“Nah,” LaTeisha said. “Pierce is a regular Victorian. No sex outside of marriage. Not her type at all.”
“That was the problem,” John said. “He was the only man she went after and couldn’t get.”
“Get out!” LaTeisha scoffed. “She never went after Pierce.”
“She did, Teish. Big time. He turned her down.” John brushed at the crumbs on the tablecloth before him. “After she recovered, he became a sort of hero to her. To Garth, too. Remember when we first knew them? Pierce could do no wrong—he was the man everyone wanted to be with in a pinch. But after the Trogs had him, it was different. He wasn’t a hero anymore. He was just a man, and it was much too obvious.”
They fell silent, mulling over his words. Callie stirred cream and sugar into her freshened coffee and admitted to herself that John’s explanation made sense. She remembered her own disappointment on first seeing Pierce’s weakness, even though she’d understood better than most how debilitating—and humiliating—panic attacks could be.
“Well,” she said, “he’s sure back to hero status as far as I’m concerned.”
“Amen to that,” Whit murmured.
Beside her LaTeisha exhaled. “I wonder if any of them made it back.”
John raised a brow at her. “To the road, you mean?”
“It’d be a miracle if they did,” Gerry drawled.
Tuck waved another truffle dismissively. “They made their choices.”
“But they were our friends,” Callie murmured.
Tuck snorted. “Some friends. Did you know Rowena stole the map just before they ran out that night by the lake?” Everyone turned to stare at him.
“No,” Whit said softly. “How is it you do?”
Tuck popped the last truffle into his mouth and glanced down the table at Brody, sitting on the end.
Brody’s face reddened. “Hey, at the time I thought she was right.”
“You were going to leave us in the middle of nowhere without a map?” LaTeisha squeaked.
“We were desperate.”
“We would’ve made you a copy,” Callie said.
“There wasn’t time. And no one thought Pierce would go for it.”
“He would’ve called you fools,” Callie agreed, “but he wouldn’t have stopped you.”
She recalled how nervous Meg had been that last night. The desperate ring in her voice. Had she known Rowena was taking the map? She must have.
Movement at the edge of her vision distracted her from her bitter musings. Mr. C—Elhanu—stood in the doorway. He was still the same white-bearded, white-haired, medium-framed man, but now a tingle washed through her as she met his gaze. Slowly she stood, chair whispering across the carpet. Other chairs thumped and squeaked as Whit, LaTeisha, and John followed her lead. The rest of them watched in consternation, and then rose to their feet as well.
The Aggillon leader strode to the chair at the head of the table opposite Brody and gestured toward them. “Please, sit down.” And sat himself.
They settled back into their places, but no one spoke, the air suddenly thick with tension.
Finally Whit said, “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
Elhanu grinned—the old twinkly-eyed expression that was pure Mr. C. “And you’re wondering why in the world I played this little game, aren’t you?”
They glanced at one another uncertainly.
The Aggillon leader sobered. “It’s not a game. You need to trust me. This”—he gestured at himself—“seems to help.”
Again his words met silence. Then Whit shook his head. “But that isn’t really you, is it, sir? I mean, you look like somebody’s father, when you’re anything but.”
“Here, I
am
your father,” Elhanu said quietly. “In more ways than you know. And there is nothing false in this image I present to you.”
“Except that it isn’t real.”
Elhanu smiled. “It may not be all that I am, but it is very real. And certainly it is the most comfortable for you right now.”
“Will we ever see you as you really are, sir?” Callie asked.
“Eventually.”
“What
are
you guys talking about?” Brody erupted testily. “And what is all this ‘sir’ stuff?”
He wasn’t the only one who didn’t know the truth about Mr. C, but as Callie looked down the table at him, she realized he would have the most trouble accepting it. He’d never liked the older man, thought him a liability who never should’ve been allowed to leave Rimlight.
“Mr. C is Elhanu, Brody,” she explained, when no one else did.
Brody blinked. Jaws fell open around him, glazed eyes turning to the older man. No one spoke for a long, long moment. Then Brody drove to his feet. “You’re the one who did all this? Kidnapped me, ruined everything for your silly little game?” His fury blazed, bright and shocking.
Elhanu regarded him with utter calm. “If not for this, you would be dead, Brody Jamarillo. Remember? Your chute didn’t open.”
Brody’s flush drained to dead white. He stood trembling, then sagged into his chair. “I hit the ground,” he whispered, staring at the table. “I remember now. . . .” Slowly his gaze climbed back to Elhanu’s bearded face. “When I go back—”
“You will recover completely. They’ll call it a miracle.”
As Brody stared up at him, something changed in his swarthy face. It was as if a wall crumbled away and something like . . . awe? . . . took the place of his bitterness. Blushing, he dropped his gaze to his hands.
John broke the ensuing silence. “So, Mr.—er, Elhanu, sir. Do you really forbid the Tohvani to appear in their true form, as they say?”
Callie’s gaze flicked to him in surprise. She hadn’t told John about her encounter.
Elhanu’s lips quirked. “Actually the Tohvani
are
in their true form. It’s just their bodies you’re not seeing.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, come now, think about it. The real you is not this outward flesh; it’s the part that thinks and feels and remembers and decides. Your soul resides in your body as your body resides in your clothes— that is your true self. I have merely stipulated that the Tohvani must appear naked in your presence.”
“Why?” Callie asked.
Elhanu turned gentle eyes upon her. “You would find them mind-bogglingly beautiful. They’d have you bedazzled before you knew it. I thought it better you should see them for what they really are. It is not so great a handicap for them. They’ve found ways around it.”
Jaalel entered and spoke in Elhanu’s ear. Watching him, Callie appreciated anew how beautiful he was, how even with their deferent manner, he and his kind inspired feelings of worship. If the Tohvani looked like them . . .
Jaalel stepped back, and Elhanu addressed them. “My servants have prepared a ballad in honor of your arrival.”
His announcement elicited low exclamations of approval. Exquisitely executed, breathtakingly beautiful, and invariably illuminating, Aggillon performances were always a treat. Now three of them entered and stood before the empty sideboard. One carried a small, triangular stringed instrument, which seemed to float before him as his fingers played an intricate introduction.
The vocalists had sung only a few lines before the hairs on Callie’s neck stood up. They were singing about Pierce. And Morgan. And all the rest of it—the doubts, the desertion, the battle by the lake, the mountain trek, the freeing of the prisoners . . .
The music rose and fell in sympathy with the events, shifting from major to minor key and back. It covered the gamut of emotion—the melody often so stirring it made them sound like heroes. Callie wasn’t the only one to shift in restless embarrassment. Finally the singers moved into a tenderly peaceful passage only to break off mid-measure, leaving their listeners blinking in surprise. The lead singer, the dark-featured Nahmel, explained with a smile. “I’m afraid we don’t know the end of this one yet.”
They bowed and exited, leaving their bewildered audience to grapple with disappointment, and then understanding. A few of them even laughed, for they should have seen it coming.
“Is it true what they sang about the others?” LaTeisha asked. “Reaching the road, I mean?”
“Of course,” Elhanu replied.
“Can you tell us who?” Callie asked.
“Meg is still with us,” he assured her with a small smile. “And Rowena. And Morgan, as well, although”—his smile faded—“not for long.”
“Is there any way we can help?” Callie asked.
“They are more than a hundred miles away—even further in their souls. Whatever help you might offer, they would refuse.” He sighed, his regret palpable. “I have given them as much as they will accept. But I cannot—I will not—override their volition.”
He changed the subject then, asking about their accommodations— if they were satisfied, if there was anything they needed. Of course there wasn’t, so he advised them to enjoy themselves, then stood to take his leave. Pausing behind his chair, he looked down at them, a half smile curving his lips. “You’ve done very well, people. I know it’s been hard, but you’ve stuck with it. That has pleased me more than you know.” He met each person’s gaze, and when it was Callie’s turn she felt the link pulse, flooding her with affection and an approval so strong, so warm and tender, so incredibly intimate, it brought her to tears. Even after he left, the glow remained, metamorphosing into the most profoundly satisfying sense of accomplishment she had ever known.
No one spoke for some minutes after his departure. Then Whit expressed it for them all. “Wow!”
And John murmured, “Aggillon or not, I’d follow that man anywhere.”
Pierce was vastly improved the next day, so much so that by the time Callie went to his room, he’d already been to an early rehab session, met with Elhanu, and retired to seclusion, asking not to be disturbed until evening. Disappointed, she spent the day swimming, gabbing, and looking forward to dinner.
She’d just gone through the buffet line when he walked in, using a cane. He was still too thin, but he’d gotten his hair cut, as promised, and had lost the beard. Everyone applauded his arrival, and Brody publicly apologized for doubting him. After that, Pierce passed through the buffet line four times, consuming an amazing amount of food. It was another side effect of the gel, and the others had a great time teasing him about his appetite. There was much laughing, joking, and tale telling, but though it was fun, Callie found herself growing impatient.
Not until the meal was well over were the two of them able to slip away. They took a short walk into the garden, where Callie learned he’d been feeling as frustrated as she, and the physical chemistry she’d once declared nonexistent once again made itself known with knee-jellying intensity.
Pierce was the one who broke it off, stepping away and taking a couple of deep breaths before he spoke. “Do you mind if we walk around?”
Callie regarded him wordlessly, partly relieved, and partly absurdly hurt. They were both committed to limiting physical intimacy outside of marriage, yet here she was, wanting to throw herself on him anyway.
A crease formed between his brows. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” She blushed furiously. “Walking is a good idea.”
The main buildings of the compound stood at one end of the plateau. Below them lay the gardens, where gravel paths wound through a wonderland of trees and sculpted shrubbery, sparkling with twinkle lights. Low foot lamps illuminated the path, and a rainbow of decorative spotlights provided variety, turning a fountain green, a pond blue, and a waterfall amber. Night had drained the flowers of their color and substituted a mingling of sweet fragrances, and the friendly silence was broken only by the crickets, the fountains chuckling, and every now and then, a burst of laughter ringing down from the main courtyard.
They walked side by side, not speaking at first, but gradually moving into easy surface talk—the compound’s amenities, the Aggillon’s delight in serving them, the incredible shock of learning Mr. C’s true identity. Pierce described his exit from the capsule and, from the way he talked, seemed not to know she’d been to see him. She was content to leave it at that.
“So what’s with all the frantic studying?” she asked finally.
“Frantic studying?”
“Well, you’ve hardly recovered, and here you spend the day sequestered. Jaalel said you were studying.”
“I was thinking mostly. I spoke with Elhanu this morning.”
“Ah. He has a way of making one think, I must admit.”
He flashed her a sly grin. “I understand you’ve had your own talks with him. Not so private as mine, either.”
“He told you!” she said, rounding on him.
“Hey, I was the one in my birthday suit.”
“You were the one who was almost dead.” She turned and continued up the path. “At the time, that was all I was thinking about.”
“Sorry.” He hurried to catch up with her, and they walked on in silence.
Then she asked, “So what did you talk about?”
“Everything. Him. Me. My many failures. They don’t surprise him at all, you know. I sometimes wonder if anything does.” He drew a deep breath, let it out as if discharging the subject with the used air. “Anyway, he left me with much to consider. I didn’t want to shut you out, but to be honest, you were one of the things I had to think about.”
“Me?” Her chest clenched. Was he going to tell her it was over? That he didn’t really care about her? That they had to break things off because they had no time for a proper relationship, or because it would be too distracting for him?
They stopped beside a pool, its glassy surface mirroring the lights in the trees. Hidden in the fanlike foliage on the far bank, a bird ruffled its feathers. Pierce hung his cane on the railing and leaned on his forearms. “I thought a lot about going home,” he said.
Callie stroked the rail with her palm. “Sometimes I’m not sure I even
want
to go home,” she said. “It won’t be the same.”
“No.”
“
We’re
not the same.”
“No.”
At their feet a fish kissed the pond’s surface with a faint popping. Pierce stared across the water, hands steepled before him. “You’ll probably think I’m nuts. Maybe I shouldn’t even say anything, but . . .”
Here it comes
, she thought, feeling light-headed.
He seemed to nerve himself and pressed on. “But we’ve known each other for almost a year. We’ve worked together side by side, faced every problem you can imagine, and we’ve certainly seen each other at our worst. I don’t think we’d be going into it blind.”