Parched (7 page)

“What's the matter with you?”

I try to regain control of my voice, but it's wavering and unstable. “N-Nothing. I just should go unpack—”

“Okay, done!” Abel bustles back into the living room. “Managed to reschedule. Now, Hunter, why don't we just work from the study. You don't mind, do you? Tess, towels and sheets are—well, you know where they are.”

I pull myself together and nod staunchly. “Sure.”

Hunter's on his way to the study. From the corner of my eye, I see him cut me a sideways glance. I don't return it.

Abel turns back to me. “If you need anything, anything at all, I'll be right in here. And Tess?”

“Yes?”

Abel's smile is genuine and loving. “It's so good to see you again.”

I wait until I hear the study door close. Then I fall into the sofa and press the bottoms of my palms into my eyes. I want to be swallowed up by the blackness I find there. Now that Hunter and Abel are gone, I can't hide from the memories.

I've sunbathed in the courtyard out back. I've burned ricotta pancakes in the kitchen that's tucked away around the corner. The old me is in this house. My mom is in this house. The past seems so close I could reach out and grab it.

C'mon, Tess. Get it together. Remember why you're here
.

I make myself look over at the red door. If Abel is working for Simutech, he'd have a home lab set up. If the project is as classified as
Ling suggested, the lab would be behind lock and key. My uncle's security measures were always pretty predictable—I might be able to guess the password. But even the thought of doing that makes my blood feel icy.

Instead, I find myself picking up the photogram I knocked over on the end table. My eyes find my own. The framed three-second loop of Mom and me cuts through everything else. I remember when we recorded this. I can hear my mom's voice as clearly as if she were here now.

“Oh, Tess, you look beautiful!”

“Mom!” I spun around in surprise. My red dress whirled like a cape. “What are you doing home so early?”

“I only have a minute.” She brushed my cheek with a kiss, before heading over to riffle through the mess on the dining room table
.

“Should I wear this or the white one?”

“Red. You look like Joan of Arc.”

I made a face. “ ‘Dead martyr' wasn't what I had in mind.”

Mom laughed. Her comm beeped, and she switched her attention to unrolling some scratch. “Is that boy taking you?” She wiggled her fingers as if trying to conjure up his name. “Matt . . . Zinney?”

“You mean Mark Manzino?”

“Right.”

“He's taking someone else.” I replied flatly. Of course he is. “I'm flying solo.” Of course I am
.

“Good,” my mother said, with unexpected gravitas. She stopped fussing to meet my eyes, assessing me for a long, cool moment
.

“What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I'm going to tell you something, Tess,” she said. “Something important.”

“Okay,” I replied apprehensively. This was not Mom's typical parenting style
.

“If you want to be happy in this world, you have to learn how to survive on your own. You don't need a partner.”

I rolled my eyes. “It's my choice, I know—”

“I mean, you'd be better off independent,” she said emphatically. “If you only rely on yourself, you'll never be let down. Partners
weaken us. Oh sure,” she continued with a wave of her hand, “love is grand, love is flowers and sunsets, but love fades, Tessendra. Love is just a chemical called dopamine and that doesn't last.”

I was stunned. She'd never said anything like that to me before. I felt confused and oddly embarrassed. But if she noticed the effect her words had on me, she didn't show it. In a flash, she was back to fussing around and getting ready—as always—to leave. “Honey, I have to go. Magnus is being particularly difficult today.”

“Sometimes I think you love that dumb robot more than me,” I said sourly
.

“He's not dumb. And that's just ridiculous, Tess. I could never love anyone more than you.” Her lithe fingers danced through the opaque clouds of nonsensical science jargon, moving them around at lightning speed
.

“Let me put the white one on real quick,” I pleaded
.

“No, I have to go.” She threw her arm around my shoulder, holding the scratch in front of us. In photo mode, it reflected our faces like a mirror. “Say Camembert!”

I'm half scowling through the three-second loop that follows, but I can see why Abel has it: you can't tell we were fighting seconds before she started recording us. I mutter
Camembert
, but then Mom elbows me in the ribs and I yelp in surprise, which looks charming. Then it starts again: just a flash of what looks like a loving if typically dysfunctional mom and her grumpy teen daughter, hamming it up for a photogram. Mom looks vibrant, as always—she was always more photogenic than I. She's wearing the necklace I wear now—the light catches the intricate hand-cut gold sword. I look so young in this loop. It's hard to believe it was only a year and a half ago. Young and naive.

Death started the life I now recognize as mine.

A scorching wave of tears rushes up and a painful, strangled gasp escapes my throat. I clamp my hand over my mouth. If I start crying now, I'll never be able to stop. I stare at the loop, at my mom's face. She was so beautiful. So bright and so alive.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper at the loop. “Mom, I'm so sorry.”

“Are you all right, Miss Rockwood?” I jump in fright. The eerie substitute is standing next to me.

“Y-Yes,” I stutter in shock.

“Can I assist you with anything?” It rolls a little closer.

I scoot farther down the sofa. My voice shakes. “I'm fine.”

It rolls closer still. “I'm detecting tremors in your vocal pattern, indicating discomfort. Can I assist you with anything?”

Irrationally, my heart is racing. My instincts are telling me to flee.
“Meiyou!”
I snap, slipping into Mal. “You stupid
fuega
!”

I'm cornered at the end of the sofa, having scrambled back as far as I can. Kimiko leans over me, a few inches from my face. “I'm sorry, I'm having trouble understanding you.” Her creepy silver eyes drill into mine. Her voice seems to warp in my ears, coming from a mouth that does not move. “Can I assist you with anything?”

Terror seizes me. The eyes. The fact that she won't stop, even though I've told her to.

Magnus.

The ghostly echo of the day that changed everything; distorted, drawn-out words that feel like terror itself:
“Get. Away. From. My. Mother!”

A cry escapes me, a shuddering release of fear. I push the thing away, knocking it over. I grab my backpack from the floor, snatch Mack from the table, then bolt for the stairs.

The guest room is dark when I fumble my way in, slamming the door behind me. My hands are shaking so badly, it takes forever to lock the door.
It's just a substitute
, I tell myself, over and over and over again.
It's just a stupid robot
.

I allow myself one, two great sobs, and then I steel myself. I make myself as cold and hard as a blade.

A noise. I stiffen, my body still clenched. A chirrup, like a bird. Kudzu. They're trying to send me one of those forest things. For a few seconds I just stand there in the darkened room while a high-pitched
cheep cheep cheep
cuts through the otherwise quiet night.

Then I'm moving. Unzipping my backpack. Pulling out Ling's scratch. Shoving it between the mattress and the base of the bed. Pushing it in deep, where the heavy mattress drowns out the bright, insistent sound.

These movements, unplanned, as if someone else is controlling my body, tell me with perfect clarity what I already know.

I will never join Kudzu.

I don't care about Abel's involvement.

And I want less than zero to do with this thing called Aevum.

I
sleep like the dead, my body surrendering completely to ten hours of dreamless slumber in the most comfortable bed I've been in for a year. When I wake, my hand's under the pillow and scrambling for Mack before I remember where I am. I don't need to defend myself or hit the ground running. I'm back in Eden. I'm safe.

By Eden standards, the guest bedroom is sparsely furnished. But the flowing curtains that let in clear morning light and the soft carpet my feet sink into feel embarrassingly luxurious.

Towel in one hand, I uneasily face off against the shower. The neat guest bathroom is evidently rarely used, as a fine layer of dust lines the shower's ribbed floor. Thumb-sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and cleanser squat on a silver ledge.

A warm, gushing waterfall cascades around me. The water hits my skin in all the right places, like an all-over massage. I can't help groaning with pleasure as it drums into my shoulders, my back, my chest, my neck. I close my eyes and turn my face to the spray, letting it fall over my cheeks and forehead and scalp. I soap up my skin with an opaque goo that smells like ripe peaches. Layers of dirt and sweat and grime disappear in the bubbles. The sweet smell of peach mixes with the steam. I never want it to end. I want to stand here forever.

But as the dirty rivulets swirl down the drain at my feet, the pleasure starts to sour. This is more water than anyone in the Badlands gets in a month. And it feels good—
damn, it feels so good
—but I can't help feeling a little guilty. And then I can't enjoy it anymore. I dry myself with the soft, fluffy towel, feeling clean and refreshed and like I've done something wrong.

I comb my hair into something passing for neat and change into the dress Ling gave me. I wonder if the Tess of a year ago would've liked
this dress. It feels like trying to recall memories that aren't even mine. I know for sure Izzy would love the way it
only just
covers my butt, which means I probably would've liked it too. The foggy bathroom mirror reflects the old me looking at the new me looking at the old me.

I do a terrible impression of myself.

“Ah, screw it,” I mutter, and change into some Badlands clothes I have stuffed into my backpack. Loose black pants and a dark red tank top, both lousy with stains and sweat. I don't look entirely Eden, but if I get new clothes and a haircut, it shouldn't matter too much. This outfit only breaks social conventions, not actual laws.

I twirl Mack through my fingers and consider taking him with me, but I don't need his protection anymore. And besides, carrying weapons in Eden is illegal. I leave my old friend on the bedside table, looking decidedly out of place next to the cheery yellow lamp.

When I come downstairs, Abel is already at the dining room table. “Tess!” he exclaims eagerly. “Your heightened anabolic state has come to an end.”

I translate this as “you're awake.” He's flicking through a busy morning news stream, one hand curled around a cup of tea. Little clouds of stories about sports results, a buzzcar crash, and the set temperatures for the next few days hover about cheerfully. All so nice. All so normal.

“Morning,” I say.

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby with a hangover.”

“Like a what?” he asks, thrown.

“Sorry.” I smile, biting my lip. “Badlands expression. It means I slept well.”

“What a colorful phrase,” he says diplomatically, before stifling a yawn.

He has bags under his eyes. “What about you?” I ask curiously. “You look beat and it's not even nine
A.M
.”

His fingers tighten around his cup. “I must admit, having you back is somewhat surreal. I didn't sleep a wink.”

“Sorry,” I mutter softly, sliding into a chair across from him.

“You don't have to apologize,” he says. “It was hard for all of us, but it must've been hardest on you.” Abel peers at me, eyes bright despite the bags. “Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?”

My nails dig into my palms and I smile tightly. “Nope.”

“Well, how about some breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“Kimiko!” he calls. “Our guest requires some breakfast.”

The fembot zips around my backpack toward me. “What would you like to eat, Tess?”

I blink fast a couple times. I'm back in Eden now. These sophisticated, silver-eyed substitutes are just something I'll have to get used to.

The fembot repeats itself, “What would you like to—?”

“I don't know,” I cut it off. I haven't ordered breakfast in a year.

Abel answers for me. “Just some fruit is fine.”

Lucky for me, robots don't hold a grudge. Kimiko rolls off to the kitchen without another word.

“I was thinking we could have dinner together tonight,” Abel says.

I raise an eyebrow. “We haven't even had breakfast yet.”

“I mean, a special dinner. To celebrate your homecoming.”

“Okay.” I nod, trying not to feel wildly overparented.

“Kimiko will do the cooking. The kitchen isn't really my forte. She's been a real addition. Very helpful.” Abel begins chattering blithely about Kimiko's make and model: she's called a Companion, very articulate, designed to be socially intelligent and synergistic with everyday life. . . . I nod politely, trying to gauge the subtext of what's going on. He seems nervous. The shock of my return? Uncertainty about our future? Or guilt about his involvement in something that sent me to the Badlands in the first place? I suppose it could be all three.

I eat Kimiko's fruit salad obediently, savoring the sweet slices of nectarines and plums. Good, healthy food was a part of my old life. As I crunch a green grape between my teeth, I almost swoon.
Showers. Soft beds. Fresh fruit. Why did I ever leave?