Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(16)

Finally I reach the back of the dance hall. There’s a dark hallway branching out in two directions—one to the kitchen, I can tell by the savory aroma, the other to the restrooms. I choose that way, thinking I’ll attract less attention, hoping there’s a back door.

There is! I surge toward it. I’ve pushed it halfway open, and can just see the blessed quiet solitude of a back street outside when I hear a voice behind me.

“Ash? Is that you?”

I turn, and there in the shadows is Lark. Ash has shown me pictures of her so many times I know her face by heart.

Her dress is the yellow-green of new leaves in springtime.





FOR ME, IT’S as if the clouds that were darkening the sky of my life suddenly parted and the sun shone a glorious beam directly on me. As I stare at Lark, a strange longing fills me. I don’t understand half the things I feel. It’s as if I’ve known her my entire life, and we’re already in perfect harmony. It’s as if I’ve been running a seemingly endless race, and she’s the finish line finally in sight.

“Ash, what’s wrong?” she asks, her voice like honey from a long-extinct bee. I’ve never heard such sweetness.

The corridor is dim, and I realize she can’t see me well enough to notice my strange eyes. In this light there is nothing to distinguish me from my twin. My hair is tucked up under my scholar cap, and the jacket probably disguises my curves. Though not exactly identical, our features are so similar that in the school uniform she’d naturally assume I’m Ash.

Until I speak.

I don’t want to break the illusion, so I just shake my head to tell her nothing is wrong. She takes a step closer.

I should leave. Just stalk away without a backward glance. If she takes just one more step she’ll see my unfixed eyes. If I open my mouth she’ll surely know I’m not Ash.

“Are you having an attack?” she presses, leaning toward me. I can smell a pleasant fragrance wafting from her. Not sweet, exactly, more spicy and earthy, like when rain hits the moss in my courtyard. “I have a spare inhaler for you if you’ve forgotten yours.” They’re that close, I think, that she not only knows about his condition, but carries his medicine with her.

I can’t walk away from her. Lark’s hair is lilac-colored, her eyes gray and luminous, huge as they shower me with concern and friendship. Seeing her is like . . . like seeing one of the extinct animals I’ve learned about in Eco-history videos. A bird of paradise. A jaguar. For all my life, someone like her has been just as rare, just as impossible to ever experience firsthand. I know it’s an illusion, just as the images of long-gone animals in my vids are illusions. If she finds out what I am, she’ll scream for the authorities. She’s Ash’s friend, not mine.

But right now, for just a brief moment in time, I can pretend.

I try to memorize every aspect of the encounter so I can savor it later. The way her flower-colored hair seems to glow in the dim light, the long, soft curls a bit wild. The way she stands poised, about to move nearer to me, her weight just about to shift to her front foot to take a step, but hesitating for some reason.

Right now, in this magical moment, I have a friend.

It is wonderful.

It is torture, because any moment the spell will break.

“Ash?” she asks again, uncertain.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to deepen my voice. It sounds strange to me. It must to her, too, because she frowns slightly, two fine lines appearing between her eyebrows. Her head cocks to one side, like a bird’s.

Then, suddenly, she sits down on a low bench along the edge of the corridor. Tentatively, I lower myself to the one on my side. We’ve established territories, with a boundary of hallway between us. She’s not coming closer. Maybe I can snatch a few more moments of this delicious heaven.

“You seem . . . different tonight, Ash,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, there you are!” she says, her brow clearing like breaking dawn. Ash and I have exactly the same laugh, a low, throaty chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d be able to come to the party.”

I take a deep, steadying breath before I venture any words. “I had to get out tonight,” I say, my voice odd and gravelly. “I had to . . .” I gulp. “I had to see you.”

Even in the darkness I can see her flush. This hallway is undecorated, bland compared to the gaudy rain forest motif of the main rooms. But Lark lights it up like a thousand lanterns.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

“Completely,” I say. “I feel like I’ve waited all my life for this night.”

Lark is silent for a moment. All the time, she searches my face. I want to look away, but I can’t. I just pray to the good Earth that it isn’t light enough for her to distinguish the strangeness of my eyes. If it meant my death, I swear I couldn’t look away.

At last she says, “There’s something new in your eyes.” Immediately, I bow my head. “No, not in your eyes. Your eyes are in shadow.” With relief I turn toward her again. “It’s in your expression, though. What is it?” She stares at me awhile longer. “I know. You’re not anxious,” she says with a sigh. “You’re happy for a change.” She smiles, and the radiance engulfs me. I smile back.

“I am,” I say breathlessly, thinking that I shouldn’t be. My life is in danger, and even if I get home safely my life is about to be so uprooted it might as well be destroyed. But at this moment I’m completely, blissfully happy.