Imitation Read Free Page B

to
reassure me of her promise that whoever is after my Authentic won’t
kill me instead. Her smile is fake. “You’ve trained for this,” she
reminds me.
    I nod absently. She is referring to
the self-defense classes we’re required to take in Twig City. Twice
a week I am paired with someone of similar stature and taught where
to strike and how to defend. Lonnie says I was created with small
muscle mass and I can’t argue since even Ida does better. I am
consistently horrible—but Marla doesn’t know that.
    Marla calls to the two men in the hall
and they file into the office. One stands at the back and takes up
a stance identical to the one he held in the hall. The other man
walks to the curtain hanging on the wall behind Marla’s chair and
pulls it aside.
    I gape at the sight of a narrow door.
It is painted the exact same shade as the wall and even though I’ve
rarely seen the view of the east wing from outside the building, I
know a door should not be there.
    “ Due to the clandestine
nature of your assignment, Ven, I’m going to ask that you be
discreet about your exit,” Marla says. Clandestine. Ida would be
thrilled.
    I rise, wondering briefly what exit
they would’ve offered me had my departure not required discretion.
I never planned on being allowed to walk out the front door at any
rate. Twig City doesn’t have one.
    I follow Marla through the narrow
passage that leads outside. The lighting is dim in the alley but it
is crisp and fresher than the re-circulated version inside Twig
City. Marla steps aside as the passage widens and I see my
transportation.
    The car is black and sleek and hums
quietly in the alley wedged between the secret door and a brick
security wall that I think hides a Dumpster, judging by the smell.
I cannot help but stare at the complex machine in front of me. I’ve
never seen a car this nice in real life. It’s the second thought I
have upon seeing it. The first is that I am both terrified and
thrilled to be a passenger.
    One of the men hurries ahead and opens
the door as we approach. I begin to climb inside but Marla places a
hand on my elbow and pulls me back. She has been speaking for the
last couple of minutes about protocol and etiquette and how maybe I
“should’ve changed clothes first, but no, there wasn’t time.” I’d
tuned her out but now I give her my attention again. “This is where
we part ways, dear, but good luck,” she says.
    “ You’re not coming?” For a
moment I’m paralyzed by the fear that the last familiar face I know
is about to vanish. I bite the inside of my cheek and channel
Lonnie.
    Marla shakes her head, oblivious to my
panic. “I have things to do here. But you don’t need me. You’ve
trained for this for years. You’re ready. Now, hurry up and get
going.” She ushers me into the car and before I can think of a
single thing to say, she turns and waddles back through her secret
doorway.
    She is gone. It is only me and my
silent security guards.
    Inside the car, the leather is warm
underneath my touch. It should be comforting after the chill
outside but it does nothing against the rattling cold that is bone
deep—a side effect of my anxiety. I shiver in the cavelike shell
that feels large enough to accommodate half the sleeping room in
Twig City.
    The two men get into the front and the
driver adjusts various gadgets that I cannot see from where I sit.
We ease forward, slowly at first, then faster, the road widening as
we circle. We pass out of the alley. To my left, Twig City rises
up, set at an angle I’ve never seen from my limited, walled-in
view. Metallic lettering runs the length of one side, spelling out
whatever name identifies this place to the outside world, but it
angles away too quickly for me to read.
    Then it is gone behind the trees and
my curiosity is replaced by anxiety. I stare out the window with
stiff shoulders and a fast pulse. Adrenaline courses through me. I
am leaving. I am never coming back. No one has said that