The Girl Who Wasn't Page 23

  “She’s downstairs,” he says, his voice giving away exhaustion.

  “And Titus?”

  “Already interrogating her.”

  “Do you think she’ll talk?”

  “I don’t know. Titus will be ruthless.”

  “If they’re where she said, we’ll have to move them. If he finds them, he’ll kill them all.” He nods. I know he’s already thought of this. “You don’t have to help me,” I add.

  He frowns. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

  “Linc ... maybe you should.” His brows knit in confusion, but I press on. It needs to be said. “Whatever is at that address is my problem. But it doesn’t have to be yours. The risk you’re taking—”

  “Is mine to take,” he interrupts. “I meant what I said about not letting you do this alone.”

  “If Titus finds out you’re involved, he’ll kill you.”

  “He could try,” he says fiercely.

  “He might kill you anyway.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  My heart beats erratically against my chest but I say the thing I’m scared to say. “Because he knows I’m in love with you.”

  I wait for his expression to change, for dismay or anxiety or something like it to sweep his features at the thought of what Titus could do to him for this, but instead a slow smile creeps across his mouth and he steps closer so that our faces are almost touching. His hands cup my hips. “Say it again,” he whispers.

  “Titus might kill—”

  “Not that part. The other thing.”

  For some reason, I feel incredibly shy. I force myself to look at him and slowly, I repeat the words. “I love you.”

  He presses his lips to my cheek. “Again.”

  “I love you,” I say with more confidence.

  He lifts his lips from my cheek, presses them to my neck. “Again.”

  I’m smiling now. “I love you.”

  He continues to press kisses to my jawline, slowly making his way to my mouth. I say it three more times before our lips finally meet. I can tell by the shape of his mouth as it finds mine that he is smiling too. The kiss is a tangle of lips and fingertips and arms and parallel friction. I am breathless and tingling when he pulls his mouth far enough from mine to whisper, “I love you too, angel.”

  Joy, bigger than anything I’ve ever experienced, surges into my chest. It is a feeling so solid, it seems touchable. If this is what it’s like to be human … and then I realize—this is what it’s like to be me.

  Ven. An Imitation in love. How is this possible?

  Linc catches sight of my expression and his head tilts. “You look so far away. What are you thinking?”

  “That this is the happiest I’ve ever been and …” I stare at my gauzy curtains without really seeing them.

  “And?” he prompts.

  I almost don’t finish. I am too afraid it will ruin the moment. But his earnest curiosity is too much. I tell the truth. “I don’t want you to think I’m not capable of loving you as much as you love me just because I’m not human.”

  He growls, a sound that’s become familiar from him. Especially anytime we discuss this particular subject. “You are human. You heard what Melanie said.”

  “I don’t trust Melanie.”

  “Do you trust yourself?”

  I pause. “Yes.”

  “So do I. And I can see it inside you, shining through like a beacon, drawing me closer and closer. It’s what keeps me tied to you.”

  “What does?”

  “Your humanity.”

  I open my mouth to respond but he holds his finger to my lips and continues. “Melanie was right about one thing. No one else gets to make you feel like less because of how you were born. It’s the same in my world, only they use money, instead of science, as the measuring stick. Either way, who you are at birth shouldn’t define you. We make our own destiny.”

  Again, I open my mouth to respond, but he shushes me a second time. His voice rises with conviction. “We choose who we are. And who we’ll be. Not them.”

  I shove his hand aside. “Are you done yet?”

  His shoulders sag. “Yes.”

  “Good, because that was absolutely inspiring as pep talks go. And you should quit while you’re ahead.”

  The corners of his lips twitch. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “You had me at humanity.”

  His smile widens and then quickly falls away, replaced by a serious determination. “We’re going to find them, Ven. And we’re going to change things. For them. For you.”

  “You believe that?” I whisper because saying it out loud makes the whole thing sound scary in a possible sort of way.

  “I do.”

  “How? How can you just believe it?”

  “Easy. Because I believe in you.”

  Without hesitation, I throw my arms around him and hold on tight. He stumbles back half a step, off balance from my unexpected display. Then he rights himself and his arms wrap around me too. “What’s this for?” he asks against my hair.

  “For not being less.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sharp drafts of wind cut through my hair and sneak into my helmet, caressing my cheeks like whispering fingertips. The sun is shining, sending a swath of light between the skyscrapers that cast shadows along either side of the street. Despite the bite in the air, I’m warm inside my jacket. Between my thighs, the motorcycle thrums as we accelerate out of traffic. Any other day, the experience of riding with Linc would be thrilling. Today, it is impossible to enjoy.

  The anxious thumping of my chest threatens to drown out the hum of the motorcycle’s engine. Not for what I’ve left behind—Titus was distracted enough by his newest prisoner to let me go without much explanation this morning—but for what we’re headed toward. I have no idea what we’ll find at the address Melanie has given, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m heading into something that will be impossible to walk away from.

  Red brake lights dot the road ahead, but Linc barely slows as he darts around bumpers and weaves between commuters. I am anonymous behind my helmet but I stare back at the curious drivers who scowl as we speed past.

  In no time, we navigate through the congestion and break free onto the roads that lead to the outskirts. These streets are far less traveled. I’m not sure if it’s because so few people here own cars or that anyone who does can afford to work uptown.

  We slow for a right turn. The street sign is chipped and weathered, barely hanging on to its steel frame. I can just make out letters that spell “Waverly” before it’s lost behind me. These buildings are long and squat, three stories at most. None of them display numbers so we do a lap and circle back.

  Linc slows and raises his visor. “You see it?”

  “No.”

  He angles toward the shoulder and pulls to a stop. I slide off and remove my helmet, shaking my hair free. Beside me, Linc removes his own helmet and stares up and down the street, frowning.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s … empty.”

  He’s right. Not a single vehicle—not even foot traffic penetrates from the main road we left a block away. The quiet is eerie. The stillness suggests … purpose.

  “Do you think—?” My words are cut off by a scraping noise. I whip around but there is nothing there. I stare at a corner of the building I can’t see around.

  The scraping comes again, like feet dragging. A face appears at the very edge of the wall, two eyes peering at us from around the corner. I go still. Slowly, the face emerges far enough that I can make it out. “Anna.”

  Linc and I share a look. We are here.

  “Anna,” I call again, louder.

  She steps clear of the corner and waits there. The minute I move toward her, Linc’s hand is on my wrist pulling me back. “Wait.”

  “Linc, it’s her. Melanie was telling the truth.”

  “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

  I don
’t want to admit I shared his sentiment only moments ago. Instead, I stick out my chin, determined that he is wrong. This is safe. I am supposed to be here. “I know Anna. She won’t hurt me.”

  He scowls and slides his hand down until it joins mine. I hold fast. Together, we walk forward. Anna watches us from the shadows, her eyes darting in every direction as we approach. I can feel the tension in Linc as he squeezes my hand. I force mine to remain relaxed—a sign of my own certainty, though I’m not certain at all. Not with Anna biting her lip and looking for trouble behind my left shoulder.

  “I’m glad to see you again,” I tell her with forced cheeriness.

  At my words, the lines in her forehead smooth over and her shoulders relax. “Same,” she says. “I wasn’t sure Melanie would come through. Well, we can’t stay out here. Come on.”

  We follow her into the alley. Shadows grow and then cross, throwing everything into what feels like murky twilight though it’s not yet noon. We pass a set of Dumpsters that leave a stench in their wake. My nose wrinkles.

  Empty crates and debris litter the walkway. I step over several until I’m forced to go around a larger set. The scraping sound from earlier comes again. I jerk my head toward it so fast, I almost trip. With Linc’s help, I steady myself and catch up to Anna who waits in an open doorway. The metal frame has a thick coating of rust. It flakes off in tiny slivers, golden dust motes in the rotten air.

  “Ven,” Linc murmurs, the single word packed full of wariness.

  “I know,” I say as we walk forward.

  Warm, stuffy air hits me the moment I cross the threshold. The scraping comes again as the door slides closed. Anna leans on it, shoving with her entire body. She grunts and heaves until the latch clicks shut. Then she slides a giant deadbolt into place.

  We’re sealed in.

  I try not to think of it that way. I know Linc could open it if need be. But there’s no way we could exit in a hurry. I don’t allow myself to imagine possible reasons for a quick exit.

  “This way,” Anna says.

  Linc blocks her path before she can move. “No way. We’re not going any farther until you give us some answers.”

  “Melanie should’ve—” Anna begins, but Linc cuts her off.

  “Melanie’s a liar. We want the truth.”

  Anna’s expression tightens but she nods. “I understand your concern. Melanie can be … self-involved. I’ll explain everything. Answer all of your questions. But first, I want you to meet someone.”

  Linc’s voice is a few inches lighter when he asks, “Who?”

  “His name’s Morton. He’s been out of the City longer than anyone. Whatever questions you’ve got, he’s the one with the answers.” She shrugs. “I’m just a guest.”

  “How many of you are here?” Linc asks.

  “A lot.” Linc opens his mouth, probably to argue for specifics, but Anna shakes her head. “I’m not giving you that kind of information without assurances. Talk to Morton first. Alone. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know about the others.” Her voice is firm, her gaze unwavering as it holds Linc’s. No one breathes. The silence echoes around us. I squeeze Linc’s hand.

  Finally, Linc exhales and his shoulders relax. “All right, Anna. Take us to Morton.”

  A darkened hallway winds to the right. Anna leads the way, our steps muffled by a thick coating of dirt on the floor. The air becomes heavier the farther we walk. Even the silence seems muffled. We pass several open doorways leading into small, boxy rooms. They must’ve been offices at one time. Now they’re empty, save for the second-hand sunlight filtering in through high windows. Anna stops at the last door. It’s open halfway and she pushes it wide with her knuckles as she knocks.

  “Morton,” she says, though I can’t see over her shoulders to who she’s addressing.

  Furniture creaks and feet shuffle as someone rises. More shuffling and then Anna moves aside and I see him.

  I blink and force myself not to step back. The man before me is dark-skinned and tall. He is easily the largest man I’ve ever seen. Not large like Marla—large like someone has taken boulders and placed them underneath his skin. There are defined mounds where his shoulders and biceps should be and sinewy veins running the length of his forearms. Through the fabric of his shirt, his chest is broad and hard like the rest of him. Despite his formidable size, he is smiling.

  “Ven,” he says in a deep baritone. “It is an honor to meet you.” His voice is accented with something I don’t recognize. It makes him sound only slightly less scary than he looks.

  He holds out a hand three times the size of my own. I take it gingerly, expecting to be crushed under his grip, but he is surprising delicate with me. Rough calluses line his palm and scrape against my skin. He drops my hand, the smile still in place though somewhat smaller, like a secret, when he turns to Linc. “And you must be the bodyguard I’ve heard so much about.”

  “I am with Ven,” Linc says in a clipped voice. The words are meant to be a simple agreement to Morton’s statement but a ripple of pleasure goes through me at what else he’s inferred.

  Morton nods. “Please, come in and sit.” He gestures to a faded loveseat underneath a high window. “I’m afraid our accommodations aren’t the nicest in town. But they’re the least threatening, I assure you.”

  He doesn’t wait for Linc or me to comply before he turns to Anna. “How’s the arm, mon ami?”

  “It’s fine,” Anna insists.

  “Let me see.” His tone is a gentle rebuke. Anna, head hanging, lifts her arm to Morton. He peels away the bandage that covers the place where her GPS should be. His face scrunches as he inspects the raised wound. “When was the last time you changed the dressing?”

  “Yesterday,” Anna says, her voice high-pitched and not at all believable. Morton sighs.

  “I’ve told you about taking care of this. My equipment, this facility, isn’t sterile. The procedure is risky enough without adding to it the fact that you aren’t cleaning it properly. It’s on the verge of infection.”

  Anna sighs. I suspect she’s heard all this before. Morton presses the bandage back into place. “Go see Rudy. He’ll help you clean it and apply a fresh dressing.”

  “But Ven—”

  “Will be all right,” he finishes. “Come find us when you’re done and you can show them around.”

  Anna promises she will and then slips out. I scoot closer to Linc so our legs press against each other and take his hand again. Morton’s done nothing threatening but it’s difficult not to take notice of how much he fills empty space.

  Morton lowers himself into the creaky desk chair and links his fingers, resting his hands over his abdomen. “I am not sure what Melanie told you about us but I am very glad you’ve come.”

  “She said she’s been helping to hide you from Titus and the rest of the Authentics,” I say slowly.

  “True enough. She’s helped us a great deal.” It’s obvious from the tone of his voice there is more he isn’t saying.

  “But?” Linc prompts.

  “Melanie’s Authentic, and beyond that, she’s what I call … an aggressive thinker. She would like to see more action, I think, than the rest of us are looking for just yet.”

  “What are you looking for?” I ask. It is a bottom-line question. One that, depending on the answer, will decide whether I can matter here.

  “The same thing we’re all looking for. Freedom.”

  I don’t answer. I can’t think of what should come next now that he’s said it.

  “But you don’t want to fight?” Linc asks. Morton shifts to look at Linc and I can breathe again.

  “Fighting offers the sad consequence of dying all too often. I want to live. To enjoy my freedom.”

  “So you hide here? In a vacant warehouse? Doesn’t seem much like living to me.”

  “Linc,” I say.

  “No, he’s right,” Morton says. “It isn’t. But it’s better than Twig City. And it’s better than playing a role for the
Authentics.”

  I nod. Even though this place is dank and dirty and makes me itch, he’s right. I’d rather live here than with Titus any day. I ask the second-most important question. “How did you get away?”

  Morton rubs a hand over his cheek and chin. I hear the scratch of stubble against his rough palms. “From my earliest days in Twig City, I remember feeling … conflicted. I would act all of the right ways in front of the overseers. Give my best effort during physical activity. Eat right. Say all the right things to my examiner. ‘I was created to serve.’ I had the whole spiel perfected. But something inside me was drifting another way. I doubted. I didn’t like my purpose. I didn’t like being told what to feel—or that I couldn’t feel. I wanted to be more. Do more. I wanted a choice.”

  He pauses long enough to catch my eye. His expression is deadly serious. “Do you have any idea what I mean, Ven?”

  “I think so,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He continues. “They call it a deviation. I was the first. Or the first to deviate and live, anyway. I was four years made when I received my note from Marla. It was the scariest piece of paper I’d ever held. I think even my bones shook on that walk to her office that day.”

  Linc squeezes my hand. Maybe he suspects how hard this is.

  “My Authentic is a professional athlete. Apparently he’s also prone to a bad temper and overindulging in his drink. One night, he argued with the wrong person and was subsequently stabbed. My mission was to take his place in the hospital so he could recover safely, without the threat of someone coming back to finish the job. I must’ve done a hell of a job playing my part in the City because when I got here, I was shown to my hospital room and left alone except for medical staff. Four days later, in the middle of the night, I got up and walked out.”

  “What about your GPS?” I ask. “And the kill switch?”

  He shows me the underside of his forearm. A small white line mars his chocolate skin. “They are both built into one device. I used the hospital’s tools to remove it.”

  My jaw opens. I am a little disgusted but mostly impressed. “You cut it out yourself?”