Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 144277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 721(@200wpm)___ 577(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 721(@200wpm)___ 577(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
He puts up both hands, palms towards me. As if he’s warding off my threat. Which probably came off pretty hollow to him, actually. So now I just sigh.
“I’m sorry. Our views of women are considerably different. I use them, you see.”
“Obviously,” I say. “But you better not have plans on using Jasina. I’m dead fucking serious too. Leave her out of this. Whatever it is you want from me, if you try and involve her, I will not comply.”
“Are we negotiating?”
“Everything is a negotiation, Xi. Take it any way you want. I’m just warning you that using Jasina against me is the wrong move. I’m not going to make up my mind about this whole augment thing right now. That’s insane. I don’t know anything about this procedure.”
“Which is why you should accept my invitation. Let’s table the augmentation talk and instead, concentrate on educating you about the real world. The one I live in. Don’t worry, I’ll show you all the research. I’ll let you talk to doctors. My lead scientists. But if you come up tonight, you’ll be able to see what’s possible with technology. It’s not something to be afraid of, Finn. It’s the future.”
This upper dimension is intriguing, I will say that. But I hesitate. “Is it easy to get there?”
Xi laughs. “My boy, you of all people know exactly how easy it is to get there. You simply walk through a door.”
20 - JASINA
The dream fades, as dreams always do, and my eyes open to the sight of gently swirling spark butterflies. Like a tiny whirlwind, they float just above my stomach. Automatically, my hand slides down to rest over my lower belly where a new sensation is brewing.
“Is it you, tiny spark?” I ask, surprising myself by speaking out loud. “Is it you making these butterflies?”
I sigh, and as the air comes out, the butterflies disappear, only to be replaced by a subtle glow. It’s somewhat surprising that my spark is appearing after many weeks of absence, but I’m not entirely shocked after the dream.
When I was younger—which makes me chuckle because by this I mean when I was sixteen and that was two years ago. But when I was younger, I used to rail against the Spark Maidens for not continuing to practice their spark after being Chosen. I never understood it. Why go through all the trouble of learning how to manifest and then just drop it after the Extraction?
It never made sense. Why not use it?
Of course, these were the thoughts of a young teenager. Of which I still am, actually. But I don’t feel much like a teenager right now. The point is, I didn’t know anything. The Extraction was just part of the process. Something that had to happen if I wanted to help the Rebellion.
It didn’t really mean anything to me. It wasn’t often that a down-city girl was part of the final ten. Certainly never, at least as far as I know, Number One. It never happens that way.
So down-city girls have a different perspective about the Extraction. We don’t lose friends to the god in the tower. Where I was from, no one cared about Imogen Gibson. No one missed Marlow. I recall some of my friends actually joking about Marlow Hughes when she was sent in.
Mable P. might as well have been Mable S., that’s how much anyone cared about her.
It wasn’t until Lucy Fisher—Maiden Number Four—that I actually felt bad for that group. Lucy Fisher wasn’t a down-city girl, but she was the daughter of a fisherman. She lived in the Canal District, but her father was a regular in fish market on the docks of the Shipping District and for whatever reason, Lucy always came with him on Sundays.
I didn’t play with her, obviously. She was much older than me. But I knew her. I remember seeing her at Choosing Number Three. I was up-city with Auntie, fingertips stained cherry red from the spun sugar I was eating, and I saw Lucy on stage. It must’ve been a talent competition because she was playing the piano. And I remember thinking… I know her. I’ve talked to her—many times, actually, when buying fish.
Years later, when the bell rang for Lucy, I felt it.
It hit me. Not as hard as it would’ve if it had been Harlow, or Lucindy, or Ceela, or Britley. But there was a sense of loss inside me.
Even now, thinking about how Lucy was sacrificed to a tower god who doesn’t even exist, makes me anxious.
What happened to her?
What happened to all of them?
I mean, if Clara lived, might the others have lived as well?
None of this is the point. It’s just the start of the point. And the point is… I’m disappointed in myself. Because I made a vow when I was younger. I vowed that if my spark ever grew enough to actually manifest in some special way—special enough to be Chosen—that I would not let it die just because I won the prize. I would not sit up in the Maiden Tower drinking fragrant teas, and eating fancy cakes, and forget that there was something unique and extraordinary inside me.