by Tessa Clare
“She’s a stubborn one,” says Macy, noticing the way my eyes keep drifting to April’s seat at the table. “She gets it from her father.” She pauses as she brings a bite to her mouth. “Do you think this chicken needs garlic? I feel like CLEO has forgotten to add the seasonings.”
“It’s delicious,” I say, although I’ve barely touched my food. All I know is that its high-end synthetic chicken. “But I can look at it if you think it might need to be fixed. Just make a technical support ticket…”
As soon as I notice the look of confusion crossing Autumn and Macy’s faces, I stop myself.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s a habit.”
Macy laughs – a sound that I never thought I’d hear when I consider the circumstances.
“How come April isn’t down here?” I ask. The thought makes me angry. April knows that her mother has a limited amount of time left! Shouldn’t she be capitalizing on it?
“I don’t know,” Macy admits in defeat. “She can be incredibly difficult to understand – at least, to me. Her therapist gets her to crack occasionally, but those times are few and far between.”
“Therapist?”
“You didn’t know?”
“She doesn’t like Dr. Gray,” Autumn interjects before I can utter another word out. “She told me.”
“Why is she seeing a doctor?” I ask. Sure, April can be moody; though I thought that every twenty-year-old girl was!
“Does it need explaining?” Macy quips back. “Have you ever noticed how April goes through extreme changes in her mood? She alternates between euphoria and depression!”
I shake my head. “No, I haven’t!”
She’s stubborn and hot-headed, but I’d hardly blame a chemical imbalance.
“Well,” Macy says, pushing her half-empty plate aside (God, there’s starving children in District 560, I think with a cringe). She lights up a cigarette. “I guess you haven’t been paying any attention.”
“Now that I think about it,” says Autumn. “I haven’t seen April get depressed ever since she started dating Roman.”
“That’s absurd,” Macy dismisses. “She has a brain chemical imbalance. That doesn’t get fixed by being in a relationship.” She glances at me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Her father also had the same problems, and he managed to lead a successful life.”
The mention of April’s father piques my interest. “Henrik McIntyre?”
“That would be him.”
“I was reading about him,” I say, though I need to censor the reason for my readings. “He – uh – came up in some news archives. It was a slow day at work, and I was browsing the internet. Anyways…” I pause. “I was doing some reading and found something called the ‘McIntyre Curse.’ It’s ironic, considering all that’s happening – don’t you think?”
Macy turns white. “Autumn, can you clear the dishes?”
“I thought we had CLEO to do that!”
“CLEO is recharging. Please, Autumn?”
“But –”
“Now.”
Autumn grumbles as she stands up from her seat. She grudgingly picks up my barely eaten plate – causing another cringe on my part – before making her way towards the kitchen. As soon as she disappears, Macy lowers her voice.
“I thought no one talked about the McIntyre Curse anymore,” she says darkly.
The revelation is a surprise to me. “So, you’re cursed? Did one of your relatives piss off a witch that did voodoo on you guys?”
“It’s not a ‘curse’ in the traditional sense,” Macy says. “It was a term that the media used to describe all of the tragedies that were happening within our family in the last few decades. There was a rumor that Henrik’s great-grandfather had an affair with a witch – but we think that it’s a legacy of corruption catching up with us. It’s more like a conspiracy theory. Mind you; I don’t know if it’s true…”
“But what if it is?”
Macy glances around the house. I’m guessing she’s not sure how much information she should be sharing.
“Macy,” I say. “You’ve already been elected. I don’t know what else anyone can do to you.”
‘That’s not true,’ I remind myself. I already saw first-hand what could happen, but it’s too late to take back my words.
“They can elect April – or Autumn!” Macy says, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, God. What if I’m not enough?”
I think of April’s name on the last election report. “Enough for what?”
Macy lets out a sigh, pausing as she contemplates her words. “We come from a long line of politicians. Henrik’s great-grandfather made the family fortune back when he was a chairman of the Divinity Bureau. He served for some district in California – though, I’m not quite sure what it’s called now. I think he was based in Los Angeles.”
“The 530th district,” I interject with the knowledge that I had acquired from my research about the McIntyre family. Macy glanced at me in surprise, to which I add, “Sorry – I just knew someone from that district.”
Macy raises an eyebrow, though she continues, “Anyway, he made his fortune by, for all intents and purposes, selling immortality.”
“That’s impossible,” I say immediately.
“That’s what you think,” Macy corrects. “He made a fortune. Upon receipt of the money, he would ensure that the person never got elected. I don’t know how he did it, but I guess he just took the person’s name off the list if they ever showed up on the election report.”
I have an idea of how it works. I had done it not too long ago.
“Anyways, it continued for generations,” Macy continues on. “It’s how the family made our fortune. My husband, when he heard about what was happening, broke the chain and decided not to pursue a career in the Divinity Bureau. He opted for a career in Parliament instead, and he spent twenty years in the Committee for Population Regulation. That made it easier for him to expose the corruption happening within the bureau. Unfortunately, it caused a mass impeachment – including the impeachment of Henrik’s father and grandfather.”
I shake my head. “That’s terrible.”
“April doesn’t know about it,” Macy says, shaking her head. “Mind you, she can easily find out – it’s all over the net – but she doesn’t need to know that her legacy is built on deceit and corruption.”
I think about it for a moment. “I think April knows. At least, a part of her does. She may not want to believe it, but she probably knows.”
Macy closes her eyes. “I keep forgetting that she’s not a child anymore. I should be proud – but instead, I’m scared.”
“Why is that?”
She lights up another cigarette. I attempt to ignore the smoke invading my nostrils. “Do you know Gideon Hearthstrom?”
I let out a hollow laugh. I’m beginning to learn enough about Gideon to last me a lifetime. “Yes.”
“Well, Gideon was impeached when my husband accused him of corruption.”
My laughing immediately ceases. “That’s unfortunate.”
I know Gideon. He’s terrible with computers; but he’s also ruthless, determined, and ambitious – and I highly doubt that he’ll stand for a lowly MP like Henrik ruining his reputation.
“Being impeached doesn’t necessarily remove you from office,” Macy explains. “It’s just an accusation of unlawful activity. Gideon was accused of electing rivals, enemies, and people he didn’t like. In the end, the charges were dismissed. There wasn’t enough evidence to pursue a case against him.”
“I might have a case,” I say without a second thought. “I overheard something. There was a man in his office. He mentioned something about paying Gideon to ensure that a handful of people were elected. I guess you were one of them.”
Macy closes her eyes, taking a drag out of her cigarette.
“We can bring it to the media,” I go on, ignoring the defeat in Macy’s eyes. “If you back me up, I’m sure we can make front page news!”
; “Roman, be realistic.”
“About what?”
Macy shakes her head. “No matter what you overheard, Gideon Hearthstrom is still Gideon Hearthstrom.”
With her words, the only thing I hear is Gideon’s voice: “I thought you were the office assistant.” She’s right. I’m merely a low-level IT Technician, and Macy’s only claim to fame is the fact that she married Henrik McIntyre. We don’t stand a chance.
“Anyways,” Macy continues. “Gideon probably has a personal grudge against our family. That’s probably going to make it hard as hell to appeal – but you better believe that I’m going to fight. The last thing I want is for Gideon’s grudge to extend to my daughters.”
I think about the implications. I agree that I don’t want to see April or Autumn get hurt, but Macy’s explanation doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Hypothetically, if I were planning a revenge plot, wouldn’t I want to see that person suffer? Having that person watch their family die is the best way to make that happen – yet to do so, that person would still need to be alive. Gideon got rid of Henrik first and saved his family for last – so why would he do that if he was plotting revenge against Henrik?
I gaze at the elevator, wanting to try talking to April again. Macy takes notice and reassures me, “She’ll come around.”
I frown. “How do you know?”
“Because she loves you,” Macy says, as though the answer is obvious. She has no idea what effect those words have on me, nearly bringing me to my knees. “And if she’s smart, which I know she is, she’ll see how much you love her, too.”
I open my mouth to protest. I want to tell Macy that it’s impossible, that it’s too soon, and that there’s no way April could love me if she’s currently shutting me out. But she’s right about one thing: I, Roman Irvine, am in love with April McIntyre. I love her, even though she’s moody, spoiled, and slightly high maintenance. I love her, even though she refuses to acknowledge how kind-hearted and selfless than she is. I love her, and she’s the only girl that I could ever want in my life.
I’m not about to say all this to her mother, though. I stand up in preparation to leave for the night. “Macy, I just want you to know something.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t need to worry about Gideon’s grudge extending out to your daughters,” I say, my voice low. “I’ll make sure that they stay off that damn list, no matter what it takes.”
Macy shakes her head. “Whatever you do, please don’t do anything reckless. These are very powerful people, some of which are very dangerous.” She hesitates, then continues. “This is a government agency, and you’re just…” She trails off, and I have a feeling that I know what she’s going to say.
“I’m just an office assistant,” I mutter, repeating Gideon’s words.
“No,” Macy replies quickly. “I was going to say that you’re too in love with my daughter to think rationally.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
APRIL
T he house is empty when I finally leave my room. I was hoping to waltz into the kitchen and see my mother and Autumn sitting by the nook. I was planning on grabbing breakfast – real breakfast, as opposed to the snacks that I had stockpiled in my room – and pretend that the last week never happened. But there wasn’t anyone in the house.
I don’t see CLEO anywhere, so I pour myself a bowl of cereal and grab an apple that’s sitting in the pantry. I eat in front of the television, as my mother isn’t around to scold me for bringing food into the living room. I’m relishing in the feelings of freedom when I turn on the television.
My mother’s face fills the projection screen. I nearly spit my apple out.
“Mrs. McIntyre,” a male journalist says, chasing down my mother as she’s walking into the Divinity Bureau’s headquarters. “Are you nervous about your hearing?”
I recognize the looming Divinity Bureau headquarters in the background, and that’s when the pieces click into place. It’s my mother’s hearing – most likely, for an extension.
“No,” she replies briskly, without slowing her pace. “I am confident that I, and the thousands of others who were wrongly elected, have a high chance of reversing the decision.”
“What makes you say that?”
A wicked smile crosses her lips. “Because we’re willing to fight.”
I snort. So cliché.
“Like everyone else,” she continues. “We have a right to live – and we want to ensure that the Divinity Bureau honors that right.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she and Autumn are ushered off-screen by a man that I vaguely recognize as Leonard. The coverage cuts back to a newsroom, where a man and woman sit around a desk that takes up the entire newsroom.
“That’s Macy McIntyre,” the woman says diligently. “One of the five thousand underage elects this quarter. She is the widowed wife of former District 220 MP Henrik McIntyre, who was chosen by the bureau last year at the age of fifty.”
“It’s such a tragedy that both husband and wife were elected fifteen months apart,” the man remarks. “As a matter of fact, there are rumors that the McIntyre’s are cursed.”
Cursed?
“These rumors aren’t anything new,” the female reporter says. “As you may recall, the McIntyre curse has been going on for decades.”
I nearly choke on my apple.
“Ah, yes, the McIntyre Curse,” the male reporter says in a daze, as though an alleged curse is something to glamorize. “I see it didn’t end with Henrik McIntyre. As I recall, Henrik and Macy are the only McIntyre’s left.”
“Not exactly,” the female reporter corrects. “They have two daughters.”
The world has indeed gone crazy. I’ve been theorizing that my family was a target for well over a year, and it resulted in my arrest, mandatory therapy, and the questioning of my sanity. But two reporters were nonchalantly chatting about some “McIntyre Curse” on live television, and no one is batting an eye!
“Well, let us hope that the McIntyre Curse ends with Macy,” the male says. “Let’s go back to Christian Henderson, who is reporting to us live from the Divinity Bureau’s headquarters in District 1.”
My Mobiroid vibrates. I jump, engrossed in the news that I had nearly forgotten about the outside world. At first, I think that it’s Roman; but the name Tate Gallagher fills the screen.
I transfer the call to my earpiece. “Hello?”
Tate sounds astonished that I had picked up the phone in the first place. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply, though I feel anything except okay. “My mom is filing for an extension, which should hopefully go through. After that, we just need to keep our fingers crossed that the appeal goes through. She did look pretty darn good on the morning news, though.”
There’s a pause.
“Your mom was on the news?”
“Yeah. I guess the media took an interest in the fact that Henrik McIntyre’s wife was elected fifteen months after him. They were talking about something called the ‘McIntyre Curse.’”
“Your mom was elected!?” Tate asks in horror.
“Yeah,” I say, confused on how he didn’t know that. Then again, he’s too self-centered to pay attention to world events. “Wait, why are you calling me?”
“Well, you haven’t answered your phone in a week…”
“Don’t you watch the news?”
Tate sighs. “No. I hear enough about current events from our customers. A lot of people were telling me that the bureau decided to elect two thousand people –”
“Five thousand,” I correct.
“Five thousand!” Tate exclaims. “That’s crazy.” He clears his throat. “That’s messed up, though. I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem,” I say through gritted teeth, knowing that it’s a lie. “So, what were you calling me about?”
“Well, I didn’t see you on the schedule,” says Tate, and I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that I have a job that I’ve been neg
lecting for the past week. “And Josh told me that he called you.”
I glance at my Mobiroid and pull up my inbox. Six unheard voicemails. I groan. “I’m so fired, aren’t I?”
“After three ‘no call, no shows?’ I’m surprised you weren’t fired after the first one.”
“I was in over my head,” I admit, thinking about the blur that my emotions have been in the last few days. “I’m not even that close to my mother. I don’t know why her election is bothering me so much.”
“I do,” says Tate, his voice growing soft. “She’s your mother.”
I close my eyes. “I suppose you’re right.” I glance back at the television, where a reporter is interviewing the mother of the bureau’s youngest person elected: a nine-month-old infant. The mother, a woman named Rosalie Hannigan, speaks to the reporter with a shaking voice. I feel a pang in my chest at the sight of her wet eyes and pain-stricken face. “Listen, can we talk later? I want to see how my mother’s hearing is going?”
“Of course. Let me know how things go.”
I promise him that I’ll keep him in the loop and that we’d hang out when things calm down. As soon as I end the call, I turn my attention back to the news and keep my eyes glued to the screen for any mention of my family.
Two hours pass. I delete all six of my voicemails (two of which are from Roman, three from my former manager, and one from Tate), finish breakfast, and learn about several of the bureau’s elects. Some are high-profile celebrities, including a reality show star. But I realize that most of them are people that weren’t granted the opportunity to be immortal. Most were too poor to afford it. I think about the implications of this. Deciding when I’d become immortal has always been a looming shadow in my life. I can become immortal whenever I want; but for most, it took years of saving. For some, the choice doesn’t even exist.
I’m just about fed up with the coverage when I hear the doorway open. I think about my stance. Should I apologize? Should I pretend that nothing has happened? Should I hug my mother? The latter seems cliché. I opt to say nothing and let me mother notice me first.