AMANI: Reveal (11 page)

***

The trip to Canada the next morning was relaxing, except that the muscles in my arms, shoulders, back, and thighs burned like crazy. I still held onto the rope for safety, but at least I did not fear the ride as much as the previous day. The sailfish did not stop until we reached a deserted island, in the shape of a serpent, that stretched farther than my eyes could see.
              “We’re here,” Blue announced.
              According to her, the island was parallel to a river in Amani and thus, nobody in Blue dared live around such a sinuous piece of earth. A wave could destroy their home at any moment. After all, we were in the middle of the ocean.
              We built a smaller boat for Blue so that the fish would take her back home faster and, after thanking her for everything she’d done for us, we Traveled to Amani—
              And stepped onto wet grass. We were in the middle of a football field and the air was so cold it felt like January.
              Without warning, a big dog started barking and racing in our direction. The owner, who’d had his back to us, turned around and seemed surprised to see us. Shaking away his confusion, he sprinted after his dog, who was now a dozen feet from Xander, snarling and showing long yellow canines.

Amya Priam

“Betty! Betty, stop this right now!” the guy shouted. He was in his twenties, with a white cap placed backward on his head, and he wore a purple raincoat and half eaten purple rain boots. Halting between his grey Australian cattle dog and us, he pointed his finger at Betty. “Bad, bad girl. Sit.” The dog sat, her ears lowered on her head. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He turned to face us. “She must have been surprised to see you there. She never barks at strangers.” He stared at Karl and Samera, who wore their usual brown Protector outfits. His eyes slowly drifted to Xander and me. “Do you go to Bishop’s?”
              “No,” I said—
              “Yes,” Samera lied.
              The guy frowned.
              “Well, not yet,” Sam continued, stepping forward. “We’re exploring our options.” She shot him a brilliant smile.
              “Oh, Bishop’s great, if you want my opinion.” He let Betty go free and the dog went directly to Xander and started sniffing his leg. “Lots of students live pretty close to class.” He pointed to a street full of apartment buildings, right next to the football field and a small parking lot. “So it’s an easy walk and the profs are very accessible. Just yesterday I went to the Lion—it’s a resto-pub—with classmates and we had a few drinks with my friend’s English teacher.”
              Samera laughed, clearly on her seduction mode. “That sounds great! I’ve only known one person who went to Bishop’s. She kept talking to me about a professor… Hibiscus, I think the name was…”
              “Ha! Hibiscus, of course. The weirdest prof around. Teaches classics.”
              “Classics? I love classics!” Sam exclaimed, though I would have sworn she couldn’t name a single course that was part of classical studies at Bishop’s. “Would it be possible to meet this prof? I might have a few questions—”
              When Betty was done inspecting Xander, she approached me.
              “Yeah, sure! Today’s Sunday, so you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. How long do you plan on sticking around?”
              Samera’s charm seemed to have worked because a minute later, we learned that the guy’s name was Sheldon and that he played for the lacrosse team; and he even gave Sam his phone number. Meanwhile, Mr. Jensen looked uneasy, about to jump in if things went too far.
              “Text me tomorrow after ten-thirty and we can meet in front of McGreer or in the SUB?” Sheldon told Samera, who agreed to meet in front of the McGreer building, even though none of us knew where that was.
              When all was settled, Sheldon called his dog back and started to walk away. Sam was about to speak, a satisfied look on her face, when the guy turned around, raising one hand in the air. “Oh, and I forgot! If you guys feel like it, there’s a party at my friends’ tonight at the white house on the corner of Reed and College. It’s open for anyone, really.”
              Samera flipped her bright scarlet hair as she turned to face him. “Thanks for the invite! We’ll definitely think about it.”
              Sheldon smiled as he walked toward the apartment buildings and disappeared from sight.
              No one had expected to find Hibiscus so easily. Karl congratulated Samera on this one and said she reminded him of her mother when she was younger. “Except for your flirtatious habits,” he added, a stern look on his face. “We are not here to attend collegiate parties, Samy, and you know that.”
              “I know, I know. I didn’t actually believe he’d know who Hibiscus was. It was a good guess, nothing else. And I don’t want to party tonight either.” She straightened her back, clearly hiding the fact that she was longing to go. Sam had always loved parties. Mingling with people was one of her favorite activities. “We are here on business and that is all.”
             
Oh God,
I thought. What was my best friend turning into? Some robot whose sole goal was to keep her friends safe, like she’d mentioned on the boat? Who was she kidding?
              I secretly bet myself that she wouldn’t keep this up for longer than a day or two. Sam’s true nature would prove stronger than her guilt.
              After Xander and I exchanged exasperated looks, Karl called Michelle, who gave him the address of her friend living in a small part of Sherbrooke called Lennoxville. Michelle also mentioned that she’d just received a call from my parents, wanting to know how Deli and I were doing.
              “Tell me she lied to them, or they’ll go nuts,” I pleaded.
              Karl nodded carefully. “She did, but she won’t be able to keep this from them, Amya. Especially from your father; he already seemed suspicious. Let’s just say Michelle isn’t the best liar.”
              “Thank you, Karl,” I heard Mrs. Cohen say through the phone.
              They exchanged a few more words and then we started heading toward our next destination. The sky had already turned a dark shade of blue and we were all very tired of our long journey. Luckily, Mrs. Martin—Michelle’s friend—lived only a twenty minutes’ walk from the green bridge, which we could see from the football field.
              The image of my parents receiving the news of Delilah’s disappearance spun in my head. They had suffered enough complications with my being in a coma for months; they definitely did not need to know their other daughter was in great danger. But at the same time, I felt bad for having to lie to them…
                Starting up on College Street, we came across The Lion, the restaurant Sheldon had mentioned was along the way. There were also a Subway and a McDonald’s close to the main street. And we met a couple of young people prancing on the sidewalk with their friends; some transported books, while others cases full of beers.
              I was grateful for the cold wind blowing around as we walked up the long, steep slope—Xander and Karl taking turns helping Samera with her leg—and couldn’t help envying students who were walking downward in the opposite direction.
              I was exhausted!
              Mrs. Martin lived just up the hill on Deacon Street, in a red-brick house, its ground littered with leaves. Sam and I were perspiring and panting when Karl finally knocked on the white glass door.
              The face of a big dog immediately appeared on the other side of the glass, as though it had been waiting for us all day.
             
Does everyone own a dog here?
I wondered.
              The dog moved aside when a middle-aged woman took its place in greeting us.
              “
Bonjour
!” she exclaimed.
              She wore huge, thick, round green glasses, which contrasted with her bright red hair, loose around her beautifully lined, freckled face. The second she saw us, a big smile full of very small teeth filled her face.
              “You must be colleagues and family of Michelle,” she said in a strong French accent.
              I was half expecting Sam to jump up and down, speaking incomprehensible French to our host, but she remained expressionless except for a mild twitch on the left corner of her mouth.
              “Hi, Mrs. Martin,” Karl said, extending his hand to shake hers. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. My wife has spoken very admirably of your work for the Protectors.”
              Mrs. Martin blushed. “Oh, nonsense!” she said, waving the compliment away. “Please call me Madame M. Students of mine gave me that name. Come on in now; the cold tends to lodge in our bones at this time of the year.” We stepped inside a very narrow entryway and had to squeeze together to fit on the green-and-brown carpet. “Take off your shoes and make yourself at home.”
              We did. And as we followed her, I noticed three cats stalking Madame M.’s heels as she walked toward the small living-room to our left… where two more cats were perched on an old TV screen. The Saint Bernard dog who’d greeted us at the door was comfortably seated on an apple-green couch perpendicular to a large window.
              “I believe I should introduce you to our little family. This is Snow White,” Madame M. said, patting the dog. Then she pointed at a sixth cat I hadn’t seen, next to the bookshelf. “The grey Maine coon is Doc”—she moved on to the two felines on the TV—“the orange-and-white exotic shorthair”—the only cat who hadn’t bothered opening its eyes when we arrived— “is Sleepy. Next to him is a grey striped Scottish fold shorthair named Bashful.”
              She lowered her head and smiled at the three felines still at her feet, taking turns at rubbing their heads against her calves.
              “Aren’t those all Snow White’s dwarves’ names?” Xander whispered in my ear while Madame M. picked up a white cat with extremely blue eyes.
              “Yeah…”
              “Sneezy is a Siamese,” she continued, before she put it down and patted another one, which had one brown eye and one blue. “This is Happy, a Turkish Van cat. But don’t be fooled by his name; he only likes me.” The last one, the longest cat I’d ever seen, with the longest pointed ears too, threw itself on its back as soon as Madame M. touched it, and it started to play with her. Our host, clearly used to her cat’s gaiety, sat on the floor and rubbed its belly. “And this is Dopey, a Savannah cat; a very rare breed around here,” she said in a playful voice. “Yes you are. Yes you are, my little Dopey-boo-boo.” She giggled and I almost felt like I was intruding, standing there, wondering about Madame M.’s mental health.
              I slowly turned to Xander, who seemed to be thinking the same. “Er, do you think…” I started but was instantly interrupted by Karl.
              “What a lovely home you have,” he said. “Thank you very much for allowing us to hide—”
              Madame M. got up in one movement, so gracefully that it actually reminded me of a cat’s agility and suppleness. “This is nothing, Karl. After everything that happened, it is the least I can do. I still receive news from the Protectors in Canada, you know, even though I’m now retired.” Her gaze moved from Xander to me, and back to Xander. “I cannot believe I am hosting a Seraph and a Rascal!” She clapped her hands together and grinned. “Of course, I am on your side, young man,” she continued, stepping closer to my friend, who had clearly not expected Madame M. to know what he was. “Obviously, otherwise you would not be standing here right now.” She winked at him.
              Xander simpered. “Er… thanks.”
              “
Parfait
!” Madame M. blurted out. “I will show you to your room. Two of you, I assume Karl and Samera—your mother’s told me so much about you—will take the guest room.” She pointed down the hallway. “Amya will take the couch—very comfortable, and you might even get to sleep with Dopey and Bashful.
Le salon est leur salle préféré
,” she added in French.
              “It means that the living room is their favorite room,” Sam proudly translated, her eyes shining like dark stars.
              “
Oh, mais tu es très bonne!
” Madame M. replied. I could only recognize the word
bonne
. Samera had once told me it meant
good
. “
Ta mère m’avais dit que tu apprenais le français à l’école, mais je n’aurais jamais cru que tu étais aussi avancé.
”
              Sam’s hand flattened against her chest. Whatever Madame M. had just said, she’d won her heart for ever.
              They exchanged a few more sentences I did not understand, and then our host prepared pasta for dinner. Meanwhile, Karl told us all about Madame M.’s famous reputation among the Protectors of Amani. Before retirement, she was the head of the safety department in Montreal. Just like the Protectors in New York were in charge of the United States in general, even though there were Headquarters in every state, the Protectors of Montreal dealt with the large territory of Canada. Madame M. had taught kung fu to more Protectors than she could remember and she had been made particularly famous when she’d saved the life of the Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau during an attack on his life by a man who had escaped the Red Dimension.
              Dinner was very tasty. Madame M. confessed she loved the addition of curry, chili, and cloves in her cooking, which suited Samera perfectly even more.
              Xander applied the rest of the ointment my Blue-self had made on my shoulder, and at eight-thirty sharp, we were ready to go to bed. Madame M. turned off the lights in the living room around nine. Karl had proposed that I sleep with Sam in the bedroom and he on the floor next to the couch, but I refused, saying that I might not sleep very well with my shoulder and that I did not want to disrupt Samera’s rest.
              “Good night, you two,” Madame M. said to Xander and me, before she opened the door that led to the basement and disappeared down the staircase.
              I bid her goodnight and then turned to my friend. “Are you certain you don’t want to use the couch? I would be just fine on the floor,” I said.
              Xander shook his head. “Nah. You need to rest more than I do.”
              “Let me know if you change your mind.”
              I closed my eyes and tried focusing on my breathing. I knew I needed sleep, but my head kept churning with my sister’s disappearance, the Rascals’ attack on HQ, and what we would say to Hibiscus tomorrow. If he knew another Rascal, then he would not get scared easily by Xander, which was good. But then, if he’d known more about them, why not tell Michelle on their email exchange? And speaking of Michelle, had she already met the supposedly good Rascal back in New York?