The Divinity Bureau

by Tessa Clare

  Without a second thought, I find a hard drive and begin the process of backing up everything that I can: documents, emails, and bookmarks. I’m in the course of downloading the cookies on Gideon’s browser when a voice comes from behind me.

  “Hey, Gideon says that he’s looking for you.”

  I nearly jump from my seat. Finn is shifting his feet, avoiding eye-contact and undoubtedly still reeling from our earlier conversation. I feel guilty. It’s not in my nature to blackmail people. But it’s also not in my nature to let innocent people die under my watch.

  “Tell him that I’ll be there. I just need a second,” I say. There’s nothing else that I can say, and I hope that Finn will forgive me in time.

  Despite the risk, there are skeletons that I need to uncover. The question is whether those skeletons exist in the closet of the Divinity Bureau – or April McIntyre.

  By five o’clock on Thursday evening, I am more than ready. I clock out and make my way into the parking lot before the security guard can finish saying, “Have a good afternoon.”

  After a quick shower and a shave, I stand in front of the mirror as I button up a dark long-sleeved shirt. I tousle my hair with gel. It’s curly, and it’s a beast to maintain. I wish I had chopped it off before tonight, but it’s too late for that now. I attempt to give it some form, but it doesn’t make any difference. It ends up looking like it usually does: like I just rolled out of bed. If anything, the gel just makes it a little shinier.

  April lives in District 220, which is approximately thirty miles north of where I live. I leave early in anticipation of the usual heavy traffic; but once I’m fifteen miles out of District 200, the drive is smooth sailing. Once I turn onto her street, I’m shocked by the sights in front of me: yards and sprawling mansions overlooking the lake. I haven’t seen green lawns since I left District 402.

  Black gates greet me when I pull in front of April’s house. While the large lawn overtakes most of the property, her house is hard to miss. The white mansion – which, from afar, looks more like a dome – can easily take up a block in the city.

  My vehicle sits stiffly in the driveway. I’m positive that I have the wrong address. I’ve always known that Henrik McIntyre was wealthy, but I didn’t realize that the government representatives made enough money to afford a mansion. I, too, am a government worker; and my meager paycheck couldn’t pay for one bar of these fancy gates.

  After spending several minutes gawking, I send April a text message: “Hey. I'm in the driveway.” I pause, glancing up. “At least, I think it's your driveway. It looks to more like a parking lot.”

  I’ve just finished hitting the “send” button when a loud honk startles me. I look up to see a shiny yellow car waiting to get into the driveway. Black tinted windows cover the car, except for one that’s hanging open. A dark-haired woman is hanging her head out through the open window with a cigarette between her teeth.

  “Are you lost?” she asks.

  I glance between the foreboding gates and the woman. “I… uh… I’m trying to find the McIntyre residence.”

  The woman crosses her arms. “Oh yeah? May I ask why?”

  Through the open window, I get a glimpse of the interior of her car: tan leather, windows, and even a television. There’s no steering wheel. Instead, the driving is done through a series of commands and prompts on the television screen. It looks more like a living room than the interior of a vehicle.

  Despite the cozy inside, the exterior is intimidating. The steel bumpers can quickly squash my frayed vehicle, and one look at the woman makes me think that she wouldn’t think twice about it. I look away. “I’m supposed to be picking up April McIntyre. She and I are… well, I guess you can say that we’re friends…”

  The woman’s eyes immediately go wide. “Oh! You’re here for April! Let me give her a call.” She presses a few buttons on her car’s dashboard before her car pulls to the side of the road. A moment later, I can see her dialing a command on her Mobiroid. “I’m Macy, by the way – April’s mother.”

  The information takes a moment to register; but once I take notice of the pointed chin and steel eyes, it makes sense. I wonder why she isn’t wearing a face mask until I look at the greenery that surrounds me.

  “I’m Roman,” I respond as Macy sifts through her contacts. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve already sent her a message.”

  I’m too late. Before I can get another word out, I can hear the phone dialing through the speakers of Macy’s car.

  Ring.

  Macy turns her attention back to me. “How do you know April?”

  Ring.

  “We met at her work.”

  Ring.

  “Oh, that’s nice! April didn’t tell me that she met someone.”

  Ring.

  “Well, it’s a funny –”

  “Hello?” a voice interjects, blaring loudly through Macy’s speaker system. It echoes and screeches, forcing me to cover my eyes. I can hear a groan from the other end of the speakers. “Mom, would it kill you to turn your speakers down? I can hear it all the way from inside the house!”

  Macy turns a knob. “Well, how do I –”

  The screeching only increases. I squirm in pain.

  “Well, anyways!” Macy hollers, once the noise stops. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had company coming over?” Macy’s voice is nearly as loud as the speakers. “I nearly had a heart attack when I saw his beater pod in front of our house! I thought someone was coming to rob us!”

  I glance down at my car, slightly offended. Sure, there’s still that dent on the right side; but I don’t think my two-seater has enough luggage space to rob anyone!

  “Did you tell him about your curfew?” Macy goes on. “Also, he better not go into your father’s study! He should understand that –”

  “Roman,” April’s voice blares through the speaker, cutting her mother off. “I’ll be down in just a second.”

  She hangs up without another word, leaving Macy and me to eye each other for a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Not wanting to take part in awkward small talk any longer, I turn the key in my ignition. “Let me get out of your way.”

  Macy nods her head, before pressing a button on her dashboard. I can hear a computer say, “Please enter your destination,” which Macy overrides.

  The gates open just in time for me to get a glimpse of April. She’s walking across the front lawn. The first thing I notice is her merlot-colored dress, tight around her chest and loose around her knees. Her brown hair is in a loose bun. She’s wearing crimson lipstick that’s a mere few shades off from her dress. As she comes closer into view, I notice her eyes: dark eyeshadow covers them, bringing out their steel color.

  I don’t think I’ll be able to recover from the flurry of butterflies that are in my stomach. I stare in awe, barely noticing when April attempts to open the door to the passenger side. She gives me an awkward wave, and I realize that the passenger door is still locked. Hastily, I unlock the door for her.

  “Sorry for the mess,” I immediately say. It just doesn’t seem right for a girl like her to be sitting in my cramped and dirty car.

  April laughs as she scoots into the front seat. “It’s alright. I should be apologizing to you for having to put up with my mother.”

  “She’s nice,” I say. While she intimidates the hell out of me, I don’t see any reason to dislike her. I put my hand on the transmission. “So, where are we going?”

  April’s eyes dart around the dashboard. “Where’s your GPS?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  April looks as though I had just told her that the earth doesn’t revolve around the sun. “What do you mean, you don’t have a GPS? How do you get around?”

  I point to the transmission stick. “By driving.”

  The ability to drive is a rare skill nowadays, as self-driving cars have taken over. But April doesn’t look impressed. “That’s illegal.”

  That is also true. A two-ton machine
is, per the Department of Motor Vehicles, too dangerous to be left susceptible to human error, so cars are required to be in a self-driving mode in public spaces. But the self-driving motor had broken on my car five years ago, and I don’t have the money to fix it. I’ve also managed to survive the last seven years without an accident.

  “I know,” I say with a grin. “Hang on. It’s probably going to be a bumpy ride.”

  “Maybe we should take my car,” April begins, but she’s cut off by the sound of my engine roaring as we speed down the street. Normally, I’m a lot more cautious; but it’s been years since I’ve driven down a road that wasn’t polluted by traffic. District 220 doesn’t seem to have a lot of it, so I take advantage of the free space.

  I know that she’s nervous, especially when I speed past a yellow light that’s on the verge of turning red. But by the time we make it onto the freeway, she’s laughing through the bumps as I swerve between cars and bypassing the self-driving cars that are cruising at the speed limit.

  Whenever I can, I sneak a few glances at her. Her laugh is contagious. Every time she giggles, it makes a warm feeling erupt through my chest; and we find ourselves laughing for no reason at all. Even the sight of her smile is addicting. I want to continue putting that smile on her face throughout the night; and maybe even longer, if she’ll let me.

  When traffic starts to slow, I find myself reaching for her hand. She shoots a curious glance in my direction as I grasp her fingers between mine. My heart is thudding in my chest – so loud, that I can feel it reverberating in my head. I’m tempted to brush it off as an accident; and I nearly do, until her fingers wrap themselves around mine.

  I’m definitely in trouble.

  April chose an upscale steakhouse called Promenade. As it turns out, we’re forty-five minutes late to our reservation, still holding hands as we walk into the establishment. April spends several minutes arguing with the hostess that had given away our table, but we manage to secure a seat at a table situated next to a window. I don’t let go of her hand until I’m pulling out a fabric covered chair for her.

  The waiter sits a menu in front of us, which I take eagerly. My enthusiasm falters when I see the prices. I’m sure that the cost of one steak can feed me for an entire week. But April doesn’t seem to be taken aback, and she had insisted on paying for dinner. Still, the idea makes me feel inadequate.

  “So, Roman,” April begins, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. She bursts into giggles before she can get another word out.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. Was this all a joke?

  April brings her hand to her mouth to cover her giggles. “It’s nothing. I just…” She sighs. “Well, you see, I have this friend of mine that made me memorize this long list of questions that I’m supposed to ask on a first date. I totally thought that I’d be asking all of them like it’s some job interview. Though now that I think about it, the idea is ridiculous.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “What kind of questions?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You just said that you have them memorized.”

  “Yeah, but we can talk about something else.”

  “What if I don’t want to talk about anything else?”

  April turns pink. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  I grin. “Absolutely not.”

  April glances around the room, looking for a way out of her dilemma. I don’t know what the big deal is, though. I don’t have anything to hide.

  April nods. “Okay, first question: what is currently in your refrigerator?”

  Never mind, these questions are ridiculous.

  I answer by telling her the truth: my fridge contains a six pack of beer, a bottle of hot sauce, and a can of condensed milk (which I think is expired – but April doesn’t need to know that). I also tell her about the last book I read (a book on coding), my favorite childhood memory (when I won a brand-new VR system in fourth grade), and whether I’d prefer to fight a horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses (a horse-sized duck, of course).

  “Why a horse-sized duck?” April asks in between bites of steak. “All that thing would need to do is sit on you!”

  I shrug. “I’d much rather fight one animal than having to keep track of a hundred.”

  “You could just step on a duck-sized horse.”

  “Yeah, but then their duck-sized guts will get all over the place!” I exclaim, even though it’s probably not the best thing to point out while she has steak in her mouth. I shudder at the thought. “I’d rather not clean up that mess. I spend enough time as it is by cleaning up people’s computer messes for work.”

  Like Finn’s.

  I expect April to laugh as she had done all night, but she immediately falls silent. She turns her gaze away from me. I get it. The nature of my work is a sore subject, but I can’t sweep it under the rug. No matter how well tonight goes, it’s a conversation that we’ll need to have at some point.

  I take her hand and turn my head so that she’s looking at me. “April, I know you think I work for a bureau of murderers. I don’t deny that death happens within the Bureau because I know it does.” I sigh. “But it’s a job. It pays the bills. It’s nothing more, I swear. Without it, I’d be stuck living as a potato farmer in District 402.”

  It hits me that she doesn’t know how awful it is to live as a farmer in District 402. The textbooks that I picked up in college portray farming as happening in open fields and underneath blue skies, but that’s far from the case. Farming occurs in skyscrapers made of greenhouse glass, standing as tall as the bureau’s headquarters. Falling is a common occurrence, but the most dangerous hazard is the agrichemicals. For those that can afford BION treatment, it’s not a big deal – but most people, like my family, can’t. Most people don’t live older than the age of fifty. Going to college was my only opportunity to escape that life.

  April gazes at our conjoined hands. “I’m sorry. I still feel horrible for yelling at you.”

  I laugh, attempting to diffuse the tension in the air. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve heard a lot worse.”

  But the tension isn’t relieved. April looks away.

  “My dad was elected a year ago,” she admits. “He made the news for being the youngest person elected in the last century.”

  The findings on Gideon’s computer come to mind.

  “There are a few different stories on why it happened,” April continues. “The official explanation is that they occasionally pull from the younger pool when there aren’t enough candidates for election. But I think he was targeted.”

  I lightly rub her knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” April confesses. “My family thinks I’m crazy.” She glances back at him, her eyes full of anxiety. “Which is why I’m hoping that you might be able to help me get answers.”

  I watch her warily. Everything is clicking into place: her apology, the lavish dinner, and her interest in me after ten days of ignoring me. I thought she had a change of heart, but reality is slapping me in the face.

  I pull my hands away from her. “Is that what all of this is about?”

  She only wants something from me.

  April stares at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

  I’m not willing to play that game. No. I’m an adult with responsibilities, and I don’t have time for mind games. “God, I’m such an idiot. Here I thought that we had something – but the reality is that you just wanted me to be your little spy for the Divinity Bureau!”

  April turns white. “That’s not it at all!”

  “Then what is it?” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in the air. “It doesn’t take a Master’s degree to figure what’s going on here.” When she doesn’t say anything, I pull out my wallet and pull out a handful of sterling. “So, I’m going to cover this meal…” I cringe at the thought. My bank account is going to punish me for this later. “And we’ll call it even.”


  “Roman –”

  “I hope that you get the answers that you’re looking for,” I interject as sincerely as I can muster. “But I can’t be the one to give it to you. I can’t. I have bills to pay, a cat to feed, and responsibilities to take care of.” I stand up from my seat. “We need to go.”

  April eyes me incredulously. “We?”

  “I’m taking you home,” I say slowly. As upset as I am about the night’s turn of events, I’m not enough of a jackass to leave her to find her way home.

  April looks like she wants to protest. I’m sure my resolve would have wavered if she did. But without another word, she reaches for her purse and stands up from her seat. This time, I don’t reach for her hand. There aren’t any laughs or smiles as I drive back to her house – not even an utter of “good night” as she opens my car door and slams it closed. Once she’s inside the comfort of her home, I punch the dashboard as hard as I can.

  For the first time since I had begun working for the Divinity Bureau, I hate my job.

  CHAPTER SIX

  APRIL

  I wake up to a person in my bed. My Mobiroid’s alarm had gone off at eight in the morning, vibrating and ringing on my wrist. I try to press the snooze button, but the touchscreen doesn’t recognize my sloppy movements. Irritated, I push the wrist against a pillow to mute the sound, but the pillow appears to be occupied.

  “Ow!”

  I freeze. I’ve snuck plenty of guys into my bedroom during my high school years. So far, my record of getting caught has been clean, and I prefer to keep it that way. Except I haven’t gone out as often since I was cut off from my trust fund, and it’s been months since I’ve brought a guy home. The last guy I had gone out with was Roman; and considering the disaster of our date, I don’t think I can expect to be seeing him in my bed anytime soon – or ever. I have only one other possibility.