Violated. It’s the only word that can describe how I feel, inhaling his spent air. He purses his lips like a child begging for a kiss from a kindergarten sweetheart, but it’s not remotely innocent. His breath smells of licorice mixed with something earthy and spoiled. I’d vomit if I could only open my mouth.
Out of the periphery of my vision, I see something that can’t possibly be here. What the hell? A tendril of pale green vine, so lush and beautiful, curls into my field of vision. It sprouts orange flowers, the color of a grand sunset. One of the vines curls around my ear to tickle my neck.
Ren lets go of my face. I swat at the vine, which is now encircling my leg. A new bloom, the size of a dinner plate, bobs over my face. It’s beautiful but menacing.
“Stop. Go away,” I say, but my words are coming from a far distance. Holy shizz, I can actually see the letters, crawling along Dyl’s bed. Stop shimmies under the covers in a lump and Go away floats over the floor and squeezes a hasty exit under the door.
“She’s so gone. Let’s go.” The words shimmer in gold, retreating behind the bloom still dancing over my head.
The distorted flower is almost painful to behold, wringing out my brain that’s so used to all things logical. It hurts. It tells me to stop fighting, stop resisting, stop everything and just worship.
Has it been minutes, or hours, or weeks? My eyes grow dry and weary from the adoration, when one of the petals simply disappears. Where did it go? I turn around, trying to see where it’s fallen. Around my body, the green filaments begin to disintegrate, blurring into a pale smoke and then nothingness. The vision is gone.
Suddenly, there is pain. The back of my head, throbbing. And silence. I shake my head and try to look around the room. Reality is back. The two strangers are gone.
And so is Dyl.
CHAPTER 4
MY MIND IS STILL FUZZY AND MY LEGS WEAK, but I crawl to the door, pushing it open. Outside, the hallway is empty. There’s no sign of the hoverchair or Dyl.
Throbbing pain screams from the new lump behind my head, which isn’t helping me think straight. What about Micah? No. He’s just an underling in this place. What about the other guy he worked with? I don’t remember ever hearing his name.
I wobble over to the transport and get inside, leaning against the curved wall, forgetting to hold on to a loop.
“New Horizon’s director’s office,” I command, and then promptly tumble to the floor when the transport zooms off sharply to the left.
The door opens to a narrow hallway, gray but with plush carpeting and walls adorned with pictures of hyper-happy parents and mismatched foster kids. The translucent doors are all closed, but I soon find one embellished with a brilliant logo of a rising sun and DIRECTOR printed underneath. I pound with all my might, and the pain in my knuckles shocks me.
“Open up! Please!”
Through the frosted door, there is a faint glow of pinkish purple. Someone is in there, ignoring me. I throw my weight into traumatizing the door with more pummeling. When it slides open abruptly, I pitch forward, falling. My skull nearly hits the floor when someone catches me.
I scramble out of the arms of a middle-aged woman so tall, I’m taken aback. Six feet plus, for sure. Her black hair is cropped short like a boy’s, but it befits her angular face.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is husky and mellow. In her tank top and loose pants, she’s dressed far too casually to be the director.
“No, no. I need to talk to the director. Where is she?”
The woman points to a screen behind a desk, where a person would normally sit. It glows purple, with a yellow message parading across: NH Director will return on Tuesday 060656.
“What? Next . . . next week?” I stammer. “No. I need to call the police!” Now I’m freaking because this was my only plan, and my plan is gone off on vacation.
“Zelia, there’s no point in calling the police.”
My hand instinctively goes to my chest. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m Marka. Your new foster mom.”
I just stare at her, because I don’t know what to say. Her violet eyes soften, and she tries a half smile. Nothing’s prepared me for meeting a new parent and losing Dyl in the space of one hour. I thought I had weeks, not minutes, to get ready to meet this person.
“I was hoping we’d meet in a less . . . urgent way,” she apologizes.
I have nothing to go on but her looks and a handful of her words, but someone has to help me. And besides, there is a gentle warmth in those violet eyes. The coin toss of trust just landed in her favor.
“If you’re my new foster mother, then you have to help me. My sister was taken. They drugged her or something, and me too, I think. It’s all wrong. She’s supposed to come with me. She—”
“No.” She says it so flatly, I stop my babble to stare at her.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean, your sister, Dylia, is with her new . . .” Marka has to practically spit the next word out. “. . . family.”
“But why would they separate us? They have no right!”
She thinks over her words carefully. “Dylia’s placement was special. I’ll explain soon, but you have to remember that you’re both minors, and you signed a form that gave New Horizons the power to place you as they saw fit. Separately, if necessary.”
“I never signed . . .” But the second I say it, I remember. Those forms. I had no idea, and neither did Dyl. We couldn’t even see straight yesterday. “What have I done?”
“Come with me. New Horizons can’t help you, because Dylia no longer exists to them.” The words are callous, but her voice isn’t.
A shadow falls on the wall next to us. An elderly lady in a brown suit appears with her holo glowing orange. Not the same one from the New Horizons waiting room, but clearly the same breed. There isn’t a drop of friendliness in her face.
“Ah, you’ve both found each other. All right then. Mrs. Sissum, your forms are nearly finished.” She nods at me, faking a smile. “And then you can get started with your new family.” She sounds like a commercial for something I don’t want to buy.
My mouth is so dry, I can hardly force out my words. “What happened to my sister?” Marka touches my arm in warning, but I step away.
“Who, dear?” The brown-suit lady’s lip twitches uneasily.
“My sister, Dylia Benten.”
The woman searches her holo screen, scrolling through a list. “We haven’t had anyone with that name.”
“We both arrived yesterday,” I say quickly, my heart pounding as I force a deep breath. “Something is wrong. Those people came in our room and took her. He—this guy—he breathed into my face and there was a jungle in my room.” My voice is a warbling mess. I hear how insane I sound. Everyone hears it.
The old lady switches her holo channel. She angles the glowing plane to face me. A guard is now on the screen, watching and listening.
“Listen, my dear,” she enunciates carefully. “I don’t know what neurodrug you’ve managed to sneak in here, but unless you settle down like a good girl, you’re going straight to the detox unit.” Her eyes harden even more. “And detox is not fun, as they say.”
I draw back, considering the threat. I’m never the one to cause trouble. I don’t rock the boat, because I don’t know how to swim, metaphorically or otherwise. But this isn’t about me. Dad’s voice replays in my mind.
Take care of yourself. Stay safe, no matter what.