Midnight Sun, page 16
part #1 of Mortal Heat Series
“I’m an early riser,” he winked. “Living out in the rest of the world it’s better to get up early since most people sleep through the better part of our ‘day’. When they’re rising, we’re going to bed, so the more I’m awake while they are, the better for me.”
“That makes sense.” Turning my attention to the pans on the stove, I asked, “So, what’s for dinner?”
Mick grinned, then kissed my left hand before releasing them both to make his way to the stove. He returned with a pan, scooping mashed potatoes onto my plate before his own. He returned with a different pan, and this time ladled what looked like stew onto the dishes. The complex fragrance of seasonings was rich and mouth-watering. I couldn’t wait to dig in, but I held off until he sat beside me.
“Bon appétit,” he nodded toward my plate, sweeping his cloth napkin onto his lap with a flourish.
I copied the protective napkin measure then took my first bite. The stew was delicious: Thick, filling and incredibly flavorful. It also paired well with the wine he had chosen, and it wasn’t long before my plate and glass were both empty.
“Would you like more?” Mick asked, a bemused grin occupying his full lips. He refilled my wineglass and gestured to the pots on the stove. When I noticed he wasn’t even half done with his food, I flushed with embarrassment.
“Sorry, I’ve always been a fast eater,” I apologized. “I don’t want any more, thank you, but it was wonderful. Where did you learn to cook that dish?”
He shrugged nonchalantly and sipped his wine. “I studied the culinary arts in Paris for a while. I tired of eating in restaurants that didn’t serve vegetarian dishes and wanted to learn how to make my own food. Vegetarianism is all the rage now, but a hundred years ago it wasn’t done.”
“That’s right, you’re vegetarian; I forgot,” I admitted. “To be honest, I didn’t even notice there was no meat, it was so good. What’s it called?”
“We’ll just call it my take on a bouillabaisse, a type of French stew. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he finished, his eyes sparkling.
“Definitely,” I nodded for emphasis. “With food like that, it wouldn’t be as much of a sacrifice to go veggie. Too bad most of us haven’t had the luxury of studying the ‘culinary arts in Paris’,” I teased, using a snooty tone to repeat his earlier phrase.
“So you normally eat the flesh of other living beings?” He asked, his face twisted as if he smelled something foul.
“Wow, that’s a great way to put it. Yes, I eat meat, although it is usually from animals that have been killed and cooked first,” I replied dryly.
“I just don’t understand the appeal,” he confessed, his expression betraying mild disgust. “Have you seen the animals you eat? Cows, chickens, pigs? They’re such beautiful creatures, I can’t imagine taking their lives just to strip their flesh from their bones and–”
“That’s enough, I get it. Sheesh, have you ever thought of joining PEETA? You sound just like those crazies.”
“Actually, PEETA was founded by one of my people.”
“See, now that makes sense.” I regarded him thoughtfully. “And have you been at the center of any revolutions? Social upheavals? Bra burnings?”
Mick’s wry smile fanned the flames of heat that were spreading through my chest from the wine. “No, but I fully support the destruction of those garments. They seem incredibly uncomfortable.”
“You’re preaching to the choir now,” I replied, “But if I ever hear of one, I promise to invite you to attend with me. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the show.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he chuckled. His plate clear, Mick leaned back in his stool and finished his last sip of wine. “Well, are you ready to go explore Hall in Tirol?”
“Absolutely,” I pushed back from the island and stood, noticing the nearest crystal wall lighting in response. I hadn’t realized the rest of the house had grown dark while we were in the bright lights of the kitchen.
“Make sure you dress warmly, it’s winter here and we’ll be outside a good deal of the evening.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” I scurried to my room, admiring the sensitivity of the glowing walls as I passed. Thankfully, I had packed my warmest winter gear—at least the single clue he gave me of ‘ The Alps’ was enough to help me plan for cold weather.
Appropriately bundled, I returned to the living room to find Mick also wearing a coat, gloves, and hat. Normally hot in a semi-dangerous, ‘bad boy’ kind of way, he was now gorgeous in the ‘cover of GQ’ kind of way. The ends of his golden locks stuck out below his knit cap and brushed against his expertly knotted scarf with an endearingly youthful charm.
The sudden flash of heat I felt had nothing to do with the several layers of winter outerwear I had on.
“Everything okay, Lucy?” He looked at me curiously. I realized I was staring at him oddly, which is what prompted him to ask me that question. “Y-yes, I’m fine. I’ve just never seen you with a hat on,” I recovered quickly, “It didn’t look like you for a second, that’s all.”
“And here I thought you wouldn’t notice that I changed my nose,” he said, grinning.
“Wait, what? Did you… never mind, I get it; you’re teasing me again.” My tone corresponded with my complete lack of amusement at his nose jokes.
But Mick laughed anyway, loudly and unrestrained. It was great to see him like this, despite the lameness of his nose humor. “Sorry,” he chuckled, “I couldn’t resist.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can we go?”
“Yes, lets.” He gestured back towards the door we had used to enter the house earlier. Just outside there was an elevator I didn’t notice on my way in. It opened almost immediately when Mick pressed the button, and there were roughly fifty choices of destination once inside. Mick pressed the lowest button that was marked ‘0’, and the elevator descended swiftly.
Moments later we came to a stop, my head slightly woozy from the rapid descent and the wine I’d consumed. Mick gestured for me to exit, and I found myself in a posh lobby that was manned by a single person behind a desk. The lobby was small and entirely covered in marble, lit by a chandelier and furnished with two plump velvet armchairs next to a fireplace. It looked like a lobby from a movie where the character lived in a New York City high rise.
The desk attendant didn’t raise his head from his computer as we walked through the lobby. I allowed myself a small giggle at his bellhop style uniform—just like a movie.
“Allow me,” Mick said in a low voice, stepping ahead to open the door. I crossed the doorway eagerly, ready to enjoy my first evening in Austria.
HALL IN TIROL
HALL IN TIROL was quaint, there was no denying that. The tiny mountain town was exactly what I imagined an Austrian chalet village would be, complete with snow-capped roofs and seasonal decorations strung between the close-packed buildings. Mick and I spent several hours wandering the cobbled streets, stopping by booths at the Christmas market in the main square and sampling hot Gluhwein, or spiced wine, from a street vendor. It was a dreamy, romantic way to spend the early evening, and I couldn’t have been happier to share it with Mick.
We strolled, arm in arm, like a pair of lovers on holiday. I didn’t know if it was just a part of our cover, or if Mick genuinely enjoyed the closeness as much as I did. Either way, I allowed myself to enjoy the moment. It played like a scene in a romantic movie, and for once I was the lucky heroine instead of the starry-eyed viewer, sighing on my couch and dreaming of romance.
Eventually, we turned back up the street I recognized as housing the lobby for Mick’s apartment. This time, when we passed through the doors the desk attendant jumped to his feet. He spoke to Mick in a flurry of sharp consonants, which I could only assume was German. Smiling at me, he rambled off a question in the same language, and I looked at Mick helplessly. Mick responded in the same language, and the older man’s eyes lit with understanding.
“Ah, okay, Eenglish.” He addressed me again. “Good eevening, madame. Deed you eenjoy your viseet to Hall in Tirol?” He seemed very proud, although I wasn’t sure if it was his language skills or his home town that inspired his pride. His accent was confusing given the settinng; it sounded more French than Germanic.
“Yes, very much thank you,” I replied.
Turning to Mick again, the desk attendant continued in English for my benefit. “Sir, your family… ees vaiting for you een floor thirty-five. Vould you like for me to call zem?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Mick answered. “We will go there directly. Thank you.”
“As you weesh, Sir. Madame, have a nice eevening.” The older man beamed at me once more, adjusted his bellhop’s hat, then returned to his post behind the desk.
Once in the elevator, I asked Mick about him.
“He’s originally from Belgium, so he leans towards a French accent since that’s where he learned to speak English. However, the language we were speaking is Austro-Bavarian, it’s a local dialect.”
“I see,” I replied, more than a little overwhelmed with the variety of languages.
The elevator doors opened on floor thirty-five, revealing another landing similar to the one outside Mick’s apartment. Before reaching the apartment door Mick paused, then turned to me.
“Lucy, I–” his eyes were warm, alight with concern. “I don’t know how this will go. Just stay close to me and remember our cover story. It’ll be okay,” he added under his breath, seemingly more for his own benefit than mine.
My heart racing, I nodded. “I’m gaga in love with you, got it.” My voice was far more confident than I felt.
Mick smiled softly, then tucked my scarf carefully around my neck. “Just don’t take off the scarf, okay? It’ll blow our cover if they see you don’t have any marks on your neck.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but I was grateful he did. “Okay, but what if I get hot?”
We were indoors, and I was bundled up to be outside on the frigid Alpine streets.
Mick’s smile turned wry. “That won’t be a problem, trust me. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied grimly.
“All right then, let’s get this over with.” With the determination of a soldier about to face the firing squad, Mick grasped my hand and marched to the door, throwing it open and pulling me inside.
MEETING THE PARENTS
I WASN’T SURE what I expected when we entered the thirty-fifth-floor apartment, but this wasn’t it. I glanced left and right to make sure I wasn’t missing something, but I was correct: It was empty. Not empty of furnishings, but of people.
“Mick?” I inquired, confused, “I thought the desk attendant said your family was waiting here… did we go to the wrong floor?”
Mick’s laugh was as boisterous as it was unexpected. “No, this is the right place. Remember when I said that they build some houses into the side of the mountain, with access to the salt mines?” He continued without waiting for my answering nod, “This is one of them. ‘Waiting on the thirty-fifth floor’ is code for ‘take that entrance to the hidden part of the mines.’” His hand was warm on mine, and he still gripped it tightly. “The passage is through this way,” He gestured to the wall left of the door which was the same glowing, silvery grey crystal as his apartment above, and completely solid.
With a gentle tug, he pulled me toward the wall, sliding his free hand along a rough outcropping of the luminous crystal. Abruptly his hand pulled back, I assumed after finding his target. There was a low mechanical whirring sound, then a rush of air like the release of pressure between two rooms. Suddenly a huge panel of the wall in front of us slid forward, disengaging from the surrounding wall.
Mick pulled me aside, and I could see that the section of the wall moving forward revealed an opening as it extended into the unused living space. It was cleverly hidden; The piece was so massive no one would assume it was a doorway, and it had to fully extend to make an entrance big enough for a person to pass through. Just this one small example was enough to remind me that I was about to see people and technology that had traveled across space centuries ago, and that were still far more advanced than the world I knew. I swallowed hard, determined to face it bravely.
The glowing crystal surface of the wall was set onto gleaming stainless steel. The doorway that was sliding into view was a dark opening with perfectly smooth, polished steel sides. I could tell that it was a tunnel of some sort, and that deep within it was a light source, reflecting faintly on the curved walls within. It appeared to curve left and down, but due to the sharp angle, I could see no more.
Once the softly humming mechanism came to a stop, Mick squeezed my hand before releasing it. “The passage is narrow, so you will have to follow behind me,” he instructed, then stepped through the dark rectangle. His figure became a silhouette against the distant light source, and after a deep breath, I followed him.
The tunnel curved sharply left and began descending after a few steps, as I had surmised. The walls and steps were stone, but veined throughout with the grey crystal. It did not glow in this passageway, however; it simply glittered in the light that shone from the bottom of the stairs, which was rapidly becoming brighter as we continued down the steps.
Mick was patient, waiting for me as I gawked at the tunnel that appeared to be hacked out of solid stone and sanded to a smooth finish. I came to realize that the veins of glittering crystal were getting thicker the further we traveled. By the time we reached the bottom, the walls and floor were entirely crystal without a trace left of the stone above.
I had expected the air to become dense and musty, but it was fresh with an almost herbal scent that was difficult to place. It was also freezing—Mick had not been exaggerating that I would want to keep my coat on. I stuffed my hands back into my pockets for warmth.
The stairs had dead-ended at a wall of the brightly glowing crystal. Mick spoke aloud in a lilting, musical language I assumed was his native tongue, and the door retreated, sliding backward a half foot before sliding to the right. The missing door revealed a thick layer of the crystal for a door frame, and Mick once again grasped my hand before pulling me into the room beyond.
***
I thought I was surprised at the hidden doorway, or voice-commanded door we just came through. However, those in no way prepared me for the room I was now gawking at in a most unladylike fashion, my mouth hanging open as I stared in wonder.
Room was the wrong word, but cavern felt too unrefined for the place I now found myself. And it was refined; stunningly so, despite being unbelievably palatial. The ceiling was so high I wouldn’t have been able to see it if it weren’t for the outrageous crystal chandeliers that hung a good twenty feet from the floor and about the same distance from the stone they were embedded into above. The lights were spaced about twenty feet apart as well, and six of them ran the length of the enormous chamber. What’s more, the ceiling, walls, and even the floor were all made of the same grey crystal that decorated Mick’s apartment. However, here it was carved and polished in intricate designs and murals the length of the room. The ceiling appeared to be decorated with delicate scrollwork, framing the vast expanse of the gently arched roof with leaves and flowers. Polished hexagonal tiles of the crystal patterned the floor, reflecting the light from the chandeliers up to bounce off the faintly glittering walls. The entire, enormous room sparkled in refracted light, and I suddenly felt as if I’d found myself in the center of a diamond.
“Mick,” I breathed, “It’s so beautiful. That’s the same crystal that’s in the apartments, isn’t it? What is it?”
“Salt,” Mick answered. “And yes, it is beautiful, which is part of the reason we chose this place. It reminded us of home.”
“So this is what your home looked like?” I pondered. I had imagined something much darker, much danker, than what surrounded me. This could be a marble replica of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles or one of the ornate rooms at the Vatican. I was flabbergasted that these beautifully carved and polished surfaces were the same substance I dumped on my popcorn.
“Not exactly,” Mick chuckled. “We didn’t need electric light, and the chandeliers are a little bourgeoisie for us. But, at the time this room was carved and decorated, it was the style,” He shrugged. “Now it’s part of our history. Like anything else, either worth preserving or just not worth changing.”
“So, it’s all salt? Here, your apartment, all of it?”
“Yes, all of it.”
“But why don’t the walls glow in here like they do in your place?”
“Well, they don’t make The Clapper big enough for a room like this,” Mick teased. “But seriously, we incorporated some of our technology into the walls of the apartments. You’ll see when we get to the ship,” he hinted.
“Oh, we’re going to the ship now? I thought… I mean, I guess I don’t know what I thought, but I imagined it would take some time.”
“Well, it won’t be easy. We’re going to meet my family; hopefully, they are supportive and don’t impede us. Also, I’m expecting to receive word on whether Todd’s parents received a reply from him, and if he accepted our offer to come here and allow us to help both him and Emily. It’s a lot of hope and a lot of ‘ifs’. IF Todd got the message, IF he agrees, IF we have cooperation from my family, IF there’s something in the records we can use, IF IF IF. Nothing is a guarantee at this point, except that their time grows shorter.”
The reminder was all I needed to get my head back in the game. “Okay, let’s do this. Emily and Todd need us to figure out how to save them.”
Mick smiled, gesturing for me to go forward down the length of the room. He held out his hand, and I didn’t hesitate before sliding mine into it.
Our footsteps echoed in the massive chamber. We weren’t excessively loud, but the room was so quiet any sound was bound to be magnified. At the end of the ornate room was a much less-refined, but still beautiful, hallway. It was a perfect, polished arch of the grey crystalline salt, lit every few feet with a wall sconce.
