Deviation (10 page)
Morton flinches and sets his water aside. “Very much,” he admits.
Linc lowers his voice, lacing his words with venom. “She is a spoiled socialite and a bigot. How can you miss her?”
Morton’s expression registers the words like a physical blow. “She’s not any of those. She is … kind and gentle and caring. She—”
“Look, I know she was good at acting but there’s no way she actually made you believe all of that. Not for real.”
“I have to agree with Linc on this one,” Obadiah puts in. “Raven is a piece of work. And not the kind you want to have hanging on proud display.”
Linc shifts in his seat. I squeeze his hand but when he squeezes back, it’s more from irritation than comfort.
Morton cocks his head at both boys. “Which Raven are you referring to?”
Raven number six.
The memory of the words sizzles through me. I grip my water glass harder than necessary.
“What do you mean?” Linc asks. “How many are there?” All joking is gone from his voice. He believes it in a way he hadn’t before. Or maybe he’d let himself forget it until now. I can’t blame him. I’ve done the same.
Morton holds Linc’s gaze in a way that sends a shiver of dread down my spine and says, “Seven at last count. But I haven’t had contact with the City for some time now.”
“Seven?” Linc repeats, brows raised in challenge. “Alive?”
“They were when I left,” Morton says.
Obadiah says, “No effing way. Seven?”
Six. Plus me. Seven.
Instead of chiming in, I steal a look at Anna. Our eyes meet across the small room and her expression is full of sorrow and regret. It is the worst kind of proof. Morton is telling the truth. Anna emphasizes it in her empathetic smile. We share the same pain of being a copy. Or in my case … maybe even a copy of a copy.
My memory flashes back to the first time I met Morton. He’d told me about how he’d escaped his mission and fled into hiding. He’d told me about surviving for years on his own before others joined him. In the end, he’d admitted to working with Daniel despite their difference in approaches. Anna had been so surprised I’d chosen to work with them. She’d said something about Morton telling me everything. I thought he already had.
My head spins.
How many times has the Creator attempted me and considered it a failure? And why? What happened to the others? And where is the real Raven? The original? The Authentic?
“Ven?” Linc’s voice brings me back but the questions remain, creating a swirl of panic inside me. “Ven, are you all right?”
His face is bent low, only inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my face. Its warmth is a reminder of my realness. I am here. My heart beats. My mind works. My emotions are present to the point of painful.
“Ven?” Linc repeats, his tone more forceful now.
I don’t look at Morton. I can’t. Instead, I focus on Linc. “There are seven of me?”
Morton makes a noise resembling regret. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more delicate with that information.”
Obadiah scoots closer to me and puts his hand on my arm. His passive way of protecting me. I love him for it.
Linc shakes his head, his expression solemn. “There are not seven of you, Ven. There never could be. How many times do I have to tell you? There is no one like you and there never will be. Not ever. Not if Titus tried for the rest of his life would he ever make another Ven.” He watches me expectantly, waiting for his words to sink in.
I suck in a breath and let the oxygen—and Linc’s affection—fill up the empty places inside me caused by Morton’s admission. “Thank you,” I manage.
Maybe if I steal something else I won’t feel so victimized. I need to be proactive.
Linc kisses the tip of my nose, his body relaxing before he turns to face Morton again. He’s calmer now and I wonder if it’s on my account, though his skepticism remains. “Tell me about your Raven,” Linc tells Morton.
“She’s different than the others. I know it’s difficult to believe but it’s true.”
“Not so difficult,” Linc murmurs, looking at me. Morton nods in understanding.
Obadiah leans forward, wrapped up in the story. “Does she share your affection?”
“Absolutely. Meeting was the best thing that happened to either one of us. I’d like to give her all the credit and say she saved me, but truth be told, it’s entirely mutual. Or it was. Looks like I didn’t do much saving in the end.” His cheeks sag and the sadness in his eyes is real. “Do you have any idea what really happened to her?”
Linc and I share a look. I attempt an answer. “She … Titus sent her away. To protect her,” I say, but the words feel wrong in my mouth. Which Raven is his?
“It was never about protecting her,” Morton says.
“Then what was it about?” Linc asks.
“Daniel created the threat to get her out. Titus was too close to realizing her betrayal.”
“So, wait, she let Daniel threaten her? She let him try to kill her?” I ask.
“She knew it was the only way to get out. Titus found out she was working with us. He would’ve killed her. She planned to escape here but something happened. She was intercepted.”
The possibilities hang in the air. No one voices them.
“You don’t think he …?” Morton stares at the ceiling, locking his hands behind his bald head and exhaling deeply before continuing. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I can’t … She has to be okay. I am sure she’s okay.”
I am speechless. The way he speaks of this Raven is entirely different from anyone else who seems to know the girl I’m supposed to be. “You make her sound … good,” I say finally. I can’t think of anything better. Not when it comes to Raven.
“She’s the best of all of us,” he says.
“All of … what are you talking about?” Linc demands. “Raven Rogen is an Authentic. She’s why Ven was called here.”
I am not nearly as undone. Just intent on unraveling the Ravens.
“I agree that somewhere, at some point, there was or is an Authentic Raven Rogen. Probably. But the Raven I know is not her. She is one of us, another replacement in a line of replacements. Titus Rogen’s hobby is copying. He’s only recently gotten good at it.”
“You’re saying the girl who lived in Rogen Tower before me was also an Imitation?” I ask.
“Oui.”
Linc shakes his head. “No. No way, I would’ve noticed just like I did with Ven.”
“That is where you are wrong. My Raven was skilled at her role. She had everyone absolutely fooled. Even Titus trusted her for a period of time. She had freedom you do not, Ven,” he says. “Not yet. But with effort, you will. And that is how you can help.”
“Help how?” I ask.
“You can finish what she started. You can free them.”
“Them,” I repeat. Morton nods. “You mean …?”
“The City, yes. He sent her back there to undo her. I won’t let him. And the rest of them—well, they shouldn’t be kept as slaves, as pets in cages, any longer. The time has come to set them free. And you are the one who will do it.”
“Free Twig City?” I can’t do more than repeat him. My mind whirs. Possibilities. Questions. Fear. I am terrified, but of what? Termination? I risk that already, just by waking up every morning. Titus is a walking time bomb of temper. At any moment he could decide I’m not useful enough, obedient enough, smart enough, poised enough—and hit the button that will end me. How is this different?
Because it’s a risk taken of my own free will. My choice.
This is what sets the humans apart from Imitations. And in this way, if only for a moment, I know I am more human than I am science. Because even if it means my own death, I am committed to the freedom of my friends. Especially if it means undoing Titus Rogen in the process.
I have a feeling it’ll take enough fight for seven Ravens. I just hope I have it in me.
The following day, I return from dinner to find my bedroom door open. Panic shoots through my chest at all of the possibilities. Nope, Melanie’s dead, not waiting to kill me. Daniel’s locked up, I think. Titus is gone. All of the security guards, including Linc, are running virtual training ops all day in the tower. I slow my steps as I realize everyone I know and expect to see is busy elsewhere. Through the open doorway, I hear the sound of rustling fabric. My heart is pounding with the strength of an entire tribe of bass drums.
I edge silently forward, bracing a hand on the doorframe, and peek inside.
My surge of adrenaline deflates somewhere near my shins. I exhale so loudly, my guest looks up from the magazine she’s flipping through, tosses it aside, and curls her lip—half smile, half suspicious glare. “Raven, where the hell have you been, biotch?”
“Taylor.” I step inside the room, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. Taylor’s eyes flick down, missing nothing. “How did you get in?”
She looks at me like I’ve asked the stupidest question imaginable. “Your maid let me in. Like always.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. On a roll.
“Uh, nice to see you too,” she says, rising from where she’s perched on my bed and walking toward me with sure steps. She reminds me of a video I saw once of a puma stalking her prey. The gleam in its eye just before it leaped is the same one Taylor wears now.
“Sorry,” I say, forcing a smile that is condescending and self-absorbed and busy and glamorous and all the things but sorry. “It’s nice to see you. How are you?”
“Busy.” Her eyes narrow in on my dress and I freeze, terrified she’s somehow seen proof of all the things I’m hiding. “Is that dress new? Is that the latest Verrigado?”
I shrug. “Of course.”
“Ugh. Figures.” She flops back down on the bed. “I haven’t been shopping in forever. My dad is making me his charity liaison from now through the election. I don’t give two shits about babies with cleft palates. Why do they keep being born anyway?”
I turn and wander my room, pretending to be bored with all the niceties, as if being here is tedious. My insides slosh furiously against my skin.
“Did you sneak off to be here?” I ask, hoping it will prompt her to remember some reason she needs to hurry out.
“Nah. I have a break between sponsorship appointments. Taking people’s money is way too easy. At least most of them offer me drinks while I wait.” She smiles and it’s all teeth and meanness. “Silver lining, right?”
I don’t answer.
“So, what’s up with you?” she continues. I tense because I know this is why she’s really come. To search out my reasons for being so invisible in the world I was brought here to infiltrate but cannot stand to shoulder-rub with. “I never see you out anymore. I mean, I’m busy and always tied up schmoozing, but still. You’re never around. Did something else happen with those guys who were after you? Are you like, sequestered or whatever?” she asks with a wave of her hand. Diamonds glitter and drip from her delicate wrist. I imagine myself ripping the bracelet off and choking her with it.
“Raven? Are you even listening to me?”
“Hmm?” I shake free of the visual of Taylor’s face paler than it is now, her lips a lifeless shade of blue. It bothers me that I am so stuck on violence when I spent my entire existence pursuing peaceful subordination.
She’s loyal …
The words Titus spoke echo in a corner of my mind. I can lie after all.
“Sorry, I’m just …” I grasp for some reason or excuse. It’s been too long since I had to pretend. I’m rusty. “Tired, I guess.” I sigh dramatically. “I swiped a bottle from the maids last night and I am so hung-over. I couldn’t even work out today.”
Another lie.
I can’t tell whether Taylor believes me but she snickers and nods like she empathizes. “I know the feeling. My working lunches have become drinking lunches. But hey, that’s the one part I’m not complaining about. If only Daddy would stop listening to his friends and hire a real organizer.”
I force disgust into my voice as I say, “Let me guess. They think using the daughter is better for publicity?”
“Publicity, position, platform. The three Ps of being President,” she says as if reciting a slogan. “I’m all for cleaning up our city, removing the undesirables, but some of Daddy’s campaign ideas are a little out there, even for me.”
My eyes narrow. “What do you mean? What are his ideas?”
She shrugs and picks up another fashion magazine from the stack provided by automatic mailers. “He wants to require the public to get some kind mark. Okay, well, not the whole public. Just, you know, people like us. The good ones. So we can tell each other apart from, you know, them.”
“A mark?”
“Yeah, it’s ridiculous, right?” She snorts. “So tacky. People will never go for that. Although, Verrigado has this new tribal design for spring and its—”
“What sort of mark? What does it mean?” I cut her off. My entire body is panicking. Rebelling for the fact that I continue to make it stand still. My feet want to run. My heart wants to race. My hands want to …. I don’t know what. Shake answers from Taylor, for one.
Taylor blinks, switching gears from her fashion rant. “I don’t know. Some classification system to be able to tell the wealthy from the …. Well, you know, urchins.” Her lip curls on the last word but I barely notice. “They’re stealing from us. Daddy wants to cut off the city. Separate them.”
When I don’t respond, she launches back into her elaborate description of the spring line of tribal prints. I don’t hear a word of it. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out any noise.
Marks. For classification.
Sealing off the city. Them and us. Morton and the others separated from me, permanently.
The only solution is to be on their side of things when the curtain falls.
Getting out would be easy enough. Staying gone, slightly harder. My GPS would have to be cut out. Would Obadiah come? Could he?
My thoughts swirl with emergency plans; my breathing is shallow with the effort of concentration and remaining where I am for now. But there is one thing I can’t quite figure out.
Daniel.
I can’t just leave him behind. I have to free Daniel.
“Are you all right?” Taylor’s brows are knitted and she’s standing in front of me. I didn’t even notice her walking this way. My palms are sweaty but I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants again. Not that it matters. The expression on her face is suspicion mixed with intent. She isn’t letting it go this time.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“What is your deal, Rav? You’ve been acting weird for weeks. I barely see you and when I do, you’re quiet and all moody and stuff. You’re not fun anymore.” Her bottom lip sticks out in a pout.
“I’ve just been caught up,” I say, my mind speeding ahead with concocted half-truths because I know anything less will be transparent and I’ll be caught. “My dad has been crazy-overprotective ever since those goons tried to mess with me. And with the election coming and then Daniel’s disappearance …” I allow tears to fill my eyes without spilling over.
Taylor’s expression softens and she clucks her tongue. “I forgot all about that,” she exclaims. She places her hand on my back and guides me to the chair in the corner. “You poor thing,” she croons, gently pushing me down onto the cushion. “You’ve been devastated over losing Daniel and here I am running around raising money for stupid charity cases when you need your best friend.” She crouches at my feet, looking up at me with the closest thing to sympathy she is capable of. It’s not even close.
“I’ve been such a horrible friend.” She shakes her head as if my depressed state is all her fault. “I’m going to talk to Daddy about freeing up my schedule or getting me an assistant. You and I need more time together.”
“Taylor, that’s not necessary. I’m fine—”
“Nonsense,” she cuts in. “You need me and I’m going to be there for you. Remember that time I lost my favorite emeralds and you held my hand while I fired my staff and then helped me interview all new ones? It’s my turn to return the favor.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but she cuts me off. “It’s settled then. And it’s a win-win if it gets me out of my new job.” She pats my knee and climbs to her feet. “So. First things first. Retail therapy is the best place to start, don’t you agree?” She doesn’t wait for an answer as she retrieves her purse and adds, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’ll have lunch and then we’ll buy out the city’s supply of silk and Swarovski. Deal?”
My shoulders sag. No matter what I say right now, she’s going to show up tomorrow. “Deal,” I finally echo.
“Oh, and do something about that god-awful purple mess on your throat. I don’t know what kind of asphyxiation fetish you’re into, but it’s not a color you want to show off for the paparazzi.” She smiles and slips out.
When she’s gone, I pace, trying to decipher all of the meanings of the mark Taylor talked about. Does she mean a tattoo? I pause and consider that. People wouldn’t go for it. Not these kind. Taylor’s right. They’d think it was tacky.
Unless it stops the identity thieves. I can almost hear Linc’s voice of reason. The one thing these people value more than vanity is wealth.
I wonder how in the world Taylor’s father came up with this idea. If he knows what he’s doing by requiring this mark. I’ve never met him, but if Taylor’s any indication, his political aspirations undoubtedly outweigh his sense of decency or human compassion.
It’s Titus. I know he’s the one behind this. Or worse, the stranger who tells him what to do. The one insisting he hurry and ready another batch of impersonators. Together, by segregating the city, they will cut off any chance of their kind finding out about my kind.
And when they find Morton and the others—because I have no doubt Titus will never stop looking—he will surely kill them. And then me. The Creator will finally be all-powerful. There would be no one to stop him. Morton thinks I can find a way. More than his words, I see it in his eyes whenever we speak. But if I can’t stop Titus from killing one human girl, how will I stop him from eradicating an entire group of people?
My helplessness is excruciating. Being here in this plush tower while my friends’ fate blurs with each passing moment is a force that presses around me, a blanket of guilt and responsibility and loss. I am tempted to give in, accept it all and mourn it now while I have the breath to draw and the tears to cry. That is what most Imitations would do. It is what they taught me to do. But something in me pushes back and I know I cannot give in. I cannot cry.
The scrambler is a tiny consolation. It’s the smallest of stepping stones in the right direction but it’s not enough.
I wait for Linc, hoping he’ll return when whatever meeting he’s been called into ends. I need to tell someone about what Taylor said. But the minutes drag on and the house remains quiet. I stop pacing. I will wear tracks in the carpet at this rate.
I spend a tedious amount of time getting ready for bed, making every attempt to prolong the process. I select pajamas carefully, wandering through my closet three times before settling on a gingham print camisole with shorts to match. My hair crackles against the fabric, strands sticking to it in static tufts.
I stand in front of my sink, feeling small in the granite-tiled cavern. My bathroom is the same size as the one I left in Twig City. That one is shared by more than twenty girls. I wash my face, rubbing and scrubbing for longer than necessary. It’s no use. Between the expensive products and the atmosphere here, I can’t get the layer of money off my face.
My face is buried in the towel when my bedroom door opens. I am immediately halfway to panicked. My head snaps up, using the mirror’s reflection to identify my visitor. Linc walks into my bedroom, his neck craning right and left as he searches for me. My lips curve upward in the beginnings of a smile but it falters when a face appears behind him. From the outline of his broad shoulders and thick arms, I know it’s Alton. The man who walked in on Linc and I the other day. The man Titus gave Linc’s job.
