Page 98 of Her Wicker Guardian

“I liked eating.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes.”

The drone continues buzzing outside. Sometimes the sound fades, and I think it has gone. Then it returns.

Rachel’s phone keeps lighting up. She turns it face-down.

“Does that make them stop?”

“No.”

“Like the curtains.”

She looks at me. “Exactly like the curtains.”

The phone rings again twenty minutes later. Blair asks permission to add Jose to the call before another voice joins hers.

“Good morning, Locke. I’m Jose Oliva.”

“Good morning.”

“Blair told me some of what’s happened. Nobody has a neat legal answer for what you are.”

I look toward Rachel. She has gone very still.

Jose continues. “The law has categories for people, property, corporations, animals, even ships. It does not have one for a living man made of wicker who appeared less than a week ago.”

“What happens if there is no category?”

“That’s the question.”

Until this morning, it had not occurred to me that anyone else might think they get to make choices for me.

“Can someone say I belong to them?”

Rachel turns toward me.

Jose takes a moment before answering. “Someone can say almost anything. That doesn’t make it true, and it doesn’t mean we let them act on it.”

Jose continues. “There’s something else I want you prepared for. People are going to want to study you. Universities, researchers, maybe government agencies. They may ask to examine you or take samples.”

“Samples?”

“Fibers. Leaves. Anything taken from your body for testing.”

“Would I have to let them?”

“Not just because they ask. If anyone wants you to go somewhere, submit to an examination, or give them anything from your body, tell them you want your attorney first.”

My fingers tighten around the water bottle.

“Okay.”

“Then don’t agree to anything until you’ve spoken with me,” Jose says.

That I understand.