Spellhacker

by M. K. England

  “You see what I see?” I ask as I yank my cables free. When I look up, his expression is dark.

  “Someone broke in and installed that device specifically to target you all,” he says.

  “Specifically to kill us,” I correct. “Thousands of units of firaz to the face isn’t all that conducive to living.”

  He checks the code again and his mouth presses into a hard line.

  Yes, someone actually tried to kill us. They probably sent the guy who offered us the job to find me, made sure we’d be coming back to this spot. Those bastards.

  They could have killed my friends. Remi, Ania, and Jaesin, they almost killed them.

  But why?

  “I have to get back to the others,” I say, shoving my deck in my pocket. “They have to know.”

  Davon shakes his head slowly as I push past him to get at the pressure regulator—the evidence—with my screwdriver.

  “Whoa, whoa, can we slow down for a second?” he asks. “Let’s stop and think.”

  I pause with my cables half coiled to stuff back in my pocket and look up. “What’s there to think about?”

  He sighs, looks to the ceiling for a moment, then comes forward and puts both hands on my shoulders again, the way my mom used to when she had something serious to say.

  “I think you need to leave that unit right where it is.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off with a gesture. “Hear me out. Right now, it’s a critical piece of evidence that proves you weren’t responsible for the disaster at the station. If you remove it, then when the MMC crews come to investigate, they won’t find anything to exonerate you. I just . . .”

  He pulls me into his chest like he did earlier in the night, but this time it makes my skin itch. I’m vibrating with the need to move, to run, to do something.

  “Someone tried to kill you, Dizzy,” he continues, voice strangled. “And you did something really illegal. You’re in a bad position, maybe even more than you realize. This city is just looking for reasons to put orphans like us in custody so they can serve us with mandatory work orders, force us into the factories or into sanitation or whatever. A court could ban you from touching a deck again for years, Diz.”

  It’s like a hook in my gut, tugging me open and spilling me out over the filthy sewer ground. I can’t go without my deck. Coding is complicated, immersive, powerful . . . distracting. It’s what I’m good at. It’s everything.

  But my friends . . . they’re everything too. If they aren’t already gone.

  I have to get back to them.

  I shake my head and shove the cables in my pocket, but step away from the auxiliary pressure unit. “Fine. I’ll leave the box, but I at least have to let my friends know. I can’t let them carry this around, thinking they killed all those people. And they need to know that someone’s after us.”

  “And then? After that?” Davon asks.

  “I DON’T KNOW,” I snap, far louder than is really smart, given the circumstances. But I don’t care. Can’t care. It’s all so much. My head’s louder than the most crowded club in town, and I can barely think.

  Davon watches me with a careful expression, automatically switching to Diz Gloves mode. Caution: Watch for thorns. Handle with care. He purses his lips, then nods. “MMC could take care of you, you know. If you take the job. You wouldn’t be the first black-market siphoner they’ve hired. They could use your skills.”

  “Before, yeah, sure.” I bite my lip and look away, taking one breath, two. Time to let myself admit it out loud. The truth that doesn’t matter anymore.

  “I was gonna take the job, you know. I really was. But now that my last siphoning job blew up one of their stations and killed some of their employees? Not gonna happen.”

  “But it wasn’t you. The evidence is right here. I know the people in charge of IT, Diz, and they’ll be reasonable. I’ll tell them where to look for the evidence, and they’ll look. They’ll find it, and they’ll come to the same conclusion you did. And they’ll hire you, because you’re amazing at what you do, and they’ll protect you, because MMC protects its own. They need people like you, and you need them. You have a sweet deal here. And it’s not off the table yet.”

  “DOWN HERE!” a harsh voice shouts from the direction of the station. Far down the tunnel, three lights bob and grow larger as the sound of splashing boots draws closer. The ominous click of weapons being readied sends a jolt of adrenaline straight to my heart. Davon’s eyes go wide, and he takes me by the shoulders.

  “Go,” he says, nearly a whisper. “I have my badge with me. I’ll tell them I was investigating the accident.”

  “No, you’ll get in trouble, you’ll lose your job,” I say, gripping his sleeves and trying to drag him with me. I can’t have that on my conscience too. His job means so much to him.

  “I won’t,” he says, giving me a gentle shove away. “I’ve got good security clearance. It’ll be fine. Go!”

  I hesitate another second longer, then finally turn and take off with reluctant steps in the opposite direction.

  Please let him be okay. The rhythm of every footfall is filled with my silent begging. Please, please, please, please. Once I’m far enough away, I reach into my pocket and lob my tiny drone into the air to scout the tunnels ahead for more MMC security guards. A moment later, a notification pops up in my lenses.

  Davon: I’m fine. They believed me, and we’re cataloging the evidence together now. They’ll know it wasn’t your fault.

  Please message me later, Diz. I’m serious.

  I still want you to stay here and work with me. We’re family, right? It’ll be fine. Your job offer is still safe. I’ll take care of you. Promise.

  I bark a harsh laugh in the echoing cavern of the sewer tunnel.

  Yeah. Right. I’m sure Davon believes all of that with his whole heart, but I wouldn’t take that job if they offered me a million credits.

  Because I’m pretty sure it’s Maz Management that wants us dead in the first place.

  Thirteen

  THE SUN IS WELL ON its way to full morning, turning everything to golden softness, by the time I finally get back to Ania’s neighborhood, ready to collapse.

  I walked. The whole way. My feet ache with blisters, and my legs are screaming at me to just sit the hell down already.

  I nearly caved and called a RidePod no less than seven times, thinking I’d just risk creating a new profile to link to one of our shell bank accounts. Too dangerous, though. Not when I’m still the only one of our group who knows what happened. Call me paranoid, but I even kept silent on messaging and calls all night too. Didn’t wanna be tracked or intercepted. The downside of being a hacker—you know exactly how insecure all your info really is.

  I slip through the trashcan-lined backstreet behind Ania’s row of houses as quickly as I can, trying to play it as natural as possible, like I totally belong here. As if anyone could ever believe that, especially with me stained and stinking like sewage. Again. History repeats itself in truly obnoxious ways sometimes.

  The ground-level window I left through is still open when I get back to Ania’s house. I can picture exactly how it went—Remi would have turned on Jaesin and reamed him out as quietly as possible, Ania would have stepped in to defend him, and the whole thing would have devolved until they all went to bed early, everyone too pissed and too proud to be the one to close the window. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I picture the scenario, perfectly clear in my mind. I know them all a hundred times better than I know myself, so their edges are sharp and defined, their voices practically audible. I need to hear them all again for real.

  With a quick glance around, I sit on the still-wet ground and stick my feet through the window opening, bracing my hands on the expertly masoned brick exterior of the house. Hips next, then boobs (ow), shoulders, and finally my head as I fall to the couch beneath the window, smearing the delicate white fabric with the caked mud from my boots. I got way messier than usual in the haste of my unco
ordinated escape, and Ania’s couch is paying the price.

  The room is silent, peaceful and still. They’re probably all still asleep, nestled in among Ania’s soft, expensive bedsheets and pillows. Good; that gives me a minute to pull myself together and figure out how to tell them everything. I wipe my sleeve over my eyes, the fabric coming away smeared with the grime of the sewers and some of the cheap makeup disguise I applied. I probably look an utter mess, but they’ve seen me at my worst. Besides, priorities.

  I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and let it out as I walk over to the spare bedroom.

  “Remi?” I whisper, gently pushing the cracked door open. “Jaesin?”

  I stop dead in the doorway.

  The bed is made. The pillows look untouched, undented by sleeping heads. There are no discarded clothes, no vials of maz, no traces of habitation at all.

  Nothing.

  My breath comes in burning gasps as I stumble back out of the room and burst through the door to Ania’s.

  A handwritten letter lies atop her perfectly made comforter of purple and blue flowers, the barest edge of lavender sheet folded over the top. My eyes sting, and my legs are wooden as I make my way over, lifting the expensive plum-edged stationery off the bed.

  Mom and Dad,

  I tried to get in touch with you, but couldn’t get through for some reason. Morning rush hour, maybe? Anyway, I’ve been second-guessing the choice I made for college, so I’m going to visit the University of Jattapore. I’m taking a tour of their campus and meeting the head of the department to see if I want to go there instead of Lon Flaum, just to make sure I made the right decision. Sorry for ditching you at the last minute! I should be back in a few days. I’ve got everything I need and will call you when I get there. Have a great time at the gala on Firaday, if it’s still happening after that horrible accident. I emailed this same message to your secretary, too, so I hope you’ll get it today. See you soon.

  Love,

  Ania

  I let the letter fall from my fingers and drift back to the floral bedspread.

  They left me.

  They really did just leave me behind.

  They said they would, but some part of me apparently didn’t believe it, because my chest feels like a black hole, caving in on itself with a swirling mess of shock and pain. And fear. Total, petrifying fear.

  I really am on my own now.

  I sit down hard on the edge of the bed, heedless of the mess I must be making, and hold my head in my hands, burying my fingers in the longer portion of my hair. The strands feel greasy and disgusting between my fingers, and probably look just as bad. Dirty tears slide through the grime on my cheeks and drip onto my stained pants, leaving little dark circles. I’m disgusting, a mess, inside and out. Ruined.

  Why did I ever expect anything else?

  I haven’t truly cried in years, which I’ve always considered a point of pride for some reason. In the last day, though, I’ve cried more than I have since my mom died. Yet another thing gone. Another thing I’ve held on to that’s lost, over, ended, gone in the span of one heaving sob.

  Fuck absolutely everything.

  Filthy droplets splash onto Ania’s pristine wooden floors, pooling where they fall with not even the barest gap between boards to settle into. I cry until my throat is raw and my nose is too clogged to breathe, until my chest aches and I feel wrung out, exhausted.

  Empty.

  I pull my hands back from my face, blinking against the sudden brightness on my swollen eyes. My hands are washed clean where I had them cupped them over my eyes, but the rest of me is still crusted with dirt and worse, my smell a nauseating contrast to the room’s pure, clean scent.

  A shower. I can at least use Ania’s shower before her parents get home, then figure out what to do after that. A clean head is a clear head, or so my dad always used to say. It can’t hurt.

  I sniffle and dash my tears away with an angry swipe.

  Enough. Pull it together, Diz. You’re harder than this. You grew up in group homes. You lived in the Caves for a year before you got into the Cliffs. You’ve gotten by your whole life. This is no different. You knew they were going to leave.

  You don’t need them. You don’t.

  Let. It. Go.

  I wipe my nose on my sleeve and stand, pressing my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth to push the last of the tears away. Sitting there and crying about it isn’t going to help anything. It’s time to move forward, on my own two feet. Take care of me, like Davon always says I’m so good at. I have to look after myself.

  With that thought, I square my shoulders and rip the now-filthy cover off Ania’s bed, stuffing it down her laundry chute on my way to her en suite bathroom. My boots come off first, toed off so I don’t have to touch them, and my socks follow, with much wobbly balancing. The alternating blue and white tiles are cold under my feet, solid and grounding. I toss my boots into the shower to rinse them off first so I won’t have to handle them after I’m clean, but just as I reach out for the hot-water knob—a rhythmic thump, thump, thump overhead.

  Footsteps. Ania’s parents are still home.

  My heart hammers against my rib cage. If I’d turned the water on, that would have been it, they’d have found me and called the police, and no job with MMC would have saved me. I hold my breath and strain to listen for more indications. Are they leaving soon? Or do I have to wait for hours? Or leave in my current state and find a shelter that’ll let me use their shower?

  I’m so screwed.

  I tug my socks and boots back on hurriedly, swearing under my breath as my fingers get tangled in a threadbare hole. I have to get out before they find me, have to call Davon for a ride—

  Another thump, thump, thump, then a stumble, a crash, and peals of laughter.

  Familiar laughter.

  They haven’t left yet.

  I crumple in on myself, arms wrapped around my torso like I’m holding my own organs in. They haven’t left.

  My heart in my throat, I dash for the staircase leading up to the main floor of the house and burst through the door, leaving my dirty footprints everywhere. As I stumble through, everyone turns to look at me, their eyes wide, confused, concerned, and in Jaesin’s case especially, still angry.

  Remi and Jaesin are showered, shoes on, dressed in new clothes. Considering we had to leave all our things behind, I bet they ordered new ones for drone delivery last night. Remi looks well, all things considered. Like they got a good night of sleep, recovering from yesterday. Ania’s eyes are narrow as she takes in my appearance, a few curls popping out from under her satiny purple headwrap. Everything about her body language says furious, from the folded arms to the raised chin to the one foot stuck out at an angle. All three of them sit at the kitchen island with bowls of fruit in front of them. Three travel backpacks sit to one side, two of them brand-new.

  Because they were planning to leave without me.

  They just haven’t gotten there yet.

  Jaesin opens his mouth to lay into me, but I hold up a hand, forestalling his scolding.

  “I know you’re—” I cut off, my throat thick. With every blink I can feel how swollen and red my eyes are, and I’m sure they can see it too. Mortifying. Damn it, get it together. They’re here, I’m not too late, they’re right in front of me. I breathe. “I know you’re mad at me.”

  Ania takes a few steps toward me, then stops, wrinkling her nose. “Diz, what happened to you?”

  I laugh, weak and hoarse. “I found out what happened.”

  “Are you wearing makeup?” Remi interrupts. I scowl.

  “That’s what you’re going to zero in on here?” Ania says, incredulous. “Though yeah, while we’re at it, what the hell, Diz?”

  “I was trying to disguise myself!” I sputter, scrubbing my shirtsleeves over my face. Probably just smearing around whatever isn’t waterproof even more.

  “And that’s what you went with?” Jaesin asks with a sweep of his hand to indic
ate my general awfulness, but Remi comes around the island to stand beside me, studying my face.

  “You said you were looking into the explosion,” they say quietly. “What did you find out?”

  “Thank you for asking,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. Finally, let’s get to the point. “Look, I . . . I’m sorry for earlier. And I fully admit that I screwed up during the job. I pushed it too hard. I never should have taken it in the first place, considering we know nothing about this maz-15 stuff or what it can do. But what happened . . . it wasn’t actually our fault. We were set up. The line was sabotaged.”

  At that, Jaesin and Ania look at each other and turn to fully face me, finally listening. A tiny bit of the tension in my chest eases. Maybe I have a chance to redeem myself.

  “Sabotaged how? What did you find?” Jaesin asks.

  I pull out a chair from the nearby dining table and all but fall into it, the others towering over me on their breakfast stools at the island. I rest my elbows on my knees and brace my chin on my folded hands.

  “We started at the junction station and traced our way back—”

  “Who’s we?” Jaesin asks, sharp, and I wince. Should have left that part out.

  “I called Davon and told him everything. I was alone and I needed backup, what was I supposed to do?”

  Jaesin scowls, obviously not thrilled at his illegal activities being revealed—and to an MMC employee, at that. He keeps silent, though, when Ania lays a hand on his arm. I forge on, recounting the night’s discoveries and showing them the code I found, but when it comes down to it, there’s really only one point to hammer home: “That particular pipe was rigged to blow, and the whole point of this job was to lure us there. Friends, we were set up.”

  Part of me relishes the stunned looks on their faces as they absorb my words, the proof that I was right to investigate further, right to storm out in the face of their cowardice.

  Ania taps one manicured fingernail against her bottom lip in thought. “So, all that firaz and magnaz, it really was supposed to be like a giant bomb exploding right in our faces.”