 V. Jayon 10:00 AM Hadrian had been the first of the guests to wake up. Reine and Marcus arrived downstairs half an hour later, finding him in the kitchen, helping Mary make breakfast. He looked out of place yet enthusiastic. The apron that Mary had lent him was a bit too small since it only covered his chest to his hips. He was eagerly helping the young housekeeper with the French toast. “Isn’t it a miracle?” remarked Mary. “He’s domesticated.” “Must have been all those years forced to cook on my own,” Hadrian agreed. “So go away. The master is at work.” “Which means,” Mary translated, “that he isn’t done. Come back in about an hour.” Ira’s house was oddly oriented in that the rooms on the first floor were connected to each other like a maze since there was no hallway to divide the living room from the kitchen. Instead, the kitchen which was located at the front of the house, melded into the dining room. French doors from the dining room led to the living room which had various doors leading off to various areas. One of these doors led to the foyer. Another led to the back where there was a den paneled with wide windows that opened into a stone porch that overlooked the lake. Reine turned on the televsion. “It isn’t like Ira to ignore all her guests, especially if she’s the one throwing the party.” “Yes. Maybe she isn’t feeling too well. The weather is getting cooler. Maybe she’s coming down with a cold,” Marcus suggested. “Or the flu. Ira’s getting on in her years. When she gets up, we’ll see how she is. Doctors are few and far between around here aren’t they?” “Out in the boondocks? Yeah.” Marcus settled himself beside Reine on the couch. He was casually clad in a pair of jeans and a dark blue sweater. Reine was clad similarly, except her sweater was a pale cream. He tugged playfully at her hair. “Ponytail again?” “Sure why not,” she said easily. “I’m not going out of my way to dye it green.” The movement on the television screen caught their eyes. A sober anchorman in a starch-pressed teal suit gripped a few papers in his hand. His eyes, glazed, were directed to the camera as he spoke. “The creature currently on the loose in downtown New York is confirmed to be an experiment from NYGL, the New York Gene Labs. Our sources tell us that the creature was created using DNA extracted from dinosaur fossils, iguanas, and dogs in an effort to create a biological weapon for the government’s defense division. We turn to Lenora Weatherspoon who’s on the scene at West End.” The screen switched to a perky brunette with a wide mouth. Lenora Weatherspoon was a well known journalist who had her own news magazine show “America Tonight.” She had the persona of a persistent woodpecker, cheerily chipping away at anything and everything. She was the reporter that everyone loved to hate. Her life was completely clean as if she had been living in a completely different universe. The tabloids always failed when they tried to dig up any dirty little secrets. Because there were no dirty little secrets. “Good evening everyone,” she said in her eternal perky little girl voice. “As you can see, I’m here on the scene at West End.” There were people behind her, streaming out of the theaters in a panicked run. Many were screaming. “Run for your lives!” a young man yelled as he passed by the camera. Police sirens could be heard in the distance. “The creature is apparently inside one of the buildings behind me being detained by some trained military personnel.” As the reporter droned on, Reine and Marcus noticed that in the background, a creature in the shape of a komodo dragon with gleaming scales emerged from one of the buildings by ripping off the doors. People scattered. Some of the slower ones made for the nearest exit to the subway. The creature roared and charged toward the reporter. The camera man kept filming, but the audience could tell he was running as the picture of the reporter got smaller. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Lenora Weatherspoon yelled. “I was…” In a swift movement, the genetically engineered creature from the New York Gene Labs swooped down and swallowed her whole. “Oh my God,” said Reine. “That’s one less reporter in the world,” remarked Marcus. “She probably didn’t feel a thing.” She shook her head. “It was like watching a movie.” “I agree. I hope they catch the beast soon.” Reine finally turned off the television when the screen switched to a placard that said “Please Stand By. We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties.” “Hey, Ira has another chess set in here.” Marcus ambled to a corner that held a lamp, a thin bookshelf filled with a set of encyclopedias and a table. On top of the table was a wooden chessboard with lighter and darker squares. The pieces were also carved out of wood of the same shade. She walked over. “It looks like someone is in the middle of a game.” “At the beginning of the game,” he corrected. “Only the white pawn is out of place.” “Middle, beginning, it’s all the same. Both sides are already probably thinking ten moves ahead anyway.” They moved back to the dining room to see that Diana and Xanthia had also gotten up. They were each holding a mug of steaming liquid and arguing. “Ira has no time for your inane predictions,” said Diana. “She has time when she’s not writing. We have an agreement. I draw up the horoscope. She reads it. How much more simple can you get?” “By not drawing a horoscope in the first place.” “She’s paying me to draw horoscopes so what do you expect me to do?” “To find a respectable job.” Diana sighed. “I’m so tempted to throw a mug of coffee in your face in hopes of dragging some sense into you.” “Breakfast is served!” announced Hadrian as he lugged out a platter of waffles and eggs. “Well, actually brunch, but who’s counting, eh?” © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |