“And Anna,” Martin continued, undaunted, “the same goes for you. A single new Friend, and your aunt Dita is free to live her life in peace.”

Mistletoe froze, still gripping Ambrose’s sleeve.

Martin reached down behind the plant and produced the end of a long yellow scarf, which he wound around his hand twice before trapping it in a fist. He pulled up and dragged a middle-aged woman to her feet. The scarf was wrapped around her neck so that it became a short, choking leash. Her breath rasped in and out as she clawed at her throat.

Mistletoe dropped Ambrose’s sleeve and ran to her. Martin yanked the leash and the woman stumbled backward.

Mistletoe stood helplessly. “Aunt Dita,” she said softly.

Dita tried to speak. Her words were feeble croaks. Her eyes filled with tears. Mistletoe cried out, “Stop!”

“All you have to do is walk through the door,” Martin said. “You’ll meet a new Friend and accept her Friend request. And then your aunt Dita is free.”

Mistletoe didn’t say anything. Ambrose could feel himself losing her. The puddle beneath the plant gave off a sharp vinegar stench. In the doorway, Thoughtstreams intertwined like nonsense haiku.

Grand Opening Sale

Love always and forever

Subcanopy trash

Ambrose wondered if Martin was bluffing. This was the epicenter of Greymatter, deep within the operational core of Unison, and Martin had the primary Admin Deck. Dita’s presence here would be easy to fake.

“It’s a trick,” Ambrose said. “That’s not really your aunt Dita.”

Mistletoe was standing in front of the door, shivering in the freezing blast of the swirling engine. She looked over her shoulder at Ambrose. He had never seen her so helpless, and he didn’t need his Process Flow ability to tell him what she was going to do.

“I assure you, it’s she,” Martin said. “My men apprehended her before she was able to detonate herself along with her house.” He tugged on the end of the scarf. Dita’s eyes went wide in terror.

“Mistletoe,” Ambrose said, “stop listening to this. Look at me.”

Martin pulled the scarf until Dita was inches from his face. Then he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I suggest you get going, Anna. Your new Friend is waiting.”

Ambrose moved to hold her back. The office plant, suddenly a nest of human fingers, pinched his skin while a vine wrapped around his leg. He could only watch as Mistletoe’s shoulders heaved with her sobs. The doorway seemed to ripple hungrily in anticipation.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll find you.”

Mistletoe gave him a tiny smile before disappearing through the door. Her pigtail hung like a frizzy blue comma. Then it was gone.

15. Daughters

15

DAUGHTERS