Earthquake (15 page)

“He’s dead.”

“When?”

“Just a few weeks ago. They made it look like an accident—like he drank himself to death, really. But they helped. I’m sure of it.”

“How are we going to tell her?”

I stand with my back against the wall, eavesdropping, tears running down my face. My partner, my
diligo
, gone. For this life, anyway. But it feels like forever. And just when I need him so badly. When I came here—to these Curatoriates I don’t trust—it was because I knew the Reduciates were closing in on
me
, not him.

But apparently I was wrong.

What now? I have more reasons than ever to stay out of the Reduciates’ hands. I fiddle with my necklace, turning it from silver to gold—back and forth. Little bits of practice that don’t terrify me too much. I think back on my last few moments as Greta. In that life, I knew why I was being killed.

But the
way
they killed me. They were certain it would be forever. But here I am. Changed. Is that what made this happen? It’s the only reasonable explanation I can come up with.

Do the Reduciates have any idea? I know they’ll hunt me forever to keep me quiet, but do they know about my powers too? My strength? They wouldn’t kill me if they did—I’d become their lab rat. I can’t let that happen.

The girl continues to talk with her dad, discussing my future, how to keep me safe. But they don’t know how. They only think they do. I’ve always known this place was temporary at best. I of all people knew better than to think I could stay with Curatoriates.

But what now? It’s been almost two hundred years, and I’m no closer to fixing the problem than I was as Rebecca. Or Greta.

First things first, I have to leave. I’m pretty sure I haven’t left any trace. Any
proof
.

But that Samantha—the old man’s daughter—she was looking at me funny yesterday.

She’s too smart for her own good. I can’t risk her figuring anything out.

It’s time to run.

Again.

• • •

I jerk straight up in bed, my whole body damp with sweat, heart racing. I’m not sure why; this dream was way less terrifying than the ones I had in Phoenix. But so many names! I feel the clarity of the dream melting away already, so I create a notebook and pencil in my hands and begin scribbling everything I can remember.

Greta, new powers, transforming the necklace, the secret, a
change
.

When three pages are covered with what I saw, I finally take a breath and force my shoulders to unclench. After flinging the covers back, I get to my feet and start pacing—a nervous habit I’d been forced to give up when my leg was always sore. It feels strange to be glad I can do it again.

Thoughts swirl wildly through my head. Greta. Another name from another life. But she seems to be a key. Whatever happened in Greta’s life is what Sonya thinks led to being able to Transform.

Plus
the secret.

My feet jerk to a stop. I was right. Transforming
isn’t
the secret. Not the one Rebecca had. There’s something else. Could Benson be right and I
am
immune? But how far back could the virus have possibly existed?

I remember the brief vision I had in Portsmouth of being a tiny, cold child who was shot by Marianna. They were talking about an antidote.

Is it possible? Is my immunity the great secret? That particular short life came right before Rebecca’s—time-wise, it could work that way.

But how would Rebecca have known?

And even if it’s true—if Benson’s right—wouldn’t Daniel be studying
me
instead of having me develop a new vaccine?

Assuming they could hold me
, a voice says in my mind.

That’s right. How could they hold an incredibly powerful Transformist against her will?

Maybe in the grand scheme of things, this way is simpler. And I guess it stands to reason that altering an existing vaccine could be easier than creating a new one—even from someone who’s immune. Taking my blood, studying me, would be a risk. Just fixing a not-quite-perfect vaccine, more of a sure thing.

Plus they get to spy on me while I work for them.

There’s something else I’m missing, and a headache starts in my temples as I try to sort all of the information I have.

Daniel.
He’s not a Reduciate. It was the Reduciata I was always running from.

If the true secret is that I’m immune, maybe Daniel doesn’t know.

And everything—
everything
—is leaning on this dream being a true memory, not just a stress dream. And I have absolutely no way to verify
that
. I growl and kick a cedar chest at the foot of my bed.

In the end, nothing has changed. Walls and bars don’t trap me the way they do Benson; I have a prison of my own conscience. Even now, having figured all of this out, I know I can’t leave.

If I do, the entire world dies.

I sink down onto my bed. The one that
looks
like my old home. But it’s all pretend. I’m homeless in this veritable world beneath the desert sands. Homeless and alone and possibly a prisoner.

In the stress of the moment last night, this is what I made. A copy of my old bedroom. Of my old life. It’s not that I’m trying to turn back time, exactly. Or even that I would go back and opt out if I could. It’s that I needed a chance to just be Tavia again. Is that so wrong?

My stomach rumbles, and I create a breakfast of my mom’s buckwheat pancakes, paired with my dad’s fresh-squeezed orange juice. Then I linger. No, I’m putting off the inevitable. Because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to come back here once I leave. It’s nice to feel like I’m sixteen again. Just for a few minutes. To be a person who hasn’t been betrayed yet. Who didn’t lie to her lover. Who doesn’t have the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. Who isn’t protecting secrets even she doesn’t know. Tears fight their way up my throat, but I shove them away. I won’t cry. Not today.

I spent my tears last night. Today I am strong. I
will be
strong.

I peek out the door, and when the hallway is clear I step out, transform my door into a plain wall, and then try to figure out exactly where I am. Luckily it doesn’t take too long, and I’m pleased to discover I can get from my room to the lab without having to cross the atrium.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to see
anyone
this morning.

When I reach the lab I suit up silently and sit in front of the microscope for about fifteen minutes before Daniel joins me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “They didn’t tell me you’d arrived.”

“It’s my fault.” I can hear the misery in my voice. “I didn’t really check in.”

Daniel looks at me for a long time, and even through the mask over his face his eyes look . . . they look
fatherly
. I’m not sure I want him to look at me that way. “You don’t seem very well.”

I turn away and scoot my stool closer to the microscope. “I’m ready to work, that’s the most important part.”

But Daniel stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Did you find out something distressing from Benson?”

“No,” I say, though my entire body stiffens when Daniel says Benson’s name. I hate that he’s twined up in all of this. “I didn’t find out anything, really.”
Except that I don’t want to give him up
.

“Are you upset over the things Audra told you?” Daniel asks.

“How do you know about that?” I ask, my tone blatantly accusing.

“I know most things that happen here, Tavia,” he says with no inflection. “I’m afraid you’ll have to become accustomed to that.”

My gaze drops from his, because I’m not sure if I should be angry at
him
. His house, his rules. Including intrusive spying. “I know,” I mumble, avoiding the argument.

“The deaths in the Pacific Islands?”

I shake my head. “I can’t even bring myself to think about what happened there for very long. It’s too much.”

Daniel looks like he’s trying to come up with something else, and I have a feeling if I don’t fess up he’ll start naming other things I
should
be upset about. I don’t think I can handle that right now. “I—I had a fight with Logan last night.” I try to meet his eyes the entire time, but my courage fails me and I say the last few words to his feet. It’s not completely a lie. But the drama with Logan doesn’t feel nearly as draining this morning as the fact that I had a dream that may or may not be full of answers. And I have to decide what’s true.

“Ah, lovers’ spat. Those are never pleasant.”

Spat? Not exactly
. I run my fingertips along the box of slides, wishing again that I somehow had the braid from Sonya’s life. To confirm or deny all of my dreams. Not knowing is maddening.

“He was looking for me last night, and someone saw me and told him where I had gone,” I say, making myself talk about my romantic saga instead of what I’m really thinking. “He walked in at a bad moment.”

“Oh,” Daniel says softly and sits down on the stool beside me. “Oh, dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go—”

“It’s not your fault,” I say miserably, cutting him off. And it isn’t. My meeting with Benson
should
have been completely innocent. I mean, I
knew
people were watching us. I just didn’t think Logan was one of them.

The lights above us flicker, and a knot of fear catches in my throat. But five seconds later everything seems fine.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Almost certainly a sandstorm. We’ve had some really awful ones the last few weeks.”

I think of the other crazy weather phenomena I’ve seen. “Do you think it’s one of the effects of the virus?”

“It’s certainly possible. But don’t worry. As you discovered the first night you came to us, we have excellent generators. For the essential electric needs, that is.”

True. But the overhead lights in our candlelit bedroom evidently didn’t make the list. Not that I’m complaining.

“Tavia.” Daniel hesitates and then moves his stool an inch or two closer. “Do you still have feelings for this human boy? I know it’s not my business, but now I feel guilty for having sent you to him. I never thought that he . . . well, it doesn’t matter. But, do you?”

The crying lump is clogging my throat again, and all I can do is nod miserably.

“Even . . . even now? After remembering Logan?”

“That’s what
he
asked. I don’t understand why everyone thinks that remembering former lives makes this life not matter!” Daniel draws back a little at my vehemence, but I keep talking. Almost shouting. “Logan is the same way. He said that Benson is
less
just because he’s human. And he doesn’t seem to care at all that his entire family died a week ago—were
killed
a week ago. When my parents died—” Even now, saying the words out loud makes my chest ache with emptiness. “When they died I felt like a piece had been ripped from my heart. Like part of me was dead because they were. And when I remembered everything, that didn’t change.”

“But you didn’t remember everything, did you?” Daniel asks.

My mouth snaps shut. “I guess not,” I say softly.

“It’s hard to explain the complete change in perspective if you haven’t experienced it. It’s like . . . like living your whole life as an ant. Then one day, you turn into a giant. And there are other giants. In fact, an entire world you never knew existed. How important do all of those little tiny ants seem to you now?”

“But ants do still matter . . .” I reply. The words seem hollow even to me. I don’t like the sense Daniel is making.

“We don’t physically change, but all of the sudden, this tiny speck of time that is a single lifetime is so small. And the people in it, well, they’re practically infinitesimal. Except for one person.”

I look up at him, remembering that he hasn’t found his partner yet. There’s a sheen of tears in his eyes, and his voice quavers a little, though he gains control quickly.

“So now you have Logan. And he has remembered. And in the enormous span of time that is his many lives, there is
you
. You are, for lack of a better comparison, his sun. And here you are, telling him that you still have feelings for this
ant
. This tiny, insignificant ant.”

“He’s not insignificant,” I instantly retort.

“But he
should be
,” Daniel says with a calmness that shakes me to my very soul. “And to Logan, he is.”

I remember the impression I had the other night that Logan loves me more than I love him, and my hands begin to tremble.

“It’s not simply the thought of losing you to someone else—though certainly that would be hard enough for anyone, human or otherwise. But losing you to
him
? Can you see why it’s so unnatural that Logan can scarcely even comprehend it?”

I do. I feel awful reducing Benson to such terms, but I understand. Or at least as much as I can without having the full memory that Logan does.

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m not even telling you that there is a ‘right’ choice. But—” His face crumples into an unreadable expression, and he shakes his head. “That’s not true. I’m rooting for Logan. The two of you are meant to be together. If I found my . . . my partner only to discover that she wanted to stay with someone else I . . . I would lose my entire purpose. Any reason for living.” He turns to me. “The human boy will get over his heartbreak. But Logan? You reject him and you may as well thrust a knife in his heart. It’s simply a fact.” He looks at me with such pain in his eyes it’s hard to meet his gaze.

“Now,” he says, and I can hear the strain in his voice, the forced cheerfulness. “Let’s get to work.”

Five hours later
I want to slump over my microscope and wail. After two and a half days of painstaking analysis, we’ve still gotten the exact same result from every DNA sequence I’ve transformed.

Which is
nothing
.

No reaction whatsoever.

After a while I’m not productive anymore; I start botching the transformations. And then Daniel gets cranky.

Like now.

I can’t tell if he’s angry with
me
for not being good enough, or if he’s frustrated at himself for pushing me too hard.

“Take a break,” he says at twelve forty-five, in a tone that brooks no argument.

I brook anyway. “But I have fifteen more minutes.”

“To what?” he snaps. “Do the same section over and over?”

We’re both stressed—we’re both desperate. It was only a matter of time before one of us lost our temper. But every minute of break I take makes me feel guilty. What if the
very next
matched pair in the viral RNA is the right one? Or the one after that?

But that’s a train of thought with a bridge out ahead, and if I followed it I’d make myself work all through the night. And the next day.

So instead of arguing, I nod and slide off my stool onto legs that feel like jelly.

I decide to spend my hour-long break back in the room I created last night. I like it—love the illusion of being back in Michigan, where life was simple and wonderful. I glance behind me right before I turn down the final hallway and meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes.

That immediately looks away.

I don’t know that I would have noticed him staring if it weren’t for his blond eyelashes. Light blue eyes surrounded by thick, blond eyelashes. I glance up and see the lashes are paired with dark strawberry-blond hair that’s almost perfectly rust-colored. The rest of him is pretty nondescript—average height and build—but his hair is rather distinctive.

I give him my back and wonder just how innocent that little encounter was. Is he watching me? He did look away like he was guilty. Or, at the very least, didn’t want to be seen looking. I had intended to head to my new room, but now I’m not sure I should even turn down that hallway.

I remember a joke kids used to say at school in Michigan: Is it still paranoia if they really are all out to get you? It suddenly doesn’t seem very funny anymore.

Before I can dwell on this new development for very long, something reaches out and grabs me, pulling me through a doorway that wasn’t there a second ago. I start to scream, but a hand claps over my mouth and Alanna’s face blocks out my vision.

“Don’t do anything stupid or everything Sammi and Mark worked for will be wasted.”

I’m so shocked I can’t move, much less speak.

Or scream.

“Are you calm?” Alanna asks, sounding absolutely nothing like the person I’ve been avoiding for the last three days.

I nod, my eyes still so wide I must look like I’m in shock.

Maybe I am.

There’s a distinct possibility I’m hallucinating.

A light brightens, and I see Thomas and Logan standing behind Alanna, the two males mirrors of one another, arms crossed over their chests. But the moment Logan’s eyes meet mine, his arms fall and the defiance in his stance disappears entirely.

Logan? The innate wrongness of this whole situation is multiplied by the fact that he’s here. Unrestrained. Like he
wants
to be with
them
.

“What the hell is going on, I swear you have
ten seconds
before I am gone and don’t even think you can stop me,” I say in one long string without pauses.

Alanna steps forward. “Short version: We’ve been working with Mark and Sammi for about two years now trying to find out what Daniel is up to, and I think we can trust you to help continue our efforts.”

I gape at her, but even her
appearance
seems altered without the vapid look I’m used to. Standing before me is a woman with a confident stature and intelligent eyes. If it weren’t for her rather gaudy clothes I wouldn’t believe it was her at all.

I’m struck still, unable to think or speak or move. I don’t know how long I stay there, stupefied, before I cough out, “Well, that is one hell of a disguise.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know, aren’t I an absolute bitch?” She takes a loud breath. “I know this is sudden. Honestly, we wanted to wait longer, but with everything that’s happened and Logan being a rather conspicuous spy,” she says, shooting an annoyed look at Logan, “not to mention our sources saying you’re not making much progress in the lab, well, we had to take the chance.”

My mouth is open at the fact that not only does she know how pathetically things have been going in the lab but that she’s basically just thrown it in my face. I’m so angry I can barely think straight.

But I’m cautiously curious too.

“Here,” Alanna says, making a gesture at Thomas. “Sit.”

A table and chairs appear. “I thought you were Destroyers,” I ask suspiciously, my eyes darting about the space that can hardly be called a room. There are walls, and they’re straight, but it’s an empty, bare space that is more an organized absence of where a wall
used
to be than a proper room. A tiny voice in my head whispers that I could do better—that I
did
do better last night—and I wonder if this is what Daniel means when he tells me I’m “stronger.”

Alanna sucks in a fast breath, then says, “
I’m
a Destroyer, but Thomas is a Creator. We’ve spread the misconception that we’re both Destroyers, so he can never use his powers in front of anyone. Ever. But we’ve decided to trust you.” She takes a seat on one of the chairs, and her face is so calm and serious she actually looks like a different person. “Mixed pairs are very, very rare. In fact, as far as we know, there are only two sets of us. Maybe that’s where the story really begins, actually.”

We gather nervously around the table. Thomas and Alanna immediately sit together, leaving Logan and I to also sit side by side. I tentatively meet his eyes, and a momentary truce passes between us. We’re both too curious to find out what’s going on with these two to let our drama stand in the way.

For now.

“Most people associated with Earthbounds assume, like you, that all
diligos
are matched pairs, and most of the time they’re right,” Alanna says. “So Thomas and I are, well, you think it’s tough being objectified as a woman, wait until you’re objectified as a god,” she says dryly. “We’re the perfect combination.”

I cringe inwardly, realizing that—technically—I’m the perfect combination all by myself.

But I’m not ready to tell them that. Not yet.

“And so everyone wants us,” Alanna says in that sensible voice that I’m still not used to. “Every time we’ve managed to find each other we’ve done our best to stay off both the Reduciata and Curatoria radars.”

I look between them, confused. “Then why are you here? This is pretty damn close to the Curatoria’s radar.”

Alanna looks to Thomas.

“I’m a scientist,” Thomas says after clearing his throat, as though he hasn’t spoken in a long time. Remembering how quiet he always is, I wonder just how long it’s actually been. “And about forty years ago—in a past life, and without any memory of my Earthbound identity—I was a doctor, and I had a patient come to me. She had a sickness I couldn’t identify, but it was obviously killing her and killing her quickly. I took samples of her blood, and none of it made sense to me. The illness simply wasn’t acting the way it was supposed to.”

“Do you think it’s a version of the virus we have today?” I ask.

“I do.” He hesitates and looks uncomfortable in a way that I recognize as extreme shyness. I wonder if that shyness comes naturally or from lifetimes of isolation. Regardless, he continues, “While I was examining her, she left the man who had brought her in back in the waiting room, as was the custom back them. As soon as we were out of his sight she started raving to me about the witchcraft and magic she was being exposed to. I dismissed her ramblings as craziness, whether natural or brought about by her disease. But now—in a different life and with my memories restored—I believe her.”

“Do you think she was a prisoner of the Reduciata?” Logan asks, leaning forward now.

“No, no, I don’t,” Thomas says, his voice firm, determined, even in its quietness. “Because the man who brought her in was Daniel.”

A silence settles among the four of us as we all continue to try to figure out how much we can trust each other. Even in the face of this bombshell.

“Tell her the rest,” Alanna prompts, her hand on his shoulder.

“That night, I was run down by a car and killed. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

Tingles run up and down my arms as I try to take this all in. “What does it mean?” I finally say, unable to loosen the knot of mystery in her story, even though I can sense its significance.

“It means many things,” Alanna says, and Thomas looks relieved that she’s taken over. “For starters, it means that Daniel knew about the virus forty-three years ago.”

“But . . . it wasn’t even around,” I say, before remembering having that very thought this morning after my newest dream. “Unless—” But what can I say?

“Unless he was helping to develop it all along,” Logan says, unknowingly coming to my rescue.

“Or trying to cure victims whom the Reduciata tested it on,” I counter, not sure why I’m defending Daniel. Except maybe that he looked so sad this morning.

“And then killing off witnesses?” Alanna asks with a sharpness that makes me think of her disguised self for a second.

“You don’t know that for certain,” I whisper, thinking of the pain in his eyes when he talked about his lost partner.

But if Thomas really is telling the truth . . .

“It makes sense, Tavia,” Alanna says. “I don’t understand why you’re arguing so hard against it.”

“Because I would like one damn person in this entire world to be who they told me they were,” I snap, mortified to realize that not only am I yelling, I’ve risen to my feet.

“Then you’re in the wrong world,” Thomas says, and his voice is so quiet I barely hear it, yet the truth of it pierces me to my very soul. “Every Earthbound I’ve ever met is wearing a disguise of one kind or another.”

I force my knees to bend—to put me back into my seat. This isn’t about me, about Logan or Benson. It’s not about Sammi and Mark or Alanna or Thomas.

This is about
Daniel
and the salvation of the entire world.

“Why hasn’t he recognized you?” I ask.

Thomas grimaces and Alanna giggles, sounding more like the version of herself I’ve come to loathe over the past few days. I don’t understand the reason for the sudden reversion until she slides a faded Polaroid over to me. It’s Thomas, I guess, but he totally has shoulder-length shaggy hair and a big moustache. And let’s not even get started on the skin-tight polo.

My eyes flit from the photo to him and back again a few times before Logan takes it from me to have a look. A laugh builds up in my throat, but it’s accompanied by a strange pain. “I see,” I say dryly, looking at the handsome, clean-cut man across the table from me. Sammi once told me that if the Earthbound didn’t look the same from life to life, the brotherhoods would never be able to find us. But “the same” is such a relative term.

I don’t look quite the same, Thomas doesn’t look the same, even Quinn and Logan don’t look the same, exactly. I’m starting to think that some of the claims both the Reduciata and Curatoria make about their files and records must be partly lies. Or, at the very least, stretching the truth. A pair of Earthbounds that both groups have been looking for for centuries has been living right in the Curatoria headquarters and no one has realized?

It makes me feel oddly hopeful that maybe I can make it through this alive.

“So when you got your memories back you remembered this?” I prompt.

Thomas nods. “By that time I was living a different life, of course, but I remembered that last fateful day, and I knew I had to find Alanna and we had to do something. We’ve never trusted either organization,” Thomas says, “but the Curatoria always seemed like the lesser of the two evils, so to speak.”

I raise one eyebrow—it’s essentially word-for-word what Logan and I decided.

“So we came back and gave some sort of sob story about how we hadn’t connected in ages and hadn’t come in contact with the Curatoria in a thousand years. They had no record of us, but they gave us our vows and we”—he glances at Alanna—“we acted very enthusiastic, so they let us in.”

“If the Curatoria has one glaring fault, it’s letting too many people in—no offense,” Alanna adds, glancing at us. “So Thomas and I started poking around, and we thought we were being subtle, but Sammi, she’s smart. She caught on.” Alanna laughs sadly. “She cornered me one day and straight-out threatened me. Bold little mortal thing. She was old family Curatoria—loyal to the bone, that one. But when I explained to her what Thomas had seen, the little bit we’d managed to uncover, she decided that she needed to look into it for the good of the Curatoria as a whole.” Alanna swallows hard. “She was always so loyal to the
ideals
of the Curatoria. To the organization. In the end she didn’t want Daniel to ruin it, and that’s why we started working as a team.”

“And when they were asked to come and pretend to be my aunt and uncle?”

“We were certain that either we’d been caught or it was the luckiest break we’d ever gotten. I’m still not entirely sure which. After . . . after they died we weren’t sure if we should stay. We decided we’d give it one month and then we’d go out and try to find you ourselves. Not that we had any idea how we were going to do that. Luckily, you found us instead.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?” I ask. I don’t bother adding that technically it was Daniel who found me.

“Because you were Daniel’s prisoner.”

Prisoner.
Is that what everyone here thinks of me as? But didn’t I come to that very conclusion this morning? A prisoner, one way or another.

“I had no idea where your loyalties lay. We decided we had to keep acting just like we do with everyone else until the time was right.” Her hand slides across the table and touches my arm lightly. “I’m sorry I was so awful that first day. I had to get into that room and destroy any evidence Sammi and Mark might have left. I should have done it before but . . .” She shrugs. “I wanted to believe they were coming back. When suddenly you had already moved in, I knew I had to act fast. I had one chance to get rid of their stuff and throw you off at the same time, and I’m afraid I made the most of it.”