Page 12 of The Art of Exiley

It’s difficult to swallow past the tightness in my throat. “Look, Michael, or whatever your real name is—”

“My name is Michael. I haven’t lied to you about anything.”

That makes one of us.

“Well, you failed to mention that you’re from some secret society looking to recruit me,” I say bitterly.

“I didn’t realize it was relevant.” He stands. “I had no idea you were a Sire. That was completely coincidental. We got a tip that there was a Sire in the area, but I thought it was the pianist—”

“Then why did you ask me out?” I ask, twirling to face him. This suddenly matters very much. Was it all an act? Did he know I was aSireall along?

“Because I thought you were… cool!” His puppy-dog eyes are annoyingly sexy.

“But you would have disappeared, and we would never have seen each other again.” I don’t know why I’m so upset. But if I’m going to try to play the part to find out more about these people, I need to know who I’m dealing with. I need to know if he’s the kind of guy who would use seduction to manipulate me or if our meeting truly was a freak coincidence.

“That’s… I wasn’t overthinking it…. I didn’t realize how young—I mean, sometimes that’s normal, to go out and never see each other again.”

I blush at the implication of his words. “It wasn’t like that.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe not. But what about you? You’re going back to school in a few days. You knew it wouldn’t work out either.”

I mean, he has a point.

“Moving on.” He brushes the conversation away. “We’re in agreement. It was a mistake.”

Even though I am firmly in the “it was a mistake” camp, it still stings to hear him say it.

“Fine,” I snap, and I feel so childish.

“Look, Ada, what’s important is that you need to learn about your Sire genetics.”

“Yeah, well, if being a Sire is as normal as you say, then why isn’t it common knowledge?”

More than ten years of my own insecurities would really like to know the answer to this.

“Because in the provincial world, the manipulation of life force using Sire abilities was made illegal more than six hundred years ago. And many Sires have been recruited to join the Makers, limiting the gene pool. So abilities like yours have become rare in your world, or so latent that they never surface in any obvious way.”

Your world.

What ishisworld?

Growing up among the Families—but not as an initiate of the order—meant I heard a lot about the exilesbeforethey were exiled. Everything else was classified, and I’d been given only the barest sketch of the secret stuff in the rush to prepare me for this trip. I don’t even know whether what the Families think they know is accurate.

But I can be the one to find that out. That is, if I don’t completely bungle this.

Okay, irritatingly attractive recruiter, time for me to squeeze some information out of you.

“Fine,” I say. “Tell me about these Makers.”

I gingerly settle myself back on the edge of the bed feeling skittish, like a bird on a windowsill, unsure of what is glass and what is sky.

Michael swivels the desk chair to face me and sits. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Imagine a society devoted to advancing the world scientifically, artistically, and socially. Where everyone is committed to bringing more beauty to the world and eradicating the horrors of inequality and illness and ecological damage.”

I hear the passion in his voice, and I envy it.

“You’re describing a utopia.”

“Not quite, but as close to it as history has ever seen.”

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