Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(67)

“Baby Jesus …” The second woman crosses herself and bows her head. “So many of our kind reduced to serving others and laboring for a daily wage. What has this world come to? Those marauders deserve to hang for stealing from us.”

Both women take turns agreeing profusely with the other’s rants until Titus quiets the room again.

“Ven?” Linc hovers at my side, his body a solid reassurance.

“No,” I say, positive if I try to speak beyond the single word, I’ll lose it.

He doesn’t budge. I’m not aware enough of my own skin to decipher whether I’m shaking again. For all I know, I could be holding it together just fine. “Ven, let’s just—”

“No,” I repeat, louder this time. The two women I’ve been eyeing turn to investigate the noise. It’s enough to shut Linc up for the moment.

Not thinking. Not thinking. Not thinking.

“… Which is why we see an immediate need for this product,” Titus is saying, “and it’s also why we made sure we were ready to put it into action by the time we unveiled it. Alton, if you’ll come up here.” Titus gestures.

I shift and inch forward until I have a side view of the stage. The sight of Titus makes my skin crawl but I need to see. I need to know. Alton joins Titus on stage, working to roll his sleeve aside as he walks. Titus takes another question. He points, “Yes, you, in the unfortunate sweater.” He gets a few chuckles for that.

“And when will this mark become available?” asks the reporter in a timid voice.

“It already is,” Titus answers, gesturing with a flourish to the dark ink on Alton’s now exposed forearm.

The room erupts in a burst of awed voices and raised questions. Some of the media surges toward the stage for a closer look and are pushed back by security I didn’t notice before but appear in swarms now. The women I’d eavesdropped on earlier are buzzing to each other about the security this mark will provide but “oh my word, I hope they don’t use needles. Those things sting something awful.”

All of the voices reach my ears through a roaring tunnel. I stare at Alton, at the mark on his arm, and my cheeks blaze with heat. It spreads lower into my chest and stomach and then I can’t feel my hands. Still, I stare.

“Ven?” Linc whispers at my ear.

“I’m hot,” I hear myself say. This isn’t happening. But yes, it’s already happening. Alton. All along I thought he was one of us. But no, he’s only pretending. He’s imitating an Imitation. Is there anything worse?

I heave and my shoulders lurch. Nothing comes up.

“Ven!” Linc swings around to bend toward me. Obadiah joins him. I didn’t even know he’d followed. Their brows wrinkle in matching worry.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I manage to say while still holding down the champagne that threatens to bubble its way up my esophagus.

“Get her coat,” Linc snaps at Obadiah.

“But they’re calling for her,” Obadiah whispers.

“Then get her coat fast,” Linc hisses back.

Obadiah spins away and disappears. There’s more being said on stage. I don’t want to hear it but I think I should. “Ven, look at me.”

Linc’s talking but, for once, I can’t bring myself to listen. For once, his voice isn’t enough to pull me back. “Linc, it’s too late. We’re too late,” I whisper. Despite the crowd and knowing full well what it’ll mean if I lose it here, my eyes well with tears.

“No, we’re not. It’s one guy. It’s one mark. We’ve got plenty of other options.” Linc’s voice is hardened steel, twice as determined as usual. Probably to counteract my desperation. I manage to blink the tears back.

Titus is speaking again, drowning out everything else. “… to show you what I mean, and to prove to you this mark is not only harmless, but also trendy, as I know some of you women are worried about, I’ve also tested the mark on my beautiful daughter. Raven, would you come out here please?”

I lock eyes with Linc. His are wide and just as panicked as mine.

“Raven?” Titus repeats. A hint of impatience shows through.

Around the corner, in the hall leading to the stage, there is movement between the suits. I catch a flash of blond hair before muscled shoulders obscure it.

“Linc?” I whisper uncertainly. He’s rigid as stone beside me, clearly undecided about what to do next.

“Ah, there she is,” Titus says in a smooth voice. Another flash of blonde, a sweep of fabric. The crowd claps and I realize someone has joined him onstage. Someone who, from my vantage point, is every inch a Raven. Someone who is not me.

“Shit,” Linc breathes as Titus makes a show of sweeping the girl’s hair aside and showing off a tattoo. I strain to see if her numbers match mine but my view is limited, the distance too far.

One thing is clear, Titus has replaced me.

Obadiah appears with my coat. “Here,” he says, panting slightly. He holds it out so I can shrug into it. He’s already wearing his own. He stares up at the stage until twisted lines appear at the corners of his pressed lips. Finally, without a word about the other me onstage, he turns back. “How are we doing this?”

“Huh?” I say, thoroughly confused. Or maybe it’s the panic. I can’t take my eyes from the girl onstage. She is me. I am her. Or are we both someone else?