“What happened?” Nita asked as they passed the protesters and turned down a sloping ramp toward a parking garage.
“A pair of kids robbed a convenience store at gunpoint, they both got sentenced to a year. The human one went off to juvie, but now there’s a kerfuffle over which prison the bannik should go to.”
Nita frowned. “What’s the argument for sending the bannik to an unnatural prison?”
“The claws.”
The only external way to tell a bannik from a human was their fingernails, which grew curved and pointed. Most kept them trimmed short and painted them to hide their blackish color, and they could pass.
Nita was silent, shuddering. She imagined what would happen if she were ever captured and charged. In a human prison, she’d soon be murdered and eaten by people who wanted to see if eating her really did grant them immortality. In an unnatural prison, she’d probably just be killed by one of the monsters they contained.
Nita swallowed, rubbing her sweaty palms on her pants. She did not want to end up in either prison. It would be a death sentence.
Bronte scanned her card and the parking garage doors opened, metal shutters rattling upward. They parked the car and made their way to the elevator in silence. Nita’s sneakers scuffed the concrete floor, and she shivered at the sound, trying to put the idea of prison out of her mind.
The elevator barely fit four people, and Nita wedged herself as deeply into the corner as she could to avoid touching anyone. There was a soft ding every floor they passed, and Nita’s heart began to race, as her meeting with her mother changed from a threat in the future into the very real present.
The doors opened to reveal polished white marble floor, high ceilings, and far too many mirrored surfaces.
A woman waited in front of the reception desk, just below the massive blue and white arrow of the INHUP logo that adorned the back wall. Her figure was slim and curvy, and her black hair was tied back severely, but not quite well enough that Nita couldn’t pick out the hint of red dye on the tips tucked into the bun.
Nita stopped.
Her mother turned around to face her, a wide smile spreading shark-like across her pale face. “Hello, Nita.”
Seven
NITA’S MOTHER APPROACHED, smile stretching. Her lipstick was such a dark red it was nearly black, making her look like a combination of Snow White and the Evil Queen.
“Darling.” Her voice was sticky and syrupy sweet.
Nita hunched her shoulders out of instinct. That was never a good voice. She cleared her throat. “Aunt Theresa.”
Her mother’s sharp eyes took in the two INHUP agents, and then she walked up to Nita and enfolded her in a hug.
Nita stiffened, her whole body going rigid like she’d seen Medusa. Her hands were fisted at her sides, and her heart beat a panicked pace in her chest.
Nita’s mom was hugging her.
Nita’s mom never hugged her.
That was something her father did. Her father took her in his arms and rested her head against his chest, warm and steady. Her father brushed the tears from her eyes and placed a gentle hand on her back. Her father loved her unconditionally.
Her father was gone now.
This hug wasn’t warm or gentle. It was sharp and angular and awkward, and Nita just wanted to crawl away from it. Her mother’s fingers curled into her back, nails digging in painfully. If Nita were anyone else, they’d have left bruises.
Finally, mercifully, her mother pulled away and smiled at the INHUP agents, her teeth so white they looked bleached. “Thank you so much for bringing her back.”
Both INHUP agents looked uncomfortable under her mother’s smile. Nita could see it in the way Quispe’s hand twitched at her side, and Bronte turned away, eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly.
Bronte cleared her throat and glanced between them. “You’re her aunt? I thought Nita mentioned you being her mother’s sister.”
“That’s right.”
“But you’re . . .”
Bronte waved her hand vaguely, and Nita sighed.
“I take after my father,” Nita answered, not even having to ask what Bronte was referring to. It was always the same thing.
Back in North America only a few hours and this already. She’d forgotten how tedious it was. Her skin wasn’t particularly dark, but it was noticeably darker than her mother’s, and in the years she’d spent living in the US when she was younger, half-formed statements like Bronte’s had been a common feature. They never got less annoying.
Bronte smiled wide, clearly hoping it would cover the sudden awkwardness. It didn’t. “Oh, of course.”
Beside her, Quispe might have rolled her eyes.
“Well,” Bronte said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get the paperwork started, shall we?”
The paperwork, as it turned out, took nearly half an hour and required multiple pieces of ID (all fake) from her mother, signatures on at least three forms from both of them, and her mother showing a picture of the two of them together when Nita was younger. Nita hadn’t even known there were pictures of her and her mother together. She wondered if it was Photoshopped.
Nita was also required to give contact information independent of her mother, so she gave one of her many extra email addresses. One she rarely logged into but she could still check if she was so inclined.
When everything was done, Quispe and Bronte each handed Nita a card with their contact information. Nita pocketed them with a smile, though she doubted she’d ever use either.
They also gave her the new passport, but her mother plucked it out of the air and pocketed it before Nita could even raise a hand. Typical.
Then it was over, and the two of them were walking out of the Toronto INHUP office.
Her mother grabbed Nita’s arm the instant they were outside and tugged her to the curb. The street was four lanes , but felt oppressively narrow with the towering buildings on either side and the press of traffic, cars, pedestrians, and cyclists.
Her mother flagged down a taxi and dragged Nita into it. Nita twisted out of her grip as they got in, and her mother gave her a sharp glance.
“Where to, ma’am?” asked the driver, a middle-aged white woman with owlish glasses. No less than six air fresheners hung from her rearview mirror, all of them shaped like books.
Her mother waved her hand. “Just drive straight for a while.”
They moved through traffic faster than Nita expected, but still not quickly. Shifting in her seat, she looked over at her mother. There were so many things she wanted to ask, but she didn’t even know how to start, and she didn’t think she could with the taxi driver listening in anyway.
Her mother unclipped her hair, and it tumbled down to her shoulders in slinky black and red strands, framing a heart-shaped face, like Nita’s. Same jawline, same nose, same lips.
Same power.
“Do you have a phone?” her mother asked suddenly.
Nita hesitated. “Yes.”
“Give it here.” Her mother held out her hand.
Nita crossed her arms and shifted away, pressing her body against the door. “Why?”
“I’m going to throw it out the window.”
Nita’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“It could be bugged.”
“I’ll turn it off, then.” Nita pulled it out, careful to turn away so her body shielded her phone. She didn’t want her mother reaching out and stealing it.