"Torah, please," she whispered.
"Answer me!"
"After," she said finally.
"Because you wanted it, then changed your mind?"
"No! He was drunk. I fought him off, but I..."
"But what?"
"I wanted to mark him," she whispered. "So that he would look in the mirror and remember."
"The scratches on his face?" Torah's tone was just a touch softer.
"Deep enough to scar. So that every morning, he would look in the mirror and remember that he can't just take what he wants. And I was going to break his arm, for good measure," she added. "But I let my anger take control. I hit my head, and he..." She paused and drew a shaky breath. "The next morning, he was there and he apologized."
"And then you broke his arm."
"I'm sorry, Torah." She heard him sigh. "Torah, please, I've taken care of it. He won't come near me again, and, well, it's my fault he misunderstood in the first place, I think. I just wanted to be nice and to socialize, like you asked."
"So it was my fault?"
"No, Torah, that's not what I meant! I'm just not very good at this. I'm good at math and science, not these relationships where people talk in code. But I had a long visit with Mari today. She helped me a lot. I'm trying, Torah. I really am."
There was a long silence, then he said, "I met with Gemma today."
Jessa felt her hopes soar. "Can I start working?"
"We didn't solve anything. More like we figured out what questions to ask. We can discuss it when I get there. When do you see the doctor?"
"The day after tomorrow. I'm sure he'll say I'm fine to get pregnant again."
"Goodnight, Jessa," he said and the call disconnected. She stared at the phone. It was an abrupt ending even for Torah. She looked at her computer. She had an hour and a half before her designated sign-off time. Did she dare leave to do research with her tablet? She would have less than an hour to work, by the time she got to a restaurant or bar and when she had to head back again. But she had all but run out of what she could safely explore at home under the watchful eyes of Torah's tech. She heaved a sigh and decided to do coursework for the rest of the night. The conversation with Torah had exhausted her, and his abrupt disconnection worried her. She could almost imagine him being just outside, watching for her to leave.
****
Jessa was texting Torah as she walked out of the doctor's office with the news that she was good to get pregnant again. A part of her was actually excited. She hadn't wanted the role of baby-making machine, but when she had been pregnant before, she had felt a connection with the lives growing in her, and mourned them when they were lost. And in some way she didn't understand yet, those lives had given her a connection to Torah, however tenuous, that went beyond the dictates of the Council or the wedding ring she now wore. She'd even decided to spend part of her afternoon shopping for baby items, something to please Torah when he arrived back in Paris. After all, a happy Torah was so much easier to be around, not to mention physically enticing.
Even more than thoughts about pregnancy, though, the mystery of the connection between Torah's and her genetics was plaguing her mind, invading her sleep and demanding a resolution before Torah arrived. She had dredged through as much as she dared on stem cells on the internet and through her course materials but nothing was specific enough to give her clues, and the particular genetic combination she had found reference to didn't have any significance that she could track down through public resources. She had to get back on the dark web and councilary web for more than just a short late afternoon bistro visit. And that meant sneaking out at night again. She'd been overly cautious for the last few days, fearful that Torah would call, or be watching her home computer activity more closely. She dared hope that with the news today, he would relax any inordinate attention. She was already rewriting her applet in her mind; the one that made it appear she was busy at home on her computer.
Once Jessa and Raza found a store catering to infants and children, Jessa found herself facing a broad array of items and no idea what might be appropriate. Worse, everyone in the store assumed she was already pregnant and was filled with questions about when she was due and what sex she was expecting, until she was ready to flee. Raza jumped in with vague explanations and eventually helped her select a simple beginning of a layette. Jessa insisted on taking the servant for a late lunch in thanks for her help, though Raza was just as traumatized by the thought of presuming to eat with her mistress as Jessa had been in the store. It took ample glasses of wine before both of them had relaxed enough to giggle together, and they were still giggling when they walked home, wisely leaving the car behind.
Jessa spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening sobering up. Still, it was worth it to make inroads on her relationship with Raza. After their long lunch, she was convinced that Raza hadn't told Torah about the encounter with Arnau. Building on that trust was well worth too much good wine. She snuck into her office even before Shay and Raza had finished cleaning up, and she tweaked her applet to focus on other plausible search topics. It wouldn't do for Torah's tech to realize she was searching the same things over and over again.
Jessa ended up having to wait for the servants to retire to their own apartment, then wait even longer to make sure they were settled in, clutching her bag and its precious tablet stashed within. As she waited, she was remembering. The only regular use of stem cell therapy she knew of was bone marrow transplants. She knew of research in how to control differentiation and such, and she had researched the experimental attempts to take adult stem cells and 'grow' particular cell types or structures to be transplanted back into the original donor, with various degrees of success. The efforts to stimulate stem cells tended to lead to overstimulation, with either the wrong kinds of cells being produced or too many of the right kinds, either case resulting in tumors. Donations from others created the same difficulties as transplants, with the issues of tissue rejection or side effects from the necessary destruction of the recipient's own malfunctioning cells. Even the flexibility of embryonic stem cell differentiation had run into compatible donor obstacles as well as with the recipient's immune system attacking the new cells, or having to be shut down entirely under anti-rejection therapy resulting in vulnerability to any and every infection that came along.
Jessa remembered as a child providing at least three bone marrow donations. She hadn't thought that much about it at the time. Save the last time, when she was around fifteen and her insatiable curiosity about the procedure caused her to pester the doctors to distraction, and beyond. Her fascination had easily outweighed the pain of the procedure. But now, as she thought back, she didn't remember the donations going to relatives, close or distant. She hadn't been told anything about the recipients. Were those donations experimental? Some immunologic testing? Had the recipients survived? The information had to be out there somewhere. The chance of her being a perfect match to three – or more – recipients was almost astronomical. So many questions were bouncing around in her mind.
Jessa pulled a cloak from the closet and slipped out the door. She could hear Shay and Raza laughing about something in their own apartment as she tiptoed down the hall and out of the building. The first time she had left at night to do her secret research, it had seemed like something of an adventure. Like the first night she had snuck out from home to go to a party by the lake. She had gotten away with it that night, even though she'd thrown a boy into the lake when he'd tried to kiss her. As far as she knew, her parents had never found out. Somehow, she didn't think she would be able to keep this secret from Torah. She could only hope to buy a little more time and she desperately wanted an answer before he returned. It was becoming all too clear that whatever made the two of them special, had to do with the babies they would produce. But how could something that was so hard for her to find out, seem to be foremost on the minds of so many other people?
There were Torah's ghostly enemies and his discomforting concern that they were after her also. Renik, the man who had kidnapped her and killed her babies, and who she had killed, had seemed bent only on vengeance against Torah, and it had all made sense then, especially if Torah had told the truth about having an affair with Lania, who belonged to Renik. And yet, Torah had also hinted that many enemies might be out to hurt her. Or, perhaps, possess her. Even Renik hadn't shown any inclination to hurt Torah by killing her, if anything just the opposite. And yet Renik had said something about Torah being dead, as if he did not know that it was the two of them together that was somehow so special. Or as if he was bent on keeping the two of them from getting together. The first action he had taken was to insure nothing would come of her pregnancy, and potentially even prevent further pregnancies, with the damage his kick might have done. Jessa rubbed her forehead, shivering in the unseasonable chill.
There was Arnau, too. If he was such a playboy, had such a reputation, why had he pursued her when she put her foot down to him? There were undoubtedly many barren women in Paris who would be more than willing to entertain a man who wasn't hell-bent on finding a woman capable of bearing children. From the stories told, Arnau had a long list of them in his little black book, or however he kept track. Yes, she had given in to him that one night, willingly. But when she had come to her senses, kicked him out and told him not to return, why hadn't he just shrugged and moved on?
She paused in front of a small lounge. There was a cold wind blowing and she didn't really want to sit outside this night. The lounge offered wi-fi and there were only a few customers from what she could see through the window. She even spotted a corner table where she could sit and watch others in the lounge. She sighed and pushed her way through the door into the warmth of the building. Jessa nodded at the barkeep and made her way to the table. She scowled at the only patron that showed even a passing interest in her and he quickly turned back to his drink. She kept her cloak about her shoulders; she didn't need the low-cut Parisienne gown given anyone ideas. When the barkeep came to take her order, she asked for a glass of light white wine and some cheese and crackers, ordering crisply and leaving no room for pleasantries. The barkeep seemed to have his own issues anyway, making no effort at small talk.
Jessa studied the other patrons before pulling her tablet out. There were a couple of men at a table having a low conversation that seemed to be about work. There was a Seventh Circle at the bar nursing a strong drink and looking miserable. A woman sat at the end of the bar and seemed to be trying to capture attention from any one of the patrons or the keep without much success. The man Jessa had initially discouraged with a scowl, was sitting at the bar and trying to ignore the woman on the end. After her initial entry, none of them seemed to pay her any attention. Still, she waited until after the keep had brought her drink before retrieving the tablet.
