The Devourers Read Online Free PDF Page B

emptied my glass of whiskey, so I feel tipsy and inclined to forgive him. I’m just glad that he actually showed up, and more grateful than I feel comfortable being. The sound of his voice is an uncanny placebo for the throb behind my eyes.
    “Would you like a drink?” I ask.
    He nods and waves his arm. To my amazement, the waiter shows up immediately. He isn’t any less grumpy, but I’ve never been able to make a waiter at Oly Pub show up in fewer than five minutes. The stranger orders two whiskey doubles. I feel flattered, both by his taking the liberty to order me another and by his appropriation of my choice for his own drink. I have to stop myself from thanking him again.
    “The haunt of heroes,” he says, leaning back and looking around. I assume he’s referring to the pub’s original—now truncated—name, Olympia.
    I wonder how to respond. The stranger folds his hands on the table and looks straight at me, making eye contact. I have no idea what to say to him, what we’re going to talk about, how to start a conversation with him, why in hell I even wanted to meet him again.
    “Did you keep the kitten?” I ask him.
    “I ate it.”
    I stare at him.
    “A poor joke. Forgive me and pull down your eyebrows. The kitten’s safe, with a saucer of milk all her own. She’s taken quite a liking to me. Or perhaps just to not being terrorized by stray dogs.”
    “I’m glad you kept her.”
    “So here we are, and you still haven’t told me your name.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Alok. Alok Mukherjee.”
    “I’m very pleased to meet you, Alok,” he says and licks his teeth. There’s something fidgety about him today, not like the calm of that old half werewolf I met yesterday.
    “What’s your name?” I ask, after waiting awkwardly.
    “Professor—you don’t mind if I still call you Professor, I hope—my name hardly matters.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “You
haven’t
been listening.” The refusal to play his part in this human ritual disturbs me. The waiter appears with his bottle of Royal Stag, a glass, and his bronze peg measure, and pours us both doubles. I wait.
    “What should I call you, then?” I ask the stranger once the waiter’s gone. The rims of our glasses meet sharply.
    “You can call me anything you want. Anything at all.”
    I find this an unwieldy suggestion. “Are you still saying you’re part werewolf?”
    “Isn’t that why you wanted to meet me again? To find out more? Alok,” he lilts. “What do you want to know?”
    “I—I don’t know.”
    “I’m aware of that. I’m asking what you do want to know.”
    “I know what you’re asking,” I tell him, irritated. For all his effort to project immortal wisdom, there’s something childish about his way of engaging with me. I look into my glass. “You’re interesting. That’s why I—” I clear my throat. “That’s why I agreed to meet you again.”
    “How kind,” he says.
    “I want you to finish the story you started yesterday.”
    “Ah. Professor.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table.
    “You’re clearly an intelligent man. I want you to know that. I’m not trying to best your intellect with an elaborate prank here.”
    “That’s good, I guess. You don’t have to keep calling me Professor.”
    He smiles. “I find you interesting, too, though you might not believe it. We’re not the same at all. We’re not even close to the same age. But if we’re to talk like adults, you’re going to have to take a leap of faith that quite frankly isn’t possible for a human being in this day and age, not one in your social and environmental circumstances.”
    “You’re telling me I’m going to have to believe whatever you say,” I say.
    “You don’t have to believe me. But you’re going to have to act like you do. For the sake of this play we’ve both walked into. You agreed to be in it, yesterday night. If you abide by that agreement, we can talk.”
    “And why do you think I’ll do that?”