CHAPTER SIX

Protocol

Once the toast and coffee were gone, Warren abruptly announced, "Excuse me, I've got work to do," and left the kitchen. Alone and unsure of what to do with herself, Karou collected up their dishes and set them into the sink. With no dish soap or obvious cleaning utensils in sight, she gave up on that idea and wandered into the living room. Down the hall, she spotted her host; he'd dressed in fresh clothes and was making his bed. Recalling how precisely the sheets had been tucked and folded the night before caused her a little embarrassment; she'd left them in disarray.

Straightening the tie about his neck, Warren stopped by the front door and checked that it was locked, not-so-discreetly. Then, when passing, he said, "I'll be gone for maybe an hour," and shut himself away behind a door on the far side of the room.

The luxury of being left to her own devices was lost on her. Although it was better than being trapped in the Khoury's basement, this was still confinement. So, for some time, she stood gazing about the house, adrift from reality. How she had come to be in this place seemed like make-believe.

Twenty minutes were wasted scanning the titles and flicking through the books on the shelves surrounding the large, flatscreen TV. The factual, autobiographical, and historical titles didn't interest her. What caught her attention the most were his trinkets. A ceramic jug, a scented candle, and a plastic potted plant gave her very few clues to his personality. Did his living quarters truly have no personal touches?

Stepping back from the bookcase, she spotted something that looked more promising. Although Karou had been scolded as a child for looking with her fingers, that had never dissuaded her curiosity; instead, she glanced over her shoulder before pulling a handful of vinyl record sleeves from the shelf to inspect the album covers. It was another bust. She only recognised two of the artists, and so she placed them back with a huff.

Turning away from the bookcase, her eyes wandered around the living room. On the coffee table sat a black glass ashtray, similar in size to the coasters that accompanied it. Next to them, placed as if to tempt her, were a packet of cigarettes and a book of matches. Karou wasn't actually a smoker, but she had stolen a smoke or two from her mother throughout her adolescence—she stopped because she never noticed. Lighting up seemed like a good idea at the time, but the moment her mouth filled with the smoke of her first drag, she regretted her decision—she'd forgotten how rancid cigarettes tasted. Now, she was stuck with a barely smoked cigarette and a match to dispose of, and seeing that an ashy graveyard did not inhabit the ashtray, the lone stub would stand out.

Karou was in the bathroom, flushing the cigarette and washing the bitter taste out of her mouth, when she heard Warren's austere voice boom over the running water, inquiring where she was. Peeping out of the doorway and down the hall, she saw him waiting for her at the front door.

"Follow me," he instructed, holding the door open for her. "And stay close."

When she asked where they were going, he reasoned that even if the amount of time she had to stay was undetermined, she should know her way around. When she'd noted that several other similar-looking buildings surrounded his home, he sternly commanded her to steer clear of the 'nocturnal quarters' and their residents. Warning her, "If you ever enter one of those units, you'll never come out."

While her new keeper led her around the labyrinthine corridors of the Compound, they inevitably found themselves back in the common room she'd briefly seen the evening before. Her eyes were drawn to the cosy Chesterfield sofas arranged before the open fireplace. Still, the way they lit up, captivated by the library, caused Warren to smile to himself secretly.

On their walkabout, they passed people of all sorts, and each stared at Karou. Some were so bold as to turn their heads to look longer. She wondered how obvious it was that she didn't belong there and that she was Mortal. Of course, she knew they weren't. They were Mythicals of every Western species—an eclectic community. Contrary to Karou's assumptions, Warren knew their attention was likely due to her being with him—no one had witnessed him keep any kind of company during the time he'd lived there.

Warren eventually led Karou outside to tour the grounds. They bumped into one familiar face: the guard with the kind smile. Unlike the night before, he was dressed down because it was his day off, but what was the same was his smile. As they approached, he grinned at her, pleased to see that she'd made it through interrogation. Though, he couldn't help but be curious as to how she'd managed to survive.

Karou's curiosity about the lupine was equally piqued, and Warren noticed her head tip to one side—the bird-like movement seemed to be one of the strange girls' mannerisms. He also couldn't help but notice that the Lycan's eyes lingered on Karou's neck—he knew what he was looking for, and it irked him. Fortunately, Nate was in the company of the West Gate's head guard, which allowed them to pass by without being waylaid by chit-chat and pleasantries.

Though the pair laboured a little way behind Karou and the Overseer, they all headed towards a tumbled-down section of a dry stone wall that the cobbled path led through. It subsequently diminished into nothing more than a rough dirt track once they were past the rubble. Despite the Compound grounds, gardens, and courtyard being open to the sky, it was never far from Karou's mind that they were in the middle of the wilderness. Quickly, they were surrounded by trees. Trees of all genera circled the outer wall, standing as an extra layer of protection from the Mortal world's seeking eyes. Karou could've been excused for assuming that they were now beyond the wall, but Warren assured that, in the distance, it still enclosed them.

There was something nostalgic about being amidst the trees with him. Suddenly, she announced, "Uh—I'm Karou, by the way,".

"I know. I hadn't forgotten. You have such an unusual name," he assured and almost smiled, much like he had done the first time she introduced herself.

"You're... Mr. Howard, right?"

"Yes, that's right." He nodded. "Warren Howard. But you can just call me Warren." And once again, as he briefly met her eyes while they walked, his lips twitched as if he might grin, but he didn't. It was his eyes that harboured his smiles; they had returned to a stunning shade of blue that reminded her of the summer sky and all its calm vastness.

Tucked between the maze of tree trunks and foliage, a building came into view. Karou watched the Lycan enter, and Warren explained that it was a tavern belonging to the community named The Brass Lantern. It was as quaint a building as its title, and just as the exterior promised, the interior wasn't of the present age either. It felt as though they'd stepped back in time. Karou was awestruck, taking everything in, but they hadn't been inside long when Warren was distracted by his cell phone ringing from his pocket. He answered it and immediately cussed under his breath.

"Tour's over. I have to take you back—"

"If duty calls Boss, I'll take care of her while you're gone." The Lycan, who hadn't been far in front, interjected.

Warren took a few moments to mull it over. While Karou looked between him and the Lycan, he looked between the Lycan and her.

"Alright. Behave yourself." He warned Karou, "And Nate, bring her back to me before curfew."

As Karou watched Warren leave, the stinking feeling that overcame her stomach felt ill-placed, but she couldn't deny its presence. Fumbling with her fingers, she loitered in the lobby, cautious to enter the tavern through its inner double doors.

"Don't look so worried. I'm not half as scary as the Boss." The Lycan said, pushing open one of the doors to welcome her inside. "Would you like a drink?"

Karou stepped up to the threshold and said, "Uh, no, I think I'm okay, thanks. Actually, I just wanted to look around." Peering inside, she imagined she could come to feel comfortable there. The building had the kind of cosy vibe she appreciated, but she couldn't help feeling out of place while wearing the dirty clothes and soggy tennis shoes she'd arrived in.

"Well, would you like to go explore someplace else then?" Undeterred, the Lycan flashed her his kindest smile, which she eagerly returned.

With no money to pay for a drink anyway, what was the point of remaining in the public house? Exploring somewhere less crowded could help ease her self-consciousness, so she agreed; "Sure. That'd be great."

Back out, under the trees, Nate introduced himself and suggested they walk northward a little; there, he showed her the West Gate's delivery depot and where he lived in the Compound's 'alternative' living quarters—he lived with the Faefolk. He pointed out that the Lycan Village was just a little way further into the trees. Being that he was a Lycan, she wondered why he didn't live there, too, but figured she didn't know him well enough to ask yet.

They chit-chatted, sharing the usual introductory information, such as how old they were, where they were from, hobbies, musical tastes and the like. Nate was doing a good job steering himself away from the questions he was dying to ask, but Karou had noticed that every so often, he'd sniff her, however discrete he attempted to be. His eyes also kept finding their way back to her neck time and time again. Gradually, she began to wonder whether his friendly demeanour was genuine since his odd behaviour was a little off-putting.

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Before long, they crossed a bridge over a stream that ran through the grounds. It returned them to the main building. Once again, the books in the library called out to her like a homing beacon. Wandering the aisles, she figured that if she was going to stay here, wherever here was, she might as well make the most of it and read as much as possible.

"There hasn't been a new arrival in about three years," Nate commented as he reached an arm over Karou's head to retrieve the book she was grasping for. As he placed it into her hands, he smiled toothlessly; he had such a friendly face and kind eyes. "No, Mort—One makes it through interrogation, 'especially not with the Boss..."

"You want to know how I—a Mortal—managed to then?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he shrugged and admitted, "Well... Yeah."

"I don't know. He didn't really interrogate me," Karou answered, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.

The growl from a grumbly, hungry tummy cut through the quiet pause between them. Karou's brows shot up in surprise, which quickly gave way to embarrassment as a flush rushed into her cheeks.

"Ha-ha—C'mon, it's about time I got you back anyway." They shared a chuckle, and then a new quest to take her back to the semi-underground apartment her host lived in began. "Say, he does eat, right?"

✷✷✷

It was almost sundown—diurnal curfew—when Karou returned. Only the lounge's standard lamp illuminated the place in subtle, yellow light. She wasn't three steps inside when a deep voice called to her from over the room.

"Always take off your shoes,"

Startled by the sudden order, Karou's head whipped around. There, she spied him, sitting ominously in the corner of the couch, half in shadow.

"Please." He added more gently.

"Yeah. Sorry." Her voice came out as a mutter. Feeling scolded, she obediently slipped off her dishevelled shoes and set them down beside his polished brown brogues. The two pairs of shoes could not have been more contrasting. As if matters couldn't have been worse, her stomach growled loudly.

"Huff. I guess you didn't eat at the tavern, then," Warren hadn't planned to eat that night; he'd consumed all the sustenance he needed that morning in the privacy of his office, but now it looked like he'd have to make an effort toward the girl's wellbeing. He'd hoped she'd take the initiative and care for herself while keeping out of his way, but she was already a nuisance. Regardless, he offered, "Would you like something to eat?"

"Uh, yes, please." As she answered, she wiggled her toes in her stained socks with a hole in the heel. "D-do you want me to make dinner? You made breakfast."

"Are you a good cook?" Warren asked, straight to the point.

Karou merely shook her head in reply. It would have been embarrassing to admit that all of her culinary attempts had ended in disaster, but it was the thought that counted, right?

"Then, no, I don't want you to cook for me," Warren stated in a tone that made her no longer feel polite for offering but stupid. When he stood from the couch to go to the kitchen, Warren noticed how Karou held herself and also how bedraggled she looked, so despite how rude his previous statement had been, he tried to show a kinder side. "You should go get washed up while I make dinner."

"Ah—a—alright." She feebly agreed, still at a loss.

Before she could ask, Warren nodded to the unit's only hallway: "First door on the left. There are fresh towels in there, and feel free to use the uh—products."

"Thank you." Karou scampered away immediately, only for him to call her to attention again.

"Hey, Karou! You can eat pasta, can't you?"

She couldn't recall having mentioned that pasta was her favourite, but how pleased she was that that was what he planned to make broken out in a smile that beamed across her face while she enthusiastically nodded.

Warren had barely any time to react before she disappeared, but somehow, the simplicity of her pretty smile had melted away the weight burdening his shoulders. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he turned to his pantry cupboard and shook his head, muttering, "Oh, boy… What have you got yourself in for?"

Peeling off the clothes she'd been wearing for almost two whole weeks felt amazing, but the hot water was even better! The grime, sweat, and dead skin sloughed off of her. Her neglect melted away. Bathing in luxury was so far removed from what she was used to. The shower back home gave out a mere trickle compared to the rainfall effect of the sunflower-sized showerhead above her now. She could stretch her arms wide without getting caught up in a cold, clingy, mildewy plastic curtain. How pristine the tiles and glass were only made her feel cleaner. Taking in the sleek, grey-tiled, wet room she found herself in; she couldn't help but think that if someone had taken this much care of how nice their plumbing looked, they must have a lot of money. It was just another thing that left her feeling overwhelmingly out of place. On their first meeting, Karou thought Warren must've lived a life beyond anything she could have dreamed, and she was right.

Halfway into massaging Warren's citrusy shampoo into her scalp, a trill of taps rattled on the door.

"I've left you some clothes to change into on the bed."

Wrapped in a towel, Karou dashed through the steam and straight into the bedroom. There, she found a pile of neatly folded clothes waiting for her, just as Warren had said. They didn't fit, but they were more comfortable and cleaner than her shabby garments.

Dinner must be ready. Even from the hallway, she could smell something delicious. Upon entering the kitchen, she found a piping-hot bowl of spaghetti in marinara sauce sitting on the granite island. Warren sat before one place setting, and across from him, he'd set her place. Next to his plate, he had what looked to be a journal or planner and was writing something into it. With his free left hand, he gestured to the bowl and invited her to help herself.

All while he wrote in his planner, Warren's mind was only half focused on his work. He was still contemplating whether it was fate that Karou had bumped into him twice in the space of four months and with over two thousand miles distance between their meeting places. Of course, he didn't really believe in such things. Mostly, he thought that people created their destiny. Still, he couldn't help but wonder, Was I meant to take you away in August?

Dinner was quiet and passed unceremoniously, but Karou couldn't remember when she'd had food so tasty. Warren was careful not to stare at her while she ate, but Karou wasn't quite so cautious. Between fighting the urge not to abandon all table manners and scoff down as much spaghetti as she could, her eyes repeatedly returned to the man sitting across from her. She'd never eaten dinner with a lone male companion before.

After wiping his lips on a cloth napkin, Warren lifted his planner and slid the thick paper binder from beneath it, over the granite, towards Karou.

"What's this?"

"It's protocol that I give this to you." Warren shrugged and got down from the barstool to clear away their dishes. "It's a manual. 'The rules', if you will."

Karou pulled the document closer and flicked to the contents page. The headings caused her brows to rise. "Magik and Elemental manipulation regulations... Luna transformation regulations, Sanguine feeding restrictions, Diurnal and Nocturnal Curfew, Inter-racial conflict and relations directive." Karou read aloud.

"You'll notice there isn't a section pertaining to Mortals, but as I said, it's just protocol." When Warren glanced over his shoulder at Karou, it suddenly occurred to him that he was officially welcoming her into the Compound and into his home, no less. She was even wearing his clothes! In vain, he tried not to let his eyes linger on her too long, but how dainty she looked drowned in the jersey fabric of his T-shirt retained his attention. He'd already begun filling the sink to wash the dishes, but when his wandering eyes settled on flesh—she hadn't bothered to dress her lower half in the lounge pants he'd provided—a plate almost slipped through his fingers.

The slapping sound the pages of the booklet made closing together roused him, and not a moment too soon, for he could feel the depraved voices in his mind gearing up to start their salacious jabbering.

Warren flinched away when Karou promptly dismounted the stool and invaded his personal space in her eagerness to be helpful. "Oh, let me wash up. You cooked for me; it's the least I can do."

All he could muster was a weak agreement when backing away to allow her access to the sink. It took a great deal more willpower than he was comfortable admitting to make himself turn around and leave the kitchen without looking back to ogle her. Standing with her back turned to him, shirt hanging just below her buttocks and legs bare, while washing the dishes, she was an easy target.

When Karou arrived in the lounge, she found Warren had splayed himself onto the leather couch as if he were utterly exhausted. Sensing that she didn't know what to do with herself, he offered, "You can take the bed again. I'll be fine on the couch."

"It feels rude to make you sleep on the couch."

"I agree that's not an ideal solution, but for now, it'll have to suffice," Warren stated so formally that it made Karou feel… unwelcome. He had a knack for being mercilessly blunt; he came off as unfriendly. "I don't have anywhere else to house you."

Definitely, nowhere that I can be sure is safe. He couldn't just bung her into an eight-bunked room with a bunch of other Mythicals. But I'm not entirely sure you're safe here with me, either.

"Go and get some rest. I've got some more thinking to do about this situation we've found ourselves in."

"Okay… Well, goodnight then. And uh, Warren, thank you. For everything," Karou muttered politely, leaving him stunned by how casually she addressed him.