Genesis Girl (4 page)

“Pull up the picture again, please.”

Cal shoots off the picture of Seth one more time. I lean across my dinner plate to examine it closely.

Seth’s eyes are dark, not like Cal’s at all. They are rimmed with black, almost like he’s wearing eyeliner. A scar cuts across the bottom corner of his chin. A pendant hangs across his neck, tied with a red cord.

I’ve seen that necklace before. It’s the same lion-faced snake medallion that Seth’s mother was wearing in her portrait. It’s the same animal on his website and on his face.

“What happened to your wife?” I ask point-blank.

Cal takes another long drink of wine. “She left us too soon,” he says. And then he tells me the whole sordid story.

Sophia McNeal is never coming back, that much is clear. But maybe Cal is right. Maybe his plan will work. Because I can be anyone Cal wants me to be, especially a daughter. Ms. Lydia made me practice that role extensively.

I can do other things too. I’ve been trained for every possibility. I can hurt, I can heal, I can hook, and I can release.

If Cal wants me to lure Seth back into his life, I can do that.

The only thing I can’t do is fall asleep on my own.

My cloister is quiet and darkened by shadows. I know the door is bolted shut, but it doesn’t help. There’s no murmur of breathing, no shuffling of feet.

Rolling on my side, I pull the covers up tightly around my shoulders. If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I can still picture it. The Tabula Rasa bunk beds. My old black sleep shirt. Ms. Corina wandering the aisles, giving instructions.

“Relax your forehead,” she’d say. “Then your cheeks, then your smile.”
Ms. Corina’s voice was always sickly sweet.
“Lie back and straighten your spine until you feel yourself lifted from above. You’re a little cloud floating in the sky above the whole world. And you’re placid. Perfectly placid.”

Fatima used to mock her for using the word “placid” so often.
“Charming Corina is such an idiot,”
she’d say.
“Why can’t she say ‘calm’?”

But I’m trying not to think about Fatima or Ethan, Beau, and the rest. It’s too hard, thinking about my friends.

So maybe if I try hard enough, I can still do it. I can be calm, I can be placid, and I can fall asleep all by myself.

I’m still a Vestal even though I’m alone. I’ll always be a Vestal, no matter what happens.

I have everything I need to achieve happiness.

Vestals don’t usually free people from jail. But if this is what Cal wants, I have to do it. He asked Headmaster Russell to send over the paperwork this morning, dropping all charges against Seth for the crime of trespassing on Tabula Rasa property with the intent to cause harm.

Thankfully the car Cal’s provided me with is pretty opaque. That’s good, because I’ve never been out in daylight before, except that one ride from Tabula Rasa to my new home at McNeal Manor.

I’ve been dreaming about sunshine forever. But usually, those dreams are nightmares.

Back at Tabula Rasa, they infused our water with vitamin D so we wouldn’t get rickets. It’s better that way. The outside world is dangerous for a Vestal. Somebody might see us and tell people where we are. Or worse, they might take our picture. Then we’d be overexposed like everyone else, unable to control our own profile because our privacy was gone.

Vestal purchasers pay good money for our digital purity. Cal has taken every precaution. This limo has dark windows, a lead-lined interior, and a vetted driver named Alan.

“As soon as you close the windows between us,” Alan tells me, “you are completely cloistered. Mr. McNeal made me guarantee your privacy. So tap on the window if you need something because I won’t be able to hear you.”

But I don’t close the window between us. Driving through Silicon Valley is overwhelming, and it’s nice to have the company.

All the newsboards offer support too. Each one we pass shows a Vestal I know. It’s only a matter of weeks before my friends are up there too. Beau leaning against a truck with his arms around Fatima; Ethan looking totally smart, like he actually knows how to make finger-chips.

A truck company, a fashion house, a chip manufacturer; the only surprise at our Harvest was me. I wish I could be like my friends and still feel normal.

Right now it feels like my scarf is strangling me. I rip it off my neck and gasp for breath.

It took me forever to decide what to wear. Dressing for criminals was not covered in school. I finally settled on a bundled-up number with a scarf, tank top, leather jacket, and my high-heeled boots. With my hat and glasses, I’m almost entirely shrouded in white.

By now we’re in the parking lot of the county jail. “Good luck then, Ms. Blanca.” Alan opens the door for me and nods.

I smile back weakly and step into the light. Heat hits my cheeks, and I feel like I’m on fire. The sunshine is blazing! I can barely see it’s so bright. I stumble a bit as I walk up the path.

Grime, sweat, and desperation; the odors assault me as soon as I enter the precinct. The public waiting area is packed with people, some of them so covered in tattoos that their skin is no longer visible. Most of them stare at video screens coming from their finger-chips. The rest gaze into space, totally wacked out on drugs.

I head straight for the VIP section because Headmaster Russell made some calls before I came over. He knows all the right people. Even though I’m protected by privacy glass, I pull up my scarf anyway. I keep my glasses on too, like I’m an old-time movie star.

But the VIP section isn’t as a great as it sounds. The officer on duty is middle-aged, nondescript, and lumpy in places she shouldn’t be lumpy. She sits at the counter, too engrossed in her palm game to do her job. I hear tinny music emanating from the speakers in her thumbs. She completely ignores me after several minutes of me patiently waiting.

That is her first mistake.

I clear my throat. “I’m here to drop charges against Seth McNeal.”

“Name?” she says, clicking on her palm. She’s got fake purple eyelashes and insolence emanating from every pore.

“Blanca.”

“Last name?”

“I don’t have a last name. I’m a Vestal.”

“Don’t be a wise-ass,” she says.

That was her second mistake.

The officer holds out her hand, trying to scan me.

“I can’t be scanned because I don’t have finger-chips,” I say. “I told
you, I’m a Vestal.”

Finally, the officer looks up. “No way.” Then realization dawns as her scan fails. “You’re unreadable!” she blurts, examining me closer. “Show me your wrist.”

I fight to stay composed. I smooth my expression and hold out my left arm, pulling back my sleeve.

She picks up my wrist in her technology infested hands and rubs my platinum cuff. “Oh my God! It’s really you! You’re the Vestal from the picture!”

I withdraw my hand and wipe it on my clean, white jeans. I’ll have the maid bleach them when I get home. This tech-addict never should have touched me.

That is her third mistake.

“4-3-8-5-7-2-9.”

“What?”

“4-3-8-5-7-2-9,” I say again. “Your badge number. I’m memorizing it.”

“What do you need to know my badge number for?”

“I have a responsibility.”

“Huh?”

I look at her right in the eyes. “Technology is no excuse to be rude. I hope you get help for your addiction.”

“What?”

“People matter, not your palm. Now please get me what I need so I can drop the charges against Seth McNeal.”

Paperwork, forms, an old-fashioned pen—she has to hunt them down because I refuse to type. She scrambles, but it’s too late.

Tech-addicts need to be cleaned from the inside out.
That’s what Barbelo Nemo wrote.
Vestals have a responsibility to avenge all wrongs, especially when our honor is assaulted.
When I get home to the manor, I’ll write Headmaster Russell a letter and tell him Officer 4385729 ignored me, called me a “wise-ass,” and touched me without permission. He’ll want to know.

But right now, I need to focus.

The new officer who leads me through the corridors to the jail cells is refreshingly obsequious.

“There’re no cameras in here, Ms. Vestal. And the walls are lined with lead, so you’ll be safe.” The officer pauses and smiles at me shyly. “I’ve never met a Vestal before. My mom told me that they bless people. Is that true?”

“Yes.” I smile. “Would you like to be blessed?”

“If you don’t mind,” the officer asks, sheepishly.

“Of course not. What’s your name?”

“Stanley Francis.”

We are standing at the door to the jail cells. The room is gray and stale.

I look at Stanley full in the face. “Stanley Francis, you have a hard road. In so many ways, it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it
.
You have everything you need to achieve happiness.” I bring my cuff to my heart, and the moment is complete.

“Thank you.” I think there might be a tear in Stanley’s eye, but I pretend not to notice. “Let’s get you on your way,” he says.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a few minutes to talk to the Virus first, while he’s still locked up.”

“Of course, Ms. Vestal. I’ll be a few feet away. If you need anything, let me know.”

I walk through a river of catcalls. Every last dirtbag I pass hoots and hollers. Cal was upset that his only son was surrounded by criminals, but I’m going to make things right. My very presence will make these prisoners suffer. I let my scarf fall down and show some skin.

“Hey, baby! No need to wear white after I’m done with you.”

“Bring some of your blessings my way, sugar!”

“You only thought you knew what private meant!”

The only inmate not saying anything, not noticing me, is Seth. When I stand right in front of his cell, he still lies slumped on the ground.

I crouch down, wrapping my arms around my knees, but not letting my butt hit the floor. “Veritas Rex?”

“Who’s asking,” he mumbles. But when Seth finally sees me, he scrambles to sit up straight. “Holy shit, it’s you!”

“Yes. And you’re the Virus who took my picture.”

Neither of us says anything further. I search Seth’s face for some sign of his father, but all I see is his mother. Brown-black hair bolts straight up and matches the dark eyes from Sophia’s portrait. Seth’s muscular forearms stretch the confines of his orange jumpsuit. I struggle not to inspect his tattoos. When Seth slowly starts to smile, the way his mouth turns up at the corners reminds me of Cal. But then his smile turns acrid, and any familiarity is gone.

“What are you doing here, Vestal? Have you come to gloat?”

“Not at all. I’m here to release you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really,” I say. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Then why am I still locked up?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you first.”

Seth clenches his fists and gives me a once-over. “Hey, are you still a Vestal? Did that picture get you kicked out?”

I hold up my wrist so he can see my platinum cuff.