The majority of the pink substance dissolves in the jugs, coloring the clear water as the Wardens shake them and then begin to pour rations into tiny plastic cups. The first of my Cellmates, a tall girl with a long brown ponytail, accepts the gift and drinks it down in two gulps before rejoining her parents. The next two are boys, one blond and one a redhead like me. The line moves forward slowly, but too fast for my pounding heart. This development scares me, although as with the fear I have of the Others, I can’t put a finger on the reason.
Except that I don’t want to be observed or interviewed or noticed at all. Not by the Others.
I spot Pine Boy—Lucas—four or five people ahead when he turns, scanning the faces of the kids behind him. Our eyes meet, and for a split second I see my fears reflected on his pale face. Then he spins around again, stepping ahead as the line moves.
The novelty of this exercise makes it hard to breathe. Trusting no one, hiding in plain sight, I depend on the familiar ins and outs of the days on Earth. Without them, how will I know how to act Acceptable?
“What do you suppose they’re looking for in Danbury? And why just the Term class?”
The Barbarus boy’s voice slithers over my shoulder in a whisper. I shrug, dying to talk with someone but unwilling to display any hesitation while the Wardens scrutinize the moving line. The boy’s questions border on suspicious, and tangle with the similar emotion in my gut. It’s weird to hear an innate distrust of the Others in a voice not my own.
Trust no one.
That definitely includes a strange Barbarus who appears the same morning as the Wardens.
The sight of the first nosebleed pulls my attention from the new boy. The second, third, and fourth jerk my stomach into knots. It’s not as though I’ve never seen one before. People take ill. There are Healers and nosebleeds aren’t serious.
But all of the Terms with blood dripping from their noses have already swallowed their offerings.
The affected kids wipe absently at the red flow and don’t seem to be in pain, a kind of bemused expression on their faces as they await further instruction.
A gurgle rises in my throat, a desire to point out the problem, but not a single person utters a word. Not the kids’ parents, not their friends. But the Wardens notice, and less than five minutes later two more of them arrive in a rider. The Others mode of transportation glints black from front to rear, hovering three feet off the grass on four spinning disks, whirring quietly.
The newest Wardens guide the bleeding Terms through the open rider doors, slamming them shut with distinct finality.
No one says a word then either.
Parents wait for their Terms to finish partaking, talking contentedly among themselves. Little children bend and pick at blades of grass, tossing them at one another or braiding them into wreaths. The kids in the rider are going to a Healer, I tell myself. They’re not being taken away. They’re not Broken.
I swallow once, then again, but the fear climbing up my throat refuses to dissipate. The line plods forward, and as we move, more anomalies make it impossible to breathe without gulping air.
The girl who had been at the front of the line, the one with the brown ponytail, rubs itchy eyes until her hands come away bloody.
A thin crimson ribbon trails from the redheaded boy’s lips after he coughs.
They both disappear into the rider.
The Wardens behind the table ignore their growing collection of bloody Terms, passing out cup after cup of pink liquid. My Cellmates still don’t pause before draining their celebratory gift, and as I creep closer to having to do the same, it comforts me that the rest of the Terms appear unaffected.
I realize then that the kids in the rider are the ones who breathed in the pink dust as it blew into their faces.
The Barbarus boy says nothing further, leaving me to believe I imagined the disquiet in his voice moments before. Sweat trickles down my back as Lucas drinks and joins his parents at the entrance of the park. His face no longer reflects worry, but remains ashen. Uneasiness claws at my lungs, shredding them as though there’s no oxygen in this entire world. What the Barbarus said about the Others dispatching the Wardens to observe our class in particular, rings in my ears like a warning. If they’re looking for something, and the interviews are designed to help them find it, perhaps the pink drink is also a test. Are the kids in the rider failing or passing?
They’re failing. As much as I want to believe they’ll be okay, it’s hard. I’ve never known a single person who got into a rider to return. Ever.
It’s my turn. The Wardens, apparently tired of this entire process, hand me my cup and pass out the remaining doses to the Barbarus and three girls behind him all at once.
“That will be all. You may return to your homes.”
None of the Wardens leave, continuing to watch, perhaps in case any more of us start gushing blood onto our tracksuits.
“Bottoms up.” The Barbarus boy tips his pink concoction past his lips and tosses the cup into a waste receptacle.
He waits, watching me with as much interest as the Wardens, and it’s obvious I’m not getting out of this new ritual. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan appear, stepping to my side with warm smiles.
“Oh, Thea dear, do drink that. It was so kind of the Others to think of you at the outset of your last year.” Mrs. Morgan pats my arm, nudging my hand toward my face.
It’s now or never. Even hesitating as long as I have could be a warning to the Wardens that I don’t trust them as blindly as everyone else. The Barbarus stares with a grin that glints in his eyes. Mr. Morgan’s stomach growls, and I know he’s anxious for brunch. From the corner of my eye, I watch Lucas and his parents hurry out of the park.
The liquid tastes like water despite its pinkness, but it’s warm instead of cool like I expect. I toss the cup and smile at my fake parents. “Let’s go home. I’m hungry.” I turn to say goodbye to the Barbarus, but he’s already moving away. I crane my neck, looking for his parents, but don’t see them.
The Morgans and I trek back through town alongside the rest of Danbury, chatting with the neighbors while Mrs. Morgan coos over their baby boy. I feel lucky to have escaped injury and detection this morning, but then, as we turn onto the Morgans’ street, I start to sweat. It’s residual panic, I think at first, but then the heat trapped inside me bulges uncomfortably. It rises up and out with an uncontrollable strength. It’s escaped my restraint on many occasions, but never with this kind of force. Never so powerful it makes me feel explosive, as though it’s trying to melt me from the inside.
As soon as we enter the house, I mumble that I’ve got to use the wasteroom and make a beeline for the mirror. My cheeks are flushed bright red. Sweat drizzles from the hair around my forehead. I breathe in through my nose and blow out through my mouth as my limbs shake so badly it knocks me to the floor. The white tiles burn my knees as if they are blocks of ice.
The heat has to go somewhere. My body can’t hold it.
Instinct propels me across the floor to the toilet. I submerge my hands in the water and stop pushing the power back down inside me.
I don’t feel better until every last drop of water has boiled away.
CHAPTER 5.
The next morning—the day of the Gathering—yawns as bright as the day before, the temperature holding steady for early fall in Connecticut. I couldn’t be more pleased about the nice weather, and I say a quick wish for my next travel to take me back to the spring. Winter is coming, otherwise known as the bane of my existence.
Much like my required attendance at tonight’s Gathering.
Deciding what to wear is a necessary evil. The clothes hanging in the closet offer plenty of options, thanks to Mrs. Morgan’s penchant for pretty things, and I grab a dress at random. I don’t have a date but am expected to make myself attractive. Or as attractive as a shadow person can be, at any rate.
Now that the Wardens are in town, I have to try even harder to do everything right.
I didn’
t leave the house this morning, not even during the allowed weekend hour. Little noises made me jump and I’ve worn a rut in my bedroom carpet checking out the window. I expected to see Wardens racing to haul me away each time, yet they haven’t come.
During Sunday Sharing, when my “parents” asked about my life, I told them I’m looking forward to exams, and to finding a Partner at the Gathering, because that’s what normal Term girls talk about during the last year.
My autumn parents smiled as though it pleased them, their only daughter taking an interest in her future. Some people the Morgans’ ages have siblings, more than one child born to the same couple, but it doesn’t happen anymore. Now the Others have declared having more than one baby Unacceptable. Unless the first child is Broken.
The Wardens take babies and children who are Broken, who are sick, don’t act normal, or don’t look right. I have no doubt that they’ll come for me one day.
The deep navy material of the dress makes my eyes stand out and it’s snug in all the right places. I have to admit it makes me feel a little bit pretty. Mrs. Morgan insists on styling my hair, so my deep red locks now hang in fat curls down my back, the sides secured under a headband. My hair’s too thick to hold the style for long and will relax into waves before the Gathering even begins, but the attention is nice. I even give in to her prodding and apply a little makeup before grabbing a bag and heading out. Like five days a week at Cell isn’t enough.
The transformation in the eatery is stunning. Instead of the sterile, white-tiled environment we eat in every day, this new one is nothing less than elegant. The floors are wooden, the walls painted a deep caramel color, and every inch of the room reflects the season. Trees that look as real as the ones outside seem to reach off the walls, thin branches dripping radiant leaves toward the floor. Sunflowers and fall flora stand in between them, separated by long tables slathered with food. The three video screens are lit, as usual, and the Monitors watch over the proceedings with proud, glowing smiles.
Students shuffle between the tables, talking and laughing with one another, though it’s quieter than a typical lunch block. Some mingle, but the majority isn’t any more comfortable with the opposite sex tonight than during Cell hours. The girls chatter in hushed tones among themselves and the boys stand in silence and stuff their faces. I sidle up to the largest cluster of girls, allowing myself a moment to wonder how Val and Monica are getting along on this night; whether they’re going alone, what they’re wearing, if they’re excited.
Only a moment, though.
I hover around the edges of the groups, wanting nothing more than to blend in. Conversations swirl through the air; they fall on my ears but don’t penetrate. Instead, my eyes search the room for the pine-scented boy.
Since that first day in Danbury, pretty much all my spare time has been spent seeking his face. I’ve tried to stop, but I guess I really don’t want to. The memory of his pale face at the Outing yesterday hovers in my memory, and the small part of me that isn’t scared of being discovered or of trusting someone—the same part that misses having another human to talk to, to touch, to know—hopes he’s different because he’s like me.
Without warning my eyes collide with his across the room; a cool, blue flame meeting a white-hot one for a split second until we both look away. Our gazes wander back and his smile drops from his lips, swapped for curiosity and anxiety.
I tear my eyes away and pick up a glass of punch, readjusting my own expression. My face flames, the cup like an ice cube inside my superheated hand. Dread burrows under my confusion over Lucas as the sides of the cup slump inward. The melted plastic sticks to my palm, but I dislodge it with a few furtive shakes above the waste receptacle. It lands atop assorted items, walls goopy and misshapen. Real smooth.
The tone of the murmurings shifts, jittery laughter turning to hushed whispers. My heart trips into stutters, and this time not because of a too-familiar pair of blue eyes.
There, stepping through the entrance to the eatery, are the Wardens.
Even though their presence isn’t a surprise after yesterday, the actual sight of them is as shocking as always. They ignore us and march to the nearest video screen to consult with our chaperones. Everyone watches, wide-eyed but not displeased, while I slink closer to eavesdrop.
The Monitor in charge, a rail-thin bald man who instructs calculus, offers a greeting. “Welcome to Danbury, Wardens. All of the Terminals have arrived. Please make yourselves at home and let us know if we can provide any additional assistance.”
The Warden in front, a tall, muscular man nods. I’ve been staring at him for longer than I should, and a stabbing ache swells behind my eyes. I’ve never been so close to an Other before, and when my eyes demand relief and slide away, I notice a raised red mark just under his left ear. A scar of some sort.
My jaw drops. Its pattern mirrors the shape of my locket.
The room wobbles as my body sways and threatens to topple. I manage to stay on my feet and keep my hands clasped in front of me. My body temperature rises so high that anything I brush against could burst into flames. Which might not work in my favor.
“Thank you. We’re here to follow up on some reports we’ve received.” The Warden turns and surveys the room, obviously with no intention of offering clarification.
I haven’t a clue what reports he’s talking about or why they’re observing us, but fear cannonballs into my belly. Again I worry that attempting to trick a Warden during a one-on-one conversation is a recipe for disaster. I can’t be alone with them.
The Wardens disperse, moving about the room. The mood in the eatery returns to the previous nervous excitement, with the addition of some awe-filled staring at our observers. My Cellmates display no concern, even though the Others who are here searching for something—or someone—take people. Even though they took six of our Cellmates just yesterday, six kids not attending their first Gathering, as far as I can tell.
Without thinking, I steal toward the door. Disappearing is the single focus of my mind, every thought of staying composed driven out by alarm. The part of my brain that usually calms me in moments of panic screams at me to run. They can’t see me like this, amped up and sweaty, failing to appear as calm and happy as my peers.
It feels as though hours pass before I slip out of the eatery and into the empty hall. The black boxes mounted on either side of the door take note of my exit, little red lights illuminated and staring. The creepy feeling of being watched raises the hairs along my arms and the back of my neck. The Others record everything, but no one could be watching every camera at every moment…I don’t think. At least the wasterooms are out here and we’re allowed to use them. Leaving shouldn’t raise any suspicions.
Two Wardens step around the far corner. The mere sight of them threatens to knock me over but I continue without collapsing, passing them and turning the corner toward the girls’ wasteroom. Instead of entering I scurry to the end of the hall.
Up or down?
Making a snap decision, I head down the stairs.
Venturing away from where I’m supposed to be could be a mistake, but every instinct forces me as far from the Wardens as possible.
If hiding is the wrong choice, it’s too late to regret it now. Decision made.
A metal door labeled “Maintenance” catches my eye and the knob turns easily in my hand. The room belches musty air and a massive cobweb splays across my face before my eyes adjust to the dark.
There’s no time to recover from the first shock or even wipe the sticky wisps from my nose and mouth before strong hands reach out from the darkness. One arm encircles my waist as the other clamps down over my mouth.
They’re both freezing. The cold bites my skin, making it feel windburned. A scream wells up in my throat with nowhere to go, and sweat streams out of every pore as I struggle against the viselike hold. My captor’s chilly breath tickles my ear and I lean away from his lips with renewed determination. Anguish floods my veins.
I�
�m going to die. And no one will even notice.
“Stop squirming.” He grunts as my hip bone digs into his upper thigh. “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t want you to make a ruckus when you saw me. I’m going to let you go now. Don’t scream.”
I don’t recognize the voice, not that I expect to. The hand over my mouth lifts ever so slightly. Like he’s testing me. I will myself to stay quiet, to earn some trust. When he turns me loose I spin away on shaky legs, whirling to confront him. My defensive posture eases due to plain shock.
Pine Boy.
He’s smiling now and not forcing it. “You look surprised. Me, too. I had this crazy idea that a dark basement room would keep me safe from jasmine-scented girls I’ve been trying to avoid.”
My glare arrives without warning, no second thought given to letting my real emotions show. “Why are you avoiding me? And what are you doing down here in the first place?”
He doesn’t answer either question, and instead wipes his palms on his pants and then studies them. The scalded red skin is visible even in the dim light. “Man, are you sick or something? You’re on fire.”
“No, I just…you grabbed me. I was scared!”
He shrugs and lets the subject drop, wandering over to sit on a waist-high steel pipe. Since he’s not going to kill me, at least not right away, I take a better look around the room. It’s filled wall to wall with desks, chairs, and scrap material, along with other unrecognizable clutter.
“So, why do you smell like that?”
His voice startles me. I’m so intent on my surroundings I’ve almost forgotten I’m not alone. “Why do you care?”
Dark Roses: Eight Paranormal Romance Novels Page 33