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‘She’ll be fine now,’ the medic says, backing up a few steps.
The official glowers at him and then turns and leads me to the stairs. At the last step, he grabs my arm and leans in close. ‘Make it look real. Her life depends on it.’
I don’t have the guts to ask him if he means my mother or my sister; his answer will only tell me who is dead. I stagger up the stairs and blink hard against the bright lights of the main floor. Every lamp is on and the kitchen and dining room have been ransacked. As we march through the dining room on our way to the front door, I slip on something dark and sticky. One of the officers catches my arm as I stumble, and I snap my head down to the spot on the floor. It’s nearly black and pools out from a large, stiff bag.
I crumple back against the man behind me.
‘No time for that now, sweetheart,’ he hisses. ‘You’ve got a show to put on or we’re going to need more of those bags.’
I can’t tear my eyes from the bag, so he leads me away. I try to tell him there’s blood on my feet, but he’s already barking more orders at his squad.
‘Halt,’ commands a guard at the door.
The official steps forward, runs his eyes over me, sighs, and steps out onto the porch to thunderous applause. I turn away and focus on the long black bag, but a guard moves over to the table, blocking my view. I glance over to see he’s eating the cake.
‘Hey,’ I call, and everyone looks at me in surprise. ‘That’s half a week’s rations! Leave it for my family.’
The officer’s eyes dart to his companion, and I see it on their faces – pity – but he sets down the cake.
‘Blessings, Romen! I’m Cormac Patton and?.?.?.’ The rude official addresses the crowd from my porch. More applause. He waits a moment for it to calm down.
‘He always has time for applause,’ an aesthetician notes drily.
‘Blessings, Arras. I’m Cormac Patton,’ her companion mimics him in a low voice, and they laugh until a guard shushes them.
Cormac Patton. Coventry Ambassador for the Guild of Twelve and the Stream’s number-one pretty boy. How could I have not recognised him? They must have really drugged me. Or maybe I’m not used to celebrities hanging out in my basement. Even my mom has a thing for him. But I don’t see the appeal. Sure, he’s perpetually clad in a black, double-breasted tuxedo, and very handsome, but he has to be at least forty. Or maybe even older, since I can’t remember a time in my life when he looked anything but forty.
I can’t comprehend that he’s standing on my porch right now.
‘We are privileged to call to service Adelice Lewys,’ Cormac’s voice bellows. An officer pushes me out next to him. ‘May Arras flourish at her touch.’
The crowd echoes back the blessing and colour floods my cheeks. I paste the bright smile on my face and will it to stick.
‘Wave,’ Cormac instructs me through gritted teeth, his own smile undiminished as he gives the command.
I wave shyly and keep beaming at the crowd. A moment later, officers surround and flank us, escorting us to a waiting motocarriage. The crowd swarms into a mob and all I see are hands. The officers hold most of them back, and I shrink away from the mob. Everywhere I look, fingers claw at me, grabbing for a bit of my skirt or a caress of my
hair. I’m breathing faster, and beside me Cormac frowns. The drugs must not be as strong as he thought. I think of his threat and force myself to look excited.
The motocarriage is longer than any of the motopacts I’ve seen in Romen. I’ve seen ones like this on the Stream. Motopacts are daily cars to drive into the metro, but motocarriages like this have chauffeurs. I fix my eyes on it; I only have to make it that far and then this public charade will be over. An officer ushers me to the rear side door and helps me in. As the door shuts me safely away from the cheering crowd, I scowl.
‘That’s much more attractive,’ Cormac mutters as he slides in next to me. ‘At least you’re the last retrieval.’
‘Had a long day?’ I ask harshly.
‘No, but I can’t imagine dragging your deadweight around much longer,’ he snaps back as he pours himself a glass of amber liquid. He doesn’t bother to offer me any.
I lapse into silence. Deadweight. The image of the body bag lying casually on my dining-room floor floats into my head and hot tears prick my eyes, threatening to spill over.
I stare out of the window so he won’t see me cry. The glass is tinted and the crowd can no longer watch us, but they’re still milling around. Neighbours talk animatedly, pointing to our house. Several heads incline, relaying the news to people far away on their complants. We haven’t had a retrieval in Romen in ten years. Tomorrow I’ll be on Romen’s morning Stream. I wonder what they’ll say about my parents. My sister.
Cormac is downing the last drops of his cocktail when his head cocks to the side to take a call. ‘Here,’ he grunts. He’s quiet but soon indifference turns to mild annoyance.
‘Clean it,’ he says. ‘No, clean all of it.’
His head shifts back down, disconnecting from the call, and he looks at me. ‘Lucky girl.’
I shrug, not willing to betray my feelings at the moment. I’m not sure what cleaning is, and from the way he growled the order, I’m not sure I want to know.
