“Have you not?” He smiles in a way that makes me wonder, with a sickening feeling, if he knows about Tila and Vuk already. If he knows everything.
I force myself to appear calm and collected, like I haven’t just completely lost it in that white room. But how was that possible? It seemed so real. Not even virtual reality games were that realistic. Only the Zealscape. I shudder. “Did you drug me?”
“A little.”
“What with?” The thought of being drugged without my permission or knowledge is unnerving, to say the least.
“A Verve derivative.” My breath catches. That derivative doesn’t need a Chair. I feel invaded.
He smiles, as if amused by my distress. “If he had been a real person, you would likely have killed him just the same.”
I feel very cold. “Did I pass your Test?”
He smiles. “You did. You didn’t hesitate to do what’s necessary. Many who move up the ranks traditionally would have come across this situation in different ways. Your situation is … unique. After all, we’re already well acquainted, aren’t we? This was really just a formality.” He moves closer to me and holds out his arms, expecting me to go into them, as I have before. Or so he thinks.
Oh. Shit.
What if this is a trap? If I pretend to recognize that closeness, am I caught, or is it the other way around? The questions whizz through my mind, as quickly as possible. I don’t have long, so I choose, praying that I’m right.
I step into his arms. “Ensi,” I murmur.
The arms wrap around me, strong and muscular. He’s a head taller than me, and rests his lips on the top of my head. It’s strangely tender. I’m shaking, but hopefully he thinks it’s from the aftermath of the Test rather than the fact I’m terrified of him.
I’d thought my sister had met him before, or at least seen him, close enough to sketch him well. Now it seems my sister’s done significantly more than that.
Goddammit, Tila. She couldn’t just infiltrate the Ratel, she had to go and sleep with the leader of it? There was no mention of it in her notes. This makes everything about ten times harder.
Or it might make things easier, depending how I play it. My mind whirrs, scheming and plotting just like my sister’s would have.
“So what now?” I ask, smiling, although I’m hoping that he doesn’t expect me to jump into bed with him anytime soon. I may be able to fake Tila, but I’m not sure I’m that good an actress.
He smiles, full of secrets. I look at his hands, long and thin. With a twitch of his little finger, he could order my death. He’s responsible for so much misery. Yet he’s still oozing charisma as he holds my upper shoulder, and I feel caught in his trap and angry that there’s no easy way out of this.
Shiny, silvery bait.
He leads me out of the white room into another across the hall. Here, everything is comfortingly modern. The room is warm, decorated in oranges and browns. I perch on a chair, crossing my legs and folding my arms. It’s a defensive body posture, but I can’t help but try to barricade myself against him.
I have two options: I can plead illness and hope he lets me leave and go home. Or I can be Tila.
She’s done this. She’s trapped him with all her grace and sex appeal. She’s someone who stops at nothing to get what she wants. I could do the same and ride this out and see what happens.
As soon as I make the decision that this is what I’m going to do, I relax.
I slouch back, leaning on an elbow. The man sitting across from me is more powerful than the mayor of San Francisco, and maybe even the president of Pacifica.
Out of the corner of my eye I think I spy a spot of blood on my silver jumpsuit, but it’s just a play of the light from the false fireplace. I blink, willing the memory of the bloodbath, the bodies, away, but the smell of my own vomit still lingers. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. I really wouldn’t mind some mouthwash.
“So, now that I’ve passed your Test, what happens next?” I ask, my voice teasing. I can’t be scared. Tila never seemed scared, no matter how difficult things were. She seemed so calm when we ran away from the Hearth. Her strength was what got us out of there. Without her I wouldn’t have made it. Now it’s my turn to rescue her.
Ensi pours two glasses of what looks like whiskey and passes it to me. I drink it, more to get rid of the lingering taste of vomit in my mouth than anything else. Of course, it’s not Synth. I don’t know enough about whiskey to guess at the type, but I’m sure it’s one of the most expensive to be found in San Francisco.