Whispers in Autumn (29 page)

“Work for them?” Deshi sounds surprised, and to be honest, so am I.

“Yeah, you know. Like assistants, or rider pilots, or something.”

This just keeps getting better and better. Lucas is totally winging it.

Deshi keeps eating and watching Lucas with thinly disguised irritation, then turns his gaze my direction. When he first arrived in Danbury he acted too open to seem all the way human, but friendly. Now, he seems impatient all the time. It ramps up my fear, the notion that he’s anxious for something to happen, that we’re running out of time.

“What about you?” Deshi lobs the question at me this time.

“Me? No, thanks. I want to work in Travel like my dad.”

His tight smile lances open my bravado. “No, I mean what do you think of the interviews?”

“Oh.” My palms feel slick, pizza grease mixing with sweat. “Not much, I suppose. Maybe what Lucas said. Maybe something else. Who cares?”

“Just wondering what you’d say. You two are so interesting.” Deshi bites into his slice with more force than necessary. The smell of decomposition makes me think the skin he’s wearing is nearing its expiration date. Maybe that looming deadline is what’s making him so irritable.

Does he only suspect us or does he know? He can’t be sure or he’d alert the Prime Other.

Wouldn’t he?

We finish up our snack and tell Deshi we’ve got to go get ready for our Sanction. I hop in the shower at home, more to be alone than anything else. The revelations from Cadi’s memories are too much to handle all at once. I mean, I’ve met my mother—in a sense—and learned that the Others executed my father. I’ve watched the only person I’ve trusted my entire life—until Lucas—tortured for information about me.

The Wardens are here searching for us.

My mother talks in my mind.

It’s still unbelievable that Fire is my mother—the most powerful of the Elements. The woman whose reflection I’ve stared at as it hung on Cell walls and felt nothing but fear. Even in the room with her, watching her cry over the death of my father and worry about my safety, indecision dominated.

There’s a spark of something good in her, and knowing she loved me pushes my fear into a slide toward uncertainty. I think about how my father must have loved her. Enough to risk death to be together. They gave up everything for each other, and then for me. Their child.

Until now, love has been an abstract emotion. It’s a word people use, like
I love roasted potatoes
. When people Partner they promise to love each other, but it means nothing. Or at least it didn’t before. When Lucas’s father’s face tightened, voice scraping out the words “
we loved them…they loved us
,” I felt it for the first time. Love. What it must be.

Out of nowhere the memory of Lucas’s kiss bubbles up. Those feelings he sets off in me don’t have a name. It’s not love. Not yet.

But maybe something like it.

Okay, Althea. Focus
. Thinking about normal teenage things such as Lucas coming over for the Parental Sanction helps take my mind off everything else. My growing feelings for him should be insignificant in the grand scheme of my life. Still, the idea of this dinner sends squirrels chasing one another around in my stomach.

Hot water runs over me, washing in rivulets down the drain. A hard stream pulses from the showerhead, kneading the strain out of my neck and shoulders. I wonder what Lucas thinks about tonight, if he’s sorry he kissed me, if—in a different world—he’d want to court me for real.

It may be selfish and trivial, but having Lucas at my side is the most important thing right now. Even the thought of being captured and killed by the Others can’t win out over thoughts of the boy with blue eyes like my own. No one else understands what I’m going through, what it means to find out I’m not human. He’s the only person on Earth who gives me hope. My past and future are tied up in this one boy. To break the connection would cause unimaginable pain. Ko and Cadi both mentioned that separation caused the Elements discomfort. Could it be the same with us?

I turn the shower off and towel myself dry. Perusing my closet for something that doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard, I settle on a knee-length brown skirt and a soft, light pink sweater.

Makeup is hard to do, but looks okay after some work. My hair is thick and I’m unused to wrestling it into something other than a ponytail. Tears fill my eyes as I remember how Mrs. Morgan would curl my hair. The mixer was probably the last time it will ever look so pretty. Curling it myself would turn into a disaster, so instead I dry it and brush it out straight until it shines. I search my reflection for traces of my parents. Maybe my father’s ears, or freckles, but the red hair is surely a gift from Fire.

I still can’t think of my mother by her real name. I try it out.
Flacara
.

Nope.

The door rings and my stomach flutters. The mirror confirms the red tinge creeping into my cheeks. So much for makeup.

“Thea! Your young man is here. Come on down!”

He called Lucas my “young man.” And right in front of him. Balls.

Calm down. Lucas isn’t going to think anything of it
.

The voice in my head—
her
voice—makes sense, but I tell it to shut up.

Even though he kissed me, it’s not like we’ve had any talks about anything serious, never mind Partnering for real. The only reason we’re even having the Sanction is because that Other questioned us in the park.

The fluttering increases at the sight of Lucas, setting me on edge and causing my hands to shake. He looks handsome in tan pants and a light blue button-down instead of his typical jeans and T-shirt. The shirt matches his eyes, which seem to reach out and hold me from across the room. He smiles. The fluttering turns to flapping. Like a flock of birds have joined the wrestling squirrels.

“Hey, Althea.”

“Hi.” Oh, no, that croaked out. I clear my throat.

“Well, dinner won’t be here for a few minutes, so why don’t we all sit down and watch the news?” Mr. Morgan beams at us, waving one arm in an inviting arc toward the living room.

Lucas and I follow him through the arched doorway and settle onto the empty love seat. Mr. Morgan takes the couch, choosing to focus on the television instead of us. He seems nervous, too, and it’s nice not to be the only one, because Lucas is as cool as a cucumber. He nudges me with an elbow when Mr. Morgan’s not looking, his eyes smiling in amusement at the jumping anxiety fluttering about the room. I don’t know how he takes things in stride like that. I try to copy his playfulness, crossing my eyes at him until the voice on the television captures my attention.

A human reporter stands outside a home, loitering next to an irritated Warden. “Sir, can you tell us what happened here today?”

“A tragedy. A couple lived in this house and the man Broke. His Partner either didn’t realize the nature of his issue, or refused to report it. He killed her, then took his own life. Their young boy has also been removed.” Worry trickles into the Warden’s unemotional tone.

The reporter goes on, the same pleasant and unconcerned air about him. “This is interesting news. Have you ever heard of anything like this happening before? I know I’ve never witnessed it in Portland.”

Portland? Without thinking about Mr. Morgan being in the same room, my hand finds its way into Lucas’s. Everyone’s eyes are riveted to the television.

“No, nothing of this magnitude. We all know people Break, and we remove them from the general public. Violence is unheard of, until now.”

The Warden turns and walks away without waiting to see if the reporter has any additional questions. A small child sits forgotten on the front steps, his elbows balanced on his knees and his head resting on his hands. His eyes are dry and empty as he watches two floating cots meander out the front door on the screen, controlled by a white-clad Other like the ones who collected Mrs. Morgan. The outlines of bodies are visible under the sheets, and bright red splotches stain the white fabric. My stomach churns at the sight, which reminds me of Greg’s head smashed open on that rock. Reese’s hand sliced open in chemistry. The blood dripping from my Cellmates’ faces at the Family Outing.

I resist the urge to bury my face in Lucas’s shoulder.

Mr. Morgan looks unbothered; he just grunts and sits back. Then the door rings again, making both Lucas and me jump up from the love seat.

Mr. Morgan shoots us an amused smile. “Hungry, kids? Don’t worry. I’ll get the food. You two go on in and set the table.”

Hungry is the last thing I am after seeing the news report.

As we step through the kitchen door into the cold, brightly lit space, Lucas turns to me. “What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know. But if they put this veil up, erase our memories, feelings, and who we were before, but then it’s suddenly gone…”

“It must be like waking up and having no idea where you are, who you are, what year it is, anything. Terrifying,” Lucas finishes for me.

The unbidden thought of the white, blood-soaked sheets rises in my mind’s eye. It dawns on me I have no idea what humans would act like without a veil. “If the humans
are
violent, maybe it’s better this way. If they have no emotions, they can’t get angry.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Lucas walks over to the cabinets and opens the doors one by one until he finds the plates. I take the stack from him and place them around the table, then point him to the glasses while I get silverware out of the drawer.

“I don’t know. I guess just because they have the capacity for violence doesn’t mean they all act on it. I like my emotions, most of the time.”

We pass each other in the center of the room and he gives me a gentle bump on the hip. “Except for when my kisses make you swoon, right? Then emotions can be a bear.”

He’s grinning, and I can’t help but return it. “I did not
swoon
, Lucas. And don’t go acting like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Lucas pecks my cheek, cooling the flush crawling across it, and pulls away just as Mr. Morgan enters the kitchen. He arranges the food on the table, and the meal is indeed one of my favorites: lasagna, salad, and garlic bread. It smells wonderful, but my stomach remains queasy as I fill the glasses up with ice and water.

Dinner is quiet and uneventful. Lucas holds my hand under the table, intertwines our fingers as Mr. Morgan asks him about the Crawfords and what they do for a living. He marches out the typical parental questions, wanting to know what Lucas would like as a Career, his favorite subject in Cell, and more random information that means nothing to the two of us. The surreal nature of the dinner scene twists longing through me.

If only those things
were
important to us, too.

***

Lucas is waiting for me on the back porch several hours later, anxious to get going. A sickly pallor glistens on his face and fatigue engraves lines around his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His words slur; he sounds exhausted.

“Lucas, if something’s wrong—”

“I said I’m fine. Let’s go.”

We cross the boundary and use the sky to get our bearings. No animals impede our path tonight, and though I’m no longer afraid of them on principle, I’m happy to be left alone.

Halfway to the collection center, Lucas’s breath turns ragged and shallow. I debate asking how he’s doing again but doubt he’ll give me an honest answer. The dread in my gut returns and warns me to keep an eye on him. It’s probably the animal scratch from last night. He wouldn’t let me see it after dinner; he insisted he took care of it. His hand is damp and clammy when I slip mine inside it, and my worry deepens.

We near the clearing and I come to an abrupt stop, pulling a stumbling Lucas with me back into the brush. A rider idles in front of the collection center, the back hatch open. Four Wardens swarm away from it and across the grass in the front and the back of the building, then hold their positions.

Cadi.

The Wardens talk among themselves, their voices carrying in the still, quiet night. “Why are we wasting time on this half-breed?”

“Chief said the Prime’s office lost contact with her for a period last night.”

Not all of them are visible from our position, but one issues a foreign, teeth-chattering sound. Its high pitch stabs my head, leaving an ache and twitchy fingers. I barely stop my hands from covering my ears.

Not thirty seconds after it begins, Cadi’s voice shatters the quiet. “What are you doing here, Wardens?”

Her voice holds no fear. I have enough for both of us. My mind races, skipping over ways to help her, to get all of us out of here. It lands on nothing.

Cadi strolls off the porch and all four Wardens wait to trap her, fanning out in an arc to prevent her escape. Even in the dark I detect the hitch in Cadi’s step.

One of them snorts, an ugly noise. “You know why we’re here, Spritan. Let’s go. Come quietly, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You can’t hurt me. My knowledge is too valuable and we both know it. Imprison me, yes. Kill me, no.”

A pleading undertone marks her words. The Wardens sense it and laugh. Two of them circle behind her as a fifth figure emerges from the rider and strides toward Cadi with purpose.

“We can’t kill you, Cadi, not yet. Hurting you, though, is a different story.”

The voice, familiar and sickening all at once, immobilizes me.

Deshi. He’s here.

CHAPTER 26.