The Deathless Trilogy

2.18. Armor

Celia is waiting for me in the hall. Her eyes, lined in blue, are wide in expectation. Her curled hair swings around her shoulders, and her lips are stuck in a half frown.

"You were talking to Dr. Quail," she says, as if I might not have realized that yet. "Dr. Ovis was a Deathless person."

"He was Deathless," I correct her. In nine days, she'll be Deathless too. "I know."

"Are you okay?" she asks.

I shrug. "I'm kind of numb."

The sides of her lips curl up. "Welcome to my life."

I smile and remember what she did for me. "Thank you for the slingshot, by the way. I didn't know you liked to make stuff."

"Want to see some of the other stuff I've been working on?"

I need to be a better friend, I think. So why not? Nina's busy with O'Neil, and being alone right now would only make me think of General Sato or Alexander or Nate or Dr. Patel or anyone else I've lost. I don't want to be alone long enough to start feeling the pain. "Sure," I say.

She waves her hand for me to follow, and together we walk down the hallway into the bathroom. We pretend to check our make-up in the mirror while a few girls finish getting ready. When the coast is clear, we hurry into the supplies closet, and down into the drain.

I am surprised by how well Celia and I work together to keep from falling off the sheet of metal beneath us. It makes sense, we're about the same size, but I thought I'd be much stronger. Celia has hidden physical strength beneath the pouty lips and the vacant stare. Daniel was right: Her appearance is her armor.

Once we are into the drain, she hurries to a box in the corner, her ethereal blue skirt floating behind her. "I have been working on this since Nina said we were your army." She slips the box before me, but keeps a hand on its top to keep me from opening it. "I guess I got a little excited about the idea of being part of an army, or part of anything, really. Promise you won't laugh? I haven't shown anyone else. Not even Daniel."

I nod my head in promise. She opens the box, and lifts something silver and spiky and made of black leather.

"Can I put this on you?" she asks.

I have no idea what this is, so I shrug, "Sure."

She throws the leather over my shoulder and straps it in place. The silver spikes point upward in jagged spears that drape down and around my shoulder blade, and it fits over me like a leather armadillo shell. Then she takes a second, and straps it over my other shoulder. As a final piece, she pulls a black plastic collar out from the box, and latches it around my neck. Thin silver chains dip down my chest from the collar, but they barely weigh anything.

"All done," she sighs, as if it's a question.

"Can I see?"

"There's a mirror over here," she smiles, and leads me over to a polished slate of metal. Not much of a mirror, but there's a reflection nonetheless, and I see myself how Celia must: I am a warrior. I'm covered in armor and spikes, but somehow she's made it look glamorous. Like her painting: It's full of pain and beauty.

"Do you like it?" she asks.

"Celia... I look amazing. This armor makes me look amazing. You made this?"

"Mostly," she says to my reflection, "I didn't make the leather or the spikes or anything, I just put it all together. The collar part is discarded military technology. If I wear this one headset... wait, let me find it..." she pulls one from the box, and slips it over her ears. "If I'm wearing this, and your collar is turned on, I can hear anything you say. Neat, huh?"