by Meg LaTorre
“Friends are an important asset in Cirque du Borge.” His words were a whispering caress in her ear. The sweet smell of peppermint plumed into her nostrils. “With the right friends to help you succeed, I think you could do very well here.”
When the vision in her right eye returned, she locked her knees and pulled herself to her feet, extricating herself from Abrecan’s hold. “While I appreciate the help and the welcome committee, I’m not—”
Abrecan raised a hand, the light of the theater’s artificial lights catching on his rings’ gemstones. “Think carefully before you pick your friends.” Reaching out, he pushed her hair behind her ear. With a snap of his fingers, the red rose reappeared in his hand.
Glancing behind, she saw the rose she’d placed on the table was gone.
“It’d be a shame to be on opposing sides when we could have been more. Much, much more.” Placing the rose into her hand and wrapping her fingers around it, Abrecan turned on his heel and left her office—returning to excited shouts from the other performers in the theater beyond.
His own personal army.
She added avoiding the wannabe magician to her growing to-do list.
It would seem Cirque du Borge was even less of a friendly place than she’d thought.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
Chapter 5
Rora moved through her usual routine atop the slackline. As she did, her cyborg hand droned its mechanical melancholy.
Lunging forward, she caught the rope with her hands and flipped herself back to her feet. Before she could complete the flip, her hand sparked. A bolt of electricity shot up her arm and into her shoulder.
Pain pulsed through her so sharply, her head swam.
Gasping, she lost her grip on the wire, elbows slapping the mat on the ground below.
The room twisted under her gaze before settling. A strange smell like burning hair and sulfur filled the air. It took her another moment to realize her cyborg wrist was smoking.
“Shit!”
Grabbing a sweat towel, Rora clapped the fabric over the growing smoke.
Marzanna, who had been rehearsing nearby, dashed over and hauled her to her feet. “Come on! It’s time you see the new tinkerer about that hand.”
Despite Rora’s plan, she hesitated, feeling suddenly very small and very nervous.
Marzanna pulled her along toward the tinkerer’s office, knocking briskly on the doorframe before marching in with Rora in tow.
“Tinkerer,” Marzanna said as a way of greeting. “We require your immediate attention. Ms. Lockwood’s arm is smoking.”
Hunched over several books and sitting cross-legged on the patient table, the tinkerer looked up and blinked as though lost in thought. Cyborg eye settling on them, she jumped to her feet, shoving the books off the table and indicating for Rora to sit.
Rora’s cheeks heated.
This hadn’t been what she’d had in mind about seducing this woman.
Suppressing a groan, Rora sat on the table and removed the towel, which had blackened in a patch from her smoking hand.
Grabbing tools and parts from the shelves, the tinkerer shuffled over and placed the equipment beside Rora on the table. Turning to Marzanna, the tinkerer said, “If you don’t mind, I’d ask you to return to your activities while I care for…”
She looked at Rora, eyebrows raised.
“Rora Lockwood,” Rora blurted.
“Right, for Ms. Lockwood,” she said. “My name is Gwendolyn Grimm.”
Marzanna opened her mouth to object, but Rora held up a hand. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for your help.”
Nodding, Marzanna returned to the theater.
Feeling as though she’d just swallowed a lump of nut butter, Rora cleared her throat. But Gwendolyn paid her no mind, donning rubber gloves and tracing the wiring and metal gears near where the smoking had started. Rora felt cheated on by her own hand.
I’d like some of her attention as well, thank you.
Plucking up a screwdriver, Gwendolyn sat beside her and unscrewed the top metal plating, which opened with a click, revealing the machinery underneath. When smoke spewed up, the tinkerer cursed, fingers rummaging through the technology.
It felt like someone had pulled up Rora’s dress to look at her undergarments. Blood rushed to her cheeks.
This is not how this seduction was supposed to go.
Yesterday, Rora had concocted a plan to get the new hand she so desperately needed. And the plan was simple—to seduce the tinkerer.
At Cirque du Borge, one rule was sacred: cyborgs only received new or refurbished implants upon entering the circus.
After the Cyborg Prohibition Law was put into place and the manufacturing of implants illegalized, implants, replaceable parts, and the rechargeable batteries powering them became scarce, and, therefore, incredibly valuable. Even the base implants were worth millions of marks. Should anything unexpectedly malfunction before its time, like Rora’s hand, the cyborg was out of luck. If the malfunctioning implant impacted performances and audience engagement, the performer could be subject to contract termination, which could mean expulsion from the circus or worse.
Tinkerers were prohibited from using the circus’ resources to purchase additional parts or to construct a new cyborg hand.
Unfortunately for Rora, the last tinkerer had been a following-the-rules kind of gent. He’d disappeared mysteriously a few months before his thirteen-year contract was up. But this tinkerer would be different.
Gwendolyn Grimm would be so smitten that she’d do anything for Rora—even make her a new hand. With a new hand, Rora could perform even more incredible stunts. In so doing, she’d secure one of the top ten spots to perform for the emperor.
Finally, she’d prove she was good enough.
“What’s wrong with it?” Rora asked, foregoing all her carefully planned conversations.
Gwendolyn didn’t respond as she worked.
“Ms. Grimm?”
“What?” She looked up as though noticing Rora for the first time. “Oh… It’s just Gwen.”
Progress?
“Something is wrong with the unit, and perhaps the mainframe as well,” Gwen continued. “The original unit is at least ten years old, so it’s hard to tell which went first.” She bit her tongue between her teeth as she worked. “What were you doing out there anyway?”
“Practicing. I was doing a flip when my hand went haywire.”
Gwen nodded absently. “Did you experience any shocks or bolts of electricity from the implant?”
“Yes.”
Releasing Rora’s hand, Gwen scratched the back of her head. “On a ship, if that sort of thing happened, I’d take the whole machine apart to see where the malfunctioning originated…” She trailed off. Finally, she shook her head before resuming her work. “I’m hoping if I can replace a few wires that your hand will return to its previous functionality.”
Which wasn’t very good to begin with.
Patience.
“I trust you,” Rora said.
Gwen stiffened but didn’t look up from her work.
Turning, Gwen shifted her grip on Rora’s arm. As she did, her fingers traced lightly over the skin on her elbow, sending gooseflesh up her arms.
Rora wanted to rub her arm, to hide what this woman’s touch did to her, but she forced herself to remain motionless.
“I’ve met a bunch of crybabies all morning,” Gwen finally said. “You’re the first person who hasn’t complained about the lack of instantaneous success.”
Rora laughed. “For once, I don’t have decent competition? Excellent.”
Abruptly, Gwen screwed the metal plating back into place and stood. “I’m hoping that should do it. You’re all set, Ms. Lockwood.”
Rora’s eyes connected with Gwen’s. For a moment, she forgot how to move. Dark lashes framed an iris as infinite as the stars. Her cyborg eye emitted a golden glow from the light where her iris and pupil would have been.
&
nbsp; Just what can she see with that cyborg eye?
Recalling her plan, Rora leaned forward on the table until her face was only inches from Gwen’s. It was then she noticed how tall Gwen was. But with Rora sitting on the table, her lips were mere inches lower than Gwen’s.
“Call me Rora.”
Gwen licked her lips, her chest rising and falling visibly.
“Will you be going to the ball?” Rora put on her sweetest, shyest smile.
Gwen cleared her throat, but she didn’t step back. “Not if I can help it.”
“Although attendance is mandatory…” Rora dared to lean close enough that she whispered the next words into the tinkerer’s ear. “I hope I can persuade you to come.” Slowly, she pulled herself away and slid off the table. She walked toward the door with a performer’s saunter. “We performers can be a dramatic bunch, but we do know how to throw one hell of a party.”
A lie, but the tinkerer didn’t need to know that.
“If you’d like a good time, Gwen, I’d be happy to show you.”
Rora paused long enough to smile mischievously up at Gwen, whose dark eye was rimmed with possibility—a single eyebrow raised in unspoken question.
Those eyes narrowed as she considered. “Mandatory attendance, you say?” With a chuckle, she placed the screwdriver on one of the shelves, giving Rora a great view of an ass the sun would orbit.
Rora’s gaze swept up to the tinkerer’s full hips and narrow waist.
When Gwen turned around, a small smile was on her lips. “So, are you going to ask me, or what?”
Well, she certainly doesn’t mess around.
Or does she?
Butterflies fluttered through Rora’s stomach.
Smiling, she tried to keep her face smooth. It wouldn’t do to show how much Gwen affected her—not if she was going to have this girl wrapped around her finger. Still, she could play along.
“Would you like to go to the ball with me?”
“Do you care if your date wears… informal attire?” Gwen gestured to her tinkerer’s clothes. “I’m afraid everything else I own is back on Anchorage.”
That’s where Bastian picked her up.
Closing the distance between them, she grabbed Gwen’s hand. “Don’t worry. I have just the thing.”
Linking her fingers through Gwen’s, Rora led her out of the theater. To her surprise, Gwen clasped Rora’s hand in return.
Excited to spend time alone with Gwen, she didn’t notice the drone had returned to her cyborg hand.
Chapter 6
Gwen tried not to look over the short stall to where the lovely, dark acrobat showered next to her.
As she washed herself, she couldn’t help as her fingers lingered between her legs. The wetness there had nothing to do with the shower.
What the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to be learning how to be a passable cyborg tinkerer, not getting cozy with the staff.
But damn it if she could refuse Rora.
Seeing the slackliner up close in her office hours before, Gwen recognized Rora at once as the performer she’d watched on Anchorage—before the woman from the manufacturing district had led her away. Gwen had felt an immediate attraction to Rora then. And she sure as hell felt one now.
Even without the makeup and fancy clothes, Rora was breathtaking.
Turning the water colder, Gwen washed off before returning to Rora’s room.
Once dressed in underthings, Rora said, “Would you like me to fix your hair?”
Gwen opened her mouth and closed it. Her protests died on her tongue as Rora placed her hand on the small of Gwen’s back and guided her to the stool before a vanity station.
Even the lingering pain on her scalp seemed a distant memory at the feel of Rora’s nimble fingers combing out her hair with a fine ivory comb.
After wrapping Gwen’s hair in large, hideous rollers—the type women used to give curl to their hair—Rora gently squeezed her shoulders. “Come, let’s find you something to wear.”
Gwen followed Rora to the closet at the back of her room, the hair rollers bobbing as she walked. Rora’s room contained a bed, side tables with electric lanterns, a vanity station beside a large window, a folding screen, over which various discarded dresses hung, one set of dresser drawers, a closet, and an attached washroom. Gwen’s room, on the other hand, also had space for a workbench with countless tools and parts scattered atop its shelves.
Pulling back the closet doors, which slid on a slim track, Rora fingered through the left-most side of her closet, which housed countless floor-length gowns of every color.
It looked like a unicorn had thrown up in her closet.
Gwen swallowed thickly.
Please no tassels. Please no tassels.
The other side of Rora’s closet was comprised of the acrobat’s typical performance garb—tight pants of varying shades and patterns along with matching tops.
“Aha!” Rora pulled a gown out of the closet.
As someone who’d worn only tinkerer’s leathers for the past five years, the sight of any gown intended for Gwen was startling enough by itself. Let alone a bright fucking yellow gown.
Forgetting diplomacy, she eyed the dress dubiously.
“I think it will look great on you,” Gwen said carefully.
Truthfully, the dress was gold, rather than yellow. And the color would look stunning against Rora’s light brown skin. It also had lace sleeves that came off the shoulders and an elaborate corset that would highlight her trim waist.
Rora smiled, rolling her eyes dramatically. “It’s not for me. It’s for you!” She pushed the dress into Gwen’s hands, and Gwen nearly toppled over from the weight. It had to weigh more than two skimmers. How was she supposed to move around in it? She’d start sweating from shouldering the dress’s weight alone.
Fine. But she wouldn’t give up her boots.
“I purchased this dress off the shelf months ago, but I haven’t had a chance to have it tailored to my height. It’s much too long for me right now,” Rora said. “I think it will be perfect for you.”
Gwen hadn’t thought about their height difference or that Rora barely came up to her shoulders. Hesitantly, she accepted the weighty offering and trudged over behind the folding screen, which sectioned off a corner of the room so she could change in private.
It took her an ungodly amount of time to figure out how to get into the dress, and even more time to maneuver the tulle skirts with her boots on.
“Need any help?” Rora called over the folding screen.
Gwen grunted. “I may have lost one of your hair rollers in the dress.”
When Rora laughed, the sound reminded Gwen of tinkling bells.
“I have more. But I can look for it when you’re out and make sure it’s not clinging to the hem of the gown.”
For a moment, Gwen hesitated as she pulled up the lace sleeves.
Why is she being so nice to me? I couldn’t even fix her hand properly.
Her thoughts strayed to the very large pile of joints and other cyborg pieces requiring her attention back in her office. Thus far, she’d only had a chance to fix Thaniel’s thumb.
Shaking herself—and setting another hair roller free to roam the wastelands of Rora’s room—Gwen promptly pulled up both sleeves and attempted to zipper the dress closed. After the fourth try, sweat dripped between her breasts and beaded on her brow. Though she couldn’t tell whether that was from the sheer mass of the dress or the struggle to get into it.
“Um,” Gwen began articulately, “I think I’m stuck.”
“Oh, dear.” Rora’s voice drew closer. “Mind if I come around?”
“Sure.”
When Rora walked around the changing screen, instead of rushing to Gwen’s rescue, she stopped, eyes growing wide.
Gwen sighed. “I knew it. Fun isn’t my color. We should get it off—”
“You look radiant.” Rora’s dark eyes rounded, looking at Gwen, unblinking. “Truly.”
&nb
sp; Gwen cleared her throat. “I’m wearing hair rollers.”
Closing the distance between them, Rora thumped Gwen playfully on the arm with her cyborg hand. The machine hummed, behind which was a faint, unfriendly noise. “I can see the beautiful woman behind the rollers. Besides, I’m wearing them, too.”
Unable to acknowledge the hefty compliment and annoyed that the woman could make hair rollers appear a choice accessory, Gwen motioned to the back of her dress. “The zipper?”
“Right!” Rora zipped, buttoned, and then tied the dress’s elaborate corset. It felt like Gwen was being suited up for travel in deep space. After she finished, Rora’s hands lingered for a moment too long on Gwen’s back before she strode back around to face her. “Let’s finish that hair.”
When Gwen resumed her place on the stool before the mirror, Rora eyed her boots. “I have plenty of jeweled slippers that would go perfectly with—”
“No,” Gwen said quickly. “Thank you. These are fine.”
Lines formed between Rora’s brows, but she didn’t say anything further. Within minutes, she’d unraveled Gwen’s hair from the rollers, pinned a small, beaded brooch with a fishnet veil to her head, sprayed her curls into place, and found the rogue rollers.
“All right. Time for me to get into my dress.” With that, Rora disappeared behind the screen with a pink gown.
It was then Gwen began to wonder if she’d chosen her date terribly wrong.
Date? Is that what this is?
She shook her head. No, it was her giving in to temptation and losing all sense of self-control around a pretty face. She’d go through the motions at the dance tonight, but once the ball was over, they would go their separate ways. Gwen would throw everything she had into figuring out how to be a fan-fucking-tastic cyborg tinkerer. Then once her contract was through, she’d leave and never see this circus—or Rora—again.
