She slices the palm of her hand true and deep. Blood floods into her cupped hand.
The chief advisor scratches his wrist.
And then she’s kneeling beside David, tilting his head back, and pouring the blood into his parted mouth. She tosses the dagger at me, and I snatch it out of the air. In less than a second, I’ve sliced my own hand and I’m pushing Sissy’s hand aside, letting David drink my blood. Over the next minute, we take turns hand-pouring blood into his mouth. David stops shaking, collapses into a rest. But his body yet rages hot, sweat drenching his shirt. It will be hours before he’s completely healed.
The chief advisor, exuding silent elation, nods to one of the men. The man switches his dart gun for another—one of the Origin dart guns. He aims, pulls the trigger. The dart pierces into David’s thigh.
“This will speed things up,” the man says.
In seconds, David stills. His breathing slows, deepens. His skin already cooling.
“As you can see,” the chief advisor whispers, “we can be . . . ruthless. We know about David. We know about Epap. We know—”
“Shut up,” Sissy says. “Just shut up, already.”
The chief advisor stops, stunned. Then, with a glimmer in his eyes, he curls the corners of his lips, widens his mouth, shows teeth. He’s mimicking a smile. It’s a grotesque contortion clearly meant to taunt Sissy.
She snaps her eyes away, burns holes into the floor with her gaze. She’s saving her fight for another day.
The chief advisor’s tablet starts to flash and beep. He flicks his eyes down, reads quickly. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me.” He sighs dramatically. “His Highness needs me. Some kind of emergency, apparently.”
He walks toward the door, programming the tablet. “You’ll both be returned to the catacombs now. But just for tonight, remember? We’ll see you back here tomorrow.” He pauses at the door, glancing at the room. He pastes another crude smile on his face, then gives off an eerie trill of fake laughter. “Welcome to your brand-new home.”
Fifteen
A BURROWED DARKNESS, a heavy sleep.
I break out of it slowly, merging from sleep sludge. I touch the sides of the enclave—they’re damp with condensation. I’m still locked in. Hours ago, after the chief advisor transported me back to the catacombs, the glass wall had remained shut. Such was my blood-drawn fatigue that despite everything, I drifted into a deep slumber.
A grayness surrounds me now. I can just make out the rows of enclaves across the corridor, the frames of each unit glowing dimly. Everyone is still locked in. Quite a lot of time has passed; how much I’m not sure. But judging from my deep-seated grogginess, I’m guessing it’s been at least three, four hours since Sissy and I were transported back here.
Sissy—where is she?
I look directly across to the enclave facing mine, but it is occupied by a boy. As is every other enclave I peer into. No sign of Epap, or David, either. The boys in their enclaves across from me stare at me with wariness. They’re wondering if I’m the cause for the irregular alarm, curious as to why I’m being shuttled back and forth. Wondering why they’re still locked in their enclave after so many hours have passed.
They’re about to get even more curious.
Because my enclave starts to hum. Then vibrate. All their eyes snap to my enclave, some eyes widening in surprise, most eyes narrowing with suspicion.
I’m being taken back to the room with the Originators, I think. But a part of me knows that can’t be right. The chief advisor had said I was supposed to stay in the catacombs for another day. And though I don’t have an exact handle on how much time has passed, I do know that it hasn’t been a day. Not even close.
I try to rise, but my body is too heavy. An electronic beep sounds from inside the enclave, followed by a hum. Then the enclave starts moving again.
I think to kick at the glass, to try to break through. But I know it’s futile. Instead, I save my breath, conserve my energy for whatever’s coming next. Blood rushes in my ears. Something like panic begins to rise in me, but I stem it. I breathe in, out, gathering myself.
The enclave suddenly drops into an almost free fall.
Sixteen
AGAIN, I’M TOSSED from side to side as the enclave careens around hidden loops. All I can do is brace for the next drop or turn. As with every trip thus far, the enclave stops for a brief spell in a centralized location where it is flooded with lights. Then it is once again racing along the rails.
A minute later, it slows to a crawl, starts ascending. For a long time.
A gap in the darkness above me opens up. The enclave trundles through it and into a darkened space of indeterminate dimension. I hear the gap narrow, then shut beneath me; the enclave comes to a rest, lying flat on this now-closed floor.
I don’t move.
Everything is very still in this room.
And dark.
And very wrong.
A row of wall sconces on the adjacent wall begins to glow dimly. It’s not the seven-meter-high stucco-decorated ceilings that gives the room away, or the thick, lustrous area carpet, or even the stately, regal aura of this cavernous room. But it’s the large commissioned portrait painting hanging over me. Of the Ruler, his face inert and pale, his eyes cold and stern.
I’m in the Ruler’s Suite.
The chief advisor had underestimated the Ruler’s ability to restrain himself. The Ruler doesn’t want to wait forty-eight hours. He wants me now.
The lid of the enclave starts to slide open.
This is when I die, I think, tensing my body.
“You may step out.”
I startle at the voice. Because of its proximity, hidden in the nearby shadows. And because of its familiarity. It’s a voice I’ve heard many times over the years, the silky cadence instantly recognizable. Over school PA systems. In my bedroom over radio airwaves.
“Please,” the Ruler says, his voice slightly nasal, “step out. It’s safe. You have nothing to fear.”
I squint into the darkness, can only barely make out another shade of black.
“Please, step out. If we meant you harm, you’d be dead now.”
I pull myself out tentatively, planting first my right foot, then my left. And stop. Now I’m standing on the lush royal rug, completely exposed. I’ve never felt more naked, more vulnerable, in my life.
And what I see next: A crowd of people, standing oddly in a line, facing me. Perhaps as many as a dozen hazy, indistinct silhouettes.
But they don’t move. They are growing restless, I can see that, in their bunching shoulders and flicking heads. I can hear their excitement, too, in the cracking of bones, the slish-slash of saliva. But they haven’t moved a step toward me.
Then one of them gives out a wail, shaking, losing control. He leaps toward me, his face distorted with desire.
My guts clench inside.
I hear the thud of a body hitting glass. The dusker has leaped right into a glass wall I’d failed to see earlier. He slides down the wall, his skin screeching, claws scratching against glass.
“As you can see, my staff are securely barricaded behind that glass partition.” The Ruler’s words slip out with what sounds like a lisp. “It was built decades ago when my aquarium tanks were constructed. To keep the staffers from, um, breaching them. So don’t worry. My staffers are all safely behind that glass wall. You’re in no danger. No danger at all.”
His voice sounds too close, almost intimate. He can’t be on the other side of the glass partition. He must be on my side. I squint in his direction, trying to see.
“You can’t see me, I’ve just realized. Forgive me, I should have been more considerate. Turn on the aquarium lights,” he orders.
Immediately five large floor-to-ceiling cylindrical aquariums, stout as columns, begin to glow. These aquariums, located on this side of the glass, encircle me. Dark, murky shapes float within them. But something steals my attention away from them.
The Ruler. Standing a mere five meters away.
He’s strapped to a tall, X-shaped steel beam. His arms are lifted up and secured to the beam with metal bracelets around his wrists, elbows, and biceps. Almost in perfect symmetry, his legs are spread apart and similarly restrained by bracelets around his ankles, knees, and upper thighs. Thus constrained, the Ruler takes on the near-perfect formation of an X. He’s even been secured around his chest by what looks like an expanded metal rib cage. A metal peg is pinched over the bridge of his nose.
“As you can see,” he says nasally, “I’ve been securely fastened. You have nothing to fear.” It’s not a lisp affecting his speech but saliva accumulating in his mouth. And splattering out of his mouth like hot spit out of a boiling kettle.
“You’d think after a steady lifelong diet of hepers, my salivary glands wouldn’t be quite so sensitive,” he says, his voice unaccountably sweet and tender.
The five cylindrical aquariums continue to glow brighter. Now I’m seeing other things, inside them. Things that, as frightening as the sight of the Ruler is, are even more chilling.
“I’ve placed pinchers over my nose so as not be quite so . . . distracted.” His eyes squint with pain as he speaks, a pair of crow’s-feet fanning out from the corners. It’s the light: though dim for me, it’s too bright for him. And because he’s tied up, he can’t put on his shades.
The glow from the tanks has transformed the glass partition into a mirror that veils the many staffers standing behind it. The overall effect is to render this half of the Ruler’s chamber into an intimate private setting. Just the two of us.
“Now that I’ve placated your fears,” he says, “perhaps now would be an appropriate time to put to rest some, er-r, ideas that might be cropping up in your head.” He breaks his gaze, shifting his eyes downward. I realize, with a shock, that the Ruler is, of all things, shy.
“I’m truly sorry for having to mention this, but my advisors were quite insistent. You might notice in my right hand a control. It’s a simple control, one fat button, easy to depress with my thumb. One push and instantly the glass wall separating us from my staffers will lift. They will be on you in less than a second should I find myself . . . jeopardized.” His nose crinkles in distaste. “Forgive me for bringing up such an awkward topic, but we really did have to get that unpleasantry out of the way.”