Marissa Meyer - Scarlet

The front door swung open.

Cinder froze.

A pretty girl with honey-blonde curls froze in front of her.

Her eyes widened, first with surprise, then recognition. They fell to Cinder’s cyborg hand and the color drained from her cheeks.

“ Bonjour, mademoiselle,” said Thorne.

The girl glanced up at him. Then her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed onto the tile floor.

Cinder cursed and glanced back at Thorne, but he only shrugged. She turned back to the fainted girl. Her head was bent at an awkward angle against an entry table, her feet splayed across the doorway.

“Is it her granddaughter?” Cinder asked, even as her scanner was connecting the measurements of the girl’s face to the database in her brain and coming up with nothing. Scarlet Benoit it would have recognized. “Never mind,” she said, and inched toward the girl’s prone body. She nudged the table out of the way and the girl’s head thumped onto the tiles.

Creeping over her, Cinder peered out the front door. A beat-up hover sat in the courtyard.

“What are you doing?” said Thorne.

“Looking.” Cinder turned around to see Thorne stepping into the foyer, eyeing the girl with mild curiosity. “She seems to be alone.”

A wicked grin spread across his face. “We should take her with us.”

Cinder glared. “Are you crazy?”

“Crazy in love. She’s gorgeous.”

“You’re an idiot. Help me carry her into the living room.”

He made no argument, and a moment later the girl was swooped up in his arms without Cinder’s help.

“Here, on the couch.” Cinder bustled ahead of him and rearranged a few faded pillows.

“I’m good like this.” Thorne shifted his arms so the girl’s head fell against his chest, her blonde curls clinging to the zipper of his leather jacket.

“Thorne. Put her down. Now.”

Muttering something to himself, he laid the girl down and meticulously arranged her shirt to cover her bared stomach and then moved down to more comfortably position her legs when Cinder grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get out of here. She definitely recognized us. The moment she wakes up she’ll have a comm to the police.”

Thorne pulled a portscreen out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Cinder.

“What’s that?”

“Her port. I took it off her while you were busy panicking.”

Cinder snatched the portscreen away and shoved it into the side pocket of her military cargos. “Still, it won’t be long before she tells someone. And they’ll come to investigate and realize we were looking for Michelle Benoit and then they’ll be looking for Michelle Benoit and—maybe I should disable her hover before we go.”

“I think we should stay and talk to her. Maybe she’ll know where to find Michelle.”

“Stay and talk to her? And give her even more leads about how to track us? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“Hey, I liked my idea of bringing her along, but you already vetoed that idea, so now I’m resorting to Plan B, which is to interrogate her. And I am really looking forward to it. I used to play a game called interrogation with one of my old girlfriends where we—”

“That’s enough.” Cinder raised her hand, silencing him. “This is a bad idea. I’m leaving now. You can stay here with your girlfriend if you like.” She marched past him.

Thorne stayed on her heels. “Now that was definitely jealousy I just heard.”

A whimper stopped them both halfway to the front door and they turned to see the girl’s eyelashes fluttering open.

Cinder cursed again and tugged Thorne toward the entryway, but he didn’t budge. After a moment, he peeled himself out of her grip and meandered back into the living room. Terror flashed over her face and she sat up, pushing herself against the arm of the sofa.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Thorne. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“You’re those people from the netscreens. The fugitives,” she said in an endearing European accent. She gaped at Cinder. “You’re the … the…”

“Escaped Lunar cyborg fugitive?” Thorne offered.

The last bit of color drained from the girl’s face. Cinder prayed for patience.

“A-are you going to kill me?”

“No! No, no, no, of course not.” Thorne slid himself onto the other end of the sofa. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”

The girl gulped.

“What’s your name, love?”

She chewed on her lower lip, eyeing Thorne with a mixture of distrust and mild hope. “Émilie,” she breathed, barely audible.

“Émilie. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Fighting back the urge to gag, Cinder thumped her head against the door frame. It brought the girl’s attention back to her and Émilie shriveled away in fear again.

“Sorry,” said Cinder, holding out both hands. “Uh, it’s really nice to meet—”

Émilie broke into hysterical crying, her focus latched on to Cinder’s metal hand. “Please don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone I saw you! I promise, just please don’t kill me!”

Jaw dropping, Cinder stared at the offensive limb for a second, before realizing it wasn’t her cyborg half that the girl was afraid of. It was the Lunar in her. She glanced at Thorne, who was glaring accusations at her, before throwing her arms into the air. “Fine, you take care of it,” she said, and marched out of the room.

She sat down on the stairs, where she could hear Thorne trying to calm the girl while keeping an eye on the road through the front window. She folded her elbows on top of her knees and listened to Thorne’s cooing and Émilie’s sobs and tried to rub away an oncoming headache.

Once, people had looked at her with revulsion. Now, people were terrified of her.

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

She wanted to scream to the world that it wasn’t her fault she was this way. She’d had nothing to do with it.

It surely wouldn’t have been her choice if one had been given to her.

Lunar.

Cyborg.

Fugitive.

Outlaw.

Outcast.

Cinder buried her face in her arms and urged the swirling injustices away. She would not get carried away with self-loathing. She had too many other things to worry about.

In the next room, she could hear Thorne mentioning Michelle Benoit, pleading with the girl to tell him something, anything useful, but all he got back were blubbery apologies.

Cinder sighed, wishing there were some way she could convince the girl they meant her no harm, that they were in fact the good guys.

Her body tensed.

She could convince the girl of that. Quite easily.

Guilt flooded her veins a moment later, but it didn’t quite dispel the temptation. She scanned the horizon, still seeing no sign of civilization beyond the fields.

She folded her fingers together, debating.

“You do know Michelle Benoit, don’t you?” Thorne said, his tone taking on an edge of pleading. “I mean, you are in her house. This is her house, isn’t it?”

Cinder massaged her thumbs over her temples.

She was not like Queen Levana and her thaumaturges and all the other Lunars who abused this gift—brainwashed and cajoled and controlled others for their own selfish gains.

But if controlling someone were for the greater good … and only for a short time …

“Émilie, please stop crying. It’s just a simple question, really.”

“Fine,” Cinder muttered, pushing herself off the stairs. “It’s for her own good, after all.”

Taking in a breath to dispel the guilt, she stepped back into the living room.

The girl’s gaze whipped toward her, eyes puffed. She cowered away.