I want to snarl at him, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “What are you planning to do?” My voice is even, cool. I’m proud of that.
“To you?” He picks up a syringe of Verve. “I’m going to plug you in, but I’ve programmed this Vervescape a little differently. It’s extra potent, and not a mix you’d find in any lounge.” I swallow. He’s the man who invented both Zeal and Verve. He can do almost anything he wants, for he knows the code and the pharmacology better than anyone alive.
He considers the syringe. “Who else but me could reprogram personalities and brain chemistries? Who else could take timid, shy Adam and turn him into Adam, a killer on command?
“I’ve programmed this particular world here so that instead of you enacting the violence, the violence is enacted against you. Your own personal little hell. It’s how I execute those who really disappoint me. And, Taema, for all your cleverness, you’ve disappointed me.” He gestures to his right and I see a third empty Chair. “I’ll be joining you.”
He’s going to torture me. I think of Mia and her scalpel. False Mana-ma’s soundless, tongueless, painful scream. It’s as if I’m made of stone. I want to scream, cry, piss myself, laugh hysterically, but I can’t do a thing.
I turn my head. Nazarin’s awake, his open eyes locked on me. I can’t contact Nazarin through my implants because of the blocked signal. I try my restraints, but they’re stuck fast.
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.