Later, Con would wonder why it took her so long to realize the obvious—whatever Kala was upset about had happened after her last refresh. Con couldn’t remember because it wasn’t part of her memory. She kept defaulting back to December 26 like a broken clock resetting to twelve a.m. But it was a year and a half later, and those shows she’d agreed to do for Weathervane were long in the past now.
“You know how badly we needed that New Year’s Eve show,” Kala said. “And you stood us up.”
What? There hadn’t been a New Year’s Eve show on the list. The last gig had been for the thirtieth. She remembered it clearly. She ought to; it was yesterday’s memory to her.
The confused look on Con’s face wasn’t scoring her any points with Kala. “So that’s how it is? You need help, so, what? You’ve got amnesia now?” Kala flicked a finger at her own temple and made a hollow-coconut sound with her tongue. “So typical.”
“I’m sorry,” Con said, unsure what she was sorry for.
“Oh, you’re sorry now, so we’re supposed to be good? That it? We had the chance to play Glass House, and you freaked out and bailed on us.”
“How’d you get a show at Glass House?” It was a reasonable if ill-advised question.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kala demanded. “You think we couldn’t book Glass House without riding the great Con D’Arcy’s coattails?”
“I didn’t say that,” Con said, retreating a step. Glass House was a bigger venue and mostly booked regional or national acts. Honestly, she was surprised Weathervane could book Glass House, with or without her. It was a huge get for a band that size, especially a New Year’s Eve show. What surprised her more was that she’d ever agreed to do it in the first place. Glass House was where Awaken the Ghosts had played its last gig. The manager had been pestering her for years with a ghoulish proposition to track down Stephie for a reunion show, preferably on the anniversary of the crash. Con would rather gouge out her own eyes than set foot back inside there.
What could have possessed her?
“We needed that gig. But no, it had to turn into the Con show. After your new boyfriend took you out of there, Jasper pulled the plug on the whole thing and had one of his staff DJ for the rest of the night. We were laughed out of there. The band broke up a month later.”
Boyfriend? Con’s mind was reeling, and Kala’s outburst had forced her back down the porch stairs. It took her out of the shadows, and the sunshine lit up her face. Kala stared at her, mouth hanging open.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kala asked, all the fire gone from her voice.
Con didn’t know where to begin.
“Are you sick?” Kala said.
“No.”
“Then what . . . ?” She trailed off, staring hard at Con’s bare left arm. Self-consciously, Con tried to cover it with her other arm as if she’d been caught in the nude. In a way, she’d never been more naked in her life. Kala glanced up at her face, then back to the missing tattoos.
“Are you a dupe?” It was Kala’s turn to take a step back, her hand reaching blindly for the door.
Dupe was far from the cruelest slang for clones, but it still landed hard. Especially from a friend.
“Yeah, but listen—”
“You should’ve said. What if you give me cystic fibrosis, or something worse?” Kala opened the door but lingered there on the porch, morbid curiosity overcoming revulsion for the moment. Most people had never seen a clone, not in person. Certainly not one of a friend, and it had clearly rattled Kala.
“Come on, Kala. You can’t catch cystic fibrosis.”
A conspiracy site had posted a study that claimed to link several spontaneous cases of genetic disease in children to contact with clones. Never mind that genetic disease wasn’t transmittable. The study had been debunked as junk science, but polls showed that 58 percent of Americans believed the threat to be real. Several states had laws forbidding clones from working around children.
“That’s not what I heard. And actually I need you to get off my porch.”
“Seriously?” Con said but retreated farther down the stairs, hands raised in a gesture of compliance.
Once Con was at a safe distance, Kala considered her again. “Does this mean Con is dead?” she asked, her voice quiet and mournful. “Did she die?”
Con knew what she meant, but still, it was hard to admit out loud. “Yeah, I think so.”