Dancing with the Viper

  DANCING WITH THE VIPER

  Copyright 2018 by Amy Beatty

  All rights reserved

  Edited by Julie Frederick

  Published by

  Stickpin Press

  Amy Beatty Studios, LLC

  www.amybeatty.com

  ISBN: 978-0-578-41274-0 (Paperback)

  AISN: B07K43T4HJ (Kindle Edition)

  First Edition

  For the warriors who stand

  between evil and the rest of us.

  And for those at home

  who make them feel safe.

  1

  Hanna stopped in the middle of the street, shifting the covered cake plate to her other hand so she could wipe her sweaty palm on her jeans. This was what came of three grown women playing truth or dare while watching the new neighbor move in—not that there had been much to see with that big flutter pod squatting in the way. It was gone now, but there was still nothing to see. Watching an extraterrestrial move in ought to be more entertaining.

  More than eight years had passed since the first embassy ships landed, but the aliens kept to themselves, evidently preferring to observe humanity from a distance. The few Talessanins who came to Earth tended to stay in the embassy enclaves, and most people still hadn’t seen one of the aliens in person—especially not in small towns like Freebridge.

  Hanna glanced over her shoulder at her own little

  house, where Rachel and Tiffany peeked through the curtains of her living room window.

  “Keep going.” Rachel’s voice came from the phone in Hanna’s back pocket.

  “I’m going.” Hanna drew a determined breath. “But if you don’t stop talking, I’m taking you off speakerphone and hanging up. This is bad enough without getting caught letting my friends listen in.”

  Her pocket was silent.

  Hanna made it to the other side of the street before her phone chirped, alerting her that a new text message had been received. She stopped again, juggled the cake back to her other hand, and fished her phone out of her pocket.

  The message came from Tiffany’s phone and said:

  IS THIS BETTER?

  “What is wrong with you people?” Hanna muttered in mock irritation. She didn’t want to admit how reassured she felt, knowing someone would call the police if she screamed. None of them said so, but all three of the women knew this was the real reason Hanna had invited her friends over in the first place. The dare was just her friends’ way of giving Hanna the courage to face the man who had purchased the acreage on the other side of her dead-end country road. It would’ve been hard enough if he’d been merely human. This was so much worse.

  But Hanna needed to do this, and she needed to do it alone—needed to know she could do it alone. After all, the guy was going to be her only neighbor; she couldn’t avoid him forever. Best to get this over with.

  Squaring her shoulders, she stuffed the phone back in her pocket and marched across the neighbor’s newly sodded lawn and up the steps to the front porch. Not giving herself time to back out, Hanna thumbed the doorbell once, hard, and plastered a fake smile across her face.

  He answered the door so quickly that he must have been watching her out the window this whole time, and Hanna abruptly found herself staring at the middle of a broad, well-muscled chest covered in snug black t-shirt. He was tall. Really tall. Hanna’s breath caught in her throat, and her cheeks warmed in a blush that would perfectly complement the fake smile. Oh yes, this was going well already.

  “Good afternoon.” His voice was a rich baritone. And apparently he spoke English—that was something, at least, even if his slight accent was a bit unsettling. “How may I help you?”

  Hanna steadied herself with another deep breath and looked up into his face. He could almost have been some kind of Latin pop star, all olive skin and high cheekbones with solemn hazel eyes rimmed in dark lashes. His black hair, pulled back into a complicated arrangement of tiny braids, fell nearly to his shoulders.

  As calmly as she could manage, Hanna gave the speech Rachel had made her memorize. “My name is Hanna Bradley. I live across the street. I saw you moving in this morning, and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. I brought you a chocolate bundt cake.” She held out the cake plate, hoping he didn’t notice her hands were shaking. What if they didn’t eat cake? What if chocolate was toxic to them, like it was to dogs?

  His generous mouth stretched into a smile, and as he reached for the plate, Hanna’s eyes flicked to his hands. Sturdy, flexible membranes webbed the spaces between his long fingers. She’d expected that. Everyone knew what Talessanins looked like; pictures of them were all over the internet and in the media. But seeing one in real life, in broad daylight, was different.

  “How very kind of you, Hanna Bradley,” he said solemnly, with a slight bow. “I am Jonantathinel of House Kanestelan Ehr, and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. Will you come in?” He took half a step back, giving her a little space to breathe and inviting her into his home.

  Hanna’s heart stuttered. “Oh,” she said. “I just . . . um . . .” Her phone chirped again; Tiffany was not letting her off the hook. “Um . . . sure, but only for a minute. I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

  Her heart pounded harder as she followed the tall alien through a spacious living room and formal dining room and into the kitchen at the back. It looked like a regular house any human might live in—at least, any human with a little more money than average. The floors were all hardwood, the furniture was all new, and the kitchen had mahogany cabinets with granite countertops and high-end appliances. One side of the kitchen opened out into a large, casual family room with luxurious-looking carpet, an enormous television, a sprawling sectional sofa, and a scattering of oversized beanbag chairs. It was a disconcerting kind of ordinariness.

  “You have a beautiful home,” Hanna said, feeling a need to make some attempt at conversation. “I’ve enjoyed watching it being built and wondered what the inside would be like.” It sounded stilted. She didn’t care. Just keep breathing.

  “Did I hear the doorbell?”

  Hanna jumped at the sound of the new voice and felt the fading warmth of her blush deepen again as her heart climbed up into her throat. There were two of them.

  The second Talessanin man emerged from a hallway behind them, which presumably led to the home’s bedrooms, and offered Hanna a friendly grin. Considerably shorter than the first and with a stockier build, this alien had short brown hair and an open, freckled face.

  The first man hurried to make introductions. “This is our neighbor, Hanna Bradley, from across the street. She has come to welcome us to the neighborhood.”

  The second man offered a small bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bradley.”

  “Please,” she said, looking back and forth between the two. “Just call me Hanna. There’s no need to be so formal.”

  The shorter man grinned. “I’m honored, Hanna. Call me Tomin. And my friend is Jon. I suppose he introduced himself so fast that you have no idea what he actually said?” Tomin’s English had hardly any accent at all.

  “W-well . . .” Hanna stammered.

  “Jon,” Tomin scolded, “I told you, you have to slow down. Maybe you should let me answer the door for a while.”

  The big man grinned and shrugged. “It is my house, and I need the practice.” He held up the cake plate as if it were a rare prize. “Hanna has brought us a . . .”—he looked sheepish—“what did you call it, Hanna?”

  Hanna felt her blush deepen even more. “A chocolate bundt cake. It’s a type of dessert.”

  Tomin’s face lit up. “I love chocolate cake! Chocolate is definitely one of the things Earth got right without us.” He took the cake plate
from his friend and set it on the counter. You’ll have to forgive Jon. He spent a little time here in the early days, but he’s been assigned off world ever since, and he’s still getting used to how things work here.” He took the cover off the plate and eyed the cake with pleasure. “You’ll stay and have a piece with us, won’t you?”

  “Thanks,” Hanna said, edging backward, “but I can’t. I need to be getting home.” Her phone chirped. “I haven’t had lunch yet.” It chirped again.

  “How very fortunate!” Jon exclaimed. “You must allow us to reciprocate by buying you lunch. I am sure you know which restaurants here are best.”

  Hanna’s phone chirped again. “I’m supposed to meet up with some friends for lunch today,” she explained. Again, the phone chirped.

  “Do you need to get that?” Tomin asked.

  “Maybe I’d better at least check.” Hanna fumbled the phone out of her pocket and looked at the display.

  Tiffany’s texts read:

  SAY YES!!!

  R U NUTS?

  TELL THEM 2 MEET US @ MACS. WANT 2 C THEM2.

  DARE U!

  “Is everything all right?” Tomin asked, and Hanna realized she was scowling at the phone.

  “Yes. Sorry about that.” She stuffed the phone in her pocket and pasted the fake smile back on her face. “Um . . . listen, my friends are waiting for me, but why don’t you join us for lunch? Mac’s Bar and Grill is only a couple of miles up the road on the edge of town, and we can save you some seats at our table.”

  2

  There were not two but three Talessanins when they arrived at Mac’s for lunch. Hanna gritted her teeth and waved them over to the table where she waited with Rachel and Tiffany. The addition of the slender, dark-skinned man with the striking amber eyes and quiet, reserved manner blew Rachel’s careful seating arrangement all to bits. Her strategy had been Divide and Conquer: Rachel and Tiffany facing Hanna across the table, with the fourth chair and another one filched from a nearby table placed at the ends for the aliens.

  As it was, Tomin and the new guy took the ends, and Jon pulled another chair up on Hanna’s side of the table, making her wonder if their seating strategy was Surround and Subdue.

  She certainly felt surrounded, with Jon’s bulky presence dominating the space on her right and the new guy occupying the end of the table to her left, but she refused to be subdued so she took a deep breath and cheerfully introduced her friends. After the three men had made their apparently obligatory bows and declared themselves honored to meet everyone, Jon informed the women that the new guy was called Chance. Since Hanna’s knees were practically wedged up against Chance’s under the table, she reflexively put her hand out to shake his as she said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Chance hesitated, glancing first at Jon, then at Tomin, and Hanna realized her mistake; they didn’t shake hands, they bowed. She froze, hot blood rushing to her face again, but Chance nodded solemnly and reached over to grasp her hand in a firm shake. The chestnut-brown membranes between his even darker fingers wrapped around her hand, and she was pleasantly surprised to find the touch warm, and soft, and not at all disagreeable. What had she expected, cold and clammy?

  A flustered waitress interrupted the moment, handing around menus, and the ensuing food recommendations and explanations gave Hanna’s heart time to slow to a normal pace again—at least until she noticed the uncertain, curious stares their table was drawing from the restaurant’s other patrons. Talessanins were supposed to appear on TV, not in the neighborhood bar and grill. Well, Hanna supposed they would all just have to get used to it.

  After everyone ordered and the waitress went away, an uncomfortable quiet descended over the table. Rachel arranged and rearranged her knife and fork. Tiffany pretended to read the advertisements on the folded cardboard centerpiece and surreptitiously stared at Chance’s hands, which rested on the table. Hanna tried desperately to think of something to say as she glanced around the group. She almost came up with something, but then she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of Jon gazing at her, his head tilted quizzically to one side, and whatever she’d thought of evaporated.

  It was Tomin who finally broke the silence. “Hanna,” he said, “Chance was very sorry to have missed your visit.”

  Chance took his cue. “Yes,” he said, “I was in the back yard repairing connections on Jon’s hot tub, and when I came inside there was chocolate cake, like a gift from the Sower.”

  Tiffany’s eyes lit up at the mention of the hot tub, but then confusion clouded her face. “The Sower?” she asked.

  “The predominant Talessanin creation myth,” Tomin explained in the tone of an experienced tour guide. “An omnipotent being who scatters the seeds of life throughout the universe. The tradition offers a very poetic explanation for the similarities between Talessanins and humans, actually—seeds from the same tree sown in different gardens, but growing into trees that yield the same fruit.”

  Jon interrupted him. “Tomin has been working as a media relations officer at the Talessanin embassy in North America,” he said. “He can tell you a great deal about Talessanin history, culture, and tradition if you let him. But you do not have to let him.”

  Tomin laughed. “I do have a tendency to lecture. The point is, it was kind of you to bring us a cake, Hanna. Thank you.”

  Hanna blushed. She seemed to be blushing a lot today. “It was no trouble,” she said, floundering in her head for a way to shift the conversation away from herself. “So . . . an embassy media relations officer; that’s impressive, Tomin. What do the rest of you do for a living?”

  For a moment nobody said anything, and she worried that she’d shut the conversation down again. Then Chance said quietly, “The three of us served in the same unit during our basic military service, before Jon joined one of the specialized forces, and Tomin went into the diplomatic division. Jon recently retired and decided to come experience Earth culture first hand for a while, and he invited us along for company.” He shrugged. “I mostly fix things.”

  Tomin grinned. “You certainly fixed the hot tub.” Was he changing the subject? “It should be filled and heated by the time we get home. I can’t wait to try it out.”

  Tiffany was starting to relax a little and didn’t let another opportunity slip past; she beamed her full, blond, Tiffany simper at him. “I love hot tubs! You should totally have a party!”

  Tomin stared at her, then chuckled. “You know, maybe we should. It would be a great community relations move, Jon. People wouldn’t be as nervous to have us in the neighborhood if they’d been to our home and had a good time.” His eyes flicked sideways, seeming to indicate the watchful locals, and his head tilted slightly as he looked back at Jon.

  “Ever the diplomat, Tomin.” Jon sighed, and Hanna tried not to flinch as the big man shifted to lean forward. “But whom would we invite? We have met only one neighbor and her friends. And I am not certain even you know enough about human culture to do it properly.”

  “Oh!” Tiffany practically squealed. “Rachel could help you with the planning. She does great parties!”

  Rachel laughed. “And Tiffany has a lot of friends she’d love to invite.”

  “Are you serious?” Hanna demanded. “You two just met these guys, you can’t invite all your friends over to their house!”

  “Of course they can!” Tomin protested. “It would be fun. Say yes, Jon.”

  Jon frowned.

  Chance reached across Hanna and poked his big friend hard in the shoulder. Grinning, he said, “Live a little. You just retired.”

  Jon sighed. “Yes. When?”

  Tiffany did a little flutter clap under her perky chin.

  Tomin thumped his webbed hands down on the table and asked, “Rachel, how quickly can you plan?”

  Rachel grinned. “How quickly do you want me to plan?”

  “Could we do it tonight?” Tomin asked.

  “Wait a minute,” Hanna interrupted. “Don’t you need to finish unpack
ing or something?”

  Tomin shrugged. “The furniture store set everything up when they delivered it, and when you’re in the military like Jon and Chance, you cart everything you need around in one trunk. I’m only here on extended leave, so I just had a few things to put away, myself. There’s really no unpacking left to do.”

  That opened the floodgates, and by the time the food arrived, Rachel and Tomin were talking animatedly about budgets and caterers, and Tiffany’s fingers were flying on her cell phone texting all the “right” people in Freebridge.

  Jon sat silent, his face bemused.

  Hanna shook her head and chewed the end of a french fry. When she caught Jon looking down at her, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I apologize for my friends. They do this sometimes. You can’t stop them once it goes this far.” The expression on his face made her smile as she looked away.

  Tiffany kicked her playfully under the table and kept on texting. “You’re coming this time, right Hanna?” she asked.

  Hanna took another bite of french fry to give herself a moment to think. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I might have a date with Mr. Bickles tonight.”

  Tiffany stopped texting. “Are you serious Hanna? You’d throw over a hot tub party with the only extraterrestrials in town for a date with Mr. Bickles? You need to have your head examined.”

  Hanna shrugged. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do, Tiff.”

  3

  Jon drifted through his house, hardly recognizing the place. He’d had it built in a human style both to blend in better with his new community, and to enhance his experience of Earth culture. Perhaps in time it would come to feel like a home to him, but tonight it only felt artificial and foreign. Strange humans sprawled on his new sofas and beanbag chairs, their conversations dropping to whispers as he passed. Alien music thumped at him from the back yard, where more strangers filled his soaking pool and spilled across the lawn that stretched toward the tree line and the small lake beyond. Tomin was out there dancing with a pack of human women who were clearly fascinated by his forearm fins. Chance leaned against the refrigerator with a rapt expression on his face, listening as Rachel enthusiastically explained the various items of unfamiliar food that filled the platters and bowls covering the kitchen counters. A knot of human men picked over more food in the dining room, arguing energetically about some kind of sporting event. Jon felt like an intruder in his own house.