Earthquake

“Your name?” she asks.

What am I supposed to say? I know they know who I am. I consider giving a fake name anyway. Maybe they’re not 100 percent sure.

“Don’t kid yourself,” the woman says. The smile that curls across her face makes vicious butterflies take flight in my stomach. “We already know the answers to all the questions we’re going to ask. We’re just testing you. Seeing if you’re going to be honest with us.” An interested gleam flashes in the woman’s eyes. “And I hope you’ll play nice.” I’m not sure how, but she manages to be even more terrifying than Sunglasses Guy. “Name?” she repeats, leaning forward.

“Tavia,” I finally say. I guess I have nothing to lose. If I answer, maybe they’ll give me some degree of freedom. If I don’t … well, the rest of my life might not be very long one way or another. It’s probably worth the risk. “Michaels,” I add, just to prove I really am trying.

“Sum Terrobligatus; declarare fidem.”

My eyes widen, and I stare at her. Those are the same words I shouted at Elizabeth two weeks ago—has it really been two weeks since I demanded answers from my former therapist? It feels like forever.

But this woman isn’t screaming; she isn’t out of control the way I was. She’s calm; her voice is soft. Sinister.

And I know what the words mean this time. Sum Terrobligatus: I am an Earthbound. Simple concept; you give information before you demand it back. Declarare fidem: Declare your loyalty, Reduciata or Curatoria.

I remain silent. How can the woman claim to know the answers to all the questions they’re going to ask when this is one that even I don’t know? She breathes in slowly, and just as she opens her mouth to say something—probably to repeat herself—I say, “I don’t have one.”

A single blink is the only response I get.

“And I don’t intend to have one either,” I continue, forcing back the urge to cross my arms over my chest. I don’t need to look petulant right at this moment. “I’ve had bad experiences with both brotherhoods, and I don’t want to be a part of either.”

“Are you hungry?”

The question catches me off-guard. It seems silly that they would even care. I look up at the woman, and for a moment I think she’s staring off into space, but then I realize her gaze is focused over my shoulder.

On Logan.

He’s looking up at her with a strange expression that I vaguely recognize as hope, and it sickens me. That the Reduciates behind a plane of glass can inspire any sort of positive emotion in him while I instill nothing but fear makes me equal parts angry and sad.

He tries to speak, clears his throat when he fails, and starts again. “Maybe.” There’s a rebellious lilt to his voice, and I allow myself a slow blink of relief. I certainly haven’t won him over, but at least they haven’t either.

Yet.

“Are you the ones who destroyed my house?” He sounds tentative, even weak, but I can hear him getting to his feet behind me. He’s not broken. Thank goodness.

“I’m afraid it was necessary.”

“My family?” He’s trying so hard to be strong—to be brave. I don’t dare look back at him at the risk that seeing me would make him change his mind. Or snap his last thread.

“I’m afraid it was necessary,” she repeats.

Now I glance back. I can’t help myself. His jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscles standing out like marbles beneath his skin. His eyes glimmer—just a sheen—as they tell him what he already knew. And in that moment, I see a glimpse of Rebecca’s Quinn—my Quinn. Quinn, who was so strong and could handle anything. He’s in there. I know it!

“Why was it necessary?” I say, when I sense he’s not ready to speak. Part of me is curious how the Reduciata will attempt to justify their actions. A larger part knows that if I can’t get Logan to remember—the chances of which are basically nonexistent in here—I’ll need to make sure that it’s me he sides with.

“To keep everything clean. The authorities will assume you died with them.” She addresses Logan brusquely, as though she weren’t speaking of the murder of four people, two of them Logan’s siblings, just children. “They’ll be looking for an arsonist, for sure, but not a missing person.”

“You killed four people to cover up a kidnapping?” he says, throwing the words at her as though they were a weapon. I wish they were.

“We killed 255 people to get to Tavia.”

Logan turns to look at me in shock and horror. I suck in a breath and hold very still as a wave of mourning washes over me. My parents were two of those 255. “Is that true?” he asks.

All my work. Undone. But I nod. I have to.

“None of that matters now.” The woman’s amplified voice cuts through me.

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?” Logan says hoarsely.

“Because once you remember, they won’t matter.”

I crinkle my brows. I don’t understand why remembering should change any of this, but I dismiss it as a vain attempt to pacify us. “So what now?” I ask. I want to rise gracefully to my feet, but I’m too weak. My hands slip on the smooth white walls as I drag myself up, but I manage to stand and plant my fists on my hips.

“Now you both need to eat.”

A veritable picnic appears—complete with a red-checkered blanket, which I don’t find amusing in the least—on the floor between us.

Logan snorts even as his eyes glitter. “Like we’d eat anything you gave us.”

At that, she laughs. She could have hidden it—not turned on the intercom—but she wants us to hear the easy, carefree sound. “Please, we could have added poison to your water and you didn’t mind drinking that, did you? We won’t kill you. You’re too important. Well, she is. But she needs you. So we need you too.” I close my eyes, frustration and mortification making me feel beyond weary. She would confirm that this really is all my fault. The Reduciates want my stupid secret. I hate myself for not knowing what it is.

“Why you?” Logan asks, barely over a whisper. He’s looking straight at me, but the hellish woman answers anyway.

“Maybe you should have listened to everything Tavia has been trying to tell you for the last few days.” Then there’s an audible click, and the microphone is off. The window is a mirror again.

And Logan and I again have the illusion of being alone.

He eyes the food. His face is pale, but I doubt it’s from hunger. Still, he’s going to need energy.

Hating my own frail human needs, I lower myself shakily to the blanket and begin sorting through the pile of food.

“Are you sure they won’t poison us?” Logan asks from far above me.

“Not until they’ve gotten whatever the hell it is they need from us,” I grumble. I say us, but we both know I mean me.

My stomach protests as I lay the food out slowly. Who knows how long they’ll wait before feeding us again? We might need to ration.

Of course, they could just make the leftovers disappear. I don’t know what to do. I’m so hungry, I’m sure that it’s got to have been a full two days since we were brought here. At least. I briefly wonder how many more people have died of the virus while these Reduciates have been toying with us, but I tamp that thought down and file it away. It’s not something I can do anything about right now.

Logan drops down to join me on the blanket when I hold out a piece of cheese, though he still looks nervous. “What do they want?” he asks, his voice so quiet I practically have to read his lips to understand him.

“I’m not sure,” I reply in that same hushed tone. “It’s … a little hard to explain. There’s some kind of secret that I know—except that I don’t. I used to—ugh!” I rub at my temples, the aftereffects of the tranquilizers making my entire skull ache and buzz like someone’s playing the timpani inside it. I take a few calming breaths and try to will the pain away.

“What kind of secret?” he asks, his eyes darting to the again-opaque glass.

I shake my head no, hoping that we still have enough of a connection that he’ll understand that I’m telling him that they’re listening no matter how quietly we talk. “It doesn’t matter,” I say in a whisper, even though that effort feels pointless. “The thing I need you to understand is that if we’re going to survive this, we have to be a team. I need to be able to depend on you.”

He looks wary, and I know I’m pushing him to his mortal limit. But like me, there’s a hidden core of strength in there. The strength of an Earthbound. Of a god. And I’m counting on it.