Trickskin (Worldwalker Book 1)

by Amelia R. Moore

  “Is it too late to renegotiate? Can we stipulate that we have to give an answer with a follow up explanation of at least two to three sentences?”

  “Hm, and why should I agree to that?”

  “Cuz you love working with me and don’t want me fired?”

  Loken rolled his eyes.

  “Fine,” she said, drawing out the vowel. “Whaddya want, Merlin?”

  An idea came to mind at her prompt. “Do you know how to play chess?”

  “Not well, but yeah. You wanna learn?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why?”

  “Was that another question? I do believe I’m up to three in addition to the first question on the list.”

  “Oh, I see how it is.” Danika grinned unexpectedly. “First off, one of my questions was answered with a question. It cancels out. Secondly, you didn't meet the new stipulations with the answers you gave.”

  Oh, Loken was going to have fun with this. He had no idea that behind Danika’s eccentric demeanor lingered an opponent worthy of out maneuvering. “Ah. But you see, our new bargain had not yet been solidified. Thus, merely answering them honestly means I’ve earned a reciprocal question.”

  Danika made a thoughtful sound. “You only answered one of them.”

  Replaying the conversation in his head, he realized she was right. “Point conceded. Very well. Let's begin with question one on the list under the new bargain, shall we?”

  She readied her pen and nodded.

  “I don’t know English in the traditional sense; it merely appears I do. I’m using a translation spell to understand and be understood.” He had several spells that were constantly active. An avid traveler, Loken was quite good at tailoring translation spells to the world he was currently visiting. Upon entering Draferia, however, he’d altered the spell to include all languages, and it had held until coming to Earth. From there, he’d altered it to English, the main language of the country he resided in.

  None of which he explained to Danika. “It’s quite a simple spell, really, and even works on written text.” Unfortunately, it did nothing to help him write foreign languages, but he did know how to write a few. English simply wasn’t one of them.

  Danika nodded and scribbled down his answer. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  Loken didn’t hesitate. “What do you know of Agent Nora Foley?” Danika had the lizard he’d left in Nora’s apartment; they must have at least talked.

  She blinked. “I met her through ALPHA around the time you started, and I'm pretty sure it's doctor. Not agent.” Danika paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, we really only talked once. She was pretty distraught one day in the break room, and she sorta just unloaded on me. She told me she'd been bullied by ALPHA, joined their research division, lost a friend, and gained a mutant lizard all in less than forty-eight hours. I tried to give advice on what I could, but in the end, the lizard was all I qualified for.”

  She gave said lizard a pat.

  That didn't give him nearly enough information. Using his second question, he sneered and asked, “Did she tell you why she lost said friend?”

  Danika shook her head. “Only that there was some misunderstanding. And that you were really hurt.”

  Hurt? The accurate description infuriated him. The vulnerability made him want to lash out, to fortify his cracked defenses with a good offense. “She betrayed me to ALPHA,” he spat. “That's why she has this job.”

  Danika’s brow creased. “That doesn't sound right. Penny said Nora was basically detained until you were released. That doesn't sound like how they'd treat someone who was cooperating.”

  No. That couldn't be right. Could it? What if Nora hadn't betrayed him? He'd disregarded her so casually, certain of her guilt. Unable to bear dwelling on what could have been a mistake, he snapped, “Ask your next question.”

  Danika laid the pen down and was silent for longer than was comfortable. “Did you like the chocolate mousse pie I brought you?”

  He gave her an unfiltered, bewildered look. Why was she asking such a meaningless question? One that wasn't even on the list? “Yes,” he replied slowly, trying to understand the trick she was playing. “I never had chocolate before Earth. I'm not quite the... enthusiast some are—” Like Mrs. Naiara. “—but I must admit, the pie itself was exceptional.”

  He toyed with the idea of taking advantage of her easy question by giving her a difficult one in return—it wasn’t his fault that she’d wasted a question—but he didn't. He merely asked, “Why did you bring me a pie?”

  Danika gave him a rare, sheepish smile. “It’s stupid but… My sister went through an awful divorce, and no one knew how much she was struggling with it until her suicide attempt. I didn’t know what to do. No one did. So, when she was released from the hospital, I brought her a pie. I know, I know. It’s stupid, and pie can’t cure depression, but our foster mother would always bake when we had a bad day. So, it sorta stuck with me. Baking makes me happy, and baking for others is even better.”

  The candid way she spoke of her sister’s ordeal, something that would be considered a private and shameful matter back home, startled him. As did the symbolic gesture he now understood offering pie to be. She’d been trying to cheer him up? For a moment, his melancholy was so thick that he feared it had become tangible, visible to all.

  “What?” she asked, perhaps seeing something in his expression.

  Deciding to count that as a question, he traded with, “What does ‘foster’ mean in this context?”

  “Oh,” Danika replied. “It means she’s my adoptive mother. Yanno. Not biological, necessarily, but in all the ways that count.”

  Loken gave her a puzzled look. In all the ways that counted except biologically? What else was there if not a man or woman’s bloodline? No, that wasn't fair. There were plenty of children on Rellaeria that had no biological family, and they were no less for it.

  It wasn't the fact that Loken had been ‘adopted’ that bothered him. It was the lies upon lies built to cover it up. How could anyone build an identity upon a foundation of deceit? A natural changeling, he’d grown up thinking his Evoir form was his birth form. For all he knew, his parents had encouraged him to do so, to bury the truth of his heritage.

  Attempting to stifle his reborn rage, he struggled to collect himself. “Your turn.”

  Her concern was worn so openly Loken knew it was genuine. “You okay?”

  Stifling the urge to snarl, he snapped, “Is that your question?”

  She didn't make a joke or throw his words back at him, as he may have done in her situation. “You don't have to answer.”

  The understanding in her tone filled him with indignity. He wouldn't back down from their bargain. He wouldn't lose. Yet he didn't know how to answer her honestly. He wasn't okay. Not in the slightest. And he couldn't give her an underhanded answer, such as ‘I will be’ because he wasn't certain that was true.

  “I'm not,” he said at last, keeping his tone casual, dismissive. “Earth is very different than I’m accustomed to. There are aspects of my home world that I miss.” People that I miss. He refused to acknowledge the thought, refused to admit that it was true.

  “Like what?”

  He offered a safe answer. “The library. The—” Palace. Choosing a less revealing noun, he continued as if he hadn’t stumbled. “We had quite the collection. Books from across the galaxy, on subjects you couldn’t dream of.” Noticing Danika’s gleeful expression, he narrowed his eyes, expecting her to insult his answer. “What?”

  “You’re a total nerd, Merlin. Who’d have thought I’d have more in common with an alien than I would my peers?” She gave a wistful sigh. “Where have you been all my life?”

  Assuming that was a rhetorical question, he declined to reply—as much as he wanted to ask what a nerd was.

  She continued on, unbothered by his silence. “I think what I would miss the most about Earth is all the little things. Like coffee and chocolate and—do you guys have anything l
ike the internet?” When he shook his head, she gasped dramatically. “But how do you frivolously waste free time?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “But I’d miss my foster mom, foster dad, and sister, and foster brother the most, I think.”

  Loken tensed, waiting for her to ask him about his family.

  “Okay. So. Question two. Wow, we are way off track. Oh, wait. It's your turn, right? I think I owe you two…”

  Still reeling from the unexpected direction their conversation had taken—and what it had revealed—he shook his head. “Let's focus on the next question on the list. Lest we be here all day and night.”

  She grinned. “Alright. So…”

  Over the next half hour, they went through the list. Danika asked him if he could write English (no, he couldn’t; translation spells didn’t work that way). Intrigued, she asked him to write a few samples of his native language (he translated two of the three requested sentences honestly and made up letters for the last, enjoying the idea of frustrating their linguists analysts). Then, she asked him if he was born with or taught magic (both); and then asked him why he looked so, in essence, human.

  “I do not look human,” he retorted indignantly. “I look Evoir.” Without caring how childish it sounded, he asked, “Why do humans look so much like the Evoir?”

  “Hm.” Danika tapped her pen against the table. “Good point.”

  In turn, he asked her why she didn't use the term “foster” for her sister (it turned out that her sister was Danika’s only biological relation). “Our father died when we were young. Our mom took us in, but she was awful. She never wanted us to begin with, so that was fun. It took social services a while to get us removed, but once they did, we never looked back.”

  Loken almost admired the way she spoke so candidly about her past. Didn’t she care how others might use the information against her? How they might pity or judge her?

  Finally, he asked her how long she’d been working for ALPHA.

  “The scholarship I have wants you to have field experience before you graduate. Well, that’s what they say. Really, they just want you to intern for one of their accredited donors for a semester. Free labor and all that. Long story short, I’ve became Penny’s temporary assistant with a little help from one of my professors.”

  “And this led to working here how?” Loken leaned back in his chair expectantly.

  “Yeah… Let’s just say that ALPHA called, and Penny absentmindedly put them on speaker phone because she was lost in her head. Turns out they don’t take security breaches lightly...but when they were done turning my life upside down, Penny managed to get them to let me help her conduct research here. One big confidentiality agreement later…” She spread her arms, as if to say ‘here I am.’

  That wasn't what he'd expected. So, in essence cultivating a friendship with her would not benefit his career at ALPHA.

  Why was that perfectly alright with him?

  “Okay. My turn,” Danika said. “Since we're already off track…” She twirled the pen, a habit that Loken noticed was an indication she was feeling hesitant. “Are you here against your will?”

  Nonplussed, Loken wondered what her motives were for asking. “What's this? Concern for the extraterrestrial?” he mocked. “A dangerous road.”

  Danika frowned. “No. It's called decency.”

  “So, what if I told you that I'm being forced to work for ALPHA against my will? That they threatened me and, when that didn't work, tortured me until I complied? What would you say?”

  She looked so ill at the idea that it soured any pleasure he might have taken in shocking her.

  He sighed. “I entered into a voluntary agreement.” Hadn't he? They hadn't told him what they would do if he refused, but he'd surmised they wouldn't have let him return to life among civilians.

  “Oh. So, they didn't kidnap you from your spaceship?”

  The mention of kidnapping hit too close to home, and he didn’t have the will to unpack every emotion it invoked. Instead, he gave her an incredulous look and educated her on his true means of arriving to Earth. When they were done discussing that, Danika abruptly jumped to her feet and proclaimed that she'd forgotten about “the dog-thing” in her room. He felt awkward about his plan to spy on her now, so he pacified her by saying he had dismissed ‘the construct.’ She’d smacked him on the arm, lectured him, and made him promise never to do that to Smaug.

  Then, realizing that they'd worked through lunch without noticing, she invited him to her apartment for dinner.

  He decided to be unpredictable and, for once, said yes.

  They ate baked salmon, mashed potatoes, and green beans—most of which he was not familiar with, but he consumed it with vigor.

  She gave him an incredulous look when, after cleaning his plate, he ate half of a chocolate mousse pie. “Where does it all go?” she asked.

  He declined to comment and finished the second half of the pie. It wasn’t anyone’s business that his appetite had been inconsistent. The first decent meal he’d eaten in a while had been at the restaurant with Raaum, and although he could survive far longer than a human could survive without eating, it wasn’t preferable. Especially not with his constant use of magic.

  After dinner, as promised, she taught him chess and helped him research strategies so that he might best Raaum come Friday (though Danika was quite vocal about what she perceived his chances of defeating her to be). In turn, he taught her a board game called Qohannor from Rellaeria, transfiguring chess bits into the appropriate pieces.

  It was nearly two in the morning by the time they bothered to look at a clock.

  As he stared at his bedroom ceiling that night, he couldn't help but think that Danika may have been ordered to get closer to him—that it was all an artificially created ploy. As the third in line for the throne, he’d dealt with his fair share of potential friends, peers sent by their parents to form alliances with him. He’d gotten good at spotting those seeking only to exploit his status, but he simply didn’t get that vibe with Danika. There was no calculation in her eyes when she looked at him, but what other explanation could there be?

  If she was really only a spy or a babysitter, he’d soon discover it.

  “You wanna do what?” Danika clutched her coffee and stared at him with bleary eyes the next morning.

  “Break into Agent Callum’s office,” he said. Then, he sipped at his cup—a gift from Danika—for the first time and grimaced at the taste.

  “Told you that you’d want cream and sugar.”

  He ignored her comment. “Interested in assisting?”

  Danika didn’t look convinced. “What’s in Callum’s office?”

  What wasn’t in Callum’s office? Regardless, it held no interest to him. This was simply a test to see if she’d report his actions before or after, if at all. He didn’t actually need her help to break into his office, but he had a theory to test. “I want to enspell the room so that anything Callum reads inside of it will be in Rellaerian.”

  Her eyes lit with mirth. “But not for anyone else, right? So they’ll think he’s gone mental.”

  Loken smirked, glad she’d caught on.

  “I’m so in. How do we do this?”

  With Danika acting as a lookout—ready to intercept Callum if he appeared—Loken veiled himself and teleported into the office. Unlocking the door seemed unwise, as he had no idea what security measures it might have. Once inside, he looked for the best place to set the spell. Setting spells as traps was tricky. There wasn’t always a way to specify the target, and in this situation, the best he could do was place the spell on the chair. The magic would latch onto the first person to sit.

  Pleased with this small scale mischief, he teleported back to Danika and dropped the veil, smirking when she jumped at his sudden appearance.

  “Got it?” she whispered, as if they might be overheard.

  “Of course.”

  She insisted they celebrate and did so by showing him his first movi
e—a cartoon about lions and royalty, which they watched in the lab on her laptop.

  In the middle of their second movie, Callum entered the lab, looking quite displeased.

  Pretending not to know what ailed him, Loken said, “Technically, I’m spending my time in the lab as instructed.”

  There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on Callum’s face. “Remove the spell.”

  Danika began to laugh hysterically, which cut short Loken’s plan to deny the accusation. Oh, well. With an unnecessary wave of his hand, he ended the spell.

  Callum didn’t comment. He merely picked up the questionnaire from Penny’s station and glanced at it. “Next time,” he said, without looking up, “You’ll be suspended from fieldwork for a month.”

  Loken raised a brow, wanting to point out such wasn’t exactly a hardship (as evident by his present situation), but he didn’t. He merely watched as Callum departed after giving them one last stern look.

  “So,” Danika said as soon as they were alone. “What’s our next prank?”

  Obedience wasn’t in his nature, so he gave Callum exactly twenty-four hours before his next move. After Loken charmed all of the paintings on the compound to come to life whenever someone passed them, he and Danika coated the hallway (from floor to ceiling) around Callum’s office in rainbow-colored sticky notes filled with inspirational sayings.

  Loken expected another lecture, but the day passed without a word from Callum. In the morning, waiting in the lab, was the reason why.

  Danika picked up the note. “Please provide a detailed account of the system Rellaeria is found in.” She looked at him, shoulders slumped. “I think this is our punishment.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Hope you’re good for it. I’d be hard pressed to name the planets in this system…and don’t even get me started on poor Pluto.”

  “I, unlike you, do not allow myself ignorance.”

  He ignored her protests, grabbed the appropriate utensils, and began to draw. No human was ever likely to ever travel to any of these places, meaning the information was meaningless.