The Glass Arrow

by Kristen Simmons

  When the Pip tries to apply my post-auction makeup, I threaten to punch him until he leaves me alone. He scurries away with a stream of indignant pips!

  We’re given a meal pill and lined up in two rows in the foyer, both facing the theater. The girls who have not attended the auction today gather behind these two lines, all sad faces and crossed arms and pouty lips. Daphne is not amongst them. With all that’s happened, I’d forgotten she’s in solitary.

  The Governess appears and she’s changed as well. She’s wearing a bright red dress that seems to be painted on. It strikes me how old she is. Mid forties, older than most women I’ve ever seen. She looks like a monster dressing up as a woman, rather than the usual opposite.

  Her expression is unreadable due to her newly applied powders and polishes. She’s accompanied by her Pip assistant, clinging to her shadow like a frightened puppy. He’s got an electronic clipboard in his hands. That list, I know, holds the names of the girls who will now be entering the next stage of the game.

  “All in all, a rather pathetic showing,” the Governess begins. “I expected more from most of you.” She does not even pretend to acknowledge those of us who disappointed her. “Regardless, I have here a list of girls who will proceed into negotiations. When you hear your name, please step forward so that you may be escorted into the entertainment parlor to meet with your caller. Remember that this, for many of you, is your last chance to shine. This. Is. Crucial,” she adds. “I can only do so much.”

  There is a wave of nervous whispering.

  “Many of you may be escorted into our private screening rooms following your personal introductions. I’ve said it enough that you should all know by now, but since you seem to be a bit thick, let me remind you: Certain acts performed within those walls will earn you a ticket to the Black Lanes.”

  There is a hush over the girls. She’s referring to the purity rule of course. We’re supposed to tease, but not to let things go too far. If we don’t pass a medical inspection, the sale is broken, and we’ll be carved up like the rest of the Virulent.

  I shudder, thinking about the Governess’s threat to mark me if I don’t get chosen. I’m not sure she can actually do this; there are laws against it as long as I’m still untouched. Still, it makes me a little queasy. I push these thoughts aside as she passes in front of me, forcing myself to stare blankly ahead.

  “Any questions?” she asks. She’s not really asking, and everyone knows this, so no one raises their hand. “Very good. Read the names.”

  Her timid Pip assistant steps forward, holding the electronic board out before him. I have nothing to fear. After what I pulled off today, no one will be making a bid on me.

  “Lily,” the Pip begins. I lower my gaze to her knees, thinking there’s still time to kick her as she walks by. There’s a proud smile on her face as she removes her left earring to identify that she’s a pending sale.

  “Daisy.” A girl with black hair that reminds me nothing of a daisy steps forward, also to my right. She takes out her earring.

  “Lupin. Rose. Lotus.”

  I slouch back, trying not to smirk as the Pip calls more names. Nine names. Ten. I’m staring absently forward now, bored at these proceedings. I’m thinking about getting that dreaded metal bracelet back on so that I can return to solitary. Maybe I didn’t escape, but at least I’ll get to play with Brax tonight. When I tell him about the auction I’ll have to leave out the part about the wolf cape. He’d hate that.

  I make a note to grab the broken knife handle. I’ll need that in the Black Lanes for certain. Ugly as the prospect of going to Mercer is, it’s better than an unknown future deep in the heart of the city.

  “Clover.”

  The sound of this word shatters the busy thoughts in my mind.

  “Last but not least, Clover!” sings the Governess triumphantly. She’s almost skipping towards me now. I take a step back, not forwards. The room seems to be getting smaller, and I’m filled with an urge to run.

  “What?” I ask weakly.

  “You’ve got a very interested buyer, dear,” says the Governess.

  “I … I do?” My voice sounds so small. My chest is rising now. Rising and falling, but how? I can barely find enough oxygen to breathe. Everyone in the room is gaping at me. If our spots were switched, I’d probably be doing the same thing.

  “Step forward,” she says, more firmly this time.

  “No.…”

  “Step forward!” she shouts with a flash of teeth.

  My legs move me forward. I feel like they’ve betrayed me.

  “Take off your left earring,” she commands. When I don’t move she snatches it and jerks it free. It stings, but I don’t even struggle.

  Her pleasant expression returns. “This way! Off to the entertainment parlor!”

  In complete shock, I stumble from the room, deaf to the gossiping whispers of my peers, one thought resounding in my head: What have I done?

  CHAPTER 10

  THE WATCHER HAS TO shove me into the entertainment parlor. I nearly trip as I pass through the heavy wooden threshold; the thick bear rug makes my stance uneven, and the roaring fire in the stone hearth at the back of the room is much too warm. I can feel the sweat already dewing on my brow, sliding down between my shoulder blades.

  I scan the room. The Governess is introducing the chosen girls to their prospective buyers. I see a girl named Rosebud fake a shy blush and look to the floor. Lily has already begun to hum softly, working her songbird angle. Another girl I don’t know is spinning in slow circles before a man in a charcoal suit. He puffs on a cigar and takes out a messagebox to type something.

  Too quickly, the Governess motions me to the far left corner of the room. I pass one of the new girls from last month. She is being interviewed by the assistant of a Magnate, who is asking about her measurements and any food allergies she might have.

  I wipe my damp palms on my sides. I can feel the Watcher behind me. There’s no chance of breaking out the door.

  I freeze when I recognize the man with the maroon scarf wrapped around his face. It covers his hair and everything below his nose, leaving only a thin line where his judging brown eyes are exposed. His hands are tucked loosely in the pockets of his blue pinstriped suit, and as my gaze lowers to the floor, I see the boy from the candy store playing with a remote-control horse. When he presses a button, it whinnies.

  The man’s head tilts up, and his eyes lock on the Governess.

  “Azalea. So nice to see you.”

  I’ve never heard the Governess addressed by a name. It strikes me that it’s a flower, that she was once a resident here. I don’t know why that surprises me; most women in the city have been. I guess it’s because she’s so independent. I figured she must have gotten in early with her buyer, made him happy, and then earned her freedom as soon as she got old and ugly.

  “Clover, dear, this is Mr. Greer.” There’s no mistaking the tremble in her voice. She fixes a smile on her face. “And this is precious little Amir Ryker. You may recall, Clover, that Mr. Ryker is the mayor of Glasscaster.”

  “A little young to be the mayor,” I manage, trying to swallow down the sickness that comes with this understanding: My plan has completely backfired.

  The Governess’s lips twitch. “You have such a sense of humor!” she laughs. “Mr. Ryker is Amir’s father! Amir is the son of the mayor.”

  I must have the worst luck in the history of the world to have attracted the attention of the most powerful man in Glasscaster. I can already see the layers and layers of protection surrounding his house; a prison of guards and alarms and fancy things.

  “Well, I’ll just leave you two be. Please do not hesitate to wave if you need anything, Mr. Greer.” She flounces off across the room to check on the other couples, but it’s obvious she’s still glancing this way.

  It’s the craziest thing, but I almost wish she’d come back.

  “You’re funny,” says Amir, standing up. His mouth still bears the
red traces of his cherry sucker. He kicks the horse aside. I can’t help but feel a surge of resentment that he’s not treating an expensive toy with more care.

  “That’s what I was hoping for,” I say weakly.

  “Mr. Greer says you’re going to come play at my house. We can play on the wall screen if you want. Or a demolition game. I’m good at that.”

  “I’m sure you are.” I’m standing rigid. Every bone in my body seems to be perfectly aligned.

  “I’m nine,” he says suddenly. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen,” I say.

  “Do you like elk? It’s my favorite.”

  Even though I’ve just eaten, my stomach lurches with hunger pains. It’s been some time since I’ve had any kind of real meat. I’m nearly salivating just thinking about it.

  “It’s fine,” I answer.

  “Do you like dog fights?”

  I cringe. “Not at all.”

  He frowns at this, and his face reddens. His eyes grow even beadier, like black beans. I’m surprised at how quickly he becomes angry.

  “You’ve got to like it. Mr. Greer says you’ll like whatever I say.”

  “Mr. Greer lied,” I say sharply. I am not about to be talked to this way by a nine-year-old, I don’t care who his father is.

  “Mr. Greer never lies,” says Mr. Greer. I turn towards him for the first time, and there is a strange, satisfied glow in his brown eyes. “Amir, play with your toy for a while, I’m going to speak with the girl.”

  “But…”

  “Go play, Amir.”

  “Fine,” he grumbles, and he collapses back onto the floor. He grabs the horse in a pouty way, and begins slamming it about.

  “So Mayor Ryker didn’t want to see me for himself?” I say quietly, trying to control the edge in my tone. Mr. Greer is sitting on a red velvet chair, and in the dim lighting from the small lamp on the table beside him, he looks positively evil. He motions for me to step closer. I don’t want to, but my guard is still nearby, and if I don’t play along, the Watcher will surely be summoned.

  I take a step towards him.

  “Closer, girl. Your name is Clover, is that right?” His voice has a rasp that makes my spine tingle.

  I take one more step forward, and balance lightly on the balls of my feet in case I need to back away quickly.

  “I am called Clover,” I say.

  “But that’s not what you like to be called, is it?”

  “It’s not my name.”

  “And what is your name?”

  It’s a simple answer, but for some reason it feels far too personal.

  “What’s it matter to you?” I say.

  “You’re right.” He places a hand on my waist. I slap it away, harder than he expects, I think. He laughs. “It matters very little, as long as you come when called.”

  I say nothing, just glare at him, burning holes right through his hidden face.

  “The answer to your previous question is no, Mayor Ryker does not need to see you for himself. He’s already got four other girls, three of them First Rounders.”

  I don’t hide my revulsion. “Sounds like he’s got more than his fair share. Why does he need me?”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Greer laughs again and attempts to run his hand down my side.

  “Don’t,” I snap.

  “I mean that you aren’t for him.”

  My gut clenches as I picture myself becoming the property of this man. I’ve never heard of a Magnate buying someone for their servant.

  “I’m not for you,” I say.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Quick as a rattler, he grabs my hand and pulls me forward, and I nearly fall onto his lap. In the struggle I dislodge the scarf from his face. He releases me, and I jerk back to a stand. The Watcher is very close now. A warning hand is placed atop his wire.

  As Mr. Greer is replacing his covering, the edge of the raised scar on his right cheek draws a gasp to my lips.

  “Problems?” asks the Governess. She’s standing behind me, gripping my shoulders so hard I wince.

  “No problems, Azalea,” he says after a moment of strained silence. “Clover and I were just discussing the terms of this transaction.”

  “Ah,” says the Governess. “Some tea, perhaps?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  No one says anything for what seems like a long time. The Governess releases my arms. “I did tell you she was spirited, did I not?” She laughs at herself, a little too hard.

  “Which is why she was chosen,” says Mr. Greer. She quiets at his tone.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say to the Governess. I don’t really, but I need to get away from this man. The scar on his cheek’s got me spooked; it reminds me of the thugs that snatched me from the mountains.

  “Later.” Her cheeks quiver a little before she turns back to our visitors.

  “I don’t feel good,” I say.

  With a fake smile she smooths down my hair, the way my ma used to do. When I pull back she holds my head in place with her tight grasp.

  “You feel just fine,” she says. But there’s a flash of pity in her eyes. “Shall I go start the paperwork?”

  Mr. Greer nods and gives a dismissive grunt, and with nothing more to say, the Governess retreats through the entrance, followed by her Pip assistant. The room is full of girls and suitors, but I’m all alone. Mr. Greer watches me the way fox watches a rabbit.

  “You’re Virulent,” I say to him. I should have suspected as much when I saw the scarf.

  His eyes smile. “Which doesn’t mean I’m not under the employ of the Mayor.”

  “I didn’t think…” I don’t know what to say. I may not be an expert on city ways, but even I know it’s odd for a civilized man to meddle with the lower class. For gambling maybe. To hire someone to do his dirty work, sure. But to appoint a Virulent as a permanent employee, as a caretaker for your son … I’ve never heard of such a thing.

  “Of course you didn’t,” he says, with a gleam in his eye. “A girl’s brain isn’t meant to take on the burdens of business.”

  I bite my tongue and fight back the urge to lash out at him. He seems pleased that he’s gotten under my skin, so I tell myself to hide my emotions. To show him nothing that will give him an advantage over me.

  “I guess you’re right,” I say flatly. “None of this makes sense.”

  He chuckles. “You have a sharp tongue. I wouldn’t mind getting more acquainted with it.…”

  “No,” I say firmly. I would rather die than become this man’s property.

  “But not until after you pass your inspection,” he finishes. “And we can deliver you to your rightful owner.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He turns his head just slightly to look at the boy playing on the floor.

  My mouth drops open. “He’s a child!”

  “Quiet, Clover,” he tells me. “I thought you girls were thrilled by such an opportunity. You’ll be brought to our home. You’ll wait out your days being pampered until he’s ready.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Four, maybe five years. Unless he wants you before.”

  “You would hold me prisoner,” I stammer.

  His eyes are smiling again. “Does a prisoner have a bed softer than a cloud to sleep in at night, Clover? Does a prisoner have meat and eggs and wine at her table? Does she have fine clothes and keepers to wait on her? You tell me.”

  For one measly moment—no, for half a measly moment—it doesn’t sound so bad. Better than here anyway. And then I’m so ashamed of myself, I turn bright red and stare at the horse toy the boy is now crushing into the floor.

  “Don’t worry. If you need practice…” Mr. Greer’s voice is barely a whisper now. It sends a jolt of tremors through my entire body.

  “I would never. Not with you,” I spit.

  He chuckles. “Such spirit.”

&nbs
p; I want to gag. Everything about this is wrong. I wish I could jump out of my skin. Disappear.

  “I’m not doing this,” I tell him.

  “That’s the wonderful thing about the auction,” says Mr. Greer. “You don’t have a say in the matter.”

  He stands, motioning for Amir to follow.

  “I want to take her home now,” whines the boy.

  “Patience, dear nephew,” he says, motioning the child to the door. Just before he follows, he pauses to whisper in my ear, “Patience for him, but not for the Virulent. I’ll be seeing you soon, Clover.”

  And then they are gone, leaving me in my corner of the room.

  * * *

  I DON’T REMEMBER LEAVING the parlor. I don’t remember the Watcher searing the metal bracelet on my wrist. I vaguely recall the Governess debating whether or not she should really place me back in solitary, now that I have such a high-profile buyer showing interest. She must have figured she ought to, because the next thing I know, I am shoved out of the glass office door into the solitary yard.

  I am still wearing the tight pink dress that covers my arms and reaches down to my ankles. The evening air is crisp, but I hardly feel it. I hardly feel anything. My hair is tucked behind my ears, falling in neatly brushed curls down my back. There is only one beaded earring in my ear.

  The sky is fading. It must be close to nighttime. The Watcher has already offered me my dinner allotment, but I didn’t take it. I’ve never been less hungry.

  “No!” a girl screams as he’s attaching my bracelet to the chain. She’s been sitting just outside the sliding glass door on her bedroll, but now stands, red hair disheveled. Latched onto her right arm is her containment bracelet; it peeks out from the sleeve of her standard black uniform dress. There is still a flushed blemish on the side of her face, but the swelling is down.

  Daphne.

  I look at her, but can’t seem to track her eyes. My head is too muddy. I stare down to where both of our leashes connect to the same post.

  “Someone chose you?” she says.