Page 159 of Cerulean Truth
“Oh my gods, I can’t believe you just atemychicken,” Matthew gasped.
“It’s notyourchicken! You said you wanted chicken, I thought it was a good idea for a meal and simply made my own, and then out of nowhere you started proclaiming it was yours. This is mine, translate your fucking own.”
I was surprised to find Jackson engaging in this insane discussion. He always seemed so levelheaded. I glanced at James, who simply shook his head, fighting an amused smile.
“You don’t evenlikechicken. I saidIwanted chicken, you clearly translated that for me, and just because I didn’t want toget you your coffee, you stolemychicken!” Matthew was still yelling.
“Well, why didn’t you just get me some coffee? I was nice enough to translate you some chicken!”
“Aha! See! I knew you translated that for me!” Matthew rose from his chair and tried to grab the chicken off Jackson’s plate.
“Fuck off Matthew, get your own and let me eat in peace.” Jackson shuffled his plate away from his friend.
“Just so you know, the only reason I didn’t want you to drink coffee, is because you get horrible coffee-breath. I was doing you a favor,” Matthew roared.
Jackson let out a snarky laugh. “Well, whenyoueat a roasted chicken, you look like a demented gorilla. So consider this me paying you back that favor.”
“Oh for crying out loud!” James shouted, quickly translating two beautifully roasted chickens onto the table.
“Here. Here are your godsdamn chickens,” he growled.
Jackson and Matthew stared at James as if he had grown two heads.
“It’s not about the chicken,” I whispered into his ear. James glanced at me, raising his eyebrow.
“It’s not about the chicken,” Jackson and Matthew said in unison.
"Told you so," I grinned, but my smile quickly faded as I heard the all-too-familiar hum behind me. Whipping around, my heart raced as three green portals materialized near our table. In an instant, James and Nino sprang from their seats, positioning themselves protectively before us.
Both discreetly drew their Skindo from their tattoo, ensuring it remained hidden from the newcomers' view.
Martin, Maurice, an older lady I had learned to recognize as our current Leader, Maria, and an unknown man stepped through their respective portals, their faces pale and horrified.
"James...," I whispered, wanting him to stay close rather than face whatever disaster they were clearly here to brief us on.
James reached for my hand behind him, and I grabbed it eagerly, standing closer to him.
"Walker," Maria called out, slightly out of breath.
I looked up at James, studying his face, which betrayed no emotion. However, when the unknown bald man with greedy little eyes stepped through the portal, James shifted slightly, as if uncomfortable.
"Dennis Dale," Jackson whispered behind me, a tinge of shock in his voice. Matthew coughed, and I couldn’t help but notice how he and Jackson stood together, clearly ready to take on whatever threat might appear.
The chickens lay on the table, long forgotten.
"Mister Walker," the man said, shaking James's hand.
"Mister Dale," James replied dryly.
Frowning slightly, I realized the name sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Hadn’t Julian mentioned something about James being his savior?
Returning my attention to the ensemble, I caught Martin’s gaze and raised a brow, mouthing, "What’s going on?" silently. He shook his head once, indicating that whatever was happening, it wasn't good.
"You need to come with us. Now," Dale ordered. Ugh, that tone. His nasal voice matched his unattractive physique and screamed of someone addicted to authority. "And you need to bring your lady friend, whose hand you're clutching."
His what?
James didn’t ask any questions, didn’t even reply. He let my hand go and for a second I wondered if he would comply, but instead he stepped in front of me and crossed his arms. As far as non-verbal communication went, he had the “over my dead body” stare down to a tee.
