And when they find Morton and the others—because I have no doubt Titus will never stop looking—he will surely kill them. And then me. The Creator will finally be all-powerful. There would be no one to stop him. Morton thinks I can find a way. More than his words, I see it in his eyes whenever we speak. But if I can’t stop Titus from killing one human girl, how will I stop him from eradicating an entire group of people?
My helplessness is excruciating. Being here in this plush tower while my friends’ fate blurs with each passing moment is a force that presses around me, a blanket of guilt and responsibility and loss. I am tempted to give in, accept it all and mourn it now while I have the breath to draw and the tears to cry. That is what most Imitations would do. It is what they taught me to do. But something in me pushes back and I know I cannot give in. I cannot cry.
The scrambler is a tiny consolation. It’s the smallest of stepping stones in the right direction but it’s not enough.
I wait for Linc, hoping he’ll return when whatever meeting he’s been called into ends. I need to tell someone about what Taylor said. But the minutes drag on and the house remains quiet. I stop pacing. I will wear tracks in the carpet at this rate.
I spend a tedious amount of time getting ready for bed, making every attempt to prolong the process. I select pajamas carefully, wandering through my closet three times before settling on a gingham print camisole with shorts to match. My hair crackles against the fabric, strands sticking to it in static tufts.
I stand in front of my sink, feeling small in the granite-tiled cavern. My bathroom is the same size as the one I left in Twig City. That one is shared by more than twenty girls. I wash my face, rubbing and scrubbing for longer than necessary. It’s no use. Between the expensive products and the atmosphere here, I can’t get the layer of money off my face.
My face is buried in the towel when my bedroom door opens. I am immediately halfway to panicked. My head snaps up, using the mirror’s reflection to identify my visitor. Linc walks into my bedroom, his neck craning right and left as he searches for me. My lips curve upward in the beginnings of a smile but it falters when a face appears behind him. From the outline of his broad shoulders and thick arms, I know it’s Alton. The man who walked in on Linc and I the other day. The man Titus gave Linc’s job.
I set the towel aside and step back into my bedroom to meet them.
“Can I help you guys?” I ask, inserting enough sarcasm into my words to wipe the hint of a smile from Linc’s face. Alton’s already present scowl deepens. I hope he’s thinking he’s been stuck with a bratty rich girl who only cares about clothes and makeup. Assuming me shallow is infinitely better than assuming me a double agent.
“Raven, this is Alton,” Linc says, gesturing stiffly between us. “He is the new head of security and, after extensive training and debriefing over the last few days, he’s been assigned as your new personal guard. He will accompany you everywhere you go from now on so you don’t have to worry about anything.” His voice is a monotone, as if reciting the words back from someone else.
Linc’s demeanor is off. The rigid set of his shoulders, his fisted hands—it’s more than usual. I try to read between the lines but force my expression blank to greet Alton. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say on auto-pilot.
Linc gives me a slanted look, pulling me back into character. I ignore him, too busy connecting what he’s just said. “Wait, follow me everywhere?” I say, my voice pitching higher. As an afterthought, I twirl the ends of my hair around my finger and stare up at Alton. “Like, everywhere everywhere?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his words curt and business-like. His nose is slightly flat across the tip and moves when he talks. I let myself stare at it a moment while his mouth continues to move it up and down. “Anytime you’re outside the walls of this apartment, I won’t leave your side. You can count on me to protect you.”
The sinking feeling magnifies. He means it, judging by the determined set of his jaw. The scrambler, my one victory, is useless. I wonder how I’ll ever see Morton or Anna or the others after this. How, if Taylor’s words prove true, we’ll ever escape. Titus is clearly not taking any chances with me. I continue my act, hoping to at least put his guard down when it comes to my trustworthiness. “But why? Daniel and Melanie were captured. The danger is over, right?”
“We aren’t willing to assume anything. Your safety is too important. For now, we’re treating it like a level five.”
I have no idea what a level five is but Linc looks pissed so I assume it isn’t good. “What about Linc? Isn’t he considered good enough for level five or whatever?” I ask.
Linc’s face contorts for split a second before smoothing into a neutral mask again. Alton frowns, his nose spreading wider across his cheeks, and says, “He’s been reassigned.”
My stomach lurches. “Reassigned to where?” I snap, replacing my fear with anger—at least on the surface.
“He’s a floater for now until we can find a more permanent position for him.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means he’ll go where we need him depending on the threat level. You don’t need to concern yourself with all of this. Just know that you’ll be protected at all times.”
“I have a shopping date with my friend Taylor tomorrow.” I glare at him, letting him know I’m not happy. “I prefer Linc,” I snap.
“All due respect, ma’am, it’s not up to you.” Alton heads for the door. It’s clear the conversation is over. His hand reaches out for the knob and the hem of his sleeve pulls back. Something black flashes against the paleness of his skin. The fabric still covers most of it but I don’t need to see it all to know what it is. A tree with a six-digit number printed below it has been tattooed on his skin.
He is an Imitation. Although, it is clear he is not an ally. The hardness in his eyes and the set of his shoulders are evidence of that. I wonder what he would do if he knew what I was. I consider pulling my hair aside in order to find out, but something about his demeanor stops me.
Linc is watching me curiously, sending glances back and forth between me and Alton’s retreating back. I squeeze my lips together to keep all the words in that I’ve been saving up for him. Now is not the time. I worry when or if the time will come now that Linc has been reassigned.
“Crawford,” Alton calls from the doorway. “Let’s go.”
Linc walks reluctantly to the door and stops as if he’s just remembered something. “I almost forgot. You had a phone call earlier. Senator Whitcomb’s son. He asked that you phone him back when you get a chance.”
Alton’s brow knits. He says something to Linc under his breath. Linc shakes his head and says something back before disappearing into the hallway. Alton looks up at me, his hand on the knob. “I’ll get you a new cell phone as soon as possible.”
I watch him exit without a word.
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Alton delivers a phone to my room within the hour. It’s sleek and black and high-tech enough that I have no doubt it’s completely bugged and coded to record every word and every stroke of my finger. I take it from the guard who delivers it—Deitrich, I think Linc calls him—with a roll of my eyes.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
The guard leaves and I try not to wonder what Linc is doing now that he’s been reassigned. Maybe now, he’ll spend more time with his mother. I try to convince myself this is a silver lining even though my heart rebels and threatens to panic at not having him beside me every time I venture out into public.
Mentally, I repeat his words back to me: We’ll figure something out.
I power the phone on and dial Obadiah. His number has been pre-programmed into my list of contacts. So have Taylor’s and Titus’s. I’m fairly certain the only numbers that will work are the three that have been provided for me. Not that I know any others.
Obadiah answers on the fifth ring. “Hello?” He sounds breathless.
“Obadiah, it’s me … Rav
en,” I add, aware of our eavesdroppers.
“Oh, hey,” he says hesitantly. I wait while he does the math on what’s happening.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m good. I’m … out and about in the city. Just left the orphanage. You know, the one you accompanied me to once.”
“How are the … orphans faring?” I ask.
“Very well under the circumstances. They ask about you and when you might come back and visit.”
“I don’t think that will happen for a while,” I say quietly. This is dangerous territory now. I let irritation into my voice and add, “My father hired a new head of security today. They’re acting like I’m still being threatened, calling it a level five or whatever, so they feel the need to hold my hand every five seconds. He’s probably determined to impress so he’ll be extra annoying while he follows me around. I have, like, no privacy anymore.”
“Sounds like a drag. What are you going to do?”
The annoyance contained in my huff is all me. “Show him what it’s like to follow Raven Rogen around all day. I’m shopping with Taylor tomorrow.”
Obadiah laughs. “That plan is fraught with all sorts of danger.”
“He’ll regret his promise to not leave my side after listening to her for an hour,” I agree.
“Totes. You up for that? I mean, a whole shopping experience with Taylor? It can take a lot out of a person.”
“I have no choice. She’s determined to be a good friend.”
“Taylor wants to be a good friend? That’s an oxymoron.”
A laugh escapes me but dies away quickly as I remember what Taylor told me about the mark. The segregation. I wish I could talk to Obadiah about it, share my worries, ask his advice, but I know better. Instead, I continue with the current line of conversation. “She came over today and demanded to know what my problem is. I explained I’m still pretty shaken up about Daniel’s disappearance and she decided she hasn’t been there enough for me. I think she’s going to launch a whole “Cheer Raven Up” campaign. Shopping and lunches and parties. I’m kind of scared.”
“Oh, honey, you should be. I mean, a campaign run by Taylor? Ugh.” His voice shudders. “That sounds terrifying.”
I laugh again and it feels good. There’s a noise on Obadiah’s end, like a car door shutting. “I’ve got to run for now, but leave some time in your busy political schedule for me, will ya?”
“I will,” I promise.
“Are you going to the Party fundraiser this weekend?” he asks.
“The what?”
“Darling. You’ve been hiding at home too much. The fundraiser for the New World Political Party. My dad’s putting it on to raise election funds for Taylor’s dad. Speeches, suits, ties. You know, the usual.”
“I thought your dad was changing parties,” I say.
“Who told you that?”
“Um.” I hesitate. No one told me anything. I only know what I’d overheard form Titus. He wants to trade Obadiah’s dad for an Imitation version. Or, at least, he will if Senator Whitcomb doesn’t continue playing along with whatever political agenda they’ve set before him. It’s not something I’ve found a way to inform Obadiah of. “Just something Taylor said,” I lie.
“Ugh. Taylor’s such a busybody,” he says. “My dad’s decided to stay where he is. Taylor needs to follow the advice of her bra and stuff it. Anyway, you going?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
“With Taylor in charge of your emotional state, I’d say yes.”
“Okay, then, yes.”
“Fab. I’ll see you there.”
“See you there.”
He blows a kiss and then the line goes dead.
I toss the phone aside and curl up on my bed. Morton and the others are all right. For now. Obadiah can update me, even if I can’t go see them myself.
I desperately want to tell him about what Taylor said, but I know I can’t. Not on the phone. I will have to attend the party Obadiah mentioned if I want to talk to him without listening ears. Titus will probably insist anyway. I glance up in the direction of my closet, thinking of the sparkly dresses hanging inside. I’ve worn almost all of them, or the ones I can stand to wear. Most have such low-cut necklines and strapless backs I can’t bring myself to step out of my room in them.
Maybe my shopping trip with Taylor won’t be wasted tomorrow. It’s hard to admit, but there is a part of me that appreciates the trappings of my new life. Guilt washes over me, just like it does anytime I’m tempted to enjoy any part of this imprisonment. I tell myself it’s part of my makeup, a trait built in by the Creator. Raven Rogen likes nice things; therefore, so do I. But I am not entirely certain of the fact. Up until now, I haven’t admitted it to anyone, not fully—least of all myself.
But now, I let my imagination wander as it concocts an image of a dazzling, glittery dress that clings perfectly to my figure, comfortable and elegant and beautiful. I imagine my hair pinned up high on my head, without a care of my tattoo and who might see it. For a moment, I pretend I can do whatever I want with my body. I pretend I can pick whoever I want to accompany me.
Linc would see the dress and stand speechless, all of his unspoken compliments in his eyes. When he spoke, it would be to tell me how beautiful I look. How I was truly his angel brought to life. We would go the party and dance, him in a tuxedo and me in my perfect dress. And no one would threaten to harm us for dancing or laughing or touching. We would be free. Even if only for that night.
I imagine the faces of my friends surrounding us. Ida, Lonnie, Obadiah, Morton, Anna, all of them wearing beautiful clothes. Smiling and laughing and dancing. All of us free.
The Creator gone. Never to return.
The picture of Titus, even destroyed, is fleeting, but those few seconds are all it takes. The impossibility of my desire is too much. It comes crashing down around me like a wave capsizing a ship. Just like that, my dream is swallowed up by an ocean of impossibility, the remnants splintered into pieces.
I curl into a tighter ball, slipping under the covers with the lamp still on. I don’t care about sleep so much as escape. For me. For them.
Daniel.
Thoughts of leaving always bring me back to him, locked away with his secrets and what’s left of my promise to free him. My chin juts. Despite all he’s done—maybe even because of it—I can’t leave without him. Linc won’t understand. Obadiah will help if I ask, but I don’t know any of the right questions. As always, thoughts of the impossibilities frustrate me and I hit a wall. My brain shuts down. There is nowhere else to go. Nothing I’ve been taught or given has equipped me for subterfuge.
My eyes burn so I shut them, refusing to shed a single tear. And because it is the only possible thing from my dream, I promise myself that tomorrow, I will find that dress. I will.
Chapter Ten
Maria wakes me early the next morning with a gentle shake and a murmur of foreign words. She rolls a cart of food and juice over to the chair across the room and clatters the plates until I rouse. I rub my sleepy eyes and try to keep my mind blank for as long as possible. Thoughts from yesterday, of Melanie, of marks and tattoos, of Authentics and Imitations blending together threaten but I shove them away and concentrate on the smell of eggs and coffee.
“Good morning,” Maria says. She is not overly friendly but she at least speaks to me now. I thought something might change after our conversation weeks ago, when I’d spoken kindly of her daughter, but she’d remained distant yet cordial. Speaking only when necessary. I can’t blame her. One conversation isn’t nearly enough to erase the fear that goes along with being employed by someone like Titus. And we are never truly alone with our words.
“Good morning,” I return, sitting primly at the edge of the chair and placing the napkin in my lap like she taught me. “It smells wonderful,” I add.
Maria gives me a slanted look and I stop talking and eat. The eggs are salty and the coffee is hot. Despite having experienced a meal like this eve
ry day for weeks now, I savor every bite, relishing the richness of the ingredients before me. I think of the sparse supply of bacon sometimes available in Twig City, and what Lonnie is willing to do for an extra piece. A pang accompanies the memory of our last breakfast together. I wish I’d comforted Ida more, hugged them tighter.
“Mr. Rogen left instructions for you to dress for the track today,” Maria says, fishing a tank top out of my dresser and laying it across my newly made bedcovers. She produces a pair of stretchy shorts from another drawer and adds it to the pile of clothes laid out.
I keep silent, not wanting to be overly kind but unwilling to be discourteous. I finish eating and set my utensils aside as Maria collects the dishes and stacks them neatly on the cart.
I change into the clothes Maria provided, double-knotting my laces before letting her tie my hair into a high ponytail. When she’s finished, Maria’s finger brushes over my tattoo. I pretend not to notice. She’s never mentioned it and I’ve never asked, unsure what Titus has told her. I assume the last Raven had a tattoo in the same place, which at the very least makes mine familiar territory.
“Someone will be here to escort you shortly,” Maria says as she leaves.
The prospect of a run raises my spirits. It allows me to escape in a way that I can’t experience otherwise. Running opens up my muscles, allows me to push myself and extend my limits. Something I am discouraged from any other time.
I wonder briefly if I’ll see Linc today as a knock sounds on my door. “Come in.”
Alton walks in, a voice droning out of the two-way radio strapped to his hip. He reaches down and mutes it. “Are you ready for your workout, Miss Rogen?” His words are clipped and sharp. He doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual.
“Ready,” I mutter.
Alton is silent yet somehow irritating as he oversees my workout. His eyes are sharp, taking in every move. He’s waiting for me to slip up. So that he can fuss or accuse me or worse. I don’t know how I know it but I do. He says nothing except what’s necessary. But when we reach the rooftop track, he dismisses the guard by the door and positions himself to watch over me while I run.
Deviation Page 9
