by Amie Kaufman
“No,” I say finally. “But you’re close.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Giddy.”
I haven’t heard that nickname in four years, and it goes through me like a knife. Suddenly I want nothing more than to curl up in the bottom of my brother’s closet again, stowing away amongst the shoes and circuits and card collections. I swallow, forcing my voice to come out level. “Bingo.”
Tarver reaches out, hand coming to rest in the small of Lilac’s back—how many times did I see my brother touch her like that?
“Lilac,” Flynn says carefully. “This is my friend Sofia, she’s from Avon. This guy’s here with her. You know him?”
Visibly pulling herself together, Lilac straightens and swallows hard. “This is Gideon. Tarver, he’s Simon Marchant’s little brother.”
Tarver’s eyes widen a little, and though he doesn’t relax, his voice is calmer when he speaks. “Simon, the boy you were…the one your father had killed for falling in love with you?”
“The very same,” I reply before Lilac can. “But actually, you both know me.”
The man’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think—”
“You call me the Knave.”
In the silence that follows my voice, I can hear Sofia’s intake of breath—when I glance out of the corner of my eye, I can see her take a slow step toward the stairs. I can almost see her thoughts as she considers making a run for it. And I don’t blame her, really. She’s still reeling from learning I’m the Knave who’s terrorized her for the last year of her life—now I’m adding that I’m an old family friend of the people responsible for her father’s death.
Though “friend” is stretching the definition a bit.
“He’s the one who dug up the information you sent to us on Avon?” Jubilee asks, staring at me.
Lilac ignores the question. “You’re the one who helped us set up our security system?” she bursts out, breaking through her shock, finally sounding for a brief moment more like the girl I knew as a child. “But why…you weren’t really helping us, were you?”
The muscles in my jaw seize, a flare of anger making me want to grind my teeth. “What a conclusion to jump to, Miss LaRoux. I’m hurt. Historically speaking, it’s not usually my family screwing yours over.”
Lilac takes a step forward, moving away from Tarver’s hand, her eyes on my face. “I’m sorry I never came to see you after—” Her voice cracks, and she tries again. “I was only fourteen. I was heartbroken, and it was my fault, and I couldn’t…”
I can feel Flynn’s and Jubilee’s stares, but worse, I can feel Sofia’s eyes on me, and some distant part of my mind wonders how much of this story she’s able to put together from the fragments. Focus on that. Focus on her. Don’t think about Simon. The blood’s roaring in my ears, rushing like wind, like whispering voices. I try to focus on that and not on the girl in front of me.
“I loved your brother, Giddy.” Lilac pauses, not coming any closer to me, though I can tell from her body language that she wants to. “I never wanted anything to happen to him. And I never, never forgot him.”
Behind her, her fiancé is silent. If hearing Lilac talk about her so-called love for another guy hurts him, Tarver doesn’t show it.
“Yeah, well.” I long to shove my hands into my pockets, slouch my shoulders, hide away from all of this. Face-to-face stuff is Sofia’s thing, not mine. “That makes two of us. At least you had no problem moving on.”
“That’s not fair.” Lilac’s voice quickens a little, making the blood surge harder in my ears. “Giddy—Gideon—just because I fell in love with Tarver, that doesn’t change the way I felt about Simon. Simon is—Simon will always be—with me. The same way he’ll always be with you.” She lets her breath out, long and slow. “You look so much like him.”
“Well, you must not think much of either of us, then, if your first thought was that I helped you guys with security just so I could screw you over.”
“Why all the secrecy then?” Lilac demands. “Why hide behind pseudonyms and, and—why not just tell us who you were?”
“Because that’s not who I am anymore,” I spit back, trying and failing to find calm. “Simon’s little brother died when he did.”
Lilac is slow to answer. “Then I have that on my conscience too.”
“Look,” says Tarver, breaking into the conversation gently. “Whatever’s going on here, this isn’t the time or the place to talk about it. From the look of it, we’re not the only ones you’ve been deceiving.” His gaze flicks over toward Sofia, and abruptly I realize that he sees far more than he seems to.
When I follow his gaze, Sofia looks back at me for a long moment, her face wooden. I know I’ve lost her. I lost her the moment she found my brother’s playing card. But now, with this link to Lilac LaRoux, I’ve lost her even as an ally, and I’m not prepared for the depth of that cut, the burn of it in my chest. It’s like a tangible blow, so visceral I can almost taste it in my mouth, a bitter flood of copper.
Flynn Cormac finally finds his voice, though it’s soft. “They’re here for the whispers. They know what he’s doing with them. We have to talk about this.”
“And we will,” Tarver agrees, calm. “But Lilac and I have to get back before we’re missed. She’s still got her speech to make.”
“Right, wouldn’t want to miss the champagne and caviar.” My voice sounds cutting, hateful, even to my own ears. I’m grappling for any handhold. I’m in free fall.
“That’s it,” Lilac bursts out, her eyes looking for just a moment so like her father’s that I take a step back. This fire, she never had that before. I’m not the only one who’s changed since we were children. “For God’s sake, Gideon, do you really think so little of me that you believe I came here to Corinth to celebrate this—this sick display?”
“I don’t know the first thing about you,” I reply quietly. “And I don’t want to.”
“Well, you need to,” Jubilee says, her hand resting on Flynn’s shoulder. “We’re all here for the same reason. We’re all here for this rift, to find out what her father’s doing with the whispers. We’re here to find it out, and drag it into the light.”
“Flynn, how can you—” Sofia’s voice breaks. “She’s his family.”
“Yes,” Lilac snaps, quick and sharp. “So I know exactly what he is.”
I have only the briefest of seconds for that to sink in, the realization that maybe we’re not on opposite sides, that we’re after the same thing, before the roaring in my ears suddenly crescendos. Sofia takes a staggering step back, shaking her head as though to clear it, and abruptly I realize: it’s not my pulse I’m hearing. It’s not in my head at all. The air is full of whispering, and before I can speak, the whispers turn to a scream, tearing down the length of the deck.
It hits Lilac like a gale-force wind, tossing her dress and her hair back and knocking her heavily against Tarver—but it doesn’t touch anyone else. For us, the air has the kind of stillness you only get in space, behind a dozen different airlocks.
“Lilac?” Tarver’s voice is urgent, and I can see him swallowing—he’s got the same taste in his mouth that I do, a thick, metallic tang like blood, or electricity. “Are you—”
“Fine,” she gasps, hands curling around his sleeves as she gets her feet under herself again. “It’s them. I can feel them, trying to…It’s okay. I’m okay now, it’s under control.”
“But the rift’s not here.” Tarver’s speaking low and fast, his eyes scanning Lilac’s looking for—what, I don’t know.
“It’s nowhere on the ship,” I say quietly, though I don’t know why I want to offer them any comfort at all. “I just finished searching for the energy signature when you arrived. Nothing. We thought he’d moved it up here, or that he had a second one—we were wrong.”
“I’m fine,” Lilac murmurs, lifting her head to smile at Tarver. “Truly. I just lost my concentration for a second.”
“I know what that felt like.” Sofia’s
voice cuts through Lilac’s like laser fire through silk. She’s gripping her purse, white-knuckled, her face pinched. “Those voices, that metallic taste—that’s the Fury.”
“Not exactly, Sof,” Flynn says, laying a hand on her arm. “Lilac’s…she’s the reason we’re here.”
“There’s a rift here,” Lilac says softly. “Somewhere nearby. I can feel it.”
“Look,” says Tarver, letting his breath out in a rush. “We don’t have time to explain why, but Lilac’s connected to these rifts, and we know the last one is somewhere nearby or on Corinth.”
“Connected,” Sofia echoes, and I can see that word isn’t making him any friends.
Tarver nods slowly. “I can’t go into why or how, but we’ve got to find the last rift and shut it down to save her.”
Sofia’s eyes flick from his face to Lilac’s and back. “She’s a LaRoux.”
“Yes,” Flynn replies gently, still at Sofia’s side. “And she’s the reason your planet is free now. She’s the reason you’re not a smear on some prefab wall after a soldier’s Fury took over. You need to stop and listen, Sof.”
“It’s true,” I say softly, grudgingly. “Both of them helped Flynn Cormac and Lee Chase free Avon. I know. I was watching.”
She opens her mouth to speak. But before she can, another voice cuts through the stillness as a man strolls along the gantry above us, coming to a halt at the top of the staircase.
“Darling,” says Monsieur LaRoux, voice mild and eyes keen. “I was wondering where you got to.”
The blue-eyed man comes and pulls us from the others, brings us to a new world. The final world, he says. We glimpse only the briefest flash of it, of people so numerous even we struggle to see them all. Buildings that reach for the sky, noise and light and chaos all folding together into a greater pattern.
But we are not permitted to explore it. We are kept finite. We are locked away.
We…
I.
I am alone here.
Alone…but for the blue-eyed man.
MONSIEUR LAROUX, CLAD IN AN impeccable tuxedo and tails, strolls down the stairs with his hands in his pockets. His blue eyes sweep across the four of us, coming to rest, finally, on Lilac, closest to him where she stands just behind Tarver. “They’re almost ready for your speech, darling,” he says, lips curving to a faint smile, as casual as though he hadn’t just walked into a roomful of tension he could cut with a knife. “I wondered what might have caught your interest. I can’t say there’s much here in the engine bays that would generally be considered an attraction.”
I can’t think, can’t react. There’s no security field here, no guards—all I have to do is reach into my purse, grab the gun, pull the trigger. My mind is screaming the order at my fingers, but I can’t move.
Lilac’s the one who breaks the stunned silence. “Where’s the rift? Where are the whispers?”
“Darling.” He pulls a little face, otherwise unruffled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’ll have to wait, or we’ll be late.”
Tarver’s voice is steel. “Everybody here knows what we’re talking about. Answer the question. Where’s the last rift?”
Monsieur LaRoux fixes him with a far less affectionate gaze. “Whisper? Rift? Where have you been getting these stories from?”
“From me,” says Lilac, through clenched teeth.
“It’s on Corinth, isn’t it?” Gideon’s voice is chilly, but at least he’s able to speak. I’m still frozen, unmoving. “It never left LRI Headquarters.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” LaRoux replies. “But if you’re talking about something as large as one of these hyperspace engines, it wouldn’t make much sense to try to move it, would it?”
Lilac’s voice sounds nothing like his—she’s shaking. “If you had any idea what it’s doing to me…”
He dismisses her with a quick shake of his head. “There’s simply no conceivable way any hypothetical creature, in a hypothetical rift, could reach you from LaRoux Headquarters, darling. We’re in orbit—we’re much too far away.”
“It could reach her from halfway across the galaxy, you asshole,” Tarver snarls, hands curling to fists by his sides. “You have to cut them off, send them back.”
“My boy,” says LaRoux, reaching up to adjust a mechanism against his ear—some sort of communication device, perhaps. “As much as I’d like to oblige you, there’s too much riding on the next few days for me to sit here discussing all of it with you. Lilac, come along.” He half turns, gesturing for the staircase as though expecting Lilac to fall obediently into step.
“No,” Lilac says in a low, tight voice. “Not this time, Father. I can’t keep going like this. We know about your experiments, about Avon, about the whispers, the rifts—all of it. And you know we know. We can’t keep skimming over it, pretending we’re a happy family. You’re—you’re destroying me with this.”
LaRoux’s calm exterior tightens a little. “You’re fine,” he insists. “And even if this—this rift as you call it—is affecting you, there are far better ways to prevent that than destroying my life’s work.” He reaches up, touching the device over his ear with a smile. It’s the same thing I saw the men at his headquarters clipping into place as they prepared to use the rift on me.
Realization dashes over me like an icy blast. “Of course,” I whisper, my anger making my hands shake. “You’d never create a weapon that could be used against yourself. You’ve got a way to make yourself immune.”
“Clever girl,” LaRoux replies, pretense falling away. And though the words are a compliment, his tone is hard. “Now, are we done here? They should be passing around the champagne for our toasts even as we speak.”
“You had a cure.” My voice comes out thin and strained, and I have to blink hard to clear my eyes of the furious tears blurring them. “You had a cure that could’ve saved everyone on Avon.”
LaRoux’s brows lift. “I am sorry for those deaths, truly. But one must always be willing to make sacrifices in the pursuit of progress. If it brings you any comfort, think how much their lives mean now—how much their deaths mean. They would’ve toiled in obscurity in their small, pointless lives on a small, pointless planet—now they’re a part of something much greater than themselves.” The glint in his eye frightens me far more than the words themselves do—he believes what he’s saying, believes it with every fiber of his being.
I’m moving before I can think, the shaking in my body stilling, dwindling down to one single-minded purpose. I tear the gun out of my purse and level it at LaRoux, my whole world narrowing down to his face.
He barely reacts.
Dimly I hear Gideon’s voice, low, shaking with intensity. “Sofia, don’t.” He’s a few steps away from me—too far to reach me before I can pull the trigger. “Don’t do this. You promised me you wouldn’t become this.”
Ignore him, I tell myself, focusing on the man in front of the gun barrel.
Tarver and Lilac are standing perfectly still, but her father simply gazes at me like I’m some fascinating new type of insect. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into using that thing to shoot Mr. Merendsen?”
“Father,” Lilac interrupts, voice tightly restrained. She even sounds like him, especially now, fighting for control.
“A joke, my dear,” he replies, reaching out to stroke her cheek with one curled finger. If I didn’t know better, I’d think him a jolly old professor of something, or a kindly philanthropist. I swallow, trying to ignore the way my palms are growing sticky with the effort of holding the gun steady. LaRoux turns toward me again. “I actually know quite a bit about this young lady,” he continues. “She spent some time with us recently, and we finally managed to correctly identify her. However much I might wish it, she’s not going to shoot Mr. Merendsen.”
“No,” I manage, reminding myself to keep breathing. I can’t shoot straight if I’m half-unconscious from oxygen deprivation. “Not him.”
/> “Sofia Quinn,” Roderick LaRoux continues, as if reciting from memory. “Sixteen years old, with a spotless record until her disappearance in transit from Avon’s spaceport to an orphanage on Paradisa over a year ago.” LaRoux turns that smile on me. “You aren’t the first person to aim a gun at me, my dear. Put it away and we’ll discuss whatever you like. I’ll do whatever’s in my considerable power to help you.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” I spit back, the anger surging, easy to locate. “If you know who I am then you know why I’m here. My father’s dead because of your sick experiments on Avon.”
LaRoux just shakes his head. “I’m afraid so many lives were claimed by the tragic events on Avon, my dear. I couldn’t hope to remember them all, but you have my sincerest sympathies for your loss.”
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even… My hands are shaking again.
“Sofia.” Lilac’s voice is soft as she speaks—testing out the name on her lips, her gaze suddenly full of a sympathy I’m not prepared for, not from her. “Sofia…please. Put the gun down, and you and Gideon can come with me. We’ll talk, after my speech. We’ll talk about all of it.” She doesn’t look at her father, even when he reaches out to wrap an arm around her shoulders, a gesture of such fatherly affection that my chest constricts.
“Just put it down.” The voice is no more than a whisper, and I can feel Gideon at my side like an anchor, a warmth pulling me back to myself. “Sofia, please. This isn’t you. I know you.”
“Ah yes, the accomplice.” LaRoux’s eyes shift to take in Gideon. “We had plenty with which to ID Miss Quinn here, but we never got quite a good enough picture of you.”
I flash a quick glance at Gideon, who’s only a few feet away from me, muscles tense and jaw clenched. “I’m not very photogenic,” he replies.
LaRoux’s brows draw in, his sculpted features settling into an expression of thoughtful scrutiny. “You look familiar, now that I see you.” He tilts his head a little, and then, as though referencing some cocktail party or charity function, remarks, “Didn’t I have you killed once?”
