“Stop.”
I turn around to see Cy, surprised that the word was more a request than a command. He catches up to me, walking two inches too far into my personal space, but I don’t fall back. Maybe I’m standing my ground or simply being weak for enjoying his faint warmth. Cy shoves his hands in his pockets.
“You’re not really going, are you?”
“I am.” It’s hard to look him in the eye, the way he towers above me.
“You get caught, and you’re no better than dead. It’s not worth it. I thought you wanted to try to get your sister back.”
“I am trying.”
“Dancing in an illegal club isn’t exactly constructive.” Cy’s fists are hard knots. Seems like he needs to relax even more than I do.
“Hey, why don’t you come with us?” I offer. “We could dance, and—”
“I don’t dance,” he blurts. The words are heavy in the air, hiding more than he lets on. As if he meant to say “I don’t dance with girls like you.”
“Fine. To each his own.” I try to sound as if I don’t care, even if the rejection bites like a paper cut. I head for the stairs, leaving Cy and his refusal behind. Just as I hit the next level, I hear him call one last time. It’s so faint, it might as well be my imagination. It sounded like “Please don’t go.”
That’s when I know it’s my imagination. Because Cy would never say “please” when it comes to me.
I RUN THE REST OF THE WAY TO MY ROOM, tuck Dylia’s purse beneath the mattress of my bed, and then jog back to the hallway, where I violently collide with Vera. She may resemble a vegetable in yoga wear, but she’s hard as a rock. Ow.
“Man, I knew it. Look at you. Tell me you aren’t going like that,” she says, pointing rudely with her index finger.
“I am. It’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”
“Oh, hell no. We won’t get into the club with you looking like some sort of she-goblin on a bad hair day.”
“Ouch, Vera! Even goblins have feelings.”
“C’mon.” She drags me all the way to her grow-light room and pushes me into her closet. Soon, a tight, scoop-necked midnight-blue top is exchanged for Cy’s T-shirt. Vera hands me an unevenly hemmed, bruise-colored skirt that occasionally dips high on the thigh. It’s got random soft points sticking out like some exotic prickly fruit. She tosses me a pair of black boots.
“How the heck do you get clothes when you’re off the grid?” I ask, tugging the boots on. “Does Marka get them?”
“She used to, but I like buying my own stuff. I’ve a little black-market business with the junkyard guys,” she says, rummaging through a drawer filled with makeup. On her bathroom countertop is a laser spray-painting machine. I’m praying she’s not going to use it on me.
I raise my left eyebrow. “What kind of business?”
“Organic libido serum, detoxifying supplements, and plant-grown testosterone from my recombinant herbs. It’s all natural.”
“You mean illegal?”
She shrugs. “I say tomato, you say tomahto.”
After wrestling my hair into a sleek knot atop my head, I discover that I do, in fact, have a neck underneath all the frizz. Vera swipes some wine-colored gloss on my lips and draws a thick black line straight from one temple to another, tracking over my eyelids and the bridge of my nose. It’s trendy and totally not me, but it’s the nicest thing Vera has voluntarily done since I got here, so I don’t say a word.
“Huh. You actually look decent when you aren’t sporting the unkempt, suicidal teenager look.” She sticks out her bottom lip. “Wait a sec.” Without so much as a warning, Vera shoves her hand into my bra and rearranges what chest mass I have.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
“Working on your produce display,” Vera grunts. It’s like she’s looking for spare change, and there ain’t none.
“I don’t have produce!”
Vera stops rearranging and steps back. I look down. Somehow she’s managed to conjure cleavage out of thin air.
“Oh, you’ve got it. But you can’t sell what you can’t see.”
Before I can complain about being compared to celery, Vera shoos me out of her room so she can get dressed. Back in the common room, everyone but Cy is gathered. I’m disappointed he’s not here, even if all evidence pointed to him not coming. Hex is sporting a long, draping coat in greenish gray. His shoulders look large and my eyes open wide when I only count two arms.
“Where . . .” I begin.
Hex makes the back of his trench coat wiggle. “Just holding them behind me. It’s uncomfortable, but I can deal.”
Ten minutes later, Vera walks in wearing a skin-tight bodysuit made of a black, shiny material. Black leather gloves cover her hands up to the elbows, and she minces over to me in her matching high-heeled boots. I’m not shocked by the fact she’s wearing the latest fashion from Hookers-R-Us. It’s her face. Except for her lips, which remain green, the rest of her face sports a flawless, ivory complexion straight out of a cosmetics ad.
“Whaddya think?” She smiles.
“You look great.” I take a step closer and examine the makeup. It’s really perfect, even down to the misty plum blush. Her full green lips are coated in a clear gloss. “Didn’t you forget lipstick?”
“Uh-uh. No way. If I’m going to be swapping spit with someone, I don’t want my lipstick smudging, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know, Vera. Dressed like that, I doubt any guys will be thinking about just kissing.”
“Excellent.” She grins at me.
“Where’s Wilbert?” I ask, looking around.
“Here.” He comes up from behind me. When he sees me in my club outfit and makeup, his mouth drops. “Wow!” Then he sees Vera. “Holy moly. Is that outfit legal?”
Hex scowls at her as she twirls around. Wilbert has managed to spike up his light brown hair and wears a shapeless black shirt over a pair of dark jeans.
I point at him, forgetting it’s rude. “Wilbert! You lost your head!”
Wilbert beams with pride, and he spins around for me to get a good view of him. His other head is gone. He’s got a normal pair of shoulders, and except for holding his head a little to the right, as he always does, I can’t see his spare, faceless skull.
“How did you do that?” I ask, still staring.
“It’s easy. Just an optical illusion. I have a transmitter here, and here.” He points to a tiny silver button on his shoulder tip and another on his left earlobe. “They throw reflected ambient light back and forth so people who look in that area see a void.”
I don’t really get it, but on closer inspection, there’s a jagged fuzzy area over his shoulder. I raise my hand and tentatively enter the space where his extra skull usually sits. My fingertips blur and disappear as I feel his warm, furry scalp.
“Wow,” I say, really impressed.
“The illusion doesn’t hold up to bright daylight. But since it’ll be dark in the club, it’ll be pretty seamless.”
“You’re brilliant, Wilbert. But I guess you knew that.”
Wilbert gives me a little bow of acknowledgment, then ducks into the kitchen.
“Okay. Well, shall we?” Hex puffs out his chest and heads for the door.
“Uh, how are we going to get there? Dig a tunnel?” I joke.
“No, but you’ll wish you had,” Vera warns.
“We can’t use a magpod, can we?” I ask.
“Nope, we’re going vintage,” Hex says. “Wilbert, did you grab the booze?”
Wilbert returns from the kitchen lugging two huge multi-gallon jugs of ethanol from Cy’s lab. Oh cripes. Are we going to drink that?
“Ugh, yeah. Dude, you have the muscles, why do I have to carry this?”