False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(49)

“Who was he?”

“He called himself the Brother.”

Mana-ma paled, rocking back from us. I think I said this before, but the mates of the Mana-ma of each generation were called the Brother. Which is kind of weird, now that I think about it. It was just what they were called, and sort of their role in the community. They were meant to support everyone, even Mana-ma. Because Mana-ma could only really be married to the Creator, for she was his voice.

Because of the whole don’t-talk-about-the-dead thing, there was no real way for me to recall that name, as far as she knew. The Brother wasn’t mentioned in the Good Book, or the sermons, and it was so many years ago now that most people didn’t have any reason to mention him, or even think about him much.

Except that little tidbit had slipped into that website about the Hearth, and I overheard our parents once mentioning “the Brother” in passing. I remember thinking it was weird they were talking about a brother in Obvious Capital Letters. So I asked them about it and they told me and Taema, but told me not to tell anyone else about him. I didn’t know why they were so nervous about it at the time.

“You heard from the Brother?” Mana-ma asked. Her voice shook. It was the first time I’d ever seen her scared.

I nodded. “He was really upset that I was there. Kept yelling at me to turn back, that there was nothing but darkness and pain beyond. He said the forest was poison.”

That was considered bad, if you didn’t begin the next Cycle. How else could your soul grow and learn, on our world or another?

“That can’t be right,” Mana-ma said. She gripped my shoulder, hard. “He wouldn’t say that. You’re lying. You’re lying!”

With difficulty, I shrugged that shoulder, the skin of my chest pulling against Taema’s. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”

Mana-ma looked deep into my eyes. Whatever she saw there, she didn’t like it. She backed away from me. “You’re ruining the sanctity of the Confessional by lying within its confines.”

I said nothing.

“You are lying. You must be! He can’t contact you. There’s no way.”

I shrugged a shoulder, my skin pulling against Taema’s, all innocent. “Yesterday we connected with each other. Maybe I can connect with those beyond, too.” I was just throwing things out there and hoping they’d stick, and I’d struck deep.

She grabbed either side of my head, looking deep into my eyes. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. She let me go.

I didn’t register that she’d slapped me until I heard the noise and my cheek stung. Taema gasped, but I stayed silent. Taema’s hand clenched mine.

“Get out of here. Get out.”

“Don’t I have to formally release the darkness?” I asked, still all innocent.

“I don’t think the darkness can be released in you,” she spat. “Get. Out.”

We stood and walked sideways from the room, Mana-ma watching us go.

“What the hell were you doing?” Taema asked as soon as we were out of the church and walking down the dirt road toward home. “What was the point?”

“She does that to us, wrapping us around her finger. I wanted to see if I could do it, too. And I could.”

It was easy, and sort of fascinating even if I knew, deep down, it was wrong. Like picking legs off of an insect.

It made me wonder what else I was capable of.





THIRTEEN

TAEMA

I wake up completely disoriented.

My mouth feels like cotton wool and my vision is blurry. The room hums with the soft whirr of machinery. I try to move, but there are wires poking from my veins, holding me in place. I panic, not sure where I am. Have I come out of surgery again? My arm tries to move to my scar, but it can’t.

“T,” I whisper. Where is she?

“Is she OK?” asks a male voice I think I recognize. “It doesn’t normally take this long to wake up, does it?”

“It’s her mechanical heart. Usually when people are … excited in the Zealscape, their heart pumps faster—works through the drug quicker.”

I blink, shaking my head. A man leans over me. “You OK, Tila?”

I start at my sister’s name, still trying to figure out where I am. I shake my head, but the man gives me a warning look. I squint. He’s a detective. Detective Nazarin. I remember. I focus on my breathing, everything coming back to me as the last vestiges of Verve leave my system.

The orderly is taking out the needles from my arm. I shudder as I feel them slip out of my skin. Seems strangely barbaric and old-fashioned, but intravenous is still the best way to administer the drug to make the immersion in the Zeal or Verve world complete. You must know it wasn’t a Zealscape, I want to say. How much have the Ratel paid you? Have you contacted them? If he had, wouldn’t they already be here? I feel the aftereffects—a buzzing in my veins, a twitching in my muscles. If it was actually Zeal, my urge to kill and maim would be diminished. I’d feel happy and glowing. Because it’s Verve, I feel more keyed up than ever. I keep grinding my teeth together in anger, clenching my hands into fists.

Mia’s still deeply dreaming, lying flat on the Chair. Time can go a bit funny on these drugs. It felt like I was only there for an hour at most, but it’s been three hours out here. According to the clock on the wallscreen above her head, she still has eleven hours of depravity before she has to wake up and remember what she did in the harsh light of day. Perhaps eighteen hours before she’s here again, ready for more. How can she bear to do this, day after day?