The Divinity Bureau

by Tessa Clare

  When I’m not with April, I’m hearing about her on the news. Her speech in front of the bureau’s headquarters has been playing on repeat wherever I go.

  The first time caught me by surprise. After April had left the coffee shop, I spent some time chatting with Tate. Before I knew it, an hour passed; and I needed to head home to feed Neville. As I was walking back to my car, I noticed a projector in front of an electronics shop. More particularly, I saw April’s face on the projector, standing in front of the bureau’s headquarters with subtitles that read: “Whether or not you wrap it in a fancy title doesn’t change the fact that the names on your list are dying at your hands.” That caught me by surprise, but I brushed it off as a daily recap of the news. Pretty soon, the media would find something else to talk about.

  But they didn’t.

  The next day, someone had figured out that the girl in front of the bureau’s headquarters was Henrik McIntyre’s daughter. Shortly after that, another newscaster figured out that Macy McIntyre was up for election that quarter. From there, the media dug up everything they could find about the McIntyre family, and they wasted no time in unraveling every bit of information that they could find.

  There were varying opinions about April’s speech.

  Some were in full support (“It's refreshing,” a presenter named Svana Stapleton commented enthusiastically. “The Divinity Bureau doesn't have a choice but to listen to a McIntyre.”). Others were in complete disagreement (“You think that ‘murder’ is a strong word?” a late night talk show host had asked rhetorically. “Well, I think that crazy is a strong word, and that's what April McIntyre is!”). But most could agree that April McIntyre was unforgettable. On several occasions, I’ve heard the words, “I daresay she might even be following in her father’s footsteps!”

  The McIntyre Obsession followed me to work. Since the speech happened in front of the bureau’s headquarters, everyone at the bureau couldn’t stop talking about it – which brings me to now: grabbing a coffee and running into a group of coworkers huddled around a projector in the break room.

  It doesn’t take long for me to recognize April’s speech blaring in the background. I know that April didn’t write down or rehearse what she was going to say – other than the five minutes while we were making our way through the crowd – but it seems like the public remembers her speech more than she does.

  “You call it an election, as though getting elected is something to be proud of,” April’s voice echoes. “However, I’ve got news for you.”

  “At the end of the day, you’re still taking hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of lives,” I repeat, not surprised that I’ve managed to memorize every word of April’s speech. Several heads shoot sideways to glance in my direction. I recognize David and Amy.

  Amy is the first to speak up. “Do you know her?”

  I swallow. I don’t want to deny my association with April, but I’m treading on dangerous waters. “I…”

  “Of course he does!” David chimes in. “Everyone knows who April McIntyre is!”

  “I knew who she was before anyone else did,” Amy points out. “I voted for her father.”

  David rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t be proud of voting for a right-wing serial cheater that cut the bureau’s budget by 25%. Remember those layoffs five years ago?”

  “But think of the good he did for our social safety net!”

  I want to laugh at this. Our social security went from mediocre to somewhat-functional. It was an improvement, but it hardly made a difference.

  “Has Gideon said anything about it?” I interject, not in the mood to get into a political debate.

  David eyes me as though I just emerged from a cave. “I take it that you haven’t checked your email?”

  I shake my head. “No, I haven’t.”

  Judging by the look on David’s face, I have a feeling that it isn’t going to be good.

  I return to my desk and turn my computer on. At the top is an email from Finn, who asks me to set up the projectors for the appeal hearings scheduled for today. I feel a twang on my chest. Four are scheduled, and one of them is for Macy. April told me that she’d show up anyway and try to have the hearing without Macy. It’d contribute to their alibi of believing her to have gone on a soul-searching mission. Unfortunately, this would be when Autumn finds out that their mother wasn’t coming back.

  The second email is a company-wide email sent by Gideon.

  From: Gideon Hearthstrom

  To: All Employees of the Divinity Bureau

  As many of you are aware, there have been several disturbances that have been occurring in front of Divinity Bureau headquarters across the country. While we are not at liberty to deny citizens the right to free speech, it is important to acknowledge that these disturbances directly affect the bureau's ability to conduct business – many of which are vital to the health of our economy, our planet, and our health.

  This notice is to inform all employees that any participation in any protests and any association with notable leaders of the movement will lead to termination of employment. This change in policy is effective immediately. We do not believe that this change in policy will detrimentally affect anyone that is currently employed with the Divinity Bureau – however, if it does, this notice serves as a warning to choose your actions wisely.

  There has to be a mistake. I read and reread the email twice, three times, four times – all in an attempt to find a loophole to keep my job and stay with April. But it’s apparent that being in a relationship with April would count as an “association with a notable leader of the movement.”

  “Roman, can you hear me?” Finn asks, calling my name from the opposite end of my cubicle space. It hits me that he’s been calling my name for the last minute or so.

  I turn my head. “Sorry. I – err – was just reading the email that Gideon sent.”

  As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize that Finn knows about my relationship with April. Karma is about to ruin my career. It wouldn’t be hard to prove that we’re together. There are pictures on the internet of us, both of us are in a relationship with each other, and there are plenty of witnesses that have seen us …

  “Can you please start setting up the projector?” Finn asks. “We’ve got one person that says they’ll need it.”

  I nod. Something about the look on Finn’s face tells me that he won’t turn me in.

  I make my way into the hearing room. It’s hidden behind a pair of plastic doors that have been stained and textured to look like wood. Once the door opens, I’m greeted by the sight of an old courtroom. Wooden benches line up neatly in the back. A small gate and divider separate the spectators from appeals. A podium sits in the middle, where the chairman sits.

  I find a lift in the maintenance closet and crank it to the top so that I can reach the ceiling. I work aimlessly, struggling not to think about how I’m going to explain to April that I can’t date her without getting fired. I’m still going to date her, of course. Disassociating myself from her is not an option. But I’m going to need to be discreet. That meant that I wouldn’t be able to talk about her to my coworkers. I can’t bring her close to the office, which means that midday lunch dates are out of the question. I also can’t go anywhere in public with her, as someone would surely recognize her. That leaves only places that we could go: her house and mine. I hope that it’s only temporary.

  Without warning, the door is flung open and knocked against the lift. My footing shakes. I cling to whatever I can find – in this case, the projector – until my footing stabilizes. I glare at my intruder: a red-haired security officer that I know as Michael.

  “Michael,” I say in irritation. “I’m working here.”

  Michael shrugs, unfazed by the fact that he nearly knocked me to the ground. “Sorry. There’s a huge crowd outside, and they’re blocking the hallway. I was hoping that I’d be able to start letting people in.”

  I glance at the projection syste
m. It’s already synced to our main internet line, but I need to sync it to our backups. “Can you wait a few minutes? The hearings don’t start for another hour.”

  Michael shakes his head. “April McIntyre is here, so we’re going to need to get her seated pretty soon.”

  Those words nearly knock me over again. “What?”

  “We’re having her and her sister wait in the security office,” Michael replies briskly. “Apparently, someone threw a shoe at her while she was coming in. We need to have someone escort her in.”

  My initial instinct is to demand to know who threw the shoe at her, but I hold my tongue.

  “Roman,” Michael says, his face turning serious. “She asked for you. Do you know her?”

  I know her – every freckle, what makes her laugh, and the way her nose scrunches up when she’s annoyed. The thought makes it hard to spit out the lie through my teeth: “We’re acquaintances, but I don’t know her. I can’t.”

  With the projector synced to one of the bureau’s five networks, I’m able to sync it to my Mobiroid for testing. I scroll through the commands on my wrist and see if it will turn on, which it does. Then I leave the courtroom as quickly as possible.

  Michael wasn’t lying when he said that the hallway was jammed up. It took a significant amount of effort just for me to squeeze my arm through the doorway. Once a part of me is out, people move out of the way momentarily for me to get out, but space quickly fills back up. As I squeeze past the crowd, I glance at my Mobiroid and notice that I have several texts from April.

  APRIL: Meeting with my mom’s lawyer at bureau’s headquarters. When's your next break? Let’s grab a coffee!

  APRIL: I think he may have been the one that told her to run away…he’s giving me shady vibes.

  APRIL: Someone freaking threw a shoe at me! What the hell!

  APRIL: Dude, they're having me wait in the security office – but the security guards are talking shit about me in the next room! Apparently, I have crazy eyes?

  APRIL: Told the guy to keep it down, and that I couldn't hear my thoughts over the sound of his voice. That shut him up. I miss you.

  I burst out laughing at the last text. I momentarily daydream about pushing my way through the crowd and finding April in the security office and declaring my love for this woman, damn the Divinity Bureau! But I have bills to pay. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need to be here. This is the best place for me to be if I’m to keep her safe.

  I expect April to call me out on the fact that I’ve ignored her all day. It’s not like me to not respond to her. Usually, it’s the other way around. But once the hearing begins, my phone goes silent.

  As soon as her allotted time begins, I know that I’m not going to be able to focus on work – not when I already know how the day is going to end. I search the internet for a live feed of the hearing. I find one, joining six hundred thousand people that are tuning in.

  There are seven cameras in the courtroom: one points at the chairman, three at the podium, two towards the audience, and an eagle eye (the latter of which I had installed ten months ago). As an audience, we can select which camera we want to focus on, but it defaults to whoever is speaking. I, of course, choose the one that is towards the audience, which is where April and Autumn are sitting. They sit next to a man in a gray suit, whom I’m presuming is their lawyer. Autumn is glancing around the room nervously, as though hoping that Macy was merely running late. I suddenly feel terrible for not telling her the truth.

  The camera screen moves to Hemmingsworth, who is clearing his throat. “Alright. Next up, we have the Divinity Bureau versus Macy McIntyre –”

  April shoots out of her seat before Hemmingsworth can finish talking.

  “Counsel, will you please step up to the podium and identify yourself?”

  The man walks briskly through the gate, before taking a seat in front of a table facing Hemmingsworth. He breathes into a microphone, before he states, “Leonard Kavanagh, representing Macy McIntyre.”

  Hemmingsworth glances at the empty seat next to Leonard. “And where exactly is Miss McIntyre?”

  I hear Autumn suck in a breath. April grabs her hand.

  “She is unavailable, sir. Due to the circumstances with Miss April McIntyre, she did not deem it safe to make an appearance at the bureau’s headquarters,” Leonard states plainly. “For that reason, I am requesting to invoke Article 23 of the Divinity Act. As you know, Article 23 states that if the elected is unable to make an appearance at the bureau’s headquarters for reasons pertaining to physical danger, physical ailments –”

  “I have a hard time believing that Article 23 should be invoked,” Hemmingsworth says, taking note of April sitting in the audience. “April McIntyre did not have any qualms with coming here today.”

  “That was her choice, sir,” Leonard points out. “I don’t believe that my client should be held accountable for circumstances outside of her control.”

  “That’s her daughter,” Hemmingsworth remarks. “She should have been able to control that ‘circumstance’ from childhood.” From the corner of the screen, I can see April’s jaw drop. “Never mind the fact that Macy McIntyre chose not to show up at her own hearing. Tell me why I should grant her a second extension when her daughter took it upon herself to embarrass the Divinity Bureau, shake the foundation of our very existence, and, in her words, ‘fight and claw her way out of election!’”

  April stands up from her seat. “That’s not what I said!”

  She doesn’t have a microphone, but her voice still carries across the room.

  “And then, she adds insult to injury by making an appearance inside our very courtroom!” Hemmingsworth adds, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Tell me, Miss McIntyre: does your mother think that she can fight and claw her way out? Or is she merely hiding?”

  The views on the live stream are starting to pick up. Eight hundred and one thousand, eight hundred and two thousand…. The comments are coming in faster than I can read them:

  DENLAPAUL: Wow!

  GARETTA20456: April McIntyre is a badass.

  ANON: April McIntyre is a psychotic lunatic with no respect for authority.

  Autumn tugs on April’s dress to get her to sit down, but April is refusing to back down. “What does that make you?” April asks defiantly. “You’re hiding behind a fancy title and a claim to have authority. How do you make decisions during these appeals? Do you have a checklist of criteria that they need to meet? Or do you just go with whatever feels good to you?”

  Leonard looks as though he wants to shrink in his chair and never be seen again.

  Hemmingsworth turns away. “The request for a reschedule is denied. I want a warrant out for Macy McIntyre’s arrest.” He glares at April. “This hearing is adjourned.”

  “So, you’re pulling that card then?” April presses. “You think it makes you big and powerful?”

  “The hearing is adjourned,” Hemmingsworth repeats icily. “Michael, please have April McIntyre escorted from the premises.”

  Michael is next to April in an instant. He grabs her arm, but she pulls it out of his grasp and mutters a few choice curse words. Autumn quickly trails behind her.

  On the other side of the screen, I’m pressing my hand to my temple. My optimism that everything would blow over has been burst. Gideon is never going to forget this incident, and there’s no doubt that he won’t let anyone else forget it either.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  APRIL

  I don’t have the closest relationship with my sister – primarily because we have an eight-year age gap between us, but also because our personalities are nearly complete opposites. I’m loud, brash, stubborn, and outgoing; while my sweet and shy sister prefers to obsess over the fantasy novels on her tablet. She dreams of being a writer. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve read a book for pleasure. I don’t understand her, but there’s no way in hell that I’m letting anyone else take care of her.

  “I don’t need
a babysitter!” Autumn whines as we ride to Roman’s apartment. Once I catch a glimpse of graffiti and pop-up homeless camps, I’m attempt to keep Autumn distracted from the sights outside of her window with conversation. “I’m almost twelve years old!”

  “Someone is going to have to cook for you,” I say pointedly. “Plus you’ll get bored spending all afternoon in that mansion by yourself.”

  “I will not!”

  “Roman has VR games and a cat,” I say. “Two things that we don’t have at the mansion.”

  My parents were strict about letting us having any form of a gaming console, thinking that it’d prevent us from being productive. Occasionally, I’ll look at Roman and believe that it was probably for the best.

  “Can we please get a cat?” Autumn asks, her eyes growing wide. No doubt, she’s looking to take advantage of her change in guardianship. “Mom said that she didn’t have time to take care of one; but if we get one of those self-cleaning litter boxes, I think we should be okay.”

  “I’m allergic.”

  “I’ll keep it in my room.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to suffocate every time I enter your room.”

  On the topic of changes in guardianship, I’m impressed with how well Autumn is handling everything. I sat her down after the hearing and told her everything: the corruption, the fact that Roman saved my life when he first met me, and the fact that our mother is on the run from the Divinity Bureau. Unlike her older and allegedly wiser sister, she didn’t throw a tantrum. Instead, she asked if we could get ice cream.

  “What?” I had asked, in shock that after hearing everything, that was the first thing that came to mind.