by Sarah Porter
Her cropped hair is so thin that the wind opens up big pink zigzags of scalp. I can smell her sweat, and there are dark stains on her grayish dress, like maybe she spilled a cup of coffee on herself and never had time to change.
“I really don’t understand what you were saying. I don’t see what my dad has to do with anything.”
“Of course you don’t. Get back to class. I understand that you’re not overly fond of Gabriel, but avoiding him isn’t an option. Personal irritations of that kind can’t be allowed to interfere with the functioning of our community.”
I can’t tell her that attempted murder doesn’t count as an irritation. And anyway I’m too distracted by what she said about my dad. My heart is smacking in my chest, and I’m close to crying from fury.
“Are you calling my dad unscrupulous? He’s not. And he only let me come here because my mom was so worried about their new baby. That I would infect it.”
Weirdly, she smiles at that. Slyly. “That’s quite a burden for them to put on you, Ada. At least one of your parents is almost certainly a carrier of Chimera Syndrome already. It generally attacks the germ cells in the mother at the same time as the embryo, if a woman happens to be pregnant—or possibly your father’s sperm cells were infected before you were ever conceived. And since he’s a microbiologist, he must be well aware that their new baby is at risk in any case. There’s no good reason to believe that you’re contagious at all, in reality. The menace of the chimeras is simply a myth cherished by the ignorant. It’s interesting, isn’t it, that the authorities haven’t tried to disillusion them?”
“That can’t be true.” That’s the only reason why he didn’t fight harder for me: that having me around might actually kill my new sibling. I understood why I had to go. I understood.
“Go to class. If you decide later that you have more to discuss with me, I promise to find time for you.”
That’s it: this is all a trick. Gabriel said that I’m holding out on them because of my parents. If he believes that, then Ms. Stuart probably does too. She’s lying to make me hate my dad. To make me rely on her and tell her everything, everything I’ve seen and felt and thought here, and then sign up to help her with her project. But I won’t be discussing anything with her.
I turn away and storm back up the hill without another word. As I reach the front door, the sky splits with light and thunder shrieks behind me. Rain slams down at my heels, and I pause in the lobby, feeling off balance and breathless, while the roof drums fiercely overhead.
I’m not about to go to class, though. Not when I can’t stop crying. I turn and run through the halls, trying to reach my bedroom before anyone sees me like this. And all at once the blue is around me, wrapping my face and billowing back from my hands. I see the hallway in front of me warped and electric, bluer than the sky and darting with violet shapes like minnows. When I reach my room and fall onto the bed, it bundles itself around my shoulders, charging me as if the storm were against my skin, and brushes the insides of my eyes.
It’s trying to comfort me, and I guess I appreciate it. I wish I could ask it what I should do.
I wish it could tell me that Ms. Stuart was absolutely lying. That there wasn’t a speck of truth in anything she said. My father would never deceive me that way. If it weren’t for their new baby, he would have fought for me. He would have faced down the mobs if they threatened us and kept me safe at home, just like he said to Mr. Collins the day they took me away.
In fact, if there was any truth at all in what Ms. Stuart told me, then that would mean every single thing my father said to me and Mr. Collins that day was an act. There’s no reason why he would do that.
In the next moment I’m back on my feet, wiping my face. I’m nauseous and my knees are wobbling, but I have to get to the library. There must be an email from him—I’m sure of it. One that will explain everything. It’s only a little after noon, so no one will be in there.
The blue strokes my face, then pours through the wall and over the meadow. I can see a faint azure ruffling in the grass as it slides away. And the funny thing is that I do feel a little stronger, knowing that it cares about me. Whatever it is, and whatever it wants from us. It could have made us for completely selfish reasons, or by accident, or just as some kind of chaotic game, but it still came to me when I was crying and held me.
And if my dad really did betray me, the blue might turn out to be the only parent I have left. Then I’ll need it just as much as Rowan does.
I slip back down the hall as quickly and softly as I can. The air seems to pulse with the beat of the rain overhead, and my heart patters in my chest. Whatever might be lurking in my inbox feels like an even bigger, darker, wilder threat than Soraya seemed to be when she was still hiding at the bottom of the pit.
Now and then voices drift around corners and I freeze against the marker-scrawled walls, but no one comes, and no one notices me, and a few minutes later, I’m tugging back the library’s glass door and slipping up to the computers. They’re at a table where anyone walking by will be able to see me. I’ll try to be fast.
All at once I realize that I’m acting as if there really will be messages from my dad that no one here should see. Messages that might put me in danger. It’s like I believe everything Ms. Stuart said and, even worse, everything she didn’t quite come out and say. But how can I?
I reach to power up the computer on the right, standing next to its drab school chair. I’m full of a jerky energy, and I can’t make myself sit. The machine hesitates, then gasps out a sleepy wheezing. The screen flashes from dead gray to deep blue, and the computer gives out another sound halfway between a sigh and a grind, and then just stops doing anything.
It’s chilly in here. It takes me a moment to realize that the tall, skinny windows all along the back wall have been left open, and the rain is driving through and spattering on the books. It seems irresponsible not to go and close them all. A gust full of droplets prickles my arm, but I’m not about to step away from the computer.
It takes all my willpower not to smack the blue screen. There’s another grunt, like the computer might decide to do something someday, and then a cursor appears and blinks at me. I grab the mouse and shove it back and forth. Nothing.
Seconds lurch by. I keep twisting to look over my shoulder, sure that someone is watching me through the door, but the hallway stays as blank and gray as ever, and finally, finally a handful of icons winks onto the screen, including one for a search engine. I double click, and an hourglass appears.
This time I’m sure: there are voices out in the hall. But they’re still too far away for me to see their glow. I should be able to see them coming before they see me, at least if I keep peering back that way.
The rain is so loud, though. I’ll never hear footsteps. Not if someone is trying to be sneaky.
I finally get to the page for my email and sign in with my hands trembling.
My inbox opens. There are dozens of messages, from Nina and Harper and other kids I’m not even really friends with, Olivia and Luke and Simonetta. I open the first one. Ada I just want you to know that NO ONE believes what they’re saying about you! NO ONE! You can come back and we will laugh at anybody who calls you the k-word. K?
But most of them are from my dad. The other messages from my friends can wait.
Ada, dearest, by now you must have found my letter and the new phone. I’m afraid you’re upset with me now that you see how I’ve planned for this moment, and that’s why you haven’t written. I don’t want you to put yourself at risk in any way. Just be quietly observant, as you always are.
That’s from the day after I arrived.
Right; I never opened my duffle. I didn’t want to know.
Maybe this is exactly what I didn’t want to find out.
Something with sharp metal wings seems to be crashing around inside my forehead, trying to get out. My vision blurs for a moment, and I can’t keep reading. Then I refocus and start clicking on his me
ssages at random, reading a sentence or two and then jumping to the next. I should shut off the computer and dart away before those voices in the hallway come any closer, before someone catches me here, but I’m not ready to tear my eyes from the screen. Because what I’m thinking can’t be true. It can’t.
Ada, I’m getting worried. You did destroy my letter immediately, as I asked? It could be open to interpretation . . .
You did not choose to be what you are. There should be no need for you to redeem yourself for something you can’t help. I know that. But unfortunately there is. This is your chance to help all of humanity and to prove that you are truly a part of humankind. Get the information they want, and our family will be given special permission to leave Long Island. You won’t have to register.
At least write. No matter how angry you are, we don’t deserve this silence from you! Or are they preventing you somehow?
I never wanted it to be you, Ada. But your eyesight . . . I knew that our best chance of discovering . . .
If I come it will only cast suspicion on you. I’m afraid to take the risk.
That was yesterday evening. That was when I was whipping through the ocean with my head in Soraya’s mouth, breathing her breath.
Ms. Stuart was right. My dad sent me here to be a spy. After all his talk about keeping me safe, he was fine with sending me into danger when it seemed like I might be useful. Does he really think I would prove I’m good enough to be part of humanity by betraying my own kind? My friends, my own sister? That’s what he thinks is supposed to redeem me?
I think I’ve been forgetting to breathe. When I try to stand up, darkness rushes through me and I sink back down. Maybe I pass out for a few moments, maybe longer, because the next thing I know, my head is on the keyboard, full of stabbing pain.
When I look around, I see a trail of softly luminous red warmth in the air beside me, already fading out. Within the last few seconds, someone was standing over my shoulder, reading the message that’s up on the screen now, even though I never clicked on it. I see the words through a blur.
I’m coming, Ada. It’s time to get you out.
That was sent today.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I TRY TO STAND, to run out into the hall before whoever was reading my email has time to vanish, but I must be getting sick. The shelves rock like boats, and darkness keeps waving in my eyes.
There’s a searing pain on the side of my neck. I start to understand: somebody did something to me. I touch the spot and feel a rising welt, like a burn. I find myself clutching the handle on the library door to keep myself upright, and then I see it on the gray carpet: a thin pink worm, phasing in and out of focus. One of the short, poisonous tentacles from Indigo’s stomach—somebody took it and used it as a weapon. From what Ophelia told me, I’ll be unconscious very soon.
I expect the door to be locked, but then the handle turns and I’m through, standing unsteadily in the hallway. It feels like the floor has melted beneath me.
I see the red glow driving at me in the dimness, but I’m too weak to get away. There are at least three of them coming up behind me, yanking my arms back. I feel rough hands pinning my wrists together. I think I might fall.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say. It comes out slurred. “I didn’t even know what he wanted. Not until right now.”
“Of course I was concerned once I realized whose daughter she was. I simply couldn’t bring myself to accept that anyone would exploit his own child that way. It’s barbaric.” That’s Ms. Stuart’s voice, but she’s not talking to me. “Ophelia is searching their room.”
“He’s coming here,” Gabriel says. “That’s what the last message said. It was sent an hour ago, so he could be here anytime.”
“Then prepare yourself. You know what you have to say.”
What’s that supposed to mean? I try to ask. I don’t hear my voice at all anymore.
“What if he doesn’t believe me?”
“In all probability, he won’t. No one doubts Dr. Lahey’s intelligence. Tell him anyway, and be ready to repeat the story as often as necessary. You’ll have to talk to the police as well.”
“Where’s Rowan? He won’t want to believe this.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’ll have him read the emails for himself. And the letter, assuming Ophelia finds it.”
I’m being hustled along the hall now, or maybe carried. I don’t think I feel the floor. Rowan, I try to say, I didn’t do it! I wouldn’t spy on you! But then I realize vaguely that he’s not even here.
They drop me in a windowless room a lot like the supply closet that Marley’s been using as a bedroom. I hear the door lock behind me. My legs slide out from under me, and I find myself sitting on the floor with my back to the wall, staring at the brown lines crossing through the yellow linoleum.
Do I pass out? That’s probably what it would look like, but to me it feels like I just disappear.
∗ ∗ ∗
“You can’t just lock her up! You can’t! There’s no proof she even did anything!” Rowan is screaming his head off. He sounds so desperate that my heart reaches for him through the wall. The doorknob rattles like he just grabbed for it, and then there’s a scuffling sound as someone pulls him back. In the crack under the door I can just see the slight red cast by his warmth. His warmth. Rowan.
I almost scream for him, but I have the sense to stop myself in time. It’s more important to listen. It’s way better if they think I’m still unconscious. How long has it been?
“Rowan, Rowan, Rowan. Listen to me. There’s no choice. Ada knows everything. She knows about the algae. She knows we’ve been trying to reengineer it so it doesn’t die as soon as it leaves the coastal waters right around Long Island. If only Dr. Jacoway still had his old brilliance, we’d be so much further, but . . . I admire Ada’s character as much as you do, Rowan. She’s a brave girl. But she’s working against us, and we cannot allow her to ruin our efforts. I need you to accept that.” It’s Ms. Stuart. Will he believe her?
“She wouldn’t do that. She cares too much—about us.”
“Rowan, think about it. Ada had arranged to check her email with Ophelia beside her. For moral support, supposedly. Clearly she was rushing to delete all the incriminating emails before that could happen, so Ophelia would only see the unopened messages from her old friends. What more proof do we need?”
It sounds like Rowan is crying, but in a muffled way, so maybe she’s holding him. He’ll have her coarse dress against his fur, the stink of her sweat in his nose.
“She’s been coming out and saying—all kinds of things, that she thinks kimes are a big threat and that people are right to be scared of us. She told Ophelia she’d feel terrible if her parents’ new baby was one of us. She knew how much it bothered us, too, when she kept saying stuff like that. If Ada were spying, she would have told us whatever we wanted to hear.”
Rowan’s still standing up for me, but he’s not screaming anymore. He’s starting to break down instead, and his voice is getting weaker. Ms. Stuart is winning.
“Oh—I’m sure that once Ada got to know everyone here, she felt deeply guilty about what her father had asked her to do. I don’t think she lacks heart, Rowan. She’s been saying more than she should in an effort to justify herself. To talk herself into betraying all of us. It’s truly appalling that her father put her in this position, where she was bound to be torn by conflicting loyalties.”
“You told him Ada is dead. You and Gabriel—it’s horrible.”
“Frankly, Rowan, I think he deserves to live with the consequences of his actions. He should have thought about that before he sent his twelve-year-old daughter in here as a spy.”
Dead. What did I expect them to tell him? I bet they used Gabriel’s old story about that underground crevice. They probably said I fell into the dark and there was no way to reach my body.
And if he believes them, then no one will ever come to get me out of here.
&
nbsp; “Let her out. I’ll watch her. I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any problems, Ms. Stuart. I promise.”
“No. Rowan, I never thought I would say this, but I don’t entirely trust you. Not where Ada is concerned.”
I still feel sick and bleary; the toxins from little Indigo’s tentacle must be pretty strong. Everything they’re saying beats at my brain, and I struggle to understand it. So parasitic algae do cause Chimera Syndrome, okay—I basically knew that. But didn’t Ms. Stuart just say that the algae can’t live in the water away from Long Island? Why wouldn’t they live just as well anywhere?
I drift off again, and all I see is moving blue: blue clouds and blue cascades, numbers and staircases and brilliant cobalt chandeliers. The blue must be with me, hugging my eyes as I slide in and out of sleep. And blue words, bright and so delicate they’ll shatter if I try to catch hold of them: something about a world that might be breaking. Something about new life in new shapes flowering in the ruins, blue running through our veins like luminous sap, charging us, making us stretch and grow. Us, the chimeras. Is that why the blue made us? Life is glowing, I try to say, but my voice seems far away from me. Life is what glows when you think it’s all gone dark.
At one point I wake up and find dinner next to me: roast chicken and little buttered potatoes and chocolate chip cookies. A big glass of milk. It’s fancier than the food we usually get; maybe somebody out there feels bad about how they’re treating me. I manage to sit up on a crate, though my head still feels wobbly, and start to eat with the dish perched on my knees. It’s barely warm. I have no idea how long I’ve been in here. A loud metal clanging sounds in the distance; for a long, confused moment, I think it might be some bizarre clock, chiming the hours. Whatever it is, I think I’ve heard it before.
“Hello?” I call, raising my voice to be heard over the clashing sound. It rakes, bangs, squeals. Why won’t it stop? “Hello? Is anyone there?”
No reply. I get off the crate and kneel down to peer through the crack below the door. The hallway is dimly lit, and there’s no haze of red warmth for as far as I can see, in any direction. Apart from the distant ruckus, it seems weirdly silent.
