by A. L. Davroe
He stares at me. Without the nanos making his eyes twinkle like diamonds, they’re turning a deep, warm amber. I wonder if that’s the color his mother chose for him when he was Customized or if the amber is a Modification. “You look tired, Elle.”
A part of me cringes internally. Elle is Gus’s pet name for me, and I hate that Quentin has taken to calling me that, too. I turn away. Despite that, another part of me likes how he says it. Stupid Aristocrats with their smoky, sexy Modified voices. “I am tired.”
He sidesteps a few inches closer as if gaining ground lost by my withdrawal of eye contact. “How’s your leg?”
My fingers slide over the burn hole in my dress, hiding it like a weakness, which is stupid, considering he knows it’s there already. I yank it away. There’s no point trying to be perfect anymore, even if I’m standing next to the boy that years of socialization inside of Evanescence has taught me is perfection incarnate. “It’s fine.”
“It’s only a temporary fix for now. I’ll have to work on it more. I’ll have you up to specifications in no time.”
“I know,” I say, irritated at his choice of words—as if I need improving. “You already told me.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see him cock his head and examine me from down his nose as if I’m some kind of strange code that needs cracking. “Are you angry at me?”
“No.”
“Yes, you are. Your brow is twitching.”
Lifting my hand, I rub at my brow. “Who said a twitching brow had anything to do with me being angry?” I’m going to kill Gus when I see him. I can’t believe he told Quentin about my twitchy eyebrow! Is nothing sacred?
He smirks at me. “He’s right. It is cute.”
Blushing, I turn away.
He lets the awkward set in for a few moments before blissfully changing the subject. “So, what are you going to do?”
I can’t help but turn back toward him, but I find it hard to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”
He switches his cocked head to the other side, reminding me of a bird of prey I once saw in the game. “That message we saw—Persevere—and the video of your mother singing to you, those were obviously meant for you. Your parents trying to tell you something.”
I lower my chin. “Uncle Simon told me they wanted to continue on with what they were working toward with Nexis.”
“What’s that?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure anymore. I’d thought Nexis was originally meant to teach people, Aristocrats and Disfavored alike, about the greatness we could achieve as humans, inspire them to be greater and to maybe remember our ancestors’ follies so we don’t make the same mistakes. But the Anansi Virus confuses me. I’d thought, when Uncle Simon told me it was just for a power outage, that it aligned with their goals—to open the Aristocrats’ eyes to their overreliance on technology. But that’s not all the virus did, and now I’m wondering if there wasn’t something else they were aiming at.” I gnaw the inside of my cheek. I don’t know why I’m telling him this.
“What are you going to do?”
I tense the muscles in my back, drawing my shoulders wider. “My best.”
And then Quentin grins at me in an almost mischievous way that reminds me too much of Gus’s expression in the game and I have to look away again. I focus on what the Dolls are doing instead and Quentin is, blissfully, content to stay quiet and watch with me.
chapter three
Post-American Date: 7/4/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 10:02 a.m.
Location: Sub-Tunnel 6
The first storage box lid hits the floor with a clang and, grinning in satisfaction, one of the Dolls tosses his prybar to the side and glances in. His eyes—one a green cat eye, the other human, but red as blood—turn troubled. His skin looks like the skin of a golden snake and when he licks his lips in agitation, his tongue looks forked. “Uh, Quent?”
“Excuse me,” Quentin says as he steps away from me and heads toward the Doll. They exchange a few words, Quentin checks the bin, his lips thin, and he quickly glances around. I glance, too, uneasy, but no one is paying attention. They’re all mostly sitting, huddled in little groups at the far end of the hall.
He says something to the Doll and turns away. As Quentin walks back toward me, the Doll picks up the lid and quickly replaces it. Confused, I turn my attention back to Quentin who, somehow I can tell, is rattled even though his face seems perfectly calm and serene.
Crossing his arms, he stops beside me and turns to watch as the Doll he just left goes to another bin where the Doll who made the nutra-pack comment earlier is working the lid. The Doll with the snakeskin doesn’t seem to have any urgency in his movements or the words he exchanges with this new Doll, but I can tell by the slight pause in the new Doll’s movements that what Snakeskin just said is significant. Snakeskin waits as this Doll opens the bin. They both look inside, exchange a few words, and then the new Doll replaces the lid. Snakeskin moves away and calmly speaks with another Doll.
I keep my voice low and my eyes on the floor as I say, “What’s wrong?”
Quentin is quiet for a moment. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
“I can see it in your eyes.”
Despite himself, he scoffs. “Really? I didn’t know you looked at my eyes.”
Choosing to ignore the lure, I say, “In your eyes. In their eyes.” I resist the urge to point at the Dolls. It’s clear that whatever is going on is secret and my instinct tells me to keep it that way, so I don’t want to draw attention. “Tell me I’m imagining it.”
Another moment of silence. “No, you’re not imagining it.” I wait for an explanation. “The storage bin Cam just opened is empty.”
Lifting my chin, I angle my head so that I can see him. He’s still looking on, calm and serene as a Cyr. “You’re certain?”
A dimple appears on his cheek. “I saw it with my own eyes and I’m genetically enhanced to have superhuman vision, so yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
I purse my lips.
He continues. “The one Jayn just opened, too. And Beau. They’re all going to be empty, I’m certain.”
I swallow. “They’re not supposed to be empty.”
“I’m well aware of this.”
His sarcasm makes me frown. “This is no laughing matter.”
“I’m aware of that, too.”
Sighing, I drop my shoulders. “I suppose it would be useless to ask what happened to the supplies that were supposed to be stored here.”
“I have a few theories. But does it really matter?”
“No. Either way, we’re screwed, aren’t we? We just sealed ourselves into this tunnel with no provisions and at least a week’s worth of travel ahead of us.”
“Look on the bright side,” he says, glancing down at me, “at least we have each other.”
Turning, I take in the battered group of Aristocrats. Bastian sitting quietly next to Sadie, who has her head on his shoulder. Delia and Gus, still arguing. And all the others… Some are contemporaries from school, many are older, but because Aristocrats are so capable of counteracting the aging process, I can’t tell just how much older they could be. Selfish, shell-shocked, and naïve as they are, none seem to have noticed that nothing is coming out of the storage bins. In fact, they don’t seem to have noticed the bins or the Dolls at all. I’m not sure if they’d notice a dragon in their midst at this point.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I’m not terribly relieved at the prospect.”
His glance becomes a full-on gaze. “Come on, I’m not that bad.”
I open my mouth, uncertain what to say to him. I had thought he meant all of us. Not just him and me. I close my mouth and look away, cheeks heating. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
“What? You mean them?” He juts his chin toward the Aristocrats. “They’ll be just about as useful as a stick of gum in a tornado.”
I scoff despite myself. A normal Aristocrat would know nothing about gum or tornados. “You�
��ve been playing Nexis, haven’t you?” I saw both he and Carsai in Central Dominion, and surely they wouldn’t have encountered terms or experiences like that on that level. Unless he’s got an adventuring streak like Gus does, which wouldn’t surprise me.
He closes one eye and turns the remaining one on me. Everything about his expression seems to be laughing at me. “I’ve been known to play a round or two.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“You already said that.”
“No, I said it’s no laughing matter. Totally different.”
He sighs. “Semantics.”
“What do you plan to do about the lack of supplies?”
His good shoulder lifts in a shrug and he picks at the makeshift sling on his bad arm. Miraculously, his fingers seem to be working just fine. “Seems like there’s only one answer to that. We’re going to have to get supplies. Can’t get to Cadence without them.” Brow wrinkling, he turns toward the door that was just sealed shut. “Though, I don’t really know how to get out of here now unless you’re packing explosives in some hollowed-out crevice in your leg?”
I scowl at him. Brazen ass. I’ll show him. “We don’t have to open that door up.” I can’t believe he hasn’t put this together yet!
He lifts a brow.
“Is there anyone in Evanescence who would have any reason to steal these supplies?”
“No, I don’t think so. They were rudimentary, the very basic. Any citizen would have access to far superior.”
“Right. So, either someone who had access to this stash sabotaged this equipment or someone who actually needed it found it and stole it. Sound about right?”
He nods, his eyes darting back and forth in calculation. “I’m certain that everyone who knew about this stash is trustworthy.”
“I thought Simon was trustworthy,” I counter.
He shakes his head. “No. There were only three people besides myself and the Dolls, and I trust those people with my life.”
Sighing at his stubbornness, I say, “Okay. When all other possibilities have been explored, then it’s the impossible thing that must be the answer.” Or something like that. Dad always said it better.
Quentin bites his lip. “So, you’re telling me someone happened upon this stuff and stole it?” He glances around, bewildered. “How? These tunnels have been sealed for hundreds of years.”
“Well,” I venture, fisting my hips, “Obviously they’re not sealed anymore. Someone got in and if they got in?”
“We can get out,” he finishes.
“And you better hope it leads to food and water for these people, otherwise you just killed us all by closing that door.”
“To be fair, we would have been dead either way.”
I smirk. And then, realizing that I’m actually enjoying myself a little bit, I shake myself out of it and glance around, ready to escape. But I find there is nowhere to go. “Ugh, why are Gus and Delia still arguing?” I can’t imagine they’d have that much to talk about.
“Uh, you might want to ask him that.”
Turning, I move to storm away, but Quentin catches my arm. “Don’t.”
I spin on him. “You just told me to ask.”
He lets my arm go. “Not right now. Don’t insert yourself. Wait until he’s alone.”
I frown at him. “He’s my boyfriend. I can talk to him whenever the hell I want to.”
A strange flicker dances over Quentin’s features and he looks away from me. “Is he your boyfriend? Because you had a relationship in a virtual reality game? Does that make it true in Real World?”
I purse my lips. “I—” I don’t really know. I had just sort of assumed that we’d pick up where we left off. “He’s been acting like it.”
“Of course he has. He’s happy to see you,” Quentin says, gently. “But he has responsibilities here in Real World and those take priority.”
I squint at him. “Are you telling me Delia is a priority?”
He takes a deep breath, grasps the back of his neck. “I’m telling you that all of those girls think they’re a priority. If you go over there and insert yourself, monopolize him, you’re just going to make it worse for yourself.”
“Worse for myself?” I scoff. “Circuits, Quentin, why don’t you just come out and call me an outcast.”
“I’m only pointing out the fire that you started.” At my confused frown, he clarifies. “Earlier, in the aerovator, when you admitted to helping to plant the virus.” When he sees my dawning recognition, he continues, verbalizing what my brain is already realizing. “It was stupid of you to have admitted anything about your involvement to these people. As soon as the shock wears off, they’re going to want someone to blame, someone to string up and make accountable. You put a giant bull’s-eye on yourself, and it doesn’t help that you’ve been isolated for the past year and are already considered an outsider because you’re a Natural.”
I glance back at Gus. He and Delia have finally moved and are sitting among the other Aristocratic girls. They’re all chattering excitedly, but a few of them look up and stare back at me, their attention on the Natural talking to their prince. “It’s certainly not winning me any points standing here and talking to you now, is it?” I turn away, intent on leaving, but he steps in front of me.
“Let’s be clear on something, Elle. The only thing that will prevent arrows from hitting that bull’s-eye is my protection, Gus’s protection.”
I take a step back, putting distance between us. “I want to help them—fix what I’ve done. I can’t help them if they don’t trust me, and how can I get them to do that if they don’t consider me one of them?”
“We all want that,” he reasons. “But believe me when I tell you the easiest and safest way to do that is to remain as close to me and my people as you can. You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not. As one of my people, they’ll automatically have faith in you because they do me.”
I sigh. He’s making sense. I just don’t want him to be.
Seeing he’s getting to me, he continues. “Look, if you stick with us, help us make an effort to supply and get these people to safety, then I’m sure they’ll see you mean them no harm.”
“I was going to do that anyway.”
“Good, then we’re in agreement. You’re one of us.”
“I’m not. I don’t even know what being with you means. I don’t understand what happened up there.” I point at the ceiling above us, indicating the city that just went insane.
Quentin lets out a long, deflating breath. “I don’t, either.”
“What?”
“Not all of it, anyway. But I want to find out. And I can’t do that until I’m certain all these people are safe. After that, I’m getting answers. Because that”—he glances at the ceiling and his voice quavers a little—“that’s not what I signed on for.”
Not for the first time, I feel my insides melt a little bit for Quentin, but I steel myself against him. I’m still not ready to forgive him for blowing out my uncle’s brains, even if he was a murdering liar. “What, exactly, did you think you were signing on for?”
“To help create a rebellion, a coup. I wanted to be a revolutionary—a Trickster seeking to right the wrongs by making fools of the complacent sheep who allowed themselves to be corralled and controlled by a corrupt regime. I wanted them to see. To feel something for someone other than themselves. I think that’s what you wanted, too.”
I stare at him, still and unmoving, his words hitting too close to home. Trickster. That’s what I was in Nexis. Me and Gus and my other friends. That’s what we wanted there. But what does it really mean here?
Seeing my reaction, he says, “It’s in your blood and bones, just like it’s in mine.” There’s a passion to his voice, a light in his eyes, a madness to his sudden grin that stirs something deep inside of me. “Whether you want us to be or not, we’re the same, Ella.”
Before I can say anything else, someone comes trotting up to us. “Quent.”
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He turns to meet Sid as he comes to a halt. “They’re all empty. Every container.”
“Shit.”
“There’s one thing they didn’t get.”
Quentin’s relief is palpable. “Sparks, tell me it’s something useful.”
“Looks like it.” Sid’s cat eyes narrow in mirth, making him look even more like a predator. “That little stash? The one Zane built into the floor? That’s still there.”
“Well,” Quentin reflects, “I guess that proves that it was someone from the outside, then.”
I cock my head. “Is that enough?”
He shakes his head. “No, they’re packs, already made up—food, water, bedrolls, light-sticks—but not enough of them.”
“So, we’re screwed.”
I jump at the new voice behind me, familiar as it is.
“Gus!” I breathe, “You scared me!”
He smirks at me. “I’m used to that.”
I open my mouth to retort, but he continues speaking to Quentin. “What do you think?”
“As you put it so succinctly, we’re screwed.”
“How much food and water are in the packs? If we were to split it evenly between everyone here?” I ask.
Sid straightens, obviously put off by my sudden interjection. He glances at Quentin, who nods for him to divulge. “Not much, maybe three, four days? If we’re sparing. A day or two if we’re not.”
Frowning, Gus says, “That’s barely enough to get us past the limits of Kairos.”
“Kairos?” I ask.
“It’s the name the Disfavored call the Outer Block,” Gus explains. “This tunnel runs under the Outer Block on its way to Cadence. But without enough food and water, we’ll exhaust our resources right about there.”
“Maybe that’s all we need?” I suggest.
Quentin squints at me. “What makes you say that?”
I shrug. “No one lives outside the boundaries of the Outer Block, right? At least, it didn’t look like anyone did when I watched them from my room. So, chances are, whoever took the supplies found the breech in the tunnel inside the Outer Block.”