet woman. “Elandria seems to like the giant monsters.”

  “Yes,” Aazuria responded. “She keeps several as pets.”

  “What?”

  Hearing them approach, the small woman turned around quite suddenly, her dark braid whipping over her shoulder. She fixed her sister with a puzzled look. “It says that they believe Steller’s sea-cow is extinct,” Elandria signed. “I suppose it is lucky that I saved a few.”

  Aazuria nodded, observing the skeleton of the gentle beast sadly. “These people destroy everything they touch. Then they put the lifeless remnants in display cases like trophies…”

  “Trophies?” Trevain asked, squinting as though it might help him to better understand what they were saying. He had barely managed to recognize three words.

  Immediately embarrassed, Elandria lowered her head and moved away. She had forgotten that Trevain could now understand some of her speech, and this made her uncomfortable.

  Aazuria turned to the grey-haired man apologetically. “She needs to improve her social skills.”

  “What were you two talking about?” he asked as they began strolling again.

  “Trophies of destruction,” Aazuria answered. “That is all these buildings seem to be. Some of these lost treasures were defeated by natural causes, but many were wiped out by us—and we cannot just let them go quietly. No, we must celebrate their annihilation.”

  Trevain stared at the dark-haired woman walking beside him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you can be really uptight?”

  “Pardon me?” she asked, as she paused in her movement.

  “Yeah. You’re just so… stiff. If I hadn’t seen you dance I would have believed you were made of harder wood than Pinocchio, and with a harder stick of wood shoved up your ass.”

  She stared at him speechlessly for a moment. “How dare— ”

  “I would apologize, but it’s kind of a compliment,” he explained with a smile. “I like it.”

  “You like the stick up my ass?”

  He reached up to run a hand through his grey hair nervously. He worried that he was being too familiar. “It’s just the exact opposite of what I’m used to. The men on the boat are very, very loose with language. They curse like… sailors. Listening to you speak is rather refreshing. I don’t feel my brain hurting as it tries to process the rawness into something palatable.”

  “I cursed that one time,” Aazuria reminded him.

  “And it was adorable,” he said. “I like your language. It reminds me of something… maybe an old fashioned, black-and-white movie. I also like the fact that you never slouch. It makes me feel like I should pay more attention to my own posture and language.”

  “A stick up my ass,” Aazuria repeated, in disbelief. “There is only one person who has ever dared to say such things to me…”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Trevain said, but he was suddenly grinning. He gestured around them to the re-assembled skeletons. “Most of the time, you seem more rigid and emotionless than these guys. So yes, there is a stick the size of a Giant Sequoia, and it is way up there.”

  Aazuria’s eyes widened. “But… I am a…” She felt the need to explain that she was extremely old, and from a royal bloodline, and that there had always been certain things expected of her. But when she tried to finish her sentence, laughter bubbled out of her instead. “A stick! Trevain, you…” The hilarity began to shake her torso. Glancing up at the dead dinosaurs, and picturing that Trevain considered them more passionate than she was, she suddenly found herself doubling over in laughter. Was she that horrible?

  Corallyn happened upon them at that moment, and she stared at the spectacle with surprise. She saw the self-satisfaction on Trevain’s face, and she lifted her eyebrows. “Wow. You made my sister laugh? I haven’t ever seen her really laugh like that … but I’m only ninety—er, nine.” Corallyn felt embarrassed by her blunder and quickly tried to distract him with a compliment. “You must be a magician.”

  “No,” Trevain answered, looking at Corallyn suspiciously. “I’m just the Magician’s captain.”

  In another attempt to distract him, she bounced up on her toes. “Uncle Trevain, will you buy me something cool in the gift shop?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now, now, Corallyn,” Aazuria said, having regained control of herself. “I told you that you need to stop frivolously spending the captain’s money.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Trevain said to the young girl warmly. “She has a health issue which makes her so snooty. Something about a large tree.”

  Aazuria was astounded by his boldness as Corallyn pulled them both towards the gift shop. Trevain sent her a playful wink.

  “Look. This bottle of lacquer has my name on it!” the young girl exclaimed.

  “It’s called ‘nail polish,’” Trevain explained. “Women use it to paint their fingers and toes.”

  “Uncle Trevain, will you purchase it for me?” Corallyn asked. “Please! There’s a Coral Sunrise and a slightly darker Coral Catalyst.”

  “Sure,” Trevain told her. “Get as much as you like. Maybe you can pick a color for your boring sister to try to liven her up.”

  “Heavens!” Aazuria said, shaking her head. “You are having entirely too much fun at my expense.”

  “I’m trying to have enough for the both of us,” he told her.

  She smiled. “I will make an effort to relax. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  Aazuria slipped her hand against Trevain’s large palm, weaving her soft fingers between his rough ones. “Show me one of those ol
d-fashioned, black-and-white movies.”

  14

  “Now introducing an amazing duo who will knock your socks off: Raine and Storm! Give it up, gentlemen!”

  The redheaded Ramaris twins made their grand entrance, smiling and bowing. Sionna, or Raine, was wearing a tuxedo bodysuit and fishnet stockings, and her hair was pulled back tightly from her face. She was evidently her sister’s assistant for the show. She moved to a circular piece of wood which her sister eagerly strapped her against with leather cuffs.

  Visola, or Storm, wore a long glittering green dress with long slits up the side, all the way to her waist. There were knives strapped to her thighs, and she held a saber in her hand. Visola brazenly walked up to the edge of the stage, and picked up a champagne bottle that was usually left there for her show. She smiled to the audience, displaying the bottle to them before she used her sword to “cut” off the lip of the bottle. A small uproar of excitement came from the crowd as the champagne bottle burst open.

  Personally, Visola found the sabrage trick rather boring and easy; it was a trick of physics more than skill, and it was performed with a blunt sword. Nonetheless, the collective enthusiastic response of the audience made her grin. She followed this by tilting her head back, turning the champagne bottle upside down over her mouth and pouring a few glasses worth of the bubbly liquid down her throat. Much of it spilled over her cheeks and chin, cascading over her chest and over the sequins of her dress. The liquid pooled around her high heels, but she did not care. Visola had no aversion to being covered with liquid of any kind. The audience found this extremely entertaining.

  Disposing of the saber and champagne bottle by ‘recklessly’ tossing them aside, she pulled one of the knives from her thigh strap. She showed it to the audience confidently, walking the length of the stage and causing the men to murmur in interest. She moved forward to a man sitting near the stage, and grabbed his tie, yanking him forward before slicing the tie off. He fell abruptly back down in his chair. Everyone laughed and cheered at the demonstration of how sharp her knife was. She giggled and winked at the man in apology for ruining his tie. He smiled at her, and she could tell he did not mind in the least.

  Sauntering towards her sister who was strapped onto the wheel, Visola ran her knife along her twin’s neck. Sionna tried to act appropriately scared and vulnerable. Visola took a step back, and set the wheel spinning in one fluid motion. That should have been enough, but the audience did not know her strength. She pushed it again twice for demonstrative purposes, to give the impression that it was spinning even faster.

  Moving back to the other end of the stage, Visola proceeded to throw her knife at Sionna. She rapidly chose another from her thigh to throw within a second. The men in the audience stared spellbound in amazement. When the wheel stopped spinning, Visola had thrown four knives at her sister. Two were piercing the shoulders of her outfit, very close to her neck, and another two were piercing her tuxedo coattails on either side of her hips. Finally, she took a fifth knife out from deep within her cleavage, and she aimed and tossed it right between Sionna’s thighs.

  The audience erupted into applause and cheering. There was a loud standing ovation, as Visola bowed. She pretended to walk off the stage and forget about her sister, but then raised a finger to indicate that she had remembered at the last second. Even this goofy bit of drama earned her chuckles. It was an easy and good-natured audience tonight, for which she was grateful. Visola could comfortably feed off the warmth of a crowd like this one. She returned to untie Sionna. The women held hands and bowed graciously, earning even more accolades and yelling. They walked off the stage together.

  When the twins entered the back room, the loud buzz of various power tools was heard. Hairdryers, curling irons, and straighteners were wrangling unruly hair while fancy electric razors were being used to deforest legs. Nail files and nail clippers were being vigorously employed in taming talons. Girls were frantically asking each other to borrow equipment; superglue to fix garments that had come apart, antiperspirant, perfume, and mascara. Noxious fumes were everywhere from the nail varnish, hairspray, and foul, nauseating mixture of beauty products in the air. To the senses, the atmosphere seemed more like a construction site than a dressing room—indeed, each of the women was her own little building project.

  The twins tried to find a quiet corner of the dressing room to sit.

  “Did you have to nick my pantyhose, Viso? Heavens. Hundreds of years of training and you use it mainly to annoy me! Your poor older sister.”

  “Only older by a minute, darlin’. Besides, the crowd loved the expression of almost-barely-surprise on your face, and I can’t get that unless the knife hits close enough for you to feel the breeze and the vibration. Maybe draw a little blood next time to make you yelp so they don’t think you’re a statue.”

  “I just know how good you are. It rather bores me to have you throw knives at me, you know.”

  “I know. But you don’t have to yawn! You can at least act a little impressed!”

  “I do not fear for my life or even my skin,” Sionna said with a smile. “I do, however, fear for the lives of those who would intend me harm.”

  “Or even a hint of disrespect,” Visola added with a wink. The twins did not share many sentimental moments, preferring the merriment of bickering. They both were entirely secure that they cared deeply for each other underneath the surface squabbles.

  “Hey,” said a woman with a thick Russian accent, “there is man looking for you.”

  Visola eyed the woman’s sagging boobs disdainfully. They perfectly conformed to her personal stereotypical expectations, and this was disappointing. “Sorry, sweetheart—I am only interested in military men at the moment.”

  “Why? You are better than everyone else?” the woman spat questioningly. “You are princess?”

  “No, tootsie-pie,” Visola said in a supremely condescending voice as she rose from her chair and advanced on the woman. “I am not a princess, but I happen to be the elite bodyguard of one: and guess what that means?”

  “Stand down!” Sionna ordered as she firmly restrained her sister. Then, once she felt Visola relax she made a show of fake gagging. “Tootsie-pie? Tootsie-pie? My goodness, Visola! Could you be any more experimental with your language?”

  The Russian woman made a disgruntled noise and fished a cigarette out of her sequined bra, proceeding to light up before the twins.

  “You are not allowed to do that,” Sionna scolded, eyeing the cigarette warily. “Other people have to breathe this tainted air, which is already killing us rather quickly. I know you have no idea what I’m talking about, but I can feel myself aging. Put that cigarette out immediately!”

  “Why? I can smoke if I want,” she answered stubbornly, jutting out her chin and taking a defiant suck of her cigarette before blowing the air out at Visola’s face. “This man is military man. He is asking to see you now.”

  Visola’s green eyes flashed with rage to have smoke blown into her face, but Sionna’s arms still restrained her. She processed the words that the annoying woman had spoken. “Really? Where is this man?”

  “Why should I tell you, princess?” the Russian dancer asked, raising a thinly plucked and stenciled eyebrow. She pointed her finger at Visola threateningly. “You are rude girl.”

  “You should tell me,” Visola said softly, staring at the offending finger, “because I use knives with great precision.”

  The girl sized her up before turning to leave. “He is the man sitting by bar, wearing red shirt.”

  “Score!” said Visola with a grin. She called out to the retreating dancer, “Thanks, lady.”

  Sionna released her grip on her sister and began rubbing her own temples. “You know, there are ways of getting information from people… and just plain communicating with them which don’t involve threatening.”

  “Why fix it if it isn’t broken? It’s been my surefire method for half a millennium. Oh, boy! I sure do hope this guy can help me get
access to what I need. You never know when your day is going to suddenly become more important than all the other days.” Visola cheerfully checked her reflection. “Now how do I look? Wish me luck!”

  Visola had disappeared before Sionna could respond. Sionna rolled her eyes skyward before looking into the mirror and responding to herself. “You look exactly like me. Your makeup is a bit trashier, of course. Otherwise, dear sister, you are drop dead gorgeous. Also, you make every day important with that crazy charisma of yours. Good luck.”

  15

  The doorbell rang once, demurely.

  One of Aazuria’s eyes squinted open. She felt an unusual pressure across her stomach, and was startled to see that it was an arm. An arm belonging to another person—a rather heavy arm. Everything was heavier on land, but she was not accustomed to having arms draped across her body at all. Her eyes followed the limb to their possessor and she was further amazed to see a man. This was the most surprising element of the situation altogether. She looked around and took in the couch, the popcorn, the empty bottles of wine, and the television still tuned to the channel that constantly played old black-and-white movies.

  This is exceedingly comfortable, she thought to herself with contentment, remembering the movie marathon they had had the night before. She had been swept away in the classic beauty of Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe, of schoolteachers falling in love with doctors, and millionaires with big boats. (Trevain had jealously insisted that his ship was worth a hundred useless pleasure yachts.) After Corallyn and Elandria had gone to sleep, Aazuria had finally relented to trying a glass of merlot called Pétrus, and had enjoyed sipping on the fruity oak flavor for hours. Eventually, they had needed to open another bottle. She hoped that Visola would never find out about her lapse, for after years of giving the redhead grief about her drinking habits, she would surely seem an awful hypocrite. But she did not regret it—the moment had begged for a touch of abandon.