Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(27)
My thoughts swirl with emergency plans; my breathing is shallow with the effort of concentration and remaining where I am for now. But there is one thing I can’t quite figure out.
Daniel.
I can’t just leave him behind. I have to free Daniel.
“Are you all right?” Taylor’s brows are knitted and she’s standing in front of me. I didn’t even notice her walking this way. My palms are sweaty but I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants again. Not that it matters. The expression on her face is suspicion mixed with intent. She isn’t letting it go this time.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“What is your deal, Rav? You’ve been acting weird for weeks. I barely see you and when I do, you’re quiet and all moody and stuff. You’re not fun anymore.” Her bottom lip sticks out in a pout.
“I’ve just been caught up,” I say, my mind speeding ahead with concocted half-truths because I know anything less will be transparent and I’ll be caught. “My dad has been crazy-overprotective ever since those goons tried to mess with me. And with the election coming and then Daniel’s disappearance …” I allow tears to fill my eyes without spilling over.
Taylor’s expression softens and she clucks her tongue. “I forgot all about that,” she exclaims. She places her hand on my back and guides me to the chair in the corner. “You poor thing,” she croons, gently pushing me down onto the cushion. “You’ve been devastated over losing Daniel and here I am running around raising money for stupid charity cases when you need your best friend.” She crouches at my feet, looking up at me with the closest thing to sympathy she is capable of. It’s not even close.
“I’ve been such a horrible friend.” She shakes her head as if my depressed state is all her fault. “I’m going to talk to Daddy about freeing up my schedule or getting me an assistant. You and I need more time together.”
“Taylor, that’s not necessary. I’m fine—”
“Nonsense,” she cuts in. “You need me and I’m going to be there for you. Remember that time I lost my favorite emeralds and you held my hand while I fired my staff and then helped me interview all new ones? It’s my turn to return the favor.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but she cuts me off. “It’s settled then. And it’s a win-win if it gets me out of my new job.” She pats my knee and climbs to her feet. “So. First things first. Retail therapy is the best place to start, don’t you agree?” She doesn’t wait for an answer as she retrieves her purse and adds, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’ll have lunch and then we’ll buy out the city’s supply of silk and Swarovski. Deal?”
My shoulders sag. No matter what I say right now, she’s going to show up tomorrow. “Deal,” I finally echo.
“Oh, and do something about that god-awful purple mess on your throat. I don’t know what kind of asphyxiation fetish you’re into, but it’s not a color you want to show off for the paparazzi.” She smiles and slips out.
When she’s gone, I pace, trying to decipher all of the meanings of the mark Taylor talked about. Does she mean a tattoo? I pause and consider that. People wouldn’t go for it. Not these kind. Taylor’s right. They’d think it was tacky.
Unless it stops the identity thieves. I can almost hear Linc’s voice of reason. The one thing these people value more than vanity is wealth.
I wonder how in the world Taylor’s father came up with this idea. If he knows what he’s doing by requiring this mark. I’ve never met him, but if Taylor’s any indication, his political aspirations undoubtedly outweigh his sense of decency or human compassion.
It’s Titus. I know he’s the one behind this. Or worse, the stranger who tells him what to do. The one insisting he hurry and ready another batch of impersonators. Together, by segregating the city, they will cut off any chance of their kind finding out about my kind.
And when they find Morton and the others—because I have no doubt Titus will never stop looking—he will surely kill them. And then me. The Creator will finally be all-powerful. There would be no one to stop him. Morton thinks I can find a way. More than his words, I see it in his eyes whenever we speak. But if I can’t stop Titus from killing one human girl, how will I stop him from eradicating an entire group of people?
My helplessness is excruciating. Being here in this plush tower while my friends’ fate blurs with each passing moment is a force that presses around me, a blanket of guilt and responsibility and loss. I am tempted to give in, accept it all and mourn it now while I have the breath to draw and the tears to cry. That is what most Imitations would do. It is what they taught me to do. But something in me pushes back and I know I cannot give in. I cannot cry.
The scrambler is a tiny consolation. It’s the smallest of stepping stones in the right direction but it’s not enough.
I wait for Linc, hoping he’ll return when whatever meeting he’s been called into ends. I need to tell someone about what Taylor said. But the minutes drag on and the house remains quiet. I stop pacing. I will wear tracks in the carpet at this rate.
I spend a tedious amount of time getting ready for bed, making every attempt to prolong the process. I select pajamas carefully, wandering through my closet three times before settling on a gingham print camisole with shorts to match. My hair crackles against the fabric, strands sticking to it in static tufts.