Land of Masks and Moonlight (Glimpsing Stars, #2) Page 18

  This is it. I can’t afford to wait any longer; I might already have waited too long. If her order is carried out before I can do something...but no. I cannot think that way. I place my hand on my belly and take a deep breath. It is time to put my mask back on.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Elara leaves shortly after asking me to have Marisa put the delivery in her library. I pace the house relentlessly, going in circles from the bedroom to the living room to the library and kitchen and back again. The daylight fades, the sun’s last, gasping rays bathing the house in orange light. I pause momentarily to turn on a lamp, but then I resume pacing, stopping only when my stomach clenches and doesn’t release. The constant motion is making the practice contractions stronger and closer together, so I force myself to sit for a few moments. The baby kicks, but not nearly as much as she has been lately. She is running out of room.

  Plans rush into my head and I assess and discard them with dizzying speed. Can I run outside to the bay, commandeer a van, and take it to the old compound? Of course not. I am much too slow to run now, I don't know where the old compound is, and I will succeed in doing nothing more than getting myself killed. How will that be of any help to us?

  I could ask Elara to tell me more, to take me to the yez with her. But I already know she won’t listen. If she finds out I've eavesdropped on her conversation, she will be livid. She won’t hesitate to chain me to the bed, as she’d threatened before.

  So, really, there is only one option left: I must ask Marisa to make a sacrifice for our friendship that is way beyond its time. I must ask her if she will take Ceres and me back to the yez, risking arrest—and maybe worse—because we are both fugitives. I have to convince her; there is no other way.

  There is a knock on the door. I open it, and Marisa stands silhouetted in the near darkness with her bags of goods.

  I walk with her to the library. She glances over her shoulder repeatedly. She knows something is wrong; she is waiting for me to tell her if I want to. When she sets the bags down, I take a deep breath. "I have to leave."

  She straightens up and turns to look at me, her eyes somber. "What's happened?"

  I open my mouth to answer, but it's as if my vocal chords are paralyzed. I shake my head and try again. "It's...Coal. They've captured him. He might...he might die." My voice breaks on the word die. It can’t happen. It simply cannot.

  Marisa’s hand flies to her mouth. "Where will you go?"

  "To the yez, first, to find out what information I can. It's the only place I can think of to go." I step forward. "You have to take Daliya and me tonight. Please."

  Marisa's throat works, as if she is trying to gather the strength to say no. I cannot fault her this; if she refuses, it is because she values her life. I have no right to ask what I'm asking. She hangs her head. Then, looking up at me, she says, "I'll come by once I’ve gathered some supplies for you and Daliya."

  I take her hands. "Thank you. This means more to me than you know."

  She squeezes mine back. "What about the baby? You're so close to giving birth...and the stress. It's not good for you. What if you’re caught?"

  I shake my head. "It's pointless, us being a family, without Coal. I’ve been arriving at that conclusion for some time now. Without him..." I trail off and shake my head, unable to continue. Tears fall from my eyes and stain the wool of my tunic.

  Marisa takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I’ll do what I can."

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Ceres and I wait in silence after dinner. I’ve informed her what’s happened. She cried a few tears, but now she is stoic, as am I. There is nothing to do but wait; Marisa will pick us up soon. The baby seems to be sleeping, but I feel her limbs twitch occasionally, as if she is dreaming. I watch in fascination as a foot pushes out the soft skin on my stomach, so eager to greet the world, to stretch out.

  "I'm...s-scared."

  Ceres stares at me from where she’s been standing at the window looking out, her eyes full of tears. Heaving myself off the chair, I go to her. I wrap my arms around her as best as I can with the baby a barrier between.

  "I know," I whisper next to her ear, breathing in her scent that is still so sweet, so young and innocent. In this moment, I am thankful she is letting me see her vulnerability, her fear. It warms my heart that she still trusts me enough to do so. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. If there were a way for me to leave you here and know you'd be safe, I'd do it."

  She shakes her head, her warm tears drip-dropping on my arm. "I don't want you to...leave me. I-I want to go with y-you and...the baby. Sh-Shale needs...us."

  I smile against the tears forming in my own eyes, so proud of my strong, brave little sister in this moment. She's right—it's what Shale needs. I want to say so much to her, to apologize for hurting her when I only wanted to do what was best, what was right, for her.

  But there is no time for me to do much more than squeeze her and let go. Marisa's van has pulled up to the back of the house.

  We go outside, the night buzzing with the teeming, furtive movement of insects. The air smells fresh—of wet dirt and grass—a smell I am only beginning to appreciate. I realize that this is the first true spring Ceres and I have enjoyed, the first true beginning of life. In New Amana, any new life that dared grow was instantaneously killed when it inhaled the poisoned air clogged with black fallout. I say a little wish that we will survive the night, that we will live long enough to see the summer.

  Marisa waits in the van, her hands gripping the wheel tight, her spine rigid and straight. When she sees us, she gets out quickly and opens the back door, revealing a space inside by her boxes of goods for the yez. "Sit here."

  I squeeze her hand. "Thank you. For doing this."

  Marisa looks from me to Ceres and then back, the red specks in her eyes glittering under the starlight. There is no moon out tonight; a perfect night for secret plans. "This is a bad idea, for many reasons." She takes a deep breath. "But I know why you're doing it."

  There is nothing else to say. We get in.

  There is barely enough room, especially not for me with my protruding stomach, but we manage. As the van jostles over potholes and bumps in the road, our elbows and knees—and my stomach—is bumped and knocked against the boxes and supplies, but we don't complain. The skin on my stomach clenches every so often, but I don’t notice. At this point, I’m immune to these minor discomforts. All I can think of now is Shale.

  Every time the van slows down, my heart races and the baby begins to move, as if she senses my panic. But then it speeds up again and we keep going forward, cutting through the night, toward Shale. I force myself to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, slowly and steadily. I remind myself to think of the upcoming rescue and nothing else. There is no time for fear, no time for worry.

  Occasionally, I catch Ceres's eyes. Even though the dread on her face is plain to see, so is the resolute set of her small jaw. I have never loved her more than in this moment.

  Finally, the van stops. The engine’s vibrations cease, and silence surrounds us. Ceres looks at me with wide eyes.

  "I think we're here," I whisper.

  Marisa opens the back door, and behind her, I see the vacant parking lot of the yez. Ahead, the squat concrete structure sits waiting, veiled in darkness. "Are you ready?" she asks, her expression grim.

  I nod. “More than ever."

  She hands Ceres and me clothes that she’s managed to procure. The dress is made of stretchy material and though it’s tight, it fits over my stomach. The pressure around my middle makes me wince, but at this point, I’m just grateful Marisa was able to get us something passable. The baby kicks a bit in indignation at being constricted, but not as much as I'd expect her to. She is calming; I wonder if she can sense my fear and has decided to lie low.

  Marisa frowns at me when I emerge from the van, where Ceres and I have both stashed our old clothes. "You won't be able to hide your pregnancy. If anyone who knows of you and Ce
res sees you..."

  I shake my head. "It's all right. I don't plan to stay very long." I don’t even have a real plan. I just intend to listen, to see what I can find out. It’s better than nothing, I hope.

  Marisa nods, a strand of hair blowing against her face. She presses a small bag into my hand. I look down, at the pink powder. “It’s candy glass,” she says. “You can trade it for information.”

  I swallow past the tears and slip the bag into the pocket of my dress. Then I tie my mask on.

  Ceres puts hers on as well, and then she is a stranger, just a beautiful young girl. I smile at her and hold out my hand. We have to enter well before Marisa so it doesn't appear as though we arrived together. "Come on. Let's find Shale." My little sister grasps my hand, her own cold and damp with nerves. I try not to let her know how scared I am.

  I turn to Marisa and smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

  She raises one hand in a wave as we begin to walk across the barren parking lot toward the yez, with only the moon as our guide. I think: This will work because it has to.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The little cement room in front of the yez is frigid tonight. I wrap my arm around Ceres and tell the woman guarding the door the password Marisa gave me. Inside, surrounded by the thumping music, the soupy heat, and the people in various stages of intoxication or barter, I feel a surge of energy. There is a sense of purpose to my every heartbeat. Unlike these past few months, which I’ve drifted through without any specific goals besides keeping Ceres and the baby safe, I am now in charge. I know exactly what it is I must do. I must rescue Shale.

  And then we must run away, exactly as he had suggested before. I can see it clearly now—there is no way for us to exist outside of each other. I imagine a solid thread like spider silk between us; when he is in trouble, it cinches tight, pulling me close. I imagine it is the same for him. There is no point in us trying to live apart from each other when that thread, that near-tangible connection won't let us ignore the other's misfortunes.

  "Wh-where should w-we look...for in-information?" Ceres has to shout to be heard over the deep, thumping music.

  "I'm not sure yet," I answer, my eyes scanning the crowd, looking for clusters of people speaking. I’m only vaguely aware of the unmasked man kneeling before the woman in the corner, doing her sexual bidding. If it were any other situation but the one we are in now, I’d be horrified at the thought of Ceres seeing all of the uninhibited revelry around us. But now, I focus on studying people’s body language, trying to figure out who might be speaking about Shale’s capture. "Let's walk around and listen out for anything interesting."

  I grasp two cups of drink and hand one to Ceres. "Don't drink it," I say into her ear. "It's just for show."

  She nods and I throw my head back and laugh, as if I am intoxicated, too. Ceres smiles, but it is a rictus smile, mirthless. I am terrified that someone will spot us and report us to Elara. Or that she will step out here for a moment and see us. But there is nothing else to do. We begin to walk.

  I learn many things as we listen in on conversations, lingering close to hear their words above the music. The masks truly make us anonymous; people talk so freely when they think their identities are indiscernible from the others around them. I learn that a New Amanian woman is pregnant from a Chinese official, and that he is offering her money—lots of it—to get rid of the baby. I learn that there are men and women available for my pleasure, if I am willing to pay for their drugs for the night. I learn that there is talk of another yez sprouting up, to the south of us.

  But I learn nothing about Shale.

  I am losing hope fast when I hear: "...have to find him soon. I can’t believe he managed to escape." I recognize the deep, hearty voice with the New Amanian accent. This is one of the officials Elara met with in her house. I remember listening to this voice from the security of Elara’s bedroom.

  Are they speaking about what I think? Namely, Shale—has he escaped? Hope blooms in my chest as I inch closer to the masked women. Ceres's fingertips dig into the exposed flesh of my upper arm; she has heard them too. We linger nearby, pretending to drink from our cups and laugh and talk.

  The three women who are speaking begin to move; they brush by us. One of them jostles my stomach and turns. "I'm sorry," she says. Then she takes in my pregnancy and smiles a cold, small smile. "Congratulations." Her companions turn at her tone. When they see me, they smile, too.

  I take a step back without quite meaning to. There is something about them, something about the way they turned to me as one, the way they have formed a semicircle before me, which reminds me of packs of wild dogs in New Amana. I’ve seen them attack smaller, weaker dogs. All they leave behind is pulverized fur, matted with blood and bits of gore.

  Now, I force myself to stand still and not show fear, to not become that weaker dog. But something about these women has my hackles raised. In spite of the pounding music, I hear Ceres's breathing speed up. The baby, strangely, is quiet.

  "Look at this," the woman who jostled me says in a nasal voice to her companions. They are still smiling as they look at me through their masks, their eyes flat in the dim lighting. "She is with child. Quite far along, too."

  The woman to her right, the tallest of the three, peers around me to Ceres. I feel as though every other person in the yez has suddenly disappeared. The air is colder, emptier; the music quiets down to a steady pulsing. "And who is that with you?"

  "This is my friend," I say, even as I think, They know. They know who we are.

  "Ah." The woman in the middle nods. "Would you and your...friend...come with us? We'd like to speak with you."

  "Actually, we were leaving. It's late, and we have to work in the morning." Tremors wrack my body and I try to force myself to breathe. My stomach tightens and my breath catches.

  But the tall woman grabs my upper arm, tight. "We insist," she hisses into my ear.

  And I know we have no choice.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  We follow the tall woman with the other two walking behind us. She leads us to the velvet curtain and the wooden door at the back. She speaks quietly to the man there, the one we saw the first night we were here. He doesn't even spare Ceres or me a glance as we step through.

  The moment we are behind the door in the hallway, the tall woman turns to me and Ceres. "Take off your masks." There is no hint of a smile about her mouth now.

  I numbly comply and nod to Ceres to do it as well. The moment our masks are off, she begins to walk again, leading us to a door I have walked through many times. Elara's office.

  She opens the door without knocking. Elara looks up from her desk, where she has been studying a form of some kind. Behind her mask, her eyes begin to widen at the sight of Ceres and me behind the tall woman, but she carefully replaces her expression with a calm, blank one. "How can I help you, Zelia?"

  The three women take their seats, as if they’re used to this routine. Ceres and I remain standing.

  The tall one, Zelia, says, "Guess who we found, Elara? They were in the yez trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. And Octavia happened to notice she"—she nods toward me—"is heavily pregnant, about the same gestational period we'd expect from our dear Vika Cannon. And look who we found with her: a golden-eyed, light-skinned girl, much like Ceres Cannon. About the same age, too."

  Octavia, the woman with the nasally voice who jostled me, smiles. "Funny coincidence, isn't it?"

  The third woman, one with big cheeks that stick out from beneath her mask, laughs. "Yes. Especially considering we only just captured Shale Underwood. Do you think they came to find out where he went?"

  Elara glares at me coldly. "I'd wager anything you're right." She turns back to the three women. "What do you want me to do with them?"

  Zelia sighs and shakes her head, as if our appearance is a great burden. "Take them to the cellar. Octavia will go with you. Pryor and I will wait here to discuss what should happen next."

  As we walk down t
he hallway, Elara leading, my stomach clenches again, much more painfully this time than the practice contractions I've been feeling all day. I stop in my tracks, and Octavia prods me in the back. "Keep moving."

  I try to breathe in and out slowly, like the obstetrician showed me. Ceres turns to catch my eye, but I refuse to look at her. Fear is catching, like fire, and I do not want her to feel the way I do. The terror taking root in me is cold and clear, like venom from a snake. Because I know in my heart that I am in true labor. The baby is coming at the worst possible time.

  When I have to stop another time on the stairs, Elara turns to me, her eyes dancing with apprehension. She looks at Octavia over my head as I bend over, clutching at the stair railing and trying to breathe. "I think she may be in labor."

  Octavia huffs a breath. "Excellent. One more bargaining chip." The she trills a laugh. “As if we needed any more.”

  The contraction passes and we begin to make our way down. I can see in the way Elara balls up her fists, in the tenseness of her shoulders, that she wants to tend to the baby. But she cannot do so without betraying her secret.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  We descend into the bowels of the building, winding downward to a cellar I didn't even know existed. It is dark and musty, and the damp cold feels wrong. I have a wild need to go somewhere warm and clean and safe. I try to keep calm; I tell myself I have to take this one step at a time. It is the only way I can get myself, the baby, and Ceres out of this situation.

  Another contraction wracks my frame. I bend in half, clutching at the wall, a guttural grunt tearing from my throat. There is a small, warm hand on my back—Ceres.

  "Vikki?" Her voice quavers. "The b-baby's coming. She needs a d-doctor!"

  I breathe in and out, slowly, steadily. When the pain has passed I straighten up. Octavia watches me with cold, hard eyes. Elara watches me, too, her mouth a straight line under her white mask. But in her eyes, I see the sparkle of unshed tears. She wants to do something; she wants to help the baby and doesn't know how.