The Host (The Host #1)(75)
I slouched against the wall, settling myself in for a long conversation.
Jeb didn’t disappoint on that count. I lost track of how many questions he asked me. He wanted details—the Spiders’ looks, their behaviors, and how they’d handled Earth. He didn’t flinch away from the invasion details; on the contrary, he almost seemed to enjoy that part more than the rest. His questions came fast on the heels of my answers, and his grins were frequent. When he was satisfied about the Spiders, hours later, he wanted to know more about the Flowers.
“You didn’t half explain that one,” he reminded me.
So I told him about that most beautiful and placid of planets. Almost every time I stopped to breathe, he interrupted me with a new question. He liked to guess the answers before I could speak and didn’t seem to mind getting them wrong in the least.
“So did ya eat flies, like a Venus flytrap? I’ll bet you did—or maybe something bigger, like a bird—like a pterodactyl!”
“No, we used sunlight for food, like most plants here.”
“Well, that’s not as much fun as my idea.”
Sometimes I found myself laughing with him.
We were just moving on to the Dragons when Jamie showed up with dinner for three.
“Hi, Wanderer,” he said, a little embarrassed.
“Hi, Jamie,” I answered, a little shy, not sure if he would regret the closeness we’d shared. I was, after all, the bad guy.
But he sat down right next to me, between me and Jeb, crossing his legs and setting the food tray in the middle of our little conclave. I was starving, and parched from all the talking. I took a bowl of soup and downed it in a few gulps.
“Shoulda known you were just being polite in the mess hall today. Gotta speak up when you’re hungry, Wanda. I’m no mind reader.”
I didn’t agree with that last part, but I was too busy chewing a mouthful of bread to answer.
“Wanda?” Jamie asked.
I nodded, letting him know that I didn’t mind.
“Kinda suits her, doncha think?” Jeb was so proud of himself, I was surprised he didn’t pat himself on the back, just for effect.
“Kinda, I guess,” Jamie said. “Were you guys talking about dragons?”
“Yeah,” Jeb told him enthusiastically, “but not the lizardy kind. They’re all made up of jelly. They can fly, though… sort of. The air’s thicker, sort of jelly, too. So it’s almost like swimming. And they can breathe acid—that’s about as good as fire, wouldn’t you say?”
I let Jeb fill Jamie in on the details while I ate more than my share of food and drained a water bottle. When my mouth was free, Jeb started in with the questions again.
“Now, this acid…”
Jamie didn’t ask questions the way Jeb did, and I was more careful about what I said with him there. However, this time Jeb never asked anything that might lead to a touchy subject, whether by coincidence or design, so my caution wasn’t necessary.
The light slowly faded until the hallway was black. Then it was silver, a tiny, dim reflection from the moon that was just enough, as my eyes adjusted, to see the man and the boy beside me.
Jamie edged closer to me as the night wore on. I didn’t realize that I was combing my fingers through his hair as I talked until I noticed Jeb staring at my hand.
I folded my arms across my body.
Finally, Jeb yawned a huge yawn that had me and Jamie doing the same.
“You tell a good story, Wanda,” Jeb said when we were all done stretching.
“It’s what I did… before. I was a teacher, at the university in San Diego. I taught history.”
“A teacher!” Jeb repeated, excited. “Well, ain’t that amazin’? There’s something we could use around here. Mag’s girl Sharon does the teaching for the three kids, but there’s a lot she can’t help with. She’s most comfortable with math and the like. History, now —”
“I only taught our history,” I interrupted. Waiting for him to take a breath wasn’t going to work, it seemed. “I wouldn’t be much help as a teacher here. I don’t have any training.”
“Your history is better than nothing. Things we human folks ought to know, seeing as we live in a more populated universe than we were aware of.”
“But I wasn’t a real teacher,” I told him, desperate. Did he honestly think anyone wanted to hear my voice, let alone listen to my stories? “I was sort of an honorary professor, almost a guest lecturer. They only wanted me because… well, because of the story that goes along with my name.”
“That’s the next one I was going to ask for,” Jeb said complacently. “We can talk about your teaching experience later. Now—why did they call you Wanderer? I’ve heard a bunch of odd ones, Dry Water, Fingers in the Sky, Falling Upward—all mixed in, of course, with the Pams and the Jims. I tell you, it’s the kind of thing that can drive a man crazy with curiosity.”
I waited till I was sure he was done to begin. “Well, the way it usually works is that a soul will try out a planet or two—two’s the average—and then they’ll settle in their favorite place. They just move to new hosts in the same species on the same planet when their body gets close to death. It’s very disorienting moving from one kind of body to the next. Most souls really hate that. Some never move from the planet they are born on. Occasionally, someone has a hard time finding a good fit. They may try three planets. I met a soul once who’d been to five before he’d settled with the Bats. I liked it there—I suppose that’s the closest I’ve ever come to choosing a planet. If it hadn’t been for the blindness…”