The Host (The Host #1)(7)

I decided to open my eyes. I felt the need to double-check the Healer’s promises and make sure the rest of me worked.

Light. Bright, painful. I closed my eyes again. The last light I had seen had been filtered through a hundred ocean fathoms. But these eyes had seen brighter and could handle it. I opened them narrowly, keeping my eyelashes feathered over the breach.

“Would you like me to turn down the lights?”

“No, Healer. My eyes will adjust.”

“Very good,” he said, and I understood that his approval was meant for my casual use of the possessive.

Both waited quietly while my eyes slowly widened.

My mind recognized this as an average room in a medical facility. A hospital. The ceiling tiles were white with darker speckles. The lights were rectangular and the same size as the tiles, replacing them at regular intervals. The walls were light green—a calming color, but also the color of sickness. A poor choice, in my quickly formed opinion.

The people facing me were more interesting than the room. The word doctor sounded in my mind as soon as my eyes fastened on the Healer. He wore loose-fitting blue green clothes that left his arms bare. Scrubs. He had hair on his face, a strange color that my memory called red.

Red! It had been three worlds since I had seen the color or any of its relatives. Even this gingery gold filled me with nostalgia.

His face was generically human to me, but the knowledge in my memory applied the word kind.

An impatient breath pulled my attention to the Seeker.

She was very small. If she had remained still, it would have taken me longer to notice her there beside the Healer. She didn’t draw the eye, a darkness in the bright room. She wore black from chin to wrists—a conservative suit with a silk turtleneck underneath. Her hair was black, too. It grew to her chin and was pushed back behind her ears. Her skin was darker than the Healer’s. Olive toned.

The tiny changes in humans’ expressions were so minimal they were very hard to read. My memory could name the look on this woman’s face, though. The black brows, slanted down over the slightly bulging eyes, created a familiar design. Not quite anger. Intensity. Irritation.

“How often does this happen?” I asked, looking at the Healer again.

“Not often,” the Healer admitted. “We have so few full-grown hosts available anymore. The immature hosts are entirely pliable. But you indicated that you preferred to begin as an adult.…”

“Yes.”

“Most requests are the opposite. The human life span is much shorter than you’re used to.”

“I’m well versed in all the facts, Healer. Have you dealt with this… resistance before yourself?”

“Only once, myself.”

“Tell me the facts of the case.” I paused. “Please,” I added, feeling a lack of courtesy in my command.

The Healer sighed.

The Seeker began tapping her fingers against her arm. A sign of impatience. She did not care to wait for what she wanted.

“This occurred four years ago,” the Healer began. “The soul involved had requested an adult male host. The first one to be available was a human who had been living in a pocket of resistance since the early years of the occupation. The human… knew what would happen when he was caught.”

“Just as my host did.”

“Um, yes.” He cleared his throat. “This was only the soul’s second life. He came from Blind World.”

“Blind World?” I asked, cocking my head to the side reflexively.

“Oh, sorry, you wouldn’t know our nicknames. This was one of yours, though, was it not?” He pulled a device from his pocket, a computer, and scanned quickly. “Yes, your seventh planet. In the eighty-first sector.”

“Blind World?” I said again, my voice now disapproving.

“Yes, well, some who have lived there prefer to call it the Singing World.”

I nodded slowly. I liked that better.

“And some who’ve never been there call it Planet of the Bats,” the Seeker muttered.

I turned my eyes to her, feeling them narrow as my mind dredged up the appropriate image of the ugly flying rodent she referred to.

“I assume you are one who has never lived there, Seeker,” the Healer said lightly. “We called this soul Racing Song at first—it was a loose translation of his name on… the Singing World. But he soon opted to take the name of his host, Kevin. Though he was slated for a Calling in Musical Performance, given his background, he said he felt more comfortable continuing in the host’s previous line of work, which was mechanical.

“These signs were somewhat worrisome to his assigned Comforter, but they were well within normal bounds.

“Then Kevin started to complain that he was blacking out for periods of time. They brought him back to me, and we ran extensive tests to make sure there was no hidden flaw in the host’s brain. During the testing, several Healers noted marked differences in his behavior and personality. When we questioned him about this, he claimed to have no memory of certain statements and actions. We continued to observe him, along with his Comforter, and eventually discovered that the host was periodically taking control of Kevin’s body.”

“Taking control?” My eyes strained wide. “With the soul unaware? The host took the body back?”

“Sadly, yes. Kevin was not strong enough to suppress this host.”