City of Savages (25 page)

35    PHEE

I’ve been in the same room for days.

Maybe weeks.

I can’t be sure anymore. The only way to tell that time’s passing is the rise and fall of the sun outside my glass prison, and the two meals that get thrown into my room each day before the lock outside clicks and I’m alone again. I wish I had a piece of paper or something to keep track. I wish I had a lot of things, actually.

The time’s been driving me crazy. It’s given me way too much room to think. I find my mind fixating on things, questioning things, like it’s picking every memory up and inspecting it, trying to see what it looks like under the light, from the other side. This is what Sky does: analyzes. Reexamines. Tries to figure out what it all
means
, why things are the way they are. I hate doing this.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Sky. About what she said to me at the YMCA. How all her hunches told her something was wrong with this place. How she tried to warn me.

About how I wanted the Standard to be a real answer, so badly that I didn’t listen. Wanted there to be a home on this island, for me, Mom, Sky, Ryder, Trevor. Even Sam. Believed a freaking miracle could happen on Manhattan. Now we’re here, trapped with these psychopaths. With some guy who’s hell-bent on saving us, on making us find our own “path to the Standard.” And what choice do we have, if none of us can get off the path?

I’m torturing myself, obviously. But I can’t seem to make my mind stop.

*   *   *

After who knows how many days, I hear a knock on my door, and then the latch unclicks and Robert walks in. Half of me is excited to see someone, anyone, besides my shimmery reflection in the windows. Half of me wants to take him down and run through the halls.

“Sister Phoenix,” he says. “I trust the Elders are keeping you fed.”

“I guess.”

He sits down on my bed, uninvited, and rubs his hands through his dark hair. “Have you gained any perspective through solitary?” He looks at me hopefully. “In your time alone, and with God, have you come to see the error of your ways?”

This guy is unbelievable. “The error of
my
ways?” I say. “Robert, you’re like, delusional. You guys separate me from my family, bully me into staying here, throw me in this room for days . . . weeks . . . and you want me to just tell you it’s all fine, that I get it?”

Something changes in Robert’s face as he grabs my hands again. “But you’re
not
getting it. You’re not getting any of it.”

And I finally place the emotion crawling across Robert’s face. It’s fear.

“I’ve been here a long time, Phoenix. I’ve seen the Standard evolve—and change. A few small steps, a few more steps, and things are very far from where they started.” Then he hesitates. “And I’ve seen Master Wren grow, and change. There is more to all this than you could ever know.” He breathes deeply, and I take a breath too, ’cause if he’s scared, I can’t even imagine how freaked I should be. “Now, I loved your father. And I care about your mother deeply—I care about you. But I’ve sworn my life to the Standard, and I believe in Master Wren.” He looks at me. “I’m going to bring him in now. And I need you to tell him that you’re done fighting, that you’re open and ready to be filled. You’re at the end of the line here, Phoenix. Do you understand?”

I know I’m supposed to say yes—I feel it, the weight behind Robert’s eyes, the way his hands are twitching in mine. But I can’t speak.

So all I do is nod.

“Good.”

*   *   *

It takes hours for him to come back. But that’s okay. I need the time to try to come up with a plan, like I always do. I’ve got to be resourceful. I need to find a way to get to Mom and my sister and break us out of this nightmare.

So I keep on spinning Robert’s warnings around in my head, then throw around the threats of my idiot escort, Francis. And then I think about what Ryder said, in our meeting in the bathroom, about how Sam was in the heavenly blue. . . .
Ryder, Mom, Sam . . . the Standard . . . other measures, the heavenly blue
.

And then it clicks.

People keep saying Wren’s got all these other measures to make people love the Standard. And they keep mentioning this “heavenly blue” place, this totally secret spot where only adults are invited. I need to get there and find my mom and Sam so we can blow this hotel apart. But in order to do it, I’m pretty sure Wren needs to know that nothing else will work—that he’s got no choice but to send me there.

When Whackjob Wren comes back with Robert, Wren’s got a hopeful glimmer in his eye. I know they both expect me to smile and say,
Thank you for the Standard, the lofty Standard
or some crap, but I’ve got another plan. A good one. And I’ve got nothing left to lose.

Wren sits down on the bed and takes both of my hands in his. They’re cold and spiny, like a pair of lizards. “Robert tells me that this time of solitude has done wonders for your soul. That you’re ready to accept the Standard.” He smiles. Then he leans in, far too close. “Is he right, Sister Phoenix? What do you have to say for yourself?”

I take a deep breath and remind myself to stay strong, for my family. To not bow down to this monster till I hear the words “heavenly blue.”

I lean in and whisper, “Take your Standard and shove it up your ass.”

Robert buries his face in his hands as Wren flies off the bed. “This is all a waste of the savior’s time!” he screams at Robert.

Robert starts mumbling an apology. “I thought I had explained, I thought—”

“Do it.”

“But Master Wren, she’s far too young—”

“Don’t you dare question me, after this circus.” Wren pulls Robert out of my room.

“Wait, don’t go!” Panic pulls me to my feet—did I have things wrong? What did I miss?—and now I’m trailing them, shouting, “I thought I was going to the heavenly blue! Please . . . I need to see my mother—take me now!”

But they shut the door in my face.

Then I’m alone again.

And the loneliness wastes no time. It climbs up my back and saddles my shoulders. It’s so heavy it almost crushes me.

*   *   *

My meal that afternoon comes late. At least it feels late, judging from the sun. And even though I don’t feel like eating, I take the plate and finish it in three bites. It’s a soupy mess of meat, root vegetables, and corn, a fat piece of bread, a thick glass of water.

Then I lie down and just try to relax, just keep picturing Mom and Sky, and Ryder and Trev and Sam, imagine us all walking out of this hotel as it burns in flames behind us.

But it’s weird.

Every time I close my eyes, bright red lights start pulsing, like there literally is a fire underneath them. I sit up to shake it off, but sitting up makes my head pound. The room starts dancing, each corner of the room shaking, moving towards me inch by inch.

I thrust my covers off and run to the door.

But when I round the corner to the small entry, the door feels a mile away. And the hall keeps expanding, getting longer and longer. My heart starts beating way too fast for it to stay in my chest for long, and I stumble towards the bed to lie down again and get calm. Maybe this is all a nightmare.

Maybe I just need to wake up.

But each time I shut my eyes, the red lights multiply, become blue, then green, and then take on faces, until there’s a thousand rainbow faces in the insides of my eyelids. I give a little shriek. When I open my eyes, the faces don’t go away.

Something’s wrong.

Shit, something is
really
, really wrong.

36    SKY

Since I’ve arrived at the Standard, my dinner seat assignment has been inching towards Wren, and tonight I’m sandwiched between Quentin and the master of ceremonies himself. And even though I’m sure any Standard girl would feel beyond “blessed” for such a prime spot at the table, a few times I have to actually sit on my hands so I don’t grab my dinner knife and lodge it into Wren’s chest.

I just keep thinking about seeing Ryder tonight. I remind myself that I just need to get through dinner so I can meet him. I
will
myself to stay in control. And I manage to do it—until Mom arrives, that is.

She joins us in the same private dining room I was in with Phee all those nights ago, but doesn’t arrive until after the first course. She’s escorted by Robert and another middle-aged man on her other side. I almost burst out of my chair when I see her. But I know the rules, so I stay cemented to my seat, nearly giddy just to be near her, to see her after so much time.

The trio inchworms under the light of the chandelier. . . .

Something’s wrong. My mom’s face . . . it isn’t bruised or beaten . . . but it’s empty. Twitchy and long. Her two frightened eyes are weighed down by heavy gray bags. Her luxurious auburn hair is sweaty and matted to her brow.

“Mom!” escapes me.

My body aches to run to her, my mouth twitches to scream. But I can feel Wren’s eyes on me, and so with every ounce of self-control I have, I stay tethered to his side.

Wren relaxes beside me. “Sister Skyler,” he purrs. “You mustn’t worry. It’s just your mother returning from the heavenly blue.” He puts his hand on mine. “The first few trips are always the toughest. She’ll adjust.”

A thought finally snaps into place, fits into the puzzle of this hotel like the lone missing piece:

The heavenly blue isn’t a place.

It’s
drugging
people, reshuffling their minds, all for the sake of Wren’s “divine plan.” Drugging people so they can’t fight back. So they can’t even think.

I can’t look at Mom. This woman, who can barely stand, who’s laughing and crying like some hollowed ghoul, she can’t be my mother.

But I pick myself off the floor and give Wren the best smile I can muster.

Thing is, I have my sister to thank for surviving this haunted hotel, if you want to call what I’m doing surviving. Phee, who can accept without question. Who doesn’t bother siphoning out right and wrong, only what is from what isn’t. I’ve thought a lot about what she said that night at the Park, before the 65th Street fights. When I was so adamant to break the Park rules open and show her how little there was inside.

Who cares how things should work?
Phee had said.
What matters is how they do
.

Now I’m studying every motion, every gesture of the Standard devotees, mimicking them. Making them believe I’m being
handled
. And I’m positive they’re buying my facade.

So as much as my legs are itching to run to Mom, pull her into a fierce hug, and wrangle her out of her gray misery, I know I can’t risk it, for all of us. There’s a chance they have Phee locked away somewhere, showing her the heavenly blue, or worse.

I shake my head. I can’t,
won’t
, let myself think about that. If I do, the few stitches holding me together will finally come apart.

Mom’s two escorts help her into her seat. She doesn’t look at me, not once during the rest of dinner, and my panic that they might have erased and ruined her threatens to consume me alive.

“You’ve adjusted so well to the Standard,” Wren whispers. He gently strokes my hand as his waitstaff cleans up our dessert. I shudder at his touch but don’t pull away. “You and Brother Trevor are the epitome of what we hope to cultivate here.”

Trev. My God, I hope he’s all right. I’m dying to ask, but I know the Standard rules on devotees’ silence during mealtimes. So I just look at Wren with pleading eyes.

He nods. “You may address me.”

“Master Wren, is . . . Brother Trevor in the heavenly blue as well?”

“No, he’s finding his way without it. The young members of our community are welcoming him with open arms.” Wren’s face turns solemn. “I try not to take children to the heavenly blue, if I can avoid it. It’s not for the weak of heart, or weak of mind.” He breaks away from my gaze and nods as his devotees leave the table and retreat back to their rooms. Robert ushers Mom out too, and while I’m dying to follow them, I manage to stay in my seat.

“Brother Quentin, you should also retire,” Wren says.

Quentin pauses a moment on my other side. My escort’s face is torn, but he doesn’t protest—no one ever protests. He crawls back into the shadows of the Standard, and now Wren and I are alone at the table.

“If I may ask, Master Wren, what . . . what about Sister Phoenix?”

“That bull of a child. She never keeps that mouth of hers
shut
, does she? She never does what she’s told.” His laugh sounds like a sharp
pop
. “Forbidden osculating with Brother Ryder in the bathroom. Violence. A refusal to accept her lessons. There is no option but the heavenly blue for her.” He sighs and strokes my hand again. “She’s so different from you.”

Sweat creeps under my hairline, my throat begins closing. Is Phee safe? Have they gotten to her already? I think of my mother, who mumbled to herself all through dinner, and I nearly scream.
Is that what lies ahead for Phee?

What was Ryder doing in the bathroom with her, anyway? Did she get caught . . . kissing him, and that’s why she’s being punished? My envy steps aside and makes way for rage. Is this all Ryder’s fault?

I can’t think about him right now, how he might be playing both of us. How, because he can’t keep his hands off my sister, she might be drugged up in some dark corner of this hell.

I think only about getting us out of here.

So I focus on Wren’s hand, floating suggestively above mine.

“The headmistress told us about the heavenly blue, Master Wren, that God instructed you in its divine power,” I start cautiously, forcing myself to say the words even though my body’s cringing as I say them. “Being God’s mouthpiece, taking care of this community . . . you have so much on your shoulders.”

Wren’s face softens. For a moment, he appears fragile . . . younger, even. He looks like that hopeful, zealous preacher on the cover of
The Standard Works
in every bedside table in every Standard room. “You’re right. I do.”

“I’d love to help. . . .” I inch forward, carefully, cautiously, very aware that the predator next to me could snap and lunge for me at any moment. “I’d love to take on some of the burden. Maybe if I knew about the heavenly blue—”

Wren grips my hand. “Ah, Sister Skyler, you have already helped me far more than you could ever know.” He studies me, his eyes roaming over my face. “Though maybe you
should
know. This is your destiny, as well as mine.” He smiles a sad, conspiratorial little smile, like we’re about to share a secret.
Yes
, I practically scream,
show me this heavenly blue,
teach me what it is, tell me how to destroy it
.

Wren takes me up a few flights of stairs, down a hall, and into a dark, cluttered room at the end of an unmarked corridor. He pulls matches from his trousers and lights a row of candles on a side ledge, and the entire room jumps alive. Glass bottles and flasks and beakers crowd a wide island in the center of the room and cast odd, frightening shadows across the ceiling. Piles of folders and handwritten notes lie at odd angles on the corners of the island. And in the center is a tray filled with paper, cut like a cake into tiny quarter-inch squares.

“My life’s work,” Wren says, gesturing towards the tray with a flourish. “God’s work. The heavenly blue.”

When I look at him, confused, he smiles. “We dissolve the doses into the food. It’s easier that way. And it only took a couple of years . . . and failed attempts . . . to perfect the dosage.”

I know I need to keep up my facade, should be oohing and aahing over the concoctions of this mad alchemist, but I can force only one word across my lips. “Why?”

I immediately wonder if I’ve pushed too far, been too forward. After all, I don’t need to know why. I just need to know
how
, and if there’s an antidote.

But Wren’s looking at me with that—
guilty?
penitent?
—face again, and I know he’s going to answer.

“It was after the island became an occupation zone, and the Red Allies had already started scaling back their numbers.” He has a far-off look in his eyes. “I was beginning to lose the people. They were hungry, and tired, and our missionary work was starting to wane. There was a restlessness in this hotel . . . talk of abandoning God’s work and finally surrendering at the Park. I prayed for an answer.” He readjusts the tray of hallucinogens lovingly, like he’s stroking a pet. “And then one appeared. A missionary team found a young raider scavenging the Financial District, a drug dealer in a past life.” He smiles at the memory. “I gave Elder Francis answers, and he gave me ideas.”

I nod towards the tray. “Like the heavenly blue.”

Wren nods. “Like the heavenly blue. We introduced it at community services, and . . .
everything
changed. People were humble. People were afraid. They were God’s children—my children—again.” He looks at me. “Elder Tom didn’t approve.”

The mention of my father’s name jolts me like thunder.

But Wren just shakes his head. “He tried to talk me out of it. When I argued that this was what God wanted, Tom started making noise, planning a defection. He said there were rumors from some of the born-agains that a native was running the Park as some kind of de facto warden. He said we needed to surrender. That the Standard had served its purpose, kept us alive, but now it was done.” Then he won’t meet my eyes. “I needed him to see.”

And even though I’ve been hunting for the past in the rubble of this city for as long as I can remember, I’m not sure I want to hear any more. “What . . . what do you mean,
see
?”

“I never meant to do so much damage,” Wren starts stammering. “I just wanted Elder Tom to feel the awe and the terror of God again. I must have given him too much, I . . .” The Master of the Standard collects himself. “He was broken, Sister Skyler.”

Broken
.

“I tried to keep him alive, but he was a lunatic, untamable . . . too dangerous, in such a dangerous world. I had to put him down.” Wren grabs my hands in his, knocking into the tray, and a tinny echo screams through the lab. “But now you’re here. Don’t you see? I’ve been praying to God for years for an answer, for him to assure me that I’m still the chosen, that your father’s death was a sacrifice, not a tragedy. And he has.” He leans in close, the candlelight distorting his features. “And everything I couldn’t give to Elder Tom, I’ll give to you. Your family is my redemption, Sister Skyler. You’re my second chance.”

I think of that young man on the book again, the picture of the hopeful preacher tucked into my nightstand drawer. Then I look at the monster in front of me. This city turned him inside out, like the monsters in the subways, like the warlords in the Park.

The more I hear about the history of this island, the more I feel like it’s drowning me. Like it’s just a dark current, rising slowly, steadily, pulling me under.

But I can’t show Wren anything. He’s studying me, waiting for me at a crossroads. Will I follow him down his dark and twisty path, will I say what he wants to hear? Or will I question him, like my father?

“Thank you”—I choke on the words, but I manage to get them out—“for the Standard, the lofty Standard. The only Standard.”

Wren bursts into a smile and cups my face with his hand. “You will make such a wonderful wife for an Elder one day.” He strokes my arm, and I swear, I nearly vomit. “Although wouldn’t it be nice to keep you in my harem with your mother? We’ll decide. But in due time.” Wren takes my hand and pulls me out of his lab. “Like everything, Sister Skyler. In due time.”