“I thought you wanted to come in, silly girl?” I whispered. It was incredibly dark out on the porch—as dark as Eileen’s room—and anxiety flickered again. I really, really needed to get some floodlights installed. “Don’t you want to come in?” I stepped aside, and she graciously decided to accept my invitation, slinking past while I quickly closed the door and refastened the lock.
A low vibration hummed against my right side and I spun around, but no one was there. Although Pebbles was certainly looking at something. My eyes narrowed. Sal’s lightning hadn’t bothered her, and everyone knew cats could see . . .
Sal had hedged his answer when I’d asked him about animals, but I’d seen for myself how two different cats had reacted with him. What did that tell me? Culturally, cats had been both revered and feared for sensing the supernatural, for being in league with unseen forces—even as being conduits to otherworldly realms like the afterlife that ancient Egyptians believed in. Could Pebbles see the things I felt? The things I could usually see for myself? Was she sensitive to different energies and could see—or sense—Sal’s uniquely alien energy?
Deciding to ignore the unidentified being beside me, I scooped up my cat and carried her to the couch. She wriggled free and perched on my knees, facing me expectantly. I was on the right track; I could feel it. Of course Sal would have a unique energy structure, or pattern, or whatever. All extraterrestrials would . . . wouldn’t they? Being different from creatures of Earth?
Well, maybe not. I was no physics or cosmology expert, so what did I really know about what life might be like on other planets? And he did say that his people were similar to humans. But still. Pebbles and that other cat had responded to something. Sensed something that altered their natural behavior.
I shifted her to the cushion. Wait here.
Padding quickly into my bedroom, I retrieved Sal’s lock of hair from my nightstand. Pebbles perked her ears as I came back to the couch and leapt onto my knees again to nose the soft little bundle. Purring in encouragement, she settled on her haunches and blinked at me.
Why would all of him disappear except two inches of hair? I supposed this additional mystery was why I’d saved it. It wasn’t as if I’d wanted a souvenir or anything. Pebbles yawned. Okay, so maybe I did want a souvenir. But only to remind myself what had really happened. Too bad I didn’t have a geneticist friend who could . . . but no. Clearly, Sal’s people preferred to remain anonymous, even though at least two of them walked around and interacted with humans. If I tried to get a DNA map of Sal’s hair, I’d get mind-wiped for sure. I couldn’t risk that.
A shiver trekked down my spine and I looked toward Eileen’s room. If Sal was monitoring me . . . could they see me holding this? They wouldn’t think I’d do something like that, would they? I started to place it on the coffee table to signal my disinterest, but then it occurred to me that I shouldn’t show fear either. It was nerve-wracking to think that Eileen and I were under constant surveillance, but maybe this was an opportunity to establish some sort of . . .
Well, trust was too strong of a word. Maybe demi-trust. I snorted and Pebbles’ eyes widened.
“Demi-trust in the demi-gods?” My whispered joke meant nothing to my cat, but I froze, listening again in my head. Just a silly play on words, the best my zapped brain could offer, but then again . . .
What was it he’d said? Six thousand years in this existence. Not planet. Existence. No . . . no, he had said “planet”. But he had also said “existence”, when he was explaining about his family. His “team”, he’d called them. What else had he said? I remembered that it sounded like a sales pitch. Research and development something or other . . . and salvaging this existence. Salvaging. Repairing. Saving? Not the planet, though, or maybe not only the planet. Existence. That was a pretty hefty metaphysical word.
Like the kind of word used by . . . people . . . who aren’t stuck with the whole vanilla version of space and time? Like the kind of people whom other people might have once upon a time believed to be . . . deities? My brain had no further comment for a few minutes. It was busy remembering how Sal had asked me if I believed in God.
I fidgeted with the lock of hair, stroking it as Pebbles settled into a tight ball on my lap, then holding it up to the light. It was like a tiny curving sunbeam, white-gold against the shadows of the room. But why was it left behind? And his clothes? Well, his clothes kind of made sense, if I could take the leap and accept his spaceship was in his body. And what a leap that was! But why leave hair behind?
Yawning again, I rubbed my eyes, the lock of hair tickling my nose. It was like a silky paint brush whisking across my skin, and I indulged in a delicious moment of playing with its softness before I suddenly realized—yet again—that Sal himself might be watching my bizarre behavior. Jesus Christ. Apparently I couldn’t blush enough these days. My blood was going to forget how to flow to my organs if I kept this up.
I was just so sleepy. It was hard to think straight. I should go lie down. If Pebbles slept with us, I was sure I could drop off no matter how dark the room was. She was an extra set of senses, and in
