Ravens pecked at my torso. Long entrails hung from their beaks. Wet, slimy, red. I watched the birds gulp down my insides, their bodies widening and mutating as they devoured me. I was on a steel surgical table, which served as their banquet feast. Everything was going precisely according to Father’s plan.
Father took studious notes while Clyde leaned over me. Strips of rotting flesh dripped onto my face from above. “True love’s kiss will wake you up,” Clyde said with a grin. Black flies swarmed out of his mouth.
“Not yet,” Father replied, stern as always. Even in my dream, he was the same. Reflective glasses and a faraway voice. “There’s something wrong with Marietta.”
Clyde surveyed me. His blue eyes were watery—too watery. Liquid sloshed down his cheeks. His eyes were putrefying, sliding away into empty, endless darkness. “You’re right, Doctor,” he rasped. “Something’s very wrong with Marietta.”
I scrambled up on the examination table. Ravens continued to peck at me. They found the backs of my knees, the skin of my neck. One of them gripped my skin flap between its beak and pried it wide open.
“Come back,” Father said. “Listen to me, Marietta. Return.”
“No,” I screamed. They were touching the back of my neck, and I couldn’t get away. Then someone’s hands reached in and yanked my Cog out.
I woke up on Penny’s couch, sweaty and delirious.
I lurched toward the coffee table. I grappled for a glass of water. I pushed away magazines, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. I gobbled down the water in seconds, hands shaking. My whole body buzzed with nervous energy.
Along the postered walls, rock stars from Amaris and beyond glowered at me with pouty-lipped smiles. The same routine sounds emanated from beyond the walls. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
Penny was asleep. I could hear the even rumble of her snores coming from the bedroom. I couldn’t believe how soundly she slept after what we had done just this afternoon.
No one had stopped us. Penny hadn’t stopped me. What the fuck.
There was no way I could go back to sleep. I listened to the rain, the birds, the automatons—wondering what to do with myself. I couldn’t tell Penny about these doubts, though. Not after what we’d already started.
I looked around Penny’s dark living room, feeling plagued and giddy. Then I saw the flier on her fridge. I wanted to laugh and scream and cry. Of course I’d see this now.
Clyde’s smug face grinned back at me from the black-and-white flier. He’d been talking about this show before he died. The stupid gig at the Entertainment District. A fresh wave of guilt engulfed me. I would never hear his likely shitty DJ set. No one ever would again.
I looked at the poster again, zeroing in on the date. The show was tonight; it was happening this very moment. What were the chances of that?
I might as well see how it was going, since I couldn’t sleep anyway. I got dressed in the dark, piling on clothes and accessories. I smeared lipstick across my mouth with no idea what color it even was. I buckled up my platform boots, and then I slipped out of Penny’s window, Natasha prickling my thigh.
I walked down the long hill, basked in low light. Each step forward prompted a new light to automatically flicker on.
Part of me hoped that Penny would wake up and drag me back to her apartment. Maybe she would be furious enough to stop the whole project altogether. I wouldn’t have blamed her at all. Maybe I even wanted that to happen, subconsciously.
Clyde was dead. My Cog seemed to finally be processing this. Holy shit. Clyde was dead—and I was using his body as a foundation for Clyde 2.0.
A strangled sound came out of me. Was I crying? No, I was laughing.
This was a lot. Like, maybe too much. Even for my Cog.
At least there would be plenty of guys at the show. I could certainly come up with a better name than Clyde 2.0. Maybe I could even get some inspiration for style and character traits to use in my new boyfriend from the audience or band members.
This is fine, I thought to myself. This is totally normal.
I strode through the cemetery and flagged a ride on the bus near the Night Market. Most of the riders were tourists heading home to other continents, but there were a few dedicated Downhillers nodding approvingly at my outfit. The Downhillers and I were getting off at the Entertainment District. I knew they were going to the same event, because we all dressed like we were going to a funeral—black jackets, black accessories, black boots. Black everything.
When I looked at myself in the bus window on the way out, I realized that I’d smeared on too much black lipstick. Or maybe it was just the right amount for who I was becoming. A monster.
“Partyyy,” a girl in a black tutu said. She didn’t have pupils, and for a moment, I wondered if she was dead.
“Custom contacts,” she said, spotting my concerned look. “Cool, aren’t they?”
We followed the thumping bass past the neon mini-marts and karaoke bars, into the mouth of the warehouse.
The cavernous room was packed. The air smelled like alcohol, sweat, and a faint whiff of the Pacific. It was both salty and sweet. Overly ripe.
Downhill girls clustered in groups of three or four. It would’ve been easier to squeeze into a broom closet than find my way in with them. I didn’t have the context for things they did. I didn’t have the tight-knit camaraderie of shared experiences.
I wound my way into the bathroom. There was free silver glitter on a small tray by one of the sinks. I rubbed it over my face and arms and felt the same as I had before. Even glitter didn’t help. The loneliness was bone-deep.
It eventually registered with me that no bands were playing; it was all one endless DJ set. Clyde’s old sets, which were actually not too bad. I guess the bands had made a last-minute change to the show, considering the DJ’s unexpected death.
Guilt. Sadness. Grief. So many emotions were thwacking me in the chest. I was being punched by feelings. I was developing a conscience, and I hated it so much.
And there near the front were Clyde’s boys, clad in black denim and leather. They stood by the stage like a pack of skinny werewolves. Bass thrummed through the floor. The boys raised toasts to his portrait. Unlike the pale corpse I’d seen in the lab, his portrait was flush with color. Alive.
Shit. I was honestly in the worst place for myself. I sort of felt like a murderer, even though his actual death wasn’t my fault.
I had to distract myself from the guilt. Somehow.
Someone bought me a blackberry-flavored cocktail—some guy wearing a white button-down and a loosened black tie. His arms were tattooed. I liked his black hair, the way it curled around the nape of his neck. Long hair was good because it could help obscure a Cog.
“Clyde was a cool dude,” the tattooed guy said. “How did you know him?”
I mumbled a lie and excused myself. I made a note to add black hair to my own work in progress. And in terms of characteristics—I didn’t want too much curiosity. I didn’t need my soul mate to be asking me a ton of questions about where he came from.
I looked around the room again. There were plenty of guys here, with all kinds of personalities. It was easy getting to know them because they flocked to me, one after the other.
“You’re so tall,” a short guy told me. “I’d give anything to be at your level … Get it?”
Next.
“You could be my dark goddess,” a guy wearing a long black robe and eyeliner told me. “Think about it.”
Next.
Guys bought me drinks. I twirled away. None of them were right for me, but if I cobbled together their best traits, inside and out—now, that could be something.
The loneliness was starting to fade away. I danced next to groups of girls, next to guys trying their best, by myself. Everything was fine. Everything was great. I loved blackberry drinks. I loved being alive!
Music pounded. Some of the pounding seemed to be coming from inside my head. I couldn’t remember exactly how many drinks I’d had. Maybe three? Five?
A song warbled over the speakers, more downtempo than the rest of Clyde’s stuff. It was a song that seemed awfully familiar.
“Do you know this song?” I said to some guy who’d just bought me another drink. I had to shout to be heard over the music.
“Nah,” he replied.
I spun away. I tapped a purple-haired girl on the shoulder. “Do you know this song?” I repeated.
“No,” she said, while her friends looked me up and down. I was a chaotic mess, but they all seemed to like it. “Wait—I think it’s a sample. It’s in Mandarin. Mandopop, I’m pretty sure.”
I swear I’d heard it somewhere before. My Cog churned through the songs from Penny’s library. It sifted through the ones Father had implanted in me too, until finally I realized where I’d heard it before.
The woman on the bus. I knew that this song was important to him, for some reason. Important enough for him to pass it down to me. And now I knew Father spoke Mandarin. The gulf between us included a specific language. Unfamiliar tones and a whole new set of vocabulary. Words with no direct translation, no direct connection between him and me. Unless that changed, something might always be slightly missing.
Maybe that’s what was missing in me. A direct link to Father.
I touched my face. It was covered with glitter and tears.
I ran away before any of the girls could ask if I was okay. I didn’t want to go through an emotional ordeal with strangers. I didn’t want to be sad and snotty and messy and rotten in front of people who might judge me. Around people who might never really care about me at all.
I definitely had a headache. I could see why Penny had groaned so much about her hangover. I swear mine was already setting in from all the fizzy drinks.
I was on my way out, prepared to scamper back Uphill with my proverbial tail between my legs, when someone stopped me at the door. The hand on my arm was small but firm, the fingers glittering with delicate silver rings. And, of course, her fingernails were perfectly manicured.
“You,” Anna said. “Helga, isn’t it?”
This whole day had veered off course. Of course she’d be here, and of course I’d be unlucky enough to run into her. I did my best to smile and act normal.
Anna was wearing all black. Delicate silver hoops jangled from her earlobes. She looked just like a Downhiller except that she was neat as a pin. Her braids were perfect, her tights untorn.
I felt like a huge freak standing next to her.
“I haven’t been the nicest,” she said. Maybe it was because I was plastered, but I could swear that her face softened somewhat. “I’m sorry he’s gone too. It’s so weird, you know?”
It would be nice if we could be friends. Now that we weren’t fighting over Clyde, I had to admit: Anna might even be cool.
A few more minutes of this, and she’d probably try to hug me. She seemed sweet like that. She’d misunderstood my crying too. This wasn’t really about Clyde. I mean, it was a shame he was dead. But I was crying for some other reason.
“He sort of sucked,” I told her.
“That’s a strange thing to say at someone’s memorial party,” Anna replied. Her voice had gone frigid. She was no longer smiling.
Oops—I shouldn’t have said that. Still, it was true. If Clyde hadn’t run after me, cajoling me into being his accomplice, he would’ve been alive. I couldn’t exactly tell Anna that, though.
“I think … I’m just tired,” I stammered. “That must be it.”
“How did you know Clyde again?” Anna’s arms were crossed and her tone was both flat and accusatory. She waited for my response, tapping her black patent Mary Jane against the floor.
I was too drunk to be having this conversation. Even my complex Cog couldn’t parse through all the blackberry liquor I’d just swallowed. The world was cloudy and sideways.
Heat crept up my neck. I fidgeted with my choker, staring down at my own shoes. “I’m … I’m from around.”
“Around?” Anna eyed me sidelong. “You know, I think I do recognize you. I’ve seen you somewhere. I’m pretty sure of it. I just can’t quite remember where.”
And I was sure that the longer I stood around and talked to Anna, the worse things would get for me. She might even remember running into me Uphill with the other Institute interns, half blocked by Father. From across the room, Clyde’s gigantic picture smirked at me.
“The night he died, Clyde said he was going to meet you. He seemed excited about something. ‘A secret,’ he told me. So naturally I’m a bit curious. Did you meet up, Helga? I’d really like to know.”
This was not good. Not good at all.
Would it be worse to lie or tell the truth? How the hell was I going to get out of this one? I swear, Anna was looking at every bead of my sweat as a confession of guilt.
And I was really, really sweaty.
I couldn’t keep silent. And if I left without explaining, Anna would become even more suspicious. Even before tonight, she’d been complaining about me at her internship—which was the very same building I was born in, and the same one I’d be doing my own experiments in.
Anna’s eyes followed my fingers, working at my choker. “Well?” she pressed. “Did you see him or not, Helga?”
My body came up with an appropriate reply. All of the blackberry liquor had to go somewhere. I doubled over and threw up on Anna’s shiny shoes.
I was promptly thrown out of the venue and banned for life due to underage drinking and general belligerence. The bouncer, a tall, muscular woman with buzzed purple hair, complimented my physique as she pushed me outside, which helped a bit with my general sense of mortification.
I was back on the bus. Pressing my flushed cheek against the cold windowpane, I watched the Entertainment District grow small and distant, its bright lights fading into dim streaks. In the morning, I’d probably look back on everything I’d done with a lot of regret. But for now, I just really wanted to chug a gallon of ice water.
Anna was going to be a problem for me; I could feel it. I acted too weird back at the party and had raised her suspicions. She might even figure out that I had met up with Clyde the night of the accident.
She might even conclude that I’d murdered him.
She even knew about Cogs. It was her job.
“I’ll just have to be smarter,” I whispered to myself. “I just have to stay a few steps ahead of her.”
The girl in the reflection grimaced back at me. Her face was covered in mascara and glittery tears. Her hair was a mess. But honestly, she still looked amazing.
“I’ve got this,” she mouthed back.
I crawled up the hill, snuck into Penny’s window, and washed off my dirty face. I draped the thin blanket over me and curled up on her couch. I needed a few good hours of sleep, and then I could start on the next phase of the project.
Penny had said so herself: There’s no turning back.
She was right. I had to go all in. I couldn’t feel sorry for myself or what I’d done. I only had so much time left before Father returned from his business trip.
Nothing—not Anna, not Father, not Penny herself—could stop me. I would remove every obstacle in my path, in whatever way I found best. I had to, for my own self-preservation. I was tied to this project now.
I knew I had a big day ahead, so I willed myself to go back to sleep. I told myself this was the only way forward, and I mostly believed it. Even when the nightmares crept back in and found me.