I heard a key turn in the lock.
Maybe I was a prisoner after all.
Later that evening, the Keeper made me some tea and asked me questions about life on the Apps. We sat on the couch in the living room, and I told her all that she wanted to know. If I was honest with her, maybe she’d be honest with me in return. I needed to be on her good side if I was going to get access to her keys. The more I talked about my experiences in the App World, the more she seemed unimpressed. “You don’t mind the ban on virtual technology here,” I finally said.
“No.” She took a sip from her cup, eyeing me over the rim. The hot liquid sent steam curling up into the air. “The existence of the App World is tragic.”
I eyed her back. “The only thing that stops people from plugging in is capital.”
“No,” she said. “Not having enough capital saved us.”
I remembered the signs people held after Jonathan Holt announced the borders closing, how so many of them said You are saved! Everyone talked about being saved, but from totally different things. “How did the ban save you?” I asked.
“From giving up the body so easily,” she said. “Like it means nothing at all.”
“Are there a lot of you who feel this way?” I was surprised by her statement. It went against everything I’d learned in school about how all Keepers in the Real World hoped to someday be plugged in. I couldn’t help wondering if my mother and my sister might agree.
The Keeper shifted position until she was facing me on the sofa. “It depends on what you mean by a lot. When you plugged in, the population here was already low because of the exodus to the App World. Since then it’s diminished drastically. Then a few years ago, an epidemic ripped through the Keepers and another third of our population was wiped out.”
I swallowed. I knew that sickness was passed from one person to the next through the body, and how easy it was to die because of this. Living in the App World sheltered us from this sort of danger.
The Keeper dabbed her lips with a napkin. “The last epidemic was over two years ago,” she went on. “Everyone is vaccinated now—you were, too, while you were on the plugs. But some Keepers are fearful another epidemic is on the horizon. You know them by the way they wear scarves to cover their faces and protect their noses and mouths from breathing in a virus.” She balanced her tea on the arm of the sofa. “Between the epidemic and everyone plugging in, we Keepers had to consolidate territories and jobs. Even if a Keeper doesn’t work directly with the plugs and the bodies, they’re supporting some task or function that affects maintenance. Little by little, all plugged-in bodies were transported to one central geographic location so we could care for more people with fewer resources. Once the other cities were evacuated, everyone relocated to New Port City.”
My throat went dry. Lacy had said something to this effect, but I hadn’t known whether to trust her. “New Port is really the only city left?” It was hard to imagine this could happen in a mere decade.
The Keeper nodded. “We had to pool our skills to keep at least one urban area running with electricity and transportation and hospitals. New Port was chosen because of its facilities to accommodate both the plugged-in and unplugged populations, plus it’s an efficient place to get around on foot, so we could save energy.” She paused to pour more tea. Then she settled the saucer in her hand again. “We’re more than Keepers of plugged-in bodies now, Skylar. We’re Keepers of humanity’s way of life.”
I studied her, trying to comprehend all she was saying. “What about the rest of the seventeens on this side of the border? Will they become Keepers, too? And where does Rain Holt fit into all of this?”
The Keeper set her cup back onto the table, so gently it didn’t make a sound. “Don’t worry about him right now. Worry about yourself.”
“But he wants to talk to me,” I said, frustrated. “He needs to talk to me. I heard him say it. Why don’t you just let him?”
The Keeper’s hands balled into fists. “When you talk to Rain, I want you to do it on your terms, Skylar, not on his,” she said. “When you are ready, not when he simply decides it’s what he wants. He has to learn that the Real World is different from the App World. That everyone isn’t at his beck and call.” She leaned forward so we were eye to eye. “I risked my life to harbor you here because there are things in both worlds that are unfair. I want so much for you—I want so much for all of you—every plugged-in child who will no longer be allowed the freedom of Service, who will soon lose their body once the Cure is enacted. No matter what people tell you about who you are, and what this body means or doesn’t—whether it’s Rain or someone else, even your family—I want you to discover it for yourself first, because it’s yours. It will always and forever be yours, Skylar. Don’t you dare let anybody tell you differently, do you hear me?”
The Keeper’s eyes were fierce.
She wanted me to trust her, and I felt myself yearning to. But as we looked at each other now, I also knew that when she said the next time I saw Rain it should be on my terms, what she really meant was on her terms, when it suited her schedule. When she decided I was ready. And her advice was good. I would go to Rain on my own terms.
Just not on hers.
So I nodded slightly. “Yes, I do hear you,” I told her, feeling slightly guilty as the words slipped from my lips. Her instincts to keep me safe and hidden were nearly parental, drawn from a well of good intentions, however stifling.
But my instincts pulled me in another direction, and I wouldn’t look back.
It’s in looking back that we lose the game.
Over the next few days I stretched and bent and worked at my muscles, biding my time, keeping my eye out for the Keeper’s keys. The more adept I was at getting around, the more I found that my body was hungry for movement. Each step warranted another. Everything I touched made my hands seek the next thing. It was both exciting and disconcerting to discover how my arms and my legs seemed to have a mind of their own.
I began to feel . . . real.
And in a way that I hadn’t in a long, long time.
The Keeper seemed pleased with my progress.
For dinner, she made a big salad with bright-red tomatoes and crunchy green leaves and vegetables. Apps may have made life easier and safer on so many fronts, and even more fun, but nothing compared to real food. Each time I discovered a new texture or flavor I thought of the Sachses. And each time, thoughts of them made me feel sad.
“How much do you know about the Race for the Cure?” I asked her as we ate. “You mentioned it the other day.”
The Keeper chewed her food slowly. “Enough.”
“Do you know that it’s . . . that it’s been won?”
She nodded. Then shifted her attention back to the bowl.
I speared a wedge of tomato with my fork. “Liberation is set to begin soon.” I’d called up Emory Specter’s exact words. They made my stomach queasy.
The Keeper was still staring into her food. “Liberation?”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s how most App World citizens understand the Cure.”
She put down her fork. “The process of removing the bodies will begin soon—that much is true.” She snorted. “And I suppose that some App World citizens might regard it as being ‘liberated’ from their bodies—in a way.”
I bit my lip. Focused on the curve of the water glass on the table, the way it caught the light. “What do you mean?”
The Keeper picked up her fork again. Took several more bites of her salad, the crunch of it the only sound in the room. Then she sat back in her chair. “The Keepers have split in two over control of the plugged-in bodies.” She clasped her hands and placed them in her lap. “There is a large and powerful group that struck a bargain with Emory Specter, and who’ve promised to maintain and protect the bodies of citizens in the App World until every last person is unplugged. They call themselves the New Capitalists. The Real World has been dealing with an economic crisis for some time now, and
the New Capitalists vowed to solve it, you could say.”
My heart was beating faster. We were finally getting somewhere. “This is the first I’ve heard of any New Capitalists.”
The Keeper pushed her bowl away. Like it no longer appealed to her. “Their ideas are rather”—her eyes blinked up at me, then away—“drastic. There’s a group of us against them. We’ve started to organize.” She got up to clear her dishes from the table. “Some of the seventeens that got left here have joined with us. Rain Holt is one of them,” she added casually over her shoulder.
My eyebrows arched at the mention. I got up and followed the Keeper to the sink, my bowl in hand. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
The Keeper dropped her silverware into the metal basin and it hit the bottom with a loud clatter. “Rain Holt is . . . necessary. He has connections that are useful. That we wouldn’t have access to otherwise.”
I set my bowl on the kitchen counter. The mention of connections reminded me of Lacy. I wondered where she was right now and when I would see her again. “The rich always do.”
The Keeper started piling the dishes underneath the faucet and poured liquid soap over them. Then she turned on the hot water. She seemed lost in thought. I watched as soap bubbles spread across the surface of everything. I reached out and laid a hand on a large bubble that had formed over the top of a glass and it popped.
The Keeper scrubbed at the residue on a dish. Then she handed me the plate to dry. Her eyes were ringed with purple. “I know you’re eager to see your family, Skylar. But I want to make sure you’re ready for whatever happens. The Real World is a complicated place, far more so now than when you plugged in. There are changes that you may find difficult to accept.”
I rubbed the dishrag in circles along the smooth white surface, then set the plate carefully on top of the stack of clean ones, wanting her to tell me more. “What are you trying to say?”
The Keeper handed me a glass. When I grasped it, she held on. Her fingers were wet and soapy from the water in the sink. “If I were you,” she said, her eyes intense on mine, “I’d be very careful. If your family knew where you were, the outcome would not be good. You’d be in danger. Ask Rain, he’ll tell you—” she started, lips parted, about to say something else, but then she closed her mouth, her sentence unfinished.
She let go of the glass.
I felt like I’d been punched. How could my mother and sister be a danger? How could I give up on my plans to see my family? I searched for the right words to respond, but they didn’t come. In the silence, the Keeper turned away, dried her hands, and set the towel on the counter. Then she went into the living room. Before she disappeared, something slipped from the cuff of her sweater and settled soundlessly into the thick carpet. I saw the bright glint of silver.
A key.
When I was sure she was gone, I picked it up and tucked it away.
17
Ready or not
ADAM WAS RUNNING.
I could see him far off ahead, his bare feet slapping against the ground, sending clouds of dirt billowing up with each step. Or maybe it was sand. It was white and powdery. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt. I watched him approach a hill covered with tall grass, nearing a bend. Once he rounded it, I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore, and I wanted to go to him, to shout his name and get his attention, but I couldn’t move or speak. A seagull called out overhead.
Adam stopped suddenly, just before he was about to disappear. He turned back, both hands beckoning me toward him. “Come on, Skye! Hurry!”
His words sped toward me so fast I thought they might knock me over. I tried to reply, but I didn’t seem to have a voice, couldn’t control my body, my arms and legs held in place, refusing to move.
Adam waited, watching me. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Don’t be scared!” he shouted. “You won’t go through this alone!”
Go through what? I wanted to yell. Have you seen my mother? I tried to call. My sister? Each word echoed in my heart. Then I felt a new presence. Breathing, long and slow and steady. I turned around and jumped back, startled.
The Keeper. She was standing so close, shaking her head. “I’m afraid for you, Skylar,” she said. “The Real World is dangerous for a girl with your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” I asked her, this time able to speak.
“Ask your sister.”
“Ask her what?”
The Keeper didn’t answer. She continued shaking her head, watching me with pity, or maybe sadness. I gripped her shoulders with my hands. Leaned toward her and screamed with all my might. “Tell me what’s wrong with my face! Tell me what’s happened to Jude!”
My eyes flew open, my breath ragged.
I looked around.
I was in my tiny room, lying sideways across the narrow bed. I’d fallen asleep on top of the sheets.
The word face reverberated around me, followed by Jude. Maybe I’d yelled out loud in my dream. Sweat covered my skin, soaked my nightclothes and the hair at the back of my neck. I swung my legs around to the floor, the cool wood a relief against the bottoms of my feet. I leaned forward, rubbed my hands across my eyes, my cheek, my mouth, my brow. Everything felt normal, but the dream left me shaking.
I got up and traded my nightshirt for a tank top and leggings. Slipped my feet into the sandals the Keeper had given me to wear around the house. Gathered my hair into a knot to get it out of my face. Then I took the key from the place I’d hidden it under the mattress. The edges were jagged in my hand.
Bad dream or no, it was time to get out of here.
I crept into the living room and went to the door I knew led to the outside. I tried the key in the lock, hoping it would work, but it didn’t fit.
I’d have to go out another way.
I went to the only other door where I thought the key might work—the one that opened on to the rest of the mansion. When I reached it, I stopped.
Everything was so silent.
The Keeper had to be asleep.
This time the key slid easily into the lock. I heard the bolt open, and pulled the key out again, tucking it into the band of my leggings. I turned the knob on the door, and it swung wide, the hinges moaning low and mournful. Somewhere in one of the rooms ahead, there had to be a way outside. The Keeper might not think I was ready to go into the Real World, but I knew that I was.
Quietly, I closed the door behind me and headed deeper into the mansion.
For the first few minutes I stumbled around in the darkness. I walked through the first room, then the second, trailing my finger along the backs of dusty chairs and couches covered in old white sheets, my eyes passing across tall gold lamps and delicate china vases. Everything was covered in grime.
Then a breath escaped me into the thick, musty air, and I halted.
I’d come upon a woman.
Dead. Headless.
Dressed for a ball.
I flipped a switch on the wall and a light came on.
The stark white glow of the woman’s skin was pale—too pale, even for someone used to the standard Caucasian 4.0 of App World citizens. I went to her lifeless form, touched the smooth round top of the neck.
A mannequin.
The gown she displayed was unfinished. Pins, blackened with age, still held pieces of it together, ribbons streamed down the side, and a long measuring tape was draped across one shoulder. Yards of satin with a structured skirt that belled wide enough for someone to hide underneath it. The color was impossible to discern, the fabric faded until it was nearly gray. I reached out to touch it, but my finger poked right through the delicate material—it was so old it was nearly disintegrating. I snatched my hand back, not wanting to do any more damage. Even though this place was abandoned, it felt wrong to spoil what was here any further. These were the remnants of someone’s life. A woman’s life.
I turned.
Hanging along the far wall were more ball gowns, some of them big and elaborate like the one on t
he mannequin, and others elegant slim attire for a dinner or maybe a cocktail party. These were grayed with age, too, and sagging heavily, as though it wouldn’t be long before they would give up trying to stay on their hangers.
They must have been beautiful once.
Inara would love this.
This thought crept through my mind, a painful whisper.
I tore my gaze from the dresses. Swallowed around the thick lump that formed in my throat. I was wasting time. The possibility of escape, of gulping real fresh air into my lungs, pressed in on me. There was a door at the other end of the room and I went to it, passing through without looking back, continuing on through the mansion, trying to get my bearings. I moved down a long, narrow hallway and descended a series of three steps where the floor dipped. Like the other rooms, this one was dark. There were no windows and the curtains were shut tight. Great swaths of wallpaper, once grand and colorful, had peeled away near the ceiling, hanging overhead like ragged archways. The floor creaked underfoot, the wood dull and caked with grime when once it had surely shined. At the far end of the hall there was another set of doors, tall and ornate. I wondered if they led somewhere special, into the parts of the mansion where the family who originally owned it used to live and entertain their guests a century ago.
I stopped before a different door that was cut into the wall to my left. For some reason I longed to go through it.
My heart pounded.
It was like my body, my mind—maybe both—knew something I didn’t.
I opened it, the hinges creaking through the silence, and flipped another switch on the wall. Everything was bathed in the soft light of a chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. Like the other rooms, this one was packed full of furniture covered in cloths to protect it, everything dusty and grayed, but there was one new thing that drew my attention. A tall mirror was propped against the far wall. Its frame, once gilded, was blackened with age, some of the carvings along its edge broken, flowers missing petals, or half a leaf. My mind caught on what the Keeper had said in the dream about my face.
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