Imposter (20 page)

Will

I turn the corner just as James Scoffield and the man who hit me leave Socrates’s rooms. I duck into the nearest doorway and flatten myself against the wall so they don’t see me. James says something quietly to the other man, who rubs one of his silver-gloved wrists as they walk away. At the corner of the hall, James pauses, and the other man disappears around the bend.

As I approach him, James turns around with a grim smile. “This sneaking around business is becoming a habit of yours. You probably shouldn’t be found down this hall now that Socrates has fired you.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I rub my head. “But to be honest, I’m not sure I belong anywhere anymore.”

James claps his hand on my back and leans close to murmur into my ear, “Don’t worry. Everything is going according to plan.”

I cast a quick look behind us, but the other man is gone. “I wish I could do more.”

“Trust me. Taking care of Socrates is a full time job.” A faint buzzing fills the air, and I shake my head to clear it.

“But he fired me, remember?”

He chuckles. “Then just keep your head down. There’ll be plenty of work to do soon enough.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “There’s always something to do when you’re trying to change the world,” he says as he leads me down the hall.

“What about that man you led me to? The one who drugged me and talked about killing Socrates.”

“He’s a visitor, nothing more, and he’s gone now. I doubt you’ll ever see him again.”

“But he seemed like he knew so much about what’s going on. Is he a part of the revolution?”

“There are many heads on this dragon. Some are less pleasant than others.” He walks me back to my apartment, and we stop outside the door.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. I might not be able to give you the response you want, but I’ll do the best I can.”

“Sometimes I swear Mira is still alive. It’s like no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself it’s only Socrates in there. It’s in his eyes, his voice, even the way he acts sometimes.” I scrub my hand through my short hair. “Am I going crazy?”

James pauses for several seconds, as though carefully considering his words. “I think it’s only natural. You cared for her deeply.”

I choke back a lump in my throat. “I loved her.”

“It’s all right to see her in Socrates. Mourning is normal. For you, the process of grieving was interrupted because you’re forced to see her body every day. You haven’t had the chance to say good-bye.”

“Could she be like Carroll?”

“No.” James’s eyes cloud with sadness. “You know, sometimes I think you have the most challenging assignment of all of us. You have to interact closely with the person you love, knowing she’s gone, but her corpse and your memories of her are still very much alive.”

The weight of what he doesn’t say overwhelms me for a moment. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

James stares into the distance, his eyes glassy in the low light. “Yes. I’m sorry, Will, but Mira is gone. Socrates is the only one who remains.”

My mind goes back to what Socrates said, his actions, the way he played my emotions and me. I ball my hands at my sides as rage erases every bit of compassion I’d ever felt for the monster. “Then as soon as this is done, he’s dead. I won’t do anything to put Evie and the baby at risk, but I’ll find a way.” Before James can say another word, I scan myself into my apartment and slam the door behind me.

***

The next morning, I wake up when my com unit beeps on the small nightstand next to my bed. I reach over blindly and knock it to the floor. Next to me, Evie mumbles and pulls the covers tighter around her body. Her sleepy smile finds mine, and I shrug to let her know I wasn’t expecting a call this early. She rolls over and snuggles deeper in the blankets.

Careful not to disturb her, I slip out of the bed and walk into the bathroom. After I shut the door, I answer my com. “Will here.”

“Hey, I know you’re not scheduled until later this morning, but I need you on breakfast duty.” Brennan’s voice echoes clearly.

“In the cafeteria?”

“No, you need to take food to your First.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know if you knew this, but Socrates fired me.”

“Yeah, well, we’re short staffed so unfortunately we don’t have a choice unless he wants to get it himself.”

I peer into the mirror, checking out my eye after removing the patch. “Don’t give him the choice. He’ll do it.” It would serve him right, too. We’ll see how good of a reception he receives, regardless of the Free America Bill.

I hear a scratching noise, as if my supervisor is itching the shadow of a beard along his jaw. “Will this be a problem?”

I grimace. “Socrates won’t like it.”

“He didn’t lodge a formal complaint, so you must not have made him too angry. Just be on your best behavior until he leaves, and then you’ll never have to see him again. Not in your lifetime, at least.” He chuckles, and a glowing light blinks off, signaling his departure.

I sigh, fasten the com unit to my wrist, and turn to Evie. “I guess I have to go.”

“Is everything all right?” she asks, her voice soft with sleep.

No. Everything’s not all right. I don’t think Evie would want to hear that I have to go see Socrates again. “Everything’s fine.”

She touches my arm. “Are you sure?”

I barely resist the urge to pull away. “Yes.” I stand up. “I shouldn’t be too long, but I don’t know if I’ll be back before you start your shift.”

She arches her back and presses on the base of it, wincing. “I don’t have to be in for a couple hours.”

“Maybe I’ll see you later, then.” She sniffles. I touch her chin and tilt it up toward me. After a moment of resistance, she relaxes as I drop a quick, soft kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry, okay?” I whisper. “For everything I’ve put you through.”

That brings out a smile. “A blanket apology? I like that.”

After one more peck on her forehead, I change into a clean version of the same uniform I wear every day before heading out of the apartment. On my way, it hits me that my supervisor didn’t tell me what to get them for breakfast. A smile lightens my step.
Who was it that said revenge is a dish best served cold?
I can work with that.

When I get to Socrates’s room, I knock once before entering. He and Eliot are sitting at the table, talking quietly. As soon as I enter the room, the words die on their lips, and they turn in tandem to stare at me.

“I was told to bring you breakfast.” I slam the tray down on the table.

Socrates’s surprised expression quickly transforms into a scowl.

“Thank you.” Eliot nods at me, but I ignore it. Her husband appears shaken, almost nervous, but then I see a spark of anger in his expression, as well.

I clench the fine silver handle on the top of the domed tray. This time no little voice tells me it’s Mira. No voice tells me to behave. No voice screams or whispers that this is the girl I loved.

I take off the lid of the tray and hand them two bowls of cold oatmeal and glasses of synthetic orange juice. Socrates wrinkles his nose, and Eliot flashes me a knowing grimace. Good. Maybe it’s petty, but it’s about all I can do right now.

I set the tray on an extra chair by the door and settle back by the wall, my arms clasped behind my back. “Is there anything else you require?”

Socrates opens his mouth then closes it and frowns. “No. In fact, after last night, I thought I’d made myself clear that you’re no longer needed as my personal servant.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” The words leave an acidic taste in my mouth. “There was no one else available. Everyone else was pulled for guard duty.”

“And you weren’t?”

I shrug, even though his words sting. “I guess they think I’m better off here.”

“Babysitting,” Socrates muses.

I don’t let a single muscle in my face twitch. “Call it what you wish.”

“Well.” Socrates glares at Eliot. “I don’t care what your supervisor said. I neither want nor need you here any longer.” He plants his hands on his hips. “Have I made myself clear now?”

“Crystal,” I say through gritted teeth. Spinning on my heel, I swing the door open and leave the room, letting the door bang shut behind me. I can’t wait for this to be over.

Mira

“So this is it?” I put my hand to my stomach to calm the butterflies fluttering around inside.

Ellie nods. “Don’t worry. It’s a lot simpler now than it was before the Immigration War. Back then, there was this drawn out, agonizingly painful ordeal to get bills through the House of Representatives and then the Senate before landing on the president’s desk. Nowadays, without the House of Representatives mucking things up and only 98 senators since Texas lost that right during the War, the remaining senators decide at the end of their committee meetings, in the middle of the night sessions, or even before breakfast. That’s one of the few good things to come out of the Immigration War—a somewhat more simplified government. This”—she gestures vaguely toward the banquet hall—“is just for show.”

I straighten the elegant silver dress I agreed to wear to placate Rodney and twirl around in the mirror. The dress’s silky sheath flows around me, its skirt blending seamlessly with the long, flowing sleeves. My nerves twist and turn under the surface of my skin, making me feel like I’m going to throw up. I press my hand to my stomach to calm them. “Do you think it’ll pass?”

She measures me with her eyes before speaking. “I don’t know, but I hope so. From what I heard, your speech touched many people. There were detractors, as you heard, but there were many people on the fence. Honestly, I don’t know which way the wind will blow. As of right now, it appears to be in your favor, but you have to be prepared for any eventuality.”

I bite my lip. “You don’t sound very encouraging.”

“I’ve seen a lot of good ideas fail. Hell, the Immigration War certainly seemed like a good idea at the time, but nothing we did could have prevented how it ended.”

What do I say to that? I don’t really know what she’s talking about. “You’re right, of course.”

She straightens her tie in the mirror then turns to me. “Ready to go?”

“I guess.” I take a deep breath, call Ben to me, and snap on his leash.

“Are you sure you want to bring him?”

“Why not? I bet he’s getting sick of being cooped up, just as I am. I can’t wait to get out of here and go home.”

Grief, a companion never far away, returns to Ellie’s face. It takes me a minute to realize what I’ve said. Home, as if the house in Santa Fe was my home, not Socrates’s, not Eliot’s. Mine.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”

“No, it’s fine. It just takes some getting used to for this old woman, that’s all.” Eliot offers me her arm.

I take it with my free one, grateful that she’s not angry with me. We walk down the hall alone. Part of me isn’t surprised Will didn’t show up to escort us, but another small, traitorous fragment of my heart wishes he’d come anyway.

“I’m sorry that boy hurt you.” Eliot squeezes my hand.

Heat creeps up my face. “Am I that obvious?”

Eliot chuckles. “Only to one who knows you well.”

She does, doesn’t she?
A warm feeling fills me. Maybe I’m not quite as alone as I thought.

The banquet hall appears much the same as it did the night before. Fresh white tablecloths cover the tables. Long buffets on one side overflow with plates of fresh salads and finger-sized sandwiches. Small cups of juice and steaming pots of coffee fill another. Centerpieces of fresh fruit rest on each table, their colors bright against the white tablecloths.

Just inside the door, a young servant approaches me. Her long red hair is pulled back into a bun, and her eyes shift nervously from side to side. Something about her doesn’t feel right, and  immediately I go on guard. “Socrates?” She clasps her hands and nervously threads her fingers together.

“Yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

Her gaze darts toward a service entrance behind the stage. “There’s someone who would like to speak to you. Please come with me.” She gestures toward the door.

I don’t move. Somehow, I can tell she’s lying to me. A sense of foreboding fills me. “Right now?”

“Yes.” She bobs her head erratically. “It’s a friend of yours.” She gulps. “It’ll only take a minute. He wants to express his gratitude for your speech.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Eliot watching the exchange carefully.
Does she know what’s going on?

“Who is it?” Eliot asks.

“He didn’t give me his name. I’m sorry. He just wanted me to find Socrates and bring you out to meet him.” She takes another step toward the service exit. “Please come with me.”

I plant my feet and refuse to follow her.
Who knows what could be on the other side?
“I don’t think so.”

“But sir, please, you’ve got to come!” Her voice takes on a frantic edge. “It’s important.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I turn to Eliot. “Don’t you agree?”

She shrugs in response. “It is odd timing. It could be a trap.”

I turn to the servant and fix her with my best, most serious, stare. “Is this a trap?”

She takes a small, mincing step toward the door. “No, I swear it. Please come with me.”

I frown. “I’m not an idiot. People want to kill me, and you could be one of them. I’m not going anywhere.” With that, I turn on my heel and let Eliot lead me to the long low table we ate at before. When we sit down, Ben crawls underneath and curls up by my feet.

Eliot squeezes my shoulders. “I’m going to grab a sandwich and some coffee. Would you like me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Eliot excuses herself and walks over to the buffet table, grabs a plate and a drink before stopping to talk to someone.

“Good morning, Socrates.” Veronica smiles at me, venom dripping from every pore. Her husband pulls out her chair and she slides into it.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Did you sleep well?” Her expression is too knowledgeable, as though she can see right through me and knows about Will, Tanner, and about my real identity.
How could she?

“Like a baby.” I smile back as Eliot slips into the chair next to me. Besides her own drink and a plate of snacks, she also sets a tall, fluted glass in front of my plate.

“Mr. President, Madam Vice President, how are you?” She forces enthusiasm in her voice with more skill than I can probably muster in my entire lifetime.

“Oh fine, fine.” President MacNeil supplies when his wife remains silent.

A servant I’ve never met before brings the president and his wife an array of drinks and food. It must be nice to be the king. He picks up a short, squat glass filled almost to the top with amber liquid and swirls it around before taking a long sip.

“Have you enjoyed your stay?” Veronica brings the conversation and everyone’s attention back to me.

I choke as the clear drink I sip explodes in fizzy little bubbles. “Of course, as always.”

Eliot pats my knee, her eyes reassuring. “It’s been an adventure.” She faces the president and his wife, but her focus is still on me. “However, we can’t wait to get home and finish recuperating. We’re not usually this active after an Exchange.”

Veronica jerks her head at the healing red marks that would leave scars for the rest of my life. “But you certainly seem to be handling yourself quite well, considering the circumstances.”

“Veronica, please.” President MacNeil’s frustrated grimace silences her. “I’m sorry, Socrates. My wife is still exhausted and stressed from the protests. Normally, there wouldn’t be such a rush to have a bill voted on, but this one”—he frowns—“this one has been different.”

I give him a more genuine smile than I offered his wife. “I understand. One cannot control how other people react in this particular social and political climate.” I must sound enough like Socrates because the President nods, and his wife casts a speculative glance in my direction.

The same old man who introduced me last night once again approaches the stage and slowly climbs the steps. His movement reminds me of Socrates so much that the muscles tense in my legs, and I almost get up to help him. Only a nudge from Eliot stops me. I can’t; that would be too much like Mira. The man walks up to the podium and clears his throat. Within a matter of seconds, the room quiets, and everyone’s attention turns to him.

“Esteemed ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming to this special luncheon. Last night, a private session was held to discuss the Free America Bill and its potential repercussions. And this morning, you voted either for or against this Bill.”

My gaze flies to Eliot.
Is that where she was last night?

“Without further ado, I will announce the results of the vote.” He waits, leaning against the podium, until the last of the audience’s chatter dies away. “On this vote, there are forty-one yeas and fifty-seven nays. This Bill is reported as failed and without objection”—he waits, giving those in the audience the opportunity to speak up—“this Bill has failed.”

A low cry rises up from the back of the crowd. Guards march through several of the doors and line up against the wall. “Please, ladies and gentlemen.” He scans the restless crowd. “There’s no need for—”

Before he completes his sentence, a deafening boom rocks the auditorium. The heartbeat afterward shows a room frozen in shock. The speaker clings to the podium, mouth agape. Senators, Firsts, and other dignitaries cry out in alarm. My eyes dart, panicked, and that’s when I notice that all the servants have vanished. It’s only us, the immortals, who remain.

“What the”—someone yells as another explosion blasts through the room.

Screaming follows. In a chaotic flurry, chairs crash to the floor; people rush to their feet and trample each other as they frantically race for freedom. As people dodge, dive, and shove each other out of the way, the stage explodes in a blinding burst of light and flame. A high-pitched ringing fills my ears. Red-hot flames flicker along the edges of several tables around us. Blackened chunks of stage and something else litter the ground.

Eliot pushes me to the ground and under the table. “Don’t move. It’s safer under here.”

I hug Ben tight to my chest as smoke quickly fills the room. Another explosion follows, the ground shakes, glass breaks, and it feels like the whole world is crashing down.

“What’s happening?”

Eliot doesn’t respond, so I don’t think she hears me. My lungs seize up, and I start to choke.

The table above us rattles. Other shapes move through the smoke around us. Flames and heat lick the edge of the tablecloth.

“Time to go!” Ellie grabs my arm and jerks me out from under the table.

I clutch Ben’s leash in my other hand and drag him with us. Filled with smoke, my lungs stop working, and I start hacking. I wrench my arm out of her grasp and cover my mouth. “Ellie, I can’t. Stop, please.”

“We have to get out of here!” She points at the fire growing ever closer and the distant crashes of falling ceiling tiles and chandeliers. “This place is falling down. If we want to make it out of here alive, we have to go.” Something explodes next to where the stage used to be, and a fireball shoots through the air. Ben whines and pulls at the leash. “Now, girl!”

She tugs me past a table that somehow escaped the initial blasts. She grabs a napkin, dumps a glass of water on it, and then presses the cloth in my hand. “Here, it’ll help you breathe.”

“Thanks.” Before I can ask her why she doesn’t get one for herself, she’s pulling me forward again. The smoke is so thick now all I can do is follow Eliot as she leads the way.

“Help me!” someone screams.

“I’m hurt!” another shrieks, but no one helps them. Any stragglers stumble over the bodies in their own rush toward safety.

Behind us, smaller blasts rock the room. The fog in my head keeps me from understanding what’s going on.
Did someone just bomb the Smith? Where did they come from?
My mind flits back to the absence of servants.
Did they plan this?
A cold thought fills me.
Did Will know?

I trip over something and look down. A body lies broken and twisted in a heap on the floor, his or her neck bent at an impossible angle. Bile rises, sour and acidic in my throat. When I hesitate, someone jostles us and rips Ellie’s hand from my arm.

She shouts at me through the smoky haze, but in the mad crush of people and smoke, I lose sight of her.
Where are the security guards? Don’t they have an emergency procedure for something like this?

Someone kicks me in their panicked rush to safety, and I fall down. “Get out of the way!” Ben, crouched next to me, growls at anyone who comes too close. Another coughing fit consumes me. My eyes burn. My throat tightens. I can’t draw fresh air into my lungs because there isn’t any left. I stick my hand out to feel my surroundings and find the thick fabric of someone’s clothing.

“Eliot?” But there’s no response. “Are you all right?” I shake the person, hoping to wake them up. He or she must be getting kicked and stepped on worse than I am, but there’s no response. I pat my way up the person’s leg until it ends in a sticky wetness and something sharp jutting out. It’s a severed leg. Leaning to the side, I heave the contents of my stomach onto the floor. Someone slips in my vomit and curses me. People continue to rush past me like cattle in a stampede while Ben and I huddle together on the floor.