Page 60 of Winterveil

But Professor Blanchard didn’t reply. Instead, he turned to face the audience, gave a beatific smile, and said into the mic, “Ms. Karam has been kind enough to volunteer herself to demonstrate my latest innovation. Thanks for being such a good sport, Nadiya—and a useful test subject.”

He stepped to the center of the arena. “The technological advances that have been made in the last few months at Valeran are nothing short of groundbreaking. I’m sure you’ll all agree that Ms. Karam is leagues above her fellow students. So I thought—why not give her real competition, and the audience a good show?”

The crowd murmured in bewilderment. Nadiya searched again for Dr. Iver’s face. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was speaking, instead, to the rep from the Farm, who continued to look unmoved.

Professor Blanchard strolled back through the side door, giving her a wave before vanishing.

The nodes on Nadiya’s temples burned. There was the crackle of static in her ear. Briefly, her vision flashed black. And then a figure materialized before her.

It had dark hair gathered into a high ponytail, bangs framing an oval face. Olive skin gleamed in the sunlight. Large, wide-set, deep brown eyes were set over sharp cheekbones. Slender fingers curled around the hilt of a gun.

Nadiya stumbled back. “You—”

“Me,” the figure replied. She replied in Nadiya’s voice, wearing Nadiya’s skin. A perfect replica, down to how her nose flared in that cocksure way and her brows arched with challenge.

Blood roared in Nadiya’s ears. She took another step back, and the replica followed. Mimicking her movements, like a mirror image.

Fear choked her. Nadiya looked desperately up into the crowd. Dr. Iver was watching as the Farm rep etched a note onto his pad.

He wouldn’t stop this, she realized. No one would. Dr. Iver had known what would happen all along—he knew her better than anyone. He had to have known she would volunteer. And now here was the profit of all Professor Blanchard’s secret, sinister work.

Nadiya’s gaze shifted briefly to Giselle. Her face had gone pale.

The replica advanced, pistol held aloft. It was still smirking, Nadiya’s dimple slicing its left cheek.

Nadiya drew her own gun, but the hand that held it was trembling.

“Stop it,” she bit out—as if such an aberrant creature could be reasoned with. As if she were not looking into her own pitiless eyes.

The replica fired first, and Nadiya ducked as the bullet soared past her shoulder. Distantly, she heard it make impact with the wall. It should have been impossible.

The bewilderment unbalanced her physically. She dropped to her knees in the dirt.

Before she could scramble to her feet, the replica approached and stood over her. It blocked out the sun, even though it had no shadow.

“Weak little girl,” the replica sneered.

Until now, Nadiya’s heart had been racing too loudly and her mind had been too muddled to understand. Now the realization hit her like a blow to the head.

The replica was speaking Arabic. She hadn’t heard the language in so long and she was surprised that she remembered it at all. Memories came pouring back.

“Shut up,” Nadiya gasped. “Shut up—”

She launched herself at the replica, arms around its waist, pinning it to the ground. Or so she thought. There was nothing substantial to hold. It was a hologram, even if it looked as real and solid as she did.

The replica smiled up at her. “You’re stronger than I thought you would be.”

Nadiya slammed her fist into its face. The hologram warped briefly, and her hand thudded emptily into the dirt.

The replica laughed. “But not as smart.”

That was when she realized something else: The replica spoke Arabic that she understood. It was impossible.

If it had been Modern Standard Arabic, that would have made enough sense to her. It would have been programmed in, a single, simple line of code. But there was no explanation, absolutely none, for the replica to know the particular idiosyncratic, undocumented dialect of a tiny second- and third-generation community of Lebanese Americans in New Jersey.

None except—

She couldn’t allow herself to think it.