Redlisted

by Sara Beaman

  “It depends. I mean, you can ask, but I might not answer.”

  “Right. Well, either way.” I scratched the back of my head. “So the Wardens brought Aya here?”

  “My own mother did, actually,” Haruko said.

  “Why did they think that was such a good idea?”

  She gave me a sideways look.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got a problem with Julian.”

  “No. That’s not it,” I lied. “It’s just... I don’t know. She doesn’t seem happy to me. And, he, well, he treats her like an indentured servant. Makes her call him Master. It’s bizarre.”

  “Does he make her do it, or does she do it because she wants to?”

  I shrugged.

  “You think Aya is unhappy now? You should have seen her before. I bet all her groveling, all that deferential behavior of hers, is just an aftereffect of all the bullshit her father put her through.”

  I had no idea how to respond.

  “We made the right choice, placing her with him. I mean, even if he can’t figure out how to help her recover, it’s not like he’s going to take advantage of her. Not like most men would.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “You doubt his character? After all he’s done for you?”

  “Well, it—I don’t know—it’s just that—“

  She laughed. “Relax. I’m just fucking with you.”

  I sighed and started off down the hallway.

  She followed beside me. “Look, Adam, I know everything is weird for you right now.” Her voice was suddenly tinged with sympathy; I couldn’t decide whether or not I found it grating. “This might be hard for you to believe but... well, you might never learn to like Julian, but more likely than not you’ll grow to appreciate what he’s done for you.”

  I looked away.

  “I can tell you this,” she continued. “I appreciate what he’s done for Aya. Whatever that’s worth.”

  We arrived at the ballroom to find it lit to spectacular brilliance. High tables full of candles and vases full of sunflowers lined the perimeter of the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall threw back the glittering lights like mirrors. In the center of the room, right in the place where I’d first awakened, stood Julian, Aya, and a tall, thin woman dressed in green.

  She was almost too severe-looking to be beautiful, her hair too tightly coiffed, too smooth, too red, but behind her green eyes was a magnetic field of sheer presence. I started walking towards her without even considering it; a reflex I could control no more than a jerk of my knee or the sharpening of my teeth.

  Julian glared at me, silently lecturing me to heed his previous advice. “Adam. There you are. This is my daughter Mirabel,” he said. “Mira, this is Dr. Adam Fletcher.”

  Mirabel turned, looked me up and down. Isn’t that funny, she thought to herself, smiling. He’s the spitting image of Lucien.

  “It’s a pleasure,” she said, extending her right hand.

  I took it. Her skin was very cold, very smooth. “Likewise.”

  She kept smiling, her teeth like razors, her gaze like a spear. I could feel the metallic tang of adrenaline hit the back of my throat.

  “Just think,” she said. “In one hundred and twenty years, minus one month, maybe we’ll all be here celebrating the anniversary of your initiation.”

  I pulled my hand away.

  “Is that how long it’s been?” Julian said, laughing with forced enthusiasm.

  “Doesn’t it seem like longer?” She gazed off into space, took a deep breath. “I feel like I’ve been alive forever.”

  “Well. The food is ready,” Julian said. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  The four of them moved to take places at the long wooden table. I hung back for a moment, overwhelmed and confused. Food? I prayed it was actual food, not blood or something more perverse.

  Actual food it was, I discovered as I sat down at one end of the table, as far away from Mirabel as I could manage. At each of the settings was a salad with some kind of deep purple garnish on it and a glass of something dark and red. I picked it up and smelled it—wine. I put it back down without drinking.

  The four others picked up utensils and started to eat. I looked down at the plate and felt a mild sense of revulsion.

  “Not a salad eater?” Haruko asked.

  “No,” I said. “I mean, yes, I eat salad...”

  Mirabel took a sip of her wine. “So, Adam, tell me about yourself,” she said, once again fixing her gaze on me. “Julian tells me you’re terribly distinguished.”

  I felt my mouth move on its own, forming silent syllables as I tried to think of something to say. “I’m a neurologist,” I finally managed to stammer. “I mean, I was a neurologist...”

  Her eyelashes fluttered. It’s as if Julian had made an android version of Lucien, she remarked silently. Without a personality chip.

  “I’m also a telepath,” I said, speaking through my teeth.

  “I see,” she said, laughing. “My apologies.”

  Julian pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Strange, Mirabel thought. He’s been trying to produce one for years. I wonder what he did differently this time?

  I looked down at my plate and poked idly at a piece of lettuce with a fork. It might have been the wrong one; there were three by my plate. I had no intention of eating in any case. I was just trying to avoid Mirabel’s eyes.

  “I’ve never told you much about my real father, have I, Adam?” Aya asked.

  I frowned, surprised she’d bring it up in front of everyone. “No...”

  “His name was Zenas Markham. Before she went missing, Haruko’s mother saved me from him,” she said. “Her name was Jennifer. She was very kind to me.”

  Haruko shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable.

  “But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Aya said. “The Wardens told me I first arrived at my father’s estate sometime in the eighteen-twenties, but I don’t remember that. Nor do I remember how he made me his daughter.

  “Like everyone in the Line of Thalia, my father was an illusionist, capable of affecting the way others perceived him. He used this ability to create an elaborate mythology for us to inhabit, and placed himself at the center of its pantheon.”

  Three human servants entered the room, pushing serving carts. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, trying to ignore them.

  Adam. Mirabel’s voice, echoing in the back of my head. I have something important to tell you, something precious little Aya is trying to prevent me from saying.

  I could hear the heartbeat of one of the humans right next to me. I heard them take my plate and replace it with another. I swallowed hard and opened my eyes. A rare steak. The sight of it made me nauseated.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” I blurted out.

  The servant, a young woman with chin-length black hair, blanched. “I’m sorry. I’ll take it away. May I get you something else?”

  “Thank you. No.”

  “Our two families come from shared stock, you see,” Aya continued. “While Mnemonics like you may be able to sense the thoughts of others, or to control their thoughts or impulses, those in my Line can adapt the experiences others have of reality. We can control their perception of the world.”

  Your life is in danger, Mirabel’s voice said. You need to get out of here.

  “That is what Markham did to me. He made me believe he was someone dear to me, someone important,” Aya said. “First, he appeared to be my biological father; when I discovered that to be nothing but an elaborate disguise, he tried to make me believe he was my twin brother.”

  Save for myself, he’s killed every one of his sons and daughters before you. He’ll kill you too, once he gets what he needs from you.

  “Over the years he pretended to be my son, my lover, my husband. In the end, he abandoned any pretense of human affection and appeared to me as a god.”

  I can help you escape. Three days from tonight, I’ll send a cab
to bring you to Atlanta.

  “In the final world that he made for me to inhabit, he was the ultimate authority, the arbiter of life, death, and all that lay between.”

  It’ll be waiting for you at midnight, at the entrance to the main hall. It’s your only chance.

  “I did nothing he did not command me to do. I thought nothing he did not command me to think. My world was reduced to what he allowed me to believe, which was to believe in him.”

  Don’t believe anything they tell you. Don’t tell either of them what I’ve said. They’ll do anything to keep you here. Do you understand?

  I closed my eyes and wished I was dead.

  “Adam,” Aya said, leaning towards me, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Nod if you understand me, Mirabel said.

  I nodded.

  19

  Nondisclosure

  {Kate}

  I awaken to pain and the taste of blood in my mouth. I’m on the floor in the guest room. My head is next to the base of the sink, and Aya is sitting to my right, holding a gash on her wrist to my mouth with one hand and a towel to my neck with the other.

  “Why isn’t it closing?” she mumbles.

  I groan.

  “Oh God. Oh thank God. You’re awake.”

  I turn my head to try and look at Haruko.

  “No! You shouldn’t try to move. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  What happened? I wonder, knowing she can’t hear me.

  “You don’t need to worry about Gabriel. He’s sleeping.”

  I’d much rather he was dead.

  “What happened?!” Adam shouts from the living room.

  “Adam—oh God, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault—“

  “Aya, answer the question.”

  “I’m so sorry, Adam, I... I was waiting outside. Haruko told me to watch the door to this room, to make sure he didn’t get to the dhampyr, but... but I thought he was you. He looked just like you. So I let him go in here, and...” She starts to cry.

  Adam crouches down by Gabriel and pulls the knife out of his back.

  He attacked me, I tell him. I think he was going to kill me.

  Aya sniffs violently. “When—when I got here, he’d already beaten Haruko unconscious.”

  “How long do we have until he wakes up?”

  “I don’t know... maybe an hour? I can never be sure...”

  I catch Adam’s eyes. I don’t want him to wake up.

  “You want me to kill him?” He doesn’t blink. “I’ll kill him.”

  I nod.

  “Adam, no, we shouldn’t—it’s not part of the parameters of the mission...“

  Adam stands up. Aya shakes her head, but she doesn’t try to stop him; she stays by me on the floor, her wrist still pressed to my lips, tears trailing down her cheeks. Adam rolls Gabriel onto his back with his foot, takes out a handgun from under his jacket, and shoots him once in the chest. Aya flinches and turns away.

  Adam stands still, silent, watching the other vampire’s body for a full minute, perhaps more.

  “Close your wound,” he finally says. “I’ll take over from here.”

  Aya nods and pulls her wrist away from me. Adam crouches by my side and takes the towel from her, still holding it to my neck.

  “Bring him down to the basement,” he tells Aya. “Tara will know what to do with him.”

  Aya loops her little hands underneath Gabriel’s armpits and drags him out into the hallway.

  Adam lifts the towel a little and looks at the bite. “It’s not closing up...”

  Why?

  “Something about his blood profile, I guess.”

  I look away. I can’t help but think of the attack, of the moments when I thought he was the attacker. I don’t want to be afraid to be alone with him, but...

  “You thought he was me?” Adam asks. “When he attacked?”

  I close my eyes. Yes.

  “It’s my fault. I should never have left you alone.”

  Adam...

  “Yes?”

  Is it like that for other people? When you feed on them?

  “No, it isn’t.” His voice sounds sad. “I... well, I can put people in a trance state. They don’t feel anything, and, well...”

  And they can’t resist.

  “No. They can’t.”

  I feel sick.

  “Kate, I need to give you some of my blood now. We don’t have a choice. You’re bleeding too much.”

  I nod weakly. Maybe it will be better to lose myself in a memory than to have to be here now.

  Adam tears his wrist open with his teeth. He gives it to me without comment.

  ///

  Another memory overtakes me.

  I’m in a nearly empty coffeehouse, sitting alone at a little round table. It’s close to midnight. I’m drinking what appears to be my third cappuccino, judging from the two empty cups in front of me.

  I’m waiting for someone I’ve never met face-to-face before. I told them to keep an eye out for a girl with a tattoo of an ammonite on her left bicep, so I’m wearing a tank top even though it’s the dead of winter. The coffee drinks are keeping me warm, but they’re also making me even jumpier than normal.

  I got this particular tattoo when I was in college. I’ve always liked the spira mirabilis, the Golden Spiral. The ammonite is a naturally-occurring example of the shape. I found a really fantastic line drawing of an ammonite in a book of Haeckel’s life illustrations and taken it with me to a tattoo parlor on a whim.

  This same tattoo basically landed me my current job. My evil overlord of a boss, Mirabel Radcliffe, told me she saw a picture of it on a social profile. She apparently shares my spiral fetish, maybe because of her weird name. It’s probably the only thing we have in common. In fact, the entire reason I’m meeting with this stranger tonight is so that I can talk to them about the horror story that has been my employment at Spira Communications, Mirabel’s company.

  Oh, fuck. I’m a dumbass. I provided this unknown person with a description of my tattoo as my defining physical attribute. What was I thinking? I might have given away my identity to one of Mirabel’s cronies.

  Typical. I always fuck things up when it comes to the details.

  A petite teenage girl with carrot-red hair pulled back in a high ponytail walks over to my table. Her gaze flickers between my face and my arm. As my eyes meet hers, my arms prickle with goosebumps.

  “Pageslave?”

  I nod. “Conspiracy Theory?” She’s not at all what I was expecting.

  She nods. “Can I sit down?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I’ve already started to relax. It’s much less awkward that she’s not some mouth-breathing guy.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet me in person.” She pulls a thin laptop out from her backpack. “I know you can never know what to expect with people you meet online.”

  “No, thank you. I’m just glad to have someone to talk to about... you know. Do you want something to drink? It’s on me.”

  She shakes her head no and opens her laptop. “Thanks anyway. Do you mind if we just get down to business? I need to be somewhere in a few hours.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Can we agree to keep this meeting confidential?”

  “Absolutely. I mean, I have to. I could lose my job otherwise.”

  “Yeah, uh... I think you might have more to worry about than losing your job,” she says, grimacing. “But anyway... as we discussed via email, we also need to avoid using given and brand names in public. Is that okay?”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “Also, I’m going to give this to you now so I don’t forget.” She hands me a white business card. A ten-digit phone number is written on one side; it has no other markings, no names, nothing else. “I’m not trying to freak you out or anything, but you should call this number if you get into any trouble, okay?”

  Who the hell is this kid?

  �
��I’m here to help. Don’t worry.”

  “Right.” I smile awkwardly. “So, uh... where do you want me to start?”

  She begins typing as she talks. “Let’s start with how you came to work for the Overlord.”

  “All right. I was a little over a year out of college. I graduated with a journalism degree in 2002, but I hadn’t been able to find a job in the field. I was working at a crappy temp job when I got called by a recruiter for the company. They wanted me to come to Atlanta for an interview and to send some writing samples. So I did.

  “They seemed really excited about the samples, and the interview went well. They even brought me to the Overlord. She was a big fan of my tattoo—which, at the time, I thought meant she was cool.”

  Conspiracy exhales sharply through her nose in something resembling a laugh.

  “Yeah. So, in any case, they paid for me to move to Atlanta. They even gave me a stipend for this condo in a fancy co-op downtown. They gave me an office with my name on the door—a real office, not a cubicle. I thought I was hot shit. I really wanted to believe that this was my chance, that they respected my work or whatever.” I smile ruefully, looking down into my cappuccino.

  “Did your recruitment package include anything else of note?” she asks, still typing rapidly.

  “Well, I mean, the salary wasn’t bad. A little over industry average. They gave me benefits, too—health and dental and even vision. And the moving bonus, and a hiring bonus, and the stipend.”

  “Did they ask you to do anything weird when you first signed on?”

  “I actually brought my contract with me,” I say, extracting it from my back pocket, unfolding it, and handing it to her. “There was a nondisclosure agreement too, but they didn’t give me a copy.”

  She peruses the papers. “This all looks pretty standard, actually.”

  “I think they do their best to hide all the weird shit at the beginning.”

  She pulls out a manila folder and places the contract inside.

  “I have to admit, I didn’t really do any research before I signed it,” I say, shrugging. “I assumed that they’d have me working at one of the subsidiaries—one of the magazines or something, where I’d actually write articles from time to time. I quickly came to understand that this was not the case.”