Infinity Lost Read Online Free Page B

for a second that she was actually going to make it happen! I knew she was good with computers, but seriously, how the hell did she pull this off? This is way too much for me to process right now. I feel stunned at the ridiculousness of this situation, like I’ve been slapped in the face with a wet fish. Do I laugh? Do I cry? I honestly don’t know. At the moment, I’m finding it hard enough just to breathe. Hopefully I’ll feel differently when we’re all actually there, but right now, I really can’t see it.
    I can’t eat a thing at lunch and just stare at the walls in most of my other classes. Even the news that some new troublemaker student is enrolling soon doesn’t interest me. He’s just going to be another billionaire’s brat, more trouble than he’s worth.
    After one of the longest days I can remember, I trudge to the dorm, take a long, hot shower, shovel down some pepperoni pizza that Bit 3-D printed, and try to watch a movie with her, but my mind won’t let me relax.
    That night, lying in my bed, which I love more than almost anything, I find it hard to get to sleep. Please don’t dream tonight, brain. I know it’s only been four weeks since I’ve been able to dream at all, and I should be glad that I can finally do it, but sometimes I miss the peace of a dreamless sleep more than anyone could imagine. I close my eyes, pull the blankets over my head, and hope for the best.

CHAPTER THREE
    No such luck. My hand shimmers through the dark as rainbow-colored ribbons trail behind it. The shiny black polish on my nails flakes apart and evaporates into the ether as my fingers suck back into my knuckles and plump like tiny sausages. Suddenly a voice echoes through the black.
    “Come, child . . .”
    A spindly leathered hand reaches down from out of the void and grasps my wrist.
    “. . . the men would like to see you properly.”
    Nanny Theresa’s talons dig into my skin as she jerks at my little arm. I do my best to escape, but her grip is as tight as an owl’s claw squeezing a mouse. On she drags me, through the reception lounge and the trophy room, past the gallery, through the grand ballroom, and past the library. I’m pulled all the way across the house until eventually we arrive at the long passageway that leads to the east wing and the red drawing room.
    Nanny Theresa’s heels clack on the polished floorboards as we go, echoing down the hallway like a ticking clock counting down to something awful. I can feel it in my bones.
    I hear the men’s voices long before we enter the room.
    Nanny Theresa tugs me through the open doorway. All of the men are gathered in a small circle, chatting and laughing, puffing on fat cigars and drinking liquor. They’re standing beside a long serving table that has been especially placed in the center of the huge red-and-gold Persian rug. The table is cluttered with silver platters of colorful foods of every kind, more than I’ve ever seen before. None of the men seem to be very interested in eating, though; the food has hardly been touched, but the moment that they notice me and Nanny Theresa, their muttering ceases.
    The men all turn and glare, craning their necks, watching intently as she leads me toward them. “Here she is,” Nanny Theresa announces. “These are your father’s business associates,” she says, looking down at me. The closer we get, the more unnerving the glares and silence become. A gap opens between two of the men and I’m unceremoniously shoved into the middle of their circle. Nanny Theresa backs away; the men part to let her pass, and I lose sight of her through a forest of trouser legs.
    There are probably ten men in all surrounding me. Their circle closes tighter around me, all of them grinning and staring. Some, with their beards and moustaches, look older than others. Some are wearing glasses; some are not. Fat and thin, short and tall—all of them are different, and yet somehow strangely all the same.
    I’m enveloped by thick