both glare hatred at his receding back. In that moment, if in no other, they are united.
The moment passes. Leigh turns back to Erin, and smiles.
“Bring her, Kim,” she says. “It’s time she learned the penalty for going against her betters.”
The lab where Erin is placed is familiar: she grew up here. She knows every line and color, every piece of well-worn furniture. She can close her eyes and picture Darren anywhere in this room, a smirk on his lips, trying so hard to look cool, even when neither one of them had any idea what “cool” was.
“Hey, Erin, you know what?”
“What?”
“When we get out of here, I’m going to take you someplace so swank it doesn’t seem real. Like Disneyland.”
“I believe you.”
She did. She does. If Darren were here, if Roger could call him back from dust and bones the way she’d been called back from the sea, he would untie her and take her someplace so swank it wouldn’t seem real. He always kept his promises, right up until he promised never to leave her. But that was a foolish promise, wasn’t it? He should have known better. They both should have known better.
The children made here never know better. She’s banking on that.
As she has since she was left here, alone, tied up tight as a Thanksgiving turkey, she scans the air, looking for patches of chaos. Air in an enclosed system like this one will always trend toward order, becoming invisible to her. Storm cells are an impossible, painful beauty reserved for the world above.
This time, her patience is rewarded. There’s a patch of chaos toward the center of the room, a place where the air has been thrown somehow into disarray, even though there should be nothing there. “I see you,” she says, in a calm, carrying voice. “You can put the Hand down.”
As she’d hoped—prayed, even, although she’s never quite sure what she’s allowed to pray to—a Hand of Glory appears on the table nearest to the disturbance, flames freshly blown out, and a teenage girl with hair so white it verges on pale corn-silk green is there. Unlike the Hand, she doesn’t appear: she’s been there for some time. She was simply, prior to this moment, difficult to see.
She is too thin, dressed in tattered clothes twenty years out of date, shivering in the warm air of the lab. She watches Erin like a fawn, all enormous eyes and unstoppable twitches. Erin looks calmly back at her, face composed, unmoving.
“How did you know I was there?” the girl asks, finally. “I had . . . I had a Hand . . .”
“I didn’t,” says Erin, and smiles. “Kim, wasn’t it? Untie me, Kim. I have unfinished business with the man who made you.”
“I can’t. They have my brother.”
He’s gotten smarter, Reed has: he’s figured out that a hostage is a better lever than a corpse. If only he’d learned that lesson a little sooner, Erin might have stayed loyal. She shakes her head.
“You can’t let that give them the power to control you,” she says. “Do you know who the people I came here with are?”
“Usurpers,” says Kim. She doesn’t sound like she understands what the word means. She probably doesn’t. Reed has never been a fan of well-informed subordinates, and she’s not the one with a dictionary where her heart ought to be.
“They’re the living Doctrine of Ethos. They’re what Reed wants to turn you into. He can’t control them, so he wants to kill them. If he does, if he succeeds, the Doctrine will pass to you and your brother, and you’ll never be free, ever. Do you understand that? He’ll keep you here forever, and he’ll do whatever he must to prevent you from breaking free. You’ll never have your brother back.”
Kim’s face twists in sudden rage. “Oh, what, and you’ll give him to me? Timothy is scared and he’s alone and you’re trying to trick me into letting him get hurt, because you’re racing Mr. Reed for the universe. If we become the Doctrine, we’ll be safe.”
“No, you won’t,” says Erin, keeping her voice calm. “If you become the Doctrine, you’ll be pawns, and a man who’d do the sort of things Reed has done will be able to control the universe. Roger and Dodger don’t want to hurt you. They’ll do their best to protect you, but they can only do that if they’re alive and free. Untie me. Let me help them. Let me help you.”