by Wren Weston
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, child. Medical records are supposed to be confidential. I would choose my patients over Beatrice Randolph every time.” Helen’s gaze slid to the floor. “But as your doctor, this was terribly inappropriate. I’m sorry. I had to say something, though. I had to do something. I thought you were going to have a panic attack. I could see it starting.”
“A panic attack? Is that what’s been happening to me?”
“How many have you had?”
“Three in the last week, counting the one in the car.”
Helen cursed and dug into her purse, pulling out a card. “If I give you this, will you go see her?”
“Her?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I saw what La Roux did to you. Now, a month later, you’ve tranqed your ex-lover because he touched his brother’s throat. Did you trust your ex before all this?”
“Yes, but I was stupid. I—”
“Stupid is not a word I would ever use to describe you. Did you trust your ex when you were together?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that what happened with La Roux might be coloring your thoughts now?” When Lila didn’t answer, Helen forged ahead. “You need to talk to someone about what happened last month. I should have given this to you back then.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Crazy people don’t go to therapists. Crazy people insist that they’re fine because they’ve completely lost touch with reality. You need help. Someone tried to kill you. You might be pregnant with his child, your ex-lover has fucked off with another woman, and I can see you do not like that one bit. You were nearly condemned to death last week, and you’ve decided to leave your highborn family to get mixed up with the oracles, it seems. I’m not going to even ask what that’s about. Just your mother’s antics would be enough to push you over the edge. She makes everyone crazy.”
“I’m fine. I’m handling it.”
“Handling it with a tranq? There’s a point when too much is too much, Lila. You’ve hit that point. You wouldn’t be having panic attacks if you hadn’t. You wouldn’t see danger where none existed.”
Lila bit her lip.
“Just take the damn card and tell me you’ll contact her.”
“Okay. When I have some credits,” Lila promised, putting the card in her pocket.
Her palm vibrated. I’m staying at the oracle’s compound tonight. Contact me if you need a ride. I’ll pick you up anywhere, anytime.
Helen watched Lila put her palm away and handed her a pool cue.
“I don’t even know how to play,” Lila said.
“Good. I like winning. It reminds me of med school.”
Helen crouched over the table, shifting the cue between her fingers. She quickly showed Lila how to break. But instead of moving on, Lila stopped her at lesson one. She liked the sounds the balls made as they cracked and clacked together. Her billiards education faltered.
The bouncers eyed them warily.
“I’m not going to pretend I’ve been in your position,” Helen said, still fiddling with the umbrella in her first drink. “But I’ve seen many women over the years trying to figure things out. Not liking the father, being afraid of him, being abused by him, or not having a choice in becoming pregnant in the first place. Some women become unsure when their circumstances change, when they don’t have the money to raise a child alone, when they don’t want the health complications that come along with pregnancy and childbirth. It’s the ones who make an impulsive decision who tend to regret it, as do the ones who base their choice on other people’s opinions. Have the baby or don’t have it, but take the father out of the decision. This should be about you and the child. Not anyone else.”
“What if it’s his?”
“You tell me.”
Lila broke again, eleven balls shooting against one another, like an angry mob. “Maybe he didn’t do what I thought he did tonight, but he’s not ready for this.”
“Few people are. Boys turn into men.”
Lila repositioned the balls and lifted the rack.
“If it’s his and you chose to have it, will you tell him?”
Lila broke again. It had become strangely therapeutic, like punching a heavy bag, except it wasn’t so tiring.
Helen’s palm vibrated while Lila racked the balls.
Lila stood up straight, peering at the doctor’s neutral face.
“Well?”
“The sample wasn’t a match. He’s not the father.”
Lila snatched up her cue. She broke even harder this time.
The child of her attempted murderer crawled in her belly.
Spinning. Writhing.
She realized now why her head had been filled with Tristan for so long. She’d hoped the baby belonged to him. Even though it would have been messy and complicated, even though she didn’t want anything connecting them for the next eighteen years, some part of her wanted it to be him.
The alternative was so much worse.
“Call that number, Lila. Make an appointment. The woman owes me, so don’t worry about the cost.” Helen laid her hand on Lila’s cue, stopping her from breaking again. “Give it two weeks, okay? Don’t make this about the senator. This is about you. A child can be a lot of work, but it can also be a blessing.”
The women’s shouts and the dancer’s gestures seemed so much more vulgar and out of place than they had seconds ago.
“A child isn’t therapy,” Lila said.
“Sometimes it is. Childbirth changes your hormones. Motherhood changes your priorities and how you see the world. It changes what you care about.”
“I don’t want to be a mother. I don’t think that’s going to change.”
“A baby is not a curse, Lila. A baby can be a gift.”
Helen squeezed her shoulder and left to pay the tab.
Chapter 25
Lila yawned and stretched on Helen’s leather couch, her cheek damp and cold from where Scout had nosed it. Above them, the clock read four thirty, ticking more loudly than the dog’s rattling collar. He sat down and panted, his tongue lolling goofily to the side.
“I hate you,” she muttered, tossing the red blanket off her shoulders. Snatching her palm from the side table nearby, she checked her messages, but still her father had not responded.
Scout licked his lips and nosed at her hand.
“I’m guessing you need to go for a walk?”
At the word walk, Scout hopped and twirled toward a leather strap hanging from the coatrack, biting the clasp. Having nothing better to do, Lila connected the leash to his collar and took him downstairs, letting him lift his leg on a patch of brown grass between the buildings.
He took two steps and crouched.
His back rounded, and his tail flipped up.
“Please, don’t shit. Please, don’t shit,” she chanted under breath.
The dog shat.
Lila dropped the leash and ran. She hit the stairs at a thundering pace, her boots pounding against each step.
The dog trailed along happily after her.
Back in the apartment, she unclasped the dog’s leash and found a small scrap of paper. She scrawled a short note, thanking Helen for letting her stay the night, then folded the red blanket she’d slept under. Scout whimpered as she closed the door.
Lila crushed a wad of credits in her coat pocket while she jogged downstairs. Helen had lent her some money before shuffling off to bed, ignoring her protests.
They hadn’t been that loud. Lila needed the money for gas.
She slid into her sedan, the door creaking in the dark and quiet complex. She’d never had to worry about gas before. Compared to her chief’s salary and her dividends, a tank of gas had never registered. Even buying a new car had never registered. Up until the age of twenty-eight,
the world around her might have been free, but now she saw the strings attached to the world. Price tags dangled and danced in the wind.
She hadn’t even had to pay for anything yet.
Other people had paid for her. She owed. She was in debt.
At a red light, she checked her accounts on her palm, but they were still empty. If her mother had planned to return her money, she would have done it by now.
A decision would have to be made about that.
Soon.
Lila filled her tank at a self-serve pump, then drove through the sleeping city, few people awake and moving throughout New Bristol. Only the poorer workborn moved on the streets so early, walking in worn boots on the gritty sidewalks because they could not afford cars. In fact, the interstate might have been filled with ghosts, for few cars traveled upon it. Only a couple of lone semis shuffled along, stuffed to the brim with things for people to buy. The boxes inside would soon be attacked by workers, unloaded onto shelves, ready for the morning.
Lila threaded through the trucks, sped southward, and quickly approached the oracle’s gate.
The eye did not blink in the darkness.
A purplecoat emerged from the gatehouse, peeking into the car while Lila rolled down the window. His chubby cheeks and chubby fingers tapped on her roof absently, like concentrated raindrops. Green eyes stared at her, eyes that reminded her of La Roux.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said. “Lila?”
“Yes. Hurry, please. I need to see the oracle.”
Though she’d wanted more proof of Camille’s identity and a bead on the second mole, she’d changed her mind about waiting while tossing and turning on Helen’s couch. Camille knew far too much about the compound to wander freely, regardless of whether or not the other mole got spooked and ran. They could not give her another second to vanish. One mole was far better than none, for they’d never learn what the Italians knew about the oracles if they allowed her to slip away. That knowledge was far more important than the second mole. The truth serum would reveal the snoop’s identity, anyway.
“No one sees the oracle at five o’clock in the morning. I’ll let you inside, but don’t go near her cabin. We’ll detain you if you do.”
He slapped the top of her vehicle and whistled to the gatehouse. The compound’s doors opened with a small screech and a groan.
Lila didn’t budge. “How long have you been in the oracle’s militia?”
“Five years,” the guard said, standing up straighter.
“Five years, and you’re working the overnight shift on a Friday night. You have no rank. You realize you can’t be demoted much further than this.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed.
“I suppose they’ll find a place. They always do.”
The man mumbled something and punched a few buttons on his radio. Static filled the air.
Lila winced at the racket.
A familiar figure strolled through the open gate doors, his purplecoat waving in the blustery, damp wind. “I’ll handle it, Jackson. Finish cleaning the guard station.”
Jackson shuffled toward the little structure.
Nico leaned upon her window frame. “Why aren’t you sleeping in your cabin, Lila? Dixon returned last night.”
“I slept somewhere else.”
He raised a brow. “Slept with someone else or slept somewhere else?”
“It’s not really any of your business.”
“Of course it is. I need to know if I’m cooking in vain.”
“I thought you were cooking for the oracle.”
“I was cooking for her and her mysterious new friend, a friend who’s becoming more and more mysterious with each passing day. It was supposed to be the opposite.”
“That’s interesting, since your entire attitude changed when the oracle called me god-chosen. Now you’ve gone back to flirting?”
“It just took me by surprise. I needed some time to adjust.”
“Why? I don’t even know what it means.”
“It means the eyes of the gods are upon you. A high body count tends to follow the god-chosen. I’m especially fond of being alive. I suppose that doesn’t make me as devout as Connell believes.”
Lila looked away, tracing the guard tower’s peaked roofs. “Connell doubled the watch tonight.”
“Yes, he did.”
“She had another vision, didn’t she?”
Nico nodded. “I don’t know any more than that. Take a nap and wait for breakfast, Lila. You can see the oracle then. I’ll not wake her for the world right now, not even for you.”
“You’re worried about her.”
“You’re damn right I’m worried. Connell’s been gentle with her the last couple of days. The man doesn’t even baby babies. It doesn’t bode well.”
The radio on his shoulder cackled, filling the air with a series of clicks, pops, and squeals.
“Are all your radios like that?”
Nico nodded.
“Since when?”
“Since last year.” He turned down the radio’s volume. “The company that installed them has come out to investigate a few times, but they claim they’re working perfectly. They say there’s interference nearby. We haven’t had enough money in the budget to investigate further.”
“You receive donations, don’t you?”
“It’s been a hard few years for the workborn. Donations have run lower than normal.”
“I guess Mòr bought Blair’s telescope in simpler times.”
Nico laughed. “It’s not Blair’s telescope. Some highborn bought it years ago and made a deal with the oracle. We’re paid well to keep it safe and well maintained. Whenever the woman comes to visit, we turn out every light in the compound so she can watch the stars. Blair plays host, but she pretends she owns it the rest of the time. You’d think it would piss her off, some highborn amateur strolling up to her tower whenever she pleases, but Blair almost skips on those nights. I think it’s the only time anyone cares or understands what she’s talking about.”
Lila drummed her fingers on the wheel.
Blair would let her in to see the oracle.
“I know what you’re thinking, but forget it.” Nico marched through the gate and hopped into a cart. He led the way to her cabin, looking back several times to make sure she still followed him.
He walked her to the door, reminding her not to disturb the oracle as a personal favor. Then he climbed back into the cart and zipped away.
Lila crept inside the cabin, not bothering to muffle the sounds of her footfalls. It would be empty, for Dixon would be in Blair’s tower, writing notes—
She stopped short. Blair and Dixon napped on the couch, limbs intertwined, cheeks pressed together. The hushed screen before them had been filled with black. Two used notepads lay open on the coffee table, the pencil dulled and abandoned. A pile of shavings lay scattered nearby.
Gods, he’d written a lot.
Lila closed the door quietly behind her and padded across the living room, her satchel’s zipper tinkling like a bell.
Dixon twisted and smacked his lips, waking Blair. They both blinked and yawned, squeezing each other as they glimpsed Lila walking past.
“Sorry.” She winced as they turned their heads.
Dixon reached for his notepad, yawning again. Where have you been?
“Out.”
He rubbed his eyes and checked his palm. He passed it to her, the last message still open. Tristan’s fine. He’s already awake and puking. It had been sent a few hours before.
“Katia?”
Dixon nodded and tapped a reply.
Lila plopped down heavily on a padded sofa chair.
“Did you really tranq Dixon’s brother?” Blair chuckled, sitting up. “I wish I’d been there. What’s it like being tranqed?”<
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“Ever been hung over?”
Blair nodded.
“Ever had the flu?”
She nodded again.
“Add them together and multiply it by a hundred.” Lila slipped off her boots. “It’s nice to see you take a night off. I thought you didn’t do such things.”
“I didn’t take a whole night off. Dixon wouldn’t stop pacing in my tower. It was annoying and distracting. Since I wasn’t getting anything done anyway, I agreed to watch a movie. I must have dozed off.”
Sorry.
Blair shrugged. “It wasn’t all a waste.”
“Oh? What did you watch?”
“I have no idea. We made out through most of it.”
In the dim light, Lila saw a hint of pink cloud her cheeks.
Lila took out her palm and ran it along the walls and the couches and the drapes. She checked the kitchen and the bedrooms as well, with Blair following her movements with curious eyes. Lila showed her the four audio bugs before she lobbed them off the porch. They struck the packed earth like stones skipping across the water.
Dixon held up his notepad as she reentered the room.
About last night—I’m sorry. I should never—
Lila waved him off before he could finish writing. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
His pencil wavered over his notepad, but thankfully he wrote no more.
“We need to see the oracle right now. You were right last night. This is a street fight. We should attack. We—”
Blair shook her head. “No. My sister had another vision last night. Whatever this is, it can wait for a few hours.”
“That’s what Nico told me at the gate.”
“He was there. It was bad. Let my sister sleep, and you can speak to her at breakfast. You could use a few hours yourself. You look like shit.”
“I had a few hours. I need to keep working.” Hitching her laptop higher on her shoulder, Lila trudged into the bedroom, giving one last look behind her. The couple had fallen back onto the couch, their eyes closed, their lips pressed against one another. Blair had thrown her leg atop Dixon’s thigh, and her fingers skated under his shirt and up his chest.