Secret Worlds (562 page)

“Brats?” I scrunch my face at Bea. “I wouldn’t brag about being from a family of brats.”

She breaks out in delighted laughter. “You learned nothing in that cult. A military brat is someone who grew up with a soldier mom or dad.”

“Oh. I’ve never thought about military stuff. Nevada told us there were border wars with the north. But that’s over. Who’s our enemy now?”

Bea shrugs. I guess she doesn’t know everything either.

Radius is also a popular guy, with kids asking him questions, and some curious grownups too. A flock of pretty girls start to surround Bea, asking her where they can get their hands on her fashion line, and if it’s in Vegas stores yet. They also compliment me on my modeling.

As for my presentation, I have a generous handful of admirers, including a turbaned healer named Caprice from Vegas-by-the-Sea. She adores my salves and insists that her clients would pay good money for them. Nice! Perhaps I can eventually raise enough money to move without winning an actual prize. I forgot to bring my holo tablet, so Caprice jots her address down for me on a slip of paper.

Blane comes over and wraps an arm around me. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m good, and you were great! I had no idea how smart you are.”

He laughs. “You thought I was dumb?”

“No, but you were so incredibly secretive about your project. Smart is sexy, you!” I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses me back and my senses are fully attuned to the sensual movement of his powerful arms enfolding me, the currents of his fierce, independent mind.

We decide to head over to the dessert table where he loads his plate with cake and pastry. With all of the mandatory activities I still haven’t been able to sift in enough solar vitamins, so I compensate by eating a sliver of chocolate cake. As miniscule as my appetite is these days, the chocolate still melts on my tongue.

Blane and I watch the judges emerge from a blue door at the end of the room and gather behind a long table there. The crowd begins to gravitate toward the table when it becomes clear the judges are preparing to announce a winner.

The three students from Vegas Central High that we sat with that first night at dinner drift toward us.

“Fancy meeting you here,” quips Van, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Your presentation was great,” Haddy tells me. “I so need that miracle skin salve.”

“Sure, I can spare a little.”

“Really?”

Blane pops in the last bite of chocolate cake and brushes his mouth with his sleeve. “Here we go! The judges are ready to make an announcement.”

The judges have chosen their seats. Their heads turn to George Axiom as he steps out from the blue door. While he confers with them in a hushed voice the crowd settles down as everyone waits for the verdict. I realize, momentarily, that whatever type of discussion they’re having is fast turning into a nasty argument. Stazzi, the lone female judge has gotten up and she’s having at it as she wags a painted fingernail at him.

“Ooh, I wouldn’t want to be Axiom right now,” I say.

“What are they going on about?” Tib asks.

Haddy shakes her head. “Whatever it is, it’s bad.”

Abruptly, the panel of judges rise and file back behind the blue door. In response, the whole room sighs with impatience.

Tib turns to Blane. “I’d bet a load of cash that you win.”

“It’s pretty incredible, all the genetic decoding you did,” Van admits.

“Our resident bodyguard brain,” boasts Radius, clapping Blane on the back.

“Wait! Here they come again,” Bea exclaims. It’s true; the judges are marching back in, ominous determination on their faces. George Axiom yanks down his suit jacket as he scowls at Stazzi. What’s going on?

Stazzi, not George gets up and proceeds to the center podium. Her long skirt rolls in waves behind her. “This was a very hard decision,” she starts, a theatrical smile spreading across her face. “We were not unanimous. But we did reach a clear decision.”

Is it my imagination that George Axiom has just rolled his eyes at Stazzi? I scan the room. No one else seems to have caught it. But I did, I’m certain.

Stazzi continues. “The grand winner, from Baronland South, is … Mr. Alex Dean!”

The audience erupts in loud objections. Seems like everyone is arguing now.

“What the heck!” yells Tib, “a rich kid from Baronland South? What a sick joke.”

“Doesn’t seem right that someone should win for a military weapon,” I say.

Blane, who’s been holding it together, bursts out, red-faced, “This contest was rigged. Everyone knows that my project was better than that military brat’s.”

“Much better,” Haddy agrees.

“By far,” I chime in.

Van growls, “Those Baronland South snobs shouldn’t even be in the competition. They don’t need the frying money.”

Apparently lots of kids feel this way, because heated variations on this theme explode all around us. Amidst the clamor Alex Dean marches up to the podium in his official looking navy suit and collects his prize money, in a bulging white envelope Stazzi hands him.

I’m starting to feel sick, and dizzy. Is it the cake I ate? Dr. Varik warned me not to eat sweet desserts. I should’ve stuck to the liquid vitamins he gave me. Was it that chocolate cake, or is it from the sudden, distressed humming in my head?

Da
nger, danger, danger!
It hisses.
He’s lost, he’s lost. Lost!

The humming turns to abrasive static and I lose my footing.

Trip into darkness.

“Wake up, Ruby!” Cold, wet sprinkles hit my face. “Ruby, it’s me, Blane. You okay?”

I shake my head and raise my lids, gaze into Blane’s anxious face. He’s got my head cradled on his lap. One of his hands is stroking my hair, and the other is holding a cup. When he sees me looking up at him he puts down the cup and bends over, kisses me on the forehead. “You scared me, Ruby. What happened?”

In silent answer, the noise in my head swells once again. It relays no clear message the way it normally does, more like a dozen messages colliding in discordant and tangled tumbleweeds. “My head’s hurting,” is all I can say to describe it. “We need to get home. Something’s wrong. Maybe it’s Thorn. I just don’t know.”

“Can you stand?”

“I’ll try.” Blane helps me to my feet. Other people are gaping at me. I remember we’re in the grand ballroom at the Axiom contest celebration. How embarrassing to have fallen in the middle of the activity. I brush off my crumpled dress. Haddy and Bea wear pale faces as they help Blane guide me to the exit.

“We need to find the chaperone and get out of here.” Bea scans the clusters of people. I see the Vegas High teachers, and the Spokane group in their woodsy-inspired twine gear. The Baronland South contingent in their navy and grays are speaking to Stazzi over by the long table.

Finally, Bea locates our guide. We gather our gear and he delivers us to the lot outside. George’s minions load us into a white glider and give the driver instructions to ferry us back to The Greening. The Axiom folks seem eager to be rid of us now that we’ve not been declared the winners. Fine by me. I need to get back, make sure all is okay with Thorn and Armonk. A bitter taste lingers, and it’s not from that chocolate cake.

Armonk’s text pings on Blane’s holo tablet when we’re about an hour from The Greening. This is a highly unusual event, as they’re not exactly friends and he’s never sent Blane a text before. I reason that it’s because I forgot my holo pad.

Reds going crazy. Thorn unwell. Won’t talk. He wants Ruby. Return soon? Armonk

There’s no more making out in the back of the glider. No more fun word games or flirting, no more gossip about the spoiled, entitled kids from Baronland South or theories why they’d grant Alex Dean the prize. I just want to get home, and fast.

“Oh, why did I go off and leave Thorn?” I wail. “What if Stiles came for him?”

Bea shakes her head. “Armonk mentioned nothing about Stiles. Calm down, Ruby, you need to keep your wits about you.”

“How can I keep my wits about me when my head is splitting from the worst headache ever?” I press my palms into my temples and groan. If this is what the stromanet sounds like I don’t want any part of it! Has it mixed signals with some other entity?

“Describe the headache,” Blane says.

“Like thunder is blasting off inside my skull.”

“Ever experienced that before?” Radius asks me, breaking his silence.

“Not exactly …” I’ve heard humming, not this, but the pain is too awful to speak.

“Lie on my lap.” Blane eases me down so that my legs are drawn up on the seat.

“That helps,” I moan.

“Good, shhh,” Blane soothes, “get some rest.”

I wake to the sound of high-pitched
yeeps
and the sight of literally hundreds of Reds careening every which way around our glider. We’re in the middle of a red-winged tornado, hovering above The Greening landing strip.

“Watch out!” we yell to the pilot. “Don’t hit them.”

Without answering, he slows the vehicle and inches it to a shaky landing.

My headache still rages. Blane and Bea help me out while Radius and the pilot fetch our baggage. The pilot flies off before he even makes sure I’m okay. Which I’m not!

But it’s the Reds that truly have me alarmed. Besides the ones flashing by our faces, many more are skimming over the Fireseed field, whirling around and around, a militia of mythical, mad bees whose queen has abandoned the hive.

“It’s like they’re directionless,” Bea notes.

I cup my hand over my brow as I stare up at them. “Yeah, they normally flock to Thorn as their … well, their king. Wonder why they’re not seeking him out?” Is their connection broken somehow? If so, why?

“Their king?” Radius laughs. “That’s a stretch.” He has no idea, but now is no time for explanations. I need to see Thorn.

Overhead, two Reds collide in an explosion of wings and tufts. In a volley of high-pitched yeeps, they repeatedly dive-bomb and bite each other.

“Stop it!” I yell, as if I have any say over them. Now it’s not only two of them biting and snarling, it’s become an escalating skyborne brawl.

“They’re going insane like they’re ready to attack us.” Radius shouts over his mask. A distinct possibility if this keeps up.

Halfway down the path toward the school, Armonk runs toward us. He’s raised his bow to his shoulder as if he’s prepared to use it—to kill a Red? When he sees us he lowers it, but keeps on racing forward.

“What the hell’s going on?” Blane asks him. “Where’s Nevada?”

“The Reds have become mutinous,” he answers. “They won’t listen to Thorn. They won’t listen to anyone.” Armonk looks up at them with a frown. “It’s as if they’re rebelling. And Nevada? She’s been away for a few days. I thought she was with you.”

It’s unlike Nevada to check out. Something’s really off. “Are Vesper and Jan around?” Blane asks. “Have they been on good behavior?”

Armonk sighs. “As good as they ever are. They took off in one of the gliders.” At this, Blane shakes his head in disgust.

“Where’s Thorn?” I ask, racing closer.

“Sick in bed,” Armonk answers. “Can’t get a word out of him, he’s stopped talking.”

“Did you take him to Dr. Varik?” As I open the front door the Reds continue to swoop and dive, nipping at each other and at us. I bat one away that’s winging inches from my face.

“Not yet, he only came down with an intense headache this morning. No fever.”

“Headache—odd coincidence—that’s what I have.” It’s some relief to hear that Thorn hasn’t been in pain long.

I speed upstairs with Armonk, followed by Blane and Bea. Radius stays on first tier to sort out the luggage and cook up a meal.

Thorn rolls over to face us as we hurry in. His covers are rumpled. His face twists into a pained grimace as I sit by him on the bed.

“Thorn, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer in words, only in movements. He shifts his head into my lap and folds up, arm-to-arm, limb-to-limb, like a Red fetus.

I jiggle his arm. “Talk to me, please. I can’t help if you won’t tell me how you feel.”

“I’ll give you guys space,” Bea whispers. “He might talk if it’s just you.” I nod, which prompts Blane and Armonk to pad out too, though I sense them hovering in the hall.

“What’s going on?” I comb Thorn’s tangled hair with my fingers and rub his back. “I’m so sorry I left without you. Did Armonk take good care of you?” I hear a pointed rustle in the hallway. Clearly Armonk doesn’t appreciate the question.

Thorn shifts his body so he’s gazing up at me. He unsquints his eyes as if it hurts to do so. “Armonk. Took good care.”

“Then wh—?”

“Sucking at my brain.”

“Sucking your brain! What’s sucking at your brain?” My pulse pounds in my neck.

“Sucked out,” he breathes. “Dreams eat my thoughts.”

Icy shudders wrack me. What in holy hell? Has my brother finally gone raving nuts? If so, I’m not sure that me always watching him like a mama hawk would have made any difference. Tears threaten to slip over my lids and down my cheeks but I force them back. If my brother is broken, I can’t fall apart too. One of us has to stay strong; we’re the hinge between the Fireseed and the Reds. We need to honor whatever we’ve become. Did Jan have anything to do with how my brother feels? “Where’s Jan? And Vesper? Have they bothered you?”

Thorn blinks up at me. “Jan friendly.”

“Oh, really?” This makes me immediately suspicious. “
How
was he friendly?”

“Candy.”

“Candy, eh?” Dr. Varik’s cautions about me eating cake and pastries in my condition as part plant roll through my mind. Plants don’t tolerate sweets well. Could Jan have poisoned Thorn, even unintentionally? “We need to get you to Dr. Varik’s right away.”

“No!”

“Why not, Thorn? You like Dr. Varik, remember?”

“No Dr. Varik.” His eyes grow so wide I see the whites around his irises.

It almost seems as if someone’s brainwashed Thorn, but how’s that possible? We don’t have a hypnotist at the school. That idea would make me laugh if I weren’t so worried. Maybe Thorn’s decided that he doesn’t relish checkups any more than most kids. Still, it’s out of character since last time Thorn was fawning over Dr. Varik. “Why are you scared of going to see the doctor?” I ask him gently.