Perfect. Cecelia AhernЧитать онлайн книгу.
lead to another, and then another. I was afraid if I didn’t write them down then I would forget everything forever, so every day, I wrote in my secret diary, all the things I remembered about my parents. I wouldn’t give my diary to anyone – I had to hide it in my room. They like to know everything you’re thinking in there.”
I think of catching Mary May reading my diary in my bedroom, of her wanting to be in my head.
“And everything changed for me after this test. I knew that everything they were telling me about my parents was a lie.”
I want to reach out to him, hug him, tell him I’m sorry he was taken away from his parents at such a young age, but there’s something about Carrick that stops me each time. He’s so contained. It’s like he has a force field round him, like the glass that was between us in the castle cells is still between us now. He’s there, but I can’t reach him.
He clears his throat. “You have nerve endings on the surface of your eyes, nose, mouth and throat. They detect the coolness of mint, the burning of chilli peppers. Use them. You’re not alone in this, you know.”
“Your mum had the same thing after her branding?” I guess. What was her lie? I want to ask.
“It’s not just Flawed people who experience this. Not being able to taste is called ageusia.”
“So it’s a thing?” I ask, surprised.
“It’s an actual thing.”
I feel happy about that.
“So here is a taste bag.” He places a bag down. “And here is a smell bag.”
I laugh.
“Let’s use –” he scans the shelves in the large fridge – “Bahee’s jelly beans.”
“Jelly beans?” I laugh. “In the fridge?”
“He’s an odd man. Consumes more sugar in one day than Evelyn does in a week, and he never shares, which is what makes this all the sweeter.” He takes the bag of sweets out, tells me to look away.
“What are you doing?”
“Crushing the jelly beans, so the odour is released in the smell bag. Now.” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a bandana. “Close your eyes.”
He moves behind me and gently ties the bandana round my eyes, his fingers brushing against my skin at one point, and I feel my skin tingle and the hairs stand up on my arms. The last time I was blindfolded, it was by some kids from school, playing a cruel joke on me. They stripped me and examined my scars with ghoulish curiosity like I was some freak show at a circus. I felt terrified then, broken, had lost all faith in people and my new life. But now, I’m completely relaxed, excited even. Despite the terrifying feeling I had when we approached the gates of the plant, I realise I completely and utterly trust Carrick. He feels like my partner in all this. If my sixth brand is as powerful as Carrick says it is, he could have used his knowledge of it for his own purposes. He could have threatened Crevan himself, but he didn’t; in fact, he didn’t tell anybody. He wants to help me reverse my own branding.
“Okay.” He’s back in front of me. “Taste this.”
“You better not slip a chilli pepper in.” I laugh.
I open my mouth and feel him place a jelly bean on my tongue. I close my lips and self-consciously chew. I don’t taste anything, unsurprisingly. I feel the texture, though I don’t think I would have known it was a jelly bean had he not told me.
“Take a sip of water.”
I suck through a straw.
“So now, smell.” He holds the bag up to my nose and I breathe in the crushed jelly bean.
“Strawberry,” I say easily. Nothing wrong with my sense of smell at least.
“Now taste.” He places the jelly bean on my tongue.
I expect it to be strawberry again but I frown. “That’s not strawberry,” I say, confused. “I know it’s not strawberry but I don’t know what it is.”
“Aha,” he says happily. “Progress.”
“Yay,” I cheer myself.
“Smell.”
I sniff. “Orange.”
“Now taste.”
I feel his fingers brush my lips as I open my mouth. I’m so distracted by everything around the jelly bean, everything that’s happening, I can barely concentrate on what I’m doing. All of my other senses are on fire. I try to focus. I smell as I chew, waiting for my nerve endings to recognise whether it’s bitter, salty, sweet, or sour flavour. I recognise the taste as being the same as the previous taste. Bitter. “Orange.”
“Yes,” he says, pleased. “Now let’s go again.”
Carrick is nothing if not efficient, and persistent. Over and over again, we try the test until I think I get the hang of using my gift of smell. He’s practically emptied out the fridge of flavours. I have correctly identified most without needing to smell the bag first.
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