Project Paper Doll: The Trials Read online

  I held him for a moment longer, just long enough for him to truly feel the start of panic and for one of those beads of sweat to trickle down the side of his face.

  Then I released him. There was no point in pushing him further anyway, not now; I wanted to shake him a little, not scare him into pulling me from the competition.

  Jacobs stumbled backward, catching himself on the dresser. He straightened up, squaring his shoulders and tugging his lab coat into place. “Be careful, 107,” he said in that smooth tone that never failed to raise goose bumps on my skin. “You don’t want to test my resolve, I promise you. Push hard enough and my choice might surprise you.”

  Then he turned and stalked out. Just a little bit faster, and he might have been running away from me.

  My harsh smile returned.

  Even better.

  THE TRIALS STARTED WITHOUT FANFARE. No horns blaring, no voice shouting over an intercom, “On your marks, get set, go!”

  Just a tiny chirp at nine A.M. sharp from a timer app on the Committee-provided cell phone, as the numbers started rolling backward from twenty-four hours, and the growing sense of dread and anxiety in my stomach. Somehow, the subtlety of the start made it feel all the more real and dangerous.

  This was it. My last chance to make things right. And somehow, while wishing for it and anxiously awaiting it, the moment had still managed to sneak up on me.

  I resisted the urge to pick at the edges of the vitals monitor that Emerson had attached to my chest before I left my room this morning. It felt conspicuous, the black plastic forming a dark leachlike bump beneath the stupid yellow shirt that had been designated as the uniform for Adam and me during this whole mess. It matched the yellow in the Emerson Tech logo, I guess. The phone the Committee had provided, now in the pocket of the khakis—seriously, who picked these clothes? Who goes on a secret mission in freaking lame-ass Dockers?—felt less invasive and obvious. But maybe that was because I was used to carrying a phone, even if it normally wasn’t one being used to track my location. At least as far as I knew.

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot and wiped my sweaty palms across the bottom of my shirt. “Come on, Ariane,” I muttered. This particular side corridor of the hotel, which included double glass doors labeled as the west entrance, was empty, for the moment. The restaurant, O’Malley’s, was closed for renovations, according to a sign on a stand blocking the entrance just behind me. But I couldn’t stand here for much longer without risking that someone, whoever was monitoring our locations through the phones, would notice that I wasn’t actually leaving the hotel and trying to find the designated target.

  If Ariane didn’t show up now, if she’d somehow mistaken my message or just not received it, I’d have to leave and try to find her out in the city. That would be a nightmare.

  Assuming that she’d even want to be found by me.

  She might have heard me just fine yesterday but want nothing further to do with me. She could easily still blame me for screwing up her plans with Ford. I bet Ford did. And if Ariane had something in mind for getting out of all this, she might not want to take the risk of involving me again.

  That was a mistake I could not make again. If I was given the chance.

  I studied the metal push bar on the doors to the sidewalk, focusing on the way it gleamed in the early morning sunlight, how it was probably warm to the touch. Holding those sensory details in my head, I reached out and gave the doors a push, using that newly accessible part of my brain.

  They opened, just as if I’d given them a shove with my hands, and a thrill shot through me, as always. I would never get used to this. And I was getting better, the more I practiced.

  The only comparison I could make was that it was kind of like flexing your knee after you’ve hit the ground, bruised the hell out of yourself, and taken off a few layers of skin. You don’t have a full range of motion while it’s healing, and it takes extra effort to move, but it’ll still work and eventually you won’t even notice the hurt.

  In the same way, it took a great deal of concentration to make my new abilities work as they were supposed to right now. But it was getting easier, and Emerson promised that once I’d stabilized and my body adjusted, it would become second nature. I wouldn’t have to think so hard about using these powers any more than I thought about using my individual fingers.

  Strangely enough, smaller objects were tougher. They weren’t as difficult to move, but just touching them required more concentration and focus. Less surface area, or something. Pushing at the door release alone was trickier than shoving at the whole door. But if I wasn’t careful and directive, I’d end up breaking the entire thing. At Emerson’s, I’d destroyed several desks trying to get a pencil to roll. Adam had apparently gone through that stage as well. It was the difference between using tweezers and a bulldozer.

  I wasn’t sure whether or not Ariane had the same issues. If not, I wasn’t sure why she didn’t move/touch/pick up everything this way. It was amazing. I’d never have to leave bed to turn the lights off again. No more getting up to retrieve the remote from halfway across the room. No more flinching when my dad chucked a newspaper at me or hit the wall in frustration or anger. He would know better than to mess with me.

  Not that I’d be going home again, ever, anyway.

  The idea sent a weird, uneasy twinge through me. I didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want the life I’d had before. And yet, the thought of never being there again made me feel…off-kilter somehow. As if some part of my identity had centered on being the younger Bradshaw boy, the screwup, and now I didn’t know how to be me without that. Or, maybe, more like I’d cheated by cutting off that part of my past instead of dealing with it.

  Stupid. I shook my head in disgust at myself. I was much better now. What difference did it make how I got here?

  I returned my attention to the door, but before I could test my control further and try flipping the lock mechanism, an eerie feeling of being watched settled between my shoulder blades.

  I turned swiftly, checking the corridor behind me.

  Empty. Just a set of vending machines farther down the hall, buzzing and clanking as the cooling units inside kicked on.

  There wasn’t really any place to hide, either. The restaurant windows were on the right side, dark and papered over from the inside. On the left, large floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the sidewalk and the flow of blissfully ignorant pedestrians, busily going to work or shopping or wherever normal people were going on a regular Friday morning.

  Someone approaching me from behind would have to cover fifty yards in the open hall without me seeing or hearing them. It wouldn’t be an impossible feat but definitely not easy, which was another reason why it was a good place to wait for Ariane.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed. Maybe I was just being jumpy.

  Or maybe not. Ford was here somewhere. And maybe even more eager to meet with me than Ariane (i.e., kill me horribly for what I’d done).

  A warm trickle of blood slipped free of my nose and rolled down over my mouth. I pressed my lips tighter together to keep it from seeping in. Blood in your mouth is just not something you ever get used to.

  I turned, putting the closed restaurant’s doors at my back so I could watch both ways, and fumbled for tissues in my pocket. Emerson had reluctantly given me another injection this morning. So the nosebleed thing was, theoretically, supposed to be getting better, but not so far.

  Ariane rounded the corner then, from the portion of hallway that led from the main lobby, her feet moving silently on the carpet. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she had on a T-shirt and jeans, similar to what she’d always worn to school.

  If I ignored the fact that she wasn’t carrying her tattered green canvas bag and that we were alone in the hallway instead of being jostled this way and that, we could have been at Ashe High. Maybe even on that day we first talked and struck a deal to get back at Rachel.

  Aria
ne met my gaze warily, her eyes that beautiful, uninterrupted darkness that had once seemed strange to me. The buzz of thoughts in my head grew louder, adding hers to the noise. I couldn’t pick anything out, though.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice cracking. I’d been imagining this moment for weeks now, but the reality of it fell painfully short.

  Ariane wasn’t smiling, didn’t seem pleased to see me. If anything, she looked alert, cautious, her breathing short and fast as if she were preparing for fight or flight.

  It reminded me so much of that first day, the first time we’d talked. I took two long steps toward her, intent on closing the distance between us. But then she jerked to a stop, holding her hand up, palm out. “No,” she said sharply, and I could feel the light but insistent pressure of power against my skin from the neck down, holding me in place.

  She’d never done that before, ever.

  She didn’t trust me.

  I froze, making no effort to move against her containment. Had she come here just to say that to me? To tell me in her cool, unemotional way that I should leave her alone, that “it would be better if we didn’t do this”? That was another possibility I’d imagined.

  “Ariane,” I began.

  She shook her head, a curt movement that screamed rejection. Her gaze searched my face, as if an answer might be written there. Or like she was trying to memorize it before leaving forever.

  “Don’t,” I said. “Please.” I needed her to give me this chance. Everything would be totally fucked if she just walked away.

  She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Are you…still you?” she asked finally.

  Her question took me aback. “Who else would I be?” I asked.

  “That’s not an answer,” she said.

  I stared at her. “I’m still me,” I said slowly, feeling faintly ridiculous. “I’m still Zane.”

  “You would say that no matter what,” she murmured. Then, raising her voice, she asked, “Why can’t I hear you anymore? Yesterday I caught that one thought at the end, one you intended for me to receive, but that was all.”

  “I can barely hear myself sometimes,” I said. “It’s static and noise. I have to concentrate to push through it. It’s a side effect of my treatment.”

  She nodded, but not like she believed me, more as if she was simply giving herself time to think and/or me time to incriminate myself on some matter that I didn’t even understand.

  “St. John found me and saved my life,” I said. “His virus—he calls it NuStasis—it amped up my healing and—”

  “I know what it does,” she said. “I just don’t know how far it goes.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” I said quickly. “I’m not brainwashed or anything. I just have access to new areas in my brain.” For now. Some of the time.

  “Then why are you here?” she asked.

  I hesitated. “At the trials or in this hallway?” I asked, stalling. Justine had been very explicit in what I could and could not reveal. In short, nothing.

  Ariane narrowed her eyes at me.

  “I can’t tell you,” I admitted. “Not yet. Please, just trust me.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “I know I don’t deserve it. But, please.”

  For a second, my words seemed to reassure her; she released her hold on me, and her shoulders relaxed, the harsh blankness in her expression easing fractionally. But as quickly as that moment started, it ended. “Competitor elimination is supposed to be discreet. A public hallway hardly qualifies,” she said, glaring at me.

  I stared at her, her words not clicking at first. Then I got it. “What are you…Do you think I wanted to meet here to hurt you?” I shook my head. “Ariane, I would never—”

  A soft sigh came from behind me, close enough that I could feel it on the back of my neck. Or maybe that was the chill that immediately skittered across every inch of my skin, making the hair stand up.

  I spun around to find Ford leaning against the alcove that housed the restaurant entrance.

  Unlike Ariane, Ford was wearing what she’d had on the day before, her school uniform. Maybe it was another attempt to make her look “normal,” or maybe that was all she had to wear.

  “You continue to be tiresome,” Ford said to Ariane, her voice almost identical to Ariane’s, just with a flatter inflection. “It’s only against the mission specifications if I’m caught killing him here.”

  That was, as ever, reassuring. I took a step or two back, raising my hand in her direction.

  Ford glanced at me with a mirthless smile, amused by the gesture.

  The urge to prove myself—and wipe that smirk off her face—thundered through me, until I trembled with it. Heightened aggression and competitiveness seemed to be part of my new deal, along with the physiological changes from NuStasis. Or maybe that was just me, a chip permanently affixed to my shoulder and finally able to do something about it.

  “What do you want?” Ariane asked Ford, giving a tiny warning shake of her head at me.

  “No thanks for saving you yesterday?” Ford asked.

  Ariane raised her eyebrows.

  “They would have killed you, with that pathetic attempt at destruction,” Ford said.

  “Not if you had helped,” Ariane snapped.

  I had no idea what they were talking about. It must have been something that transpired before I came in.

  “There were too many of them in one room,” Ford said dismissively.

  “It wasn’t like I had a lot of options,” Ariane said through her teeth. “And at least I’m doing something.”

  Ford narrowed her eyes. “As am I. Family comes first. I would have thought even you would recognize that by now.” Her disdainful gaze slid to me and then back to Ariane.

  That was a jab at me and what I’d done, calling in Jacobs. “If you have something to say—” I began.

  Ford ignored me. “I’ve run the scenarios,” she said to Ariane as she emerged from the alcove into the hall. Strangely, she seemed unsteady on her feet, wobbling as she approached. “We are fairly well matched.” She folded her arms across her chest, but not before I saw her hands shaking, like she was in withdrawal.

  Maybe she was. I knew from our last encounter that it was not easy for her to be separated from the others. Well, now just Carter, I guess. I didn’t know what that looked like, but this might be it.

  “Killing him,” Ford inclined her head at me, “which I’d very much enjoy, would even the competition, making it a true test of our skills and ingenuity.”

  “You can try,” I snapped, my blood heating for battle once again.

  “But I suspect that would only fire your desire for retribution,” Ford said.

  Ariane nodded slowly. “That would be accurate.”

  “Or maybe Ford’s just afraid we’ll team up against her,” I pointed out. In her weakened state, Ariane and I probably had more than a decent chance of putting Ford out of commission.

  Ariane frowned at me. Don’t stir up more trouble. It came through as a barely intelligible whisper in my head, beneath the noise, but clear enough, particularly with her expression.

  “In exchange for his life, I want you to stay away,” Ford said to Ariane flatly.

  That was…not what I’d expected. Ariane either, given the look of surprise on her face.

  “Carter is gone, removed from the premises,” Ford said, after a long moment, as if it pained her to speak the words. “But Laughlin has promised to return him, unharmed, and let him continue with school and live out the remainder of his life as he chooses at the facility, if I win.”

  “And you believe that?” I asked.

  Ford looked at me directly for the first time. “I believe it’s better than what he’ll do to us if I lose. And Carter is family, mine to protect.” The fierceness in her words spoke to how far she was willing to go to see him safe.

  She returned her attention to Ariane. “The two of you will likely seal your own fates with disobedience. All I ask is that you do s
o far from me and the target.” Her shoulders were tense, her mouth tight as though she were being forced to chew gravel and trying to keep from spitting it out.

  Ah, this was Ford asking for a favor.

  Ariane’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she said.

  I felt a stab of fear. She didn’t know about Justine. She didn’t know about the other possibilities. But her defeated manner spoke to something more; a vital part of her had changed. She’d always been lit by this inner fire and determination. I’d seen that at every turn, even when she was locked in GTX with Rachel and me staring at her through that observation window.

  But now…had she given up?

  Ford nodded, a curt jerk of her head that looked more like an involuntary muscles spasm than actual communication. “Understand that you cannot split your priorities, sister.”

  Ariane jolted at the word. It was, I was sure, the first time anyone had ever referred to her as a sibling. Powerful, even if it was only a blatant attempt at manipulation.

  “It will be either his life or your success,” Ford continued. “You cannot have both.”

  She turned on her heel and disappeared into the closed restaurant. Maybe they should try locking those doors. Not that it would have stopped her. Or any of us, I guess.

  “Are you all right?” Ariane asked me, her voice guarded. She hadn’t moved from her spot at the other end of the hall, her posture stiff as if she was holding herself back, and the gap between us felt uncrossable suddenly.

  I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad you’re alive,” she said, but her words held awkwardness and distance, like she was speaking to someone she used to know.

  “So you believe me?” I had to ask.

  She tilted her head, considering her answer before speaking. “I was giving you the opportunity to hurt me. You didn’t take it.”

  I winced. “Ariane.” I started toward her.

  “No.” She held up her hand, stopping me. She pulled out her Committee-issued phone from her pocket, checked the screen, and then let her breath out slowly, collecting herself. “Listen to me. I have about thirty seconds more before Jacobs sees the two of us here alone and assumes we’re collaborating and decides to start hurting people.”