by RJ Blain
They likely believed I’d been fired, and I was in no hurry to correct them. Unless my luck continued to sour, I’d never see them again.
There’d be talk, but I didn’t care. Other jobs waited, and they’d become murky waters within a week, too. I dumped my badge at the security desk in the lobby without saying a word and didn’t look back. While I walked home, I regretted every last decision I’d made in my adult life. What sort of idiot paid for a general major in business to work as a desk monkey helping other people with the same degree make twice as much money?
If I’d been wise, I would’ve put in extra overtime before quitting. Then again, I would’ve talked myself out of leaving like I had every time before. Who quit without three months of income to ease the transition? Who quit without having already arranged a new job?
Me, that’s who.
Digging out my phone, I dialed my mother’s number, and she answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“I don’t suppose you or Dad happened to ditch the whole null and void deal today, did you? I may have quit my job today and could use a miracle.”
“Sorry, baby girl. No such luck. What happened?”
“I told a co-worker he lacked balls and informed my boss his secretary couldn’t cover her ass without help. I got tired of being the office scapegoat, so I figured I’d quit before I got fired.”
“I’ve done that a few times.” My mother sighed. “Let me guess. You walked out without giving them two weeks’ notice.”
“Why should I give them the courtesy? Anyway, it’s legal. They don’t have to give me notice, and I don’t have to give them notice, either.”
Arguing with my mother was similar to beating my head into a brick wall; I wouldn’t get anywhere in the discussion, I’d develop a headache within minutes, and she wouldn’t quit until she won.
My mother always won.
“It doesn’t hurt to be courteous,” she scolded.
“That’s ridiculous, Mom.”
“Being courteous is never ridiculous.”
“Why don’t we forget about it? We’re never going to agree.”
“Will you leave the kingdom?”
I staggered to a halt, my eyes widening as my mother, for the first time in my adult life, changed the subject rather than pick a fight with me over my latest poor life choice. “Why would I leave the kingdom?”
“There are better places for people like us, Mackenzie. You know that. If we could move out of New York, we would. We’re too old.”
My mother was lying; she’d never leave New York as long as the royals insisted patriots remain in their birth kingdoms—which hadn’t even been kingdoms until twenty years ago. Generations before then, the United States of America had been a global power to be feared, but following the outbreak, the country had fragmented, teetered on complete destruction, and would’ve fallen without the intervention of sixteen royal families.
It had taken decades for the continent to recover. The Royal States of America, officially founded when I had been a child, made me a New Yorker despite living in Annapolis, Maryland. I still didn’t understand why Maryland hadn’t won the pissing contest for naming the kingdom.
According to my parents, Maryland was the true center of the universe.
I sighed, forced my feet back into motion, and trudged towards my apartment. “I’m not sure. It depends on what I find for work. Maybe I’ll head to Canada if I can; they aren’t quite as prejudiced about us nulls. I could claim refugee status.”
Canada had been hit hard during the outbreak, too, losing a lot of land to the American royals, although what remained of the country, now turned into a kingdom like everywhere else in the world, had become powerful.
Canada’s king could, if he desired, flatten mountains with a thought, and everyone was grateful he kept his talent in check.
My mother huffed. “You’re being a child about this, Mackenzie.”
Next time, I needed to remember my mother’s sense of right and wrong aligned with the royals and their latest vision of a perfect society. At the moment, that meant no one left the wonderful kingdom of New York, not ever, for no reason, not even to visit family or friends.
No wonder she’d asked; she wanted reassurance I was doing what I was supposed to, being properly subservient to the elites who hated us for lacking magic. Tired of being treated like the child she claimed I was, I snapped, “Tough shit.”
I hung up.
No wonder magic had fled from my bloodline. Never had I met a less ambitious collection of people in my life. It hadn’t done me any good during my childhood, but I’d try to find my spark of magic. I had nothing else to do while I waited, and come hell or high water, I’d find it.
Chapter Two
Two weeks after I quit my job, I concluded either no company needed a washed-out marketing gopher or word of my departure from Riverway Enterprises had spread. Out of two hundred applications, I received fifty-three form letters, most of which declared the company required all new employees to have fully documented bloodlines.
Without a known talent, the government wouldn’t subsidize the costs to officiate my bloodline, and I didn’t have the twenty thousand required to pay for the testing myself. A few replies praised my resume, but they wouldn’t be able to interview me, wishing me the best of luck with my job search.
One company had gone so far as to suggest I should enroll in a professional evaluation program and undergo heritage testing covering three generations, which would cost me twice as much as the standard testing.
Since killing someone was illegal but discrimination wasn’t, I ended up with the short end of the stick. Claiming refugee status in Canada seemed wise compared to a hopeless job search on limited time. If I wanted to lower myself to manual labor like my parents, I could find a job easily enough.
I hadn’t struggled through four years of college to work with my muscles instead of my brain.
I also hadn’t busted my ass to lose it all on a suicide mission to transform myself from a null into a progenitor, the origin of a new bloodline. Every year, a few tried, and they all failed, dying as the magic they desired turned on them and tore them apart.
Making the attempt sometimes appealed to me, but I knew better. All I’d do was kill myself trying to force a spark of magic to appear. No one had succeeded in twenty years, and I wasn’t delusional enough to believe I stood a chance.
Of all my options, leaving New York made the most sense. If I went to Canada, I’d sacrifice the next ten years of my life, forced to obey the government’s every demand. They could force me to marry into an established bloodline for the sake of any children I might have. They’d pick my home. They’d choose my job. My salary would be dictated by some bureaucrat. If they wanted me to return to school, I would be forced to.
The same applied to most North American kingdoms, although few were as welcoming. I scratched Texas off the list; they hated nulls because, in their twisted logic, they loved families, and null parents weren’t worthy of having children. Their obsession with children led to the depths of hell for women who didn’t want kids, although Texas had the best women’s healthcare in the world.
I had no desire to undergo frequent pregnancy tests and ultrasounds to check my reproductive health.
Their obsession and my utter lack of romantic prospects didn’t mesh well, no matter how much I wanted children of my own one day.
The west coast held interesting prospects; education trumped magic there, and some companies even preferred nulls for certain positions. Unfortunately, my degree wouldn’t get me far in kingdoms with a preference for doctorates.
I weighed the pros and cons of a cross-continent move. With the money I had, how far could I hitchhike before I starved to death?
My phone rang before I delved too deep into the various ways I could die trying to traverse North America on foot. Snatching the device, I tapped the screen and answered, “Hello?”
“Mackenzie, do you have a boyfriend?”
my mother demanded.
“What? No. Why?”
“Want one?”
A headache developed behind my eyes. In reality, I wanted a husband and a family, but I wanted them in a world they’d be valued, which meant I’d have to lie. “No, Mom.”
“You want a boyfriend. There’s a gala, and several princes will be bidding on girlfriends. It’s for charity. You’ll get a chance to date a real prince for a night, and it’s for a good cause. You love charities, Mackenzie. A prince would ensure my grandchildren come from a good bloodline.”
My mother wanted grandchildren? Was she serious? Had she started taking drugs after I’d moved out? “In case you haven’t forgotten, we’re part of a dud bloodline, Mom. No one in their right mind will let me breathe the same air as a prince. Forget it. Anyway, what would I do with a prince?”
“Marry him.”
My mother had lost her mind. There was no other explanation for her behavior. “You’re insane.”
“But Mackenzie, I already bought your ticket.”
My mother had purchased a ticket for me for a charity gala? To be auctioned off to royalty? My mouth dropped open, and I considered opening my freezer, sticking my head inside, and letting my allergy to all things below room temperature finish me off. “Mom!”
“It’s tomorrow night. You’re going, and that’s final.” My mother hung up.
I missed my life before I’d quit Riverway Enterprises. Dealing with Dylan Mason every day beat tolerating my mother when she went on the warpath.
It hurt to admit it, but I actually missed my boss, even when he was hovering over my shoulder sticking his nose in my business. Of all the men I’d met, he was the only one who’d never cared I lacked talent.
All he had cared about was what I did with what I had.
I couldn’t tell whether my mother hated me, was desperate for me to make something of myself, or simply believed I needed an intervention to find a man. She had spent a thousand dollars for the privilege of parading me in front of a bunch of men who had more magic in their toenail clippings than I had in my entire body.
The fiasco wasn’t going to end well for anyone. While I accepted my mother’s meddling and took the damned ticket, I refused to play the part of Cinderella. The only use I had for a glass slipper was to kick it up a prince’s ass. I’d go, but I’d be comfortable in my best jeans, my favorite pair of boots, and a blouse that toed the line between casual and business appropriate. To ensure no sane man would take a second look at me, I shrugged into my scuffed, black leather jacket.
If my fears proved true, the pampered princes would run the air conditioning to better admire the wares. Between my bra and jacket, no one would be getting a free show or risk having their eyes poked out.
I regretted my decision to cooperate with my mother ten minutes into the four-hour drive to New York City. The rental cut into my savings, adding to my worries I’d be working the shipyard in a few weeks. I cursed my mother the entire drive, suspecting she’d cut into her retirement to ensure I couldn’t afford to leave the kingdom or get the sort of job I wanted.
She wanted to make me in her image, and she didn’t mind wasting a thousand dollars she couldn’t afford on a non-refundable ticket if it meant she won the war.
Fortunately for my dwindling finances, the ticket price included a room for the night and free parking at the hotel. Losing money on the rental annoyed me, but I’d manage. I always found a way. Often, I hated the solution to my problems, but I wouldn’t be brought down by my mother’s scheming.
No matter how much I disliked it, she did it out of love and a desire to obtain what was denied to her. I never would’ve considered going to a charity auction to find someone. Guilt forced my hand; my mother shouldn’t have wasted so much money on me.
The truth hurt. Guilt drove me into doing far too much.
My mother knew me well.
I left home six hours before the ticket claimed I needed to arrive, and with the help of the car’s navigation system, I made it with twenty minutes to spare. The hotel, located in the heart of New York City, skirted the massive park eating away at the island’s limited space. The contrast of trees, grass, metal, and concrete seemed about as unnatural as the firebug showing off on the sidewalk, breathing flame for the amusement of pedestrians.
Armed with my ticket, my overnight bag, and my purse, I left the rental with the valet and braved the busy lobby, dodging men in dark suits and masquerade masks. Women in ball gowns added splash of color, stars in a sky made of the wealthy elite.
I chuckled at the disbelieving stares of the bejeweled hopefuls, sliding into the check-in line behind a man a hair taller than me despite my boots. Even with the help of their high heels, most women were a few inches shorter than me, a situation I enjoyed more often than not.
Maybe I lacked magic, but I could look down my nose like a champ, and height went a long way when it came to holding the advantage in a conversation. While I waited, I watched the crowd. Almost every man wore a feathered mask, the only color in their ensemble. To draw the attention of the men, the women postured, posing to show as much leg and cleavage as their dresses allowed.
I wondered how the men, some of whom were likely royalty of some sort, figured out who they wanted to bid on—or how to bid on a specific woman.
Five minutes of seeking answers answered none of my questions, and I turned my attention to the woman behind the counter, offering her my best smile. Taking my ticket out of my purse, I slid it across the polished wood.
She glanced at the ticket, smiled back, and turned around, picking up an envelope from the counter behind her. “Welcome, Miss Little. Here’s your room key. Your suite is on the top floor. Take a right as soon as you exit the elevator. The festivities will begin in the main ballroom in thirty minutes. Please make certain you carry the silver card within the envelope at all times. It includes a chip with your registration information. There’s also a laptop in your suite. Swipe the card in the reader and answer the questionnaire before you go to the ballroom. Please enjoy your evening.”
My suite was on the penthouse floor? Astonishment rooted me in place, but I gathered my wits and took the envelope, aware of people staring at me. The undisguised scrutiny bothered me, and I thanked the woman and escaped to the relative safety of the elevators, buying me a few moments of blissful silence out of view of those waiting for the gala to begin.
When the elevator arrived, a herd of elegantly dressed men and women emerged, and I was the only one to head up.
Chaos waited on the top floor, and only one out of every five or six people waiting were women. I marveled how they could look down their noses at me despite my height as I eased through the crowd, horrified over the number of diamonds encrusting cuff links, and turned right in search of my room.
Before I reached the safety of the hallway, one of masked men relieved me of my overnight bag before I comprehended he was taking it out of my hands. “Allow me, miss.”
I’d never be a princess, but I’d finally found a use for my mother’s stickler attitude about good manners. “Thank you. I’m sorry to be a bother.”
The man’s mask covered most of his face, but I caught a glimpse of a smile. “My pleasure.”
To my relief, my room wasn’t far from the elevators, and it wasn’t one of the double-doored monstrosities leafed with gold. A single swipe of the key card let me in, and I offered my unsolicited helper a smile. “Thanks again.”
Instead of allowing me to take my bag, he stepped into my room and left it where the tile entry ended and the carpeting began, dipping into a bow. “My pleasure.”
Bemused and baffled by his behavior, I nodded, all the while fearing I’d insult him. Was I supposed to curtsy? How did a lady curtsy? Maybe my mother believed in good manners, but she hadn’t taught me the finer points of being a lady.
I’d tried to curtsy once, out of curiosity. Bad things happened when I curtsied. The last time I’d tried, I’d landed on my ass.
> I hoped no one expected me to walk with books stacked on my head.
He waited. I discovered he’d back out of my reach if I stepped closer to him, so I evicted him from my room using my body as my weapon, thanking him a second time while shutting the door. Inviting him in would’ve been polite, but I disliked the idea of a masked man in my room. Maybe he was disgustingly rich, but unless someone threw filthy amounts of money at a good charity, I wouldn’t even consider looking at any of the men.
I didn’t need some snooty elite poking his nose in my business. With the clock ticking on finding a new job, I had enough problems without adding a man to them.
My mother would have to live with her disappointment and be grateful I had attended the gala in the first place.
Drawing a deep breath, I examined the room, my mouth dropping open from its size alone. I could fit most of my apartment in the bathroom, and I wouldn’t have to work hard to fit my mattress into the tub. Taking a bath tempted me; would anyone notice or care if I didn’t show up at the gala? The novelty of a null among them might last five minutes before their prejudices emerged.
Damn it, my mother hadn’t wasted a fortune for me to soak in a sinfully large tub. I spent five minutes fluffing my hair and piling it on my head, resulting in a haphazard mess. Sighing, I parked my ass at the antique desk, opened the laptop, and swiped the card as I’d been instructed.
My personal information greeted me, including my status as a member of a null bloodline. I confirmed the accuracy with a click of a button, and read through several pages of disclaimers indemnifying the charity organizers, the Royals of New York, of anything that might happen as a result of the auction.
The real questions began with a contract, one I read through while my mouth hung open. To participate, I needed to make one of three choices, and they all sucked. The charities would enjoy the money, but I’d hate myself before the night was over.
The only good news was that there was an exclusivity option, so I’d only have to sell myself to one man for charity.