Hidden Faults (34 page)

“No, I’ll watch. If that’s okay.”

He nodded, and then the four of them got up from their chairs and sat in a circle on the rug. He looked up at me. “We don’t keep the chairs in a circle because it gives it away, what we are.”

I gaped at him. So that explained.... “My mother would never allow chairs to be pulled around. Ever. She smacked me hard once for even suggesting it.”

“Yes. Stupid prejudice, but there you have it. You can sit here too, Jodi. I promise, nothing unfactual will happen.”

He was only teasing, and what could it hurt? So I climbed down and sat next to Kir and Terna. Each took my hand.

Meram cleared his throat. “My friends, my beloved Terna, I greet you. It’s been a little while since we saw you, Kir, Jeyle. My spirit lifts to know you are well, and that your friend, Jodi, is also well.”

“My spirit lifts to know you are both safe, and that your family continues to be healthy and happy,” Jeyle replied gravely.

“We bring you greetings from our friends, and news,” Kir said.

And that was it, basically. Just formal welcomes, some information they hadn’t already covered, while holding hands. No prayers, no invocations, nothing else. The only thing vaguely spiritual about it came at the end, when Meram asked us to send our thoughts to the spirits of two recently deceased Spiritists, and to wish them well on their journey to the next life. Then with a final squeeze of my hands, Kir and Terna set me free, smiled and then sat back up in their chairs.

Meram looked at me with amusement. “You seem confused, Jodi.”

“Um...that’s all there is?”

“Well, yes. It’s a coming together of people, our spirits—a connection. In a bigger circle, there will be more news, more deaths to commemorate, welcomes, and so on. Issues to discuss, and, oh, arguments too. All we’re doing is reminding ourselves that we belong to a great communion of spirits, part of a river of existence. You can see why the government’s terribly threatened by us.”

“I can see why the Marranites are, anyway,” I murmured, thinking of the vast religious industry and the influence it possessed. “Don’t you need an empath for a greeting circle?”

“Goodness no,” Terna said as her husband rose to clear our mugs and plates. “We welcome them, but they’re not essential, no matter what anyone says. We don’t sit around trying to talk to the dead, you know.”

“Uh, no, I know that.” Jeyle sniffed at me behind Terna’s back. “You have children.”

“Oh yes. Twin boys and a girl. They stay over at my parents when we have other overnight ‘visitors’, though they know Kir. My parents are Spiritists, but...they don’t know what we do, and we want to keep it that way.” A warning, and I nodded. “Meram’s childhood was so miserable, he was determined to make a happy home for as many children as we could manage. I put my foot down after three. The twins were a real handful.”

Meram smiled at her. So much in love, it made me jealous, and homesick for Timo all over again. “I’ll go dish up supper,” Meram said, “and then you three probably want a chance to rest before you go out.”

The plan was to visit Timo in the dead of night after his family had gone to bed. I had cold feet again, but if this charming couple could put their lives and happiness at risk for the sake of paranormals, why did I scruple at asking Timo some questions?

Are you
sure
it’s safe?
I asked Kir as Meram and Terna left the room.

As sure as I can be about anything,
he said, giving me an impatient look.

Okay.
I wanted this part over.

Jeyle went out to help our hosts. I looked around the small sitting room again, and now noticed an old image of a tall, handsome, red-haired man in pride of place.

His father?

Yeah. Guess they must’ve picked a donor with red hair
.

I nodded. With the ban on allowing paranormals to marry or adopt children, a lot of people had lost their families. They would be, like us, carrying a lot of anger and pain. But so far it hadn’t erupted into open—or even covert—revolt against the policy. Could that anger ever be tapped to make things change? And would it mean a civil war in Pindone like those which had rent Febkeinzian and Denebwei? I was no politician, nor a historian. I only wanted justice. It seemed a distant dream.

We ate a simple but hearty meal. I found I liked Meram and Terna a great deal. Their generosity and openness reminded me of Da’s parents. Terna was a teacher with an interest in history. She and Jeyle taught me a lot that evening that I’d never learned in school about paranormals, though she admitted she could never teach her students what we freely discussed here in private.

“One day,” she said with a sigh, reaching for Meram’s hand.

“Yes. One day,” he said, looking at us with a determined expression. “Now, Kir, you know where to go and where everything is. You and Jodi can share the twins’ room. We’ll see you in the morning. Jodi, our home is yours, please treat it as such.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled and then Kir indicated we should go. We collected our packs and he took me to the back of the house, while Jeyle claimed the guest bathroom. The large bedroom Kir and I were to share contained twin beds and the detritus of two boy’s lives—toys and dozens of books on buildings and mechanical objects, a bulging closet full of clothes, and an enormous image of an erupting volcano given pride of place above the beds. Stars and planets decorated the bedcovers, and a model of the planetary system hung from the ceiling.

“Is this all right with you?” Kir asked as he set our packs down. “I could sleep on the sofa—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay. I’m gonna knock you out again though, if you don’t sleep.”

He sat on the bed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. I tried to resist the urge to scratch under my damn wig, hateful thing, and decided I had time to refix it, so I ripped it off.

He looked up at me. “You okay?”

“Why do you ask that sort of thing, Kir?”

“So you don’t freak out on me about my telepathy every five seconds?”

I’ve been using your telepathy to talk to you all damn day.

Yeah, but it ain’t the same as me pulling stuff out of your head. Look, if it’s really bothering you, don’t go. Wesejne don’t need to know.

No. I want to see him. I’m just...scared.

Yeah. He’s a lucky man, having you care so much. Pity he’s a coward.

He’s not! He wanted a family, always did, and I couldn’t offer him that, even if there wasn’t homophobia to worry about.

Kir stared at me.
No, he could have called you in prison.

No, he really couldn’t. You’re being a prick.

Yeah, maybe. Maybe I’m jealous too.

He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
There’s another reason I’m a prick. Every time I come here, I feel guilty. Damn good thing Meram ain’t no empath like his Da.

Guilty? Why?

Cos his Da’s not dead, neither’s his aunt. But I can’t ever tell him that. Least, not until Pindone stops being so fucking paranoid about us.

I sat on my own bed and looked at him in astonishment.
But why would you conceal information about that from him? I thought he was a friend. And how come Meram thinks he’s dead?

Cos it’s the official story the family got given. I didn’t know myself until I met the guy in the Weadenal. This was two years after I met Meram, so it wasn’t like I started off deceiving him—get that look off your face, Jodi.

Not looking at anything, you prick. So, his father’s hiding from Meram?

Kir shook his head.
Not exactly. The Elected are protecting him. There’s a lot of our people down there, refugees, but we can’t use them cos of the risks. Their families all think they’re dead. None of them ever seen their people again.

How many, I wondered. And why had this lost population not been harnessed in some way to fight the oppression?
Poor bastards. But if the Weadenisis have been doing this for all these years, why the hell did they let things get this bad in Pindone?

Cos there’s only a couple of hundred of them. They do a lot, Jodi. But they can’t fix the whole of Pindone for us. Every time they do big stuff—like the breakouts that got Meram’s Da out of prison, or our lot—they’re risking their own safety. They got plans for us, they just work slow and careful. Mostly they try and get people out of the country, if they can, cos they can look after them down there. That’s where they’ve been putting all their energy. You should talk to Wesejne about it.

Huh, I don’t think so.

Your choice. We’ve got at least two hours before we head out. You should rest or read or something. Watch a dramasim,
he said, nodding to the skimmer in the corner.
Be ‘normal’.

Ha ha.
I gave him a sour look.

He closed his eyes.
I’m gonna get some sleep. Jeyle’ll wake us up when she’s ready to go.

I looked at him, stretched out against the cheerful starry covers, long legs crossed, so lithe and male and alive, and a wave of such loneliness and desire hit me so hard it physically hurt. And then my stomach churned as the desire was followed by an equally powerful wave of confusion at my wanting someone who’d violated me and destroyed my life.

I needed privacy. Some hope. “I’m going to have a bath,” I snapped.

“Good idea.” No overt acknowledgement of what he’d have to have read in my thoughts.

Humiliated and angry with myself, I picked up my personal pack and fled.

The bathroom was small, and stuffed with bath toys and children’s goods, but clean, new-looking towels had been laid out, and there was a generous sized bath as well as shower for me to choose from.

I ended up taking an hour-long bath, making use of the bottle of cleanser which had been put out with the towels especially for our use. The sweet smell did much to ease my fraying nerves, as did the luxury of the hot water. I tried very hard not to think about my situation, or anything much at all, but my thoughts kept drifting where I didn’t want them to go—back to prison, or to Timo. Or to Kir. Once, a bath like this would have had my mind working on my research, but that was now gone for good, and dwelling on that fact, didn’t help. Perhaps I should get Ferige to teach me woodworking too. I no longer had a job. I needed a hobby.

When I could bear to spend no longer in the bath, I got out and dried myself. I then wasted another twenty minutes reapplying the tattoo cover and refixing the wig. By the time I finished, I was pruny but calmer, and ready to face Kir again.

He woke up not long after I came back into the room—or at least, he pretended to wake up—and gave an exaggerated sniff. “Hey. You smell like flowers.”

“They have nice toiletries and I...well, I’m still not over the prison showers.”

“No. Took me about two years before I stopped bathing three times a day, so I could use Jeyle’s cleanser. She used to stock up.” He looked at the timekeeper, then concentrated for a few moments. “Your man’s asleep, so’s the family. We could go early. Jeyle’s awake.”

“Okay.” I wanted it over with, even though I didn’t want to do it at all. “Kir…one thing. I won’t lie to him, and I won’t let you lie to him.”

His lips thinned. “I’ll do what I need to, to keep you safe and us safe. If that means lying, if it means wiping your memory, I’m gonna do it. Don’t take that attitude with me, Jodi.” His lips compressed in annoyance. “Let’s move.”

Jeyle was ready to leave, though she looked tired. We didn’t take the veecle, since it would arouse the interest of the neighbours. Instead, Jeyle lifted us in complete silence over the snowy rooftops and respectable white-blanketed gardens, flying low and fast over respectable suburban streets and their sleeping occupants, Kir scanning to ensure no one peered out behind curtains and shutters and wondered who the hell we were.

He reached for my hand as we came close to Timo’s house, the familiar neighbourhood alien from this angle. I squeezed his fingers tight, grateful for the comfort, as Jeyle brought us down to the porch.

As we landed, the door opened. And there he stood.

Timo.

He was dressed only in white pyjamas and dark green bathrobe, rumpled and sleepy, dark curly hair sticking up every which way, his eyes confused but still so handsomely blue. My breath caught, and his eyes widened as he saw me. He didn’t shout because I put my finger to my lips, but he reached for me and pulled me into his arms. His familiar warm scent, the feel of his slight beard on my cheek, made me tear up with homesickness and affection.

“Jodi,” he whispered. “Marra’s balls.”