Page 44 of Pageant

Numbers Nine and Ten both lie once each, but they manage not to shriek, and they don’t lie a second time.

As Number Ten leaves, Elyah, who’s been standing over the women while they take their tests, suddenly moves back against the wall and folds his arms.

I stare at him, one eyebrow cocked. “Shall I take over for you? Getting bored?”

Elyah gives a nonchalant shrug. “Just having a break.”

Bullshit. He wants to watch Number Eleven squirm and scream. Fine. Let’s make this interesting for him.

Number Eleven turns pale with fury as I buckle her into the chair. She’s already figured out that this is no ordinary polygraph and looks like she wants to spit in my face as I explain to her how it works.

When she’s all hooked up, I step back and glance over my shoulder at Kostya. He’s watching Number Eleven appraisingly.

“Did you love your husband?” he asks.

“No.” Number Eleven’s voice is firm but quiet.

“Why did you marry him?”

“Because my father told me to.”

“Are you a good and obedient daughter?”

“No.”

Kostya laughs. “This is no fun if you don’t tell me any lies.”

“Maybe we should have Elyah question her,” I say, slanting a sly glance at my friend.

Elyah stays as still as stone, his gaze fixed on Number Eleven.

She returns his cool look, one eyebrow raised. “Fine by me. I know you have questions to ask me, Elyah.”

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.

“Ask me,” Number Eleven demands, louder now. “Did you inform on your husband, Lilia?Go on, ask me!”

“I do not need machine to answer that.”

“You proud fucking idiot,” she snarls.

Elyah turns his face away and glares at the other side of the room. I can read his mind through every line of his body and the self-righteous set of his jaw.I have nothing to say to you. I will wait until Konstantin is done playing, and then I will kill you.

Number Eleven turns to Kostya. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

She watches Elyah for a moment, and then me. Finally, she turns back to Kostya. “Can I ask a question?”

9

Lilia

Konstantin’s eyebrows rise. So do Elyah’s. Even the dark-haired psycho standing over me seems surprised.

“Who is your question for?” Konstantin rumbles in his deep voice. He’s freshly shaved and wearing an expensive suit, and he projects an aura of dominance and control as he sits before me.

When you look closely, though, he’s frayed at the edges. A muscle in his jaw tics. His eyes are bloodshot and there’s a sheen of sweat on his brow. I wonder about the instruction not to scream, and I remember a snippet of conversation I overheard as I awoke in this place.

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