by Wendi Wilson
I’m so comfortable, so warm and cozy, I should fall right to sleep. But I can’t.
My mind fills with images of Gabe and Rafe, sitting in the café, asking me to date them. My heart skips a beat and my breath hitches in my chest. Silas lifts his head, and I open my eyes to look at him.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He holds my gaze for a few more beats before laying his head back down beside mine and tightening his grip on me. Slade nuzzles against my cheek, trying to give me comfort with his presence. They always know what I need and try their best to give it to me.
I don’t deserve them.
Withholding information feels like lying, and I promised myself that I’d never lie to them. But how am I supposed to tell them I may have feelings for the Davilas? I don’t even know, really, what those feelings are. Friendship? Definitely. But I’d be lying to myself if I said that was all I felt.
“Lizzie,” Slade whispers, and I turn my head toward him. “Your heart is beating a mile a minute and you keep fidgeting.”
“What’s on your mind?” Silas adds.
I start to shake my head, to deny, deny, deny and pretend nothing is going on. That nothing is wrong and everything is normal. But the clenching in my gut won’t let me.
I push myself up until I’m leaning back against the headboard. The boys sit up and face me, crossing their legs in front of them. They wear identical looks of concern that makes the cramp in my gut even worse.
“Thursday morning, I went to see Gabe and Rafe at the coffee shop,” I say, my words slow and measured.
“Yeah, we know,” Silas says, confusion apparent on his face. “They told you they were joining the president’s youth outreach group.”
“Yeah,” I say, my nerves ramping up even higher, “but that’s not all they told me.”
“Oh, God. They asked you out,” Slade says, scrubbing a hand against his forehead before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“How did you know?”
The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them, and both boys go completely still.
“What did you say to them?” Silas asks, answering my question with a question.
“I accused them of thinking I’m a slut,” I say. “How did you know?”
“Please,” Slade says. “It would be obvious to a blind man they’re attracted to you.”
“It wasn’t obvious to me,” I mumble.
Ignoring my comment, Slade continues, “What did they say when you accused them of thinking you’re a slut?”
“They denied it, of course. They said they think I’m smart and funny and kind—”
“All true,” Silas interjects.
“And they need to be near me.”
“What did you say?” Slade asks, a grave look on his face.
“Nothing,” I mumble, unable to meet either of their gazes. “I didn’t say anything. They asked me to think about it, and I left. That was it.”
“And have you?” Silas asks.
“Have I what?”
“Thought about it,” he says. “Have you thought about dating them?”
His words sound more like a statement than a question. Like he already knows the answer, and he just wants to hear me say it out loud.
“No,” I chirp, my first instinct to deny, deny, deny.
I don’t want to hurt them. I also don’t want to change the way they feel about me. But I swore I wouldn’t tell any more lies. I close my eyes and swallow thickly before I tell the truth.
“Yes.”
The silence is deafening. I can’t take it. Something in my chest pinches painfully, like tectonic plates shifting inside of me, wreaking destruction.
“I may have…considered it for a single moment, but I swear, that’s it. I want to be with you. I need you. I’m in love with you both, and that’s all that matters. You two are everything to me. You’re all I need.”
“Are you sure?” Silas asks, his voice cracking with emotion. “Because if you want them…”
He trails off as I vehemently shake my head, making my black curls bounce.
“I love you,” I whisper, leaning over to press my lips against his.
I pull back before he can deepen the kiss, turning my head to gaze at Slade. The uncertainty on his face stabs me in the gut.
“I love you, Slade,” I say, crashing my mouth against his.
When I pull back, his doubtful expression is gone, replaced by something else. Something deeper. Baser. A need that causes my insides to clench in response. My heart picks up its pace, my breathing grows harsher with every pant that passes my lips.
I forget about being tired. I forget about Rafe and Gabe and their ridiculous proposition. All I know is right here, right now. The tether between me and these two boys is strong and true, unbreakable even by my own stupidity.
Slade lunges forward, grabbing my ankles and pulling until I’m lying flat on my back in the middle of the bed. In a flurry of motion, I’m divested of my clothes, as are Silas and Slade.
I lose track of all sense of space and time as every inch of my skin is worshipped by lips and hands and tongues and teeth. I try to participate a few times, to brush my fingertips against soft skin or through silky, blond hair. But each time I move, one of the boys patiently grabs my hand and puts it back at my side.
They are determined to make this all about me. To please me. To show me they really are all I need. I eventually give up, letting them drown me in affection and devotion. After all the emotional highs and lows of the last few days, I guess I need it.
And, of course, they know that and give it to me.
With one mouth paying homage to my breasts and the another at my center, it’s not long before I explode like a firecracker, shuddering as the pieces of me come floating back down to Earth. My eyes grow heavy and sleep finally comes to claim me.
“I love you, Lizzie,” the boy on my right says, snuggling in close to my side.
“I love you, too. So much,” the boy on my left says, sinking down into the mattress next to me, wrapping his large hands around my bicep.
Then the world slips away as darkness descends.
16
“What should we do with all that?”
Sitting around the breakfast table the next morning, we all turn to look at the freezer, where Wyatt is pointing. The syringes of Savanna’s blood are in there, still locked in their boxes beside a tub of cookie dough ice cream.
“We could just toss it out,” Silas offers, speaking around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“You can’t throw needles in the trash,” I say, shaking my head. “We’d have to dispose of them somewhere safe, like a doctor’s office or the hospital.”
“Then we’d have to explain why we have forty eight needles filled with blood,” Jett says.
“We could always empty them down the toilet first,” Savanna suggests.
“It would still be hard to explain all those syringes,” Slade says. “Unless we split up, each taking a handful to different locations.”
“That could work,” Savanna says.
“What if we don’t?” comes blurting out of my mouth before I can stop it.
All eyes focus on me, filled with curiosity. I fidget in my seat a little, not sure how they’ll respond to the idea forming in my head.
“Okay, hear me out,” I say, leaning forward to brace my elbows on the table. “What if we give Savanna’s blood to a research facility?”
Several mouths pop open in protest, but I hold up a hand to silence them. Surprisingly, silence falls at the gesture.
“Of course, we would have to find someone we could trust, but what if real scientists could somehow, I don’t know, synthesize Savanna’s blood? What if they could make a vaccination, give it to everyone like they do for chicken pox or polio, and make everyone immune to persuasion?”
“Then we would lose our power, the main thing that makes us what we are,” Jett says, frowning.<
br />
“People wouldn’t have any reason to fear us anymore,” Savanna replies, her voice soft and thoughtful.
“And we could be just like everybody else,” Slade says.
“Well, not just like everyone else,” Silas responds, holding up his morning flask of blood. “We still have strange eyes, advanced hearing and a need to drink blood. People will still ostracize us for that.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “but the persuasion is what incites the fear. Without that fear, most people will be more accepting.”
I pause for a moment, looking at each of them before continuing, “But that’s not the main reason I think it’s a good idea. There will always be people who will want to use that power. People like Brother Earl, trying to get sway with the president for his own desires. People like the president, himself, forming an army to make everyone around him agree with everything he says, with everything he wants, regardless of whether or not it’s good for the country. It’s that power that I want to take away. If the entire world is immune, no one can manipulate Alts or use them for their own benefit.”
“Okay if, and that’s a big if, we decide to do this, how are we going to find a scientist we can trust?” Jett asks.
“You could always persuade someone to do it and not double-cross us,” I blurt out.
You could hear a pin drop for a few seconds before the room fills with uproarious laughter. My face heats as I watch my friends wipe tears from their eyes. Even Jett is chuckling, and that is no small feat.
“That’s classic, Babe,” Slade says. “You want us to persuade a scientific research facility to use Savanna’s blood to create a synthetic vaccination against persuasion.”
“But it’s for a good cause,” I say, getting a little defensive.
“I think the idea has merit,” Savanna says.
Jett opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of my phone ringing cuts off whatever he was about to say. I pick it up from the table top and look at the screen.
“It’s Gabe,” I say, tapping the answer button. “Hey Ga—”
“Lizzie,” he breathes, cutting off my greeting, “thank God. We have a problem.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, making everyone at the table sit up straight.
I know they can probably hear him, advanced hearing and all, but I tap the speakerphone icon anyway and set the device on the table.
“Are the others there?” he asks, his voice echoing from the speaker.
“We’re all here,” I say. “You’re on speaker.”
“Good. I just came from a meeting with President Worth…and every Alt in his employment.”
“Every one?” Savanna asks.
“What did he want?” Silas asks at the same time.
“I don’t really know. He was being vague as hell. He just said something big is happening, and that he needs us to be vigilant in our duties. That we need to be ready at all times. Then he went on about how much he’s helped us, given us jobs and security in a world that hates us, so we should remember that when he calls on us for our help.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I mumble.
“No, it doesn’t,” Beckett responds. “Gabe, he didn’t give you any idea what he might be planning?”
“No,” Gabe says, “not even a hint. But I thought you guys should know. I have to go before I’m missed.”
“Okay, keep us updated. Bye,” I say.
“Will do,” he says, and the connection cuts off.
“I wonder what he’s up to now,” Savanna ponders out loud, not really speaking to anyone in particular.
“World domination. What else?” Wyatt quips.
Jett reaches over to swat his brother, but Silas’s voice cuts him off.
“You’re probably right,” he says. “The president has already been using Alts to get his way, gain acceptance from the press, agreement from his peers, and even sexual favors from unwilling girls. What’s to stop him from trying to increase his power on a global standpoint, especially now that he thinks he’s immune from persuasion himself? There’s no one to stop him.”
“So,” I say, keeping my words slow and measured, “we’re responsible for whatever happens next.”
“No,” Jett responds, “that douche canoe is responsible for his own actions. That’s not on us.”
“But, we gave him the confidence to move forward,” I argue.
“No, Lizzie,” Slade says, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “We can’t blame ourselves. Besides, who’s to say he didn’t have this planned already? Even before we supposedly made him immune, he was confident in the loyalty of his Alts. He saved them after all. Our elixir just gave him a little extra insurance.”
I don’t argue again, but my guilt doesn’t dissipate. I know this, whatever it is, is somehow our fault.
And we have to be the ones to stop it.
After breakfast, we all split up. Beckett and Wyatt offer to clean up while Jett and Savanna head upstairs to use her computer. They’re going to run a search on local research facilities with the hopes of finding a suitable candidate to make our persuasion vaccination.
Silas, Slade, and I head up to our room to do our own research. We decide to look for new articles about President Worth, anything that might give us a hint at what his plans are. It’s obviously something big, so chances are it has required some build-up.
We just need to find the right thread to unravel the whole thing.
17
“I think I have something.”
I’ve been reading articles all morning, everything from serious political debate pieces to fluff about the president’s Hawaiian vacation last summer. Nothing I’ve read sounds suspicious enough to be a decent lead. Until this.
“There’s this article in the National Inquisitor,” I start, but Slade’s laugh cuts me off.
“That’s not real news, Lizzie. They make that shit up, aiming for the sensationalism lovers and the conspiracy theorists.”
“That doesn’t mean there’s not a grain of truth in it,” I retort. “Just listen.”
“Okay. Lay it on me,” he sighs.
“The article is titled, The President made me do it, and it’s about that guy who tried to assassinate James Ford.”
James Ford was a candidate in the last presidential election, and Gregory Worth’s main opponent. During the debates, he was charming, forthright, and sincere, earning the respect and adoration of the American people. Early polls predicted him to win by a landslide.
Then the unthinkable happened. Carl Evers, a redneck from the backwoods of Alabama, showed up at one of Ford’s rallies and shot him in the back. Ford survived, but the damage from the bullet left him paralyzed from the neck down. He was forced to withdraw from the presidential race.
Evers was caught and arrested, sentenced to life in prison for attempted murder. His trial was a televised sensation as the country mourned its lost chance of having such a great man as its leader. President Worth won the election, as Ford’s replacement nominee had no chance to impress the American people that late in the election. Plus, he was a total jackwagon.
“It says here,” I continue, “that Evers claims a teenaged girl approached him at a bar and asked to speak with him alone. Though he was intoxicated, he remembers thinking that it was strange such a young girl would be in a bar, but before he could comment on her age, he noticed her eyes.”
“Let me guess,” Silas says. “She was an Alt.”
I nod. “Yep, and he claims she persuaded him to leave the bar with her. Once alone in an alley outside, she used her persuasion again, ordering him to shoot Ford.”
“Assuming he’s telling the truth,” Slade interrupts, “what does that have to do with Worth? I mean, we know he uses Alts, but it’s not common knowledge. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t start collecting them until after he became president.”
I scan the rest of the article until I see Worth’s name.
“It says that whil
e he was awaiting trial in jail, he saw President Worth’s acceptance speech on the common room television. Listen to this,” I say, reading the article aloud. “There she was, the one that made me do it. Standing right next to the president, holding his hand in the air and smiling for the cameras. That’s when I knew. Worth used me. He sent that Alt to me, had her persuade me to do his bidding. And now I’m the one paying the price, even though I really had no choice in the matter.”
Silence reins for a few seconds when I finish reading, each of us thinking about Evers’s words.
“Well, it certainly sounds like something that asshole would stoop to,” Slade says.
I close out the article and pull up my favorite search engine. I type in “President Worth election celebration” and click on the images tab. After scrolling through a few memes, I find what I’m looking for.
“Holy shit,” I pant out, feeling my pulse rise as tingles shoot up my spine and across my shoulders.
“What?” Silas asks. “What is it?”
I turn my laptop around, showing the guys the picture. It’s President Worth, balloons and confetti rain down around him as he smiles with raised hands. One of them is closed into a fist, the other one holds the hand of a teenaged girl. She has pale skin, dark hair, and big brown eyes.
“That’s Christine Worth,” I say, my voice still slightly breathless with shock. “Carl Evers says he was persuaded by the president’s daughter.”
“Impossible.”
The boys and I called everyone downstairs for a meeting, where I read them the article and showed them the picture. After a few beats of stunned silence, Jett blurted out that helpful little gem of a response.
“Why is it impossible?” I retort. “He has his Alt assistants wear contacts to fool the public…why not his daughter?”
“No way does the president have and Alt kid and no one knows about it. Secrets always come out and she’s what? Seventeen, now? That’s a long time to keep a secret for a normal person, much less a public figure who has the press hounds sniffing his tail twenty-four-seven. I call bullshit,” he replies.