Imitation

by Heather Hildenbrand

“I’m not bringing you. Not tonight.”

  I scowl and down the drink. Linc is right about it helping. I am relaxed again after so much tension building under the impossibly shallow conversations dinner provided. I know the fashion show will be just as bad—possibly worse as there is no pretense of helping the less fortunate.

  “Do we have to stay the entire time?” I ask.

  “No. But you should at least make an appearance.”

  Our eyes meet and I wish the car were smaller. That Linc had been forced to sit closer. This backseat is huge; each of us has an entire bench to ourselves. I want to ask Linc to sit next to me but I don’t dare. The partition is up, sealing our conversation inside but the driver can still see through it and I don’t dare risk anything by moving closer.

  As if he’s read my thoughts, Linc leans forward in the seat across from me and lets his hands dangle. Slowly, he inches his elbows forward. I do the same until our fingers brush and then intertwine. I look up and find him staring at me with the hint of a smile pulling one corner of his mouth. It’s such a simple, barely there expression but it sends a jolt of heat through me—a lightning bolt straight to my gut. It is an excruciating, lovely feeling.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  I hesitate because my answer is truthful to the point of ruining the moment. “It is amazing how real I feel when you touch me.”

  His expression darkens. “Then I never want to let go. You should feel real. You’re real to me.”

  I smile but it feels sad on my lips. “Just because you think I am doesn’t make it true.”

  “Just because you think you aren’t doesn’t make it true, either.”

  I have nothing to say to that. Or nothing that won’t lead to an argument. Neither of us speaks again—only twirling and twisting the tips of our fingers together until we arrive at Grundy’s.

  Before the car even stops, flashes go off. The paparazzi are thick here too. Now that it’s dark, the sight of them reminds me of the night of Melanie’s assault in the alley, how I passed by all of those flashing cameras barely able to walk. Seeing them flashing like strobe lights, all trained on me, makes the bubbles in my stomach swish and swirl.

  This was a bad idea.

  Behind the safety of our tinted windows, Linc slides his fingers free of mine, reaching up to run them over my cheek in a quickly affectionate gesture that goes a long way in calming my anxiety.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “As long as you’re beside me.”

  “In that case, we’re ready for anything.”

  He climbs out, holding the door open and extending his hand. I take it, careful to keep my contact light and strictly business, but still not willing to let go as he leads me past the buzzing and flashing.

  The cameras continue to click as we make our way inside and I’m not sure if it’s because of who I am or just who they think I am. The guest list for the show will no doubt include much more important people than me—even the Authentic version—and I can’t imagine they’ll waste digital storage space on me once the important players get here. But what do I know? Everything that should be important in this world isn’t—and everything that isn’t, is.

  “You’re doing great,” Linc says when we’re inside the elevator. And I know he’s thinking of the last time we made this sort of trek together too.

  I give him a grateful smile. “I’m glad you’re coming inside with me.”

  “Me too.” He squeezes my hand. “I enjoy being your plus one.”

  I make a face. “Even if it means answering idiot questions from senators?”

  “Even then.”

  I smile ruefully as the doors open. We step through and I’m swept up in the hustle and bustle of the show. We follow the crowd into a ballroom that has been transformed for the occasion. Billowing white sheets hang from the walls and move back and forth like ocean waves. I assume there is some sort of breeze being manufactured but I can’t find the source. White garland lights wind around vertical columns that have been erected in the aisles. To my left is a long runway raised several feet high with rows of chairs set around it. The walkway is lit with exposed bulbs on either side, each one a different shade of blue.

  Guests mill about, wandering to and from their seats and exclaiming over each other’s inspired wardrobe choices. The bar along the wall is surrounded by people knocking back drinks and inspecting the rest of us in a serious sort of way. Men and women in black pants and white button-up shirts dart around glancing wild-eyed at clipboards and speaking hurriedly into their two-way earpieces. The overall vibe is harried.

  “It’s crazy in here,” I say.

  Linc makes a grand sweeping gesture with his hand. “Welcome to the world of fashion.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about. Come to these often?” I tease.

  “More than you have.”

  I poke him in the ribs.

  Linc leads us to our seats on the edge of the stage on the far right. Within moments of sitting, the lights dim and people scurry to sit. I look over to see the chair next to me being taken by a woman with bleach-streaked hair and a dress that looks a lot like cellophane.

  “Well, hello, Raven,” she says with a smile that is full of sugary fakeness.

  “Hello.” I return her smile, hoping she doesn’t expect me to remember her name.

  “It’s me, Floriana Duganfell? From the charity board? We worked together on last quarter’s polling dinner for Senator Ryan?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s nice to see you out again. I trust you’re feeling better from your recent … experiences?”

  I can tell by her open-ended sentence she is fishing but I refuse to take the bait. I say only, “Yes, thank you.”

  She purses her lips, squinting at Linc as if trying to place his face against the list of names of who matter in her head. “And you are …?”

  “No one,” he assures her with a brilliant smile.

  The woman leans away, confusion dotting her features, and frowns. Before she can formulate a response, someone taps a microphone, the sound echoing, and the crowd hushes. I smother a giggle and in the darkness, I take Linc’s hand, tucking it discreetly between us.

  On stage, a slight man in tight pants and a too-small sport coat smiles at the crowd. “Can I have your attention, please?” he says, his voice nasal and high. “My name is Egleston Hawthorne. On behalf of Jorge Estrada and myself, I’d like to welcome you to Grundy’s for the annual summer collection preview. I think you’re going to love what Jorge has done this season. Now, without further ado, the summer collection …”

  The man scoots off the stage as pulsing music begins and the first model appears from behind the curtain. A tall statue of a woman who’s only proof of mobility is one foot in front of the other. Her face is a controlled mask. Uncaring, devoid of life. But her face isn’t what they’ve come to see. It’s her wardrobe everyone applauds for.

  I can only stare in amazement. The woman on stage is decked out in some sort of metal contraption. It is strung around her body like rings on a planet. I can’t even see where they attach to her. The only fabric she wears is a piece of material stretched tight and thin over her chest and a pair of shorts, equally small and snug, that barely cover her hind parts. Her hair is done in an elaborate twist with more metal rings floating around her head.

  “Whoa,” I say.

  “Ditto,” Linc whispers back.

  Beside me, Floriana claps excitedly, her attention glued to the contraption being modeled onstage. It shouldn’t surprise me considering the cellophane dress. I have a feeling this woman will be first in line when the metal-ringed outfit goes on sale.

  The first model finishes her walk and disappears backstage. Right on cue, the next girl steps out. The applause pauses long enough for people to take in her ensemble. “Oohs” and “aahs” vibrate around the room. Then the clapping resumes and the words are drowned out.

  This girl is slightly less
over the top, but it’s still ridiculous to me. Her hair has been somehow plaited and set in place to look like a fan sticking out of the back of her head. Her outfit, done in white and shimmering gold, has the same shape. A large tail protrudes behind her, thick and stiff so that it is a plaited fan that wraps around her waistline from left to right. Her shoes are platform sandals that give her at least another eight inches of height.

  “How can she walk in those things?” I whisper.

  “You don’t like the shoes? I thought for sure you’d want a pair.”

  Even in the darkness I can see his teasing grin. I stifle a giggle and catch my cellophane-clad neighbor giving me the evil eye. “Sshh!” she hisses.

  “Come on.” Linc rises from his chair and motions for me to follow.

  When we reach the end of our row, he pushes open an unmarked door and we slip through. The hall is dimly lit but empty. To the right, I can hear the hum of voices and assume it must lead backstage. Linc motions me left. We go a short distance before he pushes through another doorway. This one leads to a stairwell. As we climb, the layer of dust and grime coating the floor mutes the click of my heels. I am careful not to touch the railing.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.”

  We keep climbing until we run out of stairs. At the top, Linc opens a heavy door and ushers me out. I wait while he wedges something in the opening to keep it from locking.

  “What are we doing up here?” I ask.

  He shrugs as we wander the space. “I couldn’t take much more of plastic-wrap Medusa. I figured you could use a break too.”

  I curl my fingers around his. “It seems rooftops are becoming our thing.”

  He smiles crookedly. “I like a girl who’s partial to rooftops.”

  “I’m more partial to your motorcycle.”

  “It doesn’t scare you?”

  “No. Well, not in a bad way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was a little scary at first but after the initial rush of fear, it was just … a rush.” I hesitate because admitting this feels like handing him a weakness. Something I was trained not to do, but it’s Linc and I want to share everything with him, not just facts. I want him to know how I feel. About everything. Or everything I’m capable of feeling. So I finish by saying, “Honestly, riding your motorcycle has easily been my favorite part of this new life.”

  He stops. There is a small smile on his lips as he watches me. “You’ve never told me any of that.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t want to sound like an idiot.”

  “Why would you sound like an idiot?”

  “Everything I feel about riding your motorcycle sounds so … sentimental and poetic in my head, but I’m pretty sure if I say it out loud, it will sound ridiculous.”

  “Try me.”

  I sigh as I gather my words carefully. “Okay … I think, for me, riding a motorcycle is like running from something and toward it all at the same time. Does that sound ridiculous?”

  He uses the backs of his fingers to trace a trail down my cheek. “No. It sounds exactly right. I feel that way too. It’s actually the only time I feel free of all of this.” He gestures to the building we are standing on but I know he means so much more than a fashion show at Grundy’s.

  “I get it. Riding with you, I feel … bigger than I am. Like I could maybe matter. Like the universe notices me.”

  “Ven, you do matter.”

  I shake my head. “Not yet. But I will.”

  We leave just before the show ends. Linc is subdued after our rooftop conversation. He seems distracted by his own thoughts and I am too wrapped up in mine to pursue it. I rub absently at the mark on my neck, the inked numbers raised slightly higher than the rest of my skin. I catch Linc watching and quickly drop my hand to my lap. We ride the rest of the way in silence.

  Inside the elevator at Rogen Tower, Linc hits the button that will take us upstairs and then picks at his tie until it loosens and he pulls it free. He tilts his neck side to side and sighs.

  “Better?” I ask, amused.

  “Much,” he agrees.

  The elevator opens and I step out. A single security guard is stationed nearby. He nods at us and we make our way down the hall and to my room. The hallways are empty of sentries. Most of them have been moved downstairs or doubled up on the exits and rooftop. Daniel as a prisoner trumps me as a prisoner, I suppose.

  Linc stops outside my bedroom. “I’m going to find Titus and give my report. I’ll come see you before I go for the night.”

  We both know where he’ll go when he leaves and I am already impatient at the thought. “No, just talk to Titus and get going as soon as you can.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I just need to know.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “See you then.”

  He hesitates a second longer and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me right here in the hallway. I can’t help glancing at his mouth as I think it. Instead, he lets out a quiet groan and then turns and walks away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  That night, I am woken by the sound of my name. “Ven … Ven.”

  And in my half-awake, half-dreaming state, my first thought is how nice it is to hear those three letters spoken together out loud.

  “Ven.”

  The voice comes again, loud enough to chase away the fog and then I’m awake and breathing heavily while somehow not breathing at all because someone is in my room in the middle of the night, calling me by my real name.

  “Linc?”

  “It’s me,” he says and the words are rushed. “I need you to come outside.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s here.”

  Those two words are all I need to get moving. I know without being told exactly who he means. Instantly, I am on my feet and pulling on pants without a thought as to what Linc can see in the moonlit room.

  “She came willingly?” I ask, pulling a sweater on over my camisole nightshirt.

  “Yes. But she won’t come in until she talks to you.”

  I nod and push my feet into the closest pair of shoes. “Where?”

  “Outside.” There is the briefest pause and then he adds, “In the alley.”

  I still. For three beats I don’t say a word. That’s how long it takes me to shake the images of the last time Melanie and I were in the alley together. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

  He crosses to me and takes me gently by the shoulders. “For what it’s worth, no, I don’t. I think there’s a reason she’s allowing herself to be captured, but I don’t think you are it.”

  I let that sink in a moment. Still, I don’t move. The pressure of his hands on my shoulders is just enough to be reassuring.

  “And I’ll be right next to you the entire time,” he adds.

  That, combined with my curiosity propels me onward. “Let’s go.”

  The hallways are deserted. There is no guard in the foyer and I want to ask how Linc managed it but I know better than to make any noise. Linc doesn’t press the button for the elevator. Instead, he leads me through a side door and down a flight of stairs. We are careful to keep our steps silent.

  At the next landing, we take the door leading to the main hallway and Linc calls the elevator. It dings so loudly, I feel they’ve heard it all the way through the building. We step inside and the door closes. Beside me, Linc is rigid. I am wound just as tight. There is nothing to say but I slip my hand into his and he squeezes.

  When we step into the lobby, Linc veers left. We take a back exit that opens directly into the alley. The door shuts behind us, sealing us and any noise out.

  “Melanie,” Linc calls softly.

  Silence.

  “You left her out here alone?” I ask him incredulously.

  “Relax,” I hear as a mane of red hair materializes from around the far side of the Dumpster. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t have come.” />
  “Melanie.” Everything in me wants to take a giant step backward at the sight of her piercing gray eyes and glowing hair. I squeeze Linc’s hand and stand my ground. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk,” she says, shrugging as if it’s all that simple.

  “To talk,” I repeat, letting the skepticism show in my voice. “We can do that once you’ve come inside.”

  “I’d rather this story be for your ears only,” she says pointedly.

  “Linc stays.”

  She shrugs. “It’s cool, I figured as much. When I say alone, I mean without your daddy. Or fake Daddy. Or he’s real but you’re … whatever. You know what I mean.”

  I bristle with irritation. It gives me more confidence, diminishes the fear. “You have five minutes. I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Actually, that’s the thing. You sort of do owe me,” she says.

  She takes a step forward. I tense and Linc steps between us, blocking me. “Stay where you are,” he tells her.

  She holds up her hands in front of her. I look away because even though she meant the gesture to be one of acquiescence, all I see are the weapons she used to try to kill me. She’s so much stronger than she looks. Again, I am reminded of Lonnie, her wiry strength and unswerving determination when she sets a goal. I realize their chins jut in the same way.

  “I won’t move,” she says, her tone full of innocence. I can’t tell if she’s lying.

  “Talk,” I say.

  “Here’s the thing. I know who you are: Ven from Twig City. And I know what you are: Imitation. I also know there is an entire underground city full of you. Well, not you, exactly, but products.” She pauses, possibly to let the full weight of her words settle around us.

  Other than Linc, Daniel, and Titus, she is now the only other human I’ve met this side of Twig City who knows the truth. It feels … ominous.

  “Daniel told me everything,” she explains.

  I don’t doubt it, though I have no idea why he shared so much when he so obviously doesn’t care about her. I put all of the condescension and uncaring that is Authentic Raven into my voice when I say, “You brought me all the way out here to rub it in that you know my secret?”