Defector (16 page)

I’d thought the hallway encounter was weird enough. But the moment we stumbled through the second door, I was sure I’d entered a new dimension.

T
his had to be some kind of strange parallel universe. Bluish light seemed to float on the plumes of smoke in the air. I was glad that my eyes had had the chance to get used to the strange lighting back in the hallway or this would have given me vertigo. The inside of the bar was far more crowded than the parking lot had suggested. Maybe some of the customers had other, less conventional means of reaching the bar. The beats of the music I’d heard faintly through the door now throbbed like a pulse in my veins.

I began to scan the room full of patrons, but my eyes were drawn to the huge water tank in the middle of the bar. It was a gargantuan glass cylinder reaching from the floor to the ceiling.

“Wow,” Devon whispered beside me.

“Yeah,” I said, slowly walking around the water tank. Spots on the ground of the tank threw bluish light into the water, making it glow, and jets set in two narrow lines on both sides of the cylinder sent pink glitter whirling around. But that alone wouldn’t have warranted that slack-jawed look on Devon’s face. Two identical women, each dressed in a skimpy pink bikini, moved inside the aquarium. They had strawberry blond hair that floated in the water as if carried on a gentle breeze. Their makeup was heavy—pink lipstick, blue-rimmed eyes, and blue eye shadow, topped off with thick black lashes. They turned and twisted in the water in a rhythmic, silent dance. Their bodies squirmed and coiled, but while many customers had their eyes trained on them, the women only had eyes for each other, caught in their own sisterly trance. Apparently this was what qualified as Vegas-style entertainment in a Variant bar.

“I guess their Variation is that they can breathe underwater,” Devon said, his eyes still glued to the water-dance show. Once I stopped gawking at the aquarium and took in our surroundings, I noticed how many eyes had turned our way. Even in the presence of the water show, it seemed we were the main attraction. We couldn’t have acted more suspiciously if we’d tried. Everyone could see that we were new here. And from the look on many of the faces, new guests meant trouble. Groups of customers put their heads together conspiratorially. Few of them were paying attention to Devon, I realized with dread. Their curious gazes latched onto my eyes, then darted away quickly, only to be back again seconds later. They’d seen turquoise eyes before. They knew what it meant.

I grabbed Devon’s arm and pulled him along. “Come on. Let’s go to the bar.”

Sunken into the floor were spotlights in the same blue tone as the aquarium, and more blue torches lined the high-ceilinged walls. That explained why the smoke from the cigarettes and cigars was glowing like an apparition from Atlantis. Tall private booths lined the walls, separated from one another by black velvet screens. The customers sitting on the blue leather benches within the booths had a good view at the aquarium and the bar, but most of them were either deep in conversation, lost in their own worlds, or else staring at us. Scattered around the interior ring of the vast bar were small round tables with chairs around them. Most of them were empty. Apparently the booths were the way to go.

We arrived at the bar, which was made of deep mahogany wood and was the only area in the room that departed from the blue color scheme. The seats of the red leather bar stools were exactly the same color that the lamps on the bar’s shelves gave off.

“This is so crazy,” Devon whispered in my ear. I would have agreed with him if a very tall, very thin man hadn’t popped up beside me in that moment.

His fingers flitted over my arm like ghost touches. My body recoiled violently, and I balled my hands for a fight.

“Want some spittle?” he breathed. His hair was cut so short that his scalp shone through, and the red of the bar lights reflected in his damp eyes.

I was too stunned to speak. Either this was the worst pickup line of the century or this guy had lost his mind.

Devon moved closer to me until his warmth was all over my back. I snatched my arm away from the man. “No.”

He pulled out a vial containing a strange, milky liquid. “It makes you fly,” he crooned. From the way his eyelids twitched, I was convinced he’d already taken one too many flights.

“No, thanks.”

“Leave them alone, Spleen,” yelled the woman behind the bar. That was the perfect name for the guy. His eyes darted to the barkeeper before he slinked off toward a staircase shrouded in darkness to the left of the bar. It too was cast in a deep reddish glow.

“Thanks,” Devon said, relaxing his stance. The barkeeper was a tall woman clad in black shorts and a black tank top that showed off her tattooed arms, neck, and legs. I couldn’t spot an inch of her skin that wasn’t inked; only her face was free of tattoos. There was a long string of words written all over her body in tiny script. There must have been hundreds of words snaking over her limbs, but I couldn’t make out what they said.

She stood wiping a glass, still glaring at the spot where Spleen had stood a moment before. Eventually she turned to us. “First time, huh?” she asked, a piercing flashing in her mouth. “I’m Penny.”

“I’m Tessa, and this is Devon,” I said. I couldn’t help but wonder if her tattoos were just for show or if they were there to hide something. A clever disguise for scales, or a cover-up for a scar, like Alec’s dragon. I felt a twinge in my stomach at the thought of him.
Stay focused
, I reminded myself.

She noticed me staring and set the glass down. “Took years to get it done,” she said proudly. “And hurt like hell.”

“What does it say?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“All kinds of things.” She shrugged. “Quotes that mean something to me.”

“Do they have something to do with your Variation?” Devon asked. Our minds seemed to work alike.

Something on her face shifted, like a shadow passing. “I’m not a Variant.”

“You aren’t?” I blurted and felt instantly bad. How could I be so insensitive?

But she just smiled, even though I wasn’t quite sure if she meant it. “My father owns the place. He’s a Variant. But I’m just a Normal. Yet another instance where genetics screwed me over.”

“So what exactly is this place?” I asked instead.

“A safe place for Variants to have a good time. A place where you aren’t in danger of getting caught in the crossfire of politics.”

“You mean between the FEA and Abel’s Army.”

At the mere mention of those names, her face lit up with alarm.

“Don’t,” she hissed, eyes darting around. “My father has banned those words. You better not speak them if you don’t want to find your butt on the street.”

“So people who come here aren’t part of either group?” Devon asked. He said it in a way that suggested there was no alternative.

She gave him a look like she thought he was crazy. “People around here are doing their damn best to stay under the radar. Because if they know about you, you either join them or else you disappear.”

“You’re talking about Abel’s Army,” I whispered. She frowned at me but didn’t correct me for saying the name again.

“I’m talking about them both. They’re just two sides of the same coin.”

“But the FEA doesn’t force people to join them, do they? They don’t coerce or kill people?”

“If they find you, you join. End of story. They don’t kill you, but they force you to follow their rules or else they throw you into their prison because you’re a security risk, and you rot there until you die. What’s the difference?” She put her palms against the counter, leaning closer to us, dark eyes sparkling. “But enough of that. Politics have no place here.”

I was about to protest, but she spit out her next thought, leaving me no chance to get a word in.

“The stuff Spleen tried to sell you isn’t the only way to have a good time.”

“What is it, anyway?” Devon asked.

“What it says. It’s the spit of a Variant, which contains endorphins and ephedrine and other things. People mix it into their drinks.”

This was too disgusting for words. My toes curled at the thought of purposely putting someone’s spit into my soda.

“And your father doesn’t mind that Spleen sells the stuff?”

“Of course not. He’s the Variant who produces the stuff,” she said with a twisted smile.

“Oh,” I said stupidly, glancing at Devon. A slow smile spread on his face.

“This is so weird,” he whispered.

“Anyway, if you’re not into the spittle, we also have the option to give you sweet dreams. We have a dream-catcher who’ll give you the dreams you want. For a few bucks, we’ll provide you with his services along with a few sleeping pills to extend the experience. Everything is possible.” The experience sounded almost too good to be true, but Penny wasn’t much of a salesman. If she really wanted to sell anything to us, she probably shouldn’t have sounded so disgusted and bored by it all.

I rested my elbows on the bar. “Why do people buy spittle and manipulated dreams?”

Penny shrugged. “The same reason Normals use typical drugs and alcohol. To forget, to remember, to be someone else, to be themselves. There are so many reasons,” she said. I followed her gaze. Many of the people in the booths looked as if life wasn’t exactly kind to them: They were dotted with scars, worry lines, crumpled clothing, jittery demeanors. I suppose that’s what you got for hiding from forces as strong as Abel’s Army and the FEA. Would Devon and I end up like them?

In the presence of so much weather and worry, I somehow suddenly knew why my mother was working here. “I’m looking for someone. She was once called Heather, but she might go by another name now. She has brown hair that’s sort of wavy, like mine, and brown eyes.”

Penny narrowed her eyes at me. “What do you want from her?” There was a hint of protectiveness in her tone. So my mother really worked here. My stomach knotted painfully, suddenly unsure if I could face her.

Devon took my hand. The warmth and strength of his grip helped me relax. “She’s my mother,” I said.

Penny froze in place. “Oh shit,” she whispered. Her eyes scanned my face, then she turned around and walked toward the red-lit staircase. “Heather!” she called. She cocked her head as if she was listening for a sound. But there was no reply. No one came down. She glanced at me. “Maybe she’s asleep.”

But I knew my mother. “She and your father are a couple,” I said, without a hint of uncertainty. My mother hadn’t been single for more than a few days for as long as I could remember. She needed a man at her side, especially one who bossed her around. For the first time, I wondered if it was because they reminded her of my father. I pushed past Penny and climbed the stairs two at a time. Her fingers grazed my arm, but I shook her off. “Don’t,” she whispered. Her expression brimmed with pity.

I barreled up the stairs. Penny and Devon remained close behind. I reached a corridor lit by more red torches. “Where?” I demanded. “Where is she?”

Penny hesitated.

“Where?” I screamed, and she actually took a step back. Devon touched my shoulder, but I jerked away.

Penny waved a hand at the end of the corridor. I strode toward the closed black door, my heart slamming against my rib cage, and put my hand on the handle. Every muscle in my body tensed. I swallowed. I was strong, I reminded myself. I could deal with whatever came my way.

Bracing myself, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

A
wave of patchouli hit me, and the smoke of recently burned incense swirled in the room. My nose tickled with the urge to sneeze. But then everything seemed to go still, even my heart and pulse.

My eyes glided over the unmoving form tangled amid red satin sheets on the bed. My mother.

Her brown hair hung limply around her slack face, which was tilted toward the door. An arm was lazily thrown over her head. Drool had dried in the corner of her mouth and on her chin. I could see her eyes move under her eyelids, flitting back and forth like she was watching a tennis match in her mind. I forced myself to cross the room toward the king-size bed. The red carpet was so plush, my feet seemed to sink deep into it. Parts of it were matted and stained. As I made my way closer to her, my shin collided with the bedframe.

I stared straight ahead, at a scratch on the dark wooden headboard, and focused on my breathing. But focusing on anything but keeping it together was so hard. All the feelings seemed to bubble over. My mother’s lashes fluttered, and she shifted and stirred. Her arm slipped off the bed and brushed my leg. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from making a sound.

Just breathe
, I reminded myself.
Breathe. This doesn’t mean anything to you. She’s just a means to an end, a way to get to Holly. Nothing else.

But in her daze, she looked so much like the mother in the photo. The mother who’d once held me with a smile. I perched on the edge of the bed. I could feel Devon’s and Penny’s eyes on me, could practically feel their pity radiating off of them in waves.

I uncurled my fist, felt the blood return to my fingers. Slowly I reached out, hand shaking—body shaking—and brushed a strand of hair from her passive face. I trailed it over her eyes, which twitched once more, and cupped her cheek. “Mom?” I asked. I didn’t recognize the sounds that formed that word, didn’t recognize my own voice. I sounded like a small, scared child. For a moment, my mother leaned into my touch.
She’s drugged
, I reminded myself.
She isn’t in her right mind; this means nothing.
Then why did a feeling of happiness flood through me?

She moaned, her lips parting. She rolled over, revealing bruises on her arms and shoulders.

I jerked back, gasping. My throat, my rib cage, even my body felt too tight. I let out a cry—a cry so foreign that it made goose bumps flash across my skin. And suddenly my body seemed to explode. Rippling, shifting. I flew through the transformations. The bodies became a blur. My bones ached, my head throbbed, but I kept changing bodies. Faster and faster. Someone wrapped their arms around me, warm and reassuring, and the transformations slowed until they finally stopped and I was myself again. I breathed in Devon’s scent and closed my eyes.

But the moment was interrupted as the door was flung open. “What’s going on?” a deep voice demanded.

I pulled back. A tall, heavyset man with a bald head and seedy yellow eyes stood in the doorway. The resemblance to Penny was undeniable. I tore myself from Devon’s embrace and moved without actually realizing what I was doing. But suddenly I was in front of the man, and my fist collided with his cheekbone with a satisfying pop. He had given my mother his drug—and the bruises. I didn’t dare to consider what she’d done in return for the spittle.

His eyes rolled back, and he hit the door—which was thrust shut upon impact—before sinking to a heap on the ground. He held his cheek, a stunned expression on his face. Penny shook off her stupor and knelt beside him. “You all right?” She touched his arm, but he pushed her away. Hurt flickered across her face, but it was already gone by the time she straightened.

“I’m fine. Get Benny,” he snarled. “He can kick the bitch out.”

“If you throw me out, I’ll immediately tell the FEA about your existence,” I said in a thick voice. I hoped I’d managed to sound stronger than I felt.

He bared his blood-covered teeth in a terrible jack-o’-lantern smile. His eyes squinted at me. “If you weren’t on the run from them, you wouldn’t be here, girl.”

I took a step closer to him. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but his gaze stayed frozen on my eyes. A horrible look of recognition crossed his face, as if he’d seen them before, and his entire face went white. “Your eyes,” he muttered, then he shook his head. “No. That’s impossible.” He stumbled to his feet and stared at my mother. “Heather, what the fuck is going on?”

My mother raised herself up on her elbows, blinking dazedly. “Stanley?” The word was drawn out like a long sigh. Her eyes brushed over me without recognition. She didn’t know who I was. But in that moment, I wasn’t even sure she knew who
she
was. Heat gathered behind my eyeballs. Why did she still have the ability to make me angry? Why did I still care about her after all she’d done? Why couldn’t I stop loving her when she had never as much as cared about me?

Stanley tried to walk past me to get to the bed, but I stepped in his way. I was a full head shorter than him, and he tried to push me away. His hands collided painfully with my collarbones, and I lurched to the side, barely keeping upright. Devon gripped his arm and twisted it, but Stanley swung a fist at him. In a swift move, Devon ducked, so the knuckles only grazed the top of his head, and he landed a punch in Stanley’s stomach. The man gasped and stumbled and had to catch himself on the shabby wardrobe. He panted, his face red. Penny came forward and gripped his forearm. “Dad, that’s enough. We don’t need any more trouble.”

“More trouble?” he cried and pointed a shaking finger at me. “I’m not the one causing trouble. That girl is trouble worth a lifetime!”

Penny stared at me, but she didn’t seem to make the connection.

“I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. She’s one of
his
spawns.” Fear and disgust played out on his face, fighting a battle for which was the stronger emotion.

Penny seemed to know exactly who the word “his” referred to. Her eyes grew wide, and she started tracing the words of her tattoos like a spell that would give her consolation.

I glanced down to where my mother was struggling to get into a sitting position. The strap of her flimsy nightgown slipped off her bony shoulder, and the neckline plunged. I leaned over and helped her to lean up against the headboard before I put her strap back in place. Her brown eyes darted over my face, and panicked recognition settled in them.

Mom glanced down at herself like she only now realized the sorry state she was in, and her face crumpled. I wrapped my arm around her back and pulled her up to her feet, taking care that the nightgown covered her. “Come on, Mom. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve pissed the bed again,” Stanley growled.

“One more word,” I said harshly, “and I swear I’ll call my father and have him take this place down.” I couldn’t do that. At least not without revealing myself to him. And even then I wasn’t sure he cared about me enough—or at all—to do me any favors.

But from the terror on Stanley’s face, he believed I could. I relished the feeling of triumph, but my mother grew heavier in my arms, her legs giving way. “Is there an antidote to whatever she’s on?” I asked.

Stanley glared at me, but Penny replied, “Yes. I can pick up a vial.” She quickly slipped out of the room, and he followed her without another word.

Devon came up beside my mother and me. “Do you want me to help?” His eyes were soft and sad but also pitiful.

“No,” I whispered. “I can do this alone.” I could tell that he didn’t believe me. “Really,” I said firmly. Penny returned with a tiny plastic vial. “Just make her drink this, and she should be back to normal within a few minutes.” I took the vial and pushed it into my pocket. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Penny opened a small door beside the wardrobe. I led my mother inside. There wasn’t much room. The seams between the white tiles were yellowed and partly black with mold. There was a shower cubicle, a toilet, and a sink, which left a center space with hardly enough room for my mother and me to stand. Penny hovered in the door, uncertainty coloring her face. “I don’t need help,” I said again, loud enough so Devon could hear it too. He seemed reluctant to let me deal with this by myself. “If you want to help, could you please get some clean clothes for my mother?”

Penny snapped out of her stupor and nodded resolutely. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” With that, she closed the door and left me alone with my mother.

My mom hadn’t said a word to me yet. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say. I closed the toilet lid and made her sit down on top of it. Only when I was sure that she wouldn’t topple over did I let her go. I tilted her head back and brought the vial to her lips. She gulped down the liquid without protest. She was probably used to being given the antidote. Who knew how often she’d overdosed on spittle or whatever else they sold around here.

I pulled the shower curtain back—it was clammy and yellowed—and rinsed the floor of the shower with hot water. From the corner of my eye, I could see my mother watching me. Her head was still bowed, but I could feel her eyes on me through the fringe of her eyelashes. Maybe it was my imagination, but she already looked less dazed than moments before.

“I’ll help you undress now, okay?” I said. She didn’t react, and I took it as silent permission. I was glad that she was wearing only her nightgown and panties. She let me pull the gown over her head and even raised her arms on her own. Our eyes locked as I threw the garment to the ground. “You’ve grown,” she whispered. Her voice was like broken glass, but at least she was talking, and her words were intelligible.

I didn’t know what to say, so I reached for her last piece of clothing, but she shook her head. “No. I . . . I . . .” She trailed off, embarrassment twisting her hollow cheeks. I stepped back, bumping against the door to give her room. Her movements were clumsy and slow, and as she bent over to push her underwear past her knees, she almost fell forward. But I didn’t embarrass her by helping her any further. She gripped the edge of the tiled shower cubicle and slowly stepped inside. She leaned against the dirty tiles, face drawn from exhaustion. “Why don’t you kneel down?” I suggested. A blanket of numbness seemed to settle over the emotions raging war inside me, and I was glad for it.

She sank down, her bony knees hitting the shower floor with a thud. It must have hurt, but her face didn’t show a sign of pain. I turned the water on, making sure it was hot enough, just on the verge of unbearable. I knew she was always cold after waking from a drug daze; the effect probably wasn’t so different with Stanley’s spittle. She let out a small sigh when the hot stream hit her back. I massaged shampoo into her hair, and she relaxed into my touch. She looked small and vulnerable with her shoulder blades peeking through her skin. The only towels I could find were in a heap on the floor. I picked up the cleanest of the bunch and wrapped it around my mother.

“What’s taking so long? I want answers!” Stanley bellowed from the bedroom. Penny’s soothing voice followed his outburst, much calmer and quieter.

“Why do you let him treat you like that? You deserve better,” I said through gritted teeth.

Mom’s fingers curled over my shoulder to steady herself, water dripping down her neck. “We both know that isn’t true. I deserve this.”

I searched her eyes. Was she sorry about the way she’d treated me? “Nobody deserves that,” I said. She’d treated me almost as horribly as her changing boyfriends had treated her. She hadn’t hit me or physically abused me, but her silent treatment, hurtful words, and disgusted looks had left their scars, too. “I don’t get it. Why do you always choose such assholes?” She didn’t reply. Maybe she didn’t know the answer.

I pushed those thoughts aside and guided my mother back into the bedroom. Stanley, Devon, and Penny were there, each one standing apart from the others. Devon pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against.

“Out,” I ordered, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Penny grabbed her father’s arm and dragged him out; Devon followed with a sympathetic look at me. I couldn’t help but wonder how Alec would have handled the situation, but I knew it was no use dwelling on that.

As promised, Penny had found my mother’s clothes. They were spread out on the bed, and though they could have used ironing, they were clean. “Do you live here? Or do you have an apartment somewhere else?” I asked.

I peeked through the curtains down at the parking lot to make sure we weren’t about to get any unwanted visitors. A few more cars had parked there by now. I heard my mother’s breathing grow labored from the effort it took her to dress herself. “I had a place, but I lost it a while back,” she said, frowning like she was struggling to remember when that had happened. She probably hadn’t paid rent. It had happened before and had led to a few middle-of-the-night moving schemes when I was a kid. From what I’d seen so far, I didn’t think she earned any money here at Stanley’s. I wasn’t even sure if she was in a state to work on a regular basis.

When she was finally dressed, she sat on the bed, hands clutching the crumpled sheets. Her eyes were glued to me. I rubbed my hands, feeling out of place. “I know about my father. I know who he is.”

If the news shocked her, she hid it well. Maybe the constant use of drugs had messed with her ability to show emotions. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.