Redlisted

by Sara Beaman

  I consider this for a moment, both exhilarated and troubled by the idea.

  “It is pretty fucking troubling.”

  So how do you feel about what she does?

  “I think it’s obscene. I mean, I see why the Wardens think it’s necessary. They’re trying to avoid another Inquisition. But still.”

  What do you mean? They don’t want humans to rise up against revenants or something?

  He nods. “It hasn’t always been this way. It doesn’t need to be like this for us to survive. Before the Wardens came to power, we didn’t try to control public knowledge of our existence. We used to let humans do that for themselves.” He slumps down into an armchair. “Anyway, the Wardens’ entire policy is to allow humans to determine their own fate, no matter the outcome.”

  Right.

  “Well, doesn’t Mirabel’s work contradict that policy? If they’re so serious about maintaining human autonomy, why do they get to choose the terms?”

  So you’re opposed to it because it’s hypocritical?

  He shakes his head. “I’m opposed to it because she’s a monster. But it is hypocrisy, if that counts for anything.”

  The door to the guest room opens. Haruko wanders in, rubbing her eyes. “Status?”

  “Vincent revived Tara, but she’s still too depleted to heal Kate.”

  “Her name’s Kate?” Haruko asks. “She doesn’t look like a Kate.”

  Is she making fun of me? For being a double?

  Adam gives her a look.

  “Joking,” she says.

  Adam doesn’t react. “We’re going to need to go into town,” he says.

  “I take it you’re offering Tara your neck?”

  Adam nods.

  “Okay,” Haruko says. “What are we going to do with Aya?”

  “Bring her with us?”

  “Might leave her here. Have her keep an eye on Gabriel.”

  “Either way,” Adam says.

  “All right then. Let’s go.”

  The three of us leave the ramshackle little house and climb into the car. We back up onto the country highway and start driving into town. No one speaks. The silence is oppressive. After five minutes or so, I wonder at Adam, Can’t we listen to some music or something?

  “No,” he says. “It’s not safe.”

  What? Are you worried about subliminal messages or something?

  “Precisely.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “It shouldn’t take long for us to reach town,” he says.

  I try to keep myself awake in the interim. I fight for it.

  I lose.

  14

  A Dream of Dreaming

  {Adam}

  Early in the evening, I was lying on the lounge trying to sleep—and failing, once again—when I heard a knock at the door.

  I figured it wasn’t Aya. I hadn’t seen her since our half-spoken conversation in the garden. I’d still been meeting with Julian every night, just as before, but he’d been sending human servants to ferry me back and forth from his office.

  I’d asked him what happened to her the day prior. He explained that he had given her some long-overdue vacation time and that she was visiting a friend in Atlanta. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Part of me wondered if she might be gone for good—dismissed, or even dead.

  I mulled this over once again as I stood up and walked to the door. Julian was on the other side.

  “Good evening,” he said, smiling. “I apologize for the intrusion. You’re not busy...?”

  I blinked at him as my eyes adjusted to the light. “No. Not at all.”

  “Did I wake you? I’m terribly sorry.”

  “No, I wasn’t asleep.”

  “I see.”

  We stood there for several seconds, close enough that the proximity made me nervous.

  “Do you want to come in?” I reached for the switch and turned the lights on.

  “If you don’t mind. Just for a moment.”

  I stood aside to let him pass. He walked around, surveying the room at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked as if he was visiting a museum. It irritated me.

  “I do hope you like your quarters,” he said. “Please let Aya know if anything in here is not to your taste.”

  So she wasn’t gone. “When is she coming back?”

  “Tomorrow. Along with my daughter, Mirabel, and another colleague. A Warden.” He sat down on one of the couches. “They’ll arrive shortly after nightfall. I’ve sent a car and driver.”

  “They’re traveling during the day? How is that possible?”

  He shrugged. “As long as you’re intelligent about the logistics, it’s not that difficult.”

  I sat down across from him, frowning, idly wondering what he meant but not caring enough to ask.

  “Adam, I don’t mean to pry, but I don’t suppose you’ve had any dreams of significance lately?”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep.”

  “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Well...” I didn’t have an answer. “I’m not sure.”

  “You don’t need to suffer through things like that in silence,” he said, shaking his head. “In any case, there are sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet.”

  “They work?”

  “They should work as normal.”

  “How is—how can I metabolize medicine if I can’t...?” I didn’t even know how to finish the question.

  “I’m not sure I can give you a satisfactory explanation. In any case, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?”

  He folded his hands. “Neither the Warden nor my daughter know anything about what I told you and Aya last week, and I’m not planning to tell either of them. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this information confidential. If the Warden’s superiors intend for her to find about my memory loss, they’ll tell her themselves.”

  “Of course.”

  “Furthermore... well, it might sound peculiar. My daughter...” Julian smiled through tense lips. “Mirabel is... I don’t want to sound as if I am trying to malign her out of hand, but you must be careful around her. She has much more in common with the rest of our family than you or I do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s manipulative. Deceptive. If you lower your guard around her, she can contort your will. Don’t assume that simply because you can read her thoughts you can know her intentions. She’s accustomed to dealing with people like you.”

  “If you’re so worried about her, why are you inviting her here?”

  “Tomorrow is the anniversary of her initiation. We meet at this time every year.”

  This seemed strange, even for Julian. From what I knew of him, he wasn’t normally so sentimental.

  He stood up. “That is all. I hope I haven’t caused you too much alarm.”

  I shook my head.

  “I will not have time for a proper lesson tonight,” he said. “I’ll be busy preparing for our guests to arrive. I do, however, have something for you. A gift.”

  “Oh?” I asked, standing.

  He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a thin deck of cards and handed them to me. I turned the deck face-up and flipped through it. Each card featured a hand-drawn image of a location. I was already familiar with several of them: the ballroom, the library, the study, my own bedroom, the stained-glass doors leading to the gardens. Several others depicted unfamiliar scenes.

  “No doubt you have noticed how difficult it is to navigate the subterranean levels of the estate,” he said. “With these at hand, you will no longer have that difficulty. I would have given them to you earlier, but they take time and energy to make.”

  I shrugged. I turned to the last card in the deck, the only image that included any human figures. It depicted what amounted to a gallery full of them, both men and women, in various states of undress.

  “
In any case, as I said, I will be occupied tonight, but the amphora is full, or, well, you may feel free to avail yourself of the other options open to you in that regard.” Another tense smile.

  “I, uh... right,” I stammered, realizing the significance of the card. I placed the deck in my pocket.

  ///

  The labyrinth looked different that night, just as it always did, but this time I sensed a distinct pull in a single direction. I’d decided to visit the amphora, not the... gallery, or whatever it was, although I couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head.

  With the deck in my pocket, it felt as if someone had thrown a lasso around my neck and was leading me towards my destination. I walked through the series of snaking turns between my rooms and Julian’s office decisively, finding myself before the double doors in minutes.

  As I drank from the amphora, I found myself contemplating the blood’s primary source. Both Julian and Aya were like little mother birds, collecting and regurgitating sustenance for me, their helpless offspring. Would it really be any different, morally, for me to attack someone on my own? I didn’t have the stomach for it, that was true. Did that mean I was weak? Afraid to confront reality?

  Perhaps I needed to reconsider the gallery.

  Back in my suite, I wandered listlessly into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet next to the sink. I hadn’t looked inside it before; I’d always assumed it was empty. In fact, it was stocked with all kinds of over-the-counter medications, including sleeping pills, just as Julian had promised.

  I punched three pills from their sleeve into the palm of my hand and popped them into my mouth, swallowing them dry. I went back into the bedroom and removed my shoes, turned off the lights, lay down on top of the duvet cover and closed my eyes.

  A few minutes later, the pills started working.

  And then I was Julian.

  Aya and I walked through the garden and the hills and the forest, through the shifting paths between the trees all the way to the entrance of the sepulcher, where the foliage thickened into a living wall. I hadn’t asked for her company, and I wouldn’t invite her inside, but she would wait for me there, lingering at the gates.

  This was only the second time Aya had ever seen this place, I realized. The first was when I’d interred the remains of a relative there, a grandchild of one of my lesser-known siblings. She’d helped me carry the ashes to this point, but no further.

  Since our last visit, vines had grown over the stone archway. I pulled them aside, exposing the stark granite of the doors. Aya handed me a vial and a syringe. I folded them into the palm of my left hand and extended my right to grasp the handle on the right-side door.

  I expected this to hurt, and it did. The spikes along the interior edge of the handle penetrated each of my fingers as I pulled the door towards me. The weight of it was considerable; it sent the needles deeper into my fingers as I struggled to open it just a sliver. Drops of blood trickled down my arm, staining the sleeve of my shirt. I cupped my palm as I released the handle and slipped through the doors; my hand slowly filled with my blood.

  I climbed down the gradually sloping staircase that ran along the circumference of the chamber, taking the steps one at a time, careful not to spill any of the blood. The staircase terminated directly below the entrance to the crypt, several yards down into the ground.

  Before me were two twin pools of water separated by a narrow bridge of earth. Beyond the pools lay an array of marble tombs arranged in an arc, the largest and most ornate sitting at the center. I crossed over the earth bridge and approached the central tomb. I extended my right hand over a circular depression in the stone lid of the tomb, then rotated my hand inward, pouring my blood into the vessel. Once it was full, I closed the wounds on my fingers, shoved the vial and syringe into my back pocket, and rubbed my hands together, drywashing the rest of the blood off.

  The blood seeped into the stone basin, absorbed somehow by the nonporous material. Once it was completely gone, I crouched down and shoved against the lid. It slid off frictionlessly, landing on the ground with a dull thud.

  Inside was the headless body of Mnemosyne, clothed only in a muslin shroud. Were her head not missing, she might appear to be asleep; her heartsblood kept her flesh from decomposing. I wondered if what he was planning to do might put an end to that, start the withering of her corpse or even kill her outright. The prospect was amusing. Delightful, even. Certainly the Watchers would be less than pleased if they ever found out, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  I bent over the side of the tomb and reached inside, pulling the shroud away from my mother’s neck, exposing the left side of her chest just above her breast. I reached into my back pocket for the syringe. With a quick, decisive thrust, I stabbed the needle directly through her pectoral muscle and into her heart.

  I pulled up on the plunger. The body of the syringe filled with a blue-black liquid. I took more than I needed; it would be better to have a surplus than to have to come back for more. Once the syringe was full, I extracted the needle and filled the vial with exquisite care. I shoved the stopper down, then placed the vial inside a hidden pocket in his jacket, right above my heart. I picked up the marble slab—still impossibly light—and returned it to its place.

  Aya was waiting at the entrance when I emerged from the sepulcher. I shoved the stone door shut with my shoulder, and we walked back to the estate, chatting aimlessly.

  She did not ask why I had made this visit to my mother’s grave, nor why I’d required the tools she’d procured for me. I imagined she understood nevertheless.

  15

  Feeding

  {Kate}

  I wake up as the car stops. We’re in a pay-to-park lot somewhere downtown. Adam pulls on the parking brake and hands the keys to Haruko, and the three of us climb out of the car. The sidewalks are crowded with people, mostly young, many of whom look like frat boys or sorority sisters.

  “I’ll be along as soon as I can,” Adam says. “Wait for me inside.”

  “Right,” says Haruko.

  I turn away. I don’t want to see Adam disappear into the crowd. I don’t want to think about what he’s doing or why. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter in any case. Best not to think about it.

  I follow Haruko to a sports bar, through the throngs of people smoking outside and into the equally crowded restaurant. Inside there’s some kind of processed pop music blaring, patrons shouting to be heard over it. The walls are plastered with flat-screen televisions displaying every single sports channel imaginable, plus some 24-hour news channels here and there.

  I make a beeline for the restroom. When I return, Haruko has found us a table near the front window. Her eyes are fixed on a TV, her pupils flickering back and forth as she reads the captions.

  And now I sit silently, I suppose. She doesn’t even seem to notice I’m here.

  She looks up. “Sorry. Here.” She digs around in a messenger bag slung over her shoulder and produces a memo pad and a pen, then hands them to me. “I’ll keep my phone, if it’s all the same to you.”

  I nod.

  “Look, Adam told me you overheard something about me wanting to, uh, leave you at the cabin,” she says. “So I get why you tried to run before, and I... well, I get it. I’m sorry. I was worried they had put a tracker in you, but since we haven’t had any trouble with them since North Carolina, I guess I was wrong.”

  I nod again, biting my lower lip.

  “The thing we’re trying to do is really important,” she continues, “and that’s the only reason I would have even considered... well, you know.”

  I force myself to smile. I’m still angry, but it’s not like I can argue with her.

  “So how are you holding up?”

  I give her a thumbs-up.

  “This time of night I think we have to order at the bar, so look at the menu and tell me what you want.”

  I quickly peruse the laminated menu in front of me and point to an eight-inch cheese pizza,
then to the word ‘coffee’.

  “Be right back.”

  She stands and walks to the bar. While she’s ordering I watch the television in front of me. Absurd commercials pass by in fifteen-second blips.

  Haruko returns with a beer and a coffee. She sits down and pushes the coffee across the table. She doesn’t give me the beer.

  Puzzled, I open the memo pad and write: You’re going to drink that?

  “Why? Do you want one?”

  Are you going to eat, too?

  “Well, yes, that was the plan.”

  Adam doesn’t eat.

  “Adam’s a freak.” She sips her beer. “He doesn’t watch television or movies or listen to recorded music, either. Afraid of subliminal messages or something. I figure I’m immune to anything Mirabel does, so what do I care?”

  It sounds like he’s an ascetic or something.

  She snorts. “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t go that far. Speaking of which, if he comes on to you, tell me, okay? He has a thing for redlisted girls.”

  My cheeks flush. I take a sip of coffee to cover my expression. Haruko, seemingly oblivious, returns her attention to the television. Has Adam been hitting on me? No. He hasn’t. Has he?

  I scribble out a question: What does it mean to be ‘redlisted’? and push the pad across the table.

  Haruko's eyebrows rise. “There’s a list. A ‘red list’. Of people who are authorized to interface with us. We’ll need to get you on it if you’re going to testify.”

  I nod slowly, then take the pad back. How many rev’s are there?

  “We don’t have a hard number. Tens of thousands, probably, worldwide. There are five registered in this city.”

  Can you see where they are?

  “Not unless I’m concentrating, no. Or asleep.”

  Asleep?

  She nods. “When I’m asleep it’s easier for me to keep track of them.”

  Her eyes return to the television and she takes a sip of her beer. She seems more concerned about watching TV than answering any more of my questions, so I close the book.