The door opened. “Helena?” Judy said. “Malcolm said you weren’t doing well. I told him that was an understatement. Can I get you anything?”
I shook my head, then nodded. “Judy,” I said in a shaking voice, “I think I need help.”
5
I sat propped up on pillows in my own wonderful bed and turned another page. I’d been trying to study my augury, but Old Tin Sorrows had turned out to be a fascinating story, and after a few chapters I’d decided to read the book through and leave analyzing it for later. Cyrus snuggled up beside me—apparently I would do if Malcolm wasn’t available—and I ran my fingers through his golden fur while he purred. His purr was so loud it sounded motorized.
The absent thought reminded me of the day’s events, of the sound of that car drawing ever closer to the store, and I set my book down gently on its face and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. I’d thought I was doing better. Malcolm had taken me home and drawn me a hot bath, and I’d soaked in a pleasantly mindless stupor until the water was cold and my hands were pruny. I’d had a bowl of soup, comforting even on this sweltering July day. And then I’d gone to bed early with my augury. It should have been perfect and relaxing, but my mind kept veering back to memories I never wanted to recall. Like the sight of those two “women” shot full of holes. I knew they were really invaders, but it had looked so real…
I picked up my book again and made myself read a few paragraphs before setting it aside. I should try to sleep. Things would look better in the morning. Maybe.
Malcolm came through the door and sat next to me. “Feeling better, love?”
“Yes. No. I hate feeling so fragile. It’s not like I was even injured. I should be stronger than this.”
“You are strong, Helena. But you’ve been under a lot of stress recently, and even the strongest person can snap if the pressure goes on long enough.” He took my hand. “I think you need to talk to someone.”
I sighed. “I know. I just don’t know how to go about it. It feels so strange, thinking about seeing a mental health professional.”
“I felt the same way the first time I saw a psychologist.”
My eyes widened. “When was this? What do you mean, the first time?”
He smiled and kissed the back of my hand. “You remember the woman I killed accidentally in sparring? I’d been a SEAL for years before that, had killed…I didn’t keep track, but more than a few of the enemy…but Roberta’s death shook me. It was right after my father’s death, when I’d come home to take up the family business and join a hunting team, and I started making mistakes in the field. Nobody died as a result, but that was pure luck. After that had gone on for three or four weeks, Tinsley pulled me aside and told me if I didn’t get my head straight, the team was sidelining me. I fought him on it—thought it was a stupid, weak thing to do, and I should be able to work my problems out myself—but in the end, I humbled myself and went to the Gunther Node.”
“And it worked?”
“Therapy isn’t a magic pill, but at least in my case, talking to someone helped me work out the guilt I felt over Roberta dying. And a professional might see something you haven’t considered.”
I nodded. “All right. Should I ask Lucia?”
“Call Pringle in the morning. She will forward your call to someone who can see you—possibly right away.”
“That seems fast.”
Malcolm chuckled. “There are things the Gunther Node will do for the custodian of Abernathy’s that they won’t for the average Warden.”
“I won’t let it go to my head.”
Malcolm hugged me. “I spoke with Ms. Duwelt and explained that it will take three days to repair the front door. She agreed that there was no point opening the store, though she suggested you might still go in for the mail-in auguries. Something about them piling up otherwise. I said I’d pass that along. And now I have, and I urge you to ignore them for a while.”
I laughed. “I think a few days’ rest might be good. It’s so hard to have the oracle keep hammering home the point that we’re both going to end.”
“Which is why you need professional help.” His hands strayed beneath my pajama top. “And other kinds of…help.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh? And you think you can provide this…help?” I gasped as his hands moved north. “Ah…maybe you’re right.”
Malcolm kissed me, his lips lingering on mine. “But only if it’s what you want.”
I drew him down to lie beside me. “I can’t think of anything that would make me feel better than your hands on my—oh!”
“Then I think,” Malcolm said, “we should explore the possibilities.”
I woke briefly the next morning when Malcolm’s alarm went off at 6:30, rolled over, and sank back into blissful sleep. When I woke more fully an hour later, I felt clear-headed and more rested than I had in months. Knowing I didn’t have to face the oracle that day relieved my mind, leaving me with a familiar guilt over resenting the job I loved. I hadn’t realized until then how tightly wound I’d become thanks to the oracle’s constant reminders of our ending.
Malcolm was eating when I went downstairs, but got up when I entered the kitchen. “It’s all right, I just want cereal,” I said, taking a brightly colored box out of the pantry.
“All right, but you know I’m happy to fix you something.” Malcolm went back to his meal. “You should use this day to relax. Read, have a bath, watch a movie. I’ll make dinner.”
“You are so sweet.” I kissed his cheek. “I’ll call the Gunther Node once I’m showered and dressed.”
“Let me know how that goes. I think it will be good for you.”
“Me too.” I took a bite of crunchy sweet morsels in a variety of colors not occurring in nature. Though I remembered seeing pictures of morpho butterflies, an intense sapphire blue that burned the retina, and wondered if I was right about what Nature thought was appropriate.
Malcolm’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. He glanced at it, did a double take, and pushed his chair back. “Lucia says to turn on channel 2,” he told me.
I got up and followed him into the living room. He turned on the television and flicked through the display to select channel 2. A very intense-looking male newscaster I didn’t recognize—I never watched the morning news—was saying, “—more information as we receive it. Local sources say we’re looking at a fast-spreading disease and have begun evacuation of nearby towns. The similarities to the Berryton disaster cannot be disregarded. To repeat: at 3:15 Central European Time this morning, reports of a disaster in a village near Barga, Italy began appearing in Italian news channels and were soon confirmed by the Italian government. What we know is that the entire population of the village, nearly five thousand people, was killed by an unknown agent sometime between the hours of ten o’clock p.m. and midnight CET. Official reports suggest a fast-spreading disease rather than violence, but an unknown biological agent cannot be ruled out. No correlation between the disaster at Berryton and the events at Barga has been officially made, but—”