Page 94 of Rosetti Family New York
“Yes.” She places the jar down with reverence. “It will be groundbreaking. A transient neurocognitive modulation with minimal acute or persistent side effects.”
I look at her blankly, trying to figure out what the hell she’s saying. “Er…”
She smiles. “Like ecstasy but without the risk of long-term neural impairment. Truly, it’s a scientific breakthrough.”
I glance at the shelves, counting the jars.
“That’s not much for something still in progress.”
“We keep the bulk stored elsewhere,” she says, absentmindedly, absorbed in her own genius.
“And this compound? The ixa….”
“Ixaphorine.”
“Right. Where do you—”
She interrupts, more enthusiastic than secretive. “A warehouse on 12th Street. Ixaphorine is hard to find, incredibly rare, really, but I think we’ve got enough for months.”
“Impressive.” I let admiration creep into my voice. “Thank you for showing me around, Dr. Voss.”
She looks surprised by my gratitude.
“Clara,” she says with a flicker of a smile.
I take out my phone the second I’m outside. My fingers fly over the screen.
“Tell me you have something for me,” comes my father’s voice. It sounds so cold, like frozen fury.
“Yes, I…”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I found the chemist and the lab, but Dr. Voss’s smile, Clara’s smile, filters through mymemory. She was friendly, and she clearly is only in this for the science, not the power, and I hate to think what Baba would do to her.
Actually, I know exactly what he would do to her, and the thought turns my stomach.
“Talk to me, daughter. You found the chemist?”
His voice hums with cold satisfaction.
“No, but I…” I search frantically for something else I can tell him. The air feels heavy, and I struggle to find breath. “I discovered one of their key ingredients. Iaxa-something. I can’t remember the name, but I have the address where they store it. 12th Street.”
He’s silent for a moment. I picture him sitting behind his desk, that unsettling gray stare fixed on some distant point.
“You’ve done well,” he finally says.
The call ends before I can respond. I stand on the empty sidewalk, the sky hanging low and oppressive. I tuck my phone away, shivering against the cold and the truth of what I’ve done.
I breathe in deep, forcing calm, but all I can feel is the tightening of chains.
11
Domenico
$15,000.15. The numbers seem impossible. Impossibly precise, right down to the pennies. I scribbled down the numbers when the accountant called me back, and now the number stares at me. Fifteen grand. That’s how much Besiana spent shopping yesterday. I told her to spend ten, spend twenty, buy whatever the hell she wanted. Somehow she’s come in at the exact midpoint. Her too-perfect obedience wraps around her like a mask. Another of her perfect lies.
I turn the note over in my fingers and feel the edges dig into my skin. There's something deliberate about this, calculated. There's that expression in her eyes, the one that makes me think maybe she's more than she seems. The one that keeps me wondering how much control I really have. I press the note flat against the desk, but it keeps slipping out from under my palm like I can't pin it down. I can’t pin her down. I’m ready to burn that little piece of paper, but that won’t help.
I grab my coat, scrunch the note, and chuck it in the wastepaper basket. Cold, crisp air waits for me outside the highrise building. My brother is waiting, and he won’t appreciateme getting stuck on Besiana’s latest move. I put the thought of her away for later and head to Brooklyn.
