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  Just then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, startled, to find Mercer standing behind her. He held out a palm, and she gave him hers. “May I have this dance?” he asked with faux formality, before gently pulling her body against his, humming along with the sounds of jazz emanating from the main ballroom, his hand circling her waist as he spun her around the balcony.

  “Have you seen him yet? Dr. Hassman?” Davis asked as they danced.

  “No,” Mercer told her. “But I’m sure he’ll show up. I saw his name on the confirmed guest list, and Jan pointed out his assistant earlier. We just need to give it time. It’s early yet. Meanwhile, may as well enjoy ourselves, right? Or at least try to.” Davis nodded and pressed her face against his neck, breathing in his salty smell. Mercer looked as perfect as the rest, and yet he felt more real, more accessible. She felt like he somehow knew her in a way no one else could. Not even Cole. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought.

  Mercer spun her quicker, dipping her suddenly, and when he bent to kiss her, she yielded easily. Their kiss was long and soft. There were so many things he seemed to be saying with his lips: that they were the same; the two of them were in it together. Davis felt all of her reluctance disappearing, and she gave into the kiss, returning it with equal passion. She ran her hands through his hair and over his chest, pretending to push him away even as she moved her mouth over his.

  She heard a movement to her left and opened her eyes, spotting Jan. Davis pulled back, embarrassed. How long had Jan been watching?

  The other girl’s face was blank, expressionless. “There you two are!” she said brightly. “We were looking all over!” From behind her, two other forms emerged—faces Davis found vaguely familiar but unsettling. Their eyes were a little too bright, almost like they were high, and their grins were perfect, glossy replacements for human emotion. Then she realized: Jan’s own eyes were different—they’d been brown when Davis first met her, and now they were a startling green. She’d changed eye colors, but behind the new glittering hue was … nothing. The change had somehow wiped her eyes of emotion. “Come on,” Jan said. “It’s raging inside. Let’s get back there.”

  Davis was about to protest that they had a lot to do—a lot of information to dig up, and they still hadn’t made any solid connections—but Mercer was already halfway out the door behind Jan. Davis suppressed a wave of irritation—it seemed like he was way more interested in being home and having fun than in finding out anything about the disease. She’d have to take matters into her own hands. As they approached the ballroom, Davis couldn’t help but notice that everyone there had empty eyes and relaxed, neutral mouths. Their expressions were identically blank, like the fire had been extinguished from their eyes. Davis shuddered.

  “Is everyone into eye reconfiguration here?” she wondered aloud. Back in Columbus, only a few people had messed with their faces that way. Eye reconfiguration was considered risky; it was a fashion trend that had some worrying effects on long-term vision, and it had a kind of gauche reputation. Here, though, it seemed to be the predominant trend.

  Jan laughed. “It’s kind of old news. We’re moving onto lips and skin now. Check her out.” Jan pointed to a girl whose skin was luminescent, almost glittery. “Awesome, right?”

  “It’s a lot,” Davis said. Most of the guests, in her opinion, looked like they were wearing garish masks.

  “It’s just temporary,” Jan told her. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. And it’s such a rush.” She laughed. “That’s the best side effect—you get a little buzz from it. Wanna try? You’d look so pretty with gold irises. The metallic glaze is so in right now.”

  Davis bristled, backing away. The room was like a carnival filled with performers; no one in the group looked natural or sincere. She saw Mercer accepting a few little yellow pills that Jan was handing him and realized that he, too, would soon cease to look familiar.

  Her heart thudding, Davis backed away from the two of them, grabbing a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray and downing it quickly. She needed to get information and get out of there. Grabbing another flute, Davis made the rounds, trying to find some of the people Jan had pointed out earlier. But with their facial enhancements, she could no longer recognize anyone. She felt lost, as if in a hall of mirrors: each garish expression was more horrifying than—yet oddly identical to—the one before. She wended her way around corridors hung with expensive modern art, stepping along sterile marble hallways, and for the first time she felt homesick for something she couldn’t identify. It had nothing to do with Columbus, or her family. What she was missing was the sense of freedom that had come with living a few months on an island devoid of physical perfection.

  She wanted to go home.

  No.

  She wanted to go home with a cure.

  She whirled, moving back toward the settee where she’d left Mercer and Jan. She had to ask Mercer what he’d found out about Dr. Hassman. Jan had shown her a photo of him on her tablet, but Davis hadn’t seen anyone yet who’d even vaguely resembled him.

  Jan and Mercer were no longer at the settee, but she caught a glimpse of the fabric of Jan’s orange satin gown billowing around the corner and disappearing. She moved quickly after it, turning down a long tiled hall dimly lit and glowing blue. The smell of chlorine grew stronger as she approached a long sliding glass door that led to an indoor pool. The pool was empty, except for Jan and Mercer. Davis could hear Jan’s voice rising. It sounded like they were deep in conversation, and she paused, wary of interrupting.

  When Jan moved toward Mercer, narrowing the gap between their bodies to a mere few inches, Davis gasped. Covering her mouth quickly, she ducked to the side of the door, allowing her heart to steady. Were Mercer and Jan an item? She peered back round the door, afraid of what she might see.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Jan’s arms wrapped around Mercer. Jan pulled back slightly, and Davis froze, straining to hear their conversation.

  “Wait,” Mercer was saying, pushing her away. “Not now.”

  “Isn’t that why you brought her here? So we could try again? With Suen?” Jan said clearly. “You’re not like her, Mercer. Do you know that many people here think Narxis isn’t a real thing? That’s because we’ve taken precautions to avoid it. Why do you think Columbus is riddled with it? They never took action, never eliminated Imps entirely. It’s survival of the fittest, and we took care of this problem before it ever began. Because all Priors is the best way. It’s the only way.”

  Davis stared at them in shock. Jan had mentioned Suen—it was the name of the woman from whom Mercer had gotten Narxis in the first place, or so he’d told her. She squinted, trying to gauge Mercer’s reaction.

  “I’m not all Prior,” he pointed out, his voice low.

  “You are,” Jan said. “Well, almost. It’s just a fluke that you’re not, though. Suen screwed up, I know, but you’re nearly as good as us, and you’re definitely not like them. Don’t you ever associate with Imps because of this, Mercer. That would be like writing yourself off. Even that girl is beneath you. Anyone could see you’re more fully Prior.”

  Davis tried to move, but her legs were frozen in place. Mercer lifted his gaze even as she tried to move away, and his eyes locked on hers. She gasped and moved from the doorway, willing herself far away from Jan and Mercer and the garish human caricatures swarming the room.

  16

  COLE

  After a quick nap in the barn, during which Cole tossed and turned, barely able to get more than a few minutes of actual sleep, he awoke. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, groaning to himself as his worried thoughts about Davis flooded back.

  His stomach clenched. He couldn’t train with Mari today. His mind wouldn’t be in it. It was better that he just leave. Besides, the Olympiads were the following day.

  Cole struggled to his feet. He pulled on his shirt, feeling achy, stiff, and lethargic. He had to snap out of it. Jogging around the south side of the house to avoid
Mari, he felt only a little bit like a jerk for not explaining himself or saying good-bye. But time was running out. If he was going to give the fake fingerprinting a shot, this was the time.

  He headed back toward Worsley’s lab in the Slants as quickly as he could. His feet felt heavy, and he couldn’t shake the sense that he’d screwed everything up. With Davis, Mari … even with Brent. He needed Worsley’s help with this one. But he was going to have to crawl back, after the fight they’d had and what he’d done. He was at odds to some degree with everyone in his life—at least everyone who knew he existed. And he’d betrayed Davis. Every fiber of his being wanted to be with her, and yet he’d acted in a way that was exactly opposed to that. Because he’d gotten carried away, needed comfort in the moment. Succumbed to a moment of weakness.

  There was only one way to fix this. Everything—literally everything—rested on the Olympiads. He could give Mari a part of the prize money and finally show her how much he appreciated her training. Her world would open up a little because of that money. He could go see Davis. And when he did, he’d treat her in a way that showed her every day how much he treasured her.

  When he got back to the hideaway, making a quick pit stop for a change of clothes and the laser, he was surprised to see Brent pacing the concrete floor. He’d brought Michelle, and the sight of them together gave Cole a pang. He watched Brent plop down next to Michelle on Cole’s sleep cot, rest his palm on her thigh. Cole would never have that level of ease with Davis. They’d always be running or hiding or spiriting stolen moments, unless they could get somewhere far, far away.

  “Dude,” Cole said. “You’ve gotta stop just showing up here like that.” He tried to inject humor into his voice, but it fell flat. He was too tense for their usual banter. Plus, he still felt weird about the friction over Michelle. And there she was.

  “We realized this morning, you need to learn a few things about Brent before you go in there,” Michelle said.

  “What are you talking about? Brent’s been in my life since I was a kid. I already know everything there is to know. Right, buddy?” Cole cringed inwardly, struck again by his falsely jovial tone. He didn’t have time for this, but he didn’t have the heart to tell them that. If they were still willing to support him, the least he could do was play along.

  “I’m a man of mystery, my friend,” Brent interjected. “There is more to me than meets the eye.”

  Cole rolled his eyes, but sat down across from the two, keenly aware of Michelle’s head resting on Brent’s shoulder. “Shoot,” he said.

  “Where was I born?” Brent asked.

  “Trick question. Right here in the ol’ Slants,” Cole replied.

  “Errrrr!” buzzed Michelle. “Wrong.”

  “I was born in Cleveland,” Brent said. “Moved to Columbus when I was three.”

  “No way. Figured you were born and bred, just like me,” Cole said, trying to keep things light.

  “Like I said…”

  “More to you than meets the eye. Next. Shoot.” Cole was impatient. How long was this going to take? He wasn’t even totally sure they were going to ask identifying questions, and he was certain he’d get all the basics right. The city thing, okay; that was weird that he didn’t know it. He’d nail everything else. He had to get to Worsley’s lab and get the fingerprint ironed out ASAP.…

  “Favorite food.”

  “You seriously think they’re going to ask that?” Cole had a hard time tamping down his irritation. “Chicken cutlets. Fanciest guy I know.”

  “Really?” Michelle broke in. “Babe, I thought you hated chicken?”

  “Nope. That’s turkey.”

  “And that’s weird,” Cole told them. “Turkey’s a delicacy.” Turkeys were almost extinct. It was rare that they got any kind of fresh, nondehydrated meat in the Slants. In the culinary scene of Columbus, of course, it was different.

  “Middle name.”

  “Gareth. Boom.”

  “Gareth?” Michelle looked amused. “You were basically born to be a nerd.”

  “How did you not know that?” Cole asked Michelle. “That’s our go-to when he’s being lame. We blame it on nurture versus nature.” Michelle laughed awkwardly, but Brent’s face fell.

  “Way to pay attention,” Brent teased her. But his eyes had darkened, and he shifted on the bed, leaning slightly away from her. “All the important stuff, and you’re just checked out.” Michelle moved toward him, placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. “It’s fine,” he said in her direction. Cole racked his brain for something to say to transition from the awkward moment, but it was Brent who spoke up first. “All right, dude, this one’s definitely gonna come up. Also the easiest question of the bunch. My birthday.”

  “May sixteenth. No. Wait. That’s Hamilton’s.” Cole paused, massaging his temples.

  “Seriously? How can you not know?”

  “I’m sorry! I get you two messed up. You’re in the fall. Right? We had that belated celebration last November, which puts you at October. October sixteenth.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Brent seemed genuinely put off, and Cole was feeling more and more anxious. How could he not know these things? He was a terrible friend, and he was going to blow it at the Olympiads. They weren’t going to let him past registration. He stood up, beginning to pace, his pulse quickening.

  “That’s not right?” Of course it wasn’t right. He didn’t need to hear Brent’s firm no to figure that out. He began to sweat. His head was blank. He felt like he couldn’t come up with any facts about his friend just then, even if someone asked him a question that was open-ended.

  “Cole, save yourself the embarrassment,” Michelle said, straightening up. “I’ve got this. October eighth.” She looked around confidently, but Brent avoided her eyes. There was a brief beat in which no one said anything.

  “Tenth,” Brent interrupted, breaking the silence. Brent stood up, moving toward the door. Cole watched him, wary. This situation was spiraling fast.

  “Oh. I could have sworn it was the eighth,” Michelle said, scrambling. “Oh, never mind. That’s my dad’s birthday.”

  “No one remembers mine,” Cole offered.

  “Yours is December fifth,” Michelle said. There was another silence; she was right, and they all knew it. Cole cringed and looked away, avoiding Brent’s eyes.

  “I think I’m done,” Brent told them.

  “What, you guys aren’t going to join me for the hard part?” Cole tried.

  “I guess I have a natural aversion to my friend having his skin burned off,” Brent said. “But you’re the ironman.” There was an underlying bitterness behind his words that only someone who knew him well would pick up on. Cole didn’t know what to say.

  They exited the hideaway, out into the streets of the Slants. Brent and Michelle walked in front of him, Michelle whispering in Brent’s ear as she clutched his hand tightly. Cole speculated that she was trying to make up for screwing up his birthday. It must have stung, the fact that she’d known Cole’s but not Brent’s. She huddled close to Brent, apparently bent on reassuring him, and Cole realized in a flash that theirs wasn’t a relationship he wanted. There was nothing easy about Michelle and Brent—all of their interactions were forced, full of deliberate effort and built on the convenience of their relationship. They weren’t what he and Davis had been—extraordinary. They couldn’t see into each other’s souls. Cole thought back to the last time he’d held Davis—the comfort he’d felt in her arms. He’d been unable—was still unable—to imagine a greater level of satisfaction. Everything he was doing was for her.

  When Michelle and Brent turned down the path that led away from Worsley’s lab and back toward their own houses, Cole pulled Brent into a hug.

  “Thanks, man,” he told his friend. “You don’t know how grateful I am.” There was so much more he wanted to say. He hoped Brent would realize exactly how full those words were—how much their friendship meant to him. How badly he wanted Brent to be h
appy. As he watched them walk off, and Brent looked back to give him a wave, he knew they’d be all right. Brent was more like a brother than a friend; there were few things in life that could destroy a bond like that.

  “Cole.” Worsley’s tone was guarded, and for the first time he didn’t look happy to see Cole. A dark bruise blighted the left side of his face. He ushered Cole into the lab—Vera was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is she?” Cole asked, looking around the room. “You didn’t send her out…”

  “She’s asleep. I have a back room. Worsley jerked his head toward a curtain Cole had never noticed. “I don’t want to bother her.”

  “I’ll keep my voice down,” Cole said, wondering why Worsley hadn’t already asked him to do so. “Listen, man. I’m so sorry. I am. I’ve been in a bad place, but … I know it’s no excuse. I know I have no right to ask, but I need your help. Brent found me a machine that will allow me to simulate fingerprints and take over his identity. You need to operate the machine.” He handed Worsley the laser, which he had carefully tucked into his pants, careful to polish it off on his shirt. Worsley took it, eyeing it skeptically.

  “This looks dangerous,” Worsley said, eyeing the device. “I don’t need to tell you that it’s not meant to be used for this purpose. And I doubt I need to tell you how little I feel like helping you right now.”

  Cole looked him in the eyes, abashed. “Listen, Tom,” he said. “I get why this is an enormous risk for you. I know that risking your own reputation might mean thwarting all the work you’ve done on developing the Narxis cure. And I know you hate me right now. But the Olympiads are my only hope. They’re tomorrow. We’ve got to try this. You’re the only person I know of who has experience manipulating lasers. And I’m truly sorry for hitting you, for losing control like that. The apology would have come anyway. I just needed to cool off. I know it’s inconvenient timing”—he motioned to the device—“asking you for a favor at the same time I apologize. But I don’t feel I have a choice. And I am truly sorry. I know you’re trying to help Vera. I’ll make it up to you any way I can.”