“You have no power with them,” Yaya said.

Doc leaned in, leaving Yaya nowhere to retreat. “There’s leverage. You’re a unique specimen, and they’re probably at fault. All they need is some confirmation—”

“Have they tried Catholicism?”

“More jokes.” Doc shook her head and stepped back. “You’ll never believe me, but you don’t have Sibs. I’ve seen thousands of dossiers.” She reached for Yaya’s cleft.

Against Yaya’s will, Magenta reached one red limb between teeth and folds. It curled against Doc’s palm and slithered around her fingers. No one had ever touched Yaya with such tenderness. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought Magenta loved Doc.

Did she know better?

Doc had fondness in her eyes. “Does she look like death to you?” she asked, gaze fixed on Magenta’s tentacle. “Your leg was hurt and then healed within hours. You were threatened, and now Magenta protects you. You’re processing some substance or molecule that makes you sharper. How is this not healing? You’re changing into something new and beautiful and incredible, and you can do anything you want. Don’t waste your life nursing pain.”

“Is that what happened to the last one like me?” Yaya asked. “Because it sounded like you killed her and stalked off without a hitch.”

“We’ve had other unique specimens, but there’s a scale, and you’re near the top.” Doc let go of Magenta’s arm and ran a hand down her forehead. “Do you think my skin was always pale? My hair white? I was a brunette once. Do you think my eyes weren’t a fuller blue? I didn’t used to drink spiced chai and eat chili and Thai. These days, if it can’t burn holes in asphalt, my tongue hardly knows the difference between food and plastic. ABP chemicals did this, mixed with pieces of that girl from the Kentucky Incident, the last unique specimen anything like you.”

Yaya looked Doc over, and for once really looked. She never asked about other people’s appearances, never questioned brown-skinned women at the bars where they were from, wasn’t that kind of white lady. Doc had been a pretty face and a stern personality that first night. Most women Yaya looked at were beautiful; she didn’t know how to see otherwise. Yes, Doc was paler than normal. Sure, her eyes were different. Everyone was different, everyone gorgeous.

It really didn’t matter what had happened to Doc after all that. “You’re still alive,” Yaya said. “But that girl from Kentucky? She’s dead. You killed that chimera.”

Doc glanced at the tub, where Connie’s hair now draped the rim, and then steeled her eyes back at Yaya. “Well, now you get to decide if we’ll have that in common.” She turned and left the bathroom.

Yaya followed. “Where are you headed?”

“If you’re going through with this, I’m not watching.” Doc grabbed her

purse and opened the apartment door.

Yaya didn’t try to cover her cleft. “You don’t have to leave though. Hide in the kitchen with headphones and music or something. Run the TV up. After I’m done, we can—”