So she told the psych a story about being kidnapped by a human person, an ex of some sort. He had held her under threat of violence, and when she fought back, he stabbed her several times. She’d survived the ordeal, but now there were nightmares. Nightmares and panic attacks and random bouts of crying and irritability and all sorts of fun times that had not been there before.

This, however, was a gamble of a story to tell, because if someone were to ask to see the scars, she would be found for a liar, because there were none. Ampersand was very good at operating on the human body like it was a machine, stitching her ambulatory sack of meat and water back together like a mechanic would repair a car. Good as new, no one would be able to tell it was ever in an accident.

The diagnosis came back as post-traumatic stress, but since it was still in its early stages, the prognosis was actually pretty good if she began treatment for it now. The psych had suggested that Cora begin therapy immediately and had given her a script for Prozac— treatments she could not begin and medication she could not take, because she could afford neither. ROSA did not offer benefits, and although still technically just below the poverty line, she now made too much money to qualify for California’s state-run health care system, MediCAL, leaving her in the limbo between with no health insurance.

“Help me understand the issue,” said Porter, addressing Sol. “The issue is . . . both parties refuse to be in the same room with each other?”

Everyone looked at Cora, and she tried to blink away the nuclear explosion going off in extreme slow motion behind her left eyeball.

“Only one of them has expressed a preference, and that’s Scio,” she said, “but yes, he won’t even consider being in the same room as Esperas, and Esperas controls access to the rest of them.”

“Do we know why they won’t be in the same room together?”

Again everyone looked at Cora.

Oh, she knew why, all right. Unbeknownst to the other humans in the room, Esperas had a special hate-on for Ampersand owing to his failure to disclose his relationship to the leader of the group of Similars who had been hunting them last year, code name: “Obelus.” The same Similar who had nearly killed her.

“We think it has something to do with one of their cultural taboos,” she lied. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“But Esperas does not have a dedicated interpreter like Scio does,” observed Porter. “Why is that?”

Cora glanced at the clock on the wall. This meeting was scheduled to end five minutes ago. Why was this man being so goddamn tenacious? Also, could eyeballs spontaneously explode? It felt like she was about to find out.

“It’s a matter of preference,” she said. “Scio feels like he needs an impartial intermediary to speak for him to better ensure that his meaning is getting across in the way he wants.”