Soulprint (36 page)

The guard to my room is returning with his sandwich delivery at the same time I'm walking down the hall. I slide my key into the door and nod at him. He nods back, his mouth full of bread and chicken as he slides into the chair.

I step into the room and I smile—there's a bag in the corner that does not belong to me, and there's a guy standing beside it, leaning against the wall. I turn on the television, turn the volume up high, before going to him.

“You waited,” he says before I get to him. He's quiet, and I'm not sure if it's because of the guard outside or because of where he just was and what he went through.

“Of course I waited,” I say.

He smiles, but he doesn't come closer.

I do not know what to do with this new Cameron, this version of him who has lost a sister. “How's Casey?” I ask, which seems like the safest way to find out how he is.

He shrugs. “Okay. Devastated and angry, but she'll be okay. Better today than yesterday. Better yesterday than the day before.” He pushes off the wall then, meets me halfway. “Ava's been gone for a year, Alina. It's … there's some comfort in knowing the truth, even if it's not what you were hoping for.”

“You're okay,” I say.

“I'm okay,” he says. “Better now that I'm here.”

“You came back,” I say.

His eyes shine. “Of course I came back.”

He leans closer, but there's a commotion in the hall. I turn the volume down on the television and hear the guards speaking
to each other. “Cameron checked in, but he's not in his room. Have you seen him?”

Cameron laughs. “I wanted to come see you before heading to my room. I didn't know if there were rules about room visits, so I figured it was a better plan to just not find out …”

I knock on the door and tell the guard, “Cameron is fine.” And the commotion stops. I don't think anyone knows if there's a protocol for this.

But then the talking picks up again.

He rolls his eyes. “I'll be out in a few minutes.” His face goes serious. “What's the plan, Alina Chase? They're not going to let me stay much longer.”

But just in case, I move the lock at the top of the hotel door, to slow them down.

“You better sit down,” I say.

I sit beside him on the edge of the queen bed and show him my laptop, the comments I've found, the video of my mother. I sing him the lyrics. He's watching me with his head tilted to the side.

“She's telling me to come,” I say.

“Are you sure it's her? It could be anyone—it's anonymous.”

“Yes. No. I'm not
sure
,” I say. “But I believe it is.” How insidious a belief can be, coloring all of my decisions. I shrug, playing it off, closing the laptop. “But if not, I hear there's an ocean. Maybe I'll finally learn to swim.”

He smiles and pulls me close, his hands around my back, his face close to mine. “I think it's her. I hope it's her.”

So do I. Hope must be contagious, too. And, I think, if I am so full of the hope that maybe she has waited these seven years for me after the failed escape, then maybe so is she. Maybe she has hope still that I will make my way to her.

I pull back from him, and I tell myself to look brave, look calm, don't cry. “I have to go,” I whisper.

For a second, I think he'll try to talk me out of it. To be honest, I hope he tries. “I'll come back and find you,” I say. “I promise.”

But he stands and goes to the window, where he picks up his bag, pulling it open. “There's still some room,” he says. “I packed light.”

And when he sees the look on my face, he smiles and says, “One more crime, for old time's sake? Honestly, I've kind of missed it.”

He pushes the screen from the window, but there's a two-story drop. I reach out, my hands testing the nearest branch. “You sure?” Cameron asks.

“Ha,” I say. “How's your back?” I ask. “Can you do it?”

He holds my waist and helps me hoist myself onto the branch. I wrap my legs around it and scoot closer to the trunk, and I laugh as he mumbles, “Of course I can do it.”

We make our way down the tree, branch to branch. Cameron stays close, in case I need an extra hand—or in case he does. We drop the remaining distance together, and I laugh as he stumbles on the landing. He puts a hand over his shoulder,
reaching down his back. “I have an injury, don't mock me—some girl saved my life by taking a knife to my back. Such is love, so I hear.”

And then he's the one smiling and I'm the one stumbling, but he's definitely not wrong. “So I hear,” I say.

There's no pattern to falling in love. At least, nothing I can understand. Not something I could see beforehand. Not something I can decipher after, either. Trust can be earned, piece by piece, like links of a chain. But love is more like faith, or belief: it's a leap. It's hurtling over the edge of the cliff and trusting you will not drown.

“What are you thinking about?” Cameron asks. He's looking at me as if he can read something on my face, but it's also a challenge.

“You,” I say, and I feel my smile mirroring his.

He closes the distance between us. “Just so we're clear,” he says, “I'm here because this is the only place I want to be.”

“Outside a hotel?”

“
Alina
,” he says. “I'm trying to tell you something.”

I already know. But I love how he wants me to be sure of him.

“Clear,” I say, the second before he kisses me.

There's a commotion nearby, near the corner of the hotel, as we pull apart. And I see a single reporter, his camera on his shoulder, his press badge swinging across his button-down, his eyes fixed on me and Cameron. I pick up Cameron's bag,
swing it over my shoulder, and hold up my hand in greeting. He holds up his free hand as well. I smile—at him, at the camera—and I wave good-bye.

“Wait,” he says, as I turn away. Cameron takes my hand, and I can feel the tension in his grip—he's ready to run. But the man rests his camera on its side in the thick grass, fishes inside his pocket, and tosses a set of keys in our direction. “It's the black truck near the playground,” he says, gesturing through the trees. “If you're looking for a ride.”

“Thank you,” I say.

We race through the trees until we hit a park. I see children running across the grass, a girl with her head tipped back on the swing, a baby in a carriage while a woman rocks it gently back and forth. Some of them look at us, some of them smile. Some look away. But nobody stops us.

The children go back to their game. The girl stretches her feet to the sky. The mother goes back to her baby.

I want to believe it's Genevieve, with her head tipped back, staring at the sky, and Ava, being rocked to sleep, beginning her life again right now. I hope, whoever they are, that they have a good life. I hope they live and love and know that there are people who love them back—in this life, and the last.

“I really can't wait to teach you to swim,” Cameron says, hanging an arm over my shoulder. “I mean, seriously, you're horrible. It's like you have no natural instinct for survival.”

He opens the door of the mud-covered truck, and I climb in before him. “I bet you don't even know how to
drive
,” he says.

“Add it to the list,” I say.

“I've got a long list,” he says.

I sit beside him on the bench seat in the front of the truck. Nobody follows us as we pull out of the lot, then onto the highway. Every few minutes, he catches my eye and smiles, and I can't help doing the same. I spend a lot of the drive daydreaming—no nausea at all. Imagining what waits for us.

In my mind, I can see it already: feet in the sand, Cameron in the water, and my mother's voice, calling me inside.

But for now, Cameron is sitting beside me and we're in the cab of a truck, heading south. Next, we'll get out and cross the river on foot. We'll make it there, to Tierra de Sueños and whatever awaits us.

We will make it.

I know we will.

Thank you to everyone who helped usher this book from idea to draft to finished product. I am so fortunate to have all your guidance and support.

My agent, Sarah Davies, whose thoughtful advice I rely on from the first pitch to the final book—and beyond. I'm so lucky to have you in my corner.

My editor, Emily Easton, who championed this idea when it was just a handful of pages and a chat over dinner, and who knew exactly what I was hoping this book would become—and showed me how to get it there.

The entire team at Bloomsbury, including Jenna Pocius, Patricia McHugh, Nicole Gastonguay, Lizzy Mason, Erica Barmash, Beth Eller, Linette Kim, and Courtney Griffin; and the teams at Bloomsbury UK and Australia, including Rebecca McNally, Natalie Hamilton, and Emma Bradshaw. It's such a pleasure working with you all!

My talented and thoughtful critique partners: Elle Cosimano, Megan Shepherd, Ashley Elston, Jill Hathaway, and everyone at Bat Cave 2013. I'm so thankful for your feedback, and your friendship.

My mother, who will read every draft of everything I ever write; and my father, who tells everyone who will listen about my books.

And my husband, Luis, who declared this one his favorite idea.

Fracture

Vengeance

Hysteria

Copyright © 2015 by Megan Miranda

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in the United States of America in February 2015
by Bloomsbury Children's Books
Electronic edition published in January 2015
www.bloomsbury.com

Bloomsbury is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury Children's Books, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Miranda, Megan.
Soulprint / by Megan Miranda.
pages    cm
Summary: Alina has spent her seventeen years imprisoned for the crimes of her past self, as shown by soul fingerprinting when she was a newborn, but when a group of people with questionable motives help her escape, she discovers she may not be as innocent as she believes and must wonder if she is fated to repeat her past.
[1. Prisoners—Fiction. 2. Guilt—Fiction. 3. Soul—Fiction. 4. Fugitives from justice—Fiction. 5. Conduct of life—Fiction. 6. Reincarnation—Fiction. 7. Science fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M67352Sou 2015     [Fic]—dc23     2014009921

eISBN: 978-0-8027-3805-9

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