by Tess Sharpe
“What?” Carol hissed, looking up, and then she stilled. Right ahead of them, perched on the ledge of the red-stone fountain, was a little girl who couldn’t be more than ten. Her blonde hair was done in an elaborate crown of braids wound around her head and her ears, but the style couldn’t hide the sharp points that marked her as different.
Another Inhuman girl. But this one was a child.
A man came up to her, his gray coat flapping at his knees as he walked. Scott stepped forward, his face intent.
“Don’t,” Carol gritted out, her hand clamping down on Scott’s elbow, trying to make it look submissive instead of controlling.
“She’s a preteen,” he hissed. “What is she? Nine? Ten? What’s she doing here? I thought Rhi said they weren’t given to Keepers until they’re twenty.”
“I—” A horrible thought occurred to her, and her heart skipped a wretched beat as that realization was confirmed when the man stooped down, handing the girl a plate of canapés.
“Thanks, Daddy!”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
“Oh my God.” Scott’s arm tensed under her grip.
“Easy.” He was almost to the point of pulling away from her, he was so worked up. “Pretend to be looking at the painting,” she directed, turning them slightly, so the little girl and her father were still in their line of sight. The painting was a gruesome depiction of a woman covered in bloody sores, surrounded by piles of dead bodies with the same malady. The placard read: The Affliction of Healing.
“This is…” he hissed. “That guy…”
“Is an Inhuman.” She glanced down at the girl’s wrist. There was a ribbon tied around it, similar to the ones that Carol’s own mom used to put on Christmas presents back on Earth, painstakingly curling each strand by zipping them along the blade of her scissors. An explosion of pastel curls cascaded down the child’s arm, hiding the telltale bump of the implant on her wrist.
“Rhi told me they’d turned some of the parents,” she said. “But I hadn’t realized there’d be one here.”
“You shouldn’t be able to turn a father,” Scott hissed.
The flash of warmth in her chest at his conviction made her glad for Cassie. Scott was the kind of father who’d burn down the world before letting his daughter be used like the Inhuman girls in Damaria. It was one of the reasons she’d asked him to come on board—that extra fire in the belly was important on missions like this. But it also made things riskier when you were undercover— because he wanted to whisk that little girl away just as much as she did.
“Where’s her mother?” Scott asked, looking over the heads of the milling crowd.
“That’s probably how they got him to turn,” Carol whispered. “We know they killed Rhi’s parents when they refused to hand her over.”
A murmur broke through the crowd, and Carol’s eyes snapped back to the floor, wondering whether they’d been too suspicious.
“Master Khal, it’s a genuine pleasure to see someone from the Isle of Tuke come to our little fundraiser.”
Carol didn’t look up. She didn’t have to—she recognized Ansel’s voice. She’d watched his speeches, studied his face and his inflection, noted which words made his eyes gleam and his tone change. Know thine enemy. She took that adage seriously.
She knew him. Knew the cruelty and fear in his heart, and how it fueled him. She knew why he’d chosen this place to hold his fundraiser, this hall of hell, a reminder of the power of their men and the supposed weakness of their women.
By the time she was done with him, he would understand he was the weak one in every inch of his being. He was going to feel it.
“President Ansel, it’s an honor to be in your presence,” Scott said.
“I had to come by and say hello after my dear friend Marson mentioned you were here,” Ansel said. “I see you’ve noticed our little Fern.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The Inhuman girl.”
“Oh, I must admit I’ve never seen one so young before,” Scott said, half-tripping over his words.
“They are usually kept in the Maiden House at this age,” Ansel said. “But Fern is a special exception, since her father is such a friend to the cause. And I will say,” he leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, “the younger they are, the better.”
Carol’s fingers curled around Scott’s elbow, her hand shaking, all the might inside her keeping her from clenching her fists and accidentally breaking poor Scott’s arm. Breathe. No punching. Later. There will be so much punching later.
“It’s so much easier to educate them when they’re that age,” Ansel continued. “The ones who are older…” He raised his hand in the air, as Marson had done earlier to Jella, and snapped his fingers.
Almost instantly, a girl hurried out of the nearby crowd to stand next to Ansel. Her skin was tinged a light blue, and her hair shone a deep black that glowed almost green under the light. Her eyes swept down, and Carol could see darker blue marks peeking out from her dress’s high neck—bruises.
“The older ones are harder to train,” Ansel said. “I had to keep sharp things away from this one for the first few months so she wouldn’t hurt herself, didn’t I?” He gave her shoulder a scolding little shake, and Carol’s heart ached as Umbra’s cheeks darkened in humiliation.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Perhaps you should have been more afraid of her hurting you,” Carol said.
For the first time, his eyes snapped to her as if he’d just realized she was there, and she didn’t look down or away, even though she half wished she’d kept her mouth shut, for their plan to work. Rhi’s advice was running through her head, but deep down, at her core, Carol was a soldier.
And a soldier looks her enemy in the eye.
“After all,” Carol continued, with a graceful wave of her hand, “we’re surrounded by such historic reminders of just how dangerous a woman with power can be.”
A moment—poised on a razor-sharp edge; it could go either way—passed, his eyes on hers, searching. Did he recognize her voice somehow? Did he suspect?
But then a wide smile broke across his face. “Well said!” He clasped Scott’s shoulder briefly. “I see you’ve found a patriotic woman to marry, Master Khal.”
“She is one of a kind,” Scott said, swirling the melting ice spheres in his glass. The president’s eyes flickered down to it, and then, casually, he grabbed Umbra’s hand like it was his own and pressed her fingers against Scott’s glass. It instantly frosted over, the contents chilling from Umbra’s ability to manipulate liquids.
Scott swallowed with a click, though Carol could tell he wanted to smash the glass in Ansel’s smirking face. He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. “Neat trick,” he said as he lowered it.
“They have their uses,” Ansel said. “In fact, if you’re willing to leave your lovely wife for a few moments, I can elaborate on that. I wouldn’t want to bore Madame Khal with the details, but I know a businessman like you prefers to know all you can before making an investment. And that’s what a donation to my campaign is—an investment in the future, in yourself, and in the betterment of all.”
“That sounds good to me,” Scott said heartily. “Darling, stay here, will you?” He brushed a perfunctory kiss across Carol’s cheek, and Ansel snapped his fingers at Umbra.
“Keep Madame Khal company. Fetch her whatever she wishes,” he ordered.
Carol kept her gaze lowered as the president led Scott away, not realizing he’d just given her the moment she needed. Umbra stood next to her, hands folded together, head bowed. Carol glanced around them—the throng of people had passed through the Gallery of Afflictions and were heading up the spiral staircase to the conservatory level of the dome, where dinner would be served. They didn’t have much time—Amadeus’s EMP bomb was designed to go off when the first course was brought out.
She was about to pull the last ID disc out of her purse when a voice broke through t
he crowd. “Umbra, Umbra!”
It was the Inhuman father, holding his daughter’s hand. This close, Carol could see her face. She was nine or ten, which meant… God, had she been born here? She supposed one of the Inhuman women could have been pregnant during their journey and then given birth on Damaria. Did that mean this little girl had never known freedom?
Carol realized she was staring into the future Ansel was building. A little girl raised in a society that taught her from birth that she existed to serve, to be used, to be exploited. That she didn’t deserve to hurt or heal or want or rage. That she was lesser when she was really much, much more.
“Yes, Master Sylas?” Umbra asked.
“Take her for me,” he shoved his daughter’s hand into Umbra’s. “The president needs me.”
Before Umbra could even answer, he hurried off.
“I have to use the washroom, Umbra,” the little girl said, tugging at her arm.
Umbra’s eyes darted to Carol, worrying her lower lip.
“It’s all right,” Carol said. “Go ahead.”
“I’ll return, Madame Khal.”
Carol turned back to the painting, her throat tight with anticipation. Now or never. She counted to five in her head, until Umbra and the little girl had disappeared in the crowd, and then she followed.
22
RHI’S NOSE was glued to the cockpit window as Hepzibah navigated her shuttle underwater with the skill of a submarine captain of old. Fish swam by, flashes of orange and purple darting in and out of the floating seaweed through water that turned a deep, brilliant emerald as Hepzibah dove deeper.
Rhi’s ears popped as they cut through the chilly depths of the bay, the shuttle groaning under the pressure. Above them, some huge creature swam past, its shadow darkening the waters above, making Rhi shiver and even Hepzibah tense up.
It was an astonishing view of the world, but Rhi remained acutely aware, even with the wonders surrounding her, that what she was about to do was beyond reckless. And every time she closed her eyes and reached for the inner strength that got her to Earth and back, her thoughts turned to Zeke.
She wasn’t leaving without him, and she knew Alestra wouldn’t either. They had to find information about his whereabouts somewhere in Ansel’s mansion. Without it…
“You know,” Hepzibah said, as the radar on her screen beeped, signifying their approach to the island outside of Edias where Ansel made his home, “there’s a place like this on Earth, a small island right off a major coastal city. The humans made it into a prison instead of a palatial estate, though. And then after they closed it, they turned that prison into a museum.”
Rhi’s eyebrows scrunched up. “They turned a prison into a museum?”
“I always thought it was ghoulish, but humans can be.”
“You were in prison,” Rhi said tentatively. “Carol mentioned it.”
“I was, for a long time,” Hepzibah replied, and Rhi wondered whether she even knew how long—or whether the days, months, and years bled together, as they had for her.
“Your worries—the future the president wants, the children he will force the girls to bear—it is smart for you to fear this and fight it. To be born into a world under rulers who treat you like commodities…” Her head bowed, the light bouncing off her pointed ears. “It is hard to break free, even with help.”
“Did you have help?”
A fond smile spread across the Mephitisoid’s face. “I had the Starjammers. With them by my side, I felt as if I could do anything. I think that must be how you feel about your friends?”
“Yes, I do…” Rhi said, wondering if she’d ever get used to being so easily understood by women like Hepzibah and Carol and Mantis. She’d held onto the memory of her mother, her memory of the Inhuman women she’d grown up with before they left, but as the years passed, those memories fuzzed over like mold on a piece of fruit. Miss Egrit had been the most consistent woman in her life for a decade, stealing the moments that belonged to their mothers: Miss Egrit had been the one to hand out pads when they started menstruating, the one who’d fitted them for new clothes as their bodies changed, the one who’d scolded them instead of comforted them when cramps or headaches or sickness stole over them. Bear your womanly burdens with grace, girls. Just like the Keepers bear the burdens you heap on them with strength.
“Look, right ahead.” Hepzibah pointed to the island rising out of the shimmering water before them. A wicked smile spread across her face as she flipped a latch, revealing a red button. “Carol has urged discretion,” she said. “But at times, one must improvise.”
She pressed the button and the ship jolted, a four-pronged claw shooting out of its prow through the water and hooking into the force field that surrounded the island hidden in the clouds behind it, vibrating at a frequency higher than the field’s energy output. Rhi watched bubbles streaming up in the water all around them as the field buzzed and sparked, lighting up the water with a brilliant flash before sputtering out. “And they think their tech is so advanced,” Hepzibah scoffed. “That’s a child’s security system.”
“On the ground, they light you on fire,” Rhi felt compelled to point out, just in case Hepzibah came across any others, but it just made her snort derisively.
The shuttle moved past the now-fried force field and began to rise. She swallowed to counteract the popping in her ears and watched the seaweed sliding off the little ship’s windows as it bobbed to the surface. Then she saw it: The island emerged from the fog, and the president’s domed mansion loomed before them like a giant red warning.
Hepzibah hit a few more buttons on the console to drop a sonic anchor to keep the shuttle in place, and a hissing sound filled Rhi’s ears as it began to depressurize.
“We’ll use the secondary exit on top,” Hepzibah said, rising and heading out of the cockpit. Rhi followed her down the narrow hall to a pressurized airlock hatch leading out of the ship that she slid up and open. Then she turned back to Rhi, digging in her pockets to produce two spheres full of blue gel—the ember bombs she hadn’t handed over to Mantis.
“Just in case,” Hepzibah said, trying to give them to her, but Rhi shook her head.
“No.”
Hepzibah frowned. “They’re useful, Rhi. And you have not been taught to fight. You need to be armed.”
“Give me one of the guns you pulled off them. I’m not gonna use that stuff. Not on anyone. Not even them.”
She could still remember the twins’ screams as they were lowered into the gel; the smell of their burned flesh. She looked up at Hepzibah, begging her to understand without an explanation, and to her relief, Hepzibah tucked the bombs back in her jacket and handed her the gun instead.
“Do you know how to use this?”
Rhi nodded, the gun heavy and unfamiliar in her hand. “I’ll manage.”
Hepzibah put a finger to her lips. “Remember,” she said. “Discretion.”
* * *
HEPZIBAH’S IDEA of discretion was not like other people’s. As soon as her feet were on the island, she became a streak of deadly black and white. The first guard along the shore where they’d dropped anchor was down before he could call for help, Hepzibah choking him into unconsciousness with her tail. Rhi stumbled in the sand, her hand sweaty on the gun as they moved forward in the dark, up the beach path and through the lush jungle that Ansel’s gardeners painstakingly maintained on his island retreat. She was so focused on keeping up with Hepzibah and getting into the mansion that she almost didn’t hear the crunch of someone stepping on a shell behind her.
She whirled, her finger squeezing the trigger before she could think. The gun kicked back in her hand, and there was a gasp—from the guard she’d just shot. Blood bloomed on the man’s shoulder, and Rhi stared as he fell to his knees, clutching his arm.
Hepzibah leapt forward, kicking the man hard in the jaw as he reached toward Rhi. He slumped forward, unconscious; she bent over, plucked his comm from his belt, and tossed it into the shrubbery.
“If you’re going to shoot them, make sure it’s bad enough that they can’t call for help,” she directed gently.
Rhi stood there, her hands shaking, but she couldn’t fall apart. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, reminding herself that she had to do what she must, to survive, get out, and take everyone with her.
Hepzibah grabbed Rhi’s hand and tugged her up the path, the thick press of trees and vines closing in on them as they ran toward the mansion. Light blazed through the trees, and Rhi yanked Hepzibah down behind a tree heavy with fronds just as a fireball from near the dome soared over their heads, crashed onto the path, and burned out as soon as it hit the ground.
Rhi frowned as another fireball arced over them and crashed two feet away, the flames dissipating instantly. Was the Keeper shooting at them senile, not in full control of his powers, or just a bad shot?
But as another fireball arced over their heads, swiping a patch of ferns and sputtering out, she realized what it was.
The Keeper was trying to fight them and keep the fire from destroying any part of Ansel’s precious garden. A hysterical giggle rose in Rhi’s throat, and Hepzibah shot her a concerned look.
“The Keeper doesn’t want us to hurt the plants,” Rhi explained. “Ansel will be furious if his garden gets burned up.”
The scorn dripping from Hepzibah’s next words was priceless: “Oh, will he?” she asked.
She leapt out from behind a tree, tilting her head back and letting out a fearsome yell before launching an ember bomb in the direction of the fireballs. Rhi heard a crash, then a shout as smoke and flames sparked up the path near the mansion.
“Run!” Hepzibah yelled. Rhi didn’t have to be told twice. She leapt to her feet, and tore up the path after Hepzibah, the guards positioned along the perimeter distracted by the fire as the domed mansion came into sight. Two guards were posted at the entrance, and as they approached, Hepzibah chucked another bomb at them, sending them flying in opposite directions to avoid the toxic, burning gel. But Hepzibah’s aim was sharper than their reflexes, and their yells of pain mingled with the smoke and desperation in the air.