The Only

Chapter Twelve - Karl

Karl ran after Neima. He had to. She was fast, very fast. He had fought when she told him to follow her. He didn't wish to leave. He needed to stay in the lab. He couldn't risk losing any more time learning to cope with some weird Mutare after-effect, like a Nocturne spit cloud. No, for his own safety and for the sake of science, he was obligated to stay in the lab.

Neima wouldn't have it. Her departing yell of, "Don't be rude," rang in his ears. The fact was that he wanted to be rude. He was good at being rude. He liked to be rude.

God, how far were they running? He was breathing hard, and it was difficult to keep up. This shouldn't be happening. He had years of long-distance running under his belt, along with countless hours of learning the precise moment to sprint away from an uncomfortable situation.

By the time he got to the great hall, his chest was beating a strong and steady tattoo. Panting? He was panting? He leaned over his knees and sucked in much needed air into his burning lungs. His hand whipped to his neck to check his pulse. He should give himself an EKG when he was back in his lab.

The mad dash woke him up. It was exhilarating. Maybe that was the way to fight the Nocturne influence? Exercise. Of course, you had to be recovered enough to want to actually get up and move. His hypothesis would need to wait to be tested.

Neima stopped right by the front door and began to pace. She was also out of breath, and struggled to take a deep inhalation through her nose and let it out from her mouth. Her dress had become disheveled, and she frantically patted herself with her hands to fix her appearance. Smoothing down her hair and taking one last deep breath, she yelled for Finley.

As if waiting in the wings for her cue, the older lady came out from the kitchen and joined her...guardian? Mother? Karl shook his head at the strangeness of the relationship. He never understood relatives outside a standard label. Mother, father, sister, brother, and grandmother — those blood relation classifications he comprehended. Anything outside of that he had no ability to appreciate.

"They are here, my love," Neima said quickly. "Go ahead and make sure the table is laid."

Breakfast? This frenzy was all about eating?

Karl's stomach growled in recognition. He probably should have finished his toast.

Finley nodded. "I'll get everything ready." She promptly turned and went the way she came, mumbling something about getting eaten out of house and home under her breath.

Neima gave her dress a final adjustment, gestured to Karl to follow her, and walked out the front door.

Karl's stomach let out a long rumble. God, he was hungry. He had better eat something soon or else his cortisol and blood sugar levels would hit the roof. A steady eating schedule was a very good idea. A pang of regret hit him square in the chest as he remembered his grandmother preaching to him in Swedish about the importance of eating healthy. He had not done a good job of taking care of himself.

With a nod of resolve, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked out the door into the bright daylight. Squinting from the overpowering sunshine, he heard the cars pull up before he saw them. Shading his eyes with his hand, Karl watched a caravan of luxury sedans and SUVs make its way up the drive. Each vehicle methodically pulled over and parked, joining the others from the Nocturnes. It was now becoming a crowded parking lot.

A loud screech from above echoed in his ears. Karl felt the wind manufactured by the huge wings of the birds. He squinted harder to try to discern how many and exactly their size, but the intense sunlight made it impossible.

Another screech and the pumping of wings skidded over his head, causing him to duck. The flock circled and then turned, as if coming in for a landing. The largest bird, that seemed to be the leader, flew directly over him to land in the middle of the perfectly manicured lawn. The other, smaller birds landed around the leader, forming a semi-circle.