“Sorries,” he said. “You don’t have to watch them, I was mereish trying to help, but if—”
He reached cross the table to take the memories back, and Andra slapped his hand away.
“You can’t take back a present!” she said. “That’s rude.”
She looked up at him and smiled, tears still glistening in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Zhade smiled back.
FIFTY
ANDRA?
Andra laughed as Zhade dove under the water again.
It was chilly, and if Andra had known Zhade would want to go swimming, she would have suggested they take the trip when it got warm again in a few months.
She was glad they went, though. After watching the memories he showed her, she was even more motivated to get to know this boy who claimed he’d loved her before. Loved her still.
The truth—something she hadn’t revealed to anyone, not even Rashmi—was that she still had access to her memories. She was AI after all, and everything she’d experienced was stored in her matrices. It could be hidden and compressed, but not erased. The problem was that she didn’t experience those memories like a human anymore. Those memories from her old life—they were files she could peruse as though she were viewing a sim. She had record of them, but they didn’t feel like hers.
She’d spent the last six months watching over them. Finding embarrassing memories from her childhood. Hurtful memories with her mother. Joyful memories with Oz. She’d even watched some of the memories after coming out of stasis. She got to know Skilla and Cristin and all those they’d lost. She grieved them, but distantly. Like she grieved her parents. And Cruz. She watched her memories over and over, but each one was like a part of an equation she didn’t know the answer to. So she let those around her believe she didn’t remember them. It was easier than explaining.
Zhade pulled himself out of the lake, water dripping down his naked torso. He shivered, and so did Andra.
“I hate the cold!” he said, grabbing a towel and patting his face dry.
“Then you shouldn’t have gone in the lake!”
He ruffled the back of his hair, a gesture that seemed familiar to Andra, and threw himself on the ground next to her.
The lake was just as it had been in the memories she’d found. Wide and expansive, but not nearly as big as it had once been. She also knew that somewhere below the surface, there was a city full of cloned bodies of Zhade’s mother. She didn’t know if she should tell him.
Andra lay back and watched the clouds pass over. The sun was starting to set. They’d have to head back soon or sleep in the hover.
She felt Zhade turn to her. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Andra looked over at him. “You’re welcome.”
He smiled, then bit his lip. “I want you to reck, I’ve loved every version of you. And I reck I love this version too.”
Andra felt her heart flutter. She barely knew this boy, but something about him felt so familiar, so right.
“You don’t have to love me back.” He groaned as he stretched out on the sand. “At least not yet. It’ll happen soon, though. I’m quite loveistic.”
Andra rolled her eyes. “I tolerate you at best.”
Zhade gave her an unabashed smile. “I can work with that.”
He held out his arm, and she snuggled in next to him. Together they lay listening to the waves hit the shore and somewhere, maybe, a hoot of an owl.
Andra fell asleep smiling.
EPILOGUE
The world was starting to heal, but Maret wasn’t.
The Wastes were dusty under his feet, blistering against his skin, stretching out for miles and miles. Mereish because the pockets were disappearing didn’t purpose it wasn’t dangerful. There were still pirates and snakes and fraughts, unbearable heat.
For serious, why was it so hot?
He trekked forward, hoping to find a village to stay the night. At luck, most villages he came cross didn’t reck who he was. Or if they did, they’d mereish heard the name Maret but had no clue what he looked like.
He caught sight of a settlement ahead, glinting in the sun. His destination.
He’d spent his full life following the destiny his mam had set out for him. The same destiny her mam had set out for her, and on and on for centuries.
He took a quick swig of water before continuing and put the canteen back into his pack. It knocked against something small and metal.
Now it was time to decide his fate.
acknowledgments
This book was primarily written during a global pandemic. (COVID-19. You may have heard of it.) It was the first book I’d drafted under contract, the first sequel I’d attempted, and the first ending of a story I’d ever composed. All of this is to say: It was hard. Really, really hard. And I wouldn’t have survived the process without an amazing network of professional and personal support.
I’d like to thank my editor, Julie Rosenberg, for her flexibility and encouragement. For believing in the book, even though I kept rewriting it and neither of us had a clue what the end result would be. For all her excellent feedback and guidance and patience. Thank you to the Razorbill team, especially Gretchen Durning, Alex Sanchez, Casey McIntyre, and Simone Roberts-Payne. To the fantastic team of copyeditors and proofreaders: Vivian Kirklin, Marinda Valenti, Maddy Newquist, and Abigail Powers. To my publicist, Lizzie Goodell, for helping me navigate the terrifying world of author events. Thank you also to the team at Penguin Teen, especially Jayne Ziemba, Bri Lockhart, Christina Colangelo, Felicity Vallence, and James Akinaka. To Dana Li, Theresa Evangelista, and Doaly for another heartbreakingly beautiful cover.
Thank you to my fantastic agent, Victoria Marini, who is always ready to advocate for me or explain to me the complexities of publishing. For her encouragement and dedication and excitement. To the rest of the team at IGLA, especially Lee O’Brien. To those at Baror International, especially Heather Baror-Shapiro.
Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times to Emily Suvada, who helped me through the worst parts of revision. Who held my hand when I needed it and gave me a kick in the pants when I needed that too. Who is an incredible writer and friend, and whose support and input is the reason this book exists in any comprehensible form. Thank you especially for telling me to stop rewriting and to start revising. For understanding what I was trying to do and helping me get there. I cannot express how important you were in the process of finishing Devil. You saved me and this book.
To my BFFs, always and forever: Kelsey, Alex, Amanda, Bre, Nadia, Taryn, and Kailan. I love you, you olde traesh faeries. You keep me sane(ish) and show me such compassion. You’re all amazingly brilliant and funny and kind, and every day I’m in awe I happened upon the best girl gang on the planet. Special shout-out to Amanda—who suggested some of the best scenes in the book—and Kelsey—for being my Zoom accountabilibuddy.
To the writing friends who offered me encouragement at various points during the process: Beth Revis, Jennifer Gruenke, Britt Singleton, Tracy Deonn, Alechia Dow, Andrea Tang, Sheena Boekweg, Rebecca Coffindaffer, Kalyn Josephson, Sylvia Liu, Diana Urban, Jessica Goodman, and Dante Medema.
Thank you to the reviewers, book bloggers, booksellers, librarians, etc., who have supported Goddess in any form. Your excitement fuels me. Thanks to Adah and everyone at Main Street Books in Davidson, North Carolina, for your unending support. For spoiling Coco and making me feel welcome on New Book Tuesdays. *Finger guns* Shop local.
Thank you to my mom and dad, for taking care of Coco whenever deadline was kicking my butt. And thank you to Coco, for loving me unconditionally and for no longer peeing on the floor.
Finally, to you, for going on this journey with me and Andra and Zhade. Reader, I thank you.
about the author
As an only child, Lora Beth Johnson grew up telling he
rself stories and reading past her bedtime. She spent her adulthood collecting degrees, careers, and stamps in her passport before realizing her passion for creating fictional worlds. When she's not writing, she's teaching college English and learning new languages. She lives in Davidson, North Carolina, with her little roommate, Colocataire the Yorki-poo. She is also the author of Goddess in the Machine. Find Lora Beth on Twitter @LoraBethWrites.
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