“You live in an area that is prone to these storms. The ocean heaves chaos and change at you; and you must prepare, adapt, or risk destruction.” He turned to me, and I was surprised at the considering look in his eyes.
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds fairly melodramatic. We do have The Weather Channel, you know . . . ” my voice trailed off as a muscle in his jaw tightened. “Well . . . Mother Nature offers so much, I guess we figure it’s worth the risk.”
“Mother.” A small smile relaxed his face as he studied the rain again. “I have always liked how your kind attributes the feminine to chaotic forces. And their unintended consequences.”
My own lips tightened, and apparently his peripheral vision missed nothing.
“What are you thinking?”
“Now isn’t really the time . . . ”
“Please, I often wonder what you are thinking. I may not have the opportunity to ask you again.” The quiet regret in his voice was disconcerting.
“What do you—”
“Please.”
“Sal, it’s nothing. What do you mean—”
“I would really like to know.”
“Jesus! Fine.” My fingers made quote marks in the air, “The feminine thing.”
He blinked.
Oh, please. Six thousand years and this was new info? “Storms and Nature—even Earth—were labeled as feminine because the patriarchal powers du jour vilified women as tempestuous, unreliable, and dangerous in order to undermine matriarchal belief systems which they viewed as a threat. On the other hand . . . ” I shrugged, “ . . . it’s appropriate because of the creation symbolism. From chaos comes rebirth. In fact, birth itself is a . . . ” It was my turn to blink.
“Birth itself is . . . ?”
“Seriously, now’s really not the time. So just nevermind. It’s accurate. Sort of. Except for the unreliable part.”
He waited.
“Women don’t bail.”
“Bail?”
“Shirk our responsibilities.” I blushed at my reverse sexism, “Okay, not fair . . . ” I was representing all of humanity here, “ . . . not all men bail.”
“You have personal experience with this?”
I gritted my teeth and looked away to gather my thoughts. Fell into that one, stupid. Pebbles had finished grooming and was eyeing me from the bed near the door.
“Look. All people have strengths and faults, and we all have our little dramas to play out, but at a certain point we have to decide whether we want to act in a better story. It’s up to us.” I capped off my evasion with a pretty convincing smile—I thought—and he turned back to the window. “Sal, I need to know—”
“I do not have much time.”
“That sounds . . . ” Final. In spite of everything, my stomach clenched—not at the fears I’d squashed in my gut—but at the thought that he might not come back. Because of us. Because of me. When he touched my elbow, I allowed him to guide me to the small armchair. I sat down gingerly, uncomfortable that he remained standing, and miserable with the implications of his words. A shiver made me wrap my arms around my stomach.
“Are you cold?”
I shook my head, but he leaned over me to touch the wall.
“What are you—”
“You have to let me speak now.”
I suppressed another shiver and braced myself. Here it comes.
“You were right. We are monitored as well, and once the Servants realize you are not at your home, they will use me to find you.”
“No!”
“Do not be afraid.”
“I’m not! I’m—it’s . . . ” I struggled to sit still, to find words, to not wrap my arms around him instead.
He sank into a crouch in front of me. “I am not abandoning you, Lilith Ann. I need to go to them. To try to explain my involvement. To stop them from acting before I have a chance to research you.” His eyes dipped to my knees, “And Eileen.”
Research? “Sal . . . ”
“There is not enough time to explain. Please trust me.”
“Jesus! I’m not sure why I should, since you aliens seem to think humans are scum and are scrambling our genes to make us all your slaves—”
“No! No . . . we . . . it is complicated, but we—”
“The hell with complicated! Why else do your servants want Cara and her baby?”
“Servants will help her. The baby is—”
“Not human. Figured that out already.”
His eyebrows shot up. “The child is human, Lila! Just with . . . additional traits.” He held up a hand when my mouth opened, “And no harm will come to your friend or her child. But without help, parturition will be unsuccessful. And after . . . after, the baby must stay with us.”
“You can’t do that!” I grabbed his wrist, “What about Adam? You’ll break his heart! They love it already—don’t take it from them!”
He looked at me oddly, and I let go. Didn’t they? My arms snaked around my ribs again. Why else would they go through something like this? Tears popped into the corners of my eyes.
Sal nodded. “You see, it is complicated. Even for your kind.”
My roller coaster temper barreled through his curve. “And how exactly is this so complicated for your kind? You go around and test on us like we’re lab rats and then worry about the results?”
“No! It really is not like that. I want to tell you more, but . . . ” His voice dropped to a tone so low that I found myself leaning forward even though I was still glaring at him. “ . . . I cannot.”
Our faces were inches apart as I weighed whether I believed him. I still hadn’t made up my mind, when he took my hands in his.
“Your friend will be given a choice. She can stay with her child if she wishes. Most mothers do not want to. It was not always that way, but . . . ” his lips twisted as if tasting a bad
