One
“In everyone there sleeps
A sense of life lived according to love.”
—Philip Larkin
It had been the longest ten days of Clem’s life.
His marriage to Morgan had lasted for only a month, but to Clem’s reawakened mind it seemed much longer. The lamia who had so besotted him had been powerful enough to make the time spent in her poison embrace seem like a dream, a dream that swiftly turned to a nightmare when his thoughts and passions were once again his own.
He glanced at the bed where Nezi had lain for almost two days, wracked with the pain his mild psionic powers had allowed him to take from Clem. Nezi and the others who lived at the temple—BB, Oogie, and Animal—had spent several exhausting days working, and sometimes fighting, to keep Clem separate from his ‘wife.’ Although Clem felt a slight rush of pleasure at the thought that there were people who cared enough about him to sacrifice their own comfort and safety for his sake, the rush was always followed by the faintly acidic burn of shame at his behavior towards his friends. He could still remember punching BB with a sort of half-fogged recollection; the fact that he hadn’t been in his right mind didn’t ease the guilt in any degree.
He dressed slowly, the pain in his hand keeping him from moving any faster. He glanced up as Hoss wandered in, his arms burdened with a tall stack of charts. “You leavin’?” the Cartwright clone asked in his slow drawl.
Clem nodded. “I think so.”
Setting the charts down on a nearby bed, Hoss reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bottle. “Here. Cooked these up m’self. If these don’t help with that pain you’re still feelin’, then nothin’ will.”
Clem nodded again, careful to take the bottle with his right hand before shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry.”
Hoss’s thick brows drew together into a puzzled frown. “Sorry fer what?”
“For bein’ a troublesome patient.”
Hoss snorted. “Oh, please. You shoulda seen the last time Dante was in here. Now that’s troublesome.”
Clem smiled at that, for it was true that Dante—along with his parents and most of his family—didn’t like to be coddled much and resented time spent confined to sickbay. Clem suppressed an inner surge of shame. Dante wasn’t a crybaby like he was. Dante would have borne the pain without complaint.
He looked around sickbay one last time; glad to be going home, he was nevertheless a little nervous about leaving the thick, safe gray walls behind. The Library was mercifully quiet, and Clem managed to make it outside without running into anyone. He didn’t feel much like talking. Walking across the expansive lawn and into the trees brought some relief . . . he was on his way home.
His feelings about returning home were mixed—the cabin would undoubtedly remind him of Morgan; no matter where he turned he’d be able to see her. But he had to go back. Moving into Trotondown, as Armando had suggested, was out of the question. Though not antisocial, Clem had never felt comfortable around large groups of people. Living in the Library was likewise out of the question. The cabin meant peace and quiet . . . and with Morgan gone, it was now a return to isolation and loneliness.
Sighing as he climbed the three short steps to the porch, Clem reached for the knob and stepped into his house, bracing himself for the cold and mustiness and bad memories . . .
The first thing he noticed was how warm it was; a small fire burned in the fireplace, throwing a flickering light over the immaculate room. Furniture that had been spilled when Nezi had taken him to the temple had been righted and returned to its proper place and the dishes had been washed and put away. The only thing out of place was a heavy knapsack sitting in the middle of the floor, tipped over on its side and partially opened. Clem stared at it, puzzled. Where did that thing come from? It’s not mine . . .
His gaze moved up, finally resting on the only other thing that was out of place. The bedcovers were in place, but a brightly patterned navajo blanket covered a lump on the bed.
A human-sized lump.
Clem tensed, his eyes going wide. In my house! Someone’s in my house! The lump shifted slightly, a soft, feminine sigh emerging from underneath.
“Wh-Who’s there?” he stammered, fighting to keep his voice from trembling. Please oh please don’t let it be Morgan . . . or her sister . . . Images of a sibling lamia come for her revenge flashed through his mind.
The blankets suddenly moved, and a streak of brown and tan charged forth, hands seizing at a pair of daggers that lay nearby on the floor. “Who are you!?” she demanded.
Clem stumbled backwards, his hands grabbing blindly for the gunbelt hanging by the door. The woman didn’t hesitate; her wrist snapped and Clem heard a woosh followed by a thud—the dagger had hit the wall only a few inches from his hand. He jumped. “Who are you?” he said, returning the woman’s demand, wincing a moment later as his left hand hit the wall, sending a flare of pain all the way to his shoulder.
“I asked you first!” she snapped.
Clem gasped, the pain warring for his attention. “I’m . . . this is my house . . . ” he managed.
The glare on her face disappeared and she straightened, lowering her other weapon. “Yours? I thought it was abandoned.”
“I . . . I’ve been . . . in the hospital,” Clem said, reaching up to cradle his hand.
The woman blinked a few times, her expression one of bewilderment deepening into embarrassment. “Then, this house is not abandoned?”
“I . . . I was gone a while. Sorry . . . ?”
She shook her head, taking a few steps backward to grab her blanket, then coming forward to kneel next to her knapsack. “No, it’s ME who’s sorry. I’ll . . . I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”
Clem sat down at the table, still cradling his hand. She’d given him the fright of his life, but now that he could see that she wasn’t Morgan resurrected—or any other kind of creature—he didn’t want her to just vanish. His hand throbbed and burned, but even so . . . he was curious about her. “You don’t . . . have to go.”
Instead of protesting or even saying “thank you,” she walked over to the table, sticking her remaining dagger into her belt and smoothing her leggings. “Where is it?”
Clem looked up at her. “Where is what?”
“Hurt,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child. “Where does it hurt?”
Clem shrugged. “My hand. It’s healed, it just still hurts for some reason.”
She slid up onto the edge of the table. “Mind if I take a look? Um . . . whoever you are?”
“Clem. M’name’s Clem.” He had no reason to trust her—she had thrown a knife at him, after all—but he nevertheless held out his hand to her. Most of the damage caused by the melting ring had healed, with the exception of some pinkish scars near the knuckle. His middle, pinkie, and ring fingers were belt slightly and stiff, and Clem knew from experience that moving them was agony.
Her hands reached out and claimed his. “Lei-san,” she said softly, her head down. Her thumbs met over his knuckles and began gently rubbing, moving in slow, gentle circles.
Clem found himself relaxing under her touch, and he looked up at her. Her long, sandy, stick-straight hair hung down her shoulders and back, a few locks tumbling over her forehead as she worked. Her features were plain but her eyes were large, and as they briefly met his he could see they were slate blue. She was tall and thin, with the ropy muscle of someone who lives and works outdoors, her skin tanned to a deep, healthy pink. Her clothing could only be described as Western—leggings made of soft doeskin, a loose white shirt, and a belt with a large silver buckle. My kind of girl, Clem thought, immediately berating himself. He was not going to fall again. That’s what got him in trouble the first time. This woman was not going to be the next Morgan.
“Relax,” she said, as if noticing his discomfort. “I’m not going to hurt you—if I can help it. The muscles of your hand are all tense and tight; let’s see if we can’t loosen them, huh?”
Clem nodded a little bit, still watching her every move as she slid her thumbs up to his wrist, pressing hard enough to crack the bones of his hand. The movements brought no new pain, however—the tendons were slowly relaxing, and Clem found himself so fascinated by her strong fingers that the pain faded into the back of his mind.
“So what do you do, Clem?” she asked, still concentrating on his hand.
“I . . . I don’t really . . . do anything, ma’am,” he replied.
“Oh come on. Everyone does something. And I’m not ‘ma’am’—it’s Lei-san.”
Clem thought for a minute. I’m a foolish Mike clone who gets duped by vampires. “I . . . I used to play guitar, and I have . . . my horse.” How long had it been since he’d thought about Laredo? Too long, he thought with an inward sigh.
Lei-san only smiled. “My horse died a while ago. I’ve been on foot ever since.”
“Awww . . . ” Clem said sympathetically.
“That’s why I stopped here. A nice cabin out in the woods, no one here . . . ”
“You can stay if you like,” Clem said, his mind not even registering what he’d uttered until the words were hanging in the air. What the hell . . . not like I’m askin’ her to marry me. The thought made him shudder. “Until you find another place,” he added.
She sighed, her smile vanishing. “No. I think I’ll be moving on.”
Clem relaxed a little. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure, although . . . I do like it here. It sure beats sleeping in the woods.”
In the woods? The thought of this beautiful creature using leaves and dirt for a mattress, sleeping out in the rain and cold and damp . . . “Please stay.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Clem nodded. “Thank you. That’s very generous.” She took Clem’s fingers and carefully bent them. “That hurt?”
Clem winced, then smiled. “Not . . . as bad. Thank you! I don’t understand why it’s still hurtin’ so much. It’s healed.”
Lei-san sat back, drawing her legs up. “Well, why do broken bones ache sometimes after they’re healed? Besides . . . this is the worst burn I’ve ever seen.”
Clem glanced away, the innocent words bringing forth a whole slew of memories he’d been fighting to keep at bay.
“How did it happen?”
When Clem spoke his voice was low, each word both cathartic and painful to say. “I got duped. By a . . . thing. A lamia.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I . . . see. Sort of.”
“When she was destroyed,” Clem continued, “my weddin’ ring—the one she gave me—melted.”
Lei-san nodded, putting the pieces together. “And burned your hand. You poor thing . . . ” She reached out and touched his hair, the gesture so warm and compassionate that he started to lean into the touch . . . only to have her jerk her hand back, as if he’d burned her. “I’m . . . I’m SORRY. I don’t know WHAT got into me,” she said, her face flushing with embarrassment.
Clem just smiled. He liked her—she was kind and polite . . . and very very pretty.
Her mouth quirked into a wry grin. “I guess I’m a sucker for hard luck cases.” He chuckled as her fingers slipped down to his wrist. “Good grief, look how skinny you are!”
“Haven’t had much appetite,” he mumbled.
She uncurled her long legs, letting them drop over the edge of the table. “Boy, I’m going to cook for you—put some meat back on those bones.”
“You don’t have to, but thank you.”
She smiled. “Least I can do for throwing that knife at you.”
He shrugged. “Ehhh . . . it didn’t hit me.”
Her smile deepened, her eyes flashing wickedly. “I know.”
“I also want to thank you for cleanin’ this place up . . . it looks great!”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said, taking a casual look around the room. “I can’t stand messes. Especially being in them.” There was a different tone to her voice, as if something were lurking behind the words.
Clem decided to overlook it. “It was . . . a little hectic when I left.”
She nodded. “I can only imagine. You’ll have to tell me the story sometime.”
“Maybe . . . when it’s clearer to me, too.” Clem stood up, suddenly hungry. “I’m not sure what there is to eat here.”
“I caught a rabbit the other day, but that’s it. There’s scarce game around here.”
Clem nodded. “Yeah . . . ” Despite its vast wilderness the woods of Long Title were home to surprisingly few species of wild game.
“How did you survive out here with no game, might I ask?”
“I cheated. I get my groceries in town . . . or at the Library.”
Lei-san stopped, her brows raising in surprise. “Library? Town?”
Clem nodded.
Lei-san’s smooth forehead creased into a puzzled frown. “You mean there are other people around? I haven’t heard or seen anyone since I arrived. Until you, that is.”
“They don’t come out here that often.”
“Obviously. So where is this . . . library?”
“Just east of here,” he replied, nodding his head in the vague direction of the Library.
She nodded uncertainly. “And who . . . who lives there?”
“Lots of people,” Clem said, not sure whether he should bring up the subject of clones yet. He went over to the sink and poured a glass of water. Lei-san went over to the bed and straightened the blankets that had been disturbed by her wild leap. “Maybe we could go get some groceries?” he said, breaking the awkward silence.
“If you think it’s all right. I’m a stranger here.”
Clem smiled. “It’s fine.”
“All right.” She picked up her fringed jacket and slung it on. “Where do you keep your gold?”
Clem smiled at that. “Don’t need any money. I’m goin’ to the Library.”
“I see,” she said, but it was obvious to Clem that she had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s okay,” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.
The frown disappeared and another small smile graced her features. “All right. You lead the way.”
Feeling a sense of excitement and purpose, Clem quickly downed one of the pills Hoss had given him. He grabbed his hat from the peg on the wall and slipped it on, not noticing the gaze resting upon him until he had reached the door.
“Very handsome, I must say,” Lei-san said, her eyebrows raised appraisingly. “I wonder if the men in this . . . library . . . are as attractive as you.”
Clem blushed at the compliment. “Thank you,” he said.
Lei-san took a few long strides to his side, and slipped her arm in his. “You’re welcome. And I promise . . . I’m fully human.”
Clem smiled. There was something in this strange woman that put him at ease . . . or maybe it was the painkillers running through him. In any case, her presence was a soothing balm that made Morgan seem comfortably far away. “Good.”
On to Two
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