Maeve paused again.“I was right about her, yeah?”she whispered with a smug little wink.
“A, Frechdachs?2,”I said with a throaty laugh.“Nondikass,”I hissed as the door of the ward flew open and a middle-aged nurse with severe silver hair marched toward us, having zeroed in on the visitor instantly.
“Can I see some ID, please?”
Shit. I’d come here tosaveMaeve, and now I was putting her in danger all over again for my stupid fucking?—
“Yes.” To my surprise, Maeve’s voice was calm and confident, even speaking English.
And suddenly, I realized that something about her was… different. And no, it wasn’t the lack of a metal chain on her wrist—I’d figured, like the other girls, she’d shed that long ago. And no, itwasn’ther severed fingers, even with my shiver of revulsion at the realization of who and what must have done that. Maybe, instead, it was her golden pixie bob haircut, geometric-patterned athletic-style dress, or the mini backpack she jauntily carried, both of which looked new and chosen with care.
Or the way she didn’t tremble, didn’t use a title, and didn’t immediately cast her eyes down—not for more than a split second, anyway.
But the biggest surprise of all came next. She reached into the backpack she was carrying and took out—yes—an ID card.
Before she handed it over, I glimpsed the whole thing: Her photo. Her birthdate.Her name, printed right on the laminate in indelible ink.
In other words, this was no con—and Maeve couldn’t con to save her life, anyway. She wasn’t like me. She was as honest and sincere as a pink unicorn with a rainbow mane, and that was what I loved about her.
Which left me with one word. One question, encompassing a thousand others.
How?
“I’m sorry, Miss,” said the nurse, matching up the photo on the card with the girl in front of her, “van Someren.”
What?
“But in this ward, the only visitors allowed are the slaves’ owners. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”
Maeve drew herself up with a dignity she’d always had but had never—in all the timeI’dknown her anyway—been allowed to use.
“Oh,” she said in slow, careful, perfect English. “I’ll go.”
And then my sister, Miss Maeve van Someren, gave one last tear-streaked look at me and swept out of the room, the heels of her chunky sandals tapping on the linoleum.
When she’d left, the nurse, silently and with little enthusiasm, began to check my vitals.
“How long have I been here?” I ventured to ask. “Ma’am,” I added with a sigh when she didn’t answer right away and instead kept passive-aggressively tightening the blood pressure monitor.
“Given your head injuries, Dr. Perez put you in an induced coma for a week to reduce the chance of brain swelling,” she responded, clearly annoyed by the fact that a mouth was suddenly attached to the body she was manhandling. “Now that you’re awake, she said we can free up your bed.”
I sank down again, closing my eyes briefly. I hated how servile and defeated my voice sounded when I spoke again. But if I wanted to know, I had to get her to answer. “So I’m going back to my master, then, ma’am?”
My master, whose house I’d been assured I’d never again be allowed into. Only the mines remained, but if that were the case, shouldn’t Keith have just let me die where they’d found me, cut out the middleman, and saved himself thousands of dollars in hospital bills?
“Guess again.”
Oh.
HER
Two weeks ago, I’d crawled out of the rubble of a collapsed copper mine, and still,thiswas the hardest place I’d ever been in.
Iron gates ushered us into a vast, labyrinthine government facility seemingly more suited to holding animals than the humans it contained, detained behind layer after layer of chain link and steel bars like some kind of sadistic wedding cake.
After five minutes here, I already knew I’d never A) Feel clean again and B) Find my way out, at least alone. And still, a short, humorless, uniformed government slave handler named Deare led us deeper, each gate obediently clanging closed behind us with a sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
Breathe.
