Элизабет Мун - Into the Fire

“Thank you,” Grace said. Maybe whoever was in the vehicle wouldn’t attack when another person was there with a dog. The dog, in fact, had gotten up as the car neared, standing alert, tail and ears up. “I think I will. As one gets older, I’ve been told, one’s reaction to different chemicals changes.” She forced a smile. She felt steadier; her impulse to call Mac on her skullphone faded. He would worry; he would also tell her to see a doctor. He might even insist on a hospital visit.

Sera Vance laughed. “My mother said the same thing. I’m glad to help. Why don’t you take my arm?” To the dog she said, “Come along, Polly.”

Grace thought of Mac, this time more clearly, but took Sera Vance’s arm; the white dog trotted ahead, the leash not quite taut. The car went on by, windows up, dark blurs inside it. Grace tried to think of a way to let Mac know without arousing his protective side. It was hard to think, but after all she’d had a shock. Finally she thought she had the right phrasing. “I need to make a call,” Grace said, as they walked along. “If you’ll excuse my doing it as we walk.”

“Of course.”

Mac answered on the second ping. “MacRobert here. Who’s calling?” Which meant he was with people, perhaps still in that meeting he’d mentioned.

“Grace,” she said. “I think I forgot the day the exterminators were coming. Came in the house and there was an awful smell. I’m going down the block with a neighbor, Sera Vance, but you should plan to eat somewhere else tonight.”

“Oh. Sure. Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. I’ll need to find someone to clean the stuff out of the air, first.”

“I’ll take care of that. Talk to you later.”

Good. He wasn’t panicked about her; she would have time to recover fully before they met again. Grace brought her full attention back to the street. Quiet, as it usually was when everyone had come home from work. They crossed Missellin Street and went on down the next block. Lights shone from some windows; dead leaves rustled along the gutters. A night bird, overhead, gave a wavering whistle. The length of the block went by. Grace felt better with the fresh air, though her throat was still tight. They crossed Missanna.

“We’re the third house on this side of the street,” Sera Vance said. “And I see Jaime’s home; the light’s on in his den.”

“You have children?” Grace asked out of politeness.

“Yes, three. Pedar left this morning with his science class on a field trip; they’ll be back tomorrow night. Chloris should be practicing her viola, and Vinnie is either doing his homework or pestering his father. We’ll find out shortly.”

Inside the Vance home everything seemed normal. A small boy, about the same age as the twins, sprawled on the floor reading; the dog trotted over and licked his ear. The sound of a stringed instrument played imperfectly came from the back of the house. A door opened, and a tall, thin man said, “Alice—I was starting to worry. Oh—” as he caught sight of Grace. “I’m sorry.”

A girl perhaps thirteen came through a swinging door, scowling. “I will never get that passage at measure ninety-two. My fingers just will not do it.”

“Supper in fifteen minutes,” Alice Vance said. “Everyone wash up. And this is Sera Vatta; the exterminators left too much chemical in her house, so I invited her here.” To Grace, she said, “Just sit down and I’ll bring you more water in a minute. The casserole’s in the oven, all that’s left is putting in the cheese biscuits.”

Grace sat down. It was the girl, Chloris, who brought the water. “Do you like music?”

“I like some music,” Grace said. She did not like listening to children practicing.

Silence descended. Chloris left the room at a call from the kitchen. Delicious smells drifted out into the sitting room, and Grace’s memory brought up a reference. It had been decades, most of her life, but she had smelled that food before. In Esterance, as a young girl who thought she was an adult, she had eaten it with friends in a café before… things happened.

When Sera Vance—Alice—came to call her in to eat, Grace had mastered her memory, and asked what the casserole was. “It smells like something I had years ago—”

“Yes. My mother-in-law taught me to make it, back when I was on Fulland, doing research. I met Jaime and his family there. His mother saw the way the wind was blowing and decided I had to learn to cook all his favorites.”

It tasted the same, down to the exact mix of spices. Grace had ignored the slight dizziness when she stood and walked in favor of dinner, telling herself that dizziness at her age, after a shock, was essentially proof of normalcy. Ignoring minor symptoms had stood her in good stead for years; as long as she could breathe, eat, and walk, she didn’t need medical attention.

She ate without concern; the children were eating theirs and her throat felt better anyway. The slight tremor in her hand—she lost that forkful of casserole—was just another aftereffect of being scared. Probably had nothing to do with whatever it had been. She’d been in it only a few seconds, after all. She realized she’d lost track of the conversation around the table, and looked up to find Sera Vance watching her, brow furrowed.

“Sera—Rector—are you feeling unwell again?” Sera Vance’s voice sounded unnaturally loud; both children were staring. “Are you sure we should not take you to a clinic? Jaime—” A knock on the door interrupted her, freeing Grace from the need to reply. She wasn’t sick—she was just tired and a little shaky. Jaime—as Grace now thought of him—got up to answer it.

“Is Rector Vatta here?” asked a familiar voice. “I’m Master Sergeant MacRobert, and her office is looking for her. There was some mistake about dates, and her house—”

“Of course, yes.” Jaime’s voice. “Come in; she’s having dinner with us.” And something in a lower tone that Grace could not hear.

Mac was in uniform, as he was only rarely these days. “Good evening, Rector,” he said, as if they didn’t call each other Grace and Mac all the time otherwise. “The department has a crew at your house, decontaminating it. The company apologizes for the error; they thought you had left for the weekend. You have a room reserved, or I can take you to your niece’s house, if you prefer.”

“Thank you, Master Sergeant. I hate to intrude on my niece—” She turned to Alice Vance. “My niece—great-niece, really—Ky Vatta and her fiancé are staying there, and they’ve had hardly time to see each other since the rescue.”

“You know her?” Chloris sat up straighter. “You know Ky Vatta?”

“I’ve known her all her life,” Grace said.

“But she’s famous! She’s an admiral! And then—”

“Chloris.” Jaime smiled at her and shook his head slightly. “Sera Vatta knows all that.”

“But—” Grace could see the effort made to calm down. “Just tell her we—our strings class—admires her most of all. Bela even wrote a little piece about her. If she’d ever like to hear it—”

“Chloris. Later.”

“I’ll tell her,” Grace said. “Master Sergeant?”

“There’s also a call from Commandant Kvannis, Rector. It requires a secure line.”

Grace sighed, intentionally loud enough to hear. “It was a lovely dinner, Alice, Jaime. Thank you—”

“I’m sorry to have interrupted dinner,” MacRobert said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sit down, join us,” Alice said. “Our oldest isn’t here, so there’s plenty—he’s at the two-hollow-legs stage.”

“No thank you, Sera,” MacRobert said. “I’m sorry; it’s very kind of you, but I really should get the Rector to a secure line. She has important calls waiting.”