The meal passes slowly, as if every minute is an hour. The talk, of course, is all politics and poll numbers, when it’s not about the details of the wedding—which, to be honest, is the same thing.
“The seated dinner will be delicious,” my mother tells Erica Foster. “Filet mignon with a peppercorn sauce, broccoli florets, and bronzed new potatoes—”
“Excuse me,” I say. “I have to powder my nose.”
“Everything okay?” Thomas asks.
“Absolutely,” I say.
“Aria?” My mother raises a brow. “Do you need me to accompany you?”
All heads turn my way. “I just have to pee!” Kyle rolls his eyes. “I mean … I don’t need any help! Thank you.”
I stand, placing my napkin on the table in front of me. Benedict isn’t looking at me—he’s talking to the police chief.
I walk out of the dining room and down the hall, where our guest bathroom is located. Then I stroll right past it and into the tiny room where we keep guests’ coats, purses, and briefcases.
I do a quick scan for Benedict’s brown leather briefcase and recognize the gold clasp immediately. I’ve seen him carry it at work and always thought, why carry a briefcase at all? Most everything in the office is computerized, so it’s not like he has to carry around many papers.
It’s mostly empty. Inside is a half-drunk bottle of water and a slim manila envelope containing a single sheet of paper. Scribbled across the top is an address and the words Fred M. Rose family.
The handwriting is familiar.
Where’s the top-secret information? Where’s the reason he’s helping me? I sigh, slipping the paper back into the envelope and the envelope back into the briefcase.
I return to the dinner table and place my napkin on my lap.
“Everything all right?” Thomas asks me.
I fake a smile. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Once everyone is gone, I get ready for bed. Magdalena runs a brush through my hair and helps me wash my face. She gives me a pill from Dr. May; I pretend to swallow it, then spit it into the garbage once she’s gone.
I try to fall asleep, but I’m restless. Images of Hunter flash through my head—of his face, his lips. I remember the way his arms felt around me. It’s not fair. We knew each other so briefly. And now he’s dead because of me.
I wonder what Violet Brooks is doing. Is she thinking of her son? Does she suspect she’ll never see him again? And Turk! Poor Turk. He deserves to know what happened to his friend.
I slip out of bed and to my windows, opening the curtains and looking out into the night. Where is the loophole? How can I access it?
A shadow flickers across the balcony.
I blink and it’s gone. I press my face up against the window. Kyle? Davida?
No. That’s ridiculous. Nobody’s there.
I close the curtains and am about to get back into bed when I feel the weight of the locket against my chest. I take it out from underneath my nightgown and stare at it, rubbing my fingers over the polished silver, searching for a clasp that I know isn’t there. A capture locket. What does that mean?
Maybe there’s an answer in the note I found with it.
I go over to my armoire, where I’ve hidden the note. I know it only says one word—Remember—but maybe there’s something I didn’t see.
My fingers shake as I hold the piece of paper up to the light. I flip it over, but the back is blank. There is nothing new here. What was I thinking, that suddenly I’d look at the note and the answers I’m searching for would magically appear?
I’m about to hide it back in the drawer when something clicks, like a latch snapping into place inside my head.
Remember
I stare at the word, the clean lines of the letters, the swoop of the R, the curve of the m’s.
The handwriting is familiar. I saw it earlier this evening.
In Patrick Benedict’s briefcase.
• XXV •
“Isn’t it lovely?” my mother asks.
Tentatively, I step into the apartment. Thomas is by my side; he reaches to take my hand, and I let him, even though my instinct is to shrug him off. Or slap him. But it’s important that everyone think what Dr. May did was a success. That I’ve forgotten about Hunter. That I love Thomas.
“Gorgeous,” Thomas says, pulling me into the living room.
We are standing in what is soon to be our new apartment. It’s two floors down from where I live now, in my family’s building. Part of the arrangement with the Fosters is that Thomas will live on the West Side, with us, as long as Garland is in office—a sort of collateral to make sure the Fosters include our family in every political decision they make.
I glance up at the white ceiling, then out the far wall of windows that overlook the Hudson River. Are there cameras in places I can’t see? I’d hardly be surprised.
“From Paris,” my mother says, motioning to a stark black couch. The room is sparse, modern, with eggshell and rose walls.
Across from the living room is the kitchen, which has the atmosphere of a formal bar, with wineglasses, porcelain plates, and jewel-encrusted goblets on display. There’s a silvery brick pattern on the kitchen walls that appears to have been stamped into galvanized metal.
It feels like someone else’s home. Someone I wouldn’t like.
“What do you think, Aria?” Thomas asks, giving my hand a squeeze.
I take in the carpet, the television, the paintings—everything selected by my mother. “It’s all so gorgeous,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.
My mother bursts into a wide, open smile. “There’s still a lot to do, of course—we need linens for the bedroom and towels for the bathroom. Oh, and …”
I tune her out. All I can think of, all I’ve been thinking of since last night, is Benedict’s handwriting. Did he write the note that accompanied my locket? Or was the note I found in his briefcase written by someone on his staff? Either way, he’ll be able to identify the author, who must be the same person who left me the locket.
The only problem is getting to him. I’m not allowed back to my job in the office anymore, unless …
“Mom?” I say.
She stops midsentence. “Yes?”
“Would it be possible for us to drop by Dad’s office today?” She blinks as though she’s never seen me before. “Whatever for?”
“I just remembered,” I say, coming up with something on the fly, “that I left a pair of earrings Kiki lent me in my desk.”
“I’ll have someone pick them up,” she says.
“But there’s a security code on the drawer.”
“So give me the code.” She shoots Thomas a suspicious look.
“It’s a fingertouch,” I say, bluffing. I don’t think my mother has any idea that the desks at the office aren’t even locked—at least, I hope she doesn’t. “I really want to wear the earrings to our rehearsal dinner in a few days,” I say. “They’d be so lovely with the dress I picked out. You know, the emerald one with the crushed velvet hem?”
My mother makes a tiny noise with her tongue. “That dress is lovely.…” She takes a moment to think, then sizes me up. “The earrings are that important?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding emphatically. “They’re so chic.”
My mother is nothing if not a sucker for fashion. “Fine,” she says, relenting, and I can feel my entire body relax. “I’ll come with you.”
I can’t hide the sigh that escapes. How will I ever be able to steal a few moments alone with Benedict when she’ll be monitoring my every step? And what will she say when she realizes the desk drawers aren’t even locked?
“Let’s go now,” she says, pecking Thomas on the cheek. “We’ll see you later, dear.” She turns to me. “Aria, we have a final fitting for your dress at noon. And we don’t want to be late.”
At my father’s office building, we step out of the elevator onto the floor where I used to work. Everything is how I left it: the cubicles, the
people, the water fountains, and the restrooms. I see the stainless steel door that I snuck through with Elissa, the one that leads down a long hallway and into a blinding room where I once watched a mystic have her powers drained. Just remembering it makes me shiver.
Across the hall is Patrick Benedict’s office. I’m sure he’s inside, working.
“Which one was yours?” my mother asks, fixing the strand of pearls around her neck.
“Oh, it’s right over there.” I point to my empty cubicle. “Do you have to use the bathroom?”
“No,” Mom says, tilting her head to stare at me. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” I say. Other than I need a few minutes alone. “Just, you know … that I have to go.”
Mom puts her hands on her hips. “Then go.”
“Uh, right. Sure.” I don’t move.
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
Then, out of nowhere, Elissa Genevieve appears and saves me. “Aria!” she says with a bright smile. Then, “Melinda, so nice to see you again.”
I see Mom take in the cut of Elissa’s navy-blue skirt, her crisp blouse and sapphire necklace. She’s impressed.
“It’s been such a long time since we’ve spoken,” Elissa says.
“Yes indeed,” Mom says. “How have you been?”
Elissa and I lock eyes; even though we are completely silent, I shoot her a pleading look that she immediately recognizes.
“I was just going to the bathroom,” I say.
“Of course,” she says, pointing toward no bathroom that I know of. Then she steers my mother away from me and into a conversation, complimenting her necklace and asking where she gets her hair done. My mother dives in, and I figure I have five minutes—ten, tops—before she comes looking for me.
First stop, Benedict’s office.
I give a quick knock on the door. “Who’s there?” says a voice from behind it.
“Aria,” I say in a hushed voice.
The door whispers open. I step inside and the door closes behind me. Benedict is there at his desk, staring up at me with his hands resting on the mahogany.
“Hello,” he says. His tone is warm—the nicest he’s ever sounded.
Without saying anything, I open my clutch, take out the note and the locket, and slide them in front of him.
I’m not sure what I expect. Maybe for him to seem surprised, or completely confused. Instead, he studies the locket for a moment, glances at the note, then looks up at me with a blank expression on his face.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me with this.”
My heart skips a beat. “You have?”
“Indeed,” he says without taking his eyes off me. “We don’t have much time. I assume someone has accompanied you?”
“My mother,” I say. “She’s chatting with Elissa.”
“First things first,” Benedict says, getting up from his desk and walking around it until we are almost touching. “You mustn’t let on what I did for you yesterday, or that the procedure did not work. It is of the utmost importance that you keep up the pretense.”
“Until when?” I shake my head. “I can’t marry Thomas. I just can’t.”
Benedict clears his throat. “We don’t have time for female hysterics right now, Aria. Listen: I am not who you think I am. Although it appears that I work for your family, in reality I work for the rebels.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice cracking. “If you secretly work for the rebels … why would you help erase my memory in the first place?”
Benedict’s eyes go dark. “I had no choice. To keep my true alliance a secret, I had to obey orders. Before the procedure, however, I extracted the pieces of memory that your parents were attempting to erase.”
“You did?” I ask, shocked. I wasn’t expecting that.
“I hid your memory inside a capture locket.” He picks it up gently. “They are very rare—only a handful exist in the world. They are crafted from pure Damascus silver and enhanced with mystic energies.”
“But why?” I ask. “Why did you do that?”
Benedict’s sigh seems to come from his soul. “I have not always worked against your father. For many years I stood by him, a turncoat to my own people. Your father saved me from a mob during the troubled times after the Conflagration, and, well, blood debts run deep. It was only recently, within the past two years, when the possibility of Violet Brooks’s running for election and winning became a reality, that I switched sides.” He flips his hand. “A turncoat who turned again. Since then, I have done what I can. I even faked Violet’s draining: though she’s a registered mystic, she retains her powers.” He stares at me desperately. “No one can know any of this, Aria.”
“But … she looks drained.”
“It’s fake,” Benedict says. “Makeup to help her appear sick. People see what they want to see, Aria. You of all people should know that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before? Why did you wait for me to come to you with the locket?”
“You wouldn’t have trusted me. You barely do now,” he says, and I can’t help but appreciate the truth in his statement. “There is a time for everything, Aria. Now is your time.”
I stare at him and realize that there is much more to Patrick Benedict than meets the eye. Even though he doesn’t believe in the drainings, he’s lying low, hiding in plain sight, obeying my father and dreaming of the day he won’t have to. He’s looking to the upcoming election to make that come true. To bring change. He’s like Elissa in that way. Outwardly, they are so different: she is personable, while Benedict is an introvert. But deep down, they’re both working for a better tomorrow.
“I owe you an apology,” I say, “I thought you were … different.”
“No matter,” Benedict says, shrugging off my words. “Now we both know the truth.” He extends his hand and drops the locket into my palm. “You should go. Your mother will start to wonder.”
“How do I open the locket, though?” I ask. “I tried to find a clasp, but it’s stuck.”
Benedict shakes his head emphatically. “No, no, it’s not meant to be opened.”
“It’s not? Then how—”
“It is meant to be eaten,” Benedict says.
Which is so strange that I don’t know what to say.
“The time has come,” Benedict says cryptically. “Tonight, in private, swallow the locket. The memories trapped inside will be released and absorbed into your body. But remember, Aria—once you do this, there’s no going back. You will remember all you have lost.”
I am about to ask him to explain further when there’s a knock on the door. Benedict presses a button on his desk and it slides open—in the doorframe stands my mother, with Elissa beside her.
“Aria!” my mother exclaims. “Why are you annoying Patrick when he’s working?” She approaches me and links her arm with mine. “Elissa just suggested that you and Thomas go to Bali for your honeymoon! I’ve never been.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Elissa chimes in.
My mother sucks in her cheeks. “I do love an island. I’m sorry if Aria was bothering you, Patrick. We just came for a pair of earrings. Did you find them, dear?”
“No,” I say apologetically. “I looked, but … they must be in my room.”
My mother rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Aria.” She smiles at Benedict. “She’d lose her head if it weren’t for her neck. Come, let’s go.” Mom gives me a tiny pull. “Goodbye, all.”
“Goodbye,” I echo. Benedict is back at his desk, but Elissa is looking at me strangely.
She keeps staring until my mother and I enter the elevator and the doors close behind us.
The rest of the afternoon is a whirlwind.
I have the final fitting for my gown. The white bodice, studded with crystals and diamonds imported from Africa, is tight around my rib cage, almost like a corset, with padding that makes it seem as though I actually have breasts. The back is made of silk strands crisscrossed in a basket-wea
ve effect that is simply gorgeous. The skirt flows down to the floor and into a train that trails behind me in white waves.
“Magnifique!” my mother says to the seamstress.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I see a girl—no, a woman—who is about to embark on the biggest journey of her entire life: marriage. From the neck down, I look completely ready. But from the neck up, all I see are worry lines etched across my forehead, purple shadows underneath my eyes.
What’s going to become of me? Even if I manage to swallow the locket, what good will my lost memories do me now? Hunter is dead, and unless a miracle happens, Garland—a complete figurehead to my parents and the Fosters—will win the election. I will marry Thomas, who doesn’t love me, and I will live in the same building as my parents, who treat me like property to be bought and sold. And scrubbed clean, if need be.
“What do you think, Aria?” My mother smiles, and all I want to do is punch her for what she did to Hunter, for what she has done to me.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
By the time we run a few errands and return home, it’s past four o’clock in the afternoon.
“Mrs. Rose!” the doorman, Henri, says to my mother as soon as we enter the building. “We tried calling your TouchMe but you did not answer.”
“What is it?” my mother asks, her voice frantic. “Is everything all right?”
Henri motions to the elevator bank. “Your runaway servant, Davida, has been found. She is restrained, and waiting for you upstairs.”
• XXVI •
When Davida sees me, she flinches.
She’s cuffed to a high metal chair that’s been pushed against the living room wall.
“She isn’t saying a word,” my father says.
“Who found her?” my mother asks.
“Magdalena,” Dad replies.
“I was leaving the building to run some errands,” Magdalena says softly, as though her voice is caught in her throat. “And I saw her lurking on the bridge outside. I came and reported her immediately.”
I glare at Magdalena. How could she?
Stiggson stands behind Davida, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing his multicolored tattoos. A silver knife is in one hand, the blade glistening. Klartino is next to him, holding a sleek black pistol.
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