The Enclave (58 page)

Gaias had already turned his attention to Zowan. “So, little brother. I hear you’ve been up to the surface—not once, not twice, but
three
times. And brought back some of the vermin there with you.”

He’ d asked no question, so Zowan said nothing.

“They are evil and corrupt up there. Poisoning their world, as they poison themselves. You have profaned the purity of our enclave by bringing him here. He will have to die, of course.”

Zowan swallowed hard. He’ d been so concerned for his own safety, he’d not even considered Cameron’s.

“Where is Parthos?” Gaias demanded. “Did you leave him up there?” The question was so out of the blue, it drew Zowan’s gaze back to him in puzzlement.

“Parthos?”

Gaias was implacable. “I know he went with you. Him and that little vixen Terra . . . ah, but we have her. Oh, she was sweet in my arms . . .her flesh so soft and full, and the way she moved under me . . .”

“Shut up!” Zowan burst out, shocked at his sudden aggression. “If she was moving, it was only in her struggle to escape you.”

Gaias drew back in the face of Zowan’s sudden ferocity. He stood rigidly, as if fighting some deep emotion, the surface of his third eye rippling like a larvae struggling to burst free of its cocoon. For a moment Zowan thought his brother would attack him. Instead, Gaias relaxed and chuckled aloud. He said something more, but his voice was eclipsed by another’s:

“You must come down now.”
Andros had awakened. “
Kill him and
be done with it. Then come and free me.”
The words carried with them a vision of his brother with the eye put out and blood streaming from his slit throat.

“Answer me, Zowan!” Gaias’s barked command shattered the gruesome image as he shook Zowan by the arm. For the first time Zowan realized his brother had gotten bigger than he was.

“Answer me!” Gaias shook him again, hard, and Zowan struggled to recall what he’ d asked.

“Where is Parthos?” Gaias repeated.

“I don’t know.” But he suddenly realized what Gaias was asking him, and a perverse joy swelled up. Parthos had gotten away!

He clamped down on his excitement, watching Gaias from the corner of his eye as the oculus swiveled in its socket, gleaming in the pale light from the ceiling lamps as it focused and refocused upon him.

“You’re lying,” Gaias said finally, his tone one of astonishment mixed with anger. “You’re lying to me. Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Zowan said nothing, shocked that Gaias would say such a thing, and almost wanting to laugh. Neos was right: they really
couldn’t
read his mind.

“Did you think because I’m new that I wouldn’t be able to tell?”

Zowan had no answer for him.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Gaias drew up, scowling at him. “Very well, then. Let us see how the Enclave judges your treachery.”

He glanced over Zowan’s shoulder to the Enforcers behind him, and they came forward to seize Zowan’s arms, dragging him off to his inevitable meeting with the Cube.

Chapter Forty-Four

New Eden

Lacey awoke from a nightmare wherein Erik chased her through Swain’s penthouse with a baseball bat while people chanted a weird version of the Lord’s Prayer in the background.

She lay on a thick, quilted pad in a long, low-ceilinged room. The weak light filtering through a screened opening at the chamber’s far end showed ranks of similar pads—all unoccupied—laid out in two parallel rows down the room’s length, with a walkway between. An annoying, wheedling music emanated from somewhere outside the opening. From the aroma of coffee and toast she guessed it was morning.

Sorting through her memories, she tried to figure out where she was. . . . The party, the moments with Cam in the garden, the standoff with Swain in his loft-museum.
Ah, that’s right. . . .
Swain had drugged her, probably with a tranquilizer dart to the back of her neck as she’ d fled. That was no doubt why she felt so muzzy-headed and jittery.

The wheedling music faded to silence, and a man spoke briefly in the other room, something about a trial and that everyone was to meet someplace in two hours. Then he, too, fell silent. After a moment she heard sounds of people stirring and women’s voices.

“Well,” one said, “I guess that explains last night.”

“Except he only mentioned Zowan being on trial. What about the other fellow?”

“I heard they took him to Parker himself.”

“I’ve never seen the other man down there before.”

“He was cute, though, wasn’t he?”

Lacey sat up to find she no longer wore the blue cocktail dress but rather a set of white cotton pajamas with red and brown embroidery down the front. Pushing herself to her feet, she shuffled unsteadily to the screen and peered around it. A group of young women sat about the room on a thick Persian rug, all dressed in similar pajamas, though in different colors and styles. Several sat tailor-style on pillows and worked at wooden looms. Others spun thread from baskets of wool using ancient drop spindles, while still others embroidered or worked at needlepoint in their laps. A few—hugely pregnant—merely reclined on the large pillows, chatting.

Mirrored ceiling fixtures cast a diffuse light upon the room, where bookshelves stood here and there against three walls, and a large-screen television hung on the wall to Lacey’s right, flanked by potted Kentia palms. To the left, a series of carved wooden screens filtered light from what seemed to be a long window on its far side.

The dark-haired girl nearest Lacey stopped her spinning to watch the newcomer closely. She looked familiar.

“Where am I?” Lacey asked her.

“You’re in the Residence of Father’s Wives.”

Father’s wives . . . Lacey’s eyes fell to the girl’s pregnant abdomen, swelling like a basketball beneath her billowy tunic. A quick scan confirmed that nearly every woman in the room was in some stage of pregnancy. Memory returned in a rush: Swain’s palm coming to rest on her belly
. “Most of all I want this. . . . ”

She’d just spent who-knew-how-many hours unconscious during which they could have done anything to her. Depending on where she was in her monthly cycle, the implantation of an embryo was an easy outpatient procedure accomplished in twenty minutes at most. She could, right now, be pregnant with one of his “gods.” Maybe that was why she felt so strange.

Her knees buckled, and she sagged to the floor.
This can’t be
happening.

The girl set her spindles aside and came to sit beside her. “I know it’s a bit of a shock, but . . . you’ll be fine. Really.”

“
Fine?!
I’ve been drugged, kidnapped, am being held here against my will, and you say I’m going to be
fine?
The only way I’ll be fine is when he lets me out of here.”

The girl looked at her with sympathetic brown eyes. “It’s not that bad a life, really. Our needs are more than met, our work is easy, we have fun, and the food is great. They have a great spa, too.”

Lacey stared at her as if she were out of her mind. Maybe she was. Maybe that was the only way to survive the ordeal. To live in self-delusion, telling herself everything was great while ignoring reality.

One of the girls pressed a button in the wall near the TV screen, and soft music filled the silent room. The others were all concentrating on whatever work they had, avoiding Lacey’s gaze. She returned her attention to the first girl and suddenly realized she’ d seen her in the articles about the young women who had disappeared from Kendall-Jakes. “You’re Andrea Stopping!” she cried.

The girl smiled sadly. “Sorry,” she said. “My name is Isis.”

“No, you’re Andrea. I’m sure of it. I read all about your disappearance. They said you were depressed and went out to kill yourself.”

Now the oldest of the women, almost to term from the look of her giant belly, spoke. “Welcome to Paradise, Eve,” she said warmly, as if Lacey had said nothing at all. “We are so glad you have joined us. I am Theia, wife mother. I have borne precious fruit ten times.”

Lacey looked over her shoulder to see this Eve, but no one was there.
Is she talking to me?
She turned back to find all the girls watching her. “My name’s not Eve,” she said.

“It is now, dear,” Theia informed her with a smile. “That is the name your husband gave you when you became his wife.”

“My
husband
?! I have no husband, and my name is Lacey McHenry. Not
Eve
.”

And just like that the women’s pleasant expressions turned disapproving, and except for Isis, all turned away from her very deliberately and went back to their work. After a few moments they resumed their conversation, discussing why those two young men had burst into their chambers last night.

Lacey heard them as through thick wool, words she sensed should have meaning, but did not. Her ears began to roar.

Andrea-Isis gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s hard at first,” she whispered. “But it’s better if you don’t fight it. In the end, Parker’s will is done, regardless.” She glanced aside, then added, “And it really is an honor to be part of what he’s doing.”

Lacey leaned away from her, aghast. How could she say such a thing? Accepting slavery as if it were an honor? They
were
insane. Living in denial and sublimation while.—

Her thoughts drew up short as she recalled her own forays into that territory. She could have left the Institute right at the start, right when she’ d realized they were impugning her mental stability with that false accusation of stress-induced hallucination. Cam had told her to leave, but she hadn’t. Even after she knew Swain had lied to her, she stayed on, wanting all the things he’ d offered and hoping he was telling the truth.

By the time she’ d come around to helping Cam, it had already been too late. But still, even if her own delusions had landed her here, she didn’t have to accept it. Didn’t have to believe it was “fine” and “an honor,” when it was neither. Andrea-Isis had gone back to her spindles, her expression thoughtful, even pensive. . . . Then again, Lacey thought, maybe she didn’t believe it, either. Maybe she’ d just said what was needed to avoid punishment.

Lacey’s hands slid over her abdomen, and she felt a sudden frantic nausea pound at her as she remembered—he’ d put something inside her. Some horrid monster, some half-breed mixed with who knew what.

Suddenly it all overwhelmed her. Everything she’d been through— all the deception and empty promises, the perpetual fear and imbalance, the false hopes, the wretched disappointment . . .

She thought of those precious moments with Cam in the garden . . . which Swain had watched and listened to and later profaned in his own disgusting attempt to seduce her. He’ d known Cam was going into the Enclave and, given what he must’ve heard Cam tell her in the garden, probably had a good idea when and where. He had to have been waiting. Which meant Cam could very well be dead.

That realization opened floodgates of emotion that had so far been held at bay by shock and disbelief. She began to weep. From loss and fear and bitter regret, from frustration and horror at her stupidity, from loneliness that only seemed to grow worse—harsh, raw, wretched sobs that would have embarrassed her under any other circumstances. Isis came and wrapped her arms about her, letting her wail until her nose ran and her throat ached and the wild sobbing gradually subsided into quiet weeping, and then just quietness itself. Isis continued to hold her for a time, then gently released her and offered her a glass of water.

Lacey took it with suspicion at first, then realized it was pointless. They controlled everything in her environment. If they wanted to drug her again, they would. What could she do to stop it?

So she drank the water, and Isis handed the empty glass off to the girl who’d apparently brought it in the first place.

“It’s the hormones they gave you that are making it seem so bad,”

Isis said. “To prepare your womb.” She paused. “Not that it still wouldn’t be hard.”

Lacey looked up at her sharply. “Prepare my womb? You mean I’m not—?”

“Not yet.” Andrea-Isis smiled.

“Isis, dear,” said Theia, “would you come help me with this?”

Andrea-Isis gave Lacey’s shoulder another squeeze and got up to obey. As the woman left, Lacey felt as if a huge weight had lifted off her.She wasn’t pregnant. Not yet.
Oh, thank you, Lord! Thank you!

Though no one would even look at her anymore, much less speak, she was allowed to roam freely through the Residence, and did so, hoping to find some means of escape. In addition to the communal sleeping room where she’ d first awakened, there were private chambers with closing doors and small bassinets for the newborns, one of which was occupied. Lacey stared at the baby for a long time, comforted that it at least looked normal. In addition to sleeping rooms and a large bathroom area, there was also a library, a music room with a piano, a spa and workout area, a craft room, and a kitchen with an herb garden under lights.

Except for the new mothers’ rooms, none of the chambers had doors, and many were simply a result of strategic placement of the ubiquitous carved wooden screens. She found the walking gallery last, stretching along behind the series of screens that separated it from the main room. Its facing wall was a long plate-glass window overlooking a miniature mall, protected by floor-to-ceiling iron scrollwork.

The walking gallery was deserted except for a girl with kinky, waist-length red-brown hair standing at the far end near a recirculating fountain made of three bronze bowls. Her attention fixed on something in the mall, she seemed unaware of Lacey’s entrance.

Which was just as well. She probably wouldn’t talk anyway.

Lacey stared down at the island of palms and shrubs and waterways running the length of the tiny mall, where now and then individuals entered and departed. After all the weeping and exploring and the dashing of her hopes for escape, a tide of despair rolled over her. Who was she kidding to think she’ d get away? Surely Andrea had fought at first. And here she was, still trapped, still bound to Parker’s will.

Another bout of weeping seized her, but it was a quiet flow this time.