Read Levels: The Host for Free Online Page A

minute it looks like it’s all over and the next thing I know, I’m in . I did a song and dance and thought I could weasel my way in, but it turns out that had nothing to do with it.”
    Narcolo finally put the spoon down on the counter next to the stove. He looked up, made a little questioning expression with his eyebrows, then exhaled slowly and went back to his somber frowning. “I always knew you’d get in, kiddo. No question. You’re host material.”
    “Maybe they just liked my style,” Watly continued. “But it almost seemed, looking back, like they wanted me all along. Wanted me specifically. I got a funny feeling they just wanted it to seem like they were giving me a hard time. Nothing I could put my finger on.”
    Narcolo walked slowly around the counter toward the living area. Under the worn checkered shirt, his bony shoulders were slumped and defeated-looking. It was more than your standard First Level slump. “Of course they liked your style, Watly. You’ve got something special, kiddo. They must’ve seen it in you.” He stepped up near Watly and looked at the expensive bottles. “What’re. .. what’re they paying these days?”
    “Ten thousand New York dollars a hosting,” Watly said, passing by his uncle to the kitchen. This was not what he wanted. Not what he needed from his uncle. Right now, he needed that charming boyish giddiness he’d seen so often the past month. He needed his uncle to express the excitement and joy that Watly himself so often had trouble expressing. Maybe a drink would help.
    Narcolo whistled breathily. “Those are big bucks. Big bucks indeed.”
    Watly rummaged in the pristine kitchen cabinets until he came up with two cloudy glasses. He crossed back to the coffee table with them and splashed a healthy dollop of booze into each one.
    “What’s the deal, huh, Uncle?” Watly asked, passing one full glass to a withered right hand. “This is what I came here for. This is good news. I’m on the way to getting my dream now. I’m doing the impossible. Hey”—Watly touched Narcolo’s shoulder—”what the sub’s the deal here? You look like somebody died.”
    Narcolo tossed some of the liquid to the back of his throat and swallowed hard. He sat down—almost fell down—on the worn pillows of the couch. “I just thought we might have more time like this.”
    Watly took a sip of the strong booze himself. It burned roughly on its way down the pipes. “ More time?”
    “I didn’t think it would happen so fast—the hosting.” Narcolo gulped down the rest of the glass and coughed away a booze bubble. “You’ve only been here a month, kiddo.”
    Watly smiled. “I’m not going anywhere, Uncle.” He saw fear in Narcolo’s eyes. Fear for Watly’s safety, or maybe just fear of being alone again. Or maybe a little of both.
    “We’ve been having an okay time, haven’t we, kiddo?” Narcolo asked, reaching forward and pouring himself another brimful glass of booze. “Downright fuckable time, huh? You and me? Roommates. Send me to the Subkeeper if I’m lying.” He leaned back limply into the cushions and took a sip from the glass. Some of it missed and ran down the side of his chin. A smooth, pink tongue peeked out and lapped up the dribble. “We shop, we walk, watch CV, eat good food.” The gray-blue eyes focused directly on Watly now. “Just didn’t think everything would move so fast, kiddo. So damn fast.”
    “This doesn’t change anything, Uncle,” Watly said. “I’ll still be staying here. I’ll just be working as a host now—finally earning my keep. This is still my home here, Narcolo. I’ll stay as long as you can stand me.”
    Narcolo looked around the room angrily. “Some home this is. Some raping home.”
    Watly thought for a second and then spoke again, softly. “I won’t leave you, Narcolo.”
    Narcolo gulped down still more booze. He seemed to be drifting away someplace. “Family used to mean something once,” he said. “Long