House of Strife (Poisoned Houses Book 4) Page 4

  Strangers. Competitors. Uneasy friends.

  Now partners. A team bound together with a goal outside ourselves. Desperate to help one of our own.

  I shouldn’t be able to rest. Not with Felix’s and Nikola’s annoyed voices in the background. Not with Declan’s health in question. Not with the unknown threat of Mr. Blue.

  But with a final sigh, I relax and let sleep take me.

  “We’ll hang out in the library until you return,” Connor says as he fusses with my school band, which now circles his wrist.

  “Like a couple of complete nerds,” Felix grumbles. “I’m so going to be writing this paper alone.”

  “You were always going to write it alone,” I point out.

  When Mr. Halcroft decided the groups for our term paper, he really challenged Felix by assigning him Declan, who’s missing from school, and Declan’s roommate Trevor, who currently sits at the bottom of the class. Mr. Halcroft comes across as an overeager, somewhat flighty teacher sometimes, but I suspect his tweed jackets with leather patched elbows hide a deep level of craftiness.

  Why else set Felix at such a disadvantage when he could have just as easily made two groups with four people and added Declan when he eventually returned?

  Reminded of my own group’s disadvantage since losing Garrett, I rise on tiptoes and kiss Connor’s cheek. “Save some work for me.”

  Under my lips, his cheek shifts in a smile. “Of course.”

  When I drop back to my heels, Felix shoves his brother out of the way and bends slightly, head turned to the side. He hums with satisfaction when I peck his stumble-covered cheek, too.

  “We’ll come back right before Half-Light.” Connor straightens his wire-framed glasses. “Call me before you come out. We can’t be sure the theater will still be conveniently empty.”

  I nod, surprised we lucked out so many times already in claiming the giant screen for ourselves.

  With one glance back at the twins, Nikola and I duck behind the sound dampening curtain to reveal the maintenance access door. A red light shines on the lock panel attached to the handle. Nikola pulls a heavy-looking device from his jacket and slips the card attached to it into the reader. Small wires trail from the card to the device in his hands, and I lean closer to see what he’s doing on the screen.

  Our arms brush, and an uncomfortable buzz travels through my bones before he shifts and breaks the connection with a murmured apology.

  I rub the goose bumps on my arm, and a moment later, the lock clicks to green. He tucks the card back into the device, swings the door open, and we step into the narrow room beyond.

  On the right, narrow scaffolding leads up to the components on the back of the giant holo-screen. We skirt past the steep stairs to another door hidden in the shadows. I remember last time he opened this door, and how the shock that traveled through him was so much worse than the buzz I experienced just now.

  As he extends the card to the lock, I touch his arm. “Will you teach me how to use the unlocking device?”

  He pauses, head turning as he studies me in the darkness, before he gently moves my hand away. “Yes, but not on this lock.”

  My fingers curl against my palm. “Why does it hurt when you open it?”

  “Because the designer doesn’t want it opened.” He rolls his neck, bracing himself for the pain. “Most people would give up before they found the right frequency.”

  “But not you.” I can’t disguise the pride in my voice, nor do I want to. He deserves praise for his skill.

  “No. Not me.” Breath held, he slips the card into the lock.

  Tension turns his muscles ridged, and he quickly adjusts the lights on the face of his handheld device. It opens faster than the first time he picked this lock, and we both sigh with relief as the light flips to green, and he pulls the card free.

  As he hides the device away in his jacket once more, I pull out two ventilator masks and pass one to him before tugging a pair of night goggles out of hiding from where they hang behind my hair. “Maybe we should find someplace to hide these back here.”

  He shakes his head. “Too dangerous if someone finds them.”

  I fit the ventilator over my mouth, the small vents on the side fluttering as I speak. “Dangerous if we’re caught with them, too.”

  “It’s a good thing we didn’t let Master Pannor chop off all your curls.” Warmth fills his voice as he slips his mask into place. “We can hide a surprising number of things in your hair. Especially now that you’ve taken to wearing it down.”

  His hand lifts, and he pushes the vibrant red curls off my shoulder, fingers brushing over my collarbone. The touch comes and goes so quickly I barely register the sensation of skin against skin before his hand falls away, but a burning awareness lingers. I swallow a nervous flutter and use the pretense of pulling my night goggles around to hang against my chest to mask my reaction.

  It was easy to ignore his intentions when he was still pretending to accept simple friendship. But things changed somewhere between discovering his bruises and defending him against Garrett. Now, I’m not sure how to handle my childhood friend.

  Not seeming to notice, or more likely allowing me the pretense, he reaches for the door and opens it.

  As soon as it shuts behind us, the light vanishes, and for the second time in less than twelve hours, I strap the night goggles over my eyes and the world washes out to green.

  Nikola glances down at me, his goggles a flash of green light around his eyes. “You’ll have to take the lead since you know the way. Can you do that?”

  Throat tight, I nod. Crossing the holo-sky during the day is going to be so much worse than it was at Lights-Out, but I can’t let fear hold me back.

  Too much rides on our success.

  Reshaping Reality

  The trek across the holo-sky is every bit as terrifying as I imagined. Only our need to hurry and Nikola’s steady hand on my back keeps me from breaking down into a full-on panic attack when I catch glimpses of the aerial view of Level 12 through the gaps in the bridges.

  As I hoped, Day-Light above the sky isn’t as bright as it could have been, the octagonal panels masking most of the brilliance except at the joints where the panels meet. In those spots, we shield our eyes and use the rail for direction as we hurry past.

  My heart pounds at a frantic pace by the time we make it to Skittles’ building, and I practically fling myself into the faux-safety of the elevator room, slamming the button to call the lift. Nikola follows, the door shutting us in darkness, and my rapid breathing fills the silence.

  His hand strokes up and down my spine in a soothing pattern that helps to ground me even as it creates goose bumps all over my body.

  When the doors to the elevator slide open, I squint against the sudden light and jump inside.

  Nikola follows at a more reasonable pace, his face expressionless. “Are we going straight to the ground floor?”

  I nod, throat too tight to speak, and pull the mask off my face to drag in a deeper breath.

  Tugging his mask off, Nikola turns to press the button, giving me the semblance of privacy to compose myself. “Now that I know the way, I can take lead when we come back.”

  I nod even though he can’t see it with his back to me. My legs shake, and I grasp the handrail as the elevator begins a rapid descent, my stomach becoming weightless.

  Nikola rises onto his toes, then drops his heels back down. “Remember when we used to see how fast the elevators would go at Lonette Manor?”

  Nanny number three was fired over that one.

  For a moment, I consider jumping to see if it will take longer for me to land, but I restrain the childish impulse. We already learned first-hand we won’t float up to the roof of the elevator, no matter how weightless we feel.

  I laugh weakly at the memory. “Never fast enough.”

  “Do you think that was why you chose disc-bike racing?” He peeks over his shoulder. “So, you could finally fly?”

  “It
’s still not flying.” Slowly, my fingers lose their death grip on the rail. “There’s the stirrups and the seat. But it’s closer than this.”

  He turns slightly toward me. “You could go to one of those free-fall places.”

  I shake my head. “If you didn’t notice, I’m not good with heights.”

  One side of his mouth kicks up. “I might have noticed a...slight discomfort.”

  I snort. “Nice downplay of the situation.”

  He turns back to face the doors as the elevator slows, gravity pressing us toward the floor. “I know when to be diplomatic.”

  “Clearly,” I say dryly, and he glances back, brows pinched together as he tries to see if I’m teasing or not.

  I keep my expression neutral and let him draw his own conclusions, because I’m not sure myself. He’s been a lot less diplomatic lately, and I can’t tell if he finally took me seriously at being just another student while at APA or if Felix just has a skill for pushing his buttons until he snaps. Either way, I like seeing him ruffled. It makes him more human and less the perfect Secretary he’s been pretending to be.

  When the door opens, I push away from the wall, calm now that my feet are back on solid ground.

  The lobby is everything I expect from a corporate building located right next to Central Plaza, but nothing I expected from Skittles the Night Pirate. The holo-paneled entry displays a conservative gray slate image, the walls a neutral off-white. A receptionist desk creates a barrier in the center of the room, and the woman behind it turns with a welcoming smile as if she expects us.

  As we approach, I search her face for any of the telltale tattoos Night Pirates decorate themselves with, but her skin is a perfect bronze and blemish-free.

  She smiles, displaying perfect, brilliant-white teeth. “Welcome honored guests. President Bow left a package for you.”

  Reaching beneath the counter, she lifts out a small envelope. About the length of my hand, the white exterior offers no markings to hint at what’s inside.

  Nikola and I exchange guarded looks as we step up to the desk and Nikola takes it.

  He unseals the top, peers inside, then upends it over his open palm. A slender, silver credit-stick slips free. He checks inside the envelope again for some kind of message to go with the credit-stick. For me, the message is obvious. No traceable funds. I take it, warmed from his skin, and slip it into my pocket.

  My focus shifts back to the receptionist. “Is there anything else?”

  She smiles again, a plastic expression that curves her lips without reaching her dark-brown eyes. “President Bow expects your presence at Half-Light. Business hours are posted at the entrance.” She lifts an arm, her palm up, and gestures toward the exit. “Please, enjoy your visit to Level 12.”

  Her tonal inflection and gestures come across a little too perfect, and I take a closer look. Her skin isn’t just in good condition, she has no pores, and when I stare into her eyes, I catch a spark of light behind her pupils.

  She continues to smile, arm out, frozen in the position until we complete the command. So, no artificial intelligence, but damn close. Skittles is pushing the line hard by planting this automaton so near the Halls of Justice.

  The study into artificial life ended with epic failure some three-hundred years ago. The combination of halion and human science produced a being that functioned and thought on its own. A marvel of advancement. But, of course, beings who can think for themselves rebel against slavery. Even with safeguards and kill switches, the new robots found ways to fight against their oppressors. After a bloody riot resulted in mass casualties, artificial intelligence was put on the restricted developments list.

  With one more look at each other, Nikola and I turn to follow her direction out of the building.

  The bustle of Level 12’s Central Road comes as a shock after the relative quiet of APA.

  I hadn’t been able to orient the building’s exact location until stepping out onto the street. Hover vehicles whoosh past, with disc-bikes zipping around them in a buzz of energy, while overhead, the low rumble of a shuttle cruises past, on its way to the docking station. Neon signs flash to catch the attention both at ground and air level, while pedestrians in business suits bump shoulders with people in leisurewear, in a hurry to accomplish some task during their lunch break.

  Instinctively, I step closer to Nikola. I’m used to a car taking me to and from my locations and suddenly feel vulnerable with my vibrant red hair and school uniform. Nikola is little better, though his jacket helps him blend in better with the other suits. My pulse leaps, and I suddenly regret not asking Nikola to braid my hair to make my curls less eye-catching.

  His hand spreads over my back in reassurance, and he bends to put his mouth close to my ear. “Don’t worry. No one’s looking at you.”

  As if to gainsay him, a woman passing by glances our way, then veers off course with an excited smile on her face. Great, caught out in public in under a minute.

  She stops in front of us, vibrating with excitement. “Oh, my goodness. Where did you have yours done?” She lifts a hand to her hair, a frizzy mass of tiny ringlets dyed an unfortunate orange. “Your designer achieved the perfect Lonette red.” She leans in closer, gaze fixed on my hairline. “What’s your base color? Blond? You have to be a blond. No way you can get that deep-red on a darker shade. You have got to tell me which stylist you went to. Mine is close, but not quite there.”

  Doubtful, I eye her hair, then pull out my palm-port to look up the most expensive celebrity look-alike stylist.

  Eagerly, she pulls her palm-port from a strap on her forearm and holds it next to mine.

  I flick the info to her screen, and she squeals with delight. “My friends are going to be so jealous!” Then she gives me a more critical sweep and leans in close. “I have the number for a great facial specialist. She can take care of that nose and those freckles in a lunch break and really nail down your look.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Unsure what else to do, I hold my palm-port out and wait as she swipes me the info.

  With a wave and another squee, she clutches her device to her chest and sprints away in the opposite direction she was originally walking. I can only assume she’s heading straight for the look-alike stylist I sent her.

  I stare after her, flabbergasted by the entire encounter.

  “Didn’t realize you have fans doing body modifications to look like you?” Nikola guesses, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the bustle of the street.

  I shake my head, a little numb and a whole lot disturbed by the information.

  “You’re the child of one of Leton’s leaders. Of course, you have fans.” The hand on my back drops only to have his knuckles brush against mine. “Should I call for a car to take us into Central Plaza? Or would you prefer to risk the masses?”

  After the encounter with my fan, I’m tempted to take the car, but we have time to spare and I’ve never actually walked Central Road. The flashy windows draw my curiosity, and I turn my feet toward the plaza.

  Nikola steps up to my right side, his body a buffer against the passersby, as we join the flow of foot traffic.

  The clothing stores with their living models lose my interest quickly. I’ve had enough of fashion to be done with it for a lifetime.

  But the confectioneries slow my steps as I consider how to smuggle the small cakes back to APA for Felix. A pearl comb at a store for accessories makes me imagine what it would look like in Myrrine’s fluffy, pink hair. A pair of novelty socks with scientific symbols on them catch my eye, and I wonder if Connor would smile at dopamine themed socks that claim to instill real happiness in the wearer.

  It’s an odd feeling, this urge to buy gifts for my friends. I’ve never been in a position where such things were possible. Father discouraged gifts, and after I grew out of childhood and instructors replaced my nannies, presents ceased to cross my mind.

  Nikola follows, pausing when I pause, moving on when I do.

  At the
next window, I stop at the display of cue sticks and custom balls. A billiards shop. I peek at Nikola to see if he wants to linger here. He peers inside with the same level of interest he showed at the previous shops, neither adverse nor hopeful.

  After a minute, I turn away and he follows without hesitation.

  He’s excellent at 8-Ball, but maybe not passionate? Or his acting-Secretary mask is on point and I have no ability to see beneath the surface. The thought saddens me.

  I want to know Nikola better. In the years he left to go to school, my childhood friend grew into a man of layers I don’t know anymore. He’s now this mysterious figure of hidden depths. A gatherer of knowledge. A strategist. Someone who faced pain and remains unbroken. Like Declan and Felix, it’s difficult to imagine Nikola happy in the role of Secretary, no matter what he professes.

  A few shops farther down the sidewalk, a colorful display catches my attention. An art gallery. I peek at Nikola again to gauge his reaction. His left hand presses against his leg, and fine tension runs through his body, though his face remains unchanged. I remember the display in his room. The colored jars and woven leaves. Maybe I can see a tiny crack in his façade.

  I nod to the door. “We have time. Let’s take a look.”

  “If you wish.” He walks ahead to open the door, his steps eager.

  Inside the gallery, frosted glass walls act with dual purpose to create partitions in the room and create display stands for the artwork. The holo-frames mounted to each divider display four pieces of art on a thirty-second cycle, with a button on the wall next to the frame that allows viewers to pause if they see something they like.

  The one on immediate entry reveals a theme of sky skippers and their larger brethren, the Storm Makers. The artist rendered their transparent, gelatinous bodies with skill, the lightning in their tentacles practically leaping off the screen. I’ve never been a connoisseur of artwork, but it seems well done and it’s certainly eye-catching, which is probably why it won the prime position as the entrance piece.