Smokey, plainly noting the same thing I did, leaned towards Vestibule and said, “Should we be here?”
I understood what he was asking. Being teleporters, it was practically impossible to keep someone like Vestibule or me out of any venue. Moreover, some teleporters were infamous for popping up where they were neither expected nor wanted: on stage during televised award shows, on the field during championship sporting events, and so on. Thus, Smokey’s fear that we had crashed this party was a valid one.
Vestibule pooh-poohed his concern. “It’s cool. I cleared it.”
Smokey shot me a worried glance, but I just shrugged, giving him a go-with-it expression. It probably didn’t help that we were still in our costumes, so if we actually didn’t belong, someone was likely to figure it out quickly enough and call security.
“Will you relax?” Vestibule said to Smokey, obviously picking up on his mood. “Trust me, it’s fine.”
Smokey didn’t say anything for a moment, then let out a deep breath.
“All right,” he said. “If you say so, but…”
He trailed off, suddenly staring across the room as if in a trance.
“Is that who I think it is?” he muttered.
Following his gaze, I looked in the direction indicated and saw a famous young actress named Alita who, at nineteen, already had her own hit television show and three albums that had gone multi-platinum. (It also didn’t hurt that her first starring movie role had been in a worldwide blockbuster.)
“I think I was twelve when her show first started,” Smokey continued, although it was more like he was thinking out loud rather than intentionally talking to us. “I used to have the biggest crush on her.”
“You want to meet her?” Vestibule asked.
Smokey’s head snapped in her direction, like he had suddenly come out of a trance.
“No,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I couldn’t. I don’t–”
“Come on,” Vestibule said, ignoring his protests and grabbing his hand. A moment later, she was dragging him across the room.
Unexpectedly, Cat turned to me with something I interpreted as a sly look, although it was difficult to tell because of how her face was made up.
“It’s just you and me now, big boy,” she said coquettishly, taking a sultry step in my direction and leaning into my personal space. “No more hiding behind my cousin’s skirt.”
Caught off guard by her shift in personality, I gulped. “Uh…I’m, uh…I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Sure you do,” she countered softly, lightly stroking my cheek with the back of her fingers as she looked longingly into my eyes.
I blanked on how to respond. As I mentally scrambled for words, I reached out empathically towards her. I immediately picked up on a flurry of emotions, including geniality, a slight amount of teen angst, and a strong degree of self-confidence. But the most prevalent feeling at the moment was a rising level of mirth and giddiness, which it only took me a second to interpret.
Mentally, I let out a sigh of relief, then muttered in a sarcastic monotone, “Funny.”
“Ha-ha!” Cat squealed, laughing merrily. “I got you! I got you good! You should have seen your face.”
“So,” I droned, ignoring her teasing, “do you pull that little maneater act with all the guys?”
“Only the cute ones,” she replied with a wink. “Come on, let’s see if there’s anybody worth talking to in this place.”
Taking my hand, she then began leading me around.
Chapter 4
Vestibule may have been the more famous member of their family, but there’s no way she could have matched Cat’s ability to work a room. Simply put, Cat had a talent for engaging with people. Moreover, it didn’t seem to matter whether it was someone she ostensibly had anything in common with. Old or young, man or woman, world-famous or completely unknown – she found a way to relate to them all.
Even more surprising, they all seemed to take to her. Of course, the fact that she was still in full feline regalia probably served as a bit of an icebreaker (and a conversation starter), but I had a feeling that – costume or not – people would have found her enchanting. The only other person I’d come across with the same ability to charm others was my nominal fiancée, Myshtal.
As we went around the room (with me essentially following in her wake), I saw her boldly strike up conversations with everyone from rock stars to pro athletes, undeterred and unintimidated by the fact that many of those present were celebrities. She was obviously no respecter of persons, treating everyone the same, and it was more by dint of her efforts that I found myself in conversations with several luminaries whom I probably would never have approached if left to my own devices.
Eventually, however, in working our way through the party, we ended up back where we had started, so to speak: huddled up with Vestibule and Smokey.
“How’d it go?” I asked him.
“It was great,” Smokey replied, plainly trying not to sound excited. “She was very nice.”
“He’s downplaying it,” Vestibule interjected. “This silver-tongued devil sweet-talked his way into an invite to Alita’s yacht party tomorrow.”
“Really?” I blurted out. “That’s awesome!”
“It’s not as cool as it sounds,” Smokey stated. “It was an invite for all of us, and we probably only got it because of Vestibule.”
“Nope, that was all you,” Vestibule insisted, shaking her head. “I bumped into Alita three times last week, and she never mentioned a yacht party to me once.”
“Wow,” muttered Cat, giving Smokey an appraising glance. “Guess you are a smooth talker.”
“No, no, no,” Smokey stressed, shaking his head. “It’s not like that. I have a girlfriend.”
“And you may have a new one after this weekend,” Vestibule said with a smile. “Anyway, we ready to go?”
“Go?” I echoed, glancing
