Conjured

He looked at her instead of the road. Behind them, Malcolm honked as if saying, Pay attention. Aidan veered around a parked car. “Yeah, of course. It’s only been a few months. And the only reason I don’t know the portal location is because the agents blindfolded me—a security precaution, they said. They didn’t want me popping in and out of there without their approval. I can’t teleport to a location I haven’t seen. Didn’t they blindfold you? They claimed it was standard procedure.”

“Yes, of course,” she lied. She shouldn’t have asked. She’d revealed too much. Eve laced her fingers together and then unlaced them. Maybe she was the only one with memory losses. Maybe she was the only one with visions. None of them had collapsed back at the agency when they’d used their power in the game. Topher hadn’t collapsed in the pizza place when he’d used his. She’d been blaming the surgery for her problems, but from the perfection in their faces, it was clear they’d had the same surgeries that she’d had. Maybe the surgery was different for different people. Maybe hers had been botched. She spread her hands on her lap. Her hands looked perfect, her fingers smooth and even. She was perfect on the outside but broken on the inside. A voice inside her whispered, She’s broken. But she couldn’t tell if that was a real memory or a memory of a vision.

She noticed Aidan was watching her. He was trying to be subtle, but she caught the quick glances as he drove. She tried to figure out how she could salvage the conversation, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, she looked out the window at the cookie-cutter houses and the mailboxes and the bleached, dry lawns. Her thoughts spun and spun as if caught in a blender. He’d said he’d been here only a few months; she knew she’d been here longer. Longer than Victoria? Longer than Topher? Longer than the ones like them that she hadn’t met (or had met but didn’t remember)? She could have been the first, the experimental surgery, and they’d perfected it later.

Or maybe she was flawed in some other way. Maybe she always had been.

Aidan parked in front of her house. Malcolm parked on the opposite side of the street. A tree, heavy with branches, hung over the black car as if it wanted to hide Malcolm from view. “He’s never liked me,” Aidan said.

“I thought you charmed everyone.”

Aidan flashed a grin at her. “Only those I deem worthy.”

“Are you complimenting me or insulting Malcolm?”

“Both at once,” Aidan quipped. “Aren’t I impressive? I can also walk and talk at the same time.” She could tell he wanted her to smile. She couldn’t. Her cheek muscles wouldn’t budge, so she looked at the house instead.

She heard Aidan open his car door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him scoot around the front of the car. He opened her door and held out his hand. She fumbled with the seat belt and stepped out of the car. She didn’t take his hand.

On the sidewalk, she looked at Malcolm’s car. “Why doesn’t he get out?”

“Ignore him.” Aidan drew her toward the house. “He’s jealous because he’s too old for you.” She shot another look at the car. That couldn’t be true—could it? “Or maybe it’s the pepperoni pizza. By now, the smell should have permeated the car. He might be unable to resist it any longer and is busily stuffing his face.”

“He could have eaten while driving,” Eve pointed out.

“Possible,” Aidan said. “But unsafe. Good thing you were with me.” At the door, Aidan raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. His lips were soft. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, then her wrist. “I’d never endanger you.”

Eve extracted her hand. “Except for when you tried to kill me.”

“Except for that,” he agreed. He leaned closer, and Eve shot a look again at Malcolm’s car. Lie to everyone, he’d said, until you know the truth.

She let him kiss her. But she didn’t float above the cement steps, and when he stepped back and smiled at her, she had to remind herself to smile too. He left whistling. She stayed on the steps and watched him drive away, aware that Malcolm was watching her.

Chapter Eight

After Aidan drove away, Eve knocked on the front door. She still didn’t have a key. Or if she did, she didn’t know where she had put it. She might have to invent a lie for why she didn’t have it.

The lies pulled on her like weights on her limbs, and she suddenly felt exhausted.

She wished she could simply walk down the street away from the house and keep walking until she was somewhere else where no one knew or remembered her any better than she knew or remembered them. But Malcolm’s car sat dark and silent across the street, and she had already knocked.

She heard footsteps inside. Sharp, loud, close. And then the door swung open.