Toys

Chapter 67

Somehow we managed to get to shelter at a high-priority safe house run by MI7, right there in London. I had wanted to see the House of Lords, Westminster Abbey, the Tate-maybe even take a train to Paris-but I was stuck in an apartment under armed guard.

“What’s going on with you?” Lucy finally asked, clinking her fork onto her dinner plate. “You’ve got to be starving. But you’re picking at your food like a weight-conscious canary. And you’re looking at me like I’m the cat.”

It was our second day in the safe house, an apartment somewhere near Hyde Park that had an anonymous facade in a block-long building row that looked just like dozens of others around it. But were we actually safe here?

I had no idea, but I doubted it. The Elites were definitely on our trail now, and they were very good at this kind of skunkhunt.

The inside of the apartment was spacious and nicely furnished, complete with a servant android-who reminded me of Metallico, except female, much more polite, and armed. The gun-toting robot had set out a curious spread of roast beef, mutton, vegetables, mashed potatoes, scones, and jelly. Plus, a stiff drink for each of us.

But my appetite simply wouldn’t kick in, and I decided to speak my mind, even though it might create a breach between Lucy and me.

“Did you know about Lizbeth being in on 7–4 Day?” I asked. “You did, didn’t you, Lucy? You knew all this time, but never told me?”

She kept looking at me steadily. “Yes, I’m afraid I did, Hays.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew Sir Nigel would want to handle it himself. He told me as much.”

I set down my fork. Actually, I threw it at my plate.

“I’m sick to death of being jerked around,” I said. “And you seem to be doing a lot of the jerking, sister.”

“I’m sorry, Hays, I truly am. But that’s just the way things have gone so far. This is a crisis situation, no? It’s not me who wants to deceive you.”

“Got any more little secrets to share? I’d like to know all of them now.”

“Secrets?” she said scornfully. “If you want to talk about trust, we have a lot more reason not to trust you than the other way around. You were an Elite bastard until very recently. You were, you are, married to Lizbeth.”

Lucy stood up abruptly and stalked out of the room.

Well, that hadn’t gotten me very far, had it? In fact, it had been a disaster. I wanted to make a bond with Lucy, but I kept messing up. We both did.

By now I’d had some time to think about Lizbeth. Part of me kept insisting that what I’d heard so far was impossible. To start with, she was two years younger than me-born after 7–4 Day.

Or had she been?

I’d met her twelve years ago in New Chicago, soon after I started working at the Agency of Change. About her past before that, I only knew what she’d told me. Of course, I’d seen the marriage documents listing her birth date. But documents could easily be altered… If Nigel’s story was correct, she’d have to be at least twice my age. But Elites stayed youthful far longer than humans, and with the science work she did, she had access to the latest anti-aging technology.

I’d taken it for granted that Lizbeth loved me, but now I remembered her cold side. Everything in her life was chosen for maximum function and efficiency. And she had turned her back on me the instant my troubles started!

Was the woman I’d given my heart to really a cold-blooded, scheming monster? Had she devoted her earlier life to helping the Elites annihilate much of the human race?

Then what?

She had coolly decided she was ready to start a family, saw a promising young agent, and lied to him about everything you could lie to someone about. Even our marriage vows-had they been calculated lies too?

Others would have to have been in on it-but there were others, like Jax Moore.

My brain and gut were giving me the terrible news about my marriage: it had all been a rotten, stinking lie. My entire life was one big lie.