eyebrow,
clearly amused.
“Think so? Hey, Alex?”
Alex turned his
attention pointedly to his plate.
“Leave me out of this,
Katya.”
“Oh, come on. Do you
think Neal had good intentions, or was he just being pushy? Be honest.”
He hesitated for a
moment, but Alex knew perfectly well that Katya was implacable.
“I think Neal assumes
that any girl who is nice enough to talk to him is hitting on him,” he
admitted, shrugging. “He’s pretty much the opposite of an empath. That’s why
most girls don’t talk to him at all.”
“Naturally,” Katya said,
picking up her bowl. “I’m going back. You need anything, oppa?”
Min-jun shook his head.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“You gonna ask anyone
else?” Alex demanded, holding out an empty cup.
“Wasn’t planning on it,”
Katya said, crossing her arms.
“Oh, come on!”
“Ask nice or save my
life. Those are the rules.”
Min-jun appeared just
slightly embarrassed, quietly slicing his chicken into several neatly
equivalent pieces.
“Pretty please,” Alex
sighed. “Sugar on top. Okay?”
“What do you want?”
Katya snatched the
plastic cup from his hand.
“Orange juice.”
Katya snorted and headed
off to the beverage machine.
“What do you think, Min-jun?”
Alex asked leaning close and speaking with a low voice. “Sorta seems like
Katya’s into you.”
Min-jun blushed into his
plate.
“I doubt that very much.
Mutual respect, I would say,” Min-jun said, his diction crisp and perfect. Alex
often suspected the South Korean spoke English better than he did. “Katya is
also friends with my fiancée, so I would imagine that is a part of it.”
Alex almost dropped his
fork into his rice.
“Really? I had no idea
you were...well, going to be married, I guess. Does she go to the Academy?”
Min-jun’s mouth was
full, but Haley answered for him.
“Yes. One year below
you, Alex. Her name is Hae Rung. She’s quite beautiful, Min-jun. You are very
lucky,” Haley observed, and Min-jun solemnly nodded in agreement. “I would have
thought you might already know her, Alex. She is a member of your girlfriend’s
club – the Academy Sewing Circle.”
“My girl – oh. You mean
Eerie.”
Katya practically
dropped his cup on to the table in front of him, splashing juice onto the edge
of her tray.
“That’s Alex,” Katya
said coldly, taking her seat. “A romantic at heart.”
Three.
The three
arrived sequentially, but their manifestations were unique and individual.
A swirl of ash, though there was no wind, a miniature whirlwind of
cinders and charred human remains that gradually coalesced into a human form,
ash solidifying around a core of smoldering embers.
A lingering wave, a portion of the waters of high tide that stubbornly
refused to recede. Instead, the water rose in defiance of natural laws and
logic, forming a column and then sculpting itself into the shimmering image of
a girl.
One of the least mangled of the corpses on the beach extracted itself
from the grave, sand falling from reanimated limbs, a crab scurrying from the
cavity of one consumed eye.
The Anathema arrived,
and the world recoiled from their presence. Water and ash transmuted into bone
and flesh, hair and clothes, an act of conscious alchemy, while a dead man
walked to join them with all the grace of a badly misused marionette.
Alistair toyed with the
burned fragments of a skull with the toe of his desert-tone camouflage boots. The
bone was scorched and blackened, but it was still possible to see the unusual
hinging that allowed the jaw to dislocate, and one of the unnaturally large
canines was still intact. He rolled the skull on the charred ground in front of
him like he was toying with a soccer ball, his head bowed in thought.
“So much for the
Society’s part of the harvest,” Emily observed, adjusting the hood of her heavy
coat to keep out the wind coming in off the water. “That’s nearly the whole
operation – the two sites
clearly amused.
“Think so? Hey, Alex?”
Alex turned his
attention pointedly to his plate.
“Leave me out of this,
Katya.”
“Oh, come on. Do you
think Neal had good intentions, or was he just being pushy? Be honest.”
He hesitated for a
moment, but Alex knew perfectly well that Katya was implacable.
“I think Neal assumes
that any girl who is nice enough to talk to him is hitting on him,” he
admitted, shrugging. “He’s pretty much the opposite of an empath. That’s why
most girls don’t talk to him at all.”
“Naturally,” Katya said,
picking up her bowl. “I’m going back. You need anything, oppa?”
Min-jun shook his head.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“You gonna ask anyone
else?” Alex demanded, holding out an empty cup.
“Wasn’t planning on it,”
Katya said, crossing her arms.
“Oh, come on!”
“Ask nice or save my
life. Those are the rules.”
Min-jun appeared just
slightly embarrassed, quietly slicing his chicken into several neatly
equivalent pieces.
“Pretty please,” Alex
sighed. “Sugar on top. Okay?”
“What do you want?”
Katya snatched the
plastic cup from his hand.
“Orange juice.”
Katya snorted and headed
off to the beverage machine.
“What do you think, Min-jun?”
Alex asked leaning close and speaking with a low voice. “Sorta seems like
Katya’s into you.”
Min-jun blushed into his
plate.
“I doubt that very much.
Mutual respect, I would say,” Min-jun said, his diction crisp and perfect. Alex
often suspected the South Korean spoke English better than he did. “Katya is
also friends with my fiancée, so I would imagine that is a part of it.”
Alex almost dropped his
fork into his rice.
“Really? I had no idea
you were...well, going to be married, I guess. Does she go to the Academy?”
Min-jun’s mouth was
full, but Haley answered for him.
“Yes. One year below
you, Alex. Her name is Hae Rung. She’s quite beautiful, Min-jun. You are very
lucky,” Haley observed, and Min-jun solemnly nodded in agreement. “I would have
thought you might already know her, Alex. She is a member of your girlfriend’s
club – the Academy Sewing Circle.”
“My girl – oh. You mean
Eerie.”
Katya practically
dropped his cup on to the table in front of him, splashing juice onto the edge
of her tray.
“That’s Alex,” Katya
said coldly, taking her seat. “A romantic at heart.”
Three.
The three
arrived sequentially, but their manifestations were unique and individual.
A swirl of ash, though there was no wind, a miniature whirlwind of
cinders and charred human remains that gradually coalesced into a human form,
ash solidifying around a core of smoldering embers.
A lingering wave, a portion of the waters of high tide that stubbornly
refused to recede. Instead, the water rose in defiance of natural laws and
logic, forming a column and then sculpting itself into the shimmering image of
a girl.
One of the least mangled of the corpses on the beach extracted itself
from the grave, sand falling from reanimated limbs, a crab scurrying from the
cavity of one consumed eye.
The Anathema arrived,
and the world recoiled from their presence. Water and ash transmuted into bone
and flesh, hair and clothes, an act of conscious alchemy, while a dead man
walked to join them with all the grace of a badly misused marionette.
Alistair toyed with the
burned fragments of a skull with the toe of his desert-tone camouflage boots. The
bone was scorched and blackened, but it was still possible to see the unusual
hinging that allowed the jaw to dislocate, and one of the unnaturally large
canines was still intact. He rolled the skull on the charred ground in front of
him like he was toying with a soccer ball, his head bowed in thought.
“So much for the
Society’s part of the harvest,” Emily observed, adjusting the hood of her heavy
coat to keep out the wind coming in off the water. “That’s nearly the whole
operation – the two sites
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