Torn (23 page)

“The best part of having parents at the labs, though, is my access to free shit,” the guy continued. “Want some?” He opened a palm to reveal a handful of performance-enhancing drugs. Davis recognized a libido stimulant and fought to swallow her disgust.

“What about the disease?” she asked, shaking her head at the palm of pills.

The guy—whose name she still didn't know, she realized—popped an energy stimulant and smiled broadly. “We don't hear much about that,” he told her. “And besides, who really cares? It hasn't hit Durham. A lot of people say it's just a myth.”

“It's not a myth,” Davis snapped, and he raised an eyebrow. “How can you say that? People are dying every day. It's devastating.” She was breathing hard and felt close to tears. He frowned at her, narrowing his eyes. She realized belatedly that he'd already said she looked familiar; she risked exposure by identifying with Columbus in any way. “It's just … I have cousins who live out there. They know people who passed away.”

“Okay.” The guy shrugged. “If you're really interested, I know where all that stuff is stored. Kalil's parents own the place.” He nodded toward a curly-haired guy who commanded the attention of the group, talking animatedly. “They have a lot of the research stored in their library. Massive collections of medical studies from all over New Atlantic. I'd be happy to show you.…” He trailed off, raising his eyebrow seductively. Davis could tell his hidden agenda was to get her alone. But if she could somehow put him off, it would all be okay.

“I'd love to see them,” she told him, taking his arm.

They wandered through a maze of hallways, looking for the library. “You know, you should get back to the party,” Davis told the guy, whose hand was trailing against her lower back. “I've got it from here.”

“I don't mind,” he told her. “It's just up here.”

“I'm sure you don't,” Davis said, more firmly now. The guy's hand was snaking its way around her waist. “But really, I'd rather do it alone.”

His expression hardened, and he moved his hand away. “Suit yourself.” He held his hands up, palms facing outward, and backed away. Davis could have sworn she heard him mutter the word
frigid
under his breath as he retreated, and she shuddered involuntarily.

 

 

Ten minutes later, she
almost
regretted having sent the guy away. She couldn't find the library, and although she'd run into another group of well-to-do, attractive teenagers, any mention of Narxis yielded blank stares.

She turned down the only pathway she hadn't yet tried, and groaned in frustration when she saw that it led to a balcony rather than to the library. She moved to the stone fencing around the balcony, taking in the night. Durham spread out around her in all its shining glory. It looked much the same as Columbus, at its core—a sea of high-rises that blended together in the center and rose up at different heights into the clear night sky—but that's where the similarity stopped. Beyond the epicenter were vast plots of land with extravagant homes styled to resemble old-fashioned mansions, complete with gardens and porches. Davis couldn't see the detailing, but Mercer had described their vast ballrooms and even nostalgic touches like tennis courts. He'd waxed poetic about their beauty many times in the past. And Durham was beautiful, from what she could see—even Jan's apartment had a sprawling, sleepy beauty that she wasn't used to seeing in fast-paced, high-energy Columbus. Beauty was one thing; but if this was the research capital of New Atlantic, she wasn't seeing it. Her search wasn't yielding any results—and it was shocking to her that no one seemed at all aware of the disease, like it hadn't yet entered their realms of thought. She'd just have to dig deeper, try harder.

Just then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, startled, to find Mercer standing behind her. He held out a palm, and she gave him hers. “May I have this dance?” he asked with faux formality, before gently pulling her body against his, humming along with the sounds of jazz emanating from the main ballroom, his hand circling her waist as he spun her around the balcony.

“Have you seen him yet? Dr. Hassman?” Davis asked as they danced.

“No,” Mercer told her. “But I'm sure he'll show up. I saw his name on the confirmed guest list, and Jan pointed out his assistant earlier. We just need to give it time. It's early yet. Meanwhile, may as well enjoy ourselves, right? Or at least try to.” Davis nodded and pressed her face against his neck, breathing in his salty smell. Mercer looked as perfect as the rest, and yet he felt more real, more accessible. She felt like he somehow knew her in a way no one else could. Not even Cole. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought.

Mercer spun her quicker, dipping her suddenly, and when he bent to kiss her, she yielded easily. Their kiss was long and soft. There were so many things he seemed to be saying with his lips: that they were the same; the two of them were in it together. Davis felt all of her reluctance disappearing, and she gave into the kiss, returning it with equal passion. She ran her hands through his hair and over his chest, pretending to push him away even as she moved her mouth over his.

She heard a movement to her left and opened her eyes, spotting Jan. Davis pulled back, embarrassed. How long had Jan been watching?

The other girl's face was blank, expressionless. “There you two are!” she said brightly. “We were looking all over!” From behind her, two other forms emerged—faces Davis found vaguely familiar but unsettling. Their eyes were a little too bright, almost like they were high, and their grins were perfect, glossy replacements for human emotion. Then she realized: Jan's own eyes were different—they'd been brown when Davis first met her, and now they were a startling green. She'd changed eye colors, but behind the new glittering hue was … nothing. The change had somehow wiped her eyes of emotion. “Come on,” Jan said. “It's raging inside. Let's get back there.”

Davis was about to protest that they had a lot to do—a lot of information to dig up, and they still hadn't made any solid connections—but Mercer was already halfway out the door behind Jan. Davis suppressed a wave of irritation—it seemed like he was way more interested in being home and having fun than in finding out anything about the disease. She'd have to take matters into her own hands. As they approached the ballroom, Davis couldn't help but notice that everyone there had empty eyes and relaxed, neutral mouths. Their expressions were identically blank, like the fire had been extinguished from their eyes. Davis shuddered.

“Is everyone into eye reconfiguration here?” she wondered aloud. Back in Columbus, only a few people had messed with their faces that way. Eye reconfiguration was considered risky; it was a fashion trend that had some worrying effects on long-term vision, and it had a kind of gauche reputation. Here, though, it seemed to be the predominant trend.

Jan laughed. “It's kind of old news. We're moving onto lips and skin now. Check
her
out.” Jan pointed to a girl whose skin was luminescent, almost glittery. “Awesome, right?”

“It's a lot,” Davis said. Most of the guests, in her opinion, looked like they were wearing garish masks.

“It's just temporary,” Jan told her. “It'll be gone by tomorrow morning. And it's such a rush.” She laughed. “That's the best side effect—you get a little buzz from it. Wanna try? You'd look
so
pretty with gold irises. The metallic glaze is so in right now.”

Davis bristled, backing away. The room was like a carnival filled with performers; no one in the group looked natural or sincere. She saw Mercer accepting a few little yellow pills that Jan was handing him and realized that he, too, would soon cease to look familiar.

Her heart thudding, Davis backed away from the two of them, grabbing a champagne flute from a waiter's tray and downing it quickly. She needed to get information and get out of there. Grabbing another flute, Davis made the rounds, trying to find some of the people Jan had pointed out earlier. But with their facial enhancements, she could no longer recognize anyone. She felt lost, as if in a hall of mirrors: each garish expression was more horrifying than—yet oddly identical to—the one before. She wended her way around corridors hung with expensive modern art, stepping along sterile marble hallways, and for the first time she felt homesick for something she couldn't identify. It had nothing to do with Columbus, or her family. What she was missing was the sense of freedom that had come with living a few months on an island devoid of physical perfection.

She wanted to go home.

No.

She wanted to go home with a cure.

She whirled, moving back toward the settee where she'd left Mercer and Jan. She had to ask Mercer what he'd found out about Dr. Hassman. Jan had shown her a photo of him on her tablet, but Davis hadn't seen anyone yet who'd even vaguely resembled him.

Jan and Mercer were no longer at the settee, but she caught a glimpse of the fabric of Jan's orange satin gown billowing around the corner and disappearing. She moved quickly after it, turning down a long tiled hall dimly lit and glowing blue. The smell of chlorine grew stronger as she approached a long sliding glass door that led to an indoor pool. The pool was empty, except for Jan and Mercer. Davis could hear Jan's voice rising. It sounded like they were deep in conversation, and she paused, wary of interrupting.

When Jan moved toward Mercer, narrowing the gap between their bodies to a mere few inches, Davis gasped. Covering her mouth quickly, she ducked to the side of the door, allowing her heart to steady. Were Mercer and Jan an item? She peered back round the door, afraid of what she might see.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Jan's arms wrapped around Mercer. Jan pulled back slightly, and Davis froze, straining to hear their conversation.

“Wait,” Mercer was saying, pushing her away. “Not now.”

“Isn't that why you brought her here? So we could try again? With Suen?” Jan said clearly. “You're not like her, Mercer. Do you know that many people here think Narxis isn't a real thing? That's because we've taken precautions to avoid it. Why do you think Columbus is riddled with it? They never took action, never eliminated Imps entirely. It's survival of the fittest, and we took care of this problem before it ever began. Because all Priors is the best way. It's the only way.”

Davis stared at them in shock. Jan had mentioned Suen—it was the name of the woman from whom Mercer had gotten Narxis in the first place, or so he'd told her. She squinted, trying to gauge Mercer's reaction.

“I'm not all Prior,” he pointed out, his voice low.

“You are,” Jan said. “Well, almost. It's just a fluke that you're not, though. Suen screwed up, I know, but you're nearly as good as us, and you're definitely
not
like them. Don't you ever associate with Imps because of this, Mercer. That would be like writing yourself off. Even that girl is beneath you. Anyone could see you're more fully Prior.”

Davis tried to move, but her legs were frozen in place. Mercer lifted his gaze even as she tried to move away, and his eyes locked on hers. She gasped and moved from the doorway, willing herself far away from Jan and Mercer and the garish human caricatures swarming the room.

16

COLE

After a quick nap in the barn, during which Cole tossed and turned, barely able to get more than a few minutes of actual sleep, he awoke. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, groaning to himself as his worried thoughts about Davis flooded back.

His stomach clenched. He couldn't train with Mari today. His mind wouldn't be in it. It was better that he just leave. Besides, the Olympiads were the following day.

Cole struggled to his feet. He pulled on his shirt, feeling achy, stiff, and lethargic. He had to snap out of it. Jogging around the south side of the house to avoid Mari, he felt only a little bit like a jerk for not explaining himself or saying good-bye. But time was running out. If he was going to give the fake fingerprinting a shot, this was the time.

He headed back toward Worsley's lab in the Slants as quickly as he could. His feet felt heavy, and he couldn't shake the sense that he'd screwed everything up. With Davis, Mari … even with Brent. He needed Worsley's help with this one. But he was going to have to crawl back, after the fight they'd had and what he'd done. He was at odds to some degree with everyone in his life—at least everyone who knew he existed. And he'd betrayed Davis. Every fiber of his being wanted to be with her, and yet he'd acted in a way that was exactly opposed to that. Because he'd gotten carried away, needed comfort in the moment. Succumbed to a moment of weakness.

There was only one way to fix this. Everything—literally everything—rested on the Olympiads. He could give Mari a part of the prize money and finally show her how much he appreciated her training. Her world would open up a little because of that money. He could go see Davis. And when he did, he'd treat her in a way that showed her every day how much he treasured her.

When he got back to the hideaway, making a quick pit stop for a change of clothes and the laser, he was surprised to see Brent pacing the concrete floor. He'd brought Michelle, and the sight of them together gave Cole a pang. He watched Brent plop down next to Michelle on Cole's sleep cot, rest his palm on her thigh. Cole would never have that level of ease with Davis. They'd always be running or hiding or spiriting stolen moments, unless they could get somewhere far, far away.

“Dude,” Cole said. “You've gotta stop just showing up here like that.” He tried to inject humor into his voice, but it fell flat. He was too tense for their usual banter. Plus, he still felt weird about the friction over Michelle. And there she was.

“We realized this morning, you need to learn a few things about Brent before you go in there,” Michelle said.