And then I understand. She’s been waiting for this moment all along—some mistake, a transgression, anything she could hold over me. Now I know why she’s been filling me with champagne. She doesn’t want to be my friend. She wanted me to let my guard down.
And I fell for it. I’m so stupid. I gave myself away over ginger. Nana would have known better. She would have known from the first moment that Mrs. Asher was the true chupacabra.
I want to scream at her, You wear perfume and high heels! but I swallow my outrage, because I don’t know what Mrs. Asher is going to do next. She’s spread out on the couch, in wonderful spirits, like a mosquito who’s been buzzing around for hours and has finally sucked its victim dry.
She leans forward again, opening her mouth to speak, when we hear noises coming from the entrance hall—male voices.
Eyes widening, she says, “Pull yourself together.” She looks in the big mirror on the wall and pats her hair. I jump up, unsure what to do, so I look in the mirror as well.
I look awful.
My eyes are bloodshot, my hair frizzy and wild. I can’t believe how quickly the alcohol has turned me into such a mess—a terrified mouse. I quickly pull out my elastic band and pull my hair back into a new, controlled ponytail. It helps a little.
“You look scared stiff, Mina,” Mrs. Asher says. She looks calm and elegant. She comes over to me and hooks her arm through mine. Then she leads me toward the foyer. “You must learn to smile in the face of adversity. It does wonders.”
I plaster a weak grin on my face and let Mrs. Asher drag me to the men.
ELEVEN
WE’RE WALKING DOWN THE HALLWAY, ABOUT to arrive in the foyer, when a large body blocks us. It’s Juda.
I make a small, embarrassing yelp of surprise.
Ignoring me completely and forgoing the traditional greeting, he speaks directly to Mrs. Asher. “Mr. Asher has brought guests home. He asked me to fetch your cloaks.”
He hands Mrs. Asher our cloaks and veils, and she says, “He knows I hate surprises, Juda.” She leans in close to him, whispering, “Go tell Ray to clear the glasses in the living room.”
Juda’s face remains neutral, but his eyes reveal alarm, and I’m sure he knows that we’ve been drinking alcohol. I’m not surprised to learn this is a regular habit of Mrs. Asher’s, but I’m ashamed for Juda to know that I had anything to do with it.
He hurries toward the kitchen, and Mrs. Asher hands me my cloak and veil. I throw the cloak over my head, only I can’t seem to find the opening for my head. Mrs. Asher has to help me, and I can see she’s stifling a laugh, but it doesn’t seem so funny to me. Once it’s on, I add the veil and readjust my ponytail.
I was unprepared to see Juda. The champagne has already caused one big mistake tonight, and I can’t afford another. Having Juda stand near me for just those few seconds has made my heart race as if I’ve been running up and down the hall.
Stop it, Mina. Pull yourself together.
Taking a deep breath, I look at Mrs. Asher. I can still see that luscious hair, though, in black cloak and veil, she manages to appear ordinary, even dutiful. Her voice, slightly muffled now, says, “Follow me and stay quiet.”
There’s a group of men talking near the front door, and they grow silent as we approach. I keep my head down modestly, but by looking at feet, I can count six men. I hear Mr. Asher say, “Gabriella, may I present Captain Memon, the head of the City Guard?”
In front of me, Mrs. Asher bows. Sneaking a look, I see a huge black man dressed like a Twitcher—but he’s holding his helmet under his arm. I’ve never seen a Twitcher without his helmet before. A long wire connects the helmet to the back of his uniform.
The man is as old as Father, but his chest and shoulders bulge with muscles in a way that suggests he could crush every man in the room. He manages to make even Mr. Asher seem small. His expression is professional and stern, his charcoal eyes icy. He isn’t holding a gun, like every Twitcher on the street. At his waist is a long dagger sheathed in an ivory holder encrusted with emeralds and pearls.
Dread bubbles in my throat. Not only is the captain of the City Guard in charge of every Twitcher in this city, but he also oversees the Tunnel and all public executions.
Mr. Asher says, “And, Captain Memon, may I present the fiancée of my son, Damon.”
Moments pass before I realize he’s talking about me. I’m frozen. Mr. Asher raises an eyebrow. He’s signaling for me to move, but my legs won’t obey. I finally lean forward, walk a few steps, and bow.
“She’s as lovely as an unplucked plum,” Damon says. I hadn’t even noticed him, but he’s hovering by the doorway.
“I would expect no less for the Asher family,” Captain Memon responds, but his deep, gravelly voice makes the compliment sound forced.
“Yes, she’ll make a good wife,” Mr. Asher says. “Please, Captain Memon, you and your men make yourselves comfortable in our living room. The servants will bring you tea.”
“I’m not here for tea, Max. I want to discuss your contribution to the Convene problem. The time for politeness has passed.”
“Of course! And we will. But there’s no reason to stand uncomfortably in the hallway while we discuss it. Please, let me take care of you and your men.”
Captain Memon grumbles a bit but allows Mr. Asher to lead him toward the living room. Then Memon stops, turns to him, and says, “The results have slowed. How long do you expect us to watch as the Convenes die slow, lingering deaths? Or their women become infertile? Perhaps it’s time for you to make a new investment in the future of our city?”
He then continues to the living room, flanked by his four men.
Since when have Uncle Ruho’s men cared so passionately about the Convenes? And Mr. Asher is giving money to help cure the mystery disease? Surely Mother would change her tune if someone as powerful as Mr. Asher were helping Convenes. I’m delighting in the idea of telling her about it, when suddenly Mr. Asher is right in front of me, his face only an inch in front of mine.
“How much did you have?” he whispers.
“Wha—?” I ask, terrified. “Uh. She . . . uh . . .”
Whirling around to his wife, spit flying from his mouth as he speaks, he says, “You fool. Mina is drunk!”
Mrs. Asher wags him away with her hand. “Pshaw! She’s fine. It was just a little sip.”
“She’s as wobbly as an eighty-year-old man. We’re lucky Memon didn’t notice, or we’d all be heading for the Tunnel!”
If Captain Memon knew I’d been drinking, he needn’t bother to sentence me. He could just grab the dagger at his side and slice off my head.
Damon is angry, too. “Mama, what did you do?”
Mrs. Asher snickers like a girl caught wearing her mother’s jewelry. “We were just having a little fun—isn’t that right, Mina?”
All I want to say is, No, she made me drink it, and I hate her, and she’s a chupacabra, but I can’t, not now that she’s learned my secret. After a painful silence, I say, in a very tiny voice, “Yes, we were just having a little fun,” and that’s when I see that Juda has joined us in the foyer. He’s heard my words. I see him frown.
He’s disappointed in me.
Mr. Asher snaps his fingers in my face. I wave him away like a fly. He seems very annoying right now. “She’s had more than a sip. She’s pickled! She can’t be around Captain Memon!”
I try to respond. “I—”
“We can’t send her home like this,” Damon says, his voice nasal and whining. “It’ll ruin everything.”
I glance at Juda again. Perhaps now is the moment we’ve been waiting for. If I go home drunk, my parents will never allow me to marry into the Asher family. “I should go home!” I blurt. “Father will be waiting.”
“Quiet,” Mrs. Asher tells me, and then to her husband she says, “She should stay here. Send a message, Max. You’ll think of something.”
Mr. Asher then spins around much too quickly and says to Juda, “Bring me pen and
paper, and then prepare the guest room.”
Juda brings him stationery and a fountain pen laid out on a tray. He won’t meet my eyes.
I hold my breath as Mr. Asher writes out a letter.
“What will you say, Father?” Damon asks.
What can Mr. Asher say? It’s not proper for me to stay the night here before Damon and I are married.
Mr. Asher doesn’t stop writing. “I’m explaining that Mina seems to have come down with a cold, and that I don’t think she should be moved until her fever is gone.”
“Well done, Father,” Damon says.
Mrs. Asher laughs with glee. “Very clever, darling.”
Mr. Asher finishes the letter and signs it with a flourish. “Do not patronize me, my dear,” he says to Mrs. Asher. “I have no intention of forgetting why we are in this mess in the first place.” He walks the letter to the door guard, saying, “Deliver this immediately to Mr. Zai Clark on Columbus Circle.”
Nodding, the guard disappears out the door.
Mr. Asher tells his wife, “Mina is to go straight to bed to sleep it off. And that goes for you as well. I don’t want to see you again tonight.”
Mrs. Asher opens her mouth to protest, but Mr. Asher says, “Don’t. You’ve already tested me enough tonight.”
Pursing her lips, she stomps off. Click-click-click.
Mr. Asher is starting to head for the living room, when Damon says, “Father, what about the gift?”
Mr. Asher seems exhausted by his entire family. “Oh, yes, well, go ahead and give it to her. I must tend to our guest.” He walks away, tense, like a man going to attend to a bad-tempered Rottweiler.
Approaching me, Damon says, “I have an engagement present for you, my flower.”
Damon looks at Juda, who cringes slightly and then reaches into his uniform pocket and pulls out a white box. He hands the box to Damon, who opens it and holds it out to me. Damon says, “Please accept this bracelet as a token of my affection.”
I look inside the box, and, lying on a bed of burgundy silk, is a diamond cuff, twinkling in the light reflecting off the chandelier above. I cannot begin to imagine its worth. The next thing I know, Damon is on one knee, unfastening it and putting it on my wrist.
Perhaps Damon is more generous than he first appeared and is just shy, or bad at expressing himself. Sekena sometimes gives me a hard time for being too quick to judge people.
He turns the cuff so that the clasp is facing down. “It looks beautiful on your lovely wrist.” He kisses my hand, a forbidden act I’m sure he wouldn’t have tried if his father had still been within sight. “Now you should go to sleep, like Father said.”
“What about dinner?” I ask. I’ve only had a handful of crackers, and I’m starving.
He hesitates. “You need to go straight to your room. I’ll have Ray bring you something later.” He turns to Juda. “Take her to the guest room. I’m joining Father.”
Juda walks down a hallway to the left. I assume I’m supposed to follow him, so I jog to catch up. As soon as we’re out of earshot, I say, “Juda, I didn’t want to drink the—”
“Shhh,” he warns.
I stop talking, and soon we reach a lacquered black door. Juda opens it, gesturing inside. He says loudly, “The guest room, Miss Clark.”
Stepping inside, I turn around to try to talk to him again, but he shuts the door in my face.
Well.
Trying to ignore the sting of his rudeness, I examine the room.
It’s yet one more luxurious interior. The enormous bed could accommodate my entire family. It has a glossy black frame with four posters that almost reach the ceiling. The pearly white bedcover looks untouched by human hands. There seem to be twenty pillows sitting at the head of the bed, and I don’t understand why. How many pillows can one person use?
The floor here is crisp, snowy marble, not black like the hall. Besides the bed, there’s a vanity table with an enormous mirror, a large wardrobe, two chairs, and a desk. The desk holds another one of Mrs. Asher’s plastic mashed-potato sculptures. This one looks like a vase. The whole room is pristine and cold, not like a place that’s actually lived in.
It’s also completely quiet. The door is thick and heavy, and I’m sealed away from any noise from the rest of the apartment. We’re so high up in the building that there’s no sound from the street, either—no people, no traffic. They probably can’t even hear the Bell up here. It’s just the silence of the marble speaking to the silence of the plastic.
I’m inside a tomb.
I pull my cloak and veil up over my head and throw them over one of the chairs. Then I crawl onto the bed, and I can’t believe how soft it feels, a cloud wrapped in silk.
I drift off, my body finally relaxing. All I want is sleep. I don’t want to think about the day, all that’s happened. I’m grateful for the numbness of the champagne. I’m almost able to forget—about Nana, the Primer, Mrs. Asher. I just shove it all to the back of my mind. But, deep down, I know it’s like ignoring the presence of a bug or two, when one secretly knows that the walls are about to collapse from an infestation of roaches.
TWELVE
I WAKE UP ON TOP OF BLANKETS IN A PITCH-black room, with no idea where I am. Several seconds later, I remember that I’m at the Ashers’. I don’t know what time it is, but something tells me I’ve only been asleep a few hours. My head is pounding, and my tongue feels thick and dry, like I’ve been chewing on a bearskin rug.
My wrist hurts. I look down to see that my new diamond cuff has been cutting into my skin as I slept. I use my other hand to try to release the clasp, but it seems to be stuck. Nyek.
I need to pee. Badly.
I roll across the enormous bed and stand, which makes my head throb even more. I sit back down on the bed. Wasn’t Damon going to send me some dinner? I guess he forgot.
I wait until I feel steadier, before shuffling to the door. I turn the knob and pull, amazed by the door’s thick, solid weight. When it’s finally open, I find I’m staring at Juda’s back.
He turns, surprised to see me standing there.
“Hi,” I say, embarrassed. I slept in my dress and must look like death. “I, uh, need a bathroom.”
He nods and walks me across the hall, pointing to a door.
“Thanks,” I say.
I look up and down the hallway. No one else appears to be awake. I go into the bathroom, wondering if Juda is going to stand outside and wait for me.
I pee quickly and wash my hands. I stick my head under the faucet and gulp down water. I can’t remember the last time I was so thirsty.
As I use a fluffy towel to dry my face and hands, I look in the mirror over the sink, and, as I suspected, it’s pretty bad—there are dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is sticking up to the left. I take out the elastic and try to smooth it down.
Finally, I step out of the bathroom, smiling at Juda. He looks away.
I know I shouldn’t be hurt. He’s doing the right thing. I’m going to marry his boss, and there can’t be anything between us, not even friendship.
We return to the guest room, and Juda opens the door for me without a word. Stepping inside, I whisper, “You’re doing the right thing.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t shut the door on me this time, so I keep talking. “By ignoring me. I want you to know I understand it’s the right thing to do.” But as I say it, my voice catches and tears threaten to come. The thought of coming to live with this family is hard enough, but how can I bear it with this new, hardened version of Juda near me all the time? I’m saying that it’s the right thing, but the truth is, his coldness is agony. In a flash of anger, I say, “Maybe it would be easier for both of us if you just quit.”
“You’re right.”
I’m shocked he’s spoken. “What?”
The all-business, stone-faced Juda melts to uncertainty in front of my eyes. “I thought I could handle it. I tried to prepare myself. But tonight—seeing how she treated you,
seeing you with the bracelet—I can’t do it. I can’t stay. I’m going to tell Damon tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Panic rises in my gut. “I didn’t mean it. I was just mad because you were ignoring me. Please, please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you, Mina, because I’m not with you,” he says, resentment in his voice.
“Tomorrow?” I repeat. It’s too soon. There’s so much I wanted to tell him, so much I wanted to ask. How can he just disappear? “Will I see you again?”
He hesitates but then shakes his head no.
I throw my arms around his waist. I don’t care if anyone sees. I just don’t want him to go.
“Mina, you have to get ahold of yourself. Someone will catch us.” He takes a step deeper into my room, easily carrying me with him. “It’s all right. Everything will be okay.”
“No, nothing is all right. Nothing is going to be okay, and you know it.” I’m talking into his chest. I’m enveloped by his scent, a combination of soap, sandalwood, and a sharp hint of gasoline.
He pats my back to soothe me, as he did on the first day we met. My skin is tender, but I try not to wince, because I don’t want him to let go of me. I look up at him. Having never been this close to him before, I can now really appreciate his height. His shoulders seem as wide as the door. He’s radiating warmth, and I can hear his heart underneath his uniform. It’s beating quickly.
Something occurs to me. “You knew you were leaving. Why were you standing outside my door in the middle of the night?”
He furrows his brow and looks as if he’s struggling to find the answer, and, just when I think he’s about to say something, he bends down and kisses me instead.
At first, when his lips touch mine, I’m consumed with how unlawful it is, how much trouble we’ll be in if we’re caught. Soon, though, I’m thinking about how surprisingly soft his lips are. He kisses me once, twice, three times—and then his mouth opens and it becomes one long, ongoing kiss that spreads through my body like a fever.
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