The Saint

by Melanie Jackson

  “I’m pretty sure that I meant everything I just said, but let’s not test my resolve,” Kris suggested.

  She swallowed, trying to think clearly. It was like fighting through dense smoke. “I want to say yes. I just . . . I don’t understand who you are. You’re . . . too many people. I’m confused,” she almost wailed. And I don’t know who I am, either.

  Kris sighed and scrubbed the side of his face. “What makes you you?” he asked. “Your body? The color of your hair or eyes?”

  Adora blinked. The question helped her focus. “I don’t know. The matter of identity is complex—,” she began.

  “Of course you know. What makes up an identity may be complex, but what alters it is not. Are you you because you’re blonde?” he persisted. “If you colored your hair, would you change inside?”

  The question was annoying, banal. Being with Kris was like watching a foreign film without subtitles. General actions were clear, but the subtleties of conversation were often beyond her.

  “Of course not,” she answered when he didn’t go on.

  “Is it your nationality? Your job?” he pursued. “If you changed either, would you cease to be you?”

  “Well . . . no. But, Kris—”

  “And neither do I. I don’t change, either— whatever my age or body or occupation.” He exhaled slowly. “Adora, you liked me before you believed in my past. Before we were here and exposed to the magical attraction. Have some faith that what you’re feeling, though enhanced by proximity to magic, is real. Ask any questions you have, think it through. Take all the time you need. But I’m asking you not to reject me out of hand—however odd this seems— because you’re frightened.”

  Faith. But that was her problem, wasn’t it? She had very little, except faith that things would go wrong.

  “Anyway, you don’t think that you might be considered a little—uh—different, yourself?” Kris asked. “That maybe your once-imagined ideal man or life isn’t out there?”

  “I’m only weird when compared to normal people,” she answered. But Adora found herself smiling. He had a point. She had always been peculiar, and being in the most glass of houses, she really had no right to be throwing stones.

  She leaned against the large rock that had frightened her, took a few long breaths and relaxed. As she slumped, she could see some of the tension ease from Kris. Still, the air seemed thin and too hot for comfort though she wasn’t in the direct sun.

  “What’s it like here during the summer?” she asked.

  “Hell at high noon. This particular stretch of valley is like a blast furnace. It wasn’t fire that did this. It’s the slow, torturous heat from the sun that burned away all life.”

  They stood side by side with arms almost touching, Kris looking into the day and Adora looking at him.

  Do you really think you guys have a chance? Joy asked.

  I don’t know, Adora replied.

  And she didn’t. Kris had never married, and she thought she knew why. He had deep passions—she could even see, at least in part, the vision that moved him. And it was on this goal that his focus lay. What was a woman—even all women—next to that?

  “Everything,” Kris said, turning his head to look down at her. “If she’s the right one.”

  The answer left her shaken.

  “Did you know that every soul has a résumé of wants and expectations?” Kris asked suddenly, again looking out over the baked valley. “A wish list of what it feels it needs and deserves.”

  “How does yours read?” Adora said. She was able to think again, now that he was a few steps away and his gaze turned elsewhere, but her body still pulsed dully, still wanted to just lie down on the ground and invite Kris in.

  “Hm. ‘Eternal optimist seeks same to make peaceful planet. Must play well with others—dictators and liars not wanted. Life insurance recommended’.”

  Adora smiled a little, but did not ask Kris to read her. She wasn’t ready to know what he saw; she was too vulnerable and unsure. She might accept his evaluation of her character because she was so lost, and though she trusted him, she didn’t want anyone making her over in some image that wasn’t truly natural.

  “The trick in life is aiming oneself in the right direction so their needs are met. It amazes me how people will go haring off after fame or fortune or family—even security—when they don’t really want it. They simply accept the notion that they should pursue these goals, and do so blindly.” He tilted his head and watched a buzzard riding the thermals overhead. “Of course, there are pitfalls the other way. The fearful and uncommitted rarely find joy, either. It takes balance.”

  He means you.

  “I know,” Adora said to both Joy and Kris. “I think maybe I just need some time to adjust. You probably can’t imagine how weird this last week has been. My universe has been upended.”

  Kris nodded. “Maybe you should come inside, though, while you’re thinking things through. The sun will make you sick if you stay out any longer.”

  “Okay.” But she was reluctant. Inside Cadalach, the pull toward Kris was stronger, and she found it difficult to think when her body was constantly tingling.

  “There are plenty of places to take walks, to sit on cliffs and look at Nature inside,” Kris assured her. “You needn’t stay with me. The mound is . . . huge.”

  “Because it isn’t just one space, it’s many spaces and many times?” she guessed.

  “More or less,” he agreed.

  She tried to comprehend this, but was already lost. She sensed that to truly understand she would have to make a leap of faith—of acceptance. But she didn’t much care for jumping blind. Even if she were willing, she hadn’t a clue in which direction to jump.

  Adora had always known that she could run away from life. But not from death. That was the rule she knew: Everyone died and stayed dead. And time only flowed one way. But Kris seemed to be saying this wasn’t the case.

  Except . . . he didn’t really avoid death, did he? Joy asked suddenly.

  No, not if she understood what the fey holy texts were saying. He had been . . . Her brain shied away from the awful word sacrificed.

  He did mention life insurance. Maybe he knows it will happen again. Maybe he knows he’s putting you in danger.

  He wouldn’t, Adora insisted.

  Hey, things got pretty rough in L.A. And Jack said he needed you to get back in touch with his God. That would be one hell of a motivator.

  Looking past Kris at the now open tunnels of Cadalach—tunnels that could take them hundreds, even thousands, of miles in minutes if what she’d been told was true—Adora could feel the outside world shrinking. It was so small that any place could be reached. Nowhere was safe. There was no place that Kris and this magic couldn’t find her. Not even in death. Hadn’t Io said that? There was no escaping her feelings for him, not this side of the grave and perhaps not even after death.

  “Don’t let it get to you,” Kris said, touching her shoulder lightly, his words and presence dispelling the gathering claustrophobia. “Eventually, this will all feel normal. You will understand.”

  “That’s partly what I’m afraid of. I can never go back to blissful ignorance, can I? I’ll never see things the same way again.”

  Kris looked sad. “You’d be the first,” he said. “I tried, but . . . Come to me when you’re ready, when you can say what I need to hear and mean it. Until then . . . I think maybe I’ll keep my distance. There are plenty of other rooms in the shian to stay in until . . .”

  Eat my heart. Drink my soul. Love me to death. This time the voice was clear. If Kris could read her thoughts, she had to accept that she was now reading his. She could feel his longing as if it were her own—could feel it but couldn’t respond.

  With a long last look at her, Kris turned and disappeared back inside the mound.

  The door remained open, but Adora didn’t follow him immediately. Shade was shrinking, but she clung to the narrow band that remained, and there she perc
hed on her rock halfway between the devil of desire and the deep blue sea of loneliness and tried again to think.

  If she walked away from Kris and Cadalach— assuming she still could—it would probably mean some sort of emotional death. Or at least an amputation. But if she stayed . . . Well, that might mean death too. She could end up emotionally enslaved, fey-struck. What a choice.

  But she would have to decide, and soon. There was a war going on for her . . . heart? Soul? Something. She could tell that the Goddess needed some element of her, either emotional or physical, and not just for Kris. A part of Adora wanted to keep whatever it was back, to remain whole and safe, if lonely. Another part was so tired of being alone— so horribly empty—and it wanted her to give herself to Kris and whatever else was moving them. Whatever the final cost.

  The irony was, she might not actually have any choice.

  There’s always some choice, Joy argued.

  Well, that’s true. There’s always suicide. Mom liked that one.

  There are others. . . .

  Yes, they just weren’t easy. Would she embrace enlightenment and pursue knowledge of her fey nature, or would she cling to the comfort of what remained of her ignorance? Would she be brave and go with dignity to her Fate—

  Eat me heart. Drink my soul. Love me to death.

  —or would she resist to the end, no matter how much it hurt her or Kris?

  The one thing that seemed certain was that she would have to choose. If she stayed here on the fence, the war would escalate and someone or something would end up firebombing her while she chose sides.

  Adora summed it up: Look, you want a guarantee. Unfortunately, with love you get no warranties.

  Kris laughed unhappily at himself. What an animalistic display. He’d done everything but beat on his chest and howl. He was lucky she hadn’t screamed and jumped off the cliff when he’d come leaping at her.

  Still, the experience wasn’t a total loss. As a consolation prize for the failure of his control and dignity, he’d had an emotional epiphany—an erection too; the first in a century—so perhaps they were related. Certainly both were amazing. But at what cost was this insight? Adora had to have some real misgivings about trusting her safety to him now that he had admitted needing her.

  But she hadn’t fled, had she? She had just kissed him back with all the passion of a dying woman fighting for air.

  Kris rubbed his face.

  No, she hadn’t fled. And as he held her, he had wanted to tell Adora what he realized—that he knew she really was the one, the other half of his soul he had never known was missing, his salvation.

  But though she pressed herself against him in surrender, her beautiful eyes had been only halffilled with sensual entreaty. The rest had been something akin to panic, and he had realized that it was at least partly the Goddess’s magic driving her, which she was both aware and frightened of. Then she had asked about his need to find Gaia. That hadn’t seemed the moment to announce he thought he loved her and wanted her to be with him forever—with him in Cadalach, trying to save an ungrateful world. It would be challenge enough to make her understand what it meant to have sex with a death fey—after all, losing herself was what she feared most. His imagination faltered at trying to make her understand his greater mission.

  But if she said yes . . .

  At the thought of finally making love to her, blood swam back into his loins.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to the air. “I understand what you want, O Goddess. But you’ll just have to wait. She needs time, and I’m going to give it to her.”

  Propelled by restless limbs, Adora wandered the mound, ruminating fruitlessly.

  That other voice she sometimes heard, coming from either Kris or the Goddess—“Eat my heart. Drink my soul. Love me to death.”—was the embodiment, or maybe she meant disembodiment, of her deepest fear; losing herself, being overwhelmed by someone or something until even her mind was eclipsed. But much of that fear was gone now that she was back inside—or pushed down so far that she couldn’t find it—and her thoughts kept returning to Kris and how much she needed to be with him, to see his plans through. Whatever those plans might be, above and beyond having her write this biography. If he still wanted her to write it.

  If you still want to write it.

  Yeah. That might be a problem. She wasn’t feeling real focused or creative. Once in a while she’d had a story that laid down by the side of the road and refused to move on when she wanted. She knew from experience that whipping the literary beast did no good. All she could do was wait patiently until it agreed that it was time to move again.

  That may be true. But aren’t you dodging the real issue here?

  Yes, she was. The book was nothing. She wanted Kris desperately. What she needed to know was if she was being coerced by some outside force—the Goddess—into hungering for him. Or did she want Kris because . . . well, simply because she wanted him. Once she had this figured out, she could begin to address the matter of how she felt about what she felt.

  “Can’t you give me some sign?” she muttered, uncertain to whom she was speaking. “Some little hint that I’m not just a convenient pawn in some cosmic chess game?”

  “Oh—I’d be real careful what I asked for around here,” a voice said behind her. When she turned, he added, “I’m Zayn. You might not remember me. There were rather a lot of us when you arrived.”

  They sure do grow them handsome around here, Joy mentioned.

  “Hello.” Adora looked at the outstretched hand, feeling wary of touching him. He looked normal, but she hadn’t forgotten what Io had said about being vulnerable to other magical beings. She needed another male attraction like she needed measles.

  “Oh, are you having flashover?” Zayn asked, dropping his hand. “It’s okay. I know it can be overwhelming until you learn to control it.”

  Flashover? That can’t be good.

  “It is all a bit much,” Adora admitted, also wondering what flashover was and if she could ask Zayn to go away. Assuming she wanted him to.

  You don’t know anything today, do you?

  Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?

  And saying and saying. Yes.

  “So, what are you thinking so hard about?” Zayn asked, falling in beside her.

  Resigned to the company and probably some highly personal questions, Adora sighed and resumed walking.

  “What am I thinking about? That I’m on the verge of embarking on an affair with a man who was worshipped as a god—many times—especially by women. A god who, though adored by millions, never got around to marrying any of them.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but it would do for an explanation for now.

  Zayn laughed. “Yeah, as I heard it, women always fell for Kris like rain out of the clouds. It’s all that pent-up power in him. Sometimes he almost sparks.” Seeing Adora’s frown, he went on quickly, “And he appreciated them too, like a shower of rain: needy, life-sustaining, beautiful. But just like drops of rain, every woman he met was pretty much like every other. There was no one important until you. If that’s all that’s worrying you, don’t give it another thought. You’re the one. The Goddess thinks so, too.”

  Bully for the Goddess. I feel so much better.

  They walked through an archway and into a tunnel of black glass. Adora looked furtively at her reflection strolling beside her. The woman in the mirror seemed a little wild-eyed, flushed and disheveled.

  Suffering from love or fiu—those two things are hard to hide, Joy said.

  I’m not in love. It’s just . . . very strong attraction.

  “Was he really so hot, even back then?” she asked. “I suppose he was. I mean, he was a god. Kris even said that with enough money or power, a cannibal with a hunchback and tentacles would be thought attractive by some women.”

  “Kris isn’t a cannibal. And I’m his doctor, so I know he doesn’t have tentacles,” Zayn said seriously, this time not
noticing Adora’s stare of disbelief. “Are you worried about species compatibility? He isn’t a shapeshifter or anything. Didn’t Io explain that sirens and death feys are a great match, even if one is Seelie and the other Unseelie? Physically, you’ll be a good fit.”

  “She said they were a strong match, yes,” Adora admitted.

  “The strongest,” Zayn agreed. “Most magical matings are like Superglue, but sirens and death feys go together like two-part epoxy. I envy you that.”

  Two-part epoxy? Joy queried.

  I’m not going to ask.

  “Did you know that the red corpuscles in human blood replace themselves every one hundred and twenty days?” Zayn asked. He went on earnestly: “But in feys, it’s just six—and in Kris, less than four. Human skin cells replace themselves every five days; in feys it takes only three hours. And Kris . . . his tissue regeneration is almost instantaneous. Even the scars of his disembowelment will be gone in another few days. More importantly, we make exact copies—unlike human cells that can alter if exposed to strong environmental influences. We don’t have cancer or birth defects. The only thing that can hurt us is the high doses of radiation the solar flares sometimes throw off. They can shoot right through our thinning ozone and zap us if we’re aboveground. That may have killed your dad. Of course, you’re going to be fine. Already you’re healing, and your children would be perfectly normal and healthy. In fact, they’ll be amazing. I can’t wait to see them.”

  Adora felt the words like a blow to the stomach.

  I guess we finally know what the Goddess is after— and it isn’t just to “get Kris back in touch with Gaia,” Joy remarked.

  “What? Children?” Adora repeated the word like she had never heard it before. Her tone was odd enough to give Zayn pause and make him really look at her.