AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I know Cormac has had Amie’s memory altered, but this sends a chill shivering down my neck. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to alter her to have my skills. It’s a terrifying possibility given how much control he already exerts over her. Perhaps this is why he hasn’t pushed for me to be altered yet. He already has a test subject.
“I’ve been going down to a private studio,” she continues. “Cormac gave me permission, but I had to promise I would inform him if I saw anything.”
“Let me help you,” I suggest. “Cormac can’t see the weave himself, so he isn’t a good person to advise you.” I hate using her like this, but I need to get on a loom. I’m curious about what Cormac has shown her of the looms.
“Would you?” For a moment, Amie is the adoring sister looking up to me for wisdom, and I almost break.
Instead I push back against my guilt and tack a smile onto my lips. “Of course.”
ELEVEN
“HERE IT IS.” AMIE RUNS HER HAND over one of the new security panels and the door creaks open. She pushes her way into the stone room as the lights automatically turn on, flooding the small studio. There’s an empty loom directly in front of us, but I force myself not to run toward it. Amie enters her access code and the loom whirs to life. I could see so much with the loom, not to mention change those things, but I have to tread carefully with my sister.
I look at Amie, whose eyes bore into the empty work space on the loom.
“There’s nothing on it,” I tell her in a soft voice.
“Oh!” She’s embarrassed but she manages a giggle.
I reach over and set the loom to pull up her most recent coordinates. Unfortunately, the last place she looked was an ordinary metro in the Western Sector. I can make out the entire metro—neighborhoods, the metro center, parks, academies. Try as I might I can’t get it to pull anything else up, except for security warnings. I shouldn’t be surprised that the looms are so carefully controlled and monitored now. I’d hoped to find a hole in Cormac’s tight-knit security system, thinking he might have a blind spot when it comes to Amie. I revert to the original coordinates and sit back so Amie can look at the loom.
“Do you see anything?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. I zoom in to take a closer look at the outlying neighborhoods and ask again.
This time her lip trembles as she says no.
“It’s okay if you can’t do this,” I say, putting a hand over hers. It’s more than okay, I add silently.
“It is not! What use will I be to anyone?” she says.
“I thought you wanted to design dresses.”
“I do! But Cormac will be disappointed in me. He has faith in me and I’m going to prove him wrong.” Amie wipes at the tears dribbling down her cheek and turns wide, tearstained eyes on me, looking for comfort.
“I will take care of Cormac,” I say. “Let’s try one more time.”
I zoom in as close as I can to the weave, allowing the machine to default to a surveillance feed. We are looking at someone’s living room. Amie sucks in a breath and I’m certain she can see this, but when I turn there are tears glistening in her eyes.
“Nothing,” she whispers.
I drop my arm over her shoulder and hug her close to me, shushing her as she sobs against my shoulder. How can I ever tell her this is something she doesn’t want? Especially when it’s the last bit of the old Amie left after Cormac’s alterations?
So I let her cry and no part of me rejoices that she can’t see the weave or work the looms. I always thought it would be a relief to know my sister couldn’t be a Spinster, but my fears have only been replaced by her pain.
“I have an idea,” I say. “Let’s sneak into the kitchen and find some chocolate.”
Her eyes meet mine and a smile creeps over my sister’s face as she nods. I pull her gently to her feet and we walk arm in arm down the hall. As we pass the studios, I notice what I missed before: heavy bolts and security panels—even on the rationing and weather studios.
I’m not the only one under tight control.
No wonder they’re whispering that Cormac’s mad, that the Whorl is coming. A month of this would make anyone dream of change. No one stops us as we duck into the kitchen. A few maids bustle past and a young girl stops to point us in the direction of the sweets.
“Mom would never let us have chocolate this late at night,” I whisper to Amie conspiratorially. She giggles and I join her, choosing to ignore the dull ache in my chest at the thought of our mother.
I open the cupboard to discover a stack of chocolate bars, bonbons, and truffles. More chocolate than the entire sugar ration allotted in our childhood. I whip around to show off my discovery but Amie’s back is turned.
“Ta-da!” I call out. But she doesn’t turn toward me. Taking a step closer to her, I place a hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at me. Instead she steps to the side, revealing a large white cake with lacy lines of frosting that dip and weave delicately across its surface.
