by Craig Zerf
Nathan had fetched her for dinner. Unsure of what to wear, Emily had chosen one of the black outfits in her closet, snug fitting leather trousers that were as soft as velvet, a black tailored blouse and calf-length black boots. A midnight symphony in fashion.
As she cast her eyes over the people seated at the dining table, she was glad of her decision to dress in the clothes provided, as everyone else was also clad totally in black.
Ambros, who was seated at the head of the table, stood and greeted her as she entered.
‘Emily, my dear, welcome.’ He turned to address the others at the table. ‘Good people, may I introduce Emily Hawk, our newest Shadowhunter.’
Aside from Nathan, there were five other people seated at the table. Four men and one woman.
Ambros started to introduce them.
‘Lyle Potton,’ he said. ‘Another American.’
Lyle gave Emily a thumb up. ‘Yo, Emily.’
Emily nodded her acknowledgment of his greeting as she took quick stock of him. Lyle was huge. Not merely tall but also obscenely sumo- wrestler fat. His face a moon-like ball on top of a neck that consisted mainly of double chins above a barrel shaped body. Arms and legs like tree trunks.
The next to be introduced was a wiry looking man, five ten, complete with dreadlocks and Rastafarian bead necklace, the red, yellow and green standing out against the solemn black of his clothes.
His name was Bastian Miller and he stood and bowed deeply as he greeted Emily. ‘My lady, it is an honor.’
Again Emily nodded.
Next in line was the only other girl in the room. Josephine Brady. She was tiny with a build similar to Ryoko.
Her dark hair was long and lank and she wore makeup like it was a defensive mask, thick purple eye shadow, scarlet lips and pale base. In her mouth an unlit cigarette.
She waved to Emily but didn’t meet her gaze, her eyes flickering from side to side and head cocked. She reminded Emily of a bird. A falcon.
After Josephine had been introduced, the next man stood up. Karl Wagner. Both his guttural accent and his looks marked him as the quintessential German. Six foot, pale blue eyes. Close cropped blond hair. Very short back and sides. Round steel rimmed eyeglasses. Eyebrows so blond as to be almost invisible, giving him an expressionless look. Disconcerting and slightly disturbing.
The final Shadowhunter was a South African. Piet Van Staden. Six foot three and built like a pro-wrestler. His shoulders and biceps strained against the cotton of his shirt and his neck was so thick it made his head look fractionally too small. He sported a short, cropped beard and his eyes were black pebbles, his lips a cruel slash. On the left side of his face a vivid scar ran from temple to chin, like a purple lightning bolt. Emily could sense that, out of all of the people in the room, this was a very dangerous man. Easily the most dangerous human being that she had ever met. His aura projected a barely constrained violence. As if he had literally been dragged straight from a battle in order to attend the dinner and he was less than happy about it.
When he spoke it was as if he wasn’t used to verbal communication, the words coming out in short, grammatically incorrect chunks.
‘Hello, Emily. To meet you I is pleased. If anything you does need. Ask me. If I’s can help, I will.’
‘Thank you, Piet,’ acknowledged Emily. ‘That’s very sweet of you; I’ll bear that in mind.’
The big man grunted, blushed at the compliment and then sat down heavily, scowling at the table in order to cover his embarrassment.
‘Aah, Piet, you’re so sweet. What an absolute angel, would you like a pat on the head,’ teased Lyle as he made wet kissy sounds.
Piet glared at him and then shook his head disgustedly and went back to scowling at the table. Ambros ushered Emily to a chair in between Nathan and Bastian and, as soon as she sat down, a procession of servants started to bring in the evening meal. And although she had eaten a mere couple of hours ago she was ravenous again.
Piles of inch thick rump steaks, fries, slices of smoked ham, corn on the cob, poached eggs and Waldorf salad. Emily piled her plate high, noticing that everybody else was doing the same. Except for Lyle who simply pulled one of the serving platters of steak over to his place setting, threw a diverse amount of sides on top of it and got to eating.
Emily watched him for a while, fascinated at how swiftly he was consuming his food. He worked like an automaton, both hands moving in concert, left, right, left. Shoveling food into his chewing jaws, swallowing, chewing and swallowing again. An industrial garbage disposal unit.
He glanced up and noticed Emily watching him.
‘This is how a real man eats,’ he said, his mouth full of masticated steak. ‘It’s quite a turn on, isn’t it?’
Before Emily could answer, Piet pointed at the huge man. ‘Watch your mouth, fat boy,’ he growled. ‘Don’t make me come over there and teach you some manners.’
Lyle sneered at the Afrikaner but Emily noticed that he didn’t push the point.
The rest of the meal was spent in almost total silence and every time that Emily attempted to strike up any sort of discussion it was met with a one or two word answer, followed by silence. After ten minutes she started to feel a little uncomfortable.
Eventually Nathan, sensing her discomfort, addressed her directly. ‘Don’t get disheartened,’ he advised. ‘It’s always like this at meal times. The odd bit of sniping between Piet and Lyle…well, actually between someone and Lyle and then the rest is simply people stuffing their faces.’
‘Jealousy,’ interjected the fat man. ‘People rib on me because they’re consumed with envy. Six hundred pounds of concentrated Alpha male enters the room and the green eyed monster rears its ugly head. No worries though,’ he continued. ‘When you’re as attractive as me you just gotta learn to live with the cupidity. Fortunately, I’m a big enough man to take it.’ He hoovered up a handful of fries as he spoke, displaying a mouthful of chewed potato.
Emily shuddered.
‘Hey, you bong belly pickney slabba,’ said Bastian, using the Jamaican vernacular. ‘Shut your fat face or I come over there and stick my foot up your ass.’
‘Talk English,’ retaliated Lyle. ‘I know that you can.’
‘Aah, kiss me backside you fassy hole.’
‘Enough,’ said Ambros. Both Bastian and Lyle immediately stopped their bantering and concentrated on their food again. Ambros shook his head and smiled at Emily. ‘You’d think that after a hundred years or so they would learn to stop acting like children, wouldn’t you?’
Emily nodded.
‘Anyway,’ continued the old man. ‘Nathan is correct, meal times are not great for socializing. Due to the massive calorific intake that a Shadowhunter needs, they tend to view meals as simple refueling exercises.
Formal dinners are the exception. But never fear, you’ll get to know everyone better tomorrow morning at training. I recommend that you get a good night’s sleep, I’m sure that you are still more than a little jet-lagged. I’ll send one of the chaps to show you to the dojo in the morning. Set your alarm for seven, ready by seven thirty.’
Emily nodded and then applied herself to her food like everyone else at the table as she scarfed down her meal like a trencherman.
Chapter 6