Imitation (18 page)

Even in the darkness I can sense his
anger. His shoulders stiffen and he straightens out of his slouch.
“Yeah, you don’t want to keep your fans waiting. You’re in high
demand in there.”

His condescension makes me angry.
“It’s a warmer welcome than I’m getting out here.”

“
Is that what you’re
after, a warm welcome? Or a warm body? It’s hard to know the
difference with you.”

I feel the heat creeping up my neck
and into my cheeks. I hate that he can be so hot one minute and so
cold the next. “Either way, it’s not your concern, is
it?”

I spin and take a step back toward the
light of the party, but I can’t control the wince that creeps onto
my face at my sore muscles. Now that I’ve stopped the constant spin
of the dance, the full extent of my injuries has caught up with me.
I feel ten times worse than I did this morning. The thought of
walking back inside, being forced to dance and smile and mingle, is
excruciating. As proof, I stumble.

“
Raven?” Linc is by my
side in an instant, his voice gentle, his hand on my elbow leading
me back into the safety of the shadows.

“
I need a minute,” I
whisper. My head spins. I pray my body can hold it together for
another hour—or however long it takes Titus to let me go
home.

“
You’re hurt. You
shouldn’t be here.” His voice is a growl and I cannot
argue.

A shadow moves in front of me. I
freeze until I realize it is only Obadiah. I can see his jaw
slacken in the darkness as he takes in the sight of Linc and me
together in the alcove.

“
Raven?” he asks
uncertainly.

“
It’s okay, Id—Obadiah.” I
almost slip and call him by his Imitation. I wonder how often I’ll
do that before he notices. Before the pang in my chest will be so
great I’ll give in and tell him the truth. In this moment, in my
weakness, I want to desperately.

“
Titus was looking for you
inside,” he says, approaching slowly, eyeing Linc. “And so were
Caine and Daniel.”

I cringe at that. Linc stiffens.
“Obadiah, this is Linc. He’s part of my security detail. Linc,
Obadiah is Senator Whitcomb’s son.”

“
I know who he is,” Linc
says.

Obadiah’s distrust turns to curiosity
and he regards Linc more openly. His gaze lingers on where Linc’s
hand still holds my elbow then travels upward to my chest. I
realize a moment too late my scarf is displaced.

“
Oh my gawd, what the hell
happened to you?” he asks. He takes a step forward but Linc slides
in front, blocking me.

“
Linc, he’s my friend,” I
say, but Linc doesn’t move.

I sigh and speak to Obadiah over the
barrier of Linc’s shoulder. “I was attacked again. They … left a
mark.”

“
I’ll say.” Obadiah shakes
his head. “You need a doctor. Or some really heavy pain
meds.”

“
I’m fine. Just a little
stiff.”

Obadiah looks unconvinced. “I know a
guy who can get prescription-grade Vicodin. Just let me
know.”

“
Thank you,” I tell
him.

“
Anyway, you should
probably get back in there if you can. I mean, do you want me to
get your dad?”

“
No!” Linc and I both say,
way too loudly.

Obadiah looks taken aback. “Okay,” he
mutters.

“
Can you give us a moment,
Obadiah?” Linc asks quietly.

“
Sure. I’ll … see you
inside?” He is hurt. I know because of the shaky expression he
wears and also because Ida would’ve been hurt by such an aside. I
promise myself I will make it up to him.

“
I’ll see you in there,” I
say.

He turns and wanders back toward the
glowing lights of the party. Linc doesn’t speak until we are alone
again. “Are you going to be able to make it through
tonight?”

“
I don’t have a
choice.”

“
Yes. You do. I’m giving
you a choice.”

The way he says the words leaves no
doubt he knows what he’s saying. He would take me away right now if
I asked. I’m not sure what else it means—for us—but it would change
everything. It would get him killed. I cannot allow it.

“
I’ll be fine,” I say, my
tone a gentle letdown to his gallant offer.

He nods once, affirming my choice.
“I’ll be close if you need me. Just take it easy. Maybe don’t dance
so much.”

I cock my head at him—the burn of his
gaze, the set of his jaw. “It bothers you.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
Part of me loves that he minds. Part of me wishes he
didn’t.

I square my shoulders and put one foot
gingerly in front of the other. I hope walking daintily will make
me look more like a lady instead of a hobbling mess. Linc’s hand on
my arm stops me and I turn to face him.

“
Your hair,” he murmurs.
He reaches for my waves, arranging them gently around my face and
throat. He is looking intently at my hair and its placement, which
is a good thing. I cannot look away from his face. Something in my
heart cracks at the sight of him this way. Gentle, caring, worried.
He’s so … human. So Authentic. And I can never be.

The moment he is finished, I mumble a
thank-you and stride away as fast as my sore feet will carry me. I
cannot look at him any longer tonight. If I do, I will crumble. Or
worse, let him take me away. I owe him so much more than
death.

“
Wake up,” Titus barks,
jarring me awake the next morning.

He is cross. I know it before I’ve
opened my eyes but there is more proof in his expression. He stands
over my bed with drawn eyebrows and fisted hands. I shrink back
into the mattress and clutch the sheet.

Somewhere in my mind, I know that he
will not kill me. But only because I am more valuable to him alive
so someone else can try. Beyond that, I am absolutely positive
nothing else is off limits. He is the creator. Even sleep could not
blur my recollection of this. It makes me more scared, though it
shouldn’t. Nothing else has changed—except that I know something I
didn’t twelve hours ago.

“
What is it?” I ask. I can
hear the timidity in my voice and I hate it.

“
We have an agreement. Or
have you forgotten? You will abide by the terms or you will be
removed,” he says in a voice that isn’t yelling but is much
scarier. “And if you think that means you can go home to the City
and back to your meaningless existence consisting of tennis and
cafeteria food, you are mistaken.”

I want to ask what I’ve done to
displease him—mostly because there exists a long list of
possibilities—but I don’t say anything. I wait. I am sure he will
tell me. He seems to enjoy the buildup.

“
I know you’re capable of
pulling this off. You put on a good show last night, at the
beginning at least. Dancing and laughing at those idiot boys.
Somewhere along the way, you stopped trying. Maybe you thought I
wasn’t watching but I see everything. He is not acceptable for your
circle.”

“
Who?” I can’t help but
ask. I am frozen—terrified he means Linc. That he saw us on the
terrace.

“
Obadiah
Whitcomb.”

Relief floods over me and Titus
scowls. “I mean it. He is not like us. He is not a part of your
inner circle. You can’t change that now.”

I stick my chin out, determined to
fight for this one. There isn’t much I’ll go against Titus for, but
this is one thing I cannot stand to lose. Ida, Obadiah … a single,
meaningful friendship. I will not give this up again. “He may have
useful information,” I say.

Titus’s mouth tightens. “What sort of
information?”

I shrug, like I couldn’t care less. “I
don’t know yet but I heard you talking to Daniel about the senator
and I thought maybe Obadiah would say something useful if I spent
time with him. Besides, he’s gullible and doesn’t ask questions. If
I slip and forget something or need to know a name, he will tell me
without suspicion.”

“
What did you tell
him?”

“
That I have temporary
amnesia from my bump on the head.”

“
He believed
you?”

“
Yes.”

I wait while he weighs my words. I can
see him turning it over. For him, it is one hundred percent a
business transaction. For me, it is everything.

“
Fine. But make sure you
don’t give up your inner circle. And don’t mingle the
two.”

He means Taylor. And Daniel—the idea
of spending more time alone with him makes my insides burn. But
it’s the price I must pay for keeping Obadiah. I nod, struggling to
feign indifference. “All right.”

The sinister look reappears. “Do not
forget I will be watching. I am always watching.”

“
I know,” I say. Whether
he means here in Rogen Tower or at any moment of my existence in
Twig City, it is true. He is always watching.

He stalks out, slamming the door
behind him. I flinch at the sharp sound and then the tension drains
from my shoulders and I slump back against the pillow. Thankfully,
my bruises are less raw today and not nearly as sore after another
night with Josephine’s cream.

Light streams through my window, muted
by the sheer curtains. It is a new day. I have made it another
night in Rogen Tower.

After a late breakfast, I play tennis
against a machine but only manage to make contact with a handful of
serves. My shoulder burns and my legs protest the effort of running
or lunging. Mostly, I walk back and forth across the court to keep
the guard from fussing at me.

After lunch, Gus shows me a small
swimming pool on the other side of the gym. I swim laps for what
feels like hours, but is probably only minutes, until Josephine
appears and motions for me to stop. I am wheezing by the time I
emerge from the pool, dripping wet, shoulders stooped. The exertion
combined with my battered body is crippling. My lungs are on fire.
Black dots dance at the edges of my vision.

I stumble back to the clinic and
collapse, still dripping, onto the cot against the wall.

Josephine’s examination is slow and
silent. She stares at my yellowing bruises for a long time with
tightly pressed lips before rolling away on her stool and making
notes in a file on her desk.

“
You look better,” she
says. I snort. Her tone softens. “I can’t give you anything for the
pain, but I can let you rest in here with me instead of what they
have you doing out there.”

I lean my head back and sigh. “Thank
you.”

Josephine goes back to her
paperwork.

“
Have you had any more
headaches?” she asks a few minutes later.

“
No,” I tell her as my
pulse finally returns to normal. “Just sore from the bruises. Did
those tests tell you what caused it?”

“
Not exactly,” she says,
though not convincingly.

I turn and look at her fully. “What do
you mean?”

“
There’s something
different about you, Ven. Something I haven’t seen. You’re sure
you’ve never had a headache before?”

“
Positive. I would
remember something that awful.”

“
Hmm.” I watch impatiently
while she writes in the file in front of her.

“
What’s so different about
me?”

“
I’m not sure yet. I’m
going to run some more tests on the scan I took the other night.”
She looks up and gives me a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it
out.”

I wait again while she scribbles a few
more notes. She closes the folder and slides it away before turning
back to me. “There’s something else. Titus wants you to get out
more. Alone,” she says.

I don’t answer. There is nothing to
say to that.

“
I want to make sure you
can handle yourself first,” she adds.

I understand what she means. Titus
wants me to dangle myself like a fish, see who takes the bait.
Living through the experience will be up to me. “How long do I have
before that happens?”

“
I can give you another
day. Maybe two. I don’t think he’ll wait longer.”

I nod. The conversation ends there. We
both know there’s nothing else to say. It’s not a matter of “if,”
only “when.” Even Josephine knows that.

***

I don’t see Titus for two days. Either
Josephine has worked a miracle and given me time to heal before I’m
thrown to the wolves, or something has happened to draw Titus’s
attention elsewhere. The latter is not a pleasant possibility
because I don’t see Linc for the same amount of time.

My worry eats at me. I don’t bother
calling Taylor or Daniel, though I know I should after my
conversation with Titus. I contemplate calling Obadiah but I don’t
want to press my luck on that front. Instead, when I’m not forced
into the gym, I hide out in the library and play chess on a digital
tablet I find in one of the desk drawers.

I’m not very good at it, always
gaining the lead only to lose it in a rash attack at the end. But I
play anyway. I can’t focus enough to read despite the myriad of
choices stacking the shelves, and chess reminds me of Lonnie. She
wins every time. It used to make me so mad but now I’d give
anything to lose to her again.