by Loren Walker
Phaira glanced up. The man’s elbows squeaked against the glass. She could make out the long, curling hairs on his ears, like little wings brushed back.
Wary, she slid back her hood so he could see her face clearly, and the blue hair at its edges. “I’m not from here,” she confirmed.
“You here because of the Reed fire?”
Phaira thought about lying. “I’m looking for answers,” she finally said. Then she eyed the jeweler. “You have anything to share?”
The jeweler nodded at the bead, now nestled in a patch of velvet. “That’s not from here either. The outer shell was made with sand from the West.”
Then the man held up his hands. “That’s all I can tell you, though, without cracking it open and seeing what happens.” His voice grew nervous. “At least you can tell that to your boss. Don’t mention my name, though, please do me that favor. I don’t want any trouble, or visitors wanting more ‘details.’ That’s all I can offer. Please go now.”
Boss? Visitors? Phaira opened her mouth to question him further, but the man was already gone, politely ignoring her, as he helped another customer.
Exhaustion came over her like a wave. She was out of leads, almost out of rana, and her clothes were one wash away from falling apart. The bead was odd, but nothing to go on. She would give it to CaLarca as proof that she had gone to the farm.
It was time to go home.
III.
“Phaira. Hey. Phair."
Someone was calling her name impatiently, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the click of metal on metal: her brother Renzo’s prosthetic leg, shoeless, against the floor, its steady rhythm stopping at the side of her bed.
Lying on her stomach, head in folded arms, blankets bunched around her body and half over her head, Phaira opened one eye, searching out the blurry silhouette of her brother. “What?”
“Okay, so don’t fight me right away on this - ”
She let out a growl of frustration, pulling the pillow over her head. She’d only gotten back to the Arazura late last night, and her body was worn to the bone. “Ren, come on," she hollered into the mattress. "I’m tired, can’t it wait?”
She felt the bed jostle; he'd kicked it in response. “Come on, this is serious. You remember Theron Sava?"
“Yeah,” Phaira mumbled, as her heart pounded in her ears in the darkness.
“Well, he’s in some trouble.”
“So what?"
"And I’ve been thinking - ”
“Ren, isn’t that the job description when you’re the head of a criminal syndicate?” she interrupted him, lifting the pillow just enough so her angry voice would carry. “To be a target? Why do you care?"
“Because it's worse than all of that.”
With a heavy exhale, Phaira pried open her eyes and tossed the pillow aside. “What, are you following his activities now?” she yawned.
“It’s hard to avoid the rumors,” Renzo said. “Then Jetsun called me."
“What?” Phaira exclaimed, pushing up onto her forearms. “His cousin called you? For what?”
“For help. Jetsun is scared. Four murders, all people close to him, and brutal by the sounds of it.”
“So what does she want with you?”
“Not me,” Renzo corrected. “You.”
She kept her face neutral. “What is she asking?”
“If you’d come to Lea and be his bodyguard while they sort all this out.”
With a twist in her stomach, Phaira recalled when he’d met her in Liera. That was his excuse for the incident in Honorwell; she was auditioning to be his bodyguard. She’d refused outright to work for him, to have any part of his life, how many times now? Now here it was again…
Is it such a surprise? Her mind scolded. It always comes back to this.
“I’ll go, too. Help to figure out who is doing this,” she heard Renzo add. “If we just stay on the outskirts…”
Phaira covered her face with her hands, rubbing the skin to wake up. “You want to get involved with the Savas,” she mumbled through her fingers. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“Yeah, he’s a Sava, but he’s a decent guy,” Renzo said. “He’s helped us out a lot, and he’s never asked for anything in return.”
So you think, she wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut. Instead, she studied her brother. Renzo was agitated, more than she could remember in a long time.
“I agree with Renzo.”
CaLarca’s voice wafted through the room. Now mobile after severe injury, she still wore the leg braces that Renzo invented for stability, though she had progressed to a cane over crutches. She had grown leaner in the two months since Phaira was gone, her eyes even larger, taking everything in. Schemes running behind those black irises. Phaira could tell.
“We should help Theron Sava,” CaLarca finished.
“You’re a renter,” Phaira said. “Your opinion is irrelevant.”
“Stop that,” Renzo chastised his sister.
Phaira gestured at CaLarca. “What do you call her butting in?” she exclaimed. “This is a private conversation.”
“One that I’d like to be a part of,” CaLarca said. “If you are proposing that Theron Sava is in need of protection, I wish to volunteer.”
Renzo and Phaira gaped at her.
“Why?” Phaira finally asked, reluctantly pushing her body up to a sitting position.
“For the same reason as Renzo,” CaLarca said. “I owe him.”
“And what would you offer, exactly?” Phaira said, jerking her chin at CaLarca’s braces.
CaLarca tilted her head. “Clearly, something that the two of you cannot.”
Phaira’s mind turned with the possibilities. It wasn’t the worst idea, looking at it logically. Phaira had the physical prowess; Renzo the tech and travel skills; CaLarca would be able to pick up what their natural senses and mechanics could not. It was perfect, really. The ideal, well-rounded team.
But it couldn’t happen. She didn’t trust CaLarca, and she never would. There was something cold and exacting about the woman that put Phaira on edge. And she didn’t believe CaLarca when she said she wanted to repay a debt to Theron. The last time she wanted to do that, Sydel had a near-nervous breakdown…
“It’s a meeting,” Renzo broke in. “To determine how we might get involved. No commitment, not yet. And if we decide to move forward, we’ll be paid.”
“With Sava money?” Phaira interjected. “Are you crazy?”
“Jetsun says she’ll pay us out of her own pocket. All legal. She’s scared, Phaira. I don’t particularly like her, but I believe her. I don’t think she’d reach out unless she were desperate.”
Is he? she wondered. Is he scared? Does he want me there, too?
Phaira stared at her hands, the little scars on the palms and fingers, the scratches from travel, the dirt under her fingernails. It wasn’t an ideal way to connect with Theron Sava again, but it was a way inside, under the cover of business. And she was tempted, too tempted, by the mystery, the more Renzo explained the events of the past few weeks. With everything that happened: no public response from Theron, not a word, not an appearance, not a hint of retaliation? Even the Lea patrol had an open investigation on the four dead Savas.
“How do we go about this?” she asked Renzo.
“We just show up. His security will let us through. I can get us there in three hours."
"He doesn’t know we’re coming?”
“Jet thought it was better this way.”
How much power did Jetsun Sava hold over Theron, anyways?
“Phair,” Renzo interrupted her thoughts. “I know it’s crazy. I know it’s dangerous, and in any other circumstances, we’d stay far, far away. I just - he’s done a lot for us, you know? Helping to build the Arazura, and my prosthetic. Warning Cohen away from Keller. He and I built those HALOs together, and look how much they helped. He’s technically a Sava, but he’s been decent to us. If we can help, we should. It’s
the right thing to do.”
It made sense. It terrified her, and it made her want to run away, but she couldn’t deny the logic. And Renzo and CaLarca were in, incredibly. It was a team, like she always wanted. So tempting. So dangerous.
“All right,” Phaira said. “Just a conversation. No commitments yet.” She glanced over at CaLarca, who had been waiting silently all this time. “A moment, Ren?”
Renzo understood. His prosthetic clicked away, heading in the direction of the cockpit. The two women were alone.
“What did you find?” CaLarca’s voice was soft.
“As you saw on satellite,” Phaira confirmed. “Arson. Not much left. No sign of who set the fire. Damage was localized.” As she spoke, she wondered if she should mention there were no signs of human remains.
“What else?” The woman seemed to be bracing herself.
“I spoke to your neighbor,” Phaira said. “He didn’t see anything. And I didn't find any evidence to offer any answers on why it happened. Or where your family is.”
CaLarca nodded.
“I did find something in the rubble,” Phaira added. Learning over the edge of her bed, she fished the bead out of her pants pocket, which were coiled in a heap on the floor. Then she lobbed it at the green-haired woman.
CaLarca caught it with a snap. “What is this?” she asked, staring at the bead.
“That’s not yours?”
With disdain, CaLarca tossed the bead back at Phaira. “Have you nothing else to tell me? After all that time gone?”
Phaira’s temper flared. “I did you a favor, going so far south.”
“You said you would be able to find things that we could not as a twosome," CaLarca fumed. "I believed you, and I’ve waited all this time for answers. This is ridiculous.”
“Then get out of here,” Phaira snapped. “Get off the Arazura and go figure it out yourself. I’m done.”
She flopped backwards on her bed, turning her head to the wall.
Soon, the sound of CaLarca’s stumbling footsteps grew faint, then disappeared.
* * *
The elevator ride was excruciating. Jetsun was insistent; she would arrange a private conversation between Theron and Renzo, CaLarca, and Phaira. They would go to his apartment, under cover of night, and surprise him at the door, with no outside interference.
So far, Jetsun was true to her word. There were no guards posted in the lobby of the skyscraper, housed in the south end of Lea. No bodyguard checked their identification or frisked them before they got into the elevator. The ride to the penthouse was silent. Phaira noted that the cameras in the corner were taped over. No record of their presence.
The elevator opened. At the end of a long white hallway, which carried the pinching stink of bleach, there was a black door.
Above the doorframe, a Lissome swiveled on its base, taking in each of their faces. Phaira kept her expression neutral, as she held onto every fiber of her skin to remain still. Annoyingly, his name kept repeating in her head. Theron. Theron. Theron.
The door opened, and his silhouette filled the frame. Six and a half feet tall, black hair tied back, sharp cheekbones, full mouth, amber eyes. For a moment, Phaira could only register how hot the skin at the base of her throat felt. He’d lost weight. He had circles under his eyes.
But he wouldn’t look at her, nor Renzo or CaLarca, who stood next to her. Instead he glared at the floor and grumbled, “Jetsun called you.”
“Can we come in?” Renzo asked, moving as if to push past Theron.
But Theron blocked the way. “No."
“Why?” Phaira challenged, before she could stop herself.
The condescension in his voice rattled her. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
Stupid, came those familiar thoughts. Stupid, stupid….
“Let us in.”
Still stinging, Phaira glanced over her shoulder. CaLarca leaned on her cane, but her black gaze was unblinking.
Theron‘s face twisted. “You,” he spat, “get out of my sight.”
CaLarca had no reaction. “I have come to help you.”
“Help me?”
“Indeed,” CaLarca said, her voice like a shiver of ice. “So let us in.”
Long seconds passed. Theron’s angry breathing was audible.
Then the giant man stepped aside, to Phaira’s surprise. Did CaLarca use her Eko to sway him to move? Was that possible? She didn’t want to consider it.
When she walked past Theron into the apartment, he stiffened and stepped back. Mortified, Phaira let her blue hair fall over her face, and pushed her hands in her pockets, wishing she could fall through the floor. She shouldn’t have come. Why had she listened to Renzo?
As the door clicked shut, Phaira took in the great, silent living space: brown, scarlet and black, dark and stuffy, expensive and uncomfortable. Nothing like the house by the cliffs, except for the weaponry displayed on the wall. She recognized the katana blade, the one she’d taken for defense, and later returned to Theron in that park garden, so many weeks ago.
CaLarca shuffled around the perimeter. With her spare hand, she ran her long thin fingers along the edge of the sofa. Her green-streaked braids swung across the centerline of her back. Theron watched her the entire while.
Next to Phaira, Renzo crossed his arms, addressing Theron. “Well? Tell us what’s going on.”
Theron scowled. “I brought you inside to tell you the way out,” he said through gritted teeth. “Leave, single file, minutes apart. Use the rear emergency staircase. Don’t come here again.”
Phaira had the impulse to grab hold of Theron, to shake him, to force him to look at her. Instead, she kept her head down as the two men argued.
“Let us help you.”
“I never asked for your help, or her help.”
“She can keep you from getting killed, for starters.”
“What do any of you care?” Theron’s eyes flicked over to CaLarca, who was completing her slow turn around the room.
“What is with you?” Renzo snapped. “You were fine the last time I saw you.”
“The last time?” Phaira interrupted. “This isn’t your first meeting on this?”
Both men's faces held the same guilty look for a second, before Theron’s face hardened, and Renzo threw up his hands in exasperation. “We were talking business – at the time, it wasn’t - ”
“Give me a minute alone with him,” Phaira insisted.
“What? Why?” Renzo demanded.
Phaira caught Theron’s eye. “If Jetsun wants me to protect him. If I’m putting my body and the two of you at risk, we need to understand each other.”
She glanced at her older brother. “So, please. One minute.”
CaLarca’s black eyes flitted between Theron and Phaira. Then she limped over and took Renzo’s arm. “We will wait on the balcony,” she announced.
When the glass door sealed, and their backs were turned, Phaira faced Theron. He wasn’t looking at her, still. She kept six feet of space between them. She couldn’t read his expression, cast in shadows.
“You look terrible, you know,” she echoed his words, said so long ago, it seemed.
Theron didn’t react. He was watching CaLarca through the window.
“You should know that I don’t trust her, and I never will.”
He broke his glare to glance at her.
Phaira raised her eyebrows. “It wasn’t my choice to get her involved. But CaLarca is a resource, and she’s willing. So use it to your advantage.”
“You sound like Jetsun.” There was disgust in his voice.
“Then I guess…” Phaira paused, stumbling over her words. “I guess she cares about what happens to you, too.”
His voice was a bite. “I doubt that.”
Her heart dropped to her feet. Did the hurt show on her face? She refused to let it. “I’m not begging to get involved here,” she said sharply. “If you want to get killed, so be it. But I can keep you alive until you find out
who’s doing this.”
“That’s not what’s happening here,” Theron shot back.
He gestured for Renzo and CaLarca to come back inside. The two emerged from the balcony, windblown and red-cheeked.
“So?” Renzo probed. “Are we doing this?”
“Let’s be clear,” Theron said curtly, addressing the three of them. “This assassin is targeting people in my circle. I haven’t been touched.”
“Not yet,” Phaira pointed out.
“The people near me are the ones at risk,” Theron said, ignoring her. “You stay here, you’ll get killed.”
Phaira said nothing. She was the offensive force in this trio; was she really ready to be the open target for this assassin, whoever it was? Was she ready to see Renzo in the same position?
“Well,” Renzo began. “I’d say it’s up to the girls. But I’m willing to stay and help to figure this out. There’s a lot of areas we can look into."
“As will I,” CaLarca said, her expression neutral, as always. “I owe you a debt, Theron Sava.”
His repulsion was palatable. “I have no use for your favors.”
“Oh?” CaLarca countered, the edge back in her voice. “I can hear the whispers out of your earshot. I can see who is lying, and who is afraid. Can you use that kind of information?”
Theron’s mouth twisted.
Renzo glanced at Phaira, a question in his eyes. Well?
Phaira clenched her jaw. “I’ll do it,” she finally confirmed. “I’ll be your bodyguard. Until this is resolved.”
Theron snorted. “You’re as good as dead, then.”
Then so be it,” Phaira shot back, more vehemently than she meant to. She felt CaLarca’s curious gaze on her again.
“Fine,” Theron finally huffed. “Fine. Stay. But just remember: I never asked you to.”
Phaira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The drama. I forgot about that part of him.
III.
The agreement made, the next step was to strategize. So the three Arazura residents took seats at the dining table. Theron remained standing, looking out of the balcony window.
“Why don’t you just leave?” Phaira asked, when the silence grew too awkward. “Go into hiding?"