I’d been so caught up in my own troubles, I had no idea what the world thought of the destruction at Berryton and Barga. It seemed so obviously an attack I couldn’t understand why the Bruces of the world didn’t see it that way. Was there widespread panic? I almost turned the TV back to the news, but realized in time that there was nothing I could do if there were, and I had enough fears without burdening myself with make-believe ones.
I put in the Twelve Angry Men DVD and went to make myself a bowl of popcorn. My school had done Twelve Angry Women my junior year, our drama department being disproportionately female, and I’d been on stage crew as usual, but I’d also understudied Juror #4, so I felt a kinship with E.G. Marshall, who’d played the role in the film. I loved the way the plot shifted over the course of the story, with each juror having his (or her, I guess) attitude and beliefs tested.
I settled in with my popcorn and Diet Coke, determined not to sleep until Malcolm returned, or called, or texted—anything to confirm that he was well and the counterattack had been successful. I lay back with my feet propped on a pillow and felt all my muscles relax. I couldn’t imagine life without great films.
The buzz of a text startled me awake. I shot upright, spilling the remainder of the popcorn, and blinked at the TV screen. Only two jurors hadn’t changed their votes. I snatched up my phone, and my heart thumped painfully when I saw Malcolm’s name. He couldn’t text if he was injured. ALL WELL. INVADERS TURNED BACK NO PROBLEM. HOME SOON.
I checked the display for the time. Just after ten. That had been fast. FAST WORK, I texted back.
WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING WHEN I RETURN. I LOVE YOU.
His assurance warmed my heart. He was alive. He was coming home. LOVE YOU TOO.
I gathered up the spilled popcorn while the movie played out to its satisfying conclusion. Though now that I was older, I kind of wanted the movie to end with Henry Fonda being secretly paid off by the defense for having successfully convinced the jury to find the murderer not guilty. As it was, the final scene on the street outside the courthouse felt weak. But I was too cheerful to care.
When the movie was over, I put the DVD away and went upstairs to change into pajamas. I was just considering reading more of my augury when I heard the back door open and close. I flew down the stairs and into Malcolm’s arms, burying my face in his shoulder and breathing him in. He smelled of sweat and gunpowder, but his fatigues were surprisingly cool.
“It’s the middle of winter in Australia,” he told me when I mentioned it. “Mid-sixties and very comfortable. I think I need a shower.” There was dirt in his hair and on his face, and altogether he looked filthy.
I followed him into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub while he undressed. “It was a perfect operation, and I’ve seen very few of those,” he told me. “So many things can go wrong—bad timing, or the enemy knows you’re coming, or weapons malfunction—but everything went just as planned.”
“So what did the attack look like? How are the invaders draining whole towns?”
“Our guess was right that the attacks are led by the intelligent invaders. They go in first, in disguise—all of them are skilled at illusions—and open thousands of rifts, cracks the smaller ones can get in through. That part, we don’t understand, or at any rate don’t understand how that’s possible. But it was irrelevant. We used the Pattern to predict where the intelligent invaders would appear and destroyed them before they could let many of their stupider, smaller cousins into the city.”
I shuddered. “How many were there? Of the intelligent ones, I mean.”
“That’s the frightening part. Only three.” He turned on the water and stepped into the shower stall. “Three intelligent ones to wreak so much destruction. Lucia hasn’t said how many came through in Montana. She might not know yet.”
“I guess it’s positive news. All the Wardens have to do is destroy all the intelligent ones, and their threat is ended.”
“If we can find them. Until a year and a half ago, everyone believed the intelligent invaders were mythical, or at least long gone. The one you met in Abernathy’s was the first one anyone had encountered in centuries. Assuming they’ve been here all along without us knowing, they’ve had all those centuries to learn how to stay hidden. We can kill the ones we find, but we’ve no guarantee that we’ve found all of them.”
“I like my take on it better.”
Malcolm laughed. “You do have a delightfully positive outlook on life.”
I picked up his filthy clothes, which smelled worse when they were bundled up. “I’ll put these in the wash, and then I’ll be right back.”
When I returned, Malcolm was toweling dry his hair and the bathroom smelled of the fresh scent of his soap. “I never appreciate being clean so much as when I’m just back from a mission,” he said.
“Mmm. I appreciate you being clean all the time,” I said, running a hand over his back, which was damp from condensation.
He laughed. “Let’s go to bed. I still have to go to work in the morning.”
I turned down the covers while he got into boxers and a T-shirt, then snuggled up in his arms and closed my eyes in pure contentment. “You know, I think Madeleine is mellowing toward me?” I said. “She was almost polite tonight. Well, polite for her, which means she said a couple of nasty things under cover of being straightforward and speaking truth.”
“You don’t have to put up with that, love.”
“I know. This was…different. I wonder if it wasn’t being in her old house that did it. She said something about watching you and Ewan play with your father on the lawn, and she sounded almost human.”
“I wish she could be like she was when my father was alive. She was still a hard person to get close to, but he made her into her best self.” Malcolm sighed. “What makes you think she’s mellowing?”
“She admitted she thought you’d chosen me purely to spite her. And that she could see we love each other. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, but it felt like maybe she’s finally coming to terms with the idea of us.”
Malcolm’s arms tightened on me. “I suppose it’s possible. I’m not holding my breath.”
“Me neither.” But it surprised me to realize, deep inside, I hoped it was true.
8
The next day was Friday. I spent the morning chatting with Ingrid, our occasional household help, and the afternoon cleaning the pantry. I liked reorganizing things; it was soothing and the end result cheered me up. I’d probably get tired of housework if it was all I did, but now and again it was a welcome break from my job.
That evening, Malcolm and I went to the Kellers’ for dinner. Their home was in a west side neighborhood in the hills, overgrown with trees and filled with ‘50s era homes that had once been ultramodern and were still attractive in an old-fashioned way. Squarish and blocky and vertical, the Kellers’ home wasn’t the sort of place I could see myself living, but it suited them and their unique personalities.
We followed the curving driveway that circled the house, giving visitors a tour of Harry Keller’s magnificent rosebushes. In the heart of summer, they were radiant with color, deep reds and pale peaches, blush pink like the cheeks of a girl in love and dark purple-red close enough to black as to make no difference. Those last were the pride of Harry’s heart. He’d spent years cross-breeding roses to get that extraordinary color, and if I hadn’t known him so well, I might have suspected magic was involved.