Free The Lost Girl by Sangu Mandanna Page A

conversation happening on-screen. The presenter has grown agitated. I wonder if she, too, finds him unsettling.
    “But you must realize,” she’s arguing, “the secrecy is a problem for them. Don’t you think they might become less controversial if you talked to the world about how you create them? Echoes might have an easier time of it.”
    “I don’t Weave for the world’s peace of mind,” says Adrian Borden. He has an unforgettable voice. Smooth and tightly leashed. “I do it for the awe of creating life from nothing.”
    “But—”
    “Echoes aren’t here to have an easy time of it. They are here to be somebody else. I am not concerned about their individual standing in the world. They are echoes of others. They are living proof that humankind might, ultimately, cheat death. I create life . That is the rarest of all gifts.”
    I can’t believe my ears. “No wonder people think we’re just mindless, soulless copies,” I say bitterly. “You’d have thought he might feel some paternal concern for us.”
    “Why don’t you ask Ophelia about his capacity for paternal feelings?”
    “Why would she know?”
    “Because he’s her father,” says Sean.
    My eyes pop. “He can’t be! She’s nice . And she would have told me—”
    “Why?” he asks. “She knows how you feel about them. Why would she willingly admit to you that a man you fear and hate is her father?”
    It’s suddenly clear why Ophelia defends the Loom when the rest of us criticize it. Why she so passionately believes in it. When she first arrived, years ago, it didn’t take me long to get Mina Ma to tell me why she was there: she would be the link between the Weavers and me, reporting my progress back to them. I hated her instantly, but she was so friendly, so eager to please, she eventually won me over. She has never told the Weavers about my defiance, about the things that could put me in danger. She has always stood by me.
    “He’s her father.” It’s such a strange thought. “She was talking about him, in the garden with Mina Ma. She cares about him.”
    Sean nods. “Adores him. They’ve had their problems in the past. He wasn’t around much when she was little, and she’s heard the rumors. But she doesn’t believe the bad things are true.”
    I watch Adrian Borden’s eyes glitter. “Do you think I’ll ever go back to the Loom, see them again?”
    “Hope you don’t,” says Sean. “When an echo goes back to the Loom, they’re usually about to die.”
    We stare at each other in silence. Eventually I look away and start smoothing a fresh layer of the cream into my tattoo. Sean sits down at his desk, spinning the chair around to face me.
    Onscreen, the presenter is struggling. I have to give her credit for braving the quicksand of Adrian Borden. “Aren’t you concerned the stigma will attach itself to you , as the Weavers of echoes?” she demands.
    “Why would I fear that?” Borden asks. “Nobody blames the creator. It was the monster people feared, not Victor Frankenstein.”
    This time, I can’t stop Sean. He turns off the news.
    “So close,” I complain.
    “Yeah, nice try.”
    I finish treating the tattoo. I run my fingers over the snake, misty and distorted under the layers of cream.
    “I wish I was human.”
    “You are human.”
    “Really human. A proper human with a proper soul and everything.”
    “Ever read about the Little Mermaid? She wanted to be human. She got what she wanted. Then she died.”
    First a mongoose, now a mermaid. Why don’t these stories ever end happily?
    “I should probably go soon,” I say reluctantly. “I don’t want to miss the last train back. Mina Ma will be waiting, ax at the ready, and a shovel to bury my body once she’s done chopping my head off.”
    He chuckles, stands up again. “Will you be all right getting home on your own?”
    I give him a nasty look. He raises his hands. “I’m only asking.”
    “I got here on my own, didn’t I?”
    “You did,” he