Perfect Lies (4 page)

“Mmmm …” I stick my tongue out to catch a stray strand of goopy cheese. Pixie rolls her eyes, and I free-associate cow nipples in my thoughts to entertain her and keep my brain safe as I sit back and look out the window at the busy sidewalk. It’s dark and bitterly cold, but that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone out there. New York is more claustrophobic than Chicago, the buildings tall and looming so that you can’t see anything beyond your street. This afternoon as I prowled the city, waiting for James to text me that it was time to go in, I passed the Empire State Building without even noticing until I almost knocked down a tourist.

How come Pixie is here? Why isn’t she in the school?

“My name isn’t Pixie. And it’s because I’m too good for the school, you idiot. When they interviewed me for a scholarship, I started asking them about the Keane Foundation and what on earth Feelers were and assured them that I was more than qualified for whatever they had in mind. Then they put me up against their best Readers—”

“Did you get Doris?”

“Yes! Kill me now, her thoughts were like being trapped in an airless room with nothing but smooth jazz.”

I cackle. “So, what, they gave you independent study?”

“Pretty much. Said I could cut my teeth at the front desk of Keane’s main office, since I was too young to place somewhere big.”

“And your family …”

Her eyes get tight and she snaps her head to look outside. Not in a tragic, I’ve-been-ripped-away-from-them way. I tap tap tap tap a finger on the counter. She
wants
to be here, I can tell. Hmm. I will tread carefully. Super careful.

Ha ha ha ha, as if.

She clears her throat. “I lived with my grandma until she died when I was thirteen. Then I got saddled with my dad who’d sooner raise hunting dogs than a teenage daughter. So.” She claps her hands together, smile too wide and eyes too bright. “I get to come to the great big city and do great big things, and he gets to take the sheets off the couch that doubled as my bed. Win-win!”

Am I supposed to hug her? Console her? (Annie would know what to do.
Would have
. Would have.) “Well, screw that. Let’s go dancing.”

She frowns as though trying to hear something better, then shakes her head and jumps off the stool. “That, I can do.”

My phone buzzes and I pull it out. Text from James.
Stuck in meetings.

Late dinner?
I can eat twice if it means we can talk.

Eating with my father. Sorry. Will make it up to you tomorrow.

I narrow my eyes at the screen, tap tap tap tap on it. I need us to
move
, to
do
, to start this wheel spinning until it flies off its axis and destroys everything around us. I hold James’s face in my thoughts, imagine his arms around me. Imagine his voice whispering “patience” in my ear before I elbow him in the stomach because I hate it when he tells me that.

I take a phone off the counter, where someone set it down to go get a refill.

“Did you just steal that guy’s phone?” Pixie asks as we hunch our shoulders against the chill. She has her own phone out, looking for a nearby club.

One can never have enough phones
, I think at her. She gives me a secret smile in return.

I’VE BEEN VENTURING OUT MORE NOW THAT RAFAEL
got me a white cane. Coming and going as I please is a luxury I intend to take advantage of. It’s strange—for so long I hated seeing the future because it didn’t belong to me. It belonged to Keane. Now I have my own future, and no idea what to do with it. Fia was always supposed to be with me. She’s not.

I feel lost.

As I trail my fingers along the hall wall I hear voices. I pause—both are hushed but clearly angry. Taking a few steps forward, I lean near a doorframe and listen.

“—you know I’m right!” Cole.

“I don’t! And you don’t know, either. I’m tired of arguing with you.” Sarah sounds exhausted.

“What about Annie? There’s no reason for her to stay here. She can’t accomplish anything. She sees even less than you do, and she’s a huge target. She needs to be placed somewhere else.”

I flinch at the tone of his voice. I didn’t think Cole liked me, but I had no idea he wanted me gone that much. Rafael decided not to set me up somewhere else with a real life and a new identity. He wanted me close.

I was flattered, but lately I’ve realized I’m useless here. It makes me feel pathetic and small, but Cole’s right. There’s no reason for me to stay, other than to be protected.

I’m tired of needing other people to protect me.

“That’s not our call,” Sarah says.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Why isn’t it our call? Why does he get to decide who stays and who goes?”

“You start bankrolling this operation and you can have more say,” Sarah snaps. Something thuds to the ground, too small for a body, and then Cole swears.

“What is this?”

“Give it back.”

“You’re taking these?”

She sounds ashamed. “I haven’t started yet.”

“This is insane, Sarah.”

“How am I supposed to help if I can’t see enough? Rafael has a source on the inside that says Keane has all his Seers go on Adderall.”

“He also has girls killed and thrown into the river. Is that our next step?”

“Aren’t you the one who said we should do whatever we have to, whatever it takes to keep more girls out of his claws? Well, this is my
whatever it takes
.”

Something small hits the other side of the wall I’m leaning against and I jump, turning and hurrying back to my room. The last thing I want is for Cole to catch me eavesdropping. I can only imagine what he’d say.

I flop onto my bed, tormented by futures both seen and unseen. They feel just out of my grasp, as usual.

“Fia,” I whisper to the empty room, “what should I do?”

Then something changes. I’m still in the dark. It’s not a vision, it can’t be, I don’t see anything. But I’m not on my bed anymore. It has to be a vision.

Someone reaches out and laces his fingers through mine and my world blossoms with color—inside the darkness. It’s color and light and life that I feel inside me instead of seeing outside. I’m wild with giddy joy, a warm heat flaring like something long dormant in my heart has finally been switched on.

His fingers are not much longer than mine, his palm only a bit bigger, rough but warm, and the way our hands fit together …

Holy crap. I’m in love.

That’s when I feel my bed underneath me again and realize I’m back in the present.

I had a vision where someone holds my hand and I know I’m in love with him. It’s the single most romantic thing I have ever experienced.

And it wasn’t even real.

But if I saw it—or felt it, really, because I’ve never had a vision where I was
me
like that, where I couldn’t see—then it has to happen, right? I rub the palm of my right hand with my left thumb, torn between elation and nerves. Love. I can live with the promise of love. I just wish I knew when. And who.

And, with a sudden sharp ache, I wish more than anything I could tell Eden. It feels wrong to have something like this without her to whisper it to. For a moment I hate Fia for her choice. She not only took herself away from me, she made it impossible for me to ever see my best friend again.

Someone is going to hold my hand, and I’m going to be thrilled. And no one I love will know.

“HOW DO YOU DO THAT?” PIXIE ASKS, FROWNING AT
me over her drink. I got her a Shirley Temple. She didn’t find it nearly as funny as I do. Last night she managed to scam some alcohol, but not tonight.

“Do what?” I eye the dance floor, annoyed she called me over. I am falling apart. I’ve barely even seen James since we got to New York. I need something, anything to distract me from the waiting. Visions of flames dance in my head, but I cannot light anything on fire yet.

Dancing is the only thing to take the edge off. (I could get in a fight. That’s good, too. Pounding and moving and reacting, always reacting, no room for thought.)

“How do you stop thinking like that?” Pixie asks. “When you’re dancing, everything shuts down. I’ve noticed you doing it a few times, like you’ve switched to autopilot and there aren’t any active thoughts in your brain.”

“Isn’t that the point of dancing?”

“Not for the guys you’re with. You should hear their thoughts.” She scowls, disgusted and miserable, shoulders slouched protectively inward as she stabs her straw through the ice.

I pat her head (four times, four is the magic number and I don’t like it, four feels lonelier than three, no middle to huddle around, but I hate them both) and laugh. “They aren’t people, they’re just bodies. I don’t care what they’re thinking.”

“I can’t tell you how much I wish I could not care.”

I sigh and sit down. “You have one minute to unburden your soul to me before I get too antsy and either hit you or go back to dancing.”

“See, that’s why I like you. You don’t lie.”

“I lie constantly. All the time. I’m nothing but one big mass of lies.” I shouldn’t tell her that. I should tell her that I’m good and obedient and do exactly what I’m told all the time. But I forget around Pixie, because she is lonely and small and fragile. I still don’t know whether or not Keane can trust her, and whether or not that means I can’t. She is such a silly, pointless assignment for me it’s hard to take it seriously.

But I can’t trust anyone. James and me. That’s all there is, all there will be. Us against everyone. I need him. I tap tap tap tap against my leg. I
need
him to keep me away from the holes in my soul, but he’s not here.

“You’re honest about being a liar,” Pixie says. “And you don’t lie the way normal people do. You don’t tell me my dress is cute and then think to yourself that I’m too flat to pull it off. I can’t tell you how much I hate girls. I hate guys, too, because they tell you one thing but think another. There’s always an agenda, and the agenda is always the same.”

“Yup. They only care about your brains.”

She laughs. “That’s one of the things I like about working for Keane. They don’t pretend to like me for anything other than my mad Reading skills.”

I sit up straighter, narrow my eyes. “Have you actually met him? Mr. Keane?”

“Calm down, puppy. His name lights up your brain like Vegas. And the answer is no. Never been in the same room as him. Everything comes via phone or message. I get the feeling he doesn’t want me crawling around in his head.”

“Can’t imagine why. You’re a delightful tenant.”

She flicks a piece of ice at me, then looks wistfully out over the crowd of writhing bodies. “I’d like to find a super hot guy with Asperger’s whose thoughts are the same as his words.”

“In that case we need to work on your targeting, because this audience? Probably not your best bet.”

“What about you? What do you want in a guy? Besides a body to dance by.”

James. I want James but he isn’t here and the longer I go without him, the more scared I get. The fear sets in so quickly now, always lurking, waiting to swallow me. I hate being scared, hate it, it makes me sick and I want to cut it out of me with a knife, leave it bleeding and dripping on the table, a quivering mass of weakness. Every time I dream of Annie, I can’t shake the scared. What if I chose wrong? What would that mean? A sudden image of gray eyes pops into my head. I wonder …

Dead dead dead dead. I snap my thoughts back into line. Dead. Adam’s dead, Annie’s dead, everyone’s dead. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I grin at Pixie. “Dance with me?”

Her dark eyebrows have disappeared under her blunt white bangs. “Sometimes you scare me.”

“That’s because you don’t really know me yet.” I hold out my hand to her. “When you really know me, I’ll scare you
all
the time.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. James.

“What,” I answer, annoyed. I don’t want his voice on the phone, I want it in my ear.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you dance?”

A hand comes around my waist and I grab the wrist, twist it, then turn to find myself right up against James, and everything is right again. I lean against him, tip my face toward him.