Honor Among Thieves (The Honors #1)(9)

No, not quite the same. I caught another scent as I raised my hand toward the bell. Vanilla, butter, something light and warm and sweet.

They were making cookies.

The smell sparked memories in an uncontrollable rush. I saw my mother’s face. I hadn’t wanted to think about what this was going to do to her, but there it was. In her last message, she’d looked so tired, and though she’d never admit it, I was the one who’d put those years on her face. She’d fought so hard for me—at university hospitals and research clinics, in and out of rehab. They fined her every time I ran away, and she still hadn’t let go. I was the oldest. I should have been helping her, not constantly adding to her burden.

I closed my eyes for a second, and there it was, the memory of me shattering my family forever. Mom had held my hand, anxious, staring at a document that already had my father’s signature on it. Shaking her head. “I don’t want to do this. Kiz and I, we’re making a fresh start on Mars. There’s a place for you, baby. Come with us. Away from here. Away from him!”

She meant my father, or Derry, or both, and it did sound tempting. New Detroit offered a lottery to all citizens, and the ones picked to join the Mars colony were guaranteed food, housing, job training if they needed it. They’d won the shot. But if I felt confined on Earth, imagine how it would be, living forever inside a snow globe. No amount of security would let me breathe right in that life.

I didn’t tell her about my fears. I just said, “Sign the form.”

She’d wept as she wrote her name, dressed in her Sunday best and a fine hat with silk flowers and delicate lace. She’d given me the freedom I wanted, and walked away, because I hadn’t given her any choice. I’d watched until I couldn’t even see her shadow anymore. Most of my good memories had gone with her. Before the pain, before my family fractured under me, there was Mom and singing and butter cookies and—

Shivering, I shoved away that old weight. I already felt trapped, and I hadn’t even stepped inside. I rang the bell and yanked back my hood as the locks clicked and alarms beeped. Then Mrs. Witham opened the door and looked me over with a cool gaze shaded by cat’s-eye reading glasses. She didn’t need them, really. She just liked how they looked. Like the apron she wore over her clothes, and the way she put her graying hair up in a bun. She thought those touches made her seem grandmotherly.

“Zara,” she said without a smile. “It’s an ocean out there. Come in.”

No where have you been or threats or punishments. Not yet. I stepped in, and it felt like a cage door slamming. I felt short of breath and shaking, and it wasn’t just from the cold and wet that had soaked into my hoodie. Mrs. Witham shut the door and turned toward me. With the dim light, it was hard to read her expression, but I didn’t imagine it would be friendly.

At least she’s not working for Deluca. That was why I’d chosen to be processed by someone who played by the rules. Mrs. Witham might push my buttons with her adherence to rehab policies, but hopefully, that meant she wouldn’t sell me out, either. At the police station there would be more tech, more chances for Deluca to spot me and have me hauled off to his private compound under the aegis of a bogus transfer order.

I could hear other kids—younger kids, kids who deserved a break—talking and laughing as they made cookies. Parkview had a nice kitchen. Warm. Dry. The food wasn’t bad, even if it was cheap and processed. Not like I hadn’t eaten worse. Or not at all.

I said, “Look, you need to send me to Camp Kuna.”

That surprised her, and she stepped forward into the glow of the cheap hall light. It revealed widened eyes behind the cat’s-eye glasses, but nothing else changed in her expression. Not even a frown marred her smooth, dark skin.

“We can talk about this, Zara.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe. Somebody’s after me. Somebody bad. They’ll find me soon and—” And I can’t have this place ending up like Conde’s. I can’t carry that too. “Safer if you get me to rehab. For me and the other kids too.”

The reminder that her other charges were in danger got Mrs. Witham focused. She studied my face for a few seconds, then reached in the pocket of her shirt and pulled out her H2. Punched the emergency alert and put it on the table.

She didn’t even hesitate, and I wasn’t sure if I felt good about that or not. Didn’t really matter. It was what I’d needed her to do.

“Better smash something,” she said. “They’ll need evidence of violence to take you.”

I looked around. She had plenty of nice things here, probably old. I picked up a big vase and looked at her. She said nothing, but I saw a muscle twitch on the side of her face. I put it back and picked up something else, a fragile china plate with flowers etched on it, and saw the minuscule nod.

Then I smashed it into bits against the table it had been sitting on. Sharp fragments skittered all over the floor.

“That enough?” I asked.

She nodded and sat down. From the other rooms, voices had gone to quiet whispers, and I saw a face looking around the corner. Couldn’t remember her name. She’d only been there a couple of days when I left, and I never really cared about their names anyway.

“You okay?” the girl asked Mrs. Witham.

“Keep everybody calm,” the woman replied. “Everything’s fine. Zara will be leaving soon.”