by Nara Malone
The house was sparsely furnished to leave running room for stray children plus an assortment of one-eyed cats and three-legged dogs. It seemed a huge cavern now, hungry for the sound of small feet. She dropped her bag on the couch and a dust mote swirled upward to catch sunlight spilling through the window. There was no dust in Adam’s house. She flopped down beside her bag and propped her feet, still shod, on the scarred coffee table. This would be a nice change.
She would not be lonely.
A sudden hollow feeling had her pressing her hand to her stomach. She had grabbed groceries on her way through town and had knocked the edge off her hunger on the way up the mountain. She just needed real food. A sensible meal, tomato soup and grilled cheese would fix her up.
She made a mental list. Unpack car, eat, shower. She stifled a yawn. Nap. She never needed naps. She yawned again.
* * * * *
“I am okay.”
“Will be away a few days.”
“Do not call office.”
Adam snapped the phone shut. What use were voice messages like that? They didn’t tell him anything.
He cursed technology at the same time he blessed it. She was all right. She was still speaking to him—kind of. She wouldn’t respond to his calls. He couldn’t ask anything. He couldn’t explain anything. But worst of all, he couldn’t warn her.
The door slammed and Ean jogged down the stairs to Adam’s lab. “She wasn’t at the apartment. I drove by her work and your car wasn’t in the lot.” He tossed Marie’s keys on Adam’s desk.
Adam relayed Marie’s messages.
“Away a few days…how many days?”
“I don’t know. How many do we have before things get critical?”
“Gestation is about three months and the sooner we get her shifted the better off she’ll be. So many factors go into determining her shift date and we have no way to monitor them.”
“Okay, let’s assume worst case. How long before she gets into trouble?”
“It could be as little as a week or as long as three weeks. After three weeks it could get serious.”
“She will come back before then.” Adam hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. Her human form could not handle the rapid growth of so many babies. She had to be back by then.
Chapter Six
A brisk autumn morning was already mellowing toward noon when Marie woke the next day. Even after she splashed cold water on her face and drank two cups of coffee, she could have gone back to bed. The men had worried about surviving her? She took a third cup of coffee to the porch and surveyed the yard. She’d been up here to mow at the end of September when Adam was away on business.
Just looking at the sea of leaves that needed tackling made her tired. She sat down on the top step. If Adam knew about this place, he’d have sent an army of gutter cleaners, leaf rakers, plumbers, and painters to set it all right for her. He loved solving her problems. But this wasn’t a problem. This house was family, like an aging aunt that had grown crooked and wrinkly and rooted in your heart. It was the last surviving member of the only family that wanted her. She had to care for the house herself.
An hour after she’d started raking, vertigo forced her to stop. Every time she turned her head the world went into a spin.
She decided it must be hunger and ate a lunch that would have impressed Ean. Now she was dizzy and drowsy. The couch called to her. Just for a minute she thought, lying on her side, tucking her palms under her cheek. The room was black and cold when she woke. She blinked at the darkness, only half awake and the image of tigers floated before her eyes. Three tigers racing between trees, leaping into a river. The image faded and her stomach growled.
She pushed up on her elbows. The dizziness remained. Maybe a touch of flu. She squashed the little voice of hope in the back of her mind. There would be no symptoms of pregnancy less than a week out from conception. Her stomach sounded another gurgling complaint. Flu didn’t normally leave you ravenous.
She fixed a large bowl of cold cereal. She stirred her cornflakes, pale orange islands in creamy milk. She liked the cereal when it just started to get soggy. An image came to her, the way a snatch of a dream sometimes did, orange on white, soft creamy fur, her hand stroking under a tiger’s chin. A purr rumbled loud as thunder. Glowing yellow eyes. A long pink tongue slid out over gleaming teeth—
She dropped her spoon. The image vanished like a switch tripping and she shivered. It was only a dream. She knew that. She knew she could pick up that thread and follow it back into her mind, recall more. She didn’t want to. Her stomach churned like a lake in a storm. She pushed the bowl away.
She laid a fire in the living room hearth and curled up on the couch with her mini laptop while the fire crackled and a cup of herbal tea soothed her. She logged into unforum.
When you need to escape your problems, there’s nothing like solving someone else’s. Some people smoked dope when they wanted to stop thinking, some drank whiskey. Marie’s drug of choice was immersive fiction. Marie followed a breadcrumb trail to a story cleverly scattered across cyberspace. She couldn’t decide what was more addictive, the story, or the hunt for each new scene. She’d recently found one story character’s blog and was reading through the archives. The woman was moving too fast with guys she didn’t know anything about.
“Careful LadyBlue,” she murmured, “there’s more to these guys than meets the eye.” She spotted the email link and smiled. “I’ve always wanted the chance to talk some sense into a character.” She clicked the link and started typing.
* * * * *
Ean leaned in the doorway and looked across the great plain of the empty bed, through the balcony doors. Adam hadn’t moved in ten minutes. A breeze tugged his shirtsleeves. He just stood there looking, as if the stars might rearrange themselves into a map, or type out a hint as to where he and Ean should look next if he stared long enough.
Ean went out to stand beside him. “She must have a friend, Adam. There has to be someone who knows where she would go.”
“I was her friend, Ean.” Only his lips moved, his Adam’s apple rising and falling sharply with the words. In the faint light, Ean could see a glittery sheen to Adam’s eyes.
“This is what she wanted, Adam. It’s not betrayal to give her motherhood.”
Ean watched Adam’s throat work again, his eyes closed tight as if the starlight were too bright for them.
“It is, the way I did it,” he whispered.
* * * * *
She needed a doctor. Marie faced that fact. Time to pull herself together and drive back into town.
She’d thought a gentle walk in cool morning air might clear her head, push off the remains of whatever bug had hold of her. It left her too weak to think. Even now, on her hands and knees after losing her breakfast and washing her face in the cool stream, she could have stayed just so, watching the water swirl past for another hour or two as long as she didn’t have to move.
She dug out her cell and punched a button, then cursed the cloud-carpeted sky. Still no signal. She snapped it shut and tucked it into her back pocket. Heavy clouds and intermittent rain had been stalled over the mountains for days. How many days now? She’d lost track. She didn’t have the energy to drag the phone back out.
She’d stayed away too long, dreading the return to work at the office and lured by the rain that rolled in at the weekend. Nothing greased her mind’s wheels like misty light and rain thrumming on a tin roof. It turned her code to poetry in execution. The logic fell from her fingers to the keyboard in tight, clean lines. The programs didn’t just perform, they executed like an elegant ballet. She’d finished all the work she downloaded and the satellite link wouldn’t connect through the clogged sky any better than the phone.
Now that she accepted what couldn’t be put off, she couldn’t get back. She sat back on her heels. Water seeped into the imprints her hands left in the mud. She reached to touch the brown puddle where her right palm had been. The print changed, grew as b
ig as her head, dome-shaped with four toes. She blinked and her own small print was there again, filled with muddy water. The dream flashbacks had grown more frequent and more disturbing.
She pushed to her feet, feeling the waistband of her jeans dig. She couldn’t snap them. The zipper had worked its way down. She sucked in her stomach and tugged it back in place. She must be retaining water like crazy. She blamed that on a diet of canned soup and crackers that was just about all she’d managed to keep down over the weekend. She leaned against a tree and gathered her energy. Ean’s pampering and Adam’s overprotectiveness would be welcome now.
Up the hill, into the house for her keys, back down the hill, it seemed a journey of ten million steps. She stopped twice and sat on the damp ground, a chill working up through her bones. Weariness ran marrow-deep, forcing her to allow her craving for Adam out of storage, using that to keep her going.
* * * * *
“Okay, Ean, Let’s try it again.” Adam turned off the lamp.
Night had descended and he hoped they would have more success now than they had earlier in the afternoon. Darkness opened the side of the mind that spoke in images. There was just a faint glow now and Ean could no longer see his own reflection in the black mirror. A candle placed across the room scattered a faint sheen of light over the surface, giving a sense of depth.
Adam pushed the remote button and the music flowed in the background, a stream gurgled, birds sang to the accompaniment of a pan flute.
“Just breathe,” Adam said gently. “You aren’t trying to see something in the mirror. You are giving your mind a canvas where it can paint what it knows.” Adam put his hand on Ean’s shoulder.”Just breathe.”
“She’s afraid,” Ean said. “How do I relax?”
Adam could feel the tension in the muscles, knotted cords under his palm. “You do it by choosing to, because it’s the only way to help her.”
He felt the surrender then, that giving up. The tension knotting his own shoulders eased. This time they might make some progress.
The mirror was old, older than Adam, perhaps older than the magus himself. You could feel the pull of power, a wave washing through the room.
Ean’s breath rose and fell like the sound of distant surf and with each release Adam felt the tension recede. Connected to Ean, he watched the mirror for some hint, a clue. Soft blue fog filled the surface.
“I feel her. It’s faint.”
“Good. Stay detached. Let her come to you. Think of her eyes, the windows to her soul, see them shining out of the darkness and into you.”
“I see white, white everywhere. Bright light. She’s afraid.”
“What else is there? Peel back the fear. What lies on the other side?”
“Weariness. She’s tired. Something… Confused.”
An image took shape in the mirror. Did Ean see? Ean was better with aural telepathy and empathy. Visions made him nervous.
“Horrible. Something she sees is horrible and evil.” Ean was saying. “She’s sick, scared.”
Fog reshaped itself into the image of a man, his arm slung over the shoulders of a zebra, a rifle in his other hand. The zebra stared, dead-eyed, its head draped like a trophy over the man’s lap. The mirror went black.
Adam stared openmouthed. Where the fuck was she?
Ean leaned forward, hands over his face. “I can’t get it, Adam. I can’t see anything but I feel her fear like cold hands around my throat, choking fear.”
Adam squeezed Ean’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Ean looked up at Adam, his voice tight. “You try.”
“It’s no good, Ean. There’s a wedge, like a wall between us. I can’t get to her.” He switched the lamp on.
“That’s not her wall. It’s yours.”
Tightness spread across his chest, like the chest cavity shrinking, growing too small for heart and lungs. Adam rubbed at the breastbone with the heel of his hand. “You’re wrong.”
Ean opened his mouth to argue, then cocked his head sideways. “Do you hear that?”
Adam turned his head, tilted it. Then he heard.
Ean shot from his chair. “Where’s your cell?”
Adam flew for the stairs with Ean close enough behind to be a second skin.
It was upstairs on the bedroom dresser and it had quit by the time he held it in shaking hands. The screen displayed one missed call. He punched the button and held his breath. Marie’s name came up. He redialed.
“Pick up,” he muttered. “Please, pick up.”
“Adam?”
He dropped to his knees. His eyes burned and the room took on a watery blur.
“Where, love? Where are you?”
“I need you.” He could hear a tearful wobble behind her words.
“Just tell me where you are.”
“They said I’m pregnant, Adam.”
He swiped at his eyes. “You’re at a hospital then?” he said, his voice weak, tinny.
“Six babies¼ Six. How?”
“Marie, please—”
“They said second trimester. That’s not possible.”
“Who said, honey?”
Ean dropped to his knees and leaned in. Adam angled the phone and turned up the volume so they could both listen.
“Don’t listen to them,” Adam said. “Obviously, they don’t know much.” More lies but she sounded so frightened. He couldn’t think of a way to calm her.
“I saw the ultrasound. Little circles scattered like air pockets in bread dough.”
“It takes skill to read those things right. Tell me where you are, love.”
“One of those quickie care places. The one between the carwash and the pet groomer, Poodle Doos. Can’t think of the name of the clinic.” The sound crackled, her voice fading. “I’m not feeling well. I need to hang up.”
The connection dropped.
Ean was already heading for the door.
“Shirt and shoes,” Adam snapped.
Ean detoured for the closet. Adam raced back down the stairs for his keys.
Chapter Seven
Ean hadn’t questioned why Adam felt a need to rent a box van two days ago. He didn’t question why Adam insisted on taking that instead of the car. He didn’t ask Adam about a plan for getting Marie out of the clinic because he had assumed Adam would have one. Adam always had everything figured out and under control. Everything but this.
The receptionist had her arms folded over her chest. She leaned back in her chair. “If she’s your wife, why aren’t you listed as the person to call?”
“Maybe she didn’t feel like filling in every blank on the ten-page admittance form,” Adam said in a tone that could freeze hell over.
At this rate they’d be tossed out by their whiskers as quick as she could call security. Ean stepped up to the counter, squared his shoulders and placed his hands palms down on either side of the little wooden sign-in clipboard. “I’m Ms. Morris’ doctor.”
The corner of her lip curled as her gaze traveled from his hands, to where his t-shirt didn’t quite cover his bellybutton, to his face. Okay, he probably needed a shave. He resisted the sudden urge to smooth his hair. He probably needed a bath too. The t-shirt he wore was too tight and too short. Adam looked only slightly better.
“Are you?” Her tone sneered. “Her family doctor isn’t listed either.”
“Just ask her,” Adam snapped.
Adam’s hands curled to fists on the counter. His lips pressed tight, the frustrated roar they suppressed vibrated in the air around Ean.
Fortunately, the receptionist shoved her chair back and stalked off. Her heels rapped on the tile floor. The sound paused just on the other side of the waiting room door and Ean’s keen hearing picked up women’s voices conversing. “They’ll have to wait. She just collapsed—”
They weren’t waiting to hear more. Ean slammed through the waiting room door and Adam was right behind him. The ladies whirled round and flapped their hands as if they could herd the men back to their p
roper place. Adam headed for the first exam room in the row. The nurse made the mistake of inserting herself between him and his goal.
“You can’t do this.” She jabbed her file folder in the direction of the waiting room. “Go sit. We’ll call you.” She inched forward a step, trying to crowd Adam toward the door.
Ean could feel tension build, see in his mind’s eye the warning, whip-like snap of a tiger’s tail. Adam’s voice menaced, snapped. “Tell me where Marie Morris is or I will rip the door from each room until I find her.”
The nurse took a step back, hugging a folder she carried. Adam turned back to the first exam room. Ean didn’t know what the nurse thought, but he didn’t doubt Adam would rip the door from its hinges.
“She’s in number five,” the nurse squeaked.
That’s where they found her, curled on her side under a paper sheet, looking pale, an IV attached. Ean grabbed her chart and joined Adam, closing the door in the nurse’s face. They might have three minutes before reinforcements showed up. He scanned the chart.
Marie struggled to sit. Adam touched her face, kissed her lightly on the lips. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, clinging.
“How’re we doing?” he asked Ean.
Ean tossed the chart on the table, one hand reached for her wrist and the other grabbed a stethoscope from a counter. It took thirty seconds to assess and give Adam an answer.
“She has to be shifted.”
“Can it wait ‘til we get home?”
“No.”
Marie was looking from one to the other. “What’s wrong? My babies?” Her hand went to her stomach.
Ean put his hand over her lower abdomen, next to hers, the swell of her uterus palpable. “Our babies are just fine sweetheart. It’s you we’re worried about.”
