I spin around to run, crashing against the walls when I slip on loose paper on the floor. I veer toward the door and take that left turn I’d missed before I’d found the Chamber of Horrors. Behind me, something solid thuds against the wall and there’s a tinkle of glass breaking. A quiet noise of rhythmic, padded taps follow me, like bare feet on the hard floor.
I glance back but can’t see anything in the darkness of the hallway. The padding feet come faster, closer. That same non-corporeal hand slips through the hair on my forehead. I bat it away, frantic.
Unstable laughter echoes against the curving walls. My stupid short legs can’t go any faster. They windmill under me as I run straight into the transport’s open door with so much momentum that my body thuds against the corner.
“Up! Out! Anywhere! My room!” I screech. The transport door shuts before me. I hear a small thwack, like a palm hitting the outer door, as it begins to zoom upward. Finally, there is no laughter anymore. Just one sound—me, hyperventilating in my own little capsule of confusion.
CHAPTER 11
THE NEXT MORNING, I’M EXHAUSTED and zombified. I woke up multiple times to check that my door was locked.
“Where’s Marka?” I ask the walls.
“Marka is in the kitchen, along with Cyrad.”
Well. This will be fun. At least he can’t go totally ballistic with Marka there. When I finally make it to the kitchen, it’s empty. I push the doors to the common room to find Cy alone at the big dining table drinking coffee and eating a bagel.
I scan the table for sharp objects. Phew. No butter knives either. It wouldn’t be pleasant being butter-knifed to death. As soon as he sees it’s me, he moves to leave. Hex opens the door from the kitchen, holding three bowls of cereal and two spoons.
“Wait,” I say. I decide to blast the elephant completely out of the room, maybe to the moon. I have no idea where my courage comes from. Oh yes. From not wanting to be murdered in my sleep, that’s where. “So who’s Ana?”
Hex stiffens at the mention of her name.
“Don’t talk about Ana.” Cy squeezes his fist.
“Why?”
“Hey, Zel,” Hex butts in. “I think you have a trait too. You’re a hermaphrodite. Because girl, you’ve got balls.” Cy glares at him, but Hex doesn’t budge from the doorjamb. I get the distinct feeling he’s making sure nothing happens to me. It’s such a brotherly gesture. I think I owe him two hugs for that.
“Ana is none of your concern,” Cy warns. “Stay out of her room. Stay out of my room. And keep your damn research inside the lab.”
I don’t respond. I’m too angry. I have a right to know why baby heads are showing up in my room and deranged people are living in my new home. I march toward the kitchen door, where Hex wears a bemused grin.
“Did you hear what I said?” Cy yells.
I spin around at the door. “I’m short, not deaf, asshole.”
HEX REFUSES TO TELL ME ABOUT ANA, citing the safety of his balls, and Marka promises to talk more at dinner about the whole Ana situation. The answers will have to wait, but at least I’ll be getting some soon.
It takes every gram of brain matter to concentrate when I get to the lab. Digging into Dyl’s purse, I pull out the last strand of hair from her brush. This one has to count. If only I’d had three chances for so many other things. But there’s only one of me, and I can’t undo my mistakes. From here on out, I have to be better than . . . me.
All day, I quadruple-check every step. By early evening, I know I’ve done it right. I can feel it in my neurons.
Marka calls me to dinner, so I take a break and head for the common room. It’s empty except for Vera, who’s drinking a bowl of weedy-looking soup. Marka enters a minute after me, smiling.
“Zelia, perfect timing.” She looks over at Vera. “Where’s everyone else? I told them to come.”
The door opens and Hex and Wilbert enter. They pick chairs far apart from each other. Just when Marka’s about to call out to the wall-com, Cy enters. Repelled by the unusually full room, he stays close to the door.
“I wanted to tell you all that I’m going to Kansas City tonight,” Marka says. “There’s a child we may need to take in. The magpod is picking me up in ten minutes.”
I can feel Cy’s eyes on me, but I ignore him. “But Marka . . . I thought we were going to talk.”
“This trip trumps our conversation. But it will happen,” she says. Cy looks away, as if she’s utterly let him down. “I’ll be back in a day or so. Don’t worry, Zelia. I’ve had a chat with Wilbert and Cy about our nighttime door access. You’re in good hands.” As if to reinforce her dubious assertion, she glares at everyone in the flavor of Behave or I’ll kill you.
Everyone murmurs a good-bye, and Marka walks to the door. I head for the kitchen, grabbing a synthetic chicken salad sandwich out of the efferent. Hex’s and Vera’s voice start rising in the next room. I wonder if they’re arguing over Ana, so I pop my head back in.
Hex is standing up, hollering. “Marka? Maaaaaaarka!” he chants, musically. When there’s still no answer, he pushes away from the table and whistles. “Okay, troops. We’re outta here.”
“What?” I gape.
“C’mon. It’s been ages since we snuck out.”
“No.” Cy gives Hex a hard stare. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not safe.”
“Of course it’s not safe. Life isn’t safe. And what we do here isn’t living. Let’s live a little, eh?”
“I’m in,” Vera hoots. “Anything to get away from you freaks for a while.”
“Wilbert?” Hex asks.
“Well . . .” He scratches his faceless head.
“Ha. You’d rather hang out with your girlfriend, Callie, wouldn’t you?” Vera taunts.
“No! Okay, I’m in. I’ll go get my buttons.” He shuffles out the door.
Vera practically sings, “I’m gonna get my makeup on.” She skips out of the room in a flash of green. I’ve never seen her so happy.
“I thought Marka said I was in good hands.” I squint at Hex.
“She did. These hands.” He waves his lower pair of hands. “But these”—he waves his upper pair—“are all naughty, all the time.”
I put my sandwich down on the table, my appetite gone. I’m no rule breaker. Dad was sure to pound that one into my brain. If Marka were here, she’d say I stink of fear.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I thought we could be killed if we leave.”
“There’s a bunch of clubs in the southern district,” Hex reasons. “No fingertip IDs or anything. Dark as can be. We’ll hide ourselves well. It’ll be perfect.” He picks up my discarded sandwich and mashes it into his mouth in one bite. Gross.
“It’s dangerous, and you know it.” Cy crosses his arms, moving to stand closer to me. Cy’s like a shadow of support for my worry. I’m no good to Dyl if I get caught.
I’m on the verge of refusing, when I find myself asking, “So, where is it exactly?”
“South Thirty-sixth Street. You know, near the old—”
“Slaughterhouses?” I chime in. The scrambler hub. It’ll be near there. Which means it’ll be near Q. I know Dad made me promise to take care of myself, but I have to take care of Dyl too. I can’t do one without the other. I have to take this chance.
I raise my hand to high-five one of Hex’s chicken-salad-smeared, misbehaving hands.
“I’m in.”
“We’ll meet back here in ten minutes,” Hex hollers at everyone.
I head to my room so I can put Dyl’s purse safely away. At the transport door, I glance at my outfit. I’m wearing my usual shapeless Cy shirt and amorphous dark skirt. Should I change for the occasion? It takes me a millisecond to decide. Nah.