The Green Memory of Fear. B. A. Chepaitis
ducked her head down and raised it up again. Reading him, just at the surface. One helluva date, he thought. He might as well finish it right.
He moved to where she sat, leaned down and kissed her, cupping her face in his hand and drawing her to him. When he let go, she pressed forward to him. A slight gesture, but he noticed and it gave him joy.
He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. Her breathing was finely controlled and her hand deliberately relaxed. He turned it palm up and traced the lifeline. With some satisfaction, he saw her shiver lightly at his touch.
“You have two breakpoints here,” he noted.
“I’m aware of that,” she said, voice low and husky. “One is from the Killing Times.”
“And the other?” He pressed a finger against it, feeling the tingle that spread across her palm as she tensed slightly.
“I live dangerously.”
“You do, in some ways,” Alex agreed. “In other ways, you take the safest route possible.”
He loosened his hold to give her the chance to gracefully retreat. When she didn’t, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the broken places, as if that would knit up the dangers into a solid and dependable line. Then he released her, and her hand dropped to her lap.
“It’s been a pleasure having dinner with you Dr. Addams,” he said. “I’ll look forward to the next time. Maybe we’ll try Porter’s, for ribs and ice cream.”
He turned to go, but the sudden stab of empathic contact stopped him from moving forward.
Alex?
Yes, Jaguar?
Her words were hesitant. What are you doing?
His reply, certain now, beyond all doubt.
I’m courting you.
A slow moment while she digested this, as if she was just catching on. As if she finally understood he meant this.
Courting me?
That’s right. Any objections?
A pause in her thoughts as she retreated into herself to consider. Then, her response.
Not yet. I’ll keep you posted as we go along.
She broke contact and he shuddered, feeling her absence.
“Goodnight,” she said out loud. “I’ll call you after I’ve met with the boy.”
As he walked down the steps and out onto the street, he had the distinct impression that she stood at her window and watched him go.
* * * *
Jaguar packed after Alex left, putting the Davidson book, the Senci file, and a bag of dried mint in her bag along with her most formal business outfits, generally reserved for meetings with governors. She didn’t like them. Didn’t feel comfortable or able to move the way she wanted to when she wore office clothes. That, if nothing else, kept her away from research assignments. But she’d take this one, because a little girl led her to it. A girl with wild eyes, and a silver laugh.
“Wild child,” she sang softly, “Full of grace. Savior of the human race.”
Odd, that she should feel like singing. She liked the original version of Toronto much less than the Planetoid replica. The original was too polite and reserved, too much like a business suit for her to feel comfortable there. Here there were eccentrics, runaways, oddballs and people with wounds they’d honored and healed.
Occasionally she and Alex would go to the Planetoid eco-site, where the technicians kept the shield down and they could stare at the earth, that beautiful blue planet, spinning in space. It eclipsed all other stars, but Alex said that the people on earth viewed the Planetoid as a star, their population all star children.
Jaguar laughed, but she knew what he meant. Star children. Refugees from the blue planet. She supposed if she survived long enough, someday she’d get too old for her job and retire to New Mexico, stay in the village Jake and One Bird had established. Toronto, on the other hand, she could do without. Yet she’d chosen it. Because of a little girl with wild eyes who wore her dress, whose presence brought a dark and bitter wind.
And she felt like singing, in spite of that. Some emotion she couldn’t name was surging to the surface, and it didn’t feel quite in her control.
“It’s idle curiosity,” she said out loud. “That’s all. I’ve never been courted before.”
She continued to sing as she packed, and when she was done, she felt both tired and unable to sleep. She put her head down on the pillow anyway, hoping sleep would find her if she went through the motions.
Then weakness washed through her legs, and her stomach turned over.
“Hecate,” she whispered. “What is it?”
She moved her glance around the room. There, at the foot of her bed. The little girl, this time wearing yellow pants and a red sleeveless top. Jaguar remembered them. They’d once been hers, too. But she looked different. Not playful at all. Her eyes were hungry and afraid.
We’re waiting for you. Hurry.
Jaguar propped herself up on her elbows.
Wild child, she sang softly, full of grace.
The girl listened, then frowned.
Why are you singing that?
Because it’s who you are.
The girl stared, her large dark eyes baskets of questions waiting to be filled with answers. And enough hunger to empty the whole world.
You are my wisdom, Jaguar said, not sure what she meant.
The girl lifted a hand, reaching out as if she could touch Jaguar, be touched by her.
I’m like you, she whispered. We’re the same.
Jaguar nodded. The little girl lowered her arm and disappeared, taking the wind of bitterness and hunger with her as she left.
Chapter 4
Home Planet, Toronto, Canada
“You must be Dr. Addams. I’m Susan. Please come in.”
Jaguar stood on the front porch of the Karas house on Spodina Street as Susan Karas opened the door wide and extended an arm inward. Jaguar crossed the threshold into a wide entrance hall with a thick Persian rug laid over shiny white tiles. Expensive. The best.
She followed Susan into the living room and looked around. It was painted in neutral tones, with neutral furniture and beige satin curtains at the windows. Paintings of muted pastel flowers and family photos hung on the walls. The flowers in a crystal vase on the coffee table were fresh. The rug was thick and soft and clean. She’d read in the files that the Karas’s had old money, through the father’s family.
Mrs. Karas waved toward the deeply cushioned couch. “Please sit,” she said.
“I appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Karas,” Jaguar said.
“Of course,” she said, waving it away. “Anything—if it will help with this mess. It’s awful. Oh, and do call me Susan.”
Jaguar considered telling Susan to call her Jaguar, then sensed she wouldn’t be comfortable using that name. It wouldn’t go with the furniture, or her very expensive and neutral clothes. She was groomed as perfectly as her house, but Jaguar noted the fatigue lines at her eyes, the pinched flesh at her mouth. She was holding tight, trying to get through events nothing had ever prepared her for.
“It’s been tough on all of you,” Jaguar commented.
“Worst for Daro, of course. He can’t go to school, so he’s getting tutored through the courts, and the guard follows him everywhere. You were stopped by the one out in front?”
Jaguar