“And he’s so hot I can’t even,” she said.
“You can’t even?” said Val.
They were giggling now.
“I can’t even begin to even,” said Zoe. “Ask me about his shoulders. Ask me about his arms. I mean it—pick a body part.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” said Val. “Just because I think heterosexual sex is gross and immoral doesn’t mean I don’t understand what a hot guy is.”
Zoe laughed.
“It’s immoral now, too?” she said.
“Hello, overpopulation! Hello, world poverty!” Val said. “But I’m trying to be open-minded. Say more about the alien.”
“Still not an alien,” said Zoe.
“Still disappointed,” said Val.
X sank back into sleep like someone pushed down into a river. He only half-understood what he’d heard.
He awoke only twice on Tuesday.
The first time, Zoe propped his head up against a pillow and spooned broth into his mouth, saying gently, “Three more sips … Two more … One more … Come on, don’t fight me.”
The second time, she leaned over him with a glass of water and attempted to push something into his mouth. X was confused. He began to choke. Jonah, who’d been playing with dinosaurs and wizards on the floor, looked up and said in a shocked voice, “He doesn’t know how to use a straw?”
“Shut up, Jonah,” Zoe said. “Don’t embarrass him.”
Now that he was under Zoe’s care, X began to surface from dreams more regularly. The Trembling had loosened its grip. Stan’s sins flowed more quietly through his veins, though they never disappeared entirely.
Sometimes, he heard the Bissells wonder aloud about him when they thought he was sleeping. Was he from hell—was that what he meant by the Lowlands? Why was he sent there? What had he done? Was he alive? Was he undead? What were his superpowers and what were his weaknesses? These last two questions came from Jonah, who, as X’s eyes fluttered open momentarily, had also crept close and asked if he was one of the Avengers.
Zoe’s mother suggested they all write their questions down on slips of paper and put them in a metal mixing bowl she had placed on the nightstand. When he had recovered, she said, she’d see to it that he answered them all.
Now, even as he slept, X could sense the bowl beside him filling with paper. He dreaded answering the questions, and the dread crept into his dreams like a rising flood. He saw terrible images: a parade of every soul he had ever dragged to the Lowlands. He saw the fear he inspired in his victims and, sometimes, even his own hands in a ring around their throats. X was certain that the more Zoe knew about him, the more repulsed she would be. He had only done what the lords had commanded him to do—but he had done it.
X finally had the strength to sit up on Wednesday morning. Zoe and the others were curled on the floor, still murmuring low in their sleep. The Trembling should have forced X back to the Lowlands by now but, thanks to Zoe’s presence, the pain was muted. He gazed out the window, hungry for air. The frozen river glinted at the bottom of the hill like a long glowing ribbon.
He went outdoors, and the frigid wind blasted away the last remnants of sleep. The sun was not yet visible but it had sent a flood of orange and red across the sky to announce its arrival. X was grateful that the day was not yet bright. He had lived so long in a cell that his eyes were accustomed to darkness and to close quarters. He was most comfortable at this hour, when the world revealed itself slowly.
X had been trained to ignore the beauty of the Overworld. He had been taught to cast his eyes downward, or to stare straight ahead like a horse pulling a carriage. Any memories he formed here—not just of mountains and sky, but of the dogs nuzzling his face or of Zoe placing her hand against his chest—would make him suffer all the more when he returned to the Lowlands.
And he would be forced to return—he couldn’t let himself forget it. The lords would eventually haul him back home. What terrified him was that he didn’t know when or how—or what plague they would visit on Zoe’s family for giving him shelter.
X was weaving his way down the hill when he heard the door open behind him. He turned to see Zoe coming toward him. She had thrown on a coat and snowshoes, and her face wore a dark expression.
“Are you bailing on us?” she said.
“Bailing?” said X.
“Leaving. Are you leaving?”
“No, I assure you I am not.”
Zoe seemed not to believe him.
“Because enough people have left us already,” she said. “And Jonah likes you. You know who else was allowed to sleep in the ladybug? Nobody ever.”
“Zoe,” he said. “I am merely testing my lungs.” He paused. “Will you walk with me? I would be glad of your company.”
He could see, in her eyes, that she was struggling to trust him—and he could see the instant she decided to try.
“Yes, kind sir,” she said. “I, too, should like to test my lungs.”
“Do you mock me?” he said.
“Verily, I do,” she said.
They walked in silence, down toward the snow-burdened trees. Zoe did not assault him with questions about who or what he was, and he was grateful for it. He could not remember a time when he’d simply walked beside someone with no horrible destination in mind. He could not remember anyone being so calm in his company. Zoe seemed not to fear him at all. Once, as they were crossing the frozen river, she even bumped against him playfully. He felt the whole length of his body flush with heat.