He chuckled lightly against her skin. “If I was stressed earlier, I’m sure not now.”
She smiled into the darkness. “Glad I could help.”
“If you helped any more, I’d be in a coma.” He kissed the soft spot between her neck and shoulder.
She shivered, and her body warmed up some more. It felt so right to be in his arms. Bliss like this couldn’t last. It wasn’t possible. “Do you think the mistakes we make define us?”
“No.” He nipped her earlobe. “I think the way we react after we screw up defines us. What do you want to talk about, Pippa?” His voice was a low rumble of pure heat and promise. In the darkness, all alone, he inspired trust.
She bit her lip. One night. Just one night to snuggle in and be Pippa Smith. Once she told him the truth, it might end. She so didn’t want this to end. “Nothing.” Not right now anyway. She cuddled closer and let herself drift off, safe for the first time in too long.
* * *
The music was always playing. In the house, out in the gardens, during meditation and school. Always the same beat, the same hum. They had moved to somewhere outside of Boston. New members of the family had generously offered their home and all the grounds to Isaac.
New members often did.
Her name was Mary now, but she still thought of herself as Pipsqueak. Even though she’d turned sixteen last week, she felt young. She knelt in morning meditation, her thoughts jumbled, her head hurting. A newer member had been punished the previous night because of untoward questions, which were never asked. She’d been ridiculed, and then she’d disappeared.
Probably into one of the thinking chambers. Oh, she’d be back. But she’d be exhausted and confused, and she probably wouldn’t ask questions again.
Questions were bad.
The family was good.
“Mary,” her mother whispered from the door. “Come.”
Mary stood gracefully without using her hands, as she’d been taught. Her stomach churning, she followed her mother from the peaceful room where twenty other family members were still in meditation. “Yes?”
“Isaac wants to see you.” Excitement flushed her mother’s face as she smoothed the pure white silk scarf Mary wore around her neck. Isaac had given it to her on her birthday, and she was to wear it at all times.
She hated that scarf. Completely. She’d thought of losing it in the garden the day before, but she didn’t want to face Isaac’s anger.
They passed several members cleaning the house, and her eye caught Tulip’s. She was Mary’s age and fairly new, with sparkling blue eyes and curly hair. She rolled her eyes.
Mary bit back a grin and kept walking, trying to quell the ache in her stomach. She always had to spend time with Isaac, but usually she just sat in the background as he conducted his meetings. It was a toss-up as to whether he’d be teasing, yelling, or touching whoever was in the room.
This time, he sat alone near the fireplace.
Mary stalled at the door.
Her mother gently nudged her inside. “Don’t be difficult.” She raised her voice. “Do you need me, Prophet?”
Isaac glanced up from the flames. “No, but thank you. I will require you tonight after supper.”
“Of course.” Her mother bowed out gracefully and shut the door.
“Come.” Isaac gestured toward the chair across from him.
She tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat had gotten too large. Her legs stumbled a bit, but she made it to the chair and sat across from him.
He pointed to a stack of papers, numbers and charts, on the hearth. “Do you know what those are?”
She drew in a breath. “My natal chart. You showed it to me last week.” Sometimes he forgot things. She wondered if it was the tea he drank, but maybe he just had so much in his head that things escaped.
“You know you’re special, right?” he said, reaching out and touching her knee.
She kept perfectly still. “Because you have said so, Isaac.” She knew the right words to say. And she was always to use his name, when most people weren’t allowed.
