Surviving New Aquaintances

Rider clenched his teeth together and shifted in the red leather seat. The least she could have done was let him drive. “What is he, a freakin’ hermit?” he growled.

Xanthe glanced at him patiently. It was only pissing him off more that he could never ruffle her feathers. The wind whipping through her shining black hair merely made her look sexier. Normally he loved riding in the Porsche, who wouldn’t? Unfortunately today he was riding in the Porsche away from his home of two years to live with some guy named Eric who he had never even met. After a long pause his companion finally answered him, “He likes his privacy.”

“I guess so,” Rider’s voice was lost in the wind as he looked out the side of the car. They had passed a security gate about a mile back and now all the foliage was blurring together into one long green wall that would isolate him from anyone else that lived on Maple Lane. Finally the forest cleared to reveal a large lawn and an old red farmhouse.

“That’s it?” Rider was disgusted. “All that and this is it?” Sure the farmhouse was nice, but after all that security and privacy he had been expecting something impressive. All he saw was a well-cared for two-story house with an old barn behind it. Okay then.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Xanthe’s lips. “You need to learn not to judge a book by its cover.”

“Whatever.” Rider hopped out of the car and stomped back to the trunk, which Xanthe promptly popped open. Rider grabbed his grimy old duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. “So tell me again why I’m here?”

Xanthe studied her her blood-red nails, “Rider, we’ve taken you as far as we can. Eric is… a good judge of character. He’ll be able to help you where we can’t.”

“How? I thought besides the you-know-who’s you and Mike were the best in the business! How is locking me in some freak’s farmhouse prison going to help me figure everything out? And what do you mean good judge of character?”

Xanthe rolled her eyes, “Rider, don’t be overdramatic. When Norris had helped you all he could he introduced you to me. Now Mike and I think that since we have helped you all we can it’s time to introduce you to Eric.”

Althoughj Rider was willing to bitterly admit that this was true, he also felt that the two situations were completely different. When Rider was ten he had gone to live with his much older cousin, Norris. When he was sixteen Norris and he had decided it was time he stayed with Xanthe and Mike for a while. It had been a decision made by both Norris and Rider- something completely different than what was happening now. Rider shook his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes and followed Xanthe to the door. He had already known Xanthe and Mike, and he had wanted to go stay with them. Xanthe seemed ages older, but she was only around twenty-two, and Mike a year her senior. They were fun, rich, and of course there was the fact that he was a teenage boy, and Xanthe was drop dead gorgeous. Not that she would ever take her eyes of Mike, but still. This Eric guy was a complete stranger, and obviously a freak.

Xanthe rang the doorbell, and Rider heard muffled noises from within before the door opened. A tall man in his mid-thirties stood before Rider. He was good-looking in an unkempt sort of way. A few days worth of stubble covered his chin and he was in a loose t-shirt and jeans. He ignored Rider and looked straight into Xanthe’s eyes, saying simply, “The end.”

She nodded her head, black orbs meeting his Eric’s dark eyes. “No more favors. But it will never be the end.”

Eric’s expression did not change. “You have your opinion, I have mine. As long as we agree that we’re even.”

Xanthe’s eyes unfocused, as if she were looking at something very far away. When she next spoke there was bitterness in her voice that Rider had never heard before. Her words were filled with an anguish that her expression did not betray. “We’re not even. I love you…Eric, and I won’t call in any more favors, but I’m not sure I will ever be able to forgive you.” Rider stared at Xanthe, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“I understand.” Was all Eric said in reply.

What the hell are they talking about?

“I know you do.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Rider should have everything he needs in his bag, and he starts school on Monday. Wilson arranged everything; the bus should pick him up at the end of the driveway.”

The bus! Rider was outraged. What self-respecting senior in the suburbs rode the bus? And who’s Wilson? Xanthe finally turned back to Rider, and to his surprise gave him a reassuring squeeze before pulling away. “Call if you need anything.”

Rider waggled his eyebrows, “Anything?”

Xanthe laughed, “Bye Rider.” He watched as she strode back to the car, flirty black skirt swishing back and forth with the movements of her body, and pulled out of sight. He sighed and looked back at Eric, who was staring at the spot where she had been last visible.

Rider cleared his throat and shook his hair out of his eyes again. He was not happy about being dumped with someone who had apparently done something unforgivable to Xanthe. “Well,” Eric gave him the once over, “You might as well come in.”

Rider grabbed his duffle and followed Eric into a surprisingly normal main room. The style of the inside of the house matched the outside, rustic but neat. Stained wooden bookshelves built into the wall were stacked to the brim with old tomes. A set of worn, but expensive-looking brown leather furniture faced a large wide-screen television that was playing the Patriots game. Rider stepped towards the TV, and was about to scoot around the large couch to watch, when his eye caught on a small detail he had missed. Between the furniture and the TV was an old oriental rug, and sprawled out on the rug was the largest dog Rider had ever seen.

It was watching him from large black eyes, looking deceivingly relaxed as it sprawled out on the floor, but Rider had the distinct feeling that the beast could be out of that position and tearing at his throat before he could blink. In fact, the canine looked like no dog Rider had ever seen, it looked like a wolf. Rider had seen pictures of wolves his entire life, flipping through channels on his way to MTV, and he knew a normal male wolf was maybe between 85 and 115 ibs. This one had to be at least 30 ibs larger than his mastiff when he had been a little kid, and Buddy had weighed 185 ibs.

Eric stepped in front of him, smiling just a little, and reached for the dog to scratch behind his ear. The animal strained to lift its head as close as possible to Eric’s nearing hand without actually moving its torso. The sound of its happily thumping tail seemed to echo through the room. “This is Fidelis, he can be intimidating, but once you to get used to each other, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”

Uh, sure.” Rider eyed the dog warily as he slowly stepped back around the other side of the couch, he liked dogs, but there was something freaky about this one, the more furniture that sat between them, the better.

Eric followed him, soon stepping in front of Rider and walking past the door to the left and out of the family room. “Here, I’ll show you your room.” He began to walk up the long flight of stairs he had been lingering at the base of, and once at the top, turned again to the left. He lead Rider down a short dark hallway. There were three doors, one at the end, one on the left, and the last on the right. Eric gently pushed the door to the right open, exposing clean white tile and marble sinks. “Bathroom.” Then he turned the silver doorknob of the room at the end of the hall. “This is your room,” He pushed the door open to expose a simple medium-sized bedroom. The room was plain white, with a twin sized bed pushed against the wall, a wooden night-stand, a matching dresser and a closet. A lamp and a clock radio sat on the night-stand, but there was no personality or decorative touches whatsoever in the room. Rider was severely under-whelmed. “Decorate if you want, but don’t do anything that would do permanent damage, if you can think of anything specific you need, just tell me.” And with that, the older man left the room.

Rider dropped his duffle bag beside him and sprawled out on clean blue sheets. Thank God I brought my Stereo. He sat up and slowly unzipped his bag to reveal a disorganized pile of clothes, with some cds, dvds, and other indiscriminate items mixed in. He plugged the stereo into a nearby electrical socket, and pushed it against the wall at the end of his bed. He then taped two posters to the walls of the room, Gisele Bundchen; Victoria secret model, and Jimi Hendrix; the coolest human being to ever live.

Tracy followed Izzy into a large homey kitchen. Izzy walked behind a counter and began mixing something in a pot on the flat-topped stove. Tracy sniffed the air, yum. The smell of garlic, basil and tomato wafted through the room. Izzy pointed with her unoccupied hand at a spot on the floor next to a large wooden table. “You can drop your backpack there.” She watched Tracy intently as the girl set the bag down on the floor and stood looking uncomfortable. “Well, go ahead and sit.” Tracy obeyed, pulling out one of the chairs and collapsing.

When Izzy said nothing else and began bustling around the kitchen, Tracy pulled out her phone, checking for new text messages, there were two. The first was from David, giving her, as usual, useful tidbits of knowledge. The second was from Astrid, another girl staying with David. Those special talents that Marsha had been so eager to discuss had affected Tracy’s placement after all. They had placed her in the home of David and Catherine Hawthorne, and now they had placed her in the home of Izzy, whoever she was.

Astrid was Catherine’s neice, but in the end, she had been brought to David’s home for similar reasons. Tracy and Astrid had liked one another from the moment they met. Astrid had a gift for sensing and empathizing with the emotions of others, and at that time, Tracy had needed nothing more than someone who understood her. Now, as she clicked through her messages, she saw Astrid’s read “Don’t wory u’ll b fine. David wouldnt leve u w/ a freak” Tracy looked up at Izzy, she wasn’t so sure.

“Where are the rest of your things? Do you have anymore things?” asked the older woman as she dipped her finger into the marinara sauce and took a lick. “Hmmm, needs more salt.” She smiled at Tracy. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll get along well enough,” her voice hardened, “David and I just disagree when it comes to certain subjects.”

Tracy looked down and began to pick at her left pinky nail. “David said he’d have someone drop the rest off tomorrow.”

“Good, good. Now why are you here?”

“Umm, excuse me?” Tracy looked up.

“Why, are, you, here?” Izzy looked deep into her eyes, exaggerating the annunciation. “Why did David say he was leaving you with me?”

“Umm,” Tracy hesitated. David had just forced her onto this weird old woman, and now even the woman didn’t know why she was there. Great. “I’m having trouble controlling access to my abilities and they said they didn’t know why. David said they had taken me as far as they could and it was time for someone who had more experience in that area to handle my studies now.”

“Well that’s a lie,” Izzy sighed heavily and shook her head.

Tracy felt like she was going to hyperventilate, “You can’t help me!” She squeaked.

“No,” Catching sight of her face Izzy hastily rounded the counter and began to pat her reassuringly on the arm. “No, I can help you. But they do know why you can’t access your abilities, they just don’t know how to get around that and take a shortcut to your powers.”

“What?”

Izzy rolled her eyes, “Cowards,” she muttered, “Wouldn’t break the news to you themselves. You have a trigger.”

“A what?”

“A trigger,” Izzy answered patiently, “You’ve heard of the prophecies?”

“Of course,” Tracy furrowed her brow.

“Well, you know the king and queen can’t reach their full potential until they, ahem, unite?”

Tracy stared at her. “Yes...”

“Well you’re the same. The king and queen trigger each other’s gifts. You also have a trigger. You won’t be able to reach your full potential until your gift is triggered.”

“Okay…. So how are you supposed to help me? Does that mean it won’t be triggered until I meet Mr. Right?”

Izzy laughed and shook her head, “Not necessarily. You’re trigger could be anything, the first time you hear an obo, your undiscovered love of chicken-pot-pie, anything. I can do a few things. I have methods to considerably narrow the search, and, I have techniques to access some of your power without ever coming in contact with your trigger. You’ll never reach your full potential without it, but you’ll be much better off than you are now.”

A buzzer went off across the room, and Izzy rushed over to the stove and turned a knob, flicked to switches, and grabbed and oven mit. “We’ll discuss this more tomorrow, for now, it’s time to eat.”

Throughout all her many lives, Xanthe had played her part in the prophecy. Until the last few hundred years she had played it unbeknownst, but still, it was not the easiest role to fill. All though she had had many happy endings, none of her lives had been gentle, and none of her beginnings had been graced with much compassion.

She parked the car and sauntered down the sidewalk. Her body swayed to a beat only she could hear, but everyone else could feel. Everything about her was sensual, the way she moved, the way she spoke. She was tall but not towering, maybe 5’8”, and curvy in all the right places. She managed to appear both classically beautiful and exotic at the same time. No matter where she went she stood out, in the 7-11, or on a red carpet, she was the ultimate bombshell.

Xanthe often worked small modeling jobs for extra money, and last week she had posed for an up-and-coming painter. He was working on a large oil painting of Aphrodite, (he was in his ancient Greek-goddess fascination phase). She was to serve as his muse, the artist, Daniel, was moving away from the traditional blonde Aphrodite, and wanted a model who truly was of Greek or Italian heritage. As soon as he saw Xanthe, with her long wavy jet-black hair, and heard her seductive voice, with just a hint of an Italian accent, he was filled with child-like enthusiasm. He said she was perfect.

When Xanthe had told this story to Mike, they had shared a knowing look, and then burst into laughter. He was one of only a handful of people in the world who was able to appreciate the humor in Daniel’s words, because he was one of only a handful that knew that the original tales that had evolved into those of Aphrodite, and then Venus, had been based on stories of Xanthe herself, when she had live thousands of years ago in ancient Greece.

Now she was in the “new world,” modern day Boston. She and Michael lived in a smart-looking little townhouse that didn’t come cheap. Of all the strange jobs for one who was gifted to come by, he was a successful stand-up comedian. He was also the co-owner of a chain of nine or so small hot-spot cafés throughout New England. If there was one thing Michael knew, it was how to entertain.

Xanthe unlocked the door and stepped into the house. She headed straight for the kitchen, where she knew Mike would be. When she found him in that room of stainless steel and marble countertops, he looked up at her slowly, for once not grinning at the sight of her. “So?”

“Rider is with Eric.”

“Do you think this is going to work?”

“I think it will be useful one way or another, but do I think the King in him will awaken?” She paused, thinking as if this wasn’t a question she had already asked herself over and over again. “I don’t really think that’s going to happen until he meets the queen.”

Michael shook his head. “We’re running out of time. This isn’t a problem that is just going to go away, or even wait.”

“I know, but there’s only so much we can do for now. We’ve sent Rider to Eric. Now we just have to wait and hope for the best.”

“Hope that he’ll realize who he is, and what that means.”

“Yes.” She slipped onto a stool beside him at the counter.

“How was Eric, when you saw him?”

“The same, a bitter recluse.”

“Super. Do you think those two will survive each other?”

Xanthe finally laughed, “We’ll have to wait and see, but I doubt it.”