Once We Were (14 page)

Peter didn’t call a general meeting after the incident at Lankster Square. It was better, Sophie explained, if everyone went about their regular business and didn’t do anything the slightest bit suspicious. Large gatherings, even if they were in the supposed privacy of Peter’s apartment, might be noted.

The Mullan siblings, Addie, and I had our own gathering, secreted in our bedroom while Kitty watched TV. Devon was remarkably nonchalant as he explained how he and Sabine had snuck into the Metro Council building with out-of-date identification, altered to look like new. They’d found Hogan Nalles’s office quickly enough.

“Sabine knows how to pick a lock,” Devon said. He didn’t sound impressed. Devon never sounded impressed. But he did sound a little less bored than usual, maybe.

“I’m not really surprised,” Hally said.

Devon shrugged. “We should learn. If we’d known how to do it at Nornand . . .” He trailed off, his eyes meeting ours. “It’s a good skill to have.”

“For criminals, maybe,” Hally said. Her brother didn’t argue, but he didn’t look entirely like he agreed, either.

News of the fireworks in Lankster Square had reached Metro Council Hall quickly. Devon and Sabine heard the commotion outside as Devon set to work on Nalles’s computer, but no one thought to check his office, and they were able to sneak out without being detected.

“So you found it,” Addie said. “The information Sabine wanted. The plans for Powatt.” We were the only one seated on our bed, our legs tucked tightly beneath us. Hally and Devon sat on the ground, her leaning against the nightstand, him with his back against our bed frame. Devon nodded.

“And?” Hally said. Her arms were crossed, her hair spilling over her shoulders, hiding part of her face. Her usual brightness had sharpened to a hard point. I saw everything I needed to see in the unhappy slant of her mouth.

“I didn’t have time to read it all.” Devon shot her a look. “There was a timetable. They’ll be delivering and installing the machinery in a few weeks. There will be groups of officials coming to scope out the place. Some kind of open house before the kids get there. Sabine saved it all to a disk.”

Hally frowned. “She has a computer?”

“She uses one at the college downtown,” Devon said. “Apparently, she’s been sneaking on campus for years. Even sat in on a few of the bigger lectures. No one notices.”

“Did you find names?” Addie asked. “Of the kids who’re going to get sent there?”

Devon shook his head. I thought about the poster of Jaime we’d grabbed while fleeing from the Square.
JAIME CORTAE
, it read.
AGE: 13. HAIR: BROWN. EYES: BROWN. HEIGHT: 5'0". WEIGHT: 85 lbs.

It reminded me of Jaime’s patient file at Nornand. I’d folded the poster up and slid it underneath our mattress. We couldn’t bear to get rid of it, but we could hardly bear to look at it, either.

Hearing Jenson announce a search for Jaime on national television was bad enough, but it was still just a man on a screen. There was a certain distance, a certain belief that one young boy was too small to be found in this enormous country, that danger still wheeled high and unseeing in the clouds. Stumbling upon the poster here was like seeing a flash of talons, feeling them nick our cheek.

“Well,” Addie said, a word and a sigh. “Now what?”

No one responded to that, either. We looked at one another. Sitting in the pastel softness of our Emalia-decorated bedroom, it seemed insane that earlier today, we’d been tearing through the streets, terrified of being caught. Of getting thrown in jail or worse.

I remembered the terror of the crowd. I remembered the sound like gunshots ricocheting around the Square. I hadn’t—hadn’t realized. Hadn’t thought. Each memory of the screaming, trampling crowd punched a hole on our gut, made us sick.

We’d done that. We’d made that happen. With just four little firecrackers and plans laughingly made in a hidden-away, fairy-light-strung attic, we’d terrified hundreds of people. The feeling of power was horrifying. Was this how change began? This feeling like standing on the edge of a cliff, wanting to fly but terrified of falling?

“Sabine supposedly has a plan,” Devon said. He shrugged.

Hally stared at the wall. “I, for one, don’t want anything to do with Sabine’s plans anymore.”

The TV stayed tuned to the local news for the rest of the night. A revolving group of anchors, reporters, eyewitnesses—and then police officers and, finally, government officials—chimed in.

We knew there existed the possibility of hybrid hostility,
they said.
Precautions were put in place,
they said.
This afternoon’s situation was quickly and effectively contained, with no casualties. Investigations to track down the perpetrators are fully under way.

Violence?
There was no violence
, I wanted to protest. It was just flyers and fireworks. That’s all. But no one said the word
firecracker
. They called them
explosions
. They used the word
detonate
.

No one on the news mentioned anything about a security breach at Metro Council Hall. No one mentioned the posters we’d thrown from the rooftops, either. The six names.

But over the next few days, the names spread anyway. Emalia told us about it over quiet, tense dinners. The only thing that spread faster than fear was intrigue, and soon, everyone wanted to know the stories behind the drawings. Posters passed from hand to hand. One small, brave newspaper picked the story up. It was quickly quashed, but by then, it was too late.

For just a few days, the entire city was talking about Kurt, Viola, Anna, Blaise, Kendall, and Max. Six hybrid children who had died without anyone giving it a thought.

Our days slackened into their old routines, which basically consisted of doing nothing at all. Ryan and Devon sank back into their tinkering. Lissa and Hally drifted from couch to dining table to carpet, from books to magazines to idle card games with Kitty. They refused to talk about Lankster Square anymore. Their anger flared when anyone so much as tried to bring it up, so no one did.

“Does Peter know who did it?” Addie asked Sophie in a surge of courage one night. She waited for Sophie, instead of Emalia, because Sophie was calmer. Emalia tended to just flutter at us when we surprised her with a question. “The—whatever it was—at Lankster Square.”

Sophie paused in the middle of clearing the table. Her stack of Styrofoam boxes tilted precariously, and Addie hurried to catch a fork slipping from the top. “No, he doesn’t. Why?”

Addie fiddled with the plastic fork. “Everyone on the news seems to think it was a hybrid who did it.”

“Well, I’m sure we don’t know all the hybrids in Anchoit,” Sophie said. “And just because the news wants us to think it was a hybrid doesn’t mean it actually was one.”

“You think someone might have caused the commotion at the speech just so everyone could blame it on the hybrids?”

Sophie frowned, setting the Styrofoam boxes back onto the table and giving us her full attention. “It’s possible. But what I meant was that someone—someone who isn’t hybrid—might have done what they did because they’re on our side. Henri helps us, right? And he isn’t hybrid.” Her head tilted slightly, her eyes seeking ours. It was a look unsettlingly similar to one our mom used to wear when she was concerned. It made our throat thicken.

Addie averted our gaze. “Here, I’ll get it,” she said quietly. She picked up the stack of white boxes and crossed into the kitchen.

Two weeks passed before Josie’s visit. She never fell out of touch entirely—she called twice to let us know Cordelia and Katy were recovering well and to ask how we were—but after the frenzied days leading up to Lankster Square, it felt like a lifeline had been snipped. The apartment building seemed even smaller than it had before. Suffocating, like a padded room meant to keep us safe against our will.

Josie came early in the morning, so soon after Emalia left for work that I wondered if she’d been watching and waiting. Kitty, who was still eating breakfast, could barely take her eyes off her. Josie flashed her a smile before joining Addie and me on the couch.

It was a relief to see her again, to hear more about what was happening in the outside world. After two weeks, the matter appeared mostly forgotten by the media. In Lupside, information about the museum flooding had circulated on the news for weeks.

Josie smiled wryly when I mentioned this. “Lupside’s a small town, isn’t it? Cities are different. And in the Bessimir case, they probably knew exactly who they were going to frame. They could afford to make a big deal about it—drag it on so the punch line comes so much stronger. Here, the government doesn’t want to kick up
too
much of a fuss yet. Means they don’t have any idea who did it.”

Addie said, and I repeated her question aloud.

“They won’t,” Josie assured us. As she spoke, she took a pen from her pocket and began writing something on her palm. “If you frame somebody, and the real people responsible just do something else, it makes you look stupid.”

“Well, that’s good.” I said. Our chest tightened. I’d known that Lankster Square was only step one of a larger plan. But not seeing Josie for so long had made me doubt a little, made me wonder if she’d been frightened off.

Apparently not.

Kitty was listening to everything we said, so we had to be careful how we phrased things. Talking about the incident at Lankster Square was perfectly normal—expected, even. But we couldn’t say anything to suggest we’d been there, let alone involved in any way.

Josie tilted her palm toward us. I stared at the small, neat black letters.

She smiled, waiting for my answer. I swallowed. I remembered the crush and squeeze of the crowd, the shouting lancing through our brain, the poster of Jaime taped to the shop window.

I thought about the last two weeks, cooped up in Emalia’s apartment again, like little kids in a playpen, expected to be oblivious.

I thought about what Peter had said, how he wanted to send us away. He would try to do it, sooner or later. Sooner, if Powatt was allowed to open. And then what? Addie and I would be stuck with strangers in the middle of God knows where. Going to school. Doing homework. Pretending to be normal. To be like everyone else. Helpless to change anything.

It had taken Sabine and Josie five years to get to this point, to actually try to make a difference. I couldn’t stand waiting another five years. I wanted things to change. Now.

I met Josie’s eyes.

I didn’t ask Addie for her opinion.

I just nodded.

H
ally paced back and forth around her room, her gaze never leaving us. “You want to go
back
?”

I’d told her and Devon about Josie’s visit. Devon, as usual, took the news without much reaction. I’d expected Hally to be resistant—she’d made it clear over the past couple weeks that she hadn’t signed up for what had happened at Lankster Square. And I understood. I did. But her level of incredulity stung me.

Addie was no help. She’d stayed silent since I nodded at Josie, told her we would be at the attic for the next meeting. I couldn’t read her.

I bit back the explanation I’d planned—about how maybe we’d gone about Lankster Square all wrong, but that didn’t mean we should give up entirely. I still believed in Sabine’s plans. And the fact remained that the Powatt institution couldn’t be allowed to open.

“I need to go to see Cordelia,” I said instead. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it tasted like a lie, felt slippery like a lie. “I was there when—I was there when she got hurt. It was my fault. I’ve got to go see her again.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hally said immediately, but she didn’t say anything else, just frowned and pressed her fist against her mouth. She looked toward Devon. Devon shrugged.

“Fine,” she said finally. Her arms were crossed low over her body, not like she was angry, but like she was trying to protect herself. Lissa and Hally dressed differently now. I remembered the clothes that hung in their closet back home, the wild patterns and bright colors. Today, she wore a white blouse and black skirt, her long hair loosely braided back, her ears bare. It made her look stark. Severe.

“Will you come with us?” I said.

Hally’s eyes stayed locked with ours. She shook her head.

I bit our lip. “Okay.”

“I will,” Devon said.

Addie and I were tense the entire walk to the photography store, recoiling when someone came too close, flinching when people shouted behind us. A passing police car, though nothing out of the ordinary, made our legs stiffen. I didn’t know where to direct our eyes.

To my surprise, the sign on the storefront said
Open
when we arrived, and Cordelia was behind the counter. She flipped the
Open
sign to
Closed
after letting us in.

I found myself searching her for signs of injury. There was a small, mostly healed cut near her temple, but that was all I could see. Any other cuts or bruises had already healed or were hidden by her clothes. She’d tamed her pale-yellow hair into a short ponytail at the nape of her neck.

I tried to smile. “Sabine said you were feeling better, but I didn’t realize you were working again.”

Cordelia shrugged. She wasn’t meeting our eyes, didn’t reach for us or touch our arm like she usually did. Cordelia always seemed to crave human contact, but she kept her distance, now. “Got to keep the clients we have. Sadly enough, haven’t found someone to pay me for lying around in bed yet.”