by Kim Harrison
Must be careful. Sitting down in the rolling chair, he carefully took off his hat, tossing it to the nearby empty console.
“Thanks, Kal,” Orchid said as she flew a subdued path to the entry pad and used her feet to punch in the code that opened the door to the subterranean greenhouse.
Kal absently waved his acknowledgment, glancing up only briefly at the flush of earth-tainted air. Her dust trail quickly vanished between the rows of waving green, and he turned to the terminal. Fingers fast on the keyboard, he brought up Trisk’s tomato, asking the computer to do a search for a sequence that was commonly used as a marker for engineered linkage points.
His brow furrowed as he waited, imagining the spinning wheels and disks down below his feet, evidence of his coming betrayal, but his tension vanished when three sets of entry points into the tomato’s genome flickered in yellow type before him. Trisk had put them among the genes responsible for the drought-resistant hairs. It wasn’t in an area that would invite plant/human crossover, and he smiled. He could use this. In her effort to leave a way to tweak her creation, Trisk had all but invited tampering, made it easy.
But who would ever dream that the glittering science of the sixties, wonders that were meant to save the world and make life easy, could ever turn upon their creators?
Kal’s attention flicked up as Orchid came back in, her dust thicker and brighter. Clearly she had been suffering, and he felt better that he’d been able to help her without tarnishing her pride. “Better?” he asked as she alighted on the console.
“Very much. Thank you,” the little woman said primly, still eating from a ball of pollen she’d gathered. “I swear, parking lots are a study of why my people can’t live near humans.”
“Yes?” he said as he pushed his chair to the adjacent terminal. He needed a look at Daniel’s virus. Fortunately Rick had given him the access codes for that as well.
“In two words, monospecies gardens.” Orchid moved with him, bringing the acidic scent of tomatoes along with her. Trisk’s tomato field was visible through her fitfully moving wings. “Grass and pine trees, pine trees and grass. And if the pine trees aren’t pollinating, there’s nothing to eat.” Standing atop the console, she gazed down at the yellow text. “Whatcha doing?”
“Fixing things,” he said distantly, surprised at how hard his voice came out. “Look.”
Orchid followed his pointing finger, her tiny face screwing up. “You know I can’t read,” she accused, and he felt himself flush, embarrassed for forgetting.
“Sorry,” he said as he asked the computer to print out the screen. “These are engineered linkage spots on Daniel’s virus. I figured he’d have them if Trisk worked on it. She put three just like them on her tomato in case she ever wanted to tweak it in the future.”
Orchid hovered before the monitor, her pooling dust shifting color to match the text on the screen. “Isn’t that kind of stupid? To have the same linkage on two things?”
“It would be if they were alike, but they aren’t. See?” He pointed to the other screen, where Trisk’s code for her tomato still glowed. Leaning to reach the other keyboard, he asked the computer to print out one of the linkage codes on Trisk’s tomato as well.
Orchid dusted her hands free of pollen. “I’m not following. What are we trying to do?”
“Break the unbreakable,” Kal muttered, and Orchid sighed, her dust shifting red. “Trisk made her tomato resistant to everything,” he added. “I’m going to use Daniel’s virus to kill it.”
Orchid’s mouth dropped into a little O of understanding, making Kal smile. “Her entire three years here will be discredited, tainting her work on her universal donor virus. I’ll make sure all her funding goes to my studies, where it should have been in the first place.”
Wings blurring into motion, Orchid took to the air, spinning to look out the wide window at the green field. “You said they wouldn’t match up.”
“Not on their own, no. I’m going to need to synthesize a link. A puzzle piece. A tiny piece of code that fits the virus on one end, the tomato on the other.” He stood, leaning over the console to erase his actions. “QED.”
“You can do that?” Orchid asked, still at the window. “How long will it take?”
Finished clearing the one terminal, Kal moved to the other. “If I were in my old lab, by lunch. Here, it might take a few days.” He hesitated, his thoughts on his earlier plans of seducing Trisk into his bed. He was not letting go of that. “If I work through lunch, I might have enough by tomorrow to infect the cultures they’re going to synthesize this week. They’d be incorporated right into the tactical virus’s replicating DNA.”
“And it will kill all her tomatoes?” Orchid asked. “What about everyone else?”
Unsure, Kal clicked his pen in rapid succession and tucked it behind an ear. It rubbed on the scar tissue where his ears had been docked to look more human, and he took it out. When his work was finished, he’d be able to change the elves’ genetic code so they were born without the need to cut their children. “It can’t kill people, Orchid. It can’t even replicate outside of a lab. The only thing it can affect is the tomatoes.” If he was lucky, it would decimate Trisk’s entire crop from pole to pole, but he wasn’t going to tell Orchid that. She liked growing things too much.
“But the enclave sent you to make sure it’s safe,” the pixy protested. “You have a responsibility—”
“Responsibility?” he interrupted, surprised Orchid even cared. “Trisk’s work is dangerous. If no one can see that, it’s my responsibility to put an end to it before it hurts anyone,” he said, voice harsh. “Tell you what,” he added when her wings drooped. “That’s her seed crop out there. What if I infect that, and nothing else?”
“I suppose,” she said reluctantly, and Kal smiled, thinking it would shorten his time in the lab as well. He straightened, his stretch to crack his back coming to an abrupt halt as his fingers closed into a fist inches from the smear on the ceiling. Sobered, he looked over the office, ready to pick up his copies at the printer and settle into a lab down the hall. If he were at Kennedy, his part would be done, but spending the day prepping strands of DNA was a small price to pay for seeing Trisk’s helpless rage when her work was utterly disregarded.
“Coming?” he said as he scooped up his hat. “I have to hustle to get everything done for tonight.”
Orchid turned from the window, her hands clasped at her middle. “You’re still going to seduce her?” she said, her eyes becoming wide. “I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I don’t.” Kal’s lips went tight in a mirthless smile. “She’s playing me for a fool. I’m going to play her right back.”
“Yeah, but Kal,” Orchid protested, her wings a harsh clatter as she hovered right before his face, “you’re talking about hurting her, now, not just her work.”
“That’s right,” he said, looking forward to playing the attentive boyfriend for as long as it was necessary. The payoff would be seeing her frustrated and angry, knowing she’d been used and discarded.
“But why?” Orchid asked, her wondering expression sending a stab of quickly stifled guilt through him. “You’re going to get what you want with her tomatoes dead. Her work will be discredited. Yours will flourish.”
The guilt rose again, swelling at the memory of Trisk’s laugh at a shared joke, the way she had softened toward him over the last few weeks, how he liked knowing she was in the office next to his if he needed a second opinion—and how that opinion was actually worth something.
Then he quashed it with the thought that Trisk was lying to him, pretending to be his girlfriend to further her career. She deserved it. Those who live by the lie die by the lie. “It all works together, Orchid. All or nothing. Now are you coming?”
Orchid’s expression twisted into an unsatisfied frown. Seeing it, Kal mockingly doffed his hat in invitation. Her dust an odd shade of purple and green, Orchid flew to him, making a tiny huff before landing amid his fair strand
s.
But she was atop his head. Mood improved, he gently settled his hat over her. His eyes flicked to the ceiling one last time, and then he shut off the light, leaving the small room lit only by the glow of the underground field, green and waving in its artificial wind. Three days it would take to see if his “fix” was going to be effective.
Plenty of time to see how far Trisk would go.
14
The warm air was eminently pleasant, streaming through Trisk’s long, unbound hair as she sat beside Kal in his Mustang convertible, top down to let the night flow over them. They wove through her twenty-five acres of tiny trees as if on ice, the motion smooth and unhurried, and she closed her eyes, surprised at how the ache of misunderstanding Daniel had left in her had been soothed by Kal’s new stretch of silence.
Dinner had been casual despite Kal showing up on her porch in a suit and tie, his recently gained field tan and blond hair making him look as if he should be on a surfboard, not behind a lab bench. Even she had to admit they looked good together, with her in her new short dress and matching yellow knee-high boots. She wore Quen’s helix necklace for strength, telling Kal her dad had given it to her when he remarked on it.
Kal had been attentive all evening, slowly pulling her from her funk. The waiters had fawned over them, and she’d caught Kal looking at her bare thigh more than once. It had gone a long way in helping her forget Daniel’s angry frustration at realizing that not only was the world larger than he had known—but he wasn’t allowed to participate. It bothered her. A lot.
Quen, currently lying low on the other side of town, hadn’t been happy when she’d told him she wasn’t going to break her date with Kal, and really, what choice did she have? Perhaps moving to Florida and working with stuck-up, chauvinistic pigs was a fitting punishment.
God, my feet hurt, she thought as the headlights bounced over her long, low-slung home and then the barn. The boots were new, and they pinched. She looked at Kal, a smile threatening when he jerked his eyes from her legs again. “Thanks for tonight,” she said as she played with the metal helix around her neck, surprised to find she meant it. “I had a great time.”
“You’re welcome.” The car came to a quiet halt between the barn and the house. “But it’s not over yet,” he said as he turned it off. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Trisk dropped her necklace, her eyebrows rising as she followed his gaze. “In the barn?”
But Kal had already gotten out, his slim silhouette sharp in the car’s headlights as he jogged around the front of the car to get her door. “Dessert is served, Dr. Cambri,” he said with a flourish. “Jell-O made with champagne. You’ll love it.”
Her suspicions vanished in a wash of amusement and she grabbed her purse and got out. “You’re kidding. You made Jell-O?”
Kal grinned, his expression almost lost in the dim light. “Uh, actually my cleaning lady did. She put pineapple in it, but you can eat around it if you want.”
He took her arm as if they were heading into a four-star restaurant, not wobbling over the dried ruts to the rolling door. “I love pineapple,” she said, head down to watch her step. “But why are we eating it in my barn?”
And then Kal shoved the rattling door open.
Trisk stopped, lips parted. It was dark inside, but she could see the cloth-covered bales of straw making a rude table and chairs in the middle of the floor where she’d summoned a demon. Hanging over them was her unlit lantern, and set to the side was one of the coolers from the lab used to carry temperature-sensitive samples off-site. A radio sat on it, and a bottle opener.
“When did you do this?” she said, not sure if she should be flattered or creeped out.
Still smiling, Kal escorted her in. “This afternoon after lunch. I was scared to death you’d come out here after work and see it before our date.” His hold on her slipped away as he paced quickly to the makeshift table, his excitement infectious. “Music . . .” he said as he clicked the radio on, then winced as “I Got You Babe” drifted out. He straightened, clearly not happy as he turned to her. “Sorry. I can only get one station.”
She came in a few steps, gingerly sitting down on the white-and-red-checkered cloth covering a bale of straw. “That’s okay. I like Sonny and Cher,” she said as she put her purse down. It didn’t seem possible that she’d been here less than twenty-four hours ago summoning a demon, and she breathed deeply, testing the air for any sign of burnt amber. There was none, and her shoulders eased. Her trickery was hidden. Daniel was safe. So why do I feel so crappy?
“Ambiance . . .” Kal murmured, and Trisk jumped, startled when he flicked a tiny, aura-coated bit of energy at the dark lantern and it ignited with a whoosh.
“Impressive,” she said, smiling at his obvious satisfaction. “I didn’t know you could do anything other than break chandeliers and give bad luck to nasty, ornery witches.”
Chuckling, he shot her a glance from under a lowered brow as he moved the radio to the edge of the straw table and flipped the lid up on the cooler. “You might be surprised what I can do,” he said softly, almost a challenge as he lifted a mold of yellow gelatin from inside the box. “We have music,” he said as he set it square in the middle of the makeshift table. “Jell-O with fruit . . .” He looked up at her, the question at the back of his eyes confusing her. “Would you like white wine or cognac? I brought both.”
“Wine is fine,” she said, still feeling the effects of the glass of red she’d had with dinner. The moon was low in the sky, visible through the open barn door. Not quite full, it was still beautiful, and her mood softened. Quen loves a full moon.
“White wine it is.” Kal opened it with a pop, setting it aside as he produced two blue-and-white plates and silverware.
“I’ll do it,” she offered when he hesitated, probably never having served anything in his life, but he took up the serving spoon before she could reach it.
“My party,” he quipped, and she sat back, the straw crackling under her as she put her elbows on her knees and felt useless. Her hair drifted forward around her face, and she brushed it back, not embarrassed about its color, but maybe . . . trying to diminish its presence.
The silence stretched, broken by the sudden clinks of the silverware as Kal fought the jiggling concoction. Her feet still hurt, and she ran a finger between her boot and leg. She was loath to risk Kal seeing her demon mark on the underside of her foot, but the raised welt in the shape of a circle with a line running through it was only the size of a quarter. She hadn’t thought the demon would be so circumspect, but it still bothered her. “Do you mind if I take my boots off? My feet are killing me,” she asked, and he looked up, his ears a faint pink of embarrassment at his inept attempts to serve the Jell-O.
“Go ahead,” he said, finally managing to get an untidy slice on a plate.
His lack of polish made her smile. That he was sneaking glances at her legs as she took her boots off made her feel desired. The blanket he’d put down as a rug was surprisingly soft, and she stretched her toes, distracted as Kal set a plate before her.
“It’s kind of wiggly, isn’t it,” he said as he took his suit coat off, carefully laying it aside before sitting down across from her. On the radio, the music shifted to “Mustang Sally,” and Trisk smiled at his pained expression as he stared at the crackling speaker.
“It’s fine, really,” she said when he reached to turn it off, and he sat back, things clearly not going the way he wanted them to. “Mmmm, good,” she added as she took a spoonful, finding it had indeed been made with champagne, little bubbles bursting in her mouth.
“Nothing but the best,” he said, relieved. “I love stables. The only thing that could improve this more than better music would be an actual horse in here.”
Trisk poked through the Jell-O for the fruit, wondering at the hint of wistfulness in his voice. “That’s one of the reasons I bought it,” she said, glancing over the dusty box stalls and empty tack pegs. “But I don’t get enough free t
ime these days to have a cat, much less a horse.”
Kal reached for the wine, the shadow of his arm showing through his white shirt as he poured it out and handed her a half-full glass before dropping the bottle back into the cooler. “There’s a stable within a ten-minute drive from my house in Florida,” he hinted.
“That sounds nice,” she murmured, wondering where this was going.
“It is.” He took a sip and set his glass aside, eyes roving over the barn as if he were seeing it alive with the scents of horse and leather. “Believe it or not, some of my happiest hours were in the stables.”
Trisk kept her eyes on her plate, suddenly uneasy. They had talked all night, but it was all surface. This felt close. Personal. “No kidding,” she finally said. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as an equestrian.”
“Mmmm.” Kal shifted, the straw under him sliding in a familiar hush. “My first horse stood only this high,” he said, a bemused smile on his face as he held a hand out. “I was four. She was a real horse, not a pony, and I named her Cinnamon, because that’s what color she was. I should have named her Ginger, because she had a snap that could come from nowhere.”
Trisk laughed. “You sure she wasn’t a pony?” Her smile faded. She liked this side of Kal, and she wondered if it had been there all the time, hidden under peer pressure. School politics sucked. She went quiet, remembering.
“There’s something amazing about a good horse,” Kal said, either oblivious to her mood or trying to shake her from it. “You both have the same need to run, and this massive, powerful animal is willing to take you to the horizon, jumping fences and logs as if you could fly.”
She looked up, surprised, and he poked at his Jell-O as if embarrassed. “One with the horse, my mother would say,” he muttered, eyes down. “Both my parents ride. They host a Hunt every year for the winter solstice.”
