Haint pulls the white-painted chair away from my desk and turns it around, straddling it so she can face me. “You okay?”
“I don’t know. Yes. I mean, I’m going to be freaking-out worried about everyone, but in truth, this whole mission seems pretty tame. Like they’re testing us, maybe, or…I don’t know.”
“I think it sounds tame because it’s a bunch of computer talk, but if we run into the kind of people that can create such a thing, they’re not going to be harmless nerds. At least not all of them.” She shrugs. “But I know what you mean. Other than me being invisible, I’m not sure why they need us over there.”
She’s right about the danger level. I’ve been imagining skinny, helpless people who use technology to fight in order to make myself feel better, but anyone who’s ever watched a movie or studied history knows the Russians aren’t people who take kindly to being spied on.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I think we’re doing the right thing, if that’s what you mean.”
“Kind of.”
She twists her lips and changes the subject. “What do you think Madeline’s story is?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why Chameleon didn’t give her the same options he gives everyone else or why she’s so desperate to be out on her own. I guess all we can do is be careful what we say around her until she decides to leave or open up.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a lump in my throat but I’m not sure how it got there. “I’m scared.”
Not just of the mission. Of what’s going to happen to us. Of what’s waiting for the Cavies in the real world and if we’ll be the same people when we get back.
“Me, too. We’re way out of our league and they’re not giving us any training. They must know that, but they want us there anyway.”
The statements roll around in my head like marbles, impossible to catch. “Maybe. They must know something we don’t.”
“Maybe it’s time we try knowing something they don’t.”
My head jerks up, my eyes searching her dark features for a clue as to her meaning. My mouth goes dry, because among the eight of us, Athena and I are the only ones who have a mutation that allows us to know things. Eavesdropping and death visions hardly seem like a silver bullet.
“What do you mean?” I squeak, trepidation coursing through me.
“Madeline. She said she could try to see the outcome for our missions if we want.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Downstairs.” Haint watches me for another moment, as though wondering if she should go on. “It was new for you, touching those people on the street today. What made you do it?”
I finger the edge of my sleeve, considering my answer. “I just think it’s time to stop looking back, is all. My whole life I’ve been afraid of what I’ll see because there’s no way to change people’s deaths. But now we have this chance to stop this thing causing people to die. It seemed selfish not to try.”
Not only that, but we can alter our own lives. Decide what they’re going to be. The idea floods me with equal parts hope and fear. I grab on to both and use them to pull myself up off the bed and put a smile on my face in the process.
“Well, I think it’s awesome. Different, but awesome.” Haint bumps my hip as she follows me out of the room and down the stairs.
We planned to spend the evening after dinner cleaning this place and putting it back the way it was when we arrived. Part of me still wants to talk to my father, still needs his advice, but there isn’t time. Even if there was, I still can’t involve him.
Everyone’s sprawled in the living room where I left them. The television is tuned to a national news channel, the kind that rehashes every detail of situations it considers newsworthy because its producers have twenty-four hours of airtime to kill. We watched two hours when we got back from the warehouse and it’s clear they don’t know anything. They know people are dying in front of computer screens, the result of a strange worm or virus, but half of them are claiming it’s some kind of hoax.
They haven’t reported any American casualties yet, so maybe the CIA has kept a lid on that so far. Or it’s not true.
Doesn’t matter. It will be true, and at least one person I know is a victim.
Madeline hovers behind the couch, her nerves visible in the tremble of her hands and the way her eyes don’t land on one person or surface for more than half a second before flitting away. My heart sympathizes because no one knows better than me that it’s unnatural, to see things that haven’t come to pass. It takes a toll, seeing bad things happen and not being able to change them.
Which is when it occurs to me that maybe she can. Maybe she knows how to control her mutation in ways I haven’t yet guessed at, or has experienced changes on the GRH-18 that allow her to intervene. Excitement swirls, tightening my chest. I need to talk to her alone.
“Hey, Gypsy!” Mole’s smile stretches his cheeks wide, relief coloring his cheeks. He’s been watching me too closely since I admitted to seeing those people die, and I know he’s worried about how all of this is affecting me.
I wish that he had been the one to come check on me. Two months ago he probably would have been, but even though there’s no chance Mole won’t be a part of my life forever, we’ve changed a little bit since stepping into the real world. As though he started to see me differently once he got a glimpse through other people’s eyes.
Like Jude’s.
Mole’s waiting on my response, hope shining in his green eyes. Nothing in me even considers letting him down, and being the sole focus of his attention warms me all the way down to my toes.
I cross to him, leaning down to give him a careful squeeze and whisper in his ear. “Hey, Mole.”
He twists slightly so he can peer into my face. Or, he would be peering if his eyes worked. “You good?”
I pat his head as if he’s a cute puppy, a gesture that drives him mad, and giggle at the distaste in his frown. “I’m good. Are we about to get a show in here or what?”
“Let’s hope so. It’s tediously boring listening to the news. The twins haven’t been fighting and I can’t even rile Polly up. Don’t leave me again.”
“Well, I can’t make any promises, but maybe next time I’ll take you with me.”
“To your bedroom? I accept.”
His lips curl into a smile when my pat turns into a whack, and I smile back without thinking.
“Okay, who do you want to do first?” Haint starts, reacting to the air of impatience permeating the entire room.
It’s hard to say whether everyone else is as nervous about this exercise as I am since the twins start snickering.
“I don’t know, Haint,” Goose gasps through a snort. “Who do you want to do first?”
Athena howls and Mole barks a laugh—even Pollyanna can’t stifle a smile as Geoff dissolves into giggles. Then we’re all laughing over nothing, really, but our collective anxiety lifts up in bubbles that pop in the air above our heads.
Even Madeline looks bemused by the stupid double entendre. “Let’s start with you, Haint, and Pollyanna.”
The girls nod, sobering as they go to her. Polly swallows hard more than once. Madeline grabs one of Haint’s hands, then one of Pollyanna’s, and sets her lips in a firm line. “You don’t have to do anything, but it helps if you can sort of open your mind. Leave it blank, or like a pool of water, or a pane of glass. Something that can be transparent.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Polly mutters.
In truth, neither of them is good at being transparent—not with their thoughts or feelings or anything else. A spark of hope lights inside me, one lit by the idea that this might not work. Not with the girls.
Madeline doesn’t reply to Polly’s complaint, and my friends sigh and close their eyes. The Older’s fingers wrap tighter around theirs and she closes her eyes, too, sucking her cheeks in toward her teeth. Her twitching eyelids freak me out, and I press closer to Mole’s arm on the edge of
his chair. He winds it around my waist.
Total silence descends on the room, underscored by the low hum of the television anchors and Athena’s mouth-breathing. He’s either coming down with a cold or allergic to something in my father’s house. Either is cause for concern since Cavies don’t get sick and have never succumbed to allergies, either. I guess the alteration to the status quo could be a result of his having to tap into the ultra-healing abilities after being burned twice by Mole. Like maybe pulling energy from one thing means we lose it from another.
That theory makes sense to me. Nothing comes from nothing. There’s always a price.
Madeline opens her eyes then, and a moment later, Polly peeks.
“Well?” she demands.
The Older’s expression twists my stomach. The way her jaw is slightly slack, how boredom carefully guards her gaze, makes me sure she’s going to say she saw something awful. That we shouldn’t go to Russia, that we should all run and hide from the CIA like the Olders did.
“Nothing. It didn’t work.”
My eyes pop wide in surprise.
“You didn’t see anything?” Haint clarifies, her dark eyes flying open. They’re swimming in skepticism, and I think everyone must have seen the brief horror on Madeline’s face before she claimed her gift failed. “Why?”
“I don’t know. You’re all aware that these mutations aren’t exactly reliable. Sometimes I see clearly. Sometimes I don’t. We worked on it for years, with and without the GRH-18, but the fact is the future isn’t set in stone. What I see might happen, or something might occur to change it at the last minute.”
“Right, but that would still mean you see something,” Polly presses.
“Not always. Not when there are too many variables at the outset. It’s just shadows. No faces, no places.”
She’s lying. I’m sure of it with every last bone in my body.
“Try with me,” Mole says, his face clear of judgment. “And the twins. We’re easier to read than the girls, plus our mission should involve less confrontation.”
“I don’t want to try anymore. It’s not going to work.” Madeline licks her pale lips and blinks back tears. When she catches me staring they evaporate in an instant and her gaze turns accusatory. “Why don’t you ask Gypsy to try? You want to know if you’re going to die in Russia this week? She can tell you.”
Their collective gazes turn to me, full of curiosity and hopefulness. It’s the latter that stabs me, pricks all of my exposed skin like a hundred sharp little needles. I could give them hope, or at least make sure we don’t walk into the lion’s den, but it scares me. Because despite what Madeline claims to believe about the future, the numbers I see have never changed.
Not once.
If I touch them and see them all die at their current ages in a pile of Siberian snow, there’s not going to be a darn thing I can do to change it except tell them to not go. I have no way of knowing if that will even work. We could cancel the trip to Russia and all die in a car accident. If we’re supposed to die at seventeen, will we die at seventeen regardless of how it happens?
Maybe together, using all of our brains, we could lock ourselves in a steel room and stay safe. But not for a year. Not forever.
I touched those people on the street today but I don’t know them. Don’t have to watch them die.
“No.” I don’t say anything else, and everyone except Madeline, Pollyanna, and Geoff look away. It’s the answer they expected. Maybe it’s even the answer they wanted, and all they’re feeling is relief.
But this isn’t brave, saying no. This could be how I help my friends. How I finally contribute.
“Okay, maybe.”
“Why not do it now?” Madeline demands, a glint in her eyes that reminds me of a dog digging its teeth into a bone.
“Because I need time to prepare to see when and how my friends are going to die,” I snap, my nerves frayed. “If y’all are being honest with yourselves, I doubt you’re ready, either.”
“But what if you could change it?” She’s not going to give up. No one is coming to my rescue, and Mole’s arm feels cold around my waist.
I stand up, moving away from him. Alone at the center of everyone’s accusation, silent or otherwise.
As hard as my hands shake, her question tickles my brain. Engages it. Changing the outcome of what I see is something I’ve hardly let myself toy with, but the desire has never been far from my heart since the first time I touched Jude Greene and saw his death at age eighteen.
“Is that really possible?” I hate the desperate, wobbly hope in my voice.
Madeline shrugs, and her expression softens the tiniest bit. “I don’t know, Gypsy, but in my experience, everything I just said about the future is the truth. It’s elastic.”
“Maybe, but the ages I’ve seen never have been.”
“If you don’t know when they’re supposed to die, how will you at least try to stop it?”
Not a single answer comes to mind. Madeline could probably see my future without any trouble right now because my brain feels like a placid lake, a green field untouched by the slightest breeze. I feel exposed, as though she’s reading my mind right now since her questions are so close to the ones I’m asking myself.
I turn and leave the living room, needing space to decide what I want. What I believe. What I’m willing to give up in order to give them something to hold on to. To summon the strength to follow through, to be what my Cavies need right now.
I’ve been the person they like, the person they talk to, but never the person they need. It doesn’t feel like I thought it would.
My feet carry me through the kitchen and outside through the mudroom, fingers absently grabbing one of my jackets, which is still on the hook by the door. Rain hits my face, and it’s not until the cold water hits my skin that I realize it’s already soaked with warm tears.
I know what I have to do, and that our hours to do it are limited. But I need a little time before I face the future head-on.
Chapter Sixteen
My feet beat a familiar path through the city. Four turns later I’m staring up at the impressive white columns and double piazzas of Maya’s house. It’s less festive than it was before the holidays, but even without its evergreen wreaths and bright-red bows, the light spilling from the windows wraps warmth around my shoulders.
It’s the early evening, but it’s Saturday so there’s a good chance Maya’s home. Upstairs pretending to do her homework and scrolling through silly internet sites, maybe, or catching up on mindless reality television. The thought brings a smile to my face, and it propels me straight up the walk and onto the wraparound porch. My hand lifts to grasp the ornate lion’s head doorknocker, which always amused me, and I start to feel more like myself. I grin at Maya’s shocked excitement when she peers through the window next to the huge, heavy door before throwing it open.
“You answer the door yourself like a commoner now? Did the help finally get sick of you?”
The squeal that leaves her lips puts the family china in danger and she reaches out, dragging me into the house by my biceps. “What are you doing here, weirdo? Why don’t you call someone?!”
“I just thought I’d surprise you. What are you doing?”
Maya’s short blond hair is thrown up in a messy ponytail that speaks of a recent nap, but she gives me a look, eyes sweeping toward the sitting room to the left of the entrance. “I’m doing homework, but I’m sure my parents won’t mind if you hang out for a while.”
She stomps up the stairs in front of me, and the second floor feels emptier than the first. Maya’s room is the last one on the right and is bigger than most of our classrooms at school. A blanket lies on top of the thick white comforter on her four-poster bed, evidence that she’d chosen a nap over homework even though her Chem II textbook and notes are scattered across the top of her desk.
The space is homier than my room, but Maya’s had her whole life to pin pictures to the corkboards and win trophie
s and ribbons to weigh down the white shelves. It’s past time for me to accept that the only way for me to create a life of memories like hers is to look forward, not back. And maybe a legacy of helping people avoid their untimely deaths is the way to do that.
It begins here and now. I start picking up the pieces of my courage, using them to build a wall around my heart to keep it from shattering in case it sees something awful when I touch Maya.
Because I’m going to touch Maya. Prove to myself I can handle seeing the end of someone I love before I go back to my father’s house and try it on the people I love most. Basically the creepiest practice session ever.
“What’s wrong?” Maya studies me, flopping onto the bed and pulling the soft fleece over her knees. All the money in the world can’t fix every draft in an old house. Cold air sneaks in through crannies worn away by years and secrets, and the Ashley home is no different, no matter how well preserved.
“Nothing. Just a little bit of a rough day.” My response does nothing to appease her. I get a flood of standard Maya Ashley exasperation, which means she’s not going to stop prodding until she knocks something loose. Luckily, there’s plenty wrong and not all of it has to be a secret. “Fine. I miss my life here. My father and you and Jude. Heck, even Savannah.”
That earns me a snort. “She’ll be thrilled to hear it.”
“I’m sure.”
Maya cocks her head. “Actually, I think she misses you, too. The shadowboxing gave her something to do, plus her Latin grade went up while she had you for competition.”
“I aim to please.” There’s something so nice and safe about being here with Maya. As though maybe the past several days and weeks were nothing but a bad dream. “What have you been up to?”
“School. Theatre, yearbook. Same old.”
“Except for Peter,” I tease, drawing his name out so it stretches as far as possible. This kind of situation, giving a friend a hard time over a boy, is new to me in practice but not in theory. Movie theory, at any rate. “Tell me everything.”
Alliance Page 17
