Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (22 page)

“
No
.
He stays there until after my birthday.”

“It’s
his birthday too, fuckface. We leave him down there, his family’s going to sue
us.”

“I
don’t care. He thinks Amber’s his half.”

“So
what? Maybe she is,” said Dominic.

“She’s
not
, okay? I just don’t want him messing anything up—” Suddenly, the
metal object slid from his hands and buzzed across the glass.

Aaron’s
instinctive reaction was to clutch his pocket, but his pocket was empty—of
course. His cell phone was vibrating across the coffee table.

“Unbelievable,”
Clive muttered, lifting the phone. “That’s the third time she’s called him.”

He
cleared his throat and answered the call. “Amber, you should be in bed. If you
call this number one more time—”

Even
from across the room, Aaron heard the click on the other end.

Clive
swallowed and laid the phone back on the coffee table, his knuckles white.
“Unbelievable,” he repeated. But then his head jerked toward the hallway, and
his eyes widened. Dominic glanced back too—as Aaron, hands casually in his
pockets, strolled into the light.

***

 Aaron
wiped his nose and picked at the dirt caked on his knuckles before he spoke.
“You guys haven’t seen my phone anywhere, have you?” He glanced up. “Ah—”

Aaron
plucked his phone off the coffee table. “Must have slipped from my pocket,” he
said, “lucky you picked it up.”

He
winked at Clive and walked back to the hallway. Clive and Dominic didn’t budge
until he reached the top of stairs, probably too stunned. Finally footsteps
sounded behind him, and Aaron spun, ready for a fight. Clive bounded toward him
with Dominic at his heels.

As
they closed the distance, the back of Aaron’s head throbbed. All at once, the
ache sharpened into a burn, scorching deeper with each step Clive took.
“Jesus!” Aaron flinched away from him, clutching his scalp. “Get away from me!”

Clive
halted, and a smirk crossed his lips. “Does that hurt your head, Harper?” His
pale eyes gleamed. “I didn’t even touch you.”

“Alright,
who’s the fuckface bleeding on my rug?” said Dominic, kneeling over a red spot
on the floor. “If this leaves a stain . . . ” h
is dark eyes targeted Aaron,
“
you’re
dead
, number eleven.”

Aaron
stared at the red spot, and a chill sank through his skin. He touched the back
of his head, and slowly, hands trembling, lowered his fingers before his eyes.
But there was no blood. His gaze snapped to Clive.

“Selavio,
it’s you,” said Dominic.

“
What?
”
Clive twisted, and another drop of blood struck the carpet. “Where’s it coming
from?” Eyes frantic, he scanned his hoodie.

“No
idea, but you’re dripping all over the place.”

Then,
just like Aaron, Clive felt behind his head. He pulled his hand back and
leveled his index finger in front of him. They all fell silent. A single drop
of blood teetered on his fingertip and dripped to the floor.

“We
need to get your dad,” said Dominic.

“No!”
said Clive. “We’re not telling him a goddamn thing. I’m fine.” He glanced at
Aaron, and for a split-second, terror flared in his eyes—before he fled down
the hall.

“Number
eleven, get out of my house,” said Dominic, and he raced after him, leaving
Aaron alone.

Except
for the melted ice rocking gently in Dominic’s glass, there was no sign of
life. Aaron felt his heartbeat pulsing in the back of his head. Clive hadn’t
even touched him; he was eight feet away, yet Aaron had actually
felt
his
presence.

And
was it just a coincidence that Clive had started bleeding at the same exact
moment? Or was it some kind of backlash? Aaron didn’t finish the thought,
though. Around him, the living room lamps faded. The orange bulbs winked out,
and blackness immersed him. They must have been on a timer.

He
could feel Clive pacing in the back rooms, his movements pivoting in his skull
like a compass needle. Aaron jumped at a scratch, a patter of footsteps. But
only his own erratic breathing pierced the silence. He backed against the wall
and tiptoed downstairs.

Aaron
had only just reached the front door when a car’s high beams glared into the
marble entrance hall. The headlights flooded the room with blue light.

Doors
slammed, tires kicked up gravel, and lanky shadows arced across the ceiling as
the car drove back down the driveway. Male voices approached the front door and
the handle twisted. Aaron flattened himself against the wall just in time, as
Casler Selavio and Father Dravin stepped inside, both of them in red cloaks.

It
was four in the morning. What the hell were they doing here?

Casler
flipped on the lights, and Aaron realized his hiding place wasn’t a hiding
place at all. He held his breath, but they didn’t turn around. Casler led
Dravin straight across the room, and they ducked into the wine cellar. For a
moment, the aitherscope’s silver orb beamed beyond the door before it clacked
shut and silence flooded back.

Aaron
let out his breath and headed for the front door, but he paused, hand poised at
the handle. He glanced behind him. The wine cellar led to the dungeon.

It
was four in the morning. Why were they even awake? So instead of leaving, Aaron
followed them.

***

Aaron
emerged at the bottom of the slimy stairs and tiptoed into the cavernous
dungeon. While Dravin perused the laboratory, Casler booted up his laptop at a
battered desk. The machine droned behind them. Its metal edges appeared blurry,
almost transparent. Like a projection.

Aaron
edged closer and slid behind a rack of medicine bottles.

“Just
one more thing,” said Dravin. “I was under the impression that only the water
molecules in the two vials were entangled. But when you introduced the red dye
into that first vial, it clearly colored both. Dr. Selavio, correct me if I’m
wrong, but it seems the molecules of red dye jumped as well.”

Casler
smiled, pulled off his red cloak, and tossed it onto the chair. He wore his lab
coat underneath. “You’re very perceptive,” he said, “but I’m afraid the
demonstration was simply a magic trick designed to prove a point. The real
fluid was pinched from me some weeks ago.”

Dravin
raised his eyebrows. “And it wouldn’t be the first time Mr. Lilian did you a
favor. May I ask how the trick was accomplished?”

“A
pinhole in the top of the vial,” said Casler.

“But
a magician never reveals his secrets,” said Dravin.

“I’m
a doctor, not a magician,” said Casler.

“It
seems to me you’re neither,” said Dravin, setting his own cloak on the desk and
stepping over to the machine. He wore a black, clerical robe underneath.
“You’re a politician. Is this it, then?”

“All
two-hundred million volts of it.”

“And
what is the machine’s
secret?” said Dravin. “A pinhole in space?”

Casler’s
smile widened as he typed in his password. “Very perceptive indeed.” He flicked
the touchpad, and files flashed across the screen. “Although the entrance to
the channel is slightly larger than a pinhole.”

“And
where
, may I ask, did you find the entrance?” said Dravin.

“I’m
afraid it requires drilling,” said Casler. “It’s on the inside of the skull,
just behind the visual cortex. I give my son credit for the discovery—” He
laughed quietly. “His
awful
headaches.”

Dravin
placed his palm on the machine and circled it slowly. “Dr. Selavio, how is this
machine different than the machine you tested eighteen years ago?”

“This
one reseals the hole.”

“So
the subject lives?”

“The
patient
lives,” said Casler. “Forgive my sensitivity, Father.”

“But
he lived the first time,” said Dravin.

“Not
entirely,” said Casler.

Dravin
paused at the open panel behind the machine and peered inside. “I pray to God I
never understand what you mean by that.”

“You
always were squeamish,” said Casler. “Here, I’ve got it loaded. This is from
that kid you met on Wednesday. It’s a video of the inside of his channel,
recorded directly from the aitherscope.”

Dravin
patted the machine and headed back to the desk. “You mean the rugby player?”

“The
other one. The one who left early.”

Aaron
shifted to get a better view, and his wrist cracked.

Dravin
whipped around. “Did you hear that?”

“Trust
me, we’re quite alone,” said Casler.

Aaron
stayed perched on his fingertips until Dravin’s eyes finally returned to the
laptop. Then he eased himself into a crouch, praying his slamming heart wasn’t
audible over the drone of the machine.

“Okay,
watch this—” Casler played the video, and in slow motion, the screen displayed
exactly what Aaron had seen through the aitherscope—three and a half seconds of
flashing static—before it went blank.

“No
regular clairvoyant signature,” said Dravin.

“I
noticed that too,” said Casler. “Fairly typical for a patient who’s sustained
trauma to his channel, and that was my initial diagnosis. But I filtered out
the static and . . . ” he tapped a few keys, “I want you to watch it again, from my
angle.” Casler slid over, blocking the screen from Aaron’s view.

The
priest leaned in, and a moment later, his eyebrows furrowed. “Is that a branch?”

“You
tell me.”

“But . . . to
where?”

“Father,
I’m beginning to wonder . . . It’s too much of a coincidence that this boy shares
Clive’s birthday.”

“We
checked the Registry, though,” said Dravin. “No one was born opposite Amber—except,
of course, your son.”

“I
know, I know . . . ” Casler rubbed his temples, “but we knew the operation would
affect both ends of the channel, both halves. We just weren’t sure exactly how.
Supposing the machine skewed the synchronization. The Registry might have
clocked the boy’s birth a few seconds late . . . or maybe even registered him as a
stillborn. Stillbirths aren't always recorded accurately. Maybe that’s why we
didn’t know about him.”

Dravin
nodded. “Then deal with him before he becomes a problem. And for your son’s
sake, don’t speak of this again . . . not even to the potentate.”

In
the frail light, the shadows elongated under Casler’s high cheekbones. “Of
course.” He reached out and closed his laptop, his hands trembling.

“Clive
seems very much in control of himself lately,” said Dravin. “He’s come a long
way.”

“Yes,
he has,” said Casler. “But there are still times when he lashes out—”

“As
with all of us.” Dravin straightened his glasses and focused on Casler. “You
may wish to know your son has been chosen as the heir.”

Casler
rose from his seat suddenly. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. When he
opened them again, a tear slid down his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I am
pleased to hear that.”

Dravin
appraised him with cold eyes. “I only wonder if he’s mature enough,” he said.
“If he can’t control that half of his—”

“She
will
submit to my son,” said Casler.

“Mr.
Lilian is in full agreement that you should do everything in your power to make
his daughter complacent for our heir.” His lips curled into a smirk. “Quite a
prize, she is. You won’t tarnish her face, will you?”

“You
won’t even see the scar,” said Casler. “It’ll be at the back of her head,
underneath her hair.”

Aaron’s
shoulder bumped the medicine rack, and the bottles rattled.

Casler
glanced at the rack, and his eyes narrowed through the gaps.

Dravin
laughed. “Another one of your tricks, Casler?” He pulled his cloak around his
shoulders. “Until tomorrow then.”

“Do
try to dress nice,” said Casler, his eyes still on the medicine rack. “It’s my
son’s birthday.”

“It’s
the birthday of our heir,” said Dravin. “Oh and Casler, about the bruises he
had Wednesday—that will need to stop.”

“That
will stop when he obeys me and quits sneaking into my studio,” Casler said
loudly, peering intently in Aaron’s direction.

As
soon as Dravin left, Casler marched to the wall. Aaron watched him between two
beakers, as he flipped a switch—and a hundred halogen lights ignited and blazed
all around him. Their blinding blue glare grilled his skin.

“Now—”
Casler’s voice boomed. He faced the medicine rack, which was now hardly more
than a stained glass window. “Let’s find out who’s sneaking around my studio.”

***

As
Casler swept toward him, Aaron coiled his fingers around the throat of a
medicine bottle and yanked it from the rack. He cracked it against the floor,
stood, and raised its jagged edge.