Chapter 2: Friend, Foe, or Food

As we neared the door to the caf, I could feel Mark's tension rising. Whatever he was expecting to see, it was neither a food fight nor a party. That was much weirder to me than any sound- Mark was the least frightening person you ever met, but he was also one of the hardest to scare. Nothing fazed Mark; before he had come to my place he had had to spend a lot of time with his dad at work. He had seen emissaries of all different aliens; he'd even seen a couple of daemons. All the kids here envied Mark's experiences. I'd seen his face glow and his eyes light up as he told stories he heard from his dad's soldiers; tales of glory, conquest, and usually a lot of bloodshed. He never looked worried. That meant that something was wrong now. Really wrong- so out of place it was unnerving even him. I'm not boasting for him- I'm trying to explain that if Mark was concerned, the end of the world wouldn't surprise me.

I'm not going to lie, I was starting to get a bit tense too. Mark and I have always had a close connection. When Mark started getting worried, I was never too far behind. As you can imagine, there was just a little pressure in the air when I opened the door. The door swung open smoothly, and we walked in. I blinked in surprised. "Err…what?"

"I told you, bro. There are always people in here. Always- without exception. You can't have 500 teenagers in a passing period without some of them getting hungry." He was right too. This was no longer just weird, just that little twinge of "What" that you get when something's not quite how you expect it to be. This was the scary weird, that feeling someone's watching you when you're in a really old mansion with all the lights out at midnight. The feeling someone's going to reach out from that antique mirror and strangle you and they'll find you the next morning dead on the floor. The caf has people. It's like a rule. There was food laid out, just as always- the synthesizers were operating as normal, making sure the shelves and hot plates were stocked with the correct quantities and types of food. But there were no people happily munching, no cheerful gossipers talking about the latest break up or anxious nerds going over their answers on the last test, all over a cup of hot caffeine and a plate of biscuits. We entered slowly, passing tables and benches until we reached the center of the room. There we stood, me standing in a bemused daze. Mark, on the other hand, had a look of minor panic in his eyes, and his hands were wringing together as his eyes searched frantically for any sign that this was a practical joke. Finally, I summoned the presence of mind to talk.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for all this. It's a practical joke, some old Stone coordinated to get even at us for those paper airplanes during passing period last week. Or maybe its Dominus the ancient (our math and tactics teacher) getting some revenge for when we organized the strike."

"I hope you're right, Jeremy. I hope this is just a practical joke. With all my heard I wish nothing more than that you're right. Because if not, we're in a great deal of trouble, and I don't mean the head master kind." I glanced over at him, and now I was really starting to get worried. His face was as pale as a servitor, and his hands were shaking too much even to get much of a good wring in. He kept turning around, still glancing around as if in hopes he would finally catch the telltale signs of a practical joke. I think we both jumped ten feet in the air when we heard it. Thump thump…thump thump. "Emperor's ear!" Mark swore angrily and started running towards the door. I chased after him, nearly tripping over my own feet and having to high jump over a bunch of tables.