The Girl Who Wasn't Read online

  “What is it?” I ask. I can hear the timidity in my voice and I hate it.

  “We have an agreement. Or have you forgotten? You will abide by the terms or you will be removed,” he says in a voice that isn’t yelling but is much scarier. “And if you think that means you can go home to the City and back to your meaningless existence consisting of tennis and cafeteria food, you are mistaken.”

  I want to ask what I’ve done to displease him—mostly because there exists a long list of possibilities—but I don’t say anything. I wait. I am sure he will tell me. He seems to enjoy the buildup.

  “I know you’re capable of pulling this off. You put on a good show last night, at the beginning at least. Dancing and laughing at those idiot boys. Maybe you thought I wasn’t watching but I see everything. He is not acceptable for your circle.”

  “Who?” I can’t help but ask. I am frozen—terrified he means Linc. That he saw us on the terrace.

  “Obadiah Whitcomb.”

  Relief floods over me and Titus scowls. “I mean it. He is not a part of your inner circle. You can’t change that now.”

  I stick my chin out, determined to fight for this one. There isn’t much I’ll go against Titus for, but this is one thing I cannot stand to lose. Ida, Obadiah … a single, meaningful friendship. I will not give this up again. “He may have useful information,” I say.

  Titus’s mouth tightens. “What sort of information?”

  I shrug, like I couldn’t care less. “I don’t know yet but I heard you talking to Daniel about the senator and I thought maybe Obadiah would say something useful if I spent time with him. Besides, he’s gullible and doesn’t ask questions. If I slip and forget something or need to know a name, he will tell me without suspicion.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I have temporary amnesia from my bump on the head.”

  “He believed you?”

  “Completely.”

  I wait while he weighs my words. I can see him turning it over. For him, it is one hundred percent a business transaction. For me, it is everything.

  “Fine. But make sure you don’t give up your inner circle. And don’t mingle the two. Daniel had an errand for me last night but you need to make time for him soon. Do whatever it takes.”

  Daniel—the idea of spending more time alone with him makes my stomach churn. But it’s the price I must pay for keeping Obadiah. I nod, struggling to feign indifference. “All right.”

  The sinister look reappears. “And don’t forget I will be watching. I am always watching.”

  “I know,” I say. Whether he means here in Rogen Tower or at any moment of my existence in Twig City, it is true. He is always watching.

  He stalks out, slamming the door behind him. I flinch at the sharp sound and then the tension drains from my shoulders and I slump back against the pillow. Thankfully, my bruises are less raw today and not nearly as sore after another night with Josephine’s cream.

  Light streams through my window, muted by the sheer curtains. It is a new day. I have made it another night in Rogen Tower.

  After a late breakfast, I play tennis against a machine but only manage to make contact with a handful of serves. My shoulder burns and my legs protest the effort of running or lunging. Mostly, I walk back and forth across the court to keep the guard from fussing at me.

  After lunch, Gus shows me a small swimming pool on the other side of the gym. I swim laps for what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes, until Josephine appears and motions for me to stop. I am wheezing by the time I emerge from the pool, dripping wet, shoulders stooped. The exertion combined with my battered body is crippling. My lungs are on fire. Black dots dance at the edges of my vision.

  I stumble back to the clinic and collapse, still dripping, onto the cot against the wall.

  Josephine’s examination is slow and silent. She stares at my yellowing bruises for a long time with tightly pressed lips before rolling away on her stool and making notes in a file on her desk.

  “You look better,” she says. I snort. Her tone softens. “I can’t give you anything for the pain, but I can let you rest in here with me instead of what they have you doing out there.”

  I lean my head back and sigh. “Thank you.”

  Josephine goes back to her paperwork.

  “Have you had any more headaches?” she asks a few minutes later.

  “No,” I tell her as my pulse finally returns to normal. “Just sore from the bruises. Did those tests tell you what caused it?”

  “Not exactly,” she says, though not convincingly.

  I turn and look at her fully. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something different about you, Ven. Something I haven’t seen. You’re sure you’ve never had a headache before?”

  “Positive. I would remember something that awful.”

  “Hmm.” I watch impatiently while she writes in the file in front of her.

  “What’s so different about me?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m going to run some more tests on the scan I took the other night.” She looks up and gives me a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

  I wait again while she scribbles a few more notes. She closes the folder and slides it away before turning back to me. “There’s something else. Titus wants you to get out more. Alone,” she says.

  I don’t answer.

  “I want to make sure you can handle yourself first,” she adds.

  I understand what she means. Titus wants me to dangle myself, see who takes the bait. Living through the experience will be up to me. “How long do I have before that happens?”

  “I can give you another day. Maybe two. I don’t think he’ll wait longer.”

  I nod. The conversation ends there. We both know there’s nothing else to say. It’s not a matter of “if,” only “when.” Even Josephine knows that.

  ***

  I don’t see Titus for two days. Either Josephine has worked a miracle and given me time to heal before I’m thrown to the wolves, or something has happened to draw Titus’s attention elsewhere. The latter is not a pleasant possibility because I don’t see Linc for the same amount of time.

  My worry eats at me. I don’t bother calling Taylor or Daniel, though I know I should after my conversation with Titus. I contemplate calling Obadiah but I don’t want to press my luck on that front. And I doubt anyone would supply me with his number.

  Instead, when I’m not forced into the gym, I hide out in the library and play chess on a digital tablet I find in one of the desk drawers.

  I’m not very good at it, always gaining the lead only to lose it in a rash attack at the end. But I play anyway. I can’t focus enough to read despite the myriad of choices stacking the shelves, and chess reminds me of Lonnie. She wins every time. It used to make me so mad but now I’d give anything to lose to her again.

  By the end of the second day, I am too worried to eat dinner. I excuse myself to my room, which I’m allowed to travel to and from on my own now. I pass by the library and three other rooms that are all different versions of a sitting room. The fourth door is mahogany and heavy looking. So far during my time here, it has remained closed and I’ve come to know it as one of Titus’s personal spaces. Off limits.

  The sound of voices coming from inside slows me and when I near the frame, I realize the door is cracked. Through the fraction of space, I see Titus speaking to someone whose back is toward me. The scent of cigars wafts out the opening.

  “… But the RNA sequence is better than ever,” Titus says. “These new models won’t even have the ability to question their fate, much less care about their circumstances. They will be completely loyal to me.”

  “How long until they’re ready to be woken and integrated?”

  “Three months, give or take.”

  “None too soon,” the stranger says. His hair is wavy black and his voice is rough like he needs to clear his throat. “Twig City’s beginning to look like a ghost tow
n. We’ve depleted our numbers. Marla says the products are nervous.”

  “They’ll be fine. Just keep them in a routine. Once the new line is introduced, their complacency will spill over and reassure the rest.”

  “That’s what you said a year ago.”

  I can hear Titus losing patience as he snaps back. “I’ve done my best given the circumstances. They’re under control.”

  “That doesn’t fix the problem with the current products in place,” the man says without turning. He sounds unruffled, and I wonder if anyone has ever ignored Titus and his temper so blatantly.

  “The current line is manageable. I should think I’ve made that obvious beginning with Senator Ryan’s replacement.”

  “For now,” the stranger agrees. “Your daughter’s product is another matter. And these disappearances are disturbing in their frequency.”

  “We’re getting close to neutralizing the threat,” Titus says.

  “What leads do you have?”

  “Don’t worry about leads. It’s handled,” Titus snaps.

  “Is it?” The man turns from the window but he is too far right for me to see him through the small crack. He sounds angry now. “You have had more than one opportunity to catch her attackers. Instead, they’ve come way too close to taking her out, or worse, taking her alive. If that happens, everything crumbles.”

  “I would kill the product myself before I let that happen,” Titus says.

  My body goes cold. I can feel the blood draining from my face. Titus whirls and I think he may come to investigate some noise I’ve made but I am already hurrying down the hall to my room. I run the last few steps and throw the door closed behind me before I realize the sound of it slamming will probably give me away.

  I freeze and wait for Titus to storm inside and punish me—but nothing happens. No one comes.

  My shoulders slump and I exhale. I don’t bother with undressing as I crawl underneath the covers and bury my head in the pillows. Closing my eyes doesn’t erase what I’ve heard, but it helps me concentrate on blocking out the worst of it.

  Senator Ryan is an Imitation. This is much easier to think about than anything they said about me. What happened to the Authentic Senator Ryan? I remember Linc saying something about an attack but that the senator survived. Was there another? And does Daniel know that his father is not his father? I cannot afford to ask him and give away what I’ve heard. Not yet.

  They made it sound like the senator isn’t the only one Titus switched out. The idea of so many more Imitations in place is scary. It means the reach of Titus’s control extends much farther than I ever imagined.

  I wonder again who the strange man is and how he has the power to speak to Titus that way. I try not to think about what Titus said, but it’s inevitable. The more I try to shut it out, the louder his words ring in my ears: I would kill the product myself before I let that happen …

  I’ve known all along he has brought me here to be dangled as bait. To die, if need be. So it shouldn’t be this shocking to hear him say he’d do it himself. Maybe it was the absolute conviction of his words. Or the tone devoid of any emotion that went with it. The GPS underneath my skin hums like a singing grenade.

  I feel as if I’m drowning and there is no surface to search for, no oxygen left in any direction. I lie there for a long time before I sleep. Part of me is determined to survive this. If not for myself, then for Ida and Lonnie, for Obadiah. For Linc. But another part wonders why it matters, why I matter.

  In this moment, I ache to be human—to be Authentic and free and owned by no one.

  When I do finally sleep, I dream that my lungs are filling with water from a tube that is set on a slow drip, and though I see it dangling before me, I can do nothing to stop it.

  Chapter Twelve

  The following evening, Titus sends me to a party alone. He says he trusts me. I know the truth. He trusts that if I’m alone, someone will try to kill me. As proof, my only escorts are Gus and two men I don’t know. I’m told Linc and others are stationed nearby, watching. It is a small comfort until I learn I will enter the party alone while my team waits in the building across the street.

  A doorman with a meaty hand pulls me from the car and escorts me up the walk and through the doors. The party is already in full swing. It is a celebration, one of many being held in the city tonight because the election is over. Senator Whitcomb has been re-elected and everyone is overjoyed. I’m glad for his win if it means he won’t be replaced by his Imitation counterpart.

  I go without complaint because it means I will see Obadiah. I crane my neck searching for him but I cannot see past the two black-and-white tuxes blocking my path as they surge closer. Daniel reaches me first. He turns to smirk at Caine Rafferty who comes in second, which in this case is last. My curbside escort lets go of my hand and drops back, leaving me standing alone with them.

  “Hello, Raven,” Daniel says, leaning in much closer than necessary. His breath hits my face. It smells like stale alcohol and artificial mint. He plants a kiss on my mouth that lingers too long. He tries prying my lips open with his tongue but I keep them clamped shut. His hands roam the silky fabric that covers my hips. When his fingertips inch underneath the hem of my wrap, I step away. I discreetly wipe away the excess wetness he’s left on my lower lip and try not to let my disgust show in my expression.

  Seeing his opening, Caine takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “The night was such a waste until you arrived,” he says.

  I roll my eyes, for once my reaction matching perfectly with that of Authentic Raven. “Boys,” I say, with a fair amount of disdain and boredom, “can you let me get in the door before you pounce on me like a pair of puppies?”

  My chastising works. They both frown and step back. I sweep past them and head for the dais where the politicians are holding their meet-and-greet. I shake hands with a few as I pass by, an Authentic smile pasted on my face. I search faces, looking for Obadiah. I don’t see him, but I can still sense the boys on my heels.

  I sigh and slow my step, allowing them to catch up. Even though Titus isn’t here, I don’t doubt for a second he is watching in some capacity. If I break my role, he will know. The music slows and the dance floor thickens with swaying bodies.

  “Would you like to dance?” I ask Caine. The lesser of two evils. Well, as long as we aren’t stuck in a bathroom and my name is Taylor.

  Daniel scowls and Caine gives him a triumphant smile.

  “After you,” Caine says to me, gesturing at me to lead the way.

  “I’ve got next,” Daniel calls after us.

  Caine is as much of a gentleman as I expect. His only strike is when the music slows and he tries to wedge his knee suggestively between my thighs. I go for disdainful as I knock his leg aside and reposition myself. He grins but doesn’t try it again.

  I dance with Caine for a song and a half before Daniel cuts in. Caine doesn’t look happy but he steps aside and blends into the crowd. Daniel wastes no time or space as he reaches for my arms and fits me snugly against him. The moment our bodies connect, I am tense.

  Daniel’s breath is on my face, his mouth inches from mine. I keep my face downturned to discourage his advances. “Where’s your bodyguard tonight?” he asks.

  “Shut up, Daniel,” I say, weary of him already.

  His jaw muscle tics, though his smile remains frozen in place. To the rest of the crowd, he looks pleasant enough, but I don’t miss the way he tightens his grip on me. “You will speak to me with respect,” he says through closed teeth.

  “I will dance with you in front of this crowd. And that is all,” I say. I am not naïve enough to think he will listen but my security detail—including Linc—is hearing every word of this. I hope if Daniel tries anything without my permission, someone will come running.

  “Then let’s make it count, kitten,” he says and yanks me closer, daring me to resist. I don’t and we finish the dance in silence. After that, a politician old enough
to be my grandfather holds me too tight with fat fingers as his wife looks on, glaring. I try not to think about how familiar he seems with me as he cracks inappropriate jokes about farm animals. His hands remind me of the tiny sausages being served in the buffet line. Red and thick and wanting to find their way inside me.

  He is repulsive in a way I’ve never encountered, and I am rigid with disgust by the time Obadiah taps him on the shoulder.

  “May I cut in?” Obadiah asks.

  The old man lets go, clearly disappointed. He gets three steps before his wife grabs him and drags him away.

  Obadiah looks beautiful tonight in a silk vest under his soft charcoal suit. He drapes one hand gently around my hip. The other hand settles into mine, firm and reassuring, and we begin to sway. I cling to him gratefully.

  “I was looking for you,” I say.

  He snorts. “From the center of the dance floor? Because I’ve been here for almost an hour and this is the only place I’ve seen you.”

  “I figured I’d dance and get it over with but that last one …” I shudder.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t get you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A few weeks ago, you’d have danced with that creeper and giggled the entire time his hands slid over your backside. Now, you act disgusted with this whole scene. Did that hit on your head really do that much damage?”

  “I …” My response dies in my mouth. I want so badly to tell him the truth, but I don’t dare. The truth will only bring him trouble. “Maybe. I do feel different.”

  I am drawn to someone behind him. A familiar face buried far back in the crowd.

  I stop dancing but continue to hold Obadiah’s hand. The pressure of it anchors me. It is the only thing assuring me I haven’t somehow been transported back to Twig City.