Imitation (17 page)

The lobby is crowded with arrivals and
coat-checkers. People waiting for their partners crane their necks
to see out into the night, searching for a specific face that has
yet to arrive. I skip all of this, knowing Titus is not far behind
me and not wanting to suffer through his escort. I hurry forward
until my shoulder bumps another. I wince and am driven sideways
half a step before I turn apologetically to the other
party.

“
Sorry,” I say, though I
realize as I utter the word it is not what Authentic Raven would
say.

“
No, it’s my fault.” The
speaker is a boy with dark hair and even darker eyes. His frame is
slight and bony, decidedly feminine.

The contrast of his features against
his creamy skin is all too familiar on this handsome stranger in a
tailored suit. I know his face in an instant, though I’ve never
seen it before, and it shakes me to my core. The pain in my body
fades against the seizing in my chest. It can’t be …

This boy in front of me with porcelain
skin and a sing-song voice—he is her. She is him. However
impossible, this is Ida’s Authentic.

“
Are you all right?” he
asks.

Before I can answer, recognition
dawns, and he blurts, “Raven, uh—Miss Rogen, apologies! I had no
idea it was you.” The way his shoulders slouch inward makes him
look small and afraid. Like her. That, more than anything, jolts me
out of my shock.

“
It’s nothing,” I assure
him. “What’s your name?”

“
Obadiah Whitcomb. I’m so
sorry for bumping you. It won’t happen again. I swear I’ll be more
careful.”

Obadiah. Ida. Does he know she exists
for him? Or does the sweetness in his words reflect the pureness of
heart that is inherently Ida? “It’s fine, Obadiah, really. I’m not
upset.”

“
You’re not?” His eyes
narrow in suspicion and I can see the faint hint of black liner
around them. As if it’s been washed off but only recently and not
very well.

“
No.” I smile at him as
the tightness in my chest loosens. I am elated to have found a
familiar face and I do not care what Titus will say. “You and I,
we’re going to be friends.”

“
We are?” He sounds less
afraid, though still suspicious.

I nod. “Best friends.”

“
Why? You’ve never spoken
to me before.”

“
Have we met
before?”

“
We … haven’t spoken.
Different circles.”

I know it’s his way of saying
Authentic Raven would never speak to this doe-eyed boy but I don’t
care. I will have this one thing. “Well, consider us in the same
circle now.”

He cocks his head. “I heard you had an
accident. Did you sustain brain damage?”

I laugh and it’s so foreign, I let it
go on longer than normal just to savor the sound. “No brain damage.
Just … more appreciative of life, I guess.”

“
Obadiah! I told you to
get inside and mingle. You are not sitting on the sidelines for
this one. Not again,” a man snaps from across the foyer. His face
is pinched into a snarl that seems almost permanent.

“
On my way, Dad. I was
just chatting with Ms. Rogen here.” Obadiah puts emphasis on my
name. His father tenses.

“
Sorry, sir,” I say,
turning on the charm that only exists because it’s been hardwired
into my DNA. “It’s completely my fault for bumping Obadiah and then
holding him up, making him talk to me.”

The man looks momentarily baffled.
“Right, well, when you’re finished …” His words have lost their
bite and he retreats.

Obadiah turns to me with the ghost of
a smile. “Huh. Well, regardless of your reasons, having you as a
friend may be useful if it shuts my dad up.”

“
Your dad is Senator
Whitcomb?”

“
The one and only.” His
head tilts sideways at my expression. “What’s wrong?”

I hesitate, unsure how much to say
about what I know. This is the man Daniel and Titus spoke of, the
one they are elevating to power if only he will swing the vote in
their favor. The vote on banning the poor from uptown, removing the
less fortunate to the outer rim of the city.

This is the man they will use as their
puppet. If not, they will replace him. Until this moment, I wasn’t
sure what that meant. But now, staring at this boy who is every
inch his Imitation, I know.

Titus means to replace Senator
Whitcomb with his Imitation. And there is only one way he would
have the power to speak so confidently about a move like that.
Suddenly, all of his comments, the knowledge he’s displayed of the
City—it all makes perfect sense. My subconscious knew it from the
first moment.

Titus is the creator.

Twig City belongs to him.

I belong to him.

A thousand thoughts pass through my
mind. Of risk and uncertainty and fear. Of position and power and
what he’s capable of. None of which I can let show on my face.
Obadiah is waiting for me to say something. And I still have to be
her for the night. I can’t be me just yet. I can’t feel all of
these things. Later, I tell myself. Not now.

“
I’ve heard your father
has been very successful in garnering support for his campaign,” I
say.

Obadiah grunts. “No thanks to me, I
guess. He’s made it pretty clear I only make his life in politics
harder. Hence this stuffy suit and clean-cut ’do. Not my usual
style.”

I think of Ida and wonder who chose
her to be this boy’s Imitation. Or why. But I do not
ask.

I grimace. “Not my style, either,” I
say, gesturing to my dress.

He gives me a once over. “I know.
Usually, you have much more skin showing. Although wearing your
hair down looks a lot nicer than its usual twists.”

I realize I’ve made another error but
I don’t care. Not with Obadiah. He is too much like Ida for me to
worry. I already love him, although he doesn’t understand. Or trust
me. I am determined to rectify the latter. Especially now, knowing
who Titus is and that there’s absolutely no escaping.

I lean in and lower my voice. “I have
a confession. The head injury did something to me. I have temporary
amnesia.”

“
Explains why you want to
be my friend.”

Senator Whitcomb appears again, not
quite as vicious but intent nonetheless. I wave at him cheerily and
he relaxes, but he doesn’t move from his spot. He stares pointedly
at Obadiah.

“
Looks like it’s time to
go inside,” Obadiah says.

“
Come on. Let’s get this
stupid party over with.” I hook an arm through his and let him lead
me in.

We’re in the ballroom less than thirty
seconds before a boy approaches us. He is tall and light haired and
has a cocky smile that is a little mean when it lands on Obadiah. I
tighten my grip on my new friend and stand my ground, mustering the
courage and calm of the girl I’m supposed to be.

“
Who is that?” I whisper
to Obadiah.

“
Caine Rafferty. Shameless
player. Unapologetic asshole,” he whispers back.

The boy stops in front of me. “Hey,
Rav, what’s new?”

He ogles the neckline of my dress in a
way that makes me think he is disappointed. I feel the heat of
anger creeping into my cheeks. When I don’t answer, Obadiah nudges
me with his elbow.

“
Mm, not much, Caine.
What’s new with you?” I say, letting my voice drawl in a way that I
imagine
she
does.

He glances at Obadiah again as he
says, “Dance with me, kitten. It’s been too long.”

I bristle at the use of the nickname.
It is the same thing Daniel called me and I’m not sure what that
means except that Authentic Raven must prefer it—and not be shy in
saying so. “Let me make the rounds and then I’ll find
you.”

“
You’re turning down a
dance? Are you feeling all right?”

I can feel his suspicion and I know
that somewhere in this room, Titus is watching. I suppress a sigh
and offer him my hand, sliding it free of Obadiah’s. “I’ll find you
later,” I whisper to him as Caine leads me away. I cannot hear
Obadiah’s response.

The dance floor is mostly
empty. Caine leads us to the very center and then wraps his arms
around me and pulls my body tight against his. I react, channeling
both myself and
her
when I smack him on the arm and yank away.

“
Caine, this is not the
place or time,” I say. I leave what I hope is enough sultry in my
voice to balance the anger.

“
Then what is?” he
whispers in my ear. “Name it, kitten, I’m there.”

I scowl and step back, allowing more
space between us when I re-enter his hold. I don’t answer the
question and he merely laughs at my silence. Maybe it’s something
he’s used to.

Obadiah watches from beside the bar.
He looks worried as he sips on some dark-colored drink. I spin
again and lose him in the crowd, only to find Titus watching from
another angle. He is locked in conversation with a man whose back
is turned to me, but his eyes aren’t on the man, they are on
me.

As I scan the faces, I
realize many of the guests are watching our dance. Authentic Raven
is the center of attention. I have forgotten that.
She
hasn’t. I let
her
take over, knowing
Titus needs a show. I swallow the bitterness in my throat and
prepare to give it to him.

The next time Caine spins me, I twirl
faster, tilting my head back in enjoyment, and let my dress flare
out around me. I fall hard into the circle of his arms. The rough
contact sends a tremor through my bruised body. To cover the pain,
I pull him close and hang on tight. He takes it for the invitation
it is, pulling me against him so that our bodies touch from chest
to knees. We sway suggestively until the song ends.

I feel the attention, the whispers,
and I know this is what it’s like to be Raven Rogen.

The next hour is filled
with dancing. Every song brings a new face cutting in, another body
pressing to mine. I learn through snatches of comments that most
are sons of senators and politicians. They all seem very familiar
with Raven Rogen. Intimate, even. I shove aside those thoughts—or
any that take me out of character. For now, it is easier to
be
her
.

I dance. I laugh. I brush against them
as we sway. I openly stare with heavy lids and I am quick to give a
sultry smile. It should scare me that I am capable of being this
person—that I am capable of losing myself so
effortlessly.

I steal glances at Titus throughout
the night and when I can no longer spot him in the crowd, I
disentangle myself from a protesting boy whose name I cannot
remember and exit the dance floor. I slip through cracks in milling
bodies until I can no longer hear the boy’s complaints behind me.
Obadiah disappeared from view a few songs ago, so I wander
aimlessly until I catch sight of a set of open French doors that
lead onto a patio. The idea of fresh air is too enticing to pass
up, even if it means getting cornered by another would-be dance
partner with wandering hands.

I pass through the doorway into the
crisp darkness. A few people stand about, mostly couples, taking in
the view of the gardens below us. I wander as far away from them as
I can, into a darkened corner where the white string-lights don’t
quite reach. The thick railing is cold underneath my palms. I soak
it in, letting it cool me.

I’ve grown warm from the dancing. My
hair is wrapped around my neck, a necessary curtain. It feels
sticky and itchy against my skin. I pull it away and wrap it around
one hand, enjoying the air on my bare skin.

“
You shouldn’t do that.
People are watching.”

I drop my hair and twist around.
“Linc.”

I have to squint to see him. He is
tucked deep in a corner I didn’t realize was there. He is dressed
in dark slacks and a jacket, no tie. His hair has been combed out
of its gentle waves into something more deliberate. He looks
handsome.

“
I didn’t know you were
here,” I say.

“
I got switched to crowd
control. Titus wanted to escort you himself.”

I think back to why Titus wanted to
see me. To inspect me. To gauge my level of pain and injury and
know how I’d hold up, how well I’d play my part. Between the role
I’ve played tonight and the realization of my hopeless connection
with Titus, tears well.

“
Are you all right?” he
asks.

My muscles ache, my feet are numb, and
it is tempting to let the tears fall. I feel safe enough with Linc
to allow it, but I know he would feel a need to avenge them even
without fully understanding what they mean, and that is something I
cannot allow. So, I swallow them back.

“
Raven?”

The sound of a name that is not my own
grates on me. Somehow, it’s worse coming from Linc’s lips than
anyone else’s. I wish I could make him call me Ven. But that is a
silly and impossible sort of wish.

“
I’m fine,” I say. My
voice trembles. He takes a step toward me and I hold a hand out to
stop him. In my attempt to steady my voice, it becomes steely. “I
need to get back inside. People will be looking for me.”