I lift my arms and survey my green spots. Yes, they’re fading, ever so slightly. I need all the help I can get, so I kick off my shoes and peel away my black leggings. Now I’m perfectly dressed for a nightmare—bra, short elastiskirt, green spots, crazy hair, covered in sweat and grime.
I find Caliga’s knife and tuck it in my waistband, then follow Dyl’s scent into the corner. A dark, very dead-end corner. I sniff up and down the angle where the two walls meet each other, and touch the walls delicately, searching for a seam or anything that could be a door, or an F-TID panel. I no longer have Ren’s stump of a finger. It was discarded in the transport, purple and useless. But I do have Tegg.
“Okay, mister. Need to borrow you for a sec.” I grab Tegg’s wrist, rough and thick with armor. With a few mighty heaves, I slide him over.
Some people enter the room, but leave since the drug clouds are gone. They couldn’t care less about us. Around here, there’s nothing odd about a half-naked, half-green girl lugging around her drugged boyfriend.
I heave Tegg’s hand up with a mighty “Oof!” and slap it sloppily against the wall. Nothing. I try over and over. Maybe there’s a finger pad higher up that I can’t reach. Maybe there is no pad. Maybe I’m just failing, as badly as I’d feared.
Finally, my fatigued, jittery hands let go. Tegg’s body slides an inevitable course down to the floor, where he flops over, his hand smacking a dull floor tile in the corner.
Slowly, the floor hollows out beneath Tegg’s head and shoulders. The F-TID touch panel was on the floor the whole time, right under Tegg’s limp hand. His lax body tumbles down a spiral staircase opening below and a waft of air puffs up from the hidden chamber. The faded but distinct scent of freesia hits me square in the face.
My heart. It’s a little lighter just smelling that flower. I take the spiral stairs running, trying not to slip. Tegg’s drugged body, complete with lolling eyes, drapes over the lowest steps.
Above me, the floor of the Alucinari Room closes shut. It’s very dim, and I can’t see much of anything. The faint glint of metal on the ceiling highlights vicious meat hooks hanging from the ceiling in an endless line. A blur of movement comes from the corner.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Dyl? Oh my god!” I run to her, and Dyl hugs me so hard that I feel it in my marrow. We’re both crying our eyes out, soaking ourselves in salt water. My hand rubs her back and the other arm clutches her head close to my chest.
“It’s going to be okay,” I croon. Her hair is stringy and her eyes are shadowed from illness or sleeplessness. Probably both.
“I missed you so much, Zel.” Her hands claw at my shoulders, as if I’m an apparition about to slip away. “But why are you here? Micah said he’d keep you safe. He said he’d take me to you soon.”
“Micah.” Saying his very name feels like a curse. Where do I start? Everything I have to say is going to hurt. “Micah isn’t going to get you out of here—I am.” I sound more confident than I feel. All my Carus tricks are nearly spent. Marka’s trait is getting weaker already. Even with Dyl right here, I smell the freesia but I don’t understand the other ailments attacking her body. Starvation? Vitamin deficiencies?
“No.” Micah’s voice arrives before he does. A small dark spot by the door expands irregularly until it’s big enough for a person to step through. He enters, hands in pockets, as if this is nothing more than a boring social visit. The Micah-shaped hole closes again for a few seconds before it expands, and the shadow-girl in black—Blink—emerges.
“Micah,” Dyl says with precious brightness. I’m nauseated. She still feels something for this piece of roach excrement.
“Yes, love. Isn’t it wonderful. We brought your sister.” His words are sweet, but the tone is deflated and apathetic. He’s only playing the part of the concerned boyfriend.
“Look at her.” Dyl scans me from head to toe. She lifts a shaking hand. “You said she wouldn’t get hurt.”
“Well, that’s mostly her own doing, not mine.”
The shadow girl crosses her arms. “Please. Let’s do this quickly, Micah.” She has a foreign accent, maybe French. “We don’t want the police coming if there’s more trouble. The club is losing people because of the fight in the Auditory Halx.” The wraparound sunglasses are so granny, I’d laugh if I weren’t so scared. Her skin is dark and satiny, absorbing what little light is in the room.
Micah strides forward to stoop several feet in front of us, and to my disgust, Dyl drags herself away from me into his arms.
“Yes, I guess it’s time. Her trinket’s not going to work out for us anyway.”
A tiny shard forms in a hard, painful center between my lungs and my heart.
Trinket.
Ana.
No.
“Dyl . . . you’re pregnant?” I whisper. The scent. The unidentifiable odor I couldn’t recognize. Still in Micah’s arms, she twists her head back at me and nods.
“Oh, Zelia. It was my choice! Please, please don’t be mad at me.”
“Your choice? YOUR choice?” I walk up to Micah and take the knife from my pocket. “You piece of shit! She’s thirteen. She’s just a child! You should have left her alone!”
“Zel, don’t hurt him! Oh, please, don’t, don’t!” Dyl screams, and pushes me away from the person who told us everything would be okay, way back in New Horizons. The liar.
Micah glances at my knife, unconcerned. “Don’t do anything else stupid, Zelia. You’re already on SunAj’s bad side. They’re furious about what you did to Ren and Caliga.”
“Good.”
Blink continues to circle us, the outsider in the soap opera.
I don’t want to have to do this to Dyl, but I have no choice. I need her to know, and I need to hear it myself.
“How many girls are in your collection, Micah? What was I supposed to be, number three? Or number thirty? Is Blink one of them too?”
Blink stops walking, startled. “Tais-toi!” she hisses, baring her teeth.
Micah holds a hand up to Blink, turning to me. “I did like you, Zelia. More than some. I’m sorry.”
“Stop lying. You’re not sorry.”
“I am. I would tell you more. I wish it could have been different, but it’s just . . . too complicated.” Micah stops talking abruptly to look over his shoulder, as if he’s being watched. “Okay, Blink. Just make it quick. We’ve got the others upstairs to deal with.”
“Pourquoi pas vous?” she asks quietly. “Je ne veux pas le faire.”
“You know why. Remember what SunAj told you last week,” he says.
Blink sighs, the sound of someone rapidly losing an argument. “But we could use the sedative gun.”
“Lesson first, tranquilizer later. These are the orders.” Micah gives her a hard stare, and she shrinks in remorse from her little rebellion. She sighs again. “Lumières,” she commands, and immediately the room begins to dim. Dyl reaches her arms out to Micah.
“Micah . . .” she says, but he turns pointedly away.
Darkness swallows the corners of the room, spreading quickly. Blink deftly yanks off her sunglasses, and I’m shocked to see black pupils so large, they nearly take up her entire eye. She reaches into her pocket to pull out a tiny pencil-shaped thing. She’s going to attack us with a chopstick?
Dyl runs toward Micah’s retreating form when Blink shakes the stick. It quadruples in length and thickness. With a lunge and one smooth swing, she gets Dyl’s knee in mid-run.
Dyl flies forward, landing on her side, screaming in pain. Micah’s face attempts to stay impassive, but even he winces at the blow. He backs into a corner, crosses his arms, and watches as the darkness overtakes every space in the room. Micah is now completely invisible to me, as is Dyl. I can’t see my own hand in front of my face.