Incubation (The Incubation Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

Nonetheless, I turn my back to the doorway, and begin to wash in the spray that suddenly spurts from a dozen nozzles. It’s cold. Goosebumps pimple my skin and I try to scrub them away. When I lather my hair, the lily-scented shampoo takes me back to the bordello and I feel like an avocado stone has caught in my throat. I let out a sound almost like a bark, and put a hand on the wall to steady myself. If there are tears, the streaming water hides them.

The water cuts off. Blowers switch on to dry me and then Bigfoot is back to re-attach my anklet. Dressed in my gray jumpsuit and with my hair damp, I am led to the room where I talked to Vestor. He’s there, garbed in an emerald tunic, mole winking when he smiles. He swoops down on me and I get the double kiss treatment.

“Shoo, shoo, shoo.” He gestures Bigfoot out of the room. When the guard has gone, he turns to me. “Sleep well? The under eye circles say not. Never mind. A bit of
tristesse
can be very affecting. We’re playing to the jury and the cameras, you know.” He hands me white garments that are draped over the loveseat. “Put this on.” He turns his back.

After a moment’s hesitation, I strip to bra and panties (and ankle bracelet, of course) and don the long white tunic and leggings. I clear my throat when I’m dressed. “Cameras?”

“Of course cameras. Yours is the biggest trial of the year. It’ll be broadcast, suitably edited, of course, during a special Assembly. I’ll be inconceivably more famous when I get you off.” Vestor works his lips in and out as he studies me. “We’re going for youthful innocence,” he says, circling me. “No make-up. Pale. Sad but composed. Pretty, but not beautiful. Don’t want to alienate any female jurors.” He chuckles. “The long sleeves hide those unfortunate muscles. Your hair . . .” He runs a hand through it. “We’ll even up the ends. That silvery blond is perfect—angelic. It's a shame they shaved it when you got here, but short like that it looks like a halo.”

He summons Bigfoot and requests scissors, then snips at my hair to neaten it. “Al-most,” Vestor says, studying me while tapping an index finger against his lip. “Your expression . . .”

“What about my expression?”

“It’s too . . . confrontational, verging on combative, in fact. We’re going for modestly downcast eyes, perhaps a whisper of puzzlement. You can’t understand why you’re on trial when you’ve done nothing wrong. Victim! Yes, we want victim. Can you give me victim?”

“No,” I say uncompromisingly. I will not for one minute think of myself as a victim. That undermines my strength and I know I will need to be strong.

Vestor raises his expressive brows and I think I see a hint of amusement and even approval in his eyes. “Confused, then. Meek.”

I look at my feet in my best approximation of “modestly downcast eyes.”

“No, not sullen,” Vestor says, sounding annoyed for the first time. “Hurt. Think of your friend Halla.”

Pain lances through me and I look up involuntarily.

Vestor claps his hands. “Yes, exactly! Hold that thought.”

I glare at him.

He bustles over and takes me by the shoulders, his face inches from mine. “This is not a game, Everly,” he says in a low voice with none of his usual affectedness. “Well, it is a game—theater, if you will—but it is played for the highest of stakes: your life. You are on trial from the second you leave this prison. Your every move, word, and expression will be recorded, studied and evaluated—every eyebrow twitch, every upthrust chin.”

He taps the offending chin and I lower it slightly.

“Your test scores tell me you are a very, very bright young woman. Well, you need to dedicate that brainpower to playing the role of injured vic—innocent, and you’d better put everything you’ve got into it because otherwise . . . Trust me when I say execution would look merciful compared to your likely fate if they convict.” He steps back and pins a broad smile to his face. “Not to mention the crushing blow to my flawless record. Agreed?”

I nod slightly and work on looking timid and confused. With my brain worrying at what sentence could be worse than death, it’s not too hard.

“Excellent!”

About the Author

Laura DiSilverio is the national bestselling author of 15 mystery and suspense novels, and a retired Air Force intelligence officer. Her first standalone novel,
The Reckoning Stones
, was a
Library Journal
Pick of the Month. The third book in her best-selling Book Club Mystery series,
The Readaholics and the Gothic Gala
, comes out in Aug 2016. A Past President of Sisters in Crime, she pens articles for
Writer’s Digest
, and teaches writing in various fora. She plots murders and parents teens in Colorado, trying to keep the two tasks separate.
Incubation
is her first young adult novel.

Laura DiSilverio