Project Paper Doll (25 page)

“Rachel, what the hell are you—” I began.

She let fly, and I ducked instinctively. The bottle hit the deck, shattering this time, spraying beer and glass in a dozen different directions. The girls closest to me shrieked, their bare legs dotted with foam and speckles of glass. One of them stumbled back, bending down to clutch at her ankle, blood oozing from between her fingers.

Shit. This was getting out of control. I started toward Rachel, my knee screaming in protest.

“Rachel, stop,” Cami begged as Rachel dug into the cooler a third time, coming up double fisted, a bottle in each hand. Trey finally seemed to realize something was really wrong, and headed toward us. But he wasn’t going to get here fast enough.

Cassi reached in to grab Rachel’s hands, but Rachel shouldered her away, and Cassi’s feet tangled over the long cooler handle. She fell, her head hitting the edge of the hot tub with a sickening crack.

Everyone froze, horrified. Everyone except Rachel. She was tunnel-vision focused on me.

I never saw the last bottle coming. To be fair, I don’t think she was aiming it specifically for my head—she wasn’t really aiming anywhere, just chucking anything and everything she could reach in my general direction. And I was distracted, watching as Cami dropped to the ground next to her twin, her mouth a silent O of distress and shock.

The bottle struck the side of my face, opening a white-hot line of pain on my cheek. The world spun for a moment, giving me an odd view of Ariane. She was taller than me somehow. That was when I realized I’d fallen to my knees. Ariane was motionless, her strange eyes wide and fixed on my face. Then color rose through her pale face, and her mouth turned into a tight line.

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” I managed through numb lips. I wasn’t, though. I could feel warm blood trickling down my cheek and dripping off my jaw, and everything around me had taken on a strangely dreamy, distant feeling.
Head injury. Concussion, maybe. Stitches, definitely.
A voice in my head, logical and unmoved, cataloged my injuries.

People were starting to panic, the air filled with the scent of spilled blood and beer.

“Rachel, put it down!”

“Call 911! Cassi’s not waking up!”

“Shari’s bleeding!”

But Rachel, swaying unsteadily, ignored them, a bottle still in her hand. Her gaze narrowed in on Ariane, a new target now that I was down.

I looked up to tell Ariane to move, to run, knowing it was too late—but she was already in motion. Heading
toward
Rachel.

Rachel gave an enraged screech and threw the bottle at her.

“Rachel, no!” I flinched, anticipating the thump/shatter of the bottle connecting with Ariane and the ensuing cry of pain.

But instead I heard a collective gasp from the crowd.

Ariane was facing Rachel without fear, her palm out and up, as though defending herself. But the bottle, the one Rachel had hurled at Ariane, was hovering in midair, about six inches from Rachel’s hand, which was frozen in a throwing position.

“They want you to stop, Rachel,” Ariane said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact.

I shook my already wobbly head in disbelief, trying to clear the image. Getting hit with that bottle had done even more damage than I’d thought. No, wait, everyone else was staring, too, at the bottle fixed in space like it was some kind of freaky Criss Angel illusion.

Ariane remained impassive as Rachel tried desperately to lower her arm, struggling against some invisible force holding her in place. “How are you…what… Let go of me, you freak!” Rachel spat, confusion and fear taking precedence over anger.

A weird rippling sensation spread across my skin and made the hair on my arms stand up, and suddenly Rachel wasn’t moving at all anymore. Her eyes grew so wide I could see the whites of them from where I was.

“They told you to stop. But you just couldn’t resist making him bleed. Hurting innocent people for your own agenda,” Ariane said, advancing on Rachel, hatred pouring from every word. “Maybe you’d like to know what it feels like to be on the other side of that decision. Not that you’re innocent, of course.”

She moved closer. Rachel’s face turned red and then an alarming shade of purple. She clutched at the left side of her chest, giving a horrible-sounding gurgle that came from deep within her throat. And still Ariane approached, her hand out and steady, her steps calm and sure.

Ariane was doing this. Somehow. She was making this happen to Rachel.

Dark veins pulsed in Rachel’s forehead and throat as she fought to breathe.

I staggered to my feet. “Ariane.” I forced her name out, my voice cracked and rusty-sounding. But it was enough.

She started as if she’d completely forgotten my presence. As if maybe she’d forgotten everyone and everything but Rachel. The beer bottle dropped to the ground with a sudden thud. And Rachel fell to her hands and knees, coughing violently as she sucked in desperate breaths.

Ariane slowly turned to face me. The flush of anger had drained away, leaving her even paler than normal—almost gray—as she took in all the people watching.

Her throat worked like she was struggling to find words or she might be sick. She looked small and vulnerable, but there was also something completely unfamiliar about her. Something foreign and frightening.

She fixed a pleading gaze on me, and I looked away, my head spinning with everything I’d seen. Who was this girl? The same one I’d been kissing in my truck just last night? I couldn’t make my brain reconcile all the conflicting facts. The question circling my brain was the same one I’d had all along—who is Ariane Tucker? Only now it had a far more ominous tone to it, and I felt even less sure of the answer.

“I…I’m sorry,” she said to me in a choked voice. Then she turned and bolted for the stairs; and everyone, including me, let her go.

I
ALMOST KILLED
R
ACHEL
J
ACOBS
.

My face hot with tears, I lurched through the gate into the darkened side yard, forcing myself to breathe through the urge to gag. Now was not the time for crying or throwing up. I needed to think.

The barrier dropped and I almost killed her. In front of every
one. In front of Zane.

She didn’t give you a choice! She was hurting people. She was hurting Zane.

The all-too-clear image of Zane with blood running down the side of his face, his expression dulled with shock, floated in front of my eyes. And right behind him, Rachel had been preparing to hurt him further. And no one was doing anything about it. No one was stopping her.

Just like her grandfather. Just like GTX.

The bubble of fury, resentment, and fear that I’d been suppressing for days, no, years, had burst forth and something inside me had clicked. Like the combination lock my father referenced last night.

When I’d lifted my hand, it was as if there was no barrier in my head, as if there never had been one. I wanted Rachel to stop, so she did.

I didn’t have to struggle or force it into being. No sense of a wall coming down or a door opening up. It was like reaching out for something that had once been impossible to get and having it fall into my hand.

Natural. Simple. Easy.

If only I’d stopped there. But I hadn’t.

I’d wanted Rachel to hurt, to be afraid, and that urge had consumed me, blocking everything else out. Her face had turned red and purplish and the vein in her forehead protruded, her heart struggling to keep beating against my will.

And then Zane had called my name. The way he’d looked at me, his face pale beneath the blood, it had just cut straight through me. I’d heard the bitter clanging of fear in his head, like one of those old-fashioned alarm bells that wouldn’t shut off.

Then he wouldn’t look at me at all. He’d been scared or horrified or disgusted or maybe all three.

And some part of me—soft, hopeful, human—had died in that moment.

Even though I knew better, I’d allowed myself to believe that, with Zane,
who
I was outweighed
what
I was. And that only made things so much worse now.

The force of his rejection slammed into me all over again, stealing my breath, and I had to fight the urge to curl up into a ball in the middle of Rachel’s lawn.

I forced myself forward, toward the street, folding my arms across my chest in a vain attempt to stop the tremors shaking my whole body.

It had been a mistake to come here. A mistake I’d added to by not walking out the second I’d realized that Rachel was out of control. Even if it meant leaving Zane behind. That’s what the Rules dictated.

It’s a little late to be worrying about the Rules now, isn’t it?
my logical side pointed out.
You have bigger concerns.

I was whole again, what I’d once been, with all the inherent flaws and dangers. It wouldn’t take much to turn me into the weapon Dr. Jacobs had wanted from the beginning. And I’d just done the alien/human hybrid equivalent of skywriting,
COME AND GET ME. I’M RIGHT HERE!

It wouldn’t take long for word to spread about what had happened. Even if none of the people at the party understood what they’d witnessed, the inevitable cell phone videos would be out floating on YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and God only knew where else in a matter of minutes.

I had to be smart. Make this time count. It was a head start, nothing more.

Following the protocols my father had established, I pulled my cell from my pocket and chucked it into the grass, trying not to feel as if I’d thrown away my life preserver in the middle of drowning. But it was too risky, too easy for GTX to track.

Now all I had to do was get to the half-empty Wygreen shopping center on the other side of town. The Dumpster behind the abandoned Linens-N-Things would have a duffel bag of emergency supplies and cash duct-taped beneath it.

I never should have kissed him. None of this would be happen
ing now if I’d just kept my distance.

Except I couldn’t quite bring myself to wish it all away, even after tonight.

Going to the activities fair, pretending to be a regular girl, and forgetting the truth for a while, that had been worth it. And last night, the feel of Zane’s hands on me, moving without hesitation…

I crossed the street, cursing my stupid too-human heart. This was so not the time to be getting distracted by—

Headlights flashed suddenly, trapping me in their glare. Blinded, I threw my hands up to block the light.

Engines revved, and I heard rolling doors slide open. I blinked furiously, willing my eyes to adjust. But when they did, I saw what I expected, what I feared: men dressed in black with the bright red GTX logo on their shoulders pouring out of vans parked on the street—black vans with the florist logo that I’d seen earlier today.
Retrieval teams.

My heartbeat exploded in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. My legs went weak and shaky, caught between the urge to flee and the primal instinct to freeze. But a tiny part of me remained calm, unsurprised. Of course GTX was here. They’d always been somewhere around, lurking in the shadows; the only question had been when they would catch up with me, when they would figure out I’d been right here in Wingate the whole time.

But how had they found me so quickly? How had they known I was here? Those were questions I’d have to leave for later.

The first wave of men, plastic restraints in hand, approached in a standard five-formation but without nearly enough caution.

Because no matter how life-destroying tonight’s encounter with Rachel had been, it had given me one advantage: the frustrating combination lock on the wall in my head no longer existed. It didn’t need to.

The wall was gone. The second I saw the retrieval teams coming toward me I felt the bubbly tingle of power race along my skin, and my head began to ache like a muscle longing to stretch. It was an overwhelming sensation, and it took everything I had not to give in to it.

“Stay away,” I said in a choked voice. The warning came from deep inside me. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I knew I could.

The foremost man on the retrieval team held a hand up. “It’s okay. We don’t mean you any harm.” A trickle of sweat ran down his face beneath his helmet.

I didn’t believe him. I wasn’t sure if he even believed him.

But it didn’t matter. That was all it took.

Something half forgotten welled up inside me and took over, running attack scenarios.

Holding the men in place was a possibility, but it would take a great deal more effort, and it would be hard to contain so many of them. Three teams of five. Fifteen men. Or I could go full-on Darth Vader—

No, there was a much simpler option.

Hit center mass. Force to injure and incapacitate. No kill.

That formerly lost part of me calculated angles, speed, and force in a blink. And then I
shoved
at the closest team. Not with my hands—that would have ended in disaster—but with all that lovely power dancing along my skin.

The force of the effort took my breath away for a second, but the results were immediate. The five men closest to me flew backward as if a giant arm had come along and swept them away. They collided with the cars parked along the side of the road, cracking windows, denting doors, and making car alarms shriek.

The grim determination to grind my competitors into nothing, to win not by a little but by utter annihilation, was something I kept buried. An inheritance of uncertain origin. Perhaps it came from beings who’d set out to conquer this tiny blue-and-brown ball of dirt—there were those rumors, too, that the single ship in 1947 had been a scout for a larger invasion—or maybe it was from my human side, a primal instinct left over from the caveman days of few people and even fewer resources.

Either way, tonight, when I called on that legacy, it answered, rising up inside me with hot fury. I smiled fiercely, daring my challengers to come closer.

The remaining retrieval teams slowed their approach, reevaluating, and at a command I couldn’t hear, they pulled guns from holsters on their backs. Loaded with tranquilizers probably. I would have preferred to confirm that from their thoughts, but I couldn’t afford to lose focus.

I only needed one small break here, a chance to slip away into the shadows…

A strangled noise came from behind me, and I turned to see Zane at the corner of Rachel’s house, staring at the scene playing out before him, a stack of napkins pressed against his bloodied cheek.

The GTX teams reshuffled suddenly, drawing my attention back to them. One of the teams broke off, giving me a wide berth and heading in Zane’s direction. I didn’t know if that was because they knew who he was or if they just wanted to suppress the possibility of a witness.

Either way, I wouldn’t let GTX have him.

No.
With a thought, I shoved the team approaching Zane. They flew sideways, landing on the sidewalk with satisfying thuds and grunts of pain.

Behind me, I sensed movement rather than heard it, and turned in time to see darts coming at me. I knocked them down, sending them clattering to the pavement.

That had been close—the retrieval teams had used Zane as a distraction. Obviously GTX was not going to give up easily.

No matter. I would simply have to try harder. I could beat them. They were only human.

I started toward Zane; consolidating our position would make it much easier to defend us both.

“Ariane.”

I stopped dead, startled. The voice was familiar. Too familiar. One I would recognize anywhere. It was the voice that had called me out of the darkness and smoke so many years ago.

“Father?” The word caught in my throat, escaping only as a whisper, and this time, my concentration was shattered beyond repair. How did he know where I was? He shouldn’t be here. GTX would find him, kill him.

Panicking, I spun around and squinted into the shadows, where his voice had come from. And that was the only opening the team behind me needed. I didn’t hear the gunfire, just felt the dart enter my back with a tight pinch, right below the GTX tattoo on my shoulder.

Icy fear washed over me, and I stumbled forward, trying to run.

But the drug was powerful…and fast. My legs wouldn’t obey. I tried to reach up and remove the dart, but my hand felt heavy, as if it had been baked into the middle of a concrete block.

My knees wobbled, and I went down hard on the asphalt, unable to stop my fall. My head struck the road, igniting a sharp blast of pain, and my vision swirled.

I struggled to keep my eyes open and focused.
Get up, get up! Come on! MOVE!

I needed to reach my father and get us both out of here.

But I couldn’t. I managed to stay alert long enough to see Zane retreating, slipping back toward the party; and then, on the other side of me, a gray-haired man in a GTX security uniform emerged from the street shadows.… My father.

My father, in his black security uniform with the bright red GTX logo on the sleeve, loomed over me. “I told you, Ariane,” he said, his voice bent and weirdly distorted by the drug shutting my body down. “Rule number one: Never trust anyone.”