The Host (The Host #1)(211)

Happy and sad, elated and miserable, secure and afraid, loved and denied, patient and angry, peaceful and wild, complete and empty… all of it. I would feel everything. It would all be mine.

Ian coaxed my face up until I looked him in the eyes, my cheeks flushing darker.

“Then you will stay.”

He kissed me, right in front of everyone, but I forgot the audience quickly. This was easy and right, no division, no confusion, no objection, just Ian and me, the molten rock moving through this new body, melding it into the pact.

“I will stay,” I agreed.

And my tenth life began.

EPILOGUE

Continued

Life and love went on in the last human outpost on the planet Earth, but things did not stay exactly the same.

I was not the same.

This was my first rebirth into a body of the same species. I found the transfer much more difficult than changing planets because I had so many expectations about being human already in place. Also, I’d inherited a lot of things from Petals Open to the Moon, and not all of them were pleasant.

I’d inherited a great deal of grief for Cloud Spinner. I missed the mother I’d never known and mourned for her suffering now. Perhaps there could be no joy on this planet without an equal weight of pain to balance it out on some unknown scale.

I’d inherited unexpected limitations. I was used to a body that was strong and fast and tall—a body that could run for miles, go without food and water, lift heavy weights, and reach high shelves. This body was weak—and not just physically. This body seized up with crippling shyness every time I was unsure of myself, which seemed to be often these days.

I’d inherited a different role in the human community. People carried things for me now and let me pass first into a room. They gave me the easiest chores and then, half the time, took the work right out of my hands anyway. Worse than that, I needed the help. My muscles were soft and not used to labor. I tired easily, and my attempts to hide that fooled no one. I probably couldn’t have run a mile without stopping.

There was more to this easy treatment than just my physical weakness, though. I was used to a pretty face, but one that people were able to look at with fear, mistrust, even hatred. My new face defied such emotions.

People touched my cheeks often, or put their fingers under my chin, holding my face up to see it better. I was frequently patted on my head (which was in easy reach, since I was shorter than everyone but the children), and my hair was stroked so regularly that I stopped noticing when it happened. Those who had never accepted me before did this as often as my friends. Even Lucina put up only a token resistance when her children began following me like two adoring puppies. Freedom, in particular, crawled onto my lap at every opportunity, burrowing his face in my hair. Isaiah was too big for such displays of affection, but he liked to hold my hand—just the same size as his—while chattering excitedly with me about Spiders and Dragons, soccer and raids. The children still wouldn’t go anywhere near Melanie; their mother had frightened them too thoroughly before for her reassurances to change things now.

Even Maggie and Sharon, though they still tried not to look at me, could not maintain their former rigidity in my presence.

My body was not the only change. The monsoons came late to the desert, and I was glad.

For one thing, I’d never smelled the rain on the creosotes before—I could only vaguely remember it from my memories of Melanie’s memories, a very dim trail of recall indeed—and now the scent washed out the musty caves, left them smelling fresh and almost spicy. The scent clung to my hair and followed me everywhere. I smelled it in my dreams.

Also, Petals Open to the Moon had lived in Seattle all her life, and the unbroken streak of blue skies and blistering heat was as bewildering—almost numbing—to my system as the dark press of heavy overcast skies would have been to any of these desert dwellers. The clouds were exciting, a change from the bland, featureless pale blue. They had depth and movement. They made pictures in the sky.

There was a great deal of reshuffling to be done in Jeb’s caves, and the move to the big game room—now the communal sleeping quarters—was good preparation for more permanent arrangements to follow.

Every space was needed, so rooms could not remain vacant. Still, only the newcomers, Candy—who had remembered her correct name at last—and Lacey, could bear to take Wes’s old space. I pitied Candy for her future roommate, but the Healer never betrayed any discontent at the prospect.

When the rains ended, Jamie would move into a free corner in Brandt and Aaron’s cave. Melanie and Jared had kicked Jamie out of their room and into Ian’s before I’d been reborn in Pet’s body; Jamie wasn’t so young that they’d needed to give him any excuse.

Kyle was working on widening the small crevice that had been Walter’s sleeping space so that it would be ready when the desert was dry again. It really wasn’t big enough for more than one, and Kyle would not be staying there alone.

At night in the game room, Sunny slept curled into a ball against Kyle’s chest, like a kitten who was friends with a big dog—a rottweiler whom she trusted implicitly. Sunny was always with Kyle. I couldn’t remember ever seeing them unattached since I’d opened these silver gray eyes for the first time.

Kyle seemed constantly bemused, too distracted by this impossible relationship he couldn’t quite wrap his head around to pay attention to much else. He wasn’t giving up on Jodi, but as Sunny clung to him, he held her to his side with gentle hands.