City of Savages (22 page)

30    SKY

I take my time cleaning up in my own private washroom, the first space that’s ever been “mine” in my life. Robert assured us that there are plenty of open rooms in the hotel, so each of our group was given their own suite, a floor-to-ceiling box of glass with views of the entire city.

It feels beyond luxurious, having so much space: a bed of my own, a bath, and a mirror. But strange as well. Part of me feels like I’m missing a limb, not hearing Mom right outside, or Phee banging on the door to hurry up already. Today, though, I’m glad for the space. Today I really need a break from my sister.

After she practically took my head off at the YMCA, she spent the entire walk over here buddying up to Ryder, acting like she cared about what he had to say. About books and lessons, and learning about places beyond this tiny island. Which is ludicrous, as half the time I try to engage with Phee about a book, she ends up falling asleep on me. I tried to tune out her conversation with Ryder and Sam, but I couldn’t—which prompted poor Trev to ask if I was okay about four times on our walk over.

I have to give Phee one thing, though I’ll never admit it to her. She was right about giving this place a chance. The Standard feels magical, somehow, a true oasis—especially that glass atrium teeming with life,
food
, on one of the top floors. Even more magical is the idea that our father lived here, in this very hotel, and that the road he blazed, the sacrifices he made, might have come full circle to give us a home here too. I can tell, it’s ignited things long dormant in my mother—happiness, and
hope
. Mom never lets herself see the bright side of things. But today it was like her shell was cracked open, like her hard exterior might actually be fracturing.

*   *   *

Robert has a whole fancy evening planned for tonight: A member of the community is going to escort each one of us to supper, so we can start to meet people and get acclimated. It feels very royal, like something out of Cinderella or King Arthur’s court, and I’m surprised at how excited I am. Compared with eating outside in the bitter cold as Rolladin barks orders at us, this dinner sounds like a page out of a Brontë novel.

After I finish getting ready, there’s still no sign of my escort, so I start to poke around my room. The bed linens are clean and white, and there’s a small chair and bureau in the corner. I go through all the bureau drawers, but they’re empty, save for a fine layer of dust. The only personal items I see besides my own are in the bedside table: two books stacked on top of each other. I move aside a small, tattered copy of the Holy Bible and pull out the hardback underneath it. On the front cover is a man with his arms crossed, dressed in a black robe, with a small white square of fabric stitched into the robe’s collar.

I scan the cover, and the title page . . .
The Standard Works: God’s New Test for America.
I’ve never heard of it.

It’s been so long since I’ve read anything but Mom’s journal that I find myself bashful about jumping in. So I flip to the introduction, testing the waters:

Today’s generation has been wooed by the temptations of our all-consuming Information Age. Brothers and Sisters, we are failing God’s test . . .

I jump at the knock on my door, then carefully close the hardback and slip it inside the end table.

“Good evening, Sister Skyler.” A young man about my age stands on the other side of my door. He doesn’t make eye contact, just keeps his head bowed and his hands locked in front of him, taking this whole royalty thing a little far. “I’m here to escort you to supper.”

“Thank you.” I peer around the hall—it’s empty. There’s no sign of my mom, Ryder, or Phee, who all have their own rooms along my corridor. “Aren’t we waiting for the rest of our group?”

“No, Sister. Master Wren and Elder Robert asked that I bring you right away.” He extends his arm, anticipating that I grab it. I hesitate, for a second.

“But they’re coming, right?”

“I’m sure, Sister.”

The “Sister” and “Elder” thing definitely feels odd, maybe even old-fashioned, but then so do personal escorts. Then I think about all the weird rules we were subjected to in the Park—the arbitrary check-in hour, the lockdowns, the street-fights. And the nuances of every world I’ve read about, real and unreal. I guess every community has its quirks.

I smile, shrug off the uneasiness I’m determined to keep at bay, and take my escort’s arm. I study him as we walk—he’s kind-looking, if a little bit bland, with pale skin that looks like it hasn’t seen the sun in a decade.

“What’s your name?” I ask, uncomfortable with the silence.

“Brother Quentin,” he says with a nod. His eyes dart around the hallway suspiciously, even though it’s obvious that we’re alone. “I’m not sure if you and I will be sealed or not. But I hope so.” He gives me a tentative smile, and I return it, completely confused as to what he’s talking about.

“Me too,” I say, to be polite.

He walks me down the blue-carpeted hall, down the sleek metal stairs, and into a tiny dining room, no larger than my own suite. In fact, on second look, it
is
a converted suite, but the bed and bureau have been taken away and replaced with a small circular table. Six people are already seated, and two open place settings remain for Quentin and me. I do a quick scan. Everyone’s a stranger.

“Quentin,” I whisper. “Where’s my family?”

He offers a tight-lipped smile. “Master Wren and Elder Robert will be stopping by to greet us soon. You mustn’t worry.”

I nod and try to take him at his word. I think back to what Robert said about meeting the Standard community—maybe he thinks splitting us up will maximize the opportunity.

I look again at the odd assortment of people around the table. Quentin to my left, an older man and woman to my right, a young couple, and two small children across from me. But no one’s looking up. No one’s even acknowledged my presence. So much for getting to know the other Standard residents.

Finally, when the silence becomes so intense that I’m almost prompted to laugh I’m so uncomfortable, there’s a swift knock at the door, and Robert enters the room with another man in tow.

“Robert,” I rush, glad to see a familiar face.

He gives me a smile, but it’s contained, hesitant, and he takes a step back as he says, “Skyler, this is the man I was telling you about, the man responsible for everything you see here. This is the true Master of the Standard, Wren.”

A wave of hard-to-characterize energy washes over me. Because I know this Wren person too. Not personally, but I’ve just seen his picture. He’s an older version of the author of the “
New York Times
bestseller” resting in my end table—the man behind
The Standard Works
. Same intense eyes, same long face. All that’s changed is a softness around his jaw, a few wrinkles, and streaks of silver hair where there used to be brown.

Wren gets down on one knee and kisses my hand, and gives me a wide smile. “Elder Tom’s daughter, in the flesh. I never thought I’d see it. I never thought I’d have such a chance. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when Elder Robert told me he had found your family.”

“It’s . . . it’s lovely to meet you,” I say, trying to be patient, just like my mother always says. “You mention my family, Wren. May I see them? Are they joining us here?”

Wren exchanges a look with Robert. “Your family is getting acquainted with our little community, just like you.”

“But,” I say. I tread as carefully as possible, trying not to sound rude. But this is the longest I’ve been away from Mom and Phee in my life, and it’s starting to panic me. “They’re all here, aren’t they? Will we be together soon?”

“Of course, my dear. Trust me, there’s a method to my madness.” Wren gives me a little wink. “I’ve always felt incredibly indebted to your father. I very much want you to love this community, like he did,” he continues. “And I desperately hope this place will become your home.”

His words spring a river of questions in my mind, but I keep them dammed inside. I find myself just nodding. I don’t know what else to do.

“Please, take advantage of our food, our drink. Our company.” Wren stands and rests his hand on my escort Quentin’s shoulder. “Brother Quentin, I paired you with quite a lovely dinner partner tonight, didn’t I?”

Despite the fact that I still feel somewhat out of sorts, I can’t help but blush at Wren’s compliment.

Quentin takes a quick peek at me, his face the same color as mine. “Yes, Master Wren.”

Wren bends down and leans into Quentin, whispers what I’m sure I’m not supposed to catch: “And dare I say, in nights further, a union for the heavens.”

My face is now hot, my throat closing.
A union for the heavens?
What’s he talking about?

Could I have heard him right?

I’m so flustered that I miss Wren’s next whisper, something that sounds like a code, a string of numbers, before he pulls away from Quentin’s ear.

“Tonight, my lambs, we’re having venison, chard, and mushrooms,” he says to our small crew of eight.

On cue, the entire table chants, “Thank you for the Standard, the only Standard, the lofty Standard.”

I nearly jump out of my chair.

Wren smiles. “Please enjoy.”

“Robert—,” I call out to him, but he’s already halfway out the door with Wren, and a man in black is sidestepping his way into our room, with a huge tray of plates in his hands. I smell the food immediately, and for a moment, I forget about the disconcerting chanting, the weird chill Wren left in the room. I push aside the bizarre way our group has been separated in this hotel, and try to think only of the dish in front of me.

*   *   *

After the delicious, painfully slow three-course meal, through which I smile and nod at Quentin against a backdrop of total silence, I finally speak.

“Quentin,” I whisper, quite aware that our companions can hear me. “I need to see my mom and sister now, okay? Can you take me to them?”

I give him a long minute to answer, and when he doesn’t, I slowly push my chair behind me to stand.

But Quentin grabs my wrist. “Please, Sister Skyler.” His voice is soft and shaky. “It’s clear that Master Wren wants to share the Standard with you. And if he wants you to stay here, you must.” He looks up at me, tentatively meeting my eyes, as if even explaining this to me is sacrilege on his part. “There are many ways of accepting Master Wren’s will. I promise you, this way is . . . easiest.”

His words cut right through my chest and swat at my heart. I have no idea what he means, but the warning behind his tone is crystal clear.

I sit and stay quiet as the waitstaff cleans up our table. Quentin eventually takes my arm, staying tight to me as he leads me back to my suite, then finally says good night.

Once I’m alone in my room, I count to a hundred, then five hundred for good measure, before I peek my head out and down the blue-carpeted hall. My body wants nothing more than to lie down, but my mind is reeling. I need to check in with the others. I need to know if anyone else’s encounter with the Standard was as unsettling as mine. And it’s worth a temporary truce with my sister.

So I trudge through my exhaustion and tap softly on each of their doors, starting with Mom’s, and move quickly across the hall to Phee’s. Then I knock on Ryder’s, back to Phee’s, then on Ryder’s once more. I press my ear to his door, but hear nothing.

Frustrated, I build my knocks to raps and then to all-out pounds. I finally lose patience and grab the handle to Phee’s door. The door catches on its wood frame, but it eventually snaps free, and I stumble into the dark.

“Phee,” I huff, too loudly to count as a whisper. “Phee!”

“Whatever are you doing, Sister?” a voice I don’t recognize answers.

A tall form rises from the bed. My eyes start to adjust in the dark. It’s a woman—dark hair, thin frame, not too much older than I am.

But she’s definitely not Phee. And I saw Phee settling in here earlier. I’m sure of it.

“Where’s my sister?” I stammer.

“I am your Sister,” the woman implores sleepily. “As you are mine.”

My stomach plunges to the lobby below. Is Phee all right? Did they take her somewhere? Is she still in this hotel?

I run back into the hall, open Ryder’s door. A boy I don’t know answers, looks at me questioningly. Asks with shy eyes whether Master Wren sent me.

And Mom’s room is now empty.

I back up cautiously, an animal suddenly very aware of its cage.

So did they move everyone else? Are they on a different floor now?
Why?

I think about running down the hall, knocking on every door—going floor to floor until I find my family, Ryder and Sam. But Quentin’s cryptic, disconcerting warning echoes through my mind.
If Master Wren wants you to stay here, you must
 . . .
this way is . . . easiest
.

I think about my lonely dinner, the bowed faces of my supper companions, and Quentin’s hesitation to even speak.

My mind begins to free-fall.

This
way is easiest?

What is this place?

Why would Mom’s friend take us here?

Is this just happening to me, or are the others being cajoled and threatened too?

I slowly recede into my room. I shut the door tight against the frame, but there is no lock, no way to assure I’m safe from whatever lies on the other side.

I hug my book bag to my chest and don’t get up to go to bed. The little sleep I get is captured on the steel-tiled floor of the bathroom.

31    PHEE

I wake up to pounding on my room door. So I thrust off the comforter I don’t remember wrapping around myself, and stumble into the small entryway. But when I go to answer, I realize I’m still locked in.

The latch on the other side slowly clicks open, and Robert tentatively sticks his hand around the door frame. “Phoenix? Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” I sit back down on the bed, confused, as Robert lets himself into my room. I rack my brain for what happened last night. That spooky dinner in some random hotel room. That guy who was with Robert—Wren—who told me that he’d prayed for years about a way to repay my dad, and God listened and brought us here. All those silent creeps around my table, who started chanting and giving thanks to a freaking hotel. And my goon of an escort, Francis, this guy nearly my mom’s age, who called everybody “Elder” and “Sister” and “Master” and then went mute after we sat down to dinner. And when I told Francis that I needed to find my family, then got up and left, he started threatening me—and we ended up in a rumble in the middle of the hall. He managed to drag me back to my room, and then locked me in.

“Are you all right?” Robert stands over my bed.

I look down at my arms—there’re a couple of small black-and-blue marks, but nothing I haven’t dealt with from the whorelords before.

“I guess. Robert, where is everybody?” I try to remain calm. This guy’s a buddy of my mom’s, and dad’s, from before I was born. I remind myself of that again, like I had to last night, when I realized how weird I was starting to feel here. “Why are we separated?”

Robert sits down on the bed next to me. “This wasn’t always the way things were done. The Standard has . . . evolved.” He tracks my gaze across the rows and rows of skyscrapers on the other side of the window. “As time goes on, Wren becomes more sure of his mission. And things are revealed to him that weren’t revealed before. Now it’s imperative that each Standard member finds their own path, without the distraction of friends and loved ones to cloud their journey.”

I’m not understanding anything he’s saying, and my frustration is just adding to my panic. “Robert, what the heck are you talking about? What . . .
mission
?”

“Wren’s been saving this city slowly, Phoenix, one prisoner at a time, since the bombs dropped on Manhattan. He was lecturing in this very hotel when the city was hit, and he turned this place into a refuge.” Robert reaches out and holds my hands. “We’ve given countless people a second chance here—through purpose, and devotion. Wren’s Standard doesn’t just save lives, Phoenix. It saves
souls
. And I really think if you give this place a chance, you’ll understand. You’ll come to love it just as much as I do. As your father did.”

I find myself wanting to believe what he’s saying, maybe even more so now than at the YMCA. Before I felt so alone. Before I got into that wicked fight with Sky and basically told her she wasn’t good enough for this city. I’ve been thinking about our fight, actually, all morning.

“But where’s Sky, and my mom?” I ask. “I mean, I guess I get the whole ‘my own path’ thing in theory, but I don’t go anywhere without them—”

“You’ll see them soon,” Robert interrupts. “But Phoenix, I need you to understand—it’s very important that you exercise control here. That you’re . . .
deferential
, in your path to joining our little community. No more fistfights, no more acting out.”

I bristle. “But that Francis guy was totally bullying
me
. He was practically whispering death threats—”

“You’re not in the Park anymore,” Robert barrels over me again. “And Francis is an Elder, a missionary of the Standard. Which means you respect him, and listen to him, and don’t fight back.”

The idea of some Standard goon pushing me around for my own good just doesn’t sit right with me. At least at the Park, they blamed it on the Red Allies. “Robert, I don’t think I can do that.”

He sighs and leans forward. “Phoenix, Wren is committed to saving you. We both are. Because of your father, because of everything . . .” His voice catches and he stops, collecting himself. “What Wren wants to happen
will
happen, Phoenix. There are many ways of accepting the Standard, and I want your transition to be as easy as possible.” Then he looks me right in the eyes. “I’d hate for you to find yourself in a position that you just can’t handle.”

Again with these veiled threats, like Francis was doling out last night. But for some reason, they scare me more coming from Robert.

“So I need you to start cooperating, and then everything will turn out as it should,” he adds. “I’ve even asked Wren for his blessing to work with you directly, to see what I can do. You remind me so much of your father, Phoenix. So impetuous, so outspoken.” He pauses. “Too outspoken.”

And even though I don’t dig under people’s words, like Sky, to figure out the story underneath them, it’s impossible to ignore how deep the roots of his words run.

But I don’t ask Robert what he means—I focus on what’s important. “If I cooperate or whatever, can I see my mom and Sky?”

“Of course.” He smiles. “In fact, Wren has arranged for a young missionaries dinner tonight, for you and your sister. It’s been a while since we’ve welcomed born-agains, especially ones so young, and so important.”

“But what about Mom?” I press. “And the guys we came with—Ryder and Sam and Trevor?”

“Ryder and Trevor are busy with their own lessons, finding their own path. And your mother and Sam are in the heavenly blue, like most adult members. You’ll see them . . . after.”

“Soon?”

Robert nods, but the smile’s fallen off his face. “Soon. Now please, Phoenix, we have a lot of work to do. I suggest we get started.”

Robert and I talk the rest of the day, all through our lunch, until the sky turns gray and the city’s just shadows. He starts by asking me questions, like what I know about the world from Before, and about the war, and if I believe that someone’s looking out for all of us. I give him a lot of one-word answers: first, ’cause most of what I know about the war and Before came from Mom’s journal, and talking about it feels like spilling her secrets. Second, there’re just some things I don’t bother thinking about—things that don’t seem relevant—like God and heaven and whatever else might sit above this city. But even though I don’t say much, Robert still manages to take my words and twist them, wring them out like some wet towel.

Like when I say the war was obviously a tragedy, Robert says, “Well, depends on how you look at it.”

When I say, “But so many people died,” he says, “But sometimes things need to burn to light a fire.”

Then he tells me that Wren knew it was coming, that the Red Allies were part of his grand prophecy. One that “ushered out the old world”—the world that lived in sin and filth and failed “God’s test”—to make way for the new.

A world that adheres to a different standard.

The
Standard.

And call me dense that it’s taken me so long, but I finally figure out that this “Standard” thing isn’t a hotel.

It’s much, much more.

By the end of Robert’s rant, my stomach’s clenched like a fist, and all I want to do is see my family and bury my face in Mom’s shoulder.

Finally Robert says, “I think that shall be all for today.” He stands and moves to the door.

For
today
?

But I don’t think about tomorrow, only tonight, and how I need to see my sister. “So you’ll take me to Sky?” I scramble after him.

“Your escort will. He’ll be here shortly.” Before Robert closes the door, he fingers the lock on the other side, then waves the gold chain at me. “We want you to embrace the Standard with open arms, Sister Phoenix. We want you to
want
to be here. Today you’ve made great strides. Let’s see how you handle yourself without restraints.” He’s about to leave, but then turns back towards me. “And please, Phoenix. Deferential,” he reminds me.

Then he shuts the door.

My mind starts running as soon as he leaves.

Where has Robert taken us? What the heck is this place, where people get separated and worn down and talked in circles? Does Mom know how totally bizarre this is all getting?

And where the hell is she? Where’s this heavenly blue?

But there’s a knock a minute later, interrupting my thoughts, and the door slowly creaks open again. I peer around the corner to see Francis, my escort from last night, standing on the other side.

“You again.”

He smiles. “Expect to see me for a while, Sister Phoenix.”

Francis takes my hand and wraps his thick forearm around mine, squeezing my old bruises, revisiting last night’s handiwork. He pulls me in tight to him as we pass door after closed door to another set of internal stairs. I keep my eyes peeled, but I don’t see any of our crew on our way down.

We enter a windowless dining hall on the bottom floor, not as tight as last night’s dinner but still cramped. There’s one long table that spans the room. It’s teeming with tiny candles, and china and glasses are set in front of each chair. Wren sits, smiling like a fat cat, in the center of a field of teens and kids, all cast-down eyes and pasted-on smiles. I scan the lot of them, my need to see Sky clawing at me like an itch. . . .

“Sky!”

I push off Francis, trying to unwind my limbs from his and sprint towards her. Her eyes get all wide and shimmery like they do when she’s about to cry, and she reaches her arm out for me—

But before I can get to her, Francis grabs my neck and reels me into his chest. “I know Elder Robert thinks he can
talk
some sense into you, but Master Wren is doubtful. So if you can’t behave like a good little girl, we’ll take other measures.” Francis eyes me up, then down, then up again. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

I’m not one for threats: Most times they feel desperate, and hollow. But Francis’s message is thick and loaded, claws its way into my ears, down my throat, makes a home in the pit of my stomach.

I glance at Sky, who’s slowly shaking her head in warning. I wonder what Robert and Wren have been saying to her. I wonder if she fully understands how off the rails this Standard really might be.

I let Francis shove me into my seat at the end of the table, catty-corner from Sky. He wraps his thick fingers around my thigh and squeezes with everything he’s got till I yelp.

“That’s the last noise you make tonight,” Francis whispers. “Or your path to the Standard will take a detour.”

I don’t say another word through the first course, even though I’m dying to talk to Sky, especially now that she’s so close. I’m antsy to start signing to her, to tell her that I didn’t mean what I said at the YMCA. That I’ve missed her so much today, I felt like I was cut in half.

But all the times I look up, her eyes are on her plate.

“I know we usually have our meals in silence, but I have some words to share, and God wants me to share them,” Wren says as a team of men in black take away our first-course dishes. He beams at Sky, and then at me. “This is truly a special occasion, as it’s been years since we’ve had the chance to welcome young born-agains into our community—but Sister Skyler and Sister Phoenix are more than that. They’re the daughters of a man who gave everything he had to our mission, who laid down his life for the Standard. So I command each of you to make these children feel especially welcome.”

Sky’s eyes fly and lock on mine, and I know what she’s thinking. Dad . . .
laid down his life
?

I think back to our conversation with Robert at the YMCA. When I asked if Dad was at the Standard, Robert
definitely
had said that Dad had died ’cause he was sick.

Is that what Wren means, or something different . . . something worse?

What happened to him?

“These young women are a gift from God,” Wren continues. “They are part of his divine plan for all of us.” He smiles. “So let us give thanks to the Standard.”

On cue, the whole table chants, “Thank you for the Standard, the only Standard, the lofty Standard.”

And everything I’ve seen and heard since we got here—Francis’s threats, Robert’s hours of talking things upside down, now Wren’s babbling about us being part of his divine plan or whatever—it’s all far too freaky. Whatever this place is, whether it’s some miracle oasis or not, I’m pretty sure we don’t want any part of it. And I need to get us out, before this gets even more out of hand.

“Wren, there’s been some mistake,” I find myself talking before I plan out what I’m going to say. “It’s . . . nice that you think we’re special and all, but I don’t think this place is right for us. My sister, my mom—the guys we came with—we stick together. And it’s really time we got going.”

The entire table falls silent and stares at me. Twenty pairs of eyes.

Then something ripples across Wren’s face. It weirdly reminds me of the times Sky and I snuck out to the Park Lake as kids, bent down in the grass, and peered into the murky water. We’d see waves on the surface, a flash of gray under the current—probably just a fish tail. But it always felt like more, a glimpse of a monster in the deep dark. And we’d scramble away from the edge, scared shitless.

“I mean thanks and everything, for dinner,” I keep stuttering, and shove my chair to stand. “But we should really go. So if you can just get the rest of our crew—”

“Elder Francis,” Wren finally says. “Take Sister Phoenix to the washroom to cool off.”

*   *   *

Francis keeps my head under the water in the basin so long, I swear I’m going to pass out. I start thrashing my arms, my legs. Craning my neck up for air, as water starts to seep into my throat. “STOP!”

Finally he pulls me up out of the basin, and I choke and splay myself across the slate floor. My hair falls across me like a heavy curtain.

“You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” Francis barks. “And you never,
ever
speak to Master Wren. I don’t know why they’re trying to ease you in. They should just show you the heavenly blue. Child or not.”

I pant and roll onto my side, coughing up water. “Where is this heavenly blue?” I barely manage to cough out. “I think that’s where my mom is. I need to see her.”