Lifting her chin, she said, “This cold is making my arthritis act up and I wasn’t able to do most of the chores this morning. I need you to go do them. The cow will be growing uncomfortable if she isn’t milked soon.”
Scarlet propped open the door a bit more and drew her brows together. “Since when do you have arthritis?”
Michelle met her glare for glare. “You know that I don’t like to complain, Scarlet. I don’t speak of it much.”
“Or ever,” she shot back.
Michelle sighed. She didn’t want to fight. “I know you don’t like milking the cow, but could you please just do it?”
Scarlet threw up her hands. “You could just ask, you know. This is my farm, too. I haven’t complained about doing chores in years, but you still treat me like some spoiled city kid who’s going to throw a tantrum every time you ask me to do something. All I want is to belong here, and for you to treat me like I belong here.”
Michelle’s eyes began to water. She tried to respond, but was rendered speechless.
Scarlet sighed and turned away, the disappointment obvious on her face. Michelle hadn’t thought it was possible to feel worse than she already did.
“You’re right,” Michelle finally whispered. Scarlet glanced back at her, and Michelle gave her a weakened smile. “I’ll try to be better.” She cleared her throat. “So, will you…”
“Of course I’ll go do the chores,” muttered Scarlet, looking only slightly appeased. “Just let me change my clothes.”
She swallowed, watching as her granddaughter pulled her red hair up into a messy bun.
Stars, she loved this child. This child who was becoming a young woman before her eyes.
She couldn’t wait until she could tell her so.
“Thank you,” she said, and made her way back down the stairs.
Minutes later, she heard Scarlet’s footsteps pounding down the stairs. The back door creaked and shut—not a slam, but not particularly gently, either.
No sooner had she started a pot of coffee than she heard a quiet knock at the front door. She tensed. He was early. She hoped Scarlet hadn’t noticed his arrival.
Wiping her clammy hands on a towel, Michelle went to answer the door.
“Bonjour,” she said to the dark-haired man on her stoop. “You must be Monsieur Linh.”
He was fidgeting with the collar of a heavy winter coat, and he didn’t stop fidgeting even when he took her hand. His smile was big, though. Big and eager and nervous and impressed. “And you are Michelle Benoit,” he said. “The keeper of the greatest secret of the third era. It is a most profound honor to meet you.”
Still reeling from the fight with Scarlet, Michelle found it difficult to smile back, so she just stepped aside and offered to take his coat. “My granddaughter lives with me, and I’m afraid she doesn’t know about any of this, so I’ll appreciate your discretion.”
“Of course. If I could not be discreet, I’m sure Logan would not have considered me for this momentous responsibility.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Please, come into the kitchen. My granddaughter is out taking care of some chores. We should have about half an hour to discuss the girl and the procedure before she returns.”
* * *
Famous last words, Michelle thought, repeating the catastrophe of her meeting with Garan over in her head again and again. She sat at the foot of her bed, a box settled on her lap. She was staring through the window at a half-moon partially obscured by wispy winter clouds and wondering how the politics and mysteries of a world so very far away had managed to take such a toll on her own life.
She had hardly slept. Though she and Scarlet had certainly had their spats since Scarlet had come to live with her, never had their fights been like this. Never had they felt like they mattered. Never had Michelle felt hopeless to make things right.
She hadn’t given Scarlet enough credit with the chores. She’d completed them almost as quickly as Michelle herself could do them, and Michelle had still been talking with Garan when Scarlet had come back in. Sneaked back in. She’d eavesdropped on their conversation, and though Michelle wasn’t sure exactly what she’d heard, it was clear that Scarlet hadn’t figured out anything about Princess Selene. Rather, she’d misinterpreted the conversation and now seemed to be under the impression that Michelle was going to send her away. That Garan was adopting her.
And Michelle didn’t know how to explain otherwise. She didn’t know how to make this right.
“Soon,” she whispered. Soon this would be behind them. Soon she would find a way to make this up to Scarlet.
She looked down at the box in her lap and unfolded the flaps. A red hooded sweatshirt was folded neatly inside—the cotton soft and still smelling of newness. It was by no means a fancy gift, but it would transition nicely into spring once the snow melted, and Scarlet loved wearing red. She treated it like an act of defiance given her red hair.
Michelle looked forward to giving it to her once this whole mess was over.
The alarm chimed on her portscreen. Two hours past midnight. It was time.
She tucked the box beneath her bed. Opening her bedroom door, she hesitated for a moment in the narrow hallway, listening until she could detect Scarlet’s heavy breathing from the other bedroom. She took a step closer and laid her palm against the closed wooden door.
“I love you, my Scarlet,” she whispered to the still night air. Then she turned and slipped down the stairs, careful to skip over the stair that creaked.
Logan and Garan were already working when she arrived in the secret room that housed Selene’s body. Over the last week the princess had been transformed from the mutilated child Michelle had been keeping watch over to a cyborg with metal plating and a complicated software system integrated with her brain. Michelle had acted as Logan’s assistant, getting supplies and tools and monitoring vital statistics, but for the most part she’d tried to keep her eyes averted. She had a strong spirit, but even this intrusion was a bit much for her to handle.
Logan glanced up when Michelle’s feet hit the concrete floor. He nodded in greeting. He and Garan were each wearing masks, and Michelle grabbed an extra one and slipped it on over her mouth before approaching the operating table.
The child had been turned onto her side. Logan was holding a medical portscreen over her neck, letting a laser gently meld together the incision in the back of her neck. They’d already finished installing Garan’s prototype onto her spinal column. That meant it couldn’t have taken them more than forty minutes.
Michelle was comforted by the knowledge. After all, her turn would be next.
“How is she?” she asked, glancing at the shiny metal hand and leg.
“Surprisingly well,” said Logan. “Her body has adapted to the new prostheses and wiring even better than I hoped. I’m optimistic that the worst is behind us.” He checked the incision—almost invisible now but for a pale white scar that would fade with time. “There. Let’s get her back into the tank.”
They worked together to move her. Though she was still of slight build, the new leg added a surprising amount of heft to her body.
“Are we putting her back into stasis?” Michelle asked.
“No.” Logan’s eyes glimmered as he looked up at her. “We’re waking her up.”
She stiffened. “What? Tonight? I thought it was still going to be a week or more before she’s ready.”
“A week before she’s ready for long-distance travel,” said Logan. He bent down to connect a set of sensors to the child’s head. He’d been removing and reapplying those sensors all week, after every operation. “But we’ll begin the awakening process tonight. I want to make it slow and gradual. Her system has gone through enough shocks—I’ll do my best to make this as smooth a transition as possible.”