6. HIVE
six
W e didn’t even walk Leo to the cab, and we were ashamed of it. The fear that had gripped us at the idea of getting seen—of being found here where we had built a life and found our gleaming one—almost made us drop the tray laden with drinks for the four burly werewolves who had managed to squeeze around the table Leo had shared with his friends earlier.
“It will be fine,” we whispered while we stood in the marble-floored entrance hall and looked after him, our breath fogging against the side panel of the automatic door at St. Auguste. We balled our fists and forced ourselves to smile while we served the drinks. “We are hive. We are strong. We cannot be broken.”
Once Leo was out of our sight, we stepped away from the glass door and looked around the fancy entrance area. St. Auguste was distinguished, a good place to show our world. We spotted a pamphlet about the Cultural Awareness Program among several other education options and picked it up.
What we had understood from the short conversation with Leo and his friends was straightforward, an introduction into the supernatural world, but the program was unique, just like so many things Hawthorne had built here. Just like the underground where we had been hiding from the world above for long enough to make us afraid to walk our gleaming one to his cab.
While reading the pamphlet, we checked our phone. Leo had gotten into the cab, and we exhaled with relief. His home address showed on the screen, and we were tempted to go there, just to make sure he arrived safely, but that would go against his wishes. Those wishes we could understand even if they clashed with what we were feeling.
The supernatural is more than fiction…, the pamphlet started out.
We wouldn’t act against Leo’s wishes, and we wouldn’t touch him when he didn’t want to be touched, not after it had been done to us.
…And a world you didn’t know existed is welcoming you with open arms and new possibilities! We hoped Leo would come to see being with us as that. A new possibility. We would do anything and everything in our power to make it so.
***
We returned to the underground, went back home to eat and sleep, and finished our shift at the Dazzle with two. We paced in front of the house—the end of Silver Line was always quiet and moving two or three of us when there was much on our mind always helped.
We went back to our checkbook but found we couldn’t concentrate on the numbers. Instead, we grabbed a legal notepad from where we kept them in a small cabinet on the first floor, pushed the checkbook aside, and started writing.
Leo. We printed his name in capital letters and underlined it. We knew he liked rum, so we put that down, and we knew the names of his friends, Tate and Ezra. We knew his address and that he attended a class that promised to be a gateway to a world unknown to most humans. And he was looking for work. We wrote all of that down, knowing that making the list would calm us.
We frowned at the notepad and glanced back at our checkbook while heading back inside, our pacing done. We ladled up two bowls of the stew.
He. That man, that vile human whose name we didn’t want to think. He had said he wanted to keep us and dote on us. His doting had been…not that, though he’d been stupid enough to think we didn’t know the difference. He’d wanted to keep us, keep us from going out. At the same time, he had taken advantage of our skill for numbers. Keeping his books clean had turned into a chore, a pain even. He’d kept three of us locked up to do it, had kept two to…
We hated him for it, and now, our knuckles stood out white as we grabbed the spoon, the pen, the trash we were throwing into the dumpster behind the Dazzle.
“We wouldn’t have been afraid to walk Leo to the cab if it weren’t for that human,” we said and stirred the stew. “But he did not break us. We won’t allow ourselves to be broken. Not now that we have found something more than just being alive.”
We reached for the checkbook while tapping the legal pad with the tip of our pen. Obviously we would need another job or a better one. Living above ground, providing for Leo if he allowed it, and living, those things would require more of us.
We pulled out our phone again while doodling numbers on the legal pad, rough calculations and estimates. Hawthorne had listings for job openings and those seeking employment, and we were a CPA with a highly diverse skillset.
***
We didn’t manage much sleep. The idea of seeing Leo again, of talking with him and learning more about him, enough to fill the entire legal pad and not just a page of it, had kept our mind reeling with the sheer possibilities.
We arrived at the Moonlight Diner at half past eight with three, and we wondered whether we could get away with that or whether Leo would think it was too many. Back home, we were on the phone with a werewolf, the owner of a yoga studio, who needed someone part-time, both for bookkeeping and answering phones and making appointments. We wouldn’t be required to wear yoga pants unless we wanted to, the werewolf assured us, adding that the vegan smoothies were included for employees.
“Uhm, h-hi. Do you know what you’re having?” one of the servers at the Moonlight asked us.
He was a big guy and looked like he was scared of his own shadow. His right hand was trembling where it was poised to take our order. The little nametag on his shirt said “Levi.”
“We’re waiting to meet someone, and we’re early,” we said.
He nodded. “Coffee? Food later?”
“Maybe tea is better,” we said. “We’re already anxious. Peppermint?”
He nodded once more, seemed to relax.
“We also have iced tea. Nice for the weather.”
We looked outside the window-fronted diner and smiled while we said, “Yes, please.”
He paused. “Three iced teas?”
We nodded and made a mental note to remember ordering for each of us for when Leo was going to join us. At the phone, the werewolf had picked up on us saying “we” instead of “I,” and had correctly deduced we were hive. He seemed excited and asked whether we’d be willing to work very flexible shifts.
“We are, if you are willing to pay for very flexible shifts.” Normally, we wouldn’t have done that, negotiated, but with Leo—
In the diner, the door twinkled with the arrival of a customer, and we were distracted by them. They were a hive too, sandy-haired, one of them wearing scrubs and well-worn sneakers. They spotted us immediately, and while one returned the server’s greeting, the other approached us.
“Hello. We haven’t met. Can we join you for breakfast?”
“We would love that, but we met our gleaming one yesterday and are expecting him for breakfast at ten.”
“Oh! Congratulations. We’ll be sure to be gone by then. Are you with him right now?”
They slid into the booth across from us—we’d taken the side facing the door, not wanting to miss Leo’s arrival.
Sadness rushed through us at the other hive’s question even as the werewolf negotiated with us. He seemed taken aback that we held our own, and we thought that made the negotiation easier.
We faced the other hive, who peered at us curiously, their gaze warm. We said, “He said he needed time. And he had drinks last night with his friends—at the Dazzle. We work there. He said he didn’t want to do this while tipsy.”
They nodded. “You were straightforward with him.”
“Is there another way?”
They grinned and frowned at the same time. “Not telling them and instead trying to get closer gradually is a way. We should know. If only we’d had someone when we found our gleaming one, someone who could have understood. You are small, aren’t you?”
We felt heat rise to our cheeks. “Yes. Five only. You?”
“Eight of us. You reveal yourself and your size by wanting to be many where something is important.” They pointed. “Triplets are rare, and yet you’re trying to pass as such.”
We rubbed our sweaty palms on our pants and said we would stop by the yoga studio tomorrow for a contract.
We said, “He asked that we meet him with just a few of us even though he could have met us entirely.”
“Human?”
“Yes. He learned of our world about a year ago.”
They chuckled and said, “That would be rough. I did think I had it easy when it happened for me last year.” We were confused by their use of “I.” They saw it and shrugged. “I’ve worked for Hawthorne for a long time now. Valentin Hawthorne is a good boss, and most of the time, the work is enjoyable. He lets us pick up shifts at the hospital as well, hence the scrubs, and there are almost exclusively humans there. It wouldn’t do if we kept slipping, although the humans there do think us twins.”
We nodded, working it out in our head. It very nearly made us dizzy. “It must be easier. You’re bigger.”
They took their hand, a self-soothing gesture. “Many things are while others are not.”
The server brought our iced tea and drinks for them even though they hadn’t ordered anything. “Figured the usual for you,” he said to them.
“You figured right. Thanks.”
The server looked from us to the other hive. “You’re the same, aren’t you?”
The hive nodded. “We are, but we only just met.”
The human looked at us. “I like these guys. You seem nice too. Let me know if you need anything else. Our cherry pie is borderline infamous.”
“Why?” we asked, and the human jumped a little.
The hive chuckled. “Concentrate and speak with one.”
“Oh, of course. Why is your cherry pie famous?”
“Mr. Bennet always has a slice and gets cranky when there isn’t any left. He’s the reason you guys go here, right?”
“The food is also really good,” the hive said. They turned to us. “We love the veggie scramble and their sandwiches, and depending on what cook is working, they have very nice French crêpes.”
“Dwayne’s in the kitchen now, so it’s pancakes,” the server said.
The hive nodded. “Those are also good. We’ll take some to go as well this time.”
“Will have them ready for you,” the server said and wandered off.
“You come here often?”
The hive nodded. “We like it. The blue is calming, and everyone behaves. Have you never been?”
“No. We…we came to Newstaten to be free of a human who thought to own us. We stayed mostly in the underground, but that won’t do anymore.”
“Ah, I see. Hand us your phone.”
Our face heated again. “We don’t have it here.”
They shrugged and pulled a small notebook from a pocket in their scrubs. “This is our number. The one we give to friends. You can call us if you need anything.” They tore the piece of paper out of the book and slid it across the table. We entered it to our contact list right away.
“Thank you. We are here for you to talk as well or to support you if you need it. We just texted you.” The offer of support hardly needed saying among our kind.
“We might come to the Dazzle—we haven’t yet, but maybe it’s a good place to take a date. Better if one of our kind works there.”
They reached out across the table, and this time, we took their hands. The comfort was immediate, something we hadn’t had in a long time.
We exhaled slowly. “Better. A lot better.”