Imitation by Heather Hildenbrand

cameras but they
are there. Titus is not so trusting that he would let me walk this
far unescorted, especially after last night.
    I see him as soon as I cross the
threshold. Linc. Near the back of the room, hands clasped behind
his back, head down as he concentrates on whatever Gus is
whispering at him. He doesn’t see me, but I breathe all the way out
in relief. My mind doesn’t register the twisted worry I’ve been
carrying until it’s melting away at the sight of him.
    Gus finishes what he’s saying and Linc
straightens. He raises his chin and catches me watching. I feel my
cheeks warm and I curse myself for it and look away—straight at
Titus. He has risen from his seat at the head of the table to greet
me. He stares at me with a hard set to his jaw and I know that I’ve
made him angry with something as simple as failing to acknowledge
him first. Behind his left shoulder is the boy who has come to see
me.
    “ Good evening, Raven,”
Daniel says. His expression is relaxed and easy but even from this
distance, I can see how polished and manicured he is. From the
perfect cut of his jacket to the precision of his mussed and gelled
hair, I distrust him immediately.
    “ Good evening,” I reply,
taking a tentative step into the room.
    I look at Titus again, silently asking
permission to approach. He sweeps his hand toward the seat on his
right. “You look lovely, Raven. Come, sit with us.”
    We take our seats and the meal is
served. Daniel watches me curiously and I know that somehow, I’ve
already done something wrong. Something Authentic Raven would not
have. I think Linc is watching me too, and I have the urge to turn,
but I don’t. Titus is close. I can feel my skin growing cold at his
closeness.
    “ Your father told me there
was another attack last night,” Daniel says when we have our soup.
“I wish you would’ve called me. I worry.”
    His voice is pleasant. Too pleasant
considering the topic of conversation is my attempted
murder.
    “ I didn’t think …,” I
begin, unsure what else to say.
    Titus pats my hand and I have to force
myself not to recoil. “She really doesn’t think, Daniel.” He laughs
and it’s harsh, unkind. “She’s too caught up in her own little
world of clothes and shoes.”
    He is baiting me, I think. Or testing
me. I don’t respond.
    Daniel laughs lightly, as if this is a
familiar idea where I’m concerned. “This girl and her wardrobe,” he
agrees.
    The meal passes with small talk that I
don’t quite understand. Daniel mentions “the business.” Titus
replies it is booming and Daniel agrees. “Of course it is. The poor
are growing more and more volatile. You’d think having nothing
would crush their spirit, not the opposite.” Distaste coats his
words.
    “ They’ll tire eventually,”
Titus says. “In the meantime, our greatest defense is concealment
of our … transitions.” He glances my way and then falls silent.
They don’t want me to hear this.
    Daniel seems to understand and they
change the subject, discussing a party for a senator. They
speculate about elections and polls and the hot topics being
shouted from soapboxes. I catch the words “city segregation” and
lose my appetite as I remember the stumbling man Linc and I
narrowly avoided the other night.
    Titus wants to ban people like that
from this part of the city. I can’t help the small sliver of relief
that brings—the prospect of not bearing witness to such wanting.
But then I realize how completely opposite of compassionate that
would be, and my appetite vanishes. I set my utensils aside and
fold my hands in my lap. I will not eat. I will not be party to
this conversation, even through acquiescence.
    After dinner, Titus leaves us alone
and Daniel and I go into the parlor. I am nervous. Not because of
Daniel but because Linc shadows us. I want to speak to him, to find
out where he’s been or if anything new has come to light about my
attackers, but I know that would be a mistake.
    I sit