“I’m not a baby. You look chem-struck when he talks to you.”
“I don’t. . .” Nate sighed.
He did.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. “Take the Diffuser out of the box and open the top. There, like that. See? It turns into a mask.”
“For him to breathe in the magic?”
“It isn’t magic, Pix.” Though it might as well have been, for as much as Nate understood it.
“What kind of GEM are you, not believing in magic?” Pixel asked, holding the bowl-shaped opening up to Reed’s mouth.
Nate wanted to believe that it was magic. Magic was better than the plain truth.
Years ago, he’d gotten bored when Alden had slept clear through two days. He’d found an instruction manual tucked between bookkeeping he wasn’t supposed to be rifling through.
The cover had been ripped off, but the second page said, “Genetically Engineered Medi-tissue Frequently Asked Questions.” Many of the dusty pages were stained and missing.
The book described ratios of Cellular Regeneration Formula to body weight, which Nate figured was a fancy way of talking about Remedy. One of the margins contained Alden’s incomprehensible shorthand—alongside the page that described how much blood could be diffused from a GEM without serious side effects. The units of measurement didn’t make sense to Nate, but he got the gist of it. Feeding others made him tired and weak and hastened his increasing need for Remedy.
He knew exactly what feeding Reed might mean.
Maybe it was his destiny. After all, GEMs were made to die.
Only a fraction of the page about organ harvesting remained in Alden’s book. Nate had read it with his blood pounding and his hands shaking.Consider sedating the GEMs well in advance of the procedure to discourage emotional attachment.
He’d memorized every word before tucking it back into the place Alden had hidden it, and a seed of resentment began to sprout that day. Alden knew more about who Nate was than he did—than Bernice had, maybe. And he hadn’t shown Nate the manual.
One water-stained paragraph stuck with him—a shred of hope for Pixel. GEMs didn’t begin to degenerate until age fourteen. She had years.
That had to be enough time for her to find a better way to get Remedy.
Pixel watched him, trusting and calm. His heart lurched. He wanted to tell her that she’d be fine, even if he never got better again after this. Even if he never woke up.
“Maybe it really is magic,” he said, indulging her. “Wait—don’t hold it to his face yet. It has to be attached to me first.” The angle was awkward, but Nate couldn’t risk sitting up while Reed fed. Pixel was too small to hold him up once he passed out.
Reaching over, he pushed his sleeve back and guided Pixel’s small hand to press the sharp fork of the Diffuser against the inside of his arm. “I’ve never done this by myself, so help me push.”
Alden had always inserted the Diffuser for him, expertly locating the strongest veins in Nate’s arm or hand. Without Alden’s guidance, Nate improvised, shoving the forked tips into his flesh and hoping they hooked into a blood source.
Nothing happened on the first thrust but a cold flare of pain. His vision went spotty.
“Ew.” Pixel stared at the place where the forks dimpled into Nate’s flesh.
Nate eased the forks back out and took a woozy breath to clear his head. “I know. And it doesn’t feel so great either. Let’s try here,” he said, pushing again. This time, as soon as the tips sank in, the Diffuser chamber filled with dark-red blood and the gears inside whirred faster, buzzing like a swarm.
“Wow,” Pixel breathed. “Look.”
The Diffuser began to process his blood. It shimmered and spread, moving through the glass chamber and flowing out the mask in a pale-pink cloud.
“Hurry,” Nate said. “Help me move it to his mouth.”
Pixel nibbled at her lip and shivered. She maneuvered Nate’s arm and the Diffuser along Reed’s chest until the mask rested at Reed’s chin. Reed breathed in, the pink cloud flowing between his lips in a wisp and vanishing.
“Hey, it’s working.” Nate tucked his face against Reed’s shoulder. Heaviness and warmth spread through him. Feeding wasn’t painful once the fork was in. Alden had explained once, in a litany of energetic rambling while bandaging up Nate’s bleeding arm, that GEMs had different hormones. That something inside of them triggered a feeling of calm and sedation when they shared their blood.
“Brilliant,” Alden had said, manic and fever-eyed. “Oh, Natey, you’re brilliant. I love you.”
