by T. M. Catron
She shrugged and smiled. “Maybe for you. Why did you swim in your clothes?” She nodded to all the other bathers nearby, practically naked in their Speedos and bikinis.
“I don’t like to show off everything. What about you?”
“Are you asking if I like to show off everything?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable even though I didn’t know why. “I meant why are you fully clothed?” I asked.
That didn’t sound right, either.
She laughed. “You want to know why I don’t wear a bikini out here on the hot sand?”
“Yes. Sorry, I mixed up the question. Are you Hindu?”
“That’s alright. And yes, I am Hindu. And my father would not deem it appropriate for me to be out here by myself in a bikini. I would not deem it appropriate, either. Which is why I wondered why you were swimming in your clothes.”
“I don’t like people to stare.”
“Would they stare?”
“Yes.”
Undoubtedly.
I grinned—a stupid, cheesy grin, completely genuine and completely discomforting. I don’t know if I’d ever grinned like that around a human. To save myself, I moved into more familiar territory.
“I’m Morse,” I said, shifting over and extending my hand.
She leaned over and took it. Her skin was soft and smooth. “Toral,” she said.
And there we were.
My clothes were drying quickly in the warm sun. I stood to beat off the sand clinging to them.
Toral stood as well. “How long are you in Marseille, Monsieur Morse?”
“Just Morse is fine. And I’m here until business takes me elsewhere. Are you here with your father?” I looked around, expecting to see a short, white-haired man running for us, yelling at me to get away from his daughter.
“My brother and sister. We’re on vacation.”
“I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.”
My stomach growled again, and I thought about getting an early dinner before I checked in with my masters. I looked up toward the city spread out around us like a yellow flower. Emerson-Wright would only be here a few more days. I had to use them wisely if I wanted to go back to Paris as his employee. Dinner would have to wait.
“Would you like to meet my brother?” Toral asked.
I tore my eyes away from the city. “I’m sorry?”
Toral nodded at the walkway. A young man in t-shirt and jeans stepped off it and headed for us. He was younger than Toral, still a teenager—lanky without having reached his full height yet. Dark hair, same color skin as his sister.
When he reached us, he frowned disapprovingly at his sister. She smiled sweetly.
“Charan, this is Monsieur Morse,” she said, gesturing at me. “Morse, this is my brother Charan.”
Although a little family meet and greet was low on my list of priorities, I offered my hand. For some reason, I just didn’t want to disappoint Toral. “Hello, Charan.”
He took my hand and said, “Are you from Marseille, Monsieur Morse?”
Charan sounded older than he looked.
“No, I’ll be heading to Paris in a few days. And call me Morse.”
He nodded and turned to Toral. “We’re ready to go. I’m sorry if we seem rude, Monsieur.”
I shook my head. “Not at all. Pleased to meet you both.” I shook Charan’s hand again, then Toral’s.
Toral’s brown eyes watched me expectantly. “Do you come down to the beach often, Morse?”
“Not too often, I’m afraid. Unless you’d like a swimming lesson while you’re here?” What the heck was coming out of my mouth? She wasn’t the target. And I didn’t have time to make friends.
Charan frowned again. “Swimming lesson?”
“No,” I said, trying to correct myself. “Sorry—just a random thought.”
“I would like that,” said Toral, drawing our attention to her.
Charan’s mouth hung open. Then he closed it and said, “Umm. Toral…”
“It will be fine,” she assured him. “Morse is a nice man.”
Oh boy. I was not a nice man.
“I don’t want to make your brother uncomfortable,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Toral’s eyes narrowed. Was she angry? “Did you not just offer to teach me to swim, Monsieur Morse?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you now taking back your offer?” The light behind her eyes changed. She wasn’t angry. If not anger, what?
I looked at Charan for a moment. He glared at me, daring me to take this any further. Why did I care what he thought? “No,” I said finally. “I’m not taking it back. When would you like to meet?”
Toral smiled in triumph. “What about tomorrow? Here? Same time?”
I grinned back—the same cheesy grin as before. “Can’t wait,” I said.
Charan silently watched the exchange. He wasn’t happy.
6
Plan
I sat up all night finishing a program to hack into Emerson-Wright’s security system. Toward morning, my fingers moved less assuredly. I made a mistake, forgetting a colon. Maybe it was the five pizzas I’d ordered while working. Junk food always clouded my brain. Or maybe it was the soft bed in my tiny hotel room—calling to me, inviting me.
I downed an energy drink with another slice of pizza and plowed on. In the privacy of the locked room, I’d taken off my shirt. The air conditioner blasted out cold air on the lowest setting so I could feel it on my skin.
Faint yellow light peeked out between the two heavy drapes. It was the only light in my room except for the laptop screen.
Toral would be disappointed today. I had decided not to go to her swimming lesson. The time wasted would require I report my lapse in judgment to my masters. A swimming lesson with a pretty girl wouldn’t be well received. I was confused about my desire to go in the first place. Toral had no bearing on my mission. Meeting her again on purpose was irrational.
And yet, I imagined her sitting on the beach, phone in her lap, watching for me. What would Toral wear to go swimming? Would she dare a bathing suit, or would she jump in fully clothed, like me? I imagined her swimming in her sari, the end of it flowing out behind her in the water beside me. The image made me laugh at my own stupidity.
I finished the program and loaded it onto the black Samsung phone I’d picked up. Time to set up another meeting. I sent Armelle an email, just as before. She didn’t respond. Roy or someone like him probably checked it first. I wondered how that worked with Emerson-Wright. Did he know of his wife’s meet ups? Most likely he did but chose to ignore them. The rich, paranoid crétin probably had placed some kind of tracking device under her skin.
My hand automatically went to the adarre on my chest, my own tracking “device.” The swirling, raised skin there looked like complicated scarring. And it wasn’t something that could be removed. The adarre was a part of me, now and always. It was also the reason I swam with my shirt on, so the humans would have no reason to suspect I wasn’t one of them.
I put on my shirt and then opened the drapes. The sun barely touched the rooftops—still early. Armelle wouldn’t respond until after breakfast, anyway.
I walked to another little cafe off the beaten path. No view with this one, but the food was better. Eggs Benedict, an American choice—why not? I’d earned it. Three tables outside and two tables inside were already taken. I sat down inside by the wall, facing the door. Outside the bay windows, a couple walked out of a door with a sign over it that read L'auberge—The Inn.
The server smiled when I ordered the eggs, a side of bacon, and an order of crêpes.
“Hungry today,” she said in English, her French accent minimal.
“I also need a coffee and a baguette.”
Besides always being hungry, the biggest issue with only being part human is never knowing when to act like a human, and when to behave like the hybrid scum that I am. When Toral walked through the cafe door right aft
er the server brought my breakfast, I thought about pretending I didn’t know her, eating in comfort, going about my day, and ignoring the young woman’s feelings.
That would have been the best decision. But the human side of me looked up into her pretty brown eyes. They flashed in recognition. I smiled. She smiled.
“Mademoiselle Toral,” I said, standing.
She waved at me to sit down. “Morse! Why are you here?”
“I’m hungry.” I gestured to my food.
“I can see that. I meant, why are you here across the street from our inn?”
“Oh! I didn’t know it was yours. I ate here a couple of days ago and liked the lunch, so I thought I’d check out their breakfast.”
Why was I rambling?
“Would you like to join me?” I asked. I looked at the door, expecting Toral’s brother and sister to walk through it.
“My family does not want breakfast today,” she said when she saw my glance. “We were up rather late, I’m afraid.”
Something about the way she spoke drew my attention back to her. She did have faint, dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hair was plaited in one long braid draped over her shoulder. Overall, she looked weary.
She sat down. I sat across from her and tore off a piece of bread to soak up the hollandaise sauce on my plate. The server came by, and Toral ordered crêpes of her own.
“Why were you up late?” I asked as I drained my coffee and set the mug on the edge of the table for a refill.
“My brother and sister are not happy about our swimming lesson. They didn’t want me to go down to the beach this afternoon.”
I swallowed a mouthful of egg and English muffin. “They are probably right.”
“I didn’t want to just leave you there without explanation, though. It would be quite rude.”
A twinge of something ran through my gut. Better slow down with the food, I thought, especially after last night’s pizza binge.
“You know, Toral, I’m a complete stranger. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Maybe not,” she said. The waitress brought her food and hot tea. “Merci. But what are we if do not hold to our promises?”
I put down my fork and smirked. “Smart.”
“Are you saying you are dangerous?” she asked.
Wary and on guard, I lifted a questioning eyebrow. Did she know something about me? Then Toral smiled—she’d been teasing. I tried not to let my relief show.
“No,” I said finally, “I’m saying you don’t know me and your family is right to be concerned.”
“Don’t be patronizing, please. I am not a naive little girl.”
Ah. There was the anger. I nodded. “I apologize if I offended you. How old are you, anyway?”
“Aren’t Western men forbidden from asking a woman’s age?”
“Not forbidden, exactly, just discouraged. I’m thirty-two, by the way.”
“My, you are old.”
I looked up from my crêpes.
She was smiling again. The effect was charming. “Twenty-six,” she said.
“You look younger.” She did. Except for her scar, Toral’s skin was flawless, her eyes bright, her lips full.
I shouldn’t have looked at her lips.
“Do you often ask women to accompany you for a swim?” she asked.
“No, never.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
We finished breakfast in silence, with me draining three more cups of coffee before ordering another side of bacon. I found myself wanting to elicit another one of those bright, infectious smiles. And I didn’t know why. It didn’t matter if Toral liked me or not. Unlike Armelle, I had no end game with her, no reason, and that confused me.
“Want a piece?” I asked when the bacon arrived.
“I am vegetarian—mostly.” Toral pointed to her empty plate.
“Tell me something, Toral. Is swimming that important to you?”
“I’ve always wanted to learn. You offered, and it seemed like a good idea. But, if you don’t want to—”
“Yes, I do want to.” I smiled again, this time keeping the cheesy grin more relaxed.
I paid for our meal and walked Toral out of the cafe. Yesterday, I had walked Armelle outside in a similar fashion. Today, I didn’t touch Toral, and she wasn’t drunk. The same day and yet different. One merely the echo of the other.
“I have some business this morning,” I said, “but I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I meant it even though I didn’t understand why I had changed my mind.
“Anything interesting?” she asked.
“Not really. Just a meeting.”
“My father is always going to meetings. And he always thinks the details will bore me.”
We crossed the narrow street to the inn. Toral turned to look up at me. “I went to University, even have a degree in business, and yet he still views me as a silly, frivolous girl. Do you see me that way, as well?”
Those lips again. I wanted to touch them.
Careful.
“No,” I said. “I don’t. But the thought of the meeting bores me, and I didn’t want to drag you through the tedious details. If you want to know, I’m meeting a friend who’s going to get me an interview with her husband. I hope.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She seemed to have moved closer. When had that happened? Had I taken a step toward her, or had she taken a step toward me?
“For what?” I asked.
“For misjudging you.”
“You didn’t. I mean you did, but it was a fair assumption.”
Oh, shut up, Morse. Before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned down and kissed Toral, carefully. Only our lips touched, nothing else. Her soft, warm ones against my dry, cracked ones.
When I pulled away, she blushed. Then she smiled and said, “Do not ever tell anyone about this. Please.”
I had forgotten—she wasn’t like Armelle. She probably didn’t go around kissing strangers. I didn’t either, for that matter. “Did I offend you?”
“Not at all. I look forward to seeing you this afternoon, Monsieur Morse.” And she went inside.
What kind of hideous punishment was I going to assign myself for that?
7
Security
This time I met Armelle at a coffee bar. Only fifteen people sat around chatting, using the Wi-Fi. The strong smell of coffee and warm, sugary desserts made me hungrier than ever. Everyone was absorbed in their own little worlds, including me.
With the fresh memory of Toral’s lips on mine, I was having trouble concentrating on what Armelle was saying. The kiss in the street took precedence over my companion’s boring treatise on the state of coffee farms.
What concerned me most was that I had only met Toral twice, but each time my inhibitions were lowered to the point of danger. So low, in fact, that I couldn’t decide what to do with myself when she was around. I felt both at ease and uncomfortable around her. The only conclusion I could draw was that my emotions were confused.
Hybrids were not emotional. The most I ever actually experienced was anger and frustration. I’d learned to channel those into completing missions. Other emotions, like confusion, were for puny humans, so why was I experiencing them at all?
“…so, I found the beans I liked and bought the plantation,” Armelle was saying. “Hello? Morse?”
“Yes?”
“Do I already bore you?”
“Of course not.” I smiled, refocused my attention on her faded eyes, and reached across the table to take her hand. “How about we get out of here?”
“Can’t. I’m meeting my husband.” She squeezed my hand and leaned in. “You should have taken me up on that offer yesterday when I had more time.”
“I didn’t want to take advantage. Then what would you think of me?”
“That you were a man.”
“Is that in question?” I ran my hand up her arm, pretending to be thinking about pulling her to m
e. Then, slowly, I let go.
“I did put in a word for you,” she said. “Will I ever see you again?”
“If your husband hires me, you’ll see quite a bit of me.”
“That's a shame.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t fraternize with his associates. Gets too… confusing.”
“Ah well. C'est la vie.” I paused a moment, pretending to think. “I’m not his employee yet. What about this evening? Another bottle of wine? A picnic dinner down by the shore? I’m sure Roy over there would love that.”
Speaking of Roy, I reached into my pocket and pressed a button on the lookalike Samsung. It began cloning his device.
“I’m flying back to Paris tonight.”
“What if you changed your flight and left in the morning?”
“No, I never change my travel arrangements.”
“At least for guys like me.”
“No offense.” Armelle smiled and let me help her to her feet as Roy walked over. I kissed her on the cheek, lingering just long enough to make it believable. As we walked outside where the Rolls was waiting, I reached into my pocket and dialed Roy’s phone with a dummy number. He opened the car door and looked at his buzzing phone.
While he was distracted, I began helping Armelle into the car. Then, I sent a silent message to another hybrid, who was somewhere behind the buildings.
Now.
On cue, the sharp, staccato pop-pop of gunfire sounded from the down the street.
To his credit, Roy recognized the sound, but he reacted badly. He ducked in panic and dropped his phone. Seizing an opportunity to look good, I shoved Armelle into the Rolls. Roy recovered and slammed the door behind her, and we crouched down looking for the source of the gunfire. Per protocol, the driver sped off in the Rolls, down the street like a demon escaping hell.
While Roy was distracted, I swept his cell phone off the pavement and replaced it with the one I had brought.
A few people outside stood up, looking around in confusion and worry. I shook my head in contempt. Humans. If it had been a real shooting, they would all be dead already.
Technically, it was a real shooting, but without the intent to harm. A siren wailed ahead of the police. My friend would already be gone and with him any evidence.