The Host (The Host #1)(107)

Of course, little things like that were nothing. Kyle roamed the caves now, and though he was obviously under orders to leave me in peace, his expression made it clear that this restriction was repugnant to him. I was always with others when I crossed his path, and I wondered if that was the only reason he did nothing more than glower at me and unconsciously curl his thick fingers into claws. This brought back all the panic from my first weeks here, and I might have succumbed to it—begun hiding again, avoiding the common areas—but something more important than Kyle’s murderous glares came to my attention that second night.

The kitchen filled up again—I’m not sure how much was interest in my stories and how much was interest in the chocolate bars Jeb handed out. I declined mine, explaining to a disgruntled Jamie that I couldn’t talk and chew at the same time; I suspected that he would save one for me, obstinate as ever. Ian was back in his usual hot seat by the fire, and Andy was there—eyes wary—beside Paige. None of the other raiders, including Jared, of course, was in attendance. Doc was not there, and I wondered if he was still drunk or perhaps hung-over. And again, Walter was absent.

Geoffrey, Trudy’s husband, questioned me for the first time tonight. I was pleased, though I tried not to show it, that he seemed to have joined the ranks of the humans who tolerated me. But I couldn’t answer his questions well, which was too bad. His questions were like Doc’s.

“I don’t really know anything about Healing,” I admitted. “I never went to a Healer after… after I first got here. I haven’t been sick. All I know is that we wouldn’t choose a planet unless we were able to maintain the host bodies perfectly. There’s nothing that can’t be healed, from a simple cut, a broken bone, to a disease. Old age is the only cause of death now. Even healthy human bodies were only designed to last for so long. And there are accidents, too, I guess, though those don’t happen as often with the souls. We’re cautious.”

“Armed humans aren’t just an accident,” someone muttered. I was moving hot rolls; I didn’t see who spoke, and I didn’t recognize the voice.

“Yes, that’s true,” I agreed evenly.

“So you don’t know what they use to cure diseases, then?” Geoffrey pressed. “What’s in their medications?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. It wasn’t something I was interested in, back when I had access to the information. I’m afraid I took it for granted. Good health is simply a given on every planet I’ve lived on.”

Geoffrey’s red cheeks flushed brighter than usual. He looked down, an angry set to his mouth. What had I said to offend him?

Heath, sitting beside Geoffrey, patted his arm. There was a pregnant silence in the room.

“Uh—about the Vultures…” Ian said—the words were forced, a deliberate subject change. “I don’t know if I missed this part sometime, but I don’t remember you ever explaining about them being ‘unkind’… ?”

It wasn’t something I had explained, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t really that interested—this was just the first question he’d been able to think of.

My informal class ended earlier than usual. The questions were slow, and most of them supplied by Jamie and Ian. Geoffrey’s questions had left everyone else preoccupied.

“Well, we’ve got an early one tomorrow, tearing down the stalks…” Jeb mused after yet another awkward silence, making the words a dismissal. People rose to their feet and stretched, talking in low voices that weren’t casual enough.

“What did I say?” I whispered to Ian.

“Nothing. They’ve got mortality on their minds.” He sighed.

My human brain made one of those leaps in understanding that they called intuition.

“Where’s Walter?” I demanded, still whispering.

Ian sighed again. “He’s in the south wing. He’s… not doing well.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Things have been… difficult for you lately, so…”

I shook my head impatiently at that consideration. “What’s wrong with him?”

Jamie was there beside me now; he took my hand.

“Some of Walter’s bones snapped, they’re so brittle,” he said in a hushed voice. “Doc’s sure it’s cancer—final stages, he says.”

“Walt must have been keeping quiet about the pain for a long while now,” Ian added somberly.

I winced. “And there’s nothing to be done? Nothing at all?”

Ian shook his head, keeping his brilliant eyes on mine. “Not for us. Even if we weren’t stuck here, there would be no help for him now. We never cured that one.”

I bit my lip against the suggestion I wanted to make. Of course there was nothing to do for Walter. Any of these humans would rather die slowly and in pain than trade their mind for their body’s cure. I could understand that… now.

“He’s been asking for you,” Ian continued. “Well, he says your name sometimes; it’s hard to tell what he means—Doc’s keeping him drunk to help with the pain.”

“Doc feels real bad about using so much of the alcohol himself,” Jamie added. “Bad timing, all around.”

“Can I see him?” I asked. “Or will that make the others unhappy?”