Fledgling_ a novel Part 13

I sighed. Of course he had not forgotten the question. "Embarra.s.sment," I said. "Pride. Imagine a doctor who has to ask her patient how to perform a life-saving operation."

"Not a confidence builder," he said. "I can see that. But if they know anything, you need to find out."

"I do." I drew a deep breath. "Brook is older. Maybe I'll feed from her first and find out what she knows."

"She can't be much older. They look about the same age."

"Do they? Brook is older by about twenty years."

"That much?" He looked skeptical. "How can you tell?"

I thought about it. "Her skin shows it a little. I guess it's as much the way she smells as the way she looks. She smells ... much more Ina that Celia does. She's been with my father longer than Celia's been with my brother. I think Celia is about your age."

He shook his head. "Brook doesn't have any wrinkles, not even those little lines around the eyes."

"I know."

"No gray either. Is her hair dyed?"

"It isn't, no."

"Jesus, am I still going to look that young in twenty years?"

I smiled. "You should."

He glanced at me and grinned, delighted.

"I think we're here," I said.

The car ahead of us had turned and pulled into the driveway of a long, low ranch house. There were no other houses in sight. We turned down the same driveway, and when Brook stopped, Wright said, "Hang on a moment." He jumped out and went to speak to the two women. I listened curiously. He wanted them to pull into the garage that I could see farther back on the property. It bothered him that this house was connected with Iosif's family. He thought the killers might know about it.

"You heard that didn't you?" he asked me when he came back.

I nodded. "You may be right. I hoped we could settle here for a while, but maybe we shouldn't. Even the police might come here to look for information about Iosif."

He pulled the car into the garage alongside Brook's. The garage had room enough for three cars, but there was no other car in it. "True," he said. "But we won't be able to use my cabin for long either. I already told my aunt and uncle that I was leaving." He hesitated. "Actually, they sort of told me I had to go. They know ... well they think that I've been sneaking girls in."

I laughed in spite of everything.

"My aunt listened at the door a few nights ago. She told my uncle she heard 's.e.x noises.' My uncle told me he understands, said he was young once. But he says I've got to go because my aunt doesn't understand."

I shook my head. "You're an adult. What do they expect?"

He pulled me against him for a moment. "Just be glad they haven't seen you."

I was. I got out of the car and stood waiting, wrapped in my blanket, in the shadow of the garage until Brook had opened the back door, then I hurried inside. There was, even from the back, not another house in sight. There were other people around. I could smell them. But they were a comfortable distance away, and the many trees probably helped make their houses less visible.

Inside, the rooms were clean, and there were dishes in the cupboard. There were canned and frozen foods, towels, and clean bedding.

"The rule," Brook said, "is to leave the place clean and well-stocked. People tend to do that. Tended to do that."

"Let's settle somewhere," I said to Celia and Brook. "I need to talk with you both."

Wright had walked down the hallway to look out the side door. Now he was wandering back, looking into each of the bedrooms. He looked up at me when I spoke.

I shrugged. "I changed my mind," I told him.

"About what?" Celia demanded. I looked at her and noticed that she was beginning to sweat. The house was cool. As soon as we got in, Brook had complained that it was cold. She had reset the thermostat from fifty-five to seventy, but the house had not even begun to warm up. Yet Celia was hot. And she was afraid.

I waited until we'd all found chairs in the living room. "About our becoming a family," I said.

Both women looked uncomfortable.

"If you know any other Ina, and you would prefer to go to them, you should do it now, while you can," I said. "If not, if you're going to join with me, then I need your help."

"We're here," Celia said. She wiped her forehead with a hand that trembled a little. "You know we don't know anyone else."

"And you know I have amnesia. I have no memory of seeing or hearing about the handling of symbionts whose Ina has died. Iosif told me a little, but anything either of you know-anything at all-you should tell me, for your own sakes."

Brook nodded. "I wondered what you knew." She took a deep breath. "It scares me that you're a child, but at least you're female. That might save us."

"Why?" I asked.

She looked surprised. "You don't know that either?" She shook her head and sighed deeply. "Venom from Ina females is more potent than venom from males. That's what Iosif told me. It has something to do with the way prehistoric Ina females used to get and keep mates." She smiled a little. "Now females find mates for their sons, and males for their daughters, and it's all very civilized. But long ago, groups of sisters competed to capture groups of brothers, and the compet.i.tion was chemical. If a group of sisters had the venom to hold a group of brothers, they were more likely to have several healthy children, and their sons would have a safe haven with their fathers when they came of age. And their daughters were more likely to have even more potent venom."

"The sons would have more potent venom, too," Wright said.

"Yes, but among the Ina, the females competed. It's like the way males have competed among humans. There was a time when a big, strong man might push other men aside and marry a lot of wives, pa.s.s on his genes to a lot of children. His size and strength might be pa.s.sed to his daughters as well as his sons, but his daughters were still likely to be smaller and weaker than his sons.

"Ina children, male and female, wind up with more potent venom, but the female's is still more potent than the male's. In that sense, the Ina are kind of a matriarchy. And a little thing like Shori might be a real power." She took a deep breath and glanced at Celia. "Ina men are sort of like us, like symbionts. They become addicted to the venom of one group of sisters. That's what it means to be mated. Once they're addicted, they aren't fertile with other females, and from time to time, they need their females. Need ... like I need Iosif."

She knew more about Ina reproduction and Ina history than I did. She should, of course, after so many years with Iosif. But still, hearing it from her made me uncomfortable. I tried to ignore my discomfort. "You were with Iosif a long time," I said.

"Yeah." She blinked and looked off into the distance at nothing. "Twenty-two years," she said. She covered her face with her hands, curled her body away from me on the chair, crying. Like Celia, she was a lot bigger than I was, but for a moment, she seemed to be a small, helpless person in deep distress. Yet I didn't want to touch her. I would have to soon enough.

She said through her tears, "I always knew knew that I would die before him and that was good. I was so willing to accept him when he asked me. G.o.d, I loved him. And I thought it meant I would never be alone. My father died when I was eight. I had a brother who drowned when he was seven. And my sister's husband died of cancer when they'd been married for only two years. I thought I had finally found a way to avoid all that pain-a way never to be alone again." She was crying again. that I would die before him and that was good. I was so willing to accept him when he asked me. G.o.d, I loved him. And I thought it meant I would never be alone. My father died when I was eight. I had a brother who drowned when he was seven. And my sister's husband died of cancer when they'd been married for only two years. I thought I had finally found a way to avoid all that pain-a way never to be alone again." She was crying again.

"I'm Iosif's daughter," I said. "I hope that my venom is strong and that you'll come to me. It won't be the same, I know, but you won't be alone. I want you with me."

"Why should you?" Celia demanded. "You don't know us."

"With my amnesia, I don't know anyone," I said. "I'm getting to know Wright. And there's a woman named Theodora. I'm getting to know he. And, Celia, I'm only beginning to know myself."

She looked at me for several seconds, then shuddered and turned away. "I hate this," she said. "d.a.m.n, I hate this!"

And this was the way a symbiont behaved when she was missing her Ina. Or at least this was the way Celia behaved-suspicious, short-tempered, afraid. Brook and Celia were both grieving, but Celia must have been longer without Stefan than Brook had been without Iosif.

I got up and went to Celia, trying to ignore the fact that she clearly didn't want me to touch her. She was sensible enough not to protest when I took her hand, drew her to her feet, and led her away into one of the bedrooms.

"I hate this," she said again and turned her face away from me as I encouraged her to lie down on the huge bed. She smelled more of Stefan than she had before, and I truly didn't want to touch her. Where I would have enjoyed tasting Theodora or Wright, I had to force myself to touch Celia.

She turned back to face me and caught my expression. "You don't want to do it," she said. She was crying again, her body stiff with anger.

"Of course I don't," I said, and I slid into bed next to her. "Stefan has posted olfactory keep-out signs all over you. Didn't you ever wonder why Ina can live together without going after one another's symbionts?"

"It happens sometimes."

"But only with new symbionts, right?"

"You have amnesia, and yet you know that?"

"I'm alive, Celia. My senses work. I can't help but know." I unb.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt to bare her neck. "What I don't know is how this will be for you. Not good, maybe."

"Scares me," she admitted.

I nodded. "Bear it. Bear it and keep still. Later, when I can, I'll make it up to you."

She nodded. "You remind me of Stefan a little. He told me I reminded him of you."

I bit her. I was more abrupt than I should have been, but her scent was repelling me more and more. I had to do it quickly if I were going to be able to do it at all.

She gave a little scream, then frantically tried to push me away, tried to struggle free, tried to hit me ... I had to use both my arms and my legs to hold her still, had to wrap myself all around her. If she'd been any bigger, I would have had to knock her unconscious. In fact, that might have been kinder. I kept waiting for her to accept me, the way strangers did when I climbed through their windows and bit them. But she couldn't. And strangely, it never occurred to me to detach for a moment and order her to be still. I would have done that with a stranger, but I never thought to do it with her.

She managed not to scream anymore after that first strangled sound, but she struggled wildly, frantically until I stopped taking her blood. I had only tasted her, taking much less than a full meal. It was as much as I could stand. I hoped it was enough.

I gave her a moment to understand that I had stopped, and when she stopped struggling, I let her go. "Did I hurt you?" I asked.

She was crying silently. She cringed as I leaned over to lick the bite and take the blood that was still coming. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed but managed not to push hard. I went on licking the bite. She needed that to help with healing.

"I always liked that so much when Stefan did it," she said.

"It should be enjoyable," I said, although I wasn't enjoying myself at all. I was doing what seemed to be my duty. "And it helps your wounds heal quickly and cleanly. It will be enjoyable again someday soon."

She relaxed a little, and I thought I might be reaching her. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe you've got some kind of keep-out sign on you, too-as far as I'm concerned, I mean. I panicked. I couldn't control myself. Your bite didn't hurt, but it was ... it was horrible." She drew away from me with a shudder.

"But do you feel better?" I asked.

"Better?"

"You've stopped shaking."

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks ... I guess."

"I don't know exactly how long it will be before we can take pleasure in one another, but I think it's important that you do feel better now. Next time will be easier and more comfortable." Now that I'd bitten her, it would. It seemed best to tell her that.

"Hope so."

I left her alone in the huge bed. She wouldn't have been able to sleep if I'd stayed. I wouldn't have been able to sleep if I'd stayed.

I went to the bathroom, washed, and then just stayed there. I knew I had to go to Brook soon. The longer I waited, the harder it would be. Maybe Brook would have an easier time since she hadn't seemed so needy. Or perhaps it would be worse because she'd been with Iosif for so long. Was twenty-two years a long time when she would live to be maybe two hundred? If only I knew what I was doing.

I sat on the side of the bathtub for a long time, hearing Celia cry until she fell asleep, hearing Wright moving around the kitchen, hearing Brook breathing softly in one of the bedrooms. She was not asleep, but she was not moving around either. She was sitting or lying down-probably waiting for me.

I got up and went to her.

"I thought you could wait," she said when she saw me. "If you wanted to, you could wait until tomorrow. I mean, I'm all right now. I'm not getting the shakes or anything."

I didn't sigh. I didn't say anything. I only went to the bed where she lay atop the bedspread and lay down beside her. Her scent was so much like my father's that if I closed my eyes, it was almost as though I were lying in bed beside Iosif, and even though I had begun to trust Iosif and even to like him, I had not found him appetizing in any way at all.

"We will get through this," I said. "What you feel now will end."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "I hope so," she said. "Do it."

I did it. And when I was finished, I left her crying into a pillow. She was no more able to take comfort from me than Celia had been, and there was no comfort for me in either of them. I went out, hoping to find the comfort I needed with Wright. He was in the living room, eating a ham sandwich and a bag of microwave popcorn and watching a television that I had not noticed before. He aimed the remote and stopped the program as I came in.

"No cable," he said, "but movies and old TV shows galore." He gestured toward the shelves of tapes and DVDs in the cabinet. Then, after a moment, he asked, "How are things?"

I shook my head and went to sit next to him on the arm of his chair. I had worried that he would draw away from me, resent my bringing two strangers into our family, but he reached up, lifted me with a hand under one of my arms, and put me on his lap. I made myself comfortable there, his arms around me. I sighed with contentment.

"Things were horrible," I said. "But they're better now."

That was when I heard the people outside, first two of them, then, as I sat up and away from Wright's chest and the beat of his heart, I heard more. I couldn't tell how many.

Then I smelled the gasoline.

Twelve.

I turned to speak very softly into Wright's ear. "The killers are here." I covered his mouth with my hand. "They're here now. They have guns and gasoline. Go wake Brook and Celia-quietly!-and look after them. Keep them safe. Watch the side door. When I clear a way, get them out of here. Don't worry about me. Don't try to help me. Go. Now."

I slid off his lap, avoided his grasping hands, grabbed my blanket and gla.s.ses, and ran for the side door. There were men-human males-at the front and back doors, and at least one was heading for the side door at the end of the hall, but no one reached it before I slipped out of it and down the three concrete steps to the ground.

The men were spreading gasoline all around the house, quietly splas.h.i.+ng it on the wood siding so that it puddled on the ground. I threw my blanket on the ground alongside an oak tree that was losing its leaves. It was probably overhanging the house too much to survive what was to come. It gave me shade, though, and kept me from burning. I put the gla.s.ses on, then turned toward the sounds of a man who was approaching from the front yard, spreading his gasoline as quietly as he could.

He was like the deer I had killed-just prey. He was my first deer that day. Before he realized I was there, I was on his back, one hand over his nose and mouth, my legs around him, riding him, my other arm around his head under his chin. I broke his neck, and an instant later, as he collapsed, I tore out his throat. I wanted no noise from him.

He'd had a gun-a big strange-looking one. I picked it up by the barrel, thrust it into the house through the door I'd come out of. Then I moved the dead man's gasoline can to the oak tree.

Another man was coming around from the backyard, and he was my second deer, as quickly dispatched as the first. It was almost a relief to use my speed and strength without worrying about hurting someone. And it was good to kill these men who had surely taken part in killing my families.

Someone in the house opened the side door a crack, and I beckoned with both hands, calling them out. That same instant, someone threw something through two or three of the windows, smas.h.i.+ng them. Someone in the backyard lit the gasoline, and flames roared around the house on every side but the one I had cleared. Through a window, I could see that there was fire inside the house, too.

Wright, Celia, and Brook spilled noisily out of the house, but the roar of the fire probably drowned out the noise they made at least as far as the gunmen were concerned. Wright had the gun I had left for him. I s.n.a.t.c.hed up the second man's gun and thrust it into Celia's hands. Of the two women, I thought she would be more likely to know how to use it. She started to say something, but I put a hand over her mouth.