House of Strife (Poisoned Houses Book 4) Read online

  Accepting the loan from him still makes me uneasy, however much he couches it in formality. I struggle to work past it, though.

  Had any of the other guys offered to buy the equipment from Skittles, I wouldn’t have batted an eye at the expense. I shouldn’t treat Nikola differently just because, in my head, he’s at a lower station than me and therefore less financially secure. I dislike what that says about the way I view him. Being raised in virtual seclusion by nannies and tutors, with the High Houses’ superiority ground into me since birth, has skewed my world view in unpleasant ways.

  As we head back toward Skittles’ building, the later hour floods the street with office employees leaving work for the day. The crush of Central Road comes as a shock once more, the noise of traffic and incoming air shuttles combined with conversation from pedestrians creates an almost palpable barrier of scents and sounds.

  We pass a street vendor, the man shoving a steaming cone of popped rice under my nose. A sticky pink syrup covers it, the artificial sweetness cloying. Felix would probably love it, but it rolls my stomach. I shake my head, pushing past him. Almost immediately, another vendor shoves a new offering in my face in the form of a long stick with fried sky skipper on it. The savory dough and tart, faux-cherry sauce actually look good, but the rice at The Muse filled me up and I shake my head in refusal as we skirt past.

  When a dress of sheer yellow fabric next blocks my path, my hands clench in frustration. The short walk will take forever with all of these street carts. No wonder there’s a petition to have them outlawed during peak hours. I remember reading the proposal while fulfilling my role as demi-Councilor a few weeks ago and thought it silly at the time. Why restrict businesses during the most profitable time of day? But now I understand, and my hands itch to sign the documents.

  Nikola takes the initiative at the next cart and steps in front of me, his slender, muscular body acting as a shield between me and the man waving holo-glasses. The neon sign attached to his cart promises a real-life experience, whatever my heart desires, and as we pass, I spot skin-vids on a lower shelf, the pornography not even hidden from passersby.

  How is that not illegal?

  He catches my stare and a gleam enters his eye, spotting a potential target. I press closer to Nikola’s back and look away. Nope. Not buying porn with our hard-earned credits. I’ve never watched skin-vids, and as the warmth of Nikola’s back seeps into me, I wonder if the guys have. It seems reasonable. Tri-Worth was a dorm school, so they must have gone around. And Felix, Connor, and Declan had more freedom in what they could do growing up.

  Maybe I was too hasty in my instinctive reaction. I’ve never liked to be at a disadvantage, and the guys all have the upper hand when it comes to matters of the bedroom. Well, maybe not all the guys. Connor displays a charming uncertainty that puts me at ease. But the others... Yeah, they know what they’re doing.

  I peek back over my shoulder at the cart. A trio of students hover in front of it. They don’t look old enough to be in high school, but the vendor offers them free rein to peruse his selection. I need something more discreet than a public cart. The last thing I want is for someone to snap a picture of me buying inappropriate videos.

  At the reminder, I back away from Nikola. I can’t be seen clinging to my acting-Secretary, either. Even if we can write it off as a look-alike to the tabloids.

  Suddenly, I’m thankful for APA’s digital babysitters that give me an alibi in case anyone spotted Nikola and me today. It’s easy to claim it’s not us when we’re so obviously somewhere else, with the pulse recordings to prove it. But if we’re going to do this often, we should come up with a disguise. My bright red-hair stands out too much, as do our school uniforms.

  A clothing shop catches my eye, and I pull out my palm-port to check the time before catching Nikola’s attention and pointing to it.

  He frowns, but follows me to the store, hurrying a step ahead to open the door.

  The quiet is deafening, and it takes a moment for my ears to adjust to the sound difference. When they do, I catch quiet instrumentals meant to calm the nerves. A welcome respite from the cacophony of Central Road.

  As we walk farther into the store, Nikola bends close. “We don’t have much time.”

  “We need outfits that don’t look like school uniforms.” I’d been able to spot the other students on the sidewalk with us with disturbing ease.

  While APA doesn’t emblazon its logo all over our attire, we don’t fit into the high-class expectations of Level 12.

  I head for a table with shirts on it that catch my attention. Dark blue, with silver speckles that remind me of the natural starscape from the school.

  “Oh, I see the Caitlyn line caught your eye,” a soft voice says from my left, and I glance up at the saleswoman. She smiles as she takes in my hair. “It will, of course, match perfectly with the rest of your design.” She walks closer and lifts the shirt. “While I wish we could all wear ballgowns, this is a lovely alternative, don’t you think?”

  I look at it again and realize the pattern is a replica of the dress I wore to Mr. Blue’s party. The party where I received my first kiss from Connor. Nikola put the dress in the incinerator after the party, burning away the sweet memory along with the harsher one of realizing my family would continue to dictate everything in my life.

  At the time, I’d just discovered my grandmother had registered Garrett as my official acting-Secretary alongside Nikola. My agreement wasn’t necessary, and he was given full access to my suite of rooms in Lonette Manor. The panic attack that followed ruined the dress when Nikola tore open the back to release me from the corset’s restrictive bind.

  But Garrett’s gone now, and I’m uneasily coming to accept Nikola in my life.

  I reach for the shirt. The silver stars wink and sparkle under the overhead lights. When I turn it in my hands, I notice the open sides, held together with black lace and pearl accents. It truly is a reimagined version of my dress. “It’s lovely, though a bit flashy for day wear.”

  “We have just the solution.” She lifts a finger, beckoning me to follow.

  I glance at Nikola and find his attention focused across the store on the men’s section. Nudging him, I nod in that direction. “Go find something for yourself. You can’t keep wearing the same jacket.”

  “I have other outfits,” he murmurs as he follows me deeper into the women’s side.

  “Not that I’ve seen.” Without thinking, I reach out and shove his arm. “Go, find something you like.”

  Surprised, he glances down at my hand on his arm before looking back at me. “What if this is what I like?”

  I take in the straight lines of his jacket and the white button-up beneath. It tucks neatly into slacks that hug his hips, then flows in straight lines down to his ankles. He makes it look good, but it’s also restrictive.

  I glance back up at him. “I think you’d look nice in something with color.”

  His head tilts. “Do you, now?”

  At my hum of agreement, he breaks away from my side, heading in the direction of whatever caught his interest.

  “Is he aiming to look like Connor Williams?” the saleswoman asks as soon as he moves out of earshot. “The hair’s the right color, but he needs to see a stylist. Pity about his height. Nothing much he can do about that unless he wants to take drastic measures. We have some glasses that are a perfect match. It will help while he saves up for facial reconstruction.”

  I glance back at Nikola in surprise. We grew up together, so I’ve never once compared him to Connor or Felix, but I suppose, from an outsider’s point of view, if I’m a Caitlyn Lonette look-alike, then Nikolas’s coloring most closely matches the Williams House.

  They both have black hair, though Connor’s and Felix’s is wavy, often unruly, while Nikola’s is finer and sleek, with inky highlights. All three are slender and muscular, but Nikola’s hips are narrower, while Felix and Connor have broader shoulders. Nikola’s face is different, too, his jaw sq
uare to Felix and Connor’s more pointed chins, his cheekbones less pronounced than theirs. His black eyes could never be mistaken for Felix and Connor’s grass-green. And, as the saleswoman pointed out, Nikola’s a couple inches taller than the twins, a fact that most likely drives Felix crazy.

  To me, they look worlds apart from each other, each unique and beautiful in their own way.

  The thought catches me off guard, though it’s not the first time I’ve acknowledged Nikola’s beauty. He was genetically designed to be appealing, to compliment my looks. Though, if Father had known how short Grandmother would make me, he might have cut back on Nikola’s height. He probably expected me to be closer to six feet tall like my grandmother is and all of the Lonette women who came before me.

  Being short puts me at a disadvantage in almost every situation, and I still doubt Grandmother’s reasoning for it. She said she wanted to make me different, to change my perspective. She needn’t have been so literal.

  “Here we are.” The saleswoman lifts a sleek black jacket from a freestanding, hanging cart.

  At first, it looks a lot like the one Nikola wears, but instead of a thick collar that lays down to form a lapel, it has a shorter, stiff collar that sticks straight up. Vents along the narrow sleeves and piping at the waist give it the feel of a racing jacket.

  I take it from her, surprised as the light-weight feel. “What’s the fabric?”

  “It’s halion made. Resistant to stains, wrinkles, and tears. Great for crowds. You’ll come out of a crush still looking fantastic.” She balls up the sleeve in her fists, then lets it go. The material slides back to its original shape. “It also stores small amounts of kinetic energy, so your palm-port will never die.”

  Feeling along the inside, I locate hidden pockets on both sides. I like pockets, and pockets that can charge my devices are even better.

  With a nod, I pass it back to her. “I’ll take both.”

  “Fantastic.” She points to another table. “Do you need pants? Or a skirt? To complete the outfit?”

  I peer down at my school-issued slacks. They look exactly like Nikola’s, hip-hugging and straight-legged. But paired with the other items, they’ll be less obvious. I shake my head.

  Nikola meets us at the checkout counter, a small stack of clothes in his hands, along with a supple black belt with silver grommets. The selection both surprises me and doesn’t. The stylish design will look like jewelry with a nice outfit while working equally well with something more casual. And the school doesn’t restrict what belts people wear. One of their few concessions to personal preference.

  As the saleswoman rings us up, I eye the stack of clothes, a mixture of colors and textures. “That’s a lot more than I thought you’d buy, considering how recalcitrant you were.”

  One side of his lips kicks up. “I thought the others might also like casual clothes.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  He leans over, his breath warm on my ear. “If you’d like me to put them back, I’m happy to be your only escort on these excursions.”

  I shiver and step away with a shake of my head that brings my curls over my ear. He needs to stop doing that.

  As if he senses the flutters in my stomach, his smile broadens.

  Yes, he definitely needs to stop doing that.

  When he turns to the saleswoman, extending his dat-band for payment, I bite my tongue. Though I did come here with the intention of using some of the credits I took in loan to buy the clothes, he can make purchases as he sees fit. I tell myself it’s the same as if Connor bought me something.

  But it doesn’t feel the same. It feels intimate, and perhaps that’s because I know that, while he received some of his funds from a monthly stipend, he worked hard to grow that into a fortune of his own.

  Connor, Felix, Declan, and I are ridiculously rich through inheritance. Nikola worked for the credits he uses now. Having once possessed a small nest egg of my own creation, I know the difference between money earned and money given. Spending money earned means more. This is a gift from Nikola, and every time I put on this shirt and jacket, I’ll remember that and think of him, whether or not he accompanies me.

  I peek at him from the corner of my eye. Was that his intention? Or just a byproduct of the gift that works in his favor?

  Lucky for me, the saleswoman disrupts my unsettling thoughts. “Would you like to change into your outfits before you leave the store?”

  I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

  Happy with her commission, she slips the clothes into a frosted plastic bag. The store’s logo on the front, printed with clear plastic, offers a peekaboo into our purchase for others to admire.

  She extends the bag to Nikola. “Thank you for your patronage. Please think of Gilded for your future needs.”

  With a murmur of thanks, we leave the store, the chaos of Central Plaza surrounding us once more.

  We arrive back at Skittles’ building with fifteen minutes to spare before our agreed upon meeting time.

  The creepy robot receptionist greets us, just as chipper as when we left, and directs us to the elevators.

  The panels above the elevators turn on as we walk toward them. Do they remain off unless someone has clearance? It would help prevent people from accessing the upper floors without permission, but a robot guard feels unsecure. There’s a reason places use living people as security. Robots are restricted to the orders given, with a lockdown against violent actions.

  Security is a booming industry, full of halfbreeds who guarantee an advantage over humans. They’re naturally stronger and faster than us, which makes them ideal for positions where they may need to stop an angry and assertive customer. The Blue Guard also offers virtually guaranteed employment as long as they pass the exams. Psy-guns and electric-batons are great until faced with an opponent with the same weapons. Halfbreeds just add an extra advantage.

  Which isn’t to say that Black Corporation doesn’t employ them as well. The human world has many opportunities for our mixed-blood co-inhabitants, even if the colonies throw them away for not being purebloods.

  So, there’s absolutely no reason to have a robot as the first line of security. Especially in a building owned by a Night Pirate. Aren’t they supposed to be suspicious by nature? If Black Corporation can seize my funds without reprisal, what could they do to a building owned by someone who isn’t even considered a citizen of Leton?

  Night Pirates give up their dat-bands, fully embracing freedom at the cost of being recognized as people. They don’t have access to the government provided stipends for food and water that many of the lower-level citizens rely on for survival. They can’t get a job or own a home.

  By all rights, the building we walk through shouldn’t even exist. And certainly not so openly, positioned so close to Central Plaza that the Halls of Justice are within throwing distance. It’s like Skittles is begging to be discovered.

  As a member of the future First Council, I should be reporting her, not giving her credits to further her nefarious ventures. And yet, here I stand, in an elevator, on my way to meet her, with an unregistered stick of credits in my pocket.

  The world is not the black and white place my father raised me to believe it to be. It’s harsher, more painful, filled with disappointment. But there’s also brightness, healing, a family outside of the one I was born into. Energy fills the world, taking on different forms, both those that cut and those that heal, and I’d never trade it for the sanitized life where I grew up in Lonette Manor.

  Bring the fear, bring the pain, I want to feel it all. Then let the love of my found family burn it away.

  Bargains Made

  The top floor corridor lays in shadows, with only light coming in from the office windows to show our way.

  While we didn’t specifically state it, I assume we’ll meet Skittles in the same office we did last time.

  In deference to the change in time, yellow light replaces the previous blue, harsher on the eyes, b
ut we’ll face brighter once we re-enter the sky. The next shift change comes at the end of Half-Light, as day crew gives way to night crew. We’ll have thirty minutes to make it across the bridges and back to APA.

  Plenty of time, as long as I don’t look down and remember how far the drop is if I fall off one of the bridges. In theory, I know the sky is stable and acts as the ground for Level 13. But my mind refuses to accept that when I can see right through it.

  Nikola sets our bag on the loveseat on the left side of the room, then settles beside it to wait.

  I pace for a moment, uncertain, before taking the chair that sits across from him, with a table between us so he can’t use his tricky seduction techniques on me while we’re alone in a private room filled with soft surfaces.

  Without looking at me, a small smile plays on his lips. Yeah, I’m being obvious, but it’s been a long day.

  Weariness slides through me as I relax into the soft cushions, and comfortable silence fills the room.

  At 1800 on the dot, the door swings open and Skittles struts in carrying two large, black cases.

  The light in the room seems to fade, absorbed into her black on black attire.

  She grins at us, revealing blackened teeth as she sets the cases on the low table in the center of the room. “Long day, kiddos?”

  “Eventful.” I straighten with a sigh, not ready to start haggling over the cost of electronics.

  “Well, then, let’s make this fast so you can nip your way back to school and rest your weary toes.” She clicks open the first of the cases and opens the lid until it rests flush on the table. Inside, black padding cushions an assortment of palm-ports. She points to the bottom left corner. “Cheapest here. Functional without all the bells and whistles.” She runs her finger up to the right corner closest to me. “Most expensive here, capable of running your entire life at the push of a button.”