False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(91)

Ensi reaches down and pushes up the sleeve of my Kalar suit, revealing the bare skin. He runs his finger down the exposed flesh. I shiver.

“It’s such a shame,” he says. “If I’d found you both right when you left the Hearth, your lives could have been so very different. You slipped past too quickly, already within the system as soon as you arrived in the city. When I did find you, I let you be. Why? Curiosity, I suppose—what would two girls who escaped the Hearth choose to do with their new lives? You went through engineering school. I was at your graduation ceremony, though you never saw me.” My skin prickles. “Tila grew into her art, and had that gallery show. I went to that, too. I even bought one of her paintings.”

Were we experiments to him? He watched us, to see what we’d do. The gallery showing was so long ago. Did my sister realize Ensi had bought one of her paintings? Does she feel he has a piece of her? Did she know he’s been keeping tabs on us for years?

“Which painting?” I ask, still avoiding looking at Nazarin. I think he’s worked his way out of a restraint. But how can he get out of the rest? If he reaches around, Ensi will notice.

Just keep him talking. He wants to talk, even if he says he doesn’t. I should be more scared, but I must be in shock, using the Hearth training to drive the fear away, at least a little. I’m grateful for it. It means I can think, I can speak. I can try to survive.

“The quasi-self-portrait.”

I know the one he means. It’s a woman who looks nothing like us, but her shadow falls out behind her, separate, but connected. She’d painted it in all the colors of the rainbow, yet for all the crazy hues, it was so realistic. My sister had called it The Kaleidoscope Woman. I’d been sad when it sold, but she’d said she couldn’t turn down the price. I feel sick that he has it.

I swallow. We’re alone, but I have no doubt that dozens of guards are posted outside this room, wherever it is.

Ensi stretches his arms over his head. “Now, fascinating as this conversation has been, it’s time for us to be getting on, isn’t it?” He aligns the needle against the crook of my elbow, poised over the vein. The electrodes begin to buzz, tightening against my skin. The fear I’d banished rushes back. I stare at the ceiling, and that white expanse may be the last thing I see. How boring.

Ensi leans closer to me. This is my only chance. I think the trigger word: “sweetpea.” I bite the seal on the tooth. A liquid spreads into my mouth, and I lock my throat. I’ll kiss him if I can, and if I can’t, I’ll spray it into his face.

“I didn’t see you partnering up with a detective. And I didn’t peg him until he waltzed into that party with you, so I give him credit for that. A good detective—but not smart enough to quit while he was ahead. I’ll tell you one thing before you go, my dear,” he whispers. “You want to know who I am, but I’m a little disappointed you haven’t figured it out.”

He presses his lips to mine. I open my mouth, as if gasping, and he presses his tongue into mine. The tasteless liquid spreads into him. There. It’s done. I can only hope it’s enough.

He presses the plunger on the syringe and the drug begins to work.

“I’m the Brother,” he whispers as my mind starts to go.

Everything that happens next is a blur. Nazarin bounds up from his chair and knocks Ensi back.

My mind burns. I’m still conscious—barely—because Ensi hasn’t started the program. It takes all my strength to raise my head a few inches. Ensi is manipulating the fight with Nazarin so he inches closer to the controls. I try to warn Nazarin, but my mouth won’t open. Ensi’s hand snakes back and the program begins. Soon, I’ll be trapped in a dream.

The King of the Ratel knocks Nazarin against the wall. He slumps over, his battered brain out cold again.

With the last of my consciousness, I see Ensi strap Nazarin in the Chair and begin the program, then strap himself into another, starting his own sequence.

He’s grinning like a hunter going in for the kill.

And then we’re gone.





TWENTY-SEVEN

TILA

We really thought we’d succeeded.

The month had passed without any problems. We went to school, we did the chores we could do, we listened to sermons, we did the Meditation and we did our best not to stand out at all. Mom and Dad did their jobs. We tried to act both positive and remorseful at the thought that we would be reentering the Cycle again soon. Our health continued to worsen, and our main fear was that we’d die before we could escape.

We should have been more afraid of Mana-ma.

The morning the supply ship was due to come, we’d gone into the forest to hide near where it would land. It was slow going—we had trouble walking and had to use canes, stopping to rest every few steps. We left before most of the Hearth was awake and kept under cover of the trees, hoping that nobody would see us. We didn’t bring anything with us except a bit of food—no clothes, no trinkets, no journals. I think that hurt Taema more than me. She wanted to bring at least one book. I decided then and there that if we survived and got jobs in San Francisco, I’d buy her all the books I could with my first pay-check.

We waited there in the shade all morning, eating the snacks Mom and Dad had packed us. We wouldn’t have long once Dad gave the signal.

“Are Mom and Dad going to get into trouble if Mana-ma realizes they helped us?” Taema asked. She hadn’t asked the question before, though it must have been on her mind as much as mine.