Titan Song (Star Child: Places of Power Book 3)

by Leonard Petracci

  He squeezed my shoulder, and I felt his needle sharp fingertips dig into my shoulder blade. I jerked him backwards with the forcepoint, just enough to make him stumble slightly, and spoke to his back as he departed.

  “And we’re all too eager to attend.”

  Chapter 37

  “I’ve decided that you can’t be trusted to buy clothes,” said Francesca. “Seriously, I don’t know what has happened to your taste, but you need to fix it. Besides, it gave me an excuse to go shopping.”

  Three stacks of thin cardboard boxes spread out across her bed, with outfits laid out above them, wrinkle free and with tags still attached to each article. Francesca continued talking, but thoughts continually slid back to the two days before, her words sliding right through my consciousness.

  Arial had still not returned.

  After the choir performance, we’d returned to the venue, fetching Slugger first to post him as guard outside Francesca’s apartment. Lucio dug through the garbage, pulling out the name cards that had been placed before each plate before the meal, and saving those that were still legible for us to research. Fifteen names were in Renalt’s entourage, and we’d need to know if any of them were as suspicious as Blake, as well as find background on the CEO himself. Ennia paced the stage and dining area, searching for any other clues, the deserted hall echoing her movements. She paused before the front table, where the CEO and Senator had sat, her nose wrinkling as she looked between that and Francesca’s perch.

  “Renalt claimed that he booked the choir?” she asked. “Seems odd to me, then, that the senator would show up.”

  “Well it is Francesca’s father,” I answered, and she frowned.

  “Did you see the two of them speaking, SC? You realize that he was right in the full force of her Silver Tongue power. There might be more to this… What business would the two of them have together? What if this was a ploy by her father, maybe a gear in the political machine?”

  “Renalt was French—if it’s political, it’s not internal,” I said, tapping my fingers against my leg.

  “That may not be the motive, but if I wanted to force someone to do something, this is exactly where I would sit them.”

  “According to Roland, Francesca’s not strong enough to force anyone to do anything. Siri seemed to be an anomaly there. But making them more open to convincing, that’s certainly a possibility.”

  I thought back to the performance, and Francesca’s words beforehand. I even prepared a solo for him in his own tongue! A solo that I would not have understood. Ennia tapped the side of her leg, lost in thought, then continued speaking.

  “We’d have to assume that this is some sort of setup—regardless of what Renalt said, Dacil wanted him there to take advantage of the situation. Francesca would have been instructed by her father what to sing, and then they would be primed for any sort of bargain he wished.”

  “Francesca seems like she can hardly stand Dacil. I don’t see her running his political games, unless she’s really good at hiding it,” I said, frowning.

  “Unless there’s something for her to gain out of it, a brand new pair of shoes maybe? Maybe her performing for highly visible figures.”

  I bit my lip but didn’t respond. I could see what Ennia was suggesting, but something seemed off, something didn’t fit. We’d left the venue after that, Lucio giving her the name cards to study, then met to make plans for the next few days. Attending with Francesca to Blake’s would be dangerous, so we agreed I would ask Francesca if Marshall could bring a date, who would be Ennia. We’d work an angle then to get Slugger and Lucio in, or at least nearby, in case there was an attack. At all times, we’d need to be on guard and with a secure route to the exit. But more importantly, we’d need to see who besides Blake was attending with ulterior motives, then it would be up to Lucio to try and trick them into spilling additional information. After the event, Slugger would tail Blake back to where he was staying—but with me there, I doubted Blake would leave an obvious trail.

  After making plans, I waited again for Arial, staring out into the rapidly falling darkness. This would be the second day she had not returned, and I fell asleep against the wall, waking with the rising sun to see her sleeping area empty. We sent Ennia to stand watch over Francesca’s apartment, relieving Lucio, who had taken a shift for the night, then started to search the city. Splitting up, Slugger and I each moved to a separate part of the city, searching the streets in a grid that would take weeks to search thoroughly. As the hours passed, my feet moved faster, anxiety filling each step.

  What if we never find her, I thought, then pushed the thought away. But what Slugger had said no longer seemed viable —after two days, she should have had enough time to investigate and return. Something was wrong, and as we searched the streets, I feared for the worst.

  That night as I lay awake, I looked to the portal leading back home. We couldn’t find her, but there was someone there who could—her father, who we could bring back here with us.

  And at Francesca’s apartment, as I looked over the outfits she chose, thoughts of Aerial pervaded my mind. I shivered as I thought of retrieving her father, but knew that was far better than the alternative than if we waited too long and could not find any trace of her at all. Whether she had been captured or something far worse, something I dared not think.

  “SC,” Francesca shouted, jarring me from my thoughts with a jolt and holding up the middle outfit, a white button-down shirt paired with a bright blue sportscoat and pants, completed by brown leather dress boots. “Are you even listening? This one is my favorite. Go try it on, because I have the perfect dress to go with it. We’ll match wonderfully. Pay attention, because my big opening performance is tomorrow in the Daedalus amphitheater, and if you look good in this, I want you to wear something similar. Renalt’s show was simply a dry run. Oh, and Marshall says he’d be happy to go with your friend tonight if you bring her.”

  “She’ll be incredibly excited,” I said, forcing a smile and heading to the bathroom to change. “Almost as excited as I am, but of course that couldn’t be possible. And, Francesca, how exactly do you know Renalt? He’s hosting, right?”

  “Oh, SC, in my circles, you meet all sorts of people,” she answered as she looked into the mirror and adjusted her makeup, keeping her eyes averted. “Father met him at a dinner party, I think. It’s been some time. But he wanted me to sing, and who am I to deny that?”

  Chapter 38

  We arrived just at dusk, turning into a looped drive near the center of the city. Spotlights lit the front of the hotel, where valets traded tickets for keys of cars so valuable that I felt uncomfortable sharing the same parking lot with them. Francesca folded her arms at the sight of them, casting me a disapproving glance. She’d wanted to take her sportscar to the event, but would be one seat short since Ennia and Marshall would be joining us, a circumstance that she now attributed to me inviting them.

  “They can just take a taxi,” she had said, pulling me aside from Ennia at her apartment as we waited for Marshall and Ann to arrive.

  “Ennia doesn’t know any of them,” I responded, gesturing towards where she waited at the window, her eyes tracing the arteries of the city below. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable with leaving her on her own.”

  “Marshall’s a good guy; he’ll take care of her,” Francesca had insisted, but I shook my head, and she huffed. “Fine, then. We still have fifteen minutes. I’ll start working on her.”

  She strode over to Ennia where she waited, tapping on her to catch her attention, laying her hand on her shoulder like a concerned mother. “Darling, if we’re to go, we need to go in style! Let’s add some… color to those cheeks of yours. It’ll help when we mingle.”

  “Pardon?” asked Ennia, turning. She wore a bright red dress, and against her pale skin and white hair, it was striking, popping against the contrast in a way that gave it another dimension of vibrancy. Her shoes matched the color, except for the stiletto heels, which were a su
spicious bone white. She walked such confidence in them I found myself staring, wondering if the actually were an extension of herself, if they were Blended pieces of herself. When she moved, it was as if she flowed, the dress rippling like a liquid, held together by the bones of her frame—and if I squinted just right, she resembled blood and skeleton, the two merging in a body full of life.

  “Surely in that outfit, you’d want your face to match?” asked Francesca, and she pointed over to the make-up mirrors in the bathroom. “I’ll do you! Then I’ll let you help with me!”

  “You’ll do me? What do you mean by that?” asked Ennia, with more than a trace of suspicion, tinged with annoyance at Francesca’s comment about her dress. Just earlier that day, she’d bought it on her own, disappearing for two hours and refusing the cash that I’d pulled from our envelope reserve. Though the internship was unpaid, she apparently received a stipend from her university, something Lucio had immediately voiced that we should all share, and had been met with only laughter from her.

  “Make-up, of course!” said Francesca, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, looking over to me as if she couldn’t believe the response. Just who did you bring, she mouthed as Ennia answered.

  “Oh, sorry, I can’t do that,” Ennia responded. “I wouldn’t want to lie. I can’t, really.”

  “Lie?” Francesca asked. “It’s just some cover up.”

  “It’s a lie. It’s not what you are; it’s a misrepresentation of an essence,” Ennia answered before I could intervene as I saw Francesca’s jaw starting to drop, her cheeks flushing. “Of course if you need to lie, I won’t hold it against you, but I shan’t be changing my exterior appearance. Even clothes toe the boundary for me. I think a society without them would be far more honest.”

  “A lie,” Francesca hissed, pointing up to her face with both hands, her voice escalating in volume with each word. “You think this is a lie? This is the face of the opera, the cover of magazines! You just wish that you—”

  The elevator door opening caught her mid-sentence, and her lip twitched as she allowed herself another second of glaring before reverting to a smile, the flush on her face taking another minute to subside. Marshall and Ann had just arrived, and Francesca rushed over to welcome them in before calling the front desk to inform them that we, unfortunately, would require a limo.

  At the hotel drive, Francesca threw me a knowing glance again as we waited in the line of cars, watching those in front of us walking up the carpet.

  “How nice it would be to be seen,” she said, rapping her knuckles against the limo roof. “They won’t even know we’re here until we step outside!”

  “I think it will increase the impact,” I suggested. “It’s like opening a present—there needs to be a moment of revelation, a sense of mystery.”

  Francesca looked thoughtful for a moment before asking. “Are you saying that if they look too long, they would think me dull? Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

  “I’m saying that people want what they can’t have, so let’s control their doses,” I said, gritting my teeth as I put my arm around her shoulders. “Besides, maybe I just don’t want to share.”

  “It’s like hitting the high notes!” added Ann as she scanned the crowd ahead for Blake, wringing her hands together. “You use them sparingly, no matter how beautiful they are.”

  Then our limousine moved forwards, coming to a stop under the awning as a doorman rushed forwards to open the door, and Francesca rushed out. She twirled, the sequins on her dress flashing, drawing in every eye in the vicinity. Recognizing her, the photographers rushed forwards, the camera flashes competing with the spotlights for illumination. She pulled me close the moment I exited the limo, then pinched me hard on the side as the cameras rushed inwards, speaking through the corner of her mouth.

  “Frown, I told you to frown. Brood.”

  The look came naturally this time, both in reaction to Arial’s disappearance and to Francesca’s proximity. Behind us, the others stepped out of the limo, and Francesca pivoted to keep the paparazzi on solely the two of us. She dragged me forwards down the carpet, heading towards the entranceway, just as Blake stepped outside to meet us. His suit was entirely white, his hair slicked back, and what on first sight I thought was a bracelet was a circlet of hardened skin around both forearms, showing off his power while turning his clothes into a canvas for prismatic colors.

  He threw his arms wide in welcome as Francesca rushed to meet him, greeting him with a hug as he and I stared each other down with fake smiles and narrowed eyes. The tension in the air between us hardened, and in that instant, we both nearly leapt into action, each of us forgetting the roles we were cast into. Our instincts directed a full attack as our muscles stiffened, and we reached for our powers.

  Then, casting a look both at me and the cameras, Francesca kissed him on the cheek, holding an instant longer than necessary before taking both our hands and pulling us inside.

  Chapter 39

  Arial

  One hand closed on her makeshift spearpoint when Arial heard the voices return. The other gripped a bottle of mop soap, its nozzle pointed directly before the door. They shook, the heat and absence of water wicking away her energy and control, her thoughts coming scattered as she rehearsed her plan. A plan she knew had little chance of success.

  When the door opened, she would both lunge forwards and spray the soap over her captor’s feet. She’d already tested the substance—rubbing two fingers together confirmed the slick nature. While it would not be enough to knock her enemy out on its own, it would throw him off balance and weather away his footing. Then she would attack with her spearpoint—aiming to topple him, to move him out of the way so that she could flee towards the trapdoor in flight. Even in the cramped confines of the cellar, she could move far faster in the air than they could run. And if the trapdoor opened, she would be free.

  If the door was locked, or if she was too weak in her state to push past her attacker, or if their sheer numbers cut off all paths of escape—then that would mean she had failed. And failing, she feared, meant death.

  But what Arial had not accounted for was the blinding effect on her rapidly expanding pupils as the door was thrown open. Even with one light bulb in the entire room, her accuracy fell, and as she rushed forwards, she attacked blind. The soap she sprayed trickled down over her own feet, and she slipped, crashing forwards into the dark shape that barred her escape. Her weapon came down in an arc, aiming to where she estimated a neck would be, but a hand caught her by the wrist, seizing her so tight that it cut off circulation.

  With the soap underneath her, and her leg muscles already trembling, that hand was the only force keeping her from collapse. As her vision adjusted, she heard the voice of the man who had caught her, his tattoos moving like ocean waves over his skin as he spoke, the effect mesmerizing to her already jumbled thoughts.

  “Incredible resourceful,” Divi said, looking to her soap and her makeshift dagger. “Pain, pain is a powerful motivator. An opener to the mind, an access point to creativity. I gave you this gift, this pain—and look what you have accomplished by drawing upon it. It changed you, did it not? Made you something greater.”

  “I’ll give your gift right back to you, then,” she said, trying to force the weapon down, but without any leverage. Divi laughed, the sound amused, and her eyes widened as she saw Matteo approach from the side, holding a pitcher of ice water. Condensation trickled down the glass, her eyes tracking each individual bead, her throat somehow feeling even more dry than before.

  “While honored by the offer, I don’t think you could give me enough pain to be worthwhile. I’ve drunk my fill, and now I must share with others. Matteo, provide her with our water—for the moment, she has proven herself. Anyone with sufficient powers would have escaped our prison—either through the door below or the window above. They certainly would not have tried to attack with a mere splinter. Interesting, then, how that is—that those who are more powerful would flee
the pain, would become weaker by leaving it. But those without power—they are cast by pain, pressed by the heat of our boiler, hardened by their body’s cry for water. They enter weaker, yet depart stronger. An important lesson, maybe the most important.”

  He released Arial’s wrist, and she almost collapsed, catching herself at the last instant on the doorframe. Matteo poured a cup of the water and handed it to her, and she gulped it down in two swigs, the cold liquid immediately restoring a measure of clarity to her mind as her eyes darted to the rest of the pitcher.

  “Slowly, slowly. The body will reject that much water so fast, and you have not experienced all the pain I gave you. Sense each level, feel it cut into you. Pain is the body reaching a new extreme, a new edge to its experiences—my gift to you is to push that edge. Only past it can you become reborn.”

  “Is that what you do to them, then? Torture them all day like you did me?” Arial asked, shaking the sweat from her eyes as she indicated the room and looked back to the trapdoor. With the cool glass in her hands, it no longer seemed so urgent that she should escape. And she recalled her original reason for coming there—to investigate and to discover.

  “Part of boiling you was that we had business,” Divi said. “No matter Matteo’s feelings on the matter, bringing an unidentified novice would spell disaster, even if your intentions were true. This first pain was only a pleasant side effect. But as for torture—no, I do not torture them. I push them, I free them from the physical boundaries.” His fingers stroked around the tattoos that covered his arms, tracing the dark spirals. “That is what the Specials fear more than anything else. A free man. So now, I give you two choices. As your first step to becoming truly free, you must decide on your own.”

  He stepped backwards, along with Matteo, and the others who stood behind them parted, creating a clear pathway back to the stairs, one that Arial could fly down in less than a second.