Lux and Lies (Whitebird Chronicles Book 1)

by Meg Collett

  “That’s blackmail, Wren.”

  “It’s an opportunity. It’s the best one I’ve gotten my entire life.”

  “They knew that. That’s why they picked you.”

  “I look like Sloane. The cancer was just a cherry on top.”

  “No,” he said, the force of the word washing over her. “They could have made anyone look like her with enough time and alterations.”

  It was probably true. Most likely entirely true. She’d yet to see VidaCorp or Hazen draw a moral line. Why stop at exploiting a young girl with cancer?

  “Either way, VidaCorp plans on killing Sloane to bolster support for Beau and Pacem.” She took a shuddering breath. “I think I’ve figured out why the Whitebirds picked this fight with VidaCorp.”

  Roman was very still, very quiet, until he asked, “Why?”

  “They know I’m a replacement. They know how Sloane died. If they set it up right, they can show the world that VidaCorp lied about Sloane’s death.”

  “Set what up right?”

  “My death. I think the Whitebirds are going to kill me—kill Sloane first. They’re going kill us in a way that exposes VidaCorp before Hazen has a chance to set up the overdose.”

  It had been easy to figure out. Once she knew VidaCorp’s plan, the Whitebirds’ end goal fell right into place. All along, Hazen, and probably Bode, had known she was in danger. Real mortal danger. And they hadn’t said a thing.

  Roman had gone quiet, his face shielded by a blank mask she couldn’t read.

  “I just don’t understand why they’ve waited so long,” Wren whispered. “What are they after?”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “Before the party, I found out something about Bode and the night Sloane died. They were together. He loved her.” Roman didn’t react, so she went on. “The night she overdosed, she said she was leaving him for you. They fought about it. He left, and she …”

  Only after saying the words did Wren realize how much they would hurt Roman, as if he too had had a hand in her death. So many people were tied to Sloane. The strands of the web around her stretched in every direction, but wasn’t that the way with addiction? Wren only knew a sliver of it, because of her father, but she figured an overdose caused everyone to ask the same question: Could they have done more or been more to save that person?

  Bode was right about one thing: Sloane was exactly like trying to contain starlight.

  It was impossible

  “Hazen and the VidaCorp board blamed him,” she continued. “They took his stocks in the company and would have fired him if Hazen hadn’t stepped in. This job is all he has left.”

  Roman watched her mouth form the words. “You think that’s reason enough for him to go after VidaCorp?”

  “I think,” Wren said carefully, because this was a person’s life she was damning, “between his access to Sloane, the tension between him and Hazen, and the way he was shut out from the company, it can’t be anything else.”

  “When are you going to tell someone? Tonight?”

  “I trusted him, Roman. He’s only ever been good to me. I need to make sure I’m right. I need a plan.”

  Roman picked through her words until he figured her out. “You already have one.”

  “It’s half-formed.” Wren took a fortifying breath before saying, “But I think I can use the live show tomorrow night to set him up. It’s the only way to know for sure if he’s the insider.”

  He was shaking his head before she’d even finished. “If you’re right about the Whitebirds planning to kill you first, then it’s too dangerous. I think we should go to Hazen tonight. Right now.”

  “He was my friend.” The past tense stung. “I need to be certain.”

  Roman took her hand and pulled her back against his chest. His heart pounded against her ear. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m going to help you.”

  “Hazen can’t know I told you.”

  “He won’t. I swear it.”

  “I’m either right about Bode, or I’m leaving the door wide open for the real Whitebird to strike tomorrow.”

  “Then let’s hope you’re right.”

  31:

  The morning of the live show, Makeup tutted over the dark bruises beneath Wren’s eyes. With thoughts of Bode haunting her every time she closed her eyes, sleep had been impossible. She’d passed the handful of hours to call time thinking long and hard about his motives and the evidence she thought she had.

  She ran her mind in circles as she sipped on her smoothie and swallowed her pair of VC-embossed pills. She only had circumstantial evidence against Bode. If she screwed this up and used the live show to set up the wrong suspect, she might never get the drugs to save her life. She couldn’t be wrong.

  After Makeup, she climbed down to the first floor, where the crew and most of the cast were gathered for tonight’s live show briefing. She picked a seat by the windows to wait, her eyes on the street below. Crowds had already started gathering to watch the live stream on the billboards outside the VidaCorp headquarters.

  “Good morning.” Kruz stood at her side, holding a thermos of coffee. “Would you like some coffee? You could probably use some after yesterday.”

  Yesterday? Did he know—but then she remembered. The birthday scene. The serking. That all seemed much further in the past than yesterday. Grimacing, she took the offered cup and took a long sip of the scalding brew. “Thanks.”

  “We’re, uh, friends, right?” Kruz asked, hands jittering.

  She forced a cool, unaffected Sloane response. “Sure.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you something, as a friend?”

  “Go ahead.”

  His fingers switched to worrying the hem of his worn vintage shirt. “Are you okay?”

  As much as it killed her, she laughed at him. “I’m totally okay. Actually, I’m wonderful. Really.”

  Kruz was nodding before she’d even finished. “Yeah. Of course. That’s great. I’m going to go get a seat for the briefing.” Face reddening, he hurriedly added, “Um, I’m glad you’re okay and all, but you deserve to be happy. I mean, I’m not saying you’re not. But if you aren’t, then, uh, you should be.”

  “Thanks, Kruz. I appreciate that.”

  With a sharp nod, he skittered away and took a seat between the twins. She scanned the cast and crew, but couldn’t find Bode. Roman leaned against the fireplace, watching her. His face was bandaged, and the sight of the gauze and tape turned her stomach.

  With her coffee growing cold in her hand, she resumed her vigil at the window. Shouldn’t she be thrilled she had a solid lead on a suspect? Her cure was within reach. Why then did she feel like she was losing everything she cared about?

  A few minutes later, Maddox and his associate producers were standing at the front of the room, doling out information on the live show. Scripts were passed out. Half listening, Wren absently flipped through the pages, the words vibrating worse than ever in front of her exhausted eyes. What did Maddox have planned for Sloane tonight?

  She told herself it didn’t matter. She needed to focus on how she was going to set up Bode. If he truly was the Whitebird insider, she’d catch him. If not, she’d be in a world of trouble.

  By the time Maddox called for a late afternoon break, the crowd on the street had swelled to take up most of the block, their numbers even larger than the show’s red carpet opening. They clustered in the cooler shadows of the water treatment facility, sipping on courtesy waters.

  Hutton tapped her shoulder, startling Wren. She sat on the chair’s armrest as if she’d been there the entire meeting, but Wren hadn’t seen her all day. Hutton held a small white box. It was mostly flat and barely the length of her hand.

  “What’s that?”

  Hutton’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Chemical peels.”

  “What for?” Flashbacks of the Tube played through Wren’s mind.

  “I got them from Makeup since you look like death warmed over, but the girls said the
y were a bad batch. I was on my way to toss them out when Maddox called for me. Has he walked you through your script?”

  “No, he hasn’t said anything. We’ll go through it soon?”

  “Yes.” Hutton nodded. “But first, could you take these to the garbage shoot? They’re too dangerous to go in the normal trash.”

  Wren’s eyes narrowed. “Too dangerous? Why can’t you take them?”

  “They have too many chemicals. They’ll turn someone’s face red for filming, and Security is insisting they be put in the shoot. It would really help me out, if you have time.” From across the room, Maddox caught sight of Hutton and waved her over, his face a mask of tortured patience. “But if you’re busy sitting here, I can take them real quick.”

  Wren stood. Before last night, she’d thought of Hutton as a mean older sister, in a weird, twisted way. She would have done whatever Hutton had asked, but after the stunt she pulled at the party, Wren didn’t want to spend anymore time with Hutton than she had to. “It’s fine.”

  “Thank you!” Hutton grinned at her. “You’re a total lifesaver. Have I ever told you that?”

  Wren took the offered box and didn’t respond.

  “About last night. You realize it had to happen like that, right? You could never have pulled off a serking Sloane. We had to do it the right way.”

  Wren pulled her arm free. “I know about the plan,” she whispered. “You could have told me.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Hutton’s eyes were too bright, too mocking.

  Disgusted, Wren pivoted and walked toward the kitchen, which had the closest entrance to a black hallway.

  Wren pushed through the swinging door and found Vik standing by the marble countertops. Her mouth turned sour at the sight of Wren, and she set aside her glass of water to plant a hand on the dagger-like point of her hipbone. Her eyes honed in on the box in Wren’s hands. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” Wren’s eyes flicked up to the mounted camera in the corner, its light flashing green. It was hot. She might have to play along with the plan for Sloane, but she didn’t have to give Maddox free ammo by fighting with Vik.

  Before she could walk toward the pocket door, Vik snagged Wren’s arm, her sharp nails digging deep into Wren’s skin. “Tell me.”

  “Let go,” Wren said, forcing the words through her teeth. She was tired, hungry, and sore, and she really felt like she might resort to violence if Vik didn’t release her.

  Vik must have seen something in her eyes, because she let go. “Chill, Sloane. Extra touchy after last night, are we? What’s in the box?”

  Wren told herself to stay calm as she said, “Chemical peels.”

  “Why do you have them and not Makeup?”

  “Hutton told me to throw them away. They’re no good.”

  “She special ordered them for you?”

  “No. They’re a bad batch. The chemicals are too strong and Makeup said they can’t be used on anyone.”

  “It sounds like she special ordered them for you.”

  “Are you deaf?” Wren waved the box at her. “These are bad!”

  Faster than a snake in the grass, Vik snatched the box from her hand. “You’re such a terrible actress. It’s a wonder you were hired for anything more than dime-rate flesh-feeds.” She tore open the box and pulled out a mask—a thin gel layer contained within a plastic film. “I bet this was actually ordered for me and you took it.”

  “Fine.” Wren crossed her arms over her chest. “Put it on. See what happens.”

  “You’re always so jealous.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I am. You got me.”

  “Hmph.” Vik tossed the box and remaining masks into the trash beside her. She peeled the film off the back of the gel. “I’m going to tell Maddox you stole this from me.”

  She took a seat on one of the barstools and went to set the mask on her face. A surge of regret rushed through Wren. “Vik, wait. Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  “Shut up, druggie whore,” Vik hissed. She positioned the mask on her face before Wren could do anything else. And really, who cared? She had bigger things to worry about than Vik’s face getting too red. If anything, it meant Wren wouldn’t have to film with her tonight.

  “I bet you can’t stand this,” Vik continued, her lips moving beneath the mouth hole cut into the mask. Through the eye slits, Wren saw her eyes were closed. “What are you planning, Sloane? How are you going to knock me down this time? Because I don’t think you can. After tonight, the viewers will want me with Roman, not you. You’ll have no one. You’ll be all alone. Just like you’re supposed to be.”

  “Sure thing, Vik. How does that feel on your face? Getting hot yet?”

  “Feels great. Want one? Too bad. They’re mine.” Vik simpered cruelly. “I’ve seen the way Roman looks at me. Haven’t you? I think he wants an upgrade. That night you … you …” Vik choked up. “I mean, when you …” She coughed and sat up straighter.

  Wren laughed. “Feeling the burn?”

  Vik’s nearly black eyes opened in the eye slits and swiveled to look at the edges of the mask. “This is getting hot.” She reached for the air-activated gel that had molded to the contours of her face. She tugged the bottom edge off her chin and yelped in pain. “It won’t come off! What did you do?”

  “Can’t stand the pain?” Wren asked, rolling her eyes.

  Vik’s motions turned frantic. She scraped her hands over her face, looking for a loose edge. She gurgled as if she couldn’t breathe.

  “Here,” Wren said, bored of Vik’s dramatics. “Let me try.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Vik screeched, startling Wren. “What’s happening? What did you do?”

  Vik grabbed the top edge along her forehead and jerked. The mask tore away with a wet, sticky rip. Beneath the pink gel, Wren saw blood and muscle and gushing capillaries. Vik’s skin was still attached to the mask. Vik screamed, but she was still pulling, the compulsion to stamp out the fire too strong.

  Realizing too late what was happening, Wren jumped forward and grabbed Vik’s hands to keep her from further ripping the mask. “Help!” Wren cried out. “Someone help!”

  “It burns! It’s burning me!”

  “Hang on. Hang on.” Wren ran her hand along the mask, but it singed her fingertips. Every edge she pulled at was stuck, glued with fire to Vik’s skin and melting it off. Ivory bone peeked up from the edge of the mask near Vik’s cheek. In seconds, Vik’s eyes swelled shut and her lips turned white.

  She screamed and flailed in Wren’s grip. As her cries thickened into choked gasps for air, Wren wrapped her arms around her to keep her from hitting the floor. The kitchen door burst open and crew flooded in, cameras raised and boom mics craning overhead.

  A second later, they realized this wasn’t for drama. Uncertain, a few cameramen lowered their rigs, but the others kept filming, mouths set in grim determination.

  Maddox shoved through the crowd. Wren opened her mouth to scream for his help, but he’d already assessed the situation. “Get Medical!” he shouted. “Cams down! Get out of here,” he barked at Wren and pulled her away.

  Crew members shoved past Wren, pushing her farther into the hallway behind the kitchen. Someone in the kitchen started vomiting.

  Maddox kneeled on the floor beside Vik. Her hands and feet twitched, and the back of her head smacked against the tiles. The whimpers coming from her mouth threatened to make Wren sick.

  Wren had to jump back as Medical pushed by, wheeling in a narrow stretcher. On their heels were Bode and his security team. They shoved into the kitchen, yelling, “Make way! Coming through! Clear the area!”

  Maddox shoved gawking crew and cast back. “Everything black!” he shouted. “Everything goes black right now, or so help me …”

  The paramedics descended on Vik. She’d gone quiet. Bode took hold of her neck, his grip certain as the paramedics blocked Wren’s view. Vik’s silence cut worse than her screams had. Wren stumbled back a few steps and hit some
thing hard. She turned around, tears in her eyes.

  “I got you,” Roman said and wrapped his arm around her waist. Wren’s eyes darted to the mounted cameras. Their lights were solid red.

  “I didn’t mean t-to … Hutton told me they were bad …” Wren stammered. She’d encouraged Vik to put it on. She’d laughed. A tremble settled deep in her bones. “Will she die? Did I kill her?”

  “Hey.” Roman spun her in his arms. “This isn’t your fault, okay?”

  “What the hell is going on?” Hutton asked, coming up beside Wren and Roman. She frowned. “Is that a mask on Vik’s face?”

  The paramedics hoisted Vik’s body off the floor on the stretcher and rushed her toward the elevator in the entry. Bode ran alongside her, shouting into his phone. A thick pad covered Vik’s face, and she had an IV hooked into the crook of her elbow.

  Wren’s eyes followed Bode as they disappeared into the entryway. “Hutton,” she said slowly, “you said Security told you to dispose of those peels. Who exactly on Security?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Just answer the question,” Roman growled.

  “Handlers!” Maddox shouted over the group. “Take your cast to their rooms and prep your scripts! Cameras are dark until the live show. Two hours, people!”

  “Oh my gosh. So much angst.” Hutton made a face at Roman. “It was Bode. He told me to get rid of them. I need to go talk to Maddox. This is going to change tonight’s scripts. Go straight to your room, Wren.”

  They both watched as Hutton walked away, the crowd thinning around them.

  “Do you think …”

  “There’s no way he could have known she would take the mask from me,” Wren said cautiously, aware of the cast and crew departing around her. “Where are they taking her? Why didn’t they just call 911?”

  “Too much publicity. Medical can treat her in VidaCorp’s labs. They’re fully stocked to handle on-site emergencies.”

  “Oh.” The live show was in two hours, and the Whitebirds—and Bode—would have another opportunity to strike. If what happened to Vik was the first step in whatever plan they had for tonight, then Bode was already one step ahead.