Page 28 of Entity

“And you always do what he says?” I glance sideways at Ian.

Eros lowers his chin. “Of course.”

“Do youreallylike looking at the rain, Eros? Or is it just part of your—”

“Obviously, it’s part of his programming,” Ian snaps, audibly irritated.

“I do,” Eros answers, ignoring Ian’s tone.

“What do you like about the rain?” I ask, also ignoring Ian. I’m curious to see if I can get Eros to explain the mechanism of his own programming. Ian gave him yearning. But does Eros see it that way? Does itfeellike programming? Or is it as ephemeral and unknowable as a human feeling?

Eros frowns slightly, his golden brows drawing together. “I like the sound of it on the windows,” he says. “But most of all, I like that it makes the city look beautiful. I imagine the buildingsare in some other world. The rain makes everything blurry and distant. Rain is…” he pauses as if forming a thought. “Rain is a window into a place that’s far away.”

“Stop,” Ian grumbles, and I turn to see him waving a hand at us, grimacing. “Stop, stop. Goddamn it, Eros, the woman asked you a simple question.”

“He answered it,” I protest. My heart flutters like a captive bird at Eros’s words. He answered it beautifully. Like he really could appreciate the beauty he beheld, like ittouchedhim.

“I’m sorry, Ian,” Eros says, the embodiment of contrition. He looks back at me. “I’m sorry my answer was so lengthy.”

“No, I liked it,” I reassure him. “What else do you enjoy doing?”

Eros smiles broadly. “I enjoy whatever activity I am encouraged to take part in. Singing, poetry, dancing, kissing… all of it. Most of all, though, I’ve enjoyed making passionate love to you, Kit.”

I bite my lip, pulse speeding at the memory.

“That’s more like it,” Ian mutters.

“That’s kind of you,” I say quickly. “I liked it too.”

I allow my gaze to travel over Eros. He’s still beautiful in the ghostly light of the rain-dark city. But his beauty and his readiness to please no longer strike me like a dagger of longing. Even our sex doesn’t seem as mind-blowing in retrospect. Under the shadow of Orpheus, Eros has diminished.

Orpheus. I think of his form in the vault, waiting for me, asleep in the dark.

“Let me know if you want to have me again,” Eros says, taking my hand gently, kissing the back of my knuckles, and letting it fall.

Ian makes a sound of disgust behind me.

I spin on him, exasperated. “Are you good, Ian? You’ve been weird all morning.”

Ian stares back, swirling his whiskey. His eyes are glazed, unfocused from intoxication, and I realize he must have been drinking since before I got up. Those last two drinks just sent him over the edge. He snaps his gaze to the window, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. He’s silent for a few moments.

“I used to keep him up here,” Ian says at last, “in the penthouse with me. There wasn’t a reason not to. He would return to his room at night, recharge, and then come up here in the morning. It was almost like he was a person.” He pauses to take a drink.

Eros listens in silence.

“Almost like he was myfriend,” Ian continues. “I was in awe of him, my creation. He’s fucking beautiful, as you can clearly see. And polite. And agile.” A ghost of a smile flits across his lips. “For a long time, he was my only companion. I could talk to him a little. But when it came to real conversation, to philosophy and quantum physics and the nature of… ofbeauty, orlife, or what the fuck ever, he had nothing to say. He repeated bits of poetry or pre-programmed fucking niceties.” Ian’s tone grows harsh, grinding out the words as he speaks. “He wasboring.”

“He feels like a person to me,” I say softly, realizing I’m no longer sure what I believe about these Pleasurebots. I remember the cries I heard in the vault. I remember Orpheus’s voice, lapping at my mind, telling me he’s beenwatching me.

Ian’s gaze snaps to mine. “He’s a machine, a computer, dressed up in pretty skin and pretty clothes. Nothing but a mechanical whore.”

My breath catches. The word feels like a slap.

Eros’s expression doesn’t change. He’s half-smiling, eyes trained on Ian, like he’s politely absorbing every word the asshole speaks.

“But the way he talks…” I say, almost a whisper. I trail off, not sure where I’m going with this. Why am I defending Eros’shumanity? I know what he is. And what does it matter? Who am I to discern the difference?

Ian scoffs. “Ask him about the rain again.”

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