Others, too, of course, but Ian would have to be one of them. My heart seemed to slump lower in my chest, to curl limply in on itself. I’d done many things I had not wanted to do since joining the humans, but I couldn’t remember any this sharply and pointedly painful. Even deciding to trade my life for the Seeker’s—that was a huge, vast hurt, a wide field of ache, but it was almost manageable because it was so tied up in the bigger picture. Telling Ian goodbye was a razor-sharp piercing; it made the greater vision hard to see. I wished there was some way, any way, to save him from the same pain. There wasn’t.

The only thing worse would be telling Jared goodbye. That one would burn and fester. Because he wouldn’t feel pain. His joy would far outweigh any small regret he might feel over me.

As for Jamie, well, I wasn’t planning on facing that goodbye at all.

“Wanda!” Doc’s voice was sharp.

I hurried to the bed Doc was hovering over. Before I got there, I could see the tiny olive hand fisting and unfisting where it hung over the edge of the cot.

“Ah,” the Seeker’s familiar voice moaned from the human body. “Ah.”

The room went utterly silent. Everyone looked at me, as if I were the expert on humans.

I elbowed Doc, my hands still wrapped around the tank. “Talk to her,” I whispered.

“Um… Hello? Can you hear me… miss? You’re safe now. Do you understand me?”

“Ah,” she groaned. Her eyes fluttered open, focused quickly on Doc’s face. There was no discomfort in her expression—the No Pain would be making her feel wonderful, of course. Her eyes were onyx black. They darted around the room until she found me, and recognition was quickly followed by a scowl. She looked away, back to Doc.

“Well, it feels good to have my head back,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER 53: Condemned

CHAPTER 53

Condemned

The Seeker’s host body was named Lacey; a dainty, soft, feminine name. Lacey. As inappropriate as the size, in my opinion. Like naming a pit bull Fluffy.

Lacey was just as loud as the Seeker—and still a complainer.

“You’ll have to forgive me for going on and on,” she insisted, allowing us no other options. “I’ve been shouting away in there for years and never getting to speak for myself. I’ve got a lot to say all stored up.”

How lucky for us. I could almost make myself glad that I was leaving.

In answer to my earlier question to myself, no, the face was not less repugnant with a different awareness behind it. Because the awareness was not so very different, in the end.