This wasn’t the first time Charity had journeyed through this landscape of red rocks, prickly pears, and rust-colored trailheads. She’d been here years ago—at the age of maybe four or five, back when her father had still been around—and although it’d been some time, she still remembered it clearly.

She recalled her mother looking at the iron-red buttes and mesas. “They make you feel so insignificant, don’t they, kids?”

That had, of course, triggered her father.

“Don’t listen to this zealot, you two,” he’d said, glaring at his companion. “You should never feel insignificant. To anything. Or anyone.”

Charity shook off the memory and navigated her rented Ford Mustang toward the sentinels in the distance, pulling into the driveway of a large construction site to better take them in: massive Courthouse Butte to the north dwarfing its better-known neighbor to the left, Bell Rock, each found somewhere in the background of every Jeep commercial for decades.

Charity noted the sign posted outside the gate:

COMING SOON! THE SEDONA HOME OF TAGGERT MINISTRIES!
YOUR DIRECT CONNECTION TO THE LORD JESUS CHRIST!

She got back into the Mustang and passed Bell Rock, its eponymous shape overwhelming the horizon as the curve of the road turned west to reveal the majesty of Cathedral Rock, its deep rust-colored spires piercing the cloudless blue sky. She drove into Sedona proper, stopping at an intersection that allowed art-market pedestrians to cross, then watched as a Hispanic mother held her lively daughter’s hand during the crossing, the girl nearly pulling her exhausted parent to the other side. While Charity waited, she recalled the event that brought her here.

The invitation from her boss, Iwanna Dennison, had come as a surprise, and Charity still worried that it was an error, inadvertently blurted out at a time of great stress during the awkward funeral rituals of the wealthy. However, the more she thought about it as she slowly passed through West Sedona, the less odd it became. Yes, Iwanna Dennison was one of the most powerful women in the world, as much for her own accomplishments as for those of her family. But they had spent the last two years working closely together on a high-profile project that only they knew fully about. There was, she supposed, a certain intimacy about that. In doing so, they had gotten close, sharing meals and even an occasional drink after a long shift in the labs. With limited references to relationships outside the office, Charity surmised maybe they were even friends.

Despite being harsh with many in her employ, Iwanna had never treated her in that manner, though that probably had to do with Charity’s background. She and Iwanna had more than a few things in common, and that had garnered Iwanna’s respect. Not only did Charity hold a bachelor’s in computer science from the University of Oxford—which she’d acquired at the age of nineteen—but she’d gone on, two years later, to get a master’s in robotics from Johns Hopkins. She’d gotten the job as project lead from her first day on the job with Iwanna, and now she was on the cusp of releasing her—their—first product.

No, she thought, this makes sense, her reaching out to me. We deserve this friendship.

The invitation had come two weeks prior at the funeral of Iwanna’s fiancé. While talking quietly among a small cadre of fellow employees who had been permitted to attend the ceremony, Charity watched as Iwanna broke apart from her own scrum and began walking toward her in a black Oscar de la Renta that, she noted, represented a departure from her typical form-highlighting dresses. Black pearl earrings accented her pale-white skin and platinum-blonde hair. Smart. Stern. Expressionless.

Iwanna took Charity by the elbow and gently extracted her from the group, then whispered, “I have a home in the desert. I’d like you to join me there.”

“Sure, of course,” Charity replied, knowing any hesitation would be met with scrutiny. “I’m so sorry about what’s happened,” she added, and watched as a flash of pain passed over Iwanna’s face at the mention of the man in the closed casket. That pain was quickly replaced with her preferred stoicism.

“Thank you,” Iwanna replied, expression as stiff as her words. “I feel like I’m at a crossroads, Charity. And that you’re one of the few people who could possibly understand.”

“Because of the similarities in our families?”

“That is unfair to our families. Because of our fathers.” She released a flat smile, turned her head down, and started to return to her fallen captain. “I look forward to seeing you. My office will make the travel arrangements.”

The instructions and arrangements for travel had been precise, and Iwanna’s assistant made clear the importance of punctuality in Charity’s drive north from Phoenix. This wasn’t something to be taken trivially.

With Uptown Sedona in her rearview mirror, Charity continued following the directions provided by Iwanna’s assistant. This was not a house found on Google Maps. She reached the last paved road and looked for the outline of a driveway she was assured would be evident and, when she made out the worn red dirt, turned the car into it. She realized she was now on the opposite side of Cathedral Rock, with Bell and Courthouse no longer in sight, obfuscated.

She understood why spaces like this brought people to spirituality; Sedona was well known as a melting pot of the full spectrum of mysticism. Her father had encouraged and financed her visits to spectacular sites all around the world. The pyramids and Taj Mahal lived up to their reputations, but it was places like the Grand Canyon and Victoria Falls that truly reached her soul. She added Sedona to that list.

Charity was not interested in the creations of man, knowing full well the costs associated with such endeavors. Her mother’s reaction to standing before the red rock formations of Sedona—overwhelmed by a sense of awe and insignificance—was a common, if not ubiquitous response to such natural beauty. Charity, however, felt the same God that had created those beautiful, powerful formations had also created her. She looked at them as kin.

In less than a half mile, she was at the entrance to a narrow valley, bounded on both sides by the same glowing red rocks, with only a STOP sign as evidence of modernity. A pitch-black crow, twice as large as any she had seen before, sat on a tree branch just ahead, contrasted by the endless blue Arizona sky behind it. She waited for what she knew was next: a gentle buzz ahead of her. As if simply appearing, the source of the sound hovered outside her closed window. At first glance, it was simply a carpenter bee, larger in size than a honeybee and entirely black due to lacking the yellow fur. Charity was unsurprised and observed her new friend with great interest as it hovered in perfect stillness with grace, far too exact for an insect. This was enabled by a last-minute design change she’d ordered to make the forewing replicate that of a hummingbird, which flaps up, down, and sideways, enabling the precision it now exhibited.

“Hello, Ms. Malodor,” the mechanical bee said in as sweet a tone as if it were shilling for a honey-based breakfast cereal. “Welcome to Sedona Stronghold. Please proceed for eight-tenths of a mile and park in the area to your right. Have a great day.”

“Thank you,” she said with the full knowledge that had she not obeyed, a swarm of those same drones would have surrounded her car and blinded her line of sight until armed guards could be dispatched.

She parked and exited the car, looking at the home. It was embedded in a wide, gently sloping hill, like a baseball pitcher’s mound, with a single pathway carved in the front that was wide enough for no more than two people, leading to the hub in the middle like the spoke of a wheel. As she approached the entrance, something moved in her periphery to the left. Instinctually, she froze. Turning her head slowly, she observed a snake, about three feet in length, twenty feet away. It too decided to halt.

Is this one of ours? she asked herself. She looked closer and noted there was no rattle on the tail, and the black body with thick white stripes did not resemble the diamondbacks she had seen in photos.

“First time up close with one?” a voice asked from the entrance to the mound.

Without taking her eyes off the snake, Charity said, “Hi, Iwanna—and yes, I haven’t come across one of these before. I’m guessing that’s not a rattlesnake.”

“Don’t worry, you’re completely safe. That is a friend. A king snake. They’re not venomous, and they eat the rattlesnakes.”

Charity looked skeptically at her hostess for the first time. “That little thing? Wouldn’t the rattler just bite him and be done?”

Iwanna, as if to demonstrate her confidence, walked directly to the king snake, and when she came within five feet, it decided to pick up its head. She stared down while the serpent remained still.

“They’re immune to the venom, so they first constrict it until it’s exhausted, then eat it whole, starting at the head. No noise.” She stepped forward. “No warning.” Another step forward. “Silent consumption.”

The king snake reconsidered its path and turned to the right, heading toward the brush on the perimeter.

Relieved, Charity continued toward her hostess and put out her hand, which was at first joined and then used to reel her in for a light embrace.

“I’m glad you came, Charity,” Iwanna said, some hesitation in her voice. “I . . .”

Charity had never seen her boss hesitate before.

“Come,” Iwanna settled on saying. “Let’s go inside, where there are fewer snakes.”

“I enjoyed seeing a member of the hive in action,” Charity said as the door closed behind her. “This first version performed as expected.” She looked around and took in the ultramodern decor of Iwanna’s home: white as an Alpine peak in every direction, the rust color coming in from the vast picture windows contrasting beautifully.

“You should be very proud of your creation. What inspired you to their design?”

Charity considered the question. “I’ve always loved bees. My grandfather had a couple of hives at his farm in New Hampshire, and he would suit me up to get a closer look. To me, no other creature on Earth raises such a wide range of emotions. Admiration of their brilliant abilities. Fear of their sting. Appreciation of their part in the greater natural order.”

“Envy of their compliance to the needs of the hive.” As the words came out of Iwanna’s mouth, she almost imperceptibly shook her head, as if regretting her own statement.

“They are one of God’s most inspirational creatures,” Charity said, not missing the subtle flare of Iwanna’s eyes at the mentioning of God. “To develop a drone capable of invoking those characteristics was an honor for me. I still remember your directive the first day I arrived at the Colorado lab: ‘Make me something so breathtaking that no one will ever try twice to defeat it.’ What can be more fearsome than thousands of these units working as one?”

Iwanna nodded gently while walking toward the vast great room, camouflaged in her ankle-length white dress. The room was entirely functional, the function being to provide a place to sit and stare at the collection of rust spires just outside the windows. Bare walls and floors. A couch with matching chairs directed toward the twenty-foot-high glass windows filled with beauty.

As she followed, Charity noted the simple but obvious wealth of the space. She noted a series of museum glass cases to her right against the wall.

“I know I have said it before, but I will always be in your debt for providing me the opportunity to do this work,” she said.

“Well, please, you are underselling yourself. I was lucky your father reached out to me and convinced me you could be assigned to any project and deliver it. I must admit I was skeptical that a twenty-year-old could be dropped into that situation, managing a team of engineers three times her age, but he was right. To have that working prototype two years later is incredible. You should be proud. How was your drive from Phoenix?”

“Perfect. Brought back some old memories. My father brought us out here when I was young.”

Iwanna sat on a couch perfectly positioned between the picture window that looked straight out to the red rocks, then gestured to the chair to her right, indicating that Charity should take a seat as well. “Interesting. I can’t picture him in a place like this. He strikes me as much more of a city boy. Or, if I’m being honest . . .” She managed a grin. “Extraterrestrial.”

As she sat, Charity laughed. “That would certainly be more accurate.” Then she looked at Iwanna, who had redirected her attention to her lap. “I am happy you invited me here, Iwanna. With everything going on . . . everything that has happened in the last three weeks . . . I just didn’t expect you to reach out to me.”

Iwanna either failed, or didn’t care to hide, her preoccupation with something. She kept her head down, as if in prayer, and took a moment to respond. “It was probably a mistake—asking you to come here—but you are right. It has been a very challenging few weeks.” She redirected her blank gaze out to the rocks. “Growing up as you did, were you able to find people that you could trust? That weren’t just your friend because of who your father was?”

Charity matched Iwanna’s objective, matter-of-fact tone. “I had my mom the whole time, and we have . . . had . . . a good relationship.” She paused. “A great relationship, actually, and she kept our circumstances quiet when we moved to Texas. We had access to anything we wanted but didn’t flaunt it. Word got out about who my father was when I was in grade school, and yes, everything changed. The girls I was friends with either stopped speaking to me altogether or started buttering me up to get in my good graces. I was too young to understand why. I get it now, but back then, I felt very betrayed by it all. So, long answer to your simple question: No, I didn’t have anybody I could trust. I stuck with my mom and my brother because everyone else had an ulterior motive.”

In a sad whisper, Iwanna said, “Yes, that was my experience as well, but without my mother.” She seemed to decide to wade further into self-revelation, despite clearly struggling to trust Charity, who was growing more and more curious as to why she was really there. “He was on to the next one pretty quickly after I was born.”

“I was lucky in that respect,” Charity conceded. “I’m sure your father was very busy, but he obviously loves you very much.” Realizing she could have tripped on a land mine, she added, “At least, he seems to. Always glowing when he talks about you.”

“Yes, I am his most prized possession.” She looked up. “Did you ever feel like that? You’re a beautiful young girl. Successful athlete, brilliant student. Do you think if you were less than all that, his opinion would change about you?”

Charity gave the question considerate thought. “I think there’s evidence for that. He did love to brag about me, especially before his business took off, when he had time to consider me and the rest of us. But we were never in the spotlight like you are, so the world didn’t really know us.” She attempted to lighten the mood. “It’s hard to say what motivates fathers like ours. They are a species unto themselves. I don’t think it’s a question of if they love us; I think they just don’t know how to express love at all, regardless of if they feel it or not.”

Iwanna seemed to accept her answer—and, for the first time, she looked Charity directly in the eyes as she said, “That’s thoughtful, and probably correct. There are times I look at him and he’s like a little boy with me. Clueless.” She nodded. “I’m guessing your father doesn’t exert much influence on you these days, then?”

“He does with my brothers and sisters, but he seems to hold fire when it comes to me. I think he knows I see through him and that if he confronts me, I’ll make that evident.”

“Really?” Iwanna said, surprised. “Challenge him?” She seemed to contemplate this for a moment and then said, mostly to herself, “That is not what I expected.” After some consideration, she continued, her voice cracking almost imperceptibly when she asked, “So you’ve been free the whole time? Never been given your path?”

“Yes,” Charity said without hesitation. “My path has always been my decision.”

Iwanna’s response was barely a whisper. “I can’t imagine,” she said, sighing. “I’m afraid of what I will become when I make the wrong choice.”

“Really?” Charity interjected, propelled by curiosity, and she could tell Iwanna realized in that moment how vulnerable she’d just been—that she was likely speaking out loud rather than consciously feeding their conversation.

Iwanna gave her a pointed look. “I’ve liked you since day one, Charity,” she said with the tone of a seasoned diplomat. “And not just because we share similar upbringings. You have an . . . earnestness about you. A trustworthiness.”

“I’ve had nothing but a positive experience with you as well, Iwanna,” Charity said, feeling like she was stepping onto a branch of unknown fortitude.

Iwanna laughed. “Don’t start bullshitting me now!” she said. “You’ve been nothing but fearful of me, just like everyone else.”

Charity joined her in the laugh. “Both things can be true,” she said. “It was . . . is fear . . . but it comes from a respect for you as a person. Not from your title or your family. You demand quality. Precision. So do I. When people have not demonstrated that, you’ve rightfully made your disappointment known. Albeit, sometimes with a great deal of . . . vigor.”

She looked up again to make sure she hadn’t overstepped. Iwanna’s expression of actual warmth told her she had not.

There was a pause during which Iwanna looked Charity over, as if in final assessment of an expensive item before deciding to purchase it. Then she said, “I invited you here because I have a sensitive matter that cannot be known to anyone outside of this house.”

Charity was shocked to see the expression on Iwanna’s face. It was hope. She immediately responded with genuine affection, “Whatever you need, Iwanna.”

Iwanna exhaled, then rose and walked in front of Charity, who had done the same, and gently embraced her. After a few moments, she whispered, “I’m pregnant.”