Catalyst (4 page)

ZARA, MY FAVORITE
among our servants, was helping me dress. It had been a long seven days. The companion pairing ceremony was in an hour. I’d been sick all week, as usual, but it had been worse somehow. Father made sure the staff knew that I wasn’t to leave my room. It wouldn’t have mattered. I could barely drag myself from the bed to the bathroom, let alone leave the house.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Zara asked, moving my curled hair over onto one shoulder so she could avoid snagging it in the zipper of the awful dress my mother had the tailor make for me just for this occasion.

It was lavender—a color that my mother knew I hated—and so heavy I could barely hold it and myself up at the same time. The skirting was poufy and stood out from my body while the bodice was so tight I could barely breathe. Zara had to hand-lace the back of it, and it had taken forever.

The neckline scooped too low and showed much more skin than I would have preferred. But mother had other plans. She wanted to make sure everyone saw all of my assets when they paraded me around in front of the entire city.

Zara stood back from me and looked me over. She was sixty years old and had worked for my parents longer than I’d been alive. In fact, she was more of a mother to me than my own was. Zara took care of me when I got too sick to do it myself. She never complained and always smiled.

Her silver hair was short, as was the current fashion trend, but I liked my long hair. It was easy to hide behind, a dark curtain to pull across my face whenever I needed it. Her light brown eyes combed over me, and her lips curved up.

“You look beautiful, Seven.” She patted my shoulder lovingly.

“Thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done for me this week. I’m sorry I’ve been down.” I hated burdening her. She had enough to take care of around here.

“Never apologize for things beyond your control. I enjoy tending to you. Always have.” A loud crash came from Sonnet’s room, followed by her shrill screaming. Zara frowned. “Now, that one is another story,” she sighed. “I have to go see about her.”

“I know.” I smiled.

Pausing just inside the door, Zara shifted her weight and wrung her hands. “I know it’s not my place, Miss Seven, but I know how you feel about companions and I’m sorry your father is making you go through with this.”

It was amazing how much attention she paid.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She curtseyed quickly and ran out the door when Sonnet shrieked again.

Poor Zara. Sonnet was in rare form, even for her.

I moved to the mirror above my dresser and stared back at the girl in purple. She didn’t look anything like me. The dark bags beneath her eyes were concealed. Her lips were a deep plum color. She didn’t look ill at all, and one would never believe she was dying.

Sifting through my jewelry drawer, I found my pearl necklace and clasped it behind my neck. It was time to make my way downstairs. A car would be waiting for us.

Each step down the winding stairwell made me more nervous. I gripped the handrail for dear life, teetering in the heels Mother had sent with the gown. They were at least seven inches tall, and the same pale purple that made me want to scream.

The entire city would be present tonight. I was expected to arrive on time with Sonnet by my side so that we could enter the auditorium together. We could not be late but were not to arrive early. Mother wanted everyone to see us in our finest gowns. Father just wanted everyone to know that we could afford to acquire a human being—a companion. My companion.

The servants worked for wages. Companions were bought. They were owned.

I actually felt good despite the fact that I hadn’t eaten at all that day. You can’t be sick if you don’t eat, right? It had worked so far. I made my way outside into the sunset and the warmth that never seemed to reach far enough into my skin.

Sonnet stormed out the door, slamming it behind her. “You almost made me late, Seven.”

“I didn’t do anything to you. And we’re not late.”

“You hogged Zara and we most certainly will be late.” Her accusation didn’t bother me. Once you’d heard something for so long, you learned to let it roll off your back. And Sonnet always had something to complain about, particularly when it came to me. It was as if my breathing had somehow become a burden to her.

With a huff, Sonnet lifted her skirts higher, making her way around the back of the black, idling car. She stuffed her frills inside and shut the door before I even reached my side, which was closer. If Mother didn’t want me to embarrass her, she should have chosen shorter heels. These were a disaster waiting to happen.

I eased into the back seat beside my sister, who refused to look in my direction, and then closed the door. Watching the familiar scenery pass as we left my home behind us, I let my mind drift. The streets nearing the auditorium were crowded with people who were crossing and entering the building. We’d been given strict instructions to wait until the vehicle pulled up in front of the doors, but Sonnet was impatient. She grumbled, cursed and finally opened the door, leaving me to sit alone in the car as she stomped a path up the sidewalk.

I waited, per Mother’s instruction.

When the driver eased the vehicle up to the front walkway of the auditorium, I thanked him and stepped onto the walk, making my way between the parting seas of citizens. Most gawked. Some stared. Most had heard the rumors of Elect Anderson’s dying daughter but had never seen me in person before. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and ultimately left me crawling in my skin. But I pressed my shoulders back and plastered on the smile that my parents expected. It was time to choose a companion, but tonight the choice would be mine. And that made my smile morph into a genuine one.

The interior of the building was dimly lit, the last of the sun’s rays filtering in and blanching the vibrant, red-carpeted floors. To most, this was entertainment—a show of sorts. Which member of the Elite would choose a companion and which one would they choose? Bets were taken on less.

If my father were a betting man, he would lay money on the fact that I would choose a meek girl, a quiet girl, someone that I might enjoy talking with. Perhaps she would be someone who would help me in the coming weeks and months, as the sands of time dwindled down to naught.

But I had other plans. And if my father was a betting man, I would cost him a lot of money tonight—not only for the companion fee, but because I planned to choose the exact opposite of his expectation. I wanted to show him that he couldn’t manipulate everything. He’d given me free reign to choose and choose I would.

My mother was in a tizzy over Sonnet’s solo entrance. And Sonnet was a sweaty, hot mess. Her hair was now limp and plastered to her forehead. No doubt the heat outside and her inability to sit still for the five minutes it took for the car to pull up to the curb had made for quite the walk through the streets.

Gracefully, I made my way down the row that parted the two sections of ruby-colored, upholstered chairs to the front row where my parents and sister waited for me. My father was first on the end. A seat had been left empty for me on his right, and my sister would be seated beside me. Sonnet glowered as I approached, while Mother fretted on her right at the end.

Sonnet growled when I gingerly took my seat. I could hear the whispers behind me.

“Elect Anderson will take a companion for his ill daughter…”

“She’s dying…”

“She looks good for someone who is terminal…”

Well, at least there was that. I did look good tonight. And I planned to enjoy the look of shock on my father’s face very soon. You didn’t want to get me started on my mother. This was going to be epic.

We sat before the large wooden stage; a blood-red, velvet curtain was pulled back and the announcer, a short, stocky man, made his way to the podium. He tapped on the microphone causing it to squeal. Some put fingers to their ears. Others winced. I smiled.

He droned on about companions, their importance, how they were here willingly and had applied to be purchased by those citizens in Confidence who could afford such luxury. “The companions are more than just friends. They can assist the elderly. They can help widows around their homes. They can make Confidence a better place. Let us applaud their willingness to help our great city.”

Loud clapping thundered from all sides of the auditorium, its domed ceiling amplifying the noise ten-fold. Sonnet nudged me. “The companion committee asked for males this time. Perhaps you should choose one. Who knows? Maybe he’d even take pity on you and lay with you before you die.”

My fingernails dug into the armrest separating us, but through a sweet smile and gritted teeth, I asked, “And have you been tested to see if you’ll make grandparents out of Mother and Father before you and Aric are married? Or would it even be his?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, turning her attention to the announcer once more. There were times I pitied her. There were times I hated her. This was one of the latter.

I smiled and kept my eyes trained on the stage, where the companions were being introduced. Each wore a white piece of paper with a number printed boldly upon its center. The first eight were wide-eyed girls—all young, all half-starved. But the ninth. When he took the stage, I sat up a little straighter. His skin was dark as night, and he smiled, unlike the others. His teeth were pearly white, and he was handsome, huge and muscular. He might be the one. Cason. His name was Cason.

“The final companion available during this month’s ceremony is Mitis,” the announcer said.

When the man walked onto the stage, my breath left me. Dark hair, now cropped close to his scalp, blue-green eyes, tan skin and corded muscle that was neither too thick nor barely there. It was just right. Circular spacers sat in the bottom lobes of his ears. And one arm was covered in vibrant tattoos.

My heart beat out of control. It was the scrub from the soldier’s car, the one I’d helped escape so he could take medicine to his brother. Why would he sign up for the companion program? I swallowed, trying to calm down my heart.

“The first choice goes to the highest bidder, which was Elect Anderson.” My father stood and waved at his constituents, who clapped, cheered and whistled.

Father looked at me and offered his hand, which I accepted, allowing him to help me stand. “Please step up to the podium and choose your companion, Seven,” Father said with an arrogant smile.

With a shaky breath, I nodded and smiled. I thanked him and lifted my skirts just enough to avoid tripping over them. A hush fell over the crowd as I walked past the mass of people toward a staircase at the side of the stage. The clicking of my heels and a few murmurs in the back of the room were the only sounds. Crickets would have been louder.

The smooth, metal handrail was cold beneath my clammy hands, but I used it to help myself up the five stair steps. I passed the scrub on the way to the podium. And though I didn’t look into his eyes, I could feel his on me. They burned me, made me feel warmth for the first time I could remember.

The announcer smiled and asked me to step forward to the microphone. “Which companion would you like, Seven Anderson?”

I smiled and stepped forward, taking a deep breath before proudly announcing, “I choose number ten as my companion, please.”

Gasps followed by murmurs and then claps filled the air. I looked over the crowd of excited men, women and children. Then I looked at Sonnet, who was smirking, Mother who had clapped her perfectly manicured fingers over her gaping mouth and Father, whose skin had turned a bright, mottled red.

So.

Worth.

It.

/
sə
(r
)ˈ
prīz/

verb (used with object), 
surprised, surprising.

1. to strike or occur to with a sudden feeling of wonder or astonishment, as through unexpectedness:
   
2. to come upon or discover suddenly and unexpectedly:
   
3. to make an unexpected assault on.
   
4. to elicit or bring out suddenly and without warning:
   
5. to lead or bring unawares, as into doing something not intended:
   

noun

1. an act or instance of 
   surprising
    or being surprised.
   
2. something that surprises someone; a completely unexpected occurrence, appearance, or statement:
   
3. an assault, as on an army or a fort, made without warning.
   
4. a coming upon unexpectedly; detecting in the act; taking unawares.
   

MARKET DAY. CASON
and I set up early in the morning, when the best stalls—those closest to the wall—were still open. Scrubs had built the market from materials on hand. Each stall had three walls, were open in the front, and made from old scrap barn wood or whatever they had handy. Each had canvas or hides stretched over top them in case of rain or too much sun, like makeshift roofs.

Case and I had killed two gators, one each. The privileged Elites shopped first, and we sold both gators before midday. We sent the money from the sales to the simples back to Case’s family via Uma, who had brought in a few fox furs. When she asked why we weren’t taking it ourselves, we ignored her, kept our heads down and packed our things up. She rolled her dark eyes, tucked strands of dark hair into her messy pony tail and held her hand out for the silver. Uma was nosey but she was honest.

It was none of her business and Cason wanted to make sure that his family didn’t catch wind of what we were doing. They would come unglued if they knew he’d signed up for the companion program. I’d tried to talk him out of it. But he was stubborn as a mule. The fact that he was standing beside me told me more than words ever could. It also brought with it a hefty dose of guilt. I didn’t want him here. But I wanted him here. It was crazy. I was going crazy.

The companion program was “voluntary.” Applicants were simply required to sign a document that stated that we were volunteering for the program and would pledge our allegiance to Confidence and our new companion. Companionship was for life. There was no revoking it, no backing out if you found it didn’t suit.

It was a risk I was willing to take. I had a mission. But Cason? It bugged me that he was coming along for the ride. He’d made me his mission, but in doing so, had forfeited his freedom. I’d have to show him the way out of the city. The swamps were thick. Even Confidence’s half-manged hounds wouldn’t be able to track him far.

We were stopped at the city gates, patted down, even after we told them our intentions. Untrusting eyes followed our every movement; flinching fingers were reassured that weapons were close at hand. The pair of us was ushered into an unpainted cinder block building just inside the wall. The walls were painted white, and there were no windows. The only decoration was a single fluorescent light hanging overhead, casting a blue glow over the room. Despite the heat of the day, in that room it was cool. From the ceiling, a fan was blowing artificially cooled air into the room.

Felt. Like. Heaven.

My skin cooled immediately, and I sent up a prayer that the jerk who bought me would at least have air conditioning.

A heavy-set guard pushed two pieces of paper across his metal desk, one toward Cason and one toward me. He handed us each an ink pen. I didn’t bother to read the contract itself. It was amazing that with four short paragraphs, one could relinquish their freedom. Ebony symbols on white paper, a scratch of pen ink and it was done. Both of us signed on the dotted lines, ignoring the oath written in bold lettering and were led from that building through a gate. The steel gate was raised granting us entry inside another wall—an inner wall. I’d never realized there were two. They were separated by a thin section of dried grass and a few tiny buildings.

Just inside the inner wall, the soldiers ushered us into a nondescript cinder-block building that had too many coats of gray paint on it. Paths of thick dripping paint were memorialized on the exterior. It didn’t smell like paint, but more like the lingering scent of stale sweat.

The soldiers who lined us up said that we would get haircuts first, then showers. I almost groaned. Our house had a bathtub and shower, but they didn’t work. We had a well at the house but no electric. All baths were cold. And since we used water from the river to bathe ourselves, most of the time, I just bathed there.

Griffin had loved the deep spot we’d found—especially in summer when the water was clear and warm. If work was done, he’d stay in for hours, just enjoying the water. As old as he tried to act, it was fun to watch him be a kid when he could.

I needed the thought of Griffin. I had to keep him in the forefront of my mind. He was good, so innocent and full of life. And now he was gone. So far, my plan was working. And when they least expected it, I would strike. By taking advantage of their greed, I’d slithered in and would lie in wait, a snake in the grass.

Cason and I were the only two men in the room. The other eight entrants who’d been accepted were female. I’d never seen any of them before this afternoon, which surprised me. But there was vast, empty land on every side of this city that stretched on for miles. Other than Cason’s family, I rarely saw more than a handful of others in our area. Of course, the swamps and low country weren’t exactly prime real estate.

As we waited in line for our turn in the barber’s seat, I thought about Cason’s family. He had six siblings, all younger than him: Two boys and four girls. His mom and dad were happy. The kids were old enough to watch after one another, and they all pitched in to grow enough food for them all to eat each day, and put enough away to keep them for the winter.

My mouth watered at the thought of his mama’s peach pie. That woman could cook.

They need him.
I buried the thought and stepped forward as the line moved.

“We’re up next,” Case whispered, nudging me.

“Want me to go first?” I teased with a pouty lip.

He snorted. “Hell no. I’m not afraid, Mitis. I don’t need you to hold my hand. But if
you’re
skeered…”

I punched him in the shoulder earning a stern look from the nearest soldier.

The barber gave us each a high and tight. We could have passed for soldiers ourselves. The self-admiration didn’t last long as we were herded into the showers. Ladies entered a door to the left, and Cason and I entered a matching door located on the right. The showers were enough to make a grown man weep. The water was almost scalding. I think they thought they were melting scrub germs off of us, but it felt so good I never wanted to step out from under the spray.

We were handed towels and stacks of black clothing. “Hurry and get dressed. The companion ceremony starts in an hour.”

“They don’t waste any time, do they?” Cason mused, a grin on his face. Propping one foot and then the other on a nearby bench, he laced his boots quickly, and we stepped out of the shower rooms and into a holding room of sorts. There were snacks and pitchers of drinks everywhere.

A soldier stood nearby, his hands behind his back. I stared at him, and he stared back. “Are these for us?” a young girl asked.

“You may eat and drink, scrubs,” he replied sternly.

“We’re not scrubs. We’re companions,” I retorted, smiling arrogantly.

He stepped forward and got in my face. Puffs of rancid, sour breath floated into my nostrils. “You will always be a scrub to the citizens of Confidence. They might call you companions, but all you’re going to be is a pet for the Elite who can afford you. Don’t think you’re anything else.”

I stepped aside. What he said was true, but what he didn’t know was that I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to be anyone’s pet. My mission was my own. And my stomach was empty. It had been that way for too long. If the citizens of Confidence provided food, I was going to eat it. I would take everything I could from them.

Cason and I made our way around the buffet and filled our plates until nothing else would fit on them. Long oak tables with matching bench seats stretched across the sterile, white room. We took a seat across from one another and dug in. The pastries were decent, not like Cason’s mom’s, but filling enough.

“Anything tastes good when you haven’t eaten in a day,” Cason said, his mouth stuffed with some sort of cookie that had been coated in white powder.

With my mouth stuffed, I replied, “Or two.”

“True.”

Gulping down three glasses of water on top of the plate of food probably wasn’t the brightest idea, but it tasted so fresh and clean. I couldn’t get enough.

“Ten minutes, scrubs,” snapped the guard that had called us pets. “Clean up after yourselves and line up at the door. We’re heading to the auditorium where you’ll meet your new owners.”

I bristled but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He led us outside into the stifling, moist air and down the sidewalk to the back of an enormous building with a large domed roof. Inside the door, we were lined up. Soldiers handed each of us a piece of white paper with a number printed boldly on it. Cason was nine, and I was ten. That was a shame. Seven was my lucky number.

“Stick the number on your shirts so that they can be seen from a distance, preferably on your abdomen.”

Cason and I affixed the papers to our shirts. They were big stickers. Everyone’s discarded waxy papers drifted to the floor.

Ahead, someone was speaking; his voice was amplified but muffled. We were too far away to hear well. The girls in front of us fussed with one another’s hair and clothing. Some cried silently as we shuffled forward.

“It’s show time, dogs,” the soldier said turning his smile in my direction.

He led us to a small staircase behind a red curtain that draped from the tall ceiling of the building to the floor of a wooden stage. I could see through a gaping crack in the fabric. Beyond the veil, was a sea of people in every pastel color of the imagination. Had the entire city come to the companion ceremony? And why were they dressed like a damned rainbow?

“Quite the crowd,” Cason said, nodding to the clapping, writhing mass of onlookers.

“No doubt.”

“You ready for this?”

I nodded. “Absolutely.” I was ready. I was more than ready. Flexing my fingers, I bounced on the tips of my toes.

Beginning with one, the announcer introduced each available companion to the multitude.

Two.

Three.

Number Four.

“Don’t do anything stupid or move too quickly. They’ll be watching for a while.”

Number five moved forward.

Then six.

“Try to find a way to contact me, Case.”

Seven.

“I will.”

Eight.

The announcer called number nine and Cason was introduced to the frenzied audience. When the applause faded along with Cason’s smile, the man standing behind a wooden podium introduced me.

I flexed my fingers. My ears rang. I could barely make out what he was saying. But Case saved me by nodding for me to join him. My feet kept moving until I stood beside him, waiting for my heart to slow down. Bright lights in our eyes, on our bodies. I felt like they knew somehow. Could they know what I was planning to do?

The announcer, a short, stocky man with a tragic comb-over, smiled at all of us, shuffling some papers in front of him before initiating the selection process. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously. “The first choice goes to the highest bidder, which was Elect Anderson.” From his seat in the front row, a distinguished looking man in a tan suit stood and waved. The crowd responded immediately with whoops, claps, and whistles. Some ladies jumped up and down and squealed when he waved in their direction.

The man turned to a woman beside him and whispered in her ear. She made her way to the side of the stage and climbed a rickety set of steps. The wood and rail attached to it swayed with each step she took.

She held her skirts delicately as she moved across the floor. I could see that she was young, maybe even my age. Her dress was tight on top and poufy on the bottom accentuating her slim waist and breasts that looked like they might pop out at any minute. Hot damn…

My breath caught when she passed. She never looked directly at me, but she didn’t have to. I didn’t recognize her at first. Her hair was curled, and she was dressed like
them
. But it was her. It was the girl who saved me, who at least gave me a chance to save Griffin. She was the only simple who’d ever done anything for me without expecting something in return. And she was a simple, but more than that. She was an Elite. Her father had been referred to as an Elect.

The announcer smiled, reaching out for her hand, which she took hold of in a delicate and well-rehearsed move. He asked her to step forward to the microphone. “Which companion would you like, Seven Anderson?”