Thirst No. 5 Read Free

crazy. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    Turning, I stare out at the desert, seeing the air tremble as it superheats and rises in waves over the bleak landscape. The ground is half dirt, half sand, hot enough to fry an egg. I shake my head.
    “When I was at IIC’s headquarters, while I was trying to take control of their Cradle, I had all kinds of strange psychic experiences. I shared some of them with you, but the worst ones, the ones where I came face to face with this demon, I didn’t talk about. I couldn’t. It was so awful, it almost drove me mad.”
    “You always seemed in control.”
    “It was an act. At the end, I was losing it.”
    “How do you know you didn’t lose it last night?” he asks.
    I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder, half expecting him to shake it off. But he is listening, my old friend, he continues to listen. Yet he wants hard answers, logical reasons, and I doubt if I can give him those.
    “I caught her in a lie,” I say. “A big lie. Then it was only a question of getting her to admit what she was, which she did.”
    “ What she was? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I told you, she was possessed.”
    “Get off it, Sita. This isn’t The Exorcist . Shanti was one of the sweetest girls I ever met.”
    “Yeah, sweet as apple pie. I thought the same thing. So damn sweet.” I pause. “Look how we found her, with half her face melted away from acid a jealous boyfriend had thrown at her. How could we help but feel sorry for her?”
    Seymour is suddenly confused. “That was true. She didn’t lie about that.”
    “Nothing she said was true! She lied to us from the start. Those facial wounds—they were self-inflicted. She poured the acid on herself.”
    Seymour shakes his head. “No one could do that to themselves.”
    “No normal human being could do that. But she did.”
    “You keep saying these things as if they were facts. You don’t know.”
    “I do, I saw her for what she was. At the end she didn’t even try to hide it. She was happy that I knew. Please, Seymour, I swear to you on Krishna’s name that she was gloating.”
    Seymour stands silent for a minute, then takes the bottle of water from my hand and pours it over his head. He stares up at the burning blue sky. I have never sworn to him before. I’ve never had to. Certainly I have never invoked Krishna’s name before.
    “I thought when we escaped IIC’s headquarters, we were safe,” he says miserably.
    “So did I.”
    “I thought you said the Telar were all destroyed.”
    “I think they are.”
    Seymour sighs and throws the empty bottle aside. “What a way to wake up,” he mutters.
    “I’m sorry. Honestly, Seymour, the instant I killed her I thought of you. How much it would hurt you. It was all I could think about.”
    Now he looks to me for comfort, and I’m amazed at his ability to forgive me, to trust me. “Did she suffer?” he asks quietly.
    I think of the fires that await those who fail the test of the Scale, and how poorly Shanti will do when she reaches that judgment. But Seymour’s expression is so desperate, I believe a lie is better than the truth. Besides, I couldn’t have given Shanti a faster death than ripping off her head.
    “It was quick,” I say.
    We walk back to town. Seymour stops once to cry, but he is all right. I know eventually he will be fine.

THREE
     
    F inally, the gang is gathered in Matt’s room. His air conditioner actually works. Cynthia Brutran sits at the head of his bed, an open laptop resting on her crossed legs, a pillow at her back. She has changed clothes since the start of our flight. Gone are her jewelry and expensive suits. Her pants look as if they were bought at the local drugstore—I suspect they were—and her top is a deceptive T-shirt with a sketch of Baker looking not only exotic but actually inviting beneath the rays of the setting sun.
    Even though we are on the run, the woman—an old foe of mine—looks more relaxed than I