36. All You Need Is Love.

I was tired after my talk with Number Two. Hearing his story prompted me to share one of my own. Something made me open up to him. Not sure what, but I was tired, exhausted actually, like something hard was now done and I yearned to rest.

"Did you know," I began, "that back when Bridgette was still around—it was quite early—I was on a supposed world-saving mission in the Amazon, or somewhere similar? It wasn't actually world-saving; it was a rescue operation. We had to locate three lost human scientists; getting them back was imperative. I wasn't impressed with these idiots; they'd gone into the jungle with no decent backup, cheap satellite phones, and absolutely no survival skills. But they were important—'upstairs' had said so—and the mission was a must. I mean, I was in the middle of the world-saving gig, but no jungles should have been in it, but fate decided otherwise, and soon I found myself in a hot, damp jungle trudging and trying to locate three stooges."

I was about to reveal my octopus secret, unsure of his reaction. He'd told me Number One knew about my Las Vegas mission, and now every male knew—or rather, felt the disgust and ensuing devotion in the hive mind—the disgust at how those men treated me, and the devotion to ensuring it never happened again. Then came the dark undertone from Number One, hinting at a lesson I'd need to learn later. I decided to put that thought aside for now.

Number Two said, "I'm so freaking angry at Damien. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I start crafting a spell to drag his sorry ass from hell so I can get my pound of flesh. But then I remember what he did to you. I just don't want him getting out and hurting you again. You're too important to me. Risk is just too much. I don't ever want you to go through yet another shed session."

Oops. It seemed my other secret was about to come out, too. Might as well see how deep I could get myself into this. I needed to address it immediately.

My voice hushed, I confessed, "I have secrets, quite a few. I told this one to Number Four, and now I'm telling you, though I'm not sure how you'll react."

Number Two's voice was calm. "Well, tell me," he said. "Let's see what it is."

I swallowed and said, "Damien... he's not in hell. He doesn't exist anymore. My hate... my hate destroyed him, his soul. I actually destroyed his soul, but I made Bridgette make it look like she'd just shoved him back to hell. I wasn't in the best place, and I just..."

Number Two said, "Reacted, my love, tell me more, or show me."

My voice was quiet. "I know Number One might be upset, as destroying Damien was his job, and I..."

Number Two interrupted, "My love, worry not. Let me see. Come on..."

I let the memory unfurl, allowing him to witness my monstrous side and Damien's proud words.

Number Two then commented, "Don't take all prophecies literally. Number One might have an issue, but we all knew the realities of our lives back then. As for me, good for you—at least you got to do something, to show him your hate."

Wulfe's voice echoed in my mind: "My love, I have a plan for that. For now, you no longer have access; it's too creepy. We'll address it. Number One knows; I let him know. He's still teaching Mariella, but he's aware of my plan and willing to participate. However, I won't tell you what it is. It's better for you, as you might subconsciously fight me, and I'm the stronger one. I don't wish to hurt you unless I have to."

Left to wonder about their plan, Number Two softly said, "You were telling a story about guys lost in the jungle. Go on."

I took a breath. "Well, there I was, trying to pinpoint those idiots using a drone. It's wickedly hard in a jungle; it got tangled in vines and cursed like a sailor. Mimosa woke up and enjoyed my inventive vocabulary. Then, I finally got them in my sights, when one of them shot my drone down. They had a small-caliber pistol, and I have no idea what they thought the drone was, but down it went. I didn't have time to pinpoint the exact coordinates; I only had the direction, and that was my only drone. Mimosa wasn't free back then. I... I have no words to describe my initial reaction; it was somewhere between 'You've got to be kidding me' and 'What the fuck are you absolutely crazy?'"

Number Two smirked. "I bet your vocabulary was inventive and unlimited."

I nodded, explaining, "It took ten hours to find them—three or five if they hadn't destroyed my drone. I could have guided them to civilization using it. They did not explain shooting it down; just an 'oops' moment. But nothing's easy for me. They invented the first blood-collecting machine at Colin's clinic. Had they perished, Sark would have gotten the patent, as he was developing his own version. But they got theirs patented first, so Sark abandoned his, which is why I had to save them, idiots though they were. You wouldn't believe how much money Colin made from that patent—money now lost to Sark."

Number Two smirked, almost infuriatingly.

I tilted my head to see his expression, and said, "I wasn't amused, and I made that clear. I directed them out—they weren't far, but they'd circled into the jungle and were terrible with directions. Returning to my car, near the river's edge, I noticed a large boat."

I adjusted my position. Number Two's heartbeat, a reassuring rhythm behind me, vibrated through my body, soothing even in its speed.

"I didn't know then it was one of Horatio's fight club ships," I said, "dumping oil into the river. Bad enough, but it was a secluded cove, so the oil was trapped. It's a special cove; a biologist friend had told me about it."

Number Two grunted. "So you rescued something else—another orchid?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Octopuses—five rare species or subspecies adapted to that cove. I also got enough shrimp, mussels, and plants for them, and Bridgette made a spell to ensure their survival. They're still thriving."

Number Two's voice was almost reverent. "Let me get this straight: you've got rare species of octopuses, shrimp, and plants living from that river for a century? In somewhere in your houses?"

I nodded, saying, "The cove was too badly polluted. Even after securing my specimens and keeping watch, it remained oily and unusable. They've since filled it in and built an outpost to monitor ships linked to human trafficking—my guess is Horatio had to move."

Number Two then declared, "I want to meet those octopuses! I know—no magic house yet, but we have other contacts. Still, maybe we can keep them, living with us. They must be marvelous creatures."

I replied, "I feel bad because they recognize me, but I don't always have time to spend with them. They climb onto my neck and hands when I enter; I guess they like my pheromones—my neck is their favorite spot. I have given names for them."

Number Two smirked. "Oh, prepare yourself," he said. "Once I meet them, they'll fall for me and forget all about you."

I retorted, a little snarkily, "And if they don't, will you send them fear and terror, too?"

He actually laughed. "Well, baby," he said, "I'm not sure how they'd perceive it, but I'm sure I can charm them."

I rolled my eyes. Once a seducer, always a seducer. I wasn't sure how Mariella would react to my octopuses.

Number Two's voice was amused. "Oh, baby, don't worry, I won't let Number One fry them for her."

I laughed; he was funny, bordering on goofy with his ideas. 

He said to me, "Oops, I did Mariella just...meaning I told this to Number One, and oh boy, he's wild! He's thinking a mile a minute about what to do—getting those octopi in the best possible places. What can be done better? Can they breed, maybe be cloned? He thinks they'll love him too, especially the females."

I rolled my eyes. My poor fellows were about to meet a pack of eager, seductive members, ready to charm them into love. Octopuses are intelligent and have feelings, but I'm not a telepath, so I had no idea what was going on.

However, I recalled what Bridgette had told me while I was bringing them in, and she was setting up the aquariums.

Looking at them, she'd said, "One day, my friend, you'll notice how your past connects to your future. Your past will be your pack's past, and sometimes, even though you can't change the past per se, there are ways to mold it. Let's play a thought game: imagine something big happening in your past, but it's isolated—affecting only you and a few others, with no lasting impact on the world. Say you break your favorite coffee mug. Sure, you'd be upset, but it wouldn't change the world."

I countered, remembering my rigid response. My view was not very flexible back then: "But it would affect me! My rage would color my life, and I would make different decisions if I hadn't broken the cup."

She smiled. "Your rage is your greatest weapon or your greatest weakness. In my mental game, if I were to alter the past—say, project myself back in time to stop you from breaking that mug—would it change anything?"

I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what she was talking about, and then she had to leave without explaining the game. To be honest, I still don't understand it. It's one of those mysterious things that people in my life like to spout—Wulfe being one, and Bridgette a good second. Perhaps their purpose is to keep me confused.

The air smelled of an impending storm. I sighed, racking my brain to remember if I had any disposable raincoats left. This could be a very wet ride. For now, though, eucalyptus leaves shuffled under the horses' hooves as we picked up the pace and trotted onward.

A few hours later, I sensed Mariella's return, so to speak. Whatever Number One had done to her was over, though time would tell if it had been sufficient. As they rode near, Mariella showed little enthusiasm for my octopuses, calling them slimy and refusing to touch them—her loss.

Shadow, meanwhile, pondered her plans, including shrimp and the feeling of certain old plants. According to Shadow, these plants possessed a kind of hive mind; an old tree, she said, could remember its time as a sapling. Trees, she explained, were patient creatures, unlike the impatient bushes and vines that always grew rapidly toward the light, each with their own vulnerabilities.

I'd heard her discuss various plants at length as they collected seeds and nuts. Mimosa said Shadow was dear to her, but, my god, she sometimes grew weary of hearing Shadow's musings on what different grasses thought when walked upon—some enjoyed the tickle, others did not, and some weeds were downright offended by the human designation "weed."

It was funny, but I understood Mimosa; it might be jarring to listen to someone drone on about whether one's salad is preferred to be eaten or not.

I was growing tired when Number Two said, "Go on, lean on me, close your eyes, and take a nap. I've got you; everything is fine, you're safe."

It was that feeling of safety that finally exhausted me. Weeks of frantic activity and lack of rest had taken their toll. I leaned into Number Two, listening to the cadence of his heartbeat, closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep for the first time in weeks.

Ironically, I could go for months without sleep if necessary, but sleeping was far better for my physiology, and perhaps I was evolving, needing sleep once more. There was nothing wrong with sleeping, with resting in absolute safety, with being loved. It's truly true: all you need is love, and it will change your world for the better, making it far more beautiful and vibrant.