Cacophony

Heat visibly rises off the Hawaiian Sweet Rolls as I take them out of the oven. I can smell the slight tinge of bitterness that suggests I should have taken them out a minute or so before. While I may be a guy with many talents, I was placed on bread duty because my cooking abilities are right on up there with my ability to be invisible…which is to say, non-existent.

My sister, on the other hand, was graced with a skill in the kitchen that I’ll never be able to compete with. Not that I enjoy cooking enough to ever try. I also don’t make a habit of doing things that I’m not good at.

“Scoot! I need the oven.” Eliza saunters in and hip-bumps me out of the way. She’s been whipping up a Baked Alaska, which according to her is one of the most difficult desserts to perfect. Apparently it is a combination of meringue, cake, and ice cream that you put in the oven in hopes of firming the meringue while somehow not melting the ice cream. It sounds like sorcery if you ask me.

I grab a roast beef wrap and shove it in my mouth while already grabbing a second.

“Oiy! No more!” She starts smacking at my hands. I relent because even though I’m 6’1” and she’s a dainty little thing, she terrifies sometimes. Not that I’d ever let her know that.

“You do realize you’re cooking this entire feast for three of us?” is what I attempt to say, but it comes out all muffled and gibberish sounding since I had a mouth full of food. Thankfully, she’s been translating my full mouth language since we were old enough to eat.

 At that, she shoots me a sly glance. She’s been at it since dawn. She’s also had me up with her since then even though she won’t allow me to touch any of the food besides the bread. When I asked why I had to be up at an hour that I find offensive, she said it was for moral support and to keep the music flowing. Now that she’s back in here, I lean over to switch it to something with a more pop-ballad flavor. Since she’s going through all this trouble, and my taste buds and stomach are the main beneficiaries of this hard work, I may as well show her some appreciation.

“So, about that,” she begins. I’m watching her a little more closely now because that sly glance from earlier is becoming more pronounced. “I invited someone. Now, before you get all up in arms, she’s new in town and her mom works with ours so she won’t have any family with her for Thanksgiving. I thought it only right to have her eat with us.”

Mom is a surgeon and has to work every big holiday since people are prone to terrible accidents involving fried turkeys, or falling off ladders, or, you know, huge knives. It’ll just be the two of us eating with Dad. Since he’s a divorce lawyer, his high impact work load will come right after the holidays.

“Liz, what gives? Why would I care that you invite a girl that would be spending Thanksgiving alone?” I’m genuinely confused.

“Galan, she’s…different…like us, but not. I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. I get the feeling that she can see something about me when she’s near. It’s almost like she can hear my thoughts, or my feelings. You’ll see. I don’t think that she’s dangerous, or like them. I want you to get a read off of her and see what you think.” Different? Well Eliza and I are definitely different. Not like us, though? We really don’t need anyone around who can read thoughts or feelings or whatever. We’re not even human. Now, I’m a little worried. Is she going to be a problem? What is Liz thinking?

My anxiety will have to take a back seat though because right then the door bell rings. I tell Liz, “Go ahead.” We exchange a hard look where my silver eyes say, ‘we’ll discuss this later’, and her pale purple eyes answer, ‘obviously’. We don’t even need to use our telepathy.

I start putting the plates and silverware out on the table. The food is all lined up along the counters and some is still on the stove.

“My goodness it smells DI-VINE,” I hear from the front of the house, and I’m picking up a small twang in her voice. She makes divine sound like it is two separate words. I hear Liz answer something back about how it was nothing, but her voice jumps up an octave and I can tells she appreciates the praise. She tells the girl that the food is ready and our Dad will be joining us shortly. He left a little while ago to carry some food to his secretary and her husband. He does this every year as his bit of goodwill for putting up with him.

I’ve just finished setting the table and turn towards the kitchen door. Liz comes in, a little pink high in her cheeks from excitement, and turns towards the girl with her. She looks Liz’s age, about 17, and is dark to Liz’s light. Liz has golden blonde hair to go along with her pale purple eyes. This girl has black hair that almost looks like it has tinges of blue in it, and very dark, brown eyes. She’s taller than Liz who is about 5’2” so that’s honestly not very hard. I’d say she’s 5’6” or so with tanned skin. Not bad on the eyes at all.

Liz says, “This is Lola.” Her hand goes up in a sort of wavy motion in Lola’s direction. “Lola, this is my brother, Galan. He’s a year older than us.” While I go over to shake her hand, I try to take more of her in. She’s doing the same to me obviously and I see a little crease in between her eyebrows that suggests she’s confused about something. Interesting…Can she tell we’re different too? Can she feel our magic as we can feel others? I purposefully think about all manner of wild things from dancing penguins to how hot I think she is, but she doesn’t have any more of a pronounced reaction. Surely if she could read my thoughts, I would have gotten a hint of discomfort from her. Either that or she’s really good at acting. Liz is right, I get a hint of something about her, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. So she’s not like us. Elves, that’s what the humans call us. We know our kind as the Esir.

She’s looking all around me like I have a cloud of invisible bugs flying around my body. It’s very off-putting and I subconsciously swat around a bit which draws her attention. She gives herself a little shake. Are we putting off some kind of cloud around us? Is she reading my aura?

“It’s nice to meet you.” She holds her hand out and gives mine a firm shake and direct eye contact. Her eyes are like dark, deep pools and I feel like I could get lost swimming in them. Now, I have to give myself a shake.

Liz checks her phone. “Dad says he’s gonna be a bit longer. We should go ahead and start without him”.

“Shouldn’t we wait?” I ask.

“He said to go ahead…that he would join us in a bit.” Liz shrugs her shoulders as she says it. 

We each grab a plate and start loading up. “The meat is over on the stove,” Liz tells Lola, “we have fried turkey and ham. The veggies and casseroles are lined up here on the counter. You like mashed potatoes?”

“Love mashed potatoes,” Lola answers.

“Good, I have a feeling you’re gonna love mine even more,” Liz assures Lola. They share a look like a girl’s conspiracy club and only the two of them are allowed to know how wonderful mashed potatoes can be.

I smirk. She’s not wrong. I’ve never tasted anyone’s mashed potatoes that can compete with Liz’s. While Liz works on loading up Lola’s plate, I automatically go for my favorites.

We take our seats around the antique wood dining table. Liz and I bow our heads and say the blessings of our kind to ourselves. When we look up, Lola is shyly watching through her lowered thick lashes.

“Let’s get to business,” I say to ease the awkwardness a bit while I dive right in. She must not be very spiritual which is fine. We’ve met all kinds of humans with different levels of spirituality and beliefs. What’s odd about the situation is that Liz and I put people at ease naturally, without any thought or having to work at it. Our kind emits a sort of peace around us that generally makes people more comfortable in our presence. It doesn’t seem like it’s working on Lola though. Nervousness is seeping out of her.

“So, you’re from Texas? What brings you to New Mexico?” Liz asks.

Lola finishes her bite and responds, “Mom’s job. She got a better offer here, and we couldn’t pass it up. I’m not looking forward to having to finish school somewhere new, but at least I only have one more year after this one.”

Out of nowhere, there’s a cacophony outside. It sounds like a series of screeches and a crash. Liz and I simultaneously jerk our heads to the front of the house.

“What?” Lola asks. We’re too busy to answer her though because we jump up to look out the front window. Nothing. I focus on my hearing and send it further down the block. Still nothing. I listen harder, and there…I hear a commotion that must be about 6 blocks away. I can see that Liz hears what I do.

Lola sidles up to see what we’re staring at. “That’s weird. I could have sworn I heard something. Like Dad pulling up,” I say. Because obviously the street right outside is empty and there’s nothing to see. My heart is racing though from the sudden adrenaline rush and Lola’s watching around my torso again like the little bugs are back. She’s definitely getting something from us, but I have no idea what it is. I give a shake of my head to Liz and turn back to head into the dining room.

I send Liz the thought, It was probably an accident caused by a distracted driver texting or something. We shouldn’t worry. That’s easier said than done though. Liz and I always work at staying as normal as possible, but we are constantly on edge. We have an enemy that these humans know nothing about. Dark, extremely powerful beings, the Doklar, who are intent on seeing our entire people annihilated. We don’t belong here. We should be living in the realm, Denali. It’s a wasteland now, but it used to be a beautiful and majestic land that our kind still talks about wistfully. We were placed here in order to stay hidden and safe so that the Esir do not become extinct.

Hands still a little shaky, I lift my fork back to my mouth. At the same time, I’m sending a thought out to our Uncle Orin. We heard a racket near our house. Anything to worry about?

Orin answers with, I’ll check it out.

We don’t have to wait long though, because right then Liz’s phone rings. “Hello,” she answers and I can hear mom on the other line, frantic.

Breathy she says, “Oh good. You’re safe.” Then a little more urgently, “I just got a call that Dad’s been in an accident, and we don’t know how bad it is. I’m waiting for news.” She’s crying.

Liz and I both look at each other wide-eyed. I tell Lola, “Stay here.” Yes, it is a command. Yes, it is snappish. I don’t care. Liz and I are already heading for the front door. Once there, we are able to take off at a more appropriate speed for us. Six blocks. I remember hearing an accident six blocks away. We arrive in less than a minute.

I take in the scene while fighting back tears. Dad’s little Honda is destroyed. There are already police cruisers and an ambulance there. Crushed glass and fluid cover the street. I don’t see another car so I can’t tell what’s caused all this destruction. Liz is in a cop’s face, not fully in control of herself, yelling something I can’t take in. He just shakes his head slowly with a look that says he knows he’s a wrecking ball in a teen girl’s life and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. I can’t keep the tears in any longer.

I go numb. This must be what going into shock feels like. I can tell Uncle Orin is yelling at me telepathically but I can’t be bothered to figure out what he’s saying or to answer him.

I don’t know how much time passed while I’m standing in the middle of the street with emergency personnel all around me, Liz on her knees crying, me absently patting her back. Lola arrives and soaks in one aspect of the view after another. She looks up at me and asks in rapid succession, “What? How? Are y’all ok? My goodness. Is this someone you know? You moved so fast. One second you were there, there was like a blur, and then nothing.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” is all I’m able to respond. It’s not true though. It’s us that shouldn’t be here, not her. We’re the reason our Dad is dead. He didn’t even know what we are. He’s not even really our Dad. Not that we can ever tell him that now. He genuinely loved us and was so, so good to us, and now he’s gone. Lola moves to bend down and hold Liz. She keeps looking back and forth between us.

“What are you?” she whispers. I don’t think she actually expects an answer. I wouldn’t have one to give her anyway. We are Esir and someone has killed our Dad. Now, Liz and I will have to meet with Uncle Orin to figure out where we go from here. We can’t stay with Mom and keep her in this kind of danger. She’s not really our Mom either. Uncle Orin is the only other one of our kind in the family we were placed in. It’s clear that whoever caused this catastrophe has long since disappeared. I can only assume it was the Doklar and they’ve somehow found us after all these years. How? We’ve been so careful.

I eye Lola a lot more thoroughly. Could she be working with them?