Sweet Peril (The Sweet Trilogy #2)(25)

I woke before Zania in the morning, parched. I went downstairs to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. At the bottom of the stairs I noticed a room in the corner with the door ajar. It was dim, but I could make out pictures stuck on the walls. Holding the glass, I tiptoed to the room and pushed the door open.

It appeared to be some sort of fancy office, but the space had been cheapened by newspaper clippings and pictures tacked and taped across the walls in a sickening collage. I took a few steps in and read headlines about battles and wars, primarily in the Middle East and Africa. Genocides and mass slaughter attacks were highlighted. Some of the pictures were too gruesome to warrant more than a glance. I took a step back, realizing with disgust that this was Sonellion’s shrine to hatred. Prepared to leave, I glimpsed a picture on the desk that caught my morbid curiosity. It was an African child, a toddler, naked, crying on the ground with a woman leaning over her. What in the world was she doing? Slick fear ran through me.

“That is his most recent pet project.” Zania’s husky morning voice made me jump and spill some water. Even with puffy eyes and a tiny bruise, she was stunning.

“What’s she doing to the baby?” I prayed she would refuse to tell me.

“Female circumcision.” Her voice was quiet. She wouldn’t look at the pictures. “They remove the parts that allow them to enjoy sex.”

My insides rolled, and I brought my free hand to my mouth while the hand holding the glass trembled. She took it from me and walked out of the office. I followed her into the kitchen.

I stood there, sick and numb. “Why would anyone do that?”

“Did your father not teach you about the evil wiles of the female race?” Her tone was tainted with sarcasm. She set my glass on the marble counter and crossed her arms. “Women have no self-control and cannot be faithful. We aim to seduce every man we encounter because we cannot help our natures. In this way they are helping females and ensuring their loyalty.”

I ran past Zania, thinking about the tiny girl in the picture. I made it to the bathroom just in time to lose my glass of water in the toilet. I coughed as I crouched on the ground, tasting acid. Oh, God above . . . this was the project Sonellion was working on right now—the thing my father hadn’t wanted to tell me.

I wouldn’t cry in front of Zania. I closed my eyes tight and tried to shut out the memory of those images.

“You are ill?” Zania asked from the doorway. I shook my head, wishing I could stand.

“Sometimes I get . . . overwhelmed by all the pain,” I explained.

Zania stared down at me with her awesome mane of black waves like I was the strangest creature she’d ever seen. I wanted her to think I was strong and worthy of aligning herself with, but I felt weak. I fumbled for the tissues. Zania pulled out two sheets and handed them to me before squatting at my side. I blotted my dampened, scratchy eyes.

Her gaze searched me for any sign of falsehood or insincerity as I blew my nose. “You helped me last night,” she said.

“We tried. But that guy worked fast.”

Zania peered at the floor and let her hair fall, blocking her face. Her hand shook.

“You held me like a mother,” she said.

“I was glad to be there for you.” I gave her my warmest heartfelt look. “I have to leave today. I wish I could stay or take you with me. I came here to bring you the good news and I hope when the time is right you’ll be an ally.”

“How can a woman like me help? I do not bother with self-control as you do. Look”—she held out a shaking hand—“even now I tremble for the poison my body craves. And it helps me face my tasks. It numbs the hatred.”

I closed my eyes. I understood that. I really did.

“You’ll get yourself killed if you keep drinking.”

“I do not care.”

“But I do.” I grabbed her hands in mine and spoke with all the earnest conviction in my heart. “Think of all the little girls the Dukes will have in future generations. Girls who will grow up without the love of a mother. Girls who are doomed to hate their lives. We can change that, Zania! I don’t know how, but I know it can happen in our lifetime. We need you. All I ask is that you keep yourself alive and be ready. Please.”

I felt her hands shaking in mine. Her eyes were wet.

“I need a drink,” she said in a small voice. A bitter laugh followed from far in her throat.

“No,” I choked out. I couldn’t very well send her to rehab or stay by her side to nurse her through detox. What I was asking her to do was nearly impossible and we both knew it.

“All things are possible,” I whispered, just as much for my own benefit as hers. I leaned forward and we hugged. She was breathing hard, clinging to me with the same grasping urgency she had the night before.

“My sister,” I murmured. “You can do it.”

Fall

Senior Year

CHAPTER EIGHT

LONDON

I received a text message from Dad during the homecoming football game, telling me to check my email. I ditched my school-spirited party crew in the bleachers and took off for home. Dad had hooked me up with a supersecure server last year for our communications. My hands actually shook as I fired it up.

Patti came in my room, looking surprised to see me.

“It’s from Dad,” I told her. She stood over my shoulder and read along.