THE FIXER
The hotel was lively tonight, the bar in particular.
This was the same place where we had first met Edith. I always did wonder why she came here, of all places.
She was fidgeting, her palms clammy. I could smell the sweat starting to form on her neck and forehead.
“What bothers you, Edith?”
“Just a bit warm in here. I haven’t stopped moving since I got here.”
“The temperature is fine.”
“Says the man who has been sitting for five hours and arrived three hours late to work.”
“Are you nervous about something?” I stood, blocking her path to the bar.
“No! My mind is just busy. Very busy,” she stumbled on her words, her eyes averted.
Her pulse picked up.
She waslyingto me.
“Then calm yourself. Let’s enjoy some time away from that spider, yeah?”
She steadied herself and took a deep breath, nodding once she was ready.
We placed ourselves at the bar, glancing about at the fluttering meals. Today, I insisted on hunting with her. With Alina absent and not many friends in the Nest, I could empathize with wanting a bite without trouble. Besides, it was easier to share food when at least one of us had potent enough venom.
“Do you ever wonder why God would create something like us?” Edith spoke suddenly, picking at the patterns of the crystal glass with her nail.
I groaned and craned my neck at her. “Why do you ask such things?”
She shrugged sheepishly. “I think about it a lot. And it has made me wonder.”
“About?” I ebbed her on.
“What if we were created to save them? The humans.”
“We eat them, Edith. I am afraid to hear what you think saving is in that context.”
“We hold venom that numbs their pain, and when they turn, they lose every ailment they’ve ever known.”
“And it cuts their lifetime in half, if they are not Hosts,” I reminded her.
“But is a life of pain really a life? A half-life of bliss is a good deal.”
“Edith,” I warned, “I do not know what makes you say things like this, but you should be careful.”
“Why? Because I am correct?” She glared, clutching her glass with a stiff hand.
“Because you take care of those who are ill. I don’t think people would be very comfortable knowing their nurse thinks it is better they are turned into cannibals—or dead, rather than in pain.”
“What if it is better?”
“Do you think the corrupted prowling around are good? Are those things we should strive for?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “If a horse breaks its leg, you put it down. Prolonging a life not meant to be had is dangerous.”
“They are not animals; they are people.” Her lips pressed into a fine line. Her eyes were glassy, overwhelmingly frustrated. “They need help;wecan help them.”
