by A. L. Davroe
Annoyed by the somber thought, I put my glass down on the railing and try reexamining the crowd. Guster is here somewhere. Inspecting each person in turn, I methodically go over the people standing in chatting throngs, their eyes lazily following the people on the dance floor.
Half of the dancers are androids. They, like the musicians in the corner, are programmed to entertain the guests and make anyone who wants to dance feel less like a spectacle. They’re domestic androids, made to look like Custom Aristocrats, but if you watch them long enough you can tell they aren’t human. They never make mistakes or sweat or breathe heavy. And they never laugh.
I see Sadie and Bastian dancing together. For once, Bastian actually looks happy. Zane Boyd is in the corner with some Elite girl wearing a too low-cut dress. I look away, for some reason not wanting to see if he notices just how close she’s inching toward him.
Spying a service android weaving through the crowd, I step off the landing and go after her. When I catch up with her, I grab a plate of fruit and shove a grape in my mouth. I bite into it, eager to feel something alive, to taste something good, but it seems bitter and mealy to me. Grimacing, I force myself to swallow it.
It tastes better in Nexis. Now that I’ve tasted the truth, nothing will ever be the same. Delia’s laugh cuts the crowd once more, this time close. Startled, I glance around. She and Carsai are right behind me, watching me. Carsai points in my direction, whispers something, and Delia starts cackling again. She says something back.
They’re making fun of me? The Delia I knew would have never made fun of someone who was a Natural. But she’s not the Delia I know anymore. I calmly place the plate down on the android’s hover-tray and turn back toward them, watching and standing there as they make an obvious display of enjoyment at my expense.
As they whisper and giggle, I’m struck by how much they look and sound like a particular little animal that once roamed outside a town we visited in Nexis, a town called Myst. They were bell-shaped creatures with leathery wings and bulbous appendages on their faces. Even the eyes of those little monsters look like those of Delia and Carsai. They were foolish-looking things, clumsy and awkward. I feel a smile crack my annoyance and, before I can help myself, a laugh bubbles forth.
The two of them stop talking then, both their mouths open in abject horror as I point at them and laugh myself breathless. Delia and Carsai, thoroughly embarrassed by something they don’t even understand, hustle themselves away from interested gazes. Still chuckling to myself, I turn back to the hover-tray and pick up my plate once more. I take another grape and chew it, all the while grinning. Somehow, this one tastes sweeter.
Spirits now unaccountably high, I prowl the crowd, my mind interpreting the overindulgent people around me into characters in Nexis. Here this monster, there that monster. I wonder if Mom and Dad did that on purpose, showing me more truths.
And then I see a monster who was once the beauty among the beasts.
In among his crowd of horribly Modified monsters is Quentin Cyr. He’s lovely in the way of Aristocrats, the new Mods he has received since I last saw him making him outshine all around him. But he’s not as pretty as I remember him. In fact, he seems desperate. Now, instead of seeing someone who naturally rises above the crowd, I see someone constantly needing acceptance from those around him, someone who must always feel that he is just a little bit ahead of everyone else. Why did I ever really care what he thought when it seems he’s so much more worried about what everyone else thinks of him? How sad to be that desperate and unable to handle rejection.
I remember the conversation so long ago in the last few moments I had with Dad. They’re insecure. How insecure must Quentin be to do such things to himself? I glance at his Dolls. How awful to make others suffer along with you.
Cocking my head, I smile to myself, the new Anansi part of me wondering, How would you receive a rejection, Quentin Cyr? Should I make him see? Can I? I have to try. I have to make him understand that he isn’t the sun and stars.
I begin walking toward the boy who once mattered so much in my world. It’s a long shot, I know, but I’m feeling lucky. Tonight, I have legs. Tonight, I will find Guster. Tonight, the world is going to turn upside down for these people, and maybe then they will see just how silly they really are…and after that? Infinite possibilities. I could walk on air.
Instead of waiting for Quentin to get up and judge me along with all the other girls, I prance up the carpet and stop right in front of him, completely throwing social grace to the wind. He looks down at me, glances from side to side as if uncertain what to do with me, and then looks down at me again. “What are you…doing?” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard his voice. Surprisingly, it’s very deep. Lacing the deepness is a sort of amusement and confusion mixed together. I can’t help but wonder if it’s his natural voice or a Mod.
I shrug and simply say, “Standing.”
His smooth brows knit, causing the spiral pattern on his forehead to crimp, and a slight crinkle forms at the edge of his mouth. “You can’t stand there, you’re blocking my view.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Of what? There’s nothing of interest for you over there.”
He cocks his head, the crinkle around his mouth rising into an amused smirk. “And you fancy yourself more interesting to look at?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “I don’t really care what you think.”
He’s silent for a long moment. “You remind me of someone. A dead girl.”
Grinning, I plant my fists on my hips. “Perhaps I’ve been reborn?”
He leans back, his perfect face thoughtful and his eyes bright. “Interesting.”
After a long moment of silence, I cant my head to one side, expectant. “Well?”
A brow lifts. “Well what?” There’s that amusement in his voice again.
High off adrenaline and pride in my own Natural body, I smirk. “Aren’t you going to say something more intelligent than ‘interesting’?”
He frowns. “Like what?”
I brush a piece of normal, wonderful brown hair out of my normal, wonderful gray eyes; he’ll see my eyes as blue. “Oh, I don’t know. You think of something. I can’t imagine the heir to G-Corp is ever short on words. Seems like someone like you should know exactly what to say to everyone. Even me.”
Quentin’s eyes go a little wide with surprise, the diamond lashes flashing in the recessed lights and his iridescent irises glimmering dual rainbows. Slowly, as if he has forgotten how, he smiles at me. Not the normal bored sneer that he bestows upon his confidants, but an actual, genuine smile. Perfect straight white teeth. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Quentin smile and mean it. “I believe you render me speechless.”
I pout, though inside I’m laughing. This is fun. I was always so scared of this boy and his judgment, but now that I don’t care, being in his presence is even more enthralling. “Really? Shame. There are no Mods for that, are there?”
The grin broadens and he lifts his hand, half hiding a chuckle. Then he says, almost endearingly, “You’re perfect.”
Confused, I straighten and blink. “Pardon?”
Standing, he rushes down the stairs at me. I take a nervous step back, worried that I’ve overstepped my bounds and am about to be punished, but he stops short of me and circles me instead. I bristle at the gesture, but I force my fists not to ball up and my tension not to show in my bare shoulders.
Once he has circled me once, he stops before me and stares down into my eyes. Up close, I can see how every inch of his skin has been delicately inlaid with intricate swirling designs, how each muscle has been augmented to stand out just so, how each bone has been filed or bolstered to give him a chiseled planar appearance, how every hair gleams like a string of starlight, every breath smells of freshly crushed mint, and his body gives off a faint hint of pheromone. So many Mods and Alts. Nothing about him is real, and it ma
kes my stomach turn.
“You’re very brave,” he’s saying to me. “It makes you shine like the sun.” Reaching out, he offers me his hand, the whirling designs on his palms glinting in the light. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
I stare at his outstretched hand, confused. This wasn’t what I wanted. I hadn’t intended to win him over. That was a desire from a different life, a different Ellani. I want him to see his folly, not feel like he’s being rewarded. I look away from the hand, from him, and my eyes fall on the cluster of monsters gathered around his chair.
Back when I first saw them, I had thought they were lovely Dolls, creatures who complemented Quentin’s beauty like mythical stars clustered around the invisible moon. Now, I feel bad for them. I know that they are slaves to his whims. I know that he forces Alterations and Modifications on them, destroying their Natural beauty.
What he has done to them is not lovely. It is an atrocity of human nature, cruel and unusual punishment for merely being who they are. Yet they endure. Though they are as monstrous as sideshow freaks in the carnivals in the encyclopedia, they hold their heads up high and bear it with a certain mark of pride in their own human ability to persevere.
My eyes fall on the tallest, the proudest, the ugliest. Shadow. The last time I saw Shadow he ruined a perfectly good evening at a ball. But that seems so far away, a tiny pebble in a road upheaved by seismic activity. I’ve killed a dragon. Shadow doesn’t scare me anymore. “I’ll dance with him, not you.”
Quentin sucks in a gasp and blinks. “But he’s a—”
“A Doll? Yes, I know,” I say, simple as can be. And how much of a blow is this to your ego, Quentin Cyr? “And I’m a Natural. Or haven’t you noticed? I want to dance with him.”
“But.” Quentin seems at a loss. “Why?”
I smile at him. “Why not? Haven’t you taught your Dolls how to dance?”
Quentin shakes his head, indignant. “Of course they can dance, but they’re just—”
“And I’m just me,” I say with a shrug. I am a Trickster. My smile deepens. I will show you your folly. You won’t be rewarded for your wrongs. “I’ll dance with him and no one else.”
Quentin frowns and, for a second, I think he’s going to throw a tantrum. But then he turns from me and makes a brisk hand gesture at Shadow. “Do as she wishes. She can have anything she wants.”
Shadow bows deeply and comes toward me. As I watch him, something tickles the back of my head. Something about his movement or his expression excites me. Of course I’m excited; I’m going to dance with the devil of this world. I’m going to shame Quentin by favoring an unworthy Doll over him. He steps flush with me. He’s tall, like Gus, and just as big.
I offer my hand before he has a chance to be the gentleman. Grunting slightly, as if a little put off by my gesture, he takes my hand and builds a fortress around me with his body.
And then, we begin to tango.
Chapter Forty-four
Post-American Date: 7/3/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 9:29 p.m.
Location: Dome 5: Evanescence
After a few steps, he leans close to me. “I’m not so sure Nadine would approve of you using her face in such a manner, Elle.”
Startled by both his words and his voice, I trip over my own two feet and stumble into his chest. He takes the chance to lock his arms around me, keeping me from taking hasty steps backward. I stare at him, confused and horrified, as he drags my leaden body across the dance floor, keeping up some semblance of decorum.
This monster has his voice. This monster knows who I am. This monster knows Nadine. And, yes, beneath all those Alterations and Modifications, this monster looks a little bit like he does. “Gus?” I squeak.
He keeps his head up as he thrusts his hip into me, prompting me to lose the mannequin routine and dance. “Surprised?”
I clop disgracefully through a few steps, trying to find my place in the song and a world that has just turned on its head. Gus is here in front of me. Gus is Shadow. Gus totally made me cry the last time I saw him in person. Is Gus the same person here as he is in Nexis? He certainly doesn’t look the same, but then, technically, neither do I.
He drops me into a dip, making me linger arched against his body. When he snaps me back up, he drags me close, pasting us together. As we tango across the bare floor, his leg slips between mine in a way that lets me know he at least feels the same way about me as Nexis Gus does.
I suddenly feel awkward with all these people watching us. “Gus,” I breathe.
He snaps me away from him, drags me back, trapping me in his inhuman arms. “Are you surprised?” he whispers, his voice like fire on the back of my neck. He spins me the other way, giving me a moment of reprieve.
We collide again. “No,” I say. “I’m not surprised in the way you think I am.”
His false brow lifts in mockery, pulling at knit-together skin. “And how do you know what I think?”
I step back into the solid cage of his arms, pressing into him, accepting and refusing him as the dance demands, flaunting my Natural body while taunting his false one. He has that expression in his eyes again. The wild one that used to scare me when I met it at school. On this unnatural face, it has a harsh, frightening quality. On Gus’s true face it was the expression that told me that I was the only thing he was paying attention to. Now I see them both and understand the fearsome man behind them.
“How do you know it’s me?” I wonder.
His lips curve into what I think is a smile, though with his Mod-ravaged face it looks more like a snarl. “You forget that I saw this mask before, Elle. Only you’d be smart enough to create such a marvelous thing.”
I toss my leg up in perfect time with the music. How wondrous it is to dance again. I let out a chirp of laughter. “Last time I checked, you didn’t seem to think it was such a marvelous thing.”
His eyes go sad, the Alterations making the expression so much more desperate than anything Gus could ever conjure. “I’m sorry.”
A few moments go by, the song ends and another, slower one starts. He pulls me close, hugging me to him like a lost part of his soul. He presses his face into my hair and begins to speak so low that only I could possibly hear him.
“At first, I hated you,” he whispers, his voice a desperate, raw thing. “You had, from the first day you came to Paramount, represented something ideological and great to me. You were a Natural, beautiful and smart, yet you were part of their world. You were like a breath of hope. A promise that all was not lost. I cherished every moment I got to see you, even if it was only at a distance.” He’s lost in a dream, when the dark memory crashes in, making his voice bitter and harsh. “But then, that mask,” he growls. He turns away, his face disgusted.
For a long moment, his grip on me tightens, as if he’s fighting to keep me with him even though I’m making no effort to go. He shakes his head and loosens his grip. His words spill out in a blur of emotion. “You wore that horrible thing. It made you look like them, covered up what you were. And it made me so angry with you. At first I hated you for it. Hated you for wanting to be like them, for being weak like they were. But then, when you stopped coming to school, I began to fear that I had been too cruel with you, that I had frightened you with the monster that I was, scared you away with my righteous anger. And then you were dead. I immersed myself in the game. It was the only happiness I had left.” He pauses and looks at me, his face soft with affection.
He reaches out and puts a beastly hand on my cheek in such an accepting way that I know I can die happy knowing that he might be the only man in the world to ever love me.
“And then one day, you were there,” he continues. “I didn’t understand why or how. I just realized that you were with me again. Alive and just as Natural and beautiful as I remember you the first day I saw you. You hadn’t Modified or Altered yours
elf even though I knew that in the game, you were easily able to. I wondered if perhaps that mask hadn’t been some kind of farcical joke on your part, that you truly loved yourself for who you were. Either that or you had understood my message to you and knew that you were perfect without any Alteration or Modification. That was my hope, that you already knew that I needed and wanted you, and you’d come to be with me. Whatever your reason for finding me in the game, I vowed not to lose you again. So this time, I spoke to you.”
I feel tears of happiness prickle my eyes, but I blink them away. It wouldn’t do for either of us if I began crying. I don’t want him to get in trouble for disturbing a lady with his hideous features. I hold him tighter, wishing above all else that I could just melt into his decimated body and cleanse him of what that terrible Quentin has done to him. I understand that Game Gus had the real body that this Doll should have had, that it was his wish—like it was mine—to have his true body back. He was so handsome, so strong a Natural. And now he’s this—a slave Doll to an egomaniac.
I’d love Guster no matter what he looked like, but I have to know. “What happened, Gus? Why are you like this—with Quentin?”
He glances back toward where Quentin is sitting. He’s half paying attention to a conversation, half watching both of us. I know it’s us he’s watching. I’ve spent enough of my life keeping tabs on who or what he’s watching to know, but I’ve never seen that expression on his face before. Is he…jealous?
“I have an older brother,” Gus says quietly. “Max. Quite some time ago, he got the scratch lung.”
I glance up into his eyes. “What’s that?”
“It’s a common respiratory disease that affects the Disfavored. It’s a result of the bad air quality. It’s easily treated but, because so few of the Disfavored can afford the necessary health care, it’s often fatal.”