Dusk

Chapter Four

"He was joking, right?" Ezra asks, putting his ice pack against my jaw.

I push his hand away. "I don't need that. I don't even hurt anymore."

"Deva, there's no way he was serious. He was probably trying to screw with your head. He saw you zone out and he took advantage of you. What an asshole."

"He must've just thought I was gloating," I say, leaning against the cool wall and closing my eyes. "Which I was doing, for a couple of seconds before I hallucinated."

Ezra puts a hand on my knee. "Those hallucinations seem to be coming on more frequently these days, huh?"

I heave a sigh. "Like you wouldn't believe. I can't keep hiding them from Blake. I had to lie about it today. I told him I was hallucinating about meat, Ezra, meat, and he bought it."

He chortles. "Let me guess. He thought you were starving to death and his instincts kicked in, making him forget all about your hallucination. Must. Feed. Deva. The man's obsessed."

"That's exactly what happened."

"Damn, I'm good." He pauses. "But, in all seriousness... you should get checked out."

"I don't have the cash for that."

"Ceres would probably pay for you, if he..." Ezra trails off. If he knew.

"I'm not going to tell him," I murmur. "It was enough to tell you. I have this feeling that if I tell too many people, they'll stop coming. I... well. I don't exactly want them to go away."

"I know you think they're memories," Ezra says, his head coming to rest on my shoulder, "but they could also be a sign of illness. Victims of The Blot never get their memories back, Deva. They either go on living, or they go crazy. If the symptoms are caught early enough, you could be cured."

On the surface of my closed eyelids, I can still see those copper curls. I could believe there was sunlight shining on my face if it weren't for my knowledge of my surroundings. As soon as I hear Ezra say those last four words, you could be cured, I tense up.

"But you don't want that, do you? You don't want those hallucinations to stop."

Before I can reply, I hear the door to the change room slide open. From the sound of the light, refined footfalls, I know it's Ceres. No one else would step so carefully, and he's the only person I know personally who wears shoes with slight heels that clack on the floor. He can afford shoes like those, of course, because he owns this arena.

"Someone wants to see you, Deva," he informs me. "Someone important."

"The last time you said that," I say, my eyes still closed, "it was some brothel owner who wanted to add me to his roster. If it's him again, I know a great place to put my fist."

"It's not him. Thankfully."

I crack open one of my eyes. "Oh? Should we consider our options, then? Let's see... rich, admiring fan, some sponsor I haven't yet heard of..." I stop, remembering who Anden said his sponsor was. "Don't tell me. It can't be him."

"And if it was?"

"I'd tell you to shove off and stop lying. You know, if I hadn't heard some guy tell who his sponsor was. Why does he want to see me? Isn't he supposed to be leading a rebellion?"

Ceres just runs a hand over his shiny head. "Do you think I know?" His voice is exasperated. "You cost me a lot of money tonight, Deva. A lot of money."

I bite my lip. "Yeah, whatever. Is he in the VIP box? I'll go see him myself."

"I'll take you. Let's go." When Ezra gets up, Ceres holds up a dark hand. "You can't come with us, Maverick."