“What is he like?” Samantha asked. She had plans for Craig Stevens. She did not know what Frankie whispered in his ear. Likely, he charmed him and told him nothing, just gave the appearance of him having the Knowledge. That would be just like him: add someone else to our list just in case. Perhaps he was hopeful that we would just kill him. He was an asshole.

“Frankie Names’s clothing was amazing. I think with his appearance on the show, he’s remade the male fashion world, which has been stagnant for many years.” Samantha nodded as if she understood what Esther was talking about. Fashion was a potato sack for Samantha. She did not understand why people spent so much time worrying about such silliness.

“Do you believe him about his age?” Samantha asked. She felt like she had gone down this conversational tree thousands of times before. It usually did not come up like this. Frankie Names did do one useful thing: he made these conversations easier. There was an opening to get the potentials talking. Once they were talking, where it led was easier, which when Samantha thought about it, made the entire game a little less fun.

It was past a few minutes past six and where moments before there was no line at the barista bar, now they were queued ten people back. It always happened like this: one moment there was nothing, and the next the nothing was filled with something, with potential. Samantha looked over at Esther and measured her potential. She had power. Samantha did not need to touch her to know that. Whether that potential would be blown open like brains on the concrete was yet to be seen.

Samantha liked to wager with herself. It was one of the few joys left in her life. Life was random and to understand the randomness, you had to put something of value in the game. She decided then and there: if she ended up killing Esther, she would treat herself out to an expensive dinner, one of those ten course prix fixes where she can spend all night drinking and eating varied courses while a squad of waiters would hover over her. She liked to be served on. It was a difficult position to be in since the more people that she interacted with, the greater the chance she would run into another potential and have to think about work. It was easier to be a hermit than have to add additional assignments to her plate. She received enough big yellow envelopes to keep her occupied almost all the time.

She put that thought aside and finished the gamble. If she brought her into the fold—something she preferred in this case: she wanted to see how Esther would handle a weapon; she was huge, and while not strong, that size had to be an advantage in combat—she would volunteer to train the woman herself. She had not taken on a potential in over twenty years. Her one and only potential she ended up killing during a training bout. She had warned her that she was not playing that day, that the blades were real and sharp, and that if she did not put forth a real effort, she would be cut down. The potential did not take her seriously, and cut down was an understatement. She had wagered herself an oversized steak, and she gorged herself on the fatty meat. She remembered it was Texas and the barbeque joint could not believe how much steak she could eat. They did not understand how the wager system worked. It was why she did not go to Las Vegas. There were too many wagers possible, and too much random activity.

“The age? I believe the evidence. We’ve had many of those scientists who Frankie Names referenced on the Good Show before. I’ve personally interviewed them, and they are a trustworthy bunch. They are not ones to allow any evidence go by the wayside. They found not just historical evidence, but also biological evidence as to his age. Can you believe it? He’s over a hundred years old, and doesn’t look a day over thirty. I don’t say this lightly—the Good Show did not hire me because I’m a believer, I am and always have been a skeptic—but if the evidence holds up to further scrutiny, Frankie Names is going to change the world.”

Esther had appeared reserved when Samantha observed her over the past week. She watched her at work: a small desk in a small building with a small window. She would sit and read papers, typing notes on a small computer with a small monitor for eight straight hours. She would take a short lunch break, and nothing else. She would barely talk to anyone, looking up only once or twice during the entire day when there was a question. Samantha liked Esther’s work ethic, that and her height. It was probably why she had set up the wager as she did. Now that she touched her, she knew she had made the right choice.

Esther took the pen from over her ear and scratched at the back of the head with the pen cap. She started to look down at her black book as Samantha stared at her. She did not realize how long she had been looking and not talking. Samantha spent so much time alone that she sometimes had trouble relating to real people during conversations. She knew it was one of her biggest weaknesses, but she never bothered to worry about it. She was a slow thinker, having to plan and decide on the wagers in her head before committing to the conversational tree that would take her to resolve the wager.

“I’m sorry,” Samantha said. Esther looked up startled. “I think too much when I’m in a conversation.” Samantha gave what she hoped was her most pleasing smile. She as not a looker, in fact, she had been told many times that she barely left an impression on anyone when she spoke with them. It was difficult for people to remember her name or face. They would see her again and swear they were talking to someone different.

An old man with a mostly bald pate and white wisps of hair stopped by the table. He wore a black leather jacket and dark tailored pants. He stopped as he walked by Esther and Samantha’s table. His face was lined and long. It looked slightly red. His eyes were blue and clear, but the lines around his eyes gave great weight to his age. He had very long ears and walked with a slight hunch.

“Esther, my dear,” the man said. “It’s great to see you here.”

Esther stood up and hugged the old man. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed overly tight. Samantha was trying to figure out the relationship. The old man’s hand moved down Esther’s back almost to her butt. Esther did not seem to mind, only rubbing the old man’s back. “Henry, it is great to see you as well. Would you like to join me . . . I mean us?”

“Hello, I am Samantha.” She stood up. Even though she was not as tall as Esther, she still towered over the old man. She was not sure if it was his stoop, or if he was just a short man.

“I am Henry. I’ve seen you here before,” he said as he grabbed Samantha’s hand. For a second, Samantha was afraid that the old man would try to hug her. She was not big into touching, particularly close touching. Henry touched her hand and the emotions and thoughts began to flood into her. She pulled away from his hand as quickly as she could. He was aroused by Esther as only an old man can be: he didn’t have the plumbing to follow through anymore. What was left was only a warm feeling, but he still had the feelings and liked to be near females. Samantha saw the real truth at the end: tall, Amazon-like females.

“It is good to meet you Henry. I drink coffee and read some evenings after work.” Samantha held up her book.

“That may be,” Henry said. “But it’s been lately I’ve seen you here. I’ve been a regular for some time. Have you recently moved to the neighborhood? Are you new around here?”

Samantha looked a bit embarrassed as she thought through the responses. She was setting up a wager in her head about how she would respond, and what would happen to the old man.

“Oh stop, Henry. No need to pry into our new friend. You don’t need to answer him, Samantha. He’s a bit of a nasty old man.”

Henry laughed but did not look defensive or upset at the characterization. “Couldn’t be more true! Don’t worry too much, Samantha. I’m relatively harmless.” Henry pulled up an empty chair and joined the two of them.

“We were talking about Craig Stevens’s interview with Frankie Names,” Samantha said. She put her hand on Henry’s knees as she said it. Samantha was surprised by the action. Perhaps she had misjudged Esther. She did not seem anything like she did when she watched her work. She seemed different, more outgoing, more loving.

Henry chose not to take notice of the hand. His demeanor changed, however. His speech came across as slightly slurred and he seemed eager for something. He was holding a steaming green mug between both his hands. He let the steam cover his face, fogging up his thick bifocal glasses. He took a sip. “Can people talk about anything else?”

“It’s like aliens have landed,” Esther said. She squeezed her hand on Henry’s pant legs and then returned her hand to her lap. Samantha realized for the first time that Esther had been flirting with Henry.

“Don’t you work there?” Samantha said, trying to get the conversation back on track that will lead somewhere to settle one of her wages.

“Yes, but Henry knows that. It was Henry that got me the job there.”

Henry looked pleased with himself. “My pleasure, my pleasure, my dear.”

“There’s more, of course. Henry got Craig Stevens the interview the Frankie Names.”

“Oh, you go too far.”

“Don’t be bashful. Mr. Stevens wouldn’t admit it, but without you making that initial introductory call, we never would have booked the biggest interview ever on network television. Of course, it didn’t work out for Craig Stevens as he supposed.”

“Life rarely does,” Henry said. He looked over to Samantha. “So tell us about yourself, Samantha. You seem like a fascinating person.”

Samantha did not like where this was heading. There was something wrong here. She had seen this man before. She didn’t realize it earlier. She had seen him only an old man. But now she saw he was something else. She tried to thumb through the impressions he had left on her. The emotions were mixed but strong, and now that she thought about, strangely organized, as if he had given her only what he chose.

“Life is long,” Samantha said just as Henry was about to say something to Esther.

“Never too long if you follow your soul,” Henry said, finishing the phrase that identified others in their clan.

Samantha had heard of immortals that didn’t learn of their abilities until late in life. She always felt sorry for them. They could never be as useful in a fight, and they usually worked behind the scenes, avoiding other immortals for fear of the confrontations that they couldn’t possibly win. To find him hunting the same potential as her—well, this possibility had not been calculated in her wager. She was not sure how to rate this one. Who won the round, how was she to share the outcome?

“You two must read the same books,” Esther said. Samantha did not give her much attention. Henry should have been concentrating on Samantha, but he continued to flirt with Samantha. Didn’t he know who he sat across from? Didn’t he know that she was judging him? That if she found him wanting, she would not leave until he was finished.

“Eighty three,” Samantha said by way of challenge. If this had to happen, she would prefer to keep Esther out of this for now.

“Don’t worry so much,” Henry said. “We’re not enemies.”

“Eighty three,” Samantha repeated.

“Very well, two hundred forty. But don’t hold that against me.” Henry smiled what Samantha supposed was his most charming smile. He looked lecherous at that moment. She had come here to judge Esther, but now found something much more concerning in front of her. She tried again to go back and think through the feeling and thoughts she had when she touched the old man. The wagers were going through her mind. His body was old, but he was ancient. She had never come across someone so soulless for so long. She couldn’t believe he had survived as long as he had. There must have been no records of him. When she first saw him, she did not know. She must be losing her touch. She had never not been able to identify an immortal before.

“Esther, it was very nice meeting you. I’m afraid I have to be going now.”

“I hope it’s not something I said,” Henry said.

“Oh, it’s very much something you said. You knew that before you said it. I will see you again very soon, Henry.”

“McDoogle,” he finished for her.

“Very well, Henry McDoogle. Esther, as I said, it was a pleasure.”

“I don’t understand what is going on here,” Esther said, standing up. She towered over the seated and quite smug looking Henry. Samantha even felt a bit overcome by her size as she stood there. She would be powerful if she stayed out of this. Now it began to make sense: how Craig Stevens got the contact with Frankie Names in the first place. There was a hand moving behind the scene, and Henry controlled that hand. There was much more going on here than she understood. She knew she should check in with the council, get their okay before taking action. But she also knew she would not have another opportunity. Henry’s jacket could not have been hiding a very large weapon. Even if he had one, it would not be of much good against her. She knew she was quicker and younger than him. Experience would only get him so far.

Henry waved in Samantha’s direction as she walked out of the coffeehouse into the supermarket. She overheard him as he told Esther, “Don’t worry so much about Samantha. She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, but she will very shortly.”

Tomlin and James sat in the diner. A plate of stacked pancakes stood uneaten on James’s plate. Tomlin’s plate was empty, remnants of uncooked yolks stuck to the off-white plate. James’s hand still shook from last week’s activities. He had not returned to class since the weekend. He went to work and returned home each evening without much in between. He tried not to think about anything. He did not want to think about what Tomlin had told him the week before. She had called him once during the week. It was the day after Frankie Names had been on the Good Show. She had said simply, “he’s one of the hunted.” James had hung up the phone and disconnected it from the wall. She had not called back since then.

Late Sunday evening, she had appeared at his door. He did not answer the door, but she had somehow gotten in. He had dead bolted the door closed, and went to his bedroom to get away the incessant knocking. And yet there Tomlin was, standing in the doorway, tapping her foot. She had explained to him that it was too late. He had signed up for it, that he no longer had a choice. He had seen too much and now had to finish his training.

She had calmly explained everything to him as he sat on his bed. He wore only boxers on the bed and hugged a pillow. He knew he must look particularly pathetic. He did not care. If she was human, he might have cared, but she was not. She was an animal. She was no longer his teacher. She should have told him earlier, told him what he was really learning. It had been a martial skill, but it had been more than that. Not for the first time, James Pleasant regretted going to the dojo for the class. He did not know at the time how much that trip was going to change his life.

He sat across the table from Tomlin. She looked relaxed as she sat still holding the fork hovering over her empty plate. She had eaten her food quickly while she spoke. James kept looking at the door, wondering when he could make a run for it. He had tried once, and found his legs tangled up in hers. She hadn’t stopped eating as she tangled him up, not even to smile at how uncomfortable he was.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you,” he said finally breaking his passive-aggressive silence.

“Taught someone to be immortal?” Tomlin asked innocently. “Yes, I have.”

“No, I meant ruined someone’s life. Have you done that before? Not given them a choice when you pretend you have only the best of intentions in mind?”

“You still don’t understand,” Tomlin said. She put the fork down on the plate and sat straighter in the chair. “Someone would have found you.”

“But I found you!” James still did not understand the fairness of it. He had joined the class, he had opened the door into the strange, secret world. The world had been much more secret before the Frankie Names character had appeared on the scene, at least. Perhaps that was how he would get out of this.

“Have you ever wondered why you joined up to learn an obscure martial art that originates in Japan? Has it ever crossed your mind that you were fated to join, fated to meet me, fated to become one of the hunters?”

“I don’t believe in fate.” And he didn’t. He didn’t believe in much. “I joined the class because I needed exercise, and this was the one class at the local community center that likely did not have many children. This is not fate, this is coincidence. You read too much into it.”

Tomlin laughed. “I didn’t realize you were afraid of children! You have many fears, James Pleasant. I am very glad we found each other, regardless of the reasons.

Daily Word count: 3,141.

Words remaining: 30,387 (19,613).