False Hearts (37 page)

I want to know how he went from under her thumb to being the true, unseen hand that rules San Francisco.

With another shuddering lurch, the boat sails through the next memory.

Mana-ma is in Ensi’s apartment. I startle to see her not in the Hearth. They move toward each other, resting foreheads close. Ensi looks as he does now, and Mana-ma looks a little older than I remember. It is a more recent memory.

She has brought him more mushrooms from the Hearth. He takes them, handling the bag as though it’s precious.

“We’ll need more, if we’re to do what we desire,” Ensi says.

“We’re growing greenhouses full. You’ll have as much as you need.”

“And the government does not suspect?”

“No. They take their regular shipments for Zeal. We are but one of many suppliers. They respect our privacy, finally. They have stopped sending in their observers once a year to make sure we are toeing the line. They do not look too closely.”

“Are you ready?” Ensi asks.

Mana-ma looks up at him, and in that moment, I know their relationship has shifted over the years. Mana-ma was once stronger than him, leading him, but now they are equals in their twisted journey, whatever it may be.

He brings her through to the next room. His apartment is humble, despite the masses of wealth he must hold. Simple wooden furniture, woven rugs that look like the ones we made in the Hearth. No technology, except for two Chairs. One is empty and the other one holds Malka.

“This is her?”

“Yes. It took a lot of doing, but we managed to steal her from stasis. She’s not been woken. She is Godless, she has no soul, and thus she can be your avatar.”

“My avatar,” she echoes.

“Yes. Whenever you wish to be by my side, I can bring you forth, in this body, projected through Verve. When we are finished, you will return to your body.”

“And this girl?”

“She remains in stasis, her consciousness never woken.”

She hesitates, her hand rising to her collarbone. I can’t remember ever seeing her look uncertain.

“I know it pains you to do this,” Ensi says. “But it means we can be close together, in a way.”

“You know I never wish to be apart. How did you think of this idea?”

“I dreamed it. Perhaps God chose to whisper to me, just this once.” He smiles, and does not notice the way Mana-ma’s eyes flash. “I believe the initial idea stemmed from the twins, Taema and Tila.”

Mana-ma’s mouth curls. “So they survived? They are in this city?”

“Yes. I lost track of them for a time, but with my resources, I was able to find them again.”

“What will you do with them?”

“Nothing, for now. At the right time, we will know what to do. Come now, my love.”

Mana-ma plugs into the Chair. Ensi runs a program, and connects Mana-ma to Malka. I watch through Ensi’s eyes as his fingers tap the code, as he watches their responses, the way their eyes twitch beneath their lids.

Mana-ma’s eyes still. Malka’s eyes open.

“How do you feel?” Ensi asks.

“Reborn,” Malka says, and her face twists into that chill smile I saw just before she killed a girl with a sword.

They rest foreheads together again.

I come out of the memory like I’m coming up for air. Nazarin and I gape at each other, but there’s no time to speak before we collide with other memories. I experience more of the fractured life of Ensi. From the shards, I piece together more of the picture. Ensi is almost sixty, which must be Mana-ma’s age as well. She looks younger, but it could be genetics rather than a hypocritical visit to a flesh parlor in the city.

Ensi left the Hearth with Mana-ma’s blessing, coming to San Francisco with the plan they had stitched together. He was found on the streets and given a VeriChip and a place in a home for youth, choosing the name Veli Carrera. Seeing his obvious interest in science, the home encouraged him to brainload, and he did so well, he soon had a degree. He researched local scientists and decided Mantel would be his mentor, and he found a way to come to his attention.

He thrived, and Mantel helped him flourish. Mantel had no son, but a few years later, one arrived. The CEO of Sudice still treated “Veli Carrera” as a son, and when Veli earned it, Mantel passed the company to him rather than to his biological son.

Memories of the lab, of using the mushrooms Mana-ma sent from the Hearth to distill and create Zeal. Brainloading more information than it seems he can bear, shuddering at the feeling of electrodes and wires against his skin, so different from the simple ways of the Hearth. He wouldn’t have done it, he couldn’t have done it, if he hadn’t loved Mana-ma so deeply.

Throughout all the memories is the stink of the swamp, the threat of things swimming beneath the surface.

Ensi, as Carrera, was there through the run-out of Zeal, but as new product after new product was shot down by the government, he grew increasingly annoyed. His and Mana-ma’s plan was delayed. Zeal kept the crime low, which kept the city happy enough. Ensi did not share his ideas for another drug, one that could change personalities to make citizens more tractable.

Then Ensi lost it all. Mantel’s son ousted him. Ensi was cut loose, and he was making new plans when he discovered that Mantel’s son’s hatred ran deep enough for murder. I saw fragments of him killing the hitman sent to find him, hiding in the streets, the many surgeries in back-end flesh parlors, and then deciding to enter the very group hired to kill him. He started as the lowest Pawn, but strategy had been drilled into him since he was young.

I hate experiencing what he did to become head of the Ratel. He killed so many people through his favorite method: torture by dreams. He experimented on Zeal until it split and became the drug he truly wanted: Verve. I have to live through those pockets of horror and pain: the fate I would be experiencing right now, if not for Kim and her code. A fate I might still face. Where is the real Ensi? I feel him in here, somewhere.

We’ve reached the end of the memories. We have passed through the swamp, and up ahead is the Hearth. He never left it, not truly. It’s always in his head, too. I remember Mia tapping her temple. None of us ever truly left, did we?

Nazarin and I reach the end of the muck, climbing out and setting foot on solid ground.

It’s a short walk to the town. It’s similar to how I remember it, though there are fewer houses, as the Brother left decades before my sister and I did. It even smells the same, like redwoods, earth, the sulfur of the swamp, the chimney smoke from the houses.

“Where is this?” Nazarin asks.

“Home,” I say, not sure if the answer is truth or a lie.

The green mist thins, wisping around our ankles. I catch Nazarin’s hand. It feels like I’m really touching him, even though in reality he’s a few feet away from me, strapped to his Chair. But my brain sends an impulse, and so Nazarin’s skin seems warm.

The brain is so very capable of lying to itself.

We walk through the pathways, the sky still the same twilight. Most of the flowers in the gardens are closed, their little heads nodded in sleep.

“It’s peaceful,” Nazarin says. “This is very strange.”

“It’s his fortress,” I reply. “The quietest corner of the mind. He created it in the image of the Hearth. Perhaps he knows something’s wrong with the code.”

“So he’s come here to hide.”

“I think so.”

“Where?”

I think of the memory where he felt safest. “The chapel.”

We turn a corner of a path, and there it is. It’s an innocuous building, made of wood and painted white. My memories of the place blend with Ensi’s. We spent so many hours within its interior growing up. So many hours of Confession, of sermons, singing and whispering and praying. I once loved going into that building. Tila was always more suspicious than me of Mana-ma and the whole Hearth’s creed. For most of my young life, though, I was a believer.

The illusion around us is cracking. The acrid smell of the swamp returns despite the fact it’s no longer in sight, the green fog thicker. Fractal swirls of black mar the clear blue sky of early morning. The atmosphere is no longer peaceful, but expectant. The Hearth is abandoned, but I swear the place is holding its breath.

A light flickers in the chapel. We walk up the steps, lined with smooth, white stones. To either side of the path, the world continues to crumble, the images glimmering at the corner of my vision. The doors loom before us. Nazarin reaches forward and pulls them open.

Inside, it’s dark but for a candle flame. As we enter, it brightens.

Ensi stands at the altar where Mana-ma always preaches. He’s looking up at the window. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for someone.

Water has leaked in. I splash through shallow puddles toward him. I have no idea what to do, what to expect. We have no weapons. Once I stopped concentrating on that knife, it ceased to exist again. I try to imagine it, bring it into being. It starts to appear—it’s the same as the murder weapon from the autopsy report at Zenith, the one Tila may have used—but as soon as I almost have a solid grasp on it, it disappears again. The same happens to Nazarin and his gun. The pews shake, as if in an earthquake.

“What have you done?” Ensi asks. He looks almost as he does in the real world, except he’s pale and shaking. There are more lines on his face, ghosts of the one he would wear if he hadn’t waxworked his features. Still, he moves out from the altar to face us, staggering a little, but standing strong.

“I injected you with a virus. When you kissed me.”

“What does it do?” He sounds calculating, rather than afraid. He’s used to being a victor. He won’t give up so easily. The ground shakes again, rumbling, and dust falls from the rafters.

“It’s eating your world. Gobbling it up byte by byte. When it’s all gone, you’re finished.” I don’t know if that’s true, but it sounds good. I guess Kim didn’t plan it as a long con, after all. Makes sense. Why take the risk that he’d discover it and destroy the code?

His eyes glint. “Then I can take you with me.”

Ensi moves toward us, smooth and deadly. A long blade appears in his right hand. He jumps over the shallow steps of the altar, water splashing around his feet. The blade is a replica of the one his Queen—I still can’t process that Malka is Mana-ma in another body—used to kill Nuala. The chapel creaks with another violent shudder.

He lunges for me first. I dodge the blade by inches and jump onto the nearest pew to escape. Ensi grabs my ankle and I fall flat, knocking my cheekbone against the wooden pew. Pain flares like a flame, and my breath leaves my lungs in a rush. I taste blood. He drags me toward him and I scrabble away desperately. Far away, my body in the Chair will have begun to bleed as well, I’m sure of it.

I kick back and his grasp weakens. I kick again, pain flaring in my ankle as I hit his torso. Ensi grunts in pain. Gasping, I turn toward him. Nazarin and Ensi roll on the ground, snarling. Nazarin manages to free an arm and punches Ensi, his knuckles glancing along the other man’s cheekbone.

I try to stand, but the chapel shudders. The world seems to fill with warm, dark green muck, like in Mia’s dream. I don’t know if it’s Kim’s code, my fear, or Ensi’s.

The mud laps at my ankles, my knees, my hips. It rises over my head. If I breathe in, the muck will coat my lungs. I can’t see Ensi or Nazarin, but I feel them, close, struggling against the collapsing dream.

I close my eyes, think of all my Meditation training. I push and push, and let go.

TWENTY-NINE

TAEMA

The green muck disappears, leaving dregs of dried mud. I fall to the ground, landing on my injured ankle. I hiss in pain, drenched and cold, spots wobbling in my vision.

The dream is still broken. The chapel still shakes and flickers, except where I focus my eyes. Nazarin and Ensi still fight, both of their faces bloody and beginning to bruise. My head pounds.

I hold on to a pew for support and move toward them, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming in pain.

I can’t move forward another step. It’s as if I’ve met an invisible barrier I can’t cross. Ensi hits Nazarin again, and his head jerks back before he falls to the floor. Ensi’s eyes flash to me, the corner of his mouth curling in triumph. Like me, he has found a measure of control in this broken world. He knows I can’t come any closer. He moves toward me. I struggle, but I’m stuck fast.

“This is my mind. My dream. Your lucid dreaming may be impressive, but you can never hope to be as strong as me. Whatever you’ve done to the code, I can fix it. This night may have had an unnerving start, but I can still have fun with you and your pet detective. I can still hear my little canary sing so sweetly.”

The chapel isn’t wavering as much. It’s almost as if it’s repairing itself. Was this all a ploy, somehow? A trap within a trap?

It can’t be. Ensi is still nervous, licking his lips, his eyes darting from side to side. He furrows his brow, and the blade that he conjured earlier is back. It’s his weapon of choice, like Mia with her scalpel and Malka with her sword. The steel gleams.

Ensi comes closer, until he is scant millimeters from me. He brings up the knife and holds it against my throat. He nicks it, and I wince at the pain. Blood trickles down my neck.

I look to Nazarin, but he can’t help me. What does it mean to be unconscious in an unreal world?

Think, think, think
. I try to remember all I learned while in Mia’s Verve world, and when I experienced Ensi’s earlier Test.

If I kill him in here, maybe I can defeat him. If I can kill him.

My first experience in Mia’s dream, I managed to make the crime scene go away, even if I couldn’t do anything else. And although the Test scared me, I passed.

I can lucid dream, too.

I focus on building my own barrier. I put all my terror into it. The barrier grows over Ensi’s, pushing the knife back from my throat. Ensi’s face twists into a snarl. What will unnerve him most? What will give me the upper hand?

I focus. I have the barest bones of a plan, but it’s my best chance. My only chance. The air around Ensi ripples, like I’ve thrown a rock in a still pond.