“I don’t know.” But he feared that he did. She had been too near the building, too far from the cliff. He kept an arm around Sophie and hid his grim expression from her, afraid she’d see the doubt in his eyes. She murmured something unintelligible, her eyes slipping shut. He made sure she was breathing normally, then leaned against a rough, pockmarked rock and tried to find within himself the energy to climb up the beach and trek back to the site of the explosion.
But when he opened his eyes, dawn was beginning to spread across the sky before him. The horizon line glowed hot orange, as if a distant fire were devouring the sea. Behind him, in the trees, a gull screamed repeatedly, annoying as an alarm clock. Wait. It wasn’t a gull—it was a human voice, calling his name and Sophie’s.
“Here!” he called out, his voice throaty and dry, startling Sophie, who jolted in his arms.
“Where are you?” cried the voice.
“Down here! On the beach!”
“What’s going on?” Sophie mumbled, her eyes bleary.
“How you feeling?” Jim asked.
“Hurts,” she moaned, and a wave of shock washed over Jim as he dizzily recalled waking Lux just forty-eight hours earlier, and her saying the same thing when she opened her eyes.
“You’re alive!” a voice cried, and they turned and looked up. Andreyev stood over them, his face haggard. As ever, his silent bodyguards flanked him. They looked a bit worse for the wear, lacking their sunglasses, white ash on their shoulders.
“Carry her,” he said to them. One of them scooped Sophie up as if she weighed nothing, and they followed Andreyev over the beach and through the resort. They’d been closer to the Vitro building than Jim had reckoned, and Andreyev told him they’d been searching through the night for any sign of him and Sophie. “We saw you jump from the cliff,” he said. “After that, nothing. We looked but it was so dark, and there were so many hurt by the explosion. We had to help them first.”
“My mom . . .” Sophie moaned.
“She lives. She’ll recover, but she may never walk again. It is too early to tell. The doctors have her.”
“Nicholas?”
“Nothing left of him.”
“And . . .”
“Lux,” he said softly. “We found her. But it was too late.”
Sophie shut her eyes. Tears leaked from their corners.
When they reached the area below the Vitro building, he saw the crowd of doctors and Vitros and guards, who were gathered beneath the restaurant with the thatched roof; some of them ran to and from the still-burning Vitro building, trying to put out smaller fires. Jim saw no sign of Strauss. The big, grand building still stood in skeletal form, but from the look of the flames, it would be burning for a while. A column of smoke coiled into the dawning sky and hung over the island like a dark, malevolent spirit. All the palms around the building were naked, smoking pillars, their leaves blasted away. How Moira had survived, he did not know.
When he saw Moira, he saw that her survival had come at a cost. She lay on one of the tables beneath the restaurant’s thatched roof, her face and arms covered with blistering burns.
Sophie demanded to be put down, but leaned on Jim for support as she limped toward Dr. Crue.
“You’re alive!” Moira cried, then she fell into a ragged cough.
“Mom,” Sophie whispered, gently brushing her fingertips to Moira’s hair, the ends of which were singed.
“Why . . .” Moira coughed. “Why do you still call me that?”
“You’re the only mom I ever had,” Sophie said simply. Andreyev pulled up a chair for her to sit.
“Lux is gone,” said Sophie abruptly. Jim lifted a hand to hide his face.
“I know.” Moira turned her head and stared at a still form covered with a sheet on the next table. Sophie went to it and slowly pulled back the cloth.
Lux could have been sleeping, except for the trail of blood from her nose, already dried on her face. Jim lowered his hand and felt his knees give out. He sat abruptly, his eyes fixed on her frozen face.
“She was thrown clear of the blast,” said Moira. “Her legs were burned pretty badly, but that isn’t what . . .”
It wasn’t what killed her, Jim thought. Sophie, her hands trembling, took a corner of the sheet and wiped her sister’s face clean. “Jim told her not to set off the bomb, but she did it anyway.”
Moira’s breath stopped, then she breathed out in a rasp. “That’s impossible.”
“I saw it.” Sophie’s voice was flat, emotionless. “She broke the bond. Went her own way. At the very end, she was strong enough. Do you think that’s what it was? Do you think in breaking the chip’s hold, she did this to herself?” Her eyes met Jim’s briefly, guiltily, and then it was he who looked away.
“I don’t . . . We’ve never seen this before. . . .” Moira fell silent for a long moment. Jim leaned against the table, his arms folded across his chest. He could feel his heart racing like a frantic animal in his chest. He watched Sophie as she leaned down and kissed Lux’s cheek, leaving a few tears on her skin before she raised the sheet over her face. For a brief, wild moment, he wanted to rip the sheet away and tell her to get up, to see if his influence on her reached beyond death. But he stayed still and lowered his eyes, fixing them on a beetle that was scurrying in circles beneath the table Moira was lying on.
“She broke the bond,” Moira said at last. “But then, of course she did. She was your twin. She had your strength.”
“Ha.” Sophie’s voice turned bitter. “Not strong enough to save her.”
“But strong enough to save me.” Moira lifted a burned hand, winced at the effort. “And to save every other Vitro on this island. You did this. Not that.” She glanced at the flames at the top of the hill. “This.” She gestured at the doctors and Vitros around them.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. Don’t you ever get cavalier about life, Sophie Jane Crue. Don’t you ever think it doesn’t matter. Each and every one of them owes their life to you, and you owe your life to Lux. Don’t take that for granted.”
Sophie closed her eyes and nodded.
“We could toss blame around till the sun goes down,” Moira went on. “And I think you’d find that each and every one of us has a piece of it to bear.”
Jim turned away, his eyes smarting. He knew he bore more than just a piece; he wore his guilt like a chain around his neck. If I hadn’t woken Lux in the first place . . . If I just stayed away . . .
“Jim.” He turned around. Moira was looking at him. “Little James Julien. Was it only yesterday you two were running around under the palms, raising hell and laughing all the way? Happy days. Happy memories.” She sighed. “That goes for you, too, Jim. If you must trace blame to its source, look to Nicholas. And if you look to Nicholas, you must look then to me. He would never have become what he was if not for me.”
Tell me, who is the monster? The creation or the creator?
“But if you chase blame back to me,” Moira continued in a rasp, “then you have to ask why I did what I did. I did it because Corpus paid me to. Are they to blame? Where does it end? Listen to me, the both of you.” They each turned to reluctantly meet her fervent gaze. “You will walk away from here and you will leave all of this behind, do you understand?”
They exchanged guilty looks.
“Let it go.” Moira let her head drop, shut her eyes wearily. “Let it go.”
Sophie burst into tears. She laid her head on the table beside Moira and sobbed. Moira looked down at her, her eyes watering, and then up at Jim beseechingly. Of course. She couldn’t hold Sophie, not in her state. So Jim pulled her into his arms and let her weep onto his shoulder.
“Let it go,” Moira whispered, tears coursing over her burns.
They sat thus for several long minutes, until Sophie’s tears subsided. Jim sat stock-st
ill and held her tight. All around them, doctors were soothing frantic newborn Vitros; they seemed lost and confused without Nicholas. They would have to find a way to break the bond, Jim thought. If Lux could do it, so could they. He finally glimpsed Strauss, standing under a palm tree in the distance, talking to a few guards. The morning took on a dreamlike tempo: crackling fire, rushing sea, whispering wind. The smell of salt and smoke.
After a while, Moira said, “Andreyev. You should go.”
He stirred from where he’d been leaning against one of the roof supports. “Come,” he said to Jim. “Can she walk now?”
“Where are we going?”
“I will take you back to Guam. We must go now. I want to get a head start on Strauss. I need to reach Corpus before she does, to tell them of what happened here. I feel if they hear her version of these events first, they will not be as accommodating of the changes I wish to implement on Skin Island.”
Sophie sat up quickly. “I can’t leave my mother like this,” she said.
“The doctors will care for her. They have already proven their loyalty when they stood up to Strauss. Never fear, child.”
“Sophie.” Moira turned her head. “Go. If you don’t leave now, you may never leave at all. Strauss will do everything she can to contain this. She’ll trap you here if she can as one of the Vitros. I won’t have it. You go and live your life and leave this place behind.”
Sophie assented, her shoulders squaring as if a great weight had been lifted from her. “There’s just one more thing,” she said. “Something you should know.” She ran a hand through her hair, then bent over Moira. “I love you. You lied to me, used me, abandoned me—but I love you anyway. Not because I owe you or because I feel obligated to—that’s not really love anyway, is it? I love you because I want to, because I choose to. I love you, but I can’t . . . I can’t live for you anymore. Do you understand that?”
Jim looked away, embarrassed to be watching such a private exchange, but he heard Moira softly reply, “I have a lot to answer for in my life, and I’ve done a lot of things I regret—but you are not one of them. If there is any one thing I can point to and say I am proud of that; I would never change a thing, it would be you. You’re the one thing I got right, however unlikely that is. I brought you into this world, and though I am not responsible for any of your virtues, I can at least say I had a hand in giving you a chance. I love you, Sophie.”
When Sophie joined him, her face was dry.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I’m ready.”
They followed Andreyev and his bodyguards up the hillside; the chopper was covered in ashes but looked relatively unscathed.
“Wait,” Sophie said. “The keys! Nicholas had them. How will we—”
Andreyev held up a glimmering key ring. “The ones Strauss had her pilot hand over were not the helicopter keys. I believe she intended to shoot Nicholas before he ever reached the chopper.”
Jim stared at the keys. “Why do I feel as if the real psychopath is still running loose?”
“Because she is,” Andreyev said darkly. He jumped into the helicopter and offered Sophie a hand up. Jim climbed in with them, and they settled into the backseat.
“Uh-oh,” said one of the bodyguards, his accent shockingly Irish. “She’s seen us.”
“Go, go, go!” Andreyev said, slamming the door shut and slapping the back of the pilot’s seat. The Irishman laughed, a deep, warm laugh that put a small smile on Jim’s lips, it was so infectious.
The helicopter churned to life. Jim looked out the window to see Strauss hotfooting it up the hill, waving a gun and shouting, though her words were lost to them.
Jim gave her a little wave as the bird lifted into the air, and she stopped and stood still, a glowing white figure in the midst of ashes and chaos. The look on her face sent a chill down Jim’s spine, and he turned away.
Sophie leaned her head on his shoulder; she was still shaking. He put his arm around her. “Going home,” he said into her ear.
“Wherever that is.”
“You’ll find it.” Of that, he was confident. If there was one thing he could say with certainty about Sophie Crue, the one thing that she’d always been, even as a child, it was that she didn’t back down and she didn’t give up.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
Her hand slid into his, surprisingly familiar, and he held it gently, staring at it with no small amount of wonder and bewilderment, both at the events that had transpired to bring them back together and at the burgeoning sense that even as all the terrible events of Skin Island were growing smaller and smaller below, something new was beginning, something unexpected and fragile and terrifying . . . something he wanted more than he could have ever imagined.
They turned for one last look. The Vitro building smoldered in the morning light, growing smaller and smaller until it became a tiny red eye in the large black beast that was Skin Island. Then Sophie turned her head and shut her eyes, breathing in deeply until her body ceased to tremble.
But Jim watched the island as they rose higher and turned northward, until it melted into the dark sea and faded from sight altogether.
from
[email protected] to:
[email protected] date:
10 October 08:46
subject:
update
We have reversed the Imprima Code, thanks to Lux.
Remember how I told you trying to override the code on the chip would be like inventing the bicycle before the wheel? Lux invented the wheel. We were able to retrieve her chip, and found it undamaged—and filled with a new code, a code written by Lux herself. A lengthy technical description would take pages to write, so I’ll cut to the chase—in rebelling against Jim at that last crucial moment, she reversed the flow of information fed to her brain by the chip, overrode it with her own force of will. All this time, we’ve been translating code into human thought, but Lux did the opposite: She translated human thought into code. We are only beginning to scratch the surface of the full ramifications of this. So far, we’ve been able to use this new code, the Lux Code, to cure the Vitros—yes, cure them. Even Wyatt and Jay. We are able to communicate with the mind in ways unprecedented even in theory, reading thoughts, accessing memories, not just in the Vitros . . . but in anyone. We’ve stumbled into a new frontier, but we proceed with caution. None of us wish to repeat the mistakes of the past.
I cannot express the delight with which this discovery was received by our new investor. Corpus . . . they have remained ambivalent. They are not pleased with us, and it will take more than this to sway them, I think. At the moment, all that is stopping them from shutting us down is Andreyev, but I hope that in time our advances will regain their support.
Speaking of which, I will not be able to contact you again for some time. They are closing in on us, tightening security, after what happened here with you and Jim. And there was another incident, something in South America from what Andreyev tells us—anyway, they’ve turned paranoid lately and despite all our success here on Skin Island, I am worried about what they will do. They are tying off every loose end. The Vitro Project is just the beginning.
Sophie. Be careful.
Do not reply to this e-mail. I will cut off all contact for a while. I suggest you do likewise. Lay low for a while, and tell Jim to do the same.
Be ready, the both of you.
They are always watching.
Yours,
Mom
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the talent and inspiration provided by these individuals:
Laura Arnold, who walked with me through Vitro page
for page, draft for draft, and whose belief in this book inspired me to dig deep and grab the heart of the story. Lucy Carson, who is a champion among literary agents, and the whole team at the Friedrich Agency.
Jessica Almon, Ben Schrank, Rebecca Kilman, and the rest of the Razorbill/Penguin team who applied long hours and valuable input to this story and its process. Greg Stadnyk and the Penguin design department for creating Vitro’s stunning cover—seriously, you guys are art wizards. Marisa Russell, Anna Jarzab, and all of Penguin’s super-savvy publicity folks for their hard work in promoting the book in so many creative ways.
My grandma, whose early conversations with me about neuroscience and ectogenesis provided much of the inspiration for the Vitros (my grandma’s really smart, you guys). My dad, who pointed out all the impossible things I tried to make Jim’s plane do and told me how it should actually happen, and whose love for the sky was my inspiration for Jim. My Benjamin, who puts up with my crazy writing habits and who always believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself. You make my dreams worth living for.
And of course, all of my readers, whose kind words, e-mails, and letters inspire me anew each day. It’s all for you guys!
Corpus’s reach extends far beyond Skin Island. . . .
Turn the page for more heart-pounding suspense!
ONE
I’m told that the day I was born, Uncle Paolo held me against his white lab coat and whispered, “She is perfect.” Sixteen years later, they’re still repeating the word. Every day I hear it, from the scientists or the guards, from my mother or from my Aunt Brigid. Perfect.
They say other things too. That there are no others like me, at least not yet. That I am the pinnacle of mankind, a goddess born of mortal flesh. You are immortal, Pia, and you are perfect, they say.