Snofrid’s fingers juddered on her water glass as she turned to Desya. “Before I talk to Lycidius, I have one more question.”
“Sure.”
“Why did Atlas and I break up?”
Desya thought a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose resignedly, as if he was struggling to give a straight answer. “I don’t know, Sno. Sometimes things just don’t work out. You guys still keep in touch, though. He gave you a couple numbers to reach him if you ever needed a favor.”
She found no satisfaction in this reply. Broken bridges lingered, ones she needed facts to rebuild. She felt that truth alone could offer her closure, but only she could find it, somewhere in the shadows of her mind. Bracing herself on the bed, she wobbled to her feet. “When Lycidius wakes up, please tell him I’ll be waiting for him in the basement.”
Snofrid sat on the basement couch, staring absently into the gravel ripples of the zen garden. Each line flowed with faultless harmony, never interrupted. It provided to the garden a sense of openness, of possibility, and she found herself envying it. Ryuki had once told her that the way people observed the world, by the senses, was deceptive. He said that people should strive to arrive at a state of emptiness and only in that aspiration could undiluted peace be reached; it was the sole purpose of his meditations, and the result was supposed to leave the mind undisturbed by desires. According to his philosophy, desires were intrinsically negative and shook the mind off balance. But in her position, emptiness was unnecessary. Without Lycidius, she already felt empty.
At the sound of footsteps on the staircase, she clasped her hands in her lap, her heart beating like a drum. Lycidius rounded the bend, his boots disturbing the gravel ripples. She regarded him with a sidelong glance. He moved urgently, the chords in his neck tight.
Steeling herself, she raised her head and found his eyes awaiting hers. Slowly his widened; she understood why. She was truly seeing him for the first time since Desya and Neko had brought her home from Gehenna. She was seeing him as the boy who’d followed her around Gehenna, who’d carved her wooden bracelets, who’d confided to her his secrets. The boy who’d fallen in love with her and she with him. Unlike yesterday, his face was now naked of conviction. The certainty he’d possessed before she’d entered the Mania Mirror had completely drained away.
A pang racked her chest as he hastened toward her, his face lit with expectation. She tensed, fearing to greet him with joy. If she did, how then could she control what she felt?
When he rounded the couch, she was unable to restrain herself any longer. She stood and hugged him. His reaction was immediate and overpowering. She’d never felt so suffocated, yet so protected. He held her as if she might dissolve through his arms. She missed him. Violently. And it made the moment absurdly harder than she’d imagined. All at once, she locked horns with her desire to toss aside their promises. She threw herself into the fight to crush it. But she was already on the brink of crumbling smaller than the pebbles beneath her feet.
He said nothing, which she was grateful for. But as the moments passed, he gripped her tighter and tighter. She knew what he was thinking; she was thinking it too. Like during the Midwinter Insurgency, he wanted to find a way around Shadow Law. She’d thought it through already. Before he’d come, she’d strained to find a balance between what she wanted and what was right. A lawful solution. But there were no loopholes. The question of being lovers was devoid of middle ground. In this realization, regret and frustration ran through her as painfully as the day she and Lycidius had first agreed to stay friends. She knew what was right, and loving him while he was her Shadow was unmistakably wrong.
Furthermore, she’d discovered a separate, even greater issue they’d never considered before, something they’d both overlooked. She was a halfbreed, which meant that even if there was a way around Shadow Law, being together would shame him. It would strip him of his choice to rejoin the Inborn Army and would bar him from ever reentering society. He’d be an outcast and his pride would be ruined. Letting him lose face for the sake of love wasn’t love. It was greed.
When she was finally able to step away from him, his hands became rigid, his face almost pleading. “Snofrid.”
She made no response. If she said anything, she’d break down. One final time, she gave her love to him through her eyes, pouring all and everything she felt into a single gaze. Then she let go.
A Thumb for a Thumb
Thursday, 8 Days until the Hunt
Snofrid watched snowflakes flurry around the skyscrapers from behind the War Lobby register. Since dawn, holiday shoppers had flooded the sidewalks. Every tree in the plaza was festooned in twinkle lights and each lamppost donned a big red bow. The festive aura left her feeling homesick. The last human holiday she remembered celebrating had been spent in the Iliuzija Club, playing cat-and-mouse with Lucian’s nieces, while feasting on tart cranberry pudding and honey kvass. She’d been fifteen. Men in Gehenna rarely took a girl’s age into account; however, Lucian had been an exception. He had no inhibitions about a lot of things, but acted relatively just and chivalrous towards the people he respected. He’d never even permitted one of his Swangunners to tell her a lewd joke. That they were no longer friends left her feeling at a loss. She knew first-hand that he spared no mercy for people who let him down. That she now fell into this category wasn’t only frightening, but downright unexpected.
“It’s about to start again,” Jazara hollered from the rug. She was cradling Snofrid’s pet rat, Quibble, and blowing bubbles with her gum. “I bet two coppers that South Africa will win this time.”
“I’m betting five on Japan,” Snofrid countered. On the wall television, the 2052 Sky-Tri Olympics was airing. A screen behind two talk show hosts showed reruns of Russia’s victory in the flying-transport race.
“Actually, if South Africa wins, can I stay over tonight?” Jazara asked.
“If your house mother says it’s okay, then sure. We can play a game with Dez.”
Jazara’s face brightened. “I’ll send her words.”
Snofrid smiled and continued issuing a refund for Sterling Suppliers, a private company she’d failed to send a shipment of filters to on time. Not a moment later, a Louve Perfume advertisement hit the screen; her mood soured at the sight of Parisa, dressed like the Greek goddess of beauty, Aphrodite. She was lying on a mound of cushions in a crew of bare, oily chested men. Silky black hair spilled down her shoulders and onto a crystal bottle of perfume she held in her palm. With a slow, seductive smile, she glided off the cushions, parting the ranks of men.
“Wear Séduire with purpose,” she said. “Spray Séduire with confidence.” She pinched the perfume nozzle, releasing a puff against her neck. She sighed contentedly. “Love Louve.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?” Jazara asked.
“You’re pretty and smart,” Snofrid said, ignoring the television. “Why are you asking?”
“I want to be pretty like Parisa Namdar someday, so Dez will want to marry me when I’m older.”
Snofrid knew this wasn’t possible. “You shouldn’t marry a guy just because he thinks you’re pretty. You’ll have wrinkles someday, Jazara.”
“I know,” Jazara sighed. She scratched the rat’s belly and then made a beseeching face. “Don’t tell Dez about my plan. I don’t want him to laugh at me.”
“He wouldn’t laugh. But I promise anyway.”
Jazara let Quibble scurry onto the rug and sprang to her feet. “I’m gonna go get another cocoa. Do you want one?”
“No thanks, I have tea,” Snofrid said, tapping her mug of Kocha black tea.
“I’ll get a cookie for Dez then.”
As Jazara ran across the street to the Sun Wheel Café, Snofrid checked her phone inbox: no messages from Lycidius, just a few from various human friends. Since yesterday, he hadn’t left his workshop—not that work mattered when they were leaving the city—but she understood it was a needed distraction. He had an astounding ability to hyper-focus. From th
e way he’d explained it when they were children, his brain could reach such a point of concentration that everything left his mind but his present task. It was as if his problems didn’t exist as long as he was occupied. Or so he claimed.
A rush of air signaled the antechamber was in use. Snofrid glanced up, surprised Jazara had returned so soon, and saw a pair of badger-grey eyes staring at her from behind the glass.
“Hello, mieloji,” Lucian said.
She kicked back her chair with a gasp. Grabbing the machine pistol from under the counter, she stumbled from behind the desk, just as the antechamber doors slid open. Her eyes zeroed in on the panic room. Letting out a frantic cry, she yanked open the door and skidded inside on her knees. The door slammed shut, locks clicking in place. Snofrid scrambled to steady her breathing, but her gut was so twisted she felt she might spit up her lunch.
“Your death would be prettier out here, mieloji,” Lucian called. “If I decide to torch the shop, that room will heat up like a girl-sized oven.”
“This has a cooling system, Lucian. Burn it and it’ll feel like I’m in the tropics.”
“I want to see you. Come up to the window.”
“No, you’re not in control this time.”
A gunshot went off, so loud it sounded like a wrecking ball had shattered the wall. She peered out the spy grate. Lucian stood on the rug, his deadly A12 assault shotgun pointed at a furry stain of smoking blood. She winced. Quibble.
Lucian studied her, his face hungry. He appeared to be outfitted for a funeral in a crisp black dress-shirt and trousers.
“Come out, or next time the price will be greater,” he warned.
“Why? Are you going to try to knock me with your words?”
He made a ‘tsk’ sound. “You speak like these sarcastic Americans. It doesn’t suit you.”
“You can’t take advantage of me anymore. I’m not a naïve little girl.”
“Too bad.” He withdrew a silver cigarette case from his pocket. “In Gehenna, you were an innocent—the only one among thousands. I admired you for that. But without it, you’re just another trick.”
She groped the trigger of her pistol uneasily. “Only you would think like that, Lucian. I’m not like you. I’d never try to murder a friend.”
“Our friendship deal is done, mieloji. You took care of that all by yourself. I held out my hand and you cut it off.”
“You didn’t leave me a choice.”
“Wrong,” he said firmly. “We always play with fair rules. I made the mistake of treating you with more respect than I should have.” He lit his cigarette with a blowtorch lighter, his jaw clinched. “You spat in my face.”
She glared at his scarred face, trembling against those grey eyes that had once been merciful. “I was never ungrateful,” she said. “Rejecting your marriage proposal wasn’t ungrateful—I just didn’t love you.”
He checked the clock. “Enough. We’ve been over this.”
“Then what now?”
“We negotiate. We do a new deal.” He moved forward but stopped short. Lifting his boot, he saw the chewing gum. Frowning, he scraped it off with his gun and wiped it on the counter. “The bubble-gum chewer looked happy when she left. Think about her before you refuse.”
“Don’t you dare, Lucian! This is between us!”
“When men disagree, innocent people die. Such is life.”
A jingling sound drew her attention to the phone on the register; Desya or Lycidius was calling.
Lucian swiped up the phone and held it to his ear. “Alio,” he said in Lithuanian. Shaking his head, he flicked the ash from his cigarette. “Ne. Viso gero.”
He tossed the phone onto the counter and dragged a chair before the panic room, the screech of its legs like nails on metal. Sitting down, he scrunched his black leather gloves. “Your brother and the redhead are wondering if you’re dead. They’ll be here in twenty minutes, but that’s time enough to be thorough.”
Snofrid grappled for calm. The minute Desya and Lycidius entered the antechamber they’d be gunned down—unless she got him first. Laying down her machine pistol, she powered on the computer inside the panic room. The holographic target mesh materialized before her. “I don’t want to shoot you, Lucian, but I swear I will if you don’t get out.”
Lucian looked up at a clicking sound. A slot had opened in the ceiling and the muzzle of a very large minigun glared down at him. He eyed the gun for a moment and then said, “Shoot me, mieloji, and you’ll have eight-hundred Swangunners baying for blood.”
She closed her eyes, trying to think. Don’t be stupid, Snofrid. Killing him was the worst plan. Eight days. Last night, Lycidius had recontacted the Empyrean City with a Transmission Globe, confirming that the Sky-Legion would attack in eight days. If she killed Lucian, she, Lycidius and Desya would have a bounty on their heads that would attract every desperado in the city.
“You’re quiet,” Lucian observed. “What’s on your mind?”
“My family.”
“Good girl. This is how we closed a deal last time.”
A Swangunner slid into the shop suddenly, swishing his crusty pink trench coat. He hissed, baring his bloody gums at Snofrid and then swung his hog-head gasmask over one shoulder. She recoiled. He rotated his crooked jaw, craning his neck as if to better display his pimpled skin which was strewn with purple blood vessels. Pink liberty spikes, matching the pink of his contact lenses, shot from his head. Snofrid knew him: Cannibal Brongo, the infamous Child Executioner of Gehenna.
Brongo opened his mouth, uncurling a pink tongue past his chin. “Yum. Yum,” he croaked. “Baby bird’s trapped in a cage.” He wiggled his tongue. “Baby bird’s gonna taste gooood in my mouth.”
“Keep wishing, Brongo,” she called. “The last door you tried to open nearly cost you your face.”
He rubbed the shrapnel scars along his jaw. “Baby bird’s got to come out sometime,” he snarled. “And I’ll be here when she does.”
She took a breath, telling herself to calm down before she said something thoughtless. In her peripheral, she counted at least ten more Swangunners stationed behind the register window. The streets had cleared—the chainsaw, flame thrower, and gasoline hose guns held by the Swangunners were probably the cause of that.
“This street is lined with security cameras,” she pointed out. “This isn’t Gehenna; try anything in Vancastle, Lucian, and you’ll regret it, no matter how many friends you think you have.”
“You have too little faith in money, mieloji. The cameras went dark fifteen minutes ago. No police will arrest me if I decide to kill you. Not when I purchased your life.”
“Maybe for a day,” she granted. “But if you were going to hurt me, you would’ve done it already.”
“Lengthening pain suits me better. You know this.” He poured a cup of tea from the Japanese teahouse. “What suits you, Brongo?”
“Baby bird legs. Baby bird eyes. Baby bird liver.”
“Thin-Man prefers Columbian neckties,” Lucian went on. “Meeks likes to use a tongue tearer.”
“What’s your new deal?” Snofrid demanded.
“Good girl.” He balanced the teacup on his knee. “The Warden wants something from Atlas Bancroft. You’ll contact him about his safe deposit box in the Forsberg Bank and Trust. Then you’ll deliver me the verbal and numeric access codes, a voice recording, and a palm print.”
“How am I supposed to call him with the shield up all over the city?” she almost shouted.
“I won’t help you this time. It’s your deed to do. That means you use your resources.” Lucian chucked his cigarette butt into a flower pot. “Start with your brother, the bluecoat.”
“He’s only an Eighth Star. He doesn’t have the clearance to get through.”
“Then this is your first test. Find another way.”
She saw no other way. Atlas would probably not even take her call if she did find a way. There were the high-powered computers in the Spyderweb, but Hadrian would have h
is own price. For even the tiniest favor, she was certain he’d make her pay sevenfold.
“And if I can’t?” she asked.
“Baby’s bird’s gonna loooose its legs,” Brongo barked.
“Quiet,” Lucian scolded. He turned to Snofrid. “If you can’t, then Brongo, Thin-Man and Meeks will bring their toys to your house.”
“How long do I have?”
“Seven days. This is fair.” He snapped open his cigarette case, his tone severe. “Don’t disappoint me, mieloji.”
She stared at the metacarpal bone strung around his neck as he lit up another cigarette, and nausea swooped in around her. He wasn’t like normal humans. Chivalrous or not, he’d never break his mold as a cold-blooded murderer. “I used to believe that you cared about me, but now I know better.”
“You never knew me, mieloji. You only pretended that you did.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe every favor he’d ever done had merely been down payments for her future affections. Either way, she hoped that she hadn’t misjudged Atlas as she’d done with Lucian. Otherwise, she might as well buy herself a pine box. “All right. I agree to your terms, Lucian, so please leave now.”
“No.” He stood. “The deal is still too sweet. A thumb for a thumb, mieloji. You spilled my blood, now I spill hers.”
Snofrid’s head snapped to the antechamber as Jazara hurried inside, holding a cup of cocoa and a sugar cookie. “No. Jazara! run!” she yelled.
Jazara dropped her cup in a fright. Brongo swiped her up, pinning her arms to her sides, and carried her toward Lucian.
Kicking and thrashing, she screamed, “LET ME GO!”
“Lucian, please,” Snofrid shouted. “I swear I’ll do anything. I’m begging you, don’t hurt her.”
“I want nothing more from you, mieloji. This price the girl will pay.” He pulled a pair of bolt-cutters from his chest-rig harness. “If you come out or if you look away, I’ll kill her.”
“Sno, who are these men?” Jazara cried, her voice quavering. She stared at the bolt-cutters and her face paled. “Snofrid, I’m scared!”
Hatred Day Page 20
