Busted Flush

This wasn’t a game, she wanted to scream. This wasn’t a divine calling. And there wasn’t always going to be someone around to save your ass.

“Kate,” John said, somber. “We’re pulling out of Africa. The mission there’s a bust. Tom Weathers—he’s psychotic. Insane.” He shook his head, as if still trying to understand. “There’s nothing we can do there. Which makes it even more important that we do some good here.”

Recalling the spray of blood from the man she’d killed, she almost laughed at him. That was doing good?

Lilith cleared her throat. “Let’s leave these two to their little conversation, shall we?”

Predictably, Lohengrin seemed all too happy to leave with the British ace.

When they were gone, Kate touched John’s face and kissed him. He looked surprised. His brow—his marred, gem-embedded brow—furrowed. “You’re hurt.”

And if that was going to stop him, he lacked serious imagination.

“Sit with me,” she said, scooting back to give him room.

He did, shifting onto the cot. When he was settled, she curled up against him, pulling his arm around her shoulders, resting her head on his chest. Cocooned herself with him. He held her tightly, stroking her hair.

In spite of her plans, the painkillers and exhaustion conspired against her. Feeling safe for the first time in days, she slept.

Double Helix

GO UP INTO GILEAD, AND TAKE BALM

Melinda M. Snodgrass

SHE’S READING TO MY father—Lucky Jim, one of his favorite books for its vicious look at the British education system. Her voice is a low chuckle like the sound of water in a fast stream. Last night I slept in my own bed for ten straight hours. I had heard Dad moaning in the wee smalls, but when I’d gone to his room Niobe had been there before me, bathing his forehead with cool citrus water. They had both ordered me back to bed, and their air of command had been both charming and amusing. I allowed myself to be dictated to.

There’s the yeasty smell of toasting bread from the kitchen. Drake has discovered the joys of Nutella. He emerges into the hall holding seven slices slathered with the chocolate/hazelnut concoction in one hand and a large glass of milk in the other. My mouth is suddenly watering. I snag one of the slices.

“Hey!”

I smile down into his round, outraged face. “It’s nice to share.”

The blush dots his face with red splotches. “They’re not all for me. They’re for Niobe and your dad.” He shuffles a bit. “And me.”

“If you can get my father to eat one of those slices I will bless you.”

He scurries away and I follow at a more sedate pace. Mum is off at another conference in London. I know she’s sought after, but it’s starting to feel like she wants to miss the actual death, too. Maybe we are more alike than I realize. If she does come home I wonder what she’ll make of the guests.

Drake is alternating bites of toast with slurping sips of milk when I enter the bedroom. It seems that the counterpane covering my father lies a little flatter each day. Niobe kneels Japanese style on a pillow on the floor. It keeps the tail out of her way. I give her shoulder a grateful squeeze as I move past. My dad lifts his hand. I take it and kiss his forehead.

“Thank you, you’ve brought me the most delightful nurse and assistant.”

He smiles at Niobe and Drake, revealing crooked teeth, legacy of a lifetime of British dentistry. I wonder how he appears to her. Nothing remarkable, medium height, gray-brown hair, neither handsome nor ugly, a deeply lined face from a lifetime of invalidism, but, like Niobe, he has wonderful eyes. Niobe blushes. She looks rather adorable.

“The state nurse is coming,” I say to Dad. “I thought I’d show Niobe and Drake about a little.”

“Go, go,” he urges, shoving at me with the back of his hand. It’s stippled with dark bruises from the IV needles.

Out in the hall Drake makes a face. “Are you gonna, like, walk around?”

“Probably,” I lie because I want to have Niobe to myself.

“Can I stay here and use the computer? I could play WoW.”

“No! Use the Game Boy, but don’t go online.” Drake looks mulish as only a teenage boy can. Niobe hugs him and ruffles his hair.

“Come on, kiddo, I know it feels like we’re safe, but we’re not, not really.”

I feel a stab of regret and resentment that I can’t make her feel secure. But reason reasserts itself. In truth they’re not safe.

I take her out the back door, across the swale of grass, and through the gate in the hedge. The Cam rolls slowly past, the color of caramel. We keep a punt pulled up onto the muddy bank. I squelch across to the punt. Leaves have gathered in the bottom, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve had it out on the water. I toss some of them out, and hold out my hand to Niobe.