We Can Go Back ✔

Slow 17

Arma and the children were the last ones to empty out of the pen, Escott right behind them. For the past three hours, Escott tried without success to figure out what he should say. In that time he noticed Arma's wondering eyes. She...she appeared to be looking for something, an alternative choice.

Maybe the idea of marriage for herself as a way of staying hadn't occurred, but she was considering it now. She'd be insane to marry a random bastard in lockup.

Hell, it was insane even when Escott was that likely random bastard, but someone else.... He couldn't imagine what kind of person would offer to take on eleven children. Again, he tried to push his own picture from that lineup. He was offering. But then he remembered something—something important. The non-exile rule only applied to imps, as they'd likely follow their mates even to hell rather than die alone.

He could squeeze it down to Newbreeds because no one was sure how Newbreeds reacted. Even he didn't know. Imps were stuck on scent. Scent and territory were big factors in the wives of imps knowing that they'd never shake their imp husband. He might stay out of the way, much like Karen's imp beau, Tine, but they'd be there.

Like it or not, Karen Blackwell was untouchable in more ways than one. That's where her boldness came from.

So if Arma intended to find a substitute in the five minutes it would take to process everyone out of the pen, she'd have one hell of a search on her hands.

By the time Escott closed the door, he could see that she realized as much.

Escott tried to apologize. "Honest, it's really not like that."

She ignored him instead and shifted in line while answering the Enforcers' questions about the children.

He tried again. "At lease let me say I'm sorry."

"Ma'am," a Newbreed said, trying to get Arma's attention. "What's this one's name? He doesn't appear to know his family name."

Escott tried to come to terms with the dismissal. What was his real intention when he first offered? He thought he knew.

As for the enforcer's question, Arma didn't have an answer. Finally, she said, "His family name is the same as all of them. They take on the name of their Areal Manager."

Escott wanted to interrupt her, to warn her to be truthful that four of those kids didn't come from her lot, but the glance she cut him made him shut up.

The process was slow going until it came to a halt. "If you sign off here for adoptions, we'll see about it."

Arma reached out but lowered her hand.

She struggled with something to say. Beyond their immediate circle, other enforcers reviewing the paperwork marveled.

"All ten—no, eleven. You ever seen anyone make it here with two much less eleven from a lot?"

Others whispered, "Curious to know how she pulled that off."

Not for long thanks to me. Escott wanted to find a wall to bang his head against.

"Well, you're in luck," the enforcer said, "the Blackwells are starting to take in orphans. They have a big enough estate to do it, too."

"Blackwells?" Arma lowered the pen, unable to sign. "Are there any others?"

"That aren't overfull? No. But it's really nice-looking, don't worry.

Arma's unfortunate situation was her downfall because she turned to Escott and whispered, "Are you still available?"

The desperation in her eyes spoke volumes. Maybe she had come with the intent of turning the children over. Maybe her bad blood with Blackwell made up her mind. But something told Escott that wasn't it. She'd come to give them away; it wasn't until his suggestion that she realized she might have a fighting chance.