I ignore the tidbit about Xave bragging. I’d like to hold on to that piece of information and imagine what it could mean, but, instead, I find myself livid about the first part of James’s spiel. He’s got to be pulling my leg.
“What are you saying exactly? That without this thing inside my head I would be retarded and clumsy?” My voice is strained, barely disguising my outrage.
“No, I’m saying you would be average,” James says.
“Is this your idea of a joke?”
James shakes his head. “No. I have no doubt you’ve learned to take advantage of your agent’s positive qualities.”
“Positive qualities? There’s nothing positive about this.” I tap my head with one finger. “There’s a parasite living in my freakin’ head! I’d rather be average, if what you’re saying is true. I’d like for my only concern to be whether to wear lipstick or lip-gloss.”
Kristen watches our exchange with a combination of amusement and sympathy.
“You don’t really mean that.” A simple statement from James.
I try to protest, to deny his words, but I can’t. I don’t want to be average. Still, I refuse to believe the agent plays any part in who I am, in what makes me Marcela Victoria Guerrero.
“I understand how you feel at the moment,” James adds. “I see that—for you to believe everything—it’ll take even more proof than I’ve already given you. Remember I said you were special? Well, this is the reason. It’s why I brought you to Elliot’s house. So you could see with your own eyes what it is you’re keeping under control. So you could understand how strong you are. That risk is minor if I can recruit more people like you. You’ll come to grips with it soon and you’ll also come to appreciate the meaning of the word symbiotic.”
“I don’t think so.” My teeth are a cage, making my words a hiss.
“Then let’s agree to disagree … for now.”
He’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
“I believe a little bit of training might be in order, James,” Kristen says, watching me from under raised eyebrows.
“Yes, it’ll help her see clearer,” he says.
I clear my throat. “Listen, I’m tired of you making all these choices for me. I’m not a puppet.” I keep my voice level as I say this.
“Of course not, Marci. I’m sorry if that’s the impression I’ve given you. I was hoping you’d be my pupil.” His eyes are full of understanding and patience as he says the words.
Suddenly I feel like a brat.
“But I realize that for things to work, I need your trust. And that’s why you’re here. That’s why I’m showing you all of this.” James’s eyes make a wide circle around the place.
Great, now I’m embarrassed by his apology and the fact that he’s not pointing out what a brat I am.
“What goes on in this place is a secret to everyone, except the few you see working in here. I brought you because I know you’re ready to join our tight circle, because there are so very few like us. You’ve been looking for answers, and I can offer some. I can help you make the most out of your situation. You’re hiding the truth and fighting alone.” He pauses, leaves the stool and looks me in the eye. “I stand—here and now—to let you know that you don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to do it alone. You can fight with us.”
There’s a knot in my throat and my eyes burn as if someone’s put lemon juice in them. I swallow, hold James’s gaze, bravely. He smiles, puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re courageous. You will find it’s refreshing working with … like-minded individuals.” He chuckles.
I nod once, an acceptance to his offer to join him.
“I have so much more to share with you, but there never seems to be enough time.” He sighs. “But we’ll get there. Patience is key.” James removes his hand from my shoulder. His voice grows serious, his face stern. “Do I have your trust?” he asks. “I will require it. Unconditionally.”
The fear that this may be a mistake gnaws at my bones. I’m at a clear disadvantage. James holds all the cards, and I have little to offer. But I’ve got no one else to turn to. It’s not easy to relinquish my independence and put my trust in someone. It never has been. Still, I nod again.
“Great!” he says. “Kristen will require your cooperation, now. I have things to discuss with Aydan. Expect an email tomorrow with details on your training.” James takes a step back, looks at Kristen in an intimate way. Something passes between them that I can’t understand. The air is loaded with their silent exchange. I feel like a third-wheel and fidget until James whirls and walks away.
Kristen gives me an appraising look. I feel like a piece of paper inside a scanner. Without the weight of their wordless conversation, however, I can stand taller. I examine her in turn. Her serious expression changes in a split second. A huge smile parts her lips, revealing a set of teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial.
“I like you, Marci.” Her grin grows impossibly wider.
I feel like she’s making fun of me, though she seems genuine.
“But …” she adds, her smile shrinking a bit, “you’re going to have to lighten up a bit. It’s not like you have terminal cancer. Look on the bright side.”
“Seriously?” If she grew a second nose right now, it wouldn’t seem any weirder than her comment. “We’ve got real-life monsters walking around. Excuse me if I don’t see the bright side of that.”
She shrugs. “We, humans, have grown used to being on top without being challenged. Now we have to prove that we really deserve it. Only good things come out of a little competition.”
“This is not economics, lady. This is live or die.”
“Yeah, and it makes the former more fun for me. Don’t you like a little challenge every once in a while? And by the way, you can call me Kristen.”
“All right, Kristen. Well, I do enjoy a good challenge, but I’m not suicidal.”
Kristen laughs, a hearty chuckle that borders on being contagious. I work on deepening my frown.
“Ready for some more tests?” she asks when her laughter finally dies down.
“More tests?”
“Yes, I tested the blood on the ring already. Made sure you aren’t a full-fledged Eklyptor.” She winks.
“Oh,” I say lamely. I don’t like the sneaky way James got my blood, but I guess I can’t really blame him. He had to make sure before bringing me here. “You mean there’s a test?”
“It’s not conclusive, but most Eklyptors have elevated levels of melatonin and hCG. It depends on how long they’ve been infected. It’s part of my research. Maybe it’ll lead somewhere.”
I can do nothing else but nod. I have an idea of what melatonin and hCG are, but science has never been my forte.
“So, ready for more?” she asks again.
“Okay.”
“First, I need some more blood. Then we’ll do a CT scan and a few other things,” she says with another friendly wink. I walk behind her as she leads the way.
A crooked grin shapes my lips of its own accord. Maybe I’ll come to like Kristen, after all.
Chapter 23
I toss and turn in my bed, unable to stop thinking about my conversation with James this afternoon. Sitting up, I click on the lamp in an attempt to shake all the questions that are keeping me from sleep. There’s a particular one that flashes in front of my eyes more than any other.
Who infected me?
Pressing tight fists against my eyes, I mull the question over in spite of my effort not to. My first recollection of the shadows is from my birthday party, so it’s logical to think that I was infected before I turned five and started kindergarten.
Could Mrs. Contreras be responsible? Dad used to drop me off at her house every day. She babysat several kids in her house, and I was one of them for over a year. She threatened to wash my mouth with soap if I talked back. She gave me nightmares in which my mouth filled with thick suds, while she watched, laughing, her eyes glowing like embers.
I throw myself on the bed and pull the covers over my head. I need to sleep or I’m going to lose my mind. When sleep finally takes me, I dream of my mouth foaming with soap.
“Someone sent you a hate text?”
I look up from my phone to find Luke. “Hey,” I say, slipping my phone into my front pocket. I’ve been frowning at it all day, waiting for an email from James. After a full battery of tests with Kristen yesterday, I haven’t heard back from them. It made school a complete drag today.
The late afternoon sun shines behind Luke. I squint, watch him radiate like a fallen angel. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at him. At the thought, my stomach shrivels to the size of a prune. I recognize the queasy feeling. It’s the same one I used to get before I knew he was my brother and thoughts like this entered my mind. It seems, deep down inside, I always understood we shared the same blood.
“Missed you during breakfast Sunday,” Luke says, sitting next to me on the last wooden step of my front porch. Or should I say our front porch? I’ve no idea what Mom and he decided to do, but it isn’t hard to guess.
“I had somewhere to go.”
“I think you’re just … avoiding us,” Luke says bluntly, looking me straight in the eye. This new Luke is really throwing me off. I think I’m starting to like the snide, smart-aleck version better.
Okay, let me try irony with a dash of sarcasm. “Of course not. I love nothing more than to start my day with a heartwarming family breakfast.”
He frowns. “I don’t understand you, Marci. At the funeral home and that day we talked by the park, you seemed so different. I thought you wanted to give this … family thing a try, but I guess I was wrong.”
I did, but then I found out there’s a sentient parasite stuffed in my brain. Thank you very much. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch his chin drop to his chest.
“I’m not trying to become a wedge between you and your mother. I just wish I could understand you better,” he says.
“Look, I have nothing against you, Luke …”
“But?”
“It won’t work. I have nothing to offer. I’m not … sister material.”
“Oh, great!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.
Surprised, I stare at him from under a frown.
“The ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech.” He huffs and slaps his hands back down on jean-clad thighs.
I bite my tongue. Nothing I can say will fix things. This is the best I can do and—whether he believes me or not—it’s the truth.
“So you really don’t care what we do? Whatever we decide is fine with you?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug.
“In that case,” he says with finality as he stands and dusts his butt, “you won’t mind the fact that we’re moving.” With that, Luke walks off.
“Moving?!” I scream.
To say I’m angry is to call a python an earthworm. My fists are clenched, my face is a smoldering ember, my heart a lump of betrayal.
Mom looks up from her fashion magazine, her expression as impassive as a surgeon’s at the sight of a paper cut.
“Finally,” she says, “an acceptable display of emotion.”
I ignore the comment. I’m not a fish and do not take bait.
“I’m not moving!” I yell and cross my arms over my chest. I’ve never been even mildly stubborn. On this I will be dogged.
I. Am. Not. Moving.
I will not leave the place in which I saw Dad for the last time. I will not leave the home he gave me, even if now I only live off the memories of what a real home should be.
“Why am I not surprised?” she asks, setting her magazine on the coffee table.
Again, I’m not taking that bait.
“I can’t believe you would consider leaving Dad’s house.” She isn’t disturbed by this comment in the least. Her eyes are too full of Luke to dampen with sentimentalism. “I’m not moving.” I repeat, this time without screaming, which strangely carries the ring of my determination way better than the high-decibel version.
“We will buy a bigger house that accommodates all of us. End of story. If you had bothered to join us, we could have listened to your suggestions.” Something in the set of Mom’s mouth insinuates it might be too late to hear my ideas now. Fine. I don’t care.
“I have none,” I say. “All I came in to say is that I’m not going anywhere.” I spin on my heels and head out.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Mom says, stomping in my direction. Some of the old furniture rattles with her every step. “You don’t get to ruin this for me.” She stops in front of me, the true spark of indignation flickering in the golden specks of her eyes.
We stare at each other. The words she’s not saying form an insurmountable wall between us. I’ve always known the barrier was there, I just never knew it was a hundred feet tall and just as thick. I’m ready to add a hundred more.
“Say it, Mom. Get it all out. Tell me how I was never the daughter you wanted. How my clothes were never pink enough. How a trip to the nail parlor should be my idea of fun. How my epileptic attacks ruined your life.”
She flinches imperceptibly. So subtly that I’m not sure she actually did. I guess the truth leaves no room for surprises. She looks no more taken aback than if I told her one plus one is two.
“Get it in your head,” I continue. “I’m staying right here. The house is mine.”
Her eyes turn the size of jeep tires.
I take in her surprise and feel even more betrayed. I harden my expression, resolved not to show how much this hurts. She was working on the assumption I didn’t know the house was mine. She was willing to omit that piece of information to get her way.
“What?” I ask. “You think I didn’t know that?”
Dad told me a long time ago that he’d named me the house’s sole owner in his testament. Maybe he was worried Mom might remarry if he died. Maybe he was even worried about what would happen to me if he wasn’t here to protect me. Or perhaps he simply wanted to keep a tradition. The house has been in the Guerrero family for two generations, since my grandfather moved to the States from Chile. I’m not about to sell a piece of what little heritage I’ve got left.
“I could fight you in court,” she says, her voice wavering with doubt.
My brain is spinning, as if her cruel words have actually slapped me on the side of the head. My eyes sting. I make sure not to blink. I won’t give her the satisfaction of my tears.
My eyes are dry. A barren desert.
“Even if it’s possible, I wouldn’t risk it if I were you. Luke …” I waver, trying to decide whether I should stoop as low as she has, whether I should tell her he cares more about my opinion than hers. It takes a lot to hold back, and when I do, I do it for Luke’s sake, not hers. “Luke might not like this side of you. The side that would take her own daughter to court. Not a very pleasant one.”
Mom deflates as if I’ve pricked her with a needle. The same slack disappointment I’m used to seeing returns to her face. Once more I’m the bane of her existence. Her disillusionment. Her biggest letdown. Great! She’s gone from a mega coaster of emotions to her run-of-the-mill, flat highway. Again.
Chapter 24
The rumbling sound of my bike’s engine echoes within the confines of the parking deck. I flash my card in front of the reader and the barrier lifts. The hand scan works, too, as does the facial scan and voice recognition. I feel oddly relieved and concerned at the same time. Relieved because I was allowed entry. Concerned because, after all the biological data Kristen took, she could probably clone me.
I ride the elevator and when I step out, James is waiting for me. He’s wearing a pair of black sl
acks and shirtsleeves.
As we walk downstairs, he asks, “Ready to start?”
“I guess.” I’ve no idea what this training requires. As always, James is keeping me in the dark.
“It’s difficult work, but I think you’ll do just fine,” he says, as we reach the bottom of the stairs.
James leads me toward the area with all the gym equipment, and as we pass by the glass cubicles I wave at Kristen and ignore Aydan. He needs a taste of his own medicine. Rheema, who I met last time, has her hands inside a huge engine block. She pulls one out and waves greasy fingers our way.
“Hey there, Marci.” Her smile is friendly, but again it makes me pause and look closer. There’s something strange about her teeth. Her canines are narrow and pointed, with gaps at their sides. Weird.
“Hi, Rheema,” I say.
She blows a lock of straight, dirty blond hair off her face. “Good luck on your first day.”
“Thank you.” I turn to James, starting to feel tense. An admonition from James and good luck wishes from Rheema can’t be good. “So, what are we doing today?”
“Let me see.” He rubs his chin.
We step into the gym pod. Like the rest of The Tank, this area has clear walls, and I can see everyone else at work. Worse yet, they can see me. James sits on a workout bench, still thinking.
“Why are there no real walls in this place?”
James looks up. “Is the reason so hard to imagine? You notice it’s also bright?”
I nod.
“We fight the fog enough every day as it is.” He sighs, then stands. “I think we’ll try meditation today.”
“You’re kidding, right? You want me to meditate?”
James raises one eyebrow. “Have you tried it before?”
“Uh, no,” I lie. I don’t want to admit that I have and that I’m terrified of trying again.
I tried meditation once at Sensei’s insistence, and all it did was bring on one of my infamous “epilepsy attacks” in front of the whole class. As soon as I tried to clear my head, the shadows went crazy. They burst out like hungry hounds, finding my almost empty mind a far easier target than one full of fluid thoughts. The whole experience was awful, not to mention embarrassing. It might work for James, but I know for a fact that, for me, meditation is a terrible idea. Still, I don’t want him to think I’m weak, so I act nonchalant.
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