“Miss Spade,” calls a voice so high it borders on ultrasonic. “I need to talk to you.”
I will myself to slow down and smile at the billing administrator—or Horseshoe Bat as I call her, in part because she seems batty and in part because her face reminds me of the Earth creature.
“I’ll pay whatever I owe,” I tell her preemptively.
“Good.” She looks disappointed not to have to give me a lecture. “If you could step into my office—”
“Look, lady, my time is valuable,” Isis says. “Get out of our way or I’ll heal all your patients, and there go your profits.”
“You’re a healer?” Horseshoe Bat bats her eyelashes at Isis. “Maybe we—”
“Out of the way,” Isis growls.
Horseshoe Bat retreats.
I locate Dr. Xipil in the unit and apprise him of what Isis is here to do. He grabs a few colleagues, and we meet in Mom’s room.
Mom looks the same. Machines maintain all her basic bodily functions, and her brain activity is flat.
Dr. Xipil shifts his weight uneasily. “Do you want us to unplug her first?”
“Too risky,” Isis says. “Let me do my thing first.”
He glances at her hands and shuffles back a step or two. “Go ahead.”
Isis shoots Mom with an arc of golden energy.
I hold my breath.
Mom’s brain activity goes from flat to frantic.
My breath whooshes out. It’s all I can do to not rush over to her as she gasps and flails, clearly bothered by the breathing apparatus.
Maintaining her focus, Isis speaks over her shoulder. “Now you take your crap out. Quick.”
The medical staff scurry to comply as Isis keeps a steady stream of healing energy directed at Mom.
When the last machine is disconnected, Mom’s eyes blink open, and she gives me a tender smile.
“Mom,” I say, my voice choked. “How are you doing?”
“I feel great,” she says, looking around. “Where am I?”
“You’re at the hospital,” I say, wiping a tear with my sleeve. I tug more fabric discreetly into my palm so I can make another pass at my nose. “There’s been an accident and—”
That’s when I notice it.
Pom.
Or, more precisely, the lack of Pom on my wrist.
Hold on. Pom is never missing from my wrist. Not unless I’m dreaming.
The world around me freezes.
Of course. This isn’t actually happening. It’s a fantasy. It’s what might’ve happened if Eduardo had turned out to be the killer, as I thought.
Unable to stand the disappointment, I shut out Mom’s beatific face and will myself to my dream palace.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Pom appears at my elbow. “Hey! How’re things going?”
Usually I wouldn’t worry the little guy, but since his fate is tied to mine, I give him the bad news—and as I speak, he turns ever-darker shades of black.
“It’s so unfair,” he says when I finish. “You did your best for them.”
My hair goes fiery without my conscious direction. “Don’t get me started.”
Pom’s huge, lavender eyes turn overly bright, his fur lightening to gray—a rare color signifying deep sadness. “I don’t want them to hurt you. Can you take me to their dreams? Maybe if I beg, they’ll change their minds.”
My chest tightens. My looft is clearly more worried about me than himself. I fluff his fur. “I don’t think that would work, but you just gave me an idea. Before they execute me, I’ll tell them about you, mention that you’re a protected species on Gomorrah. Maybe they can attach you to someone or something else. They’ve got goats, for example, or maybe they could—”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” His ears turn a deep beet color. “I was still early in my development when I attached to you at the zoo. Once I got to know you, I let myself grow something like your circulatory and nervous systems—and now they’re irreversibly interlinked with yours.”
He can’t mean—
“I can’t be removed without killing us both,” he confirms, reading my face. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to call me a parasite again. Or a tumor.”
“A tumor? Come on, what kind of a monster do you think I am?” I give him a hug, my eyes watering. “Sweetie, I never would’ve wanted to take you off my wrist in either case. We’re symbionts for life. I’m just sorry I screwed up so badly, because now that life is going to be very short.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says. His ears fade to gray again. “It’s the stupid Council.”
I sigh in silent agreement and take to the air, floating among the impossible shapes decorating my palace’s lobby.
Pom loops around me. “I wonder who the killer actually is. That’s ultimately who’s to blame.”
I flick the tip of one of his ears. “That’s a great question. Everyone on the Council seems to be not guilty.”
His ears turn light orange. “Could it be someone not on the Council?”
I stare at him. It’s unlikely, but… “Maybe, Pom, maybe. Access to the castle is restricted, but people do get in. For instance, Felix and Ariel will be at a Mandate ceremony.”