“And what?”
“He asked me out to lunch.”
Suddenly Jill felt very crowded in the bedroom with Nicky.
“So what did you say?”
“I said yes, but then we ended up not going after all. Ryan and I were on the way out and we had a run-in with Art.”
“Art? What kind of a run-in?”
“Maybe I should start over at the beginning.”
“Yes, please do.”
Nicky went on to tell a story of a newly emboldened Ryan telling Kim he could have her money but nothing else, that he was going to be himself now, and apparently the first thing this new Ryan was going to do was take Nicky out to lunch.
“You see, Kim was at his house on Sunday night. He’d actually stepped away from her to call me.”
“What are you talking about? How could he have called you? On Sunday night you and I were--”
And then Jill remembered sitting at the computer in Art’s house and hearing the sound of Nicky’s phone.
“You told me that was Tommy who called you when we were at Art’s house!”
“I’m sorry, Jill. I don’t know why I lied to you. It was a terrible choice. We’re working together and we need to trust each other.”
“Damn right we need to trust each other! What else aren’t you telling me?”
Nicky let out a heavy sigh and sat gently on the edge of her bed.
“I never told you about the end of the Masquerade, about my second dance with Ryan.”
“So…tell me now.”
“He asked me to run away with him. He asked me to run out of the Masquerade, get in a car with him and drive. He said he knew someone who could help us escape. He was talking about the Underground Railroad and didn’t even know it. He’d met up with Patrick Hall and talked about getting phony papers so he could leave.”
Now it was Jill’s turn to sit down. She found a chair in the corner.
“So he wants out,” she said quietly. “This is a good thing, right? It’s...”
“He doesn’t know about the Network,” Nicky said. “He just wants to get away. I talked him out of it. He hadn’t thought it through. Deep down he knew that he couldn’t run. It would create too much trouble for the people he left behind.”
“Yes it would,” Jill said, thinking about the firestorm that would happen if someone of Ryan’s stature skipped away in the night. If the immortals suspected that a family with that kind of money was hiding something from them, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all. “It doesn’t even sound like him. He’s not one to be rash about things like that. At least, he wasn’t before. Maybe he’s changed.”
“I don’t know, Jill. None of this really matters. Ryan is out as far as we’re concerned. Every time I talk to him he reminds me that Kim is getting his money.”
A few seconds passed without any words between them. Downstairs, someone, probably Annika, said something that made Walter laugh so loud his voice vibrated the walls. Just the sound of his voice made Jill want to scream in anger. She hated him. She hated all that he stood for and had done to his family and she blamed him for how miserable she felt at this moment.
She found her mind cataloging all the reasons she was unhappy: My mother doesn’t speak to me, my father is only interested in what I can do for him, my boyfriend broke up with me and I’ve been pretending for three years that I’m over him but clearly I’m not.
Clearly I’m not over him at all.
Jill was surprised at how betrayed she felt at Nicky’s revelation. She told herself it didn’t matter, that she and Nicky were professionals and it was Nicky’s job to flirt with the boys and make them like her. She told herself that she was living for a larger purpose than her peers, that none of this high school drama was important, that she was trying to change the world.
And she didn’t believe a word of it.
“I thought you were my friend, Nicky.”
“I am your friend. This was a mistake.”
Now Jill was angry at all of them. Nicky and Gia and all the girls at school and the people downstairs…everyone online who had encouraged the Marsh Hawk to follow her rebellious spirit, and everyone at Thorndike.
“You lied to me,” she said. “You betrayed me.”
“Jill, I’m so sorry. I should have told you everything last night when I got to the Hamilton. I just couldn’t do it then. There hasn’t been a right time since.”
“There hasn’t been a right time? How about on the car ride back from Art’s when I asked who called you? Maybe that would have been a good time!”
“You’re right. I should have told you then.”
“But you didn’t, and the reason you didn’t is because you have feelings for him too, don’t you?”
Nicky said nothing. Her eyes looked down at the bed.
“Jesus Christ,” said Jill. “I’m going home. We’ll talk later.”
“How about tomorrow?” Nicky asked. “Let’s go to lunch or meet after school. We should set a time now so we do it. We need to resolve this. We have work to do and this will get in the way if we let it.”
“Screw the work,” Jill said. “Right now I just want to go home and go to bed.”
Another raucous round of laughter floated up from downstairs. And screw you, Dad, Jill thought, realizing as the words came into her mind that they were a perfect match for Art’s ridiculous password. She felt so superior to Art last night. To her, he was just another blundering buffoon in a town that was full of them.
Now she didn’t know if she was any better.
“Good night, Nicky,” she said.
She went downstairs and announced to her father and Annika that it was getting late and was time to go home.
Chapter 15
A mosquito landed on Melissa’s forearm as she stepped out the front door of the Farm and looked into the night sky. She shook her arm and the mosquito flew away, never having bothered to latch on. It was a fringe benefit they never told you about—become immortal and mosquitoes have no interest in your blood.
“Time to go, kids!” Melissa shouted into the open atrium behind her. Aiden, a blonde boy whose face was covered in freckles, was the first of tonight’s crew to come through the door. The oldest of the lot, Aiden had turned eighteen more than five months ago. Melissa had never figured out what was wrong with Aiden, but she could smell it on him from the moment he arrived. He wasn’t suitable for immortal consumption. There was something sour about him, some genetic defect that had gone undiagnosed during his medical exam. His blood would have none of the richness that the modern immortal craved. He was like a rotten piece of fruit—if you were starving you could eat it and get some nourishment, but why bother when you could just have something fresh?
Decades ago, when the Farm first opened, Melissa would have reprogrammed Aiden for long-term slavery. Not fit to be eaten, Aiden would have become the head servant in some immortal’s house, living out a long life as he trained the younger slaves who came and went.
But by the early nineteen-seventies, with the Farm’s practices for efficient growth and harvesting of human bodies well-established, the supply of long-term slaves began to outweigh the demand. Immortals frequently chose their best, most able-bodied servants to go on past a ripe age and serve them long-term. Someone like Aiden became a nuisance, his sour blood stinking up the mansion wherever he went.
In the spring of 1972, Melissa bought a giant furnace for the Farm and began cremating kids like Aiden. If the blood was sour, or the legs didn’t work right, or the arms weren’t strong, or the brain was too dumb for proper reprogramming—if for any reason at all they weren’t ideal slaves, Melissa threw them in the furnace (or, if she had already taken the time to reprogram them, had them walk into the fire themselves). For ten years she burned any bodies that came through the Farm that were less than perfect, and she dumped the ashes in the swamp. She did it without question—it was what her master had asked of her. Daciana didn’t like loose ends.
“
There is plenty of food to go around now that we’re growing our own,” Daciana said to Melissa once. “There is no need for any of us to settle for rotten meat. The slaves in our mansions are just as important to the décor as the art on the walls and the furniture on the floors. We will not have any freaks in our homes.”
In those first years after she installed the furnace, Melissa kept close track of all the bodies that went inside. She had a log book with names, dates of birth, dates of death, and reasons for cremation. She kept the log book in a safe with other important records. She reconciled it with her incoming and outgoing registers that showed every human that was born on or brought to the Farm, and every slave that she shipped out. She was fastidious in such things because Daciana expected nothing less. As headmistress of the Farm, Melissa was a merchant of slavery and death, and a damned fine one at that.
The idea of disobeying Daciana, of secretly selling the defective bodies for profit rather than just cremating them, was unthinkable in those days. It wasn’t until 1983, when Dominic gambled and lost millions on a misguided bet in the silver markets, that Melissa opened her mind to the possibility of deceiving the others in the clan.
Fourteen million lost in the blink of an eye; that’s what Dominic’s ill-conceived trade had wrought. It wasn’t so much that the money was gone—they would get more money soon enough, they were immortal after all—it was the embarrassment of having to explain it to Daciana, who owned the bank, and was sure to hear about a fourteen million dollar decline in its deposits.
“We have to get that money back before anyone tells her,” Melissa said. “What are we going to do?”
“There are ways,” Dominic said. “I’ve had an idea, something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I know people who would buy our excess inventory if we ever put it for sale.”
“Our excess inventory? You mean on the Farm? No way. Daciana has forbidden it. Defective humans are cremated. It’s what we do.”
“No one will ever find out,” Dominic said. “You’re dumping the ashes in the swamp. You could still put the names on the registry as cremated, but instead of burning the humans, you sell them to people willing to pay a premium for a mindless slave.”
“Who is going to pay fourteen million dollars for a defective human?”
“To an immortal, they’re defective,” Dominic said. “But to a human, they can be much more than that. To a human, they are a chance to live like we do, to get a taste of immortality. These are disposable people we’re talking about, people that can be used for anything without the slightest consequence. I know several wealthy clients who would jump at this opportunity.”
It all sounded like madness to Melissa, but Dominic wanted it. He had that look in his eyes. Whatever it was he had in mind for these defective slaves, it excited him, and when he was excited, she was too. It was rare for Dominic to be forceful about something he wanted—rare and incredibly sexy. His enthusiasm made her feel awake and excited at the possibility of a break from routine. Whatever thoughts she had about the risks involved in deceiving Daciana—they meant nothing when compared to that look in Dominic’s eyes.
That very night it began.
“I know people who will fly out tonight if we ask them to,” Dominic said.
“How much money will we get for them?”
“For this first batch, a lot,” said Dominic. “I’m treating this as a buy-in opportunity for a handful of the wealthiest humans on earth. If they pay what I ask for this time, they will get first crack at future shipments as well.”
“Future shipments,” Melissa said quietly, allowing the implication to set in. This wasn’t going to be a one-time sale to make up for their lost cash. Dominic intended for this to continue, for them to live in secret defiance of their queen.
The risk made both their lives more interesting, and the sales made them exceptionally rich. As the business grew, they found there weren’t enough defective slaves to keep up with the demand, so they started using fresh meat as well. They kept an entire wing of one dormitory on the Farm off the books, dedicating ten of their most fertile mothers, or “heffers” as they called them, specifically to the business. Melissa reorganized the operations of the Farm, turning over more of the routine tasks to others so she and Dominic had more time to focus on their business, and to ensure they were always hiding their tracks.
They started buying property all over the world as a way to disperse the enormous sums of cash they generated. Dominic used those properties to further expand the business, allowing the wealthiest humans, ever envious of the immortals, to get the “full immortal experience” on lavish fantasy weekend retreats in Kazakhstan, Kenya, Laos, and Nicaragua.
Melissa found these retreats simultaneously repulsive and amusing, the humans who attended them pathetically trying to experience a life they could never appreciate or understand. The retreats began in a mansion, where fully trained slaves took care of the guests’ every need, then ended in the forest, with the guests given the opportunity to hunt down their slaves for sport.
Melissa watched Aiden, with his golden hair and sour stench, lead the others onto an armored truck. After the last slave was inside, Melissa closed the door. She pulled her phone from her pocket to check the time. 11:58. Merv’s headlights would appear on the road any minute now.
Merv Tremblay had been their best client right from the start. Not only did he buy more than twice as many slaves as anyone else, but he also policed their client pool for people who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Every few years, Merv would find someone who spoke with too many people about the business, or who was careless in hiding his tracks. “Loose lips” is what Merv called these people, and he loved to bring them to Melissa’s doorstep so they could be killed in the seclusion of the Florida swamp.
On this night, Merv was bringing one of the newer clients to the Farm for execution. Merv had invited the man, a beefy silver-haired kingpin of a Mexican drug cartel, to come out to Florida for a hunt on Melissa’s private land.
As the clock struck midnight, the fog lights of Merv’s jeep crested the hill. Melissa used her phone to open the gate and let the jeep into the compound. She flashed a friendly smile at both men when they got out of the car, each of them carrying a rifle in his hands.
She greeted Merv first, giving him a quick and business-like handshake. Then she moved on to the kingpin, Juan Feliciano, whom she greeted with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“So, so good to see you,” Juan said. “I am honored to be in your presence and humbled that you have allowed me to come here.”
“Nice to see you too, Juan,” Melissa said.
She tossed the keys for the armored truck at Merv, who caught them with left hand while holding the rifle in his right.
“They’re programmed to run like hell as soon as you open the doors,” Melissa said. “Take them out to the open field on the east side of the property and have fun.”
Merv smiled big.
“Thank you Melissa,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Yes, thank you so much,” said Juan, who started walking to the passenger side of the van, thinking he would get to join Merv on this turkey shoot.
“Hang on a second Juan,” Melissa said.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Let me see your gun.”
Juan looked confused at this request, maybe even a bit nervous.
“Come on now, let me see it,” Melissa said.
Juan stepped closer.
“Of course,” he said. Respectfully, like an apprentice before his master, Juan bowed his head and handed over his rifle. Melissa took it in both hands and started inspecting it.
“A beautiful instrument,” she said.
“It belonged to my enemy,” said Juan. “Don Carlos Castillo. A worthy adversary. Every year on the feast of San Cristobal, I say a Hail Mary for Don Carlos. I had to kill him and his son, but I try to carry on his legacy. Tonight I bring his gun because he would have lo
ved nothing more than to come on a hunt like this.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Melissa.
Juan smiled. “I beg your pardon? Did you know Don Carlos?”
“Of course I didn’t know Don Carlos. Why would I waste my time getting to know another plant pusher? No Juan, I’ve heard the story about how you’re bringing his gun to my hunt because you’re telling it to people.”
“Miss Mayhew…I…”
“Shut up Juan. You talk too much.”
Juan stood in place, silent. He knew. Melissa saw it in his eyes. He was preparing himself to die.
She put her hand on his cheek. “You know, I’m always glad when I get to meet a tough guy. I dated a tough guy once. He was bad to me. And when I became immortal, I was bad to him. But I still feel like I owe him something. I feel like it’s my job to put tough guys in their place.”
She turned away from Juan, and, facing the swamp, she heaved his gun like a javelin. It soared hundreds of yards across the sky before coming down and landing somewhere in the trees far away.
“Here’s the game, Juan. I’ll give you a thirty minute head start. If you find your gun before I find you, I take you to Merv and let you continue the hunt. We’ll pretend none of this ever happened and I’ll trust that you’ve learned your lesson. But if I find you and the gun isn’t in your hands, you’ll be joining Don Carlos in hell. I’ll be sure to say a Hail Mary for you once in a while.”
Juan was frozen in place. He looked like he was going to pee his pants.
“Go!” Melissa shouted, and Juan was off, his belly bouncing over his belt with every step.
Melissa checked the time. She’d promised Juan thirty minutes, but she might give him more. He could have all week and he wouldn’t find that gun in the swamp. It was fun to imagine him stumbling around in the muck, getting eaten alive by bloodsuckers in the air and the water, maybe encountering an alligator or a python.
She strolled back into the compound and found Dominic in his room, painting a picture of the moon. From behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close.
The Festival of the Moon (Girls Wearing Black: Book Two) Page 12
