by Lyn Forester
“Hmm.” Taking a step to the left, closer to Nikola, I rise on tiptoes, one leg out for balance as I lean over the table. Being short really isn’t conducive for this angle on such a large table, but I steady my cue stick with three fingers on the table, pull back with my other hand, and shoot the green ball forward, straight into the one with the yellow dot.
It careens toward the goal.
“Caitlyn, that wasn’t your color,” Garrett points out with resignation, already resigning himself to explaining the rules again.
The yellow ball strikes just to the left of the goal, bounces off the wall, and shoots toward the opposite end of the table where it strikes one of my blue balls, sending it zigzagging back up the table. Its speed slows as it nears the goal end and just barely maintains enough momentum to hit the lip of the opening and drop inside.
Garrett’s lips part in shock while Nikola thumps the butt of his stick against the ground. “Good show. You’ve improved.”
I tap my stick against his in recognition of the praise. “I had a lot of time to practice.”
Interest sparks in his dark eyes. “This game might actually be fun.”
Garrett snaps his mouth closed, his attention shifting between us with a look of betrayal. “You know how to play 8-Ball.”
Nikola’s dry voice cuts across the table. “Obviously.”
“Your assumption got the better of you,” I add. “You should have asked.”
“Research into the Lonette family would easily reveal that Torbin Lonette, Caitlyn’s great-grandfather, was an avid 8-Ball player. They have an entire game room at Lonette Manor dedicated to the game.” Nikola glances at me with a soft smile. “We passed many a day hiding from the tutors and playing 8-Ball.”
I warm at the memory, some of my fondest times before Nikola went away to school. Life hadn’t been so restricted back then, and we were allowed our friendship.
Later, I came to realize why Father showed such leniency in regard to Nikola when all others were sent away, but at the time, Nikola was my only friend and remained so until loneliness drove me to escape the manor and venture out into the heart of the city in search of anything else that could make me feel alive.
“I missed you,” I admit softly, and his eyes widen for a moment before he steps closer.
Whatever he planned to say never comes as Garrett calls attention back to himself, a hard edge to his voice. “Thank you for alerting me to this gap in my knowledge, Nicky. I won’t make that mistake again.”
The light snuffs out of Nikola’s eyes, the moment ruined, and his attention shifts to the table as he moves away. “I’m surprised to find you lacking, Garrett. I would think you’d fully immerse yourself in the Lonette family history since you’re so keen to rejoin the family.”
A muscle ticks in Garrett’s jaw. “I choose to focus on the present over combing through the past.”
“Your view is limited.” Nikola rolls his sleeves up to reveal strong forearms before he lifts his cue stick and leans over the table to take aim. “If you only focus on what’s in front of you, you miss the whole.”
Smoothly, he sends the green ball forward. It glides across the table, knocks other balls into motion, and clears a path for two of his red balls to slide neatly into the pocket, while at the same time, leaving one of my blues in front of the goal, effectively blocking Garrett for his next turn.
After Garrett’s turn, which he wastes on knocking my ball away from the goal, I sink another blue, and Nikola clears the last of his balls to win the first game.
The next round, I draw yellow, and Nikola draws red again. Breaking gives the advantage of fewer balls to clear, but also the longest wait once the colors are revealed. I study Nikola as he carefully chooses where to place the colored balls.
When he lifts the triangle away, I shift position, aim at the side wall, and cast the strike ball forward. It catches the ball at the back, knocking loose the one next to it as well, and the two balls roll slowly toward the goal. One stops several inches short, but the other teeters on the edge before it falls in. The rest of the balls remain in place, their colors still hidden.
Garratt’s eyes shift to the scoreboard as a one appears in the heading for yellow. “That was a risky gamble that paid off.”
“No.” I meet Nikola’s eyes across the table. “That was knowing my opponent.”
He laughs quietly. “And here I thought the center would be too obvious.”
“It was, which is why I knew my yellow wouldn’t be there.” I turn to Garrett. “Can you guess where your blues will be?”
He eyes Nikola, his voice dry. “I imagine at the front, right in the line of fire.”
I tap my stick against his. “Only one way to find out.”
He walks to the other end of the table and uses his turn to break up the rest of the balls. I track the colors as they appear, red at the front and to the right, the first line of defense. Blue on the left and back, the weaker protector put in a position to act as a barrier if the first line falls, and my last yellow, tucked into the center, defended on all sides.
I eye that last yellow ball as it slowly spins in place. Well, that’s Nikola, guessing my thoughts and taking counter steps.
If nothing else, he’s always a surprise.
With one ball in the goal, I win this round on my second turn, and Garrett racks the next game with Nikola breaking.
As Nikola and I take turns winning, Garrett becomes quieter, his motions losing their smooth confidence, slamming the balls together when a lighter hand would win the game for him.
On the sixth round, after I neatly land my last ball in for my third win and the scoreboard announces Nikola and I tied with Garrett at zero, he tosses his cue stick onto the table, his cheeks flushed with frustrated anger. “I’m done for the night. You two have fun deciding who’s the best because I’m obviously outclassed.”
Face expressionless, Nikola lifts his stick in farewell. “Have a good night.”
Garrett gives me a short bow. “Caitlyn, good night.” Then his gaze jumps to Nikola, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. “Try to be quiet when you return. I plan to be asleep.”
I watch as he strides away. “Well, I don’t think that went the way he planned.”
“No, I believe he had something else entirely in mind,” Nikola murmurs. “Perhaps some hands-on tutelage.”
A shiver rolls down my spine at the idea of his hands on me. “I’m not sorry to disappoint him.”
“He underestimated you.” Nikola collects Garrett’s stick and walks to the wall to put it away. “You could have played that differently. Held your hand a little longer.”
I follow him and set my stick in its holder. “I’ve come to a decision.”
His hand pauses on the long line of his cue. “Go on.”
With a deep breath, I release it slowly. “I’m done pushing things down, of pretending so I match other people’s expectations. These masks we wear, all the words we hold back, I recognize their usefulness in public, but I no longer wish to participate in subterfuge in private. I want to learn all the subtleties of life denied me by my forced separation from people. I want to embrace passion and pain, because how I’ve lived up until now is killing me, and if that is the only way to live here, then I will not stay, and I realized today that I would very much like to stay.”
My heart pounds, panic trying to take hold at revealing so much to Nikola, but I control it, my light-wheel spinning in the back of my mind.
Nikola takes a long moment before he turns to me. “It’s risky.” His eyes search my face, and something like pride flickers through them. “But you’ve embraced risk in the past when the prize was worth it.”
The laugh that escapes me holds self-derision. “I think I’ve been fairly good at avoiding risk, except for the street racing.”
He steps closer, invading my personal space though he doesn’t touch me. “Why did you choose street racing?”
My voice drops to a whisper, “It let me es
cape. And it let me feel something.”
“A risk worth taking.” His hand lifts toward my arm but stops before he makes contact, his fingers curling against his palm. “There’s a strength in you, Caitlyn, a majesty. It sneaks out when you’re not paying attention, but I’ve seen it, as have others. They’ll try to use your emotions against you, seek out your weaknesses. But you can handle it. You can handle anything you put your mind to.”
Pulse racing, I look away from the intensity of his regard. “You think too highly of me.”
A soft touch brushes my sleeve and vanishes again in an instant. “No, I simply see the bigger picture. You’ll see it yourself in time.”
The Stench of Cleansing
Some hours later, I leave the Entertainment Hall and Nikola to head back to the dorms. My steps feel lighter, my body buzzing with a satisfaction I haven’t experienced in a while.
Nikola knows me well enough to guess my strategies, the way my mind works, and it made winning against him that much better. It worked my mind and tested my skill the same way disc-bike racing used to.
My steps slow as I near Lonette Hall, and I pull my palm-port from my pants pocket, scrolling through the contacts until I find Declan. We’ve never spoken of it, but Declan seems like a guy who would be an 8-Ball player. I look forward to him returning so Nikola and I can gang up against him. I’ll get Felix on my side, too.
It will be fun to take him down. Payback for all those races he cost me.
Smiling, I press the call button and lift the palm-port to my ear. At this point, I don’t expect him to answer. I haven’t spoken to him since he left APA outside of our brief conversation at Mr. Blue’s party.
Sometimes, I just call to hear his voice before I’m shuffled off to his message box.
This time is no different, and soon, his low timbre fills my ear. You have reached Councilor Arrington’s personal secretary. Please leave a detailed message, and if it is deemed pertinent, your call will be returned.
A click sounds. Unwilling to leave yet another message that won’t be returned, I press the cancel button to end the call.
How many alerts does he have now? A dozen from me, and I’m sure even more from Connor and Felix. When he returns to APA, we’re going to set up a guaranteed method for reaching each other without the use of calling and texting. We can’t allow ourselves to be cut off like this again. Not if we want to make this partnership work.
With a sigh, I tuck my palm-port away, jog up the steps to the dorm, and pull the door open. A few students in the holo-screen area glance over as I enter, and I sweep past them quickly, glad Archie isn’t among them.
I don’t regret my actions toward him. He had no right to say those things about Felix and Myrrine. But that doesn’t mean I want to face him right now. If I see him right now, it might ruin my tenuous good mood.
When I reach the top of the stairs to the second floor, I find Felix sitting outside my door, knees pulled up to his chest and head in his arms.
I stop at his side, and without looking, he reaches out to grasp my pant leg. “Myrrine says I can’t come in. She’s all agitated and burning some stinky candle in there.”
My fingers thread through his hair. “Let me see what’s going on.”
With a nod, his arms curls back around his knees. “You were gone a while.”
“I was playing 8-Ball with Garrett and Nikola.”
At that, his head lifts to reveal heavy lids and red eyes. “Who won?”
“Nikola and I tied at the sixth game.”
His brows lift. “And Garrett?”
“Never had a chance.” I glance down the hall toward their room. “He’s not as good a sport at losing as I thought he would be.”
Felix unfolds and pushes to his feet. “Yeah, I got that impression from him.”
“I missed the signs.” Agitated, I push my loose curls back from my face. “I didn’t pay enough attention.”
Felix’s bright-green eyes search my face. “Is that why you played 8-Ball with him? You knew you’d win and wanted to test him under pressure?”
My shoulders pull back. “Too calculating for you?”
“I did the same the other day.” He shrugs. “But I let him win.”
The tension eases away. “Why would you do that?”
“To see how he treated someone inferior.”
“And?”
“He offered to teach me how to handle the stick better.” A grin spreads across his face. “And, no, I don’t think that was a euphemism.”
Warmth suffuses my cheeks. Until he said that, I didn’t consider what else Garrett could have been offering Felix, and the sudden spike of jealousy catches me by surprise. I don’t like the idea of Felix being propositioned. Declan, I accept because his claim came prior to mine, but if someone outside our group tried to take advantage of Felix...
“Come on.” I grasp his hand and pull him to the door. “Let’s get out of the hall.”
His fingers lace through mine to hold on tight. “What about Myrrine?”
“She can deal.” I press my palm to the pad on the wall, and the door swishes open.
We walk into a spicy cloud that tickles my nose, and I sneeze before I can catch it with my palm.
Hand waving in front of my face, I squint through the water in my eyes. “Myrrine, what are you doing?”
“Just airing out our room,” she trills from farther inside.
When we walk past the closet, Bastian pokes his head out, his gaze apologetic over the cloth he tied around his nose and mouth. “My apologies, Caitlyn, she would not listen to reason.”
“What’s with this stench, pinky?” Felix calls, the words muffled by the hand that covers the bottom half of his face. “It reeks in here!”
Myrrine flaps a teardrop-shaped fan in our direction, sending another plume of peppery stench in our direction. “Did I not say you are not allowed in?”
“I participated in class today like our deal said I would,” Felix points out. “What’s your problem?”
“I simply determined it was time to cleanse our room of foreign odors.” She flaps the fan harder. “You are part of that.”
“What are you talking about?” I sneeze again. “The only foreign odors in here is whatever you’re burning on your desk.”
“It is a natural scent neutralizer. We use it all the time in the Riellio colonies.”
“More like a scent bomb!” Felix says into his palm. “How can you smell anything through this stench?”
“Once it wears off, the room will be cleansed.” She flaps the fan harder. “You should leave, or I will be forced to start over.”
“My lady, please,” Bastian protests. “It is not appropriate for you to use the sacred candle in this way. Why do you even have one of those at the school?”
Curiosity brightens Felix’s eyes, and he walks past me, skirts Myrrine, and grabs the candle off the desk. “Sacred candle, huh? It doesn’t look like anything special.”
“Do not touch!” Myrrine snatches it from his hand, the small flame flickering, and sets it back on the desk. “If the flame goes out before the ritual is complete, the room will not be cleansed.”
Felix waves a hand over the flame threateningly. “What’s the candle for, fluff ball?”
Her eyes narrow on him. “I already said it is to cleanse the scent.”
“You could have turned up the air purifier for that.” He points to the screen on the wall that currently displays a view of the courtyard in daylight, despite being on the opposite side of the building from us. “Actually, let’s do that now.”
He pokes at the side of the panel, and the vents in the ceiling whir to life. With a few more clicks, the fine hairs around my face lift as the powerful fan begins to suck the stench out of the room.
“Do not do that!” Myrrine lunges at the panel, shoving Felix to the side.
He bounces off my bed, springs back up, then neatly caps the candle while Myrrine’s back is turned, snuffing out the flame.
“There. Problem solved.”
Dark swirls of purple flood her cheeks as Myrrine looks from the candle back to Felix. “How dare you touch the sacred candle? You have sullied it!”
“Your actions sullied it, my lady.” Bastian abandons the safety of his closet to stride into the fray, his large body forcibly separating Felix and Myrrine. “This is not what the candle is designed for.” He sweeps the glass jar off her desk. “I will store it until it is truly needed.”
Myrrine baps him ineffectively with the fan. “It is truly needed now.”
He stomps back to his closet, the candle invisible in his large hands. “You are not experiencing febree at the moment, and these candles are not easy to come by outside of the colony.”
Felix thrusts a hand into the air. “What’s febree?”
Myrrine points the fan at him in threat. “That is not for you to speak of.”
I actually know this one, and blood rushes to my cheeks. Myrrine and I discussed it one night, much to Bastian’s horror. Unlike human women, halion females only have four times a year when they become fertile, and at that time, their scent grows stronger to attract potential mates, which is apparently why it’s so important that she and Bastian aren’t compatible. Even if his ability to copulate had not been removed when he became Myrrine’s bodyguard, a fact that still makes me queasy, he would not be affected by her scent.
Is the candle meant to mask her febree when it happens? Will I have to live with that stench for the three days she’s fertile?
Felix’s focus shifts to me, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “Caitlyn knows. She’ll tell me.”
“I will not.” I turn to study Myrrine’s tense profile and realization strikes. There’s only one reason Myrrine would try to eliminate scents in our room so desperately. “I’m sorry I let Nikola into our room. It won’t happen again.”
She stiffens, eyes wide with alarm. “Who said anything about your Nikola? This has nothing to do with him.”
I hold back the protest that Nikola is mine. If she needs to put that verbal barrier in place to allow herself to pretend he’s off-limits, I won’t deny her.
