I give a jerky nod. “It's a lot, is all. You know—the last day's been...”
He kisses my forehead then speaks against my flesh, warming it, “We're okay?”
I nod again, a little surprised he would ask. “Yeah. It's the only thing I can handle.”
His lips smile against my forehead, and his hand goes to my belly. “I can't believe...”
“Me, either,” Deegan interrupts, crossing her arms.
Then they go silent, and I can tell they're arguing.
In their minds.
“Rude again,” I remind them. Their sibling telepathy is weird and irritating.
Deegan gives me a choice glare.
“What's the deal?” I ask Pax.
“I gave her a tough time for sexing with Mitch.”
Oh no. My hand covers my mouth. I didn't think it through. I'd been so busy thinking about me and Pax that...
Mitchell got Deegan pregnant.
My face whips to Pax. Wait a sec. “That's not possible. He's dead.”
Deegan's face turns red, and her forest-green eyes flash like low emerald fire.
Shit.
What on earth will happen to them? I guess Deegan's got a pass because she's a pregnant female.
But what about my brother? He's a zombie, and they're nothing but slave labor here.
I look uneasily at Pax then search for that Drextel guy, who's conveniently disappeared and I feel my shoulders ease.
“What is it?” Pax asks, threading his fingers through mine and staring intently into my eyes.
“What about my brother?” I ask just above a whisper.
Pax glances at Deegan.
“It's okay. I know the score.”
But her face is angry. Well sorry, but I didn't force her to screw Mitch. I mean—was that even a decent choice? He's dead, for shit's sake.
I shift my attention back to Pax, ignoring all the conversations swirling around us. “Is he safe here?”
A swollen moment inserts itself before he answers, “Absolutely not.”
My heart sinks. I didn't think so. Dammit.
“What are we gonna do?” I just accepted him as my brother, dead or not. It made the loss of Timmy less sharp. Having some family is better than none, no matter what the form.
He wipes another tear. “I don't know. Dad, me, and Gramps will figure something out.”
I put my head against his chest, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his mom heading our way. Great.
Nothing remotely awkward about that.
*
Jade is really pretty for an older gal. She has long black hair with only a few strands of white, and brilliant green eyes. She's short, like Deegan.
And her talent is Empath, so I'm not really interested in her touching me. At. All.
She doesn't need to see a replay of the Pax and Tara sex show.
I take a step out of Pax's arms and face her.
“So you're making me a grandma?” She smiles.
Huh. Not what I expected. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Welcome to the family.” Jade hugs me, careful not to touch any part of her bare skin to me.
Empath etiquette. Interesting.
We step apart, and I give her a tentative smile. “I think it's really weird that our kids will be the same age,” I offer, because it's true.
“Not weird. Special.” She smiles, flicking a strand of hair behind her shoulder.
“Really weird,” Pax mutters.
Jade shoots him a “shut up” look (one I've seen from my own mom about one thousand and two times), and he zips it.
“I bet you didn't really want another kid,” I say, and Deegan's eyes widen.
Mitchell and I have that in common. We both speak our mind.
Jade shakes her head. “Actually, I could only have Pax and Deegan. After that, my fertility dried up like everyone else's. The scientists postulated that since I'd had one child already, I delayed the inevitable and was lucky enough to have Deegan.”
“Oh,” was all I managed. “So you're happy about the pregnancy?”
Jade nods. “It'll be hard, but I love my kids.”
Pax and Deegan have matching dazed expressions.
“What?” Jade says, eyes narrowed. “Just because it was difficult doesn't mean raising you two wasn't without its rewards.”
Pax drags her underneath his arm, and she wraps an arm around his waist. “Love you, Mom.”
“I know,” she says, a coy smile curling her lips.
“Ya know, huh?” He smirks.
She sinks knuckles into his side with a hard twist, giving him an expert tickle, and he barks out a laugh.
The sight makes me a little sad—that I haven't heard Pax laugh until that moment.
This is a first. And I realize happiness is scarce here.
That sucks.
My eyes roam the room. Everywhere I look, people are talking and laughing, hugging, crying—and kissing.
These people love each other deeply. You can see it.
I rest my gaze on Jade and Pax. If she can welcome a girl into the family who just had sex with her son the night before, she's pretty understanding.
Of course, who knows what Jade's been through? Mom always said, “Everyone's fighting a battle; we just don't always know what it is.”
Pax sweeps a long arm out, hooking Deegan into the family huddle.
His eyes fall on me, and he jerks his chin up, beckoning me.
I walk toward them, and he pulls me into the group hug.
I cry within the Hart cocoon of hugging.
But they're not tears of sadness.
They're tears of hope.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gramps
Folding my arms, I take a gander around the room that my daughter's been recovering in, and am pleased to note that the troops don't seem so down in the mouth. Everywhere, there's conversation, and I see smiles and laughter.
That's a good sight better than where morale was an hour ago.
Hell, even a proper amount of chow wasn't enough to cheer the ranks earlier.
I guess everyone seeing Ali alive and very well might have something to do with it. We've been herded into a place that reminds me of the hospital where Peanut was spending her last days. The room is sterile, with a long, banquet-style table, phony quartz floors everywhere. White paint on the walls and more white paint. Doesn't matter. Ali's alive, and the kids—Archer, Mia, and Bry—seem to be okay too. Kyle looks a bit beat up, but he probably got worked over by the local Organic.
My eyes take in the girls. Damn weird with all the pregos running around. I cup my chin, grimace at the stubble, and drop my hand.
Checking out Kim, it gives me pause that she's the only lady among them who's not.
And here's to being a gentleman. I snort. Figures.
Oh well, in my own good damn time, we'll get around to the hanky-panky. Besides, a gal her age might not want a baby—she’s got to be pushing fifty. Hell, in my day—well, past my day—I remember that sweet pants Halle Barry, some actress that was a big deal at the turn-of-the-century. Didn't she spit out a kid at forty-seven? Not a thing wrong with it, either.
And why the hell would I get any gal pregnant? Ali's like two kids already. A fussy, emotional ball of fire.
One that I love like my next breath.
“Pops,” my favorite kid says at my side.
My only one. “Yup,” I answer, while swallowing the lump of gratefulness down in a hard purge. Can't believe a handful of days ago, I was saying goodbye. Hard memory to put away quickly.
I glance at Pax.
His eyes are on me. He gets my internal struggle, I think, and dips his chin at our silent epiphany. Can't really give much more of a clear sign, since he's in the middle of a girl gaggle.
“I can't believe everyone's pregnant,” she whispers in awe.
It's how we all feel. I can't remember the last time I saw a pregnant lady. The sight is mighty fine. Hadn't realized how unn
atural it'd become to hear so few children's voices. “Yup.”
“Pop,” she says insistently.
Shifting eyes in her direction, I say, “Can't help all the libido, honey. Didn't have any handy chastity belts or other apparatus. Had to make do and have a good night's sleep. As a matter of fact, I didn't much care about anything except sleep. Felt like I'd been run over by a Mac truck.” I smirk at the double entendre.
Ali rolls her eyes and frowns. “Oh my goodness.”
“Yup.”
Peanut pops hands on her hips, all business. “Is that all you're going to say?”
I turn, raising my eyebrows, and she laughs. “You're incorrigible.”
“Probably.”
Wrapping an arm around her (mindful of the bag of bones she still is), I carefully hug her to my side. “Gotta fatten you up, Peanut.”
“Yes. I think I'll have a quarter pound of butter at every meal.”
“Sounds perfect.”
We watch the group together. After a couple of minutes, she asks, “What about that Tate fellow? What's his role in all this? I understand he had quite a bit to do with Sanction's soft questioning of all of us.”
Nodding, I say, “Gave us a little reprieve for our reunion and offered the grandkids a job. Shrewd bastard.”
She pulls away a little to inspect my every micro expression, a frown marring the now-healthy skin of her forehead. “Really?” Ali's eyes search mine.
“Yup.”
She rolls her eyes again, and I grin.
“Now you're just being obstinate.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, they want Deedie to zap environmental disasters”—I whip my hand around—“wherever the hell all that stuff goes she makes disappear.”
“Shouldn't we find out where that is? Point B, that is.”
Maybe. “Not sure. The think-tank types will figure those factors out, I imagine. But the good news is, she gets cash—”
“Credits, Pop.”
I shrug. “Whatever. Point is...” I feel for a cigarette, check out the women’s eyes on me, and glower. Fine. “She can do some good and stop feeling guilty about what the pixie can't help.”
“That is hopeful.”
“Damn straight.”
Ali's lips flatten.
That's my girl. Anti-Profanity Queen.
“Wait,” Ali says. “What about Pax?”
“That part's a little vague.”
“There's enough AftDs for Sanction purposes.” Her voice holds all the suspicion I feel.
I grunt. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree. “Pax isn't on board to do Sanction work and doesn't want to do what Caleb's doing.”
“It's honest work, Pop. Moving the dead to make room for the living.”
I scrub a calloused hand over my flattop. “It is. But not very satisfying. You've heard Caleb. It keeps the family in bread and butter. But it's sort of an assembly line. Same old, same old.”
That strikes me as funny. I laugh.
Caleb gives me a raised eyebrow. I wave him away. Just discussing your boring work, son. Don't mind us.
I hold back a cackle. “And he doesn't have the temperament for it.”
Ali frowns. “I don't know if that's relevant. He got that girl pregnant...” Her voice drops. “The one from the foreign earth.”
Ali's been busy getting some details, I see.
“Yup, blinked her right here.”
Oh, the joys of my bizarre life.
“I don't know if I even care to hear the backstory, quite frankly,” Ali mutters.
I nod. “That might be okay.”
Ali shoots me a glare.
Yup, feeling like her old self.
Someone starts clapping.
We all turn and stare at a recent appearance of Drextel Tate, the swinging door to the large room we're in silently moving back and forth in the jamb.
Ninja type.
“All right, folks. Glad everyone's satisfied with the catch-up.”
I frown. “Not sure you have that quite right, Tate. But I'd like to take my daughter home.” Keeping my arm around Ali, I give the age-old stare-down challenge.
It would take some doing to pry me away from my only child who missed death by a hard thought.
Tate deflects, tossing his hands up in the air. “That's fine. We're not keeping you here. But Sanction will require their chunk of flesh.”
His eyes move to Pax and finish at Caleb.
Gooseflesh fights its way across my bare skin, and I itch to rub my arms without Ali knowing—without taking my arm from around her.
Kyle moves forward, still looking pretty dapper for over sixty. Now's not the time to feel prideful, and it's usually not my thing. But sometimes, it's great to look fifty for no good reason other than lady luck. Regeneration is a roll of those dice. The only nice part of eighty-five is experience. The rest just sucks.
“Randoms for Humanity is intent on furthering our species, not just Randoms. That's the end goal. But we must work in collusion with Sanction.”
Don't like the sound of that already.
“I'm not sure your wording makes me feel encouraged,” Ali says.
Couldn't have said it as well, but that's the gist of it.
“I'm sorry, collaboration implies a sort of reliance and friendship that is absent in this case.” Tate runs long, tapered fingers through his perfectly medium brown hair.
“Thank God,” Deedie says.
Pax is glued to her side. Good boy. Along with that cute thing from bot world. Cute pregnant thing.
Brother.
I frown. Bot world before bots. There ya have it.
“I only meant that we avoid each other and work together only when it serves both entities.”
That, I believe.
“Golden tongue,” Jonesy states with clear suspicion dripping from his voice.
“Well, they weren't going to send a dunce to convince the only known Atomic.” He turns to Deedie, and she nods permission that he uses the term coined by the Reflectives. “And the only known blinker?” He raises his eyebrows at Pax.
Pax shrugs. “Yeah. Can't come up with a better name.”
“I like it,” Tate quips.
“We needed to be well-represented.” Tate looks at us all.
“You weren't chosen just for that,” Caleb points out.
“You're already aware I'm a Manipulator. And John Terran is a five-point Null.” His barely-there smile says a lot of things: he’s not hiding what he is, not pulling the wool over folksʼ eyes, and so forth.
That's right. I never did have a hankering to itch my armpits and dance around naked under a full moon if Tate takes a mind to make me.
I glance at Terran. Maybe he's got the Null juice to shut Tate down. Drextel Tate has said as much with his words.
Tate shows discernment in reading expressions and non-verbal cues. “Don't worry, I'm not using my talent on acquisitions.”
“That's cold,” Jade says.
Tate sighs. “I'm sorry, there are many terms we use at RfH that sound a little clinical but make conveying information more steamlined. I wouldn't run through all the different talent labels—it'd take forever. It's simpler for me to just say acquisition and net the whole variety of talents with the one moniker.”
“I get it. It just sounds so much like the HC.” Jade shivers. Can't blame her on that one. They were the devil.
Caleb puts his arm around Jade, kissing her head. “Don't worry, babe. That shop's out of business.”
Tate's silent. “All right. I've been honest with you, and I won't stop now. There will always be people of ill intent, who want to take something powerful and use it as a way to gain more for themselves.”
Sounds about right.
“That's not what RfH is about. But that doesn't mean there aren't people who'd like to steal our acquisitions and make them into something terrible. Their goal would be the antithesis of what RfH is.”
“I'm not going to kill your enemies for you.”
<
br /> Tate smiles at Deedie. “I keep forgetting you're numbered. So many dots you just connected—so many leaps of logic.”
Deedie waits while I sort through their mental tug of war I missed.
“It's not just toxic cleanup is it?” Her deep-green eyes move over him, taking in more than the polished look he presents, but trying to dissect the man.
Tate shakes his head. “No. Those tasks are critical, essential but rudimentary compared to the wealth of things you are capable of.” His eyes circle the room. “This isn't classified exactly, but I'd rather talk about this with just you and I.”
“No,” Deedie says easily, not like a bratty pants, but like a young woman who's a Hart. Very willful bunch.
I tilt my chin down, smothering my grin with a fist.
“Okay...” Tate turns and faces the door, twisting the latch.
I tense. The only exit is now locked.
Not much for that. My upper lip tingles with the beginnings of sweat.
“There might be certain groups, those who are pushing for amendments to our constitution”—now that gets my dander up—“who would utilize loopholes through these amendments.”
“Like what?” Deedie asks.
“Currently, zombies pick up trash, handle hazardous waste, dig ditches, lay pavement. They are doing a lot of the grunt labor humans did two decades ago. Of course they can't be in food preparation or any health fields for obvious reasons.” Tate lets his words sink in.
Sounds a little bot-worldish in a strange way.
I chuckle, and everyone looks at me. “What?” Can't have a private thought? Just got an image of a zombie brain surgeon.
Hell, now that's funny.
Ali's brows come together.
Hmmm. I check out the floor, trying to put a lid on my humor.
“In any event,” Tate says slowly, and I fight laughing again, “there are those who would use zombies for illicit purposes.”
My head jerks up, and I look at Kim and Ron. They have to be hearing the parallels with bot world.
“What are you saying?” Jade asks softly.
“We've received intel that zombies will be used for sex services, enforcers.”
I shake my head. Undead pimps and whores. I've seen it all.
I dare not look at Kim or Ron. That'd be a huge tell. Instead, I force my eyes on Tate.
“No way,” Pax shouts. “Zombies are not going to be pimps! And what? Female zombies for sex?” He spits the word out, but I see he and Deedie exchange a loaded glance full of the disquiet that's now brimming and spilling over into the space.
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