I noticed he wore the same cut-off skater shorts he’d been wearing when I first saw him at that house in San Francisco. He also wore the same band T-shirt, sporting a picture of a creepy doll’s head with one eye missing. With his long, black hair and scraggly goatee, he looked like he hadn’t showered in at least a week.
Really, he probably hadn’t. Water had been scarce in Albany, too. We’d all gotten little more than wipe-downs and sponge-offs.
Thinking about that now, I sniffed my own underarm and grimaced.
When I glanced up, both Wreg and Revik were chuckling at me.
Behind Sasquatch appeared Frankie, not looking a whole lot better than Sasquatch, and, like him, still wearing that bizarre ensemble of black lace poodle-skirt, plastic jewelry that looked like it had been made for a little kid, combat boots and a tight, baby doll T-shirt.
Angeline followed after her in paint-smeared overalls.
Then Jaden blinked into the lights in a fifties-style collared shirt and black pants, supporting Tina in his arms.
Two of the seer techs moved forward at once to help him.
The rest of us just stood there, watching them walk by as Revik shrugged.
“I offered to help carry her out,” he told me. “Jaden didn’t want me touching her.”
“That’s two of us,” I murmured under my breath.
Revik knocked into me with his shoulder, laughing. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me touching you, either, my love. No matter how many times you remind him we’re married. Which I appreciated, by the way. I might have felt the need to do it myself, if you hadn’t.”
I rolled my eyes, knocking into him back. “Whatever. Paranoia guy.”
“No,” Revik said cheerfully, wrapping his arms around me from the side. “He hates my guts. And he’s pretty confused about you, if you want the truth.”
“You read him?” I said, looking up at him incredulously.
“Sure,” he said, with an unapologetic shrug.
“Why?”
“Why?” Wreg grunted from his other side, before Revik could answer. “How could he not? Not that it wasn’t entertaining. I admit, I was pretty curious to see how bad the beating would be, if that twerp really pissed Nenz off.” He gave Revik a half-smile. “I guess you’ve matured, runt.”
When I swiveled my head to look at Wreg, frowning, my eyebrow quirked, Wreg gave me an equally unapologetic look.
“What? The little prick thinks loud,” he said. “I couldn’t not hear him… believe me, I tried. How the fuck did you manage it, princess?”
Next to me, Revik stiffened, staring at Wreg, who averted his eyes.
“Whatever,” Wreg muttered, touching the bandage on his shoulder and wincing. “Jon probably told me too much about him.”
I looked between the two of them, frowning.
Then I decided I was too tired to care.
“Was he really thinking that loud?” I asked Revik.
He shrugged. “Loud enough.”
I saw a harder light pulse briefly in his irises, but it was gone before I could determine what it meant. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders from behind and began to bring me with him towards the back entrance of the hotel.
When I scanned past the door where he aimed our feet, I found it led into the kitchen of The Red Flag, the most family-oriented restaurant of the three in the hotel’s lobby, and the only one that bypassed the whole quarantine area. I gave a final look out at the sheets of rain coming down, feeling weirdly reassured at being home, despite everything.
It really did feel like home now.
“I’m starving,” Revik murmured in my ear. “What do you say we eat, shower, fuck, then sleep for a while? I’m in favor of repeating the whole cycle a few times, actually.” When I snorted a laugh, he smiled down at me. “It doesn't have to be in that order. But I should warn you, I might want to fuck for awhile.”
Pain slid off him as he said it, enough that I glanced up at him.
“You aren’t kidding,” I said, smiling.
His eyes met mine. “Not even a little.” His pain worsened when he felt my light react. He tightened his arms around me. “Yeah,” he said. “Definitely more than once. In fact, maybe we should take the rest of today and tomorrow off.”
I nudged his ribs. “We can’t do that, you know––”
He cut me off, clicking in disapproval.
“Duty, duty, work, work… gaos, wife. Am I going to have to handcuff you to the furniture to get you to relax now and then? For the love of the gods, we have other people working for us, right? Do we have to do every bit of it ourselves?”
I laughed, in spite of myself. “Wow. So much pot. So much kettle.”
“Yah, yah,” he said, sounding even more German. “Scoff all you like. I say we’ve earned a few days off. At least a few days of light duty that’s actually light.” He nudged me with his arm. “My wife is skinny and tired and light-hungry. You’re not getting enough sleep. Or enough food. Or enough sex.”
“I’m not? Really?” At his serious nod, I laughed, clicking at him louder. “Fine. But I’ll need about a gallon of coffee first, if you’re going to be that ambitious.”
“I can arrange that.”
Looking up at him, I realized again he wasn’t in any way joking, despite the lightness of his words. I felt a coil of pain whisper through my abdomen as I watched him look at me, even as I wondered at the happiness coming off his light.
Echoing off mine, his pain worsened sharply.
I shoved at his chest. “Jeez. Go easy, okay?”
“No,” he said, laughing, catching hold of my wrist.
Somewhere behind us, Wreg snorted. “Go on ahead, children. For the love of the dragon, please go on ahead. I can’t bear to be around the two of you right now.”
Revik smacked him in the chest, then caught hold of me in a near bear hug from behind.
Again, his pain slammed into me hard enough that I sucked in a breath.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. It had been a while since we’d gotten any time alone. We hopped that plane to San Francisco a week after the wedding, and other than that one morning after the bank robbery, we hadn’t had sex for about a year before that.
I remembered the penthouse we’d shared on the 63rd floor––and its enormous shower––and let out a sigh. Then something else occurred to me and I frowned, looking up at him as he walked us towards the back of the hotel.
“Isn’t water an issue?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“The shower?”
His gaze cleared, right before he shook his head.
“We should be okay for now. The hotel pulls water from an underground source, fed by the river. We have industrial purifiers right where it hits the mains.” At my incredulous look, he smiled. “We’re lucky the owners are even more paranoid than I am.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, husband. No one is more paranoid than you.”
Laughing, he knocked into me with his chest from where he held me. His gaze grew more serious when he added,
“Arc set that up actually… not us. I’m hoping they helped with the security and containment design while we’ve been gone, too. Either way, we need to talk to their people.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I’ve been thinking about that––”
“No! No, no, no. No more work.” Revik shook his head, clicking sternly as he tugged open the outer door to the kitchen, holding it open for me.
“But you just started––” I protested.
“No more work right now,” he clarified, motioning me inside. “I mean it. Not until after the sleep part of what I mentioned above.” Seeing me about to protest again, he cut me off. “I can be a hypocrite if I want. I never said I didn’t have issues, too.”
When I laughed, he suggested,
“Think about food, if you want to think about something useful. One advantage of traveling via the barf-mobile––we shouldn’t have to wait for a table at Third Jewel.”
Laughing, I couldn’t help wondering again about the happiness coming off him, given everything. Maybe he was trying to be a good sport, or to lighten the mood for the rest of us, but it really didn’t feel like it.
Whatever was up with him, it didn’t feel forced. His light shone easily, unrestrained, despite how tired he felt.
When I went further into his aleimi, I felt other things, too––fear around our discussion of Shadow’s identity, some sadness about Cass and Feigran, a heavier grief that felt related to Vash. I also felt reactions in his light and worry around what we’d seen on our trip from Albany.
Also, that part of him that always seemed to be planning kept ticking away in the background, mostly various thoughts around Shadow and some of the intelligence work he wanted to get caught up on once we dug back in for real.
Despite all of that, though, the overwhelming feeling I got from him in the moment was one of contentment, even joy. It felt so different from the other things that lived in his light, I couldn’t help but stare at him.
He was definitely still hiding something from me, though.
I couldn’t get a sense of what, exactly, but it had something to do with the conflicting emotions going on with him, including the good ones. His light felt more volatile, too––not in a bad way, just more intense and focused than usual.
Which with Revik, was saying a lot, really.
“Are you finished scanning me, wife?” he said softly in my ear, wrapping his arm around me again and crushing me against him.
Blinking, I realized we’d covered the length of the whole kitchen and I’d seen none of it.
I’d spent that whole time in the Barrier, looking intently at his aleimi.
“Yes,” I said, stepping forward when I realized he was holding the door open for me again, that time the swinging door separating the kitchen from the restaurant’s dining room. Waitstaff smiled and waved as we passed and I grinned back.
We didn’t eat in the Red Flag often, since they mainly reserved their tables for human guests of the hotel, but I found I recognized everyone I saw, which cheered me.
“I think you might have offended Ragi in there,” Revik commented. At my confused look, he smiled wider, adding, “The head chef? He spoke to you as we passed. Wished you long life and much joy? You really didn’t hear him?”
“No,” I said, frowning. “Should I go back? Did I really offend him?”
“No, no.” Revik tugged me closer up against him again. “I motioned him off… told him you were working and wished him a long life in return.” He trailed, giving me another sideways look. “Find anything interesting? On me, I mean?”
I looked up and smiled. Seeing the smile on his lips, I realized he’d let me in intentionally, maybe more than usual.
“Sure,” I said. “Always. But mostly I was making sure you’re doing okay. You know. Not just putting on a good face to reassure the missus.”
Revik laughed. “I see. Did I pass?”
I rolled my eyes, giving him a sideways look.
He waited for me while I made a quick detour to the restroom. As I made my way back, weaving between tables and booths to meet him at the door, I noticed the dining area was both busier and quieter than I would have expected.
Given the time of day, the Red Flag was weirdly empty of guests, which didn’t surprise me so much as the fact that the restaurant appeared to actually be closed. I used to joke The Red Flag was the twenty-four hour diner of the House on the Hill, since they stayed open all hours.
Of course, the comparison didn’t really fit, since even their “casual dining” place was rated a four-star restaurant.
Despite the unusual closure, or maybe because of it, the Red Flag staff seemed to be cleaning and setting up tables with a lot of energy, as if preparing to get slammed. I looked around in puzzlement, but since everything otherwise appeared to be business-as-usual, I decided to let it go.
“No, you didn’t ‘pass,’ husband,” I told Revik belatedly when I met him at the door. “Since it’s clear you’re still lying to me about something.” When he flushed, opening his mouth to speak, I raised a hand. “…But I’m glad you’re okay. Really. You seem good. Happy even.” Thinking about that, I grunted. “Although that could mean you’ve lost your damned mind.”
He laughed, but didn’t answer, other than to shake his head, clicking.
The freestanding, “Please Wait to be Seated” sign faced the outside door, which was closed. One of the waitresses hastened up to unlock it for us, smiling nervously and making the honorific hand-signs for both the Sword and the Bridge as she kept her face carefully below ours.
I noticed her looking at me more than Revik, especially my body, but decided to ignore it, especially when Revik didn’t seem to notice.
Nodding politely to her and smiling, Revik held the door for me, his eyes still on my face.
“…And polite,” I added, making him laugh again. “And old-fashioned. But then, you are going to be one-hundred and thirty-two in, what? A week?”
“More old man cracks,” he said, clicking in mock disapproval. “You know I’m still considered young for a seer, don’t you? It’s you who’s indecently immature. We seers don’t even hit middle age until three or four-hundred. And Elaerian are commonly believed to have average lifespans that are longer than Sarks.”
“So you’re a pervert? Is that what you’re telling me?”
He shoved lightly at the middle of my back, following me through the door. “You’re one to talk. Should I remind you of the last time we were in this hotel, wife?”
“Yeah, but I don’t go looking for young seers to lure into my…”
Losing my train of thought, I barely noticed when I stopped talking.
I nearly stopped thinking once we entered the sixty-story atrium.
16
COLONY
THE FIRST THING I noticed was the line of people waiting outside the Red Flag’s doors.
It wasn’t a short line.
In fact, it was probably five persons’ thick at the thinnest point, which also happened to be closest to the entrance to the Red Flag itself. The line widened and densified and wrapped around obstacles on the atrium floor, extending back in a solid mass towards the sliding glass doors that fed into the walkway and ultimately, the hotel’s main lobby.
Most who stood there looked human to me.
Few wore the kind of clothes I’d grown to expect of your average guest at the House on the Hill. Meaning, instead of business suits or expensive “casual” wear with designer jeans, designer dresses and handbags, original, hand-made precious stone jewelry and Italian leather boots, most in this crowd wore knock-off department store jeans and blouses, T-shirts, hoodies, beat up trainers, costume jewelry and dingy-looking pullover sweaters.
I even saw a few wearing flannels and work-boots, as if they’d just been yanked off a construction site.
Only a handful of women wore skirts, and all but a few of those were definitely not the high-end variety. Even more strangely, most of those standing in line were young, maybe teens to late twenties. A few might have been as high as mid-thirties, but I didn’t see more than one or two who could have been much older than that.
The expressions on their faces looked stuck somewhere between boredom and impatience.
Whatever this ritual was, it was already familiar to them.
I saw a few of those bored expressions change to surprise, even shock, once their eyes settled on me and Revik.
Most of them gaped openly at us.
I fought not to react to those stares. All of the eyes I saw clearly recognized us. I could also see that most viewed us closer to celebrities than mass-murderers; although, from some people’s expressions, the jury might still be out on if we fell into both categories.
Looking around, I quickly became concerned by the sheer number of them.
Glancing behind me reflexively, I felt some part of me gearing up for either a fight or flight. After all, if
my old friends from San Francisco thought me capable of mass-genocide, why wouldn’t a mob of total strangers?
And where was security? Didn’t they usually have something in the construct to make me and Revik more inconspicuous?
Revik recovered first.
Taking my upper arm firmly in his hand, he led me carefully by them, his whole body taut as he scanned faces, and probably their lights. He didn’t speak, but I noticed he very deliberately put himself between me and the human crowd.
No one said anything to us as we passed.
In fact, no one seemed to speak at all, which was eerie, given the size of the crowd.
The faces blurred on me, growing meaningless.
Despite the sheer number of them, the intense protectiveness in Revik’s light calmed me, enough that I found myself glancing to the other side of the glass-enclosed atrium. Once I had, I found myself staring there instead, almost forgetting the crowd despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
I’d expected things to be different, sure. We’d only been gone a few weeks, but I figured they would’ve secured the hotel in the wake of the quarantine, perhaps even in the days leading up to the lockdown itself.
Even so, in those first few seconds, the sheer extent of the changes completely floored me.
The waterfall remained in the middle of the atrium floor, pouring gallons of clear and clean-looking water onto the rocks situated just above a sculpted pond.
Water crashed on smooth-worn boulders in echoing waves just as I remembered, almost dead center under the high skylight, which formed a dome at the very top of perspective-boggling walls that led up all of the stories of the secondary wing of the hotel, what we called “Tower 2,” which was also where the outdoor pool lived.
Even in that one, relatively unchanged detail, however, I noticed differences.
The water of the pond below the waterfall looked darker. The sound also didn’t echo up the walls at the same volume as before. I had to figure the change in volume came mostly from how much more crowded the room was now.
At the thought, I looked around.
The tropical trees and planter-boxes I remembered from before, filled with colorful flowers, climbing vines, palm trees and big-leafed jungle plants, had been removed. So had the tables, the padded, low-sitting chairs, and the velvet couches that once stood in discreet clusters near the waterfall and the two bars. The bars themselves were gone, both the coffee bar and the semi-tropical alcohol bar that once sat on opposite ends of the atrium’s main doors.
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