Redux

by A. L. Davroe

  My cheeks heat. “I’ve had some practice.”

  “Why would you want to practice something like that? The only reason to eat this is if you were forced t—” He takes a breath in sudden comprehension.

  I can feel the strands of data coming together in his head, the code executing and being read, and it makes my heart break. I curl my arms around myself, sheltering the ache in my heart and the remembered hollowness in my stomach.

  A moment later, he’s on his feet, his chair collapsing behind him, and he’s pulling me to my feet, making me drop my spoon and upset my bowl, and folding me into his embrace.

  And just like that, I feel burning tears escape. I brush at them, frustrated with all the tears I’ve cried in the past few days. I try to be strong, try to explain myself. “It’s hard. I can’t keep myself from feeling it all again.” I suck a desperate gulp of air. “That kind of hunger… It’s insane making.”

  “Elle,” he utters. But no other words come. There’s just this shaking reinforcement of his embrace on me. Rage shaking. “Never again. Not while there is breath in my body.” He draws me back, his hands wander up my arms, slide up my neck, and he kisses me. I kiss him back. And then he draws away slightly and speaks against my lips. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gotten you out. I could have saved you that pain, this memory.”

  A desperate choke escapes me and I look away. “I wanted to, but”—I make a guttural noise and pull away—“it’s so complicated, I can’t explain it.”

  Quent steps into my line of sight. “Try.”

  I grind my teeth, searching for words.

  “We’re not in the game anymore, Elle. We can’t hide this stuff from each other. This is real. Repercussions are real.”

  “I know,” I snap. “Trust me, I’m well aware of repercussions. Even when it’s a game, there are repercussions. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  I drop my shoulders. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take this out on you. It’s not your fault.”

  “Maybe it is,” he says quietly. “I knew something was wrong. I knew you were hiding it. I could have looked into it, could have poked my nose in places you didn’t want me to, but I didn’t. You suffered because I didn’t do anything about it, even though I sensed I should have.”

  I look over my shoulder at him. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened to me in Evanescence. You were only respecting my wishes.”

  He meets my glare. “Maybe I shouldn’t have even done that.”

  Holding his gaze, I say, “You did the right thing. I trusted you to respect my wishes, just as you trusted me to tell you something important, not keep secrets. I’m the one who betrayed that trust, not you. I should have told you what was going on.” I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold. “I didn’t know what I’d be asking you to get yourself into. At the time, I didn’t know what was going on or who was holding me captive. I had no idea why they’d faked my death or why they were starving me or why I wasn’t able to communicate with anyone from the outside except through the game. I didn’t know if they were dangerous. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  He scoffs. “You do realize I am—or, was—one of the most powerful people in Evanescence, right? No one would have dared touch me.”

  “I didn’t. Not then. How would I have known you were Quentin Cyr?”

  Brows lifting, he concedes my point. Then he reaches out and his hand slides over my hip, pulling me near again.

  I shut my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder. It feels so good to be close to him. I’m strong, I know that. But he makes me feel stronger. “I’m sorry I hid what was going on from you.”

  His hand snakes up, cradles my head as he leans over me, protective and strong. “And I’m sorry I hid who I was from you. It was wrong of me to have done what I did with you and Gus. But I don’t regret it. I never would have gotten to know you…to fall in love with you if I hadn’t.”

  “Love? Well,” a sharp female voice sounds from the doorway. Quent tenses. “That’s a far cry from pretending in a game, isn’t it? And when were you going to tell me about this little secret?”

  Quent draws back, revealing Lady Cyr standing in the doorway. Tall, lean, and carved to perfection, Lady Cyr is like a Grecian statue. It’s hard to believe that, like Zane, there is a Natural under all that. Like her sons, her Alts have burned out, leaving a fine tracery of scar-like lines all over her still-pearly skin. Though, I have to wonder if, like Quent, she can light up at will.

  “Mom,” he breathes. And he sounds like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  She smiles at him and holds her arms out, and he gladly goes into her embrace.

  “It’s good to see you’re alive and well,” she says, holding him. And then she grabs his ear and twists, making him double over with a wince. “And it’s not so good to see you acting like an idiot. What did I say about leaving Ella alone?”

  “Ow, Mom, come on,” Quent grunts.

  She growls at him, but I can see in her bright blue eyes and quirked mouth that she’s not really meaning to hurt him or that she’s really mad. She releases him and gives him a light slap on the shoulder. “Womanizer, you’re as bad as your brother. Let me see her.”

  Quent rolls his eyes and steps out of her way.

  I hold my breath as Lady Cyr breezes toward me. Impulse kicks in and before I know what I’m doing, I’m moving to curtsy to her.

  “Ah!” she says, holding her finger up in admonishment. “Don’t you dare, Ellani Drexel, or I’ll box your ears as bad as I do that foolish son of mine. You stand straight and tall when you talk to me. We’re equals now, thank the network.” She puts her fists on her hips and gives me a critical eye. “You look just like Cleo.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not a compliment. To be honest, it’s a little off-putting.”

  “Mom,” Quent hisses in embarrassment.

  She waves her hand in dismissal. “Oh please, there’s no need to worry about feelings here. Your girl, she’s got a steel frame. Haven’t you?”

  I clasp my hands behind my back so she can’t see how bad I’m still shaking from my memories about being starved.

  “You’re aware I was your mother’s friend?”

  I nod. “I know a little about you and her. And what she was all about. Not much, though.”

  She nods, making strands of her now gray hair fall from behind her ear to brush her high forehead. “You’ll figure it out. We’re a complicated lot, we Tricksters.” She offers her hand. “I’m Kit Boyd.”

  I scrunch my brow, confused. “Not Kit Cyr anymore?”

  A shadow tangles her expression, narrowing her lips and flaring her eyes. “Not anymore, no.”

  I feel Quent step up close behind me and touch my back in reassurance. He must understand how unnerving standing before his mother is. Her presence practically ignites the room. I guess I never noticed it when she stood beside President Cyr, but alone, she’s an obvious force to be reckoned with, and I wonder if this is what drew Quent’s father to her in the first place. “Boyd is mom’s first married name. She prefers it.”

  I nod. I can understand her wanting to shed Cyr’s name. Especially if he was as awful as they’ve painted him to be.

  Kit crosses her arms and stares at us for a long moment. “Just look at you two. The fox and the spider. Together again. Cleo would be crying, it’s so beautiful. We always did talk about our children carrying on the tradition,” she notes, expression wistful. “Although, the arrangement had been with Zane and Ella, not you, Quent. You were supposed to end up with Carsai Sheldon, secure the strength of the Presidency with a political marriage. Sheldon’s support would have provided us a seamless coup.”

  Quent rolls his eyes. “It’s a good thing the dome fell, then, isn’t it?”

  She frowns. “That set us back.”

  “Oh come off it,” he shoots back at her. “Zane went off track with Clairen, and if you wanna s
plit hairs, you can blame Simon for killing Ella off in the first place. How was Zane gonna marry a dead girl? Besides, you knew I was playing with her.”

  “That’s why I told you to stop your silly pursuit of finding her Real World player.”

  “So, you were aware Ella was actually alive, weren’t you?” His tone is a dangerous accusation.

  A flash in Kit’s eyes and then her face settles to a deadly calm neutral. “Yes.”

  I step forward. “Then you knew about the virus. Uncle Simon had said ‘We’ve been watching.’ He meant you and him, didn’t he?”

  She grins at me. “Who else would he mean? Only Simon, your caretakers, and I knew you were alive. It was best to keep you hidden from the President and his suspicious inclinations. I couldn’t have him going after you like he did Cleo and Warren. It was important you get in the game, important you complete your intended role.”

  Quent stiffens against me. “Then you knew what Simon was doing to her?”

  As I watch Kit visibly think through her next words, I hold my breath. Though, there’s nothing she could say that would get him to forgive her. I know Quent well enough for that. And she must, too, because she doesn’t answer, just clears her throat and turns away from us. “As I’ve always taught you, Quentin. Sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. Now, I’ve come to talk to Ella about her plan to—”

  “That’s it?” Quent demands. “All you have to say? You stand complicit in the imprisonment and torture of your best friend’s child—the woman I love—and your only defense is that sacrifices must be made?”

  She goes still, lifts her chin. “What else would you have me do?”

  He straightens. “Apologize, at the very least.”

  Kit lifts a brow, examines him, examines me. “I would, but I’m not sorry.”

  “What?” he breathes.

  “I’m sorry it had to be Ella, I really am. Sorry it was the girl who my friend birthed. Sorry it was the woman you fell in love with. But she’s the lynchpin. The tool. She was destined to be for more generations back than I can count. The Tricksters have been working toward this pivot point for hundreds of years. Perhaps one day you’ll understand that. But she had to go in, had to plant that virus. And it had to be perfect. We did what we had to. Me, Cleo, Warren, Simon.” She meets my eyes.

  I swallow hard. “And that included torturing me to the point of near insanity?”

  She grasps the doorway. “You needed to be pushed to the point where you realized what needed to be done. To make you evolve, grow stronger, ascend this place of purgatory. Your father assumed that simply explaining it to you, giving you the choice, would be the thing that swayed you. But come on, let’s look at the girl you were. Simon didn’t believe you’d volunteer to plant the virus unless you were given a very good reason. I agreed with him. None of us wanted to hurt you, Ella, you need to understand that. But you need to comprehend just how important you are. You’re going to save us all.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I sort of got that message.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re finally getting onboard. It makes everything so much easier. Of course, way off course.” She grasps her chin and turns in thought. “I’ll have to completely recalculate everything.”

  I step forward. “No.”

  Her eyes are sharp as she looks over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, no.”

  She spins fully now, obviously ready to fight me.

  “I’m done being your puppet. I’m done letting you decide what I’m doing and where I’m going. I’m done with you playing God.”

  She scoffs and the danger in her eyes makes Quent’s hand flinch on my back. “You don’t have a choice. We made sure of that.”

  “I’m well aware.” I have to step into this savior role. “I have to do some things, only because there’s no other choice. But,” I say in emphasis, “your role is over. There’s only one fox I trust and it’s him.” I toss my chin to indicate Quent. “We new Tricksters inherited this mess you fools made with your little games and we’re going to fix it. And we’re doing it our way. You don’t like it? Well, I’ve got a bullet with your name on it.” I stand, drawn tight as a bow with my face red and my fists balled, and I stare at her, huffing; I’m so angry I could punch her.

  Quent is so still and tense beside me that I’m pretty sure I could flick him and he’d shatter.

  And Lady Cyr? She just stares at me, long and hard. Finally, she smirks. “You’re a lot like your mother. She’d be very proud of you.”

  I don’t want to be like my mother.

  Her gaze shifts to her son. “You picked a good one. You’ve got my blessing and my support. Fix this hideous mistake. Oh,” she says, hand poised on the doorjamb, “I came to get you. Mac wanted a round table, get you to tell us what your plan of attack is.”

  “So you were willing to give Ella the lead all along?” Quent asks.

  “He was. I told him he was an idiot and we’d let you take command over my dead body. But I’ve changed my mind. I think we’re in fine hands.”

  I stare after her, even after she disappears.

  Quent says, “I can’t believe you threatened to shoot my mother.”

  A scoff breaks free and he suddenly laughs with me and when we’ve giggled so hard that we’re tearing and neither of us can breathe, he drapes his arm around me. “Come on, let’s take over this joint.”

  “Don’t tease me.” I wheeze, still trying to catch my breath.

  “Me? Tease you?” He grasps my hand, swings me around in a twirl like we’re on the dance floor, then dips me. “Never.”

  Still in the dip, I smile at him. “I’m glad you’re my fox.”

  He pulls me up, sets me back on my feet. “And I’m glad you’re my spider.” We start walking and he sets a hand on my shoulder. “Even more glad that you only have two feet.”

  “I don’t have any feet, actually.”

  He shrugs. “That doesn’t change anything. You’re still you.”

  Biting my lip, I look away from him. “I know. That’s why I’m giving one of my legs up. I know my disability doesn’t make me who I am. I’m just scared.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll make it quick and painless.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not afraid of the pain. I’m afraid of the physical limitations.”

  Quent lowers his chin, traps me with his amber eyes. “Elle, real legs, no legs, VR legs, fake legs, one leg—you have no limitations. You get through locked doors that no one else can get through.”

  “This time I need help doing it.”

  “Have you considered how you’re going to make all of this happen?”

  “I’ll explain it when I’ve gotten everyone in one place.”

  chapter twenty-five

  Post-American Date: 7/8/232

  Longitudinal Timestamp: 3:12 a.m.

  Location: Rebel Base, Kairos

  “—and that’s about the long and short of it,” I say, finishing my explanation of how I intend to make magic happen. And it will be magic. With a healthy dose of technology for good measure.

  Everyone just stares at me, mouths agape. Finally, Mac says, “I don’t think I understand half of what was just said to me.”

  Zane sits back, scratches his chin. “The logistics of it…”

  Cam and Sid glance at each other, then Sid says, “It is theoretically sound.”

  Mac shakes his head. “You’re asking us to put a lot of faith in you.”

  I turn to him. “You put a lot of weight on my shoulders to begin with.” I look around the table, meet everyone’s eyes. “All of you. You let this happen. You brought it about with your revolutionary fervor and now I have to pick up the pieces and try and save everyone’s asses.”

  “Follow you or die, is that the option?” Clairen asks.

  “No. None of you are gonna die if I don’t restart Evanescence. If this Taurus guy doesn’t strike first and completely obliterate you, if he doesn’t use the Aristocrats to
his own ends in an effort to enslave you all, you could go on doing your day to day. You’ll be living in masks, figuring out how to survive without the dome’s meager support of the very basics like food, water, and medicine. I’m sure there are other cities doing it somewhere, you could send out envoys, maybe learn from them. Maybe you’d survive. But I have to wonder, what was the point of all of this if you’re not going to carry it through to the bitter end? Even if it means putting a little faith in a figurehead you created on a whim. Even if it means sticking your neck out for other people you may not like very much.”

  Eyes avoid mine, look at the table, off to the side, at the ceiling, examine nails. I feel Quent’s hand find my knee and he squeezes it. “If anyone could do it,” he says, “it’s you, Elle.”

  “It’s not just me,” I correct. “It’s all of us. Everyone in this complex will be just as important as the Aristocrats we’re trying to save. Everyone is instrumental here.”

  “But,” Delia says, “if something goes wrong?”

  “That’s what this whole plan is built on, assurance against something going wrong. Right?” Gus asks, glancing up at me with bright eyes.

  I nod. “If we spread our assets, we have a higher chance of at least some of us getting through. Some is better than none.”

  Clairen worries the end of her ponytail. “We don’t have much time to pull this all together.”

  “No,” I agree. “That’s why I need everyone’s help.” I swallow hard, look to the faces around the circular table and offer my hand at the center. “Who’s in?”

  Without hesitation Quent puts his hand over mine. “You have me. And my Dolls.”

  Delia puts hers on next. “Where Gus goes, I go.” She smiles sheepishly. “But I would have helped anyway.”

  I grin at her in thanks.

  Zane and Kit put theirs on. Zane looks to Clairen and she looks to Mac.