True Born

by L. E. Sterling

  And I have just very publicly aligned him with the True Born leader.

  ...

  Head buzzing with anger, I head to the ladies’ cloakroom and sag against the wall, grateful to be alone and at peace for a moment. I stare into the twelve-foot mirror adorning one entire wall of the room. How could I have screwed up so badly? Our father will be so disappointed in me. My moment of self-pity doesn’t last long. The door opens and through the mirror, lined with gold-rimmed tissue boxes and puffed folded cotton towelettes, Mary Kain saunters in.

  Mrs. Senator Kain chooses to look inconspicuous amongst her wealthy friends and neighbors. Her sapphire blue gown is severe in its simplicity, but I’d reckon costs a small fortune. She wears no flashy jewelry but a large diamond encrusted ring. Under her ash blond hair, her patrician face barely carries a line. A perk to running the Splicer Clinic. I used to think this made her elegant and thoughtful, more conscientious than most of our set. I know better now.

  It was Mary who caught Mitchell Kain trying to break in Margot as his new intern. That’s the day we learned the truth about Mary Kain.

  “Lucinda Fox.” She says the words with a softly accented sigh, a remnant of her southern heritage. Her tone, though, is sharp enough to cause a flesh wound. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Mrs. Kain.” I curtsy and bob my head respectfully. “I am escorting Mr. Nolan Storm this evening. Have you yet had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Storm?”

  She stares at me for a long moment. Margot convinced me long ago that Mary Kain is the military mind in the Kain family and the real reason Senator Kain has been in power as long as he has.

  Eyes wide, she throws her gambit on the table. “You have the nerve to bring one of those people here? Has your family taught you nothing? What will your father say? How will Antonia ever show her face again?”

  I surprise myself by answering, “Isn’t that a little hypocritical, Mrs. Kain?” I push a piece of hair behind my ear and regard her reflection calmly. Mary Kain comes to stand close behind me. “I believe Mr. Storm is an important business associate of Senator Kain’s, as well as my father,” I add.

  Mary Kain’s face twists into an ugly mask. “You know nothing, you little minx,” she snarls at my reflection. “You enjoy playing your little games. This is a silly cry for your parents’ attention.”

  “I’d never,” I splutter in shock.

  But Mary Kain swings the axe again. She’s so close her breath is hot on my neck. “You think I don’t know what happened to your sister? You think we aren’t aware of everything that goes on in this city?” She isn’t referring to what happened to Margot last summer at the hands of her husband.

  She knows.

  I turn to stare into her brilliant blue eyes, eyes that could chip away at your soul if you’d let them. So cold she could be made of ice. “If you know everything that happens, then why haven’t you been able to stop the insurgency? Why did you let Perry be attacked? Your own son,” I add meanly.

  Blond, dimpled, bland Perry Kain is also a senior at the Academy. I hadn’t seen him during the evacuation, but I’d heard through Margot’s grapevine that Perry and the rest of the boys in his class had gotten stuck in the men’s change rooms when the bombs were being lobbed.

  Her hand snakes out, so fast it could be a whip. The sting is fast and hot across my face, a lightning strike. “Do not dare to speak of my son.”

  I slowly bring my hand to the pulsing hot flesh of my cheek. “I won’t tell my parents about this,” I say, enunciating each word past my thick tongue and cheek. “But if you ever, and I mean ever, mention anything about my sister to anyone, I will make sure that Senator Kain’s support is revoked for good. And not just by the Fox family.” I give her a cheeky little smile.

  Mary Kain, though, is no flincher. “You dare threaten me, little girl?”

  I make sure I don’t waiver, despite the tears that threaten to spill. “No ma’am. I don’t make threats,” is all I say. Then I walk away, head up, shoulders back. Just the way our father taught us.

  Before I can reach the door, her voice, dripping with cruelty, chases me down. “Ask yourself. Why would a child need to go through Protocols more than three times? Why have your parents just up and left? What kind of a child causes her own parents to run away? I hope you and your sister enjoy your Reveal, you foolish little girl.”

  My legs threaten to buckle. I’m too upset to care when Jared catches my arm and escorts me to a dark hallway, cussing under his breath the whole time.

  He pushes me against a wainscoted wall in a deserted hallway. I shiver and say nothing as he examines my cheek under the pot lights. “Holy Plague fire. Who hit you?” he says, halfway between gentle and pissed off.

  I try to pry his fingers away, but I get caught on them. “You were waiting for me.”

  “That’s my job,” he says, ignoring my attempts to get free. “Who hit you?” he repeats with a few pounds of steel.

  “Mary Kain.” My cheek throbs furiously beneath Jared’s gentle fingers. And maybe Margot has more two-way awareness than I thought, because now that I’m away from the senator’s wife I can feel her, wide awake and trembling. I shut my eyes.

  “Ohhh, hell.” When I open them again, Jared is still staring at me, not angry, but with a question in his eyes. “Margot’s awake,” I tell him, as if that answers it.

  “I’m more concerned about you right now, Princess. Being a real pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

  I grant him a weak smile. “You said you liked it.”

  He smirks. “You know, the best way to get back at that old bitch is to enjoy yourself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “C’mon, I think I can shuffle you around a dance floor.”

  “Won’t Storm mind?”

  Jared shrugs as he regards me carefully. The careless boy is back. “Do you care if he does?”

  I consider the matter for exactly ten seconds. “No. But—I have a better idea,” I say, steering him toward the dance floor.

  Stars of light float over the gleaming wooden floors of the ballroom, bathing us in ruby. The band plays something old-fashioned and wistful. Tucked into Jared’s arms I almost forget the throbbing skin of my cheek, the awful, sinking feeling of knowing how dead I am when my father gets home, the sick feeling crashing into me, again and again, as I realize how hated we are.

  “She knew,” I whisper into Jared’s ear.

  Jared’s hand tightens around my waist. I become hyper-aware of my dance partner, the tightly coiled power in his hands, his legs so close to mine. His breath is a hot tickle against my flesh. “Knew what?”

  “About Margot.” My bodyguard says nothing, just dances me across the ballroom silently. “I need your help, Jared.”

  I’m loathe to admit it, but it would be helpful to have an ally in this little recon mission of mine. Still, I’m surprised as anything when he murmurs close to my ear, sending sparks skittering down my back, “What do you need?”

  ...

  I feel Jared’s eyes land on me, hot and knowing, even as he laughs at something the lovely, frosty blonde he’s dancing with has said. He turns back to her and smiles as though she’s the only woman in the world. I can practically feel her legs grow weak. He’s talented, I’ll give him that.

  He’s “cut in” on a half dozen couples now, each one chosen for what they might reveal. So far, Jared told me, he’s learned that dove white is the “in” color for Reveal debs this season and that Milly Fitzwaters, who rides horses every Saturday, would really like to show him around the barn.

  And me? What have I learned?

  I turn back to the senator with sweaty palms and a bad comb-over I’ve been flirting with for the past ten minutes. It’s not like me to try to dazzle. Putting on a fake laugh and pretending Old Sweaty is delightful while I try to provoke a certain line of conversation is not something I’m comfortable with. I’m the one who hangs back and makes sure our mother and father’s wishes are
carried out. I’m the one who watches Margot do this, though clearly I was paying attention. Still, I take a certain amount of perverse thrill at waltzing around the room with this latest partner, seeing him begin to loosen up.

  And every time I let loose a laugh or a delighted smile, each time I lean in closer or flip my hair over my shoulder the way I’ve seen Margot do a thousand times, I catch Jared’s eyes, tracking me with the intensity of a hunter even as he charms his way through the ladies. It somehow makes the laughs more real, the sparkle in my eyes genuine. After years of thinking only Margot could charm a room, it turns out I’m not half bad myself.

  The gentleman finally stops moving and politely claps while I resist the urge to wipe my hands on my dress. In moments Jared is before us, his eyes thick and hard with menace—as they have been at the end of every one of these dances. The gentleman’s former partner has not been returned to him, of course. “Thanks for that, chum,” he says, casually dismissing the man before sweeping me up into another dance.

  Nose quivering, Jared grumbles under his breath, “That guy smells like a perfume factory.”

  “Yes, Gordon is quite aromatic,” I reply, my eyes on the room.

  “You really seemed to be enjoying that one.”

  I level a look at my partner in crime. “I’m that good.”

  “I’ll say.” Jared whistles under his breath.

  “Though I reckon it takes one to know one,” I toss out breezily. Still, I notice my hand automatically tightens on Jared’s shoulder as he turns me through the throng of dancers.

  Jared pulls me half an inch closer as he leans down to my ear, sending a train of electric sparks up and down my spine. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Looks like you were really enjoying yourself there, that’s all. I hope you managed to learn something useful,” I puff.

  A cocky grin lights Jared’s face. “Ohh, Janet is quite a gal.”

  My chin goes up. I reply stiffly, “I’m sure.”

  Jared’s grin grows as he looks down on me. “You could say that I’m learning all about the voracious appetites of the Upper Circle.”

  “Eww.” My nose crinkles. Laughing, Jared spins me. Deep and rich, it soaks into my skin, warm like whiskey, and stops me in my tracks. I peek up at him. Somehow the moment stretches on, the matching grins on our faces frozen.

  It’s Jared who breaks the moment first. Clearing his throat, he sweeps sharp eyes around the room, which has become infinitely more crowded since we began our little recon game, and marches me backward across the room.

  “So what about you? Any luck with Gord-o?” Jared nods at the youngish senator, now immersed in conversation with another suit.

  I shiver delicately. “There seems to be some divergence in opinions as to who really runs the show at the Splicer Clinic.”

  “Go on,” Jared says, steering me away from the crush of bodies.

  “On paper, at least, the Kain family is majority shareholder of the Clinic. But from there, things get a little murky. Gordon seems to think there’s someone else floating the operation.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Nolan Storm.”

  A green sheen floats over Jared’s eyes as his perfect lips twist. “Relax,” I bite out. “What he was saying was that it was incredible that Storm was here. Everyone in this room knows that Senator Kain is considering letting Storm do more than provide silent backing on the reconstruction projects,” I say, mentally flipping through the conversations I’ve had over the course of the evening.

  Jared pulls his head back in confusion. “So?”

  I take a deep breath, knowing he’s not going to like this. “So it’s a widely held opinion in the Upper Circle that the only reason the Kains would stoop to allowing a True Born into what they consider a ‘family business’ is if they were experiencing serious cash flow problems.”

  “Incredible,” Jared huffs. “I should have known these stuck-up fat cats would—”

  I tug at his arm. “Don’t you see what this means? It makes sense now. Those weird True Borns… maybe there’s a silent backer for the Clinic.”

  Jared’s face is hard when he looks down at me again. He dances me to the fringes of the ballroom. I swallow past a knot of disappointment. “Do you think they’re behind it?”

  “Probably not.” Jared shakes his head very slightly. My heart sinks, it was a long shot, but I had wanted to be right. “Rich cats like them?” He nods in the direction of Senator Kain on the other side of the room, surrounded by cronies, “Oh, they’ll play dirty, all right. They’ll make sure they don’t know anything about it so they can deny any of the charges. But I reckon I’m talking to someone who knows all about the sharks, am I right?”

  I don’t like the accusation, but before I can chew him out Storm appears from the crowd, his luminous antlers curling well above the heads of the other guests, and comes to stand behind Jared’s shoulder.

  “May I have this dance?” Storm asks in a silky voice.

  Jared barely looks at me as he steps away. “Sure. I was about done here, anyway,” he says before melting into a sea of black suits. My chest squeezes at the insult as my head reels with confusion. Why does he have to be that way? Sweet one minute and cruel the next, like the man who changes to beast. I shouldn’t let it, but it wounds me. I take a ragged breath and tuck the hurt away for later, when I’m alone.

  Storm dances with me for a moment before asking, “What happened?”

  Which part? I wonder to myself as I try to shake off the sting of Jared’s lightning quick rejection. “Mary Kain happened,” I grumble. Storm chuckles but waits for me to go on. “She knew about Margot, Storm. I know it isn’t proof but… What if they’re behind what happened?”

  Storm doesn’t blow me off, for which I’m grateful. “One thing you can count on with those two is that they’re thinking about the greater gain. And what kind of gain would they have if they alienate your parents so badly the Foxs stop propping up the ship? Your father could have Dominion, hell, the state, at a standstill if he wants to.”

  I look up at Storm hopefully. “Okay, so what if they aren’t behind what happened… Do you think they have something to do with those freaks at the Clinic?”

  “Well, now,” murmurs Storm, and for a brief second I catch sight of the antlers, bleeding into reality like cobwebs bathed in light. “That’s a different story. I’ll keep digging on those two.” Storm twirls me with a smile. “Look at you, Lucy Fox. For a first mission you’ve done a bang-up job rattling the suspects into revealing important information.”

  My answering smile dies on my lips. “Is that what this is? I’m on a mission for you?”

  “Would it be so bad if you were?”

  The song ends. We clap politely with the other dancers. A group of men come up to Storm and start talking about reconstruction plans for the city. I stand there a moment, bored and ignored, and decide to head over to the drink table. I’ve made it about halfway when I’m halted by a giant of a man who looks at me like he’s been waiting for me.

  Taller than Jared, and swarthy, the stranger wears a suit of an unusual cut. Eastern European, I think, noting the butterfly cuffs and the longish trunk to the black suit jacket. In fact, the cut is almost military, I think, adding weight to the scarred and pocked face, one eye covered with an eye patch. He has short, slicked-back hair.

  “Excuse me.” The man bows slightly to me. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to honor me with a dance?” He holds out a white-gloved hand.

  I don’t have an excuse formed so I feel honor bound to accept his request. When I take his hand, he beams down at me from his impressive height and wheels me over the floor. “My name is Richardson.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Richardson.”

  “Oh, the pleasure is mine, Miss Fox.” I detect the slightest hint of an accent as his slightly uneven teeth gleam in the darkness.

  “Have we met? You seem to have the advantage,” I say uneasily.

  “Yes, I do,
don’t I?” he returns thoughtfully. My nose tickles with the faint scent of wool and gunpowder. “I know your father.”

  “A business associate?”

  “Not really,” he tells me. His expression doesn’t change. I begin to panic. I try to pull away, but Richardson holds me fast and gazes at me curiously, like I am a bug under glass. I look around frantically for Storm or Jared or anyone I know.

  An invisible cord pulls tight inside of me. Margot floods me with alarm. Safe enough, but something has happened. On instinct, I cast my eyes to the window. Something perches on the windowsill. I blink, wondering if I’ve imagined it: a feathered beast man with immense golden eyes. When I open them again, he’s no longer there. With a squeeze of my shoulders Richardson ends the pretense of dancing. “Why don’t we go for a stroll?” he says.

  “No thank you.” I shake myself loose and turn my best ice princess glare on the man. “I’m tired,” I tell him. “I’m going to rejoin my friends.”

  I pivot on my heels, turning my back on the man with the eye patch. But as I march through the throngs of expensively dressed guests, a huge shadow drifts past the open balcony. I take a few steps toward it, curious. The door is open, but I don’t see any tuxedoed men wreathed with the obligatory cigar smoke.

  I’m nearly there when I’m caught up in the gaze of two unearthly round eyes poking out from an inhuman face. Its lips curl down in a perpetual frown. It blinks once. Its nose is human but curved, thin, ending in a point like a beak. Feathers line its throat in soft, downy white waves while darker brown feathers shoot from his cheeks, where sideburns would normally grow. He—it looks like a he—has the sleek and self-contained appearance of a hunting falcon, a bird that hunts for its human handlers.

  I nervously look around the room for the machine-gunned mercs hired to look after everybody, but to a man they are mysteriously absent. Behind me, the crowd restlessly stirs as they sip their drinks, talk and dance. No one is around—not Storm, not Kira. Certainly not Jared. I’m on my own.

  That’s when I hear it: a murmur that grows into the thick cacophony of a crowd, shouts and yells punctuated by gunfire.