She jogged up the stairs. The bedroom door was closed, so she twisted the knob and charged inside, looking for the pillowcase.
The room wasn’t empty.
Cora froze. “Not you too.”
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26
Mali
OUT OF ALL THE habitats, Mali liked the beach one best.
She sat in the shade of a red-and-white umbrella, toying with a deck of cards. Lucky’s shiny aviator sunglasses were perched on her face. She scrunched her nose, trying to get used to the feeling of the sunglasses. She’d only ever heard about them from other captives she’d been with before, either her series of private owners, or the two menageries she’d been in, or the other enclosure. Now, as she wrinkled her face and flipped another card, she found them itchy.
A tingle began on her arm. She slid up the sunglasses to watch the hair rise. In another second, footsteps sounded on the boardwalk. Cassian sank into the deck chair opposite her, which groaned under his weight. He wore his dark uniform with knots down the side to show his rank. Five, now. When he’d rescued her three years ago, it had been twice that number. He had never told her what happened that led to such a demotion, but she could guess: he’d always let his fondness for humans get in the way of his duties.
She slid the sunglasses back over her eyes. “I am like you now.” She tapped the dark lenses. “Black eyes.”
He leaned forward, picking up a few cards that had fallen off her lounge chair. He handed her the cards, and she swirled the pile on the table. She folded her lips in a smile.
“Go fish,” she said.
Though, like all cloaked Kindred, his face betrayed almost no emotion, Mali had learned to read subtle shifts in his features; that flinch meant he was almost smiling. Out of all of them, Cassian had the hardest time suppressing his emotions, but she liked him all the more for it. Go Fish was a human game, but the Kindred had a soft spot for anything human, and she had convinced Cassian to play before. Their world—the public one—was so harsh. Sharp angles, sterile rooms, everything a drab shade of cerulean. It was only in their private lives that they revealed their true personalities. It was there, in the pleasure gardens and menageries, that the Kindred uncloaked their emotions. Their society had evolved to be so sterile that they had lost the ability to create music and entertainment for themselves, so they borrowed culture from humans instead. The quirks of humanity were all the rage in the menageries; the Kindred dressed like humans, listened to their music, played card games like this one.
Cassian patiently drew a card. “I will play, if you tell me how you are adjusting to the dynamic of this cohort.”
Mali scowled beneath her sunglasses. Sometimes she wanted cards to just be cards. Sometimes she wanted Cassian to just be Cassian, and not her Caretaker, and not ask so many questions. “There is no dynamic. There is no cohesion. Leon does not even sleep in the house. Nok and Rolf do not leave town. They fear the habitats.”
“It is a difficult adjustment.” Cassian studied his cards methodically. “It is never easy for any of the human wards. In time, they will learn that we are not to be feared.”
“I want to know why this enclosure is different. Why you dress them in human clothes and give them strange food to eat.”
“It is the Warden, trying something new.” He added a card to the pile. “We will not harm them, of course.”
A darkness wormed its way into the pit of Mali’s stomach. Like most of the Kindred, Cassian often talked about his kind in the plural form. She did trust him; he had saved her life, even at risk to his own. But she didn’t trust them. Not the Kindred. Not as a whole. Certainly not any of her previous owners, and not the Warden, either. Mali had heard rumors about the Warden, but had never known his name—Fian—or met him until Cassian had taken her from the menagerie where she lived and told her she had the chance of a lifetime, to join the grand new enclosure. Fian had insisted on inspecting her first; examining her teeth and ears and hands, then asking Cassian if he was confident that any human males would find such a damaged ward appealing.
There was one thing she had learned, living caught between the human and the Kindred world. It didn’t matter what race you came from: there were good and bad among every species.
“Go fish.” She put a card in the pile.
“The stock algorithm has predicted that Boy Two will be the group’s leader. He will welcome you into the group, but these things take time.”
She set down a card. “Lucky is more interested in escape than in being a leader. He is more interested in Cora.”
It was Cassian’s turn to go fish, but the cards stayed in his hand, untouched. “There is a history between them.”
There was a strange tone in his voice Mali had only heard a few times before. She slid the sunglasses on top of her head and reached into the pocket of Rolf’s military jacket. She held out the lock of Cora’s hair.
“I acquire this for you. A present. For bringing me here.”
Cassian stared at the lock but made no move to take it. “You know I do not share the same primitive beliefs as the Gatherers and the Mosca. A lock of hair means nothing to me.”
Mali gave him a hard look. “It does if it is hers.”
Mali had been transferred to enough private owners and menageries to know that as disciplined as the Kindred considered themselves, they weren’t perfect. Among themselves, relationships between males and females were noncommittal; sex was for physical release, not for procreation or love. But sometimes deeper emotions did surface. Fondness, the Kindred called it. Sometimes for another Kindred, but sometimes—though very rarely and always forbidden—for a human.
Mali offered him the hair again. She did not care what Cassian’s predilections were; she just wanted to repay the kindness he had shown her. In fact, she liked the glimpse of weakness. It made him seem almost human.
He folded her fingers around the hair, pushing it away from him a little hard. He picked up the cards and shuffled them roughly. The waves crashed on the beach as the light changed one degree lower. Mali wished, not for the first time, that Cassian could show her his true eyes as easily as she could slide up the sunglasses.
“The others notice that you treat her different.” Mali slowly replaced the lock of hair in her pocket. “They do not like it. There is an altercation this morning over breakfast. Everyone’s food is missing except for hers. It is dangerous. Food is a basic need. I do not understand why the Warden manipulates them—”
“The Warden did not interfere with their food. If so, I would know. It must have been one of the wards.”
Mali gave him a hard look. He had rarely lied to her before—why was he lying now? “Is the Warden changing things because of the rumors. Because he thinks that humans are showing signs of percept—”
“No.” He cut her off hard. “And you should not speak thusly. You know what the Council did to Anya when she started saying such things.”
Mali could feel sweat running down the sides of her face. She could still remember Anya’s big round eyes, her blond hair the same color as Cora’s, only it had been stick straight. They had shared a private owner, a high-ranking Kindred official, who had cut off two of Anya’s fingers to give to a Mosca he’d lost a bet to. He had tried to cut off Mali’s too, only she’d fought back. Cassian had found them ten rotations later. She’d never forget seeing him for the first time; the door sliding open, fear making her stomach knot, expecting the official’s squash-nosed, broad face. But it wasn’t the official. It was a young enforcer, a strikingly handsome one, who had taken one look at their tiny cages and smashed the locks open with the hilt of his communicator.
“Do not fear me,” he’d said. “I am not here to hurt you.”
He looked like the dazzling hero in the stories Anya used to tell her, but Mali knew better than to believe anything the Kindred sa
id. She’d clawed his face when he’d reached into the cage, and hissed at him. It hadn’t been until his guards had tranquilized her, and she’d woken up in a medical unit with fresh clothes that she knew she really had been saved. When the medical officer had come to repair her wounds, she’d asked for the scars on her hands to stay, as a reminder. Cassian had come to check on her, and she’d climbed off the table and wrapped her arms around him. It was only later that she learned of Anya’s death. Despite the rescue, Anya had never recovered from the abuse. In another ten rotations, she was dead.
Anya had been very perceptive too.
Cassian set a card on the pile.
Mali squinted at the ocean, trying to imagine herself back on Earth. There was so little she remembered. Camels. Hot tea. A carpet laid out over sand. If she concentrated very hard, she could picture her mother’s light brown eyes.
“Cora should not be here,” Mali said. “The Warden is right. She does not have the correct temperament. She is determined to return to her previous life.”
“Did you tell her?” Cassian asked quietly.
“Tell her what.”
His boot scuffed on the boards. At his side, his fist was clenching and unclenching. “That there is no other life for her. For any of them.”
“No.” Mali set down the deck of cards. She was tired of games.
“Do not tell them, at least for now. It is too large a concept for their limited minds to comprehend. It will take time before they are ready to hear the truth about their home.”
Mali slid the sunglasses back over her eyes. She dismissed that wrinkle of annoyance she felt whenever he gave her orders. As long as they let her stay in this paradise where she could eat as much as she wanted and play games all day, she would do whatever the Caretaker asked her to do. She had found, long ago, around the time a Kindred had tried to cut off her fingers, that it was best not to question them. Ever.
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27
Cora
CORA STOOD IN THE bedroom doorway, one hand still on the knob. Nok and Rolf were tangled in the bedsheets, more naked than not. They’d been giggling when she first entered, but that had ended abruptly.
“What are you doing?” Cora yelled.
“What does it look like we’re doing?” Rolf sputtered. “Give us some privacy! Wasn’t it enough to steal our breakfast?”
“I didn’t touch your food! Just—hold on. I’ve got to get something.” Cora wavered a second, then darted into the room, holding her breath like she was under water, snatched up the clinking pillowcase—it felt heavier—and dashed out. She slammed the door behind her, and only then gasped for breath.
If that wasn’t sex, it was pretty close.
She sank onto the bottom stair, the pillowcase of tokens sagging on the floor, and took the seashell out of her dress pocket. How long had it been? Two weeks? And everything was already going to hell. Nok and Rolf had clung to each other right from the start, so maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised, but seeing them tangled in the early-morning sunlight with a black window looming next to them stirred something ugly within her.
It wasn’t the sex—they were old enough to make their own decisions. It wasn’t even that they were obeying the Kindred’s rules, because she knew they were terrified of disobeying. It was because they had looked truly, blissfully, blindly happy.
They like it here.
The pillowcase slipped from her hands. Tokens avalanched to the floor, far more than she had collected. She must have grabbed the wrong pillowcase. Had Nok and Rolf been earning tokens on their own, or siphoning off the ones she’d earned?
Now that she looked around the living room, at the candy wrappers on the side table, and a fort they must have made from sofa cushions, and even a radio—the red one she thought the Kindred had stolen—she realized she’d been blind.
Rolf and Nok never had any intention of escaping.
Footsteps sounded on the porch, and Lucky stuck his head in, still sweat soaked from the desert. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He leaned in the doorway, catching his breath. “I know that fight was stupid. Guys can be like that sometimes—I didn’t mean what I said. It’s this place. It makes my head ache so bad I can’t even think.” He squeezed a fist against his forehead and released it with an angry sigh. “It’s my fault. I let everyone drift apart.”
Cora knelt to pick up the scattered tokens. “Well, they all hate me now, thinking I stole their food. And good luck talking to Rolf and Nok. I doubt you can get them to stop making out long enough to listen.” She stuffed the tokens in the pillowcase, and then started past him onto the porch.
“Wait. I can fix this—”
“I’m fixing it myself. I’m tired of these black windows. Nothing they give us here will break them, but I know something that will.”
He followed her at a fast clip, trying to talk her out of it. She strode up the toy shop steps, shoving open the saloon doors. The croquet set sat between two dolls. She started shoving tokens through the copper slot.
“Maybe you should take a deep breath, Cora. Meditate . . . or something. I know that fight turned quickly. We’ve all been bottling up emotions. Not thinking straight. This morning I woke up and forgot my mom died. I kept waiting to hear her making breakfast downstairs.”
Cora paused before continuing to feed tokens into the slot. She’d forgotten that Lucky’s mother had died when he was little. He’d told her so quickly, like it pained him deep to even think about. She’d forgotten he had a life before this, and plans.
The Kindred had taken that future from him.
From all of them.
“It isn’t about the fight.” Cora fed the slot more tokens. “Not entirely. It’s about the two of you arguing with each other, when it should be them we’re fighting. It’s about Rolf and Nok hooking up even though the Kindred are watching. We’re forgetting what matters, Lucky.”
She slammed the last token through the slot and pounded on a copper button beneath the croquet set. The glass door opened. She grabbed the blue mallet.
It felt powerful in her hand. Real.
She headed for the doorway.
The light had shifted to dusk. Music came from the diner, something with a hint of jazz, but it just made her head pound harder. Mali stood by the open door with her hands across her chest, watching Cora like she could see straight into her soul. A cry came from inside the diner and Nok rushed out, followed by Rolf, who clutched a guitar in one hand.
“You!” Rolf jabbed a finger at Cora. “What, breakfast and lunch wasn’t enough? You had to steal dinner too?”
“I didn’t steal anything!” Cora yelled.
“Stop shouting!” Nok wailed. “My head hurts!”
Rolf stomped toward Cora, his eye twitching. “Is this revenge for seeing us together? If you’re jealous that you and Lucky don’t have a relationship like we do, maybe that’s your own fault!” He let the guitar fall to the porch with a clatter of errant notes.
Cora jumped back. What had gotten into him? She tightened her grip on the mallet. First the radio. Now the guitar. If anyone had a right to be angry, it was her.
“You’ve been secretly buying things from the shops, haven’t you? We could have used those things, Rolf! If I’d had a garrote or a makeshift knife when the Warden had tried to strangle me, maybe I could have killed him!”
He rolled his eyes. “Wow. How brilliant of you to figure out my plan. Yes, I bought them and didn’t tell you. Just like you took our food and didn’t tell us.”
“I didn’t!”
Splinters of pain shot off from her head. It felt like her brain was splitting in two, and anger boiled from the fissure. She gripped the mallet tighter.
Rolf narrowed his eyes.
“Stop it.” Nok tugged on Rolf’s arm. “It doesn’t matter why she did it—there’s still enoug
h food, if we divide up what’s on her plate and forage in the orchard. Cora, just don’t do it again. Please. Headaches are bad enough, we don’t need hunger pangs too.”
“I didn’t take your food. Don’t you see? The Kindred are doing this. They want us to turn against each other.”
The others stared at her like she’d gone mad.
Mali yawned.
Cora spun and strode through the grass, bumping into Rolf so hard that he knocked into the guitar with another burst of errant chords, and then she stopped in front of the movie theater’s black window.
Her father had taken her to a zoo when she was a little girl. They had gone to see the tiger. She remembered squeezing her father’s hand as it paced back and forth, back and forth, watching them with unblinking eyes through the glass.
She felt like that tiger. She was that tiger.
She laid her palm flat on the humming window. Only a thick piece of glass had stopped that tiger from killing her. She hoped the Kindred could read her mind, and know she was biding her time until no surfaces separated her from them, and she could do to them what that tiger wanted to do to her.
“All right, Caretaker,” she muttered, stepping back. “Take care of this.”
She swung the mallet with all her strength against the glass. Nok shrieked. Cora cringed, expecting a satisfying crack and shatter of glass. The mallet was real wood, not whatever fake substance everything else was made of, and yet the moment it connected with the window, nothing happened. Not a crack. Not even a thud.
“Dammit!” She hurled the mallet to the ground.
Her vision started to fracture into little dots, as if the lights of town were a spinning kaleidoscope. Pain ripped through her head as lack of sleep caught up with her all at once. She sank to the ground.
Lucky crouched next to her. The sweat had dried on his shirt in the cool evening air. He nodded toward the croquet mallet. “Did you really think that was going to work?”
She pushed her mess of hair out of her face and sat up. “I don’t know. I had to try.” She watched the others tearing into her plate of food on the diner porch. “Look at them. They’re like wolves. Don’t they understand what’s happening? These are creatures who took us from our beds. Who are forcing us to breed for their own twisted purposes. Who keep kids in cages and cut off their fingers.”