“That’s not really new.” She stood in focus now. Her face looked strained, and most of her hair had fallen out of its ponytail. “What happened?” Then, before she could reply: “A bad trip?”
She nodded. “What were you thinking? You could’ve killed yourself!”
“Hey, it was good stuff. Really good.” It had been. In addition to making him feel like he was made of that spun-sugar stuff that kids ate at the Anchorage summer market, it had also distorted his vision so that everything around him was edged in color. Glittering people, ringed in brightly hued auras, left trails of colored light when they moved.
She didn’t answer, still keeping her face void of expression, and he somehow felt their relationship had just regressed about two years. At the same time, he had the startling sense that she’d actually been worried about him.
“I had no idea my job would involve protecting you from yourself,” she added. “How can someone so smart be so stupid?”
Excellent question, said Magnus.
How could he be so stupid? Well, it was easy because it was hard for him to say no. When it came to the pleasures of life, he had a tendency to think that if one was good, ten were better.
“I don’t care how futile the mission seems right now,” she continued angrily. “You want to fix things? You want to stay in the country? Then go solve this case! Don’t go drown yourself in drugs and self-pity!”
Her words brought back the dismal state of the mission, Cornelia’s threats, and Callista’s disappearance. That was more than enough to make someone seek blissful oblivion, that and—
“Have you ever not wanted to think?”
Her hard expression turned puzzled. “What?”
He shifted from her and stared up at the ceiling. “I think a lot, Mae. I see a lot. And my brain’s always analyzing every detail, over and over and over. This case. Me staying in the RUNA. That church. You.” He sighed. “I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like a hamster wheel. It’s why I take stuff to sleep.”
“I thought you took stuff to sleep because you loaded up on stimulants in the morning.” Her contempt was nearly tangible, but rather than summon his knee-jerk reaction to castal airs, it made him feel…unworthy.
Did I do anything I shouldn’t have? he asked the ravens.
Overdosing? suggested Horatio.
You know what I mean.
You propositioned her, replied the raven.
Did I? Justin didn’t remember that. He remembered very little past dosing with the gates of paradise. From his current state, he must’ve done it more than once. How’d it go? I mean, I know the result, seeing as I’m in this bed instead of hers.
You were very eloquent, said Horatio. A real poet. I would’ve gone home with you.
You offered her the crown, said Magnus much more seriously.
A sinking feeling welled up in Justin’s stomach. He was used to doing all sorts of stupid behaviors following a high, but it had never occurred to him that he could’ve accidentally stumbled into the very thing he wanted to avoid. Now that he was somewhat clearheaded, and in the path of that condescending gaze that stung so much, it was easy to resist her. It was a relief that she was still in full possession of her hatred and plebeian disdain.
“If I ever hit on you again,” he said, “you have my permission to punch me.”
That, she hadn’t expected. “Why on earth would you say that?”
Because if I sleep with you again, I’ll be bound into the service of an unknown god.
“Because you’ve made your Nordic-nine preferences perfectly clear. And I need to respect that.”
He hadn’t thought much about the last comment and simply wanted to keep her away. He wasn’t trying to be noble. Instead, something unexpected flashed over her face.
You just improved two percent in her view, noted Horatio. That’s the first personal comment you’ve made that doesn’t make you come across as an asshole. The raven sounded pleased, but of course he would. He and his counterpart wanted a reconciliation.
Magnus wasn’t so optimistic. It’s going to take more than your fixing that damage to get her again. I told you before, gods follow her. One goddess in particular. You need to help Mae break free, for her own good. You saw how she gets seized in battle.
The darkness, admitted Justin. He’d seen it, an almost tangible shadow that surrounded her when she fought.
It happens because gods can’t communicate with her in the normal way.
What way is that?
Dreams.
Why not? asked Justin.
You tell me, said Magnus.
Justin immediately realized the answer. Because she doesn’t sleep.
You are smart, Horatio said. Too bad you’re so stupid.
Just be careful, Magnus warned him. The deity that follows her might start getting suspicious of others. You can deny it, but there’s power in you that’s detectable by some. She certainly wasn’t pleased by that usurpation back in the temple.
It took Justin a moment to catch on, then he recalled how Mae had shone and become larger-than-life while standing by the statue of that goddess. She’d been wreathed by a power as intense as the battle-driven one, only it had been warm and seductive and full of life, rather than dark and terrible.
What happened? he asked.
Another god tried to seize Mae from the dark one, said Magnus.
The Lady of the Book? Justin had a hard time imagining a scholarly goddess going after Mae.
No, just some enterprising deity who tried to take advantage of the situation. Gods sometimes weaken in the territory of other ones.
Mae peered at Justin. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He realized he’d been staring as he mulled things over. Quickly, he groped for something. “Don’t tell Cyn about this.”
“Why would I?”
“You guys are chummy. Especially after she made you pancakes the other day. You ate twice your weight in them.” After a number of shared meals with Mae, he’d discovered prætorians required a lot of food to maintain that superhuman metabolism.
“They were good pancakes,” admitted Mae. “And she made a lot. She always makes a lot of everything.”
He smiled. “You know why? It’s overcompensation.”
“For what?”
He hesitated before answering. In trying to avoid a topic Mae didn’t want to discuss, he’d strayed into one he hadn’t wanted to bring up. There were days he could assess people’s life stories with a glance, but he preferred to keep his to himself. And yet, as he met her eyes—a bewitching balance of blue and green today—he felt a strange ache in him that made it hard for him not to talk. Maybe she hated him. Maybe she thought he was weak and manipulative. But suddenly, he wanted her to understand this part of him.
“Do you want to know how a brilliant, murderer-catching servitor got his start? In the dusty stalls of the Anchorage Summer Market. Cyn and I used to earn our keep by doing what you figure I do best: scamming people.”
Mae started. “I don’t think that.”
“Don’t you?” He gave her a knowing look, and she averted her eyes, proving his point. “You think every word that comes out of my mouth is an attempt to reel people in. And that’s okay, because half the time it’s true. The Nordics ever have carnivals or fairs?”
“Of course.”
“You know those guessing games they do? Age, weight, stuff like that? That’s what we did. Can’t you picture it?” He held out his hands, warming to his story. “Two adorable kids—because we were, you know, even then—dazzling tourists with the ability to figure out things no one should be able to know. Cyn was really good at weights. She’s got an eye for that kind of thing—it’s her genius and totally underutilized mathematical prowess. Me? It was people’s stories. The ages. Where they’re from. I memorized accents. Pair that with a few seemingly innocent childlike questions, and I could find out practically anything.”
“That’s not scamming,” she said
. “That’s just being observant.”
He shrugged. “It felt like scamming—especially with the way those people reacted. You would’ve thought it was magic. Brought in a lot of money to the asshole carnie we worked for, of which we saw a fraction. But it was enough to buy food.”
“Why would a couple of kids need to buy food?” she asked. She’d probably grown up with cooks and servants.
“Because there wasn’t any at home. Our mom didn’t work—well, she earned money, but not much of it went toward us.”
“What about…your dad?”
He shook his head. “Just an anonymous donor somewhere who happened to be a good genetic match for my mom and her stipend.”
Mae nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. “But then you would’ve gotten federal rations.”
“We did,” he said simply. “She sold them for anything that could give her a high.”
Mae was silent for several moments. “I can’t imagine kids going hungry—not in the RUNA, at least. I can’t imagine a mother doing that to her kids.”
“She had a lot of problems.” Boy, was that an understatement. “Cyn says I’ve got the same addictive personality, you know.” He frowned, realizing the irony of bringing it up in this context. “But this is nothing compared to her. And Cyn knows it. She just gets extreme sometimes when she’s pissed off. I’m nothing like our mom.”
“Because you’ve worked your problems into a functioning lifestyle.”
“Seems like by definition they aren’t problems then,” he retorted. “I’m okay. My loved ones are okay. I take care of them.” He was a little surprised at the fierceness in his voice. No matter what else happened, looking after Cynthia and Quentin—and Tessa—was always at the forefront of his mind. Maybe he’d deluded himself about inheriting his mother’s addictions, but one thing he’d refused to repeat was her abandonment—which was part of what had made exile so agonizing.
“You do,” said Mae, no trace of mockery. “You’re very good to them. And look at you now. Using all that elite childhood training to get you where you are in the service of our country.”
“Not that elite. What I do…it’s not hard.”
“I couldn’t do it,” she said.
A doctor appeared just then, a stern-faced woman who quickly made it apparent that she didn’t find him charming in the least. She lectured him on the dangers of mixing alcohol and drugs, subtly hinting that he was lucky he hadn’t actually been in possession of the—illegal—gates of paradise. She gave a set of basic discharge instructions involving rest and water and then scanned his ego so that she could send him “helpful” resources on substance abuse. He accepted all the reprimanding humbly, both because it was deserved and because it got them out of there faster.
Mae said little when they finally left the hospital, but he noticed her giving him the occasional sidelong look. He knew without a doubt she still thought his vices were a sign of weakness, but somehow, between his comment about respecting her and the story of his youth, he’d inadvertently grown a little in her esteem. Worse, he found he liked it. The pride and faith in her eyes had momentarily taken his breath away. Quickly, he reminded himself that she was a supercilious castal who looked down on others, one who’d been far from tactful in her attitudes. He needed to respond in kind, both for his own protection and because he deserved it. He would, as Horatio had observed, be more of an asshole from now on.
I’m sure that won’t be difficult, the raven responded.
CHAPTER 14
JUSTIN’S FAVORITE MEGALOMANIAC
“What the hell happened to you?”
Cynthia nearly dropped her frying pan when Justin stumbled into the kitchen. Tessa looked up from the toast she was too nervous to eat and immediately saw what had caught Cynthia’s attention. Justin looked pale and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed and groomed to his usual standards but was far from his dazzling self.
“Bad trip,” he said.
Cynthia gave him a wary look. “What kind of trip?”
“The one where I battle it out with volatile religious nuts to protect the way you live. Ask Mae. She’ll tell you.” He started to trudge off down the hall and then noticed Tessa in her maroon school uniform. He patted her shoulder. “Good luck today, sweetie. You’ll do great. I can’t wait to hear the recap tonight.”
She gave him a brave smile and nodded.
Although Tessa could understand Justin’s emphasis on getting a formal Gemman education, there was a part of her that thought she could absorb just as much by staying at home with the stream. She spent hours on it every day, amazed at what she learned from both its entertainment and reference options. She had yet to find a topic the stream didn’t cover. Some days it was almost overwhelming—but she loved it.
Still, she had to remember that the whole reason she’d been allowed to come to the RUNA was because of a student visa. Studying at home was a valid option in Panama—the only one, actually, for ladies of her class—but here, the country’s standardized education system was the path available to her.
“No private schools?” she’d asked Justin when they’d toured their suburb’s high school last week. There were fledgling public schools in Panama, but New Money and the upper middle classes often opted for a slightly more elite choice, if they could afford it.
“None that would let you in. But don’t worry—public education’s outstanding. It’s standardized across the whole country, even for castals and plebeians. Builds the national identity.”
That identity was becoming more and more apparent. Even someone like Mae, who’d been raised in a unique cultural environment, still had a strong sense of national pride instilled into her that had existed long before her military service. The RUNA held three things responsible for the Decline: biological manipulation, religion, and cultural separatism. All of the early genetic mixing had gone a long way toward stamping out group solidarity, and the loose Greco-Roman models the country had adopted had provided a new, all-encompassing culture that everyone could be a part of.
Tessa still wasn’t sure she agreed with all those principles, but it was hard to overlook the fact that the RUNA had become the most advanced country in the world.
The school had still been on holiday when they’d toured it last week, and Tessa grew nervous as she imagined those vast halls filled with students. She’d gotten better about dealing with the crowds in the city, but sometimes, claustrophobia still kicked in. The principal had made a special appointment with them, coming into the school on her day off. Tessa quickly realized that was because of Justin’s profession. People weren’t afraid of servitors the way they were prætorians, but there was definitely a lot of respect and awe.
“We’ve never had a provincial in all the time I’ve been here,” Ms. Carmichael had said, studying Tessa as though she were some new species. Another thing Tessa had learned was that all things non-Gemman were called provincial—and it wasn’t a flattering term. They all seemed to use it without thought. “I’m sure it will provide a unique learning experience for the other students…though I worry about your ability to, uh, fit into the classes here, dear.”
Tessa had picked up on the subtext. Like Justin, Ms. Carmichael believed Tessa’s education had involved “insipid reading and remedial math.” After some assessment, both Justin and Ms. Carmichael had been surprised to learn her literary and composition knowledge was up to par. But, to Tessa’s chagrin, her math skills were indeed remedial.
Now Tessa’s first official day had finally arrived. Both Justin and Cynthia had offered to escort her, but Quentin had informed her that would only attract more attention and was most decidedly “uncool.” Despite his young age, he hadn’t yet led her astray, so she followed his advice.
Ms. Carmichael had assigned her a guide for her first day. Melissa was bright and beautiful and seemed to embody every quality of the perfect Gemman girl. Although she was polite enough, it was obvious that she too regarded Tessa as some kind of fre
ak of nature. She also seemed to think Tessa was five years old and deaf.
“This is a locker,” Melissa said, speaking more loudly than necessary, even with the din around them. Her words were also exaggerated and slow. “It holds your stuff. You have to open the door first. Put your hand over the lock, and it’ll read your chip. That’s the thing that’s in your hand.”
Tessa had already learned locker operation on her tour. Although there was nothing comparable in Panama, it wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to figure out. Still, she smiled at Melissa and said, “Thank you.”
“What did you say?” asked Melissa.
“I said, ‘Thank you.’” Melissa kept asking Tessa to repeat herself, claiming the accent was hard to follow.
“You’re welcome,” Melissa practically shouted.
Despite the condescension, Tessa was glad to have Melissa taking her to classes. The halls were as crowded as Tessa had feared, and the uniforms everyone wore made it worse. It all looked the same, making it difficult to pick out points of reference.
“This is your English class,” Melissa said when they reached the first room on Tessa’s schedule. “This is where you read books. Books have words in them and tell stories or facts.”
“Thank you,” said Tessa.
“What?”
The classroom was sleek and gleaming, filled with the same white light and metal that permeated most Gemman public spaces. Students sat at desks with built-in touch screens and were ready with readers and egos. No one paid much attention to her as she and Melissa entered, and Tessa hoped she might just slip into a desk in the back where she could quietly take in this new world. Unfortunately, their teacher—who’d been briefed on his new student’s background—decided to utilize her arrival as a learning experience.
Mr. Lu made her stand at the front of the room until soft chimes heralded the beginning of class. The students fell silent, and twenty sets of eyes focused on her.
“Everyone, we have a new student joining us. This is Teresa Cruz, who has come all the way from Panama.”
All those eyes widened, and suddenly, she could see them judging everything about her. There was something in their faces that made her think they’d expected her to show up in fur and feathers—which, perhaps, wouldn’t have been that out of line for someone from Europe. Aside from her hair, Tessa felt confident that the rest of her looked no different from anyone else.
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