by Dima Zales
“Even if people stop believing you’re legit, you won’t lose your powers,” Ariel says, misunderstanding my source of distress. “Once you have the power, it’s yours forever.”
“I don’t care about these stupid powers,” I say, shutting the laptop with too much force. “No one will invite me to a TV show ever again. Or come see any show of mine. I’ll forever be ‘that faker.’”
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Ariel lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. “The Council would kill you if you went on TV again. Doesn’t that make this a moot point?”
“It’s my reputation.” Elbows on the table, I cover my eyes with my palms. “They made me into what I’ve always despised.”
“But you’re a real psychic,” she says. “You couldn’t be more different from those frauds you’ve always complained about if you tried. You are the real deal. Besides, since when do you care about what people think?”
“You’re right.” I lower my hands. “No more moping. I’ve got to get to work. Quickly, tell me about Felix.”
“Fine,” she says. “Felix can control those.” She gestures at the laptop. “Silicone is related to silica—which is sand, his dad’s domain—and Felix can magically make silicone turn zeroes into ones and vice versa, which helps with his hacking. Or at least that’s what he said—though I’ll admit, I tuned out a lot of the details.”
“Controlling computers? That’s actually really cool. A useful power for the modern age.”
“Please pretend to be surprised when he tells you this,” Ariel says, putting her hands in a praying position. “Or at least don’t tell him I was the one who told you.”
“I can keep a secret.” I get up to put my plate into the dishwasher.
“I’ve got to study,” Ariel says and stretches like a mountain lion. “I’ll see you at the Jubilee.”
“Later,” I say, and prepare to head out.
When I get to work, an email from Nero awaits me. He wants me to research a pharmaceutical company before the end of the day. No hint of the Jubilee, and no hint of our new Mentor/Mentee relationship.
Why am I not surprised?
Since I’m scheduled for my restaurant gig tonight, I give the manager a call, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth—that I’m done with performing forever. Instead, I say that I have a month-long work trip and that they should give my spot to another magician. I even recommend a guy.
The whole thing hurts almost physically, and I feel even worse once I start researching the company Nero requested. I see my whole life becoming a constant stream of stock research, without the glimmer of hope that the restaurant gig had always given me.
By lunch, I have my recommendation ready: the stock is a buy. I schedule my reply to go out at 5:59 p.m.
If I send it now, Nero will just give me another stock to analyze.
I’m on my way to lunch when Venessa, one of Nero’s assistants, catches me by the elevator.
“Mr. Gorin wants you to stop by the Oscar de la Renta store on the Upper East Side,” she says, her face unreadable. “Here is the card for the salesperson you need to speak with.”
Confused into silence, I take the card and watch Venessa leave.
Using my phone, I look up the store, which turns out to be a high-end clothing boutique. Is Nero looking to diversify by investing in couture?
I go to a sushi restaurant for lunch, and as I sit there, I spot a couple of people with Mandate auras around them. Is it my imagination, or do they nod to me? It could be. It must be a treat for one Cognizant to spot another in these crowds.
“Excuse me,” the waiter says when he brings my bill. “Are you that fake psychic?”
This is what I was afraid of. People will recognize me as the fake now. Hopefully, they won’t remember it for long because I don’t want to feel this crummy every time.
“I have a counter question for you,” I say to the waiter. “Are you that waiter who was going to get a good tip but is doing his best not to?”
The guy puts the bill on the table and escapes my withering glare.
I still tip him the twenty percent I intended, then leave the sushi place and make my way to the Upper East Side, where the boutique is located.
Entering the store, I examine the impressive dresses on display and gawk at the even more impressive prices. If people actually pay this for prettily shaped fabric, we might indeed want a piece of this action.
“Sasha?” a saleswoman says, addressing me with a thoroughly rehearsed smile. “Mr. Gorin emailed me your picture, but you’re even prettier in person.”
She doesn’t have a Mandate aura, so I choose my words carefully. “Thanks. What’s this about? I need to go back to work soon, so…”
A theory forms in my mind as I speak, but I dismiss it. I mean, he couldn’t have, could he?
“It’s about the dress for your special occasion,” the saleswoman says, her smile unwavering. “It’s ready.”
She leads me deeper into the store, and we pass a shoe display that looks like a catwalk. When Ariel learns I did this without her, there’s going to be major pouting.
“This is it,” the saleswoman says, pointing to a little black dress that was clearly inspired by Audrey Hepburn’s iconic look in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “Please, try it on.”
Feeling as though I’m inside one of my weirder vision-dreams, I make my way to the dressing room. Before I enter, the saleswoman also thrusts a Christian Louboutin box into my hands and plops a jewelry box on top of it.
I close the door and try on the dress.
It looks amazing and fits me down to a millimeter. Did someone secretly take a cast of my body and design the dress around it, or did I sleepwalk into this place and get measured at some point? The alternative—that Nero has looked at me closely enough to know my measurements so precisely—is too disturbing to think about.
I open the shoebox next. Unlike Ariel, I’ve never experienced an emotional connection to stuff I wear on my feet (except if I hid a magical prop in it somehow), but this time, I nearly get a shoegasm. Shimmering silver, with a delicate clasp around the ankle, they fit me as perfectly as the dress.
I sigh and shake my head before moving on to the necklace. It’s composed of a dozen large diamonds, with the truth-demanding stone as a centerpiece. When I put it on, it drapes beautifully over my chest, framed by the low décolletage of the dress.
Unless the diamonds are fake, Nero must’ve spent a small fortune on this outfit.
“You look fabulous,” the saleswoman says when I exit the dressing room. “Mr. Gorin wanted me to tell you that everything in this ensemble is a gift, including the necklace.”
I dumbly bob my head, unable to stop staring at myself.
The saleswoman hands me a card. “Mr. Gorin made you an appointment at a hair salon nearby. You’re to ask for Sally when you get there.”
And so the weirdness continues. I go back into the fitting room and change back into my regular clothes. The saleswoman takes the dress from me and assures me that she’ll bring everything to the fund for the event tonight.
It’s official. Nero is playing fairy godmother today.
Is that the kind of Cognizant he is? A fairy?
I find that hard to believe.
When I get to the hair salon, it turns out Nero booked me a thousand-dollar haircut. From there, I play a makeover Easter egg hunt throughout the city, receiving fancy mani-pedis, a facial, and posh makeup.
By the time I return to the fund, it’s already past six, so I’m late for my own Jubilee. The saleswoman from the store is there with my dress, shoes, and necklace, as promised, and she quickly helps me put it all on. Still, it’s 6:30 when I finish, but she assures me it’s okay to be fashionably late.
Walking as quickly as possible while wearing my new pumps, I ignore the incredulous looks from the traders and analysts I pass by on my way to the elevator.
When the elevator opens on the ballroom floor, I strut out, ready for this new
Cognizant ordeal. Hopefully, this time they won’t need to drag me to a healer after the festivities.
A server with champagne greets me with a smile, so I grab a glass and walk into the big room.
Nero went all out here as well.
A buffet for hundreds of people is overflowing with delicacies, multiple flower arrangements, balloons, and even an ice sculpture in the shape of a hooded figure with a mask, like the one I wore at the Rite. There’s also a DJ in charge of the music, a smoke machine on the dance floor, an open bar, and a horde of waiters running around with trays of hors d’oeuvres.
Unfortunately, all this opulence highlights how few people are actually here for the Jubilee. I count less than a dozen. In addition to Ariel and Felix, I spot Kit (the Councilor who can change her face), Pada (the dead body disposal guy), Darian, Gaius, and a couple of other vampire Enforcers I saw at the TV studio and at the Bodies exhibit in Vegas. The rest are folks from the fund whose names I barely know but who apparently are also Cognizant.
To my surprise, Lucretia, our shrink, is among them.
Ariel and Felix come up to me first, both dressed up as though for a red carpet premiere.
“Wow,” Ariel says and imitates a cartoon wolf whistle. “Who are you and what have you done with Sasha?”
Felix’s jaw is slack, and I think I see drool as he looks me up and down.
“You look incredible,” he says breathlessly. “How? I mean, why? I mean… never mind. You look incredible.”
I thank him, and we chat for a while. He tells me about his power over computers and how it works, though I only comprehend every other word because of the loud music and my lack of a computer science doctorate degree.
“Everything has a transistor nowadays,” he says in conclusion. “So, by having control over them, I’m basically a technomancer.”
He then explains to me what a technomancer is, and it sounds a lot like what he’s been to me all these years anyway—someone who can bend technology to his will.
“I have to tell you something,” Felix says, ending his explanation when Ariel starts yawning. A grave expression replaces the excitement on his face. “You have to promise not to get mad, though.”
“Ah. It sounds like I’m right on time,” Darian says, approaching. His sharp tuxedo and black tie somehow make his British accent more pronounced. “So, dear Felix, you were about to finally grow some balls and fess up?”
Startled, Felix gapes at Darian, then looks back at me with a guilty expression—and a kernel of suspicion awakens in my mind.
“It was you,” I say to Felix. “You put me on Darian’s radar, didn’t you?”
I must sound accusatory because Felix winces and defensively says, “You started predicting things left and right, and kept talking about your TV career. I figured that if you were a Cognizant, someone should send a Herald to speak with you. When Darian hired me to hack into Chester’s Cayman bank account, I mentioned your situation to Darian, since he’s a seer, and you seemed to be one too. I never suspected he’d turn around and facilitate your TV performance. You’re both seers, and I know he values that, so I didn’t think he’d almost get you killed.”
“I did not almost get her killed.” Darian carelessly sips the cocktail in his hand. “If anything, I saved her life.”
“You saved my life?” I resist the urge to pour my glass of bubbly on his head, and take a healthy sip instead. “What would it have looked like if you’d wanted me dead, then?”
“Oh, come now.” Darian’s green eyes focus on me, and I get the sense he’s divining my future at this very moment. “Surely you remember the text I sent you? ‘Amazing job last night,’ it very succinctly said.”
“Yes,” I say hesitantly, taking a bigger sip of my drink. Then it hits me. “That text prevented me from entering the elevator,” I say in amazement. “It made it possible for Rose to yell out to me, which led to the trip to the vet and fainting at my job and all the rest of it.”
“Exactly,” Darian says proudly. “If you didn’t get my text, you wouldn’t have taken the cat, and would’ve gone to work in a cab instead of your dearly departed Vespa. Your driver would not have had your reflexes and foresight, and you would’ve died in one of the car accidents Beatrice so kindly prepped for you. And if by some miracle you survived, you would’ve perished in that hallway without Vlad’s rescue. Remember, you only met him because you delivered the cat back. You’re welcome.”
My head spins.
Could it be true?
Could Darian’s power allow him to play such an intricate long game?
The fact that he knows about every one of those attacks seems to corroborate that. Ariel is the only person I’ve told the whole story to, and I doubt she’s confided in him.
“But what about my visions?” I ask numbly. “I saw myself die.”
“So soon?” His whole demeanor changes, and I become the center of his undivided attention. “Do share.”
“Don’t tell him anything.” Ariel gives her empty glass to a passing server. “Not before he explains why the first cadaver attacked you during the TV show. Doesn’t that imply Chester knew about you even before you got famous? Before that show, only Darian, Felix, and I knew you might be a new seer, and we didn’t tell Chester. Did we, Felix?”
“No,” Felix says indignantly. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
“You forgot Nero,” Kit says from Darian’s left. She must’ve joined us when I wasn’t looking. “I suspect he knew of Sasha’s powers.”
Darian frowns.
Felix swallows a black caviar cracker and says, “I have a theory.”
Everyone looks at him with varying degrees of curiosity.
“Darian and Chester spy on each other incessantly,” Felix says, looking down. All the attention is clearly making him uncomfortable. “I bet as soon as Darian spoke to one of his people about Sasha, one of Chester’s assets in Darian’s inner circle overheard it and reported it back.”
“Preposterous,” Darian says, but he doesn’t look too sure of himself. “My people are loyal.”
“Everyone can be bribed and bought,” Kit says matter-of-factly. “And, if there was even a slight chance for such an eavesdropping opportunity, Chester’s power would’ve helped his agent exploit it.”
“Be that as it may,” Darian says. “His powers didn’t help him in the end. We saw who won when it comes to Sasha.”
“Yes, we most certainly did,” Kit says with a smirk. “Nero.”
Darian gives her a seething glare. “I better get myself another drink,” he says tightly, then turns toward me. “Cheers, Sasha. My Jubilee gift to you is in the post. I’m sure our paths will cross soon.”
I’m tempted to ask about the gift, but Darian leaves too quickly to give me a chance. He must be upset that Nero got to be my Mentor, though I don’t completely understand why.
Speaking of Nero, I don’t see him anywhere, though I guess he’s still in his office, working. The rumor around the fund is that he rarely leaves the office for the night, which is why he often expects all-nighters from the rest of us.
“I’m going to go mingle,” I say and extract myself from the little circle we’d formed. “Excuse me.”
I look around as I stroll. There’s even more food around us now, but the same small group of people remains. The ice sculpture is melting and the dance floor is almost invisible in the heavy fog the smoke machine has put out, creating a magical forest feel in that part of the room.
Grabbing a tiny salmon tartare sandwich, I make my way toward Lucretia, who’s speaking with Gaius on the edge of the fog.
She’s wearing a black dress with a white square on top, looking as stunning as usual. He, on the other hand, doesn’t look all that different from usual; his black tux looks a lot like the black suits he and the other Enforcers always wear. I do notice that his Mandate aura is different from everyone else’s; it’s fainter and of a different color—must be something to do with being a Herald.
&n
bsp; “So, you’re a Cognizant,” I say to the shrink, examining her very regular-looking Mandate aura.
“Indeed.” Lucretia smiles.
“And—and this is just a guess—you’re the same type of Cognizant as he?” I look at Gaius. “Or is it erroneous to judge a Cognizant by their pale skin?”
“In my case, you’re not far from the truth. I’m a pre-vamp,” Lucretia says, and as though to highlight her point, she slurps up the giant raw oyster in her hand.
Gaius looks at her with a disgusted look. I guess vampires are very particular about their legendary liquid diet.
“What is a pre-vamp?” I ask, though I can guess based on the context.
“Pre-vamps are a type of especially long-lived Cognizant,” she says, snatching another oyster from a nearby tray. “They turn into vampires when they die.”
“What’s long-lived for a Cognizant?” I ask. “How long do regular Cognizant live?”
“If I may,” Gaius says, sipping from a cup containing a viscous dark liquid that brings to mind images of hospital plasma bags and bleeding human sacrifices. “As a Herald, I answer these questions all the time.”
“Splendid.” Lucretia wolfs down the morsel in her hand. “I need to go get some of that lobster salad.”
“All Cognizant live much longer than humans,” Gaius says in his professorial tone. “But the exact number of years varies for each of us. For example, Lucretia”—he points at the food-foraging shrink—“has been around longer than this country.”
“You’re kidding.” I look at the stunning woman with disbelief.
“Not at all. I’m dead serious.” He grins.
“Wow.” Either the alcohol or the information is making me giddy. “What about seers? How long do we live?”
“I’m not sure how old Darian is, but I heard him tell a story of how he tried to warn King George III about his American colonies and their pesky ambition to declare independence—which was Chester’s scheme to stir up discord among humans as usual,” Gaius says. “Your own longevity would depend on your parentage, but no one has any idea who your parents are—and not for a lack of trying, believe me.”
