Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(5)

But I’m safe, hidden away. Just in time. I hear an unfamiliar voice coming nearer. I’m surprised I can hear it so clearly. The walls must be thinner than I thought. For a crazy second I think about knocking on the wall, sending a mysterious message like an unseen spirit. Mom has told me ghost stories, gleaned from records in the archives. In the days of ignorance, people believed in all kinds of things. I don’t believe the old tales, though I’ve always liked hearing them. But if Ash is right, this is a Center official. They’re known for having zero patience with superstition or anything to do with the way we lived before the Ecofail. Not to mention, of course, the whole threat-of-death thing if I’m discovered.

So I stand at attention in my narrow sliver of safety, upright and alert like a Greenshirt recruit, and wait for the all clear.

When I hear the distinctive sound of people settling themselves in our living room, I figure the all clear will be a long time coming. I sigh, and my breath bounces against the wall back to me, warming my face.

I don’t know exactly what I’m expecting out of the unknown visitor. Probably something terse and official. Most likely, they’ve come by for some after-hours emergency, or what passes as an emergency. Maybe Mom needs to sign off on the duplication and distribution of some pre-fail artifact, or Dad has to authorize one of the restricted drugs for an upper-level Center official. Usually they message ahead, either calling on the unicom or sending a messagebot to herald their approach, giving me time to hide. What can be so urgent that it has to be a surprise?

Whatever I expect it’s certainly not the sound of weeping from my mother. She sounds like she’s right on the other side of this wall, and I actually take a step forward, stubbing my toe. Do they hear? No, I don’t think so, because the stranger speaks. I hear him clearly through the wall.

“One week,” he says. I frown in puzzlement. What is happening in a week to make Mom cry?

“So soon?” Mom asks, despair in her voice.

Dad immediately cuts in. “We’ve been waiting almost seventeen years,” he says gruffly. “Not nearly soon enough if you ask me.”

Almost seventeen years? Are they discussing something about me? They must be. Either me or Ash.

“You understand there have been difficulties,” the stranger says, placating, though I can tell from his voice he must be a little annoyed, too. “Black market lenses are just the beginning. Half the criminals in Eden can get fake lenses that show another person’s identity on a level-one scan. The problem is creating a new identity.”

“We paid you enough,” Dad snaps. “It should have been done long before now.”

“Hush,” Mom says to him. She sniffs hard, and I can tell she’s trying to pull herself together. “Go on, Mr. Hill. Please tell us the rest.”

“I don’t care how he did it, as long as it’s done,” I hear my father say in an undertone. I can picture his face, impatient and peevish as it so often is, his eyes restlessly glancing sidelong. “A week, you said? Why not sooner?”

I hear the doorbell chime, and Mom gasp, at exactly the same time, so I can’t tell whether she is shocked by that, or by what my father has said.

“Are you expecting anyone?” the stranger asks in evident alarm.

I’m wedged in my tight nook, blind and stifled, but in my mind’s eye I can see clear as day the way Mom and Dad exchange a quick look. Their relationship isn’t always perfect, I know, but they do have that trick of silent communication. I’ve often wondered if other couples can do this, hold rapid unspoken conversations with a glance, and reach a conclusion without a word. I wonder now if I’ll ever know someone that well.

I hear quick movement through the wall, and a startled sound from the stranger. I realize he’s being hustled upstairs to my attic hideaway. Whoever he is, at least he’ll be more comfortable than I am.

Mom rushes back a moment later, and when she talks in a hushed, urgent voice I realize Dad hasn’t gone to answer the door yet.

“Will they find him?” she asks.

“How should I know?” he snaps. “I don’t know who they are or what they want. Probably just someone from work.”

Mom sighs in frustration at his optimism. “But why now, of all times? We should get him out of the house.”

“He’s a Center official,” Dad counters. “Why shouldn’t he be here? He could be my friend.”

“No, they might be watching him. If he’s involved in the black market, we can’t afford to be linked to him. Not when we’re this close. They’ll get suspicious.”

“They’ll get more suspicious if we don’t open the door soon,” Dad says, rightly enough.

“Where’s Rowan? Did she make it to the basement?”

“I don’t know, but she’s sensible enough to stay out of sight until one of us comes for her. Go have a drink and join us in a few minutes. If anyone sees your face now, they’ll know something’s wrong.”

I hear the heavy tread of his feet as he goes to the front door. The living room is completely still now, and I can hear the sound of my own breathing again. For a moment I think Mom has left, her lighter step unheard. Then I hear a little scratching on the wall just outside my nook. She knows I’m here. Or she thinks I’m here.

Gingerly, I scratch back, once, twice. I hear a gentle sigh from the other side, and I feel a love so overwhelming I would sit down if I had room. Dad has done whatever is necessary to keep me safe, but it’s always been Mom who let me know that everything she did, everything she sacrificed for me, was done out of love, not obligation or fear or necessity.