Rachel Caine - Undone

The structure of their house, on the other hand, was so new as to have no aetheric presence at all. “We just got it about six months ago,” Manny told me as he unlocked the door and held it open for his wife and child. Isabel skipped inside, shoes thundering on the wooden floor. “It’s small, but we like it.” He seemed strangely anxious that I like it, too.

I nodded, unsure what to say. It was a box. Walls, floors, ceilings. Cluttered with bright furniture and toys. Angela picked up some and moved them aside, but not as if she were worried about my opinion; she simply did it automatically. Isabel, seeing her mother’s actions, imitated her, picking up a doll and carrying it by one arm to drop it into a primary-colored box in the corner of the room.

I wondered if I would be expected to do that, as well.

I did not know the protocols, so I stood, watching, as Manny put down his bag and turned on a light next to the sofa. “Living room,” he said. Which I thought was a curious way to refer to it—did they not live in all the rooms? Was there a dying room? “Bedrooms through there. Kitchen. There’s a sunroom on the back, which is nice.”

Manny was nervous. Perhaps it was my stare. I looked away and wandered the room, idly trailing my fingertips over the cold, still pictures in frames. Family. Human family.

“That’s my brother,” he said. “Luis.”

He thought I was looking at the picture that my fingers were touching. I picked up the frame and saw that it held the image of a man, handsome, a little younger than Manny. A stronger jaw, but kind eyes.

“He’s a Warden, too,” Manny said. “You’ll meet him later, maybe. He’s out in Florida right now.”

I put the photo down. “I would like to go now,” I said, which I thought was a polite way to request an end to this. Evidently not. Manny frowned at me.

“You want something to eat first? You do want to eat, right?”

Did I? I supposed I did. Djinn in human form seemed to emulate all human functions equally, and my stomach was growling in frustration. I hadn’t yet mastered the knack of anticipating its needs.

I nodded.

Angela, who’d said very little, patted her daughter on the head and sent her scampering off to play before turning to me. I was struck by her again—a quiet, controlled woman, strong. So closely guarded. “Manny tells me you’re not human,” she said. “Is that right?”

I cocked my head. “I was not born human. I seem to be human enough now.”

Human enough. A frightening statement.

“All right,” Angela said. “I’ve seen Djinn before. I know they’re dangerous. Let me make something clear to you—if you hurt my husband, if you even think about hurting my daughter, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

Manny looked taken aback. Angela’s dark eyes remained steady, fixed on mine, and I sensed nothing from her but sincerity.

“I understand,” I said, and searched for something else to say. Human words seemed clumsy to me. Ridiculously inappropriate to what I wanted to communicate. “I will make mistakes. I cannot help that.”

Her fierce stare softened a bit. “Mistakes are okay,” she said. “But don’t make them twice. And don’t you dare make them with my daughter.”

I inclined my head.

“Now,” she said. “How do you feel about enchiladas?”

“Neutral,” I said, “since I don’t know what they are.”

Angela gave me her first real smile. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

“Or not,” Manny said, “if you don’t like hot sauce.”

She hit him. It was, I realized, a playful blow, not an angry one, and I was surprised at my physical reaction, which was an impulse to reach out and stay her hand.

I had wanted to defend him. Why? Because he was my Conduit. My life source.

I hadn’t anticipated that at all.

I did not like hot sauce, which made Isabel laugh until tears rolled down her cheeks. She scooped up spoonfuls of the spice and ate them to show me how silly I was.

I could not be bested by a mere child. I continued to try, choking on the burn, until at last Angela took pity on me and removed it from the table. Isabel pouted until her father tickled her into laughter again.

It was a quiet meal—quieter than I suspected was their normal case. “When do we begin our duties?” I finally asked, after consuming several glasses of iced tea that Angela provided.

“Tomorrow,” Manny said. “Unless there’s an emergency, which I hope there isn’t.” He stood up, picked up his plate and mine, and carried them into the kitchen. “I’ll take you home now,” he called back.

Isabel ran around the table and—to my shock—crawled up into my lap. The warm, real weight of her was surprising. I looked down at her upturned face, at her smile, and frowned in puzzlement. “What do you want?” I asked her. Angela made a strangled sound of protest and rose from her chair, but I extended a hand to stop her. “Isabel?”

“A hug,” Isabel said. “You’re funny, lady.”

I thought that was quite likely true, from her miniature perspective.

I was unaccustomed to hugs, but she was an adequate instructor. She took my arms and fitted them around her small body. “Tighter!” she commanded. I dutifully squeezed, well aware of how fragile her bones were beneath the skin.

When she began to squirm, I let go. She almost toppled from my lap, and I grabbed her to steady her.

Isabel giggled, and it was as warm as sunlight.

This is a child. A young soul. A blank slate. I had never met one before, and it was oddly . . . freeing.

“That’s enough,” Angela said, and grabbed Isabel from my lap. “You need to learn some manners, mija .”

“She’s sad,” Isabel protested. “I wanted to make her smile!”

Manny came back from the kitchen. His eyes darted from Angela holding his daughter in a protective embrace, to me sitting quietly in my chair. I was not smiling. In truth, I could have, but I knew it would ring false to the child.

“Not yet, Isabel,” I told her. “Maybe later. But—thank you for the hug.”

I meant it. She had reached out to me, and although it should not have mattered to me . . . it did.

Manny broke the silence by picking up his car keys from the table and saying, in a carefully bland tone, “Let’s get you home.”

Home.

It was another box. It was filled with odors, of course—choking detergent where the carpets had been recently cleaned, paint reeking from the newly retouched walls. Aside from the odors, the room was empty save for a single small cot, made up with sheets, blanket, and pillow. A single small folding table. A single small lamp.

I liked the simplicity of it.

“Yeah,” Manny said, and juggled keys in his hand for a second before tossing them to me. I snatched them out of the air without looking. “Cozy, I know. Sorry, we didn’t have time to get things for you, and I figured you’d want to pick furniture and stuff yourself.”

He was apologizing. How odd.

“It’s fine,” I said. I threw open the nearest window and took in a breath of the air that rolled over the sill, redolent of sage and high mountain spaces.

“I guess—I’ll bring over some catalogs tomorrow. You can pick what you want. Clothes, too. You want Angela to go with you to find things?”

I looked down at myself. “What’s wrong with what I have?”

He blinked. “Nothing. Uh, you can’t wear the same thing all the time.”

I knew that. “I bought several copies of the same clothing. I know clothes must be changed and laundered.”

“But—everything you bought is the same?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “You are not a normal girl.”

I was not a girl. But I assumed he meant it in a figurative sense, and allowed it to pass.