Even though it was only 10:30 P.M., Gabriella decided to call it a night. Tiredness made her eyes burn: When she squeezed them shut, they felt hot and gritty. She’d been working since 6:30 A.M., with an early morning call to Hyderabad, followed by a virtual breakfast meeting with their technical consultants in Kiev.
Gabriella pushed back from her cool glass desk, stretching against her Aeron chair. She shut down her computer, then, after a moment’s hesitation, turned off her BlackBerry. If someone really needed the head of acquisitions and mergers during the next eight hours, they could call her security team and have someone knock on her door.
With the help of her favorite titanium cane, Gabriella pushed herself upright. All the floors in the house were beautiful, dark-oak hardwood, easy for her to walk across, no rugs she could trip on. She made her way down the long corridor to her bedroom, black-and-white photographs of old amusement parks—wooden Ferris wheels, exuberant freak show signs—lining the way. At the end of the corridor she entered the code to shut the house down, alerting the security team that she was locked in her room for the evening. No one would disturb her unless it was a dire emergency.
And no one dared enter Gabriella’s room without her explicit approval.
Now, finally, Gabriella could relax. She knew she was alone, completely unmonitored in here. She paid a lot for her guaranteed privacy, but it was worth it.
The master bedroom suite reflected the rest of the house, a mixture of modern and old: a maple, queen-sized sleigh bed filled the bedroom, while modern, smoked-glass cabinets stood opposite; an old mahogany sideboard had been repurposed as her sink, with a beautiful green-glazed bowl sitting in the center of it; the bath held luxury shower heads in a 180-degree arc, standing underneath a small antique chandelier.
Gabriella changed into a long-sleeved, burgundy silk pajama top. Carrying the bottoms, she sat heavily on her bed, sinking into the foam mattress. She unzipped first one, then the other of her one-piece boot-socks, pulling them off her cloven feet. She signed heavily as she slipped on her pajama bottoms, then under the sheets, careful not to snag her hooves on the soft cotton.
However, Gabriella found her eyes opening again as soon as she turned off the light. She lay on her side, facing the empty half of the bed.
The pristine pillow mocked her.
No one had ever slept there. Gabriella couldn’t take the chance—not given her deformity, as well as her demanding job. It wasn’t in her future, no matter what Papa had told her about love and forgiveness, or had tried to convince her that her condition was a birth defect, her feet merely bifurcated, not hooved.
Yet, sometimes, Gabriella wished things were different. She tried to imagine a face to put with this desire, but none ever came. Gabriella remained alone in the dark.
* * *
Gabriella interrupted the developer giving the presentation. “Could you go over that last point again?” How they ordered their data intrigued her. Either they were exaggerating, or they’d come up with a unique solution to a large dataset problem. Why hadn’t this part of their business been listed in the initial assessment of the organization’s assets?
“It’s a little technical,” the developer said, swallowing nervously. The light of the projector made his skin seem even paler in the darkened conference room.
Gabriella raised an eyebrow and waited. These idiots obviously hadn’t done their homework if they thought they could snow her. Her master’s wasn’t in business, but computer science.
Andrew, Gabriella’s assistant, shifted in his seat. She made a mental note to talk with him, again, about being prepared for meetings. The only reason he was bored was because he didn’t know enough to ask interesting questions.
“This might help,” said Lee, a technical consultant on loan to Gabriella’s department from R&D. The specs and graphics he slid across the table were clear and concise. They explained the exact points Gabriella had wanted more detail on. They were even printed dark enough to be easily seen in the half-light.
She made another mental note to find out why this page hadn’t been in the information packet Andrew had assembled for her. Of course, she’d done her own homework, but she worked with a team for a reason.
After the presentation and the engineers from the potential acquisition had left, Gabriella asked everyone to stay. “Gut reaction,” she said as she made her way slowly to the head of the oblong table. Her hooves itched inside her boot-socks today, making walking more difficult. “Lightning round,” she added as she finally got into place, pointing her cane at Wu, their senior financial consultant.
“I think we need more data,” Wu equivocated. His dark eyes darted around the room, seeking support.
Gabriella refrained from grinding her teeth. “Yes or no.”
“No,” Wu said slowly, pushing his lips together and no longer meeting Gabriella’s eye. He was very good at his job, but more risk-averse than Gabriella had patience for.
The next man, Stevens, volunteered an opinion, as did the remaining members of Gabriella’s team. The only one who surprised her was Lee, who said, “Yes. We’d be fools not to.”
After the meeting, Gabriella pulled Lee to the side. “What did you mean?” She was glad he didn’t hesitate in his reply.
“They don’t know what they have.” Lee’s hazel eyes burned with bright intelligence. “Their very large dataset solution is elegant, and if I’m reading between the lines of code correctly, they also have some indexing efficiencies that we could make good use of.”
“Interesting,” Gabriella said, thrilling to the prospect of better data mining. “I’d really like a report—”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” Lee said, pulling out a few pages from his folder.
“E-mail them,” Gabriella told him. She didn’t carry anything with her: too difficult with the cane, and a backpack was unprofessional.
“Of course.” Lee stepped back. “If there’s ever anything else, let me know.”
For a moment, Gabriella found it difficult to look away. Lee appeared to be looking at her with fondness, wide lips curled into a smile under sharp cheekbones, curly brown hair frizzing at the temples.
Obviously he didn’t know her very well.
* * *
Gabriella had been five or six the first time she’d read a Bible. One of the maids had slipped it to her. As a child she’d been careful to hide her deformity, but she’d trusted the adults around her to keep her secret.
Mama had taken it when she’d found it, and fired the maid.
Satan wasn’t presented as someone with cloven feet, at least not in the Bible. But only unclean beasts had hooves. Gabriella wondered if that was why the housekeeper always crossed herself when she saw Gabriella and was alone (she never did it in front of Mama or Papa). Father Marino never came to their house either, though from beyond the walls of their compound she saw him on his bicycle, traveling down the dirt road to one house after another.
It was the first time Gabriella read of her namesake and how he’d announced the coming of the prophets. She wondered, when she’d grown older, if she was the exact opposite in every way—female, human, announcer of a company’s imminent death, and marked by the Devil.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Lee continued to anticipate Gabriella’s requests for more data, code examples, and now lunch.
“Mind reader,” Gabriella accused Lee as he stood at the door of her office, takeout bags in hand. She stood and made her way around her desk, cane thumping, indicating that Lee should put the bags on the side table. She dimmed the overhead lights with her remote and turned up the lamps on the credenza: not so much mood lighting as more comfortable. The pale wood of the table no longer shone, but glowed.
“Just hoping you were hungry,” Lee disclaimed, shaking his head and giving her that warm smile of his.
Gabriella forced herself to merely return his smile, instead of allowing the grin that threatened to escape. For the first time she felt as if she might be making a friend at the office, someone who witnessed her brilliance and drive yet hadn’t turned away or felt threatened by them.
After discussing the next possible acquisition Gabriella had found, the conversation grew more personal. He confessed to a fascination with British punk while she admitted to liking classic rock. Their tastes in food overlapped, as well as their favorite European cities: Gabriella had spent her first years in Spain and had returned there every summer for years.
Lee told a story of his latest travels, when he’d taken a bicycle trip through Versailles and the ducks that had chased him. While Gabriella still chuckled, he casually asked, “Have you ever ridden a bike?”
“No,” Gabriella said, understanding the real question. “I was born this way. No proper feet.” She didn’t explain more.
“Ah.” Lee continued with his story, not censoring himself, talking of the wild chase up a set of stairs, herded by an angry flock of geese.
Gabriella appreciated how Lee spoke with her. Some people grew embarrassed talking about a long walk, as if somehow they shouldn’t mention those types of things in front of her.
Finally Andrew poked his head through the door, reminding her of her 1 P.M. meeting.
“Thank you for lunch,” Gabriella told Lee as she pushed herself up.
“The pleasure was mine,” he replied sincerely. He held himself as if he was about to say something more, then shook his head and started clearing away their plates.
“Andrew can—”
“Go. You have a meeting. If won’t take me a moment. And I’ll e-mail you the new project reports by the end of the day.”
“Thank you.” Now it was Gabriella’s turn to pause. She didn’t know what to add. Thank you for the distraction? For the beginnings of a friendship? For treating me like a person, not merely an asset?
Gabriella said nothing, though, just walked away, pushing all thought of Lee out of her mind as she focused on the next meeting and her immediate plans. No future personal plans were allowed, not for her.
* * *
Gabriella wasn’t as successful at not thinking about Lee later that evening. From the security of her locked bedroom she slid off the boot-socks as she stood in her closet. Tasteful pine cupboards surrounded her on all sides of the walk-in. Here she had a plush red rug over the hardwood, soft but firm, that wouldn’t show hoof prints.
The racks held business clothes, all of it rich, tailored, and flattering. Most of it was dark or muted colors, though she had a few special suits: the lavender one when she wanted to be underestimated, the blood-red one for when she wanted her opponent to feel threatened.
Without the boot-socks, Gabriella had a more plausible walk. It didn’t look right, not like a normal person’s gait. But in just her cloven feet, she could walk much more easily.
Gabriella fetched a stool, stood as tall as she could to reach the top shelf, far in the back, where one shoebox lay hidden. White tissue paper curled around a pair of sleek, black heels. Without too much difficulty Gabriella slipped them over her hooves, then, stumbling, walked out into her bedroom, stepping in front of the mirror.
Of course, she looked ridiculous. Bare human legs stuck out from her pelvis, to mid-calf, where the brown fur coat started, tufts of hair growing thickly, down to complicated ankles hanging over black high heels.
As much as Gabriella might wish otherwise, she could never wear heels like the other women in the office, could never look or dress like them. She didn’t even own a skirt. No matter what Mama said about God having a plan for her life, it didn’t involve normalcy.
Gabriella slipped the shoes off and then stood, holding them, looking in the mirror. She almost looked like everyone else. Almost. With a sigh she put the heels away and stored the box back in the rear of her closet.
It was time to put her daydreams away as well.
* * *
Lee didn’t stop by with lunch again, and Gabriella told herself that she was relieved. They remained close, but their conversation took on a strictly professional tone. He was the most rounded engineer she’d ever met—articulate, well-travelled, and knowledgeable enough about computer design that she wondered why he hadn’t gone into business on his own.
However, Lee was still only on loan to Gabriella’s department. She intended to fix that. She couldn’t have him in her personal life, but she could be close to him in her professional life.
Late that Thursday, Gabriella set up a meeting with Lee in her office. She placed herself at the side table, with fresh coffee and cold cream on the tray, just the way Lee liked it. She had all the numbers of her very generous offer in her head, but she also had printed copies waiting in the blue folder she kept to the side. At first she dimmed the lights, then turned them back up, all the way to bright: Lee needed to see her and know where he stood.
She might also have wanted to see him clearly as well.
At first they talked about the latest company Gabriella had started investigating, arguing the technical merits of their social networking software.
After they’d finalized their plan of attack, Gabriella told Lee, “One last thing.” She pulled the blue folder in front of her. “I’m very impressed with all the work you’ve done. I know you’re only consulting for my group—”
“I don’t want to work for you,” Lee said, standing abruptly.
“Oh,” was all Gabriella could say. She pulled the blue folder closer to her, wishing she could hold it over her chest. “I apologize. I misunderstood.” Gabriella examined the smooth wood of the table, ashamed to look up. She felt like such a fool.
“Gabriella,” Lee said softly. “Please. Let me explain.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Yes, I do. I’m leaving the company in two weeks. I’m turning in my resignation on Monday.”
“What?” Gabriella said, her head snapping up.
Lee smiled warmly at her. “I’m joining the Patterson Group. It’s a think-tank—”
“I know what it is.” It was perfect—Lee would have the chance to evaluate many different types of companies and technologies, and not just for acquisition.
Gabriella’s heart still hurt. She hadn’t bound her dreams up tightly enough, it seemed.
“Now, in two weeks, when we no longer work for the same company—or even longer if you’re worried about appearances—you should call this number.” Lee slid a business card across the table.
Gabriella raised one eyebrow but didn’t reach for the card. Was Lee trying to blackmail her?
“That’s my personal number,” Lee explained softly. “My personal e-mail address. Because I would like—” he paused, then pushed on. “We should go to dinner. Out, some place. Away from here. When we no longer work together.”
Gabriella had never blushed before. Yet, she felt her cheeks grow warm as the implications of what Lee was saying sank in.
He wasn’t rejecting her. He was asking her out.
“Yes,” Gabriella said, nodding, finally finding the courage to reach out and pick up the card, sliding her finger across the raised black ink. “I think—I think I should make that call.” Then she sighed. “It’s going to be hell replacing you.”
“For every loss, there is a gain,” Lee teased. “It’s part of the plan.”
Gabriella thought about that the rest of the evening. Normally, it was her loss, or the company’s gain.
Maybe, though, for the first time, it could be the other way around.
* * *
Gabriella remembered the last time she’d stripped off her boot-socks and showed someone her feet. She’d just turned nine. She’d slipped away from her English tutor upstairs in the hot, stuffy classroom and clambered down the back stairway that only the servants were supposed to use to slip outside. She didn’t stay in the back garden where she was expected to go. Instead, she slipped around to the front.
The wrought-iron gate stood wide open to the road, but Gabriella didn’t leave the compound. Instead, she sat on the stone lip of the fountain in the center of the wide, circular front. Water splashed down the sleek center column. The joyful sound bounced off the walls and the narrow brick drive.
At first, Gabriella merely dipped her fingers under the water. She caught the drops and spread them over her bare arms, lifting her braids and sprinkling water along her neck.
Gabriella was too afraid to take off her boot-socks—even though her ankles sweated and the edges of her hooves constantly scraped against the material. Still, she zipped down one just an inch or so and dribbled the water inside, trickling it down her calf, cooling her briefly.
Maybe Gabriella would have unzipped more, but the next thing she knew, Mama had grabbed her arm, forcing her to stand.
“What are you doing?” Mama yelled, shaking her. “Anyone could see you!” She pulled Gabriella inside the house, closing both of the large front doors, then dragged Gabriella into the front sitting room.
Papa sat on the overstuffed sofa, reading his paper. The remains of the afternoon coffee service sat on the low wooden table. A large ceiling fan spun lazily above, not cooling off anything.
“She was removing her socks in public!” Mama announced, thrusting Gabriella in front of her.
Papa folded his paper and put it beside him on the sofa. “I don’t understand—”
“She shouldn’t show anyone!”
“It’s merely a birth defect—”
“It is not,” Gabriella said firmly.
Mama looked guilty, while Papa asked softly, “Did one of the maids say something again?”
“No,” Gabriella said. “But people aren’t born like this!”
“With feet that are split, like yours? Normally not, no. We’ve explained, sweetheart—”
“This isn’t just a defect,” Gabriella announced as she unzipped her boot-socks and showed her parents what she saw: the fur now growing on her calves, how her ankles bowed, and the hooves that had formed on the ends of her feet.
Gabriella pulled herself up straight, balancing delicately on the cool stone floor. She even walked in a circle to show them, clomping like a horse with every step.
All she needed was a tail.
When Gabriella turned back, Mama sat with tears streaming down her face. “She’s right.”
Papa insisted, “It’s just a birth defect.”
“There’s surgery—” Mama said.
“No.” Gabriella and Papa said together firmly. No one was touching her feet, or even looking at them again.
Gabriella gathered her stocking boots and walked out, clomping loudly, through the house and up the main stairs to her room, holding her head high.
The next week Papa and Gabriella moved to New York. Mama stayed behind in Spain. Gabriella knew it was her fault, no matter how much her father denied it. She tried to be everything to him, graduating from high school when she was thirteen, following his plans, graduating from law school though she never took the bar, then following her own plans and studying computers as well.
She still wondered sometimes about God’s plans that Mama had told her about, before Gabriella decided His plans didn’t matter at all.
* * *
Gabriella hadn’t been to the restaurant Lee picked out. Heavy velvet, navy blue curtains sectioned off the front alcove from the tables. Lee stood next to the hostess, wearing a formal suit. He looked young and beautiful: How could he be waiting for her?
“It’s good to see you,” Gabriella said, standing awkwardly before him. They’d never hugged, had rarely shaken hands, even. And her cane was in the way.
“It’s wonderful to see you,” Lee said, reaching forward and squeezing her elbow.
Gabriella froze. No one had touched her like that. Ever.
“Shall we?” Lee asked, holding open the curtain.
Gabriella followed the hostess, who walked slowly enough for Gabriella to stay close. Off-white linens covered every table, and the places were set with crystal and heavy silverware. Waiters stood in white suit jackets with black bow ties and pants. Beautiful flower arrangements lined the room, the only spots of color, brilliant red roses and orange tiger lilies. Many of the guests wore retro outfits: women with pillbox hats, sheath dresses, and pearls; men in suits and garters.
The hostess seated them in a private booth that was also partially curtained. “Open or closed?” she asked.
“Open, yes?” Lee asked, looking at Gabriella. “At least for now.”
“Yes, please.” Gabriella appreciated, yet again, Lee’s incredible thoughtfulness, anticipating her needs. She was so new to this. She’d had exactly two dates before this, and both had failed miserably.
Maybe the third time could be the charm.
Dinner progressed easily—conversation flowing from one topic to the next. Gabriella couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much or smiled so hard.
About halfway through the evening, Lee got up to use the restroom. When he came back, he sat closer to Gabriella: close enough to press their near legs together from ankle to knee. He started a running commentary about…something.
Gabriella tried not to stiffen, to show the shock she felt. But before Lee could move away, she deliberately pressed back, applying pressure with her ankle. She’d never done this before, but she wanted it to continue.
They used Gabriella’s car service for the ride home. As soon as they slid into the back seat Lee put his hand, palm up, on his thigh: an invitation.
Gabriella was amazed at how patiently Lee waited—almost half the ride—before she shyly intertwined their fingers.
When the car took a curve fast enough to sway their bodies closer, so their knees touched, Gabriella leaned even closer and whispered, “I’ve never done this before.”
Lee squeezed her hand. “We have time. You’re also a quick study.”
Gabriella laughed softly, but stayed pressed against him.
When they arrived at Lee’s house, he leaned closer still and chastely kissed the side of her mouth.
Gabriella’s throat went dry. She couldn’t think of what to say.
“Can we do this again?” he asked.
Numbly she nodded.
“You want to make the next plans? Or should I?”
“I will.” Gabriella wasn’t sure where she found her voice, or what shook her out of her statue-like phase. She squeezed Lee’s hand tightly one last time before she let him leave.
The ride home passed in a daze. It wasn’t until Gabriella had to walk again that everything faded to black and white.
How could she ever show him all of her?
* * *
Gabriella left school during the middle of finals when she learned Mama was dying. Her professors all assured her that she could make up the exams. Gabriella thanked them with warmth she didn’t feel; the world had gone flat when she’d heard the news.
The trip to Spain took forever. Gabriella curled up in the window seat, wore her sunglasses the entire time, and pretended she wasn’t crying. The pressure changes brought a physical pain to her clogged sinuses that she welcomed: It didn’t feel right to hurt this much without her body actually aching.
Mama looked sallow under the white bedsheets, her glossy black hair more streaked with gray than Gabriella remembered. Mama’s collarbones stood out like a fashion model’s, and her cheeks lay sunken against her skull.
“You didn’t need to come,” Mama scolded upon seeing her.
Gabriella shrugged. “I wanted to see you anyway.” She’d been planning on coming during summer vacation.
“The doctors worry too much. It’s just a cold. I’ll be out before you leave.” Mama squeezed Gabriella’s hand. The sickness had stolen her usually tight grip, leaving it butterfly soft. “But it must have been His plan for you to come.”
“Please, Mama,” Gabriella said, slipping her hand away.
“He has a plan for you.”
“No, Mama, he doesn’t.”
“Your father doesn’t see what we see,” Mama confided suddenly. “But we see the truth. Not him. And so there’s a plan, yes.”
A nurse coming in to ask them what they’d like for dinner saved Gabriella from arguing further. Mama fell asleep soon afterward, with Gabriella promising she’d be there in the morning.
Gabriella should have extracted the same promise from Mama, who fell into a coma that night and never woke up, leaving Gabriella to state that whatever plan God had, leaving her motherless at the age of twenty didn’t seem like a good strategy.
That night, Gabriella dreamed of falling, as she generally did. Only this time she fell from the garden walls outside the compound where she’d grown up. The fall was short and, this time, snakes in the bushes had woven themselves into a net to catch her.
* * *
Lee and Gabriella went to the opera, to Broadway musicals and hole-in-the-wall theatres. They dined in the kitchen of four-star restaurants—the chef’s table—as well as ate greasy garlic fries at a local diner.
In between, and sometimes during, Gabriella would reach out and snag Lee’s hand in her own, or he would press their legs together under the table.
Kisses came, too. Shy, chaste kisses that Gabriella quickly grew bored with. Nibbling kisses that left her hungry. Deep kisses that left her breathless and scared of how much she wanted more.
That made her agree when Lee asked to see her bedroom.
They continued kissing on the lounge, sinking deeper into each other. Lee brought their laced fingers to his groin, where Gabriella could feel his stiffness and heat. “This is what you do to me,” Lee promised.
Gabriella let go of Lee’s hand, brought it back to her lap. “I’m not sure—if you’d feel the same. After.”
“Do you really think I wouldn’t respect you in the morning?” Lee asked with a smile.
Gabriella shook her head. “Not sex.” More important. She dragged her feet out from where they’d been curled under her, placing them directly in front of Lee. “This. These.”
Lee rubbed the top of one boot-sock. “You want to show me but you’re afraid.”
“Yes.” The word came out a hissed whisper.
“You’re never afraid of anything.”
“I get nervous some—”
“Not the same.”
“Do you believe in God?” Gabriella asked, stalling. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked him this before.
“Yes.”
“Heaven? Hell? The Devil?”
“Yes, and now you’re scaring me.”
Gabriella tried to move her feet away. Lee held on. “No, no, I’m joking. Sorry. Yes, I believe in Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil. There’s a plan, and we’re both part of it.”
Plans. Gabriella had thought she’d gotten away from them when Mama had died.
“What if we’re on different sides?” Gabriella supposedly bore the mark of the Devil.
“We’re not,” Lee said emphatically. “You’re a good person. Unless you think that I—”
“No, no.” Gabriella took a deep breath, her stomach clenching with fear. “I want to show you. But I understand if you insist on leaving afterward.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I fell for your brain first?” Lee asked. “You don’t have to show me.”
Gabriella was tempted to take the out Lee offered her. But she couldn’t. She had to do this. “You can still go,” she told him softly. Then she pulled her legs close and one by one, undid the zippers on her boot-socks.
Lee’s breath caught as Gabriella revealed her fur-covered calves.
Without pause, Gabriella pulled the ends off, exposing her hooves.
Lee sat in shock, mouth open and graceless.
Gabriella stood and walked across the floor as gently as she could, trying to mute her clomping steps. When Lee still hadn’t said anything, Gabriella told him, “You should go now.”
Lee finally closed his mouth and looked up at her. “Yes,” he said simply. He slid his jacket on and without another word—or even a final kiss—walked out the door.
Gabriella had never cried so hard before. Not even when Papa had died.
* * *
The next morning, Gabriella fearfully answered Lee’s call after only a few rings. She was in the middle of at least half-a-dozen things: When 6:30 A.M. had come she’d thrown herself into work with a vengeance. She sat in her most formal, most covered-up suit at her desk at home, fielding calls, e-mails, and text messages.
“I’m sorry,” Lee said. “I’m sorry I was a fool and didn’t realize His grand plan.”
“What?” Gabriella asked, her tiny rising hope dropping like a stone.
“I’m supposed to save you.”
“Have you been drinking?” was all Gabriella could think to ask.
“You’ve been marked, just as I have been,” Lee said breathlessly.
“You’re crazy,” Gabriella said, the realization striking her harder than a physical blow. She was already sitting, and wished she could easily lower herself to the floor.
“No, we were meant for each other. How do you explain how well we worked together? We practically read each other’s minds.”
Gabriella pressed her lips together. What he said was true: They’d had tremendous chemistry.
“And now it’s time for our greatest work, casting the Devil out of the world.”
Gabriella couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “What are you saying? That I’m a Devil worshipper? I spend my nights working. Not chanting or cursing people.”
“There’s more to evil than casting spells. You destroy people’s lives, their companies, their jobs.”
“I am hanging up now,” Gabriella said slowly. She’d heard this rant before; it was why her house had such extensive security.
“You can be saved!”
Gabriella shivered and hung up, promptly blocking Lee’s number. She was damned, but not like how he thought. Cursed to spend her life alone.
Later that evening, after Gabriella had exhausted herself with work, she looked at her bare feet, the nobs for ankles, legs covered in soft fur. The mark of the Devil. She tried to see them how her father thought of them, mere slabs without toes, the foot itself bifurcated.
All she saw were hooves.
* * *
They held the quarterly review in the CEO’s beautiful corner office. Marc, the CEO, asked Gabriella to stay afterward. He poured her fresh coffee and took the chair next to hers. Gabriella had always liked his bluntness, even if it made her job more difficult sometimes when he let a client know exactly what he thought of them.
Marc looked squarely at Gabriella as he said, “We’ve heard some rumors. I don’t believe them, of course.”
“Rumors?”
“You know,” Marc said expansively, waving one hand in her general direction. “The usual. Satan worshipping. Cloven feet.” He smiled slyly at her.
“The usual?”
Marc shrugged. “You’ve fallen under a lot of criticism lately.”
“I’ve already explained the Lakewood corporation situation—”
“Do you go to church?” Marc asked, failing completely at the innocent look he was aiming for.
“No. I don’t. And I would advise you to think carefully about whatever you’re about to say next. I’m a personal friend with the head of the disabilities council in Congress.”
Marc paused, took a breath, then continued. “Sometimes we must construct a public persona, just to lay rumors to rest.”
“And if we ignore a rumor, it generally disappears,” Gabriella said, trying not to grind her teeth.
“Not before the stockholders’ meeting next week,” Mark replied blandly.
“So I should call a press conference and be photographed stepping into a church? Praying before an altar? I can’t even count the lawsuits you’re encouraging—”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Marc said, cutting her off. “I don’t believe any of these rumors. I can’t control other people’s reactions, though. So think about it.”
Gabriella did, all through the long weekend.
However, she was damned if she was going to give in, do what was expected of her. She’d had enough of all the plans other people had laid out for her.
* * *
Mama had taken Gabriella to church as a girl. She’d liked the singing, the pungent incense, and the beautifully colored windows. The statue of the man who looked to be in pain bothered her, as did the floor when she looked at the carvings and realized they were walking on graves.
After the service Mama had a priest bless Gabriella. He sprinkled holy water on her hair, held his palm to her forehead, and blessed her while Mama watched closely.
Gabriella still couldn’t decide if Mama had been happy or disappointed that nothing had happened: no smoke, no flames, no thunderbolts from Heaven.
* * *
The stockholders’ meeting was held in one of the faceless banquet halls in the hotel across the street from the office. Grand chandeliers from the ‘70s hung from the ceiling, casting everyone in beige. Phoenix figurines rose from every table, the theme of rebirth repeated in the upbeat music, the ice sculpture on the banquet table, and even the swag the VIPs received—orange rubber bracelets declaring them “Member of the Order of the Phoenix.”
After everyone had been served, Marc got up, promising not to spoil anyone’s dinner, and kept his promise of a short speech.
Gabriella’s speaking time didn’t come until during coffee and dessert. She explained the company’s growth, the markets they were expanding into, then asked for questions.
“We’ve heard rumors—”
“No. I refuse to respond to rumors,” Gabriella said firmly. “Next question, please.”
Someone asked about a future prospect, and Gabriella gratefully answered.
The next question, of course, was, “But are the rumors true?”
Gabriella took a deep breath. She looked over her shoulder at the board. Marc held up his hands in a helpless gesture.
All their eyes devoured her. They would never leave Gabriella at peace, no matter what she did. And she was tired of hiding, tired of the secrets. She either had to disprove the whispers or fan them into a roar.
“You’ll have my letter of resignation on your desk in the morning,” Gabriella announced, turning back to the audience.
“As for your rumors, can you imagine my humiliation? No one should have to do this. No one.”
With a bravado Gabriella didn’t feel, she quickly unzipped her boot-socks.
The black stretch fabric fell away from pale skin that had never seen the sun. With wonder, Gabriella pulled a single boot off.
A horned, bifurcated foot hung off the end of her leg.
Papa’s vision of her.
Or had Gabriella finally just seen the truth?
She slid the boot-sock back on and walked off stage. First one, then another of the board members started clapping. They rose to their feet and gave her thunderous applause as she left the banquet hall.
That night, after finishing her resignation letter, Gabriella slid into her bed, careful not to catch the sheets on the rough, hornlike skin of her feet.
Gabriella looked at the empty pillow beside her and laughed this time, feeling as though she’d thoroughly foiled whatever plans she was supposed to follow. No one, including herself, had ever thought to bare her legs before.
Everyone else’s plans were finished. It was her turn now.