Folsom (End of Men, #1)(62)

I wander downstairs still in my bathrobe, hair and teeth unbrushed. I don’t care what the governor’s people think of me. In fact, I hope to torture her with my morning breath.

“Gwen,” she says when I walk down the stairs. Her skin is dark ebony and her hair is bound behind her and hanging to her waist in caramel-colored dreadlocks. She is wearing a yellow kaftan, and a dozen necklaces hang around her neck. She is not what I was expecting. I pause on the last step. She catches my hesitation, her face amused.

“Hello, Gwen. I’m Cardi.” She smiles even when I stand rigidly in front of her. “I was sent your measurements and have five dresses here for you to choose from.”

I follow her silently to a rack where she stands to the side, hands clasped at her waist. I eye her suspiciously as I flick through my choices. I choose one because I have to and hold it out to her.

“Let’s try it on you, shall we?”

I’m unnerved by how unnerved she is. I’m trying my best to be rude to her, and she’s the epitome of grace.

I stalk off to try the dress on, and when I come out wearing it, she nods approvingly.

“Very nice choice, Gwen. This dress is actually designed with your protection in mind…”

“My protection?” I ask.

“Not exclusively yours but any woman who chooses to wear it.”

I nod, feeling silly.

She bends down in front of me and I get a whiff of her perfume, earthy and rich.

“Here.” She lifts the bottom, catching my eye.

With a slide of her finger, she extracts a knife no wider than my pointer finger from the hem. The blade is charcoal black, and it glints in the light. There is an engraved number on the blade…I squint at it…ninety-seven.

“It slides right back into a sheath right here.” She taps the place and puts the knife back.

I stare at the spot in fascination. Why put a weapon in a dress? How strange. I wonder if the others all had features like this and I want to ask, but Cardi has turned away.

“I’ll just pack up while you change back into your robe,” she says.

When I emerge from behind the screen she’s ready to leave, a small case in her hands.

“Your ride will be here by six o’clock. I’m to tell you only one thing.

“And what’s that?”

“There’s a high price to pay for freedom.”

And with that she walks out the door, leaving me glaring after her. I’m sick of the governor’s threats.

At night the city is muted, the vibrancy of the day long past. I stare out at the buildings, their edges blurred by the streetlights. A fog brews on the asphalt, stirred by the cars that drive through it. The car stops in front of a skyscraper scaled in a moving advertisement. I watch as a woman in a purple dress tries to sell the entire city on auto eye color. Change your eyes to match your outfit! Every time she pulls off her sunglasses, her eyes are a different color. I look away ashamed. This is our priority. The human race is dying out, but at least you could die with a different eye color than the one you were born with. My door opens and I ease myself out of the car and into the heat. I stand on the sidewalk waiting for my next instruction, moisture gathering at my lower back. The driver is one of Pandora’s regulars…Jane, I think? I take it that she trusts this one more than the others. I consider making a run for it. I imagine myself disappearing into the city, calling Doctor Hunley or Phoebe to come get me. But how far would I get being pregnant? And now that my face is plastered all over the news it is likely that someone not on my side would recognize me.

“Right through those doors,” she says. “They’ll be waiting for you.

They?

“Who is they?” I ask.

She stares at me blankly like she never heard my question.

“All right then.” I sigh.

I march for the doors, which open before I reach them, a cold gust of air hitting my face, and a sterile computer voice greets me.

“Welcome, Gwen Allison. You are expected on the nineteenth floor…”

The door hisses shut behind me. There is no one else in the lobby. A neon artery appears on the floor in front of me, directing me to the elevators. I follow it, a growing trepidation clinging to my insides. My heels click on the marble and I wish I’d worn my boots instead. All the clatter is only making things worse. The elevator is waiting for me when I arrive; it carries me to the nineteenth floor, and when the doors open, I can tell why I was required to wear a dress. I am in the Society’s Red Region offices; the black S logo set inside a circle rotates on the wall in front of me. I glance around nervously.

I wander past the empty reception area, toward the music I hear coming from the rear of the office. A wide hallway leads me to a banquet room where at least three-dozen people mill about in evening wear. I look down at my dress, which is a simple black with just enough room to accommodate my swollen belly. I’m underdressed for whatever this is…it reminds me of the Red Ball. I wonder if that was Pandora’s intention—for me to feel out of place. No one turns to look at me as I step inside; no one seems to care that I’m here. I look for a familiar face, someone to tell me why I’m here, but I see none, not even the governor. A chime sounds on the hour. People move from their positions to an adjacent room set up auditorium style. Everyone knows where to sit and I realize they have assigned seats. I wait at the rear of the room, unsure of what to do, until everyone is seated. There is one lone chair left, right in the back. I slip into it hoping no one comes to claim it.