by Lyn Forester
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Also By
Dedication
Dear Reader
Last Fall-Cycle
Glitter on the Asphalt
Current Day
No Handrails, No Security
Trapped Inside
Where's the Cake?
The Price of Manners
Moody Monday
Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine
The Heist
Know When to Brake
Defending My Honor
Perfect Circuit
BOOK 2
About the Autho
LYN FORESTER
HOUSE OF GLASS
Poisoned Houses | BOOK 1
HOUSE OF GLASS: POISONED HOUSES | BOOK 1
COVEY PUBLISHING, LLC
Published by Covey Publishing, LLC
PO Box 550219, Gastonia, NC 28055-0219
Copyright © 2016 by Lyn Forester
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2017 Lyn Forester
Cover design by Lyn Forester
Book design by Lyn Forester, www.lynforester.com
Chapter opening illustrations © 2017 Lyn Forester
Copy Editing by Rebecca Martin
Printed in the United States of America.
First Printing, 2016
Reprint, 2017
www.lynforester.com
ALSO BY LYN FORESTER
Poison World Universe
Poison World
Beneath a Holo-Sky
Ash in the Blood
A Darker Shade of Gray (Coming 2017)
Poisoned Houses
House of Glass
House of Artifice (Coming 2017)
Tails x Horns Universe
You to Me
Just Not You (Coming 2017)
Standalone Novels
Thread Reader (Coming 2017)
To the wonderful group of writers who invited me to join them in the Falling for Them Anthology. This book would not have been written without your love and encouragement.
DEAR READER
Thank you so much for reading House of Glass (Poisoned Houses | Book 1).
House of Glass was originally released in the limited run anthology Falling for Them, the proceeds of which were donated to St. Jude Children's Hospital. This is a rerelease of the book as a standalone. No changes have been made to the content.
For those who have read my other books, you might wonder if this is related to the Poison World series. And the answer to that is yes, and no. Poisoned Houses is set in Poison World, in a different stacked city, with a new cast of characters. The series are written so that each stands on its own. You do not have to read one to enjoy the other. But if you decide to, it will make the world that much more awesome.
If you have read Beneath a Holo-Sky (Poison World | Book 1), House of Glass is set four years prior.
Happy reading,
Lyn Forester
Last Fall-Cycle
Location: Leton
Season: Fall Cycle: Day 46
Year: 894 PL (Post Landing)
GLITTER ON THE ASPHALT
"Your friend is on her way to the hospital. I called your parents to come collect you." The blue guard frowns down at the four of us, the azure of her uniform a green haze through the night goggles. Overhead, the holo-sky remains shut off. Our accident won't interfere with Lights-Out. When called, the Time Wardens decided lighting the octagonal panel over our current location would draw unwanted attention, no matter how much it might help the investigators wrap up the scene. Behind the blue guard, the shattered remains of a disc-bike litter the street. "You're under our protection until they arrive."
"Yes, ma'am." The agreement comes in varying levels of discontent from the three boys who sit next to me.
Blue Guard squats down in front of me. "You okay, Ms.—"
"Sparks." I interrupt, eyes forward. No one down here needs to know my real name. The only reason she knows it is because she'd scanned my dat-band. I should have left the damn thing at home. The finger-wide, purple circle of rubber has my entire life loaded onto it, easy exposure for anyone with the right scanner.
"Of course, Ms. Sparks."
In the background, holo-recorders scan the street, documenting the accident site. The narrow beams of light flash off her three-winged badge as she stands and moves away. As a low-ranking traffic patroller, she was only on the scene to make sure our disc-bike race didn't interfere with the Level 3 citizens. Now in charge of an investigation with a potential fatality, she's out of her league.
Two other blue guards inspect the wreckage, night goggles winking like stars. With the Time Wardens' refusal to illuminate the street, their job will be way more difficult. The night goggles work off heat signatures, the world washed out to shades of green. By the time they arrived, most of the pieces had cooled to the same chilly temperature as the rest of the level. No reason to keep the heaters running, since they wanted to encourage the lower class citizens to stay inside at night. Only Ratchet's body registered as a distinct shape by the time the rest of the blue guards arrived. They'll have to rely on the holo-vid to figure out what went wrong.
Not that there's much left to go off as far as evidence is concerned. The disc shattered on impact, leaving tiny gears and coils to litter the street. Blood during Lights-Out looks beautiful. At first, it shimmers, like glitter on the road. But, as it cools, the sparkles fade. Now the black streaks are almost indecipherable from the asphalt.
"Those deadstreams took the prize credits." Rush pounds a fist against his thigh.
I've never seen any of them without their night goggles on, but rumor says he and Vice are identical twins. Plenty of gossip around those two, but I don't care. I'm here to win races and not getting paid pisses me off, too.
The Night Pirates disappeared the moment Ratchet's energy coil burst, our entry fees with them. They host the races, but the only messes they clean up are ones of their own design. This? Well, this was a shoddy bike modification, therefore not their problem. None of us crossed the finish line—two blocks over—so no winner. All credits forfeited.
Blaze turns toward me. "Sparks, you were closest, what happened?"
I straighten my spine, not enjoying how he towers over me even in a sitting position. My small frame makes me a faster racer, but I get tired of being loomed over. "Don't know. Ratchet was bragging about some new boosters she installed. She was on my ass the whole race, so they seemed good. I didn't see what actually happened though."
Rush leans forward. "I was behind her, but all I saw was a pop of white from the disc, then her light ring cut off. Shoddy mods might have fried her energy core."
"Doesn't she work with that halfbreed guy? Where was he tonight?" Blaze leans backward onto his hands, the thick material of his jacket creaking. His shirt rides up to reveal a thin line of skin. It shines a warmer green through the goggles. "Where you looking, Sparks?"
Blaze sounds smug as his head lolls in my direction, goggles flashing. His friends snicker, and I flip them all off. "You've got blood on you."
"What? Where?" He straightens, han
ds brushing at his clothes. The blood sparkles on the sleeve of his coat, kept warm by his own body heat. He can find it on his own; I'm not telling him where it is.
"How long do we have to wait?" Vice shifts on the curb with a grimace. "My ass is numb."
"Depends on how far your parents need to come, I guess." Legs pulled to my chest, I prop my arms across my knees to give my head a place to rest. Father has a ways to travel. I might be here when the holo-sky switches to Quarter-Light before someone arrives.
On the ground between my feet rests my disc-bike. A metal wheel the size of my hand, stuffed full of tech I still struggle to understand. When activated, a seat fans out, just big enough for me to sit on, with a telescoping pole that bends at the end into a control lever. Thin wire poles drop to form stirrups. Streamlined and serviceable, the true beauty comes from the dual green energy rings that spin out to surround me.
When I ride, the pulses of light stream through my bones. Weightless and free. I'm going to build my own in the future. I've been stockpiling the prize credits from these races for over two years to send myself to the halion-run tech school.
"Hey Sparks, you asleep?" A warm hand nudges me in the shoulder, tips me over.
I fling out an arm to catch myself and glare at Blaze. "Shove off."
"Aww, are you glaring at me? It feels like you're glaring."
"She's definitely glaring," Vice chimes in. He sprawls out on the sidewalk, arms behind his head and knees bent.
"Why are you always angry at me?" Blaze pokes me in the shoulder again. "We should all be friends."
"I don't like you." I rub at my cheeks. The tight press of goggles hurts my face; a headache forms at my temples.
"Because I kick your ass in the races?"
"Hey, I win sometimes, too." Rush rolls his disc-bike between his fingers.
"We all win sometimes." Vice flings an arm out to punch his brother.
"You guys don't win for shit," Blaze and I snap in unison.
He smiles at me. "Aww, see? Total friend material."
"Careful, Sparks. We're his friends too, and he treats us like shit." Vice pouts.
"Bro, you need a hug?" Rush puts his disc-bike in his pocket and sprawls on the ground next to the other man.
Vice's head turns toward his brother. "Blaze is so mean."
"Yeah, he's so unfeeling. A real deadstream." Rush waves an arm in my direction in invitation. "You can be our friend, Sparks. We're way nicer."
"I don't want to be any of your friends."
"So harsh," the twins whisper to each other. "Not nice at all."
I don't want to be nice. Before the three of them joined the racing circuit, I had a seventy-five percent win stat. If I'd been able to maintain that streak, I would have been in school starting this Spring Cycle. But, Blaze is real competition, and now, I'll be lucky to make tuition in time for next year.
"Make way, make way," the blue guard from earlier shouts. We all straighten up, craning our necks toward the commotion.
A town car pulls onto the street, lights off, its sleek lines dark green through goggle vision. It hovers two feet off the ground, silent propulsion skimming it into the accident site.
My stomach sinks as sweat breaks out beneath my arms. I take measured, controlled breaths, trying not to panic. The others weren't supposed to be here when my ride arrived.
At my side, the guys stiffen, the twins sitting back up, spines straight. We look at each other. The goggles make it hard to read emotions. No one stands.
The car slides to a stop, and the driver steps out. Black uniformed, hair coiffed to perfection. He glances in our direction, goggles shining like stars. Then he approaches the waiting blue guard, hand extended. While they talk, I fight the urge to vomit as I stare at the rear of the vehicle. The blackout windows make it impossible to see if there's someone inside, but I know. I feel the censure emanating from the car, a hot burn against my skin.
Chauffeur shakes the blue guard's hand again, then walks to the curb side door and opens it. From my seated position, I can see the straight line of pressed slacks, the polished toe of a dress shoe.
"Ms. Lonette, if you please." Chauffeur gestures to the waiting car.
"Shoddy mod," Vice swears. "Councilman Lonnette's daughter."
I stand and refuse to look at the boys. I'm burned. They'll never let me race again. The school is so far out of reach I can't even picture it anymore, every step toward the open door is another nail in the coffin of my dreams.
Current Day
Location: Leton
Season: Spring Cycle: Day 2
Year: 895 PL (Post Landing)
NO HANDRAILS, NO SECURITY
As the shuttle docks with a gentle thump, the vibrations in the metal beneath my feet cut off. I snap off my belt restraint before the pilot can come back to escort me. Now that I'm here, I won't embarrass myself by fighting anymore.
After three months of arguing with father, I accept that the next few years of my life are tied to the school of my father's choosing. Patience and I are about to become good friends. The minute I turn twenty, though, I'm gone. No amount of coercion will change my mind.
By the time the pilot makes his way from the cockpit, I have my carryon in hand as I wait at the rear door for the ramp to lower. He sends me a startled glance, not used to the upper class being willing to cart around their own luggage.
"How was the flight, Ms. Lonette?" Polite conversation must be a prerequisite for personal transport pilots. At loading, he'd been chatty, too.
"Excellent. I will inform my father."
I ignore the twinge of guilt as the pilot beams. My entire life has been a lesson on how my opinion won't sway anyone in my family.
"Please pull up your air mask. The doors are about to open." Following his own instructions, he positions the clear mask over his nose and mouth. Black vents flutter on either side as they draw in the moisture from the surrounding atmosphere and convert it to new oxygen.
I hurry to position my own, tighten the strap that loops around my head to make sure the fit remains tight. On Level 13, the masks are the only way to breathe outside of the glass domes.
Resettling his hat with white-gloved hands, he stands beside me as the ramp lowers. A gust of icy air streaks through the widening crack, ruffling my hem and whipping my red curls into a tangled knot. So much for first impressions. Repositioning my bag to hold it in front of myself anchors my skirt in place. I will, at least, arrive decent.
Even though the school dome lies within easy walking distance, a town car waits on the tarmac, ready to deliver me to my fate. A driver, standing by the rear passenger door, braces himself with legs wide to balance against the stiff breeze.
"Careful, miss." The pilot takes my elbow as I begin the descent, heels slipping against the corrugated metal of the ramp. My first instinct to shake him off gets dispelled by another gust of wind that nearly knocks me off my feet. My ankles quiver in the stupid boots, and I grip his arm tight.
As we draw near, the driver opens the door with a bow. I toss my bag inside before sliding in after it. Supple leather warms my cold hands, catching on the calluses I refuse to have buffed smooth.
Once the driver hurries around the car and locks us in, the interior becomes silent as it pressurizes. He settles behind the wheel, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. "Was your flight pleasant, Miss Lonette?"
"No turbulence and the Storm Makers kept their distance." The gelatinous beasts that live in the upper atmosphere make any air travel a danger; they're attracted to the electricity of aircrafts. I'd seen the clear tentacles wafting from a distant cloud bank, but our small transport shuttle hadn't drawn their attention.
"Glad to hear it." The car dips, then rises upward as he presses the power button. It drifts to the left as another blast of wind pummels the broad side. "Are you nervous about your first day?"
"No." If this were the halion-run tech school, I'd be giddy with excitement. But, this school for politicians is jus
t a waiting place for now, something to be endured until enduring becomes unnecessary.
"You must be excited then." The car moves toward the tunnel that protrudes from the base of the glass dome. "Did you get on well with your classmates at your society introduction?"
He must not read the gossip columns. I'd been at my last race instead of the expensive celebration Father had planned to debut me as his successor. An extreme miscalculation on my part, but he'd never cared if I skipped a party before. I couldn't know this one was different.
"I had no problem with anyone at the gathering." Because I wasn't there to meet them.
We reach the tunnel and pull up behind another car, already waiting for entry into the dome.
The driver slows to a stop. A few minutes pass in silence, and he glances at me in the rearview mirror, questions all over his face. So far, he hasn't seemed bothered by talking. Whatever he holds back now must not be appropriate.
I turn in my seat to peer out the rear window. Another shuttle, next to mine, lowers its gangplank so the passengers can disembark. Four figures, two striding ahead while the others struggle in their wake, dragged down by heavy luggage.
All of our belongings were shipped up a few days ago to be settled in our new rooms. What last minute items could they bring that demands such large bags?
I stroke the converter coil that hangs from a chain at my neck, soothing away the annoyance. Sometimes, it tingles against my fingers, and I tell myself energy still courses through it.
