“That’s why Paltrek and his father went to drag Annika away,” Jere realized. She had always been a monster, but having one of their esteemed family members put in jail like a commoner was unacceptable.
“The ones who died... it’s over for them,” Wren said gently, rubbing his hand up and down against Jere’s back. “They don’t have to suffer or fight anymore.”
“Because they’re dead.”
“That’s not always the worst thing,” Wren reminded him. “Sometimes staying here with a terrible master is far worse than dying.”
Jere pondered it for a moment. Wren knew that firsthand, and he knew how terrible it was to live in this state in general. Was it selfish of him to want Wren to continue living here? Leaving wasn’t safe, but was staying any safer? The threats, the violence—this SRA was supposed to make things better, not worse. He had done this to keep Wren safe, but was he going to be in more danger? Jere was terrified that it was backfiring, and all he could do was cuddle with Wren and hope it got better.
Even that was ruined soon.
A noisy crowd could be heard, ever-so-faint, approaching the clinic. Jere glanced at Wren, hoping that he had just been hearing things.
“I guess the healers are burned out,” Wren suggested.
“Or injured,” Jere contributed, reluctantly rising to his feet.
Shaken, he made his way to the front entrance of the clinic, finding a small group of rather exhausted looking healers in front of him. A few had small cuts and bruises, most likely from being caught in the crossfire, but nothing more.
“They’re bringing a few of the injured back here for treatment,” one of them informed him. “There were a lot of injuries.”
“I’m sorry, I...” Jere stammered. A part of him knew he should have been there. His medical ethics demanded that he help, that he heal the unwell, and his community ethics demanded it as well. Some of the people of Hojer weren’t that bad; enough of them had cast their support in favor of the SRA encouraging the lawmakers to pass it. These were his neighbors, his regular patients, and he had abandoned them when they really needed him.
“Nobody expected you to be there,” another of the healers pointed out. “You’re more of a target than any of us are, and we figured it would be best for you to be available afterwards. Someone needs to heal us up, right?”
Jere managed to force a smile at that. It was true; while they could certainly heal one another, having someone on reserve to clean up the last vestiges of the mess had its appeal.
His clinic was suddenly filled with others like him, other healers. They made their way to exam rooms, where they tended to one another, and where Jere healed them. It was strange being around others with his same gift. He hadn’t had this opportunity since he had been employed in Sonova. He missed it, the collegial nature, the jokes, the way that they knew exactly how draining and rewarding psychic healing could be. These were his people, and he was so often distanced from them.
Wren came out, perfectly polite and attentive. It still frustrated Jere, because even now, among his own kind, Wren wasn’t accepted. He never would be in a slave state like Arona. Sure, these people were nice to him, nicer than most, at least, but they still saw him as something to be used and exploited. He had no doubt that they would treat their own slaves decently, but they would still treat them as slaves. Jere longed for home.
The healers’ injuries were patched up pretty quickly, a little psychic healing and some traditional methods doing wonders. As they were healed, the remainder of those injured from the demonstration were carried to the clinic, mostly by slaves, although a few free people helped out as well when it was their loved one being brought in to be healed.
Jere quickly grew exhausted, dealing with all of this work at once. It was Wren who noticed, coming up behind him and carefully taking his hand.
“Go get Isis,” Wren suggested. “You’re letting them bleed you dry.”
“She’s upset,” Jere protested. Isis was his usual energy source, not to mention another set of hands, but Jere didn’t want to bother her. She was upset enough from seeing Arae, and he wanted to spare her the rest of the night.
“Go calm her down, and then siphon some energy from her,” Wren persisted. “That’s her job around here. She won’t mind, and if you take enough, she’ll probably sleep. I’m sure she has no plans of doing that now.”
Jere nodded, seeing Wren’s logic. He planted a quick kiss on Wren’s lips before leaving, and if the healer who happened to be walking by was surprised, he didn’t say anything.
Jere knocked on Isis’s door, surprised when she got up and let him in.
“I was wondering when you’d be in here trying to do your vampire thing.”
Jere smiled at the term. He really did feel like that; although the process of taking energy wasn’t exactly like a fictional vampire sucking blood, it was close.
“Can I come in, or do you want to be in the clinic?”
Isis shrugged. “Do you need me in the clinic? I sure as hell don’t want to be in there, but if you need the help, I guess that’s what I’m here for.”
Jere smiled at her offer. “Wren and I are managing pretty well. Like we used to.”
“Yeah, except now you have a willing energy donor. I’d rather stay in here if you don’t mind. There are so many people out there, a lot of healers. I swear, if one of them touches me, tries to steal my energy...” she shook her head. “Can we please just stay in here?”
Jere smiled, coming in and sitting on the edge of her bed. He would never allow someone to do such a thing, and he was pretty sure she knew that as well as he did, but it wasn’t a completely illogical fear. Healers from a slave state would likely think nothing of such an action, although he assumed they would at least ask his permission, first. They asked to use his other tools and supplies.
She sat facing him, and he waited while she calmed herself and nodded before reaching out to put a hand on her face, lightly cupping around the back of her head. It was a good position to facilitate the energy transfer, and they did it often enough that it had stopped being too strange.
She let him in easily, and he connected to her psychic energy, turning the flow to himself. It was like a water faucet, except in reverse. He could feel himself filling up as she was drained, and he could feel her growing weaker and more tired with every minute that passed.
It was a short process. Not even ten minutes passed before Jere felt almost completely recharged. He pulled back, giving Isis her space, and watching in thinly veiled amusement as she shook off his touch like a dog would shake off water.
“No, you didn’t hurt me, and no, I’ll never get used to that,” she declared, smiling at him. She knew Jere had experienced it himself, he had told her about how they used to practice on each other in medical school. It was a strange feeling.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else from me tonight?” she asked, looking instantly exhausted.
Jere shook his head. “Wren and I can manage. Plus we’ve got healers from all over. They can help, in exchange for the free healing they’re getting. Are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” Isis said. “I’ve been through worse. Tell Wren I want something big and good for breakfast tomorrow.”
Jere laughed at that. “I’ll pass the message along. Thanks.”
He returned to the clinic, leaving Isis to rest. He was glad he no longer had to worry about her the way he used to.
The night ran long. People kept wandering in, and Jere treated them accordingly. The out-of-town healers did their part, taking turns resting in empty exam rooms and eating the quick, simple meal Wren prepared to keep everyone well-nourished. Jere was reminded of his training days in the emergency rooms in Sonova, and was struck by a pang of loneliness. Still, this had to be a good sign. He had support, he had community... even the patients who were clearly opposed to the SRA were polite enough. Hojer needed him and he was here to stay. At least for a while.
By the foll
owing day, reinforcement police officers had been called in from other towns, and the number of riots dropped sharply to zero. If people were still killing their slaves, they were disposing of the bodies discreetly. Once the SRA was officially signed into law, the act was a crime, punishable by a considerable fine, up to a year in prison, and education on the proper keeping of slaves in a peaceful community. Nobody was testing that law out yet, but Jere was certain that it would come.
Paltrek and Dane left the following day. Paltrek was hung-over, Dane was still miserably depressed, but they had each other. Paltrek insisted that he had his hand around Dane because he was wobbly and needed his slave to support him, but Jere could see the way that it was Dane leaning into Paltrek, not the other way around, and he could see the way Paltrek squeezed him and promised him that everything would be getting better. Some things would never get better; Dane would never get his sister back. Monsters like Annika would continue to torment and abuse. Jere doubted he would be immune. Maybe the death threats would continue to come, sometimes thinly veiled in letters, sometimes in the forms of rocks through windows.
Jere was glad the SRA had passed, and that he had been a part of it. He had always done what he could for Wren and Isis at home, but he was their master. As a free person, he was the one with the power to change more than just how they ran things in private. He hated the role, but it gave him some leverage that he could use to his benefit. He might not be able to convince Wren to stay with him, and he would never force him to stay in a place like this forever, but while they were both here, it was his duty to make it as comfortable as possible. He had neglected those duties long enough; no matter how badly things had ended for others, he felt relief knowing that Wren and Isis would both benefit from the provisions of the SRA he had helped pass.
When he was summoned to meet with President Clemente again, he wasn’t surprised. He went alone, figuring that Wren and Isis could use some time to catch up, anyway. The police slave still guarded the door, and Jere felt confident that his home, property, and family were safe.
“Thank you for supporting the SRA,” Jere said as he entered the president’s office. “It went over well. I hope your position as president is solidified for a while to come.”
President Clemente nodded. “It is. I’m just trying to work out what happens next.”
Jere was curious as to what his role was going to be in this process, but he didn’t bother to ask. The man sitting in front of him clearly had the power to make things happen; Jere was just along for the ride, now.
“Now that the Slave Control, Regulation, and Enforcement Agency has been replaced with the Slave Regulation Board, and now that slaves must be treated in human health clinics, we need someone to serve as the director of our Slave Health Agency. That person will oversee the provision of healthcare to slaves across the state, including reviewing care, verifying that facilities are compliant, and performing state-mandated health screenings on slaves.”
Jere nodded, fully agreeing. He hoped that person would be better suited for the job than Arnsdale was, but he had his doubts about anyone from a slave state. While the healers were in support of the new regulations, they still viewed slaves as far less than human.
“You’ll be receiving a pay raise, and if you need additional assistants, we can provide them or provide you with the funds to purchase them,” President Clemente continued. “You’ll need to complete some additional trainings for slave-related issues. After all, our director needs to know how to perform sale evaluations.”
Jere paused for a moment. “I’m flattered, sir, but I’m not sure I’m the right candidate for the job.”
The president shrugged dismissively. “Once you sign it, your contract is indefinite. As a free man, you are always able to leave the state and void the contract. Don’t forget that I pulled some significant favors to help you out recently. If I believe you are no longer a trustworthy associate, I may change my mind, and your assets may be seized again.”
Jere felt his throat tightening. This bastard was threatening Wren, and he was barely trying to hide it.
“Dr. Peters, you are the person I want in this position. You were the one who brought the SRA to life, and unlike Ms. Arnsdale, I am completely confident that you and I will work well together in the future. I need that. So do you. So, are you interested?”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“You always have a choice, Dr. Peters. The question is whether you can live with the choices you made.”
Jere was quiet. He had hurt this man’s daughter in ways that he should have been ashamed of. If this was the consequence, he was getting off fairly lightly. He’d want to do worse to Arnsdale if he ever got the chance, for what she did to Isis and Wren. “All right. I accept.”
President Clemente smiled. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement. I foresee you having a long and happy life in Hojer.”
Chapter 38
Decisions
Wren was pleased by how quickly things went back to normal, as if Hojer could ever be considered normal. What was left of the couches had been dragged outside and carted away by a team of slaves that worked for the city. Wren had picked out the new furniture from a catalogue he got at one of the stores, and a team of strength-gifted slaves would be delivering it later today. Once the house was put back together, he would feel more at home.
He knew that Hojer should feel normal to him, but living with Jere had changed him. He knew that the three of them were as normal as they were going to get. A slave, in love with his master, a master, in love with his slave, and yet another slave, their adopted little sister who was quickly turning from a damaged girl into a rather companionable young woman.
He and Isis enjoyed some downtime in the clinic for the first time in days. Jere had just finished sapping her of her energy, and she was working on food and Crucial Care to rebuild her strength.
“Aren’t you glad that it’s me instead of you who gets to do this?” she teased Wren.
“I have to admit that I am. I used to hate it when my old master would take my energy like that.”
Isis smiled back at him. “I don’t really mind it that much. Which I guess is good, seeing as it’s pretty much an everyday thing, now.”
There had been an increase in the number of slaves they were treating in the clinic. Just making the option available last year had opened the doors to many more patients; now that it was mandated that slaves be treated by human healers, the numbers were swelling. Jere was even in contact with the local veterinarian, getting regular referrals from the most reluctant of slaveowners who still insisted on trying to get their slaves healed “on the side.”
“It’s busy,” Wren agreed. “Hell, just keeping up with the front desk and all the records is a challenge, now.”
Isis laughed. “Yeah, and you have a speed gift. And the other one. Still can’t believe you kept that a secret. Jerk.”
Wren smiled at her. Now that she knew, everything seemed easier. She was part of their family, after all. She deserved to know. And it was far easier to explain how the coffee was always kept warm without anyone needing to reheat it.
“It wouldn’t be okay here without you,” Isis blurted out, looking embarrassed the moment the words left her mouth. “We’d be too busy and stuff. I can’t do what you do. The front desk, the people. I don’t like to be alone with them. I can barely manage it when Jere is with me, and that’s because he doesn’t make me talk to them or do stuff for them. If you left, we’d have to get someone else, another slave or something, and I don’t like other slaves, either. I don’t like anybody else but you and Jere, and sometimes Kieran and Imelda. I don’t want Jere to be all sad and moping all the time, and I don’t want to try and explain how things work to some new person, and I don’t want you to go.”
Wren was silent, considering her words. He had come to his decision already, mostly, anyway, but he hadn’t told either Isis or Jere, because he wasn’t completely sure, and he wanted
to wait for the right time.
“And I’ll be really unhealthy, because neither me or Jere will make food, and we’ll just eat toast and cookies and coffee all the time. And I’ll miss you.”
“Really?” Wren was a little surprised by the confession. He knew Isis didn’t hate him like she used to, or fear him, but he thought she’d be okay if he just disappeared.
“You’re from here. All the things that Jere doesn’t get, you do, and you don’t bitch all the time about how you want things to be different. You know how to deal with things the way that they are. And when Jere has his stupid whiny bitch moments and gets all depressed, you’re the one who always cheers him up. He needs you, and so do I. I know it’s not fair, and I know I don’t even have any right to ask you this, but I don’t want you to go.”
Wren caved. He was going to tell Jere first, when he told him about the job offer letters, but he was waiting for the right moment, and the right moment presented itself with Isis first. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Just because I asked you?” Isis replied, in disbelief.
“Well, no,” Wren admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it. I sort of made up my mind a few days ago, at least, for the most part. I want to stay, for now.”
“Did you even tell Jere, yet?”
Wren shook his head. “Nope. Let the bastard stew for keeping us in the dark.”
Isis giggled at that thought. “That’s not really why you’re doing it, though, is it?”
“No. I just wanted to be sure, completely sure, and I wanted to wait for the right time.”
“So you picked a break at the clinic?” Isis said, giving him a skeptical look. “No offense, but you need to wait for a better ‘right time’ with Jere. He’s going to want to be all happy and celebrate and kiss you and shit. This will make his fucking day.”
Inherent Cost Page 34
