Quen turned away, a hand held up in acceptance, and Gally sniffed, brushing off his sleeves. “The Angel tomato is condensing the virus into lethal doses,” the demon added, apparently mollified. “Eat a tomato, and you die. Death by BLT.” He chuckled, but Trisk felt ill, her side aching where she’d hit the truck and then the road.
“That’s impossible,” Daniel said, still sitting on the floor of the cell. His face was white, and Trisk imagined he was doing the same thing they all were: going over what he had eaten the last couple of days. Spaghetti.
“The virus couldn’t have possibly been in our lunch,” Quen said, more to Trisk than Gally. “It came out of a can. Those were last year’s tomatoes.”
“Probably.” Gally tugged his glove down, finger by finger. “But it’s just as likely that they were Angel tomatoes, the savior of the third world and the boon to the Midwestern farmer.” He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on his boots expectantly. “It’s all you people plant anymore,” he said lightly. “All over the planet, acres and acres of monospecies gardens.” Gally shook his head as if chastising a stupid child. “Why take a canary into your coal mine if you don’t listen to it sing? Sometimes I wonder how you have lasted even this long. And now, since the virus is attaching to the hairs, which are in everything from ketchup to . . . spaghetti sauce, was it? The virus multiplies like botulism, spreading with a gust of wind and a produce truck running west to east.” He smiled. “Giving a virus the characteristics of a bacterium? Inspired, lovey. I applaud you. What a marvelous way to infect large numbers of people quickly.”
Quen sat down heavily at the back of the cell, head bowed as he whispered, “That’s how it’s moving. It is airborne, but it goes from tomato to tomato, not person to person.”
“Tomato, hell,” Daniel said, white-faced. “It’s going product to product.”
Quen’s head came up. “I’ve been exposed, too, then.”
“Bad luck, chap,” Gally said as he rubbed the red smear between his fingers, the digits going misty for a moment. “Curious . . .”
“I don’t believe it,” Trisk said, unable to accept she had left an opening that large. “Even Kal wouldn’t be so stupid as to change the species barrier.”
Gally blinked. His expression went utterly blank for an unreal three seconds before a wide, evil grin settled onto his features. “You little trickster,” he said as he snapped his fingers, the blood vanishing and the white glove taking its place. “Perhaps you should sit down, Felecia Eloytrisk Cambri. A woman in your condition can never be too careful.”
“I am sitting down,” she whispered. God help her. She’d killed them all. There would be no one left but perhaps pixies and fairies.
“Why, so you are. Don’t be too hard on yourself, lovey,” Gally said as she tried not to hyperventilate. “These things happen to the best of us, though you have been particularly stupid.” His laugh made her shudder, and she hunched deeper into her thoughts. “I’m glad you have taken my counsel,” he said slyly. “For a time, I thought it might be difficult to get your name on your research, but you, my little whore, have done the hard part for me.”
“Hey!” Daniel said, affronted, his harsh cry shocking through her.
Trisk lifted her head, arms wrapped around her middle as if to hold her together. “I haven’t taken your counsel. I never agreed to anything. You just started talking.” She pressed her fingers into her forehead. “I can’t believe Kal would break the species barrier to put us in danger of infection.”
“But you are not in any danger, lovey,” Gally said merrily. “The species barrier is still intact. You’re not ill because you carry Daniel’s virus. You are ill because you are pregnant.”
The worried frown slid from Trisk’s brow in shock, and her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Gally’s laugh exploded from him, long and deep. “You’ve got a bun in the oven,” he said, delighting in the look of horror that flooded her. “Flunked the rabbit test. Enrolled yourself in the pudding-of-the-month club. Let me be the first to congratulate you and your little bastard.”
“Pregnant!” Quen exclaimed, his eyes going to Daniel.
“Don’t look at me,” Daniel said grimly as Trisk sat unmoving in shock. “I’m not the one who’s been following her around the last couple of weeks.”
Trisk felt herself go pale as they both turned their accusing eyes on her. Kal, she thought as they all figured it out together. “I think I’m going to throw up,” she whispered. Oh God, she’d gotten herself pregnant? By a Kalamack?
Gally was still laughing, apparently not caring that he was singeing his elbows and knees.
“How?” Trisk said, then waved a hand for him to shut up when he took a breath to answer. “I know how,” she amended. “But it’s so difficult for us to become pregnant at all.” Her pulse quickened. “Is it a viable fetus? Can you tell?”
“From your blood?” Gally said, glancing at Daniel when he got to his feet. “I’m good, but not that good. By the amount of hormone coursing through you, I’d say chances are good you’ll carry to term if you stop rolling over truck hoods. Tell you what. I’ll let you all out of your cages if you give it to me on his or her sixteenth birthday.”