Ice Blue (Ice 3)

“Ice cream, on the other hand, does wonders.” She reached for the container, pulled off the top and went searching for a spoon. Mission accomplished, she started to eat straight out of the container. She glanced up at him. “I’m not sharing,” she said, sitting down at the perfect little table in the perfect little breakfast nook.

“I didn’t think you were.” He went over to the fridge, and emerged with a Sapporo beer and a small black platter. He sat down opposite her, like the perfect husband in the perfect house.

The black platter had sushi and a pair of chopsticks. She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re taking a chance with raw fish? Who knows how long that’s been in there.”

“Less than six hours,” he replied. “I’d offer you some but it doesn’t go well with ice cream.”

She wasn’t about to tell him that she had an indecent craving for good sashimi, and she almost would have given up the ice cream for it. She didn’t need anything that would bring her closer to him. “I don’t suppose there’s any Diet Coke in the fridge.”

“Diet Coke with ice cream?”

She could be enigmatic as well. “Yes.”

To her surprise he rose, went back to the refrigerator and emerged with a fuchsia-colored can. “No Diet Coke, but this looks close.”

She dropped her spoon. Tab was almost impossible to find in southern California—she only knew of one place to buy her supply, and she was used to accepting Diet Coke as a substitute. On rare occasions she’d even tolerate Diet Pepsi.

No one could have gotten Tab by accident. Whoever had stocked this house knew exactly what she liked, down to something as minor as her favorite kind of ice cream and her preferred soft drink. She had no doubt at all there’d be a complete wardrobe in her size, all in black and white and gray, probably from the same stores she patronized. They seemed to know everything about her, whereas she didn’t even know who “they” were.

Just the man sitting across from her, eating his nigiri with calm dedication, his distant, elegant face giving nothing away. She could thank him for the food and the clothes she knew she’d find. He would have told them.

She pushed back from the table, suddenly sick. “I’m going to bed,” she said, putting the lid back on the half-eaten quart of ice cream.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything else?”

She didn’t want to ask what else there was. There would be her favorite foods, the kind of yogurt she liked, her favorite wine, all the arcane little peculiarities she’d developed over the years. She didn’t want to see. They knew too much about her.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, only half a lie. She wasn’t too shaken to leave the Tab behind—right now she needed all the comfort and normalcy she could get. “Any bedroom?”

“Take your pick. Just don’t lock the door.”

“The doors have locks? I’m amazed. Are you planning on making a surprise visit?” She could have kicked herself. Why did she keep bringing up sex when that was the last thing she wanted to think about.

He just looked at her. “I’m trying to protect y

ou,” he said. “Not that you’re making it any easier. Leave the door unlocked in case we have to get out of here quickly.”

She was too exhausted to argue. She found the room with the right clothes, including duplicates of things she’d had in her own closet. The sky was starting to lighten, and she pulled the miniblinds, shutting out the deceptive ordinary world of the suburbs, stripped off her clothes, down to her underwear, and crawled into bed. She wasn’t going to sleep in constricting clothes. There was also no way she could fall asleep naked—there probably wasn’t any way she could fall asleep at all, and taking a gulp of cold, caffeinated soda wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference. She’d closed and locked the bedroom door, despite his warning. She knew he wasn’t about to come into her room while she slept; despite the odd kiss, she knew he had absolutely no interest in her apart from keeping her alive.

The house was completely silent. No traffic noise, not even the sound of birds disturbed the stillness. Another day was dawning in this strange, nightmare world she’d stumbled into. And she closed her eyes, rather than face it.

“The child is unhappy, your holiness.” Brother Kenno’s soft voice was hesitant.

The Shirosama opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. It was past time to change his contact lenses. Each time he remembered to change the extended-wear contact lenses, he expected his eyes to have changed as well. It was always a shock when his own brown ones looked back at him, bloodshot and bleary.

It was happening, he knew it was. His vision was getting milkier and harder to focus—it was all part of the preordained change that was coming. By the time of his ascension he would be complete: Shirosama in body, mind and spirit.

“Are not all children unhappy?” he replied. “Are not all people unhappy? It is the way of karma. Her soul is at war, and the more she fights the more unhappy she is. Have you done nothing for her?”

“Your holiness, she refuses. She kicked Brother Sammo, and she refuses to wear our robes or listen to your holy word. I’ve told her that the gift we offer her is invaluable, but she is stubborn. Should we have Brother Heinrich deal with her?”

The Shirosama shook his head, the white hair settling around his shoulders. “Not until she is ready to receive the gift of moving past her karma. For now simply keep her contained and quiet. She’s still in the induction room?”

“Yes, your holiness. She tried to block the speakers but she was unable to reach them.”

“Good. Sooner or later my words will penetrate her stubborn mind, moving past the veil of illusion that rules humankind. When she is ready she will listen.”

Brother Kenno bowed. The Shirosama couldn’t see his expression, but it didn’t matter. Kenno had been with him for the last five years, and his devotion was absolute. “And then she will be blessed?”