Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Felicité knocked. Sure enough, Mia opened it. Her black hair stood up in tufts and her face was flushed. Her glasses flashed as she glanced wildly from Felicité to Jennie, then back to Felicité.

  “Come, Wu Zetian,” Felicité said, calmly inviting herself in.

  Then she stopped dead in the doorway. Jennie smothered a laugh as Felicité’s gaze flicked from the two engines balanced precariously on Mia’s bed, to the work table piled with the guts of another engine, to the overloaded wheel that spun lazily over the table, to the crammed shelves threatening to fall inward. Then Felicité pulled her skirts tightly against her thighs, her nose wrinkling as if an army of invisible stink bugs paraded across the floor, and strode inside.

  Ross lurked in the background, looking as flustered as Mia, one side of his shirt pulled out of his jeans. He and Mia had obviously been doing . . . something.

  Jennie’s heart jolted with a complicated rush of emotions that had recently become quite familiar. A little bit of jealousy, a little bit of feeling left out, a little bit of pride in Ross and Mia for doing something Jennie knew wasn’t easy for them, a little bit of happiness that they were happy, a little bit of pleasurable anticipation at getting her turn, a little bit of embarrassment. And probably some other little bits of feelings that Jennie hadn’t even identified yet.

  That was the thing with Ross. Everything was always so complicated, because he was complicated. But the thought of giving him up gave Jennie an absolutely straightforward stab of pain in the heart. And so did the thought of taking him away from Mia. Not to mention that it wasn’t Jennie’s decision to make. All three of them would have to agree, just as the three of them had agreed on this relationship. Awkward as it was, Mia and Jennie both dating Ross had made them all happier than they’d been on their own. Even if it did sometimes feel . . . weird.

  Felicité looked from Mia to Ross to Jennie. She clearly thought it was weird, which made Jennie feel less weird. Anything Felicité disapproved of had to be a great idea.

  Felicité cleared her throat. “I wanted to remind you all that a vote for my father is a vote for the security of Las Anclas. This is a matter of safety, not personal feelings. We all know it was his skills that saved the town during the battle, until you were able to do . . . what you did.”

  Felicité didn’t even look at Ross, but she still nearly choked on her last words. He’d saved the town, Felicité included, but she spoke as if he’d done something shameful and repulsive. Jennie wanted to slap her.

  Felicité went on, “While I respect Mr. Horst as an excellent ironmonger . . .”

  Mia interrupted her. “You’re right. I should set aside my personal feelings. He is an excellent ironmonger.” She picked up a wrench and gazed at it fondly. “I’ve had this wrench since I was ten, no, since I was eight. It’s my very favorite wrench, and he made it.”

  Jennie smothered a laugh as Felicité first looked baffled, then aggravated. Then her features smoothed out. “Yes. Well, regardless of his skills in other areas, the vote is not for town ironmonger. It’s for defense chief. And in that area, my father is the clear choice.”

  Ross spoke up from the corner. His voice was low, but it carried. “He tried to have me killed.”

  Even Felicité didn’t have an answer for that. A heavy silence fell as Felicité looked around as if seeking inspiration. Then she straightened her shoulders with a little twitch, and the treacly voice was back. “You’ve got six days to think it over. Don’t forget—”

  She stopped as a shadow blocked the light from the door, which Mia had left open.

  A tall figure stepped through—Tommy Horst inviting himself in. He too looked around, but his big features rounded with awe. “Wow, Mia. Nobody told me you had such a cool room. Wow!”

  Jennie nearly strangled herself trying not to laugh. Mia turned bright pink. “Oh, um, well, would you like to get a better look at my engine? I could explain exactly—”

  Tommy looked confused, torn between the engine and his original purpose. Then he cleared his throat and boomed out, “Vote for Dad, and he’ll give this town a strong defense. A smart defense! Not more training—better training! Not more weapons—better weapons!”

  “Better weapons?” Mia cut in, her eyes bright with interest. “What sort of better weapons?”

  Louder, Tommy repeated, “Better weapons! In fact, over Christmas dinner, Dad said he wanted to talk to you about them.”

  Mia beamed at him. “I’d love to!”

  “Mia, Daddy has always involved you in discussions about new weaponry,” Felicité pointed out.

  Mia recoiled, looking hunted, and behind her, Ross was trying to back into the wall.

  Jennie said firmly, “We just finished a long day of work. Our dinners are getting cold. We’ve got the rest of the week to talk about this.”

  Using her teacher posture, Jennie stepped deliberately toward the two invaders until they were forced to bump chests or back out. They backed out, and Jennie shut the door on them.

  Ross and Mia instantly sank down on the bed in relief, squeezed into the tiny space between the engines.

  Ross rubbed his head in a gesture that reminded Jennie of the sheriff’s. He probably had a headache, too. Jennie sure did.

  “Is it always like this?” Ross asked. “I mean the election.”

  “More or less,” Jennie said.

  Ross looked from her to Mia, then at the door. Jennie could see that he was going through some inner struggle. She waited, knowing not to rush him. Mia idly twisted a screw on the nearest engine.

  Finally, Ross turned to Mia. “I’ve been thinking about trying the ruined city again. Want to go with me?”

  “Yes!” Mia dropped her wrench in excitement. It bounced, skittering across the floor until Jennie put out her foot to stop it.

  “Jennie?” Ross asked.

  “Yes.” Jennie tried not to read too much into why he’d asked Mia first. Mia had desperately longed to get into those ruins ever since she and Jennie had been kids, while for Jennie, it was just one of many adventures she’d enjoy. The ruined city itself was more important to Mia than it was to Jennie, and Ross knew that. It didn’t mean he liked Mia better.

  Jennie smiled at them both. “I think we’d all love to get out of town.”

  Chapter Three: Felicité

  The crowd at Jack’s saloon pressed in on Felicité, but she held her ground. Mother was barely an inch taller than Felicité, but people made way for her.

  Think yourself tall, Mother had told her once. Move as if no one is there, and people will step out of your way.

  Ed Willet lumbered in her direction, his arms swinging. Felicité briefly thought herself tall, then realized that Ed was drunk enough to walk into a wall. She snatched up Wu Zetian and hopped aside. Her sore toes pinched painfully in her beautiful shoes.

  The porch railing shook as Ed collided with it. Jack Lowell, who stood on the porch beside Sheriff Crow, bent to check the wood for cracks, looking as pained as if Ed had crashed into him.

  The sheriff gave him a rueful smile, grotesque on her half-face, and patted his shoulder. “If it can survive Ed Willet, it can survive campaign week.”

  Ed blinked in puzzlement, as if the saloon had materialized just to halt him, then roared at Ricardo Horst, “You’re an idiot! King Voske is coming back.”

  “In a hundred years,” scoffed Ricardo. Like his cousin Tommy—like all the Horsts—he was an annoying loudmouth.

  “He’ll be back within the year.” Sebastien Nguyen spoke quietly, but the conviction in his voice carried more force than Ed and Ricardo’s yells. “And Noah Horst won’t know the first thing about defending this town.”

  “An excellent point, Mr. Nguyen,” Felicité said, delighted to find someone speaking reasonably. For once.

  Ricardo sneered, “Gold Point’s gunpowder’s swamped. They’re in mud up to the armpits!”

  Once again, Mr. Nguyen’s soft voice broke through the shouts of agreement and dissent. “My poin
t exactly. Las Anclas turned back Voske’s army, captured his daughter and turned her against him, and then dealt him a devastating, humiliating blow. Voske’s pride—maybe even his survival—is at stake. From all I’ve heard, he’ll feel that he has to defeat us. And soon, before his own people smell weakness and turn on him.”

  “That’s what I said,” Ed Willet bellowed. Like a bull about to charge, he lowered his head as he turned back to Ricardo. “Idiot!”

  “You’re the idiot, Willet,” Ricardo retorted. Then, with a drunken laugh, he added, “Idi-et! Get it? Will-et—Idi—”

  Ed swung a slow, heavy punch. Sheriff Crow neatly caught his fist in her open hand, bringing Ed to a halt. As Ed looked confused, Ricardo stepped around her arm and aimed a slightly faster punch at Ed. The sheriff captured it in her other hand.

  “Boys—” she began.

  As if Ed and Ricardo’s punches had been matches tossed into dry grass, a completely new fight broke out. Felicité was caught in the middle of it. She looked around wildly for a weapon—an escape route—someone to protect her—

  A rush of air resolved into Sheriff Crow pitching Ed and Ricardo to the side. Her long black hair flew out as she spun to break up the brawl. Felicité was briefly transfixed by the sheriff’s yellow snake eye, embedded in skin stretched tight over bone. Then, to Felicité’s immense relief, it turned away from her to fix on Ed. He froze, cowed by that nightmare skull.

  “Quiet.” The sheriff didn’t yell, but her voice cut through the hubbub as effectively as her unnatural strength. “Name-calling isn’t campaigning. People will want to vote against your candidate just to spite you.”

  Ricardo straightened his shirt cuffs, making a show of not caring. “So who are you voting for, Sheriff?”

  Coolly, she replied, “My vote is my business.”

  “Why don’t you run for defense chief?” Grandma Torres shouted. “We all saw you whup Tom Preston! You could kick Voske all the way back to Gold Point.”

  Felicité forced down her anger before it could show on her face. It was true that Sheriff Crow had defeated Daddy in a duel to win his position as sheriff, though as far as Felicité was concerned, using mutant powers was a kind of legal cheating. And if the monster sheriff was stronger than Daddy, she was stronger than anyone alive. But Voske fought wars, not duels. Felicité opened her mouth to say so.

  “I like my job just fine,” Sheriff Crow replied. Felicité closed her mouth. “Now, break it up, all of you. Ed, this is the third fight you’ve gotten into in two days. If I have to lay hands on you one more time, I’ll keep you in jail a week instead of overnight. And then you won’t be voting at all.”

  Ed Willet slouched away, muttering. Much of the crowd went with him.

  The sheriff stood ramrod straight until Jack slid an arm around her waist. Then she turned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. Her unbound hair fell forward, hiding her monster face and sheriff’s badge.

  For a surreal moment, Felicité felt as if time had run backward, to one year ago. So much had happened in that time, Felicité felt dizzy with it. Elizabeth Crow had been a beautiful Norm archer, engaged and happily expecting a baby. Everyone had known long before she’d begun to show from the way Jack waited on her, constantly offering her drinks and snacks and cushions, though no one would ever comment on a pregnancy before it was announced. It was bad luck. Too many pregnancies were lost early. And worse things than that could happen.

  Felicité had thought the worst thing was both mother and infant dying, like Mia’s mother and baby brother. Then she watched Elizabeth Crow walk out of the surgery after losing her baby. And for the first time in Felicité’s life, she saw a monster face to equal her own.

  Jack leaned his blond head on Sheriff Crow’s shoulder. She put her arm around his shoulders, rubbing the side of his jaw with a finger in a careless lover’s gesture. Jack gave an audible sigh and tilted his head, offering her more of his throat to caress. Every line of his body spelled out contentment.

  A wave of bitter fury blazed through Felicité, propelling her out of her exhausted haze and sending her stumbling away. Jack loved his monster—had never stopped loving her—would keep on loving her if she turned into something even more hideous, or never touched him again. Elizabeth Crow had done nothing to earn that pure, unshakable love, and there was nothing Felicité could ever do to make anyone love her like that.

  Life was so unfair.

  As she made her painful way toward home, she regretted her elegant high heeled shoes. After an entire day walking all over town raising support for Daddy, she couldn’t tell which hurt worse, her feet, her back, her throat, or her head. Even darling Wu Zetian’s whiskers drooped. Felicité was halfway up the hill before she remembered that she no longer needed to carry her rat, and thankfully set her down.

  She wished she’d trained Wu Zetian to bite people. Maybe she should teach her to “accidentally” claw anyone who used the phrase “better weapons.”

  Felicité stepped into her home and peeled off her shoes. She actually had blisters! And six more days to go. She limped into the parlor, where Mother was being served lemonade by the kitchen maid.

  “Did you just get back, Mother?” Felicité asked. “I hope your feet did better than mine.”

  Mother lifted her long skirts, displaying her walking shoes.

  Felicité sighed. Long skirts were so . . . old. She liked the contrast between her full skirts swinging at her knees and her slim legs and elegant feet. She had never worn ugly shoes, ever.

  “I’ll wear my boots tomorrow. Anything for Daddy,” Felicité said, suppressing a sigh. No one would see bandaged blisters in boots.

  Mother didn’t answer, and Felicité studied her. Mother’s back was straight and her forehead smooth, though Felicité could see by her closed eyes that she too was exhausted. “I’m so glad no one dared run against you.”

  Mother opened her eyes. “It doesn’t do to become complacent. There is always the possibility of a vote of no confidence.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get elected for your fifth term.” Felicité couldn’t imagine anything else. Mother had won her first election when Felicité had been barely a year old. “I haven’t heard a word against you. But that Tommy Horst—”

  Felicité broke off, hearing her angry shrillness. She was too tired and upset to control her voice, and Mother admired discipline above all else.

  Daddy walked in. The sun lines in his face had deepened to grooves. She hadn’t seen him so exhausted since the battle. But he smiled as he bent to kiss Felicité on the cheek and Mother on the lips. “Now there’s a heartening sight, my two favorite women in the world.”

  “How was your day, dear?” Mother asked.

  “Long. But I’ve got a good group of Ranger candidates. Ah. Thank you.” He took a glass of lemonade from the maid. “How were your days?”

  “You have very . . . enthusiastic supporters.” Mother leaned back, more evidence of her weariness. “But I wish one of them would point out that the person who will profit from investing in weapons rather than people is Noah Horst himself.”

  Felicité burst in, “Ricardo Horst started a fight when Mr. Nguyen said Mr. Horst won’t be able to defend us when Voske returns.”

  Daddy didn’t seem surprised. “He won’t. Horst has done a good job running drills under my direction, but he’s never held command in actual combat.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Horst believes that Voske is coming back,” Felicité said. The lines around Daddy’s mouth deepened, so she changed the subject. “Tommy Horst bores everyone with that same stupid speech about ‘better weapons.’ I tailored all my speeches to the individual.”

  “Smart thinking, darling.” Daddy drained his glass and set it down with a thump. “Did you convert anyone?”

  Felicité smiled with pride. “A few, I expect. Including one who I think will surprise you. She may never admit it, but I’m sure I won you Jennie Riley’s vote.”

  Daddy stopped cleaning his spect
acles with his linen handkerchief, looking thoughtful. “If that’s true—and if you say it is, I’m sure it’s so—you’ll make as good a mayor as your mother. Between her Change and our personal history, I assumed her vote would go to Horst.”

  “I’m sure the Changed adults have not forgotten that Horst was the first to volunteer to drive away those unfortunates from Catalina ten years ago,” said Mother. “He only altered his tune when he decided to run for defense chief. Nobody switches their beliefs overnight. It’s embarrassing to see what a hypocrite he’s become.”

  Felicité flung back her hair. “I heard people saying his promise to bring back the Catalina traders and players is just to get votes, not because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.”

  Daddy put his glasses back on, his blue eyes narrowed. “It’s not the right thing to do! Look at Gold Point. That’s what you get when you encourage those mutants. Voske deliberately chooses monster women to have children with, so he can get more monsters to make war on Norms. We don’t want that kind in Las Anclas. Remember that delegation from Catalina, Valeria?”

  “Such an unfortunate day,” Mother said.

  “Unfortunate! Darling, you’re brilliant and beautiful, but you need to be careful with that kind heart of yours. Keep it for the people who deserve it.” Daddy softened his criticism with a kiss. To Felicité, he said, “We kept you indoors to protect you. But their leader was a hideous woman—if you can even call her a woman—with slimy purple skin, like some mutant underwater creature you’d net and throw back in. And the man she was with was even worse. Like something from a nightmare. Those are the kind of . . . things Horst wants to invite into Las Anclas.”

  Felicité tensed, conscious of how dirty she was. Not just untidy and dusty, but filthy, inside and out. She stood up. “I’m going to take a bath. I have a date with Henry later. I hope he remembers. Is he still practicing?”

  Daddy smiled. “He must have been eager for your date. He left before I did.”

  Felicité rushed upstairs. She locked her bedroom door, then her bathroom door, leaving Wu Zetian outside. As always, she rattled the doorknob and pushed against the door to make sure it was securely locked. Only then did she run her bath.