The Host(110)

What do you think he’s not telling us?

You know what I know, Wanda.

You’re human. Aren’t you supposed to have intuition or something?

Intuition? My intuition tells me that we don’t know this place as well as we thought we did, Melanie said.

We pondered the ominous sound of that.

It was almost a relief to hear the normal noises of mealtime coming from the kitchen corridor. I didn’t particularly want to see anyone—besides the sick yearning to see Jared, of course—but the unpopulated tunnels, combined with the knowledge that something was being kept from me, made me edgy.

The kitchen was not even half full—an oddity for this time of the morning. But I barely noticed that, because the smell coming from the banked stone oven overruled every other thought.

“Oooh,” Jamie moaned. “Eggs!”

Jamie pulled me faster now, and I had no reluctance to keep pace with him. We hurried, stomachs growling, to the counter by the oven where Lucina, the mother, stood with a plastic ladle in her hand. Breakfast was usually serve-yourself, but then breakfast was also usually tough bread rolls.

She looked only at the boy as she spoke. “They tasted better an hour ago.”

“They’ll taste just fine now,” Jamie countered enthusiastically. “Has everyone eaten?”

“Pretty much. I think they took a tray down to Doc and the rest.…” Lucina trailed off, and her eyes flickered to me for the first time; Jamie’s eyes did the same. I didn’t understand the expression that crossed Lucina’s features—it disappeared too quickly, replaced by something else as she appraised the new marks on my face.

“How much is left?” Jamie asked. His eagerness sounded a trifle forced now.

Lucina turned and bent, tugging a metal pan off the hot stones in the bottom of the oven with the bowl of the ladle. “How much do you want, Jamie? There’s plenty,” she told him without turning.

“Pretend I’m Kyle,” he said with a laugh.

“A Kyle-sized portion it is,” Lucina said, but when she smiled, her eyes were unhappy.

She filled one of the soup bowls to overflowing with slightly rubbery scrambled eggs, stood up, and handed it to Jamie.

She eyed me again, and I understood what this look was for.

“Let’s sit over there, Jamie,” I said, nudging him away from the counter.

He stared in amazement. “Don’t you want any?”

“No, I’m —” I was about to say “fine” again, when my stomach gurgled disobediently.

“Wanda?” He looked at me, then back at Lucina, who had her arms folded across her chest.

“I’ll just have bread,” I muttered, trying to shove him away.

“No. Lucina, what’s the problem?” He looked at her expectantly. She didn’t move. “If you’re done here, I’ll take over,” he suggested, his eyes narrowing and his mouth setting in a stubborn line.

Lucina shrugged and set the ladle on the stone counter. She walked away slowly, not looking at me again.

“Jamie,” I muttered urgently under my breath. “This food isn’t meant for me. Jared and the others weren’t risking their lives so that I could have eggs for breakfast. Bread is fine.”

“Don’t be stupid, Wanda,” Jamie said. “You live here now, just like the rest of us. Nobody minds it when you wash their clothes or bake their bread. Besides, these eggs aren’t going to last much longer. If you don’t eat them, they’ll get thrown out.”

I felt all the eyes in the room boring into my back.

“That might be preferable to some,” I said even more quietly. No one but Jamie could possibly hear.

“Forget that,” Jamie growled. He hopped over the counter and filled another bowl with eggs, which he then shoved at me. “You’re going to eat every bite,” he told me resolutely.

I looked at the bowl. My mouth watered. I pushed the eggs a few inches away from me and then folded my arms.

Jamie frowned. “Fine,” he said, and shoved his own bowl across the counter. “You don’t eat, I don’t eat.” His stomach grumbled audibly. He folded his arms across his chest.

We stared at each other for two long minutes, both our stomachs rumbling as we inhaled the smell of the eggs. Every now and then, he would peek down at the food out of the corner of his eye. That’s what beat me—the longing look in his eyes.

“Fine,” I huffed. I slid his bowl back to him and then retrieved my own. He waited until I took the first bite to touch his. I stifled a moan as the taste registered on my tongue. I knew the cooled, rubbery eggs weren’t the best thing I’d ever tasted, but that’s how it felt. This body lived for the present.