Dancer (Wine of the Gods Book 15)

by Pam Uphoff

  She slipped and slid through the loose sand and out on the firm.

  "You all right, Kid?"

  "Yeah. Oh yeah! "

  Oh Dear. Endi's potion. I ought to have dragged the kid out of that dive! She glanced at his bright-eyed face. Or maybe it was good for him. What the hell.

  "You look pretty good. Is your hand all right?"

  "Yep. All those healing spells. One, that stuff packs a punch." She frowned suddenly. And I hope to hell that wine all got drunk. Else I'll have started an all new drug epidemic.

  "It's from Target Forty-two, isn't it? Do their witches make it? And why did their magic users get stuck with such an ugly name?"

  Rael laughed out loud. "Coming from our culture, you can ask that?"

  He looked indignant.

  "Servaone. Think about it. Sixty percent of the elite ten percent of the population. Sixty percent of the elite magic users. They do most of the work in Oner specialized tasks. And they are stuck with 'servant' in their name? Are we insanely hierarchical or what?"

  "Oh. Huh. And they put up with it?"

  "Yeah. And I can't think why. I'd rebel, myself."

  Kitchen grinned. "Yeah, good thing you're a princess, otherwise the whole multiverse would be in danger." His grin widened. "But I think I just figured out my project for this hideous Social Consciousness class we're all required to take."

  "Oh, One! Don't make me regret ever talking to you!"

  They worked out while discussing possible new designations. Worka-one was the most melodious. And it was certainly accurate. Worker of the One.

  And it's just a high school report. It won't go anywhere. I'm not aiding and abetting a social revolution. And after all, it's just a name. A word.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday, 20 Safar 1398

  "Ze flexibility, she is eggzelent. Now, ze strength, we will conzentrate on."

  It wasn't so much the weight, as the sheer number of machines he had that worked different muscle groups. He made her use them all. Twice.

  "Mr. Zip, you are a sadist."

  "Ze official term eez Physical Terrorist."

  When she dragged home, her father was pacing with a cranky baby.

  He looked as unhappy as the baby. "Probably a tooth. It's about time for that to start happening."

  "Teeth. Umm, never thought about that. I sort of vaguely remember losing my baby teeth." Rael shrugged. "But by then I suppose I was old enough to understand what was happening. Babies don't know that, do they?"

  "No. Nor . . . their eventual fate." He paced to the windows and back. "He's such a beautiful little boy. I just can't stand the thought of what they'll do to him."

  Rael dropped her gaze from her father's agonized face to the baby's. The boy's funny colored all-babies-look-like-this eyes had changed. They were dark now, a blue that was nearly black, but with flecks and flashes of lighter blue, a blue rim . . .

  "Dad . . . Wait right here." Rael trotted up to her room and hunted down that magazine. That picture, right there on the cover. That gaze-into-your-soul stare. From eyes so black it was hard to tell iris from pupil. Flecks and rim of blue . . .

  She looked from baby to picture. Even the shape, the eyebrows . . .

  Her father looked from baby to picture and back.

  "Look at the eyes, Dad. I've never seen irises like that before."

  "You think Raod . . . "

  "Had a fight with her husband, flew to Paris to going shopping with her friends and had a fling with a pretty boy?" Or, given the babies' birth date, weeks before the public breakup.

  Dad flushed then paled. "The twins are half . . . Native? I mean, I know he's heroic, I know Target Forty-two has some sort of magic, but . . . "

  Rael snorted with laughter. "One! Haven't they released that information? Right, well, in that case, Do Not repeat this to anyone. Especially Mother or Raod. They'd gossip. I ought not even tell you. I probably ought not have told Raod as much as I did."

  "Tell me what?"

  "About Target Forty-two. Target Forty-two was settled fourteen centuries ago by genetically engineered people exiled from the world where they were created. They may well have been, or at least included, Those Left Behind. The friends and compatriots of the New Prophets, before the Prophets came here. Native is not the right term, there were no native humans on that world. Unless you mean, native to the original world of the Prophets. And their so-called gods are fourteen centuries old. Just like the Prophets, and unlike them, some of them are still alive. Endi Dewulfe is their version of a Warrior of the One. With mostly the same genes we have. The same six insertions, and Endi had a double set, just lacking what we call the rape genes. But their power genes are all slightly different. The gene on Arno's Y chromosome is not the Priest gene. The One may want to study these kids, but they won't be Priests, so no castration. That, at least, the kids will be spared."

  "But, but they tested as Withione. Both of them."

  "Yes. So far as I've heard, all of Endi's children are Withiones. And I strongly suspect they'll all be very strong, above and beyond what the simple numbers imply."

  Her dad looked down at the baby. "Right. I just . . . fathers don't like to think about their daughters . . . and with that . . . "

  "Extremely powerful, man whose world we attacked? And who despite that put his life on the line to save the President?" Rael shook her head. "They will probably be declassifying a lot of information really soon. I'm . . . not in on those sorts of decisions, any more. I suspect they'll be trying to force fit Endi's people into our classification scheme and getting it all wrong."

  He sighed. "Guess I'll just shut up and spoil my grandkids."

  "That's the best idea." Rael reached out and stroked the boy's fine light brown hair. Got a tiny zing, because she hadn't touched him for several days. She pulled out a very mild pain numbing spell, and applied it gently to his jaw. The boy stopped in mid pout, smiled and curled up against his grandfather's chest. Sound asleep, that quickly. Hey Nephew, you're a marvelous little creature, aren't you? I'll have to get back here more often, keep up with you two.

  . . . Did I just decide to go back to Paris?

  Chapter Twenty

  Friday, 25 Safar 1398

  Puuj and Joud decided that Raod needed some fun, and twisted her arm to get her to agree on a night out with the girls. Rael didn't need persuasion. She just hit the designer programs. High neck, short skirt, bare arms. Glittery black. She hit her stash of shoes for her lowest heeled black pumps and best set of jewelry. Double checked that the spyware inside the twining gold wires and micro cams behind the emeralds was all turned off.

  And thought about it. And turned them back on.

  A little bag on a long strap, for cash cards and external ID . . .

  Pudge and Jude, still hyper from their adventure, decided to go high class this night, and dragged them all the way down to Montevideo. The Strip was a change from the enclave, and the Atomic Club was the haunt of the local elite. The politicians and the players, all pretending to be Good Sports, cheering for all the right teams and talking football. Even her father had a membership. Raod had four, from prior marriages.

  And of course this upper crust establishment had a wall sized vid showing the game.

  Showing Bruno dazzling the crowd, running circles around the opposition.

  Well, looks like Endi's potion can do more than whip up the libido. All those healing spells . . . I didn't think about him having to pass drug tests and so forth. But the tests are always a developmental generation behind the changes to the vices anyway. There was a news flash about detecting Dream use . . . Bruno will be in trouble soon, if he doesn't quit.

  The whole room cheered as the Montevideo Flash qualified for the division finals.

  Much chatter, finishing of drinks, then a lot of the customers started leaving.

  Rael surveyed the lot and made notes of who she really ought to talk to . . .

  Governor Itsu was there, and stopped by to glare
down at Raod. Rael giggled at the imaginary daggers and let a bit more glow show though. She caught the man giving her the once over from the corner of his eye. She timed it carefully, got up and stepped away just before the governor turned.

  "Such a pleasure to meet our local heroine."

  Rael grinned. "Oh dear, hard up for heroes? Really, I didn't do much."

  "Modest, eh?"

  "And I've been away so long, I feel like a visitor. Has the rest of the district grown as much as the enclave, in the last twenty years?"

  He perked up at his favorite subject. "Oh yes . . . the Port of Montevideo expansion has increased, has nearly doubled, the tonnage it can handle, and as the population has grown, we need it . . . " He was a damned good dancer. And the things he knew about in detail, rather than simply superficially, were interesting. She kept mental notes, although to what purpose, she was unsure. Rather to her surprise, he took pride in the division for itself, not as a personal accomplishment. The difference was subtle, but either very well manufactured, or an interesting quality in a politician. But he veered away from all her casual steering toward his personal life.

  He was dining with two other men, one of them the Mayor of Montevideo, Eglo Withione, Raod's first husband. The man Jorge thought of as "Boss." His dancing was mediocre, and his interests mainly involved keeping a large city running. He was proud of his city. Suit, shirt, and leather shoes were all handmade, his watch expensive, cuff links and matching tie clip looked like custom work. Rael made a mental note to find our how much the mayor was paid. Raod will know if there's any family money.

  None of the men had a female companion along. It felt very odd, after Paris, where every important governmental official had a princess assigned to him. An odd combination of a reward for success and a monitor who could, and would, kill her principal, if ordered by the One. Surely the Governor of a District has a princess. It bothered her a bit. Something else to look into.

  And another familiar face.

  "Princess Rael. You look better every time I see you."

  Rael concealed a wince behind a grin. "Uzke. Still hobnobbing with the movers and shakers?"

  "Afraid so. But if you dance with me, I promise to not bore you with recitations of bureaucratic minutè."

  Ruskie was a very good dancer. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see Ogto's widow out partying so soon."

  Rael shrugged. "They'd been separated for over a year when he died. If my emergency hadn't interrupted their routine, they'd have divorced six months ago. As it is, Raod had to practically be dragged out for this. I guess it wasn't very . . . sympathetic of us. Did you know him well?"

  Shrug. "He was the man we all went to, for campaign funds. The Party could generally be counted on to pony up starter funds for our private fund raising efforts."

  "A bit of delayed tit-for-tat, I suppose." She could feel him tense. "Oh, not meaning anything wrong, but by supporting the people who get into the top positions, they can probably count on some handsome donations, years after those starter funds."

  He snorted. "No, most of their support is in the form of regular small contributions from millions of people. Once we're in office we keep the money for ourselves, and help our fellow party members with endorsements and campaign appearances."

  The song ended and he escorted her back to her table. No sign of further interest.

  Oh. Well.

  She took a quick inventory. Feet numb, entire right arm feeling a bit off.

  "Maybe I ought to search Ogto's mansion, myself." Rael muttered.

  Raod perked up. "What an excellent idea! He's still got so much of my stuff."

  "That's pathetic. The man's dead and all you care about is a few things you left behind?" A man she didn't know; average looking, expensive suit, solid glow of a Withione, expert shield showing just what he needed to make a good impression.

  Raod rolled her eyes. "Good evening Ufdy. So nice to see you again."

  "Heh." He shrugged a dismissive shoulder and walked away.

  "One of Ogto's school pals. I think he owns the club. I think we should both go look for my stuff. I'll ask Ox tomorrow, if I'm allowed into the house, and if I can remove anything."

  Rael nodded, and slipped out of her seat. Ufdy looked like he might be useful.

  He was an obnoxious dancer. Shoving her around with his torso. Trying to dominate, not just lead.

  "So, did you really kill Ogto?"

  "Me? Whatever for?" She studied his tense facial muscles. "Ah, you must be one of the people Ogto was blackmailing."

  He shoved her back, off the dance floor and into a wall. "Ogto was . . . what do you mean, one of the people? How many people?"

  "At least three. Were you at the reunion?"

  "Whatever for?" His voice went high, mimicking hers.

  He was pressed up against her. Squishing her against the wall. Hands on her shoulders, rather closer to her neck than she liked. Magically strong, and well trained. He was holding two shields. His physical shield was strong, mental a bit less so. It would take time to get through it. She started feeling for the frequency, the vibrations of the shield against mental spells.

  "Was your sister working with him? He got all that information from somewhere . . . your sister must have stolen files from Itsu . . . probably from all of her husbands. Bitch. And Ogto got them. And you're helping her, aren't you?"

  The man had a big time hard on . . . Suffering from blood loss to the brain . . . Maybe he'll talk . . .

  "When did the blackmail start?" Rael waited, got no answer. "About four years ago?" Slight tensing. "What month? Early in the year? Late?" He twitched a bit at "late." She wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been in such close contact.

  "Bitch." He ground his hips against hers.

  Does this count as me still being sexually attractive? Umm, don't think so. Drat. "Hey, isn't this a bit public to get away with rape?"

  "I'm a part owner. My apartment is upstairs."

  "We are downstairs."

  "You think I don't know the law? You think I haven't been through the courts before?" Ufdy curled a sarcastic lip and leaned in harder. "Didn't you notice the pretty lettering on the door? Private club, welcome to my home."

  "Oh? And that constitutes legal notice? Was that what you were being blackmailed over? A threat to expose an occasional rape of a club patron? That would be bad for business, wouldn't it? Not to mention your pervy sex life."

  "You little . . . " His hands slid toward her neck.

  All right. I think this is far enough. She pushed a sleep spell . . . he laughed and hardened his shield against mental effects . . . which weakened his physical. She hit him with a stun. A concentrated small area push-and-pull. A jolt that would knock his brain against the inside of his skull. His shield flashed solid . . . and the sleep spell wafted past the abandoned shreds of the mental shield. His eyes closed and he started to sag.

  "Oops!" Rael grabbed his lapels and looked around. An empty chair at the nearest table . . . Her back twinged . . .

  The couple sitting there recoiled as Rael heaved the almost unconscious man into the chair between them. "Dreadfully sorry! He was awfully heavy. Too much to drink!" A quick pat down. Cigarettes and a lighter. Ah Ha! A smoker . . . except he says he wasn't at the reunion. Drat. But check with the Investigator.

  "What are you doing?" The man at the table was leaning away, aghast.

  Rael patted her little bag, pulled out a cash card, checked the balance . . . "Waitress! Their dinner and drinks are on me! Keep the change!" She slithered into the crowd on the dance floor and out the far side.

  Oh my aching back! Next time I party, I'm bringing a bag big enough for a stunner.

  Then the club was inundated by a flood of big, strong, young men. Close to half the Flash, with Bruno in the forefront, and heading straight for their table.

  "I had the hangover from hell half of last night. Then I slept like a baby, missed the pregame tactics meeting and half the warm up. And I still feel ter
rific." He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a faint whisper. "How long does it last?"

  "Most of it is healing spells, so if it's fixed up your joints, it'll last until you bash the hell out of them again." Rael kept her voice down as well; the other women were leaning in to hear, not that she actually cared if they heard. "It even repairs the telomeres on your chromosomes."

  "You mean . . . an actual . . . "

  "Elixir of youth? Only one way to find out—live a long time. The, umm, aphrodisiacs ought to wear off in a few days."

  The man leaned in closer, as if he was going to kiss her.

  Rael shook her head. "Bruno, I was seventeen. At thirty-four I can admire your abs without any desire to be in contact with them. Let's just be friends."

  Jude snorted her drink. "Bruno, I'm really glad I heard that. Now I can go all out and try to catch you on the bounce."

  He straightened and flicked a grin her direction. "I got your message, about being here tonight."

  She grinned back. "Want to see if we can dance without ripping each other's clothes off?"

  "Yeah." He reached out for her extended hand and fairly carried her off to the dance floor.

  And Pudge was exchanging glances with a tall blonde fellow.

  He edged closer. "I, umm, I came with Bruno because he said you'd be here."

  Pudge was starting to shine. "You shaved your goatee off! I thought you looked familiar. You really are Ixxu!"

  Oh please don't tell me that's her gigolo from Low Town! Not that it's any of my business. But. . . male prostitute and drug addict are pretty much synonymous.

  As they headed off to the dance floor, Raod leaned back and eyed her. "Do I need to get you alone for a little chat about what happened Monday night? My best chums are acting very strangely."

  Rael hesitated. "Well, I'd say it wasn't my fault, but it kind of was."

  "Hmm. I see thumbscrews in your future." But when a football player asked her to dance, she did.

  And so did Rael. She caught a few glimpses of the slumbering Ufdy, and eventually an empty chair. Fortunately, he seemed to have departed.