The Child Goddess Read Online Free PDF Page B

it, but Oa couldn’t help it. How could she know, if she didn’t smell the person, what they were like, what they intended? When one of the people was angry, a sharpness came to the breath, a whiff of acid rose from the skin. But this one—called Isabel—smelled as fresh as a newly sprouted nuchi leaf.
    And when she touched the pretty ornament Isabel wore around her neck, the lady took it off and handed it to her so she could hold it, stroke the carving, smell real wood at last. And all the while, this woman called Isabel stood smiling at Oa as if she were a person.
    “If you like it, Oa,” the woman called Isabel said with that gentle voice, “I will give it to you. A gift. And later I will explain to you what it means.”
    Oa’s back stiffened. Could she have been wrong? Gifts from people were dangerous. What could she want, this Isabel? What would she want of Oa? To use her body, perhaps? Or was it about the medicator, something about the spider that kept sucking and sucking from her body, never satisfied? Or perhaps some new torture, something Oa couldn’t yet imagine.
    She thrust the little carving back into Isabel’s hands.
    *
    ISABEL FROZE, HER cross in her fingers. What had she done, or said? She hadn’t touched the girl, she had been very careful in handing her the cross. But the child pulled away, scurried backward across the room to fold herself onto the bed, her knees pulled up, her head buried against them, her hair tumbling to her ankles.
    Isabel wished she could call back her words. A gift. She would remember. A gift was something not to be trusted, not to Oa. Isabel had thought, because of the toys ranged on the table . . . but no. There must be something else.
    “Oa,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. My friends and I give gifts to each other, and it doesn’t mean anything. The person who receives the gift can say yes or no, and it’s all the same.”
    For a long moment neither of them moved. Then Isabel saw how the child’s fingers sought the buttons of her sweater. Her hair had tangled in them. She didn’t look up, only blindly struggled, her hair pulling tighter and tighter. Isabel said softly, “Oa? Will you let me help you.”
    The child’s fingers stopped moving. Her whole body froze.
    “I would never hurt you, Oa. I promise you. May I help you with your sweater?”
    The girl didn’t answer.
    Isabel leaned wearily against the wall. She should have known it wouldn’t be easy. She eyed the row of toys on the table, the little mechanical bits stuck together in various configurations. It looked as if the reader was the only thing the girl used. Her room was as pristine and neutral as a hotel room—a hospital room. Through the open door Isabel saw the exam bed with the medicator poised above it, the long thin tubes of its syrinxes drooping over the paper sheet.
    “Oa,” she murmured. There was no answer. “Oa,” Isabel said again, even more softly. “I will leave my cross for you to look at. If you want to.” She moved to the table to lay the cross on it, and then, following her hunch, she placed it on the chair beside the little reader instead. “I’ll go now,” she said. “But I’ll come back. I came a long way to see you.” No answer.
    Isabel felt Markham and Boreson watching her through the mirrored window. She raked the glass with an angry gaze, and then turned her back on it to call to the guard to release her.

4
    THE DOOR DIDN’T open.
    Isabel knocked again, two sharp raps. Behind her, Oa looked up with wide eyes. Isabel waited a moment, then turned on her heel and strode to the mirrored window.
    She put her hands on her hips and glared into the silvered glass. “What’s happening?” she demanded. “Open the door, please.”
    The little speaker on the wall beside the window crackled as someone turned on the intercom. Oa jumped at the sound, making the bed creak. Isabel supposed the speaker had not been used since Oa’s arrival. This further evidence of the