Alien in the House (2 page)

“T
HIS IS THE THIRD
representative to become incapacitated in as many weeks,” the TV announcer's voice shared.

“This is the only one incapacitated,” Jeff corrected, presumably for my benefit, seeing as the TV announcer wasn't going to hear him unless said announcer had the best hearing in the galaxy.

“What do you mean?” I paid as much attention to the news as I did to the inner workings of the common housefly, which was to say, not at all. Hey, just because it was sort of my job to pay attention to the news didn't make me excited about it. I had a husband who seemed to live to stay on top of things, after all.

“I mean the first two are dead. This one's in the hospital.”

“Anyone we know? Knew?”

“Yes.” Jeff sighed the sigh of a husband who's required to stay on top of things because his wife refuses to. “The two who died were from Alabama and Oregon, and they died in a car crash. This latest one is from Montana, and he's got an extreme case of pneumonia. Because he's in his late eighties, the prognosis isn't good. You've met all of them at one time or another. I'd tell you their names, but I don't have the desire to play your version of Name That Tune.”

“Why don't you find a
Love Boat
or
Fantasy Island
marathon going on? You'll enjoy those so much more than the constant barrage from CNN and C-SPAN.”

“This is part of the job of being the Head Diplomat, baby.”

I managed not to say that it was the boring part. There were lots of boring parts to our jobs now. They were interspersed with lots of terrifyingly exciting parts, the most recent of which had exposed the fact that aliens lived on Earth to the majority of the world's population. Change, it was good for you, right?

There was a knock at our door. Seeing as Jeff was engrossed in the afternoon news, and seeing as I didn't want to have to catch him up on whatever he'd miss in the minute and a half it would take to answer said door, I dutifully trotted out of our humongous living room to do the job. Helpful, that was me all over. Since we lived on half of the top floor of the American Centaurion Embassy, this also wasn't me taking any kind of risk. Whoever was knocking lived here.

Opened the door to find our top floor neighbors standing there, otherwise known as Christopher and Amy Gaultier-White. True to form, Christopher was glaring. Patented Glare #5, to be precise. “Have you heard the news?” he asked as he strode in past me and headed for the living room and his cousin, my husband.

Amy sighed. “He's a little stressed.”

“That's his natural state of being. But, shocking one and all, yes, I've heard the news. If the news is about dead and dying politicians.”

Amy looked shocked for a moment. She was one of my best friends from high school, so she knew about my “love” of the news. She recovered quickly. “Oh. Jeff told you?”

My turn to sigh. “Yes, yes, fine. I was busy.”

“Doing what? Jamie's at daycare right now.”

“I was wrapping her presents.” Our daughter's first birthday loomed, and, since she was born on Christmas day, I felt it was unfair to do combo presents, meaning I had a lot of things Jeff felt were far too much for a one-year-old to be wrapped, bagged, tagged, and hidden.

Sure, as the daughter of a Jewish father and Catholic-yet-also-former-Mossad mother, I'd grown up sort of waving at the December holidays. And Jeff, being an alien whose parents were born on Alpha Four of the Alpha Centaurion solar system, didn't celebrate the majority of the available human holidays.

However, we were in Washington, D.C. now, and certain things were inevitable. And demanded. There'd been a lot of demanding in recent months.

Amy and I joined our men in time to hear Christopher ask what was becoming a very common question. “Are they going to try to blame this on us?”

Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “No idea. So far, I haven't heard about any anti-alien groups trying to pin a bad car crash and an illness on us.”

“Just give it time.” Christopher shook his head. “Either that or they'll be asking us to revive the dead and save the sick.”

I'd stopped making really inappropriate jokes about this months ago. Because, sadly, Christopher wasn't wrong.

During the excitement that ended up with us all being outed, we'd discovered that our old friends, the wackos from the anti-alien Club 51, were still around and active, albeit with new leaders we had yet to ferret out.

Once the general population knew about us, however, we got the fun of seeing just how many anti-alien groups there were. Turned out, there were a lot.

Turned out there were also a lot of groups who sincerely believed Jeff, Christopher, and their extended family were here to save us all and show us The Way.

In some ways, of course, they were. The A-Cs, as they called themselves, had been showing us the way since the 1960s, particularly in the areas of math, science, and technology. And they'd been protecting the Earth constantly from all the bad things from space that wanted to drop by to kick us or take over. There had been some human bad guy thwarting, too.

I'd been involved with the gang from Alpha Four for about three years now. I had a natural affinity for handling the weird and mind-melding with the psychos and megalomaniacs we routinely tangled with. Hey, it's nice to have special skills.

However, the special skills I didn't possess were those of diplomatic decorum and the ability to pretend to like people I detested.

“Will it affect tonight's dinner party?” Amy asked. “I don't know if this means we should cancel or carry on as if nothing's happened, or something in between.”

Amy having come from money meant she was supposed to have been our go-to girl for all the formal affairs, fancy table settings, and keeping the rest of us from saying the wrong things to the wrong people. In other words, in the perfect world I didn't live in, I should have been asking that question and she should have been answering it.

Sadly, she'd spent her first few months with us dealing with the fact that her father had been one of the megalomaniacs we'd had to deal with in a very permanent fashion. So while she was good enough to pass muster almost anywhere in the shoulder-rubbing circles we now traveled in, her confidence had been somewhat shaken and she'd flipped over to my side of the house—the kick butt first and take names later side.

Our diplomatic day had been saved by one man. A man of taste, breeding, and the ability to get anything done, at any time. A man who was now our Embassy Concierge Majordomo and potentially the most competent man on the planet. A man I decided it was time to call.

“Com on!”

“What can I do for you, Chief?”

“Walter, can you tell me where Pierre is? We need to ask vital questions only he can answer.”

“Yes, Chief. Pierre told me to tell you that if you needed him, the event tonight will go on as planned, with a moment or two of silence for the two representatives who died last week, and a short, silent prayer for the representative in the hospital.”

“He told you all that?”

“Yes, Chief. Five minutes ago. He said you'd want to know. He also said he'd be in the Ballroom, and would appreciate you and Chief Martini stopping by. Oh, and Commander Reader is about to join us on premises. He says he'll meet you at the Ballroom.”

“Gotcha, Walt. Com off.”

We looked at each other. “Is Pierre psychic, or part A-C?” Amy asked.

“No on the A-C, don't think so on the psychic,” Jeff replied.

“He's just really, really good. I thank God every day that James brought him out here to save our Embassy.”

“Speaking of which, I guess Kitty and I are going to the Ballroom. You two want to join us?”

Christopher shook his head. “We can't. We have to do a . . . thing. Before the party.”

“A thing? Dude, you're normally more verbal than that.”

“He's trying to be discreet, but I don't know why,” Amy said. “It's taken forever, due to so many reasons, most of them highly classified, but my father's estate is finally being settled. We need to meet with my lawyer.”

“Why so, Ames? You're his only child, and LaRue's dead and she had no children. At least, I sincerely hope she had no children.” LaRue Demorte Gaultier had been Amy's father's mistress, and then his second wife. She'd ended up redefining the term “wicked stepmother” before getting shot by her own side during the big space showdown that I called Operation Destruction. “Who else could possibly be contesting the will or expecting to inherit?”

“The Board of Directors for Gaultier Enterprises. They want to have full control of the company.” Amy had a look on her face I was familiar with—her “nothing's gonna stop me” look. “But I'm not going to let that happen. I believe the legal papers will prove that I'm the majority stockholder. And that means I'll be taking over Gaultier Enterprises.”

“A
MES, GO YOU!”

“I know she can do it,” Christopher said, as he put his arm around Amy and hugged her. “But it's going to take a lot of focus. And her being married to an alien isn't helping. At all.” In a move that made me just a tad nervous, Christopher wasn't glaring—he looked worried.

“Whatever.” Amy hugged him back. “Being married into the A-C clan isn't as much of a detriment to the Board as you think it is. Us not being evil psychos who want to destroy and rule the world? That's a bigger issue for the Board.”

“Fabulous. While you guys are tangling with them, don't forget to eyeball who might be the next Bad Guy du Jour. 'Cause you know that no matter how many times we knock one down, another one's always ready to take his or her place.”

“We will do,” Amy said. “My money's on Ansom Parker, Janelle Gardiner, or Quinton Cross. With my father gone, they've all been jockeying to become Chairman of the Board. But the corporation and his will were set up so that if he died, LaRue was the instant successor. With both of them missing and presumed dead, the corporation, the Board, and I have had to get my father and LaRue both declared legally dead, and we only have an interim Chairman.”

“Yeah, the problem with our jobs and lives is that we do a lot of things we can't tell anyone about.”

Amy shrugged. “Better this than what we'd all go through having to explain how all these horrible people ‘disappeared.'”

“As long as it doesn't get discovered,” Christopher said, looking even more worried.

Amy kissed his cheek. “As far as anyone knows, accidents have happened and we're all very sad we haven't been able to recover bodies.” She winked at me as they left, Christopher still looking concerned.

“Think Amy will actually take over Gaultier Enterprises?” Jeff asked.

“I think it's really likely, yeah.”

“Think anyone's going to question the official causes of death on our long list of now-dead enemies?”

“No idea. I'm just hoping they don't question you, Christopher, or just about any other A-C.”

“I know, I know. We can't lie. It's a good trait.”

“In a husband, absolutely. In a politician or when being questioned by people who can't know the truth? Maybe not as helpful.” I sighed. “I, however, have a more urgent problem. I need to finish wrapping Jamie's presents, but Pierre needs us, and James is on his way.”

Jeff grinned and kissed me. He was the best kisser in, by my estimate, the entire galaxy, and his kiss did to me what it always did—made me forget about anything else other than getting our clothes off.

He ended our kiss and laughed. “No, baby, we don't have time for me to make you that kind of happy. But give me a second, and I can solve a different problem.”

That Jeff knew I was ready to go was based some on experience but mostly on the fact that he was the strongest empath in the galaxy. Therefore, I knew he was aware of my disappointment.

Which quickly turned to joy, as he used hyperspeed to wrap the remainder of Jamie's gifts. I had hyperspeed now, but I didn't trust it for delicate stuff, and wrapping little girl gifts was definitely on the delicate side of the hyperspeed house.

Jeff finished up and we hid the presents in a closet in one of the many rooms of our penthouse that we didn't actually use. “You don't mind that I finished the wrapping?” he asked as we headed for the door.

“No. I wrapped half, you wrapped half. I'm glad you got to do some of that, even if it was quick.”

He hugged me. “Me, too.”

Since the Embassy went up seven floors and down several, ignoring the underground Secret Lab Level that led into the recently discovered Tunnels of Doom, most of us chose to save the energy and used the elevators to get up and down. Well, the human members of the Embassy staff did. For the A-Cs, all of whom had hyperspeed, stairs were almost always the faster option.

Because it had been some time since we'd told Walter we'd be right down to the Ballroom, we didn't use the elevator. Instead, we zipped down the stairs from the 7th floor to the 2nd.

We reached the Ballroom. And stopped dead in our tracks. I couldn't speak for Jeff, but I was stunned. Frankly, I couldn't speak at all for a few long seconds.

“Um . . . wow.”

“Yeah.” Jeff cleared his throat. “What's the proper thing to say at this moment?”

“You're asking me?”

“You're human.”

“As if that matters for the current situation?” We were standing at one of the two entrances to the room. I took a quick look around. “Okay, Pierre's not here. So, we tell each other, really fast, what we actually think, and then we come up with the right way to tell
him
what we really think.”

“I really think there's too much pink in here.”

Couldn't argue with Jeff's sentiments. The ballroom of the American Centaurion Embassy was adorned in pink. And sparkles. And balloons. And that was just the ceiling. “Maybe Pierre thinks we're hosting an off-site visit from the folks from
Dancing with the Stars
.”

“Maybe he's lost his mind.” Jeff didn't sound like he was kidding.

“It's pretty,” I said lamely. It was, if you were so into the color pink that you wanted all other colors banished from the face of the Earth. No one I knew was
that
into the color pink. Well, Pierre was, apparently, but this was news to me.

“Wow. Girlfriend . . . what's going on?” Reader joined us. “I mean, I thought I knew what was going on. Now I'm not so sure.”

“See?” Jeff said to me, as if I'd been the one who coordinated the ballroom's decorations.

“See what? I see a hell of a lot of pink.”

“Me too,” Reader said. “What's the occasion? I ask because the occasion can't be the reason I'm here. I wasn't invited to Pink Fest.”

“It's for our little princess' first birthday party,” Pierre said as he zipped into the room. “I realize you're all in shock from the sheer overwhelming feeling of being in a cotton candy factory, which is why I wanted you to see it now, but, trust me, it's necessary.”

“It is? Why?”

“Jamie loves it,” Pierre said. “And she
needs
to love it. Her party is going to be televised, I'd like us all to recall.”

“I'm still unhappy about that,” Jeff growled.

Reader sighed. “Who isn't? But, let's be honest. If the way we keep everyone else in the world calm about the fact that there are a whole lot of aliens from the Alpha Centauri system living on Earth is to show how much like regular folks our Embassy personnel are, then we do it.”

Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “I know, James. We had this argument months ago, and it made sense then, too. It's just . . .” He looked around. “It's just so damn
pink
.”

“I have a bigger concern.” The three male heads all swiveled toward me. “We're hosting a dinner party. Tonight. And, call me crazy, I thought we were hosting it in this room.”

“You're crazy,” Pierre said nicely. “We don't host dignitaries in the ballroom unless we are dancing, Kitty darling. We host them in the formal dining room and attached parlors for appetizers, and then we're all going to the Zoo for the actual dinner.”

“Oh. Well. Then that's alright. I guess.” I cleared my throat. “You know, Jamie's birthday is on Christmas. And since we're having her party on Christmas Day, I kind of thought, therefore, that the party would have a Christmas-y theme.”

“Did you?” Pierre asked, as he fussed with some fake pink flowers that were marked as stand-ins for the real flowers that were to arrive on the actual day of the party. “I can't imagine why.”

“Christmas-time. That's why.”

“None of you celebrate Christmas officially, for a variety of religious reasons.” Pierre looked at all our expressions and heaved a sigh. “You're allowed to be different, darlings. Your differences make you interesting to the general populace. The areas where you're just the same as everyone else make you comfortable to them. We want to ensure that everyone continues to think you're both comfortable and interesting.”

“I feel like a reality star without the desperate desire for fifteen minutes of fame.”

Pierre shrugged. “I'm sure you do. However, this week's festivities are among the most important of any you've had since we were all exposed to the world as being just a trifle more special than the average.”

“I'm cool with being better than the average bear. I'm not sure I'm excited about single-handedly making pink the new black.” I hadn't wrapped her presents in a lot of pink. Now I wondered if that was going to end up being a Total Mommy Fail on my part.

“I remind you that Jamie loves it and we will now leave it at that.” Pierre shooed us out. “I plan to have the ballroom closed off for tonight's festivities, so no visiting dignitaries should be offended by the sheer beauty of the room.”

“I feel so much better,” Jeff muttered. He heaved a sigh. “Okay, so what's our game plan for tonight?”

“Not spilling anything on anybody.”

Reader chuckled. “That's always a good choice, girlfriend. But we do need to be coordinated. This is a good chance to show how important we are politically while also showing that we don't shove in our own agenda.”

“We don't have an agenda beyond ‘don't make us go back to Alpha Four,'” Jeff pointed out.

“And don't make us the War Division,” I added.

Reader heaved a sigh. “Yes. And we need to ensure that these things are understood at a level where the majority won't ask for everyone to be exiled.”

“You mean exiled again,” Jeff said. “But yeah, James, we get it.”

“Good,” Pierre said. “Because based on your comments from only a few moments ago, I, for one, am not convinced you do indeed ‘get it.'”

Before anyone could respond, the doorbell rang. The Embassy was large and the doorbell made an impressive sound that was piped through all the lower three floors.

Pierre made the exasperation sound. “No one should be arriving yet. The party doesn't start for at least another two hours.”

He zipped off while the three of us exchanged a glance. “You think it's just a delivery of some kind?” Reader asked. “Or someone dropping by to visit?”

“Most of those who we want to see drop by via a gate. Or they call first.”

Before Jeff could add in his two cents to this discussion, Walter's voice came over the intercom. “Chiefs, Commander Reader, you're needed downstairs.”