The Elders (Mind Dimensions #4)(42)

“It’s not like the comic books anyway,” George says, probably in an attempt to cheer me up. “It’s limited to the Mind Dimension, and even for the Elders, there are limits to how far they can Teleport.”

I sigh wistfully. “Still, I’d love to be able to do that.”

“You can at least master doing it when you first get pulled in,” George says and stops in front of a large door. “We’re here,” he explains. “Let’s see if we’ll get lucky today.”

I wait, unsure what luck has to do with meeting this mysterious stranger.

The door opens a sliver, and smoke comes pouring out. Before I can think ‘fire,’ a raspy voice asks, “Who is it?”

“It’s George.”

The door opens all the way. Behind it stands the tiniest old lady. No, not old—ancient. She’s holding a silver cigarette holder with a lit stogie in it, which explains the nauseating fumes.

“How are you, Mary? Do you recognize me?” George asks.

“Georgie,” she says, her voice quivering. “When I can’t recognize you, I will ask them to put me down like a dog.”

“Please don’t. I couldn’t bear that.”

“You have always been a sweet talker, like your uncle.” She exhales another cloud of white smoke. “It’s wonderful of you to visit again. This must be what, your twentieth visit this year?”

George walks up to her, gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek, and says, “I’m so glad you’re lucid today.”

She looks me over with her rheumy, but intelligent eyes. “I am not so lucid as to recall who this young man is, even if he does look strangely familiar.”

She steps back into the room.

“The disease is not the reason you don’t know him. You haven’t met him before.” George gestures for me to follow him inside.

“Then why did you bring him?” she asks, shooting me a glance. “He looks too young to be a doctor.”

“His name is Darren, and he’s under evaluation to become a special Ambassador. Alfred thought it would be courteous for you to meet him.”

“Still such a polite lad, that Alfred,” she says and takes a deep drag of her cigarette. “It’s nice to meet you, Darren.”

“Darren, I want you to meet Mary,” George says. “She’s my aunt, and Hillary’s grandmother.”

I look at the lady as though she might sprout an extra head—a fire-breathing head, given the current one’s propensity of exhaling smoke—and I finally understand.

George just introduced me to my great-grandmother.





Chapter 13





“Hold on a minute. You wouldn’t also happen to be the young man Frederick was just telling me about?” Mary sits down in a rocking chair that looks as old as she is. “The one they want to send on that folly of a quest to make peace with the damn Leachers?”

George raises an eyebrow at this, and I recall how he told me he didn’t know what the Elders want with me. I guess he does now.

The place looks like a room from a ritzy nursing home, but with homier décor. I look around to find a place to sit. George notices and gestures toward the small bed next to the chair.

I sit down and George joins me.

In a moment of silence, I look over the old lady. Her eyes have a layer of cataracts, or something else that makes them seem glassy. Where George’s eyes look very old, hers look like I’m staring into infinity. And at the same time, there’s confusion there, perhaps a sign of the Alzheimer’s disease George mentioned back in Florida.

“I didn’t agree to it,” I say, realizing that besides staring, I owe her an answer. “But given your tone, it sounds like you’re against it?”

Her face twists. “Of course I’m against it. Even if the Leachers hadn’t taken everything from me, even if I supported the cowardly madness of trying to talk to them, it would all be for naught. Those people aren’t capable of not hating us. They are brutes, the lot of them.”

“All of them?” I ask cautiously. This whole exchange reminds me of my and Sara’s attempts to get Gamma and PopPop to be less judgmental of the welfare system. You need a level of finesse when you play devil’s advocate in these situations.

“You clearly haven’t met one of those monsters,” she says, unfazed. “You talk with the innocence of one who’s been sheltered from them, like Frederick and the other kids. That must be why the others think you’d take on such a task. They want to use you so cruelly. Take my advice, my boy, and say no to that lunacy.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.” I look at George for support, but he looks deadpan serious. I turn my attention back to her. “You’ve given me something to think about, that’s for sure.”

She gives me a smile. She has a dimple in one cheek, which gives her a strange, cherub-like appearance—an impression enhanced by her curly white hair and small stature.

She gives her chair a gentle rocking, then looks confused. “What was I talking about?”

“I said, ‘This is Hillary’s grandmother, and this is Darren,’” George says.

“Oh, I remember the introductions, you sneaky trickster.” She cackles, peering at George. “I lost track of something else. But since you mentioned the wild child, tell me, how is she?”