Awakening

by Shannon Duffy

  “Let’s go, ladies,” the woman says before I can step inside the room. “Destiny waits.”

  Destiny. It’s what we’ve always been brought up to believe in.

  The girls stand, all in different styles of ivory-colored dresses. One girl’s dress is so short, I can’t help but blush when I notice it.

  “I’m so excited,” a short blond girl says to me, as she scoots by with a smile. After we’re all herded into the lift, the girl with the short dress fidgets uncomfortably and flattens her palms against her dark brown hair while looking in the mirrors that cover every surface of the lift.

  Other than her dress being scandalously short, the girl is beautiful and has nothing to worry about. Her thick dark hair hangs to her waist, and her violet, almond-shaped eyes are made up to perfection. I wonder if she’s a makeup artist or if her parents hired someone to have it professionally done. The way she’s fiddling in the mirror I can only imagine she’s excited to see her binding mate and wants to look perfect for him.

  Not only is she beautiful, but she’s most likely perfectly matched, too—maybe with one of the hottest guys in all of Tower. She’s probably already in love. A twinge of jealousy rushes through me and immediately I feel guilty. I’m not ugly; in fact I’ve been told that I’m pretty. But there’s pretty and there’s gorgeous. I sigh. I’d settle for pretty and dreamily matched.

  Another girl I vaguely recognize from the Grange market, where I sell my artwork on weekends, sidles up next to the dark-haired girl, taps her shoulder, and whispers in her ear. Immediately, the dark-haired girl lowers her hands from her hair.

  And turns to look at me.

  I suck my lower lip between my teeth, look down, and slide my hand over my dress subconsciously. I don’t know if they’re talking about me because they think something looks odd about me, or if I’d been staring. I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My skin looks a little pale, and I wish I brought some blush. I fluff the back of my hair and ignore them. Whatever.

  The lift finally comes to a stop and chimes, indicating the door is about to open. Keeping my gaze ahead, I follow the other girls out without looking back.

  The staccato of our heels against the steel floor is out of sync, and I try to drown my thoughts in the clickety-clack sounds they create. I rush forward and blend in among a few other girls, leaving the dark-haired girl and her friend behind.

  A knot twists inside me when we finally reach the enormous hall. I wonder where Asher is and if he’ll wear a look of disgust when he sees me. He already knows I’m his binding mate since I’ve been appearing in his dreams too, but I’m not sure if he’ll be able to contain his loathing for me.

  Maybe he’s accepted our fate as well, I tell myself and hope it’s true. As much as I’m unhappy with the pairing, I hate that I must be just as much of a disappointment to him.

  As we pass through the arched doorway at the back of the room, my feet sink into something soft. Green grass spreads out beneath me. Although it looks completely real, I know it’s fake. I tilt my weight to my tippy-toes so that my heels don’t sink through. Above, the ceiling soars several stories into the air. Beams of sunlight pour in from the domed glass roof. I don’t remember it being quite this sunny today and wonder if the illusion of such bright sunlight is created by The Protectorate, or if the sun shining suddenly is a sign that Asher and I are meant to be.

  Family members wearing giant grins fill row after row of chairs covered in golden fabric that looks like woven silk. They surround a stone path like bookends. Hundreds of butterflies float through the air in various colors, and something like the scent of vanilla mixed with cinnamon tickles my nose.

  The only things that look mechanical are several huge flat screens on the walls that will show the ceremony for anyone who doesn’t have a good enough view.

  The woman ushers us to the path. “This is where I leave you. Move on ahead to the front row on the left and take a seat, ladies.” She points her pen in the direction she wants us to go.

  As we walk in single file, the stares of all the family members, along with the sun pouring in from above, makes me hot. Sweat prickles on my palms and the back of my neck. All I can think is how horrible I’ll look when Asher finally sees me. My head swirls. I cast my gaze to my feet and try to keep up with the short blonde in front of me.

  She suddenly stops, and I stumble into her, knocking her forward.

  “Hey, watch it,” she says, turning to face me with a furrowed brow. But when she catches my gaze, she quickly takes my arm and steadies me, a look of pity washing over her face.

  I wonder if I’m turning paler or if my eye shadow is smeared. The thought of that alone makes my head swoon more. “Thank you,” I tell her as we take a seat next to one another. “I’m Desiree.”

  She leans to whisper in my ear. “No prob. My name’s Harper.” She giggles and elbows me lightly and lifts her chin across the aisle, her blue eyes widening. “It’s normal to be nervous when we have that waiting for us.”

  I instantly know what she means, and I turn my head toward the row of our binding mates.

  Murmurs swirl among the girls. I look back at her as her eyes roam over the row of boys.

  “Do you see him?” I ask her. I can imagine she’s dying to find the one boy in the row that matches the one she’s been dreaming about.

  “No…” Harper grips my forearm as she leans forward. She bites her lip and after a moment squeals. “Yes!” Her fingernails press deeper into my arm and I wince. Pulling her hand back she whispers, “Sorry!” Then, “Hey, aren’t you gonna try to find yours?”

  I shake my head. I’m too scared to see the look of disappointment in his eyes.

  “C’mon, what’s he look like?” she presses, scanning her eyes over the row of boys again.

  I haven’t seen Asher since last year when I left high school. I heard he went to study to become a head official.

  I think about my dreams and Asher’s image comes to mind. His dark blond, tousled waves and golden eyes flash in my mind.

  “He—”

  “Hey, check it out,” Harper interrupts. “Little Miss Sexy seems to have found her binding mate.” She jerks her chin toward the dark-haired girl wearing the too-short dress. The dark-haired girl’s cheeks are flushed the slightest shade of pink. She’s smiling now, her perfect white teeth sparkling like sugar cubes.

  I follow her gaze, curious if her binding mate will look as flawless as she does. Soon I find the boy smiling back at her.

  His golden eyes turn up at the edges into a genuine smile. A lump forms in my throat that I can’t swallow back.

  It’s Asher.

  Chapter Four

  Everything is a blur after that. Names are called and people rise and go to the front. It’s a spinning distortion of ivory dresses and black jackets.

  My mind swirls. Was there a mistake? Did they pair Asher with two girls? I’ve never heard of The Protectorate making that kind of error. For a moment a twist of hope rushes through me. If they did make a mistake, he would definitely choose her over me. Then The Protectorate would be forced to bind me with somebody else. But I quickly realize how embarrassing it would feel to be rejected in front of all these people. My parents would be shamed, too.

  Do they know each other? I’ve never seen her before, but then again, I’ve not seen Asher for a long time either. I wonder if it was just an innocent smile, a nervous hello from one to another. Remembering the blush of the girl’s cheeks and the smile in Asher’s eyes—one I’d never witnessed directed at me—tells me that that’s not true.

  “Desiree Six Haven,” an official standing at the front calls, breaking me from my thoughts. Somehow, I manage to stand. Harper squeezes my hand beside me. “Good luck!”

  Nodding quickly, I mumble, “Thanks, you too.” I shift through the row of girls where only a few remain. The dark-haired girl uncrosses her tanned legs and shimmies back on her chair, allowing me to pass. At the front, pairs of boys and girls stand to one sid
e, admiring their bracelets. And each other. They do it in silence, knowing they aren’t allowed to talk until all the pre-binding has been completed.

  I take a deep breath and step out into the aisle, back onto the stone path that leads me to the official.

  “And Asher Six Knight,” the official says loudly into his microphone.

  My knees shake a little, and I don’t know if I’m relieved I won’t be made a fool of or sad that it’s really Asher after all.

  I step toward the official without glancing at the row of boys. The official holds a heap of papers in his hands. He straightens them on the pedestal with a click, click, click as I stand in front of him.

  “I’m Desiree,” I say to confirm, and hold out my arm so he can scan the black tattoo of the number six. Underneath the tattoo, the sensor implanted at birth not only syncs the Dreamscape together with our nervous system, but it also verifies who every citizen is. He looks up at me from beneath a pair of black-rimmed glasses, scans my wrist, and smiles. “And thank you for the wise choosing and blessing,” I whisper, and make a mental note to tell Mom I remembered to tell him.

  A rustling of air and movement beside me prickles my skin into instant goose bumps. I know it’s Asher. Anxiety grips me like a fist squeezing my insides. I clamp my back teeth together and turn to look at him. He’s about the same height as I am, the same as in my dreams, but even that’s a change from when I saw him in person last. He shot up a lot in the last year or so.

  I wonder if his height is the only change—if he’s still the same Asher I’d known.

  “Hi, Desiree,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His dark blond hair is styled neatly into place. The official begins a short speech about destiny and the binding of two like souls. While he speaks, I study Asher’s features, looking for some expression that will give away what he’s thinking. I wonder if I’ll see disgust in his eyes, or if he’ll see disappointment in mine.

  His golden eyes are wide, glancing from the official, back at me, then over my shoulder to the row of girls. I’m too aware he’s eyeing the dark-haired girl, but I follow his stare to be sure. Her gaze meets his, and she drops her violet eyes behind long lashes and bites her lip.

  My stomach drops and I feel empty, like a glass of water tipped over until there’s nothing left inside. It should be her standing here with him, not me. I know he wants her. And she wants him. I look to the grassy floor and wonder if anyone else noticed his wandering eyes. It takes everything in me not to let the tears that are welling up spill down my cheeks…and I fight against the urge to smack him square in the jaw.

  It’s not so much that Asher doesn’t want me, because I don’t want him either. It’s just another slur that Asher has added to the list of insults he’s slung at me. But mostly, it’s the epic disappointment in the ending of a fairy tale I’ve dreamed about for so long.

  Asher gingerly picks up my hand, and it takes everything in me not to pull it away. When I look back up at him, he smiles. It isn’t like the smile he gave the other girl, but it isn’t the smirk I’ve grown to know, either.

  The official has stopped speaking. I realize I must have missed the part about us exchanging the pre-binding bracelets because Asher gently releases my hand and begins removing his from his wrist.

  I straighten my shoulders and try not to look as panicked as I feel. I sense the eyes of everybody staring, and I’m aware my parents are somewhere in the sea of faces, watching proudly. This is right. It has to be. I remove the bracelet, the one with the letter D for Desiree and hold it between my fingers, spinning it round and round.

  Asher nods and picks up my other hand, my left, where the bracelets are all worn. The symbolism of wearing them on the same side as the heart isn’t lost on me.

  “It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” he whispers as he leans toward me. He places his golden bracelet—now mine—around my wrist.

  He’s right of course. It will be okay. It always is. I’m relieved to hear him say it, but I wonder if he really believes it, or if he’s trying to convince himself.

  After I place the bracelet I brought around his wrist, our turn is over. We’re officially promised to each other.

  In that moment, I’m glad we don’t have to kiss. At least not until the binding ceremony on our eighteenth birthday. Before that, there’ll be a series of group dates and, closer to the binding, we’ll be permitted to go on dates alone. Except, of course, for the accompanying official.

  “Harper Six Purefoy,” the official calls out the next name on his list with a smile.

  Harper practically floats from her seat toward the path leading to the front. She stops and meets her binding mate as he exits his aisle. They’re all grins and smiles as they clasp hands like they’ve known each other for years.

  They have known each other—in their dreams—dreams so real that every touch, every scent, every flavor is alive, electric in the magic of the Dreamscape.

  The sound of static suddenly fills the room, and I notice the puzzled expression on the official’s face. I follow his stare to the giant screen on the far wall. Blurs of black and white fuzz the screen, but are soon replaced by the highest official of Tower. Prime Minister Miles Seven Vega.

  Gasps fill the air.

  The official standing near me taps the microphone. “Quiet, please!”

  A hush falls as heads jerk up to look at the jumbo screens around the room.

  Prime Minister Vega runs his hand back through his gray hair and leans toward the screen from behind a steel desk. Other than the Prime Minister being a Seven and living longer than most, I know he must be under enormous tension fixing mistakes from our ancestors in the Manic Age. And with his grandson suffering from some new unidentifiable illness, his stress levels must have reached new heights. Despite his high regard, I can’t help but pity him as I watch him.

  “Citizens of Tower,” he begins. “There’s been a report of a home invasion that occurred last night in the outer region of Tower.” His face is serious, his brown eyes intense. “But please remain calm. Other than being deprived of sleep, nobody was harmed. For that we’re thankful. Neither was there evidence of any theft. Of course, your safety and happiness are our utmost priorities. As such, extra forces will be on patrol starting tonight until the apprehension of the criminal.” He pauses a moment, then continues. “However, we need you to be vigilant. Lock your doors and windows, and report any suspicious activity to your local officials.” He sighs, and turns his palms up. “You will no doubt ask yourself that if nobody was harmed and no items were stolen, what was the purpose of the home invasion?” Vega’s eyes narrow. “It’s the same question we’ve asked ourselves here at The Empire. And we believe there’s been an unauthorized use of the homeowner’s Dreamscape.”

  A wave of murmurs rolls through the room, and again our official scowls and barks, “Silence!”

  Prime Minister Vega lifts something off the desk in front of him, holding up the jail photo of Darian that was displayed on the port screen last night. “We have reason to believe the criminal is none other than Darian One Sterling.”

  Gasps fill the room as my anxiety spins out of control.

  Chapter Five

  That evening, we sit around waiting for the broadcast of our next-door neighbors’ punishment in the Terrorscape. I wish I knew what Coral and Owen had stolen. I can’t imagine anything they’d need, or why they wouldn’t have asked us to help.

  I picture little Shia next door with her aunt watching her parents suffer through the nightmares. My throat grows dry and scratchy, like I swallowed a mouthful of sand. In this moment, I’m thankful for the Dreamscape, knowing at least when Shia goes to sleep tonight, her dreams will be pleasant. And tomorrow I’ll ask her to come to the Grange with me to help take her mind off things. Maybe I can buy her candy from one of the vendors and she can help me sell a painting.

  The occasional sounds of police cars patrolling the area, and the echo of their sirens, haunt the room.

  Tension i
n the streets is high. Saying a murderer has not only escaped and is wandering free, but is now breaking into houses isn’t a good way to keep people from panicking. But at least the Prime Minister was honest, and The Protectorate clearly is doing everything in their power to catch Darian.

  “You ready?” Mom’s eyes are unfocused, lost somewhere in a trance.

  I plop onto the sofa next to her, hook my arm through hers, and curl my legs beneath me. “Of course,” I say, as though it isn’t a big deal, forcing my voice to keep steady. As much as I want to pretend that watching our neighbor’s punishment won’t be any different than viewing the convicted child killer’s Terrorscape jaunt last year, I know I can’t. That guy’s punishment was well-deserved. Anybody who would hurt children deserves to stay in the Terrorscape for eternity.

  Mom rests her head against my shoulder as Dad triple-checks the lock on the front door. It’s hard to believe we’re barricading ourselves against the one boy who used to protect me.

  “It’s just tha—” Mom starts then stops, looking up at the port screen facing us from across the room. The steady red light glares from the top of it like a beacon, reminding us of its presence. Every house has several port screens installed which double as cameras, ensuring compliance.

  “It’s okay,” I say so she doesn’t have to finish her sentence. I lean into her and whisper, “Only five minutes.” I know the five minutes of mandatory viewing will seem much longer and that it’ll be horrible to watch. Witnessing a close friend suffer is never easy.

  My mind drifts over times we’ve spent together with the Monroes. Our families went to the yearly Rockin’ River Festival together this past summer. Shia’s mother, Coral, and I were the only ones to brave the Tower of Death roller coaster ride. I can still see the horror on my mom’s face as she watched Coral and me come down a deep decline. Even though it boasts the biggest drop of any coaster, we both raised our arms high into the air as it plummeted, sharp and swift as an arrow. I screamed, but Coral smiled, a euphoric expression warming her face. Nothing can beat that feeling of exhilaration.