False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(67)

People notice me at her side, and wonder why I’ve been so favored. Why has she come to get me herself? How well does she know me? Tila’s notes didn’t tell me much about her. I’m lost.

“Come,” Malka says. “We musn’t be late.”

All my nerve endings seem to freeze. Malka takes my arm, unlocking me, and I follow her toward the spiral ramp. I chance a look over my shoulder and Nazarin’s staring at me, barely concealed panic in his eyes. Leo is speaking to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear. He wanted to tell me something, but now it’s too late. I try to smile at him, but I can’t. I turn away and walk up the stairs.

I don’t have a choice.

Nobody is up on this level. The clear glass of the ceiling seems almost close enough to touch. Up here, little rooms helix off around the huge circle in the center, a maze of little hidden nooks and crannies. I peek over the banister down at the revelers below. Nobody looks up except for Nazarin. I nod at him, try to smile.

I feel strangely detached. Deep down, I’m aware I should be more scared about this. But it feels … inevitable. I’m following Tila’s breadcrumbs, seeing if they lead to the gingerbread house and the hungry witch.

The Queen opens a door. I can’t see anything inside but another dark, curving hallway.

“Put these on.” She passes me a small white box. I open it. Inside are small electrodes. She helps me attach them to my temples, the back of my neck, my heart. There’s a thin pair of dark glasses. I put them on, feeling silly.

“These will track your physical responses,” she says.

“All right.” I wonder if my mechanical heart will impact anything. They’ll know of it, I’m sure. They know everything; except, hopefully, that I have changed my face and taken my sister’s place.

“There. Now. Go down to the end of the hallway and turn left.”

I lick my lips. “Any advice?” I ask, striving for a light tone. Desperate as I am, she’s my only point of contact and I’ll take any help I can get—even if it’s from the devil herself. I sense she appreciates that I’ve asked her.

She leans close, and she smells of jasmine and expensive makeup. “Don’t speak unless ordered. Don’t lie. Don’t look away. Don’t let us down.”

She looks into my eyes, deep and searching, as if she knows all my sins. After a moment, she leans back. I don’t know what she found. With a twirl of turquoise silk, she is gone.

I’ve never been more confused. My head hurts, and I’m still dizzy. There must be something in the fog in that room downstairs. I should be tempted to throw myself out that window, climb down, jump the impossibly high fence, and make a break for freedom. How would Tila feel, if it was still her walking down this hallway to this Test? If she’d never come across Vuk, if he’d never ended up dead, then she’d be here, right now, and I’d never know. My head feels unattached to my body, like it’s floating down this darkened hallway.

I turn to the left as instructed, and push open the door.

I’m the last person to arrive. In the room are four chairs. The other three are occupied. One is a girl with bright crimson hair down to her waist, dressed in black trousers and a glittering top. A man with a tuft of blond hair and black eyeliner wearing a red suit, with a tattoo of a tarantula on the back of his hand, sits in the middle. The man next to him has dark green hair and is dressed in black leather. It goes without saying that they’re all beautiful.

I sit in the last chair, crossing my legs to stop them from shaking.

The room is completely blank. White walls, white chairs, white floors. I open my mouth, but then I remember what Malka said. Don’t speak. My mouth snaps shut. I grind my teeth together. The drug from downstairs might be wearing off. I’m petrified.

There’s a flash in the corner of my vision, a small beep in my ear. I have a message. Judging by the way the others grow still, they’ve received it, too. The white wall in front of me seems to undulate in waves. I can feel the little electrodes buzzing against my skin.

“You are here because you have done well. You have served and done all I’ve asked of you.” The voice is disguised—it echoes, distorting strangely in my mind. “You have made it to a level that few can claim to reach.”

It wasn’t me. I did none of it. How did you get here, Tila? I want to ask.

“Now, for the moment, do nothing. Just watch. And listen.”

Don’t look away.

Images flow onto the blank wall, so quickly I barely register one before the next flicks into my field of vision. A praying mantis. The inside of a cat’s mouth. The glowing algae of the bay. The aftermath of a battle. Blood splattering on white walls. A decomposing corpse. A little girl in pigtails, holding a teddy bear by an arm. Ink blots, like in old psychological tests. Nature. War. Humanity. Over and over again.

Sounds come with them—from soft birdcalls to shrill shrieks and sirens. Smells appear too, and some are nice: cinnamon, the green smell of broken pine needles and the scent of crushed apples. Others are putrid: rotten fish, decomposing flesh, the oniony smell of unwashed bodies.

The man with the blond quiff bends forward and throws up onto the white floor. I glance at him but then fix my eyes to the wall.

Don’t look away.

I don’t know what this means. What it’s meant to test. Am I passing or failing?