LEDA STOOD THERE in shock as Watt’s figure retreated into the cresting night.
What the hell had just happened? She’d offered him her deepest and most dangerous truths—told him all the ugliness in her family, in herself—and he’d turned and run away.
She sank onto a suspended bench, propelling it with her heels to rock slowly back and forth. She was far from the party now, in some sort of multilevel botanic garden. Around a corner she heard the hushed voices of couples walking along the shadowed paths, stealing furtive kisses. Colored lanterns bobbed along in their wakes. She felt very distant from them.
Did Watt leave because of what she’d done to Eris? But he’d known that already—that was the nice thing about being with Watt, she’d thought, that they understood each other for who they were, and all their secrets.
Maybe Watt hadn’t fully appreciated it until now. Maybe when she bared her soul and he realized all the darkness that lay coiled there, he had realized he wanted no part of it.
Leda bit her lip, replaying the conversation in her mind, trying to determine what she’d done wrong. She felt strangely on edge. What was it about Watt that kept nagging at her? Hadn’t there been something odd in his expression, his eyes …?
He hadn’t blinked. The realization came to her all at once, with an animalistic certainty. He’d been watching her the entire time without blinking, as if he’d been a cat patiently waiting for a mouse.
Had Watt been filming their conversation? she thought wildly.
Surely not, Leda’s rational brain hastened to remind her—she would have noticed, would have heard Watt say “record video”; that was how contacts worked, after all. She closed her eyes, slightly comforted.
Except that Nadia was in his brain.
It had been so easy for Leda to forget Nadia’s presence, to get caught up in the excitement of being at the party with Watt—but of course Nadia had been there the whole time, listening and recording and transmitting and god knows what else. Leda had no idea what Watt was even capable of, with Nadia inside his mind.
She curled her hand into a fist, so tight that the nails dug painfully into the flesh of her palm, but the pain was good: it kept her focused.
She thought of all the times Watt had seemed to watch her a little too closely, whenever anyone mentioned Eris. And he’d agreed to be her date to the Under the Sea party, and to rehab, so readily. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but it was strange, wasn’t it, that he hadn’t put up any sort of a fight? Could he have actually been playing her the whole time—getting close to her in the hopes that something like this would happen, that Leda would eventually get drunk and trusting, and admit the truth?
Leda reached up to wipe away a tear. She shouldn’t really be surprised. But it hurt more than she would have guessed, realizing that all time they’d spent together had been a lie.
How stupid of her, to think that Watt could care about her for real. She didn’t even blame him for wanting revenge. She would have done the same, if their roles were reversed. Hadn’t she said more than once that she and Watt were cut from the same cloth?
An old familiar instinct for self-preservation was stirring, urging her to fight fire with fire—to use every weapon in her arsenal to destroy Watt, before he could destroy her—but Leda found that she didn’t have the heart. Besides, with that quant in his brain he’d probably already sent her confession video to the police. They might be coming for her right now.
Leda felt a heavy dullness settling over her, turning her entire body to lead. Perhaps it was resignation. Or despair. Leda Cole had never been resigned to anything before, but then, she’d never met anyone who could best her, until Watt.
To think that she’d found the one boy in the world who was her equal, and fallen for him; yet in typical Leda Cole fashion, she’d managed to make him her sworn enemy.
She got up and trudged toward the nearest bar—a lonely table set up among the lemon trees near the edge of the garden path. It was so remote from the party that it felt as if someone, maybe providence, had brought it here in her hour of need. She might be heading to prison tomorrow, after all. Might as well enjoy her last few hours as a free woman.
“Whiskey soda,” Leda said automatically as she approached. “And another after that.”
The bartender looked up at her, and for some reason Leda’s brain sparked in recognition. “Have we met?” she asked.
The girl shrugged. “I work at Altitude. My name’s Mariel.” She began to mix the cocktail with quick, practiced motions.
“And now you’re here?” Leda was still confused.
“The Fullers imported some of the Altitude staff to work this party. Pretty over-the-top, huh?”
“Oh.” Leda hadn’t heard about that, but it sounded like the Fullers.
“Are you here alone?” The other girl slid the drink across the bar with a raised eyebrow.
“At the moment, yes.” Leda frowned down at the glass, which was a dark, opaque black. “This cup is seriously morbid,” she pointed out. It looked like a goblet that lost souls would drink from in hell. As black as all her secrets, she thought, taking a gulp. The whiskey had an astringent bite she didn’t recognize.
“Sorry. All they gave me was black and white.” Mariel pulled out a white glass, but Leda shook her head; it wasn’t worth the bother. “Well, Leda, no one should drink alone at a party like this,” Mariel insisted, and fixed a drink for herself.
Had she told this girl her name? Leda startled, a little confused. The whiskey was hitting her faster than she thought. She felt a little like she was going to be sick, but she couldn’t decide whether that was the drink, or the thought of her confession video playing on all the global newsfeeds.
For a moment, Leda thought she caught a glimpse of something eager and intent in Mariel’s gaze. It puzzled her. She set down her half-empty drink to look up at the sky. It glowed with stars, scattered about like tiny pinpricks of something fervent and bright. Hope, maybe.
But Leda knew there was no hope for her. She picked up the black goblet and braced herself for another sip of the biting whiskey, hoping it would obliterate the pain of what Watt had done.