“What do you think, Tabitha?” asked Berrett. Max spun Berrett around in the chair to face me.
There are no words for moments like these—you have to feel them for yourself. The closest thing I could compare it to was seeing the sun come out after a long storm. His beauty was blinding, and it warmed me to the core. He literally looked like a young Greek god, and I was utterly captivated.
Max broke the silence. “What do you think of his hair, Tabitha?”
“Oh! I, uh ... I like it. It’s nice.”
“And what do you think of your date to the ball, Jordan?” asked Max. “Gorgeous, no? Ah, I always did love bringing the pretty out in people.”
Berrett’s eyes looked me up and down, his mouth hanging slightly open. I waved my hand in front of his face.
“Hello? What do you think?” I asked. I spun around, the floor-length gown swirling after me.
He stood up and walked to me, taking my hands in his. “You look incredible.”
I smiled and felt the color rising in my cheeks.
“Aw, precious,” said Max. “Alright, enough ogling. Berrett, dust yourself off and get a shirt on.” He tossed a white tuxedo shirt onto Berrett’s head.
After Berrett finished dressing, Max handed us long black cloaks. “Tabitha, these are for you.” He gave me a pair of long white gloves, and then handed Berrett the letter we were supposed to deliver.
“What, you don’t trust me?” I asked.
“No, I trust you, but the last time I checked, pockets were not sewn into the sides of ball gowns.”
“Hmph. They should be.”
Max laughed as he shuffled us into the hall and out the back door. An elegant, black, horse-drawn cruiser was waiting for us.
After we were inside and settled, Max leaned in through the window of the cruiser.
“The papers and licenses are on their way to your shuttle. You can hang on to your outfits. You never know when you’ll need a good formal. I kept my half of the deal, Tabitha. Now it’s your turn. What name are you going by these days?”
I rolled my eyes. “Morgan Fey.”
Max chuckled. “Nice. Be good, little witch. Oh, and you’ll need one more piece of information. The Governor has a very unique tattoo on his left wrist.”
Max whipped out his Cuff and showed us a picture of a man’s wrist with a strange symbol tattooed on it. As he zoomed in on the picture, a tiny crowned lion and a unicorn appeared holding up two sides of a shield. “Make sure to check that the tattoo is there before you go spilling secrets to someone who isn’t actually the Governor. I’ll be in touch.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m sure you do, kiddo, but you’ll get over it.” Max pinched my cheek as our cruiser pulled away into the growing night.
I sank back into the seat of the cruiser and pouted as I stared out the side window.
“I still can’t believe you named me Morgan,” I muttered into my gloved fist.
Berrett grinned. “I think it fits. You look enchanting.”
“Oh, brother, what a line.”
I pursed my lips together and stared out the window.
I heard Berrett pull the letter from his pocket and fidget with it.
I turned toward him and said, “You know, it’s kind of stupid for us not to know what that letter says. It could say, ‘please execute the deliverers of this letter on site.’”
Berrett laughed. “You don’t know as much about the Underground as I do. Max might talk about looking out for number one, but he has a reputation for being friendly to the cause. So does the Governor of Mars. In fact, Mars is high on the list of planets that the Underground would like to claim. I’m willing to trust him. Besides, if we break the seal we’d be in greater danger. They’d know we knew what was inside the letter.”
“Max? The Underground? Hmph. Probably because it’s better for his bottom line somehow. Bet the letter’s coded, anyway, like your ‘mac and cheese’ thing with Mama B.”
“Probably,” said Berrett.
I felt a pang of guilt over the complete lack of communication with Mama B., but it had to be that way for her safety as well as ours. I just hoped she was still alive.
We rode along in silence until the Governor’s Mansion came into view. The Mansion was the one building on Mars that felt untarnished—and I have no clue how they kept it like that. The dusty earth was suddenly paved and clear as we approached, and sprawling green lawns with well-manicured shrubbery adorned the grounds surrounding the mansion gate. We rode through the huge wrought-iron gates and entered a fairyland. The fountains were running, sparkling in the glow of small white lights floating in the basins. Rows and rows of flowers lined the driveway as we rode to the main courtyard. A servant opened the doors and helped me from the carriage.
I felt like a fish in thick mud.
I managed to wobble up the stairs and into the foyer without face-planting, which I mainly attribute to Berrett giving me his arm. The truth was I had never worn high heels before, but there was no flarking way I was about to admit it. As we waited in the security line I fidgeted with the tulle of my skirt.
“Are you nervous?” asked Berrett.
“How can we be sure this isn’t some kind of set up? He could be lying about the IDs, so he can get the reward. What if this doesn’t work?”
Berrett put both hands on my shoulders. “Then I’ll be right here, and we’ll figure it out together. I promised you, remember?”
I remembered. Berrett put one arm around me and held my hand with the other.
“Want me to go first?” he asked.
“No, I got this,” I lied. I walked confidently up to the security desk and placed my finger on the scanner.
“Look here, please,” the security guard said. I looked into the retinal scanner and held my breath.
The guard looked at his screen, then back at me.
“Welcome, Miss Fey. Have a lovely evening.”
I entered the ballroom, latched onto Berrett’s arm for balance—at least, that’s what I told myself—and stared at the creamy white marble pillars surrounding the echoing circular hall. A spectacular buffet had been set up, each table covered with more sumptuous fare than the last. A chocolate fountain ran in the center with guests surrounding it, ramming their fruit-covered toothpicks into it at every opportunity. In the center of the ballroom couples spun in circles, the chiffon and the silk and the satin swirling like ribbons in the breeze.
I thought of the beggars in New York City and repressed a desire to gag.
Time to focus. I shifted my gaze to the handsome face of my escort. “How do we know which one’s the governor?” I whispered to Berrett.
He looked around the ballroom.
“I don’t think he’s here yet. Want to kill some time?” asked Berrett. He extended his hand to me and nodded toward the dance floor.
“Are you insane? Are you trying to get us noticed? We should just hover in the back and—”
Just then, a man holding a towering armful of paperwork and file folders bumped into me. I inhaled sharply as something sliced my upper arm.
“Oh! So sorry, miss!” He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to where my arm had started to bleed. I gave him my best “remove yourself, please” look, and he backed away, apologizing profusely.
“As I was saying, we should sit back and observe,” I finished. “Even that looks like it might be too hazardous, though.”
Berrett raised an eyebrow at me. “You can’t dance, can you?”
“Of course I can dance!” I hissed. I watched the man with the paperwork skitter across the room to where another man stood.
“Then why are you blushing?”
“Because ... it’s a stupid question, is all. Girls are born knowing how to dance.”
“Alright then, let’s go.”
Before I could object, Berrett drew me into the spinning circle and put his arm around my waist, my hand in his. He put his mouth next to my ear. “If you don’t want to ge
t caught, at least try to look like you’re enjoying this,” he whispered.
I tried to respond, tried to tell him I was focusing on where the paper cut inflictor had skulked off to. Something felt off, but the heat of Berrett’s breath against my face spread through me like wildfire as we started spinning around the dance floor. The same strange sensations that I had felt when we were crouched together in the hedge threatened to return as we moved together to the pulsing rhythm of the waltz.
“So, dancing. Who taught you?” I asked.
“Didn’t you know? Guys are born knowing how to do this.”
I gave him a skeptical glare. “Right. And I’m a cream puff.”
“You could just be one in that outfit.”
I got distracted and lost my footing, but he tightened his grip on my waist and held me up. A rush of emotion flared inside me as goose bumps erupted all over my body.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. His eyes looked straight into mine, as though he was trying to tell me secrets through his gaze. I looked away. He would have to keep his secrets to himself. It wasn’t safe being close to me, and I thought I had made that clear. Once we were done with our mission, once Hobs could get us across the divide, I would drop Berrett somewhere safe. He would move on, have a nice life and a couple of kids, and ....
And ..
The music seemed to fade. The sounds of swirling dresses lowered to a hush. The room was suddenly out of focus, and all I could see was Jordan Berrett. He pulled me closer and started to quarter turn in small circles in the very heart of the dance floor. I wobbled trying to follow the quarter turns, but Berrett held me steady in his arms. My face and his were nearly touching, and the breath ran out of me.
Which, of course, is when some idiot decided to cut in.
“May I?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Berrett.
His expression, however, said something entirely different.
My new partner was older, with a neatly trimmed goatee and hair the color of fallen pine needles. He was a good dancer, which is more than I could say for myself.
“May I have your name?” he asked.
“You first,” I said. “Erm, if you don’t mind.”
Flarking manners.
“You don’t know who I am?” he asked.
“Should I?”
He laughed.
“I’m the Governor. Max sent you, didn’t he?”
I stared at him.
Can we say awkward?
“Lemme see your wrist.”
Before he could stop me, I jerked the sleeve of his shirt back and got an up close and personal view of the lion and unicorn tattoo. I rubbed at it, just to make sure it was real.
Yup. Not a fake.
I gulped hard. “How did you know?”
He smiled at me. “My dear girl, you are a terrible dancer. If you’d been raised with an iota of culture, you would know these dances by heart instead of stumbling all over yourself. I thought I would put you out of your misery. Max must be a bit hard up to send someone like you. Do you have something for me?”
I frowned, and then nodded to Berrett, who was pouting near the buffet tables.
“He’s got it.”
“Ah, good. Well, let’s get you off this dance floor, then, shall we? And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Miss ...?”
“Fey.”
“And is there a first name that goes with that?”
“Yes. But it’s flarking horrible, so I’m not going to tell you what it is.”
He laughed again as he escorted me off the floor. We walked arm in arm back to Berrett.
“I found the Governor,” I said.
Berrett shook his head. “I just want to apologize for anything she may have said or done in the past few—”
“Hey!” I cried. I punched him in the shoulder.
Berrett scowled at me. “You’re supposed to be acting like a lady.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe real ladies defend their own flarking honor.”
The Governor cleared his throat. “As much as I hate to break this up, I believe you have something for me.”
“Of course,” said Berrett. He pulled the note from his breast pocket and handed it over. I stood in front of them, trying to block any nosy onlookers from getting a clear view of the transaction. As I did so, I found my missing paper-cutter. The man he was talking to stepped into the light. I had to fight to hold in my gasp. It was the President’s bounty hunter. And he was scanning the bloodied handkerchief into his handheld.
Now they had my DNA.
“Thank you both,” said the Governor. He pocketed the letter and meandered over to another group of guests, natural and easy as pie.
“Berrett, we gotta get out of here,” I whispered.
“What? Everything went fine. Only you could turn that around and make it a bad thing,” said Berrett.
“No, you don’t understand, there was this guy with the papers and he—oh!”
I froze. Someone was holding a cold, round object against my back.
It felt horribly like a gun.
“Not a word, Miss Dixon. You will come quietly with me to the exit. If you obey me, I will spare your friend here.”
I looked up at Berrett, whose eyes were the size of saucers. Regrettably, my knife hadn’t matched my ensemble, but I had another trick up my sleeve. I mouthed one word to Berrett. Run.
At this point, three things happened at once.
First, Berrett bolted across the dance floor.
Second, which happened at almost the same time as the first, I ducked.
Third, as loud as I possibly could, I screamed.
“Stop touching me there!”
“What?” cried the man.
I tried not to smile as I screamed again for effect. “Have you no decency? Help! Help!”
Immediately, my would-be assailant was surrounded by five large men, giving me ample time to make a break for it. As I burst through the double doors of the ballroom, I heard him yelling.
“That’s Tabitha Dixon, you bungling idiots! I’m a SUN agent, let me go!”
I caught up with Berrett in the kitchen, dodging chefs and steaming pots.
“He’s right behind me!” I yelled.
“What?”
“Run faster!”
We zipped around pillars, in and out of small receiving rooms, and through large, ornate doors.
“How do we get out of here?” yelled Berrett.
“There! The big open window!”
A shot rang out and a glass sculpture shattered on a side table to my right. Just then, I stumbled over the stupid heels.
“Flarking skud!”
I ripped off the shoes, hitched my skirt up to my knees, and grabbed for the holster strapped around my thigh.
“What are you doing?” cried Berrett.
“It’s a gun, genius.”
“Are you kidding me? How long has that been there?”
A pane in an upper window ahead of us exploded.
“Never mind,” said Berrett. “You do what you gotta do.”
I stopped and took cover behind a large porcelain vase. “Call CiCi on your Cuff and get her over here, now. I’ll cover you!”
I turned around and aimed at the chain holding up a crystal chandelier. My hand was steady as I fired, but the bullet only broke one link, missed the cords, and ricocheted around the room, landing in the plush cushions of a red velvet couch. I could see my attacker racing for the double doors.
“Skud!”
I aimed carefully once more, took a deep breath, and fired again.
The chandelier came crashing down on my assailant. Outside the open window, I could hear the whirring of the shuttle’s engine. I could also hear other guests heading my direction.
I climbed out the window and ran for the shuttle.
“CiCi wants to know if she should land!” yelled Berrett.
“Go! Go-go-go! I’ll jump!” I cried.
CiCi started pulling the shuttle away. I ran full speed for the open hatch. Berrett held out his hand.
“Faster, Dix, they’re coming!”
A bullet kicked up dust beside me and another whizzed past my ear. I was pretty sure one even shot through the flowing fabric of my dress. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as I ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. I spun back to shoot at my attackers, only to hear the empty click of the hammer. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
I whipped back around and reached for Berrett’s hand. He pulled me in, slamming the door shut as a round of bullets peppered the space where I had been a moment before.
“No more bullets?” he asked.
I glowered, and he grinned.
“You have a serious problem, Dix.”
“Shut up.” I stuffed myself into the cockpit, yards of tulle and fabric sticking out everywhere and getting in my way. CiCi sat in the co-pilot’s chair and tried to avoid getting buried alive.
“Thanks, Ceese.”
“No prob, Cap. What the ... what happened to you? Are your ey..... purple?”
I smiled. “I can take the wheel if you want.”
“Sure, sure. Should I go take a look at the damage?”
“No time. We gotta get out of here.”
IN WHICH THINGS ARE AWKWARD 17
“SHE’S DONE!”
“You take care of installing the EMP system, Ceese?” I asked.
She nodded. “Just like you wanted, Cap. All I have to do is hit this shiny red button, and blam! Goodbye electrical systems, hello frozen bad guys.”
“Aces.”
“I still don’t like it, though,” said CiCi. “I mean, it’s nifty, of course, but if you hit that thing we’re all jailbirds.”
“Like we aren’t anyway?” muttered Hobs.
I stuck my tongue out at him. “I promise, CiCi, we won’t hit it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Promise?”
“I just said I did! You get Max’s tags attached too?”
“Aye, Cap. Now can I please—”
“Don’t even say it.”
Four days had passed, and CiCi had spent her time wisely. The Aventine wasn’t even remotely recognizable. The “battle damage” CiCi had inflicted sounded truly awful going on, but the end result was incredible. She had turned a sleek and coveted ship into what appeared to be nothing more than a junky cargo carrier. However, she had also become obsessed about the bullet wounds in the side of the shuttle. She kept asking me over and over to take a look at and repair the damage to make sure everything was normal.
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