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“How do you make the tea work?” she asked in a broken voice on the ragged edge of control.
Alex was baffled. “Make the tea work? What do you mean?”
“I never imagined how hard this would be,” she said, more to herself than him.
“The tea?”
She crumpled her napkin in a tight fist as she fought back tears.
“Everything.” She swallowed and then with great effort summoned her voice. “Please, Alex. I want some tea, but I don’t know how to work it.”
Seeing her genuine distress made his heart hurt. He wouldn’t ever have imagined that this woman would let herself be seen as helpless. Something was bringing her to the edge.
Alex gently touched his fingers to the back of her hand. “It’s all right, Jax. Don’t let it get to you. We all have days when we’re overwhelmed. It’s no big deal. I’ll help you.”
He pulled a package of tea from the basket, opened the paper flap, and pulled out the tea bag. He held it up by the square paper at the end of the string.
“See? The tea is in here, in the tea bag.” Her gaze tracked the tea bag the whole way as he lowered it into the cup and draped the string over the edge. “Just let it steep for a little bit and you’ll have tea.”
She leaned in and looked down into the cup. As she watched, the water started darkening.
Jax’s sudden smile banished her tears. Her face took on the look of a child who had just seen a magic trick for the first time.
“That’s how it works? That’s all you have to do?”
Alex nodded. “That’s it. You obviously don’t have tea bags where you come from.”
She shook her head. “It’s very different here.”
“You like it better where you live, don’t you?”
She considered the question only briefly. “Yes. It’s home. Despite the trouble, it’s home. I think you would like it there, too.”
“What makes you think that?”
She reached over and trailed her fingers tenderly across the painting. “You paint such places. You paint beauty.” She looked back up at him. “This will help me convince the others.”
“Convince them of what?”
“Convince them to trust my choices.”
“Who are these others, Jax?”
“Others something like me.”
“They live in this other place? Where you live?”
“Yes. Do you remember the two men when you first saw me?” she asked, seemingly changing the subject. “The two that the authorities stopped?”
Alex nodded. “The pirates. Do you know who they were?”
“Yes. They were a different kind of human. Different from you. Different from your mother. Among other things, they will break the necks of anyone who gets in their way. Those are the people your mother feared.”
“What do you mean they—”
The waitress appeared with two plates. “I had them put a rush on it, since you haven’t much time.”
“Thank you,” Jax said with a sincere smile.
After the waitress had hurried off to her work, Alex went back to his questions. “What do you mean—”
“Do I have to do anything to this so that I can eat it?” Jax looked up from the salad. “Is there anything I need to do first?”
Alex held up a fork. “No. Just dig in.” He stabbed a piece of chicken with the fork. “The chicken is cut up so you don’t even have to use a knife.” He realized that if a knife was needed she would have that knack down pat.
He ate the bite to demonstrate.
She smiled. “Thank you, Alex, for being patient. For understanding that patience is needed in this.”
If she only knew how impatient he was, but he didn’t want to spook her.
“Why?”
“Because if I were to tell you everything right now you wouldn’t believe me, and you need to believe me. But, on the other hand, time is slipping through my fingers, so I have to tell you at least some of it.”
Alex almost smiled at the curious dance they were doing, both trying not to spook the other.
“Jax, how did my mother know those things—know about a different kind of human, about men who break people’s necks?”
“I think in part because we tried to warn her.”
“About what?”
“That people were hunting her. But we couldn’t get here, yet. The others could. They’ve been coming here for some time now. We tried to warn her through mirrors, but they apparently got to her.
We tried to warn you, too.”
The hair on the backs of Alex’s arms stood up on end.
“My grandfather showed me some papers about an inheritance. Does that have anything to do with these other people you tried to warn my mother about?”
She stared down at her plate for a time before answering. “All we know at the moment is that there are some very dangerous people who are up to something. We haven’t yet managed to fit the pieces together.”
Alex wanted a better answer. “My grandfather said that the inheritance was supposed to go to my father on his twenty-seventh birthday, but since he died before then it was reassigned to my mother. She had to be put in an asylum before the inheritance could go to her on her twenty-seventh birthday. It seems logical that this inheritance might be connected with what happened to her.”
“I don’t know, but it’s possible. I’m sorry we weren’t able to help her, Alex. I’m sorry your family has had such trouble.”
Alex ate silently for a moment. “My grandfather, Ben, says that he thinks that the whole troublesome matter has something to do with the seven—the seven in twenty-seven.”
“The seven?” She looked incredulous. “That’s just crazy.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She shook her head to herself. “The seven. How could he ever come up with something like that? It’s the nine.”
Alex’s forkful of chicken paused on the way to his mouth.
“What?”
“It’s the nine. It’s not the seven in twenty-seven—it’s the nine. Two plus seven. Nine. Nines are triggers.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I was nine, once. My father was. My mother was. We were all eighteen. The one plus the eight in eighteen equals nine, just like the two plus the seven in twenty-seven equals nine.”
Alex couldn’t believe he was arguing such a point.
Jax was shaking her head. “Yes, but the nine and the eighteen are the first and second occurrence of a nine. Twenty-seven is the third nine. It’s the third that’s important.”
Alex stared at her. “The third nine.”
She nodded. “That’s right. Threes are pivotal numbers—spells of threes and such.”
Alex blinked in disbelief. “Spells of—”
“Three is a base component of nine. The multiplying element.” Jax gestured with her fork, as if to imply that it was self-evident. “That’s why twenty-seven is key: it’s the third nine. It’s called the Law of Nines.”
“The Law of Nines,” Alex repeated as he stared. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s easier than tea.”
“Somehow, I don’t think so,” Alex said.
The woman believed in numerology. Alex thought that Ben should be the one sitting there having such a conversation.
Alex couldn’t believe that a number could have any kind of real meaning. A thought came to mind. He almost hated to mention it.
“I was born on September ninth. Ninth month, ninth day, at nine in the evening.”
“To be precise, you were born at nine minutes after nine.”
A chill tickled up between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck. “How do you know that?”
“We checked.” She took a sip of tea as she watched him over the rim of her cup.
“What else do you know about me?”
“Well, you don’t remember your dreams.”
Alex’s frown deepened. “How in the world would you know that?”
“You’re a Rahl.” She shrugged. “Rahl men don’t remember their dreams.”
“How do you know about Rahl men? Are there Rahls where you come from?”
“No,” she said with a suddenly wistful look. “Where I come from the House of Rahl has long since died out.”
“Look, Jax, I’m only getting more confused.” He refrained from using a stronger word than “confused.” “You’re making me think all kinds of things about you that I’d really rather not think.” He was starting to think that she was crazy—or maybe that he was. “Why don’t you clear it up for me.”
“I’m not from your world,” she said in quiet finality as she looked into his eyes. “I’m a different kind of human than you.”
11. (#ulink_41e68813-0995-530c-b7fc-bf8f7befccba)
ALEX STARED FOR A MOMENT. “You mean you’re an alien. From Mars, or something.”
Her expression darkened. “I may not know what Mars is, but your tone is all too clear. This isn’t a joke. I risked my life to come here.”
“Risked your life how?”
“That isn’t your concern.”
“What is my concern?”
“That there are people from my world, dangerous people, who are likely to come after you for reasons we don’t yet fully understand. I wouldn’t like you to be unprepared.”
He wondered how one prepared for people from some other dimension or time or twilight zone or something—he couldn’t imagine what—who were liable to come looking for one.
Alex tapped his fork on a piece of chicken in his salad as he considered her words. If there was ever a look that meant business, she was giving it to him.
Still, he just couldn’t bring himself to take seriously such talk of people coming from a different world. He wondered yet again if his lifelong worry was coming to pass: he wondered if he could be going crazy like his mother had. He knew that she believed things that weren’t real.
He pushed the thoughts aside. He wasn’t crazy. Jax was real enough. It actually made more sense for him to believe that she was crazy. Yet, despite how absurd her story was, she simply didn’t strike him as crazy.
Even if he couldn’t believe that this woman was from some other world, something seemed to be going on, and it was serious. Deadly serious, if he was to believe her.
He wanted to ask her exactly how she had traveled from this other world, but he instead checked his tone and started over. “I’m listening.”
She took a sip of tea. “Someone is meddling.”
“With my family?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Most likely because you’re a Rahl. We believe that unless you have children you will be the last in the Rahl bloodline.”
“And you think someone is interested in the Rahls?”
“If I had to guess I’d say that they may have killed your father to prevent him from getting to his twenty-seventh birthday.”
