Whispers in the Code

by Stephanie Flint

  “Val?” My heart beats fast. The last time I saw this dazed look was after she was interrogated by Lady Winters. “Are you all right?”

  She absently readjusts her gown strap and glances over her shoulder. “Do you ever get the feeling of déjà vu? Like you’ve been somewhere before?”

  “Sometimes,” I admit. “Though it’s usually when I come across redundant code.”

  Val shivers, goosebumps on her skin. “For just a moment, I got this feeling, this bad feeling, that the next time there’s a ball, you won’t be there.” She presses against my chest and I wrap my arms around her, unnerved as we return to a slower dance.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Though no one seems to have noticed our blunder, we’re in a room full of telepaths, and I’m pretty sure we’ve already made one person mad today.

  Has one of them attacked her?

  Lady Salazar’s mind has not been compromised, Stuart assures me, though his thoughts feel concerned.

  “I’ll be fine.” Val rests her head against my shoulder, but she holds me tight. “It’s just… I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, keeping my voice down as I hold her. “The only person I want to be with is you, and the Legion Spore project isn’t going to last that long. I’m not going to make you go to a ball by yourself.”

  “It’s not that.” She nuzzles her nose against my neck, the scent of her flowery hairspray strong. She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the exit. “I need some fresh air.”

  Moments later, we’re outside in the damp, chill night. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, not letting go of my hand. “Better?” I ask, concerned. I’ve seen her upset before, but this is different. It’s like she’s in her own little world, kind of like Zoe. She hugs me tight, almost too tight, and we stand under the whispering fronds of tropical trees. The salty ocean breeze is cool against my face and the back of my neck. A small row of twinkling lights has been strung among the upper fronds, marking the path. Shadows play across the bushes and benches. Val shivers against me.

  “Val… what’s wrong?”

  She doesn’t let go. “Nothing, okay? Sometimes my intuition starts acting weird, especially now that my insight power is enhanced, and with this many people around, there’s bound to be visions that don’t make sense.”

  I try to look at her face, but all I see is her wavy hair since she’s holding me like this. “You get visions?”

  “Sometimes.”

  I know she has enhanced insight, and that’s helped her numerous times during missions, but I hadn’t realized she ever actually saw anything.

  We sway in time to the music, making little circles on the cobblestone path. Cream-colored stones mark out little half-cogs in the design, and several palms obscure the night above us.

  “I saw a ballroom,” she says softly. “There were people there, but I didn’t know them. They wore masks. Someone was revealed… I’m not sure who.”

  “A masquerade?” I suggest.

  Val slips her fingers inside mine and traces the palms of my hands. “Something like that.” She looks over her shoulder, toward a small building, and then pulls me along the path toward the stone structure as if she’s drawn to it. I swallow hard. This experience is almost like its own vision, the kind Lady Winters would devise when she was trying to test me.

  I glance toward the mansion. Stuart stands at the door, keeping watch.

  Good. I don’t have to worry that one of the other telepaths here is messing with Val… or me.

  The building Val leads us to has a hanging lantern burning from the rafter. It’s on a timer, a carefully designed LED, but the effect is that of an old-time stable. She doesn’t say anything as we slip inside. Fresh hay and a musty scent of wet wood assaults my nose, along with the odor of sweaty fur and manure. Val hikes up her silver dress, wandering past the empty stalls to the pair of horses that drew our coach. She looks around and finds a sack of apples hanging from the far wall. A small smile crosses her lips as she offers the black gelding his treat. “A distraction,” she explains. “I don’t want to ruin your big night with visions that don’t mean anything.”

  “Val…” I pause. I’ve seen horses before, though never up close. He’s… bulky. Sleek, glossy fur, and intimidating. We didn’t really have a need for horses in the Community, though he seemed like he pulled the carriage efficiently enough. I break my gaze from the creature. “I’m here for you. If you want to talk—”

  Val motions me nearer, though she keeps her voice soft. “That mare there might like a treat.” She points to the bag where she got her first apple.

  “Insight?” I take an apple from the sack and hesitantly approach the mare. The horse shakes her head and snorts, her breath hot against my hand. I’m not so sure I want my hand near her mouth.

  “Just common sense,” Val says quickly. “They like apples. Keep your palm open. No sudden movements.”

  I hold absolutely still as I offer the mare the apple. Her nose is velvety and warm, and she nuzzles my hand before slobbering across the treat. “Horses,” I murmur, slowly pulling my hand away. “Not sure I see the appeal.”

  Val chuckles, which is a pleasant change from her earlier solemnity, though her laughter sounds forced. “Not horses. Beasts.”

  I frown and look at them again. The mare tosses her head. She fixes me with a green, cat-like eye. “But—don’t most beasts fully shapeshift?”

  “I’ve seen ones like these in Mexico,” she explains, and adjusts her dress nervously. “A few of the beastmasters will pick up a shapeshifter as a personal servant. Good for transportation, defense, offense… an all around decent bodyguard. But they don’t want their beasts being mistaken for a regular animal, which someone might try to ‘borrow.’ So they have them shapeshift all but their eyes, since it’s so easy to recognize.”

  Her smile falters, and she looks away, staring past the horse.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She worries her lower lip with her fangs. “Nothing. It’s just…”

  “Another vision?” I hedge, not sure if I should get her to reveal the other details so she’ll stop worrying, or if I should give her space instead.

  “Same vision. Just…” She looks at the horse-shifted beast, puzzled. “I have no idea what I’m sensing. That’s the problem with enhanced insight. It doesn’t always make sense.” She sinks onto a hay bale opposite of the stalls, and then pats the spot next to her.

  I sit, careful not to get my suit messy. “Is there anything I can do to make it better? I mean… you said that there’s a lot of people around and that could be messing with your powers.”

  “Tim… you weren’t there. You weren’t at the ball.”

  I swallow hard. “Maybe you were undercover?”

  “No.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it so hard that I think my bones are about to crack. “I didn’t know what to do because you weren’t there. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back. It was like you were dead—”

  “Val… I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

  She shoots me an angry glare, her lips twisted into a pout. “Please don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim. I love you. If you weren’t here, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  I stare at her, not sure if I should feel relieved that she loves me or slapped by her accusation. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Val. I’m not going to leave you.”

  “You might not have a choice.”

  I lick my lips, suddenly wishing we were still talking about the beasts or politics. “Val… I will do everything I can to be with you. To protect you. You know that, don’t you?”

  She nods slowly at first, then vigorously, as if the vision is still in her head, refusing to leave. I retract my squished hand from hers and wrap my arm around her shoulders.

  Now would be a good time to push her attention elsewhere, Stuart suggests gently. I’ll see if I can reduc
e the effects of her powers.

  Are you sure she’s all right? I think, knowing he can read my mind.

  I believe so, yes. What she sees as you being ‘gone’ from the masquerade could be as simple as you needing to deliver an important speech, but being stuck in traffic. Out of context, it is easy to misconstrue the vision to mean that you are dead. This is possible for any vision, and as such, enhanced insight can cause some rather… unpredictable mood swings, especially with the amount of power she has. She’s lucky it doesn’t happen more often.

  There’s a silence that hangs between us, making me wish he’d also said I would be fine. What if the vision is a bad as Val makes it out to be? And if it’s not… and she keeps having visions like these… will they cause her unnecessary anxiety?

  Lady Salazar is not the first member of the Camaraderie to deal with enhanced insight, Stuart thinks to me. I can coach her, and that may help such premonitions from feeling unduly negative.

  I take a deep breath and glance at the cat-eyed horses. I’m not sure what it’s going to take to ease Val away from her concerns.

  Perhaps a change in conversation would help. I have been explaining to her what I explained to you.

  I’m not sure what to talk about, and I’ve got these horse-beasts in front of me, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind, “Are beasts common in Mexico?”

  Maybe something to remind her of home… that might help put her mind at ease.

  Instead, Val lowers her eyes. “You don’t see very many beasts there, but there’s a few. They’re usually criminals who have been punished for crimes domestic in nature.” She braces herself against the hay bale, and I get a sense from Stuart that I should be careful of where I take this conversation. Odd… I didn’t think Val had any bad experiences with beasts. “In the Community,” she explains, “security watches relationships to ensure the most efficient coupling is chosen. In the territories, you pick and choose as you please, and every once in a while, one of those relationships goes sour. Abuse… neglect…” She twiddles her fingers along the sequins of her gown.

  I frown. Maybe I should have stuck with talking about the vision. “I take it you’ve had experience with this?”

  She bites at her lip. “My family hasn’t had our best share of luck. Papa… he could be cruel. Took to the shadier jobs and took a hard hand to us. We learned to fend for ourselves early, but one day he went off on Zoe.” She meets my eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. “He went off at the wrong time. There were officials nearby, and they heard the commotion.” She pauses. “Investigations don’t last long in the territories. All you need is someone with memory steal, and the case is closed. They gave Mama the choice. Papa could receive a death sentence, or he could be made a beast.” She shakes her head and laughs softly. “Mama said that if he acted like a beast, he might as well be a beast. After that, he was gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Don’t be. The only one who was upset was Isabella, and she went on to take the jobs that Papa left behind. But she was a bit smarter about it, and all you get from her is a sharp tongue.”

  “I see,” I say, worrying the locket between my fingers. This is definitely not the conversation Val needs to be having right now. Not with how she’s already worrying about our future.

  A throat clears at the stable door. Stuart stands with his back against the night, his hands clasped before him. “Why don’t the two of you come with me? I have something that might put both of your minds at ease.”

  Val tilts her head, curious, and gives a small nod. I help her stand. She links her arm in mine, shuffling the toes of her silver shoes through the hay, and we leave the beasts nickering in their stalls.

  Rather than returning through the mansion’s glamorous main entryway with the flags and statues, Stuart leads us to a small side door shrouded by a thick, leafy trellis. He opens the door for us to a well-lit hall with white walls and half-wood siding. A few lanterns wink with imagined firelight, more for decoration than actual performance. Small clusters of guests travel to the restrooms or have private conversations, though a couple of them give us wary glances as we pass.

  The servant stops at a set of heavy doors carved with the Lady of the Cog symbol. He pushes both doors open, using telekinesis to prop them apart. “Lady Salazar… Master Zaytsev… may I present to you one of the Camaraderie’s many great libraries.”

  My jaw drops. Bookshelves line the entire back wall, floor-to-ceiling. Smaller bookshelves wind through the center of the room around long, mahogany tables with dark green, stained glass lamps spilling warm light onto the deep, plush rug. Stuart motions us to a canvas portrait on the inner wall. The bronze frame is wrapped in gold. The painting portrays the five original leaders of the Camaraderie and, given the relative age of Lord Black in this portrait, I’d guess this is early Community, if not before. They each wear a pendant that glints in the imagined light. I rub my fingers along the pebbled surface of my emerald pendant’s back.

  Even in the portrait, the pendants look old. Antique. Powerful.

  “The pendants have been around for some time, though not as long as our enemies might expect,” Stuart says. With his hands clasped before him and his straight posture, he’s got the perfect image of a butler.

  “How old are they?” I ask.

  “Just shy of a hundred and thirty years. They were created by Benjamin, who also has enhanced insight.” He looks pointedly to Val, but she’s staring at the portrait. Her attention settles onto the image of Clara—a young thief with straight, dark blond hair and bright blue eyes, who later defected to the rebels. The thief tips her hat and gives the viewer a pleasant, albeit mischievous, grin. This portrait is a far cry from the tortured image that now represents her, the one the rebels use to proclaim, “forever tortured, forever defiant” on the hull of their airship.

  Uneasy, I glance back at Stuart. Clara was known for her quirkiness… which was likely caused by her powers of intuition. “Did Clara know what was going to happen to her?”

  The servant quirks an eyebrow. “I think she had some hint of what was to come, yes. She knew the Camaraderie would rise, and that the people she was helping would eventually become a thorn in our side. But did she know how she was going to die, and when? No. I don’t think she knew that until she was captured.”

  Val threads her fingers through mine and we hold hands, silent. I wonder what she’s thinking, but I have a feeling she’s having a private conversation with Stuart and I don’t want to interrupt. With his expertise, he’s probably the best one to assuage her fears.

  While I wait, I turn my attention to the rest of the leaders in the portrait. Among the five members is Lady Patricia Black, the inspiration for the Lady of the Cog. She’s the easiest to recognize, with a pistol in her hand and a whip on her hip. A half-cape flutters behind her, its long hood cast over her shoulders with her dark hair unleashed in the wind. Her chest is puffed with pride, she’s fit, and from her cruel, alluring smile, she looks like she’d as easily seduce her targets as shoot them.

  “A misconception,” Stuart notes softly.

  I glance over my shoulder, still holding Val’s hand. “What?”

  He nods toward the picture, and he has Val’s attention, as well. “The first Lady Black never was one for seduction. Look at her wrong, and she would end your life instead of interrogating you. She liked to set an example for other dissenters. As for seduction, neither she, nor Lord Black, took a lover on the side.”

  If what he’s saying is true, maybe Val won’t have to seduce anyone to interrogate them. Maybe I won’t have to worry about being seduced.

  Precisely, Master Zaytsev. You need not be so concerned, Stuart thinks to me. He inclines his head toward the painting. “Each of them had their preferred techniques. For example, Lord Black needed none of his lady’s methods; he had telepathy.”

  Behind the lady in the portrait, recognizable for his calm smile and pale blue
eyes, is Lord Black. He’s younger than most Community pictures show him, with shorter black hair and a not-so-hardened face, but he’s not so young as to be unrecognizable.

  “What happened to them?” Val asks, her voice quieter than usual. “The rebels defeated Lord Black, but what happened to Patricia?”

  Stuart returns his gaze to the portrait. “She died of illness. Even Camaraderie healers cannot heal all wounds.”

  Val pulls me closer, her fingers clutching the edge of my suit. Her eyes dart nervously across the portrait. I flinch. Her insight about what to ask isn’t helping us calm her nerves.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whisper, slipping my arm around her waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Of course not,” she says, her voice soft. She eyes Stuart, her expression wary. “You know a lot about the founders.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Stuart gestures to the bookshelves around us. “When you have lived as long as I have, you find there are tales worth remembering. It is good to know about those who came before. How they succeeded, and how they failed. The better to avoid their mistakes and, as a servant of the Camaraderie, the better to teach you how to avoid their mistakes. You are worried that you might meet a similar fate to Clara… but if she had a better grasp on her powers, perhaps she would not have been so quick to defect to the rebels. You need not be worried, so long as you are willing to hone your powers to serve you, rather than allow your powers to control your actions. A vision may hold true, but if you don’t know all the details, you cannot say with certainty what will come to pass.”

  Val squeezes my hand. “Makes sense.”

  Stuart returns his attention to the portrait. “Though at constant odds, the original Camaraderie members were willing to work together. They had a common goal. They knew how to use their powers, and they knew how to play their hand. They hid until the time came to reveal their plans and, when that time came, they proved to be calculating—ruthless in their execution.”