“You’d do that for me?” Jude sounded shocked.
I nodded, one quick bob of my head. “Yes. For you and for our mother. I can’t let you die or put either one of you in danger. I can’t be the reason for your death.”
“Bean—”
“Stop, please! Let’s just get this over with. Before I change my mind,” I added.
Her lips parted, like she still couldn’t believe what I’d said. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning toward me, pressing her mouth against my forehead in a single kiss. Then she reached out her hand and I let her fix my skirts and my dress and walk me through the bedroom door into the hall outside. I was numb as we went, hand in hand, to the place where someone would decide my fate.
We didn’t speak another word.
What was there left to say?
We wound through a series of rooms not unlike those in the mansion where I’d lived with the Keeper. The difference here was that they were bright and clean, sparkling with life and opulence. Soon we reached a set of grand carved doors on the ground floor. The sound of classical music played on the other side, beautiful and soft and haunting.
Jude turned to me, her expression full of sadness. “You’re not alone in this, Bean. I’m going to be right here with you this whole time. Everything is going to be okay.”
I nodded. Put a hand on her arm, stopping her before she could open the door to the ballroom. She looked at me. “I have one last request,” I said.
“What is it?”
“I want to see Mom before I’m plugged back in.”
Jude nodded. “You will. She’s right on the other side of this door, waiting for us,” she added as the sounds of the symphony trumpeted our arrival.
29
Belle of the ball
WE STOOD AT the top of a grand staircase.
A lush blue carpet stretched the length of it, ending underneath a chandelier even bigger than the one in my room. Like my dress, the ballroom seemed something out of a fairy tale, I’d always believed such magic was possible only on the Apps. There were circular tables draped with cloth in various shades of blue. At the center of each one was a tall silver vase overflowing with brightly colored flowers, yellow, purple, and pink blooms cascading on soft green vines. A thousand candles hung from the ceiling in tiny gilded cages, a constellation of sparkling stars. At the center of everything was a wide space for dancing. A full orchestra was next to it, the bows of the string instruments moving in perfect unison, the sad mournful song of the violins carrying high over everything else.
It was appropriate.
This would be my final memory of the Real World, both my reunion and my good-bye with my mother.
“Bean?” my sister urged.
I nodded. Took a deep breath.
She laced her fingers through mine. Her grip was so tight I thought she might crush bone. A single spotlight crossed the room and stopped when it reached our perch above the ballroom. The crowd hushed.
Everyone turned to us.
I’d wanted to search the crowd for the familiar face of my mother—or at least, what I remembered of her—and for Inara, too, but that wish was dashed. It was indeed a masquerade ball, nearly all the guests holding glittering masks to their faces, only their eyes blinking through tiny almond-shaped holes for viewing. The men were dressed in tuxedos, some of them in bright colors, red, purple, even pink, while the women wore elaborate gowns that belled wide across the floor, or sleek, sparkling sheaths that exposed more skin than they concealed. They stared and stared, at my face, my body, my hair. They whispered behind cupped hands and pointed to me.
My free arm snaked around my body, hugging my torso. The delicate dress was so airy and light against my skin that I felt naked, and in the bright glare of the spotlight trained on us the top of it was nearly transparent.
I squirmed under their gazes.
Jude, too, now held a mask in her hand. Peacock feathers of green and blue and black, some the very same color as her dress, fanned out above her head, her eyes shielded by pale, molded silk that left only her nose and mouth uncovered. I wondered if the mask made this party easier for her to go through with, to shield what she was really feeling. I was reminded of the funeral in the App World—the one for the Under Eighteens who weren’t even dead—yet this time the funeral was mine, even though I wasn’t dead either.
The sounds of the symphony rose higher.
My sister turned to me. She beckoned. Stepped forward, her heels absorbed by the thick carpet.
But I didn’t follow.
She turned back. “Are you having second thoughts?” she asked. Her voice wavered—she was scared that I was, what would happen if I did.
I walked forward in answer.
My back was straight, my chin up. I refused to show the guests weakness. I was already vulnerable enough and I would give them nothing more. As we descended the stairs, I looked into their masked faces. Many of the women had chosen the brightly colored feathers of elaborate birds like my sister, or mythical sprites and fairies, but the men had chosen more vicious beasts. Bears and lions, tigers and horses and snarling hyenas. I even noticed a few minotaurs and dragons peering back at me as we passed.
I was the animal in a zoo of one, trapped and ogled and oohed and aahed at—a zoo of my sister’s making. The irony that I was the only one who’d come to this event in human form wasn’t lost on me. Ever since Rain had spoken of how I’d been put out on exhibit, I’d thought it horrible to be on display and be completely unaware. But now I realized how wrong I’d been.
It was far worse to be conscious.
Jude squeezed my arm. I saw how she was smiling for the crowd. “You’re going to be okay,” she said.
Was I?
“You won’t remember a thing after you plug back in.”
I nearly missed the next step, but caught myself.
Jude smiled at someone to our left, as though everything was fine. Soon we reached the bottom of the staircase where the blue carpet pooled along the floor like spilled water. She smiled and waved at the attendees.
The guests clapped politely.
“What now?” I asked.
“Eating, drinking, dancing,” she said. “I’ll show you around. Make some introductions.”
I shook my head. Refused to look my sister in the eye. “No. I’m doing enough already, Jude. I’m not going to let you walk me around the room to peddle my body.”
“What if it involves seeing our mother?” she asked.
My heart expanded with need and most of all with hope. “Where?” I asked. My voice was hoarse.
“Right over”—Jude craned her neck—“there!”
My eyes sought the place my sister had indicated, cutting through the crowd, who’d spread out through the ballroom again, caught up in conversation. People kept glancing my way. I would be watched all night. “I don’t see—” I started to say, but then I stopped.
There was a woman straight ahead, one of the few guests without a mask. Unlike the rest, she was dressed in black, the color of mourning. She seemed older than I would have guessed, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, her face thin and drawn, eyes tired. But they never left me.
I could see traces of myself reflected in her features, in the blue of her eyes and the golden-brown color of her skin.
My mother.
After all this time.
Her gaze brightened. Her lips parted. She held out both her arms.
An invitation.
In that moment, the ballroom, the sinister purpose of this event and its guests, my sister, everything else ceased to exist. My only thought was of reaching the spot where she stood there looking at me, at the end of a long and dangerous journey across worlds and over a decade of waiting. I went to her. It was all I could do not to run. I stopped just short of her fingertips.
“Mom?” I needed to hear her voice. I needed to be sure this wasn’t another terrible trick.
“Hello, my blue Skye.” Her words filled the air a
round me like a protective shield. Then she pulled me close.
“I love you so much,” I said into her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. “I’ve missed you.”
“Your sister thinks I’m on her side, at least enough to obey,” she whispered urgently, clutching me tight. “But I’m not. I promise you, I’m not. As much as I wanted to see you again, I hoped that you’d escape before it came to this.”
I blinked, eyes wide with shock. “But . . . but . . .” I stammered in her ear.
“Shhhh,” went my mother.
“Skylar was very anxious to see you, Mother,” Jude interrupted at my back. “She’s been very cooperative,” she added. Her tone had changed.
Gone was the repentant sister, replaced by a woman who was obviously in charge.
Someone without remorse about my fate.
My mother released me.
I slid reluctantly from her arms, the long black sleeves of her dress soft against my skin. I straightened up and fixed my skirt so I could face Jude. “Can you give us sone time alone?”
Jude smiled. Her eyelashes fluttered innocently. “Of course,” she said, and moved away through the crowd.
A tear slid down my cheek as I stared at my mother, my heart caught in my throat. I waited until Jude was on the other side of the ballroom before I spoke again. “She told me it was her life or mine.” I watched as my mother shook her head. “That if I didn’t come tonight, if I didn’t allow myself to be plugged back in so she could have my body to sell, that she’d be killed,” I added.
“Your sister has become quite the actress,” my mother said fiercely.
My lips parted, and my chest tightened. Could it be true? Had it all been an act? Like Lacy out at Briarwood, but this time worse, because it was my own flesh and blood? I swallowed. My insides were dry. “Mom, how did Jude get like this?”
She leaned close. “If I’d known what would happen because I chose you to plug in, I wouldn’t have separated our family. Jude was never the same after you left. She became obsessed with caring for you—and she did so meticulously for years, lovingly, or so I thought at first. She’d talk about the day you’d be together again, and I thought she meant here, in the Real World for Service, but she believed wholeheartedly your reunion would be virtual. That she would plug in and surprise you.” She paused. The sounds of the orchestra played eerily around us. “Little by little, as it dawned on her that this would never happen, she became fixated on how unjust it was, that she was stuck in the body forever, that she’d never have the chance to transcend it. Then she decided to make the most of her lot—of our lot—at least that’s how your sister likes to think of it. And I believe you know what comes next,” my mother added.
I nodded. “The New Capitalists. The Body Market.”
“Your sister is punishing me tonight by forcing me to watch what she’s doing to you.” My mother’s eyes burned with anger. “Only Jude could get you to give yourself up to save her from death! That liar. She’s shameless! I’m sure she felt this was the best way—maybe the only way—to go through with her plans,” she hissed. “Listen, I’ve been trying to negotiate a way out for you tonight. I know that this is a lot to take in, but you need to be strong—and you are, my darling. You proved that to everyone the moment you unplugged.” My mother cocked her head, took a step back, taking me in. Tears slid down her face, too. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” she said. “I wish we had more time, my love. Then I could explain everything. There’s so much you still don’t know about our family.” Her eyes darted behind me, as though she was just checking out the crowd at a lovely party.
I blinked back tears. “What do you mean? Tell me.”
My mother reached out and touched my hair, fixed it around my shoulders. Looked at me with eyes full of love. “There is a fanatical streak running through your sister’s veins. I didn’t see it when she was young, but she has a lot of your father in her.”
“Our father?” I asked, startled.
Our mother never talked about him, who he was or where he’d come from, how they’d met or how long they were together. He was so absent from our lives I almost forgot I had a father at all.
“There’s something else important you should know about tonight—” my mother went on, but stopped abruptly.
Jude returned to us right then, interrupting whatever my mother was about to confess. “Your time is up, dear Mother,” Jude sang. Then to me, she said, “And don’t you think you should mingle with the guests?”
“Don’t you mean buyers?” I asked, turning away.
My mother laid a hand gently on my arm, the touch so simple and slight, yet I wished she could hold on to me forever. “You should eat something, Skylar. And drink something, too.” My mother nodded toward the tables at the edge of the ballroom heaped with edible delights. Fruits and cakes, sea creatures still in their shells, looking as though they could wake at any moment, great bowls of salad and fountains of champagne. “You need your strength. The roast beef is particularly delicious. You must try some.”
I looked at her strangely.
Jude seemed pleased at our mother’s approval of the feast she’d laid out for everyone. “That’s a wonderful idea. Perhaps if Skylar gets something in her stomach, she’ll be able to relax. She didn’t eat a thing that I left in her room. You must be hungry,” she added, nudging me toward the tables, pointing the way with her hand.
“Go on,” my mother urged. “We’ll talk more in a bit. Do this for me, my Skye. Make a mother happy and feed yourself.”
It pained me to cut short our conversation, and I wasn’t even hungry. But it seemed a small enough thing that my mother was asking, and though I didn’t particularly want to do as Jude told me, I blocked that out for now. What my mother wanted from me was so typically parental, telling a child to eat, making sure I took care of myself, that I found myself obeying her, walking through the crowd toward the other side of the ballroom. People gave me a wide berth, as though they preferred to watch me from afar, or maybe my sister had directed them not to come near the merchandise.
Which was fine with me.
I skipped the plates full of cookies and bowls heaped with trifle, the tables laden with whole roasted fish and lobster tails, and went straight for the one where I thought I might find the roast beef, to comply with my mother’s wishes, however odd. I stopped in front of it and my stomach clenched. The smell of cooked animal flesh was sickening. I was about to walk away, to excuse myself to my mother and explain that I simply couldn’t get anything down, when something caught my eye and drew me back.
My stomach unknotted.
And I smiled—the first genuine one all evening—as I understood what my mother had really wanted for me.
There were knives. They were small, but they were sharp, meant for carving the thick bloody meat laid out across so many shallow china platters. Their handles were covered in blue mother-of-pearl, and along the side was a long sliver for enclosing the blade. They fanned out across the tablecloth, pretty souvenirs for the guests. They glittered as bright as jewels in the candlelight, reflecting bits of chandelier and pieces of the frescoed ceiling.
Daintily, I piled a tiny plate high with roast beef.
Then I picked up a fork and a knife.
When I was sure no one was looking, I carefully folded it and slid the knife into one of the looping folds of my gown, grateful for the elaborate bustles around the wide, structured skirt. I shifted a little, back and forth, satisfied that the knife was safely tucked away. Then I looked across the long table and saw that next to each plate of pork, of venison, of beef, and of lamb was a new set of knives, all of them decorated with blue pearl handles in various hues to match my dress.
How fitting.
I went down the line, adding each different meat to my plate, and swiping one knife after the other until I could claim a full set hidden in my dress. When I reached the end of the table I was practically floating with hope. I even took the crystal glass of c
hampagne I was offered by a waiter holding out a silver tray. When I turned to observe the merriment of the ball, I saw the party happening around me with new eyes.
Now I was armed.
This changed everything.
I could feel it in the way my heart skipped and my spirits lifted, my mind racing with the possibility of escape. My eyes darted around the ballroom, across the guests, searching for every possible exit. I was sure my sister had them guarded, but I’d gotten out of far more difficult circumstances while gaming. All I had to do was trust my instincts and use the circumstances to my advantage just as I would on the Apps. The only difference was that the stakes here were real, and unlike that day on the cliff, this time I was aware of it.
Not a minor detail, but one on which I wouldn’t dwell.
Maybe it was the smile on my face that broke the ice with the other guests, because someone approached me from the left. A man in a lion mask. He held out his hand to me for a dance and, as gracefully as I could manage given my revulsion, I took it. He led me to the center of the dance floor, my bare hand held high in his gloved one.
The orchestra quieted.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said in a voice that told me he was older.
The conductor tapped his wand and they started up a waltz.
As we swirled around the room, I made it a point never to look in his eyes. I was stiff in his arms, a wooden doll whose joints could bend. My skirts were heavy with the knives tucked into my dress, and I prayed they would stay. When the song ended, before I could lower my hands, someone else took the first man’s place and the orchestra started up again. In the blur as we moved I saw my sister watching, nodding her head, pleased. I glimpsed our mother, too, eyes on me, her mouth a straight, worried line. Then a third man, this one in a pink tuxedo and matching pink mask, fringed with feathers, replaced the second. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of those knives. At one point I fantasized about their blades slicing through the skirt of the gown and nailing the foot of my current suitor to the floor. As the third song came to an end, I was about to claim the need for rest. But then I caught a glimpse of my next suitor. He wore all black and seemed younger than the others—I could tell by the slim, muscular shape of his shoulders and the part of his face not covered by a striped mask.
Unplugged Page 27