Free Alternity by Mari Mancusi Page B

of guilt at the thought. Should I be enjoying this luxury while so many people are suffering below?
    I shake my head. I can’t think like that right now. And refusing a hot bath will not feed a hungry child. And so, pushing back the guilt, I lower my body into the tub, trying to force my brain to stop whirring at least for a moment.
    But still the questions poke and prod, refusing me rest. Where am I? How did I get here? Who are the Eclipsers and what do they want with me? Why does Dawn hate me so?
    And most importantly …
    Who is Mariah Quinn and why does she look exactly like me?

EIGHT
     
    “This place is gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it,” I exclaim as the hostess escorts us to a plush booth at the back corner of Luna Park Terrace restaurant. And I mean it. The entire room is carved out of a sort of polished smoky blue glass—the tables, the floors, even the walls—allowing for a tremendous view of a nearby lava-filled crater. The lava bubbles and boils beside us, but we’re cool and comfortable. This place is beyond breathtaking. A study in fire and ice.
    “You haven’t?” Duske asks. “What a shame. But you have so many other lovely things where you come from. I hardly think you should complain.”
    “Oh,” I say, taken aback. “I’m not complaining. I’m just impressed.”
    Before Duske can respond, a wrinkly man dressed in a tux and with a name tag that simply reads WAITER approaches our table. He bows at the waist.
    “How do you do this fine evening, Brother Duske?” he asks with an impeccable English accent. “It is an honor to have you patronize our humble establishment.”
    “It is an honor to be here, Brother Claude,” Duske answers with the same modicum of respect.
    The waiter turns to me. “And you, Sister. It is an honor to—”
    “A bottle of your finest vodka,” Duske interrupts.
    The waiter nods, seeming a bit taken aback by the interruption. “Of course,” he says, bowing low again. “So sorry, Brother Duske.” He hesitates for a moment, as if daring to speak again. “And would you like your usual entrees?” he asks at last.
    Duske glares at him. “I would like my usual,” he says. “But this young lady has never dined in your establishment. So I am sure she would like to hear the specials.”
    “Right. Right,” the waiter stammers. I raise an eyebrow. Does he also think I’m Mariah? A nervousness gnaws at my stomach.
    The waiter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, patting his brow. “Today we have a lovely butternut squash ravioli, dusted with sage and swaddled in a soy cream sauce. We also have a black bean and tortilla pie, glazed with a faux honey chipotle.”
    “I’ll take the ravioli,” I say, relieved the options aren’t cow brains or monkey livers. You never know, right? I glance over at Duske, who nods his approval. The waiter bows once again before retreating to presumably fill our orders. Duske watches him go. “Don’t mind him,” he says. “Brother Claude spent too much time on the surface during the early years. It’s a shame to see a mind go to mush like that.” He shakes his head. “In any case, what was I saying? Oh yes, how lovely it must be to live on Earth.”
    I shrug awkwardly, not sure how to respond.
    “We on Terra are quite envious of all the opportunities your world affords. There are people here who would give their right arms to live on Earth.” He strokes his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “Come to think of it,” he adds, “I believe some have.”
    I start to laugh until I catch his expression. Is he serious?
    “But how rude of me. I promised you answers,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “Perhaps I can start with a little history lesson of our humble world of Terra?”
    I lean forward eagerly. “I’d like that.”
    My host clears his throat dramatically before beginning. “Once upon a time,” he pronounces with a playful grin. “Isn’t that how you Earth people like to begin