Paul had never considered himself a good liar. But surrounded by his faked institution, he had to admit he had a talent.
So why did walking around inside this fabrication make his skin crawl?
This was just another layer to prevent David and Imani from questioning their daughter’s increasingly odd behavior. And still, Paul felt jittery…
He peered out through the glass doors, looking at the parking lot covered with dead leaves, itching for Imani to show up.
He almost hoped she’d see through it. He’d never liked fooling his ex-wife, and this – this was too much.
“She’s late.” Payne consulted his pocketwatch. “Is that unusual? She seemed fastidious.”
He peered out into the lot again. “Maybe she hit a traffic jam. She’s not used to driving.”
“Maybe she’s decided she doesn’t want to come.”
“She’d call. And... she doesn’t give up like that.”
Payne trailed his fingers along the alphabet stickers lining the walls. “But you have to admit, Paul. It’d be easier if she left us alone. She, and her husband…”
Paul almost yelled at the old man about how “easier” didn’t mean “better,” but Imani screeched into the parking lot.
She got out of her pearl-gray Tesla, looking flustered, snatching her bag off the passenger seat. She had her phone in her right hand – then pitched it into the car before storming up to the Foundation’s front door.
By the time Imani burst into the lobby, Payne had disappeared. Imani breezed past Paul, slapped her driver’s license on the security guard’s desk. “Imani Dawson, here to see Aliyah Tsabo-Dawson. Sorry I’m late.”
“Imani, are you–”
She flung up her hands, almost smacking Paul in the nose. “I’m fine, Paul. Just – don’t touch me.”
She got her badge from the guard, who gave Paul an Is this supposed to happen? look before Imani charged down the hallway. Paul trailed behind, realizing Imani didn’t know where she was going.
Wherever she went, she’d find a simulation of a working school. But he wasn’t concerned about Imani seeing through the illusion; he was concerned about Imani.
She got halfway down the corridor, past the fake gymnasium, before she slumped on a bench to run her hands through her curled hair.
“I’m sorry. Can we… sit down for a moment?”
“Of course.”
Paul thought silence might make things better. But Imani seemed to get tenser as the minutes dragged by, clenching and unclenching her fingers like she was strangling leprechauns.
“Is everything… OK?” Paul asked.
“Of course it is! It’s wonderful! I... Oh, fuck, Paul, I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault.”
“…David?”
She rubbed a tense spot in her forehead; Paul suppressed an absurd urge to rub her shoulders. “Let’s just say there’s not quite enough time in the day to be a securities lawyer, a mother, and a loving wife. Especially when the mother aspect requires twice-a-week trips to upstate New York.”
Paul thought of how stressed David must have been. Paul had ignored the calls from reporters, asking the Task Force’s ex-leader what he’d thought about David’s job – but even though Paul had refused to dogpile on David, the Paper Street battle hadn’t gone over well in the headlines. Millions of dollars of hardware, vaporized. Nobody dead, thankfully, but still a rout.
And Paul had been glad to see rumors the ’mancers had acted to protect the cops. Buried on the back pages, naturally. But a rumor.
He realized Imani was looking at him, while Paul calculated political costs. He should say something.
“So… an argument.”
“The argument. Ninety minutes of accusations. I’m lucky I didn’t get pulled over.” She fished a compact out of her purse to check her eyes. They were swollen from tears. “And all the time, he’s telling me how I don’t need to be driving all the way out to Hudson, we need to concentrate on us, Paul’s on it, let Paul deal with it, concentrate on being a lawyer…”
Paul did a double-take. “He wants you to quit being a mother?”
Imani sighed, as if the last thing she felt like doing was defending David. “I know you two have never gotten along, but… believe it or not, David’s deeply protective of me. Anything that makes me unhappy becomes his enemy.”
Paul remembered the way David had chewed him out for making Imani believe she was a bad mother. “Oh, I’ve seen that at work.”
“And, well, Aliyah hasn’t exactly been a source of joy lately, what with the barred windows and the swearing and the sneaking out. We’re either guarding Aliyah, or regaining strength for her next visit. He thinks she’s a toxic influence in my life – and he thinks once she’s gone, I’ll go back to drinking champagne with my friends at fundraisers.”
“Jesus. So David thinks he can fire a kid the way you’d fire an employee?”
“But I’m not giving up on Aliyah!” She blotted her eyes with a handkerchief. “She can push me away all she wants. That’s how daughters work. She’s angry, and traumatized, but… she needs her mother.”
You have to admit, it’d be easier if she left us alone.
Aliyah’s life was at stake. So was Paul’s. All the ’mancers in the Institute.
It would be a lot easier if Imani didn’t come snooping around.
“You’re right,” Paul said. “She needs you. You ready?”
“Gimme a minute.”
Imani washed her face in the water fountain, reapplied her eye shadow. She rummaged around in her purse, patted something inside as if she drew strength from it.
“Let’s do this.”
“Good. She’ll be happy to see you.”
Paul led her down to the playroom, a lovely playspace with paint-stained tables piled high with crafts projects, cubby holes filled with construction paper, and a padded floor where Aliyah and several children her age laughed and played tag.
Aliyah’s schoolmates were also actors. But Aliyah laughed for real, letting out long shrieks of happiness, dodging the other kids.
Aliyah had forgotten to pretend-play and just… played.
The illusion was so complete that for a moment Paul saw her as an ordinary little girl, playing with companions. No, not ordinary: accepted. For a moment, he’d opened a window to a world where ’mancers and mundanes could play together.
Paul felt a full-body, triumphant shiver. Aliyah hadn’t played with the kids at the old school, because she’d been terrified her ’mancy would squirt out. But now she’d been training with Rainbird and the Institute ’mancers, she had much better control.
And Payne’s money helped; if Aliyah did anything odd, all these children were paid to be quiet. That boosted her confidence.
Then Aliyah saw her mother, and flinched.
A small boy tagged Aliyah; Aliyah didn’t even notice. She stumbled to a halt, muscles tensed in preparation to flee, her hands unconsciously reaching out towards Imani. The other hired students came to a stumbling halt, unsure what to do now the kid in charge had decided the game was over. A handful, sensing Aliyah’s fear, glanced uncertainly in Imani’s direction.
Imani approached Aliyah as though petting a feral cat. She, too, reached out – but did not dare touch Aliyah. Instead, she crouched down.
“Hey, baby.”
Aliyah puffed out her cheeks, an aborted tantrum. “…hey.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t visited in so long, sweetie. I brought a special story. Do you want me to read to you?”
Aliyah swung her arms back and forth, then looked at the floor and muttered.
“What was that, baby?”
“I said yes!”
The other kids recoiled from Aliyah’s anger, exchanging uneasy glances. But Imani smiled, grateful her daughter was talking to her.
“Will you show me to the reading room?”
Aliyah thrust her hand into her mother’s with such force that for a moment, Paul thought Aliyah had punched Imani
. But Aliyah stormed ahead, tugging Imani, moving at a rapid clip.
Paul bolted away from them, headed for the security center, not wanting to miss a thing.
He scanned his security badge at the red door. Payne and Valentine waited in a plush recording room filled with monitors and various controls to flick through the Foundation’s hidden camera feeds.
“It’s not right, watching a girl and her mother.” Valentine crunched down on a Cheeto with disgust. “I fucking hate that icebox bitch, and even I think she should have some privacy with her kid.”
Payne adjusted a dial, bringing up the sound as Aliyah and Imani approached the lounge. “Aliyah is still an inexperienced ’mancer. If something goes wrong, and Aliyah does lose her temper in a magical way, I assure you we’ll regret not knowing about it much more.”
Valentine tossed a Cheeto at Payne. “Imani’s not gonna suspect a damn thing. I’m super-young for a ’mancer, and I’m twenty-seven. Even if something weird happens, she’s not gonna think an eight year-old kid’s doing ’mancy.”
“Well, I believe in taking no chances.”
“Says the guy letting the Fight Club-omancer run amuck in town.”
Payne scowled, tensing. Valentine had been increasingly snotty since she’d met Tyler – tuning in to the local news channels in hopes he’d show up, endlessly rewatching Fight Club, her tastes drifting towards beat-’em-up games. Payne refused to authorize any search for Tyler, however, deeming the man a suicidal menace.
The Institute was designed to wall ’mancers off from danger. Valentine thrived on a steady diet of danger. And Tyler could provide that.
“I’m not a fan of all this surveillance either, Valentine,” Paul said, wrestling the conversation back to Aliyah and Imani. “But… I’m trying to figure out how to help Aliyah.”
“Why don’t you ask the kid?”
“Have you gotten her to talk about anything she didn’t want to?”
Valentine licked her finger, checking off an imaginary point in the air. “OK, granted. Kid’s not big on sharing. But I’m not sure Big Brother is the way to go, here.”
“Neither am I.” But Paul didn’t look away as Payne brought up Imani and Aliyah’s feed.
The visiting room was designed to be comfortable enough to keep Imani there. So it was appointed with all the amenities: a comfortable couch, a fridge with Imani and Aliyah’s favorite drinks, a television. But no videogames.
Aliyah curled up into her mother’s arms – lying stiffly, like a doll. Imani pulled out a faded book from her pocketbook. It was tabbed with Post-It notes. Payne zoomed in to focus on the title: My Side of the Mountain.
“When I was young, my Mommy read me this story,” Imani said. “I didn’t get it at the time. But… I think maybe you will.”
Valentine rolled her eye. “Oh, yeah, this’ll go well. Our little ADD princess is gonna listen to a frickin’ story?”
Paul leaned in closer. “You might be surprised.”
And as he watched Imani open the book as Aliyah snuggled up against her, Paul realized how little he knew about Imani and Aliyah’s interactions these days. There had been a time when Imani had read Aliyah to sleep after Paul had gotten Aliyah ready for bed. Paul always sat in the corner, wrapped up in the sense of the three of them as a unit, closing his eyes and floating along with Imani’s voice as she read Goodnight Moon or The Giving Tree or The Little Engine That Could.
Now? He had no clue what Imani did to put Aliyah to bed these days. He felt a powerful longing for everything he’d lost in the divorce. For Payne, watching them provided protection, safeguarding Aliyah in case things spiraled out of control.
But for Paul? Payne had opened yet another window to what might have been, one where they were still together as a family. He couldn’t help but peer through.
Imani started reading, her voice dusky, comforting. “‘I am on my mountain in a tree home that people have passed without ever knowing that I am here…’”
And consulting the book with great reverence, she told a story about a girl named Sam, who’d run away from home to live in the woods, and was now freezing to death in a snowstorm.
“I think I read this, once,” Payne said, frowning. “But… Sam is a–”
“Sssh.” Valentine waved her hands to silence him. She hunched forward, attention focused on the screen. “I wanna hear what happens next.”
Payne turned to Paul. “…Sam was a boy, wasn’t he?”
“That’s what all the Post-It notes are for.” Paul felt such fierce pride for his ex-wife that it hurt. “She rewrote Sam to be a girl. Because she thinks Aliyah would react better to a girl protagonist. And she... I think she’s abridged the whole thing herself, so she can read it all in an evening…”
“Shhh.” Valentine elbowed Payne aside to turn up the volume.
And as Imani read each succeeding chapter, her voice as perfect a narration as you could ask for, Aliyah relaxed into her mother’s arms. Aliyah grabbed her mother’s free arm, pulled it around her like a blanket. She lay underneath the book cover, refusing to move up to where she could read the words along with her mother.
Paul knew why: Mommy read the words.
Aliyah’s vivid imagination was why she’d become a videogamemancer at such a young age – while other children would have focused on beating the game, Aliyah had imagined worlds beyond what Mario had shown her. And her imagination had been Imani’s gift, showing Aliyah the power of story.
Long before she had lost herself in videogames, Aliyah had lost herself in her mother’s words.
And so as Imani told the story of Sam, and how Sam made all her animal friends in the winter, the falcons and weasels and raccoons, Aliyah shivered from imaginary cold. She giggled as the animals stole Sam’s provisions, then mouthed “yes” as Sam stole two dead deer from the local hunters. And she tensed up as Sam’s mother found her in the wilderness, having finally tracked down her runaway daughter after reading newspaper articles about the “wild girl of the wilderness.”
Then, instead of hauling her daughter back home, Sam’s mother decided to come live with Sam. She brought the family – Sam’s dad, her brothers and sisters – so Sam would have company in her lonely wilderness life.
Aliyah relaxed, sighing.
“That’s how much I love you, sweetie,” Imani said, closing the book. “No matter what you do, you’ll never be alone. Maybe I won’t understand why you do it, but I’ll always find you. And I’ll live with you. Wherever you are.”
Aliyah nodded once, content – then, as she considered what that meant, a look of betrayal flashed across her face.
She slapped the book out of her mother’s hands.
A crackle of ’mancy filled the air.
Payne stabbed a red button. Security guards bolted from their stations.
“You will never find my home!” Aliyah screamed, taking a step towards Imani as though she wanted to punch her, then clutched her fists to her chest. “We’re safe there! I finally have friends, and all you’d do is kill us! Kill us all!”
Imani looked as though she’d been gut-punched. “Aliyah, I want to–”
“You want me dead! You want Daddy dead! You and David – stupid, stupid David! Get out! Get out!”
A shimmer of ’mancy shorted out the fluorescent lights overhead – but the security guards burst in through the doors, distracting Imani. They acted like counsellors, telling her Aliyah was quite upset and it was several hours past her appointment, and it was time to leave.
Imani sagged in their arms, looking utterly defeated. She let them escort her off the premises, as the guards sympathized and told her that parents often upset the children with PTSD, it’s really the therapists who know how to handle it, and Imani got in the car and sat there stunned for a full five minutes before driving away in a daze.
Paul didn’t talk to her. He was too busy holding Aliyah, who sobbed into his shirt, wailing for a mother who she’d trusted for just a bit too long.
Th
irty-Two
The Fire, And What The Fire Burns
“You almost got Daddy killed!”
Aliyah felt guilty as she dunked Rainbird into the cauldron of molten iron again, blistering flesh from bones. She didn’t like hurting people, even people like Rainbird – and she especially didn’t like hurting people who had nothing to do with why she was angry. Aliyah was still mad that Mommy had tricked her, using that stupid book to pretend Mommy was ready to protect her, when her stupid boyfriend had almost killed Daddy.
She’d believed Mommy. Even now, she wanted Mommy hugs so bad she ached for them, and every time she felt that stupid stupid need, she shoved Rainbird’s disintegrating body back into the lava.
Rainbird never minded. He always smiled as she boiled his eyeballs, dragged him along the burning catwalk, dunked him in the cauldron.
That smile made her madder. He smiled like they were friends, and they weren’t friends, she was just learning stuff from him, and so she pushed his head underneath the red-hot pig iron until his cheeks melted and his teeth turned black.
Rainbird’s smile held secrets, and she would beat him until the secrets fell out.
“Enough,” he burbled.
Aliyah pushed him down further. “You lied! You didn’t protect my father!”
“Enough!”
A volcano drove Aliyah back. She wore her Kratos skin, which should have protected her – it was from God of War, a Rated-M-For-Mature game Rainbird had let her play. Rainbird brought her all the most violent videogames – “So you can learn new magics,” he’d said – and Aliyah loved Kratos the most. Kratos killed everyone with his big curved daggers. He killed titans, he killed gods, he killed anyone. He never felt remorse.
He didn’t fear fire.
But Aliyah did. She hated that weakness. Whenever Rainbird shot flames at her, she clenched herself so as not to wet her pants.
“I cannot save a man from his bad impulses.” Rainbird’s flesh grew back as he pulled himself up onto a slotted catwalk. “I had him safe. We could have escaped. But he endangered himself. You know that.”
The Flux Page 22
