I only waited as long as it took the mirrored elevator doors to close on the four of us to say, “So?”
Drey cleared his throat. “The situation is that one of Cruithear’s and Khaya’s automatons is … malfunctioning
… and the City Council decided it should be exterminated immediately.”
I suddenly felt dizzy. “And they want me to do it.”
They all nodded in the mirrors.
I’d finally reached the stage where I had to kill something human-sized. An automaton might not actually be human, but it sure as hell looked like one. This was the penultimate stage before the real thing. No, not a thing—an actual human.
I’d already killed an automaton, months ago in the Alps, but I’d been damned-near out of my mind from the Word of Death at the time and hardly remembered it. This definitely didn’t feel familiar.
“And this couldn’t wait until morning?” I wished it could have waited forever, though even I knew that was an impossibility.
“It was acting unpredictably and had to be sedated,” Swanson said.
Carlin spoke up, in a surprisingly deep voice. “The City Council thought it would be best to deal with it immediately, to avoid any embarrassing indiscretions.”
“Oh, like, the truth that they exist?” My words were heavy with sarcasm.
“Something like that,” Drey said.
They almost sounded like they’d rehearsed this. An uncomfortable idea began to form in the fog of my mind. What if this was planned? What if they wanted me near the automaton for a different reason? What if the City Council had determined I’d failed at being the Word of Death, never mind that I was just getting a grip on it? These three had come late at night so I’d be confused and sleepy, all the easier to lure into the same room with it …
But that didn’t make sense either. Why bother waking me up first? They could have just sneaked into my room and shot me with a decent dose of whatever Ryse had given me when she’d made me kill Khaya’s garden. Then I would have done whatever they’d told me to do—even kill myself to hand the Word of Death over to an automaton.
Besides, however far Drey’s and my relationship was deteriorating, I couldn’t believe he’d cooperate with a plan like that.
Maybe this all felt weird because it was weird to get dragged out of your apartment at night in order to put down a dysfunctional automaton. The three of them had probably come with their show of authority and their explanations ready because they knew I wouldn’t want to do this. Drey especially knew, which was likely why he was so antsy.
And I didn’t want to do it. But Swanson was right: I didn’t really have a choice.
We trekked the rest of the way to the lab in silence. We mostly had the tram to ourselves, and the one person who was in our car excused herself quickly and quietly when she saw three of the top Godspeakers and the Word of Death get on board. Smart lady.
The observation room was nearly as empty. I was surprised, since I’d assumed that the first time I killed anything remotely human-like, a crowd would gather. Although it was about one in the morning. And, as Carlin had said, the City Council preferred not to advertise their remaining automatons, especially a malfunctioning one. At least I wouldn’t have an audience.
And, at the very least, another automaton would be gone. Swanson had said there were only a few left, which meant the chances of one replacing me would be smaller.
Only Luft and Mørke sat outside the lab, facing the windows, with Angelina sitting behind Mørke. Damage control, I imagined. Luft could keep me from speaking the Word of Death by vacuuming the oxygen out of my lungs if things got out of hand, and Mørke could calm me down … or blind me. I tried not to think about her hug the instant I saw her, and only partly succeeded. If I hadn’t already had the stress of what I was about to face, I would have failed altogether.
Carlin seemed relieved to get away from Swanson and Drey and took a seat next to Luft. I didn’t blame him. The tension was thick enough to slice and spread with butter. That left only the three of us to head into the lab. Luft was giving me a strange, almost worried look, but I didn’t have time to think about it before I stepped inside.
Even though I’d been expecting it, the sight was still shocking. The usual steel table had been moved aside to accommodate a gurney. A man—an automaton, I reminded myself—was strapped on top of it, with a white sheet pulled nearly above its bare shoulders and an IV tube running underneath the sheet. Its features were nondescript, blank-looking. It was knocked out, of course, but its face wouldn’t have looked any different had it been awake.
Drey and Swanson flanked me as I walked up to the gurney. A machine measured out the slow, steady pace of the automaton’s heart with regular beeps and a line-graph to illustrate it. I took a deep breath, but I didn’t feel any less dizzy.
Drey touched my shoulder and murmured, “Remember, it’s barely even alive. You’ve done this before, and you don’t have to do anything … showy. Just stop its heart.”
I nodded, relieved. At least human-like blood wouldn’t have to fly all over the room … or worse than blood. I tried to remember how it’d felt to kill the one in the Alps. But it had all happened too fast for me to recall much of anything.
“I’m … I guess I’m just going to go for it,” I said.
Both Drey and Swanson nodded. I almost wanted to make a crack about how both my fathers were here for me on this momentous occasion, but I didn’t have it in me, not even with the beer’s help. I was mostly starting to feel queasy.
Just do it quickly, I told myself. I put a shaky hand on the white sheet—it wasn’t death-proof material, so I didn’t even have to touch any skin—and took another deep breath. When I closed my eyes, the Words were ready and waiting.
They heightened my awareness, like with the chimpanzee. I could hear and feel, and almost see, everything going on inside of it. The whole circulatory system buzzed in endless loops, like Brehan’s and my cars racing around the streets of L.A. I ignored everything else, narrowing my focus and going for the source of all the motion: the heart pounding out a beat at the center of it all. And then I saw it—a flaw. The heart was already weak, and it took only the slightest Word to send it faltering. Something tugged on my focus, but I ignored it. I just wanted to get this over with and then go to sleep.
The beeping grew erratic, slow, and then held steady in one endless, high-pitched whine while the beating of the heart stopped. The whirling motion throughout the body ceased, and I opened my eyes to see a flat-lining graph.
I pulled my hand away. Other than the annoyingly prolonged beep, the room was incredibly quiet. I turned to look at Drey and Swanson. They were both watching me.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said, only a little unsteadily.
But they were still looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for some other reaction.
“What?” I said, getting irritated. “Would you rather I freak out? Don’t you want me to be calm? It’s not like it was a hum—”
And then I realized what I should have realized earlier, as soon as Drey had told me to come with him and he was so nervous that he had to have Swanson and Carlin there with him. And I definitely should have realized it when I’d felt the flaw in the man’s heart.
The man’s, not the automaton’s. Because why would a perfectly designed body have had a flaw? Why would it have even been malfunctioning in the first place?
How could I have been so stupid ?
“Oh, Gods,” I said, looking back and forth between the two of them. I shook my head. “You didn’t. You didn’t just do that to me.”
Neither one said anything. Drey flinched, but I didn’t see his expression for long before I bent over and emptied the beer-flavored contents of my stomach all over the floor. Swanson jumped back when the vomit splattered their shoes, but Drey didn’t.
“Oh, Gods,” I repeated to the
mess on the tiles. “Oh, holy shit.” I stayed bent over, my hands on my knees, because the room was spinning around me. Wiping my mouth, I glanced up at Drey. “You knew all along.”
He nodded. “This was the only way to get you to do it. To accustom you to … this.” He hesitated. “He was a murderer, if that helps.”
“I’m a murderer now,” I said with a dark laugh. “Should I kill myself?”
“Don’t ever suggest anything like that again. Not even as a joke. This man was a lowlife, Tavin—”
“We were lowlifes!” I shouted, straightening and taking a rapid step toward him. He stepped back now. “Maybe we didn’t sleep on the street, but we spent all day out there, picking up trash! Or have you already forgotten? Has being a prestigious Godspeaker again made you forget everyone and everything that ever mattered to us?”
“You were the only one who mattered to me—”
I couldn’t believe it—either that no one else mattered to him, or that I mattered to him all that much. Not if he could do this to me. “What if that was Jacques? He’s just the captain of a trash barge. Or one of the ladies under the bridge, like Chantelle? They’re just prostitutes! They saved my life, Drey, and Khaya’s life.”
He reached forward to put a hand on my shoulder, his other hand gesturing for me to be quiet. “You’re saying too much.”
“Don’t touch me!” I shoved him off, and the violence of it made his eyes go wide. I shoved him again, square in the chest, and he staggered back, grabbing the gurney for support and nearly falling. For a split second I felt ashamed, until I saw the body behind him—a man’s body.
“I hate you,” I spat. “I hate you.”
His face closed off. “I knew you would.”
“Then why are you doing this to me?” I yelled so loud that he leaned back, even though he couldn’t step back any more. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Swanson slide a syringe from his pocket, keeping it half-hidden in his palm. I pointed at him, and he froze. “Don’t even try it. The least you people owe me is an explanation.”
“I did it because … because it was better me than … ” Drey swallowed and held my eyes. His eyes were so blue, so clear. “Because I love you like a son, and I would do anything for you. I would even let you blame me—let you hate me, if it made you hate yourself less.” He took a breath. “You didn’t know he wasn’t an automaton, Tavin, so you can’t blame yourself.”
It was too much. I couldn’t take it anymore. I backed away from him, then spun, heading for the door. I glared at Swanson as I went by, counting on the ferocity of my look to warn him not to stick me with anything. His own expression was apologetic, but it wasn’t nearly apologetic enough.
“No more surprises or lies,” Drey said behind me, right before I reached the door. “I’ll be straight with you from now on. They want you to assassinate someone.”
That stopped me in my tracks.
“Who? Where?” My words were breathless.
The Words in my head were eager. They coiled inside in anticipation, like a snake ready to strike. I wished I could cut them out of my skull, out of my skin.
“You’ll get a debriefing tomorrow,” Swanson said, his voice reluctant. Regretful, even. “And you’ll be flying out soon after that.”
Flying out? So I’d not only be leaving the Athenaeum, but Eden City.
But only to kill someone else.
I couldn’t even think about that right now. I had to get out of this room. I frantically swiped my keycard and, thank the Gods, it worked. As soon as the door slid open, I was gone, speed-walking through the outer rooms, past Luft and Carlin and Mørke and Angelina without looking at any of them. When I hit the white basement hallway, I broke into a run.
I wondered if they’d try to stop me, give me a sedative, or at least make sure I wasn’t about to do something stupid. But they didn’t. No doubt they were watching, ready to leap out at a second’s notice, but they didn’t get in my way.
I didn’t know where I wanted to go other than out, far and away, but that wasn’t an option. I headed for my apartment, since it was the only place I really had to go where I could lose it with a shred of privacy. There was Khaya’s dead garden too, but it was too close, in the same building where I’d just ended a human being’s life. Besides, Luft and Mørke had followed me there once, and they might do it again.
I would have run all the way to my apartment, but I had to take the tram. At least I had it to myself at this late hour. I paced back and forth through the cars, alternating between biting my nails and making fists so hard I thought my hand would break.
I hadn’t known. Maybe I should have, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t known it wasn’t an automaton.
If I’d knowingly killed another human being in cold blood, that would’ve been it. I would’ve been done. I wasn’t sure quite what that meant, but I felt it. That was why they’d come in the middle of the night. They knew I wouldn’t do it under normal circumstances, or what passed for normal circumstances around here. They’d wanted me to be too thrown off to question what was going on, tired enough … and maybe drunk enough to be fooled.
Brehan’s words suddenly flashed through my mind: There’s some concern about alcohol and lack of judgment with how we might use the Words … By the sound of it, the Godspeakers didn’t often let the Words drink. Except they’d let Brehan and me get drunk tonight. Did they only take advantage of the situation, or had it been a setup? Was Brehan in on all of this?
Once the idea occurred to me, I couldn’t think of anything else. At least it gave me something to think about other than what I’d done.
I didn’t know, I didn’t know …
Drey had given me that much, at least: ignorance. And someone to blame other than myself. But he’d still betrayed me in the worst possible way. And, Gods help him, if Brehan had betrayed me too …
I punched the wall of the tram, leaving a huge dent in the shiny silver siding. The rest of the way back to the apartment passed in a blur. When I reached our green-and-gold hallway, I marched up to the golden door opposite mine and hammered on it without hesitating. I kept pounding, never mind what time it was, until Brehan opened it.
He barely had time to squint at me, yawn, and say, “Tav—” before I grabbed the front of his white undershirt, yanked him out into the hall, and slammed him up against the wall.
“Did you do it on purpose?” I shouted, practically nose-to-nose with him. “Did you give me beer on purpose, so I wouldn’t think about what I was doing later?”
“No! What the—why? What happened to you?” His eyes were wide. But with the Word of Death in his face, he wasn’t even afraid for himself.
Only for me.
I didn’t answer. Instead I took deep gasping breaths as if I was trying not to drown. My grip on his shirt gradually relaxed and my hands slipped away from him.
As if I needed further proof that he hadn’t done anything, he didn’t even bother straightening his clothes. He only took a step closer, concern etching his face. “Something just happened. In the lab?”
I nodded. I couldn’t speak. My voice was pinched off in my throat, like someone was strangling me.
He cursed under his breath. “They probably saw us drinking in the surveillance cameras and decided to spring something on you. They’ve woken us all up in the middle of the night before, to make us use the Words while we’re half-asleep and disoriented—to prepare us for any situation, they say. I’m so sorry, man, but I didn’t know. What happened?”
I hadn’t known, either. I hadn’t known … but it had still happened. I had still done it.
I staggered, and he caught my arm to try to keep me from falling.
“I … ” My voice broke. “I killed someone.” I sank to my knees in the hallway, burying my face in my hands. A sob tore out of my throat. More followed, continuing to rip through me, almost like they were physic
ally tearing me apart. The truth poured out like blood, over and over again, as I rocked back and forth against the pain: “I killed someone. I killed someone. I killed someone.”
Brehan slid down next to me, his door still open. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against the wall nearby, listening to me cry my throat ragged.
fifteen
I wasn’t sure when Brehan dragged me to my bed, but he did at some point, just before the sun rose. He even pulled my shoes off and the bedcovers over me, and then he let me sleep.
I tried to sleep forever so I didn’t have to wake up and remember, but my stupid body thwarted me. My eyes opened to afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
Pie scratched and whined at the closed bedroom door, but I couldn’t let her in. My murderer’s hands didn’t deserve to touch her. I couldn’t go to Khaya’s garden for comfort either—not the living one or the dead one. The living one no longer existed, and the dead one was too … enabling. It all felt too easy there. None of my refuges could hide me anymore.
And yet, if I didn’t float on that river of death lurking in the back of my mind, I would probably drown in it. It was already reaching out, wanting to buoy me—or suck me in—but I kept away from it. But this time, instead of being able to seal it away, I felt more like it was cornering me in my own head.
I couldn’t move, either in my twisted inner world or in the real one. I only stared at the ceiling through the green canopy above my bed. In place of my old mantra, I’m Tavin, a new phrase now played in my head on repeat to keep the Words at bay:
I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t know …
But my silent chant didn’t keep the people at bay. Brehan let himself into the apartment at some point—he must have still had my keycard from last night—but I didn’t get up. I heard him pouring a bowl of dog food, and then calling out that he and Pie would be next door. Soon after, someone else knocked, shouting they had an important message for me, but I ignored the person.
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