by Julian North
Nythan answered. “Those are Plan B, my dear.”
“There’s a Plan B?”
“Not really a plan. It’s more like a contingency plan to get you out if something goes wrong.”
“I’m glad to hear that. How are you going to get me out?”
“He’s not going to be able to, so don’t screw up,” Lara said.
Nythan cleared his throat with customary drama. “Look, Daniela. If things go to hell, send me a red ping with the word ‘invalid’ in it. It’s true we can’t exactly come in and face off with their frontline security and drones, but we can provide some help. For example, I’ve got two more of my flying familiars ready, directional EMPs included. We can cut the power, take down most of their security, and warp the brains of nearby drones.”
“But I’m still on my own inside,” I observed.
Nythan and Alissa exchanged looks.
“There is someone nearby,” Alissa offered, reluctant. “Someone you haven’t met yet—Dillion. He’s not inside the house, but close enough to do something. Especially if the power is off.”
“How many of you are there?”
Nythan shrugged. “No idea. We all know each other because we’re at Tuck, and we work together. Only Havelock knows the rest, and maybe not even him. If you’re taken, the less you know the better.”
“What happens if they do arrest me? I know about Havelock, about you…The Authority has drugs, they can make anyone talk.”
“Don’t get caught,” Lara said. “We’re taking a huge risk. You can’t even trill. This whole thing has been rushed. It’s sloppy.”
“We won’t get a better chance at this,” Nythan declared. “Trilling doesn’t work on highborn. This is way better. It’s coming together right when we need it. Our path into the Ziggurat will be lost in weeks, triller or not. We have to go now. It’s destiny. Daniela can do it, can’t you?”
“I’ll get you what you need.”
“You’d better,” Lara cautioned.
I met the challenge in her eyes with a stare of my own. Her anger reminded me of Drake, just more controlled. “If I fail, is Havelock’s man to rescue me, or silence me?”
Alissa near shouted. “Rescue you! Daniela, we’re on the same side.”
“I wonder if someone told that to Chris-Chris.”
“Who?” Alissa asked.
“No one you know,” I said, relieved at her question.
“We leave no man or woman behind,” Nythan declared. “I didn’t go through all this to abandon you, Daniela. You’re going to get it, and get out. It shall be our greatest moment. Do you believe me?”
I searched Nythan’s face. I saw no deception in him. “Yes.”
Nythan smiled. “Excellent. I’ll leave you gals to get ready for the big date. I’ve got some other arrangements to work on. Remember, Daniela, ping me if it falls apart. We’ll do what we can—I promise.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Alexander arrived at precisely eight o’clock.
He stood at Alissa’s doorway in a midnight shaded tailcoat cut to the exact proportions of his body and a pleated shirt of starched whiteness with a high collar wrapped by a wide cravat the same gold color as his hair. His eyes burned like twin stars. His feet were clad in low-rise boots of faded platinum, his black trousers reaching just above the tops of his ankles. He looked like a creature of legend. Damn.
I stepped into the hall on unsteady legs. My gown had originally been a soft chrome silk, spun by specially engineered worms in Shanghai. Ms. Gonzales had tailored it for my taller, lankier frame by adding a section of stretched cotton fibers dipped in fabricated silver glitter. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever worn, but still Frankenstein-esque: a blend of Bronx City ingenuity and Manhattan wealth. It was a rag compared to the elegance beside me.
“That is an amazing dress. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Alexander told me. He bowed his head. “I should have expected no less from you.”
Alissa snapped a picture from her viser even though I’d specifically asked her not to. She wore a great smile on her face. The hypocrisy of it was lost in the moment. I was glad when the lift doors closed behind us. We rode down in an uneasy silence. I tried to ignore the weaponized tooth in my mouth, without much success.
“Is it okay if we walk?” Alexander asked. “It’s a rather pleasant night, and not very far.”
I filled my lungs with the cool evening air. “I’d like that.”
The sky was vast. The glow of the city made all but the brightest stars invisible, but the black dome above us was no less magnificent for it. Alexander’s familiar trailed behind us like a flying metal dog.
“Thank you for agreeing to come with me,” he said.
“I’m surprised you asked me.”
We walked half a block before he answered. A soft breeze pushed us along, making our steps light and easy.
“I misjudged you when we first met. Not just you, but especially you. You reminded me of lessons I learned as I child…about looking within a person. And within myself. You certainly shouldn’t be surprised I asked you.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Why did you ask me, exactly?”
“Many reasons. But one is that you didn’t want to come.”
“Good plan.”
The street lights let me see the amused grin on his face. “Let me try to explain, if I can. I’m not as good with words as you are, and wary of giving offense.” He took another half a block to muster his thoughts. “Among the families I grew up with, and within my own, there is always the game. This competition to be more, have more, to seek position, status. I grew up living it. My father is a master of game, my sister…she is beyond that. In such a world, it is easy to forget there is another way.” I saw the moon in his irises. “It has been a very long time since I met someone who wanted nothing from me.”
I chewed on his words and my lip, focusing on what he omitted. “You mentioned your father and sister. What about your mother?”
“She was like you, I think. A mother first, a player of the game second. She is the one who taught me to try to be better, you might say. To have a purpose.”
“Where is she now?”
“Gone,” he said in a voice that said “ask no more.” I didn’t.
“I’m just a girl from across the river. You put too much faith in me.” I had meant it to come out in jest, but my voice caught on something harder as I spoke. My tongue touched the hanging tooth in my mouth. I did want something.
“You’re more than that, and we both know it.”
Just how much do you know?
We were getting close to the Foster-Rose-Hart residence. I could see the drones hovering over the street from two blocks away.
“In my world, among the highborn, it can be easy…” Alexander’s eyes became distant. “It can be easy to think you only need to look down. Even for me.” He grimaced. “A mistake.”
In that moment, under that sky, I could imagine a world better than the one we lived in. But my life had taught me a crueler wisdom. We turned the corner back to reality.
Twin lines of sedans stretched from one end of the block to the other. Giant lights, projected from a pair of dark winged drones overhead, cast a pallid glow over the complex at the center of the street. I could only see the spike-topped gate and a portion of the front lawn from where we stood. Private security clad in black suits with spiraling rose pins on their lapels scanned our visers as we walked onto the street.
“Very sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you in the dark. Welcome back,” said the one that inspected Alexander, giving a slight bow as he waved us through. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the furtive stare he gave me when Alexander wasn’t looking.
As we drew closer to the house I realized it was more of an estate than a typical Manhattan townhouse. The pictures failed to capture the reality of the place. The structure sat on a lot that would’ve been sufficient for four luxurious Manhattan residences. It
stretched back so far that it reached the block behind it. The property was surrounded by an ornate metal gate on all sides, with high hedges and a trimmed green lawn between the house and the perimeter—an unimaginable luxury, even among the wealthy of Manhattan. The house itself was a garish thing, the entryway dominated by four great stone pillars forged in a modernist Greek style. A circular driveway led up to the front door from the street. A glass dome protruded from the house’s fifth-story rooftop like a giant eye staring upwards. The folded wings of a V-copter leaned out from a landing pad on the far side of the roof.
“It’s not much, but it’s home,” I muttered, not sure if I wanted Alexander to hear me or not. He did.
“It’s all part of the game. It says: ‘We have a lot to offer. Join us. Stay loyal. Or we have the power to crush you.’”
At the main gate leading to the driveway, twin pillars no wider than a flag pole projected beams of red and blue light at each other, creating a glowing curtain about four feet wide. A pair of Rose-Hart security minders scanned visers and requested that people pass through the detectors single file. Guests recognized Alexander as we drew close. The first couple greeted him with head bows, each nod slightly lower than the one Alexander returned. The boy looked vaguely familiar from school, although it was hard to tell amid his costume of glittering eye shadow and metal-beaded hair. His date was even more elaborately attired, in a gown of shifting colors, a tiara lodged in her silvery hair. Her neck was surrounded by a chain of rubies that appeared to grow from her skin. They might be students, but I felt a million miles from Tuck. The rules of conduct were different here.
“This is Daniela Machado,” Alexander said to the couple by way of introduction. The chameleon dress girl eyed me like a wary mother. Her eyebrows hiked up her forehead at the pronouncement of my name. “Daniela, this is Trish Steam-Harris and Davis Palm-Giffords.”
Head nods were offered—the latter considerably shallower than what Alexander had procured. I returned the gesture, uncomfortable and awkward.
Word of Alexander’s location spread like a virus, drawing an overdressed swarm to us. I didn’t bother trying to remember the litany of names offered. Their looks of disdain upon meeting me lingered longer. My mouth hurt from attempting fake smiles, so I stopped trying. These people—all of them highborn, and in the worst way, reminded me of why I was here. These were the people who made the Culling. If not them personally, then their families and the beliefs their world fostered. I wrapped my arm around Alexander’s, nudging him steadily towards the door scanner. Not that I expected a respite from the aristocratic niceties inside. I just wanted to make some progress on my mission.
We reached the security station. I passed through the scanning tunnel first, forcing a nonchalance into my step that I didn’t feel. There was a brilliant light, but no pain. No tingling. No alarm. Nythan was cocky, but for good reason. I hoped the rest of his plan would go as smoothly.
Alexander and I walked towards the house with our hands joined, joining a small procession of young couples draped in clothes and jewels. I gazed up at the sprawling mansion. The uppermost floors appeared dark.
“Isn’t this disturbing your father?” I asked, trying to sound as if I was being polite, rather than a lying spy. A wince of annoyance flashed on Alexander’s face.
“He is recovering in the HRZ. He’s too tough to kill with a mere missile.” Alexander’s voice was not quite his own when he spoke about his father—something bitter hovered at its edge. “Only the neighbors are disturbed, and we pay them an honorarium for the inconvenience.”
“Sorry, HRZ?”
“Hamptons Restricted Zone. Safe and quiet out there. No visitors, lots of security.” Someone up ahead called out Alexander’s name; he offered a regal-ish wave back.
“Restricted means no nopes allowed?”
“Of course not. Restricted means property owners only, and employed staff or properly invited guests. No transit traffic, no strangers. It’s a zero-crime zone.”
“Except the crime of its existence,” I mumbled, but I’m sure he heard as well.
The arrival of more supplicants helped us avoid further discussion. It was for the best. Getting him upstairs was going to be hard if I started a fight before we made it to the front door. My blood was heating as I rallied my strength for another session of lip stretching.
“You two are track friends, right?” asked a copper-skinned girl with multiple names and a smile so sharp she could’ve used it to perform surgery.
“We’ll see you inside,” Alexander replied evenly. I missed Kortilla and we hadn’t even made it into the house yet.
We passed under a great overhang that shielded the front door from the drone’s artificial light. A pair of imposing cathedral-sized doors stood open before us. Glittered bodies glided past the portal like shooting stars. Alexander’s hand squeezed mine and we entered the residence of the Foster-Rose-Harts.
I stepped into grandeur. The entry foyer soared three stories high, with interior balconies overlooking the sprawling marble floor. A pair of matching helix staircases on opposite sides of the expansive chamber twirled towards the higher levels. A great chandelier hung above, extending its crystal arms in eight directions. Attendants offered to take my coat or bag, despite the fact that I carried neither. The room and balconies overflowed with genetically enhanced bodies competing to be the brightest star in the night. The beauty in the room taunted that I had lived my entire life among the ordinary.
“Let’s try to make our way towards the back if we can,” Alexander said into my ear.
I nodded, lacking anything substantive to say. Groups of highborn clustered in the halls like nests of roaches. Waiters attired in pristine white suits adorned with golden buttons circulated with silver trays, offering food I barely knew existed: shining red claws from sea crabs, slices of raw fish laid upon polished rice with such artistry that it didn’t look real, shrimp larger than two of my fingers.
“I thought crabs were endangered, and real fish too laced with pollutants to eat raw,” I said.
“It’s from our family’s private stocks. The regulations don’t apply to stuff not sold commercially,” Alexander told me, his attention focused on navigating through the halls of his house. “You should try the crab. You might object to the ideology of having them, but not the taste.”
That wasn’t going to work with my special tooth. I declined the food, preferring to think I was sticking to my principles.
We passed into a windowed hallway that looked out onto a huge interior courtyard topped by the enormous glass dome that had been visible from the street. Circular tables with fire-lit candles dotted the space. Holographic birds fluttered through the air above them. A concentration of shining highborn mingled amid the flames and the finery, their hands filled with food and drink. At the center of them all, I saw her: Kristolan Foster-Rose-Hart. She glided through the crowd of fawners, smiling, touching, speaking to each one, but never quite stopping. Her smile flashed as she shared jokes, while her eyes reassured each person of their importance to her. Drake’s hulky form hovered in her shadow, looking anxious. I remembered what Nythan had said about Drake’s family being in debt to the Foster-Rose Harts—and Alexander’s warning that his sister was not one to miss an opportunity that could be exploited.
Even as Kristolan reigned among the masses, she somehow noticed me. Those piercing orbs cut a path through the packed bodies to lock onto me. My throat clenched, and my mind tingled with alarm. I wondered why Alexander had really brought me here. This was not my place, my people. I wanted to do what I had to do and get out. My teeth clenched.
I expected Alexander to lead me out to the courtyard to join his sister, but he didn’t. Instead, we skirted around the central area, down a cramped hall, passing through a sliding panel door into a more intimate salon. A gray-haired gentleman in a tuxedo played soft, graceful music on a silky black piano in one corner. Its top had been raised, and its crisp notes flowed like water over falls. A
sofa and several soft-armed chairs furnished the space. Besides us, there was only one other couple present.
“I thought you might be a bit more comfortable in here,” Alexander told me. “And it’s quiet enough to talk. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Let me guess, inebriation age rules don’t apply?”
“Correct, it’s private property. I suspect you’re more interested in sparring about the politics of alcohol than drinking it, but perhaps we should do both before you judge?”
“Why not? I’ll let you be my guide.”
Alexander motioned to a waiter standing at attention. “Klos d’Ambonnay,” he ordered. The man gave a deep nod and scurried off. I hadn’t even noticed the waiter when I came in. Very highborn of me.
“He’s getting you the good stuff,” said a voice behind me. I turned to find Anise standing there, a flute of clear bubbling liquid held in one hand. She wore a flowing gown of silver scales that contrasted with the onyx of her eyes. Alexander caught the waiter’s attention with a grunt of his throat and flashed three fingers at the server.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like that dress. Or you, either, I suppose,” Anise told me.
“All of us got here via Bronx City,” I replied, unsure if I’d been complimented or insulted.
“What do you think so far?” she asked.
“A lot of very attractive people, wearing very expensive clothes, in a giant house, eating threatened species. None of whom seem particularly glad to have me among them.”
“I’m glad to have you here, Daniela,” Alexander proclaimed. “And Anise, so nice to have you with us, and…who is it tonight?”
“Gillal, of the Masford-Jayson clan.” She looked around absently. “He wandered off to pay court to your sister and her cronies. Our families insisted we attend together.” She made a gagging face. “Lucky me.”
“If you don’t like him, why…”
Anise smiled indulgently. “It’s part of the game. This may seem a little ridiculous to you, from the outside. As you said, it looks like pretty people dressed in pretty clothes. But part of it is quite serious, I assure you. Families live or die based on the relationships forged in this house. And everyone wants Kristolan’s favor”
