The Divinity Bureau

by Tessa Clare

  Thanks to my early morning discussion with Roman, I’m running on little sleep. Groggily, I type in the only coffee shop I can think of into the GPS system – Dang Coffee – with the intention of paying Tate a visit. What I don’t expect to see is Darcy and Autumn ordering a pair of strawberry smoothies at the same shop. Autumn recognizes me before I have the chance to notice that it’s her pink jacket that’s in front of me. “April!”

  “What brings you out here?” Darcy asks. She has the same tone that she used during our sessions – halfway between curiosity and condescension.

  I shrug. The lack of sleep is making words come out of my mouth faster than I can stop them: “Nothing much. Just filing the application to get my sister back.” Autumn’s face lights up. That gives me more bravery. “You should be getting a visit from the sheriff’s deputy pretty soon. They’ve got all the details.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Autumn look as happy in her life. “Did you really?”

  I don’t answer, anticipating a response from Darcy. I expect an argument to start; but to my surprise, Darcy smiles. “I guess I’ll be on the lookout for that.”

  I stare at her, speechless.

  “The court will determine what’s best for you two,” Darcy replies, raising her hands up in surrender. “And that’s all I want. Must I remind you that your mother was my best friend?”

  I don’t need the reminder, as the fact was practically beaten into my head throughout the years. For a moment, I wonder if I’d ever feel the same way towards Tate’s kids, should he end up having them.

  Speaking of Tate…

  I glance around the shop. “Have you seen a blonde haired guy around? He’s about my height, talks with a lisp, and looks kind of like a frat boy?”

  Darcy opens her mouth to respond, but we’re interrupted by a man approaching our group. “Excuse me?”

  “You can cut in front of us,” I say absently. We are hovered in front of the cash register, probably interfering with any line formation.

  The man waves a dismissive hand. I can’t help but notice the wrinkles around his eyes. No doubt he hasn’t been rendered immortal yet. “I just couldn’t help but ask: are you April McIntyre?”

  Twice!

  I’ve been recognized twice in the last few days! I can’t wait to tell Roman and Tate.

  “I am,” I reply. My chest puffs out in newfound confidence. I hold my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. What’s your name?”

  The man’s gaze hardens. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  I retract my hand away quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend –”

  “It’s already hard enough out there!” he spits back. “The last thing we need is another BION Bot whining that they can’t have live forever!”

  “That’s not what –”

  It’s no use getting him to listen. He isn’t willing to hear anything that I have to say.

  “You deserve what you got,” he hisses. “In six weeks, we won’t have to listen to your shit anymore!”

  Autumn steps between the two of us. “Listen, you weathered waste of space –”

  Darcy’s mouth drops in horror. “Autumn!”

  But I can’t help but hear the last part of what he said. In six weeks?

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. I take a deep breath. Roman’s words from this morning race through my mind. I won’t be afraid of death. I won’t forget to live.

  The man gives me a toothless smile. “Oh! You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” I ask, stepping around Autumn. I’ve spent the last few months in paranoia that I’d be elected. He has to be messing with me. The election report isn’t even due to be released yet!

  “There was a leak at the bureau,” the man says. I hate the look of triumph on his face. “A few names were released early.”

  Leak? But the bureau’s system was impermeable!

  Unless…

  No.

  It wasn’t a leak. It was intentional.

  “How… how do you know?” I ask.

  The man glares at me coldly, before he turns to walk away. “Everyone knows.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ROMAN

  I wake up to the sound of someone knocking at my door. Maybe it’s just my imagination. I roll to my side, willing the pounding in my head to go away. It knocks again. And again. I glance at my Mobiroid: 1:45 PM. I’ve slept in. I don’t have any plans for the day, but I do have job applications to mull over. To do that, I need breakfast. Eggs and breakfast sound good, no matter what time of day it is. Hopefully, April won’t mind.

  Speaking of April…

  I glance around the room. She’s nowhere to be seen. Another knock comes, and I sigh. It looks like I don’t have any choice but to answer it. With a yawn, I grab the closest shirt I can reach and make my way towards the door. I call out, “Who is it?”

  “We’re looking for April McIntyre,” a male voice on the opposite side of the door answers. “Is she here?”

  That’s peculiar, I think. Then again, this is a girl that allegedly has a fan club.

  “She’s not,” I reply. “I can take a message, though.”

  There’s a pause.

  “Are you her boyfriend?” the man asks.

  Something clicks in my mind. Who is that man, and why did he say ‘we?’

  “Who are you?” I ask slowly.

  “My name is Carter,” he answers. “My partner and I are with High Life. We just had a few questions. Perhaps you might be able to help us out?”

  High Life. Why does it sound familiar?

  “Isn’t that the celebrity gossip blog?” I ask.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  I sigh, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Listen, I’m not interested in a subscription. I don’t follow celebrity news at all, and I know April doesn’t either.”

  To my surprise, Carter laughs. “My dear boy. We’re not here to sell you a subscription.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  A moment of silence passes. I imagine the bemused grin on the other side of the door. Carter retorts, “Haven’t you seen the news?”

  “Hey, it’s April. Leave a message.”

  It’s the third time I’ve heard April’s voicemail greeting in the last hour. By now, I’ve taken to hiding in the bathroom. Neville is curled up against my feet.

  “April, it’s Roman,” I say, growing restless. “I’m not sure if you’re getting these messages – but if you are, can you please call me? I think it’s urgent, but I don’t know what’s going on. Anyways, call me when you can.”

  I barely end the call when my Mobiroid vibrates. I hope that it’s April returning my calls, so I transfer the call to my earpiece without a second thought. I’m disappointed when I hear Tate’s voice on the other end. “Roman! Have you seen the news?”

  I press a hand to my temple. “It seems like everyone’s asking me that these days.” I glance at the closed door and lower my voice. The last thing I need is Carter listening to my conversations. “What’s going on?”

  “You haven’t seen it yet?”

  “I don’t have cable.”

  “It’s also all over the internet.”

  “I don’t have that, either.”

  I’m positive that Tate is grimacing at that statement. “How do you survive without cable and the internet?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, growing irritated that the conversation is keeping me from knowing what’s going on. “I guess it’s the same way I survived being unemployed and broke.”

  Tate makes a noise like he wants to comment, but he holds back by the realization that we have more important things to discuss. “Okay. Well, April is on the news.”

  “I gathered that.”

  Tate lets out a sigh. “To be honest, up until April started showing up, I didn’t pay a lot of attention to current events. Now, I’m glad that I do. Apparently, there was a leak at the Divinity Bureau –”

  �
��That’s impossible,” I dismiss. Right after Gideon thought that they’d been hacked, he made it a point to tighten security. Several of my tickets were about tightening loopholes. At this point, the bureau’s system should be impermeable.

  “April’s been elected.”

  I don’t know what to think. On the one hand, I’ve been anticipating this moment since the moment I met April. It’s haunted me – keeping me awake on some nights and giving me nightmares on others. Hearing those words makes me feel as though like I’m in one of those dreams.

  “How do you know?”

  Tate hesitates. Clearly, this is the last question he expected to hear. “Well, I was browsing the net –”

  “No, not that,” I clarify, pressing my hands to my temples. “How do they know?”

  “Like I said, there was a leak…”

  “Are you with her now?”

  “No, I’m sitting in traffic on my way home from work. I left about an hour ago…”

  She was planning on going to the courthouse, which is only a short drive away from the coffee shop. She likely would have stopped in. If she did, Tate must have missed her. I’m about to ask him to turn around and see if she’s there, but my Mobiroid vibrates. I glance at my wrist: ‘Incoming call: April McIntyre.’

  I feel as though the air has been sucked out of my lungs.

  “April is calling me,” I tell him. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thanks.” There’s a long silence, and I think he’s about to hang up – but he stops me. “Roman?”

  I don’t have a lot of time before April’s call forwards to voicemail, but something about his tone prevents me from ending the call. “Yeah?”

  He hesitates. “When you have nothing left…”

  “’You have nothing left to lose,’” I say, having heard the line more times than I can count. “I know.”

  “I know you’re scared of what she’s going to do,” Tate says quietly. “But she still has something to lose. She has you.”

  I swallow, the words lost in my throat. The truth is, I’m not scared of what she’s going to do. I’m scared of what I’m going to do.

  Fortunately, I’m spared from elaborating on my feelings when I answer the call on the other end. I let out a breath of relief. “April! I’m so glad you called…”

  “This is Darcy Gray,” a monotone voice on the other end interjects. “Is this April’s boyfriend?”

  My mouth hangs open for a moment, but I clear my throat. “Yes. Yes, it is.” I glance at my Mobiroid, wondering if I’ve misread the caller ID. “I’m sorry, but why do you have April’s Mobiroid?”

  “You must not remember me,” the clipped voice says. “We met when April brought me to your apartment to pick up Autumn.”

  “No, I remember you,” I clarify. “I’ll ask again: why do you have April’s Mobiroid?”

  There’s a sigh on the other end. “She had a panic attack. She started losing her breath, and then she fainted. Her earpiece came out of her ear…”

  So, she knows.

  “We ran into her at the coffee shop,” Darcy continues. “I’m not sure if you know…”

  “She’s been elected,” I say hopelessly. I want to say that I was surprised, but I knew this day would come. I thought that I’d feel worse, but I don’t know how long we could’ve gone stressing out every three months and continuing to look over our shoulders.

  “There’s a reason why I’m calling,” says Darcy. “I was wondering if you could pick her up from my office. I brought her here, but it’s getting late – and I don’t think she should be alone.”

  I peek my head out the bathroom to see if Carter and his partner are still outside of my apartment. I don’t hear anything, but I can see the shadows of their feet in the doorway. “I can’t go anywhere. There’s paparazzi outside my door.”

  “Then make them leave!”

  I hesitate. “I don’t think April should be here either. Not until they leave.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  I can hear a growl of frustration on the other end. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”

  Not a very good one, apparently – but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have gates to keep the paparazzi out. And in her current state, there isn’t any way that she’ll be able to talk to the press.

  “Please,” I beg, my voice cracking. “Bring April back to the mansion. Her house has a pretty good security system, so it should keep the paparazzi away. Tell her that I’ll let her know when it’s safe to come home.”

  That’s the last thing I say before I hang up the phone and curl into a ball. The knocking on the door lines up in sync with the pounding in my head.

  The knocking ceases by sunset. It may have stopped a few hours before that, but that’s when I finally muster the bravery to stick my head out the door to make sure that Carter and his partner are gone.

  ME: They’re gone. It’s safe to come home now.

  It doesn’t even hit me until that moment that home isn’t just my apartment. It’s ours.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do if the election goes through. Right now, the apartment – as small as it is – feels empty without April lounging on the futon as she paints her nails and without the smell of food burning in the kitchen. It’s lonely to cook a meal for one person, and even more desolate to eat with nothing but my own company – as I’m doing now.

  ME: I'm sorry that I wasn't able to get you today. If you saw the way the paparazzo was trying to hound me, you'd understand. I know you're going through a rough time right now; but please, let me be there for you.

  A memory comes to mind: April kissing me in the middle of a protest and telling me that I was a hero to her. Could I still be that man for her?

  An hour goes by. No response. Soon, the sun has fully set into the horizon, and it’s been a few hours since I told April that she could come home. She still hasn’t. I contemplate on sending her another message, but something doesn’t feel right. I don’t think I’ll be able to get a straight answer from her over text message, so I do the only thing that does feel right: I grab my keys and drive to the mansion. No matter what I do, it doesn’t feel like I can get to April quickly enough. The traffic congestion before me is suddenly unbearable. Why can’t they build better roads? I give up the façade of pretending that my car’s self-driving feature is working and speed past the cars that get in my way. I’ll probably have a few traffic tickets in the mail before the night is over.

  It’s dark when I find myself in front of the mansion. I vaguely remember the door code and let myself through the iron gates. I pull into April’s driveway and park next to her car. But when I step outside of the vehicle, I stop in my tracks.

  In a moment of déjà vu, the scene before me looks familiar. April’s car door is swung open. Two suitcases are in the backseat. Her computer screen is completely ruined, exposed wires floating in the dashboard. It looks like someone had taken a hammer and smashed the front interior to pieces. I can’t place my finger on why the scene looks familiar. Did it appear in a dream? Or did someone describe it to me once...?

  Someone has. April did, shortly after her mother was elected. She must have taken inspiration from her mother.

  I kick the front door down and make my way up the stairs.

  “April!”

  No answer.

  “April!” I call out again.

  So far, she’s nowhere to be found; but her house will take hours for me to search in its entirety. I decide to start with the most logical place: her bedroom. The elevator is too slow for my patience, so I run up the stairs to the top floor. When I reach the top, I call her name again: “April!”

  April emerges from the bedroom a few moments later, her eyes wild and her body ready to pounce on the intruder. She relaxes a second later when she realizes that it’s only me, but confusion remains. “Roman? How did you get in here?”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I w
alk up to April. She’s shaking. I do the only thing I can think of: wrap my arms around her. I press my lips against her temple. Everything is going to be okay. I’ll do anything to prove it. I kiss her neck, her hair, her forehead – and I’m all but ready to take her in the bedroom, but she’s not reciprocating my affection.

  I pull away and tilt her chin so that she’s looking at me. “I heard what happened.”

  “Everyone has,” April says flatly.

  “I just want you to know that it doesn’t change anything,” I declare earnestly. “No matter what happens. Elected or not, you’re the last girl that I’ll ever be in love with.”

  She sucks in a breath like she’s been punched. It hits me at that moment that I had yet to tell her those words until now. In all fairness, I never thought that I needed to. I figured it’d show in every touch, every kiss, every stolen glance…

  But April is biting her lip. Something is wrong.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask, brushing a stray hair from her face.

  “We need to talk,” April says, not meeting my gaze. “Can we sit down somewhere?”

  I shake my head. “No. Every time a conversation starts with ‘we need to talk,’ it usually means that something is going to end.”

  I’ve only heard it once in my life. I had hoped to never hear those words out of April’s mouth.

  “Roman –”

  “Just tell me that this isn’t going to end,” I plead, grabbing her hands. They feel clammy to the touch. I told myself that I’d keep her safe. I anticipated the possibility that death would break us apart; but never, in a million years, did I think we’d end because of something as juvenile as a breakup. The thought makes me dizzy. “Tell me that it isn’t over. And I’ll sit down anywhere with you. We can talk about everything and anything; but please, tell me that it isn’t over.”