The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

by Ramona Finn

  “I know.” Reyland patted his arm. “This is where you come in. You’re going to get into Lazrad’s office, break into her computer, and find where she’s storing those nanobots.”

  “No bots, no Decemites,” said Lock.

  “No Decemites, no army.” Reyland smiled, tight lipped. I shook my head, frowning.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Forgetting something?” Reyland looked puzzled. “Oh, you mean security? I’ve—”

  “I mean the Decemites already dying. Like him.” I gestured at Lock. “Like my sister. I thought we were going after the cure. That’s what you said. You promised—”

  “I promised nothing.” Reyland squared up to me. His words came out angry, though his eyes were wild with fear. “Your mission’s Lazrad’s stores. Anything else’ll have to wait.”

  “So that’s how it is.” I spun away, disgusted. “We’re still just Dirtbags. Cannon fodder for your crusade. As long as you get what you want—”

  “No.” I thought Reyland might hit me, so vehement was his denial. He thumped the table instead, startling a shout from Lock. “Sorry,” he said. “But that’s not it at all. This isn’t about my unhappiness, or those families across the river, living in wealth’s shadow without a scrap for themselves. It’s not about Sky, at all.” He sank down next to Lock, and I’d have sworn he deflated, like a tire with the air let out. His jacket seemed too big for him, wrinkled around the middle.

  “You think you’re a means to an end,” he said. “You, the Outsiders—you think I’m just using you to get what I want.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Reyland got out a handkerchief and patted at his brow. He looked sick, I thought, drained of color. “I’m old now,” he said. “To you, I must seem...”

  “Seriously? You’re old?” I coughed out a burst of laughter. “That’s the best you can do?”

  He drew himself up. His chest seemed to expand, and his suit fit again. “Fine. I’ll tell you. You’re, what, sixteen?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Then I was just a few years past your age when I met her.” He got to his feet, moving stiffly. “Elza, her name was. She was twenty. So was I. She was looking for a café, somewhere they’d serve toasted cheese. I’d never heard of such a thing, so I told her there weren’t any, and she just looked so crestfallen I said I’d make it for her.” A tiny smile caught at his lips, a private smile. Reyland turned away. “I must’ve gone through ten blocks of cheddar, trying to get it right. Every day after work, she’d come by and I’d make it, and she’d laugh at me—too dry. No, it’s not supposed to be chewy. Add some garlic salt, maybe. The day I mastered the recipe was the day she asked me to marry her.”

  My brows shot up. “You’re married?” I couldn’t quite picture that, Reyland with anyone. He had a stale air about him, like a man going through the motions. He made a dying-animal sound, a sort of strangled grunt.

  “We never married, no.” His shoulders twitched, and were still. “Elza was a Decemite. One day, she vanished, and I went looking. I knew she hadn’t left me. Knew she never would. I found what you found. The incinerator. The boxes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lock. “We didn’t know—”

  “I thought what everyone thinks, until I met Elza.” Reyland’s voice was thick, choked with shame. “I thought the Dirt was all criminals, scum. I didn’t care what went on down there, much less on the Outside. I was what you’re thinking, just some selfish Lofty. I don’t deserve your compassion, but Elza did, and so do your friends Outside. They’ll be dust in the wind, every one of them, if you can’t find those nanobots, and that’s not on me.”

  I caught Lock’s shoulder, seized with the image of Ben’s home blowing away, wind singing through abandoned caverns. Reyland had slumped over, leaning on the windowsill.

  “Please, Myla. For everyone’s sake.”

  “He’s right,” said Lock. “If Lazrad was gone, my mom could come up here. Your mom, too. Everyone's mom.” He slid his hand over mine. “I’d die for that.”

  “I won’t let you,” I said. Reyland shuddered.

  “I’m begging you, Myla. Once Lazrad’s got her army—”

  “I’ll find your bots. But no way I’m going in there and not searching for the cure.” I gripped Lock’s shoulder tight. “Take it or leave it. That’s the best I can do.”

  “I’ll take it,” said Reyland. He glanced at his phone and cursed under his breath. “Looks like time’s slipped away from me. I have to go, but you’ll be infiltrating Lazrad’s office the night of the ball. I’ll need to see you before that to brief you on the plan.”

  “Same place next week?”

  “No. Don’t come here again.” Reyland tugged at his collar, suddenly nervous. “Too public. Too dangerous. I’ll get you a message when it’s time.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “Can’t say. But you’ll know it.” He paused in the doorway, eyes narrowed. “Wait ten minutes before you head out.”

  The door slammed behind him, and Lock let out a chuckle. I scowled at him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Just…everyone we care about, everyone Lazrad hates—all their lives are hanging on us breaking into the most secure room in Echelon.”

  I swatted the back of his head. “That’s not funny at all.”

  “That’s why I’m laughing. So I won’t explode.”

  I stared at him for a moment, just stood there and gawked. He looked stupid, big and messy, hair standing up where I'd smacked him. Then I was laughing, and we both were, and I thought we’d never stop.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reyland’s summons never came.

  Three days passed, then a week. Our new clothes came back from the tailor’s, perfectly sized and ready for the ball. Elli sent a dance instructor, and an elocution specialist, and a hairdresser. We spun with curlers in our hair and we practiced our Lofty accents, and we marched through our days to a three-four beat: brush-two-three, rinse-two-three, spit-two-three, smile. Ona came home with pierced ears. She bought a wedding dress and wanted to wear it to the ball, and only agreed to return it when Elli offered a tiara in exchange.

  Lock came to find me on the eve of the ball. I woke before dawn to find him perched on my bed, tickling my feet with a duster.

  “Get out.” I kicked at him, half-assed, and buried my face in my pillow.

  “Come with me.” He flicked my right sole, then flicked the left one. “Come on. I can’t take this, all this one-two-three, rond-de-jambe—what’s a jambe, anyway? Some kind of—”

  “Jambe.” I kicked out again, booting him square in the chest. Lock toppled with a squawk, dragging my covers down with him. I sat up and waited, and a moment later, Lock’s head reappeared. His hair was a mess, all static and tangles. He rubbed at his chest where I’d kicked him.

  “What was that for?”

  “Fun.” I stood and stretched, working the tension out of my back. “But I’m up for your prison break. Just get out while I change.”

  Lock got out, and I changed, and we slipped out like fugitives. We raced to the station and caught the first train that came, not caring where it took us. Lock sprawled across the seats, arm thrown over his eyes. I watched out the window as we flew through the pre-dawn lull. Echelon lay below us, its parks like black slashes across a galaxy of lights. The waterfall shone silver, lit from behind. Its spray fogged the riverbanks and shrouded the quarantine district in white.

  “I hate that it’s beautiful,” said Lock.

  “What?”

  “Sky.” He let his arm fall from his eyes. “It’s like your best dream times ten, so perfect it hurts, but it’s real, and we pay for it. We pay with our lives, so they can have—where the hell’s Reyland?” Lock sat up abruptly, boots thumping the floor. “I can’t take it. We’ve got this one opportunity, this one perfect shot, and what are we doing? Dancing around like idiots with our stupid gold nails, doing that blocked-sinus accent�
�mey I hev this dence? It’s tomorrow. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” I stood as our train slowed. I’d been worried, myself. Reyland hadn’t said when we’d meet, but I’d assumed—

  “What if they caught him?” Lock surged to his feet. “What if Prium has him?”

  “Calm down. He doesn’t.” I smelled grass as the doors slid open, and wood smoke, and horse manure. I stepped out into darkness and the whisperings of leaves. “If they’d caught him, he’d have talked. They’d have come for us by now.”

  “Or they wouldn’t.” Lock sighed. “Prium does love his drama. What if he’s waiting for the ball, to expose us for traitors where everyone can see? A public execution—”

  “Too dangerous.” I picked my way through the gloom, finding a bench by the lake. “You heard Elli. Everyone’ll be there. They can’t chance us resisting, maybe hurting someone important.”

  “You think?” Lock sank down on the bench, face tilted to the sky. “Maybe they want us to shank a few. Make a scene, act like monsters, remind everyone what we are. Just dogs from the Dirt, full of rabies. We’d be a cautionary tale, what happens when you truck with animals.”

  “Maybe.” I squeezed in beside Lock, kicking his leg out of my way. “There’s still today.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned back even further, the dawn silvering his hair. “Let’s watch the sun come up, maybe get something to eat. We can swim in the lake, try that carousel.” His chest rumbled with laughter. “Let’s sit here and plan the perfect day, everything fun, everything awesome. Reyland’ll have to come ruin that.”

  “You think?”

  “That’s the rule.” Lock seemed to relax, draping an arm over my shoulders. “Perfect days aren’t allowed. It rains, or you stub your toe, or some mean girl kicks you out of bed—”

  I kicked him again, not too hard this time. The sun came up, red in an amber sky. We splashed in the lake, then we went and ate waffles. Lock had syrup with his, and I went with jam. The strawberry-seed crunch made me homesick for Gran’s version, all thick and carroty, flavored with ginger. I cleaned my plate anyway and stole a bite from Lock’s.

  Lock went green on the carousel, but he grinned through it gamely, pretending to spur on his horse. We walked by the river after, Lock breathing through his nausea, me checking my phone. I had three missed calls, all from Elli. Lock peered over my shoulder.

  “Nothing from Reyland?”

  “Not yet.”

  We found an art gallery next and got kicked out for touching. We ran away laughing—why grow moss over statues, if not for us to fondle?

  “I mean, it said touch right there. Right there on the sign.” Lock collapsed against a fire hydrant, catching his breath. “That wasn’t an invitation?”

  “I think it was the title.”

  “Their art is weird—pots of moss, talking toilets, and what was with that ladder?” Lock scratched his knee. “I want that moss for a shirt. No, for pants. Like a cloud cradling my—”

  “O-kay.” I cut him off, laughing, and we circled round to Golden Square. We found a toy shop and swarmed it, bouncing balls, riding bikes, throwing sticky worms at the walls. Little kids stared, open-mouthed, as we blew bubbles through wands. Lock bought five tubes of bubble mix and a bag of sour candy. I bought a bouncy ball, mostly for the sound it made. We ate too much sugar and our mouths went all fuzzy, and we had to buy toothbrushes and clean our teeth in the fountain.

  “It’s late,” said Lock. He glanced up at the skylight, now a dull brownish-gray. I checked my phone one more time: still no Reyland.

  “He’ll call. There’s still tomorrow.”

  “Elli’ll be all over us, tarting us up for the ball.”

  “Not in the morning—see?” I held up my phone, displaying her latest message. “She’s not coming till two.”

  “Yeah.” Lock looked down, frowning. He tucked his toothbrush in his pocket. “Today’s been—I don’t know whether to be happy or sad.”

  “Because Reyland didn’t call?”

  “Because that toy shop, that art gallery, messing around on the carousel... picture that, only we’re six. I’m not saying it wasn’t fun. Just...” He shook his head. “I used to come home from nursery and help Grandpa shine shoes. Or we’d haul water, run errands—anything for a token. I’d have killed for a day like today, toys like this, friends like you. Cramming it in now, it all feels too late. Like we missed half our lives, and there’s no turning back the clock.”

  I bounced my ball off the floor, just to hear it go pang. Lock was right—it rang hollow. Too late.

  “Reyland’ll call,” I said. My words rang even hollower, so I took Lock’s hand instead. He gripped it like a lifeline, and I let my head rest on his shoulder.

  Reyland had to call.

  Elli showed up early, at eleven instead of two. She came with a retinue, hairdressers and manicurists, seamstresses and jewelers. Ona and I were mobbed, perched on pedestals like mannequins for our final fittings.

  “This one’s gained a pound or five.” One of the seamstresses pinched my middle. “Oh, she’s just slouching. Back straight, darling.”

  I straightened up, offended. Ona was snickering into her fist. I needed to talk to her, somewhere private, just the two of us.

  “How long’ll this take?”

  “Not long. Just try not to breathe too much. I’d rather not prick you.”

  I stood and tried not to breathe, feeling stupid. One of the hairdressers had Lock and was menacing him with a set of trimmers. Lock was protesting, covering his head with his hands. Behind him, the manicurists were setting up, and did we really need our nails done again? Mine were fine, barely chipped, gleaming gold under the lights.

  “Third floor living room, once you’re done.” Elli poked her head in, clapping her hands. “One more dance lesson, then we’ll see to your nails.”

  I let out a frustrated breath. A pin stuck into my side.

  “I told you, don’t move.”

  “Ona.” I reached for her, snapping my fingers. “Ona.”

  “What?”

  I breathed in again, as shallowly as I could. “I need to talk to you. About tonight.”

  “If this is going to be one of your guilt trips—” She winced, jerked a pin from her dress. “Look, I’ve thought about what you said, but in the end, you don’t know. No one does. That’s just how life is, not knowing how it ends, what you get, or how long. But this is my night, and I’m going to be happy. You can’t ruin that. I won’t let you.”

  “All done, sweetheart.” The seamstress patted my leg. “Just head behind the curtain and slip that off carefully. Your clothes are on the chair.”

  I did as she said, leaving Ona to her fitting. I’d catch her later, by herself. Make her see—

  “Myla.” Lock pulled me into the bathroom, still draped in his smock. He’d been shorn like a sheep, ears jutting out where shaggy hair had once covered them.

  “Oh, your hair! What’d he do to you?”

  “Never mind that. About tonight—” He pulled me away from the door, back toward the bathtub. “Reyland must’ve crapped out. We need our own plan.”

  “What plan?” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “We don’t know where we’re going, and even if we did—”

  “We won’t get another chance.” Lock looked like he wanted to punch something, eyes narrowed to slits, fists knotted at his sides. “Even if it’s suicide, we have to try.”

  “Try what, though?”

  “Whatever gets us those nanobots. Take Lazrad hostage. Make her show us where—”

  “We’ll never get close enough. And even if we did, they’d just take Ona hostage to force our hand.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Someone’s coming.”

  “We can’t just do nothing,” said Lock. “There’ll be some opening, some moment. I need to know you’ll be—”

  “Oh, Myla? Lock?” Elli’s voice drifted through, a high, wheedling singsong. “You two in there?”

  “We’re just—
” I fumbled for an excuse. “Lock looks like a monkey with his hair all cut off. He’s kind of freaking out.”

  Lock smacked me across my hip. I skittered back, snickering.

  “Well, come out of there. You’re not done, either one of you. Honestly...”

  “We’ll talk later,” I promised, and I left Lock behind. I spotted Ona by herself, playing with her hair in the mirror, and I went over to join her. Our eyes met, and hers went mutinous.

  “I’m begging you, Myla. Just let me have this night.”

  I picked up a hairbrush, the soft kind, and ran it through her hair. “Your dress looks amazing,” I said. “And that tiara—you still wearing that?”

  Ona’s scowl deepened. “I can’t play a little dress-up?”

  “Of course you can.” I worked through a tangle, slow and steady, not to hurt her. She’d been through enough lately, lost and shot and captured, caught in a war beyond her understanding. She’d run home at last, only to bid everything familiar goodbye. One night of fantasy, what could it hurt? “I came to say sorry. You were right.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I smoothed her hair over her shoulders, smiling into the mirror. “This is your night. You deserve it. I hope it’s everything you dreamed of.”

  “It has to be.” Ona wiped at her eyes. “For Mom and Dad. This’ll be on those screens, right? The ones they’ve set up down there?”

  I wasn’t sure, but I nodded. It seemed a safe assumption.

  “They have to see me smiling,” she said. “You, too. Real smiles, so they’ll know—so they’ll always remember.”

  I just nodded again, struck mute by the lump in my throat. I hadn’t thought of our parents seeing, of what they might think.

  I checked my phone one more time: still no Reyland.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My first impression of the ball was that it was dazzling, filled with glittering Lofties gliding under a canopy of stars. Champagne sparkled like diamonds and diamonds sparkled like suns. Our feet cast off sparks where they touched the dance floor, little eddies of sunfire projected under glass.