Feuds (19 page)

“Sorry, Fi-Fi,” she wrote, adding in a wink face to show she was teasing—Fia hated that particular derivation of her nickname—“Didn't mean to skip out on cookies. Let's do something just you and me this wknd? Froyo and park? Love you. xo.” She hoped mentioning the park would show Fia she really was sorry … that she meant it. Froyo at the park downtown had been their tradition when Fia was really little. Davis wasn't sure when it had stopped, but she made a firm resolution to bring it back. Davis made the promise and put it out of her mind, eager to get as far from home as she could.

*   *   *

Five hours and countless wardrobe options later, she and Vera were on their way to the House of Mirrors. Davis's pulse was in her ears; she was high on the adrenaline of anticipation, glad to be out with her friend.
This
was what she needed to distract her from the turbulence that had marred the rest of her life lately.

“I'm so glad you suggested this,” she remarked as they climbed aboard the monorail, sliding easily through security and past its chrome doors. Prior volunteers had replaced the Imp workers on strike, so the monorails were running again.

“Duh,” Vera replied easily. “Don't you remember talking about it last week? I also left you like four messages about it. Here, try these ones. The brown doesn't stand out enough against your hair.” Vera removed a dangly earring from her own ear and pressed it into Davis's hand as the monorail whizzed past the East Sector toward the House of Mirrors. “You're sure you still want to go?” Vera's eyes were bright with concern. She would never pry, always wait until Davis was ready; it was the way she'd always been.

Davis offered her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, nodding. She rested her head on her best friend's shoulder, trying not to look out the window or think of what stretched beyond. What she'd seen earlier had started to feel like a distant memory, and she wanted it to stay that way. Instead, she focused on the earring: the feeling of its sharp prong in her palm, the flash of sparkle from the rhinestones. Normal images. Images that would repeat themselves in the form of dancing and music and everything she knew and loved, all through the rest of the night, until what she'd seen before faded entirely.

The club was in a totally sketchy industrial district in a gutted-out factory that had, in old-time Columbus, supposedly been used to manufacture steel. But Davis loved it. It was safely nestled far away from the Slants, and it bordered the river where there were no neighborhoods, just wilderness. Typically that kind of wild inspired fear in her, but for some reason this patch of the city was beautiful—at least from where she sat in her sanitized, Prior-designated monorail car. Its fields stretched for what seemed like eternity, and at this hour of the night, the stars twinkled patterns that weren't too dissimilar from Vera's gold silk top. Davis absently took the earrings from her friend and swapped them out with the gold and tiger's-eye pair she'd been wearing. Her whole outfit—the sequined minidress and razor-sharp, strappy stilettos—screamed “Vera,” with its obvious glamour. It was a far cry from the understated, sleek looks Davis usually favored. That was because she'd run out of her apartment totally underdressed and unprepared for the House of Mirrors. Anyway, it was nice to wear something un-Davis for a change. Maybe it could help her leave all the other parts of her life behind, at least for the night. For Vera's part, it was hard not to notice how petite she was in her own black patent pumps, tiny leather shorts, and gold halter. She made up for her diminutive size with bold apparel.

“No one's going to care what's in your ears,” Oscar said in a bored tone from where he sat next to Vera. He cocked his chin, revealing lazy blue eyes from under the shock of blond hair that was perpetually crossing his forehead. “We care what's here,” he said, brushing one hand against the side of Vera's chest, “… and here.” He finished by moving it down to her butt. Vera swatted his hand away and rolled her eyes.

“Don't be crude,” she told him, looking annoyed.
“Sorry,”
she mouthed at Davis.

Davis smile gratefully … Oscar could be tough to be around, and tonight she wasn't in the mood. Vera seemed to understand that intuitively. Davis blinked back the emotion welling within her. Thank God Vera was around; the Olympiads and PAs might have distracted them, taking the focus away from their friendship for a while … but that was the beauty of a friend like Vera. When someone's known you your whole life, the bond was strong enough to withstand just about anything.

Oscar pawed at Vera next to her, and for a second, Davis's thoughts flashed to Cole's face, and his hands. The way he'd touched her had never seemed anything but caring. Sexy, yes. But in a very good way, a way that made her feel like he'd only ever touch
her
like that.

Then again, Cole was a lie. Vera and Oscar were not.

Vera squinted out into the night as the monorail pulled into the platform. “Why are so many people walking back this way?” she wondered aloud. “It's super early still.”

“Maybe the band sucks,” Oscar offered.

Vera giggled and punched Oscar in the arm.

“Doubtful.” Vera linked arms with Davis and pulled her in the direction of the club. “Don't worry,” she whispered, so only Davis could hear her. “Tonight will cheer you up.”

Davis forced a smile and gripped her friend's arm tighter. She missed Vera. She missed the closeness they used to have, the way they used to stay up all night talking. She missed the million times as kids they'd snuck snacks from the pantry at Vera's house in the middle of the night, and played MASH until the early hours of the morning, giggling, legs intertwined at the ankle. And the times later, as they started to grow up: sneaking into movies without paying by flirting their way past the ticket guy; then later, Davis sitting in the front row of Vera's cello competitions, biting her nails to the quick as Vera made it into the final rounds—and crying actual tears of joy when her friend won first place, moving into the top echelon of young cellists in the Columbus orchestra. She needed this night with her friend. She needed her old life back.

The closer they got to the club, the more obvious it was that something was up. Throngs of kids their age were exiting instead of entering, and doormen were standing in front of the sliding doors, which were usually drawn apart by now for the opening acts. Oscar grabbed one of the kids' arms, stopping him as he walked past.

“Hey man, what's the deal?” he asked.

“Show's off,” the kid said, shaking his head. “Hope you didn't buy your ticket in advance, dude. They're not doing refunds.”

“Off? Why?” Vera's brow was furrowed, her pretty hair highlighting her look of confusion. “It's been set for months.”

“One of the drummers never showed up,” the kid said with a shrug. “They had to cancel the whole thing.”

“Oh no,” Vera said. “What are we supposed to do now? We're way out of the city.”

“I know a place,” Oscar told them. “It's just one stop back toward the city on the monorail. It's a divey kind of place. I've been there with the guys. Our IDs should work just fine.”

“Great!” Vera clapped her hands, grinning at Davis. “You on board?”

“Sure.” Davis tried to match her enthusiasm, but she sounded a little down in the dumps even to her.

“Cheer up,” Oscar said, slinging one arm around her shoulders and the other around Vera. “I don't know what's up
your
ass, but I'm a happy guy tonight. Cheap booze, two hot girls…”

“Shut up, dirtbag,” Vera told him, swatting his shoulder, but she was laughing as she said it, and even Davis felt a small swell of affection toward Oscar. He'd been a part of her life for years … almost as much as Vera had. They'd known him forever, even before he and Vera had started dating. He was a constant in her life, and although he could be super annoying, Davis liked how loyal he was to Vera. She liked the consistency of the three of them together.

They followed the throngs back on the monorail and stepped off a few minutes later in front of a low-lying, shabby-chic “shack”-style bar of the variety that had become popular in the outskirts of town. It was designed to look run-down when in reality, its sound system was state of the art. Davis saw as much right away, after flashing her fake ID at a bouncer, who barely glanced at it before waving her inside.

Oscar slid over to the Community DJ, lining up a few songs on the queue. Vera and Davis lip-synced to Lady Fire; then Vera grabbed Davis's hands, spinning her up from the bench where she'd been sitting and pulling her into the center of the room.

“Remember when we used to do this all the time?” she asked, smiling brightly, her dark hair whirling around her petite frame as she spun.

“God. We were such exhibitionists. Remember the dance parties on my roof?” Davis laughed at the memory, at their attempts at choreographing dance routines for their parents, forcing any adult in the vicinity to listen to their karaoke. She pulled her friend into a big hug, still swaying to the music. “I love you so much,” she said into Vera's hair.

“Love you, too, D,” Vera said back. “See? Told you tonight would be fun.” It was. It was amazing to laugh and dance and be with the people she'd known forever. Still, something was nagging at her. Something she couldn't quite place.

“All right, all right, cut the love fest,” Oscar said, returning from the Community DJ with three beers in hand. “Or let me join in. Your choice.”

“Gotta go,” Vera mouthed to them, motioning vaguely behind her. “I'm going to grab another drink. You kids behave yourselves.”

“Cheers,” Oscar said, clinking Davis's bottle with his. She took a long sip, pulling herself up on a bar stool next to his.

“It's a good place,” she said, indicating the space around them. “Nice find.”

“Right?” he agreed. “Like I said, I came here with the boys once. Usually there's a pool table over there.” He indicated a corner of the room. “Not sure where it went.”

Davis nodded, and they lapsed into silence. Sometimes when Vera wasn't there, it was a little awkward with Oscar. Hard to make conversation. She wondered what he and Vera talked about all the time.

“Hey, Oscar?” Davis remembered what had been bothering her. “Do you think it's weird that the drummer backed out? That he disappeared and all?”

Oscar snorted. “Way to be dramatic. He didn't
disappear.
He just didn't show. God.”

“It's just … it was such a hyped concert. It's been in the works for months. It's really weird.”

Oscar shook his head. “What, is that guy rubbing off on you or something?”

Davis tensed. “What guy? Cole?”

“Yeah. Ver said he was trying to get to you, was saying something bogus about a disease killing off Priors. She obviously wasn't going to tell you, because it's crazy. Just don't tell me you're buying into it, too.”

“Wait, what? Cole was trying to get in touch with me?” Davis's face heated. She straightened, turning toward Oscar. “What else did he say?”

“I don't know, man,” Oscar told her. “I'm over it. Way too much drama.”

“Oscar, you have to tell me.” Davis's hand was so tight around her bottle, she was afraid she might break it. Oscar raised his eyebrows.

“Vera's right,” he said. “That guy's no good. But you really want to know what a nut job he is? He apparently called Vera, said Priors are dying, and that this disease is a result of our genetic enhancements or something. He wanted to meet you at Dempsey Street. Tonight. Like I said, totally crazy.”

“He wanted to meet me,” Davis repeated. “Did he say why?”

“Vera didn't say. You're not going, though.” He raised his eyebrows, looking closely at Davis. She avoided his gaze. Her heart was thudding. Her mind was consumed by visions of Emilie, and Caitlyn, and now this band member who hadn't shown up. Could Cole be right? He might have lied to her … but he wouldn't lie to her about this. She was sure of it. Especially if he was trying to get in touch, to warn her. No one else was talking about the other people who disappeared. Only Cole. And if he'd tried to reach out to her … maybe he cared.

“Shit. Davis. Tell me you're not really going.”

Davis was already standing up, gathering her coat. “Did he say what time?” she asked Oscar, who ran a hand through his hair, looking disgusted.

“No. What am I supposed to tell Vera?”

“Tell her I'll catch up with her later,” Davis said, and quickly fled before Vera could return and stop her.

Once outside the bar, Davis walked a few blocks north and turned down an alleyway to make sure, if Vera came after her, that she wouldn't be able to find her right away. She whipped out her DirecTalk and activated the navigation device.

Dempsey Street.

A map of the territory projected in front of her, and she keyed in her location. It targeted her with a flashing red orb and highlighted the streets in the nearby vicinity. It would be a ten-minute walk to the next monorail stop, located just past Dempsey Street on Ballard. Her pulse was in her throat, and she quickened her steps, feeling the urgency of getting to Dempsey Street as soon as possible. What if she showed up and Cole was no longer there? She checked her DirecTalk for the time: it was 11:54. It was so late. Who knew how long he'd be there, waiting for her? She needed to see him; every second counted. Cole was the only one with answers. The only one willing to talk about what was happening around them. Everyone else was blind. His eyes were open, and he cared. Most of all, he was brave enough to search for the truth. And they needed the truth, especially if more Priors were getting sick, going missing. Time was running out.

Thankfully, the streets were mostly empty except for a few stragglers from the concert, and they were well lit. The buildings themselves, though, were decrepit monsters: they gaped at her through broken windows, and she couldn't help shuddering. Davis stayed along the sidewalk bordering the monorail tracks. Despite the creepy atmosphere, she was already feeling stronger—every step that took her closer to answers seemed to breathe vitality back into her limbs.