Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [63]
Adele knows, I realize. This was taken after he told her the truth, and so he’s offering affection in the Ithtorian way. And her reaction is . . . luminous. Vel watches that perfect moment loop endlessly. His claws tighten on the frame, and a small sound escapes him. Nothing I ever heard from him before, but I don’t need the chip to tell me it’s born of raw anguish.
“Would you leave me for a time?” he asks quietly.
“How long?”
“The night should be sufficient. I will see you in the morning, Sirantha.”
On some level, I understand what he intends—a final, solitary good-bye, where the dust of her skin lingers. Vel can detect it on a level humans cannot. It must feel, to him, as if her death surrounds him even now. He said to me once, My people can communicate with pheromones, so our olfactory sense is more refined.
“Will it bother you if I spend the night upstairs?” I want to stay nearby in case he needs me; I don’t trust his composure. An outward show of grief would reassure me, but that’s not his way.
“Of course not.”
I pass the night in the flat where I once spent six glorious weeks, the only path I’ve ever chosen for myself. Until now. So it’s only right that the circle carried me back to her, even if I grieve in the unchanging light, gazing out over the city that never seems to sleep. Here Gehenna offers vice- never-ending.
I stand and remember Adele.
She rented me a room in her building; the word “garret” seems to apply. My flat used to be storage space before someone took the bright idea to replace half the walls with beveled glastique. Consequently, my ceilings slant beneath the line of the roof. She told me it used to be an artist’s studio; nobody’s ever actually lived up here before. But I don’t mind; the open vista and the altitude make me feel like I’m flying, which might make a mudsider uneasy, but I’ve spent so much of my life on ships, this place feels perfect. It feels like home.
When she brings a bowl of soup up for my lunch, I just have to ask, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
She gives me a Madonna’s smile. “Mary teaches us that’s how you change the world, one soul at a time, one kindness at a time. That’s the only way it’ll ever take root.”
“Didn’t they kill her for that doctrine?” I ask, taking the dish from her.
Adele shakes her head. “No, that was her son. They knew better than to martyr her. It was meant as an object lesson from the authorities, but it didn’t shut her mouth. She went on to live a good life.”
I’ve never been religious, never thought much on the oaths I swear, but I pause in spooning up a bite of soup. “That’s why she’s revered? For living a good life?”
I don’t mean to minimize its importance, but I can tell my tone struck a chord because she drops down on the battered old sofa that came with my apartment. “Isn’t that more than it sounds like, Sirantha? It’s easy to do right when everything goes right. But let everything go wrong, and see how difficult it becomes.”
Now with some turns distance from that statement and the benefit of greater heartbreak than I thought I could ever bear, I acknowledge the rightness of those words until Vel comes to tell me it is time to go.
CHAPTER 19
The service is lovely. All the girls from Hidden Rue attend, and Domina closes the club in honor of the occasion. Afterward, we drink together, raising endless glasses to Adele, and I wonder if they know that my silent Ithtorian companion was her lover. None of them gives any sign, and since pain radiates from Vel’s quiet space, I don’t invite them in.
But I wish they did realize he has the right to mourn her as a partner.
Before long, they’re all sloppy-drunk, but the nanites won’t let me overindulge. As I’ve known for sometime, I’m not human. Not anymore. I’m something else, something different, and I hate it, but life has pushed me to this point. Oh, I don’t disavow my complicity in the process. I made the choices every step of the way because the consequences would have