by Lyn Forester
“Thank you.” I shrug out of my short, gray jacket before Nikola can assist me and let the host take it.
Nikola’s mouth kicks up on one side as he removes his own jacket to reveal a charcoal-colored vest and cream shirt over khaki slacks.
He passes his jacket to the host, who takes it and hurries away with the promise that a server will soon arrive.
Nikola waits for me to choose a seat, giving me the option for intimacy or separation. His dark hair and golden-toned outfit, perfectly framed by the cafe’s decor, compliment my toffee colored, high-waisted pants and cream blouse.
This wasn’t a spur of the moment decision on his part, like it felt when he made the suggestion an hour ago. He carefully researched this place before bringing me here.
I wait for the irritation to come at the subterfuge of his game, but instead find only acceptance. Nikola is who he was trained to be.
His hand rests on the back of the striped settee, a subtle hint of his seating preference. I choose the low-backed, padded chair on the right that faces the entrance, unwilling to bump elbows as we eat.
Without any argument, he takes the chair beside me instead of the seat directly across the table that would make conversation easier. He turns to me, his knees close to mine. “The food here is delightful. The chef chooses each course every morning based on what’s fresh at the market, so no visit is ever the same.”
I suppress a sigh. It would have been nice to pick my own food for once. “Sounds adventurous.”
He leans an elbow against the back of his chair, his tone playful. “You’re mocking me.”
I don’t deny it. “What if mesuki is fresh at the market today?”
His nose wrinkles with distaste. “They only sell that on the lower levels.”
I lift my brows in challenge. “They serve it at APA.”
“They do not.” Horror fills his voice that the school would dare to feed their students the oversized rodents for meals.
I suppress a laugh. “At least once a week.”
“That’s…” He trails off, his hand rising to cover his mouth.
“It has a nutty flavor to it. Not completely unpleasant.” I shrug. “You get used to it.”
“I don’t know if I could do it.” He shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief.
Curious, I ask, “What do they serve for food at your school?”
His hand drops to hang casually off the top of his chair. “Rice balls mostly, filled with veggie paste, fresh fruit, or protein cubes.”
I purse my lips. “That would get boring fast.”
“You get used to it.” We share a smile at that.
A server arrives to place a tray that holds a chrome carafe, along with two fine porcelain cups, in the center of the table. He straightens and folds his hands at his waist. “Today’s menu begins with sweet café au lait. Would you like me to pour for you?”
“No, thank you.” Nikola leans forward in his chair to draw the service closer as the server silently leaves. “Caitlyn, have you had this before?”
“No.” I scoot closer to the edge of my seat as Nikola lifts the carafe to pour a narrow stream of light brown coffee into the first cup. “The coffee Grandmother experiments with is always served black. She’s focusing on the perfect roasting method.”
“This will be a treat, then.” Nikola pours the second cup, then lifts both and passes me one. “They started serving it last cycle, and it’s made a name for this cafe.”
I lift the cup to my nose and inhale the steam, a mixture of sweet and bitter. Careful of the heat, I sip from the edge of the delicate cup. Thick creaminess coats my tongue, the cloying sugar balanced against the bite of coffee.
“What do you think?” Nikola’s eager expression as I lower the cup tempers my initial reaction.
“I see why people like the beverage,” I murmur. Grandmother’s apparently had more of an effect on me than I thought because all I can focus on is the burnt undertones of coffee beans roasted too long.
Nikola’s face softens. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pretend. I’m not your grandmother.”
“Do you like it?” I lift the cup once more to take another experimental sip, gaze focused on him over the rim.
“I do. I’d drink it every day if I could.” He smiles sardonically. “But I haven’t sat through hours of beverage tasting my entire life.”
I hum in answer, my focus shifting behind him as the front door opens. A silver-haired gentleman with a young man at his side enters. His sandy hair reflects the overhead lights as he glances around. Familiarity fills me, and I struggle to remember where I’ve seen him before. Is he one of the upper level students at APA? He looks older than me by a few years.
Then, the older gentleman glances in our direction, and his vibrant blue gaze meets mine. Instinct brings me to my feet before I register that Grandmother isn’t with her secretary, Tobin.
Nikola rises as well, twisting to see what caused my sudden need to stand. When he spots the pair at the door, his hand presses against his thigh for a moment before he relaxes, his expression amiable as the two men approach.
“Ms. Lonette.” Tobin stops beside me with a brief bow. “It is a pleasure to see you this fine morning.”
“You, as well, Tobin.” My gaze shifts to the silent man at his side, who I now recognize from the secretary candidates as his grandson, Garrett Latven. “I see Grandmother gave you free time today?”
“She decided to relax in the solarium with her herbs this morning.” Quiet affection fills his voice as he speaks of her, and I have no doubt their match is an amicable one. He turns to put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Might I have the pleasure of introducing my grandson, Garrett? Like Nikola, he is on leave from school while the current strife is settled, and he’s indulging this old man’s request for company.”
“It’s always a pleasure to visit,” Garrett protests before turning a bright smile on me. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, demi-Councillor.”
“Please, no formalities here.” I can’t help but return his smile. He reminds me of Felix, despite their complete opposite in looks. It must be his relaxed manner. Pain knifes through my chest, and I push it away to gesture at the empty settee. “Would you care to join us? We’ve only just started.”
“Oh, we couldn’t impose.” Tobin’s protest falls flat as he nudges his grandson toward the small couch.
“Please, I insist,” I say as they take the seat.
This entire encounter reeks of Grandmother’s machinations. Three days must be the limit of her ability to wait for me to set up my own interviews with her other secretarial candidates. Will the woman, Erinhale, also appear here? Or will I be ambushed at another time?
A server hurries from the back with two more cups as Nikola and I resume our seats.
Once their cups are filled, I ask, “Garrett, do you attend the same school as Nikola?”
“Yes, though he’s a year below me, so we haven’t had any classes together as students.” His voice holds a playful edge as he glances at Nikola, who sits closest to him. “We’ve crossed paths a few times at Lonette Manor, though, when I’ve come to visit Grandfather.”
Nikola murmurs an agreement, his mask of pleasantness making it impossible to gauge his reaction to this change in our morning plans. Does he know that Garrett is qualified to become a council member’s secretary? He must, since they attend the same school.
“Tobin.” I turn to the older man. “What do you think of the beverage?”
He takes another sip, rolling the liquid around his mouth before he answers. “It’s sweeter than my preference, but it has its own appeal.”
I swirl the liquid in my cup, watching as it clings to the sides. “The viscosity is pleasant.”
“Yes.” Tobin contemplates his own cup. “Most pleasant.”
Calculation enters his gaze as he glances at the door behind a mirrored bar along the back wall where the kitchen hides. The coffee’s texture is jus
t what my grandmother’s chocolate makers are looking for. I’d bet credits that Lonette House will own this restaurant by the end of the day.
Garrett catches my attention. “Do you share your grandmother’s enthusiasm for beverage design, Caitlyn?”
I set my cup aside. Three tastes are enough to determine I can’t stomach more. “It’s her hope that I take over the family business.”
He takes the comment as an affirmative as he continues. “It’s extraordinary that she was able to build up such an amazing franchise while also sitting First Council Seat.”
“My grandmother is a force to be reckoned with,” I agree. “But she could not have done it without the support of those around her.”
Tobin’s eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased with the compliment.
“Caitlyn will equally excel when she takes the council seat.” Nikola’s hand settles possessively on my knee, his usually cool palm hot through my slacks.
The gesture lacks the finesse I’ve come to expect from him. Does he feel threatened right now?
Garrett’s eyes drop to my knee, and amusement fills his gaze as he focuses on Nikola. “A good councilwoman requires the best team at her back.”
The statement lands like a gauntlet of challenge between the two men.
The arrival of the server breaks through the tension, the platter of small sandwiches pulling the conversation to safer ground. But throughout the rest of breakfast, Garrett and Nikola continue to circle each other through thinly veiled challenges couched as casual conversation that make Garrett’s intentions clear.
He will vie for a place as my secretary with Tobin acting as my grandmother’s silent backer.
BLUE FALL, BLUE RISE
“Please excuse the intrusion.” Our server bows low, sweat beaded on his brow. “Might I have a moment of your time, demi-Councillor?”
Surprised at the interruption, I set my small plate of still untouched teacakes on the table. Barely an hour has passed, the other early morning guests only just arriving at the door. “Is something the matter?”
The server’s eyes dart to the front. “Demi-Councillor, it’s not a topic for public consumption. But you’re not safe here, right now.”
I stand at once, the three men rising a heartbeat behind me. Motioning for the server to follow, I aim for one of the private rooms at the back, out of view of the front windows.
Garrett and Tobin step inside, followed by the server. They stand close to the table without sitting while Nikola pulls the curtain shut. The voices from the outer room cut off. I take a moment to study the thin material and note the flickers of electricity that weave through the thin fabric. Must be some new soundproofing technology. The temperature in the small room quickly rises with so many people cloistered inside.
The server pulls a gray handkerchief from his apron and mops his brow. The dim lights of the chandelier can’t mask the sallow hue to his skin or the whites that show around his eyes.
“Get on with it,” Garrett rumbles when the silence drags out. “What’s happened?”
The server’s hand trembles as he fumbles the handkerchief back into his apron. “This morning, Mr. Blue was found assassinated in his office in the Halls of Justice.”
My stomach drops, the blood rushing from my head, but I manage to stay on my feet.
In charge of the Peace Keepers of our city, Mr. Blue and Mr. White are the mirror of Mr. Black. While Mr. Black runs the black markets and the legalized mob, Mr. Blue and Mr. White uphold the city’s laws and protect our citizens.
They are both instrumental in smoothing out the negotiations with the new Mr. Black. Mr. Blue heads the human and halfbreed Blue Guard, while Mr. White heads the pureblood halion White Guard. They’re a necessary triumvirate that keep our stacked cities from chaos and are arguably as powerful as the Thirteen Houses.
My voice sounds far away, calm despite my inner panic. “What of Mr. White? Is he safe?”
The server turns green. “He hasn’t been located yet.”
With the death of one, the safety of their counterparts becomes top priority. Now, two are dead. If Mr. White were to be assassinated as well, the wrath of the halion people would come down on Leton. With Mr. Blue no longer in place to guide the negotiations and the new Mr. Black not yet stable, years of alliances could crumble.
My mind races down the most likely path.
Riots in the lower levels will endanger the upper levels as commerce between the halion colonies and the stacked cities stop. The Troehan clan will be called home, taking with them their life-saving sciences that remove poison from the soils we use to grow food. Level wide lockdown will be enforced. My memory dredges up ghost stories, whispered in the dark, of environmental system shutdowns; mass euthanasia to protect the city structure and the safety of its leaders who live at the top.
Between one heartbeat and the next, I snap out of my thoughts as Tobin steps up to place a calming hand on the server’s shoulder. “How did you find out about this?”
The server’s chest rises and falls in panicked pants. “My aunt works in the Peace Keepers’ Tower. She’s a secretary. She was there when they found Mr. Blue.”
His breathing becomes more frantic as the reality of our situation sets in. I step into his direct line of sight. “What’s your name?”
“Oliver,” he wheezes. “Oliver Rowe.”
I keep my tone gentle. “Where’s the shop owner, Oliver?”
“Not here. She took today off to visit her uncle on Level 8.” A high-pitched whine comes from the back of his throat. “She won’t be able to get back home.”
“We’re not on lockdown yet, right?” I glance at Nikola, who has his palm-port in one hand, eyes glued to the screen. He shakes his head, confirming my guess. “They won’t make a formal announcement until they locate Mr. White. You have time to get home.”
“I can’t leave the shop.” He sways on his feet, and I step out of the way in case he falls.
“Close it,” Garrett suggests. “You don’t want to be here when the news gets out. If you know already, others will, too. This won’t stay quiet for long.”
Oliver nods, his breath slowing as our calm reaches him. “What do I tell the guests?”
“I’ll take care of it.” I reach up to tug the hat from my head, my fiery red braid sliding across my shoulder. Nikola takes the hat as I pull the tie from my hair and shake it loose, then fluff my curls into place. I glance up at him. “How do I look?”
Pride fills his dark eyes. “Like a Lonette.”
“Call the chauffeur to meet us at the back exit.” I turn to Tobin and Garrett. “You’ll ride back to the manor with us.”
Garrett inclines his head in a shallow bow. “Yes, demi-Councillor.”
Spinning on my heel, I put a smile on my face as I push the curtain aside to address the cafe guests.
“Everyone, may I have your attention, please.” I wait for the men and women gathered around the podium at the front to shift their focus to me.
Every person wears halion modified fabric, a clear declaration of wealth and status. My shoulders pull back, and I shake my head so that my Lonette red hair catches the overhead lights. In the clothes Nikola chose for me, the restaurant acts as a stage, designed just for me, and for once, I’m grateful for Nikola’s scheming.
When all attention focuses on me, their voices quiet. If they don’t recognize me specifically, they recognize the stamp of my house.
My hands fold in front of me as I meet each of their eyes before continuing. “Cafe Brinu and House Lonette thank you for your patronage and kindly ask that you return to your homes for the day.”
Pausing, I wait for the quiet murmurs to die down. “While we realize this is an inconvenience, we beg your indulgence in this matter. All will become clear in due time, but for now, may fast travels deliver you home safely.”
I turn on my heel as the first question rises and stride away without pause. To linger now will only delay the inevitable. As I pass the servers,
I give them a nod, and they rush to the entrance to herd the guests back out the door.
When I arrive at the rear exit, Nikola waits for me, pride shining in his eyes. “You were magnificent, demi-Councillor Lonette.”
The praise slides off me. I don’t want to do well in politics nor do I care to linger on the ease with which I stepped into the role. Instead, I push through the back door and march toward the waiting car, my shoulders heavy with a new weight.
~
The ride back to Lonette Manor is quiet, no one willing to break the tension in the car. When we reach the house, I head for the study where I turn on the large holo-screen mounted on the wall between two bookcases. The black leather couch offers seating for three, but I remain on my feet, too restless as I wait for the news channel to flicker to life.
Garrett and Nikola stand on either side of me, while Tobin disappears to find Grandmother. When they return, they take the empty couch, and we settle in to wait.
Two hours pass. Maids bring in refreshments, then find reasons to linger. They wave dust wands over spotless knickknacks on the shelves, wipe down sparking display cases. Our butler, Mr. Purnell, comes in to shoo them away, but I raise my hand to stop him, motioning to let them stay and hear the news when it comes. He takes up residence in the doorway, stiff and ready for a command.
At 1400, the news channel flickers, then fades to black. One of the maids drops her cleaning wand, panic clear on her face before the holo-screen brightens once more to display a conference room. A short, round man stands behind a podium at the front of the room, his thick fingers wrapped around the edges as if he needs the support to stand.
He stares into the camera, his eyes pinched at the corners. “Hello, I am Matthew Jones, media representative for the Halls of Justice. As some of you may already know, tragedy struck our fair city for the second time in less than a week. Mr. Blue passed away. His death follows the loss of his daughter, who was taken when her disc-bike wrecked last Fall-Cycle.
“While Mr. Blue’s death is tragic, and the reason for it has yet to be discovered, I am here to reassure you that law is still in place. Negotiations with the new Mr. Black are well underway, and the strides Mr. Blue made will come to fruition. Here to say more is Mr. White.”