Unstrung

by Kendra C. Highley

  We approach the security desk, last in line. The scanner beeps, letting the guards know we’re artificials. My palms are sweaty, but Quinn is so cool, he looks haughty. When they come to check us out, he says, “Good evening. We’re here to provide service at the event.”

  He flashes them a look at his wrist. One of the guards nods to me. I present my wrist, too. The man holds it still to examine my tattoo, and doesn’t let go, running his fingers up and down my arm. Quinn tenses up.

  Forcing a sexy smile, I purr, “Everything in order, sir?”

  The guard smiles back. “Seems to be. So, are you engaged after the party, or could you come by here when you’re done?”

  Quinn leans forward, giving them both a dose of bedroom eyes. I nearly start laughing when he says, “Her or both of us?”

  He’s speaking in this velvet baritone I’ve never heard before and I’m thinking he’s crazy until the second guard reaches out to run a hand over Quinn’s hair. “Both of you.”

  Quinn nods as the man’s hand slides down his neck to his shoulder and over his arm. How he stands there and lets the guard fondle him without punching the guy in the face is a mystery to me. Still with the sexy voice, Quinn says, “Sounds fun…but we’re expensive and our mistress doesn’t usually allow freebies, even if we request them.”

  The first man, who continues stroking my forearm, says, “We’re pretty well paid on this gig. We can afford you.”

  “Then we’ll be back later,” I say, trying not to gag.

  They let us through and we start down a long gallery full of statues and old paintings. Once we’re out of the guards’ sight, I let my shoulders slump. “Shast, this is awful.”

  Quinn rubs his arm so hard I worry he’ll tear the flimsy cloth he calls a shirt. “We just need to keep moving. If we get split up, meet at the kitchen entrance.”

  “Any idea where Caldwell will be?” I ask, click-clacking on the hard marble floor in my impossible heels. “Skies, my feet already hurt.”

  Quinn stops and catches my arm. “You can’t swear like that.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry…is it improper for an expensive prostitute to swear?”

  “It’s not that.” He sounds so exasperated it makes me smile. “You need to swear like a Bolt…not a human. Say ‘gears’ or ‘screws.’”

  “Oh.” I go cold all of a sudden. Of course—I have a whole different vocabulary now. “I’ll try to remember.”

  “Thanks. Any little mistake could get us in big trouble.” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and I feel an entirely different chill. “Let’s go.”

  We walk through the archway at the end of the atrium. The ballroom’s size comes as a surprise. The building must be bigger than I thought; the room is easily twice the square footage of my floor in Turpin’s warehouse, all done up in gold wallpaper and sparkling chandeliers. White-coated waiters—all good-looking male artificials with cleft chins and elegant gestures—serve cocktails and hors d’oeuvres on polished trays. Ladies in bright gowns give snooty looks to other ladies in equally tacky dresses. Men lounge about at tables along the sides of the room, or cluster in groups, smoking pipes and talking.

  And here I am, thinking smoking is illegal. Everything must be for sale at Maren’s place.

  “Well, well, well. What lovely models.”

  We pause as an older man walks around us, taking in everything with eyes that are too big in his tanned face. I feel like I’m being scanned down to my bone marrow. Finally, he smiles, horsey teeth and all. “Lovely, lovely. Young man, you may go.”

  The man jerks his head at Quinn, who gives me a helpless look and disappears into the crowd.

  Act. I have to act my part. I let a soft smile unwind. Batting my eyelashes awkwardly, I say, “Thank you for the compliments, sir. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  “Hmmm, I could appreciate you further in a more private setting. Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to some doors along the back wall of the ballroom.

  Somehow my smile stays in place. “Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart. I’m so very sorry…um, but I have another appointment. And, um, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting. If she allows me some free time, I’ll be certain to find you.”

  “You don’t remember me, do you? He said you wouldn’t, but I wondered.” The man puts a hand on my shoulder, his eyes glittering with a dangerous shine. “It was senseless of you to come here.”

  My smile fades. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t…um....”

  “We’re attracting attention.” He leans closer, whispering in my ear like a lover would. “I’m not the only one who will recognize you, Lexa. Maybe you should leave while you still can.”

  “Who are you?” I ask, trying to make it seem flirty for the party-goers watching us.

  “Somebody who failed.” He squeezes my shoulder hard enough to left red marks. “Now go.”

  “But—”

  “I said go.” He gives me a shove. Louder, he says, “I’ve changed my mind. You aren’t quite right for me.”

  “As you wish, sir.” I glance nervously at a small group of guests who are finding this exchange very interesting. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more service. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  I turn and click-clack away as fast as my devil-shoes will allow. Why can’t I remember who this man is? His features—especially his teeth—are very distinct. And still, nothing about him is familiar. One thing’s for sure, though. We aren’t safe here.

  I walk faster, scanning the room for Quinn. Why is it so hard to find a guy with blue hair in a crowd? People keep watching me. I can’t tell if it’s because they’re sizing up the entertainment, or because I look like a wrecked teenager pretending to be a body-for-hire.

  I have my head turned one way while walking another and I crash into a man’s chest. I tense up, ready to fend off whoever it is.

  “Lexa, easy! It’s me,” Quinn says. “How’d you get free from that guy?”

  “He knows me!” I drag him over to a dark corner. “He wanted to warn me…said we needed to leave.”

  “What?” Quinn looks over my head. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes! Have you ever seen him before?”

  He studies the man. “No.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Quinn sighs. “Stick to the plan. If they’re on to us, leaving won’t help—they’ll just chase us down. Maren always arrives late to make an entrance. We have no choice but to try to blend in for a while.”

  “I’m not sure I can do this. I can’t stand the way these people are looking at me. It won’t be long before I start throwing punches.” I shudder in distaste. “How do the other artificials stand it? Are they programmed to like the attention or something?”

  I know instantly that I’ve said the wrong thing. Quinn’s face goes dark, and his scowl makes me shrink against the wall. “Older models aren’t very sensitive, but the newer models feel just as acutely as you do and they hate every minute of this. Now do you understand why I want to help them break free?”

  I think back to the girl at the station. The artificial had been humiliated and everyone else ignored it because she was less than human. It’s the same thing here, only I’m the one being humiliated. To the guests I’m nothing but a toy, serving at the pleasure of the people around me.

  It takes a minute for me to find the right words. “I’m sorry.”

  And I am. If the others feel even a quarter of the revulsion I do right now, they don’t deserve this life. I don’t deserve this life—thrown out of the only home I’ve known because of my status as “non-human.” And what about Quinn ? The burns may be the least of what he’s suffered. We’re owed something. Maren’s head on a stick would be nice, but I’d be satisfied with making contact with her boyfriend.

  Quinn’s expression softens. “Me, too. I shouldn’t snap at you.” He smiles sadly. “Especially given that I made you dress up like a prostitute.”

  “We’re even, then,” I say. “So how do we avoid attracting
customers while we wait for her highness to arrive?”

  He looks around the room. “There are a couple of artificials dancing for the crowd. We’d be less suspicious if we join them instead of whispering here in the corner. Plus, we’d have an excuse to stick together.”

  “I don’t know how to dance,” I say.

  “You don’t have to know how—I’ll lead.”

  Not sure why anyone would want to watch a couple of people dance, I follow Quinn to the center of the ballroom. Then I get what he meant.

  The Bolts are dancing, kind of, but it’s more like they’re grinding against each other. The man’s hands slide all over the woman, and she tosses her hair in time to the music as they spin across the dance floor. Slack-jawed people watch every move, and it’s hard not to—the artificials are gorgeous and dance with the grace of cats.

  The whole thing disgusts me.

  “We are not doing this,” I hiss in Quinn’s ear. “No way.”

  His hand tightens on my arm. “Yes, we are. I see Maren’s security team. She’ll be here any minute. When she comes in, the group will disperse and we’ll be free to roam.”

  He pulls me into the center of the crowd. The other artificials smile and make room for us. I start to panic; I have no idea what to do. Quinn does, though, and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. Our outfits are so thin, I can feel his muscles through his shirt and the heat of his body warms mine.

  A flush creeps up my face as we start to sway back and forth. I keep my eyes half-closed like the other girl, swinging my hair so it brushes against my back. Quinn slides his hand down to my hip and lets it rest there. I choke back a nervous laugh. He gives me a tiny nod before spinning us around in a series of quick circles. When we stop whirling, he leans in and traces his lips down my throat. My cheeks burn.

  Someone in the crowd says, “Stars, they’re so lifelike—look at the girl there. She’s blushing! I just can’t believe how far Maren’s come with her models.”

  “I don’t care so much about the blushing.” The man who says it sounds drunk. “I’m more impressed by how real her tits look.”

  The crowd breaks into shocked laughter. Blind anger rushes through my chest and I stiffen up in Quinn’s arms. He nuzzles my ear as an excuse to say, “Maren and Caldwell just came in the side door. Piers is right behind them. Stay with me for thirty seconds. Try to ignore everyone else.”

  While the drunk man loudly praises the virtues of my well-built ass, I force myself to relax against Quinn. We whirl for a few moments, then stop to sway again. Worried that I’ll explode if I look at the crowd, I bury my face against Quinn’s neck. He smells like a mixture of hair dye and that cheap pine soap, but it’s not unpleasant. His hands tighten on my waist, so I play along and kiss him just beneath his jawbone. I hope he doesn’t mind; if Maren’s on her way, I’m willing to do a little acting to blend in. Then I notice Quinn’s shaking. When I lean back to make sure he’s okay, he doesn’t look scared or nervous. Instead he’s watching me with a kind of intensity I find uncomfortable.

  And exciting.

  That’s not good—the last thing I need is a distraction. I’m about to call off the whole charade when the band plays an intro that sounds like they’re welcoming a head of state.

  Maren has arrived.

  The crowd disperses around us, heading for a small stage set up near the band. I step away from Quinn as fast as I can without looking suspicious. He clears his throat and straightens his shirt with nervous gestures. I’m not sure if he’s worried about hiding in plain sight of Maren’s guards, or if it’s something else.

  I can’t think about the “something else.” Not now.

  A tall man with graying brown hair stands next to Maren. She puts a hand on his arm and smiles for the crowd. I can’t get over how tiny she is. Maren makes the most of it though, wearing a tight sheath gown that glitters like diamonds under the chandeliers, paired with mile-high sparkly heels. The dress sets off her golden skin and black hair perfectly, and the man at her elbow rivals even the best looking artificials.

  “Is that Caldwell?” I whisper to Quinn.

  He nods. “Showtime.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Mole

  Quinn and I exchange glances as Maren and her lover enter the ballroom. People crowd around them to say hello or shake hands. Piers, sporting a look of debonair cruelty in his formal suit, stands unsmiling a few feet behind his boss. Burly guards, even bigger than the ones I ran across at the lake compound, flank either side. One taps the com in his ear, then leans forward to whisper to Piers, who looks about the room with narrowed eyes. If he’s watching this closely, how will we get to Caldwell?

  “If you have an idea, better tell me quick,” I whisper. “Piers is acting like he’s on red alert.”

  “We have to get Caldwell to go to the men’s room—it won’t be monitored electronically. There might be an artificial on guard outside the door, but there won’t be video or an audio scanner inside,” Quinn says. “Maybe you can find a way to slosh wine all over his suit. He’ll have to come to the sink to clean up, right? Then I’ll approach him.”

  Lots of loose ends with that plan, so I start with the biggest. “What if he calls for help when you start talking to him?”

  Quinn rolls his eyes. “Give me some credit, will you? If he acts cagey, I’ll knock him over and run.”

  “That’s all you’ve got?” I ask, glancing at Piers. He taps the com-set in his ear and starts an animated conversation.

  “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s the easiest way to pry him away from Maren. I doubt she’s so attached that she’ll follow him into the bathroom.”

  “What about Piers? Something’s up with him—can you read lips by any chance?”

  “No, but—” Quinn says. “Oh shast, don’t look.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “One of the guards is coming this way. Dance with me, quick.”

  We start dancing again, attracting a small crowd, until a voice says, “Excuse me.”

  Quinn smiles. “Yes, sir?”

  A uniformed man indicates that we should follow him. “I need the young lady to come with me.”

  I start shaking, but Quinn says, “Certainly.”

  He takes my hand and we follow the man to a dark corner where two security guards wait with Piers. This is it; he figured out who we are. I try not to act nervous, but that’s not easy when I’m anticipating the beating I’m going to receive in short order.

  Piers taps his com again. “You sure?...Skies, that’s a problem….Give me two and I’ll be right up.”

  He fixes his eyes on me. “You’re an entertainer, yes?”

  Quinn gives me a little nudge and I say, “Yes…sir.”

  “May I see your mark?”

  I hold out my arm. He clicks on a small flashlight and scrutinizes Quinn’s handiwork, then looks up at me with cold eyes. “We believe there’s a spy at the party.”

  Quinn squeezes my hand and moves deeper into the shadows, but I don’t need the warning. We’re in trouble. “Oh?”

  Piers stares at me for a long moment, like he recognizes me. When his brow furrows, I start evaluating exit plans. We won’t have much time to run, but maybe if we bump into some party-goers to cause a traffic jam, we might—

  Then he says, “I’d like to ask you some questions about a man who was speaking with you earlier.”

  “Sir?” I ask. Piers is after someone else?

  He loads a photo onto his data pad. “Take a look. I’m pretty sure you were talking to him.”

  It’s Horsey-teeth. I’ll have to be very careful to tell the truth without saying anything useful; I have no doubt someone as skilled as Piers would be able to spot my tell. “Yes, sir. He…wanted to determine if I was right for him.”

  “Hmm,” Piers says. “Did he say or do anything you found suspicious?”

  I feel my left shoulder tremble. Holding it still takes a lot of concentration. “Well, he was very grabb
y. I was in a hurry to get away because he wasn’t my appointment.”

  “Yes?” Piers prompts.

  “Um.” Sweat drips down the middle of my back. Think, Lexa, think! “He wasn’t happy to hear I was engaged and got angry. Then he told me I wasn’t quite right for his needs.” I give Piers the most earnest look I can muster. “I apologize, sir. I know we’re supposed to make the guests feel welcome, but—”

  “It’s fine.” Piers waves a hand, blowing me off. He turns to the security guards. “She doesn’t know anything. I’m going up to the viewing room to check the feed from the cameras. See if you can find our man before I do.”

  The guards melt into the crowd and Piers realizes we’re still here. “You’re excused. Go back to work.”

  “Yes, sir,” I murmur.

  Piers strides to the elevators. Once the doors close, I lean against Quinn. “I can’t believe he didn’t recognize us, but it’s like we’re invisible dressed up as entertainers.”

  “That’s why I thought this might work. They never really look as long as we act programmed,” he says, looking relieved. “You improvise very well, by the way.”

  We drift back into the room. Maren is easy to spot—a glittering galaxy drawing all minor stars into orbit around her. Caldwell stands with her, a cutout of the perfect leading man. A brassy-haired woman in a red dress makes her way over, speaks to Maren a moment, then goes to the dais and taps on her wineglass. “Attention, please. Attention. First I’d like to thank our hostess for this lovely affair!”

  The crowd applauds, smiles all around as Maren gives a courteous nod. The lady in the red dress raises a hand to quiet them down. “Now for some amazing news. Due to your generous donations this evening, we’ve raised more than half the funds needed to build our new Children’s Hospital!”

  The applause is louder this time, and it takes Red Dress longer to regain the floor. “I’d like to give Ms. DeGaul a moment to talk about the project, which is near and dear to her heart. As a sign of her commitment, Precipice Incorporated is matching our donations, which means the project can begin immediately. In recognition of her generosity, the board of trustees has created the DeGaul Emergency Services Wing.”