by Lydia Kang
In the recesses of my normal nervous system, I sense a tugging. My sleeve is being torn off me, the shirt shoved upward as Ren continues to undress me. A grunt of disgust and wonder floats toward me.
“What kind of messed-up rash is this?”
The cool air of the room hits my exposed skin with a jolt. The strangest sensation of relief enters through the skin of my arm and belly, as if my very skin cells yawn and suck the air hovering about me. Clarity enters my mind. In seconds, Ren’s timepiece of a face morphs into a human head. Ren is Ren once more.
And I am myself again.
Ren must recognize that sober look in my eyes, because he dips down and bestows another breathy dose of hallucinogen. A big one. I hold my breath for too long, knowing I’ll be starved for oxygen soon. I wait for the signs—the knotted pain my chest, the curls of darkness that invade the outer rim of my vision. But they don’t come.
Afraid my own body isn’t working, I inhale a tiny bit of Ren’s sickly sweet breath. Again, hallucinations burst into my vision, this time in the form of black tentacles coming out of his neck, but just as quickly, they’re gone. Ren’s drugs aren’t holding me at all.
Uncertainty cracks his brutish expression. His hands hold the torn fabric of my tunic in the air, unsure of what to do next. I squint at him.
“Hi.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Hi?” he responds, thoroughly confused.
I don’t wait for another response. In one swift movement, I swing my hands up and smack them on Ren’s ears. Ren jumps back to cover his head, howling in pain. I scramble back and grasp the first vial I touch in my bra. Which one is it?
“You little . . . I can’t hear anything!” Ren takes a running leap and tackles me, his body squeezing all the air out of my lungs in a whoosh as both our heads bang against the hard edge of the bed, a stunning sound of twin thwaks. For a few moments of pain, we pant in unison, dazed.
I only need a second to read one word on the vial clutched in my hand.
/Finger—
I just aim and squeeze the vial at Ren’s hands, balled into fists as they approach my head.
“Frggggh!” Ren shakes his hands in surprise, then stares at the watery liquid covering them, now turning viscous and sticky.
I scurry over the bed and run to the closed door. I touch the side pad, but of course, nothing budges. Over my shoulder, Ren approaches me calmly. There’s no rush on his part; I can’t escape.
Ren takes two steps toward me and then stops, his face contorting with disbelief.
He stretches his hands out in front of him. His fingers are gummed together from the gluey liquid. That’s what I think, at first.
“HOLY—!” Ren shouts. The space between his fingers fills with fleshy webs, bumpy knuckles, and blunted fingernails. Ren rubs his hands together, as if trying to rub away the problem, but his hands have become stuck, palm to palm.
I lean into a run and push his shoulders forcefully, avoiding his hands. He trips backward, his head hitting the floor. His eyes close and his body goes limp. On his rounded belly, Ren’s hands stay fused together in a bouquet of innumerable spliced fingers, as if in prayer.
CHAPTER 29
STARING AT REN’S IMMOBILIZED BODY, I shake my head.
“I can’t believe that stuff worked.” Hex’s serum would have been horrible by itself, but the bio-accelerant took it to a whole other level.
“Nice trick.”
Caliga surveys the scene and steps into the room, the door sliding shut behind her. I bring my hand to my chest and grab the other vials when she points at me.
“I’m not stupid, you know. Put those down.”
Shoot. I make a mess, dropping all the vials on the floor except one. I keep Hex’s other vial palmed in my left hand.
“I had no idea you were head over heels in love with Wilbert,” I say.
“What would you know about love?” she retorts. “I know Wilbert’s heart. Everything he’s done has been for me. And he doesn’t hide the truth. I don’t think you could say the same about your father.”
“Shut up.” It takes all my energy not to crush the plastic cylinder in my hand. If she wants to play dirty, then fine. “At least my dad didn’t name a hairy pig after me.”
The blur of her hand is too fast for me to duck. The pain in my face only lasts a nanosecond, followed by soothing numbness. It wouldn’t be so bad if nausea didn’t come with it.
I force a laugh. “You’re the lamest torturer I’ve ever met. Numb up the hurt afterward. Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“Shut your mouth.” This time she uses her sickle knife, but my not-yet-blinded eyes see her hand coming. I aim for her wrist, knocking the knife out of her hand. Somehow I manage to grab a finger. I hold it and twist viciously, hearing a crack.
“Get off!” she screams. It’s the scream of someone unaccustomed to suffering anything beyond a hangnail. I let go and lunge for her head. My hand is so numb, I’m not sure if I’m pulling hair or air until I hear Caliga’s shriek.
I can’t believe I’ve become this fighting alley cat. It feels good. Really good. My deadened hand yanks her bun harder, and she howls.
“Where’s my sister?”
“Get off me!” Her other hand slaps against my face, pushing me away. Something hits my teeth and I clamp down on it hard, and there’s another wail of pain. I taste her metallic salty blood and spit it out.
“Where is she?” I yell through numbed lips.
“I don’t know! They didn’t tell me, Micah knows, Micah knows!”
“Is she in the building?”
“Yes, yes, but I don’t know where. I never asked!”
I lift Hex’s vial in my rubbery left hand.
“Just returning the favor. Lights out, dearest,” I say. I shake the liquid over her eyes, and she tries to smack me away. My face, hands, and arms are so numb that I can’t hold on any longer.
She pushes me away and gallops for the door. Knife or not, I can’t let her leave. I make a spastic, sloppy leap and hook the ankle strap of her stiletto with my outstretched fingers. She goes down onto the floor with a satisfying splat. Now she’s really crying, but her cry intensifies into sheer panic.
“Oh, oh—my eyes, what—what—oh no—”
Caliga writhes on the floor. Her eyes are covered in a sheaf of eyelids. Two mini books with lashed lids of pages. They glisten wetly, dripping tears as she paws at her cheeks.
Suddenly, she stops weeping and flops back in a dead faint. I try to drag her over to Ren, but after each pull, I have to rest for several minutes before the feeling returns to my hands. I find my torn sleeve and use it to tie Caliga’s hands together through the loop of Ren’s arms. It takes a while before the knot is tight enough. I survey my work. They make a perfect pair of interlocking humans.
I run to fetch the other vial that has rolled across the floor. I break it open, dabbing Cy’s brew over my raw wrist and blistered hands. I use the last few drops over the cut on my scalp. By the time the bottle is empty, the pain has become tolerable.
“Thanks, Cy,” I say, though I know he can’t hear me. He’s probably waking up at Carus and wishing I’d never walked into his life. A wave of bad feeling hits me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t spend time thinking about my treachery.
It’s time to find Dyl. The black disc of the room door is locked and inert. With Caliga’s knife in hand, I bend over Ren. I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
“Sorry, dude, but at least you’ve got some anesthesia. Anyway, you’ve got plenty of fingers. Time to share.”
Ren’s finger-blooming mess of hands must be perfectly numb, lying an inch away from Caliga’s arm. Oh man. The price of door access.
Once I have Ren’s bloody fingertip, I neatly tourniquet it with a piece of torn shirt. I press it to the panel on the door, and it slides open.
Awesome. Disgusting, but awesome.
• • •
“WHERE ARE YOU, DYLIA?” I WHISPER, staring
down the corridor of frozen Aureus kids. The ones that fought and rebelled. Dyl doesn’t have any trait, I remind myself. She wouldn’t be here. How am I going to find her?
I slip my hand inside my bra and pull out the flat paper packet with the three pills.
It’s Marka. Bring her with you.
I have no other way to find Dyl, except by smell. I hold up the peach spheres, matte and button-like. I don’t know how to take them. All at once? Spaced out?
“What the hell.” I pop all of them into my mouth and force them down.
Through the floors, the haunting heartbeat of Aureus still thumps. At the end of the corridor of frozen freaksicles, the transport door waits. I pull out Ren’s finger and touch the pad. Nothing happens. I jiggle the finger, warm it in my palm. Gah, this is gross. I press it again. I let out my breath when the door opens with a whoosh. Inside, I just stand there.
I have no plan. I have no idea where to go.
I slide to the floor, waiting for some illuminating idea to swoop down and tell me what to do. But it doesn’t come.
After a few minutes, the distinct sensation that Cy is nearby creeps up on me. I twist my head around, but I’m alone. Of course I’m alone, he’s still in Carus. But the feeling is strong and cranks to a high level when I smack my forehead with frustration. And then, I smell it.
I inhale deeply and a flood of sensations—his hands on me, the look of his dark eyes, the scent of his T-shirt—hovers around my hands. I sniff again. Cy’s brew, and the essence of him on the vials. They’re all over my palms and treated wrist.
And then, like a sluice gate of an old-world dam, it all rushes in.
Coffee, sweat, rubber, fine linen, blood, spit, anger, happiness, confusion, low blood pressure, dandruff, weakness, orange sherbet, neurodrugs, Italian marble, lemon, wool and silk, waxy lipstick, sick pig, confused pig, dead pig . . . they’re all here, and that’s only a tiny fraction of what’s invading my nose.
Holy shizz. Marka’s pills do work. Thousands of signals overwhelm the synapses of my brain, and I shut my eyes, crumpling into a ball on the floor.
Now I know. I should have taken only one pill.
CHAPTER 30
HOW AM I GOING TO FIND DYL in this swarm of everything?
What I need is a lesson from Marka. But even Marka said she had trouble identifying all the separate chemical signatures she encountered. I don’t have time to learn new things. I have to work with what I know.
And what I know is . . . Cy’s delicious aura. Vera’s baked parsmint squares. The dry, yeasty warmth of the agriplane. The unique, familiar essence of family, the kind that envelops you when a door is opened to a house, signaling that you’re home. My memories. They’re my guide.
Eyes closed, I carefully lift up my nose and let the smells enter me and try to focus. Like index cards, I let them flip by, abandoning one and concentrating on another and another, until I hit something familiar and useful. The first one confuses me.
Neurodrugs. Not like the ones from Ren’s black-stained mouth, but others . . . pink clouds I’ve known from before. And then more, the smell of bodily sweat, but far more than the ten people or so who live in Aureus. Droves of different people. Then alcohol, like the kind we use in the lab, but mixed with exotic, synthesized fruits.
And then one scent flips by so fast, it makes me gasp. I have to squeeze my eyes and zero in on it. It’s faint, as if worn down by time and nearly washed free from the inside of the transport. One more open door of cleansing air, and I might not have caught it.
Persian freesia, mixed with the scent of despair.
Dylia.
Thank goodness Dyl always bought the scents that lasted a month before the program ended. I remember the birthday present of the electronic sliver inserted next to her collarbone when she turned thirteen. She’s smelled like exotic flowers ever since.
Sweat plus alcohol plus neurodrugs plus Dyl. Multiply by the driving heartbeat pounding insistently from the walls of Aureus since I stepped my mutant foot inside this place. The beating is becoming less like a giant, relentless heart and more like a drum. The drumbeat of music.
I have no time. Ren’s finger is cold and may be no good, but I try it anyway. I press it into the pad, carefully and gently, and speak to the transport.
“Alucinari Rooms,” I say. At first nothing happens, and my confidence withers a fraction. I squash Ren’s finger against the pad again, and this time, the transport jerks so fast I almost fall down, holding on to the slick white walls before I lose my balance.
Aureus is below Argent, which is too convenient. Aureus. Au. The shorthand for gold. Gold is directly under silver on the periodic table of elements. And judging from the minutes gone by, it’s about one in the morning, which means the club is in its full hallucinogenic and illegal swing.
The transport opens to the thudding music and a dark hallway snaking before me.
A large guy with a potbelly walks by, smoking cherry-flavored cigarettes.
Ham sandwich for dinner. Vanilla antiperspirant. Fat bubbling in veins. Too much sugar in the blood. Too little happiness.
I step out of the transport, and a tall, willowy girl in a satin mini-dress stares at me with red eyes. Soundlessly, the doors slip closed behind me.
Soap and luxury shampoo. Peppermint swirl cocktail still lingering in her mouth. Blood stinking of neurodrugs. Currently concocting a lie in her mind, probably what she’ll tell her parents when she comes home in the morning.
Her eyes bug out as she sees my green-spotted arms. “Whoa.” She shakes her head, as if the neurodrugs might lose their potency with vigorous head-swishing. The two guys flanking her are amused by her response, waiting for her swaying legs to finally give way. I lean in and whisper out of earshot of her companions.
“I’m a message from your conscience. Go home before you get a disease that will permanently make you ugly.”
She blinks at me, dazed. “Oh. Okay.” Her companions stare on confusedly as she wobbles for the exit down the hallway. I hear a faint “Goin’ home now!” as she disappears.
Well, at least I can say I’ve done one good thing tonight, saving this girl from a resistant STD and a one-night stand she’ll regret.
Before me is the hallway of rooms, each heralded by body part holograms bobbing and beckoning people inside. The tentacled brain, hand, and ear. It’s time for me to concentrate. Tipping my nose in the air, I sway left and right, trying to find Dyl’s scent. I probably look like a dog let out of the house for the first time in months.
There are too many things to sift through. How can you find the tiny grain of diamond within a handful of plain old sand?
“Find what you know,” I say to myself. I concentrate and let the unimportant scents just drift by. It takes me a full five minutes of dodging the half-drugged people swimming around me, but eventually, I find my microscopic diamond.
The freesia. I sniff in short bursts and keep her front and center in my search as I inch my way down the hall. Except for that one girl, no one else cares that my shirt is torn and my bare arms are covered in green splotches. They probably think it’s the latest trend in makeup. Count on Argent to be the perfect place to blend in.
Of course. That’s why Aureus is situated under Argent. It’s the playground of the members. The neurodrugs are the perfect cover. They can come and go as they please, and even if one of them had three heads and seven legs, no one would admit to the police that they saw such a thing, because doing so would land them in detox. Or jail.
My nose pulls me to the left. Ten feet away, there’s a door with the ear doing flips and spins before an orange-framed doorway. The freesia is stronger in here. As I look up to get my bearings, yelps and shouts come from down the hall.
“Ow!”
“Watch it!”
The volume increases. The corridor is packed, as usual, but the crowd divides like a coat being unzipped, separated by someone pushing club-goers roughly aside.
At first, I don’t re
cognize him, because his eyes and nose are obscured by a white mask, marbled in gray and silver. The mouth is set in a grim line. He scans left and right, pauses when he sees me motionless by the Alucinari ear room. The grim mouth melts into a smile.
Only then do I see the skin, just under his neck. It’s thickened, brown and hard. Tegg has come to find me.
I run into the ear room. I try to breathe through my mouth so the odors in the room won’t overwhelm me. Inside, all I hear is a muffled humming. Some people clutch their heads, as if unable to handle the pleasure of the drug. What drug? I expect fluffy clouds or rivulets of smoke, but the room is devoid of any suspicious pastel-colored clouds.
“It’s coming,” a boy’s voice warns from across the room. Everyone freezes, bracing themselves. For what? I run to the opposite corner, in case “it” means “Tegg” and everyone knows I’m about to get my ass kicked with his impenetrable armor. Tegg walks in just as the boom hits.
The sound is like a gong, but louder and more physical than expected. My bones vibrate to their centers. That’s when I see it. Out of every square millimeter of the walls comes a thick plane of gold dust advancing inward to the center of the room.
My eyes are only on Tegg. The dust hits him from behind as it curls around his head, shoulders, and body. As it passes over the terrain of his mask and mouth, I see it get sucked into his nostrils. He exhales it from his mouth in a puff of sparkling smoke and takes another step closer. It hasn’t affected him at all.
The others around him aren’t immune. The gold passes over them, and they hungrily suck in the glistening fog. Everyone standing hits their knees, their hands cupped over their ears, keening in delirium.
I’m not here to experiment, so before the wave of drug hits me, I hold my breath. It passes. I exhale, unaffected.