Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves (44 page)

“
What do you want?” he
asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

The figure rumbled with
laughter. “Why, I want you.”

“
What -?” he began to ask.
But he stopped instead. Something popped just above his forehead,
something that smelled like fresh dog crap and made him choke. He
coughed when he tried to breathe. “Who a-a-are y-y-you?” he
managed, half-strangled.

As if spoken through the
side of its’ mouth, “That’s not important. Sleep.”

Miller had more questions,
a hundred more things to ask, but would never be able to ask them.
In the end, he did what he was told – he slept.

*****

Sixteen-year-old
Chamondalar Demondrad finally got the wherewithal to tap the green,
phone-shaped icon on his cell. He initiated the call he had been
agonizing over the entire day. It had only taken five unsuccessful
tries

He was, in fact, a rarity
in Los Angeles, something of an exotic. He was Malagasy. He hailed
from a small suburb outside of Antananarivo, called Mandrosoa, in
central Madagascar. True to his heritage, he was small in stature
with ropey muscles and a dark complexion. He had delicate features
for a teenage boy, but that too was much in the norm from where he
was born. He had coarse, black hair, combed back over his head,
revealing dark eyes, a narrow nose and pointed cheekbones. His face
was devoid of facial hair and tapered to a point, giving him a
severe sort of cast, but it fit the look of him.

Though he spoke English as
if he had learned it in Great Britain, he had lived in Los Angeles
for over five years. He had immigrated along with his family to the
United States when he was eleven. One would think his accent would
have altered being around so many Angelinos for such an extended
period of time, but it had not. But that’s how things were with
Chamondalar (who preferred Chum-lee, because of the many syllables
in his name). Once something took hold, it stayed that way –
forever.

Despite having the unusual
talent of not perspiring in the warmest weather of southern
California, a thin sheen of sweat emerged upon his brow. The
connection in his ear went through and the line on the other end
began to ring.

For the past three months,
he had sat opposite her in his second period Modern Art class. For
nearly as long, they had stared at one another across the flat
desks separating them. These were not the typical, single-seat sort
of desks that wrapped about one’s body from left to middle. No,
these were table-like, made for working on large projects as they
were wont to do when drawing or painting. Their arrangement was
back-to-back. They formed a myriad of squares about the classroom
with four students sitting on the outer edges, facing each other in
pairs.

Monique Ceballos was a
petite half-Mexican, half-Caucasian girl of similar age. She had
been “paired” with him since the first day of school. She was small
– only five-foot-one – but had an athletic body with all the
accompanying bulges and lumps that Chum-lee liked.

He often gazed upon when
she was not looking in his direction, for long periods of
time.

She had straight,
dark-brown hair. She combed it over to the left, creating a
half-bang or cascade of hair hiding that side of her forehead. Her
eyes matched her hair, speckled with a much lighter hue. They
reminded Chum-lee of maple sugar. It was a captivating feature he
often fell victim, lost within for minutes at a time. Her lips were
thin, pale-pink, surrounded by skin suited to those of her genes
that were non-ethnic.

He had liked her from the
outset. He liked her straight-forward attitude and her tendency to
look on the better side of things, no matter how difficult the
situation. He often found spare moments at the rinsing sink to talk
to her. He tried his best to not come across as too aggressive, but
was walking a fine line. He still wanted to let her know, in a
casual sort of manner, his interested in her was beyond mere
friendship.

She was a classic Heavy
Metal throwback. This included the bandanas, the steel-studded
jewelry and the leather. Her clothes were almost always torn, in a
strategic sort of way, showing much of her body underneath. He
liked that more than anything - the fact that she was comfortable
in her own skin. This was something alien to the females of his
family.

One day, after they had
completed making bowls of clay, at the very same sink, Monique had
said Chum-lee had nice eyes. Her frank words had sent shockwaves of
tingling sensations up and down his spine. Thrilled over his dream
coming true, he knew these were the first inklings she liked him
back. It had been a slow process between them after that. This was
due to their wide range of differences and origins. But, as the
months rolled by, as fall edged ever-closer toward winter, their
interactions became more flirtatious. They were more intimate,
spoke in hushed tones or by way of notes. These they scooted across
their desks when their teacher turned the other way.

By the end of October,
they were spending Nutrition and Lunch together. They would talk
and laugh over at the south side of the Quad where trees and a
multitude of walkways made for a more private setting. They had
spent the last month getting to know each other, content to leave
their interaction at school until four days ago. Monique had said
in no uncertain terms that she liked him more than a friend and
wanted give him her cell phone number.

Without delay, he had
inputted it into his phone. He even went so far to suggest they
exchange their social media information as well.

She was winking at him
when the bell had rung, saying if he called her they would do
so.

That had been on
Wednesday. Four days ago. And like all nervous young men on the
verge of having his first girlfriend, Chum-lee had done what any of
them would have. He had procrastinated until he was near insane
with dread.

“
Chum-lee! You finally
grew a pair and decided to call me after all.”

All thought banished in a
second and the young man from Madagascar found himself at a
complete loss for words.

An uneasy silence
ensued.

“
Chum-lee, you better not
freeze up on me, not after I’ve waited four damn days to hear from
you.” Then, with much more vehemence, “You better not hang
up!”

Chamondalar cleared his
throat. “Ah, hello.”

“
Hi, yourself.”

His eyes shifted back and
forth, darting about his room. He was uncertain of what to say as
if he had just met Monique and had not spent the last few months
talking with her, walking around campus.

Another awkward
pause.

“
What’s wrong?” asked the
Metal-Head girl.

Maybe the truth will
work
, he though a split second before he
replied. “I’m nervous.”

“
Why?”

“
I don’t know…,” he
swallowed. “I guess because this feels so much more formal than
anything we’ve ever done together. I don’t know.”

She giggled, but
soft-like, not wanting to make him feel bad. “Talking on the phone
is formal?”

He thought for a moment.
“Sounds ridiculous, huh?” He chortled, breathing through his
mouth.

“
A little.”

“
No, it sounds like I’ve
knocked my head against something.”

She quieted. “You sound
fine to me.”

“
You are just being the
nice girl your parents raised you to be,” he countered,
disbelieving.

She guffawed. “Me?
‘Raised’ to be nice? You do see how I dress, right? You do know the
kind of music I like, right?” She clicked the roof of her mouth.
“I’m not a ‘nice’ girl, Chamondalar.”

He felt the thrill of
electrical current rush through him. He loved it when Monique spoke
his full name. The way she rolled her tongue over the “r” at the
end was scintillating.

“
You seem nice to me.” He
spoke it like a matter of fact, a thing above question. In his
mind, it was a sound evaluation.

“
I do?” She was being
coy.

He took the bait. “Yes,
and I would like to get to know more about the ‘nice’ girl on the
other end of this cellular phone.”

“
You would?”

“
Of course.”

“
And what would you like
to know?”

The innuendo was so
palatable Chum-lee almost blurted precisely what he wanted to know
about her. Instead, he caught himself before he ruined everything.
He cleared his throat a second time. “I would like to take you on a
date.”

Her breath caught in her
throat. “A date?” She sounded as panicky as he had at the beginning
of the conversation.

“
Yes.” It was a dramatic
pause. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“
Will I have to wear a
dress?” she asked before she could stop herself. The idea of
wearing anything girlie was mortifying.

He laughed, bemused at how
fast they had exchanged emotions. “Not where I would like to take
you. No, Jeans and a T-shirt, and comfortable shoes will
suffice.”

She perked up.
“Oh?”

“
Ever been to the
Huntington Library?”

On the other end of the
phone, her face screwed up. “Why would you want to take me to a
library? We can’t even talk…”

His laughter was
heartfelt, genuine.
How could she not know
about the Huntington Library?
“It’s more
of a botanical garden than anything else and there’s a museum there
as well.”

“
A garden? Like with
carrots and corn, and shit?”

He sniggered into a fist.
“It’s nothing like that at all. It is a place where they grow rare
plants from all over the world.” He could tell he was not making
much headway. “You’ll have to see it for yourself to understand.
While we’re walking around, I can explain everything about it to
you. What do you say? Would you like to go with me, on a date, to
the Huntington Library?

“
I promise, it will be
unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.”

“
Yeah?”

“
Yes. You will be
amazed.”

She twittered in her
throat. “Well, if it’s anything like you say, then I can’t wait.
When are we going?”

“
I was thinking next
Saturday, if that works with you.”

He could almost see her
smiling through the smartphone. “Ok. Yeah, that works. Cool! Going
on a date with you, who would’ve ever thought…”

“
I sure wouldn't have, my
dear.”

“
Oh, so now I’m ‘your
dear.’”

“
But of
course.”

They talked for just under
an hour. The topic of conversation changing for one thing to
another as rapid as they could manage and not get confused. The
entire time, in the back of his mind, Chamondalar knew his final
decision. With each word he uttered, his confidence grew. He knew
he would find some time, while they were at the Huntington. Maybe
in the rose garden or near the beautiful Chinese bridge, he would
ask her out. It was time for the next step. They had waited long
enough.

By the time they said
their good-byes, he had already figured out how he would word it.
It would be magnificent. It would be perfect. After all, what girl
would not want her future boyfriend to ask her out in one of the
most picturesque places in southern California?

“
You’re a genius,” he said
aloud to himself.

“
Unfortunately, you talk
too much, even for a human.”

“
What?” he asked, though
he did not know to whom. He turned around.

Something hard smashed
into his right temple and he crumpled to the ground like a
ragdoll.

Above him, standing six
and a half feet tall was a Loki. He was one of the Seeker’s Chaos
Knights. He stood shaking his head sedately within its’ hooded
robe. Its’ hand was still balled into a fist.

Chum-lee and Monique would
never make it to the Huntington Library.

Chum-lee would never get
the chance to ask her to be his girlfriend.

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Part Three:

Adaptation and Discovery

“
Winter
is nature's way of saying, "Up yours.”
―
Robert Byrne

Weather forecast for
tonight: dark.

-George Carlin

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ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

~ 26 ~

Respite

Day Four, Sunday, 11:39
am…

Sophie looked up from the
growing pile of survival equipment her companions had gathered on
one of the central aisles. They had chosen an area next to the
“outdoors” section of the store. There was room enough to sort
through the huge amount of stuff they were compiling from every
other area of the shopping center. She saw Andrew and the new girl
come up from the lower level, walking up the unmoving steps of the
dead escalator. They came toward her across the “infants” section
of the store where she squatted. She had been trying to organize
the supplies the others were gathering, but the task was proving
difficult. It was, after all, an inordinate amount of “stuff’ they
had collected.