Sunblind Serpent: The Zodiac Without A House

Marek did not ask Amara what Celeste was to her until after he had finished writing down the results of his earlier examination.

The notebook remained open by his elbow. SUBJECT A and SUBJECT B told him how Ophiuchus recognized them. However, it did not tell him how Amara did.

He looked across the narrow table. ”What do you call her?”

Amara looked at him. ”Celeste.”

”I know her name. That wasn’t needed, but maybe a friend?”

”Yes.”

”Family?”

Another pause. ”Yes.”

”What kind?”

Rhovan, who had moved from the wall to the empty chair near the doorway, looked toward the ceiling as though he had already decided not to become involved.

Amara stared at Marek and jokingly said, ”Do you need me to fill out a form?”

Marek almost answered seriously. Rhovan cleared his throat from the next chair, and Marek reconsidered.

”Sister is close enough,” Amara said.

That answer bothered Marek for a reason he could not immediately explain. Sister did not describe what had happened to them. It did not explain how Celeste had come to share her body, how their memories crossed in some places and remained separate in others, or why Ophiuchus had refused every attempt to treat one of them as something removable from the other.

It was simply the word Amara had chosen.

”You don’t have a sister.”

”I do now.”

Celeste’s presence settled faintly behind his right ear. She said nothing.

Marek looked at Amara again. ”Did you both decide that?”

”No. I did.”

That caught him.

Amara rested her hands on the table. ”I didn’t choose how Celeste entered my life. For a long time, I didn’t even know what was happening. Then I knew there was someone there, and for a while after that, I wanted her gone.”

Marek remembered his mother’s earlier admission that she had once been afraid of her. ”What changed?”

”Years.”

”That is not an explanation.”

”It is part of one.” Amara leaned back slightly in her chair. ”You spend enough years solving the same problems with someone, getting angry at them, depending on them, and learning exactly which habits make you want to throw something; eventually, you stop worrying about what to call this relationship.”

Rhovan’s mouth moved slightly.

Marek noticed. ”Don’t.”

”I said nothing.”

Amara ignored them. ”Celeste stayed. More importantly, she learned how to stay without treating my life like it belonged to her.”

Marek became quiet at that. He knew their boundaries had not appeared automatically. They had built them over years, and the fact that those boundaries existed now did not erase how difficult the beginning had been.

Celeste finally spoke through the connection. ”She was difficult.”

Amara’s eyes narrowed. ”I can hear enough of that one to know you’re lying.”

”I said difficult, not unreasonable.”

”Very generous.”

The ordinary differences between them were easier for Marek to understand. Celeste preferred silence while reading, while Amara could fold laundry with the television loud enough to hear from the hallway. Apparently, they disagreed about food and drinks just as often.

”You fight over coffee while sharing a body?” Marek asked.

”Frequently,” Amara said.

Celeste answered through her. ”She ruins it.”

”You drink mine anyway.”

”We have one mouth.”

Marek covered part of his face with one hand while Rhovan leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself.

”Why is he still here?” Marek asked.

”You brought him,” Amara replied.

”I brought him here. I didn’t say he had to stay.”

Rhovan looked at him. ”How welcoming.”

Marek refused to continue the argument.

Outside the room, the child who had spent most of the previous conversation insisting he was not tired had finally gone quiet. In his place, an older man near the treatment area had begun snoring loudly enough that a volunteer closed one of the partitions.

For days, Celeste had been a voice connected to warnings, hidden routes, Stillglass, Black Errancy, and everything else Marek did not understand about the Prime Continuum. Learning that she had also spent years disagreeing with Amara about coffee and television made those mysteries harder to separate from his family, but it also made Celeste easier to imagine as a person rather than another problem waiting to reveal itself.

Amara told him about a late hospital shift when a man had followed her for several blocks. She had noticed him but kept convincing herself he was simply walking in the same direction. Celeste had been less willing to assume that. She took control long enough to change their route through a crowded transport stop, doubled back through a pharmacy, and waited until the man continued without them.

”You never told us.”

”You were children.”

”That has never stopped you from telling me things.”

”It stopped me from telling you things that would make you watch the door every time I came home late.”

Marek could not argue because he knew exactly what he would have done.

Celeste added quietly, ”He would have made a list.”

”I would not.”

Amara stared at him.

”I was a child.”

”You labeled the kitchen shelves because you hated it when anyone returned things there incorrectly.”

”Because nobody did.”

Rhovan laughed.

Marek ignored him.

The memory should have stayed harmless. Instead, something about the kitchen pulled Tomas back into the room.

Marek thought of the blue Meridian folder his father had once moved out of the way before saving anything else on the table. He had been eight when Tomas left for an inspection at an underground government facility and never returned. For eleven years, the official explanation had remained a structural failure. Tomas had been listed missing, then eventually presumed dead.

There had never been a body.

Now, Marek knew his father had known about Celeste too.

”Dad knew enough to know she existed.”

Amara’s small smile disappeared. ”Yes.”

”And you said Celeste had nothing to do with his disappearance.”

”She didn’t have anything to do with it.”

”Did Dad know something about Meridian before he disappeared that wasn’t in the investigation?”

Amara looked down at the table and took several seconds to answer.

”Mom.”

”Not now.”

Marek’s chair scraped against the floor as he shifted forward. ”You keep putting this off.”

”Because some explanations are not mine alone to give.”

”He has been gone for eleven years.”

”I know.”

”You knew there was more.”

Amara raised her eyes. ”I knew part of it.”

Her correction only made Marek angrier. She knew enough to correct him, but not enough to explain.

Marek stood. His voice remained level because he did not trust himself to raise it without saying something he would regret. ”The report said there was a structural failure. Dad was listed missing, then presumed dead. You let me believe that was everything you knew.”

Amara did not deny it.

”Why?”

Celeste surfaced before she could answer. Marek recognized the change now in the way the shoulders settled and the stillness that followed. ”Because the people connected to what Tomas found are already reaching Earth.”

Rhovan straightened. ”Who?”

Celeste looked at him.

”The Twelve Houses?”

She did not answer, but that was enough to remove the last trace of amusement from Rhovan’s face.

Marek stepped closer to the table. ”Dad worked on this Project Meridian. What did he find?”

”Something beneath it,” Celeste replied.

For several seconds, the only sound near them was the old fluorescent fixture buzzing above the doorway. ”What does that mean?”

Celeste did not answer.

Amara returned before Marek could push again, looking more tired than she had a few minutes earlier. ”I am not trying to keep him from you.”

”He’s already gone.”

”I know.”

”Then stop protecting a secret like protecting it can change that.”

Pain crossed her face quickly enough that Marek regretted the sentence before he could take it back.

He looked away.

Beyond the partition, a volunteer unfolded a cot with two metallic clicks while someone asked where the remaining bottled water had been moved. A handwritten evacuation map had been taped beside the doorway, but half the marked streets were useless after Day 367.

Marek fixed his attention on that map until his anger became manageable again.

When he sat, he left the notebook untouched. ”I’m still going to find out.”

Amara nodded. ”I know.”

”And Celeste knows more than she’s saying.”

”Ask her.”

”I have.”

Amara’s mouth curved faintly. ”Then you already know the problem.”

Celeste’s voice arrived behind his right ear. ”I can hear you.”

”Good,” Amara said.

Marek looked between them, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

Rhovan stayed quiet, and Amara seemed content to let the conversation settle there.

Marek knew the subject of Tomas was not finished. Something beneath Meridian had already joined the list of things he intended to understand, whether Amara and Celeste were ready to explain it or not.

Still, the conversation had given him one answer he had not expected.

For days, Marek had tried to understand what Celeste was to his mother by separating one possibility from another. Friend. Family. Someone sharing her body. None of them had seemed precise enough.

Maybe they did not need to be.

Amara had already given him the answer.

Whatever Celeste had been when she first appeared, that was no longer what mattered to Amara.