Green Cheese and Stardust
by Evelyn Puerto
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
There’s a fine line between being trusting and gullible. Unfortunately for me, I never see it until it’s too late.
I rested my head against the steering wheel of my battered Honda Civic, dark curly hair falling on either side of my face. What had I done to myself?
This was the last time I agreed to do anything for my sister before getting the entire story. Fool that I am, it was obvious she’d set me up. She convinced all our friends that zip-lining would be the perfect way to spend New Year’s Day. When she gave me an excuse to bow out without confessing my terror of heights, I grabbed it. It’s just a little favor, she’d said. Silly me.
With a sigh, I climbed out of the car and shoved my phone into my back pocket. Maybe this wouldn’t take too long.
My great-aunt’s cottage looked like it hadn’t been painted since Kennedy was president. Curls of faded green paint allowed the weathered wood to peek through. Scraggly thorn bushes flanked the uneven flagstone walk and the front door.
Stupid family traditions. Every year, one of us, my siblings or cousins, had to visit our Great-Aunt Linda. Our parents were adamant. They’d done their time, taken their turns, and now it was our generation’s duty. The old lady couldn’t be left all alone on New Year’s Day. Someone needed to drink a glass of champagne with her. This year, I’d let my sister trap me into taking her turn.
I stomped up the walk and rapped on the door. Ten minutes of small talk, pop the cork. Down a glass. I’ll be out of here in half an hour, tops.
A faint mewing broke the stillness. Frowning, I looked around for the source. At the bottom of an empty flowerpot sat a tiny calico kitten. The animal was so small it couldn’t climb out of the tall sides.
“How did you land there, little one?” The kitty responded with an icy stare, like I was bothering it. It appeared content where it was but, surely, I should help it get free. I tipped the pot on its side and let the kitten slide out. My reward was a hiss and the swipe of a razor-sharp claw.
I jumped backwards, hissing my own curse as a line of red formed on my hand. The little calico was cute but deadly. And I was stupid, getting myself hurt for another dumb decision.
“You shouldn’t have touched that.”
I whirled and saw a slender woman with a few streaks of gray in her black hair standing in the open doorway. Her smile revealed even white teeth that would be the envy of a model for a toothpaste ad. Her cheeks were rosy and smooth, with just a few lines around her mouth and a case of turkey neck to give away her age. Aunt Linda was ninety-five if she was a day. This woman could pass for fifty.
The woman tipped her head. “You’ve changed, Phillipa.”
“I’m Emma. Phillipa couldn’t make it. Is Aunt Linda home?”
She snorted. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Come in.” She spun on her heel and disappeared inside.
I stared. This graceful woman who possessed the figure of a female in her twenties was Great Aunt Linda? I glanced at the kitten, who glared at me from under an azalea bush. I abandoned her to life among the fallen fuchsia petals and followed my aunt into her house.
She puttered around her kitchen, a plate of Brie and crackers in one hand. My mouth went slack. Unlike the worn linoleum floors and piles of clutter I was expecting, this kitchen resembled a feature in a home decorating magazine for very posh people.
A large island topped with a dark granite counter dominated the center of the room, and two bottles of champagne stood on top of it. Sand-colored tile covered the floor, stainless steel appliances gleamed softly in the dim light. My parents had mumbled something about Aunt Linda’s wealth. Maybe that explained why we had to keep the old lady happy. Why she chose to live in the sticks in a shack that was decorated fit for royalty was beyond me.
Aunt Linda set the plate on the island and frowned at an open drawer. “Where is that corkscrew?” she muttered. “Gotta explain to the girl what she needs to do.”
“No, thanks, I don’t need one.” Opening champagne was one thing I was good at. I picked up a bottle and tore off the green foil covering the top of the bottle.
“Let’s start with the other one. You need to listen before you go on your mission.”
Mission? Oh no. Nobody said anything about a mission.
“It’s important that you look down, not up.”
I glanced at my feet. No creepy bugs scuttled near my stilettos. What was she talking about?
“Things are not as they appear, girl.” She shoved the drawer shut. “I think it’s in the bedroom. I was using it as a bookmark.” She slipped out of the kitchen.
* * *
Time to speed things up. I tore the foil from the top of the bottle and twisted the wire cage off. I wrapped a kitchen towel around the bottle and nudged the cork to ease it off. It shifted, and I angled the bottle upwards. Just one more push. It released with a satisfying pop and hit the wall just below the ceiling.
The room shifted and blurred. My aunt’s voice came to me as from a distance. “Emma, you shouldn’t have touched—”
Loud and angry shouts overpowered her words. The floor tipped, and I had the swooping sensation of riding a twisty, steep roller coaster. I fell hard on a rough surface and toppled forward, landing with my full weight on my knees. The jarring sensation took my breath away. I gasped and blinked, trying to figure out where I was. Had I fallen through the floor into the basement? It was dark enough. But where did the icy wind blowing my hair around my face come from? And why did I hear shouts, gunshots, and explosions?
I brushed my curls out of my eyes and looked up. Over the silhouette of a building, the moon hung in the sky. An enormous full moon that was easily three times the size of a normal one. It had a faint green cast to its pitted surface, the color of iceberg lettuce. I blinked. Were those teeth marks on its edge?
I staggered to my feet. This couldn’t be happening. People were running and yelling, some carrying lit torches, others throwing rocks at windows. How had I landed in the middle of a riot? Going to another world was impossible. I must have hit my head when I fell, and now I’m dreaming. That’s it.
Dream me staggered to her feet. If this was a dream, why did my knees throb? Something flew toward my face. I ducked. Glass shattered on the wall behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut. That did nothing to block out the noise of the riot or whatever chaos I’d landed in. I gripped the champagne bottle so hard my fingers ached. It was pitiful protection against guns or bombs, but in a pinch, I could spray someone with the bubbles.
Another round of gunfire was followed by ricocheting bullets. I shrieked as several hit the wall beside me. I took off running, seeking anywhere away from the chaos.
A woman grabbed the bottle, nearly wrenching it out of my hands. “Hand it over,” she growled. She sliced my arm with a knife.
The sharp, stinging pain made me gasp. By instinct, I clutched the bottle. “No way.” I kicked her in the shin. She released the bottle and punched me in the eye. I reeled against a brick wall, holding the bottle up like a shield, my blood mixing with the champagne I’d spilled on my sleeve.
She sneered, her curling lip revealing blackened teeth. “You—”
Large hands wrapped around her throat from behind, choking off her words. The owner of the hands tossed her to the ground as if she were a toy. “Looks like you need help.”
I did, but from whom? Could I trust him?
Whoever he was towered over me, his massive shoulders adding to his bulk. A white scar slashed across one of his bronze cheeks. Dark stubble covered his pointed chin. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but I thought he might be smiling.
“You’re not from here, right?” The voice was gravelly, like a chain-smoker’s. “Did Linda send you?”
“Aunt Linda?”
He narrowed his mahogany eyes. “Who else? Same wild black hair. Same need to ask questions.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If you want my help, we must leave now.” He half-turned. “Well? I’m getting out of here. You can come if you want to.” He strode into the darkness.
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Evelyn Puerto
