“The least you could do is show yourself.” I waited another moment. “Fine. I’m exhausted anyway. I’d love some sleep.”
I turned and left the porch.
“Please. Stay.” The voice was scratchy and hesitant, like it wasn’t accustomed to being used.
A shadow appeared in the doorway—too tall to stand up straight inside the frame. And as Grimm came and landed on his shoulder, illuminating the figure, I recognized him with a fierce intimacy.
There was no doubt about it. This was Nikola.
I stepped closer. “Edison didn’t tell me you were twins.”
CHAPTER 22
IT WAS UNCANNY, this replica of Edison. Same broad shoulders. Same height. Same perfect face. And yet, not the same, at all.
“Technically, we’re clones,” Nikola said, and I was stunned by how different their voices were. Nikola had none of the bold certainty that reverberated from Edison. More wind and grit than Edison’s thunder.
Their hair was different too. Where Edison’s head was cleanly shaven, making each feature of his face stand out, Nikola had long dreadlocks obscuring his.
I finally managed to speak. “Clones?”
But Nikola ignored my question, giving me a small bow of his head. “I’m Nik.”
“I know.”
“Yes. And I know you’re Leica. But some rituals are important anyway. They remind us of who we are and where we come from.” And there was wariness in the lines of his face—a narrowing of his eyes. A tautness of the skin across his cheekbones. Clenched jaw. Like he was bracing himself against the elements.
“Of course, you’re right.” Looking at this broken version of Edison caught me off balance. All of that intensity was still there, but it had turned in on itself. Like the funnel of a dust devil. I bowed my head too. “I’m Leica. Pleased to meet you, Nikola.”
“Nik.” He corrected me. “Only Edison calls me Nikola.” And mentioning his brother brought a bitter twist to his mouth.
“Come. I have something to give you.” Nik turned and ducked back under the door frame. He carried his size like it was a burden. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with so much person.
I followed him inside, stepping around a large plant practically blocking the entrance. Then around a pile of ancient computer parts. The place was a little like the Indignos’ workshop—a maze of scavenged tech. Circuit boards, copper wires, half-assembled machines. Grimm landed on one of the piles, nesting inside an empty computer case.
There were more plants in jars and bottles on the floor. And as Nik dug around for something on a long table, I picked one of them up. Inside, tiny seedlings poked through mounds of moss and rocks—like a miniature forest encased in glass.
“Aha,” Nik said, moving aside hard drives and processors. “Here we are.” And he turned, thrusting a knife at me.
I jumped back, knocking over a collection of bottles with a deafening clatter. Grimm shot into the air, crying Awwrawk! Awwwrawk! and swooping around both our heads.
“Sorry!” Nik said, ducking to protect himself from Grimm. “Sorry!”
He flipped the knife around so it was handle first. “I’m not really used to being around people . . . I forget how sometimes.” He offered me the knife again. “Here. This is yours.”
“Where did you get this?” I took it from him and turned it over in my hands. Just holding my knife made me feel stronger. More myself.
“It was with you when you came in. I just had my bird . . . I think you called him Grimm?” Nik smiled for the first time and it was like a revelation. His whole face rebalanced, the sadness slipping away, leaving an open curiosity in its place. “I had Grimm . . . um . . . liberate it. And these.”
And he handed me my book of fairy tales. Balanced on top was the scope with the camera lenses and Lotus’s necklace. Nik was careful with them—like they were something precious. The same way I’d handle them.
“Thank you.” These were even better than the knife, like having a piece of home with me. “How do you know what I call him?”
“Well, you may have noticed he’s not a normal bird.”
“The glowing eyes did give me a clue,” I said.
“Yeah . . . that might’ve been overkill. But it does come in handy.” Grimm was perched on a tower of computer cases and Nik reached up and stroked Grimm’s forehead. The bird closed his eyes, pushing into Nik’s hand—clearly fond of him.
“I can see and hear whatever he does, as long as I have this thing in.” And Nik pulled back his curtain of dreads and I got a glimpse of something in his ear. “Grimm’s something I’ve been working on for a long time.”
Nik hesitated, as if he was evaluating how much to tell me.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why Grimm keeps turning up and what this place is.” I crouched down, clearing a space on the floor. Then I curled my legs under me, leaned against a stack of computers, and I looked back up at Nik, ready to listen.
“Fair,” Nik said, and he sat down too. He had the same way that Edison had of locking onto you with his eyes. But when I really looked, Nik’s eyes were different too. They were amber, like Edison’s. But instead of the unrelenting fire, Nik’s were mottled with pale yellow specks—like stars in an orange sky.
It was as if someone had taken all the pieces of Edison, and re-rolled them, like dice. It was heady, this mixture of strangeness and intimacy. Nik’s hands sat centimeters from mine, resting on the floor—vast, huge hands that I recognized. They’d touched me, and yet . . . they hadn’t. And like a sudden craving, I wanted them to.
I tried to shake off the disorientation and focus on what Nik was saying.
“Grimm started out as an idea that Edison and I came up with. We were stuck in the Lab a lot when we were little . . . mostly away from all the other kids . . . and we started dreaming up a way to find out what was going on outside. Something like the flys—running off the Dome’s electromagnetic field—but better. Something that would be ours.
“We built our first model of Grimm when we were just six. He couldn’t go far at first, just tiny trips around the Dome.”
“You built him when you were six years old?” I’d seen a lot of machines scouting the Reclamation Fields but nothing as complicated as Grimm. “How?”
“Well, he was just a basic machine then, all wires and clunky circuits we’d snagged from the Salvage Hall. Over the years we improved him: better cameras so he could see at night, better microphones so we could hear what was going on. We made him smarter, programming him so he had his own artificial intelligence . . . essentially his own mind. But we could still give him instructions. The last thing we did was integrate his system with a living body so he’d blend in.” Then Nik’s face suddenly went blank, as if lost for a moment.
Grimm seemed to sense the change in mood, flying down and landing on Nik’s shoulder. It worked, bringing Nik back from wherever he was, shaking his head. “We were thirteen when we decided to send him out into Pleiades . . . at night so no one would see him.” And Nik’s eyes darted away from mine.
“Except . . . I saw him. When I was training,” I said. And he nodded.
“The first time Edison and I saw you, we were captivated. Even at eight, you were everything we were not: strong, a fighter, your own person. And yet you were the same as us too.” Nik wiggled his fingers.
“You . . . and Edison . . . have been watching me?” I stood up, alarmed, as I put the facts of the story together. The idea that I had just met Nik and Edison, but that they had known me for years was . . . disturbing.
Nik looked uncomfortable. “Not just you. Pleiades. Everything.”
“That doesn’t really make me feel better.” And I had my answer—about how Edison had known I had sisters. About the mezcal. Of course he’d given me a bottle from Sarika’s batch, he’d probably watched me distilling it.
I wish, growing up, that Nikola and I had known you and your sisters.
But why had Edison had kept that part a secret? Was he afraid I wouldn’t come with him to the Dome if I knew the whole truth? Was he just waiting for the right time to tell me? And with an uneasy lurch in my stomach, I thought of my confession early that afternoon. Had Edison already known about the Indignos’ suspicions? Had he been watching me that night in the camp through Grimm?
“Why was Grimm out in Tierra Muerta? Was Edison watching me there?”
“Edison? No . . . we made a pact to stop watching you and Pleiades almost three years ago.” A shadow crossed Nik’s face. “Edison hasn’t been near Grimm or me since.”
“If you weren’t watching me, what was Grimm doing out there?”
Nik looked uncomfortable again, shifting on the floor next to me. “Nowadays I usually just send Grimm out to collect soil and plant samples. But I’d heard Edison had gone looking for that radio transmission. I only had rough coordinates. But then with the storm . . . I sent Grimm to search for him.” And it was clear that whatever distance was between Nik and Edison, Nik still cared about his brother.
“But you found me instead.”
“Yes. I barely recognized you at first. I hadn’t seen you in so long.”
“And you followed me to the camp.”
“I was worried.” Nik rubbed his forehead, seeming tired. “Look, I know it was wrong to spy on you. That’s why we stopped, but you have to understand. Growing up, Edison and I were trapped in that lab, with endless tests and experiments and trials. Grimm was our escape without escaping. Our way out.”
“And me? What did that make me?”
“You?” Nik held my eyes, like he was trying to figure that out for himself. “You were the closest thing we had to a friend.”
In the fighting ring you learned how to size up your opponent. And my instincts said that Nik was without deception. When he fought it would be head on, without feigning or tricks.
The truth was, I was appalled and a little bit flattered that Grimm had been spying on me. But more than that, I was fascinated by him. “How does he work?”
Sitting on Nik’s shoulder, Grimm moved and acted like a real bird. Even if he was like no other bird I’d ever seen.
“Do you want to give him try?” Nik smiled—the small, contagious smile of someone who’s passionate about the same thing you are. He pulled the tiny bean-shaped gadget out of his ear. “We used to have to use a monitor, but a couple years ago I modified this combud.”
I wiped the combud off on my dress, examining it. The whole thing was no bigger than my pinkie fingernail—little metal bumps dotting red rubber. I slipped it in my ear, and suddenly, I was seeing double—the dark room overlaid with bright colors and lights. That was disorienting enough, but what made it worse was that I was seeing the room from two different perspectives.
“Close your eyes; it’ll help.”
I did what he said and was relieved when I was left with only one image. Though it was still disconcerting, since I was looking straight at myself.
“The combud interfaces directly with your brain so you can see and hear everything Grimm does.”
But Nik’s voice was doubled too. As if there was two of him, standing on either side of me. The effect made me dizzy and I teetered a little—grateful I was already sitting down.
“That’ll go away soon. It’s amazing what your brain can adapt to.” And by the time he’d finished his sentence, the echoes had merged into a single source.
“How do I tell him to do something?”
“You don’t so much tell him as think about something in an entreating way.”
“How do you . . .” I said, but Grimm suddenly darted forward and bit Nik’s nose. Well, it was more of a teasing nip than a bite, but there it was.
Nik let out a bark of surprised laughter and I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “Ah. That’s how you do it.”
Then I thought trees. And even though I was still sitting inside the house, I was also lifting off, talons tucking. Squeezing through the framework of roots that made up the house and out into the forest. And though it was night, the forest was almost as bright as daylight—with a hundred gradients of shadow. I was soaring, feeling the rush of air under my wings and Grimm’s excited heartbeat, just as real as my own.
His mind was there too, a strange mix of logical analysis and animal instinct. We circled the area above Nik’s house, and it was strange to think that my body was still down there.
Higher, please.
We flapped harder, the trees falling away until we looped in the air—upside down—skimming the glass curve of the Dome. But when I thought about visiting the Promenade and the Genetics Lab, I felt Grimm push back. Instead, we spiraled downward, flying lower and lower over the trees. Finally swooping into the clearing around Nik’s house.
Nik was standing on the porch watching us with a look of delight on his face and I felt a sudden rush of affection for him that was physical—the equivalent of the pup’s wagging tail. Alarmed, I realized that Grimm’s emotions were mixing with my own. Grimm’s were brighter, more concentrated, and it was like a sugar rush—delicious and dizzying, as they washed over me. As we hovered and landed on Nik’s outstretched arm, there was a feeling from Grimm that I could only describe as homecoming. And the feeling rang through me, resonating, so I wasn’t sure what was Grimm and what was me.
Nik was smiling at us now, with a look of such kindness and returned affection that it almost hurt. The experience was overwhelming and confusing, and when Nik reached out and smoothed Grimm’s wings, the sensation traveled across each individual feather, through the interface, and into me. Tremoring through my real body.
I yanked the combud out of my ear. Goose bumps played across my skin and I could still feel Nik’s spontaneous gesture—his hand on me, strong and warm and so intensely there. I sat there for a moment, the intoxicating realness of it ricocheting through my nerves.
When I finally went out to the porch, Nik must’ve realized what happened. He had a sheepish, startled look on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think . . . I didn’t realize . . .” And he trailed off in embarrassment.
I shrugged, as if it hadn’t been a frighteningly intimate moment.
Then I changed the subject. “When I came to the Dome, why did you send Grimm? If you wanted to meet me, why not come yourself . . . to one of the dinners?”
Nik was quiet for a moment—so long I thought he might not answer. Then he said, “I was seven the first time I ran away. I was eight when I found this place.” He reached out and traced the intricate network of roots.
“I think it used to be a greenhouse . . . maybe some kind of laboratory. But over the years this tree took over. The strangler fig’s an epiphyte . . . it kinda grows backward . . . from the sky to the ground. Its seeds nestle themselves in the canopies of other trees or in the crevices on a roof or wherever, and its roots search for the ground.
“At first, I imagine it spread out across the roof and down around the building . . .” Nik’s hands traced the outline of the structure. “Its shoots and vines and roots weaving a kind of frame around place. But eventually, the fig would’ve squeezed too hard—breaking the glass—until there was no greenhouse left. Only tree.”
“It’s beautiful.” I looked at the cascade of roots, propping themselves up in the shape of a nonexistent building.
Nik nodded. “It’s so quiet here . . . it got harder and harder to leave. Now I just don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave. Not anymore.”
• • •
It was late when I got home and I was overwhelmed with the day. I wished more than anything that I could talk to Lotus about everything. Instead, I turned on the bathtub taps, feeling the water warm as it ran over my hand. Hot water was a luxury that still
stunned me—one of a thousand things I hadn’t gotten used to yet. I lay, floating in the scented water, thinking.
I’d been inside the Dome—or at least awake here—for two days. What had I found so far? Jenner and his plan for creating the perfect Curador. Edison and his radio. A hybrid bird. Haywire flys. A Dome that was falling apart and a whole community trying their best to ignore it. And Nik.
I felt his hand running across my body again and the same tremor ran through me. I told myself it was just the water getting cold.
Nik was right, it was quiet under all those trees. And knowing that tomorrow I’d have to go back to the Sanctum and play Kisaeng, I’d wanted to stay there too. But I was sure there was more to it than that—Nik was hiding from something under all those branches.
I pulled myself out of the bath. I was loath to, but I did it anyway—stepping out onto the chilly tile. There weren’t many mirrors in Pleiades and I still wasn’t used to them. Infinite Leicas from infinite angles. Everywhere.
Droplets of water spiked with juniper oil drew lines down my curvy, compact body. I didn’t recognize it anymore. The months in isolation had softened it. My muscles were still strong, but my ribs no longer jutted out at painful angles. My cheeks were no longer rough from the brutal winds of the desert. Even my skin had gone from bronze to brown without the intense sun.
I stepped closer to the mirror, searching for some sign that I was me. Only my hands were the same, twelve fingers so distinctively Leica. But as I ran my fingers over my skin, I knew that wasn’t quite true either. They were smooth now, unmarked by work or the brutal desert. Then my eyes caught on a spot right below my belly button. A tiny pale line marring the surface of my skin. It didn’t feel any different—the skin wasn’t ridged or puckered. But it was there nevertheless.
A scar.
Scars were nothing new . . . I had a whole collection of them. A brown, almost invisible line on my leg from seven years ago—I was ten, training with my dad, and fell on my own knife. A stretched, pinkish burn on my arm from a boilover in Sarika’s brewery. A stripe on my shoulder from the chafe of the slideboard harness. Those scars were a map to my life and I remembered where I got each and every one of them.
Lotus and Thorn Page 20
