Her thoughts drew up short as she recalled her own forays into that territory. She could have left the Institute right at the start, right when she’ d realized they were impugning her mental stability with that false accusation of stress-induced hallucination. Cam had told her to leave, but she hadn’t. Even after she knew Swain had lied to her, she stayed on, wanting all the things he’ d offered and hoping he was telling the truth.
By the time she’ d come around to helping Cam, it had already been too late. But still, even if her own delusions had landed her here, she didn’t have to accept it. Didn’t have to believe it was “fine” and “an honor,” when it was neither. Andrea-Isis had gone back to her spindles, her expression thoughtful, even pensive. . . . Then again, Lacey thought, maybe she didn’t believe it, either. Maybe she’ d just said what was needed to avoid punishment.
Lacey’s hands slid over her abdomen, and she felt a sudden frantic nausea pound at her as she remembered—he’ d put something inside her. Some horrid monster, some half-breed mixed with who knew what.
Suddenly it all overwhelmed her. Everything she’d been through— all the deception and empty promises, the perpetual fear and imbalance, the false hopes, the wretched disappointment . . .
She thought of those precious moments with Cam in the garden . . . which Swain had watched and listened to and later profaned in his own disgusting attempt to seduce her. He’ d known Cam was going into the Enclave and, given what he must’ve heard Cam tell her in the garden, probably had a good idea when and where. He had to have been waiting. Which meant Cam could very well be dead.
That realization opened floodgates of emotion that had so far been held at bay by shock and disbelief. She began to weep. From loss and fear and bitter regret, from frustration and horror at her stupidity, from loneliness that only seemed to grow worse—harsh, raw, wretched sobs that would have embarrassed her under any other circumstances. Isis came and wrapped her arms about her, letting her wail until her nose ran and her throat ached and the wild sobbing gradually subsided into quiet weeping, and then just quietness itself. Isis continued to hold her for a time, then gently released her and offered her a glass of water.
Lacey took it with suspicion at first, then realized it was pointless. They controlled everything in her environment. If they wanted to drug her again, they would. What could she do to stop it?
So she drank the water, and Isis handed the empty glass off to the girl who’d apparently brought it in the first place.
“It’s the hormones they gave you that are making it seem so bad,”
Isis said. “To prepare your womb.” She paused. “Not that it still wouldn’t be hard.”
Lacey looked up at her sharply. “Prepare my womb? You mean I’m not—?”
“Not yet.” Andrea-Isis smiled.
“Isis, dear,” said Theia, “would you come help me with this?”
Andrea-Isis gave Lacey’s shoulder another squeeze and got up to obey. As the woman left, Lacey felt as if a huge weight had lifted off her.She wasn’t pregnant. Not yet. Oh, thank you, Lord! Thank you!
Though no one would even look at her anymore, much less speak, she was allowed to roam freely through the Residence, and did so, hoping to find some means of escape. In addition to the communal sleeping room where she’ d first awakened, there were private chambers with closing doors and small bassinets for the newborns, one of which was occupied. Lacey stared at the baby for a long time, comforted that it at least looked normal. In addition to sleeping rooms and a large bathroom area, there was also a library, a music room with a piano, a spa and workout area, a craft room, and a kitchen with an herb garden under lights.
Except for the new mothers’ rooms, none of the chambers had doors, and many were simply a result of strategic placement of the ubiquitous carved wooden screens. She found the walking gallery last, stretching along behind the series of screens that separated it from the main room. Its facing wall was a long plate-glass window overlooking a miniature mall, protected by floor-to-ceiling iron scrollwork.
The walking gallery was deserted except for a girl with kinky, waist-length red-brown hair standing at the far end near a recirculating fountain made of three bronze bowls. Her attention fixed on something in the mall, she seemed unaware of Lacey’s entrance.
Which was just as well. She probably wouldn’t talk anyway.
Lacey stared down at the island of palms and shrubs and waterways running the length of the tiny mall, where now and then individuals entered and departed. After all the weeping and exploring and the dashing of her hopes for escape, a tide of despair rolled over her. Who was she kidding to think she’ d get away? Surely Andrea had fought at first. And here she was, still trapped, still bound to Parker’s will.
Another bout of weeping seized her, but it was a quiet flow this time.
Presently a female voice sounded through the speakers out in the mall, announcing that the trial of someone named Zowan would begin in ten minutes and all were to report to the Justorium to render justice. She recognized the name from the women’s earlier conversation and wondered what was about to occur.
Moments later a sudden rasping sob drew her attention to the girl at the gallery’s end. She stood with one hand flat against the window, tear tracks glittering down her cheeks. When no one appeared from the other room to comfort her, Lacey drifted toward her, realizing only then how strongly she resembled Genevieve Viascola. Was she one of the clones in Cam’s picture? The age was right. And even if there might be numerous clones of Genevieve, they wouldn’t likely all be the same age. Cam had taken his picture on the surface, yes, but that was yesterday. And Swain would have gleaned information about the runaways from that fateful garden conversation, as well. . . .
Curiosity, guilt, and compassion pushed her down the walkway to the girl’s side, where they stood together in silence for a time. Finally Lacey asked, “This Zowan is special to you?”
At first the young Genevieve clone ignored her. But then, just when Lacey was despairing of getting an answer, she said, “We grew up together. We ran away together.” She wiped her tears away. “They will kill him now.”
“Is that what they do in the Justorium?”
The girl looked at her, startled. “You don’t know what is done in the Justorium?”
“No.” Lacey marveled at how much she looked like Genevieve.
“You must be from the surface, too, then,” the girl said. “Did you come with Cameron?”
“You are the girl he met yesterday!” Lacey exclaimed. Then she glanced toward the main room and lowered her voice. “I saw the picture he took of you.”
“We should have stayed up there,” the girl said. “Now Zowan will be killed, and I don’t know what’s happened to Parthos. They probably took him to the secret lab.”
“Why did you come back?”
“Because Cameron told us we couldn’t survive up there. That the Enforcers would come after us. That Father controls the ground there as he controls everything here.”
Lacey nodded. “He was right. But he came back last night to get you out.”
The girl already knew of that and told her how the Enforcers had cut off Cam and Zowan’s escape there in the main room. Cam had been brought directly to Father. “I heard them give the order,” the girl said. “Since he’s from the surface, they can’t very well try him in the Justorium, so I suppose Father will bring him down to the secret lab and do . . . things to him.”
“What kind of things?”
“I don’t know. Change him like he changed Neos.”
Lacey hadn’t thought her fear and horror could get any worse, but she was wrong. Cam, changed like Neos had been changed?
“Terra,” a voice intruded. “Come away from there. It’s time for Zowan’s trial.”
“I don’t want to see the trial.”
“Terra . . .”
Wordlessly the girl pushed away from the window and disappeared through the opening in the scrollwork screen, leaving Lac
ey to stare down at the little mall. Oh, God, please! I may not have been faithful to you, but he has. How can you do this to him? Please protect him!
Chapter Forty-Five
New Eden
After he and Zowan had been captured by the Enforcers, Cam was taken immediately from the Wives’ Residence to an adjoining apartment where Swain was eating breakfast. He must have known they were coming, for he received their entrance without even a glance, finishing up his bacon and eggs while Cam and his Enforcer guards stood waiting. Finally, his plate cleaned, Swain patted his mouth with his napkin, then stood and came around the table to backhand Cam with such force he saw stars.
“I told you to stay away from her,” Swain growled. “To keep your hands off her!”
Cam shook his head to clear the dizziness, tasting blood from the cut his teeth had sliced along the inside of his lip. He knows about our meeting in the garden! The bug hadn’t been in the jewelry, after all. In the dress, perhaps? In the surrounding foliage? From the intensity of Swain’s reaction and the words he’ d used, Cam thought it likely he’ d seen that meeting as well as heard it.
And if Swain knew about the meeting, he would have known what they were planning, would’ve moved to cut it off. But Rudy called, said they were away. Had Swain intercepted them after the call? Or had Rudy lied? Was that what he’d meant about the mission unraveling? Lacey might never have made it out of the garden.
Which meant that slender girl on the mat beside Terra back in the Wives’ Residence, the one who hadn’t awakened despite the crashing of the fallen screen and the screaming of the other girls, the one who had looked for a heart-stopping moment exactly like Lacey, even as he’d assured himself it couldn’t be . . . really was her.
Swain watched him with narrowed, glittering eyes. “She’s mine now, of course. I took her last night in my penthouse. She was quite willing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Swain chuckled. “Of course not.” His amusement faded. “You can still have her, you know. You have only to agree to my terms.”
“I’m not going to renounce my faith, sir.”
Swain regarded him without expression, his eyes hard as glass, waiting, perhaps, for Cam to change his mind. Finally he blew out a breath and leaned back. “You mean to tell me your religious addiction is more important to you than this girl who could well turn out to be the love of your life?”
It was all a lie. Cam knew he would never give Lacey to him. “Why have you brought me here, sir?”
“You were the one who trespassed onto my property, Cameron. I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind. You’re lucky to be alive. If it were up to Fred and Genevieve, you’d be having conversations with Manny right now. Oh, wait . . .” He frowned. “I’m not sure Manny’s saved, so maybe not.”
A land-line phone on the wall nearby beeped, drawing his attention. He stepped over to glance at the ID screen, then grimaced and answered the call. “Yes . . . well, he’ll have to decide: either he wears the blindfold or he doesn’t go down.” Swain listened a moment, then sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll come and speak to him.” He hung up and gestured toward Cam. “Take him down to EDL,” he said to the Enforcers. And then to Cam, “I’ll be along in a bit.”
The Enforcers led Cam downward along a network of passages to a heavy door with a wide orange bar and multiple locks. Opening it, they guided him ahead of them into the corridor beyond, then shut and locked the door behind him. After a few moments the door ahead opened, and a new pair of guards awaited him whose black uniforms bore the golden ziggurat insignia and whose foreheads did not have extra eyes in them.
They took him down several corridors lined with small rooms whose observation windows showed many who did though. Nor were the oculi the only bizarre modifications. Cam saw a child with a chest of golden scales; another with a snout full of dog’s teeth; several young men sporting crests of golden quills rising from the top of their heads and running down the backs of their necks; a girl covered by a thin layer of pale, gauzelike hair; boys with great knobs where their ears should have been.
Finally, having come to the end of one such corridor, his escorts unlocked the last door and ushered him into the cell beyond. Like the others, it was a small, white-walled room with a bed, a table and chair, and a mirror by the door, which was, of course, the observation window for those in the hall.
He had tried not to look too closely—had tried not to look at all, actually—for it was pretty obvious this was the secret lab Zowan and his friends had fretted about. The one from which Neos had evidently escaped.
His fear for Lacey and Zowan had turned to fear for himself. Dying was one thing. Being experimented on was something else entirely. He thought of Neos and realized that at one time the young man must have looked just like Zowan. Until Swain had begun his nightmarish modifications.
Cam sank down on the bed, trembling, light-headed, struggling to breathe. He felt completely blindsided, his confidence in God’s presence and protection shredded.
“Trust no one but God. Do what you think best. . . .”
What he thought best? Right now that was finding a way to get himself and Lacey out of here. Zowan, too, if he could.
His own words returned to mock him: “It’s all right. God decreed this long ago. For our best . . .”
For our best. A stream of horrific images passed before his eyes, and the panic swelled. He shot off the bed and began to pace, praying for help as he did. Father, I know this fear is wrong, but I am weak. I do believe. But help my unbelief. . . .
The thought came then that all these images were of things that might never happen, things that might not be remotely part of God’s plan for his life. He knew better than to indulge in such foolishness. Let whatever was decreed to happen, happen, and then deal with it.
But just determining to cut off the thoughts wouldn’t keep them away. He had to put something stronger in their place. He had to turn his thoughts to who God was. To just how much God loved him. Not the world, not everyone else, but Cameron Reinhardt, individually and personally. You were the joy Jesus contemplated while He endured the cross, he reminded himself. He did it for you, and whatever you face here will be nothing compared to that. Besides, Swain can’t do a thing to you without His approval.
The question is, do you really believe that?
He drew a deep breath, and decided that yes, he did believe it. And he would live in it. Even here. Even now. For it was precisely when one couldn’t see past the desolation of a situation that truth was most needed—and when a man’s trust most pleased his maker. It was just that everything about God was always invisible. . . . It would be nice, Father, to have an occasional voice or something tangible.
And bringing you here to meet Zowan, watching him believe in my Son, was not tangible enough for you?
Cam snorted softly. Okay, Lord. You win. He shook his head, still marveling over Zowan. What would you have me do now?
Stand still and watch me deliver you.
Of course he would be told to wait. Of course. With no clock, no window, no sun, no way to measure the passage of time, and nothing whatever to occupy his besieged mind. To distract himself, he turned to the challenge of reciting all the doctrines and verses he could remember.
He was lying on the bed reciting Isaiah 46 when the door opened and Swain walked in. Immediately Cam sat up and swung his feet to the floor.
“Well,” said Swain, pulling the chair away from the desk and turning it around so he could sit facing Cam, “what do you think?”
“About what?”
Swain’s blond brows flew up in surprise. “After all you’ve seen, you have nothing to say to me? No word of congratulations for my accomplishments?”
“All I’ve seen? I’ve seen slavery. I’ve seen people deceived and manipulated. I’ve seen the human body deformed and distorted in horrifying ways.”
“Horrifying!” Swain repeated in a tone of surprised amusement. “You’ve just witnessed a
phenomenal range of genetic manipulation and expertise, and all you can say is you’re horrified?” He shook his head. “Well, rest assured, not all see them as horrifying. Including the subjects themselves. My Enforcers, for example, consider their ‘deformity’ to be a badge of honor.”
“Then they are even crazier than you are.”
“Don’t you even want to know how I’ve done it all?”
“I know it has to be transgenic. I suspect it’s something you’ve derived from that Nephilim you’ve got hidden away somewhere, but I seriously doubt you have any real idea what you’re doing, because the results far exceed existing genetic theory or technology. Have you even mapped the genome of that thing yet?”
Swain ignored his question. “You’ve always known I’m cutting edge, son.”
“This is beyond cutting edge. This is insanity.”
“I have you imprisoned, Cameron. I have your friends imprisoned likewise. On threat of death or . . . ‘deformity.’ I would show a little more respect if I were you.”
Cam grimaced and drew a breath to calm himself. “I meant no disrespect, sir.” He paused. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I do.” Swain settled back into the chair, launching into what Cam knew was one of his favorite activities—lecturing about his own work and discoveries.
The generation of the third eye, or oculus, as he called it, took approximately a year to complete. First the subject received through inhalation the transforming genetic material via a retrovirus targeted to the skull’s frontal sinus area. Subsequent injections of a mineral-leeching compound into a small spot in the skull’s frontal plate weakened the bone enough to allow the newly forming oculus to create and seat itself into a socket, while simultaneously developing muscle tissue and lid membranes.
Swain was disappointed that, though the oculus exhibited a degree of involuntary movement, as yet the third eye was completely useless— beyond serving as a badge of honor and method of intimidating the general population of the Enclave . . . another accomplishment Swain was unduly proud of. “As a social experiment, it is the largest, the longest, and the most comprehensive ever carried out,” he observed. “It has proven all my theories correct.”
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