Lotus and Thorn

by Sara Wilson Etienne

  Edison started unlacing my dress again, and this time I let him. It was such a little thing, after all. “Your body is nothing to be ashamed of, Leica. You’re beautiful.”

  “Ashamed?” I sat up and my bodice fell away. I’d never once felt ashamed about my body—angry maybe, or awkward, but not ashamed.

  “Just relax.” He dipped his fingers in the bowl of olive oil and then rubbed it on my shoulders. Then breasts. Then lower. My whole body waking up at his touch.

  And I tried to relax. I tried to let him in as his hand, warm with oil, crept between my legs. Heat tingled through my core and I wanted to let myself surrender to the sensation. But I couldn’t.

  I wasn’t a fantasy, I was a fighter. I pushed his hand away. “I don’t want to relax.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  My heart pounded in my chest. My fists clenched and unclenched. I knew the answer—what I always did when I was too agitated to be civil—but my throat squeezed around the words. “I want to fight.”

  And he laughed. Big booming guffaws that echoed around the colossal room. The statue of the woman looked disapproving now. Frowning her stone frown at me. “I should’ve known that wine and pretty dresses wouldn’t work on you. Okay, then.”

  He stood up and started clearing the food and blankets away.

  “What?”

  “Let’s see what you can do,” he said.

  I looked down. I was bare from the waist up and my long train drifted out behind me. Not the best fighting gear. But fighting was when I’d always felt the strongest, the most in control, and I badly needed some of that now.

  Dad had always said that sparring was about harnessing the wildness inside you and not letting it win. That is what I would do.

  “I’ll even the playing field.” And Edison pulled off his shirt as well. His body was beautiful too. Unreal. One of the silver necklaces from the shuttle gleamed against his dark chest. And one word kept coming back to me: perfect. Seeing him in front of me, blood pumped through my body with a fierceness I’d always connected to the fight.

  I was on my feet—ripping the train off my dress and wrapping it around my chest like a tattered ribbon.

  He goaded me. “Ready?”

  And I was. Ready to punch. To lay him out flat on the ground. To roar. Anything to feel in control again.

  I was best when fighting with sticks, but my hands would have to do. I curled them into fists. “Yes.”

  He grinned. Not the sharp, confident smile I was used to—but Edison’s own secret smile. I knew it was, because it looked just like mine. The one I save for private things. The cinnamony first bite of a sweet tamale. The smell of Sarika’s garden when the rain comes. Scouting deep in the Reclamation Fields and catching the tick-tick-tick of a clock whose heart’s still beating. Things that made me deeply happy.

  We spiraled around each other. Circling. Circling. And I threw the first punch. It missed him. He literally skipped out of way, playing with me. And a growl rose up inside. In a flash, I jetted out my other fist and caught him on the arm.

  Edison grabbed me and spun me away from him and I used the momentum, throwing out my leg as I went. Kicking him in the stomach.

  We were both flung away from each other. But Edison sprang right back, seizing me around the middle. Pulling me closer.

  Instinct took the place of control, a ferocious strength surging into me. I knocked his feet out from under him. Edison fell and took me with him. I landed on top of him—breathing hard. And now, my fingers clutched at him.

  I was an animal awakened. And the hunger that had gnawed at me before consumed me.

  I kissed him and could feel his desperate, insatiable need. It was echoed in me and I was ravenous with it. Everything that I was disappeared into that all-powerful wanting. I wanted his mouth, his hands on me. Mine on him.

  My fingernails cut into his skin. Pulling him closerclosercloser. Until I couldn’t bear not being part of him. Couldn’t bear not being one single body.

  We melted and burned and fused together. One devouring wildfire of us.

  CHAPTER 17

  “SO?” MARISOL FLOUNCED on the bed, thrusting a cup of coffee at me. She wore a dazzling red dress that hurt my gritty eyes.

  Bright light streamed through the window and made my head ache. Edison had brought me home very late last night. Or was it very early this morning? Hard to tell. Either way, the effects of too little sleep and too much wine had left me feeling dazed.

  I accepted the coffee and sipped, letting it clear away the cobwebs. After a few sips I felt more human, but there was Marisol, still looking at me expectantly.

  “So . . . what?” I tried for nonchalance, but my voice had a rasp to it.

  “So! How did it go?” Marisol’s tone was bright and excited, but her eyes had that dangerous glint. I was instantly on guard.

  “We had a picnic.” And there was Edison in my mind, shirtless and grinning, Let’s see what you can do.

  She snorted. “Well, that’s a new word for it.”

  I was not going to have this conversation. Last night had been like spun sugar—delicious and lovely—and I had no intention of handing it over to Marisol to smash. But she was sitting on the edge of the blanket, trapping me. I tugged the other side of the covers free and escaped.

  I went straight for the closet, hugging the evening close to me. It wasn’t just the cascade of new sensations that’d danced and sang and sizzled through my body . . . though that had been lovely too. There was a giddy sense of power ringing out deep inside me that I didn’t quite understand yet. An exhilaration.

  Searching the racks, I tried to find something that was worthy of this Leica I’d become. Kisaeng. Spy. And part of me—a part I wasn’t quite sure I liked—congratulated me on securing Edison’s affections so profoundly.

  I pulled out a silky thing and held it up against me. But it was clear in the mirrors that it was too long for my short body and too tight for my curves. I suddenly longed for my own clothes, worn-in pants and a loose shirt. But I didn’t know where any of the things I’d brought here were. I could only hope my book had made it through the Curadores’ decontamination procedures. I’d have to remember to ask Edison.

  Marisol leaned on the doorway of the closet, smirking at my obviously ill-fitting choice. I shoved the dress back on the rack, wishing I could punch that arrogance off her face.

  But I wasn’t going to let her squash me. I made my voice light. “What are we doing today?”

  “Going to the Kisaengs’ Sanctum, of course.” She said it as if I should know this already—a little dig to remind me that this was her home, not mine. “I’ll introduce you to the others.”

  Others. The last thing I wanted was to spend the day becoming one of the flock of chirpy girls. What I wanted was a closer look at the Genetics Lab. To know more about Jenner. I wanted the answers Edison had promised me.

  But I had to trust that that would come. I scanned the closet, evaluating the hundreds of bright colors. But I didn’t feel bright or sparkly—especially not with Marisol hovering, her smugness masquerading as kindness. I felt strong. Defiant.

  A defiant Kisaeng—the idea of it made me smile and my eyes caught on a loose dress the pale blue-grey color of the dunes. And I knew it was right. Last night’s tryst-turned-battle had proven that I couldn’t play dress-up as well as Marisol. A smile slipped onto my face without my permission.

  Perhaps fairy tales were overrated.

  This morning, I wouldn’t try to disguise myself with capes and layers of fabric. While Marisol watched, I stripped off my nightgown and slipped the simple dress over my head, letting the light fabric swish down around me.

  “A bit rustic, but it has a certain . . . something,” Marisol admitted, and I realized that next to her, that was probably exactly the right description for me too.

  Well
, I can work with that.

  Inspired, I sat down in front of the mirror and pulled my fingers through my hair. Bits of it were down to my shoulders now, but it still had the rough cut I’d kept in Tierra Muerta. Though, now that it wasn’t being beaten into submission by the brutal desert, there was a sheen and slight wave that hadn’t been there before. Marisol came at me with clips and creams, but I snatched them from her.

  “I don’t think it wants to be tamed.” Then seeing her tight frown, I added, “Thanks for all your help. This would’ve been so much harder without a familiar face.”

  I met her eyes in the mirror. For a moment, Marisol looked as lost as I’d felt. More surprising was that I meant what I’d said. Having her here—no matter how smug—had made everything less overwhelming.

  I tested the tubes of cream. One of them was sticky on my fingers and I ran them through my hair, giving it a wilder, storm-blown look. Perfect. I used the shimmery lotion again, but this time, I put streaks of it around my eyes too. Making them shine even darker against the gold. I smiled at the whole effect.

  Still me. Just more so.

  Feeling a little smug myself, I offered my arm to Marisol. “Shall we?”

  Outside, Marisol hit the call button at the magfly stop where Edison had left me just a few hours ago. With a press of the button, a map lit up showing the whole Dome. At the top of the screen it read Ad Astra Laboratories: Bringing Tomorrow to Today. Here and there on the map blinked little green lights—moving around large circular tracks with little offshoots connecting them.

  I studied the map as a few girls joined us, waiting for the magfly. One of the dots was moving in our direction now, and I already recognized some of the places it passed. The Promenade, the Reservoir, and the Genetics Lab. Other places, were less familiar: the Recreation Center, the Education Complex. The entire center of the Dome was taken up by something called the Gardens. As the dot moved toward Village A, the humming noise of the tracks grew louder.

  Then there was a horrible shrill screeching and the tracks near our feet sparked and crackled. One of the girls yelped in pain and we all backed away as the whole map went dark.

  “What was that?”

  “Our ride.” Marisol sounded frustrated.

  “I meant . . . what happened?” I followed Marisol and the others as they started walking.

  “I know what you meant.” Marisol sighed. “Probably just another power surge.”

  So the Dome was having problems, and not just little ones.

  More Kisaengs joined us as we walked. I spotted a few familiar faces, some from last night, others I was sure had lived in Building Nine. A bunch of them, including Oksun—the woman who’d glared at me the night before—came out of a large, squat building.

  Marisol saw me looking, and in a fake whisper, she said, “They have to share rooms and supplies. Each girl is invited into the Dome by one Curador, of course, but once she’s here, she can pick and choose as she pleases. Or more like, as she is able. It’s all a matter of whose attention she can catch and whose she can keep hold of. The more important the Curador, the more important the Kisaeng.”

  Suddenly, my pretty yellow house felt more impressive. Then the bigger truth hit me. If Edison was the prince of the Curadores, what did that make me? His princess? If so, I finally had an answer for why Marisol was being so helpful.

  We turned the corner and saw the magfly. It must have been some power surge. The thing had flipped on its side, skidded across the pavement, and plowed into a tree. Oksun was already running—tucking her skirts up and climbing on top of the crashed magfly.

  I ran after her. “How can I help?”

  Oksun peered down into the windows and was clearly surprised as I climbed up next to her. “There’s two girls inside. We have to get them out, but the door’s on the other side.”

  I was already climbing down through one of the windows. The glass was broken, and as I dropped through the frame, the remaining shards scraped my arm like jagged teeth.

  The metal groaned and shuttered around me. “It’s okay,” I said as much to myself as to the Kisaengs inside.

  One girl had been thrown out of her seat and was now lying against the curve of the roof—unconscious or dead, I wasn’t sure. The second Kisaeng was curled up against one of the seats, whimpering. I repeated myself: “It’s okay. Take my hand.”

  Her black hair glistened with crushed glass. She looked at me, but I don’t think she really saw me. Her hand was pressed against her cheek, blood welling up between her fingers, and she was saying something under her breath.

  I leaned closer so I could catch the words.

  “My face,” she said. “Myfacemyfacemyfacemyface.”

  “I think she’s in shock,” I called up to Oksun.

  “Olivia? Is that you?” Oksun’s voice was steady and quiet. “Olivia, I need you to take Leica’s hand, okay? She’s gonna help you.”

  The girl blinked up at Oksun. Her hair was cut very short—unusual for the Kisaengs—and it stuck out maniacally around her face. Her expression was still blank, but she reached out for me anyway. I helped her stand up and I was grateful when her legs held.

  Then she looked at me and said, “My face.”

  “Your face is going to be fine. It’s just a cut. And we’re gonna get you out of here. Ready?”

  Olivia shook her head but I ignored her. “Ready, Oksun? On three, I’ll boost her up . . . I think she’ll fit.”

  “Wait a sec. Cover your heads.” Oksun kicked the remaining fragments out of the window frame. Accompanied by the sound of smashing glass, Olivia kept up her chant of myfacemyfacemyface. “Okay. Ready.”

  The girl was oblivious to what was happening as I positioned her under the window. “One, two . . .”

  On three, I hoisted her up and Oksun grabbed her, hauling her out of the magfly. A second later, a horde of insects buzzed over Oksun’s and Olivia’s heads and poured in through the windows.

  “Kya bakchodi hai!” I yelled in surprise and ducked, but the creatures ignored me. More and more of them swarmed to the magfly until there were black bugs crawling over every centimeter. Making the whole place vibrate with their insistent droning.

  “What are they?” Their roar crowded out my thoughts, but they were fascinating to watch. As they crawled over and under each other, I swore I saw dents in the side of the magfly melting and reforming.

  “Flys!” Marisol shouted over the din. “They’re evaluating the damage. We need to get you guys out. Now!”

  “Why?” But even as I asked the question, a cluster of flys began repairing the crumpled roof near the unconscious Kisaeng. Before I had a chance to do anything the whole roof melted into a silvery liquid. Beneath the flys’ feet, the molten metal shimmered, lapping the edges of the girl’s body. Then it instantly hardened again—outlining her limp form in the recast metal.

  “Oh my God!” I crawled over to the girl, trying to pry her loose, but the metal had molded perfectly to the edges of her body, trapping her there.

  “Leave her! Get out!” Oksun said, and she started banging on the outside of the magfly, trying to bat away the flys.

  Glass rained down on me as I headed back to the window and flys swarmed into vortexes around me. They must have seen Oksun as a threat because they flew to the nearest window and created a thick net of flys over the opening. Then their eerie droning grew louder, and the flys melted together—forming a solid wall of black metal. More flys sealed the next one. And the next.

  “Hurry!” Oksun was waving frantically at the final open window, trying to keep it free of flys.

  I scrambled through the magfly, crawling over seats, racing the flys. Despite Oksun’s efforts, they’d already managed to create a mesh of bodies inside the frame. I forced my hands through, pulling myself up and out—my face plastered with flys as I shot through the window. Oksun hauled me the re
st of the way up and the three of us jumped off the magfly.

  Marisol rushed over to me and pulled me away from the debris. “Are you okay?”

  Curadores were running down the street toward us now and a second later the entire swarm of flys burst out of the magfly, leaving it a twisted, half-melted hunk.

  I nodded, brushing at my face—still feeling thousands of prickly insect legs all over my skin. I was shaken up, but aside from the scrape on my arm, I was fine. Marisol took my hand and was already dragging me back into the group of waiting Kisaengs.

  Near the magfly, Oksun was busy shooing Curadores off her, insisting she was okay. Olivia was almost hysterical as the Curadores tried to help her, yelling, “I don’t want to go. Please! My cheek is fine!”

  Oksun tried to stop the Curadores from taking Olivia, but more of them stepped in, blocking her path. She looked furious as they carried the girl away.

  “What’s going to happen to Olivia? And the other Kisaeng?” I asked.

  Marisol smiled brightly. “They’ll be fine! The Curadores are here now!” But I noticed she was pulling us farther into the crowd and down the sidewalk even as she spoke.

  The rest of the walk was a blur to me—more houses, more buildings. I was vaguely aware of passing a huge compound, the shouts of playing children carrying over the wall. But I couldn’t get the image of the girl out of my head—trapped there. A piece of the magfly. Or Olivia babbling in panic. What had happened? Why had the magfly crashed? How could I have saved that Kisaeng? I went over and over the events in my mind.

  And then we were back where we’d been last night. A lawn. A lake. And trees.

  It was the trees that pulled me out of my stupor. Dense, towering woods crowded the shore of the Reservoir. The map had called them the Gardens, but those trees were nothing like Pleiades’ small patches of vegetables. The forest looked wild and dark—making me want to run into it and away from it at the same time.

  “What’s in there?” I asked, pointing to the trees.