The Twelve

58


Vale was gone, which could mean only one thing. Sara’s turn would come next.

Jenny had disappeared as well. Two days after the bombing in the stadium, a new girl had taken her place. Was she with them? No, Sara would have detected it. A message under the plate, an exchange of reassuring glances. Something. But the girl—pale, nervous, whose name Sara didn’t know and was never to learn—came and went in silence.

Lila had taken to her bed. All day long and into the night she tossed and turned. She roused only to bathe but shooed Sara’s offers of help away. Her voice was drained; even speaking seemed to require all her energy. “Leave me be,” she said.

Sara was alone, cut off. The system was collapsing.

She passed the days with Kate, but this time together felt different, final. The child could sense it too, as children did. What was the source of their powers of perception? Everything was colored by a mood of pointlessness. They played the usual games, not caring who won. Sara read the usual stories, but the child listened only vaguely. Nothing helped. The end of their time was approaching. The days were long and then too short. At night they slept together on the sofa, melded as one. The soft warmth of the girl’s body was torment. Sara lay awake for hours listening to her quiet breathing, drinking in her scent. What are you dreaming? she wondered. Are you dreaming of goodbye, as I am? Will we see each other again? Is there such a place? Holding Kate close, she remembered Nina’s words. We’ll get her out. Otherwise she has no chance. My child, thought Sara, I will do what I must to save you. I will go when asked. It’s the only thing I have.

On the third morning, Sara took Kate outside. The cold was biting, but she welcomed it. She pushed Kate on the swing for a time, then rode the teeter-totter with her. Kate had said nothing about Lila since the night Guilder had beaten her. Whatever cord had connected them had been severed. When the cold grew too fierce, they headed back inside. Just as they reached the door, Kate stopped.

“Somebody gave this to me,” she said, and showed Sara. In her hand was a pink plastic egg.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know. She was over there.”

Sara followed the girl’s gesture across the courtyard. There was no one. Kate shrugged. “She was there a second ago.”

For just a few minutes, not more than five, Sara had let Kate wander off by herself.

“She told me to give it to you,” Kate said, and held the egg out to her.

The woman had to be Nina, of course. Sara tucked the egg into the pocket of her robe. Her body felt numb. When Jenny had disappeared, she had allowed herself the faint hope that this burden would pass from her. How foolish she’d been.

“Let’s keep this a secret—would that be okay?”

“She said the same thing.” Then, her face brightening, Kate asked, “Is it a secret message?”

Sara did her best to smile. “That’s it exactly.”

She didn’t open the egg right away; she was afraid to. When they returned to the dark apartment, they found Lila lighting the candelabras with a long match. Her face was drained of color, her hair brittle and askew. She called them over to the sofa and held out a book.

“Would you read to me?”

Little Women: Sara opened the cover to a puff of dust from its yellowed pages.

“I haven’t heard this one in ages,” Lila sighed.

Sara was made to read for hours. Part of her mind registered the story as interesting, but the rest was in a fog. The language was difficult, and she often lost her place. Kate’s attention waned; eventually she fell asleep. It seemed entirely possible that Lila was going to make Sara read the entire book.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Sara said finally. “I’ll be right back.”

Before Lila could say anything, she stepped briskly to the lavatory and closed the door. She pulled up her robe and sat on the toilet and withdrew the egg from her pocket. Her heart was beating wildly. A flicker of hesitation; then she opened it and unfolded the paper.

The package is in the garden shed at the edge of the courtyard. Look beneath the floorboards to the left of the door. The target is the senior staff meeting in the conference room, tomorrow 1130 hrs. Take the central elevator to the fourth floor, then the first hallway on the right. The last door on the left is the conference room. Tell the guard that Guilder sent for you. Sergio lives.

She had returned the paper to the egg when there came an urgent rapping on the door. “Dani! I need you!”

“Just a second!”

The handle jiggled. Had she locked it?

“I have the key, Dani! Please, open the door!”

Sara lurched off the toilet, sending the egg skittering across the floor. Shit! The key was turning in the lock. She had just enough time to shove the egg into the bottom drawer of the vanity before turning to see Lila standing in the open doorway.

“All done,” she said. She heaved a smile onto her face. “What do you need, Lila?”

The woman’s face blanched with confusion. “I don’t know. I thought you’d gone somewhere. You scared me.”

“Well, I did. I went to the bathroom.”

“I didn’t hear the toilet flush.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Sara turned and pulled the chain. “That was rude of me.”

For a moment Lila said nothing. She seemed completely disconnected from reality.

“Could you do something for me? A favor.”

Sara nodded.

“I would like some … chocolate.”

“Chocolate.” What was chocolate? “Where would I get that?”

Lila stared incredulously. “The kitchen, of course.”

“Right. I guess that was obvious.” Maybe someone in the kitchen would know what Lila was talking about. Sara didn’t think it would be a good idea to come back empty-handed. “I’ll go right away.”

Lila’s face relaxed. “Anything would be fine. Even a cup of cocoa.” Her eyes unfocused; she gave a little sigh. “I always loved a cup of cocoa on a winter afternoon.”

Sara stepped from the apartment. How much had Lila seen? Why hadn’t Sara thought to flush the note down the toilet? Had she closed the drawer? She replayed the moment in the mind; yes, she had. There was no reason for Lila to go looking there, though to be safe, Sara would have to retrieve it before the serving girl returned.

The kitchen was located on the far side of the building; she’d have to cross the atrium, which was always full of cols. Still riding a wave of adrenaline, she aimed her eyes at the floor and made her way down the hall.

As she entered the lobby she became aware of a commotion. An attendant was being escorted by two guards, her pitiful cries amplified by the room’s expansive acoustics.

“Don’t! Please, I’m begging you! I’ll do better! Don’t take me to the basement!”

The woman was Karen Molyneau.

“Sara! Help me!”

Sara halted in her tracks. How could Karen see her face? And then she realized that she’d made the one fatal error, the one thing she could never forget to do. She’d neglected to pull down her veil.

“Sara, please!”

“Stop.”

The command had come from a third man. As he stepped forward, Sara recognized him immediately. The round belly, the fogged glasses riding the tip of his nose, the winglike eyebrows. The third man was Dr. Verlyn.

“You.” He was examining her face intently. “What’s your name?”

Her mouth had gone dry. “Dani, sir.”

“She called you Sara.”

“I’m sure she’s mistaken.” Her eyes flicked reflexively toward the exit. “I’m Dani.”

“Sara, why are you doing this?” Karen was wriggling like a fish in a net. “Tell them I’m no insurgent!”

Verlyn’s gaze hardened. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Oh, I remember you. The pretty one. I never forget a face, not one like yours.”

Sara bolted for the door. Three strides and she went blasting through it. She tore down the steps, into the sun and wind, shouts rising behind her. “Stop her! Stop that woman!” Where could she run to? But there was no place; cols were racing toward her from all directions, hemming her in like a tightening noose. Sara’s hand went to her pocket and found the little envelope of folded foil. Here it was, the end. She stopped on the path; there was no use running anymore—she had only a second or two. The package opened to reveal its lethal contents. She took the blotter between her thumb and index finger and raised it to her mouth. Goodbye, my child, how I love you, goodbye.

But it was not to be. As she brought the blotter to her lips, someone rammed her from behind, rocketing her off her feet; the ground fell away and rose again, slowly and then quickly and finally all at once, her skull collided with the pavement, and everything went black.





59


The three of them were lying with their bellies pressed to the upward slope of the culvert, Greer scanning the scene with the binoculars. The late afternoon sun was lighting fires in the clouds.

“You’re sure this is the place,” Amy said.

Alicia nodded. They had lain there for nearly three hours. Their attentions were focused on a wide-mouthed drainage pipe jutting from the base of a low hillside. The snow around the opening was crisscrossed with tire tracks.

The minutes passed. Alicia had begun to doubt herself when Greer raised his hand. “Here we go.”

A figure had emerged from the pipe, wearing a dark jacket. Man or woman, Alicia couldn’t tell. A scarf covered the lower half of the person’s face; a wool cap was pulled down to the tops of the eyes. The figure paused, looking south with a hand to its brow.

“Looks like he’s waiting for someone,” Greer said.

“How do you know it’s a man?” Alicia asked.

“I don’t.” Greer handed the binoculars to Amy, who pushed a strand of hair aside and pressed the lenses to her eyes. It was amazing to see, Alicia thought; in every aspect, even the smallest gesture, Amy was both the girl she’d always been and someone entirely new. As Greer told the story, Amy had gone into the belly of the ship, the Chevron Mariner, as one thing and had come out another. Even Amy couldn’t provide an explanation. To Alicia, the oddest thing about it was the fact that it didn’t seem odd at all.

“I can’t tell either. But whoever’s supposed to meet him is running late.” Amy drew down the binoculars. Beneath her oversized wool coat, she still wore the shapeless tunic of the Order. Her legs were covered in thick woven leggings, her feet shod in laced boots of crinkled leather. “If we’re going to find Sergio, I don’t think we’re going to get a better chance.”

Alicia nodded. “Agreed. Major?”

“No objection here.”

The only cover to conceal their approach was a line of brush on the east side of the pipe and a stand of bare trees on the hillside above it. Amy and Alicia left Greer to stand lookout and moved at a crouch along the culvert in opposite directions. Amy would take the right, at ground level; Alicia would drop down from above. Once they were in position, Greer would whistle, diverting the man’s attention, and they would make their move.

Everything unfolded according to plan. Alicia scuttled on her belly to the top of the pipe. The crown of the man’s capped head was right below her. From this angle, she wouldn’t be able to see Amy, but Greer would. She waited for the signal, then:

Where did he go?

Rising to her knees, Alicia rotated in time to receive his full weight slamming into hers. Not his weight. Hers. In an airborne embrace they tumbled over the lip, the woman crashing down upon her as Alicia landed on her back in the snow.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman had pinned Alicia’s arms with her knees and was holding a knife to her throat, the blade just nicking her skin. Alicia had no doubt that she would use it.

“Steady there. I’m a friend.”

“Answer the question.”

“Amy? A little help here?”

Amy had moved in from behind. Her approach had been absolutely soundless. Before the woman could react, Amy grabbed her by the collar and flung her sideways; as the woman leapt to her feet and lunged forward with the knife, Amy slapped it away, darted behind her, and locked her in a half nelson, the other arm gripping her around the waist. Alicia’s only thought was: I’ll be goddamned.

“Stop it,” Amy said. “We want to talk, that’s all.”

The woman spoke through gritted teeth. “Go to hell.”

“Don’t you think I could break your neck if I wanted to?”

“Be my guest. Tell Guilder I said, F*ck you, too.”

Amy glanced at Alicia, who had collected the woman’s knife and was dusting snow from her pants. Greer was trotting toward them. “Does that name mean anything to you?” Amy asked.

Alicia shook her head.

“Who’s Guilder?” she asked the woman.

“What do you mean, who’s Guilder?”

“What’s your name?” Amy asked. “You might as well tell me.”

A moment’s hesitation, then: “Nina, okay? It’s Nina.”

“I’m going to let you go now, Nina,” Amy said. “Promise me you’ll listen to what we have to say. That’s all I’m asking.”

“F*ck off.”

Amy tightened her grip to make the point. “Do. You. Promise.”

Another burst of struggle; then the woman relented. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

Amy released her. The woman stumbled forward and spun around. A young face, not much older than twenty, but her eyes told a different tale—hard, almost ferocious.

“Who are you people?”

“That was a nice move,” Alicia said to Amy. She twirled the knife around her index finger and passed it to her. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Where do you think? By watching you.” She pointed her eyes at Greer. His long beard was clotted with snow, like the muzzle of a dog. “Lucius, could I ask you to stand lookout again? Let us know when the vehicle approaches.”

“That’s all? Just let you know?”

“It would be good if you could … delay them a little. Until we’re done talking.”

Greer jogged up the ridge. Amy addressed the woman again, making a small but meaningful gesture with the knife. “Take a seat.”

Nina glared with defiance. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ll be more comfortable. This is going to take some time.” Amy slid the knife into her belt. I’m done with this, if you behave. “We’re not at all who you think we are. Now sit.”

Reluctantly, Nina lowered herself to the snow. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“I very much doubt that,” said Amy. “I believe you’ll tell me everything I need to know, once I explain what’s about to happen here.”


“I want to play with Dani!”

“Eva, sweetheart—”

The little girl’s face was flushed with anger. She snatched one of the leather cups off the floor and hurled it at Lila, missing narrowly.

“You go to bed!” Lila shouted. “You go to bed this instant!”

The girl was immovable. Her face was bright with loathing. “You can’t make me!”

“I’m your mother! You do as I say!”

“I want Dani!”

She had filled a hand with dry beans. Before Lila could react, the little girl reared back and launched them with astonishing, hate-fueled force into Lila’s face. More beans spattered on the floor behind her, a clattering rain. She leapt to her feet and began to tear through the apartment—yanking books from the shelves, batting things off tables, hurling pillows into the air.

“Stop it this instant!”

The girl picked up a large ceramic vase.

“Eva, no—”

The little girl heaved it over her head and brought it down like somebody slamming the trunk of a car. Not a crack but a detonation: the vase exploded into a million ricocheting shards.

“I hate you!”

Something was happening, something final. Lila knew this, just as she sensed, in a deeper layer of her brain, that all of this had happened before. But the thought went no further; the hard edge of something hit her head. The girl was throwing books.

“Go away!” she screamed. “I hate-you-I-hate-you-I-hate-you!”

But as Lila watched her mouth forming these terrible words, they seemed to be coming from somewhere else. They were coming from inside her head. She lurched forward and grabbed the little girl around the waist and hoisted her off her feet. The girl kicked and screamed, wriggling in Lila’s grip. All Lila wanted was—what? To calm the girl down? To get ahold of the situation? To silence the screaming that was tearing through her brain? For every ounce of force Lila applied, the girl replied in kind, shrieking at the top of her lungs, the scene ballooning to grotesque dimensions, a kind of madness, until Lila lost her footing, their combined centers of gravity tilted backward, and they went down hard, crashing into the dressing table.

“Eva!”

The little girl was scooting away from her. She came to a stop against the base of the sofa, glaring furiously. Why wasn’t she crying? Was she hurt? What had Lila done? Lila approached her on her hands and knees.

“Eva, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it …”

“I hope you die!”

“Don’t say that. Please. I’m begging you not to say that.”

And with these words tears came at last to the little girl’s eyes, though not tears of pain, or humiliation, or even fear. I will despise you forever. You are not my mother and never were, and you know that as well as I.

“Please, Eva, I love you. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

“Don’t say that! I want Dani!” Her tiny lungs expelled an amazing amount of sound. “I hate-you-I-hate-you-I-hate you!”

Lila clamped her hands over her ears, but nothing would block the child’s cries.

“Stop it! Please!”

“I-hope-you-die-I-hope-you-die-I-hope-you-die!”

Lila tore into the bathroom and slammed the door. But this accomplished nothing: the screaming seemed to come from everywhere, an obliterating roar. She fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. What was happening to her? My Eva, my Eva. What have I done, to make you hate me so? Her body shook with pain. Her thoughts were swirling, tumbling, shattering; she was a million broken pieces of Lila Kyle spread across the floor.

Because the girl wasn’t Eva. No matter how hard Lila wished to make it so, there was no Eva; Eva was gone forever, a ghost of the past. The knowledge poured through her like acid, burning the lies away. Go back, Lila thought, go back. But she could never go back, not anymore.

Oh, God, the terrible things she’d done! The terrible, awful, unpardonable acts! She wept and shook. She cried, as her father always said, stroking paint on his little boats, a river. She was an abomination. She was a stain of evil on the earth. Everything was revealed to her, everything was of a piece, time stopped and moved again in a reassembled continuum inside her, telling its history of shame.

I hope you die. I hope you die I hope you die I hope you die.

Then something else was happening. Lila found herself sitting on the edge of the tub. She had entered a state beyond volition; she chose nothing, everything was choosing her. She opened the tap. She dipped her hand into its current, watching the water flow through her fingers. So here it was, she thought. The dark solution. It was as if she’d always known; as if, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she’d been performing this final act, over and over, for a hundred years. Of course the tub would be the means. For hours she’d sunk into its warmth; whole decades had passed in its comforting immersion, its delicious erasure of the world, yet always it had whispered to her: Here I am. Lila, let me be your last deliverance. The steam swirled upward, clouding the room with its moist breath. A perfect calm encased her. She lit the candles, one by one. She was a doctor; she knew what she was doing. Soy médico. She stripped and examined her naked body in the mirror. Its beauty—for it was beautiful—filled her with memories: of being young, a child herself, emerging from the bath. You are my princess, her father had teased, rubbing her hair to dry it and hugging her in the soft warmth of a freshly laundered towel. You are the fairest in the land. The recollections flowed through the water. She was a child, and then a teenager, in her blue taffeta dress with a fat corsage pinned to the shoulder, each picture morphing into the next until finally she beheld a woman, full of maturely youthful strength, standing before the mirror in her mother’s wedding gown. The bodice of delicate lace, the descending curtain of shimmering white silk: how her life in all its promise had seemed captured in that image. Today is the day I will marry Brad. Her hand fell to her belly; the wedding dress was gone, replaced by a vaporous nightgown. A morning sun was streaming through the windows. She turned and, in profile, cupped the voluptuous curve of her belly. Eva. That’s who you’ll be; that is who you are. I will name you Eva. The steam was rising, the tub nearly full.

Brad, Eva, I am coming. I have been away too long. I am coming to be with you now.

Three blue lines pulsed at the base of each wrist: the cephalic vein, winding upward around the radial border of the forearm; the basilic, commencing in the dorsal venous network before ascending the posterior surface of the ulnar side to join the vena mediana cubiti; the accessory cephalic, arising from the tributory plexus to merge with the cephalic at the back of the elbow. She needed something sharp. Where were the scissors? The ones Dani, and all the others who had come before, employed to trim her hair? She tried one drawer of the vanity and then the next, and when she came to the bottom, there they waited, gleaming with sharpness.

But what was this?

It was an egg. A plastic Easter egg, like the ones she’d hunted in the grass when she was just a girl. How she’d loved the ritual: the wild dash over the field, her little basket swinging in her hand, the dew on her feet and the slow accumulation of treasure, her mind envisioning the great white rabbit whose nocturnal visitation had left behind this bounty. Lila cupped the egg in her palm. She felt the faintest rattling within. Could it be …? Was it possible …? But what else could it be?

There was only one answer. Lila Kyle would die with the taste of chocolate on her tongue.