Flawed (Flawed, #1)

“She thinks that I can help with that?”


Alpha smiles again, liking my na?veté, but I’m learning fast. “No, she’ll use you to get that; and if you fail, she’ll find something else to get behind, like package holidays to Mars.”

“So I shouldn’t trust her.”

“That’s not what I said. You can trust her as long as you’re aware of where she stands. She’s using you, you use her right back. I’m surprised she hasn’t made contact yet.” It’s a statement, but I know she’s questioning me.

I shake my head.

“Soon, I imagine.”

The idea of this scares me.

“Don’t worry, I’ll coach you. Anything you need to know, you ask me, okay?”

I nod, but I’m unsure. At this point, I don’t feel like I can trust anybody. Alpha is no different, and she senses this.

“Yes, I’m using you, too,” she admits. “I’ve an agenda, too. I’ve opinions and beliefs that I want to see come through. You’re the girl of the moment. With a bit of guidance, you’re the one who can make it happen.”

“Why do you believe in this so strongly?”

“My husband is Flawed. His temple and tongue.”

Bad judgment and a liar.

“He made an ethical mistake at work. Got caught. He was a rising man in the ranks, with great prospects and a bright future, so they put a stop to that and made an example of him.”

“Why was the Guild so threatened by him?”

“Interesting, Celestine. You asked why the Guild was so threatened.… You recognize that’s what’s happening. That’s good. Let’s continue.”

She continues showing me the landscape, which she believes has been opened up because of my actions on the bus and my responses on the stand.

“Compassion and logic. I loved that,” she says, banging her hand down on the table and grinning. “Did it take you long to come up with that, or did someone else write it for you? Was it that Mr. Berry? Some believe that, but I don’t. It’s not his style.” She moves in, hanging on my every word to come. “Who wrote that line?”

I frown. “No one wrote anything. It just came out.”

She shakes her head, incredulously. “Marvelous. We need more of that. You know word is that Enya is going to use that as the Vital Party’s campaign logo. Compassion and Logic: The Perfect Partnership. Vote Vital Party.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“I know. It’s a lot to take in, but we need more of that stuff; and if you think of any more like that, just write it down. I can find a way to use it. So what else … you’re looking a little dazed, maybe I’ll move on to math, something you’re familiar with. For now, anyway…” She rummages around for the schedule. “We better do something on this list today, to help you out with dear sweet Mary May’s lie detector test.”

“You know her?”

“She was responsible for my sister-in-law and her husband going to prison for aiding my husband. They helped him break a couple of rules, and they’re locked up for four years each. I wouldn’t mess with her. She looks like a bird, but she bites like a lion. They mean business when they place her with you. She’s the most senior in her position. She eats, sleeps, lives being a Whistleblower. Knows more than any of them put together, which isn’t a lot, but she’s the control center.”

This is the first I’ve heard of people going to prison for aiding. Before this, it was just a threat. And it was a very real threat to me. Two years for aiding Clayton Byrne to his seat, or Flawed. “I’m sorry to hear about your family.”

She waves her hand dismissively again and doesn’t even look up from the paperwork.

“Is there a reason why you tattooed your stomach?”

This unsettles her a bit, but she rises to the challenge. “I’ve had six miscarriages in four years. My womb won’t carry a baby, not full term anyway. Believe me, we’ve tried. And don’t say sorry again, it’s not your fault.” She looks at the schedule again and then drops it and slows down. I know she’s going to open up. “The tattoo is there not because I believe there is something wrong with me. It’s there to remind me that our flaws are our strengths. It was this that made me start my foundation. Not being able to conceive my own, I looked into adoption. Specifically, I’ve tried to adopt an F.A.B. child over the years, but I have been unsuccessful. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t know,” she says. “You know all about this from your Flawed At Birth friend, I’m sure. Carrick, isn’t that his name?”

Now she has my attention.





FIFTY-FOUR

Cecelia Ahern's books