Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Daniel closed his eyes. Then he squeezed Cathy’s shoulder, put the business end of his cane back on the floor, and hobbled out.
As the door eased shut behind him, Cathy glanced around. Then she walked over to the smooth Sheetrock of the wall and touched a solitary picture-hanging hook that had been left behind.
She wanted those framed jerseys back where they’d been.
And the man who owned them back at the desk.
And in her life.
“What do you say, God,” she murmured. “What do I have to do to get a prayer answered…”
SEVENTEEN
AS BLADE GLIDED along the underground polished-stone corridors of the symphath colony, he had the hood up on his red robing. With his arms linked over his pecs and his leather slip shoes making no sound, he imagined himself as nothing but a chromatic shadow in the candlelight, a pattern without substance, a transparency the color of an apple.
The mental projection was so resonant, so complete, that he in fact became what he told himself he was.
Nothing.
The transmutation was a practiced shift of his corporeal existence, and as his consciousness retreated behind the vault he created, he thought of the wolven. Her sex was not the right sort for him. He did not favor females. But his attraction went so much deeper than body parts.
His reaction to her was extraordinary because she was extraordinary.
Unlike all the males and men he had ever slept with, he had a kinship with her that was both in the flesh—
Stop it, he told himself.
The illusion needed to be maintained down even into his innermost thoughts in case he met any of his kind. And not just on account of what he was doing. The projection was necessary for there was nothing to be trusted in this labyrinth of ant-like passages, even in one’s private quarters—
As he came to a corner he could not see around, he felt a vibration of warning go up his spine, the signal subtle, but the kind of thing that, like his constant preoccupation with the wolven, had to be immediately quelled.
Steeling himself, he followed the curve, and there it was: The male was far older than he, the stride uneven from rickety joints, the back bowed with age, the head tilted at an angle as if the neck couldn’t be properly straightened. So the symphath was so much more dangerous than one Blade’s age. In contrast to the usual course of things, whereby advancing age was associated with weakness, elders were a worse threat as they had wisdom and experience to enhance their manipulative tendencies.
On the approach, Blade made a point to turn his face toward the male. The last thing you wanted to do was avoid eye contact, as the perceived submission could be an invitation to mischief. But you did not want to stare too long, either, as that would be interpreted as aggression and present an interesting challenge if the other was up to it. Thus, among “polite” society—which did not exist herein and was more a term of art referring to the citizenry—there was a perfect interlude of acknowledgment, two seconds or so. After which, if both parties were disinclined to engage, gazes would resume forward facing—
The elder’s lingered for a moment too long.
Has my mask slipped? Blade wondered.
Instantly, he halted that consideration. And he could not look over his shoulder to see if the passing had been completed or whether the older other had about-faced and changed his course.
Approaching another turn in the subtly lit passageway, Blade prepared to glance to the right in a manner that was just slightly more exaggerated than the usual motion when one took a corner. Three… two… and…
The pivot on his feet was sharper than it needed to be, his robing swinging with his body—and as if he were checking to see if something had caught his hem, his eyes flicked to his heels.
In his periphery, there was no one.
He needed it to stay that way.
Though he had not been dawdling, he sped up the now, his strides lengthening. He had memorized the subterranean layout long ago, and he needed no refresher as he piloted into the farther reaches of the Colony. In fact, he knew them even better than the central parts, which he tended to avoid.
His dealings with humans were not exactly disallowed, but he did not need any help with them. Or questions. Which would lead to problems.
When he reached the outer rim of the labyrinth, he promptly turned around—and headed back from whence he came. He was careful to take a random series of inefficient routes… and the portal he had actually come in search of took its time in making an appearance. Which was the plan. Still, as he seemed to walk for hours, he began to worry that he might have, in fact, gotten turned around.