Folsom

  There is a rap on my door and I keep pushing Folsom’s head down. Don’t stop, don’t stop. A hand on my shoulder gives me a hard shake and I lean up on my elbows, glaring.

  Sophia stares down at me, a slightly amused expression on her face.

  “You look like shit,” she says.

  One thing that has been a pleasant surprise of pregnancy is all the sex dreams. I miss Folsom every day, with a longing I didn’t know I possessed, and I wish we could be together now more than ever, but the dreams I have of us are so real that some days it curbs that craving. Some days when I’m not WOKEN UP MID-DREAM.

  “Get out,” I say dryly.

  Sophia frowns and her mouth hangs open. Despite our tumultuous relationship, I never speak harshly to my sister.

  “Gwen…”

  “I mean it. I don’t want to see you. I’m sick of this room, I’m sick of the games you people play, and most of all, I’m sick of your smug face. If you’re going to lock me in here, give me some damn privacy.”

  Sophia’s mouth closes and falls open again. “I shouldn’t have…you’re losing it, aren’t you…”

  “Why? Because I’m not taking your shit anymore?” I fling my robe over my shoulders and storm to the bathroom. “You’d have lost it the first time you didn’t get your weekly manicure, or your monthly massage, or your daily shopping trips.”

  “Okay, point taken. You have been far more…tolerant than I would’ve been in this situation,” she says. “But you also don’t like massages, and pedicures, and shopping, and I do, so I’m not exactly a threat to the Regions like you are.”

  I throw her a dirty look. I don’t know why she’s being so accommodating; it all feels suspect.

  “Why are you here? Are you paying a social visit, or did the governor send you for something?”

  She shrugs. “Just feeling a little sympathetic, I guess.” She bites her lip and looks outside. “And there’s a lady here to show you some dresses to an event Pandora says you’re attending tonight.”

  I freeze in mid-step. “What event?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t invited.”

  I scrunch my nose. “She’s here right now?”

  “That’s what I said,” Sophia snaps. “She’s waiting downstairs for you, whenever you’re ready, Your Majesty.” She walks to the door and looks back. “You don’t really look like shit. It’s just been a long time since I’ve pissed you off. I kinda miss it.” She smirks and leaves before I can throw anything at her.

  I wander downstairs still in my bathrobe, hair and teeth unbrushed. I don’t care what the governor’s people think of me. In fact, I hope to torture her with my morning breath.

  “Gwen,” she says when I walk down the stairs. Her skin is dark ebony and her hair is bound behind her and hanging to her waist in caramel-colored dreadlocks. She is wearing a yellow kaftan, and a dozen necklaces hang around her neck. She is not what I was expecting. I pause on the last step. She catches my hesitation, her face amused.

  “Hello, Gwen. I’m Cardi.” She smiles even when I stand rigidly in front of her. “I was sent your measurements and have five dresses here for you to choose from.”

  I follow her silently to a rack where she stands to the side, hands clasped at her waist. I eye her suspiciously as I flick through my choices. I choose one because I have to and hold it out to her.

  “Let’s try it on you, shall we?”

  I’m unnerved by how unnerved she is. I’m trying my best to be rude to her, and she’s the epitome of grace.

  I stalk off to try the dress on, and when I come out wearing it, she nods approvingly.

  “Very nice choice, Gwen. This dress is actually designed with your protection in mind…”

  “My protection?” I ask.

  “Not exclusively yours but any woman who chooses to wear it.”

  I nod, feeling silly.

  She bends down in front of me and I get a whiff of her perfume, earthy and rich.

  “Here.” She lifts the bottom, catching my eye.

  With a slide of her finger, she extracts a knife no wider than my pointer finger from the hem. The blade is charcoal black, and it glints in the light. There is an engraved number on the blade…I squint at it…ninety-seven.

  “It slides right back into a sheath right here.” She taps the place and puts the knife back.

  I stare at the spot in fascination. Why put a weapon in a dress? How strange. I wonder if the others all had features like this and I want to ask, but Cardi has turned away.

  “I’ll just pack up while you change back into your robe,” she says.

  When I emerge from behind the screen she’s ready to leave, a small case in her hands.

  “Your ride will be here by six o’clock. I’m to tell you only one thing.

  “And what’s that?”

  “There’s a high price to pay for freedom.”

  And with that she walks out the door, leaving me glaring after her. I’m sick of the governor’s threats.

  At night the city is muted, the vibrancy of the day long past. I stare out at the buildings, their edges blurred by the streetlights. A fog brews on the asphalt, stirred by the cars that drive through it. The car stops in front of a skyscraper scaled in a moving advertisement. I watch as a woman in a purple dress tries to sell the entire city on auto eye color. Change your eyes to match your outfit! Every time she pulls off her sunglasses, her eyes are a different color. I look away ashamed. This is our priority. The human race is dying out, but at least you could die with a different eye color than the one you were born with. My door opens and I ease myself out of the car and into the heat. I stand on the sidewalk waiting for my next instruction, moisture gathering at my lower back. The driver is one of Pandora’s regulars…Jane, I think? I take it that she trusts this one more than the others. I consider making a run for it. I imagine myself disappearing into the city, calling Doctor Hunley or Phoebe to come get me. But how far would I get being pregnant? And now that my face is plastered all over the news it is likely that someone not on my side would recognize me.

  “Right through those doors,” she says. “They’ll be waiting for you.

  They?

  “Who is they?” I ask.

  She stares at me blankly like she never heard my question.

  “All right then.” I sigh.

  I march for the doors, which open before I reach them, a cold gust of air hitting my face, and a sterile computer voice greets me.

  “Welcome, Gwen Allison. You are expected on the nineteenth floor…”

  The door hisses shut behind me. There is no one else in the lobby. A neon artery appears on the floor in front of me, directing me to the elevators. I follow it, a growing trepidation clinging to my insides. My heels click on the marble and I wish I’d worn my boots instead. All the clatter is only making things worse. The elevator is waiting for me when I arrive; it carries me to the nineteenth floor, and when the doors open, I can tell why I was required to wear a dress. I am in the Society’s Red Region offices; the black S logo set inside a circle rotates on the wall in front of me. I glance around nervously.

  I wander past the empty reception area, toward the music I hear coming from the rear of the office. A wide hallway leads me to a banquet room where at least three-dozen people mill about in evening wear. I look down at my dress, which is a simple black with just enough room to accommodate my swollen belly. I’m underdressed for whatever this is…it reminds me of the Red Ball. I wonder if that was Pandora’s intention—for me to feel out of place. No one turns to look at me as I step inside; no one seems to care that I’m here. I look for a familiar face, someone to tell me why I’m here, but I see none, not even the governor. A chime sounds on the hour. People move from their positions to an adjacent room set up auditorium style. Everyone knows where to sit and I realize they have assigned seats. I wait at the rear of the room, unsure of what to do, until everyone is seated. There is one lone chair left, right in the back. I slip into it hoping no one comes
to claim it.

  Petite suddenly appears through a door and walks to the middle of the stage, clasping her hands together.

  “Our one and only item tonight is a very rare and special treat for all of you,” the governor says.

  An auction!

  She casts a look over her shoulder. “Lift the curtain, please.”

  The red velvet lifts dramatically and Laticus is displayed in a glass case, dressed in a black suit. I search his face for signs of fear or distress, but he looks perfectly relaxed. He looks so much like his father that for a moment I have to look away. My heart begins to race. Why is he here? What are they doing with him? I glance around to see if shock is registering anywhere in the room, but everyone seems to know why they’re here. I recognize some of their faces: Mrs. Doherty, who owns a chain of salons across the Red; her wife Deana, who is in charge of sustainable energy in all of the Regions; the Shaws, who have a shipping company that handles all of our international trade. Their daughters accompany them, sitting at attention next to their mothers, their eyes glued to Laticus.

  The lust in their eyes repulses me. I turn to the woman next to me, grey-haired and regal. She sits with her hand on a younger woman’s knee.

  “What are they auctioning?” I ask her.

  She looks surprised at the sound of my voice, like she didn’t realize someone was sitting next to her.

  “His virginity, of course.” She turns back to the spectacle, not wanting to miss a minute of the action. I resist the urge to place my head between my knees.

  I’m dizzy, my eyes wide with shock.

  “We will begin bidding at—”

  I don’t hear anything after that but the roar in my own ears. I look around in a panic, searching their faces. There are at least a hundred people in this room…surely someone will say something. The vile nature of auctioning off a child’s virginity. Each time someone bids, a ding sounds, followed by a number that appears on the glass Laticus stands in. I watch the price for him increase by the second; they’re increasing it by increments of a thousand. I’m disgusted by what they’re willing to pay for him, too scared to say anything in case they throw me out. By the final ding, his price is a small fortune. It’s then that the words come back to me. Words from just a few hours ago. There’s a high price to pay for freedom. The governor raises her gavel and before she can connect it to a final sale, I press the button on my chair. There’s a pause during which time the room is eerily quiet.

  “Sold to seat number ninety-seven,” the governor calls.

  My heart drops out when I hear the number.

  The woman sitting next to me abruptly stands up, pulling the younger woman along with her. I realize that she was the last to bid before me. She shoots me a terrifying look before stalking out of the room, a sore loser.

  “Seat number ninety-seven,” the governor calls, her eyes searching through the faces.

  I reach into the small clutch I brought with me, my fingers searching. I find it, small and solid. Gripping it between my thumb and forefinger, I flick open the cover at the same time that I stand. The governor finds me in the crowd, the smile dropping from her face. Her eyes register shock.

  “Seat number ninety-seven,” I call out.

  I smile as I press Kasper’s button.

  THIRTY-TWO

  GWEN

  I’m escorted from the room and to a private area where I’ll be asked to transfer the money for Laticus. The governor’s eyes follow me out; her face is a mask, but I feel the rage spinning off of her body. My insides are thrumming, hairs on my arms standing to attention. It wasn’t until I saw the shock on her face that I realized she had nothing to do with me being here. I think back to Cardi’s words to me before I left the house. It hadn’t made sense when she said it, but I thought she was one of Pandora’s people. The knife in my hemline suddenly feels heavy.

  I sign and wait as they draft the money from my account. The room is cool, but I find myself sweating. I have to sign a disclosure and a dozen other documents they pull up on a Silverbook. Finally they escort me to a private elevator.

  “The lift will take you to your suite. The auctioned will be with you shortly.”

  The auctioned? I gape. He’s not a boy; he’s something to be sold. My heart beats out a tune: Folsom…Laticus…Folsom…Laticus…

  There’s no time to respond, the door is closing, moving up in a smooth motion. My feet ache in the shoes I’m wearing. I wish I’d worn something more practical. I’m shaking so badly by the time the door opens that I barely register my surroundings as I collapse in the nearest chair. I don’t have time to waste. I pull out Kasper’s button. It’s just as it was before. No magical light blinking. No message. Just a piece of metal that resembles trash. What if it had all been a joke, or the button has broken somehow? No. I can’t think like that. Tucking it back into my clutch I look around. Someone orchestrated this. I’m in a large suite overlooking the city. I see a bedroom, small kitchen, and sitting area. I look around for stairs. There has to be stairs. The elevator dings and I freeze, my eyes on the doors.

  Laticus. He looks around sheepishly, and I run for him, clutching my belly.

  “You!” I say, taking his face in my palms. “Are you okay?”

  He’s grown an inch since I last saw him. And the way they’ve cut his hair makes him look older.

  “I’m fine,” he says, gripping my forearms. “My father…?”

  I drop my hands. “I don’t know. They took him. I don’t know where he is. They were angry when he wouldn’t sign you over to them…angry about me probably…”

  Laticus’ face turns hard. “He should have let them take me.”

  I draw back, surprised by the tone of his voice…was he angry?

  “He’s trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting.”

  I swallow hard, swiping a loose hair behind my ear while I buy some time to think. I wasn’t expecting this.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask. “Did they feed you?”

  “I’m fine, Gwen.” He sounds almost impatient with me. Food had always worked with Laticus. Laticus the boy. This Laticus seems more like a man.

  “You’ve changed,” I say gently. “Just in the short time since I’ve seen you.” I keep my voice light so he doesn’t think I’m criticizing him.

  “Why did you bid?” he asks roughly. “You’re already pregnant…”

  My mouth falls open. “I was trying to help you. I couldn’t let them—”

  “What?”

  “Laticus—”

  “This is what I’m supposed to do. It’s no use fighting it. I was born for this purpose.”

  So matter-of-fact. I can’t believe he’s saying this.

  “No,” I say firmly. “The entire world cannot rest on your shoulders. Or on the End Men’s shoulders. That’s too much for anyone to bear.”

  “It’s the only way,” he argues. “We are the only hope.”

  His words make me sick. He’s regurgitating the Society’s rhetoric. They’ve brainwashed him.

  Our eyes lock and I clench my fists at my sides. I’m having a standoff with a teenage boy. I drop my gaze, sighing deeply.

  “Let’s get some sleep, okay? We can talk about this tomorrow.”

  He nods once then marches to the couch. I remember doing the same thing to my mother when I didn’t like something she’d said. It turns out teenage boys aren’t so different than teenage girls. I use the bathroom, and when I come out five minutes later, I can hear his soft snores. I fall backwards onto the bed staring at the ceiling.

  “Where are you, Kasper?”

  I wake to a high-pitched trilling. It’s so loud I roll onto my side and cover my ears. Disoriented, I look around. An auction…a suite…Laticus! I jump to my feet, careening toward the living room. Laticus is standing by the window, looking down. His hair is disheveled and he’s shirtless. I have a brief moment of relief before I realize the noise hasn't stopped.

  “Fire alarm,” I say.
“We have to leave.”

  He nods and I can see the fear in his eyes. Eyes so much like Folsom’s. He’s just a boy, and he looks every bit of it right now. The same voice that greeted me yesterday speaks through the walls.

  “There is a fire in the building,” it says calmly. “You must exit immediately. Please proceed to the stairs.”

  I look around frantically. Where are the stairs? Where are the stairs?

  “Laticus, do you know where they are?”

  He shakes his head. Before I can take another step, a neon light appears on the floor, running a line straight across the kitchen and ending at a wall. I grab his hand and we follow it. The wall slides open as soon as we approach it and we walk through. Laticus looks at me with concern.

  “It’s a lot of stairs.”

  “I can do it,” I say, though I’m not sure I can. We’re nineteen floors up. My heart starts to race.

  “Here,” he says. “Take my arm and hold onto the railing. We’ll step together.”

  I have to stop several times to catch my breath. Laticus waits patiently for me while I close my eyes and try to ignore the cramping in my abdomen. We don’t see anyone else in the stairwell, and I don’t suppose we would since it’s the weekend. I wonder if guards were sent to the suite and if they’re after us now, but when I listen for the sound of footsteps, there are none.

  When we finally emerge onto the street ten minutes later there is a crowd gathered on the sidewalk, their heads tilted up toward the building we just ran from. Flames burst from a window high above our heads, angry orange, flicking toward the sky like snake tongues. I count the windows until I reach the fire. Nineteen. Floor nineteen.

  “It’s the Society,” I whisper to Laticus.

  No one has noticed his presence yet; they’re too distracted by the fire. He looks at me wide-eyed. My eyes travel around the street deciding what to do. I left everything in the suite, including Kasper’s button and my Silverbook. I groan inwardly, kicking myself for my stupidity when I feel a hand clench around my forearm.

  “Don’t say a word. Come with me,” a voice says in my ear. I reach for Laticus’ hand as I’m shoved forward, away from the people, away from safety.