Get up, Flame Thrower,” chirps an annoying voice. “You reek!”
My clothes are sticking to me, where I soaked them in the night. I was afraid to get up and open the window, fearing the slightest energy exertion would further stoke the fire. I fell asleep counting the blue topaz gradients in the paint covering my walls.
I’m far too tired to care how my smell affects her. Okay, that’s not totally true. I care enough to delight in her misery when she lets out a disgusted groan. “Go away,” I grumble.
“Nope.” She yeets my blankets.
Monster, Superego commiserates.
“Why are you here?” I cover my face with a pillow. To have her in my room, badgering me into consciousness, earns Declan a new level of respect from me. How did he put up with this for three hundred years?
There has been radio silence from the Keanes since the big Friday night reveal. What did I do all weekend? Same old, same old. I spent more time than was warranted running disaster scenarios. Did they leave me alone to absorb the information? Did they run off to avoid the potentially unavoidable explosion? If they didn’t run, would Tally and Declan continue ignoring me, as was the previous dynamic? Would we have secret meetings behind the bleachers? Would I show up at school only to discover the whole thing was a figment of my imagination? I drew one grim conclusion. The additional solo processing wasn’t helpful. Also, I’m painfully aware now that I’ve neglected to plan for the most disastrous scenario. A Tally wakeup call.
She snatches the pillow. “I’m saving you.”
“Saving me from what?” I hiss.
“First, I’m saving you from your stench. Second, I’m saving you from your poor fashion sense. I can’t have my newest recruit looking unkempt.”
“I’m not your newest recruit,” I argue, refusing to budge from my cozy bed.
“This is for my own good,” she says enthusiastically, pinching her nose with one hand and dragging me to my bathroom with the other. “Shower. Now.”
She shuts the door in my face before I can tell her where to shove her efforts. Hint: it’s nowhere nice.
The steady stream rouses me. I like my showers hot, and steam quickly fills the bathroom. The unfortunate side effect of using such hot water is after barely ten minutes, the Arctic blast ejects me from my sanctuary.
Wrapping my body in one towel and my auburn hair in another, I stand in the bathroom contemplating my escape route. The heat fog will help. The fashion police are probably still in my bedroom. I imagine Tally replicated herself for company. Unlike me, she despises being alone.
I map a decent course exiting the small bathroom window, then down the lattice covering the side of the house, but Tally doesn’t give me time to flee. She bursts in, grabs my hand, and yanks me back into my bedroom.
She inhales deeply. “That’ll do.”
I sigh. “Let me guess, you don’t sweat?”
She screws up her nose in disgust. “We don’t expel anything.”
“Heh. That’s a can.”
“Your attempt to distract me won’t work,” she states haughtily.
Glowering, I head to my closet.
She intercepts me. “I warned you about my designer role. We can do this the easy way…or the hard way.” Her brow lift tells me she hopes I pick the hard way.
My natural emotional impulse is to resist, but I don’t have the mental fortitude to argue, so I alter my perception with the same tenacity Tally is altering my appearance. My old masking method wasn’t very successful. They found me, didn’t they? Trying something new can’t hurt, can it?
My natural physical impulse is to resist. She counters my resistance by duplicating. Tally2 holds me still while Tally1 holds up varying outfits in front of me. None of the clothes are mine. This maniac brought a suitcase!
“What do you think?” Tally1 asks herself.
“Too blue. Go with something red,” Tally2 tuts.
“I like how you think,” Tally1 clips chipperly.
“How will you explain all this to my father?”
“Already did.” Tally1 purses her lips. “He’s a very drab fellow, isn’t he?”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
My eyes widen in surprise. “He let you in?”
“Of course he let me in,” Tally2 snips. “He’s at the table reading the paper now.”
I’m not convinced he actually reads the paper. It’s more likely a diversionary tactic to keep his ignoring me from being blatant.
Tally1 pauses and sniffs dramatically. “Ah, he does care about you.”
Percolating coffee is the heavenliest smell on earth. A hundred Tallys couldn’t ruin it.
Don’t tempt Fate, Superego scolds.
“I don’t understand why you ingest that crap.” They both make gagging faces. “A solid meal would have the same effect.”
“I haven’t had an appetite lately,” I admit.
Tally1 tilts her head, curious. “What’s it taste like for you?” She arranges the clothes on my bed, matching tops to bottoms.
While I’m not struggling against her security measures, Tally2 isn’t taking any chances by releasing me. “It tastes like dirt for us.”
“Ash.” I try to eat, but everything has a gross burnt flavor that’s difficult to stomach. I made a valid effort over the weekend because Ryan gave me a stern lecture on keeping my nourishment up, as a hungry body is a liability that will betray me. I sincerely doubt fueling the fuel is the right course of action, but I’m not the professional. I’ll take all the help I can get. I choked down two solid meals while coffee was still my chosen breakfast. Compromise for the win. “How do you stand it?”
“Solathairs don’t eat for sustenance.” Tally1 settles on my outfit.
“You innately produce energy?”
They both avoid looking me in the eye. “Something like that,” Tally1 replies cryptically.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Leave it, Superego cautions unnecessarily as they completely ignore the question.
Tally2 holds me still while Tally1 dresses me. “I’m a miracle maker if I do say so myself.”
I roll my eyes.
Tally1 looks confused. “Don’t you have a mirror in this tiny closet you call a room?”
“No.”
My arm shackles dissipate. “You really do enjoy making me work,” she complains.
Not only can Tally replicate herself, but as I stand watching her, she creates another me. I gape at the lifeless shell. Unlike her chatty self-renditions, my robot brought to life has a blank expression. It’s exactly how I picture myself when hitting my emergency shut-off switch.
She pops her hip. “Not bad for a first try.”
“It’s cool.”
She beams at the compliment. “The more familiar I am with someone, the easier it is to be them. I can’t activate someone else, but it’ll do for a three dimensional mirror.”
She turns the mannequin around, giving me a full-circle view. I frown at the deep red blouse cocooning me. My chest strains the top buttons.
“You’re pretty busty for a waif,” she rudely points out.
My cheeks heat in response.
I’m not just busting out the top. The pencil skirt has an unacceptable slit up my left thigh and is made of spandex material that melds to me. I suck in a breath at the mention of wedge-heeled boots. Tally Keane is trying to get someone killed by recklessly remaking me into a sex kitten.
“I can’t wear this, Tally. It’s too revealing.”
“It reveals you look like a girl.”
While the girl standing across the room is me, a soulless version, she seems comfortable with her new look. I, on the other hand, am nothing close to comfortable. I swallow down the nervous lump developing in my throat. The alteration doesn’t suit me. I’m awkwardly out of place in my own skin.
I draw the line when she produces a makeup kit, promising my internal sauna will sweat it all off, leaving a streaky mess. She redirects her attention to an ironing device that straightens my mostly straight hair. Pointless.
“Hot.” Tally wets her finger, points it at me, then makes a sizzling sound. “Barbeque Barbie. I’d buy it.”
The finished product is a sultry-professional-not-quite-a-hooker look that isn’t overly formal but not nearly casual enough to appreciate.
A half-price hooker, Superego goads.
“I’m not going street walking. I’m going to school.”
“I have plans for clubwear, too,” she cheers happily.
Don’t worry, Superego consoles me. They won’t risk unleashing you.
She’s right. Tally might be delighting in my misery—I sort of deserve that after delighting in hers earlier—but the bottom line is I need to be kept on a tight leash, and there’s no way Tally’s strutting around with the old me. Queen Bee or not, she’d have to justify that. My options are to endure her alterations or chain myself up in the basement. It’s not a bad basement, honestly. No spiders down there, even.
“You only live once,” she offers. “You may as well enjoy it.”
I sigh.
“Besides, you have to start blending better, or you’ll attract the wrong attention.”
“I don’t see how this outfit is attracting anything but the wrong attention,” I snap.
My fastest way out of this is to not fight her. If I let the idea run its course, she’ll realize by day’s end, if not sooner, the goal is to contain the flame, not stoke it. What’s that saying? Go along to get along. Right. That one.
“You’ll have to beat them off with a stick,” she muses.
Sparks ignite in my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to steel my resolve.
“Relax, Hot Cross Buns. I found you a boyfriend to counter the onslaught of pursuers.”
My jaw flexes, and I tighten my fists at my sides. “That’s the last thing I need,” I say through gritted teeth.
“He wouldn’t have been my first choice, but he’ll be a breath of fresh air for you.”
Declan, Superego suggests.
“You volunteered him.”
She shrugs. “It was his idea.”
“Dubious.”
“Right?!” She scoffs. “I can’t believe he came up with something so ingenious, either.”
When she’s had enough of me delaying the inevitable, she marches me downstairs, where a travel mug of liquid delight awaits me on the counter. The allure of coffee quiets my lingering frustration over Conductor Tally railroading me.
As I grab the cup, taking a deep drink of the scalding liquid, I catch my father staring from the corner of my eye. He hasn’t done that in a long time. It feels kind of good to have his attention. Weird but good. Tally blows him a kiss and pulls me out the door before he can comment on my rapid transformation…or demand half my earnings.
Declan’s at the curb, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the vibrating speakers. He shoots Tally a stern look. “Kinda overkill, don’t you think?”
She waggles her brow tauntingly. “Doubting the strength of your tethers, Puppet Master?”
When she tries to open the passenger door, she finds it locked. He smirks, and she begrudgingly gets in the back. It takes no time for their domestic dispute to escalate, but I have a safe word I don’t hesitate to use. “Uncomfortable,” I whisper. Glorious silence follows.