“Surprise.” And again she deployed that wide, easy saleswoman’s smile, the smile of a person who’d practiced being personable. “I thought about what you said, and I’d like to keep talking. I don’t blame you for bristling at me. I’m curious. I pry into things that don’t bear prying. Stubborn. That’s what my girlfriend says.”

“Ah,” Kai said, and to cover surprise, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t offended.”

“Great.” She was growing to hate that grin. “What’s the next step?”

Faint chimes rang as the elevator descended. “I think my next step is to recommend you to another priest.”

“Why not you?”

Because I have more on my mind today than some mainlander pilgrim who wants to save her boss’s soul. “I don’t think I’m the best guide for your pilgrimage. For this to work, we must be partners. I need to know your inner needs. I spoiled our first meeting for reasons that have nothing to do with you. I hope you’ll accept my apology.” Four bells. Lifts arrived too fast, except when you wanted them to. “But don’t worry. I’ll find someone more compatible.”

“You fought back when I pushed you. Stood up for yourself. That makes us compatible in my book.”

Finally the doors rolled open, and Kai escaped into the lift. She spread her arms to stop Teo from following. “I have enough battles to fight already. I’m sorry. I will find someone to help you. Someone else.”

The doors shut on Teo’s answer. Kai leaned against them, and found them cold.

Chapter 32

32

Kai trained all morning: chanted the acronym litanies once more, recited the steps to a relationship sale, joined yet another role-playing exercise. (“What are you looking for from a god?” The putative pilgrim hems and haws and finally says: “I’m worried about my children’s future. We live in unstable times. I want to know they’ll be taken care of when I’m gone.” “I hear that you’re interested in security and grace. Is that right?” “I suppose.” “I think we can help. I’ll describe some myths for you. Listen, and at the end you can tell me which ones most resonated with your situation. Which spoke to you. How does that sound?”) She emerged less settled than before.

Eleven was late enough to clock out for lunch, so she left a note on her cubicle desk, donned her coat, took her cane, and descended to the street. She squinted against the sun, and began to sweat. Back before the Wars, Kavekana had been an island of loose light clothing, bright patterns, and bare skin, even for priests and high officials. Not for the first time, Kai wished it had remained so. Wool suits weren’t designed for tropical heat.