“Rabbits,” Desmond put in, mumbling around a mouthful of green vegetables I didn’t recognize. “Love them rabbits.”
“I hate to see them on the dinner list.” Aiyana sighed. “They’re so beautiful.”
“Aiyana’s vegetarian,” Will said, and passed her some bread. She had only greens and potatoes on her plate, I realized, and blushed a little as Will pointed it out. “She’d starve rather than kill a chicken.”
“That’s only because she doesn’t have to clean up after them,” Karl said. He had a distinct European accent, though I wasn’t sure if it came of German origin, or another neighboring country. “Right, Aiyana?”
She blushed further, and looked down at her plate. “I like the fields,” she said. “It’s peaceful.”
I cleared my throat and said, “Do we get a choice of what to do?”
“Not at first,” Will said. “You’ll rotate around, find what you’re good at doing. I work with the animals, and sometimes in the fields; I also do the doctoring, when it’s needed. Becca teaches the kids, but she does real good with cows, so she gets up early for the milking before class.”
Cows. I shook my head, wondering what I’d expected from this—certainly not this homespun rustic conversation about milking cows and cleaning up after chickens. Pearl’s followers were fanatics, and they were dangerous.
Yet they didn’t feel dangerous at all.
I accepted a glass of cloudy yellow liquid someone said was lemonade, and turned the topic to something else. “I don’t see the children in here. Do they have their own place to eat?”
“Oh, they eat earlier,” Becca said. “Great kids, very gifted, you know. We make sure they get to bed early; they get tired out from their days, poor things.”
I glanced around at the others, who were all eating. “Are any of them yours?” I asked. Will almost choked on his lemonade before he burst out with a laugh. Desmond pounded him on the back as he coughed.
“Definitely not,” Karl said, and grinned before he bit off a big chunk of his bread. “None of us, anyway. There are a few at the other tables whose kids qualified for the program.”
I—or Laura—blinked in wide-eyed confusion. “Are most of them orphans?”
My new friends looked at one another, and for the first time, I saw a slight hesitation ripple through them. Eventually, Aiyana said, “Most of them are. And the rest weren’t in good situations, you understand. They really were in danger. We’re saving their lives.”
Desmond followed that by saying, in a darkly determined way, “We’re not going to let anybody hurt them. Not again.”
That fit with what I’d understood—that Pearl had indoctrinated her followers to believe that the Warden children were abused, and in horrible danger of being killed by the very organization that should have been protecting them. It wasn’t true, but it was a powerful message, and there was just enough truth in it to give the lie a believable flavor.
The others murmured support for that sentiment. Will was looking right at me as he did so, and I nodded, making sure that my gaze held his. “I don’t like seeing kids hurt,” I said. “Especially the young ones. Somebody needs to protect them.”
That was all true; what they would not realize, I hoped, was that I would be protecting these young ones from them. At least, I planned to try.
Will seemed to suspect none of that. I felt no change in his warm regard of me. He finally scooped up a bite of pork and ate without further comment.
I spotted Oriana a few moments later, sitting with another group and talking animatedly, as if she’d woken from her earlier dull, almost drugged state. She seemed as happy as the others now.
It was difficult for me not to feel that way as well, as the evening slipped over us, and my newfound companions lulled me into a peaceful sense of belonging.
By the time we began to break up, it was full dark, and Will retrieved an oil lamp to walk me back to my lodge. It seemed peaceful and very beautiful here; I could hear no machines, not even the distant hum of traffic that seemed such a sound track to modern life. This setting reminded me of ancient times, as did the houses, the clothing, even Will’s open, unguarded smile.
“There you are,” he said, and raised the lamp to illuminate the steps to the lodge. He kept holding it up, and the golden light shimmered on his face and in his eyes. “I’m glad you joined us here, Laura. I think you’re going to like it.”
“I already do,” I said. That wasn’t a lie, either. I did like it, more than I had life outside of these artificially peaceful fences. Out there, it seemed trust was a dead language, and danger lurked around every corner. Here, I felt safe. And at peace. It was absurd, and yet it was true.
Will took my hand and, to my very great surprise, pressed a quick, warm kiss to my knuckles. It sent a marked wave of sensation through my body, from toes to the top of my head—a flash of heat I’d only ever felt at intensely personal moments, with Luis. It left me feeling shaken, and deeply vulnerable.
Luis. I closed my eyes for a second and felt the low, steady whisper of the connection I still retained with him. Images flashed through my mind—Luis, on his knees beside his murdered brother. Luis, holding me still as he healed me. Luis, with that incomparable light of passion in his eyes as he bent to kiss me.
This isn’t real, I told myself. Will isn’t real. Luis is. What I have with him can’t be duplicated.
But Luis wasn’t here, and there was something deeply, sweetly seductive about Will in a way that I had never encountered before. I felt a surge of panic. Djinn couldn’t be so changeable, so easily swayed ...
... But I was no longer a Djinn.
When I opened my eyes, Will was still holding my hand, watching me with those wide, lovely eyes. He started to say something, then evidently thought better of it, and turned away. I watched him go, bathed in golden light, until he disappeared into another lodge.
Then I went into my own new home, found my bunk among all its identical fellows, stripped off my gray clothes, and worried for only a few moments before I fell as deeply, peacefully asleep as I ever had since being reborn into the human world.
It seemed ironic that I should find the most peace I’d known in the most dangerous place I’d ever entered.
The next day came early, when dawn was still the same drab color as the clothes hanging at the end of my bunk. I woke to the creaking of metal springs, low-voiced conversations, the whisper of clothing, and the sound of water running in the bath at the end of the lodge. I stayed still for a long few moments, luxuriating in the sense of warm relaxation, and then regretfully rose, gathered clothing, and went on to the baths. These were communal showers, with no privacy to speak of, but the women seemed not to be much bothered by their displays of nudity. I had no ethical objections to it in any case, and enjoyed the hot water immensely, as well as the feeling of once again being clean. The soap was rougher than I’d expected—hand-milled, according to one of the other very wet women standing next to me under the spray. I passed the bar on to the next woman when I was done. It all seemed very ... civil.
Dressed and reasonably groomed, I made my way to the food hall, where coffee and tea were available, as well as eggs, bacon, and toast. I didn’t see Will or Becca, but Desmond, Karl, and Aiyana waved me over. We shared a pleasant few moments before they left on their morning duties, and I was finishing my toast when Will entered, filled a cup with coffee, and came to sit beside me.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. It seemed a politely empty question, and I replied with the appropriate civility. “Any idea what you want to do today?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I thought I’d be assigned to something, I guess.” It was a little dangerous, but I hazarded it anyway: “Perhaps something to do with the children?”
Will didn’t pause in sipping his coffee, and he didn’t look directly at me, but I still felt that same odd hesitation tremble between us. “Maybe later,” he said. “They need some help on laundry duty today. Suzette’s
out sick and Topher got roped into felling trees. You don’t mind doing laundry, do you?”
I did, in fact, but Laura Rose would not. “That’d be fine,” I said. “Where do I go?”
“I’ll show you.”
Our meal finished, Will walked me outside. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, and exchanged smiles and pleasantries with people we passed. I didn’t see weapons in evidence anywhere. The children streamed past us, heading toward what looked like a white-painted school. I saw no evidence of Pearl’s presence anywhere, other than the general whispering sense of power in this place.
“Aren’t there guards?” I asked. “I mean, it was pretty scary getting in. I thought someone would be—”
“Yeah, the vetting process is extreme, I keep telling them it’s not necessary,” Will said. “We always know when people try to get in who aren’t genuine about it. We’re not violent people. We don’t want to hurt anyone; we just want to live a little differently from the way others do. I don’t like it that they threaten people and try to scare them away. We don’t have guards here. It’s not a prison, Laura. It’s our home.”
“Are you in charge?” I asked it directly, and it startled a laugh from him—rich, full, and unguarded.
“Do I seem like a guy who’d be in charge?” he asked, and then sobered. “No, I’m not in charge. We don’t have that kind of relationship here. There’s no dictator; no government, exactly. We have an industry proctor who deals with work schedules, but that’s mostly paperwork. Our food proctor works out farm and husbandry details and does the menus. We have a services proctor for everything else.”
“How do you pick the proctors?”
“We all used to take turns,” he said. “But certain people have a talent for administration, so right now Violet’s our industry proctor, because she’s great at scheduling and making sure everyone gets varied work and rest. We’re still looking for someone to want the food and services proctor roles full-time; until then, we all take a week at it. Trust me, it works out. We’re not perfect, and we do have conflicts from time to time, but surprisingly few, really. We don’t need jails. We don’t need courts, or lawyers, or drug rehab.” Will hesitated, then shook his head to get long hair away from his eyes. “On the outside, I was a mess. I had a meth habit. I never fit in. Here, it’s all different, Laura. You can just be yourself here.”
That was ironic, considering what being myself meant, but at a certain level I actually craved the certainty I heard in his voice. He’d found his paradise. In a sense, I felt that under other circumstances it might have been mine as well.
But not for the children.
Pearl was the unseen cancer at the heart of this seemingly healthy community, and I hated her for it with a sudden, breathtaking intensity. Will would be broken in this, and so many others who didn’t deserve to have their dreams shattered.
It would be as much my fault as hers, or they would see it that way; they would see me as a betrayer of the worst kind.
Even now I could feel the early echoes of the pain I would cause.
“Laura?” Will was looking at me in concern. I forced a smile.
“I don’t know who I am,” I said, again quite honestly. “How can I really be myself?”
“You’ll find your way,” he said. “We all find our own ways.”
Chapter 10
THERE WAS A SURPRISING meditative quality to doing laundry; no mechanized washers and dryers, but there was water heated in the center boiler, and tubs, and I was part of a team of four who filled the tubs, dunked and scrubbed the clothing, rinsed, wrung, and hung it up to dry in the crisp sunlight. The smell of the detergent—homemade—was strong and a little astringent, but the warm water felt soothing on my skin, and so did the sun. I was surprised when the midday meal break came; we’d done almost the entire camp’s laundry in a single morning. Rhona, one of the four working with me, explained that we would leave the drying until twilight, then take in the clothes for folding and redistribution. It seemed a steady, simple system. A few of the clothes had names inked in them, because they were especially sized or tailored for their owners, but most were interchangeable shirts and trousers and skirts. Bandannas of various colors signaled seniority within the groups, though there were only a few in for washing.
Lunch was spent sitting in the shade with a small picnic delivered from the food hall. Again, I felt that sense of ease, of peace, of a quiet and predictable life.
No one struggled here. No one felt isolated, afraid, unloved, unwanted.
Not even me.
It took three days of laundry service before I was moved to another duty ... animals this time, cleaning up after the chickens, pigs, and horses. The sheep were grazed out on a hill, with two shepherds to guard them; the cows seemed placid and well fed as they grazed downhill.
There were two horses, both big rawboned beasts who assisted in plowing and cart pulling; neither was young, but they were healthy and well treated, and greeted me with the same placid friendliness as all the other animals. I liked the horses the best, I thought. Karl was right about the chickens, though the pigs charmed me with their bright, inquisitive ways.
I saw Becca occasionally, but Will was constantly in the periphery as well—not shadowing me, but working his days in the same spaces. It felt comfortable with him, when we had duties in common and chatted together.
It wasn’t until the third day of animal duty that I realized I had failed to reach out to Luis, or to Agent Rostow. I felt a sense of dread, in fact, in contacting the FBI at all. It brought an unpleasant, gritty sense of reality to the illusion I was truly beginning to enjoy.
I kept it brief and to the point. Nothing to report yet. Children are not their own in most cases. No evidence yet of weapons or abductions.
It occurred to me, as I used that minor amount of power to deliver the report, that I had not felt the need to draw power from Luis for several long days, because I hadn’t expended much, except the slight outflow to maintain my current appearance. When I closed my eyes and focused on him, I felt the ghost of his presence, so far away. After hesitating for what seemed an eternity, I tugged just slightly on that anchor between us, and after a moment, felt a slight popping of my eardrums before I heard Luis’s voice echo in my head, Where are you? Everything okay? The reproduction of his voice was flawless, so good I could hear the concern in it.
Fine, I whispered back. It felt intimate, this contact, but left me wanting more. Aching for it, in fact. And you? Ibby?
We’re all right.
Any sign of trouble there?
Not so far. It’s quiet. If there is a traitor here, I can’t spot him. Cass, what the hell did you get yourself into?
This has to be done, I said. To safeguard Ibby. And you. And all of them. She’s here. She’s going to be vulnerable. I can do this, Luis. It’s our best chance.
Luis hesitated, then said, Probably useless to tell you to be careful, right?
I feel safe here, I said, before I could stop it. This time Luis’s hesitation was much longer.
Hang on, chica. You need to check yourself. You shouldn’t feel safe. You should be scared out of your mind, because you’re not safe. Don’t forget it, okay? This ain’t like you. You’re not the joiner type.
I joined the Wardens, I said. I joined you.
Wardens ain’t there, Cass. I’m not there.
Will was, but I didn’t want to bring Will up at all, not even obliquely. I’ll be careful, I said. No one here seems dangerous.
It’s always that way, Luis said grimly, before somebody shoots you in the back. I know we didn’t part ways too well, Cass, but—but I love you. I care, all right? I care what happens to you. Please. Don’t let your guard down.
I won’t, I promised, but even as I said it, I knew I was lying to him. I already had let my guard down, and I didn’t know how to raise it again. I didn’t want to raise it again.
I felt too safe here. Too much a part of things.
I fell asl
eep soon after, to the soft breathing and snoring of the women around me.
And Luis was right ... I should have taken more care.
I had slept deeply, and dreamlessly, for several nights, but that had turned out to be only a prelude to the nightmare—the silence before the start of the play.
I came out of the restful darkness to realize that I was standing on a rocky shelf on a mountain, with the frozen-cold wind rippling fragile cloth draperies around me, in the shades of storm clouds. My skin was ice-white, and my long hair whipped like a silk banner in the fierce gusts.
Across from me, on another mountain, stood a beautiful, exotic creature—human, yet somehow no longer holding to that shape, or to any shape. It flowed and flickered, drifted and snapped back to form. In the brief glimpses of a human figure, I saw a tall, slender woman with shining black hair, dressed in night-blue layers of padded silk. Her skin was flawlessly golden, and in her right hand she held a golden spear, with a black silk flag fastened to it. Black on black, a dimly seen darkness in a circular pattern almost hidden in the middle of the fabric.
It seemed that darkness was alive within the hissing, snapping fabric, and with every wave of the flag, it grew larger, and larger, until it broke free of the spear and flattened itself on the wind like a giant black bat, gliding in defiance of the prevailing currents.
“Sister,” she said to me, beneath the darkness cast by that growing, oddly sinister silken cover. The circular inky spot in the middle seemed to be turning now, a slow and relentless rotation. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me. Where are you?”
“Can’t you find me?” I asked her. Pearl lost her human form, distorting into static, into a snarling beast, into a twisted, spiked tree, before regaining her beauty. “How do you know I haven’t come to you already?”
She smiled. The banner flapping above her grew and grew, and the wind grew with it, ripping at my frail clothing, pulling my hair with the hands of cruel, invisible children. “O sister, I know you too well. Your arrogance can’t be disguised. You shine like a fire in the night. But fire can be smothered.”
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