The Only

Chapter Eleven - Neima

Neima awakened to the rising sun. Although she was ancient, she slept — only a few hours – but she still needed it, especially with a house full of Nocturnes. The noisy evening to early morning was exhausting, and she relished the quiet that came with the dawn. Getting out of bed, she settled herself in an oversized chair overlooking the window.

The sun rose within a beautiful cascade of pinks, yellows, and oranges. Neima took a deep breath and enjoyed the show. It was enough to erase the ugly argument between Erol and Miranda that everyone overheard a few hours before dawn.

The animosity between the two seemed to have grown since they arrived. How could Uma accept such a relationship? Erol was her own son. Didn't that mean anything? How did she stand to see her own child so unhappy?

Stop it. All these years knowing the Nocturnes, and she still dared to think that the leadership would take an individual's happiness in account before the propagation of the species? Uma didn't care about feelings or sentiment. It was foolish for Neima to think it possible.

She needed to get back on her A-game and fast. The Mutare would arrive any minute, and she needed to be able to take anything they threw at her and toss it right back. Particularly when it came to the method the tribe would use to arrive. It was always different, and it was always unexpected.

There was a loud knock at the door, and before Neima could answer, Finley stepped in with a coffeepot on a tray.

Neima sat up in surprise. "What are you doing up so early, my love?"

"Who could sleep with all that ruckus?" Shaking her head, she strolled across the room and set the tray on the table next to the chair. "Those Nocturnes get more foolish as they grow older."

She was so right. It was crazy to have them in her home. And the situation was only going to get crazier.

Neima sighed and poured two cups. The delicious aroma wafted into the air, reminding her of the coffee hillside she used to tend in Ethiopia. "I'm sorry they woke you," she said, handing Finley a cup.

The old woman gratefully accepted the coffee and smiled. "Not to worry. It has been a long time since the house has been so full." She took a sip. "I have prepared the entire east wing, Deara. I hope I have planned well and got enough food. Those Mutare are like a plague of locusts on a new field of corn. I tried to plan for every instance."

It was business as usual for her eldest ward. Since she was a child, Mary Finley always had to organize, plan, and arrange things. Selfishly, it made things much easier for Neima. The mid-twentieth century was one of the sanest periods of her long life, due to finding such a wonderful ward.

The Battle of Britain was in full swing when she discovered Mary. Actually, it was one of her wards at the time, thirteen-year-old Tess, who found the small babe amidst the rubble of the demolished home in London. Neima had fled Europe with the young woman and her older ward, twenty-year-old Sasha, thinking Britain would be safer.

Since stress always exasperated her morphing condition, it became harder and harder during the war for her to hide. If the Nazis found her, it was unthinkable what they would do to her. That monster Mengele would have sliced her into a million pieces after he tortured her. He got what he deserved.

The Mutare found him in his vacationing spot in Paraguay, taking it easy after his latest murdering exploits. Although he had managed to stay hidden for years, it didn't stop his need for experimentation. His insatiable desire to explore the unordinary led him to the discovery, capture, and torture of a Mutare female. He eventually killed the poor woman and dumped her body – what was left of it – behind a brothel in Sao Paulo, Brazil.