“Not much,” Aunt Nicki said softly. “Not much.”
Eve crossed the room and took Malcolm’s hand. His hand was warm, but she felt cold inside and out.
Chapter Four
Eve let the agents lead her out of the silver room. On her right, Malcolm cupped Eve’s elbow gently. On her left, Aunt Nicki gripped Eve’s upper arm so hard that Eve could feel each fingernail denting her flesh, as if Aunt Nicki’s nails were coated in steel instead of wine-red nail polish. Eve felt numb inside, as if every ounce of energy had been drained by her failure.
As she and the agents exited, Eve saw that the security guards were staring at them. Both Aunt Nicki and Malcolm ignored the guards, but Eve stared back. One guard flinched and looked away. Surveillance cameras swiveled to record them as they passed through the other doors. The second set of guards did not react.
Aunt Nicki stabbed the elevator button with her index finger. In silence, Eve watched the numbers flick up to five. The doors slid open, and the two agents shepherded Eve into the elevator. Pivoting in sync, they flanked her, and Malcolm pressed number three. The elevator doors slid shut. Neither agent looked at her.
The elevator lurched downward, and tinny music echoed. Eve listened to it and pictured a carousel, shrouded in fog. A memory? A vision? Neither?
Aunt Nicki said to Malcolm, “Lou is going to rip out one of your balls.”
“So long as it’s not the right one,” Malcolm said. “Right one’s made of steel.”
“He’ll rip it out, pickle it, and display it at the holiday party between the poinsettias.”
The music swelled. A thin, sour flute squeaked the melody. Eve tried to think of something, anything, to say to the two agents, especially to Malcolm, who had believed in her.
“Man of Steel Balls or not, Lou has your kryptonite,” Aunt Nicki said. “You can count on it. Whatever it is, he’ll have ferreted it out. It’s his modus operandi.”
“She is my sole concern,” Malcolm said. “He knows that.”
The elevator lurched to a stop, and the doors opened. Eve saw drab brown walls. A plaque directed visitors to the reception desk. “I remember this place,” Eve said. She meant it as a peace offering—at least her mind hadn’t utterly betrayed her.
“Fantastic.” Aunt Nicki shoved Eve forward into the hall.
Malcolm strode past her, and Eve trailed after him. She did remember the third floor. She’d spent days here before they’d moved her to the house on Hall Avenue. She knew the blue carpet, worn in spots and patched with duct tape. She knew the fake plants, brilliant green and coated in dust. Several office doors were shut, but a few were open, and she saw file cabinets and chairs, framed diplomas on the walls, family photos and coffee mugs on the desks—all familiar.
Eve stopped outside Malcolm’s office. A brass nameplate was nailed next to the door: MALCOLM HARRINGTON, US MARSHAL. A red, white, and blue flag on a toothpick was wedged into the top of the nameplate. She touched the flag.
“You put that there,” Malcolm said.
She nodded. “It was on a cake.”
“Yippee-ki-yay. She remembers desserts.” Aunt Nicki pushed past Eve into Malcolm’s office and flopped into the desk chair. Head back and eyes closed, Aunt Nicki spun the chair in a circle.
The cake had been served at a party for Malcolm. Red, white, and blue frosting. Vanilla inside. He’d brought Eve a piece with the toothpick flag on it, and she’d eaten it in his office curled up in one of the worn leather chairs. She’d saved the toothpick.
“You’re in my chair,” Malcolm said to Aunt Nicki.
“You won’t be able to use it for a while,” Aunt Nicki said. “You are about to be spanked.” She dropped her feet hard on the floor to quit spinning, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Eve heard footsteps in the hall behind them. She started to turn to see, but Malcolm propelled her into the office. He shut the door behind him. “You shouldn’t take such glee in this,” Malcolm said, again to Aunt Nicki.
“I take zero glee.” Opening her eyes, Aunt Nicki looked at Malcolm. Her expression was serious. “I know as well as you what’s at stake.”
Eve wanted to ask what was at stake, but before she could, Malcolm knelt in front of her. “It will be okay,” he said. “No one blames you. You shouldn’t be afraid.” She hadn’t been until he said those words. Now, her heart thumped faster and her throat felt tight. Across the office, the door was thrown open. Rising, Malcolm blocked Eve, but she saw around his elbow. A bald man in a gray suit with suspenders filled the doorway. His tie was loose, and his scalp had a sheen of sweat that reflected the fluorescent lights. This was Lou. He was a foot shorter than Malcolm and a foot wider, but he seemed to loom over the office. Eve shrank back.
Lou spoke, his voice mild. “Agent Harrington, are you trying to give me an aneurysm?”
Malcolm straightened. “No, sir.” His voice was as sharp and crisp as a salute.
“Because my wife—you know, the doctor with the fancy degree—demands that I cut out all stress from my life,” Lou said. Listening to his voice, Eve began to shake. She knew his voice. Oh, yes, she knew it deep, the way she knew the pulse in her veins and the breath in her lungs. “Already cut out red meat, red wine, sausage, and bacon. And you know how I feel about bacon. There’s no other food with a scent more perfectly designed to trigger the appetite than bacon. You could pump the smell of bacon into a room full of vegetarians after a veggie-burger-eating contest, and every one of them would crave cooked pig before the end of an hour. So explain to me exactly why you are rendering my no-bacon sacrifice moot by giving me an aneurysm.”
“I took a calculated risk,” Malcolm said. “It was mine to take.”
Lou’s voice was still as soft as a cat’s purr. “If we lose her, we lose the case.”
Eve had heard his voice in the background while medical equipment beeped in rhythm with her heartbeat. She’d heard it when she’d woken with tubes shoved down her throat and her skin feeling as if it had been burned from her bones. Even though she wasn’t in the hospital anymore, Eve felt her heart thump fast and wild like a chased deer, and she retreated from him and his soft voice. She bumped into a table, and papers spilled onto the floor.
In one smooth movement, Malcolm scooped the papers back onto the table and guided Eve to the closest leather chair. “Breathe,” he said. “Deep breaths. In and out.”
She looked into his warm brown eyes and obeyed. Breathing, she sank into the chair. She wished he were next to her all the time, reminding her to breathe, making her feel safe. She kept her eyes fixed on his, trying not to see Lou looming behind him.
Malcolm kept his eyes on her as he said to Lou, “I’d like to discuss this elsewhere.”
“You think she understands?” Lou asked. He’d ordered the surgeries, she remembered. He’d said when it was enough or not enough. She heard him in her memory, clear in the haze. He’d never spoken directly to Eve, only to the doctors and nurses. Remembering, Eve gulped in air. She’d spent days, weeks, in that hospital room.
“Yes, I do,” Malcolm said. He fetched a computer tablet off his desk and handed it to Eve. “I’ll be back soon,” he told her. She heard the reassuring promise in his voice. “You can look through the photos again.”
She ran her fingers over the dark, cold screen of the tablet as she watched Malcolm follow Lou out of the office. Picturing the operating room, she wanted to call him back—don’t go with him!—but she didn’t move or speak. She saw Malcolm’s silhouette through the beveled glass window. And then he was gone.
“What’s Lou going to do to him?” Eve asked.
“Flay him, fillet him,” Aunt Nicki said. “Since when do you care?”
“I care.” Saying it out loud felt like a jolt of electricity through her body. She shouldn’t care. But she did. She wanted to shoot out of the chair, chase after Malcolm, and make sure he was safe.
Aunt Nicki snorted. “Look at the faces if you care so damn much.”
Eve
looked down at the screen, a dark mirror. Her own green eyes stared hollowly back at her. The left side of her face was obscured by the glare of the fluorescent lights. She thought she looked like a ghost staring out at herself.
He’d said to look through the photos again, but she didn’t know what he meant. She had no memory of this tablet or any faces. She felt as if a fist were curled inside her stomach. She could remember a piece of cake but not this, the operating room but not level five, this office but not her home before it.
Aunt Nicki shoved her chair back and stood. Without a word, she stalked around Malcolm’s desk. Leaning over Eve, Aunt Nicki tapped a button on the tablet, and it flashed on. A photo of a teenage girl appeared. She had sour lips and hostile eyes underneath a rainbow of eye shadow. Aunt Nicki slid her finger across the screen and a new face appeared, a teenage boy with a single braid in his hair. He had dark skin and black eyes, and he wore an embroidered gold shirt. His expression was serene.
“Should I recognize them?” Eve asked.
“Never have before,” Aunt Nicki said. “But let’s be optimists and say sure! Your best buds, all in high definition. You used to share lunches, have sleepovers, trade homework answers, play truth or dare, borrow one another’s clothes.”
Eve slid her finger across the screen the same way Aunt Nicki had. There were dozens of photos, all close-ups. Half were male, and half were female. Most looked to be Eve’s age, or close to it. She tried to conjure up memories to match the photos, but she felt nothing as the faces flickered past. “You’re lying.”
Aunt Nicki leaned in close. Her face was inches from Eve’s. Her eyes bored into Eve’s. “Prove it. Prove you’re worth all he did to find you, all we are risking to keep you. Remember them.”
In the photo on Eve’s lap, a girl wore a smile with crooked teeth. She had freckles on the bridge of her nose, and antlers that sprouted in the midst of her limp red-brown hair. Eve studied her and shook her head. She didn’t know her.
Eve slid her finger to bring up a new face, a sandy-haired boy with a pointed chin. Next, a boy who needed to shave. He wore a black chain around his forehead. Next, a girl with a pale-green face. She had pearly scales on her neck. Next, a gangly teen with the face of a Doberman on his bony shoulders. And then back to another human face, a girl with jet-black hair and sorrowful eyes. Frozen in their photographs, the faces stared out at her with accusing eyes. Know me, their eyes seemed to say. Remember me. But Eve didn’t. She scanned through face after face, one after another, as Aunt Nicki returned to Malcolm’s desk. Green eyes, brown eyes, red eyes, cat eyes, black eyes, milky eyes, blue eyes. Her hand shook as her finger slid across the screen, summoning more faces of strangers. “I don’t know you,” she whispered at the screen. “I don’t know you!”
A hand caught her wrist.
Her hand was gently lifted up, her fingers lifted from the screen. Eve raised her face to look up at Malcolm. She didn’t read any blame in his eyes. Just pity.
Eve swallowed hard once, twice. Her throat felt thick.
He touched her cheek with one finger. He studied the damp remnant of a tear as if it were a jewel glittering in the fluorescent light. Eve touched her own cheek. She hadn’t felt herself crying, but her skin was damp.
In a hushed voice, Aunt Nicki said, “Is she …?”
“Just for the record, I am right, no matter who approves or doesn’t.” Malcolm put his hand protectively on Eve’s shoulder.
“Huh.”
Coming around the desk, Aunt Nicki peered at her as if Eve were a strange new bug. Eve turned away, but Aunt Nicki caught her chin and tilted her face up. Pulling away, Eve spun toward Malcolm.
“Didn’t her eyes used to be brown?” Aunt Nicki asked.
Ignoring her, Malcolm said to Eve, “Lou wants you to meet a few people. Kids your age. They’re waiting for us in the cafeteria.”
Aunt Nicki jerked to attention. “Them? She can’t!”
“He insists,” Malcolm said, his eyes on Eve.
“Damn, Lou has balls,” Aunt Nicki said. “Stolen from all his prior employees. You have to talk him out of it. You know what they’re like—”
Malcolm rubbed his fingertip against his thumb. “We have no choice. He’s curious, he said. And the other options were worse.”
Aunt Nicki shook her head vehemently. “She’s not the same—”
“She can handle it.” He squatted so their eyes were level. Eve felt herself caught in his intense brown eyes. “Can’t you?”
Eve ignored Aunt Nicki. Malcolm’s eyes were warm and encouraging, as if he hadn’t noticed how she failed him again and again and again. “Of course,” Eve said.
His mouth quirked in a half smile, an expression she’d seen so often on him that she’d memorized it. She remembered all of his expressions. “Good girl,” he said.
As Eve trailed after Malcolm through the halls and between the cubicles, she listened to the whoosh of the air conditioner, the hum of the server room, and the churn of a printer as it spat out pages. This isn’t right, she thought. She knew this place better than she knew any place, and it didn’t … sound right. She should hear the receptionist’s radio. At least one TV should be tuned to the local news. The police scanner should be crackling with voices. More important, the offices should be filled with marshals and their staff. Their conversations on the phone, to witnesses, and to one another should have drowned out the air conditioner and the computers.
The quiet made her skin prickle.
After she passed the third empty interrogation room, Eve asked, “Where is everyone?”
Malcolm pointed to a red light that flashed on the ceiling. “High profiles on the floor. Only essential personnel in the office. Best to limit exposure.”
“Is that who I’m to meet?” she asked. She wondered what “high profile” meant and why it was important to limit exposure.
“It’s ‘whom,’” Malcolm said.
“Whom,” Eve repeated dutifully.
“Never met anyone who didn’t sound pretentious saying ‘whom,’ though. Best to just imitate what people say and not overthink it. If you start thinking about it, English doesn’t make much sense. For example, the plural of ‘tooth’ is ‘teeth,’ but the plural of ‘booth’ isn’t ‘beeth.’ The word ‘abbreviation’ isn’t short. Neither is ‘monosyllabic.’”
He halted outside the cafeteria, and the lecture abruptly ended.
“Did you teach me everything I know?” Eve asked.
“No,” he said.
“Who did?”
“You did,” he said. “You listened; you learned.” He rapped her forehead lightly. “You. Not me. Not Lou. Not anyone.” He glanced at the cafeteria door. “That’s something not everyone understands. You know more than you think you do, more than you believe you remember.”
But I don’t remember! she wanted to shout. She didn’t. It wouldn’t have helped. Instead, she followed Malcolm’s gaze, looking at the cafeteria door. It was blue, with a notice that read INTERAGENCY BILLIARDS RESCHEDULED, TUESDAY, 4:00 P.M. It also had a no-smoking sign, a poster with instructions for what to do if someone were choking, and a reminder to follow security protocol. Eve heard three voices through the door: two male and one female. She noticed that the muscles in Malcolm’s neck had bunched up.
Eve listened to the voices, but they were muffled by the door. She couldn’t distinguish individual words. “Are they connected to my case?” she asked. “Will they help me remember?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “After this, I’ll take you for pizza. Garlic knot crust. Kills your breath for hours, but worth it.” He pushed open the cafeteria door and then added in a low voice, “Don’t provoke them. Don’t question them. Don’t trust them.”
Inside was the cafeteria: yellow-and-green floor, round metal tables with chairs, refrigerator, water cooler. Before she’d moved in with Aunt Nicki, Eve had eaten here, either food that the agents brought for her or food from the vending machines that sold vacuum-s
ealed sandwiches, wilted salads, and hardboiled eggs of dubious freshness.
It felt a little like she was home.
She decided that was the saddest feeling she’d had yet.
Opposite the vending machine and kitchenette was a lounge area with a pool table, a TV, and a brown couch. The couch was backed against a wall-size mirror that Aunt Nicki had once said was designed to make the cafeteria look larger than it was—a stupid effect, she’d said, since it made you feel as though you were being watched. Eve tried to remember when they’d had that conversation, but she couldn’t.
Two boys, each about sixteen or seventeen, were at the pool table. One leaned on the table, and the other lounged against the wall. Both had the same studied ease as models at a fashion shoot. Their faces were sculpted and smooth, as if carved from marble or ice, and she could see the curve of muscles against their shirts.
On the couch was a girl, also sixteen or seventeen, with blue-black hair. Her tanned legs were tucked under her and her head was cocked to the side, resting on her hand, as she flipped through a book. She was as beautiful as a statue, too, and if it weren’t for the way she turned the pages, Eve would have thought she was made of molded plastic.
Malcolm propelled Eve into the room in front of him. “Kids, this is Eve.”
All three of them swiveled their heads to look at her.
Instinctively Eve shrank backward. She bumped into Malcolm. Solid as a wall, he didn’t budge. All three sets of eyes stared at her without blinking. She stared back. Looking at them felt like looking at herself in the mirror. Like her new face and body, they were all too perfect.
One of them—the boy who was leaning against the pool table—broke into what looked like a well-rehearsed smile, wide enough to seem friendly but with enough of a twist to convey boyish charm. “Welcome!” he said. His blond hair fell lazily over his eyes, and he pushed it back as if aware that the gesture made him look even more handsome. He was holding a pool cue in his other hand. He twirled it in a circle and then laid it down on the pool table. “We were about to play a new game. You can join us, Eve.”
Conjured Page 4
