Anxiety. With a snap, his mind finished cataloging the emotions affecting him. He was anxious because at any second she would discard the maternal role of consoler and divulge something that would most likely result in her—
That was the flashpoint. His modulators activated, and the pain was profound. His eyes teared and his breath rasped as every cell in his muscle tissue, heart, and lungs trembled as if on the verge of combustion. If he could not calm himself, the searing pain would escalate and his brain would perceive the damage as irreparable.
He sank onto the step and embraced the blazing darkness behind his wet eyelids. Categorize your thoughts, his Givers had taught him. Identify. Prioritize. Isolate. The needs of one could not negate the responsibilities to the many. But his need had already compromised . . .
No. One woman might die. Or lose her will to live. Or go mad. One human.
But if she did, how would that affect—
The needs of one. Always the root of ill. He deserved the burn, accepted it, and began composing his report on Cara Mason. His dual-time was limited by the sleep his body needed, and like all of his kind, he needed very little sleep. Regardless, succinct reports provided the greatest clarity. His task was to identify. Others would qualify.
Introspection—and extreme discomfort—confounded his ability to focus on Lila’s voice. The data was recorded, but, really, there was no need to reference the conversation at all. Simpler, if he attributed significance to the girl’s lack of fractals. That was atypical for pregnant humans—especially given the fetus’s dominant heartbeat.
Yes, concision was best.
His temperature cooled, and the pain receded.
✽✽✽
Not surprisingly, it was easy to convince Cara she’d had enough for one evening. I walked her out into the chilly, damp night, and helped her into the big Ford, passing her a box of tissues—courtesy of Maureen’s well-stocked guest room—for the tears still trembling on her lashes. Any second now, she was going to start crying again, poor thing. As I shut the truck door and headed back into the house to find Adam, it occurred to me that, like the Ford, Adam was her big protector. It was a nice thought, and I smiled for the first time in what felt like hours, though we’d only been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes.
From what I’d seen, she might need protection no one could give. Were the angels fighting the dark things? Or just . . . coexisting? Either way, with what she’d told me, anyone who believed her would have to be ready to defend her. Secrets that big couldn’t be kept forever. And how could I not believe her? How was what she described any stranger than the countless things I’d experienced?
Thoughts for later though. Right now I needed to find Adam and make Cara’s excuses to Maureen and Phil. And I seriously needed some coffee. I was processing the craziness okay for now, but at any second, the weirdness was going to hit, and I really, really wanted a hot cup in my hand when that happened.
As I entered the foyer, Maureen called down from the upper landing. “There you are! Where’s Cara?” She hurried down the stairs, out of breath and flustered. A poisonous spider on a pregnant woman was obviously not her idea of a successful dinner party.
“She’s fine, just . . . emotional. Hormones.” I’d assured Cara that pregnancy hormones were a perfect blame-all and encouraged her to milk them as an excuse anytime she wanted to get out of something. That had actually made her smile for a half-second before the tears gushed again. Not much funny when you might be carrying Rosemary’s baby.
“Oh, no! Is she okay? Is she outside?”
“Yeah, she’s fine! Just a bit weepy and too embarrassed to let the men see. I told her I’d get Adam and pass along her goodbyes. It’s getting kind of late anyway, isn’t it?” I herded Maureen ahead of me and down the hallway back to the game room.
“It’s after eleven, I guess. Was it the spider? I feel terrible! We checked ev—”
“No, it wasn’t that. I told her I was bound to’ve been seeing things.” How was I going to tell her what I’d seen?
“What? You scared the living—”
“I know! I’m sorry.” I linked my arm through hers as we entered the room. “Really sorry. Told you social events weren’t my thing.” She rolled her eyes, but I knew I was forgiven. It may not have been my fault, but I did feel bad that her party had been so . . . odd.
I needed a new word. Maybe odd was the new normal.
“Where is she?” Adam’s worry triggered my chest pain again, but luckily I couldn’t see his angels. I was done for tonight and hoped they knew that.
“In the truck, but she’s okay . . . just worn out. We were talking . . . I told her I’d come get you.” I risked an extra moment of eye contact.
His eyebrows rose slightly, but he turned to Maureen and Phil. “She’s been having a rough time, but she really enjoyed being here . . . well, except for the spider . . . ” He glanced at me, and I made a face.
“Lila’s decided she imagined it! And after we searched everywhere!” Maureen may have forgiven me, but she was still exasperated.
“No more wine for you, missy! Sure you don’t need Sal to drive you home?” Phil’s grin was deviant, as usual.
“I am sure she can manage.” Sal spoke from behind me and I squealed for the second time tonight.
“Geez! Sure your name isn’t Lurch? You scared the hell out of me!”
Everyone froze. Guess I was a little too annoyed for polite company.
Sal’s mouth was a tight line, but then I realized he was biting his lip.
“What? Spit it out.”
“Addam’s Family, 1964 to 1966. Lurch was my favorite character.” He struggled to repress a grin, but failed miserably, and looked very peeved at himself to boot. This giant, golden, young man, this gorgeous Adonis, was so pathetically out of place here—possibly anywhere—that he made me feel normal.
Impulsively, I stepped to his side and looped one arm
