The Kingdom

by Jess Rothenberg

I swallow.

  “Could it have happened to me?” I murmur, not realizing I am talking out loud.

  “Never say never,” Kaia replies. “Miracles happen every day!”

  I stare at my sister and realize that something about the look in her eyes—vacant, glazed—does not seem right. In fact, it seems very, very wrong.

  I pull up my wireless Kingdom map in my mind and scan it again for Eve’s whereabouts, but just as before, I cannot seem to find her. “Eve was at the dinner?” I ask again, scanning all the locations she routinely visits. Princess Carousel. The Unicorn Maze. Even the Star Deck Observatory. But her GPS signal is gone. As if she’s vanished from the park completely. “With the Investors?” Images of Alice’s bruised, broken body stream endlessly through my head, turning my stomach into knots. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Zara retorts. “I am strong and confident. We must always believe in ourselves and celebrate our intellect.”

  All of a sudden, I notice a tiny blink of movement, barely visible through the trees on the far western corner of my map. I feel a great rush of relief followed by another pang of uncertainty. The woods? What is Eve doing in the woods at this hour?

  Sisters shouldn’t keep secrets, I replay her words to me, pointed and stern.

  And yet … does Eve have a secret of her own?

  “Kaia.” I turn and look her straight in the eye. “Please. You have to tell me right now. What happened last night? What happened at the dinner?”

  Kaia slips her arms around my waist, wrapping me in a hug. “Don’t cry because it’s over,” she whispers into my ear. “Smile because it once was.”

  Before I can stop myself, I am turning off my eye cameras and shoving her off me—so suddenly, so forcefully Kaia cries out, nearly toppling a chair. In an instant, Zara has me by the arm, her grip like an iron vise. She smiles reassuringly at the few guests who are still milling about, exaggeratedly tsking at Kaia’s clumsiness, and leads me swiftly and silently into a private powder room.

  A moment later, Kaia slips inside, trailing us like a puppy and cradling her elbow.

  “What is wrong with you?” Zara snaps. “That was not routine.”

  My face is red-hot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” I look at Kaia. “Are you okay?”

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” she answers softly. “Sometimes.”

  “What’s going on with you?” Zara demands, looking not at Kaia but at me. “Tell me right now or I’m reporting you to the Supervisors.”

  “I’ll explain on the way,” I say, glancing from Zara to Kaia and back again.

  “On the way?” Zara crosses her arms over her Chantilly-lace-embroidered gown. “Where are we going?”

  “We have to find Eve.” My motor is whirring so fast it’s making my chest hot. “Something is very wrong.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a—”

  “Shh.” I cut Kaia off before she can finish, grabbing her hands in mine. I look deeply into her eyes. “Do you remember what happened last night? Do you remember what happens on any of those nights?”

  Kaia squeezes my hand, but the smile on her face makes my whole system run suddenly cold. “Even stars can’t shine without darkness,” she says.

  * * *

  “Are we close?” Zara asks between pants.

  “A little farther. Hurry!”

  She’s here. I know she is.

  After all, Supervisors may lie. But the satellite never does.

  “Eve!” I cry out. “Answer me!”

  Branches whip my face, but I do not slow down. We are so close now. I can hear her GPS signal growing stronger with every step. Blinking. Buzzing. Calling out its coordinates.

  46.9582° N, 123.1149° W.

  Finally, we come to the clearing. Kaia is breathing hard, but still smiling; Zara is doubled over on the trunk of an old birch split in half by a thunderstorm. “This is why—I always—take the monorail,” she gasps. “You know I hate these stupid woods.” She kicks a large rock as if to prove her point, and I watch it skitter across the ground into a shrub. But on the way, it passes something that does not belong there. Something that once I’ve seen, I cannot unsee.

  I edge closer, my motor in my throat. The leaves are wet with something thick, oozing, black. Blue-black, I realize when the sun catches it through the trees. An electric jolt of panic floods my inner circuitry. Is she hurt? Has someone hurt her?

  “Is that … blood?” Zara asks, looking pained.

  “Hey there, little fighter”—Kaia pats Zara’s arm reassuringly—“soon things will be brighter.”

  I kneel down for a closer look. When I touch the substance, I see that Zara is correct—it is blood. Hybrid blood. But there’s something else. Slowly, I pick up what looks to be a torn piece of fabric—soft, flimsy, with jagged, bloodstained edges. Did Eve tear her dress? I wonder, turning it over in my hands. Suddenly, I freeze.

  This is not fabric.

  It is skin.

  “Ana, Ana, Ana, don’t,” Kaia says, stepping back and away, sounding like her operating system has hit a glitch.

  My own head feels light, but I do not give up my search.

  The vibration has gotten louder.

  I start to dig.

  A foot down, I find it: a small, circular device, roughly the size of a quarter.

  Zara comes closer. “Is it a token?” she asks. “From Game Land?”

  I shake my head. “I think it’s Eve’s tracking chip.”

  Zara recoils. “Her tracking chip?”

  I nod. They’re embedded deep in our right wrists.

  “But—that doesn’t make sense. Without her chip, she could get lost.”

  “I know.” I swallow. “Maybe somebody doesn’t want her to be found.”

  A shadow passes over Zara’s face. “I don’t understand.” She glances down at her own arm. “You think someone removed her chip? But how?”

  I feel my insides shatter when I notice something sleek and shiny half-buried in the leaves. Slowly, I hold it up for my sisters to see. A scalpel.

  39

  TRIAL TRANSCRIPT

  MS. BELL: Ana, were you jealous of Eve?

  ANA: I loved my sister.

  MS. BELL: That’s not what I asked.

  MR. HAYES: Objection. Your Honor—

  THE COURT: Sustained.

  MS. BELL: Did you, or did you not, encourage her to run away?

  ANA: [Pause.] Of course not. I would never encourage anyone to break the rules.

  MS. BELL: But isn’t it true you also wanted her to get into trouble with the Supervisors? Were you tired of hearing about the First Fantasist?

  MR. HAYES: [Stands.] Your Honor, not only are these claims false, they are inflammatory. I’d like to request an immediate strike from the record, and call the court’s attention to a transcript from one of Ana’s earlier interviews with Dr. Foster following Mr. Chen’s disappearance; a transcript the defense feels proves that Ana’s basic neural functioning, specifically with regard to her parameters around lying, are perfectly intact.

  MS. BELL: I’m not interested in whether or not Ana can lie. I am interested in whether she has learned to manipulate the truth so that she never has to lie.

  MR. HAYES: [Laughs.] So you think she’s manipulating you, is that it?

  MS. BELL: I believe she is manipulating you. I believe she is manipulating all of us.

  40

  THE JULY OF THE SWIFT FOX

  FOURTEEN MONTHS BEFORE THE TRIAL

  The park remains open all afternoon and into the night, despite Eve’s disappearance. “All is well,” Daddy assures us when we show him what we have found in the woods. “Go about your business as usual.”

  Business as usual.

  Like after the lagoon? I want to ask.

  Like after you shut down our sister?

  “But she is missing,” I insist, tugging on his sleeve. “Someone has taken her. Just like they took Alice.” The thought of my sister scared, wounded, and alo
ne makes my chest feel tightly wound, like a top about to spin away.

  “I’m sure Eve will turn up,” he replies calmly, as if we are discussing the weather. “Your mother and I do not want you girls to worry. Now off you go. And remember, I expect to see you promptly at nine o’clock in the palace rooftop garden. Do not be late.”

  The farewell party, I remember. For the Investors.

  I nod obediently, but inside, I want to scream.

  Eve is missing. How dare these people celebrate?

  Zara and Kaia scatter north and south, respectively, while I wander aimlessly through Magic Land—past the barber and theater, past the bakery and the shops—dark storm clouds swirling inside my head. Around me, the Kingdom is alive with sights and smells and sounds I suddenly cannot stand. The terrible bustle of the crowds. The maddening sounds of children laughing, yelling, pulling their parents behind them. The jarring whoosh of the roller coaster and dizzy spin of the carousel. Even the pastry chefs—with their jolly smiles and piping-hot pies—fill me with a rage I have no choice but to swallow down.

  For hours, I engage with guests in Safe Mode, as if I am not really there. As if I am merely a record, replaying the same song, again and again.

  “Welcome to our Kingdom. Have you traveled very far?”

  I barely register their answers.

  I have never cared less about how far any of them have traveled.

  By the time the sun begins to set—marshmallow clouds of orange and pink puffing across the sky—I have worked myself up into such a state, I can hardly function. But that’s when I notice something different in the air: a subtle, microscopic variation tucked inside the pocket of the wind.

  What is that?

  I exit Safe Mode and crank my olfactory sensors up as high as they will go. Then I close my eyes and inhale slowly, deeply, filtering every particle, every molecule, every layer of every scent swirling through the summer air.

  The cupcakes. The flowers. The perfumes and the pies. The crisp, clean aroma of freshly laundered shirts, and the chemical plush of gift shop teddy bears. I smell the socks. The sweat. The oddly pleasant, factory-fresh scent of rubber-soled sneakers.

  But still, there is something else.

  Something acidic. Microbial. I push past the sundaes, the baseball caps, the cookies and the milk, until finally, like a clock striking twelve, it all becomes clear. I open my eyes.

  The smell is garbage.

  Bacteria.

  Rot.

  This is unexpected. This is not routine. Slowy, I look down at my slippers.

  Hundreds of feet below the park, a vast network of utility tunnels house our electrical and sanitation systems, vacuuming down garbage and waste from every corner of the Kingdom via bottomless trash cans, secret vents, and hidden air ducts, leaving our streets so sparkling clean guests could safely eat off them, if they wanted to. The system is so advanced—the incinerator and linked compactors so powerful—I cannot recall ever having detected a scent quite like it.

  I turn toward the nearest trash receptacle, just a few feet away.

  The Kingdom’s Clean Earth Initiative is renowned for its commitment to responsible and efficient waste management! a script plays in my head.

  Perhaps the compactors are working overtime. Sunday is, after all, one of our heaviest trash days. Or perhaps the winds have died down, stagnating the air. Or—I eye the quiet mountain in the distance, a thin wisp of smoke curling up from its peak—maybe it is the volcano, which, thanks to a mile-long piping system, sucks its leftover ash straight from the incinerator and puffs it right back out over Paleo Land. A beautiful, if slightly sulfuric-smelling cycle.

  That must be it.

  I see a flash of movement in my periphery and notice a cluster of security guards gathered around the Royal Fountain. At first, the sight of them triggers a wave of fear. Have they found Eve? Has she drowned? I rush toward them but quickly realize they are goofing off. Splashing one another. Fishing occasional dollar coins from the fountain, lining their pockets with other people’s wishes.

  Health. Happiness. Prosperity. Family. Love.

  In an instant, my fear morphs back to anger, a fury that blazes through me like a wildfire. Those wishes are not yours to take! I want to scream. You are supposed to be looking for Eve! Ultimately, however, I say nothing. After many seasons, I have learned it is never my place to tell a human being—guest, guard, or otherwise—that they have acted out of turn. Instead, I practice gratitude, taking deep, measured breaths, swallowing my anger down until there is nothing left but a tiny ember quietly smoldering in my stomach.

  “Hey, you,” a gravelly voice calls out when I pass by them. “Come over here.”

  “Hello.” I flash a friendly smile. “What can I do for you?”

  A guard with black hair and green eyes grins at me in a way that makes my skin feel tight. “I’m sure we can think of something.” They laugh at that—nine men and women when I do a head count—though I am not sure what is funny. I study them and notice how many weapons they are carrying, which strikes me as strange. It’s Eve who is missing, after all. Not one of the tigers or other predators.

  “So creepy,” a third guard says, gazing at me with a mix of wonder and disdain. She steps forward and cups my cheek. I try not to flinch away. “Damn.” She turns to the others. “Feels like real skin and everything.”

  Slowly, so as not to be rude, I take a step back.

  “Thank you. Now, I apologize, but I must be on my way. I have a Meet and Greet at the palace.”

  This is not a lie.

  Though technically, I am not due at the Investors’ farewell party for another hour.

  “You can meet and greet me anytime,” one of them snickers.

  “Did we say you could leave?” the first guard asks, blocking my path. He comes closer, so close I can smell the onions from his lunch. “You have to do whatever we say,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  My body stiffens. My arms lock at my sides. “Your happiness is my happiness,” I answer quietly, scanning his eyes. They are not beautiful, like Owen’s. Instead, they are empty. Dull. Lacking any hint of sparkle or light. The guard puts his hand on my arm and I switch rapidly into Safe Mode, powering down my sensory applications and anchoring my attention with the help of a mindful meditation. A series of calming, soothing words Mother taught me when I was new.

  Words to use if ever I feel unsafe.

  I. Ana. Always. Answer. Yes.

  But first—like Wendy, John, and Michael Darling, on the night Peter Pan taught them how to fly—I think one happy thought.

  In my pocket, I have a knife.

  “What are you doing?” a voice calls out suddenly. “Leave her alone.”

  I turn and feel a flood of relief pour through me.

  You found me. How do you always find me when I need you?

  My motor thrums like a hummingbird’s wings. Fifty beats per second.

  I want to run to him. He will know what to do about Eve. He will help me find her.

  “What is it to you?” The guard turns toward the voice, hand moving to his stun gun.

  In reply, Owen holds up his badge.

  The guard’s eyes narrow as he reads it, and I can almost hear the anger crackling through his veins. But then, to my surprise, something passes over his eyes. His expression softens. “Come on.” He motions to the others. “Let’s get moving.”

  They clear out, heading off down the path to Star Land.

  “I can’t believe they listened to you,” I say when they are gone. “Maintenance workers do not have rank over guards.”

  Owen slips his badge into his back pocket. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just glad I happened to be walking this way when I was.” He hesitates. “Do they do that kind of thing a lot?”

  “Do what?”

  “Harass you.”

  His question catches me off guard. I’d think Owen has worked at the Kingdom long enough to see what goes on. The looks, the sneers, the inappropriate
comments and touching. He knows—or can guess as well as I can—what Mr. Casey did to Kaia that night in the Arctic Enclosure. “That’s just how guards behave,” I say. “It has always been this way.”

  Owen’s face falls and he stares into the fountain, time briefly seeming to slow down as sunlight catches every drop of falling water. After a minute, he fishes a silver coin from his pocket. He rubs his thumb across the top, then—with a quick flick of his wrist—tosses it into the water, where it lands with a hollow kerplunk. I watch it sink to the bottom, a silver gleam on a bed of gold. “Did you make a wish?” I ask.

  Owen nods.

  “Don’t tell me what it was,” I remind him. “Or else it won’t come true.”

  “I’m not sure there are enough coins in the world for this wish to come true.” He takes a seat on the edge of the fountain, a kind of sadness in his eyes as he gazes down at the stone walkway. “Sometimes I’m not so sure about this place,” he says quietly.

  Today, I know exactly what he means.

  He shakes his head. “Sometimes I can’t believe I ever brought Sara here at all.”

  “Sara.” I take a seat beside him, sensing pain in his words. “Your sister.”

  He nods.

  “What happened to her?”

  His eyes shift forward. Humans do this with some frequency, I note: avert their gaze when discussing something difficult. “She was killed in a car accident,” he says, finally. “Three years ago. She was ten. I had just turned sixteen.”

  I am no stranger to tragedy—people come from thousands of miles away to share their heartache with my sisters and me; to feel the unique comfort only a Fantasist can provide—but for some reason, hearing this leaves me speechless. Gently, I reach out and take his hand.

  He takes a shaky breath before adding, “I was the one driving.”

  My chest constricts.

  All this time, Owen really has had a secret.

  Just not any secret I could have ever guessed.

  “That’s why I’ve got this”—he points to the scar above his lip—“and this.” He places his hand over his heart. “I hit the steering wheel really hard in the crash and had a cardiac contusion. They had to put in the valve and monitor. My heart just doesn’t work right anymore.” He inches over a little. “You were her favorite, you know. Sara had pictures of you up all over her bedroom for years.”