The Illusionists (20 page)

‘I'm sorry,' said White. He stumbled over his words. ‘I'm sorry.'

Rue had edged out of the firing line. She dared to glance at White. His face was shocking. He looked utterly miserable.

Cho had fallen into silence.

White was statue still. He was staring at her.

‘I read all your letters,' he said again. ‘Every single one. I was terrified to come back, do you understand? Out-of-my-mind terrified. But I did it. I didn't even mean to do it the first time – I was just thinking about you. I was drunk. I lose control when I'm drunk. And I just  …  Jumped there. To our hiding place. I was thinking about that time when we were just kids and we were hiding from Jospen, and we were in hysterics, we couldn't stop laughing. Do you remember? And suddenly I was just  …  there. I started to panic when I realised what I'd done, but then I saw this bunch of papers, wrapped up into a roll. And I took it, and I Jumped. I was too afraid to stay. I thought they'd know I was back. They said they could track my implant. I thought they would know.'

His voice had grown quieter.

‘I read them. They were  …  I loved them. But they were painful, too. Because you talked about what you were doing, and what was happening. Because they had you all over them. They hurt  …  They hurt a lot. And I wanted to forget everything here, because it was easier than remembering. I pretended I didn't have a past, except for one night every few months; one night when I Jumped back and got your next letter and brought it with me, and read it for one night. And that was it.'

Cho was crying.

‘I'm sorry,' said White. ‘I never meant to cause you pain. I thought by going away I'd stop doing it.'

‘You idiot,' Cho wobbled, still managing to sound irritated through her tears. ‘You're such an idiot. You don't know
anything.
'

She crossed to him and threw her arms around his neck. He stood for a moment, seemingly unsure. Then he put his arms around her and held her close.

Cho stayed there a moment more and then let go, suddenly awkward. She stepped back. ‘I don't get it,' she said, her voice blurry. ‘You're here now. Can't they still track your implant?'

White went still.

Grad take us,
thought Rue.
They could come after him. They could be coming right now.

But Cho was faster. ‘No,' she said. ‘No. Way. You had it removed.'

White said nothing.

‘When?' Cho whispered. Her mouth was slack with shock.

‘A couple of days ago.'

‘Did it hurt?'

‘A little.'

‘But  … 
how
?'

White shifted, uneasy. ‘There's a doctor,' he said. ‘In Angle Tar. I was given his name when I first went there. He's a Worlder, originally. He was good. Quick and clean. He's done it before. Many times before.'

‘It's really  …  it's really gone? No more Life?'

‘No more Life.'

They looked at each other then. Rue watched them both. Something that she couldn't be a part of was passing between them.

‘But  …  if you got the name of this doctor ages ago, why did you wait until now to get it done?' Cho demanded.

White looked away, at the wall. ‘Because, until recently, I never thought I'd be coming back here.'

A heavy silence descended.

Then Cho glazed over. ‘Shit, Livie's on her way back,' she said. ‘She just pinged me a message.' She looked at Rue. ‘You're going to have to explain this.' She jerked her head towards White.

‘He's
your
brother,' Rue said.

Cho snorted. ‘Yes, but
you're
the one who brought him into her house.'

They grinned at each other.

Rue's grin faded. Well, she'd done it. She had White here. It was time to tell him, wasn't it?

Time to tell them all, maybe. Because she didn't think she could do this by herself. The Ghost Girl had tried to – had
had
to. She'd been alone. But Rue wasn't alone.

‘Does Livie want to know what's going on, too?' said Rue.

Cho raised an eyebrow.

He woke up in a medical bed. He could tell it was a medical bed because it was uncomfortable. That and the tubing coming out of his arms.

Wren tried to move.

‘I wouldn't,' came a voice. ‘You're still weak.'

It had come from the end of his bed. There, stuck onto the far wall, was a screen. And there on the screen was Greta's face.

Wren fell back onto his pillows, too empty and tired to hide himself from her.

‘It's no good looking upset,' she said. ‘You brought this on yourself.'

Her voice had lost its usual playful quality. Warning bells began to ring.

‘Brought what on myself?'

His voice was a horrible croak.

Greta sighed. ‘You're in trouble, Wren. You've kept from me just how much. I thought I could turn it around for you. I knew when I first got assigned to you that you were damaged. But we thought, with my intervention, you could become useful. We thought you
wanted
to come here. You seemed to like it so much at the beginning.'

An old spark of the game flared. ‘I do like it,' he protested. But his heart wasn't in it, perhaps, or Greta had decided to stop believing one word that he said. Her expression was stone cold.

‘Really? Then why do you jeopardise your life here at every turn? Hacking files. Disobeying me as much as you dare. Losing the asset that
you
recruited. Oh yes, I know about that. Don't you worry your selfish little head about it, I'll find her. I'll clean up your mess. You just stay there and rest, Wren.'

He wanted to be angry, righteously angry. But it was actually a relief that it was out in the open now. Such a relief that he began to laugh. It hurt his throat.

‘What exactly are you laughing at?' said Greta, her voice rising.

He shook his head, still laughing.

‘You find your situation funny? Look around you. They're finally tired of your antics and they've ordered me to incapacitate you. You're no longer useful to us, you see. You're a liability.'

Wren snorted, curling onto his side to prop himself up. The movement took everything he had. He was weaker than a newborn, a curious sensation. The tubing tugged gently in his veins. ‘You can't lock me up.'

‘Wren, dear. I think if you tried to Jump right now, you'd find it quite hard.'

She was just playing the game, trying to scare him. Later, when he didn't feel so weak  …  Later, when she had her back turned, he would get the hell out of here.

‘I'm assuming you expect to feel stronger soon, yes?' said Greta. Her skin was so smooth on the screen. Was she that smooth in real life? ‘You're thinking that we're trying to get you better?'

Wren froze.

‘Oh dear. Perhaps I should tell you that the drips attached to your arms are feeding you a cocktail of drugs. The drugs keep you weak and your mind confused. Just confused enough, we've found, to prevent any kind of Talented activity. Not our most sophisticated method, but it's proven effective. Sort of our fallback, you might say.'

Greta paused, letting it sink in.

He felt himself tremble. Was it the drugs, or was he afraid?

You're afraid,
said the voice.

Greta's face was mild, her way of expressing extreme smugness. He wanted to crush her. He wanted to obliterate her from existence. She was everything that was wrong with this world. Everything he could fix, if only she didn't exist.

His hand went down the inside pocket of his trousers, and there, lying against his inner thigh – relief. He still had it. They hadn't taken it. Maybe they didn't know about the pocket. If they'd kept up with the latest fashion, they would have.

He fished the bottle out and gripped it in his fist.

‘Do you have an itch?' came Greta's annoying grate.

He popped the cap open and shook out two.

Three.

Four.

Five pills.

‘What's that?' she said, her voice suddenly sharp.

‘Something you missed,' he whispered, and swallowed the pills.

His eyes went up to the screen. She was looking at him in complete, naked shock. The sight would sustain him for a long time to come. She knew what the pills were. She knew he'd lied about the technician. She knew everything, suddenly. It was all over her face.

‘What have you done?' she said.

He lay back.

‘You'll overdose!'

The door opened, and a technician came running in. He went straight to the drip, his eyes glazed with Life.

It was all over, and there was only one place left to go.

‘Stupid boy,' he heard Greta say. She sounded strange. Almost sad.

The drug kicked in. It was like being slammed full-body against a wall. He shot across the universe, racing the stars. It seemed a long time before he reached the Castle, arriving out of breath, everything moving too slowly for him, as if he were galloping far ahead and time and space were behind, shouting at his back to wait for them.

He had no idea how long he had. If four times the drug would give him four times the length of stay, or if he would simply burn out four times as quick. Or if any of that stuff even mattered here. He came out of the room he found himself in, a room that was a parody of the hospital room he'd just left, complete with a ghostly shadow technician, like a sentry made of smoke next to his bed.

The corridors were endless, but he would search them all.

He set off, calling hello as he went in the loudest voice he could. He realised it wasn't sound he was making. He was calling with his mind, and his mind echoed off the walls of this place, carrying through the stone, or the paper, or the wood, or whatever the walls were made of. He suspected they weren't made of anything he would know. The wood and the stone were what he saw. Other visitors would see whatever made sense to
them
.

He wondered what the monsters saw.

It didn't take long, or it did – he wasn't sure which. But after a time, he knew he was being followed.

He stopped.

Whatever it was stopped with him.

He turned around, insides lurching.

It was a mirror.

No.

It was him.

He'd expected black sticks creeping across the walls again, or wet jelly eyes bigger than his head, or something with tentacles. He'd never liked tentacles. But what stood in their place was a very ordinary looking human figure. His height. His face. His body.

Wren stared at himself.

His copy stared back.

He felt an awful sinking feeling, a cold wash of realisation swim behind his eyes.

‘You're the Ghost Girl,' he said, his voice savage. She just loved to change her look, didn't she? She'd never turned into him before, but there was a first time for everything.

The Wren copy tilted its head.

‘What?' it said, in his voice. ‘Oh. No, this isn't her. She's a visitor here, like you.'

Wren stared at it, untrusting.

The Wren copy looked back.

‘But you can change shape, like she can,' he said, accusingly.

‘Everything can change shape here. You can change shape here.'

‘What? I can?'

‘Yes. You've never tried? No. You've never tried.' It answered its own question, as if suddenly receiving it from some invisible source.

It's copied your memories,
said his voice.
It can see you've never tried by looking through your memories.

‘The shape you wear here is just a habit,' said the Wren copy. ‘You adopt it unthinkingly. But you could change it if you wanted.'

Wren couldn't stop looking at it. Was that really how pointy his chin was?

‘But  …  then I wouldn't be me,' he said, still cautious.

It looked human. It even seemed like it had the weight and texture of a human. He could feel his fear draining away rapidly, now he was faced with something he understood.

That was dangerous, wasn't it? Because underneath, it was still a monster.

‘Of course you would,' said the Wren copy, impatient. It sounded
impatient
. Presumably the same way he did. ‘You are you. Shape means too much to you, when it should mean nothing.'

‘Why did you choose to look like me, then?'

‘So we can understand each other better. It's easier to talk to you in a shape you recognise.'

‘Why have you never done this before?'

What kind of thing chooses to look like a monster?

The Wren copy put its head on one side, as if it was considering what to say.

‘Well  …  I wanted to eat you before,' it said. ‘Can't eat you in this kind of shape.'

Wren took a step backwards.

‘What do you want?' he faltered.

‘What do
you
want?' it shot back. God, it was  …  it was really him. It was the strangest feeling, to stare into yourself. Watch yourself talk and gesture, watch emotion cross your own face. ‘Last time you were here you said you wanted to open the Castle.'

‘Yes.'

It smiled.

‘That's easy,' it said. ‘Do you know how?'

‘No,' he said, while inside he skipped with excitement. ‘Can you teach me?'

It laughed.

Did he really laugh like that? What a strange, fake sound.

‘There's nothing to teach,' it said. ‘I can simply show you.'

Wren tried not to crow into the ceiling. Nothing could stop this now. Just, please, let the drug keep working. Keep him here. Everything was riding on it.
Hurry hurry hurry
said his voice.
Before Greta pumps your body full of some other drug she hasn't told you about, some neutraliser designed to drag you back screaming into the real world.

If you pull this off, you'll never have to face the real world again.

But still, there was something that pulled him back. A voice he mostly ignored that told him to think about this for a minute. Just think about what this might mean. Think about the fact that it was a monster in front of him, a monster that wanted to eat him.

It seemed so laughable now, though. Now it looked like him, it just seemed like a joke they'd shared. No one ate humans. They were the top of the food chain.

Monsters weren't real. Well, okay, they were real here, but not really real. This wasn't a real place. It wouldn't be real until it was opened.

The copy must have sensed his hesitation.

‘It's really easy,' it said. ‘It doesn't hurt.'

His copy's body looked like it was straining towards him, pulling at a leash that he couldn't see. But it didn't move forward an inch.

It's trying not to scare you away.

It looks like you so you'll trust it and you won't run and disappear like last time. It thinks you're afraid.

‘What happens?' said Wren. ‘When the Castle is opened. What happens?'

‘Everything you want. Everything you've always wanted. Everything normal stops. Everyone can explore. All the things you hate will go away.'

‘Just like that?'

‘Just like that.'

It was practically vibrating.

‘Why can't you open it?' said Wren.

‘It needs someone from outside it to open it. And you need to
want
to open it. Everything always runs. But you stopped running. You're different. You're special.'

Why is it flattering you so much?

Because it wants something,
Wren snapped back.
It wants the same thing I do.

‘What do I have to do?' he said.

‘Just stay still. That's all you have to do. Stay still and let yourself open.'

‘Let myself open?' Wren echoed. ‘How do I do that?'

It paused. Maybe trawling through his memories again.

‘The way you feel when you're in the blackness,' it said, at last. ‘The feeling of possibility – the endless, boundless possibility of blackness and of nothing. You feel nothing there. It's only when you think of where you want to go that you start to feel something. The weight of the real place that drags you back.'

Wren found himself nodding along. That was it. That was it, just so.

‘Think of the nothingness,' it said. ‘Think of it now. And that's it.'

‘That's it.'

‘Do it now,' it said. ‘What are you waiting for?'

The drug might stop working,
urged the voice.
And then you'll go back to a world that has nothing for you, nothing except people like Greta who try to cage you and dissect you and don't give one tiny little crap about you. People like White who cast you off like an old jacket with holes in, not a second goddamn thought.

Stupid, stupid people everywhere, just screwing up the world, not because they can, but because they're nothing more than thoughtless, mindless animals. They're born, they eat, they work, they churn out more copies of themselves who will do exactly the same thing, and then they die.

There's nothing for you back there.

Be something. Show them. Change it all.

Don't back out now, you fucking coward.

Wren closed his eyes. It was easy to think of nothing here, in this strange nothing place that tried to be everything at once. He let go.

And then he felt something touch his head. It was touching his head.

He flinched automatically, but the touch didn't go away. He tried to twist and turn, a fish on the end of a hook. He couldn't see what it was. The pressure grew, gripping his skull, surrounding his head. No  …  it was
in
his head. He screwed his eyes shut, the pain throbbing into him, too much to think or do anything about.

Then came a horrible, awful sucking sensation.

It was sucking on his head.

Maybe he was screaming. He could no longer tell. Nothing was everything. He felt like his mind was being peeled back, layer by layer, every discarded layer allowing more of everything in until it flooded him,
everything.
He could see and feel it all.