THAT SAME EVENING, Watt was finishing up his first math club meeting. At Nadia’s suggestion, he’d tried to join a few clubs to improve his transcript, though the only one willing to accept him at this late date was the math club—and then only because Cynthia was co-president. He wished he’d done more of this stuff earlier in high school, instead of devoting all his efforts to hacking jobs.
But unlike after-school clubs, hacking jobs paid, and in his family, money was pretty impossible to turn down.
“Thanks again for letting me join,” he said to Cynthia as they walked out the school’s main doors.
“You should have been in the club ages ago. I knew you were good at differential equations, but I didn’t realize how good,” Cynthia replied, sounding impressed.
You’re welcome, Nadia said archly. She’d been the one to calculate those equations at record speed—though Watt shouldn’t have needed her to. They’d both been a little surprised, actually, when he had to ask for help.
Sorry I needed the save, Watt told her now.
You were thinking about Leda, weren’t you?
Just making plans, Watt answered vaguely, though he never could hide anything from Nadia for very long. And she was right.
Even while he’d been in that math session, a part of his mind—a part that was dangerously close to the whole—had been thinking about Leda, alternating between fantasies of her demise and fantasies of a decidedly different nature. He didn’t understand his fixation with her. How could he resent her, want to make her to pay for everything she’d done, and yet still want her as much as he did?
He wished he could be more like Nadia. More rational, less reckless.
Speak of the devil, Nadia flashed before his eyes. Watt looked up, and was struck speechless at the sight of Leda herself, lounging casually against a brick wall at the edge of his school’s tech-net, seven hundred floors below her own. She was wearing black yoga pants that left little to the imagination, and her face was glowing from exertion. Her hair was swept up into a loose knot, though a few damp curls escaped at her ears.
“Watt. There you are,” she greeted him, with a note of possessiveness that simultaneously thrilled him and pissed him off. He wanted to kiss her, roughly, right there. But he didn’t.
“Leda,” he said slowly, to cover his strange mix of feelings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Next to him he felt Cynthia tense at the name, glancing back and forth between them. He knew what she was thinking: so this was the infamous Leda, the girl who knew far too many of Watt’s secrets.
“I need to talk to you about something. In private.” Leda’s eyes darted to Cynthia. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Leda Cole. Cynthia, right?” she asked, holding out a hand. Cynthia didn’t take it.
How did Leda even know who Cynthia was? He must have mentioned her, Watt thought—or else Leda had been trolling through his page on the feeds. He found the notion strangely pleasing.
“Hi, Leda,” Cynthia said, without moving forward. It was clear from her tone what she thought of the other girl. After a moment, Leda lowered her outstretched hand and turned to Watt.
“Watt? Let’s go,” she commanded, and started off, clearly assuming he would follow.
Watt looked back at Cynthia. “Sorry, I have to—”
“Whatever, the queen bitch summons,” Cynthia said tartly, too low for Leda to overhear. “Go ahead.”
Watt didn’t hesitate. Cynthia would forgive him later, but Leda never would. He hurried to catch up with her. “You didn’t need to make that scene,” he said, though for some reason he’d found it a little entertaining. Maybe he was getting too accustomed to being with Leda Cole.
“Sorry if I made things difficult with your girlfriend,” Leda said briskly.
“I’ve told you before, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“I’ve told you before, I don’t care.” She didn’t even glance his way as she turned onto his street. Watt was a little surprised that she wanted to go to his place tonight, and even more surprised that she knew her way around down here.
“Look, if you wanted me to come over, you could have just messaged me,” he said, his mind already racing ahead to what his parents would say when they walked in together. Though they’d met Leda before; they thought she was a classmate, after all.
Leda laughed. “I’m not here for that,” she said, and he loved the way she said “that,” as if she wanted to be dismissive of the notion but couldn’t quite manage it.
“There’s someone I need you to look into,” Leda went on. “I keep meaning to ask you about her, but, you know …” She broke off awkwardly.
“But I keep distracting you.” He grinned at her discomposure.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
They stepped up to his front door. Watt hesitated and glanced over at Leda. “Could you just tell my parents that you’re here for a school project, and—”
“Relax, Watt. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” he replied as he opened the front door. “What the hell is a rodeo?”
Leda shrugged. “It’s an old saying,” she said dismissively, and followed him down the hallway, her expression transforming from exasperated sarcasm into a brilliant smile. “Mrs. Bakradi!” she exclaimed, going to give Watt’s mom a hug. “How are you? I’ve been meaning to bring this over for Zahra. I found it when I was cleaning out some of my old things.” To Watt’s astonishment, Leda reached into her purse and produced a tiny horse figurine. She pushed a button and the horse began running across the floor.
Damn, she was good, he thought with grudging respect.
When they were finally in Watt’s bedroom with the door shut, Watt stared at Leda. She’d already claimed a seat on his bed, crossing her legs beneath her with proprietary ease. “How did you know that Zahra’s in a horse phase?” he asked suspiciously.
“Your mom told me the last time I was here.” Leda rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Watt, that quant of yours has made you unforgivably lazy. Do you ever listen to people?”
“I listen to you,” he replied, caught off guard by the insight.
“I don’t think so,” Leda said lightly. “Is Nadia on?” For a moment Watt thought he was dreaming; it was still surreal hearing anyone talk about Nadia.
“I’m always on,” Nadia replied, projecting from the speakers. She sounded slightly offended.
Leda nodded as if unsurprised. “Nadia,” she said, with a respectful tone she never used with Watt, “would you please research someone for me? Her name is Calliope Brown. She’s around our age.”
“Searching now,” Nadia replied.
Watt felt increasingly annoyed. You’re making it too easy on her.
She asked nicely. Unlike you.
“Just what are we looking for, exactly?” Watt sank into his desk chair and stretched his arms overhead, trying not to think of how close Leda was, the fact that she was so casually sitting there on his bedsheets.
“I’m not sure,” Leda admitted. “But something is off about this girl, I know it.”
“So we’re basing this on a hunch of yours?”
“Laugh all you want, but my hunches are spot-on. After all, I had a hunch that there was something off about you, and I was right, wasn’t I?”
Watt had nothing to say to that.
Leda leaned forward as Nadia’s search results populated the monitor. There was a Calliope Brown registered in the Tower, on floor 473—an older woman with a narrow smile. “No, that’s not her,” Leda said, disappointed.
Watt frowned. “Nadia, can you widen the search to the United States?” They scrolled through dozens of faces, then expanded the search internationally, but Leda just shook her head impatiently at every image that appeared.
“She’s staying at the Nuage! Can we find her that way?” Leda impatiently yanked out her ponytail to redo it.
“I’ll show you the cams at high-speed, pulling out the faces. Tell me which one she is,” Nadia offered, using snapshots of the video feed to create an instant database of all the guests. Watt could feel Nadia getting into the search a little, despite herself. There was nothing she loved more than a good puzzle.
After a few minutes of scrolling, Leda leapt off the bed, pointing to a figure in the top right. “There, you see! That’s her!”
“Nadia, can you grab her retinal scans?” Watt asked. Moments later Nadia had pulled up the information. The girl’s retinas were registered to Haroi Haniko, a woman from Kyoto who’d died seven months ago.
“Okay. She’s got a stolen retina pattern,” Leda said, clearly stunned. “She must be a criminal, right?”
Now even Watt was getting curious. “Nadia, what about facial-reg? Full international scope.” She could change her eyeballs, he thought logically, but it was much harder to drastically change her face.
The screen came up blank. “No matches.”
“Try again,” Leda asked, but Watt shook his head.
“Leda, that search included every government—national, state, province, municipal—in the entire world. If this girl existed, we would have found her.”
“What are you saying, that I made her up? She’s right there on camera, you can see for yourself!” Leda burst out, exasperated.
“I’m saying this is really weird. If she’d ever lived anywhere, she would have gotten registered, for an ID ring or a tax card or whatever.”
“Well, there’s your answer,” Leda declared. “She’s never actually lived anywhere—only visited. She never got an adult ID.”
Watt wouldn’t have thought of that, but it made sense. “Why would anyone live that way?”
“Because she’s up to something, obviously.” Leda delivered the phrase with a dramatic flair, as if she were an actress performing in an old tragic play. She frowned. “But why hasn’t anyone figured out that her retinas are wrong?”
“No one actually verifies retinal scans in public places, just cross-checks them with the criminal list. I’m guessing you haven’t seen her in any private homes,” he pointed out.
“Just Avery’s, but it was for a party,” Leda said, and Watt nodded.
“Whatever she’s up to,” he said the phrase the way Leda had, which elicited a smile, “she’s clearly an expert at it.”
They both grew quiet at the notion.
Then Leda looked up with a new idea. “What about schools? Could you run her facial-reg on school networks, not government ones? Or are they hard to crack?”
It was a good idea. Watt wished he’d thought of it first. “Nothing is too hard for Nadia,” he boasted, which wasn’t totally true, but sounded badass. “Nadia?” he prompted, but she’d already found a hit. Clare Dawson, who attended St. Mary’s boarding school in England for a single year.
“Yes! That’s her!” Leda cried out in excitement.
Another match popped up. Cicely Stone, at an American school in Hong Kong. Aliénor LeFavre, in Provence. Sophia Gonzalez, at a school in Brazil. And on and on, until Nadia’s screen was covered in at least forty aliases—all clearly linked to images of the so-called Calliope.
“Wow,” Watt said at last. This was way more intense than what he normally dealt with on [email protected] Haus, which was usually just student grade-wipes and cheating spouses, the occasional ID search.
“This proves it. She’s a criminal,” Leda said triumphantly. Her dark eyes were dancing with the thrill of the chase.
“Or a sociopath, or a secret agent, or maybe her family is crazy. We can’t jump to conclusions.”
Leda moved closer to the screen and bent down. He found himself distracted by her presence. “Nadia,” he added, clearing his throat, “can you find records of any incidents at these schools? Expulsions, misdemeanors, anything unusual in her files?”
“And cross-reference all her classmates at these schools, see which of them were her friends? Maybe we can find something through them,” Leda added. Without warning she sat on Watt’s lap, laced her fingers up in his hair, pulled his head down to hers. Her mouth on his was warm and insistent.
Watt was the one to pull away first. “I thought you said that wasn’t why you came here,” he teased, though he wasn’t complaining.
“It wasn’t the only reason,” Leda corrected.
“You don’t want me to go up to your—”
“Shut up,” Leda said impatiently, and kissed him again, her arms over his shoulders. It was easy to stand, to carry Leda to the bed—she was so light—and lay her gently down, never breaking the kiss. Then his hands were on her back, the curve of her hip, and her skin was so soft, and Watt didn’t know anymore whether he liked her or detested her. Maybe he felt both, at the same time, which would explain why all his nerve endings were going haywire, like his whole body might explode at any moment.
He started to ask Nadia to turn off the lights, but the room was already dark, a deadbolt sliding firmly across the door.