by Lyn Forester
I touch my cheek in amazement, the powder gritty under my fingertips. So, this is how Night Pirates become invisible. They just wear their disguises permanently.
Skittles’ voice fills the space, and I jump when I realize she and the kid are only faint blurs, without even the light of their goggles to give them away. “Once we’re on the street, you move like you belong there. No skulking, that only draws unwanted attention. We’re in Sector 3, Ring 5, we will be going to Sector 2. It’s a fifteen-minute walk if we keep up a good clip. Our destination is Club Razor. You’ll know it when it blinds you. Any questions?”
“Won’t you being with us protect us from other Night Pirates?” Declan asks.
Skittles snorts loudly. “You know how many people want my skin? No, me being with you only protects you from my people, which is why we have my boy with us.”
Disbelief fills Declan’s voice. “The kid’s going to help protect us?”
“I gut you now if you wan’ proof,” the kid snaps, his voice coming from right behind Declan. “I gotta earn me dots someday. Happy ta start wit’ you.”
“Bloodthirsty get,” Skittles coos in approval.
I resist the urge to kick Declan for riling up the Night Pirates. “We appreciate your protection.”
The kid sniffs loudly in response. “Me dame is me priority. All o’ you come second.”
“Understood,” Connor murmurs. “We don’t aim for Skittles to be injured, either.”
“If my boy has to pull his knife, the cost of this escort will, of course, go up,” Skittles adds.
“Wouldn’t expect otherwise,” I say as I cross my fingers and hope everything goes smoothly. I don’t know how much this escort already costs, something we should have negotiated before setting out, and how much it will cut into my loan from Nikola.
Declan steps up to my side, his voice low. “I’ll cover it. We’re here because of me.”
I bite back the instant protest. As First House, it feels wrong to accept anything from the Fifth House, but Declan’s right, we’re here to uncover who wants his family dead, and we’re a team, we can share the burden of this investigation.
I reach out to squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you decided to come. It’s good to know you have our backs.”
“I shouldn’t have hesitated in the first place.” Self-doubt fills his voice. “Almost dying made me lose focus on what’s important when it should have taught me to hold onto those I still have.”
“No one expects you to instantly bounce back from near death.” My throat tightens when I remember how I could have lost him and not even known it. “I’m sorry we weren’t there for you sooner.”
Connor shuffles to Declan’s other side, nudging the swath of shadow that’s the kid off to the side. “We’re together now. That’s what counts.”
I hold my breath, hoping Felix will join in, but he steps up to Skittles’ side. “Let’s do this.”
We step out into the darkness, the city unfolding in shapes of green. Quiet stillness holds the streets, the background commotion of the level’s inhabitants eerily silenced.
Before, when I ventured out during Lights-Out, I left at Star-Light, when people still walked the street, with disc-bikes and other vehicles adding light and noise to the night. I was surrounded by others when the city shut down, and then it was all colorful energy wheels from my competitor’s bikes, and white flares at the checkpoints that directed us through the course. It was wind in my face and the hum of light-streams, the sounds of my racing heart the backdrop.
Now it feels like a tomb, the tall, cement buildings our jailers as we walk past. I follow Skittles’ example, my arms loose at my sides and my stride long with purpose. Felix walks ahead of me, with Declan and Connor at my back and the kid taking up the rear.
Our footsteps sound muffled by the silence of the street, and I shiver inside my jacket, not used to the lower temperatures the weather wardens drop the lower levels to at night to discourage venturing out. During the Spring-Cycle, it’s still tolerable, but come Winter-Cycle, when the city attempts to emulate the winters of Earth, we won’t be able to move around at Lights-Out without risking freezing to death.
Ten minutes into our walk, we pass another group heading the opposite direction. Their night-googles flash in our direction, scoping us out as they decide if we’re easy prey. We’re one man stronger than their group, though, and I hold my breath as they continue into the darkness.
I feel the pulse of Club Razor before I see the lights. A loud thump, thump that vibrates the sidewalk and tugs my heart into a faster pace. As the street curves, neon green and blue flash into view, and I yank my goggles down before the light blinds me.
Here exist all the life lacking from the rest of the city. People spill out onto the streets, dressed in skimpy clothes that sparkle and flash, tight pants, short skirts, shirts with holes, or sometimes no shirt at all.
Azure uniforms flash in and out of view, Blue Guards established enough within the Halls of Justice to curry a prime shift that lines their bank accounts to maintain the peace but otherwise look the other way when people break the law.
One such Blue Guard was there when Ratchet’s boosters failed in her disc-bike, leaving her a skid-mark on the asphalt and unmasking our secret hobby to our parents. Before that, they looked the other way or were so out of touch they didn’t even notice our absences. But it turned out Ratchet was Master Blue’s daughter, and her death couldn’t be left for the street sweepers to cover up. He’d been quick to line up a replacement. Too bad he didn’t live long enough to see his second heir born.
I frown at the thought, my steps slowing for Connor and Declan to catch up. When they do, I match my stride to theirs, my voice only loud enough to carry over the beat of the music. “Ratchet was Mr. Blue’s daughter, someone who would have followed in his footsteps and potentially had enough favor to take over the Blue Guard when he stepped down. No one ever found that halfbreed mechanic who modded her boosters, did they?”
Connor shakes his head. “Not that I heard of. Which is surprising considering who she was.”
“Mr. Blue’s daughter, then Mr. Blue himself. Followed by Mr. Black, and Declan’s family.” My mind spins.
Too much coincidence in the death of city figures in high positions of power. Something we learned about in class or something I read while working on our research paper, but I can’t pin it down.
“We’re fallin’ behin’,” the kid prods, and the tidbit of information slips away before I can grab it. “No one cares about toffs dyin’ when we can’ keep food in our mouths.”
I twist to stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“Coupon glitch, they say. Can’ confirm they’re real without a dat-band to verify it.” He bares his teeth at me. “Way to starve out those of us who wan’ ta walk our own path.”
Declan frowns. “A coupon is a coupon, regardless of who holds it.”
Food coupons are regular trade on the black market and find their way into Night Pirate hands. The government issues the same coupons to every citizen, regardless of station. As long as they’re legally registered, they have the right to basic food and clothing. People who don’t need them use them as a form of currency. The Lonette House, like most of the High Families, donates ours to orphanages in the lower levels. I’m sure some of those make it to the street kids who find themselves without a dat-band for one reason or another.
The kid glares. “You’re welcome to explain tha’ to the Repository. Maybe you’d like ta swing by there on the way back?”
“We don’t have time for that,” Declan protests. “We have to be back on Level 12 before Quarter-Light.”
“Yeah, figured tha’s what you’d say.” He jerks his chin ahead of us. “Lift yer feet before yer left behin’.”
The disquiet inside me grows, and we hurry to catch up to Felix and Skittles as they bypass the line at the front and head down a side alley.
One of the Blue Guards turns to study us longer tha
n I’m comfortable with, but then catches sight of our companions and looks the other way. Guess Night Pirates are common enough around the club not to cause suspicion.
At a side door, Skittles waits for us all to catch up and raises her voice to be heard over the music. “If we get separated, we’re aiming for the second floor. There are private booths up there, and the man we’re looking for will be at the back.”
Felix bounces on his toes with pent up excitement. “Is he a Night Pirate?”
“No, love, he’s something else altogether!” She grasps the door handle. “Don’t worry, though, he’s easy to recognize. His name’s March. If you get lost, just find one of the staff and ask for him. He’s expecting us, so most likely you won’t get killed!”
“What do you mean most likely?” Declan demands.
But Skittles just yanks open the door, flooding the alley with music, and disappears inside.
We glance at each other, link hands, and follow.
Traboshon
As we join the crush inside Club Razor, the flashing lights grow brighter, interspersed by seconds of complete darkness. It turns dancers’ movements jittery, like a fragmented holo-vid. Deafening base throbs through my body, numbing out my senses, and I desperately clutch at Connor and Declan to anchor me.
Bodies jostle us on all sides, hands and limbs invading our space, and I resist the urge to push them away. Too many people in too tight a space with no way to escape. My skin buzzes, vision going spotty on the edges, as I struggle to pull in a full breath of the humid, heated air.
It doesn’t feel like enough, the oxygen too thin.
Declan peers back over his shoulder, his expression flashing in and out of view, the blue and green lights messing with the gray paint on his face and turning him into a stranger.
His lips move, but the music drowns out his voice.
I shake my head, mouth gasping for breath.
A stranger’s hand slips across my chest, and I flinch to the side, slamming into a half-naked couple who grind together next to us. In response, they try to pull me into their dance, ignoring when I shake my head in refusal. Their eyes shine bright and unfocused, hopped up on some drug and not fully aware of their actions. Or other people’s consent.
Then Felix steps between us, shoving them back into another group of dances who pull them in with eager embraces and they forget about us.
Connor crowds closer on my other side, switching my right hand to his right hand so that he can brace his left arm across my back and grab Felix. His twin does the same, and together, they create a living barrier between me and the pulsing masses around us.
The next breath I take steadies my racing pulse, and we continue forward, chasing after the smudge of darkness in front of us as Skittles weaves her way through the crowd with ease.
At the back, she leads us up a staircase, shoving her way through the people using it to take a breather from the dance floor. They hug the walls and drape over the railing to form a living tunnel we’re forced to navigate through.
The music quiets as we climb, which shouldn’t happen with the open staircase that overlooks the club. Confused, I peer through the bodies at the railing, and through the gaps, spy a mesh curtain spread over the floor below in a faux-ceiling. The lights pass through it with ease, but it dampens the noise to more bearable volumes. A halion invention, I’m sure, similar to what’s used in upper-class restaurants to create privacy.
At the top of the stairs, we step onto a wide balcony that curves around the top of the building and overlooks the dance floor. The music still plays up here, but not loud enough to discourage conversation.
Low backed, curved couches circle chrome coffee tables near the rail, allowing the customers who sit there to still see the club below. High-backed booths line the back wall, with more of that mesh fabric hanging between them to reduce the risk of overhearing the conversation from their neighbors.
Waiters and waitresses in faux-leather uniforms with fur collars move easily through the tables, balancing trays of colorful drinks that glow and release white fog.
Pale-blue balls of light in various sizes hang on invisible wires attached to the ceiling, offering relief from the constant strobe of neon below. Overall, the atmosphere creates an oasis of relief from the over-stimulation of the ground level.
Skittles strides past the first booths, following the curve of the balcony until we stand over the bar on the ground floor, with a direct line-of-sight to the club’s entrance.
I stare out over the dance floor. By coming in through the back door, we bypassed what looks to be a checkpoint at the front, where people clump in a line waiting for the bouncers to allow them onto the floor. As one group exits, another is allowed entry. The people we saw dancing in the street must be the impatient ones.
Skittles pauses at a high-backed booth at the end and pokes her head inside. We wait a few paces behind until she waves for us to come forward.
Remembering Skittles’ warning about him killing us, I hesitate for a moment before stepping forward. The others wait as well, as if sharing the same thought.
But we can’t show fear here.
I stiffen my spine and step past Declan to join Skittles at the booth to see the occupant inside. Surprise shoots through me, and I lock it down before it shows on my face. This isn’t the first time I’ve met a pureblood halion man, but it’s the first time I’ve seen one who’s anything but perfect.
Tall even while seated, with skin the color of dust, a perfect backdrop for the lacy green pattern on his neck and cheeks. The blue glow of light over the booth pulls out strands of red and purple in his dark hair. He wears it shorter than most halions, long and wavy on the top and buzzed almost to his scalp on the sides, but still clearly belonging to the Troehan clan. All perfect halion traits. But the mismatched eyes that meet mine, one brown and one green, are something I’ve never seen before.
Halions pride themselves on their genetic perfection, much as the High Houses do, and such discrepancies in an offspring are never allowed.
He tilts his head, those uncanny eyes skimming over my face, pausing briefly where the dot marks my cheekbone. “You’re young.”
I look past all the halion markers to the man himself. Scars mark the hands that rest lightly on the tabletop, and a faded slash on the right side of his throat speaks of a life hard-won. He holds himself with casual confidence, secure in his power.
Despite the harsh life he’s lived, he can’t be more than a couple years older than me. “So are you.”
“Yes, but I grew up on the streets. My life is expected to be harsh.” He gestures to the empty seats. “You have business to discuss.”
Confused by his first comment, I slip into the booth, then scoot over to make room for Declan. Felix and Connor take the opposite side. With a word to the kid to stand watch, Skittles grabs the edge of the mesh curtain and pulls it across the opening. The sound of the club grows muffled, but when I peer outward, I still clearly see the dance floor below.
Skittles settles next to Connor, her body angled slightly outward as she gestures at the halion man. “This is March. He knows how to kill people better than anyone.”
March bows his head. “You honor me, Captain.”
I lean forward, hands on the table to mirror his pose as a sign of goodwill. “Skittles says you might be able to identify a poison we encountered.”
“I might,” he agrees. “Tell me about it.”
I bump my knee against Declan.
He straightens and runs a hand through his hair before settling back. “We believe it can be spread through touch as well as ingested. Direct contact takes anywhere from six to ten hours to kill, while indirect contact takes weeks. It causes a coma in those cases, but in light doses, it causes a dry, harsh cough and the inability to keep food and water down.” He glances at Skittles. “No other symptoms such as blown blood vessels in the eyes or gray gums. It’s survivable in a low dose with the assistance of a Rothven physician.”
>
He must have reviewed the physician’s notes. I hope it was all text and didn’t involve seeing pictures of his parents’ bodies. Under the table, I squeeze his tense thigh to remind him he’s not alone anymore.
“You’ve had contact with this poison yourself,” March states. “It’s still in your system.” His fingers tap against the table for a moment in thought. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know who all of you are, nor am I deaf to the rumors about House Arrington.” His eyes cut to me. “And before you think about silencing me, know that my death comes with repercussions House Lonette cannot withstand.”
He makes the threat without heat, a simple statement of fact, and ice slips through my veins. Who is this person Skittles brought us to meet? Did she put us all at risk by bringing us here? Were we foolish to trust her? But what other choice did we have? Our own searches came up empty.
March’s attention shifts to Felix and Connor, and the two stare back with mirrored expressions of determination. Felix’s hands clench in front of him, and Connor remains relaxed, but the same coiled strength runs through each of them.
March glances next to Skittles. “An interesting crew you have here.”
“One of my shinier moments,” she agrees.
He leans back in his seat. “On the streets, we play a game called Traboshon. Do you know it?”
Not sure where he’s going with this, I shake my head, as do Declan and Connor.
Felix surprises us and nods. “It’s a game played with cards and die. It’s all luck.”
“Somewhat.” March reaches into his jacket, then extends his hand to the middle of the table, his palm up.
In the center rests a small rectangle with points at the end. The image of a closed eye is carved into the side that faces up, outlined in gold to stand out against the black stone of the die. He rolls it in his hand, showing the eye on the next side, and the next. On the fourth side, though, the eye is open and staring.
