Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
I put my hands on both of her shoulders and bend down, looking her straight in the eyes. “Anneeta, what do you know that you’re not telling me?”
She throws me that one-shoulder shrug she likes to do and averts her gaze. Which means she wants to lie, but hasn’t made up her mind yet.
“Does the god talk to you?”
She looks back at me. Sniffles. Thinks. Answers. “I told you he did.”
“A real god, Anneeta? Or… something else?”
“What else would it be?”
“I dunno. You tell me. What does this god talk about?”
“You.”
“Me?” I laugh and stand back up. “Why the hell would he be talking about me?”
Her whole face screws up, like this question has confused the fuck out of her. “Well, it’s a game, isn’t it?”
“What’s a game?”
“The Game of Gods. That what he said.”
“The god says he’s in a game?”
“No. The god says you’re in a game.”
“Do you know where this god is? I think we have things to discuss. Can you take me to him?”
“I can’t take you to him.”
“Why not?”
“Because. He’s…” She spins in a quick circle, spreading her arms out. “He’s everywhere. All around us.”
“Well, what does he want with me?”
She stops spinning, looking a little dizzy for a moment, then laughs. “He wants you to lose, stupid.” Then she just takes off, racing down the hallway. The lights above her flashing on, illuminating her way as she runs.
I yell, my words chasing her. “How do we get to the minus 5?”
“Come on! I’ll show ya!”
Fuckin’ kid. She’s cute, I’ll give her that. But the weirdness kinda cancels it out and I’m losing interest fast. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed since we started this journey, but it’s got to be an hour, at least. Which means it’ll take another hour to get back up from this point alone. And we haven’t even reached our destination yet.
The lights above start flickering off in rapid succession all the way down the hallway, so I have to decide what to do. I could leave Anneeta down here. I’m not worried about that. She can find her own way back, I’m sure. But I’m here. It’s got to be close now. It would be a waste to just give up and leave without getting the information I came for.
So I set off after her, the lights coming on to light my way with a kind of sluggish reluctance that I didn’t notice when I was watching Anneeta.
“You’re imagining things,” I mutter under my breath. “This weird kid is starting to get to you.”
Maybe. But I can’t deny that I do hear a generator and the line of lights above me is rather bright.
Eventually I catch up with Anneeta again. She’s lying on the floor now, directly under a light. This is when I notice her outfit. They are always kinda strange. A patchwork of things. She’s wearing a skirt—she likes skirts, and they are always kinda poofy and made of weird fabrics only little girls wear—but she never wears just a skirt. She’s a girl who likes layers. Which makes sense because Tau City has a dynamic climate. It’s hot during the day, sometimes extremely hot, but nights are always cold. And the temperature isn’t regulated inside the ruins. There’s enough power for lights and whatever mechanicals are used for plumbing. You can run a few small appliances, clocks and shit. But there’s no conditioned air like there is in the city beyond the ruins. No cooling, no heating. So layers are a must.
But Anneeta’s layers are odd. Mismatched things. Discarded things, most likely. Striped tights, fuzzy leggings, or sometimes she wears two skirts at once. One practical layer under, one poofy layer over.
Still, they make her cute and give her a kind of whimsical innocence that stands at odds with the tower all around her. Her shirts are adult size, but cut up to fit her better. And again, she’s always got layers on her upper body, long-sleeved Henleys and thermals running down her arms covered by a vest of some sort.
Today she’s wearing brown tights, a light-blue ballerina skirt, a long-sleeved tan Henley, and a cropped fuzzy vest. Her feet are in boots of brown leather that go halfway up her legs. Her hair is long and brown and almost always a mess and her face a little bit pale because she doesn’t get enough sun.
But the funny thing is—as haphazard as this all seems—it also comes across as… put together. Like some fashion person personally picked out all these things and dressed her up for a runway show for eccentric children.
It works.
And I don’t like that it works. It gives off a feeling that her sloppy put-togetherness has purpose.
“Well?” I ask.
She doesn’t move. Just lies there in the floor looking up at me, smiling. “I’ll leave you here. But I’ll wait.”