XII: In Which Alex And Xander Attend A Party

“So, what do you think it all means?  Alex called through the open doorway from her bedroom.

“We’ll find out on the eighteenth.”  Xander called back, slipping on his shoes.  “You need to finish getting dressed or we’re going to be late.”

“I can’t find my pleated navy skirt.  I just had it the other day.  “She walked out across the living room and started rummaging in her backpack by the end of the couch.  Xander sighed as he watched her search.  Far from ready to leave, Alex was currently wearing nothing but a white bra with it’s cups painted to resemble Pokéballs, a bright yellow pair of panties in a Pikachu design, complete with ears and tail, and a pair of knee high white cotton stockings with pink bows sewn to the tops.  Xander doubted the outfit was officially licenced by Nintendo of America.

He had long ago given up on trying to get her to not parade around the apartment in her underwear.

“Oh, here it is!”  She stood up and whirled around in a circle before gliding back to her room.  “I’m serious, though,”  She said.  “The whole thing’s just bizarre.  I mean, people have been debating about supernatural stuff for millennia with no consensus, Colin puts up a flier one day and suddenly there are eight of us with weird stuff going on, all getting together.”

“You’re the one who saw the flier and got excited about maybe meeting ‘people like us’.  I imagine everyone else had the same kind of thought.  I’ve always figured we couldn’t be the only ones with superpowers.”

“‘Superpowers’?  Really?  Remind me to actually get you to read a good comic book for once.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to read my comics from left to right like a normal person.”  Xander sat down on the couch.  “No, but the thing I don’t get is Steve’s tape.  I think Jane has something to do with it.”

“Jane?”  Alex poked her head out of the doorway.  “Jane seemed really sweet.”

“Sure, but she knew the most obscure song on the thing, and she seemed so sure about the planetarium.  Who knows that stuff?”

“Probably anybody in the British Invasion fandom, musically.”  Alex came out of the room finally dressed in her skirt and sailor blouse, her hair in pigtails with pink bows at the ends.  “Didn’t you notice the Union Jack and Puerto Rico flag bumper stickers on her car?”

“Puerto Rico?  I thought that was Texas.”  Xander grabbed his phone and keys as he stood up and ushered Alex out the door.

It took fifteen minutes to find a parking spot for the van.  The twins rushed up the block to the house, worried that their late arrival might be seen unfavorably by Mlle Guillot.  Turning from the sidewalk and going through the gate, they walked up the path, passing a small cavalry of armored lawn gnomes astride barded garden geese.  The diminutive warriors were apparently leading the charge against a flock of plastic flamingos defending a gazing ball on a pedestal on the other side of the path.

Xander rang the bell and the door was promptly opened by an unfamiliar dark-haired young man in a European sport coat.

“Uh, Hi.  We’re here for the party.”  Xander stumbled out.

“Do I hear mes neveux?”  Mlle Guillot’s voice called from inside.  “Bring them in, Bastien!”  At her command, he led them into the front sitting room where Mlle Guillot greeted each of them enthusiastically with la bise.  “Alexander, Alexandra, bienvenue!”

“Bon Anniversaire, Ma’amselle.”  Alex said.

“Merci, merci!  Most of the guests are out by the pool.  Bastien can show you.  Go, mingle.”  And, just like that, she whirled away to speak to a grey-haired man and the young lady on his arm who was possibly his granddaughter, but probably wasn’t.

Bastien led them to the back patio, holding the door open for Alex, then disappeared back inside.  The twins looked around at the guests.

“So, I guess we mingle.”  Xander said.

“Hey, I know that guy.  Let’s go say ‘Hi’!”  Alex pointed to someone by a punch table.  “He’s the guitarist for OSI.”

Making their way through the guests, they approached the young man standing by himself off to the side of a table containing a crystal punch bowl, three stacks of red disposable cups, and a silver tray of fruit pieces on toothpicks.  He was dark-haired, pale skinned and slender, wearing black jeans with combat boots and a blazer embroidered with the Hylian Crest on the left breast.  He smiled at them.

“Konnichiwa!”  Alex announced.

“Alex, Hey!”  He took her hand with a firm shake.

“Xander, this is Thad.  He plays with ‘Oni-Sanba Ishikawa, the J-rock inspired metal group I saw a few times without you.”  Xander nodded.  “Thad, this is my brother, Xander.  He’s with -”

“Mystik Spiral.”  Thad reached out for his hand.  “I’ve seen you guys play.  You’re pretty good.”  Xander shook.

“Quite a party.”  Xander said, looking around as he ladled punch for he and Alex.

“Yeah, Ma’amselle Guillot’s using it as an opportunity to try and get donations for the school’s Arts program.  You guys see the display on the front lawn?”  He nodded toward the house.

“Uh huh.  What’s the deal there?  It’s pretty bizarre.”

“It’s her commentary on American Lawn Decor.  Cunningly  crafted so people will ask about it, allowing her to neatly segue into her spiel about how underfunded the college Arts program is compared to Athletics and how much revenue a fully funded Arts Program could generate.”

“And who better to be the new Department Head, than Ma’amselle, herself?  Of course.”  Xander smiled.

“So, do you two have influential alumni for parents, or are you here as artist showpieces too?”

“Family, believe it or not.”  Alex said.  “We took her Arts Humanities course for core credit our freshman year and she heard our last name, compared it to her genealogy charts and decided we were fourth-cousins once-removed from a family split in the nineteen-aughts.”

“That’s beautiful.”  Thad laughed.

An hour later, after the Hostess of Honor’s speech and the cutting of a 1/64th scale model of the Pfefferle Arts Building that turned out to be something called a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, but tasted like a Black Forest cake, the three found themselves lounging on a bench at the rear of the property with a nineteen year old multimedia sculptor named Typhani.

“All I’m saying is that if you change the working parts, you get a different machine.  Requiring all new-hire cops to have a four year degree that has heavy emphasis on psychology, cultural studies and Community Outreach would solve virtually all the problems in ten years.”  She was saying.

“And how high will the death toll be by then?”  Thad countered.

Xander tuned them out and relaxed into the pleasant buzz he’d acquired from a pint of craft ale from the keg that Ma’amselle had proudly announced she’d imported from the Rhône Alpes.  Thinking of their hostess, he scanned around for her, finally seeing her off near the rose bushes with a man.  He had slicked down hair and a hawkish nose supporting round, wire-framed spectacles, wearing dark brown slacks and a white shirt covered by a brown vest complete with a dangling watch-fob chain.  The man was leaning over, whispering in her ear.

“Hey, check out Slugworth.”  He thought to Alex.  She looked over and giggled.  He suddenly realized the conversation had died. Crap, they’re gonna fight.  He thought, turning back to his companions.  Far from fighting, Thad and Typhani were lip-locked/ hands-roaming on the bench.

“Well, guess it’s time to go.”  He said, standing up.  Alex gave him a pouty look.

By the time they made their way to the hostess to say their goodbyes, Slugworth had disappeared somewhere among the other guests.  Mlle Guillot expressed disappointment at their early departure, but was very understanding of Xander’s need to work at his new job in the morning.  She did draw the process out for a good ten minutes by demanding to know all the details of his position at the Kanetown Observer, copying, formatting and optimizing the writers’ articles for the web and mobile versions of the newspaper.

“Non, non, neveu.  You should be writing.  Controlle C, Controlle V, find and replace, Bah!  They are wasting you.  I will speak with Bertand at the earliest opportunity.”  She twittered.  Xander had no doubt that she knew Mr. Sheffield, the editor at the paper, but also knew she would most likely have forgotten her offer by morning.

By the time they extracted themselves, Xander’s buzz had left him and he felt safe driving home.  Alex hadn’t had a single drink, not that that mattered much, if one was intoxicated, they both were.  He shuddered at the memory of the night they had discovered that little truth.

Halfway back to the van, Alex suddenly stopped, squeezing firmly where she was holding Xander’s arm.  She mentally directed his attention to a figure on the sidewalk walking slowly toward their vehicle.  As they were still on the other side of the street and a distance away, the figure was no more than a tall, slender shadow.  They watched as it walked to a point where the van was between them, then continue on down the sidewalk and round the corner onto a side street.

“That took too long.”  She thought at him. “I think he stopped and did something to the van.”

“You’re just being paranoid.  It was probably another guest heading to their car, or someone from the neighborhood.  It seemed longer than it was because we couldn’t see them.”

“Sure.”  Alex thought, not sounding convinced.

When they reached the van, though, Xander did a thorough inspection around it, looking at the tires, under the frame, making sure the doors were locked securely, etc., while Alex stood watch.  The inspection was helped greatly by the streetlight they had parked next to coming on right as they had gotten to it.

Finding nothing out of sorts, they unlocked the doors, got in and drove home.