Within a few hours, the Council would have whisked her away from the Guides' Detention Center. They would have had another pawn to use against her father, and he would have been brokenhearted.
Desmond leaned against the wall on the other side and looked at her. He took a deep breath. She could see the nervous agitation coming out of him too.
Basil and the others were going toward her office, Sela realized. It was pure luck that she and Desmond had left in time. Maybe if Irwin Harrington had not bothered them, they would have been caught. After all, they were going to listen into the conversation for a while, so being interrupted was a blessing in disguise.
Small fortune, Sela trembled with the thought.
They had not collected much intelligence from the party-goers; at least none that Sela could recall. She had heard a lot of talk in the larger group. Most of it she hadn't understood, and now, she couldn't even recall a single sentence.
She focused on breathing and trying to calm her jackrabbit heartbeat. They weren't out of this yet. For all she knew, a Guide detail would be waiting to arrest them in the lobby as soon as the door opened.
Would Desmond have a plan to get out of that?
She glanced at him and saw he was going through breathing exercises, standing straight now, brushing his jacket.
Sela thought, What secrets are you hiding, Desmond Tine? His family lived in another city, and he was here. He had taken other women to Emory for outfits, but claimed it was only for the Unmakers, the Vines. What does he worry about?
She took a moment to check her makeup. Her lipstick could use refreshing. She didn't want to bother.
The elevator slowed to a halt and a chime announced the doors opening.
No Guides.
A doorman sat behind a desk off to one side. He looked at them for a few seconds and nodded as they stepped out of the maglift. Then he went back to watching some program behind the desk.
Desmond and Sela moved through the enormous lobby and out onto the street. Evening Megora was luminous with glowing lights, shining off the dark tile and absurdly-clean streets.
As always, clusters of people were out and about. Some of them were dressed so ridiculously, they made the party-goers seem like Quakers. Street performers juggled or played improvised drums or sparred with eccentric, break-dancing martial arts.
Bridges between buildings shone with lines of lights, some of skywalks low over the streets and others high above and sparkling against the few stars visible through all of Megora's nightly light pollution.
So enthusiastic were the celebrations, Sela wondered if perhaps there was some holiday she was not aware of. Then she remembered that this was how all weekends were around the Tower of Hope. This was how the Council and their supporters lived.
Sela followed Desmond closely, weaving around crowds, up one street and down the next. All the lights, and the falloff of adrenalin, and the noise, and the jitters overwhelmed her. Within a few minutes she had no clue where they were, other than the general district.
The day before, she had given Desmond a duffel of clothing. He had taken it to his apartment, because Sela would never even consider wearing such a luxurious dress back to her apartment.
Normally, it wouldn't matter. Criminals in Megora might be drawn to a wealthier dress; Sela really didn't know. This dress was the most expensive she had worn by far since she had been on her own. She owned a few nice dresses that passed in the elite district.
This was a nice dress though. And she liked it. Even though she didn't like the people she had to be around in order to wear it.
Desmond guided their way into a nice apartment building, one clearly meant for several hundred residents. It was a wider and shorter building than Basil Davenport’s, but each floor housed anywhere from eight to sixteen apartments, depending upon how much rent the residents were willing to pay.
The elevator ride was only twenty seconds or so. It stopped on the eighteenth floor. At least another score of levels caked above Desmond’s.
And the ceiling was not the distant twenty feet of Davenport’s suite. Level eighteen was standard ten-foot construction, with an eight foot ceiling.
Sela followed Desmond down the hall, noting that it was still a plush setup. Thick carpeting, recently steam cleaned. Sound-absorbing wallpaper. Minimalist lighting fixtures casting diffuse illumination evenly. And that was just the hallway.
Desmond typed in a code at his apartment door and then pushed it open, standing aside to let Sela by. She went in.
It was tidy, organized, though not like her own home. She kept things in place because she had no room to spare. That also kept her from acquiring amenities to make it feel like a home. It was lonely there, empty and yet crowded.
Desmond’s apartment was clean and spacious. He tapped the panel next to the door and lights rose to full level for the whole apartment.
It was furnished. In the spacious kitchen, he had a wine rack, half full of water bottles, an island bar with a glass range built in, as well as a miniature sink, just in case someone cooking didn’t want to bother turning around to the large dish sink. The counter wrapped further around and jutted out to form a bar that seated three on stools. Sela speculated Desmond’s refrigerator could probably hold one of her dinner chairs.
The living room was enormous. A full dining set, with a centerpiece, an L-shape of couches and a recliner centered around a holographic fireplace with naturalights for simulated heat, and several shelves over-stacked with books.
“Welcome to my place, Sela,” Desmond said gesturing around. “I don’t spend enough time here, considering what Hannan Corp pays to rent it for me.” He spoke aloud almost reproving himself.
“It’s a nice apartment,” Sela murmured, peering more closely at the books. Some of the titles she had heard of, others she had not. Several were clearly quite old.
“You collect books?” she asked.
“Not really,” he answered. “I like to read.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You can read most of these on a tablet for free.” Why bother buying a paper copy?
Desmond shrugged, narrowing his eyes, staring at the assorted volumes. “I dunno. There’s just something… something about the feel of the paper. The smell of the binding.” He smiled, “I actually like to see the creases form in the spine of a book.”
Sela had never thought about that. She read, but couldn’t remember reading a whole book on paper since she had been in elementary school.
“Do you...” Desmond started.
When Sela turned to look at him, he began again, pointing toward the kitchen, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee?”
“Not coffee.”
“I have juice,” he said.
“That sounds fine,” she answered.
He started toward the refrigerator, “Apple or orange?”
“Apple,” she followed him into the kitchen and sat down on a stool at the bar.
While Desmond poured a cup of juice and another of milk, he asked, “Not to be too forward, but how are you feeling?”
“Alright,” Sela answered vaguely, staring at the refrigerator. Desmond had seconds earlier put away the bottle of juice and was holding the cup out to her.
She took it as he said, “I mean about the mission. You seemed a little nervous… in that corridor.”
Sela scowled at him, “Weren’t you?”
He nodded and swallowed, only then taking a sip of the milk. “Yeah, that was pretty close.”
With a sigh, Sela gulped down a third of the juice. It wasn’t artificially flavored. It had a thin and sweetish flavor that wasn’t too strong.
She thought for a while, setting the cup down on the bar. Desmond waited, leaning against the drawers built into the island.
“I was nervous,” she confirmed. “I’ve been in tight spots before.”
He nodded, “It could’ve been bad.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “And we’re lucky that it wasn’t worse.”
; “So how do you feel?” Desmond prodded.
She gave an exasperated sigh, “My adrenalin usually keeps me going while I’m doing whatever I’m doing. Was I shaking?”
“Not visibly,” he said, glancing away. The look said what he did not want to say aloud. In that moment, he could feel her trembling, even if the darkness hid it from view.
He looked back at her. “But you kept a steady voice and a cool head.”
It didn’t seem that way to her. And now that she began to think about it, Sela realized that the whole memory was a blur. She couldn’t remember what she said and whether she had spoken steadily.
Why couldn’t she take the psychological strain? She’d gone into more dangerous missions and come out with only the usual adrenalin crash a little while later.
“Steady voice?” Sela asked, blinking. “I was trying to… I didn’t know if I’d managed to speak clearly or not.”
“You did great,” Desmond said, raising his cup again.
“Well, what about you?” she asked. “Was that real… real tension? Or was that an act?”
“What? My voice?”
“Yeah, you were stammering.”
A quiver of a grin brushed his lips. “It was mostly an act. Some of it wasn’t.” He moved further down the counter to grab a cloth napkin. “Came in handy this time, though.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, watching as Desmond wiped his lips.
She was not used to working with someone. That had meant occasional difficulty for Max Gaines finding work for her. But she had never wanted to trust anyone enough to do a job together.
Desmond had kissed her…
It was part of the act, she told herself. It was like wearing a low-cut dress, or like ghosting an identity. It was part of what you had to do to get the job done.
Still, she couldn’t wipe away the memory of his gentle and powerful touch, the way his hand had pulled her into a kiss that was both strong and soft. Without realizing it, she reached two fingers up to touch her lips, as though grasping for the memory. That new sensation only made the memory harder to recall.
Desmond saw and a blush rose in his cheeks. He turned away to hide it, rinsing out his empty cup in the large sink. “Sela, I… I’m sorry that…” The water ran and splashed down the drain.
She didn’t want to talk about it. It was just part of the job! she thought. “Desmond, it’s… I know that… I understand,” she managed, and yet a few more words tumbled from her lips, “is what I mean.”
She saw him nod, watched him scrub the cup with a sponge. Quick strokes worked up a few soap suds. He rinsed the cup and set it in the dish rack next to the sink to dry.
“Listen, uh…” he turned back to her again. “I know it’s not late, but if you want to stay here tonight, I have a guest bedroom.”
“I was planning on heading home, tonight,” she replied. That was the original plan. She would change and go home, and they would meet again tomorrow to go over any intelligence gleaned at Basil Davenport’s party.
“Yeah,” Desmond nodded. “Well, if you want to shower while you change, there’s a guest shower in there too.”
Sela followed the direction of his nod and saw which doorway it was off from the living room. This apartment didn’t have any hallways except for few feet connecting the coatroom and entrance to the kitchen.
“Yeah, okay. A shower would be nice.”
Sela finished her juice and handed the cup back to Desmond, thanking him for it. “Where’s my stuff?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.
“Oh, I set it your bag on the bed in there, last night.”
“Okay.” Sela walked past the dining table and around one bend of couch. She opened the door to the guest room and touched the pad to turn on the lights, closing the door behind her.
As spare bedrooms go, this was spacious, larger than Sela's living room and bedroom combined. Against one wall was a bookshelf only half as full as the shelf in the living room. There was a broad dresser looked like an antique in wonderful shape. Many layers of covers were thick on the queen-sized bed. Two plush pillows adorned a forest green papasan chair.
Sela approached the duffel bag, dug a smaller pouch out of it, and went into the bathroom. The tile was clean, the sink immaculate, and the tub had jets built into the sides. A one-person whirlpool in a guest bedroom? Sela wondered.
With so much makeup, Sela burned almost fifteen minutes removing the bulk of it. She went back into the bedroom, kicked off the steep high-heel shoes, and struggled to unzip the silk dress. Finally out of it, she draped it across the bedspread.
The hot spray felt amazing, even though she had showered less than five hours earlier. It wasn’t refreshing so much as relaxing. Her muscles were fatigued, and she recognized the sensation. It was the jitters of adrenalin wearing off, the last fringes of panic working their way out of her system.
Sela was used to a standup shower, and felt odd sitting down. But she leaned back and let the tub fill. Desmond had stocked the guest bedroom with salts and oils, not many. It was more than she would have expected from a man, though. She tried a few, and the suds foamed up in the steaming water.
Sela closed her eyes and pressed the pad on the wall to start up the jets. Pressure sprays pushed into her back and against her sides, massaging away all the tension and anxiety. Her breathing slowed and deepened as a thin smile of satisfaction warmed over her face.
Sela never wanted to stand up again. She would let her fingers wrinkle and prune from too much submersion. She would let the tub’s systems keep the water at the right temperature. She would add more salts whenever the suds subsided.
But she was A-OK staying right here for a long time.
Maybe she should stay overnight. It wasn’t like she had chores to do at her place or anything. The guest room was nicer than her own bedroom, and she never felt protected from the Guides in her apartment. No more so than Desmond's would.
The only thing she had wanted to do this evening was try to catch a SovereignCast. With the rapid preparations for the job, she had not had the energy or time to see if Sovereign City was offering any new content.
A cynical thought presented itself; even if she managed to drag herself out of this tub and spend an hour riding the trains and walking to get back to her place, it would be the one day of the week when the Remakers were actually able to keep the SovereignCast signal out.
Besides, she thought, I have to meet with Desmond tomorrow anyhow. She might as well get a good night’s rest.
Knowing Desmond, they would meet Michelle someplace secluded in one of Megora’s nicer restaurants and chat there. No sense in adding all the extra travel back and forth, since Desmond had offered the guest room to her.
Sela stretched under the bubbles and yawned. Fatigue swarmed her, replacing every last vestige of stress.
Stay overnight, she thought.
Chapter 12
Sela might have dozed off. The jets were way too comforting to be sure. A long, drawn-out yawn stretched her face. She pulled against the sides of the tub to sit up.
If she had dozed off, it couldn't have been for very long. The bubbles had not yet been vanquished by the filtration system. Sela reached up against the wall and tapped the control to drain the whirlpool and turn the shower back on so she could rinse off.
She waited until the water level dropped about halfway. Steam rolled out from the warm spray as she rinsed, leaning forward to scrub out whatever chemicals were left from her hairdo.
The air was chilly as she stepped out of the shower. Sela grabbed a towel and wiped the moisture away from her skin. Then she squeezed her hair into the cloth, and tossed the dampened towel over the shower-curtain rail. She wrapped another towel around herself, just under her arms and peered into the mirror.
Through the fog of condensation, she looked tired and plain; authentic. Her image wasn't important for the moment, though. The main thing was how relaxed she felt. Temptation prodded her to crawl under the thick covers of the bed an
d go right to sleep.
That wouldn't be best though, since Sela had to let Desmond know she would belatedly take up his offer. Running her fingers through her hair, she draped the damp strands over one shoulder. She looked around the bathroom and saw that Desmond hadn't provided a hairbrush. Or a dry-hamper for used towels, either.
It's a man's apartment, no matter how nice it is, Sela thought with a smile.
She dug her own hairbrush out of her pouch and brushed the hair over the sink. Droplets of water spattered; not a lot, just some. She would have to brush again in the morning. It was better to get wet tangles out before the hair dries though.
Sela padded back into the bedroom to root through the duffel for clean clothes. She had a pair of nice pants, a decent blouse, a pair of tennis shoes and socks, undergarments and a t-shirt. The undergarments, the pants, and the shirt were enough for now.
Opening the door, she went back into the living room. Desmond was in the kitchen, leaning over pots on the range.
"Hey," Sela called softly over the bar.
Desmond looked at her and smiled, "Hey. Better?"
"Yeah," Sela pushed her right hand through her hair again, enjoying the clean, slick sensation. "Yeah, I'm a little jealous of your bathroom."
Desmond went back to stirring whatever he was making. "I just clean it now and again. My bathroom is even better." He smirked at her and chuckled.
She smiled back. "I'd settle for it."
Sela wandered around to the thin side of the bar. "Uh, if you don't mind, I think maybe I will spend the night here."
"Sure," Desmond replied. "I don't mind a bit. That's why I offered." He tapped the stirring spoon against the pot. "Care for some dinner? I'm making linguine."
"That sounds great!" Sela beamed. They had not eaten before going to Basil Davenport's, out of concern for the rappelling. Desmond had even cautioned that they would have to be very careful how much alcohol they touched, since an empty stomach made drink that much stronger.
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