“So your evil twin is actually a clone?” Smokey asked when I finished. “That’s arguably worse than an evil twin.”
“No kidding,” I grumbled. “But at least you’ll be able to figure out if it’s me or not.”
Smokey nodded. “If he doesn’t give us the telepathic high sign, he’s a phony.”
“What about Li?” Myshtal interjected. “I don’t think your telepathy works with him.”
“I have my own means of discerning the true Jim,” Li assured her.
Smokey’s brow furrowed in thought for a moment. “So what do you think he wants? I mean, it’s nice to know he wasn’t trying to frame you – assuming that’s true – but the way he’s approached people has to mean something.”
“I agree,” chimed in Li. “His raining fire and brimstone down upon miscreants does not neatly dovetail into duping your confederates.”
“Hold on,” Smokey protested. “I’d argue that ‘duping’ is kind of strong. Rather than being duped, I think it’s more appropriate to say I was–”
“Punked?” Myshtal suggested.
Caught completely flatfooted by her comment, Smokey just looked at her with an expression that seemed to combine amusement, shock, and bewilderment.
“Hoaxed,” he finally declared after a few seconds. “I was going to say ‘hoaxed.’” He then turned to me and, hooking a thumb towards Myshtal, said, “Your girl obviously ranks television as the leading authority on Earth culture.”
A moment later – maybe tipped off by the look on my face – Smokey winced and added, “The princess, I mean. Myshtal. Not your girl. Not Electra.” Then, clearly aware that he was rambling, Smokey muttered, “Whatever. My point is, you might want to have her crack open a book now and then.”
Giggling, Myshtal stated. “I have read books extensively since I arrived. I have al–”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted. “That’s enough of the sidebar conversation. Let’s just assume that nobody got punked, nobody’s a couch potato, and everybody loves a good book. Now, can we get back to the subject of Jack?”
“We were discussing what he might want,” Li said. “What his goal might be in seeking out friends and close associates of Jim.”
“You sound like you might have a theory,” I reasoned.
“It is more conjecture than theory,” Li admitted, “and stems from the fact that – aside from those he attacked – his demeanor when dealing with others has generally been reported as affable and congenial.”
“So in terms of what he’s after, what exactly does that mean?” Smokey asked.
“I believe it means that he wants friends,” Li replied.
Chapter 57
No one really bought into Li’s hypothesis about Jack simply wanting some amigos to hang out with. Just the fact that he was out there pretending to be me gave the impression that a larger, more nefarious plot was at work. Thus, the rest of us spent a little time trying to blast holes in our friend’s theory before Smokey announced that he had to get going. That was the impetus for me and Myshtal to leave as well. (I was also spurred by the sudden recollection of another situation that I had to deal with.) Thus, after saying our goodbyes, I teleported the two of us back to the embassy.
We popped up in the kitchen. Prior to my taking off with Vestibule, I had left Myshtal in the teen lounge with a power bar and some fruit, but I didn’t know if she’d properly eaten. My teleporting us to the kitchen was a way to sort of make up for that, which I admitted.
“Thanks for thinking of me,” Myshtal said of my gesture, “but I’m fine until dinner.”
“Great,” I said. “Also, while I hate to dash off, I’ve got something I need to attend to.”
“No problem,” she insisted. “Go, go.”
“Thanks, but just so you know, you may be on your own for supper. No one’s home at the moment.”
I then explained that, telepathically, I wasn’t sensing anyone else, which meant that my mother and grandparents were out.
“I’ll be fine,” Myshtal assured me. “Just go. I’ll let everyone know what’s been happening when they get back.”
As she spoke, she made a shooing motion with her hand, essentially telling me to leave. Chuckling, I did as instructed and teleported.
*****
I didn’t immediately leave the embassy; instead, I popped up in my room, then proceeded to pull out my phone and call Electra.
“Hello, my love,” she said in a honeyed voice after the first ring.
“Uh, hi,” I replied, a little surprised at both her tone and choice of words, as she usually avoided using the term “love” in reference to me. (Basically, it was a reminder that I – allegedly – didn’t have her heart locked down yet.)
“As always, it’s great to hear your voice, lambchop,” she teasingly stated.
“Um, thanks. Listen, are you at home?”
“Of course. Where else would I be, sweetness?”
I frowned, thinking that the terminology she was using was distinctly out of character, but not sure what it meant.
“Well, I need to talk to you about something,” I stressed. “Would it be okay if I came by?”
“Certainly, sugar lump. Whatever your heart desires.”
Okay, something was definitely off. Electra would occasionally use terms of affection, but at the moment she was laying it on pretty thick. And then the truth hit me.
I let out a deep sigh and said, “You already know, don’t you?”
“Know what, dear heart?” she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice.
“Vestibule,” I said flatly.
“Oh. You mean that tongue-wrestling session the two of you had in the teen lounge? I may have heard a rumor.”
There was a short silence (although it felt long and uncomfortable), that was finally broken by me saying, “Okay, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. If
