False Hearts (34 page)

“The government still wants to take us down,” I say, though even pretending to be a part of the Ratel sets my teeth on edge, “but we already knew that.”

Malka smiles. “Good girl.”

“I’m right?”

“On the right track, in any case.” She stands, and I mimic the smooth movement. “We already knew you were a fine dreamsifter. We’ll up the stakes a little next time. You’ll have grown more used to his dreams by then, and will be able to make one little suggestion.”

“Of what?” I ask, my stomach twisting in dread as I give her a plastic smile.

“Next time is time enough.” She leans back. “I had my doubts, but I think Ensi was right about you.”

What a backhanded compliment. I stretch my plastic smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she says. She drifts closer, puts her hand on my face. I force myself not to stiffen. “I have to show you what happens to little birds who chirp. Just in case.”

She takes my hand and leads me from the room. I take a last look at Mantel before the door closes. He’s panting, low, animalistic, rhythmic. Lost in the throes of Verve, where sex is better, and even memories of threats make you smile.

*   *   *

Another soundproof room. Outside the door, Malka takes a sword in a sheath from a hook on the wall with a familiarity that terrifies me. I play with my necklace, turning the brain recording on again.

Inside the room is another face I recognize from Tila’s sketchbook. A woman named Nuala. She’s small, dainty. She has pale skin and her hair is a lilac and gunmetal gray. She looks like a pixie from a fantasy film.

She looks terrified.

“Hello, Nuala,” Malka says, as if they’re about to have tea. “How nice to see you.”

Malka unsheathes the sword. It looks ancient. Nuala squeaks and pushes herself back in the corner, as if that could make any sort of difference. Whatever’s about to happen won’t be pretty, and I won’t be able to do anything to stop it. I clamp down tight on my emotions. The only way to get through this is to be a robot. My knees are still shaking.

“Nuala, this is Tila. Your replacement. Tell her your crime.”

Nuala bows her head. I stare at the straight parting of her hair. Every muscle in my back is so tight I fear if I move, they’ll break.

“I squeaked,” she whispers.

“Yes, you did. And who to?”

“The police.” Another whisper.

If anything, my muscles go tighter. She knows. She has to. I’m not a replacement at all. The Queen is going to kill both of us in this soundproof room and nobody will hear our screams. I force myself to stay quiet, my breathing even. My mechanical heartbeat thrums, steady and strong. I still have the headache and the fist of nausea in my stomach. All of this is recording. Even if I die, Kim will get this. Hopefully.

“That you did.”

Malka hefts the sword.

“I prefer to do this the old-fashioned way,” Malka says conversationally. “This is from the twelfth century. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

It is, in a horrific way. The metal blade is scratched with time, but its edges are still sharp. Emeralds embellish the hilt.

Nuala is crying. “Please,” she says. “Please.”

It’s a useless plea. Malka drifts closer, the light overhead catching on the blade. She’s stalking her prey. Nuala pushes back into the wall as hard as she can and starts screaming for help. Nobody can hear her but me, and I clasp my hands over my ears. My resolve breaks and I hear the rough sobs from my throat. I want to shield Nuala with my body, but I know it won’t protect her. And I’m too much of a coward. I’m not Tila. Tila would rush Malka and disarm her, consequences be damned.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes, Tila,” Malka says, her words almost singsong. “You need to understand just how imperative it is to keep your goddam little mouth shut.”

I open my eyes wide, afraid to blink.
Don’t look away.

Nuala keeps screaming, a high banshee wail. Malka presses the point of the blade through the hollow of her throat. Nuala’s screams cut short.

Blood stains the white uniform, falling in a crimson tide down her front. It was quick, at least. No torture. No scalpels like in Mia’s dream.

Malka draws the sword out, wiping the blood off with the end of Nuala’s tunic. The girl’s eyes stare straight ahead, still shining with tears. Her beautiful hair is matted with blood. Malka looks down, and all the anger has fled from her face. She looks serene, as if she’s come out of the dreamscape, wiped clean of her bloodlust, at least for a time.

“Now you see what happens if you cross us.”

“Did I not already see that at Xanadu?” I whisper. I wish this could be a Verve hallucination like the original Test, but it’s not.

“Nothing like a repeat lesson to drive it home.” She comes closer to me, until I can smell her perfume under the iron tang of blood. It smells of incense, dark and smoky. She pauses scant inches from me. I can see each perfect pore in her face, the glitter of her eyeshadow.

She’s close enough to kiss me. I feel the tip of my tongue touch the false-crowned molar. It’s meant for Ensi, but would it harm her, too?

“And I don’t know if I trust you,” she murmurs. “See, I liked Nuala. This, this was the kindest way. If you betray us, you won’t be so lucky.

“I’m not sure what he sees in you, or what he wants from you. Whatever it is, he’ll get it, little canary,” she whispers to me. “At the moment you’re interesting. He’s still figuring out what he really wants from you. And, once he gets it, you’ll be obsolete. If I were you, I’d make sure I was useful elsewhere, and prove myself trustworthy. To him. And especially to me. Or else you’ll find you’ll never flee your cage.”

She stays that way, almost nose to nose, staring into me. I worry that she can see everything—my treachery, my fear.

After a moment, an age, she pulls away, putting the sword back in its sheath, like an avenging Valkyrie. I don’t want to be against her, because I fear I’d have no chance.

She smiles at me as if she knows this, and then she leaves. I press the hollow of my throat three times, try not to look at the corpse of Nuala, and trail after her.

*   *   *

Back at the safe house, I can’t stop shaking.

I don’t cry, but I want to. So I sit in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, simply shivering. Nazarin sits next to me. I’ve told him everything that happened. We’ve transferred both of our recordings to Kim’s server. We told her not to watch them. I didn’t want her to see that girl murdered. It might remind her of what happened to her wife, just because she came too close to her quarry on what seemed to be just one more case.

“Do you know who Veli is?” I ask. Something about Malka’s body language made me think it was important.

“No. I’ll ask my superior, see if he knows anything.”

We trail off again. Nazarin’s eyes go distant and he pings his superior. His fingers dance as he types in the air. I lean against him, his arm warm against mine. It helps ground me. My eyes drift closed, and despite everything that’s happened, I doze.

A time later, Nazarin gently shakes me awake.

“What is it?” I ask. My brain is fuzzy. Memories of Nuala come back, and I want to vomit.

“My superior looked up the name, but it was classified. Even for him.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Yes. He’s gained access now, though, and he can share it with us.”

“All right.”

Nazarin gets up and brings back two glasses of water. I gulp mine down. He takes a breath. “Veli was once CEO of Sudice, Inc.,” Nazarin says. “Veli Carrera. Alex Mantel’s father, Peter Mantel, and Carrera started Sudice. They created Zeal. After Peter died, Alex ousted Carrera, wanting Sudice to be a family-run affair. Carrera didn’t take it well. Alex thought it was dangerous to leave Carrera … untethered, and so he tried to kill him, hiring a hitman, probably hired from the Ratel. But Veli Carrera escaped and found his way into the mob. He changed his face so that no one would find him. The SFPD think that he worked his way up from the bottom and became … Ensi.”

I let that sink in. “So Ensi is the man who helped invent Zeal in the first place. It explains why he was able to fabricate Verve. He has the technical foundation. It also explains why he’s interested in weakening Zeal’s hold on the city and replacing it with Verve. They can break down the city, and hurt Sudice in the process.”

“Exactly.”

“So many layers and secrets.”

“I told you. The further undercover you go, the more there seem to be.”

We lapse into silence.

“I think he might be coming up with a form of Verve that doesn’t need a Chair and implants,” I say carefully. “He dosed me with Verve, I think, before the Test.”

“Easier to dose large numbers of people that way, or in places they don’t expect.” Nazarin rubs his face.

“He’ll be able to peek into everyone’s heads at will. No secrets. Not from him.”

“Exactly.” Nazarin sighs. “One good thing, I suppose. Ensi’s asked me to be his bodyguard. That drop from the Hearth? I’m going to be right there by his side, with a perfect view to record everything.” He taps his temple.

“One good thing, good being relative,” I say. “After the drop, I think we need to duck out. This is growing too dangerous.”

“I agree completely. If we can find out what the Hearth is delivering, prove Ensi is receiving illicit material, and that Alex Mantel is involved, that’s enough that we can bring the force of the law down on the Ratel. We’re not needed after that.”

“Just until the drop,” I say, in almost a sigh.

“Just until then.”

Then it’s over.

*   *   *

Monday ends. Tuesday passes in a blur of last-minute preparation and too little sleep. Then it’s Wednesday. The drop will happen at midnight.

Nazarin will be there, guarding the King. I’ll be on my own, trying to move close enough to watch and record from another angle. Nazarin said I didn’t have to go, that he could do it alone; but I can’t back out now, not when we’re so very close to the end. If there’s anything connected to the Hearth, I’m the best person to figure out what it is and who’s behind it on the other side of the bay.

Yesterday was a long day. I didn’t have to go to the Verve lounge, at least, and with luck, I’ll never have to set foot there again. It was more training, more last-minute information. I picked through the information on Veli Carrera, or Ensi in a previous life, wondering what he was like back then. Sudice betrayed him, but he didn’t have to turn to crime. Yet he did.

Now it’s Wednesday. The last night of having to do this.

No more watching people’s Verve dreams. No more pretending to be Tila and losing more of the Taema I used to be each day. No more putting myself in danger.

That’s the plan.

The King of the Ratel doesn’t often get his hands dirty, but it seems he’ll attend this drop personally. It’s clever that Ensi stays out of things as much as possible. Nazarin has seen so many crimes over the past year in his time with the Ratel; but it’s always other people. If they were arrested, nothing would really change. They’d be replaced the next day, and Ratel business would continue as usual. We still only have proof of Malka killing someone. We don’t have direct proof of Ensi doing anything illegal. Hopefully, in fifteen minutes, we will.

The pier appears abandoned, but the Ratel own it, and no one trespasses. The cranes, built in water, tower over us like strange mechanical beasts. Dotted around the pier are reinforced docks, stacked with rusting cargo bins. I’m hidden behind one, dressed in a black Kalar suit. I’ve been here half an hour, waiting and watching; Nazarin gave me a gun, now tucked into the small of my back. The air is cold, and I shiver. The green glow of the algae in the water lends everything a sickly tinge, but it’s enough light for me to see.

They haven’t arrived yet. I worry that I’ve messed up and read the notebook wrong, or that Ensi changed it at the last moment and Nazarin couldn’t tell me.

Off to my right is movement. There they are. I push the hollow of my throat three times. The headache returns, worse than it was at the Verve lounge. I nearly throw up the scant meal I had a few hours earlier. I bend over, breathing hard, before I peer out around the crate. It’s a man, tall and muscle-bound, patrolling the perimeter. There’s Nazarin, standing next to other muscle-bound men. Waiting. The men begin to patrol. I press myself into the shadows.

I can see Ensi’s profile, his hair in disarray from the wind. He’s standing with just one or two other people. The lights of the ships pulse overhead as they slip into the Ferry Building. Ensi’s body language is impatient.

There it is.

A ship that looks almost identical to the supply ships that came once a month to Mana’s Hearth drops down, its engines flaring. The light illuminates Ensi’s face in the green fog. He’s smiling to himself.

I’m so focused on him that I don’t notice that a bodyguard by Ensi’s side has gone missing.

By the time I feel the prick of the needle in my neck, it’s too late.

All grows dark.

TWENTY-SIX

TAEMA

I wake up groggy and hurting. I’m strapped into a Chair, like the ones I’ve seen in the Ratel warehouse the last few days, unable to move.

Nazarin is in another Chair next to me, but he’s still out cold.

Unlike the bulky Chairs of the safe house and Zeal and Verve lounges, these have no wires. There are only little electrodes resting against my skin, like during the Test. The Chair is little more than a prop and a way to restrain me.

Ensi sits across from me, legs crossed, eyes staring into the distance as he reads something on his feed. When he sees me move my head, he gives me his full attention.

His face is smooth as still water, his gaze frigid. As if he’s never met me before, never danced with me, never unzipped that catsuit. I’m intensely grateful I didn’t end up needing to sleep with him, so there is not that extra layer of guilt and betrayal.

“Good evening,” Ensi says, as if we’re sitting across from each other at a dinner party. His mannerisms are similar to Malka’s. Unfailingly polite, even as they’re about to commit cold-blooded murder.