Lily Atwood lives in what used to be called Washington, D.C. Her father is one of the most powerful men in the world, having been a vital part of rebuilding and reuniting humanity after the war that killed over five billion people. Now he’s running to be one of its leaders.
But in the rediscovered peace on Earth, a new force has risen. They call themselves The Revealed – a mysterious underground organization that has been kidnapping 18-year-olds across the globe without explanation. No one knows why The Revealed is taking these teens, but it’s clear that something is different about these people. They can set fires with a snap of their fingers and create wind strong enough to throw over a tree with a flick of their wrist. No one has been able to stop them, and they have targeted Lily as their next victim.
But Lily has waited too long to break free from her father’s shadow and she’s not going to let The Revealed ruin her dreams. Not without a fight.
About the Author
This book was an ok read. I think it needed a better baddie and I also wish that this book didnt lay so heavy on the political crap. It really bogged down the story. So go into this one knowing that it will be a slow going, backstory learning, political book.
"All opinions are 100% honest and my own."
CHAPTER ONE
If I‘m going to be taken, I plan on having at least a little fun first.
Sleek and silver with the latest technology including dent-resistant metal. My father’s Aston Martin is made to drive. The doors recognize DNA and I’m half him so it’s easy to break inside. All it takes is laying my hand against the door. There’s a moment as the car analyses, and the door lifts, allowing me to slide into the driver’s seat. I toss the still-sealed letter onto the passenger seat.
There’s no need to open it. I know what it is.
The car’s ignition can either be started with fingerprint recognition or overridden by the key. I took the keys from the shelf while my mother wasn’t home earlier this morning.
I shift gears and press my ballet flats on the gas, not wasting any time. The odometer climbs higher as the car smoothly accelerates.
If I‘m going to be taken, I plan on having at least a little fun first.
Sleek and silver with the latest technology including dent-resistant metal. My father’s Aston Martin is made to drive. The doors recognize DNA and I’m half him so it’s easy to break inside. All it takes is laying my hand against the door. There’s a moment as the car analyses, and the door lifts, allowing me to slide into the driver’s seat. I toss the still-sealed letter onto the passenger seat.
There’s no need to open it. I know what it is.
The car’s ignition can either be started with fingerprint recognition or overridden by the key. I took the keys from the shelf while my mother wasn’t home earlier this morning.
I shift gears and press my ballet flats on the gas, not wasting any time. The odometer climbs higher as the car smoothly accelerates.
I pull out onto the main road and head for the highway, going well over the speed
limit. Let security try to track me down now.
The sensor in the corner of the car’s front mirror triggers our house’s gate, and it opens just in time for me to speed through. I keep my foot pressed into the floor and move along the road going faster and faster.
I glance in my rearview mirror.
Security doesn’t stand a chance!
My eyes connect back with the road.
Black SUVs block my path to the freeway – strategically placing their cars so it’s impossible to get past. My lungs constrict, forcing the air from my chest. Somehow they’re already one step ahead of me.
I grip the wheel.
I’m driving too fast.
My foot hits the brake.
Tires sear against the road.
Adrenaline spins around me as I brace the wheel keeping the car straight.
My knuckles tighten. I feel the road beneath me as if it’s slipping under my feet. The Aston slams to a stop, throwing me back against the seat as the wheels lock.
The first SUV is only inches in front of me. Relief fills me but is quickly erased by mounting frustration.
Grudgingly I rip off my seatbelt, stomping out of the car.
The sensor in the corner of the car’s front mirror triggers our house’s gate, and it opens just in time for me to speed through. I keep my foot pressed into the floor and move along the road going faster and faster.
I glance in my rearview mirror.
Security doesn’t stand a chance!
My eyes connect back with the road.
Black SUVs block my path to the freeway – strategically placing their cars so it’s impossible to get past. My lungs constrict, forcing the air from my chest. Somehow they’re already one step ahead of me.
I grip the wheel.
I’m driving too fast.
My foot hits the brake.
Tires sear against the road.
Adrenaline spins around me as I brace the wheel keeping the car straight.
My knuckles tighten. I feel the road beneath me as if it’s slipping under my feet. The Aston slams to a stop, throwing me back against the seat as the wheels lock.
The first SUV is only inches in front of me. Relief fills me but is quickly erased by mounting frustration.
Grudgingly I rip off my seatbelt, stomping out of the car.
Jeremy, head of my father’s security, stands at the front of the line. There are half
a dozen other members of security lounging against the cars as they wait for me to arrive.
They slink to a standing position once I storm toward Jeremy.
Jeremy’s lips are carved into a thin line. He looks like he’s expecting me to barrel into him and continue running down the road, “Did that scare you enough to get these insane ideas out of your system?”
“You could have made me crash!” I advance on him.
“Good thing you were paying attention then. You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep pulling these stunts,” Jeremy says, opening the backdoor of the SUV. I hand over the Aston’s keys and slide inside. The smell of the black leather reminds me of past trips to speeches and conventions. My father used to let me pick the music on the touch screen positioned in the side door panel. Anything I wanted, while my mother would chastise me for turning it too loud. But my father would just laugh and tell her to let me be a kid. I feel like a kid now more than ever, and it’s a hard reminder that I don’t make decisions.
Jeremy tosses the Aston’s keys of the security guards standing behind him. He’ll drive it back into the garage.
“Either I do it or the Revealed does,” I say as he slams the door, trapping me securely in the back.
Jeremy is about ten years older than me. A war vet that came to my family’s security a few years ago and quickly advanced to the head position. He keeps his dark hair short and holds himself stiffly, marching around doing his job, which means most of the time he’s sent to watch after me. It used to be almost a joke. I would see the challenge
Jeremy’s lips are carved into a thin line. He looks like he’s expecting me to barrel into him and continue running down the road, “Did that scare you enough to get these insane ideas out of your system?”
“You could have made me crash!” I advance on him.
“Good thing you were paying attention then. You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep pulling these stunts,” Jeremy says, opening the backdoor of the SUV. I hand over the Aston’s keys and slide inside. The smell of the black leather reminds me of past trips to speeches and conventions. My father used to let me pick the music on the touch screen positioned in the side door panel. Anything I wanted, while my mother would chastise me for turning it too loud. But my father would just laugh and tell her to let me be a kid. I feel like a kid now more than ever, and it’s a hard reminder that I don’t make decisions.
Jeremy tosses the Aston’s keys of the security guards standing behind him. He’ll drive it back into the garage.
“Either I do it or the Revealed does,” I say as he slams the door, trapping me securely in the back.
Jeremy is about ten years older than me. A war vet that came to my family’s security a few years ago and quickly advanced to the head position. He keeps his dark hair short and holds himself stiffly, marching around doing his job, which means most of the time he’s sent to watch after me. It used to be almost a joke. I would see the challenge
in his eyes, daring me to find a way to outsmart him. Now he just looks bored, tired of
my repetitive escapades.
My parents are rarely home these days. They don’t have time to supervise their eighteen-year-old only daughter.
“How did you know I left?” I ask.
“The cameras caught you taking the keys this morning,” Jeremy says. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then runs the fingers over his eyebrows. This is all business to him, and it’s been a long day on the job.
“Right,” I sigh and cross my arms over my chest.
From the front seat, Jeremy stares at me before he starts the car, “You know, you could try listening to your parents for once. They’re trying to save your life.”
“No one has ever been saved once the Revealed chose a target.”
“No one targeted has ever been the presidential nominee’s daughter before.”
I roll my eyes and look out the window so I don’t have to argue anymore. Not that
there’s much of a view, just trees and grass. Capitol City had giant cherry trees that grew once – thousands of them all with light pink flowers in place of leaves. My father used to take me to the park when we took our regularly trips to Washington. I would decorate my hair with the petals. People cut the trees down when the war first started. It was a message of isolationist action, my father always said. Not a very effective message. Now, there’s only monotone green.
The drive home is short – I’d made it less than a mile. I watch sullenly as Jeremy punches in the gate code, and the tall wrought iron bars split. That gate may be twisted into a pretty pattern, but the metal doesn’t fool anyone. It’s twice my height at least and
My parents are rarely home these days. They don’t have time to supervise their eighteen-year-old only daughter.
“How did you know I left?” I ask.
“The cameras caught you taking the keys this morning,” Jeremy says. He pinches the bridge of his nose and then runs the fingers over his eyebrows. This is all business to him, and it’s been a long day on the job.
“Right,” I sigh and cross my arms over my chest.
From the front seat, Jeremy stares at me before he starts the car, “You know, you could try listening to your parents for once. They’re trying to save your life.”
“No one has ever been saved once the Revealed chose a target.”
“No one targeted has ever been the presidential nominee’s daughter before.”
I roll my eyes and look out the window so I don’t have to argue anymore. Not that
there’s much of a view, just trees and grass. Capitol City had giant cherry trees that grew once – thousands of them all with light pink flowers in place of leaves. My father used to take me to the park when we took our regularly trips to Washington. I would decorate my hair with the petals. People cut the trees down when the war first started. It was a message of isolationist action, my father always said. Not a very effective message. Now, there’s only monotone green.
The drive home is short – I’d made it less than a mile. I watch sullenly as Jeremy punches in the gate code, and the tall wrought iron bars split. That gate may be twisted into a pretty pattern, but the metal doesn’t fool anyone. It’s twice my height at least and
equipped with a camera and security alarm. Once that gate is closed, no one is getting
past. I’m not sure if it’s to keep the Revealed out or keep me in.
Jeremy waves to the guards on duty at the entrance station as the car passes through.
Our house is laid out on thirty acres. The gate continues all around the property. Cameras are positioned at every entrance and more dot the landscape like décor. There is always someone in the control room watching the footage.
This house was built after the war and is more like a castle than a home. It was built specifically for my father with over twenty rooms, four kitchens, fifteen and a half bathrooms, a ballroom, two pools, and a guest house around the side of the property where Jeremy lives, one of the perks of being head of my father’s security team.
This isn’t home to me. My home was back in our small three-bedroom house in Oro Valley, Arizona where I was born. I loved that house.
It was the last time I felt at home.
We moved shortly after my father was elected to the senate when I was eight. I know it’s selfish of me to be ungrateful for this mansion. Selfish of me
considering the vast majority of the population now works in the factories living in studio apartments – struggling day to day and unable to make ends meet. I know nothing of the twelve-hour days. I look at my ballet flats and picture them covered in tar. Even the thought of the thick, burnt scent makes me turn up my nose. My house was built on the opposite end of town from the factories on purpose.
I should be grateful, but this house is too big and spread out to really feel like only three people occupy it. My mother hired a personal decorator, of course, and most of the
Jeremy waves to the guards on duty at the entrance station as the car passes through.
Our house is laid out on thirty acres. The gate continues all around the property. Cameras are positioned at every entrance and more dot the landscape like décor. There is always someone in the control room watching the footage.
This house was built after the war and is more like a castle than a home. It was built specifically for my father with over twenty rooms, four kitchens, fifteen and a half bathrooms, a ballroom, two pools, and a guest house around the side of the property where Jeremy lives, one of the perks of being head of my father’s security team.
This isn’t home to me. My home was back in our small three-bedroom house in Oro Valley, Arizona where I was born. I loved that house.
It was the last time I felt at home.
We moved shortly after my father was elected to the senate when I was eight. I know it’s selfish of me to be ungrateful for this mansion. Selfish of me
considering the vast majority of the population now works in the factories living in studio apartments – struggling day to day and unable to make ends meet. I know nothing of the twelve-hour days. I look at my ballet flats and picture them covered in tar. Even the thought of the thick, burnt scent makes me turn up my nose. My house was built on the opposite end of town from the factories on purpose.
I should be grateful, but this house is too big and spread out to really feel like only three people occupy it. My mother hired a personal decorator, of course, and most of the
rooms are kept impersonalized and bland with ruffles and silk to hide the fact that no one
ever uses them.
Jeremy escorts me through the door, catching my arm as I trip over one of the chair deliveries.
I walk inside and ignore my mother fuming in the entry. Her eyes burn but her face is twisted smooth. She wouldn’t want to cause any brow lines.
Men move around me, bringing towering flower arrangements through the door behind me, “Just put them over there,” she waves to the ballroom entrance. I duck past her, hoping the deliveries will distract her.
I hear the click of her heels as she marches after me. “Just what do you think you were doing taking your father’s car like that?” She’s holding a shuffle of papers but has decided my escape attempt warrants an interruption from her party planning.
I respond by handing over the unopened, black letter I’m holding, “This is what I was thinking.” With that, I continue up the stairs to my room. My mother follows me, but I don’t turn around, not stopping until the end of my room. The entire wall is glass including the doors. Outside is my balcony. The piece of tape still hangs on the pane where I found the note. It was fixed so anyone would have to notice it.
It isn’t the first I’ve received. In fact, I’m starting to build quite a collection of them.
I turn around and see my mother staring down at the note. Her face is pale.
On the back of the envelope, just under the seal is a small, silver symbol. It’s an open circle that continues around and up with one swift line to create a lick of flame at the top. The circle is dashed through with two lines, slicing the circle into four pieces.
Jeremy escorts me through the door, catching my arm as I trip over one of the chair deliveries.
I walk inside and ignore my mother fuming in the entry. Her eyes burn but her face is twisted smooth. She wouldn’t want to cause any brow lines.
Men move around me, bringing towering flower arrangements through the door behind me, “Just put them over there,” she waves to the ballroom entrance. I duck past her, hoping the deliveries will distract her.
I hear the click of her heels as she marches after me. “Just what do you think you were doing taking your father’s car like that?” She’s holding a shuffle of papers but has decided my escape attempt warrants an interruption from her party planning.
I respond by handing over the unopened, black letter I’m holding, “This is what I was thinking.” With that, I continue up the stairs to my room. My mother follows me, but I don’t turn around, not stopping until the end of my room. The entire wall is glass including the doors. Outside is my balcony. The piece of tape still hangs on the pane where I found the note. It was fixed so anyone would have to notice it.
It isn’t the first I’ve received. In fact, I’m starting to build quite a collection of them.
I turn around and see my mother staring down at the note. Her face is pale.
On the back of the envelope, just under the seal is a small, silver symbol. It’s an open circle that continues around and up with one swift line to create a lick of flame at the top. The circle is dashed through with two lines, slicing the circle into four pieces.
Soon
One word written in bold silver letters in the middle of the note. No name. A name isn’t necessary. We both know who sent the letter.
My mother is beautiful – tall and slender with fair skin, bright blue eyes and deep chestnut hair that matches my own. She has this observant look behind her gaze. She never misses a beat – though I really wished she would, at least occasionally. She scans over the letter, and I can see the fear transform her face.
“Keeping me locked in this house won’t keep me safe,” I tell her, leaving the room if only to escape her terse gaze.
The letter is from the Revealed. The notes started arriving four months ago on my eighteenth birthday. They are taunting me with their warnings. It’s all a game to them, and posting these letters is the way they prove they already won.
It doesn’t matter that my parents live on gated thirty acres, with security patrolling 24 hours a day. Forget the security system that sends an alert every time a window is so much as tapped or a door nudged. The cameras around the premise shouldn’t even be wasting electricity because they never catch anything on video that’s useful. They’ve vetted everyone who works for us so many times, it’s become a monthly routine.
No, the Revealed slip through every time, and yet I’m still ordered to stay locked inside this house for my apparent safety.
No one can keep me safe.
The kidnappings started only a few years after the war ended and have continued for the past five years. There are over four hundred missing now. All of them eighteen
One word written in bold silver letters in the middle of the note. No name. A name isn’t necessary. We both know who sent the letter.
My mother is beautiful – tall and slender with fair skin, bright blue eyes and deep chestnut hair that matches my own. She has this observant look behind her gaze. She never misses a beat – though I really wished she would, at least occasionally. She scans over the letter, and I can see the fear transform her face.
“Keeping me locked in this house won’t keep me safe,” I tell her, leaving the room if only to escape her terse gaze.
The letter is from the Revealed. The notes started arriving four months ago on my eighteenth birthday. They are taunting me with their warnings. It’s all a game to them, and posting these letters is the way they prove they already won.
It doesn’t matter that my parents live on gated thirty acres, with security patrolling 24 hours a day. Forget the security system that sends an alert every time a window is so much as tapped or a door nudged. The cameras around the premise shouldn’t even be wasting electricity because they never catch anything on video that’s useful. They’ve vetted everyone who works for us so many times, it’s become a monthly routine.
No, the Revealed slip through every time, and yet I’m still ordered to stay locked inside this house for my apparent safety.
No one can keep me safe.
The kidnappings started only a few years after the war ended and have continued for the past five years. There are over four hundred missing now. All of them eighteen
when they were taken and none of them ever seen again. They’re called the Taken
Eighteen. No one knows why the Revealed are kidnapping teens, only that once the teens
are gone they don’t come back. There’s something weird about the organization too.
They have these ability – these ways of making things happen that no one can explain.
They’re able to make trees fall and lights flicker out. That’s why they call themselves the
Revealed. Because they have some insight and understanding of how the world works
that no one else does. They’re able to tap into this somehow and abuse it to ruin the
harmony our new nation is creating.
A lot of people think the Taken Eighteen are dead. It’s a good possibility. What would an organization of any kind be doing with four hundred teenagers? Parents say having one is hard enough.
I think there’s more to it than just a killing spree. The Revealed are too smart. There’s some higher aim here than just slaughtering innocent people. They just have yet to clue the rest of in to their motives.
But what do I know?
Not much it seems because everyone around me is intent on telling me how to run my life. Since turning eighteen, I haven’t really been allowed to leave the house. My parents have tutors that come to keep me occupied throughout the day. My schedule is strict. My parents are one of the “lucky” couples that are rich enough to justify locking their daughter indoors for a year. Between our mansion-sized house and my father’s reputation it’s expected. Most parents with eighteen-year-olds view them as a prime labor force and send them to the factories out of sheer desperation.
A lot of people think the Taken Eighteen are dead. It’s a good possibility. What would an organization of any kind be doing with four hundred teenagers? Parents say having one is hard enough.
I think there’s more to it than just a killing spree. The Revealed are too smart. There’s some higher aim here than just slaughtering innocent people. They just have yet to clue the rest of in to their motives.
But what do I know?
Not much it seems because everyone around me is intent on telling me how to run my life. Since turning eighteen, I haven’t really been allowed to leave the house. My parents have tutors that come to keep me occupied throughout the day. My schedule is strict. My parents are one of the “lucky” couples that are rich enough to justify locking their daughter indoors for a year. Between our mansion-sized house and my father’s reputation it’s expected. Most parents with eighteen-year-olds view them as a prime labor force and send them to the factories out of sheer desperation.
My father wants to see this changed. I mean, so does the rest of the world, but he
seems to be the only one with a vision and the right amount of charisma to carry the idea.
It’s why he’s a good politician. He has been vital during the reconstruction process
following the war. His military background makes him the perfect candidate to step up to
the plate in the country’s time of crisis. He’s big on reorganizing the states and allowing
them to keep their democratic rights. People like hearing that in a time where everything
they own– including their liberty – is at stake.
We’ve been reduced to the trembling sliver of colonies that was our nation’s beginning. The line between the wastelands starts just east of the line between Louisiana and Texas. It extends north, slicing between Tennessee and Kentucky, snaking up through the middle of Ohio and ending in the center of New York. Everything west of the line is uninhabited. Sure there are rumors that some drifters float past the line never to be seen again. But the attacks came from the west, and pushed farther and farther inland until the east coast was all that was left of the great nation.
Again, I was lucky. When the attacks began my father was on congressional business in D.C., and he’d carted my mother and I along like usual. If we’d been at our home in Arizona, we wouldn’t have survived the first attack.
Now my father is running for president – asking these newly reformed little areas along the east coast to vote for him in the first election since the war.
It’s hard to believe that it’s already been eight years since that day when the ground came alive and the sky fell. Today, the clear blue skies over my house mingled with wispy clouds are a sight I thought I’d never see again. For months after the war it was a pitiful shade of gray. It was like being trapped in limbo, full of uncertainty. Either
We’ve been reduced to the trembling sliver of colonies that was our nation’s beginning. The line between the wastelands starts just east of the line between Louisiana and Texas. It extends north, slicing between Tennessee and Kentucky, snaking up through the middle of Ohio and ending in the center of New York. Everything west of the line is uninhabited. Sure there are rumors that some drifters float past the line never to be seen again. But the attacks came from the west, and pushed farther and farther inland until the east coast was all that was left of the great nation.
Again, I was lucky. When the attacks began my father was on congressional business in D.C., and he’d carted my mother and I along like usual. If we’d been at our home in Arizona, we wouldn’t have survived the first attack.
Now my father is running for president – asking these newly reformed little areas along the east coast to vote for him in the first election since the war.
It’s hard to believe that it’s already been eight years since that day when the ground came alive and the sky fell. Today, the clear blue skies over my house mingled with wispy clouds are a sight I thought I’d never see again. For months after the war it was a pitiful shade of gray. It was like being trapped in limbo, full of uncertainty. Either
humanity would crumble or we would find a way to pick up the pieces. That gray sky
hung over our heads, pushing down on us, taunting us with the helplessness we
experienced caught up in the chaos.
During the war, no place was safe. My parents had considered sending me to Barcelona or Stockholm. They had trusted friends in both places. Good thing they didn’t. There wasn’t a country on this planet that walked away unscathed. D.C. was considered a high threat for violence, but my father refused to leave. He said he had a duty to protect his country. He wouldn’t abandon it in its time of need.
When the war ended, Americans were scattered. People had become nomads. There were always rumors of hope in certain areas that were free from bombs. People would evacuate on foot with dreams of finding a safe paradise.
Slowly, as it became real that the destruction was over, people began to set roots again. Cities attracted people. D.C. is now the most populated of them all. So much so that the previous infrastructure couldn’t support the masses. Apartments were raised, stacked like Legos on top of one another until they towered in the sky. Even from the outside they looked cramped and cumbersome. But at least most everyone has a bed.
No one – least of all my father – knows what to expect with this election. All he has is hope and a bucket of dreams on his side. His opponent, a man named Roderick Westerfield, has radical beliefs. Only votes will tell which one is better.
I walk onto the veranda and breathe fresh air, ignoring the men installing chandelier lights draped across the overhang.
Immediately two security guards close in, their eyes trained on every move I make.
During the war, no place was safe. My parents had considered sending me to Barcelona or Stockholm. They had trusted friends in both places. Good thing they didn’t. There wasn’t a country on this planet that walked away unscathed. D.C. was considered a high threat for violence, but my father refused to leave. He said he had a duty to protect his country. He wouldn’t abandon it in its time of need.
When the war ended, Americans were scattered. People had become nomads. There were always rumors of hope in certain areas that were free from bombs. People would evacuate on foot with dreams of finding a safe paradise.
Slowly, as it became real that the destruction was over, people began to set roots again. Cities attracted people. D.C. is now the most populated of them all. So much so that the previous infrastructure couldn’t support the masses. Apartments were raised, stacked like Legos on top of one another until they towered in the sky. Even from the outside they looked cramped and cumbersome. But at least most everyone has a bed.
No one – least of all my father – knows what to expect with this election. All he has is hope and a bucket of dreams on his side. His opponent, a man named Roderick Westerfield, has radical beliefs. Only votes will tell which one is better.
I walk onto the veranda and breathe fresh air, ignoring the men installing chandelier lights draped across the overhang.
Immediately two security guards close in, their eyes trained on every move I make.
“Don’t worry guys,” I say, “I’m not going to leave the house. I just need some
air.”
I’m under house arrest until my birthday next year or the Revealed come to take me. I’m guessing the Revealed. With all the inky black notes I’ve been receiving, my odds don’t look good of making it to nineteen. But I’ve accepted it. Come to terms with the prospect unlike most of my peers. It isn’t like I’m really doing much living here anyways.
I lean over the railing on the porch and take a deep breath.
“Lilith?” my mother calls.
I hate when anyone – but especially my mother – calls me that. It’s Lily to
everyone else. Always Lily.
I clench my teeth, “Yes?”
“Mr. Shieh is here for your reading lesson,” she says, her voice carrying to my room from downstairs.
I grab my copy of Wuthering Heights from the dining room table and head to meet my tutor in my father’s study, spending my afternoon rotating between instructors. It isn’t exactly a typical day though. And not just because I stole my father’s car this morning. The house is buzzing with life. It’s why I chose today to attempt to leave. I thought maybe the cameras would miss me slipping out in the midst of the commotion.
Only two days from now, my family is hosting a celebration at our estate to honor the anniversary of the war and recognize and appreciate our progress as a nation since that moment. At least, that’s how the invitation reads. While August 2nd is in fact the anniversary of the war ending, it also means there are only about three months before the
I’m under house arrest until my birthday next year or the Revealed come to take me. I’m guessing the Revealed. With all the inky black notes I’ve been receiving, my odds don’t look good of making it to nineteen. But I’ve accepted it. Come to terms with the prospect unlike most of my peers. It isn’t like I’m really doing much living here anyways.
I lean over the railing on the porch and take a deep breath.
“Lilith?” my mother calls.
I hate when anyone – but especially my mother – calls me that. It’s Lily to
everyone else. Always Lily.
I clench my teeth, “Yes?”
“Mr. Shieh is here for your reading lesson,” she says, her voice carrying to my room from downstairs.
I grab my copy of Wuthering Heights from the dining room table and head to meet my tutor in my father’s study, spending my afternoon rotating between instructors. It isn’t exactly a typical day though. And not just because I stole my father’s car this morning. The house is buzzing with life. It’s why I chose today to attempt to leave. I thought maybe the cameras would miss me slipping out in the midst of the commotion.
Only two days from now, my family is hosting a celebration at our estate to honor the anniversary of the war and recognize and appreciate our progress as a nation since that moment. At least, that’s how the invitation reads. While August 2nd is in fact the anniversary of the war ending, it also means there are only about three months before the
election. It’s a win-win situation. My father hosts the party, and gains support and
positive press all in one night.
Crew workers are in and out hanging lights. Delivery personnel bring in flower arrangements. Chairs and tables are ushered in.
My father is out of the state on the campaign trail until the night of the celebration. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. The election keeps him busy and the only reason to be excited for this event is because it means he’s coming home. This house always feel better when my dad’s home. He asks my opinion about his campaign. He wants me to edit his speeches. He cares about what I think. He’s the only one who seems to care about my opinions. My mother just wants me to shut up and look like a lady. She’s always worried I’ll embarrass her.
After my lessons, I walk up and watch over the railing as my mother marshals the press around her arms gesturing like a conductor in graceful, fluid motions. She’s allowing them to cover all the setup activity to give audiences just a taste of what attendees at this spectacular event can expect.
She walks them into the ballroom, which is on the left side of the house. It’s a breath-taking room with gold fixtures and Italian tiles in a deep rustic design. It’s two stories. The second floor is open so guests above can look down on the dance floor and orchestra. Large Grecian-style beams support the second floor balcony and decorate the room, providing a gazebo setting indoors.
“And over here is where the orchestra will play,” she waves to the corner, “It’s the local symphony and they are absolutely marvelous. Over on the other side we’ll have you, the press, stationed for interviews. An open bar will be offered near the kitchen over
Crew workers are in and out hanging lights. Delivery personnel bring in flower arrangements. Chairs and tables are ushered in.
My father is out of the state on the campaign trail until the night of the celebration. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. The election keeps him busy and the only reason to be excited for this event is because it means he’s coming home. This house always feel better when my dad’s home. He asks my opinion about his campaign. He wants me to edit his speeches. He cares about what I think. He’s the only one who seems to care about my opinions. My mother just wants me to shut up and look like a lady. She’s always worried I’ll embarrass her.
After my lessons, I walk up and watch over the railing as my mother marshals the press around her arms gesturing like a conductor in graceful, fluid motions. She’s allowing them to cover all the setup activity to give audiences just a taste of what attendees at this spectacular event can expect.
She walks them into the ballroom, which is on the left side of the house. It’s a breath-taking room with gold fixtures and Italian tiles in a deep rustic design. It’s two stories. The second floor is open so guests above can look down on the dance floor and orchestra. Large Grecian-style beams support the second floor balcony and decorate the room, providing a gazebo setting indoors.
“And over here is where the orchestra will play,” she waves to the corner, “It’s the local symphony and they are absolutely marvelous. Over on the other side we’ll have you, the press, stationed for interviews. An open bar will be offered near the kitchen over
here. We all know how politicians get when champagne is offered,” my mother laughs
lightly, bringing her hand daintily to her chest, “I’m kidding of course.”
The reporters chuckle along with her, passing each other looks like isn’t she just the greatest?
One reporter shoves out her phone, which she’s using as a recorder, “Can you tell us what the campaign’s been like for your family? Has it been trying?”
My mother smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s annoyed at the reporter’s too-eager stance. Must be someone new.
“Of course it has its moments,” she smiles, “but what job doesn’t? My husband and I have devoted our lives to serving our country. It’s all we know how to do, and we wouldn’t want anything else.” She goes in for the kill, “We know the nation feels the same.”
The journalists all nod in agreement. They are an elite group of nationally syndicated reporters chosen for this tour. They will all repay the favor by talking graciously about my family. Not that they don’t normally anyway. My father led the efforts to make television media possible again. These reporters all owe him their jobs. Jobs like theirs are considered rare and luxurious in this current world. They won’t soon forget his work on their behalf.
My mother even takes them outside and leads them around the landscaping. She shows them the rows of plush chairs being stationed where the fireworks show will close out the evening. She then shepherds them to the front door and says goodbye.
Her mousy event planner, Charlotte, walks into the room as soon as the media are gone to check the attendance list. My mother holds out a hand. Charlotte purses her lips
The reporters chuckle along with her, passing each other looks like isn’t she just the greatest?
One reporter shoves out her phone, which she’s using as a recorder, “Can you tell us what the campaign’s been like for your family? Has it been trying?”
My mother smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s annoyed at the reporter’s too-eager stance. Must be someone new.
“Of course it has its moments,” she smiles, “but what job doesn’t? My husband and I have devoted our lives to serving our country. It’s all we know how to do, and we wouldn’t want anything else.” She goes in for the kill, “We know the nation feels the same.”
The journalists all nod in agreement. They are an elite group of nationally syndicated reporters chosen for this tour. They will all repay the favor by talking graciously about my family. Not that they don’t normally anyway. My father led the efforts to make television media possible again. These reporters all owe him their jobs. Jobs like theirs are considered rare and luxurious in this current world. They won’t soon forget his work on their behalf.
My mother even takes them outside and leads them around the landscaping. She shows them the rows of plush chairs being stationed where the fireworks show will close out the evening. She then shepherds them to the front door and says goodbye.
Her mousy event planner, Charlotte, walks into the room as soon as the media are gone to check the attendance list. My mother holds out a hand. Charlotte purses her lips
hurriedly and nervously scrambling. She hands my mother the list of formal, sealed
envelopes. They look like fancy wedding invitations. My mother sighs easily and paces
slowly across the floor. Charlotte follows closely behind. The soft click of my mother’s
heels echo around the foyer.
“Rogers?”
Charlotte scans over the list of papers she holds, “He has confirmed.” “Hayes?”
“She is also confirmed.”
“Jacobson?”
Pause.
“He’s not on the list,” Charlotte waits behind my mother.
My mother’s eyes narrow in thought for a moment before she comes to a
conclusion, “Don’t follow up,” she shrugs, “If he doesn’t attend, it won’t hurt the campaign. No one will miss him. But make sure Congressman Baumer is on that list. She will bring a lot of support if she has Mark’s back. I want to ensure her endorsement.” The pique of a smile hits the corner of my mother’s mouth with her confidence.
“Yes ma’am,” Charlotte makes a note on her list and then hurriedly leaves the room with her task at hand.
My mother turns to me and her calm expression drops. She is still perturbed about the incident this morning, “Lily, would you mind going into the kitchen to see if they are on track with the menu?”
“Sure,” I don’t even try to hide the excitement in my voice at the assignment. I move down the stairs and walk through the foyer to the end of the hallway on the left.
“Rogers?”
Charlotte scans over the list of papers she holds, “He has confirmed.” “Hayes?”
“She is also confirmed.”
“Jacobson?”
Pause.
“He’s not on the list,” Charlotte waits behind my mother.
My mother’s eyes narrow in thought for a moment before she comes to a
conclusion, “Don’t follow up,” she shrugs, “If he doesn’t attend, it won’t hurt the campaign. No one will miss him. But make sure Congressman Baumer is on that list. She will bring a lot of support if she has Mark’s back. I want to ensure her endorsement.” The pique of a smile hits the corner of my mother’s mouth with her confidence.
“Yes ma’am,” Charlotte makes a note on her list and then hurriedly leaves the room with her task at hand.
My mother turns to me and her calm expression drops. She is still perturbed about the incident this morning, “Lily, would you mind going into the kitchen to see if they are on track with the menu?”
“Sure,” I don’t even try to hide the excitement in my voice at the assignment. I move down the stairs and walk through the foyer to the end of the hallway on the left.
The kitchen isn’t a normal house kitchen. It’s a restaurant style bigger than most
people’s houses. It’s complete with a walk-in freezer, a cooking line, a personal head
chef and staff on duty seven days a week. Not just one refrigerator but a wall of them,
stoves large enough to cook for thousands and every other appliance known to man.
I spend a lot of time here. It’s a good way to stay busy – learning all the techniques while I’m forced to stay inside. The head chef’s name is Ilan Levy. He studied with the best in both France and Italy for years before coming back to the states. His caliber is rare to find after the war and my mother quickly took advantage of his talent and hired him.
I walk through the doors and almost collide with a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
“Lily!” Rory’s face lights up. She’s an intern in the kitchen. She swings the tray down and turns to me, “Here to get your hands dirty?” She always keeps her long blond hair fastened back in a ponytail. The lush curls fall across her shoulder. Rory is a tomboy to the core. I’ve always found her perfect curls to be deceiving. Her sharp brown eyes confirm the fire she holds just under the surface.
“My mother sent me to check on the status of the preparations for the party.” “Well wash your hands. We have some plates you can help me decorate.” “Really? Okay,” I smile, moving to the sink.
“Please,” Rory begins moving plates off the tray, “You’re a better decorator than I
am babe. Well – almost,” she smirks.
Rory is my age. She turned eighteen about six months before me, but she has to
work and doesn’t have the means to attempt to protect herself against the Revealed. She lost both her parents in the war. She’s one of the lucky ones though. She found a way to
I spend a lot of time here. It’s a good way to stay busy – learning all the techniques while I’m forced to stay inside. The head chef’s name is Ilan Levy. He studied with the best in both France and Italy for years before coming back to the states. His caliber is rare to find after the war and my mother quickly took advantage of his talent and hired him.
I walk through the doors and almost collide with a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
“Lily!” Rory’s face lights up. She’s an intern in the kitchen. She swings the tray down and turns to me, “Here to get your hands dirty?” She always keeps her long blond hair fastened back in a ponytail. The lush curls fall across her shoulder. Rory is a tomboy to the core. I’ve always found her perfect curls to be deceiving. Her sharp brown eyes confirm the fire she holds just under the surface.
“My mother sent me to check on the status of the preparations for the party.” “Well wash your hands. We have some plates you can help me decorate.” “Really? Okay,” I smile, moving to the sink.
“Please,” Rory begins moving plates off the tray, “You’re a better decorator than I
am babe. Well – almost,” she smirks.
Rory is my age. She turned eighteen about six months before me, but she has to
work and doesn’t have the means to attempt to protect herself against the Revealed. She lost both her parents in the war. She’s one of the lucky ones though. She found a way to
pursue her cooking passion, avoiding factory work. It isn’t easy living, but my father is
planning on seeing a lot of changes made during his term. He wants to bring the nation
back to what it once was – a land of promise.
Rory and I have grown close in the few months she’s worked here. I count her as one of my best friends – really she’s one of my only friends. When you aren’t allowed out of your house it’s hard to keep communication with others. My classmates have moved on. The rich ones are planning for college from their own homes while they’re eighteen like me. The others are hunting for jobs. I’m the only one waiting to become a Taken Eighteen. No one else I know has received black letters.
Rory and I have grown close in the few months she’s worked here. I count her as one of my best friends – really she’s one of my only friends. When you aren’t allowed out of your house it’s hard to keep communication with others. My classmates have moved on. The rich ones are planning for college from their own homes while they’re eighteen like me. The others are hunting for jobs. I’m the only one waiting to become a Taken Eighteen. No one else I know has received black letters.
My parents make sure I keep up with my schooling even during the war. They
said it was vital to maintain educational advancements. In fact, it’s one of my father’s
campaign messages.
After the war, when schools started forming again, I was sent to an elite preparatory school with other politician’s children and wealthy community members. I miss school. My parents let me finish out my semester in December with the
of my classmates. But because my birthday was that April, they began homeschooling January. I’ve been at home ever since. My escape attempt this morning was my first earnest defiance of my parent’s rules, though I’ve voiced my complaints regularly.
After the war, when schools started forming again, I was sent to an elite preparatory school with other politician’s children and wealthy community members. I miss school. My parents let me finish out my semester in December with the
of my classmates. But because my birthday was that April, they began homeschooling January. I’ve been at home ever since. My escape attempt this morning was my first earnest defiance of my parent’s rules, though I’ve voiced my complaints regularly.
key
rest
rest
Rory hands me a decorating bag with a lemon pepper mousse inside, which I
begin swirling over the salmon and dill bruschetta. Rory has a bag of her own and works
on the other side of the table on a shrimp dish.
“So anything exciting happen lately?” she asks.
“Well, I stole my father’s car this morning and tried to make it to the highway.”
“So anything exciting happen lately?” she asks.
“Well, I stole my father’s car this morning and tried to make it to the highway.”
“What?” Rory’s hand tightens and the pesto she is plating smooshes across the
plate, ruining the dish. She sets down the bag, “Lily, you did not.” She bites her bottom
lip and squeals. “You’ve been talking about trying something like that for months. I can’t
believe you actually did it!”
“I know, I know,” I shake my head, not believing it either.
“If you’re going to try and run at least give me a heads up. I’ll meet you somewhere. We can do all those things you want to do – go out to a club, go shopping at a real mall,” she pauses. “Well, I mean, you can shop, I’ll just tag along and pretend I have money to burn.”
“Yeah right, like my parents give me money,” I say.
“But you know where they hide it,” she replies swirling a spoon in the pesto, tasting it.
That’s true. But I didn’t know if I’d ever have the guts to take it. My parents gave me the code on their safe for emergencies only. Still, the idea was tempting.
“Ooh,” Rory says suddenly, an idea lighting across her crystal eyes, “We could go to the college,” the fantasy forms in her mind. “You would love the colleges. So many boys and all of them are rich and sexy.”
“Do they all have to be rich?” I scrunch my face at her.
She shrugs, “Not all of us can have the future president for a father. We have to hope we marry the future president.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking,” I promise.
“So where were you planning on running without me?” she asks, slightly pouting.
“I know, I know,” I shake my head, not believing it either.
“If you’re going to try and run at least give me a heads up. I’ll meet you somewhere. We can do all those things you want to do – go out to a club, go shopping at a real mall,” she pauses. “Well, I mean, you can shop, I’ll just tag along and pretend I have money to burn.”
“Yeah right, like my parents give me money,” I say.
“But you know where they hide it,” she replies swirling a spoon in the pesto, tasting it.
That’s true. But I didn’t know if I’d ever have the guts to take it. My parents gave me the code on their safe for emergencies only. Still, the idea was tempting.
“Ooh,” Rory says suddenly, an idea lighting across her crystal eyes, “We could go to the college,” the fantasy forms in her mind. “You would love the colleges. So many boys and all of them are rich and sexy.”
“Do they all have to be rich?” I scrunch my face at her.
She shrugs, “Not all of us can have the future president for a father. We have to hope we marry the future president.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking,” I promise.
“So where were you planning on running without me?” she asks, slightly pouting.
I shrug. “Maybe the lake? I’m just tired of it all,” I sigh. “I got another note. It
was taped to my bedroom window. I saw it and just lost it a little bit. Staying inside isn’t
keeping me safe. If anything it’s like a red flag letting the Revealed know exactly where I
am. It’s not like I wouldn’t have come back,” I shrug, “I just wanted to get out for a little
bit. I at least think I deserve to see some of the world before the Revealed take me.”
“Stop it,” she throws out her hand at me across the table, connecting lightly with my shoulder, “Don’t say that.”
But it’s true.
I’m ready to change topics.
“So how about you?” I ask her, “How’s it going with Coltan?”
“Ugh,” she scrunches her face, “Over it. We were watching a movie the other
night, and I fell asleep, which wouldn’t have been too bad, but I woke up to him trying to shove his tongue down my throat. He totally started trying to kiss me while I was sleeping! It was weird.”
I laugh – more at her expressions than the story – as I pick up my bag again and begin working around the plates.
“No, but I met this new guy last week at this restaurant I went to,” she says, “And he asked for my number so maybe that’ll turn into something. He was cute. But there was also this other guy on Friday. I went to that new club Frost which is great for meeting people I discovered,” she considers that for a moment, “Meh,” she shrugs, “I’ve got options.”
“Stop it,” she throws out her hand at me across the table, connecting lightly with my shoulder, “Don’t say that.”
But it’s true.
I’m ready to change topics.
“So how about you?” I ask her, “How’s it going with Coltan?”
“Ugh,” she scrunches her face, “Over it. We were watching a movie the other
night, and I fell asleep, which wouldn’t have been too bad, but I woke up to him trying to shove his tongue down my throat. He totally started trying to kiss me while I was sleeping! It was weird.”
I laugh – more at her expressions than the story – as I pick up my bag again and begin working around the plates.
“No, but I met this new guy last week at this restaurant I went to,” she says, “And he asked for my number so maybe that’ll turn into something. He was cute. But there was also this other guy on Friday. I went to that new club Frost which is great for meeting people I discovered,” she considers that for a moment, “Meh,” she shrugs, “I’ve got options.”
“I’m jealous,” I admit. Tristan Oliver had once kissed me on the lips when I was
thirteen as a dare. That was the extent of my love life. Having a father running for
president is a deterrent enough. Being locked in my own home seals the deal.
“You’ve only got eight more months of this staying inside crap and then I’ll take you out!” Rory promises. She is a wild child at heart. “The second you turn nineteen!”
“Done,” I grin.
“What are you two doing?” Ilan says around his beard. He’s holding a large tray, balancing it on his bulging belly, and shuffles around to the refrigerator, “Rory are you getting Lily into trouble again?”
“Always!” she sings, adding another dollop of pesto to the top of the shrimp skewers.
Ilan drops the tray and comes to inspect our work. He rolls up his sleeves, displaying arms covered in tattoos from the war and before. He places his hands on his hips, red face peering at our plates.
“Lily, I should hire you on as part of the staff,” Ilan admires my appetizer through keen brown eyes. The bright yellow lemon pepper sauce dots the tray in an intricate pattern. “At least while you’re stuck in here.”
“Why so my parents can pay me, chef?”
“Well, someone should,” he grabs one of the metal pans off the rack. “Although with you two talking so much in here, your speed is lacking. We only have about 34 hours before all this has to be ready to serve. I’ve barely started on the entrées. Rory as soon as you’re done with those shrimp make sure they’re back being cooled.”
“Of course chef,” she nods.
“You’ve only got eight more months of this staying inside crap and then I’ll take you out!” Rory promises. She is a wild child at heart. “The second you turn nineteen!”
“Done,” I grin.
“What are you two doing?” Ilan says around his beard. He’s holding a large tray, balancing it on his bulging belly, and shuffles around to the refrigerator, “Rory are you getting Lily into trouble again?”
“Always!” she sings, adding another dollop of pesto to the top of the shrimp skewers.
Ilan drops the tray and comes to inspect our work. He rolls up his sleeves, displaying arms covered in tattoos from the war and before. He places his hands on his hips, red face peering at our plates.
“Lily, I should hire you on as part of the staff,” Ilan admires my appetizer through keen brown eyes. The bright yellow lemon pepper sauce dots the tray in an intricate pattern. “At least while you’re stuck in here.”
“Why so my parents can pay me, chef?”
“Well, someone should,” he grabs one of the metal pans off the rack. “Although with you two talking so much in here, your speed is lacking. We only have about 34 hours before all this has to be ready to serve. I’ve barely started on the entrées. Rory as soon as you’re done with those shrimp make sure they’re back being cooled.”
“Of course chef,” she nods.
My mother walks through the door, “Lilith,” she looks at me expectantly, “What’s
going on? I thought you were going to come back and tell me how things were going.”
“They’re great!” I hold up the decorating bag.
“Yes, well, come on,” she motions for me with her hand, “We don’t have time for that. You have your final dress fitting.”
My lips curl down.
Rory laughs, “I’ll go if you want.”
“Wish I could trade you,” I say but follow after my mother.
“They’re great!” I hold up the decorating bag.
“Yes, well, come on,” she motions for me with her hand, “We don’t have time for that. You have your final dress fitting.”
My lips curl down.
Rory laughs, “I’ll go if you want.”
“Wish I could trade you,” I say but follow after my mother.
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