“Mimi would never,”—my skin writhed with the effort of containing my emotions—“ever have kept that a secret from me.” She would never have conspired with you! She would never have hurt my child!
“She kept many secrets.” Sal’s face was the picture of innocence, cherubic in its golden self-satisfaction. He’d never looked more alien.
The room darkened as if seen through the gelatin haze of old film. I tried to blink away the black spots floating across his face, but I couldn’t remember how to breathe. How could she have done this? Did she know what it meant? Will Sal remove them? Can he? My body ached for air and my hands spasmed.
“Ow!” Pain kick-started my breathing again. And cleared my vision enough to see an inordinate amount of blood splattering into the sink. Sal was beside me immediately. He pried my fingers away from the blade and threw it on the counter.
“Don’t. It’ll stain the grout.”
He looked down at me and spoke slowly. “Eileen . . . gather cloths and something to cleanse her wounds.”
She peered around my other shoulder. “Can’t you show her how to heal it?”
“Now, please.”
“Does it hurt? How did you—”
“Now, child.”
I felt her stiffen, but she ran off to the bathroom. I hoped she brought the old washcloths and not the white—
“Lilith?”
“No one calls me that.” I tried to follow her, but he held my hands upright by the wrists. Blood was dripping between his fingers, but then again, why would he care about a little human blood?
“Lila, your grandmoth—”
“How could you.” Not a question, because I knew exactly how he’d justify it. “She’s a child. You said you would protect her.”
“I am!” his earnestness was almost believable—except that his grip was searing hot.
“Then get them out of her.” I hissed, twisting my hands to grasp his arms. I yanked him closer to me, and my strength seemed to catch him off guard. I crackled with electric fury—or maybe he was trying to use his modulators to suppress me. His skin turned an apoplectic shade of red, tight and shiny with the fever I could feel boiling off him.
“Not—” he struggled to speak.
“Mom!” Eileen was back. Shock and fear on her face, and peroxide, bandages, and a tattered washrag in her hands.
I released him. “The old blue one, perfect. Help me clean up, sweetie?” I used my elbow to adjust the faucet and waited for her to join me. “It’s nothing really, just nicked a couple of fingers. Chug some peroxide, would you?” My blithe tone was tempered perfection—until the peroxide bubbled. “Ohhhh-kay! That’s enough!”
“Show her how to heal them!”
“I’m fine, really.” The cuts were deeper than I’d realized, and somehow I’d managed to cut four fingers and my left palm, but I knew Sal couldn’t help me. He was too occupied with trying not to throw up.
“Why won’t you—”
“Leenie, I’m fine.”
“But—”
“There is nothing I can do, child.” Sal’s voice was hoarse, and Adam’s spare t-shirt was plastered against his sweaty torso. With effort, he heaved himself away from the counter.
“But . . . why not?” She looked up at me, fresh fear in her eyes.
“Because they didn’t give them to me, sweetheart.” Damn them to hell. Somehow he was going to fix this. “You’re the special one, angel.”
Sal reached across us for the cloth, and held out his other hand, palm up. I kept my face smooth and laid my hands in his. He didn’t try to meet my eyes—how could he!—but his touch was gentle as he blotted away the watery red. A warm tingle made me shiver, and the sting from the cuts faded away.
“You are both special.” He spoke softly, “The modulators were a gift to your child, programmed only to help her. If you cannot trust me, at least trust in your grandmother’s affection.”
My grandmother’s affection. He had done his homework, but he was right. Mimi would never have wanted anything but good health and happiness for my daughter, since her own had suffered so much.
“Didn’t she want Mom to have them too?” Eileen was leaning heavily against me now, seeking comfort.
“She did not ask it of me.”
Yeah, affection wasn’t the same as love, but what mattered was that Eileen could feel love—along with all the other messy human emotions—without being tortured for the privilege.
Sal lifted my hands higher, inspecting the still-welling cuts.
“You heal quickly, do you not?”
“Always.” I meant to sound flippant for my daughter’s sake, but as soon as the word left my lips, I regretted it. “And thanks to you, so does Eileen.”
It wasn’t much of an apology, but he nodded and dabbed the edges of my deepest cut. My blood was smeared on his forearms, but he hadn’t noticed. His shorn waves were limp across his forehead, and his beautiful features were sickly pale from the torment I’d inflicted—yet he’d taken my pain away. He’d been nothing but kind to both of us, and I kept making him suffer for it.
“Let’s call Adam.” Eileen pulled on my arm.
“I don’t think he needs—”
“He would want to know!”
“Honey, he’s got a lot on his mind right now . . . ” I glanced at Sal, “And I’m not sure we can tell . . . ?”
“But he’ll want to know what they did to me!”
Guess the cool factor had worn off. She attacked the bandages, tearing away wrappers one after the other.
“You are welcome to tell him, young one, but perhaps—”
“I told you not to call me that!” She slapped a bandage on my palm and I yelped.
“Perhaps,” Sal continued, “You might want to understand how the technology works before you try to explain it to someone else.”
Eileen smacked a second bandage beside the first, and I gritted my teeth.
“And perhaps,” Sal stopped her before she could pick up a third, “You might want to remember that your mother prefers not to keep bleeding.”
Eileen flushed, and I bumped her with my elbow. “No worries. I’ve got plenty to spare.”
“But why??!” she wailed. “If they’re so great, why won’t he give them to you? Why would Mimi only want me to have
