Angel Eyes

by Nicole Luiken

If he was hurt… if she’d dared… I dug my fingernails into my palms to clear away the red hazing my vision. “I’m waiting.”

  “I’ll call back.” Black screen.

  I concentrated on breathing in and out through my teeth. Even if my clone couldn’t produce Mike it didn’t mean he was dead. He could’ve escaped. Knowing Mike, that was even likely. But my stomach remained clenched, and I tasted bile.

  I started to redirect the driver to Witham, then stopped myself. Devon might be tracking me; if the airtaxi changed course she would know. I had to treat this like a giant game of chicken: no course change until I had proof of life.

  I passed the time watching more spycam footage of Devon and Mike eating breakfast. They both looked—nervous?—their body language by turns tense and too expansive. Their behaviour reminded me of two people on a first date, trying hard to impress each other, to be “on” all the time.

  Whenever Clone Girl turned her back, Mike lost his easy smile. He knew something was wrong, but not what. Come on, figure it out. Except I already knew she’d caught him with a Knockout patch.

  Skip, skip… in the living room now with the aforementioned burgundy cushions. Skip—

  I winced at the sight of Mike kissing my clone. Telling myself the fist gripping my chest was heartburn, I skipped forward another ten seconds. Yes! Mike had her in a headlock. I grinned fiercely, watching their ensuing battle at regular speed.

  Unfortunately, Mike still lost to her Knockout patches, only gasping out the security code word at the end. And now Clone Girl had the nerve to cry again. I glared at her. She’d chosen to do this.

  Eight minutes now since my last contact from Devon. How far away from Mike was she? Hurry up.

  Skip, skip, skip. Clone Girl blew her nose, then produced more props from her second bag and started snapping pictures. Her face was totally businesslike as she removed his shirt, which both relieved and puzzled me. Mike had a great chest with clearly defined muscles and a nice tan.

  When she’d finished, she dressed him again almost tenderly, even going to the trouble of adding his black leather jacket and shoes.

  Next she snagged Mike’s keys and left, returning with the laundry cart. I stopped the recording when it overlapped with what I’d viewed earlier. No clues there.

  Ping. I held my breath as I pressed Accept.

  A close-up video of Mike and Devon appeared. His eyes were still closed, showing thick eyelashes. My anger rushed back. How many bloody Knockout patches had she used on him? It was dangerous to keep someone under too long. “Sorry Michael can’t talk right now. He’s very tired—long day at the office—but as you can see he’s sleeping well.”

  The rise and fall of his chest reassured me and sent a new surge of strength to limbs cramped by fear. “Let’s deal,” I said.

  Ping. I automatically looked at my screen, but the noise came from her side of the connection.

  Devon fake-frowned. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” A pink On Hold message appeared.

  I knew the tactic was designed to make me mad and give her the upper hand, but I still fumed.

  Five minutes passed before she deigned to return. I took pains to look bored.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,’ she said breezily. “I just got another offer for the goods in question.” She stroked her hand down Mike’s leather-clad arm.

  “If you’re trying to drive up the price, forget it.” I folded my arms, scoffing, but my mouth dried. Was the other offer real or a bluff? Offer from whom? I refused to ask.

  Fortunately, Devon was happy to tell me. “Ever heard of Nations Against?”

  I shrugged. “Should I have?”

  “Yes,” she said flatly. “They want to exterminate our kind, so yes, you should have heard of them.”

  Hate crimes against the violet-eyed were nothing new. People had been trying to kill me since I was three years old.

  “Sorry,” I said insincerely. “But do continue with the fascinating lecture.”

  Her lips tightened. “As I said, they’ve made an offer. Now, I have nothing personal against Michael—“ She stroked his sleeve again. “He’s super-hot and a good kisser—“

  My muscles tensed, but I let the taunt pass.

  “—but a girl’s gotta eat.”

  “Whatever they’re offering I doubt it includes a golden ticket,” I said coolly. “You can get cash anywhere. Golden tickets? Much rarer.” I took mine out and played with it. “Plus Nations Against want to kill you so collecting the cash may be a bit tricky.”

  “True…” She tapped her chin. “Of course, you may be feeling a trifle vindictive. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you first option. Mail me what I want, and I’ll give you the coordinates to find Michael. I’ll need to see the ticket go in the mail drop, of course—”

  A mail drop? How amateur. “No deal,” I said quickly. “No ticket until I can see Mike with my own eyes or what’s to stop you from selling the info to the hate-crimers, too?”

  She simmered for a minute. “Fine. Continue to the amusement park. I’ll give you more directions when you’re closer.”

  A premonition blew through me like an arctic blizzard. “You’re going to sell the info to both of us. Double the profit.” That’s the way people like her thought.

  A pause, then her chin lifted. Was mine that pointy? “Yes, I am. But as I said, I have nothing against Michael. Give me the ticket, and I’ll give you a head start.” She sneered. “That should be all you need since you’re so super-smart.”

  Blank screen.

  #

  Devon’s last message included a countdown. When I arrived at the amusement park, I had eleven minutes before Devon released Mike’s whereabouts to the hate-crimers.

  Oddly, I believed her when she said she’d rather I reached Mike first. Her reaction to him had been more complex than taking down a target. Unless she’d known about the cameras and was faking me out. I’d had time on the interminable trip to review the footage from Mike’s apartment again, and I didn’t think she’d been aware of the spycams, but… I wasn’t about to bet Mike’s life on her crocodile tears. Not when a little digging had turned up the fact that she was a serious VR player, competing in at least fifteen tournaments a year and usually ranking in the top ten.

  I’d also done a quick search on the hate-crime group she’d mentioned, but hadn’t pulled up anything more than rhetoric—or vitriol, rather. Just words, no actions—unless you counted a penchant for changing their first names to ones like ‘China’ and ‘India’. But perhaps they meant to change that.

  My instincts screamed that I was walking into a trap. But Devon had Mike so I did it anyway.

  Which didn’t mean I had to be stupid about it. Before entering the park, I stopped at an outdoor kiosk and purchased a furry orange-and-blue hat. I jammed it on my head, then drew lipstick hearts on each cheek. Now everyone looking at me would goggle at my bad taste, and not register my features. At least in theory.

  I paid the entrance fee and slipped inside. Devon had said she would find me, but I intended to find Mike first. Where, I wondered, could one stash an unconscious man and not risk him being noticed?

  *MIKE*

  Around, around, around. Mike woke up feeling woozy, and when he opened his eyes the world spun around him. He twitched, but his arms didn’t move, pinned to his sides.

  He shook his head and enough brain cells clanged together to puzzle out the truth. He was sitting on a bench attached to one of the bars of a giant hexagonal wheel. The wheel turned, swooping down almost to the ground, then travelling backward and up, around and around again. Nausea churned in his stomach.

  The bars on the wheel pushed down giant holographic stalks of wheat, which were then snipped off by a row of saw teeth below. He lifted his feet to keep them from being chopped off, then realized on the upswing that the saw teeth were holograms, too. Only the wheel was real.

  Calliope music and flashing lights and the scent of stale popcorn provided the rest of the clues. He was
at an amusement park on some sort of Ferris wheel-type ride, designed to look like a giant combine.

  How much time had passed since—

  Memory exploded behind his eyes. Black Eyes—Angel’s clone in his apartment. The Knockout patch.

  Was that a patch on his neck? He tried to rub it off on his shoulder, cursing his restricted arms.

  Screams of glee attracted his attention to a row of ten people seated on the bar ahead of him. It struck him as ominous that he was the only passenger on his bar.

  Sure enough, when the ride stopped, the bar ahead of him touched down gently. The riders stepped off and were whisked away by a conveyor belt into the rest of the ride.

  He remained dangling ten feet off the ground, locked in both by a lap bar and the kind of safety harness you might use on a toddler.

  “Hey!” He directed his voice at the ride operator, a big bald man in gray coveralls and red rubber boots. “Could you let me down, please?”

  The man ambled over, taking care to stay out of reach of Mike’s feet. The grin on his face put Mike on edge. “What seems to be the problem?” the bald man asked.

  “I’m stuck. Could you unlock my safety harness?” Although he was pretty sure it was a lost cause, Mike kept his voice polite.

  Another wide grin. “Why, no, I don’t believe I can. But don’t worry. A pretty little lady paid for your ride in advance. In fact, she paid for you to stay there all afternoon. So you just hang loose and have fun. And next time? Think twice before dumping someone the night before Prom. That’s just low.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Mike said tightly. “She’s playing you.”

  The bald man laughed and patted his wallet. “You think I care?” He jacked up the music before unchaining the gate so that if Mike yelled for help the new riders wouldn’t hear him. Bizarrely, the lyrics seemed to be about harvesting crops.

  Mike narrowed his eyes in thought as the wheel began to spin again. His arms were pinned above the elbow, but he managed to search his pants pockets. He identified a cough drop, his keys, a scrap of paper and some lint. It wasn’t very promising, but Angel had once saved herself from being brainwashed with nothing more than a paper clip, so he had to try.

  His stomach swooped as the wheel began to spin faster, a side effect of too many doses of Knockout.

  Grimly, Mike sawed the serrated edge of the key against the tough nylon strap. This was going to take time. He hoped Black Eyes was having fun. Because when he caught up with her it was going to be payback time.

  *ANGEL*

  Ping.

  I dug out my palmtop and viewed a new message from Devon.

  “He’s on Threshing Machine. Thx for the tix.”

  What? Surely, I would’ve noticed if she’d picked my pocket— I unzipped the pocket on my jeans where I was keeping the golden ticket and found it still there. A second later I realized my mistake. Devon was watching me right now, and I’d just shown her where I kept the ticket.

  I shrugged mentally. Ultimately, the ticket didn’t matter. Mike did.

  Besides, she’d still have to catch me.

  In case she’d laid a trap, I didn’t take the most direct route to the giant combine-shaped Threshing Machine ride, circling around the Pasteurizer (a log ride), then ducking down and running at a crouch past Twirling Tractor Tires full of shrieking toddlers.

  Though the Harvest Fair purported to have educational value, with cool science exhibits about the importance of agriculture and the Blight, over two thirds of its acreage was devoted to rides. Most of the crowds were concentrated there. Everyone seemed to be doing one of three things: riding rides, lining up for rides, or munching ‘healthy’ snacks like multi-grain pretzels or corn on the cob. Different music blared from each attraction.

  Unfortunately, there was only one entrance to the Threshing Machine. Standing in line would’ve made me vulnerable to Devon’s pickpocketing plan, so I ducked under the rope and smiled at the geeky fifteen-year-old boy who was second in line. “Thanks for saving me a space, Jason!”

  Before he could deny knowing me, I discreetly handed him a twenty dollar card. His eyes widened, but he took the money. “Glad you could make it, uh, Sara.”

  The couple behind us grumbled under their breaths, but I ignored them.

  The bald man running the attraction unhooked the chain, but didn’t let anyone in. The hard stare he directed at me didn’t match his folksy Farmer costume.

  My heart thumped at the recognition in his eyes. He knew Devon. “I saw you jump the queue. Go to the end of the line.” Where Devon could put her plan into effect.

  I took out the golden ticket and held it up. “Know what this is worth?”

  He licked his lips in greed, instantly willing to double cross Devon. “That’ll do.” He reached for the ticket.

  I snatched it back. “First, where is he?”

  The bald man pointed with one sausage finger to the combine reel. I frowned. The seats were all empty— Something moved, a dangling foot, and I saw that someone was seated on the bench above us. Dark hair, slightly crooked nose—Mike.

  I handed over the ticket. I didn’t doubt that Devon would steal it back from him, but I hoped she’d be inconvenienced. I was already running. Mike, Mike, Mike.

  I jumped up and caught the bench above me, making it sway slightly. I hauled myself up beside Mike.

  “I’ll have you out of there in a second,” I said, using my knife to sever the harness. It had already started to fray in one spot.

  Mike squinted at me. “Angel. That’s a terrible hat.” His voice sharpened. “What’s Wendy’s middle name?”

  I grinned, understanding what he was truly asking. “Beatriz. I’m not Clone Girl, I promise. The dye job was for Halloween. I went as Frankenstein’s monster.”

  The strap separated, and Mike fell forward. I grabbed his shirt. Another hot surge of anger shook me. How much Knockout had Devon used on him that he was this woozy? “Roll onto your stomach and dangle your legs over the edge,” I instructed him.

  He obeyed. We both hung for a second, then let go together. I landed in a crouch; Mike lay on his back as if winded.

  I bent over him—and a bullet pinged off a metal strut above us.

  “Get down!” Mike yanked me on top of him, then rolled so that his body covered mine as somebody snapped off a second shot. My hat fell off, and I saw a neat hole in the crown.

  The combine reel started to spin and the conveyor belt jerked to life underneath us.

  Chapter Six

  ANGEL

  Clang! Another bullet whined by.

  “Roll!” I yelled. Mike held me tight, and we rolled left until the conveyor belt dipped down into a dark hollow lit only by the glowing wheat holograms.

  Once we were safe, I grinned up at Mike, adrenaline and relief fizzing through my veins. “So how have you been? In the last 24 hours I’ve had my client kidnapped, almost crashed an aircar, been arrested and found out I have an evil twin.”

  Mike blinked, then smiled down at me, warmth in his eyes. “My day sucked, too—but it just got a whole lot better.” He set his lips on mine in a quick, hot kiss—a promise for later—then climbed to his feet.

  He took a quick step to the side before recovering his balance. It could’ve been the moving conveyor, or he could still be dizzy from the Knockout. I watched him anxiously as we jogged in place to keep from being carried forward. Golden wheat stalks streamed past us. Something rumbled up ahead.

  “Who’s shooting at us?” Mike asked. “Black Eyes?”

  “Ooh, good nickname, but I doubt it. She sold your location to some hate-crime group.” A remembered burn of outrage made my hands clench.

  “They’ll be waiting for us at the exit,” Mike said.

  We could treadmill in place until another group of riders moved through and leave with them, thus depriving the sniper of a clear shot. But if the sniper was a fanatic, he might not care if he hurt innocents so long as we died. Better to find another way out. F
ast, before they came in after us.

  I read the same thoughts in Mike’s grim expression. “Get off early?” he suggested, raising his voice over the music.

  I nodded. We both stood still and let the ride sweep us forward.

  The rumbling sound grew to thunderstorm proportions. A huge, star-shaped wheel came into view, grinding the holographic wheat stalks. From the heavy rock lyrics blasting around us, I surmised it was the threshing drum, which separated the grain from the straw and chaff.

  The ride appeared to feed straight into the drum, but a closer look revealed that only the holograms went straight. The conveyor belt dipped well underneath it. Even a basketball player would have no difficulty passing underneath safely.

  The holographic heads of wheat, each as long as my body, fell to moving screens below, where they were shaken into individual grains.

  While in line outside, I’d seen the riders and kernels of grain move up a glassed-in spiral staircase labelled ‘the augur’, then shoot out a spout and land on an air mattress in a giant truck at the end of the ride. We needed to get off well before then.

  Mike pointed up at the floating holographic straw, but I hesitated. The leap looked fairly acrobatic. “Can you make it? Has the Knockout worn off?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Mike yelled.

  And then we were out of time to discuss it. When the ride shot underneath the threshing drum, we jumped together.

  Hands slapped metal, and I reveled in how perfectly in tune Mike and I were. I’d missed this—him—so much.

  A blast of warm air from below caught me by surprise. My fingers slipped. I hung for a moment from one hand, before the turning of the threshing drum itself gave me a foothold.

  Mike’s face had drained of colour, but he forced a grin. “A bit clumsy there. Aren’t I supposed to be the dizzy one?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Once at the top of the turning star, we kept scrambling over the moving points while scanning for a way out.

  The floating straw was kneaded under by a triangular beater, then spewed onto three shaking screens before being blown out the back. I could see blue sky and daylight. The question was: which parts were real and which only hologram?