“Are you Dancer?” Clair asked.
“That’s what they call me,” the woman said. “My real name is Arabelle. Are you a friend of Jesse’s?”
“Uh . . . kind of. I’m Clair, Clair Hill. I don’t think Zep and I are supposed to be here.”
“None of us are, Clair. Wash up and I’ll explain.”
It was Clair’s turn to use the tap, and she felt relief that the woman’s gaze was temporarily off her. Her hands shook as she splashed cold water onto her face. In her mind she saw the fireball over and over again, Dylan Linwood’s compact figure vanishing into it, lifted momentarily off his feet as though about to take flight.
He hadn’t even had time to look surprised.
She leaned her elbows on the sink and let the trembling spread from her hands, up her arms, and into the rest of her body. It was okay to feel shock, she told herself. No one was hurrying her anymore. She could take all the time in the world if it made her feel better.
It did.
When the shakes passed and she was done with the towel, she found Jesse kneeling and weeping into the old woman’s shoulder. Arabelle—Aunt Arabelle—Dancer . . . Clair hadn’t decided yet how to think of her . . . Arabelle put an arm around him and patted his back.
“Shhh,” she said softly, as though to a child. “I know what happened, and I’m very sorry. We all are, Jesse. You have to be brave. Those psychopaths in VIA have been up to no good again.”
“VIA blew up Dylan Linwood?” asked Clair in disbelief. “Who says it wasn’t an accident?”
“I do.” Gently but firmly, Arabelle pushed Jesse from her. “Take off my shoes, dear boy. She needs to understand what she’s gotten herself into.”
I haven’t gotten myself into anything, Clair wanted to say. Then she wondered if that was entirely true. It had all started with Zep and Libby and led via Improvement to Dylan Linwood’s door. Maybe she could have walked away, but she hadn’t. And here she was, watching Jesse crouch down, tug the old woman’s traditional paraplegic blanket aside, and expose a pair of brown slip-ons.
Jesse pulled the left one off first, revealing a thin but perfectly ordinary foot. The right shoe was next.
When he had finished, he sat back and stared resentfully at Clair, as though daring her to argue with what she saw.
Clair saw a thin but perfectly ordinary left foot. A second one. She clenched her fists to stop them shaking again.
“I wasn’t born with two left feet, believe me,” said Arabelle. “In fact, I used to be a very good dancer. But I can’t walk on it now, thanks to d-mat. The entire leg is out, and my hip, too. I tell myself I’m lucky a blood clot didn’t kill me the very moment it happened. But I don’t feel lucky. I feel trapped and ignored by a system that doesn’t like to acknowledge its failures. It prefers to sweep them under the rug like they never existed. Well, Clair, some of us won’t be swept away so easily. Jesse’s father wasn’t one of them, God take his precious soul. None of us will be.”
“WHOLE,” said Clair again, feeling as though she had fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole and landed in a nest of vipers. “That’s who you are. You’re terrorists.”
“Jesse, you can put my shoes back on. My toes are getting cold.”
Jesse wiped his nose on his sleeve, smudging his face with ash anew. Clair was relieved when the feet were hidden. They made her feel queasy—not in a getting-sick way, but as though the world had just shifted underneath her in a subtle and utterly disconcerting way.
Gemma came into the kitchen to wash her hands. Her curly hair was full of scraps of plaster and plants, like urban camouflage. Tiny drops of blood matted the front of her shirt.
“Your boyfriend will be all right,” she said. “Just a scratch.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Clair emphatically. “Why are we here and not in a hospital?”
“We’re avoiding the peacekeepers.”
“Why?”
“They’re nothing but glorified security guards in the service of the OneEarth government. And what does OneEarth rely on to keep the peace? D-mat. If you think they’ll have our best interests at heart, you’re living in a dream.”
“You think VIA killed Jesse’s dad because he said bad things about d-mat?” Clair said. “That doesn’t make any sense. He was paranoid but he wasn’t dangerous.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks we’re terrorists,” said Arabelle. “That gives the PKs carte blanche to do whatever they like to us.”
Clair refused to let the matter go just because someone told her to.
“So what happens now? Do you expect me and Zep to hide in here with you?”
“It makes sense to sit tight until the cleanup’s over,” Gemma said in a businesslike fashion, as though people being blown up was all in a day’s work. “When we can, we’ll move out in ones and twos. Hopefully, there’ll be no reprisals.”
Arabelle leaned forward and touched Clair lightly on the shoulder. “You go see to your friend. I need to talk with Gemma alone. Jesse, don’t worry. You’ll be looked after, I promise. We won’t abandon you.”
He nodded and walked like a robot out of the kitchen. Clair hesitated, then followed. The way the two women from WHOLE were looking at her, it was clear they wanted her gone so she wouldn’t overhear. Zombie girl, she thought. They obviously weren’t telling her the entire truth, but that look was hard to contend with.
21
CLAIR AND JESSE walked back through the dining room, past the stairs and the old telephone, into the living room. Zep was sprawled uncomfortably on the couch with his legs stretched out before him. His right thigh was bandaged tightly. There was blood all over what remained of his pants. He was staring at the man with the big ears, who stood in a corner of the room, watching him back. There was no sign of the taller man. They both looked up as Jesse and Clair entered.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back,” Zep said. He looked wan and weak.
“Whoever Gemma is, she says you’ll be okay,” said Clair, coming to sit at his side. Not my boyfriend. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be a lot better when the painkillers kick in.” He sketched a rough smile. “Now I’m wishing Libby’s drugs hadn’t worn off so fast.”
Clair didn’t laugh. Neither did Jesse. He collapsed into a chair and retreated into himself, as though he hoped everything would disappear if he ignored it hard enough.
Clair turned to the man with the big ears. Her hands were shaking again, and her mouth was desperately dry.
“I could really use a drink,” she said. “We all could. Is that possible?”
“Sure,” Big-Ears said, but not before glancing up the hallway to the front of the house. Clair knew then that his tall companion was watching the front door. Was he a sentry or a jailer?
Big-Ears headed into the back of the house. His feet beat a tattoo down the stairs to the lower floor.
“Have you tried your lenses?” Zep whispered when they were alone. “Mine are dead, and every time I access the Air, I get an error message.”
Clair discovered that she had the same problem. Every field of view was clear of patches, even from the creepy “q.” She’d lost access to her family and friends, her blogs and grabs, her media and shows, her wardrobe and meals. Every pattern she had ever saved was cut off from her. Her whole life. God, her books! Her Tilly Kozlova recordings! She had never once been deliberately disconnected from them.
Jesse spoke from deep in his funk. “The house is a big Faraday shield.”
“Which means what?” Zep prompted.
“Nothing electromagnetic can get in or out. No one can spy on what goes on in here. I think we’re in some kind of safe house.”