“Don’t doubt it,” said Mila, through gritted teeth.
Gwendolyn looked at her, and her eyes watered below her graying hair. Mila moved to the opposite end of the room. I picked up the fan and handed it back to Gwendolyn.
“Thanks,” she said. Her eyes met mine for the first time. A look of recognition flashed across her face. “I—I know you,” she said. “You were on the Pacific Northwestern Tube the day it cracked. I thought it was your face they showed on the wanted posters. I saw your friend’s face, too. She’s been on the news. Her head’s shaved and her chopsticks are gone, but she’s still quite pretty. They got it wrong, didn’t they?”
I shrugged. “Sorta,” I said. “For me at least, I guess the crimes listed on the posters are starting to be accurate.”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “They’re not accurate at all. You haven’t done anything wrong—”
“He’s done a few things,” said Phoenix.
Gwendolyn ignored him. “And the girl,” she continued. “She didn’t do anything. The press isn’t even using her real name. They’re saying she’s Mila.” She turned to Mila. “They’re saying she’s you.”
Mila crossed her arms. “How’s that my problem?” Her words stung, and my blood boiled.
Phoenix stepped toward me. “You knew the girl they showed on TV? And you didn’t tell me? You acted like she was a stranger!”
“I’m sure there’s more than a few things you haven’t told me,” I said.
He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re saying, kid. You don’t have any idea what and who you’re dealing with.”
“Really?” I said. “Because I think I’m starting to see things pretty clearly.”
Gwendolyn moved between us. “My appointment is tomorrow afternoon,” she said. She smoothed the wrinkles in her cream-colored dress. “Dr. Howey confirmed it this morning.”
Phoenix backed away, but he kept his stare focused on me. “Excellent,” he said. “Everything’s in order then.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “Car’s in the garage. You can keep the keys when we’re done. Everything else is going to the state. They’ll liquidate half the assets and give the rest to charity.”
“Ah,” said Mila, “the conscience clocks in right at the end.”
Gwendolyn pursed her lips and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” she said, wiping dust from the kitchen table, “but I’m doing my best to make amends.”
Mila’s eyes were hard. “It’s not enough. It will never be enough.”
“Stop it, Meels,” said Phoenix, grabbing her arm. “She’s doing the best she can.”
“Not all of us can be as brave as Harper,” Gwendolyn called from the kitchen. She sliced onions at the sink and stared out the back window.
Phoenix joined her. “You’ve been brave enough, Gwendolyn.”
I followed them into the kitchen, and saw that the table was already set for lunch. Three floral placemats were laid out in perfect symmetry.
Gwendolyn sniffed back tears. I wondered if it was the onions or Dr. Neevlor’s death. Probably a bit of both.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to me. “I didn’t know a third person was coming. Placemats are in the cabinet to the left, top shelf.”
We ate lunch in silence.
“Good carrots,” I finally muttered.
Gwendolyn smiled faintly. “They’re from my garden.”
I twisted the veggies on my fork. “You don’t say?”
The main course was chili. Mila needled her bowl with a spoon, never lifting her gaze from its depths. I don’t think she could look at Gwendolyn without getting mad. I wondered what had happened between the two, what Gwendolyn had done to evoke Mila’s wrath. I sipped another spoonful of the stew. It was the same shade as Neevlor’s blood. I was trying hard not to think about it.
“Spicy,” I said.
“It’s the onions.” Gwendolyn’s eyes watered again as she stared at Mila. “Gives it that extra kick.”
Mila pushed out her chair and stood. “Well, this is bullshit.”
“The onions?” I asked.
She waved at the table. “This whole thing—this lunch. Everything. This whole stupid plan.”
“Meels,” hissed Phoenix. He pushed her back into her seat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She stood again and ran from the kitchen. “I’m going to lie down. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was two p.m.
“Well,” said Phoenix. It was followed by silence.
I pushed the stew around with my spoon. “What’s for dessert?” I asked finally.
“Peach cobbler,” said Gwendolyn. I pictured Kindred feeling a silent stab in her chest and dropping a bowl of blueberries on the floor. Peach could’ve killed her.
“Wonderful,” said Phoenix, his eyes wandering to where Mila had stood. “That sounds really nice.”
“Yes.” Gwendolyn nodded. “Did you see I still have my fan?”
Phoenix smiled. “I’m surprised it made it out of the Tube with you. I thought it’d be lost in the commotion. The bombs threw us for a loop.”
Her eyes were glassy with nostalgia. “We had our fair share of commotion at the Ministry, too. You don’t get to be Director of the Lottery without a hearty dose of catastrophe.”
“And a hearty dose of Indigo,” muttered Phoenix. I wondered if he was thinking about the Indigo Report—the virus they’d managed to manufacture in the samples.
Gwendolyn passed out cobbler, but I felt sick to my stomach again and couldn’t finish it. I resigned myself to pushing it around my plate.
Gwendolyn smiled at me from across the table. I felt bad for her, and for the fact that she lived entirely alone. No family and no friends, it seemed. I wondered how she’d become the Caravan’s ally, and how she’d met Phoenix.
“How, uh, how did you know Dr. Neevlor?” I asked. I’d only known Neevlor briefly, but the name still felt thick and not quite right on my tongue. I kept wanting to call her Madam Revleon. It was strange how quickly you got attached to a name. “Did you work at the same Ministry together?”
Gwendolyn shook her head and sipped from her glass of water, patting the corners of her pink lips with a napkin afterward. “Harper and I were neighbors for years. We used to ride the subway on the Tube together. She worked for R&D, and I worked for Health. Different Ministries, but they were only an island apart.”
“So she lived in the house next door?”
Gwendolyn nodded.
“Was that before she moved to the Morier Mansion?”
Phoenix pursed his lips and stared at Gwendolyn, watching her with burning eyes. Had he coached her on what to tell me? What was he worried Gwendolyn might say?
She was too busy watching me spoon the cobbler to notice his stare. “Harper lived next to me for twelve years, but that was before she started her investigation… Before she wrote the Indigo Report and tried to get it published. Then everything changed.” Her eyes got watery again—the way they’d been when she’d stared at Mila. “They started trying to kill her.”
“Who did?” I asked. “The Feds?”
She nodded.
“And you helped her get away,” I finished. “She came to you for help, and you helped her get to Newla. That’s where you met Phoenix and the Lost Boys. How you became connected to the Caravan.”
It was all falling into place. Everything was making sense. Gwendolyn helped Neevlor escape from the Suburban Islands to Newla. Once there, they ran into Phoenix, who’d already staked out the mansion. He’d offered to help hide Neevlor, with the Caravan’s support, in exchange for the Indigo Report.