by Devon Monk
“Rifle stays in the car,” he said.
I reluctantly set the rifle back in the car but didn’t mention I still had my revolver in my duffel.
“Oscar had a meeting with Reeves Silver,” Abraham said. “It appears the head of House Vice was unaware Quinten was under his employ.”
Since Reeves Silver was the head of Vice—it made sense he might not know the names of all the people working beneath him. Houses were huge, world-sprawling conglomerates, made of multiple companies and industries all held together beneath the House umbrella.
I glanced over at the scowl Abraham was wearing. “You don’t believe him?”
“I think there isn’t a thing that happens in House Silver without Reeve’s knowledge.”
“Do you think he’s . . . holding him prisoner?” There it was. My fear. That my brother was held against his will, hurt and alone.
“I don’t know,” he said, then softer: “I really do not know, Matilda. But we can’t jump to conclusions about your brother and risk losing you. Things are rarely as they seem between the Houses. Reeves Silver may or may not be involved. He may have your brother working a project he doesn’t want House Gray to know about. He may have subcontracted your brother to another House, or there may be a contractual agreement between your brother and him that necessitates secrecy. Quinten could be fine.”
From his tone of voice, even he didn’t believe that.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s say it’s one of those things. What do we do?”
“We find out who’s lying, who’s telling the truth, and we find your brother. I’ll check in with Oscar again. Tell him what the message you found said. We don’t make a move until we have House Gray behind us on this. I need you to agree to that, Matilda. If you want the power of House Gray to help you, if you want to remain with us, do not undermine our efforts to help you.”
“Okay,” I said, “okay.”
Quinten was smart and strong and patient. Plus there was one other thing about the message I hadn’t told Abraham. Quinten hadn’t said good-bye. If he thought his life was in danger, if he thought he was going to die, I was sure he’d say good-bye to me.
Wouldn’t he?
We walked past what looked like a courtyard of flowers and bushes with little paths that led to benches and maybe a pond, then stepped up to the wood-and-glass door. There was a lot of light coming through the windows.
He pushed the door wide.
The room itself was huge, soft lights shining against those tall, tall windows to catch copper in the amber woodwork and white walls. I would have taken a little more time to marvel over the place: the thin sun shades covering the highest windows, the rounded edges of the kitchen that was open to this great room, the tasteful but built-for-comfort couches, chairs, tables, and throw rugs adding pops of color to the place.
But the galvanized, all of them except Foster First and the missing Robert Orange, were lounging around the room, playing cards, relaxing.
“Bram!” Loy called out. “Found her, I see.”
“Everything all right?” Buck asked.
“Oh, the poor little thing,” January cooed, “I can’t imagine how frightened she must have been, all alone in all that fancy light and noise.”
Well, wasn’t she a peach?
“She’s fine,” Abraham said, answering Loy and Buck and throwing January a look.
“I’m glad you made it.” Dotty wiped her hands on a towel and strolled out of the kitchen. “It’s been a long day for us all. Welcome to my home. Let me show you to your room.”
“Home?” I asked.
“Abraham’s told you why we’re here, hasn’t he?”
“To train for the gathering?”
Bede and Vance chuckled.
“Abraham,” Dotty scolded. “You had this poor girl thinking she was going to be fighting for her life?”
“No,” he said. “I just said there’d be training, and there will be. She’s never been to a gathering before. I thought we could talk her through it.”
Wila tsked through her teeth. “I suppose all the Houses want to stake claim to you.”
“I’m happy with House Gray,” I said.
Dotty poked a finger at Abraham. “Shame on you for worrying the girl. Take her luggage to her room. Main floor with the south view.”
“Is that an order?”
“Do I need to remind you to mind your elders, young man?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Go on, then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Matilda?” she said. “Don’t worry yourself. There is no training, just a few guidelines for what is expected at the gathering. We’re all friends here.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Room’s this way,” Abraham said.
I followed him down a wide hall and past several rooms and through an open door. He dropped the suitcases at the foot of the bed. The room smelled of lavender and mint.
“No training, eh?” I asked.
“Not so much, no.”
I grinned. “Jerk.”
He chuckled.
“I might need it anyway. Being polite isn’t as easy as I’d thought. I’ll be lucky to get through the night without January wanting to stab me.”
“Don’t worry about her. She just doesn’t like competition.”
“For what?”
“Everything.” He strolled across the room, moved the curtain to look outside, then walked back toward the door.
“If I’m the only one who hasn’t been to a gathering, why is everyone else here?”
“We all request the time from our Houses every year.”
“So you can get a day off?”
“So we can get a day off, together, without being bothered by anyone in the world. It’s . . . rare to relax, game, eat, gossip. For a full twenty-four hours, we aren’t galvanized. We’re just people.” He smiled, but old regret shadowed his eyes. One day of freedom wasn’t nearly enough compared to years of captivity.
I opened my mouth to tell him I was sorry, or maybe to say something comforting and cheerful, but he shook his head and changed the subject.
“There is something else we should take care of,” he said. “I hoped we’d have time to do this in-city, but maybe here is better.”
“What?”
He held a small liquid packet the size of my thumbnail in his palm. “Your mother’s recording that sent me out to your property, looking for you and your father. I know now that she’s gone, but I promised I’d let you see this.”
I stared at the drop of liquid. I hadn’t forgotten. It seemed so strange that a message from my long-dead mother had mysteriously surfaced and sent him out to my farm. Changing my life so completely.
“Do you know where it came from?”
He shook his head. “We traced it but couldn’t catch the origin.”
Maybe Quinten had sent it. No, he had worked hard to keep our farm and me a secret. But who else would have access to such an old recording? And who would benefit from House Gray sending Abraham to look for me?
“I never asked,” I said, settling on the foot of the bed. “How did you get that gut wound?”
“In a fight.”
“With whom?”
“Someone else who intercepted this message. Robert.”
“Robert? The galvanized from House Orange?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said he was your friend.”
“He is.”
“Your friend split you open and nearly bled you out.”
“True. But he didn’t behead me, which I appreciate.”
“That is the lowest bar for friendship I’ve ever heard of.”
He chuckled. “Trust me, Robert is a good man.”
“Trust the word of a man who thinks a b
eheading is a flesh wound?”
“I didn’t say it wouldn’t have been inconvenient.”
“Death is inconvenient?”
“Being dismembered is inconvenient. I don’t know about death.” He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall. “We had to put on a good show so Slater Orange would believe him when he said he tried to stop me, and that I got away with the message before he could.”
“Robert wanted you to find me?”
“Robert caught the message and brought it to me. House Orange would not have taken you in with kindness. Slater Orange is a vicious dictator.”
“Which makes him so different from the other heads of Houses?”
“Which makes him different from Oscar.”
“What about House White?”
“What about it?”
“They showed up on my farm. Looking for you.”
“I know. We don’t know who tipped them off.”
“Maybe your friend Robert?”
“I don’t think so.” At my look, he shrugged. “It’s possible, but I’d be surprised. We go back a long way. So?”
“So?” I echoed.
He held up the drop with my mother’s message. “If you want, I’ll leave you alone to watch it. Or I can sit with you.”
“I think . . . I think I’d rather watch it alone.” I got up and he pressed the little packet onto my palm.
“If you need me,” he said, running his warm fingers down the outside of my arm, “I’ll be right out there on the other side of the door.”
“I know. I’ll be out soon.”
He shut the door, and I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my eyes. I felt like I’d been up for days. Considering how little sleep I’d gotten before Neds and I had gone out for coffee this morning, I really had been up for almost two days straight.
At least here in the room it was quiet and quasiprivate. That reduced my chances of saying or doing something stupid in front of the others. I didn’t want to ruin my hope of staying with House Gray, even though it meant giving up my freedom.
What I wanted was sleep.
What I needed was to talk to Neds. If he could use House Brown’s network to figure out what Quinten’s message meant or maybe to find where it originated, I would at least have a trail to follow that might lead to my brother.
I stared down at the drop in my hand.
What I had to do was watch this message.
It had been so long since I’d seen my mom, since I’d heard her voice. It seemed strange I’d be seeing her here, now, so far away from the home and surroundings in which I knew her in most.
I moved to the head of the bed and pressed the drop into the small indent in the bedside table.
An image caught fire on the wall across from me.
A woman’s face appeared there, a little out of focus and bathed in a soft green light, but clear enough to make out her features.
I held my breath, memories clutching at me with sharp fingers. She looked older, thinner, her hair cut so short it made her eyes look too wide and robbed her of the softness I remembered. But that was her. Definitely her. My mother.
I exhaled and pulled my shoulders back.
Mom’s thumb was pressed against the screen of whatever recording device she was holding. The room around her was dark, just a slice of light coming in from under what must be a door.
“My name is Professor Edith Case,” she said in a rough whisper that stilled my heart. “If you receive this message, I implore you take it to House Gray and invoke the decency of jury and trial offered to all human citizens. I believe my husband, Dr. Renault Case, may be alive and on the property registered in the name of Case under House Green.”
A shadow broke the light beneath the door and she shot a look over her shoulder.
“Please,” she whispered, the image of her shaking as a tear slipping down her cheek. “Save him. And if she’s still alive,” she bit her lip, and even more quietly said, “save my daughter, Matilda.”
The screen went blank.
I wiped the back of my hand over my cheeks, drawing away my tears. I’d never seen her so terrified, so desperate. I wish I could have done something for her. Wish I could have hugged her and told her I was fine. Everything was fine.
Except it wasn’t. I’d signed myself into House Gray, Grandma might be in trouble, and Quinten was missing.
How had my life fallen apart so quickly?
I pried the drop out of the indent and the image of my mother faded away. I tucked the drop in my duffel, then dragged the duffel up to the top of the bed with me, crossing my arms over it.
I needed a plan. A way to find Quinten, a way to see that Grandma really was okay and that Boston Sue wasn’t lying to me about missing Quinten’s message.
I’d seen the surveillance cameras when we’d driven up to this place. I knew there was no chance I could sneak away.
Yet. I had promised I’d give Abraham time to see if House Gray could do anything to help Quinten. I had promised I wouldn’t do something foolish to ruin my chance of staying with House Gray. And I would follow through on both those promises if I could.
I rubbed at my eyes again and pressed my back against the headboard, inhaling the lavender scent of the room. I closed my eyes.
I didn’t want to sleep.
Turned out I didn’t get any say in that.
A knock on the door woke me.
“Matilda,” Abraham said. “Are you awake?”
I pushed up, rubbed my eyes, and stared into the dim light of the room. How long had I been sleeping? No clocks. I smoothed my hair then walked over to the door and opened it. “What time is it?”
“About nine. You’ve been in here for two hours. Everything okay?”
“Relatively?”
He smiled slightly. “Did you watch it?”
“Yes. It was. . . .” I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you for bringing it.”
His moss green eyes went soft as he studied me, and I promised myself I was not going to cry again. “Are you okay?”
“She was scared, but it was. . . . I’m glad . . . to see her again, it’s just. . . .” I stopped, unable to trust my words for fear that tears would follow.
He paused, watching me for a moment while I tried to smile. Then he pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me.
I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t want this comfort from this man, but I didn’t want to pull away. I pressed my forehead against the hard muscle and warmth of his chest, wishing I could stay there forever. He held me while I gave in to quiet tears. Then he held me a little longer. Finally, he kissed me gently on my temple and I drew away.
“Can I help?” he asked, wiping my cheek with his thumb.
“No,” I brushed the rest of my tears away and took a deep breath. “It’s old pain. There is no cure.” I pulled together a smile. “I’d like to think about something else. Anything.”
“Dotty put some tea on and there’s dinner if you’re hungry.”
I was starved. “Food sounds perfect.”
“Good. Then come on out. The first game is up and I need a partner.”
“Game? There are nine people out there. Ask one of them to be your partner.”
“I did. They say I cheat.”
“Do you cheat?”
“Of course. But, then, so do they.”
“Bram! Do we need to come back there and save you?” someone, I think Loy, yelled from the other room. “Did she kick you again?”
The mingling of voices, good-humored arguments, and laughter filtered down to us. Sounded like a party out there.
“Promise I’ll cut you in for ten percent of the take,” he said.
“Ten percent? What do you think I am, a rube?”
“Naw, you’re all upstage. But you are also hiding in
your bedroom, darb.”
“Darb?”
“Sorry—I was around when that slang was new. It means excellent, top-notch, desirable.”
Oh. That was nice.
“Well, aren’t you all charm and a half?” I asked. “Also? I’m not hiding in my room. What kind of game are they playing?”
“Probably cards.”
“Fine,” I said. “Sixty percent.” I stepped out and closed the door behind me.
“Thirty.”
“Sixty-five,” I said.
“Thirty-one,” he countered.
We walked down the hall. “How about I cut you in on ten percent since you admitted there is no one else who will play with you?”
“Thirty-two,” he said. “You wouldn’t be playing without me either.”
We had passed through the far side of the sitting room, and the full, delicious smell of fruit pies and something savory wrapped around me.
“There you are,” Dotty said. She pulled a pie out of a high oven using two towels as hot mitts. “Wondered if you were going to sleep the whole evening away. Abraham said you needed some rest.”
“I just didn’t want to be in the way.”
She set the pie down and turned to me. “Nonsense. Have you eaten?”
“Not for a while.”
“Help yourself.” She waved at a pile of fried chicken, a bowl of cooked greens, and a pot of buttery grits.
“I think there’s a game . . .” I started.
“Oh, sugar pea, there’s always a game,” she said.
“There you are, Matilda!” a voice I didn’t recognize called out.
I glanced across the room and froze. Welton Yellow, the head of House Yellow, Technology, stood beside the long wooden table in the main room, his galvanized, Foster First, looming behind him.
25
They say those were the peaceful years. Houses and galvanized worked together to create a united front, to settle the unrest, to rebuild the world. The first gathering was held, displaying the prowess and advancements achieved by the Houses and their galvanized.—2175
—from the journal of L.U.C.
Welton wore a yellow T-shirt, this one imprinted with the image of a snail with laser beams coming out of its eyes, torn blue jeans, and a smile.
