All the Whys of Delilah's Demise

by Neve Maslakovic

  “I don’t. And at least I have the morning shift this week, so my evenings are free.”

  “I invited Dax as my plus one for tonight,” I find myself saying.

  I brace myself—Lu’s not a stickler for the Code like Dax is, but she’s no rule-breaker either—but this is a new Lu. We all have to follow where our soul leads, she said. She takes my napkin and folds it into a square on top of hers, then sends a broad smile in my direction. “Of course Dax is the person you should take along. Now go get ready.”

  7:35 p.m.

  The mirror on the back of my door shows a stranger. Above the fancy gown, my hair has been tidied up and the make-up feels like a mask, both Lucille’s handiwork. Delilah’s halo the day of her death reminded me of a sunset; my own, equally red, seems absurd and showy. I’ve done what I can to make myself presentable but I have no idea what the reception will be. Will the other Tenners look at me with disdain? Will I be expected to be the life of the party, an idea doomed from the start? Will anyone notice if I stand in a corner the entire evening talking to Dax?

  A knock interrupts my fretting. I let Dax in. His new outfit from Fine Fabrics is a navy-blue three-button blazer and matching slacks. “You clean up nice,” he says casually, deflating my ego a bit. “Ready?”

  “Just about. I can’t reach the buttons”—there’s a short row of buttons up the back of the gown, just under the neck line—“can you do them up?”

  His fingers are warm on my skin.

  After he steps back, I sit down on the bed to don the shoes, working around the puffy bottom of the gown to get to the straps. I take the opportunity to relay what Bonnie and Bodi said about the events of last night. Dax’s reaction is a pragmatic, “Then that’s that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For not saying it. That I was wrong about everything.”

  He shrugs. “Life should be full of trial and error—if we take no risks, if we limit ourselves to pursuing only things we’re sure of, well, what could be duller? So we chased a killer and it turns out there isn’t one.” He’s at the dresser and picks up the snow globe, flipping it in his hands and sending the fake snow flying. “I remember when you bought this.”

  “Me and Oliver, yeah.”

  He sets the globe back in its place, on top of my newspaper and Delilah’s town-anniversary invite, and reaches for the gala one. “Do we need to bring it along?”

  “No, it’s just for show.” I get to my feet, a bit unstable in the shoes.

  Dax adds the invite to the treasures under the globe. “How does it feel to be number one, Scottie?”

  “Very odd. As if it’s happening to someone else.” I take a last look in the mirror, swaying in the heels. “The rubies… Most are from people who’ve never met me, who don’t know me or anything about me. They think I’m the Curse Slayer, when what I really am is an imposter. I wish I looked different. More worthy.”

  “What are you talking about? You look great.”

  “I don’t know, more mature? Taller? And I like this new short haircut but—”

  “Your hair looks great, too,” he interrupts. “Stop fussing. Besides, once people get to know you, they’ll like you for you and not because of the Curse Slayer thing.”

  “All of them?”

  “Well, not all of them,” Dax, ever honest, replies. “But hopefully enough people that you never again have to worry about the bog or the bottom.”

  Outside the building, I stop to take in a thought from McKinsey. “Enjoy the gala. Don’t let them make you feel small.”

  I relay this to Dax and he nods. “McKinsey is right. I plan to enjoy myself, even if there’s dancing.”

  “It’s not you everyone will be staring at.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve seen me dance.” He sticks an elbow in my direction. “May I offer you an arm? Those shoes look hazardous.”

  I take his arm. Strangers wave at us as we walk toward Hobby One and the ballroom there, and my free hand goes up as if of its own accord, my mood lifting along with it. I have Dax with me, and there’ll be other people at the gala out of place, starting with Blank Jack and the stranger in New Seattle, Renee. I’m not the only one whose fortunes have changed overnight.

  25

  The ballroom is smaller than Dax expected, or perhaps it only seems so because of all the people crowding it: the Tenners and their dates; other guests, a selection from the Top Hundred; a band; Social Agency staff; and a host of what seem to be hangers-on pushing events and products, from poetry readings to new deodorant soaps. Scottie seems both excited and tense as they enter the ballroom to applause. Dax has set one goal for himself for the night—to stick by Scottie’s side and make sure no one interferes with her enjoyment of the evening.

  Everyone is circulating, glasses in hand and gossip at the ready. The first to approach is a heavyset man. He heartily shakes hands with both of them and introduces himself as Bishop, Bonnie’s partner. “Very grateful to you for saving Bonnie’s life, Scott, very grateful. Come, she wants to see you.”

  Bonnie is in an armchair, her legs on a low cushioned stool. Raw bruises mar her face but she still manages to greet Scottie with a warm smile. “You look lovely, Scott.” Openly viewing his halo—no subterfuge with a head injury—she adds, “Right, hello, Daxton. Enjoy the evening. Word of advice—go easy on the wine, you two. It all takes some getting used to.”

  Leaving Bishop to attend to Bonnie, he and Scottie, in wordless agreement, head straight for the food table. Chase is there and greets them with, “We did need some fresh blood around here. Just wasn’t expecting quite so much of it, perhaps! Try the chicken skewers.”

  He moves on and they have a chance to look over the offerings. A mole-faced youth Dax remembers from school is hovering in the background nervously checking on the food; Scottie sends him an encouraging smile. On the guest side of the table, Samm and Sue are partaking in the chicken skewers. “Have some,” Sue says listlessly. Her eyes are red, as if irritated. “They’ll make the wine sit more easily in your stomach.”

  “Speaking of which, here, enjoy.” Samm pushes wine glasses into their hands. Nothing wrong with his mood, but Dax is more interested in what’s in the glass. “I was under the impression our red wine ran out ages ago.”

  Samm holds up a finger. “Shh, it’s an import from New San Fran. Merlot. There’s a secret stash, reserved for new initiates.” He pretends to lose his bare skewer and finds it behind Scottie’s ear. Scottie laughs, her first laugh of the evening, the cheesy bit of comedy seeming to relax her.

  “Try this next,” Samm offers after they make short work of a chicken skewer each. “Lobster—from the ocean. Or at least, our version of it—the aquarium in Greenhouse Three.”

  Dax reaches for the lobster roll. Scottie does the same. He knows they’re both thinking the same thing, that they may not ever be back in the ballroom. A good deed sent Scottie to the top, but town memory is short.

  After a while, reluctantly, they move away from the food spread, wine glasses refilled courtesy of Samm. The room seems hotter. Jada, slinking around in sharp, calculated movements as if stalking prey, pins them down by a potted plant. “Ah. The young lovers.”

  Damn. He’d forgotten the cover story they gave at the Oyster. Scottie straightens her shoulders, bare in the white dress. “Hello, Jada. That was for a research project I was working on.”

  “Was it? No matter. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  The way she says it drives a chill down Dax’s spine and he’s happy when Jada moves on, throwing a parting shot over one shoulder. “Remember, you can always come to me for advice, Scott. We’re all one big family, the Ten.”

  Dax imagines the advice comes at a high cost.

  Someone clears their throat. It’s Poulsbo, all but hiding in the corner behind the potted plant. He’s clearly overheard the whole exchange. “Nice to…see you again,” he stutters.

  Dax would rather talk to Poulsbo than ju
st about anyone else in the room except Scottie, but Ben approaches and Poulsbo scurries away as if to avoid being assigned further bird-related tasks.

  Ben succeeds in making Jada seem subtle. “I see that you’ve managed to get yourself to number one, have you, Scott…or should I call you the Curse Slayer? Did they treat you well at the shop? I had other business to attend to.” He eyes her up and down, their heights just about matching. “If you’re still here for next month’s gala, I’ll make you a proper dress—better than that cobbled-together clunker.”

  Scottie defends Ben’s own staff to him. “They had just a few hours to get it done. And the gown is beautiful.”

  “Only outshined by the person wearing it,” Dax throws in.

  Ben addresses Scottie again. “I assume you’re prepared to take the reins at the next Tenner meeting and unveil all your ideas and plans for the town?”

  Scottie eyes him defiantly over her glass. “Certainly. I’m bursting with ideas and ready to present them on Friday.”

  “Oh, we’ve moved up the meeting—to tomorrow.”

  Scottie makes a face after Ben leaves. “Great. Tomorrow. I have no clue why I said that. The only idea I have is that we should open up genetic records, but even I know that will be a tough sell… First thing tomorrow, I’m paying a visit to the Birth Lab.”

  “I’m still not convinced they’ll tell you who your parents are, just like that.”

  She answers with a somewhat tipsy, “But I’m the number one.”

  “So you are. Forget about Ben—no one expects you to solve all of New Seattle’s problems in your first Tenner meeting. And, uh, maybe we should go easy on the Merlot?”

  The next person they encounter and exchange a firm handshake with is Blank Jack. Scottie greets him with, “Blank Jack. Are you mad at me?”

  “Not a bit. What for?”

  “For pushing you into the Ten. For disturbing your peace.”

  “I can manage.” Blank Jack gives an unbothered shrug. “Besides, we’re in the same boat, you’n me. Newcomers.”

  “And Renee.” Scottie looks around. “Which one is she? We haven’t met her yet.”

  “Don’t think she’s here.”

  “Can’t say I blame her. I’m dreading tomorrow’s Tenner meeting.”

  “I’m not. One—” Blank Jack lifts a calloused thumb in the air. “I’m curious to see what they’re like behind closed doors, the Tenners. Two—” He adds his forefinger to the thumb. “The food’ll be good, same as tonight. Three—” He unfurls the middle finger. “What’s the worst they can do, turn up their noses at us? Remember, you’ll have at least a couple’a good friends there. Me—and Bonnie. You saved her life and she won’t forget that.”

  Dax shuffles his feet. A band has struck up a tune and couples are gyrating to upbeat music. He can either stand here listening to Scottie and Blank Jack chat away or do something about it. It’s quite all right for PALs to be seen dancing together, he reminds himself. He wants to make sure Scottie has an enjoyable evening, that’s all.

  Scottie’s just finished telling Blank Jack how she’s going to get her tooth gap fixed now that she can afford it. He asks, “Ready to have your toes stepped on?”

  It’s been a couple of whirlwind hours filled with dancing—Dax is not as bad as he keeps saying and my toes are perfectly fine—and conversation, food, and drink. Dax has gone off to exchange our wine glasses for water, as we’re having trouble keeping our heads clear. The day has been the strangest of my life and it’s not over yet.

  “You. Curse Slayer.”

  It’s Jada again. “Now that your shadow’s gone,” she says, “I want to talk to you.”

  “Daxton is not a shadow. And I want to talk to you.” I place my hands on my hips but that makes the gown bunch up weirdly; I let my arms hang uselessly by my side. “Jada. Was it your idea to move up the Tenner meeting—so I’d have no time to get used to things?”

  “We take a vote on all matters, as you should know. Didn’t you check your in-thoughts? We had enough for a quorum.” Jada flicks a crumb off her black tuxedo. It’s a comfortable choice for the evening, but my guess as to why she favors it is that the outfit reveals nothing—much like the person wearing it. “Now. I want to discuss Renee, given that she couldn’t be bothered to show up. What’s her story?”

  I shrug. “There’s nothing I can tell you. I’ve never talked to her.”

  She eyes me with distaste. “But you pushed for goodwill rubies for her.”

  “So I did.”

  “Without knowing a single thing about her?”

  “Guess so. Look, if you don’t want to make an effort to get to know Renee yourself, there’s always Bodi. He interviewed her before she was allowed to stay.”

  Jada clicks her tongue in impatience. “I’m sure she put her best foot forward for him. That’s not what I’m after.”

  I respond with a pointed, “You’re fishing for something you can leverage against her.”

  “Call it what you wish. So why don’t you get busy and make her your friend, then report to me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Those who cross me find that bad things…befall them.”

  I catch my breath. Was there a slight emphasis on the second syllable of befall? A reminder about Delilah’s balcony tumble, a hint that I might be next? In an instant, the relief I felt all day at there being no killer vanishes and all my suspicions flood back.

  Jada, taking my silence for acquiescence, adds, “That’s right. Do as I ask or you might wake up one morning to find rumors about Daxton, the illegal love, plastered all over the Commons. Being number one won’t protect you—everyone will eat it up.”

  “I don’t care,” I say, but I can feel the warmth in my cheeks. Even though Dax and I have never even discussed section Q of the Code, much less broken it, I’ve managed to make us a target.

  “Sure you care, Curse Slayer. Everyone cares when it’s them. You’re on a pedestal right now, but there’s only one direction you can go from a pedestal. It doesn’t have to be this way, you know. We can help each other.”

  I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need your kind of help.”

  “No? Keep this in mind: A Curse Slayer with a secret is easily slain herself.”

  As I watch Jada walk away, Dax comes back with two glasses of water and passes one over to me. “Sorry I took so long. Sue and Samm were doing a funny skit. By the way, they’re denying the rumor that they’re quitting comedy. What did Jada want?”

  To flaunt her power over me is the answer. But her words reminded me how all this started in the first place—with me wanting justice for Delilah.

  26

  I take a deep breath, then enter the Tenner room a few steps behind Blank Jack. Passing on the food spread, I stride to the chair at the head of the table, doing my best to hide my nervousness. I sink into the leather and have to sit up a bit. At the other end of the room, the large window overlooking Founders Square reminds me that the well-being of everyone in New Seattle is entrusted to those around the table…and most of all to the number one. The responsibility is a rock-filled backpack I’m carrying around—one I don’t know what to do with.

  My life has been turned upside down—my bike is in the shop being spruced up, I have an appointment to get my tooth gap fixed, and McKinsey has me holding client sessions at the Agency. My sense with the handful of clients I’ve seen so far is that they left feeling they got their money’s worth more from being able to say they met the number one than from anything I might have said. Vicky came in, hoping my sudden luck would rub off on her.

  Something else is weighing on me. I’ve been to the Birth Lab.

  Franz comes in last, leaving one seat empty and causing Jada to gripe at Blank Jack, who’s settled into the chair across from her, “Why isn’t Renee with you?”

  Given that Renee has no brain chip yet, we can’t send her a thought to remind her of the meeting nor check her whereabouts on the map.


  Blank Jack runs a hand through his beard. “She s’pposed to be? We don’t all know each other. Between the villages and the communities in and aroun’ Old Seattle, well, that’s a whole lot of folks.”

  “Is she afraid to face us? We don’t bite.” Chase’s cackle negates the sentiment. “Perhaps we should start calling her Renee the Recluse.”

  Bonnie, across the table, shifts a bit in her chair. “I heard in the hospital that she’s getting the implant tomorrow. She might be anxious about the surgery. And to be fair, she can’t have expected to be asked to contribute to governing and leadership so soon, if at all.”

  “Give her time. She’ll get there.” Blank Jack delivers the statement with quiet certainty, making Chase cock an eyebrow at him. “Well, she better get there quick or the town will turn on her. Which means McKinsey will be back in and we don’t want that. She always made me feel so lazy, with all those hobbies of hers.”

  “Maybe Renee is worried she won’t…fit in,” Poulsbo offers a rare opinion.

  “Speaking of,” Jada turns her stare on me rudely, “what’s on today’s agenda, Scott?”

  I start, my thoughts having been elsewhere, and scramble to call up the agenda sent by Town Offices. “Uh…where are you—we—on the bird matter, Ben?”

  Ben answers willingly enough, as if last night’s encounter at the gala cleared the air. “We’re making progress. People have been calling in nest locations. We’ve got about twenty so far.”

  “Blank Jack…” I stop. It occurs to me to wonder, “Uh, I never thought to ask—are you okay with being called that? It’s not, perhaps, the nicest name.”

  “It’s all good.”

  “How are the huts coming along?”

  “We’re just about finished, Poulsbo and me,” Blank Jack tells us, and Ben, from down the table, brings up a problem.