by L. S. O'Dea
“Are you mad at me?” Usually, he was all over her—kissing and touching.
“No.” He took another few steps away. “I...This isn’t working.”
“What?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“You should go back to the house.” He glanced around again.
“Are you waiting for someone else?”
“What? No.”
He was lying, but it didn’t matter. Jocko was hers. She’d make him remember how much he loved her. She pulled on her nightgown so it outlined her figure. “We could...you know. I’m here. You’re here.” Mating was what they did—always the first thing they did.
“No. I’m sorry. It’s over.” He took her hand. “But I’ll always care for you.”
“Why?” This didn’t make sense. She loved him. He loved her. He’d said so.
“Ah...I don’t like sneaking around.”
That she could fix. “We don’t have to. We could bond—”
“Conguise won’t let us do that. He doesn’t want any of us mating. Even bonded pairs.” He dropped her hand.
“We could leave. Run away together.” It was perfect. Romantic.
“Don’t say things like that.” He glanced around. “Or even think it. Someone might find out.”
“I don’t care.” She wanted to shake him. “I hate it here. The way we have to live it’s...it’s worse than death.” She grabbed his hand again. “We could be together. That’s all that’s important.”
“No, Fersia. Being a stray is hard and dangerous. We can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“But if we’re in love—”
“Stop it.” His voice was exasperated. “Go back to the house. We’re done. It’s over.”
“You said you loved me.” She fought back her panic.
“And I did.” He took her hand again. “But I don’t anymore.”
“Tell me what I did. I can fix it.” She clung to him.
“Fix what?” He pulled his hand free.
“Whatever you don’t like about me. Whatever made you mad. Made you stop loving me.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Please, Jocko. Give me another chance.” She grabbed his hand again and kissed it. “Give us a chance. You can love me again. I can make you love me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Stop it.” He jerked free from her and stumbled backward. “It won’t work. I just don’t feel like that for you anymore.”
There was a rustle in the bushes and he started walking toward the sound.
“Please don’t do this.” She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. “I might be pregnant.”
He spun around, hurrying to her side. “You can’t be. We used protection.”
“I might be.” She glanced away. She didn’t think she was, but she needed time to make him realize that he loved her, not whoever waited in the brush.
“Are you pregnant or aren’t you?” He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
She shrugged, unable to lie. There was more movement in the bushes. Jocko’s eyes darted in that direction and his lips thinned. She was almost positive that whoever had been there, just left. She fought her grin of triumph.
“You’re lying and even if you’re not, too bad.” He dropped his hand, his eyes flashing with anger.
“You’d leave me pregnant with your offspring?”
“Your dad isn’t around. My dad isn’t around. Why should our offspring be any different? It’s the way things are.”
“But...”
“Grow up Fersia.” He turned and headed for the house.
“Love doesn’t just stop. It doesn’t just go away,” she whispered, but she knew it did. It happened all the time.
CHAPTER 9: Fersia
BY THE NEXT DAY, Fersia was determined to win Jocko back. He’d loved her once. She could make him love her again. She fixed her hair and wore her nicest uniform and it was working. On several occasions she’d caught him watching her. Now, she needed to get him alone.
She had it all planned. As soon as she was done assisting with serving the Almightys their fish course, she’d sneak away. She had time. She wasn’t due back until the meal was over and that would be hours later. Jocko would be free too. He’d been tasked with taking the Almightys’ coats and serving them before dinner. It’d be perfect.
She carried the pot with potatoes and carrots into the dining room. There were twenty Almightys sitting around the table. The soup had just been removed. She followed Rosie, who carried the plate with fish. They made their way around their assigned end of the table, letting the Almightys pick their fish and ladle vegetables onto their plates.
A movement outside the window caught her eye. It was Viola’s House Servant, Stacia. She shouldn’t be outside alone.
“Fersia,” whispered Rosie.
She hurried to catch up with the other Servant, glancing at Barney who stood near the wall. His face was impassive. Either he hadn’t seen her blunder or he was pretending he didn’t.
“Thank you,” said an attractive young, male Almighty as he finished putting some potatoes on his plate.
She had no idea how to respond. No one was supposed to speak to them. She nodded slightly and moved on to the next Almighty.
“Hugh,” chided the lady next to him. “Don’t address them. You’re confusing her.” She picked two potatoes before turning away from the dish.
Fersia moved along the table, as guest after guest filled their plates. Another movement at the window drew her gaze. It was Jocko. He hurried toward the bushes by the side of the house—toward the place she’d seen Stacia. Her mind froze as Jocko wrapped the other Servant in his arms and kissed her. Stacia pulled away but smiled as she lead him into the foliage.
A warm hand captured her elbow under the tray. She jumped, her eyes dropping to the Almighty next to her. He was muscular, almost as bulky as a protection Guard.
His face appeared bored as he took the spoon from the tray with his bandaged hand and whispered, “Calm down before you drop this.” His fingers on her arm moved to steady the shaking tray.
She tried to compose herself but she couldn’t. Jocko didn’t love her. He’d never even notice her again, not now that he was with Stacia. Viola’s Servant was beautiful and smart and she had one of the best positions at the estate.
“Are you okay,” whispered the Almighty, pretending to study the vegetables on her tray, but his blue eyes darted up to hers.
She nodded but she wasn’t. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She couldn’t wipe them. She wasn’t allowed to touch anything except the tray but if they fell into the food...She’d be fired. Taken to the shelter.
The Almighty dropped his napkin on the floor. Her eyes widened. He’d done that on purpose.
“Get me another napkin.” His voice was loud enough for the Almightys next to him to hear but he didn’t shout.
“Sir, let me.” Barney was at her side. He gently took the tray from her. “Fersia, please go and do as this gentleman says. I’ll serve while you retrieve a new napkin.”
She nodded and fled the room.
CHAPTER 10: McBrid
MCBRID SCRAPED THE LAST morsel of fish off his plate. Conguise did have a way with recipes. He wiped his mouth with his new napkin which another Servant had brought to him. The first female had never returned. He wasn’t fond of Servants but Conguise was a harsh master and he hated to see anyone get into trouble for something as trivial as being upset at a dinner party.
“Of course, I think it’s important to keep track of our Guards and House Servants but I don’t think the current tracking device is the answer,” said Hugh Truent.
There’d been numerous discussions about the recent troubles with stray Servants and Guards. By law, if someone from another class harmed an Almighty they were immediately executed, but there was a growing unrest in the lower classes that no one wanted to acknowledge.
“All Guards and Servants found outside without papers should be turned over to the
shelters,” said Conguise.
McBrid took a sip of his wine. That would only make things worse, but it must be nice to live in such a black and white world.
For the professor, life was simple. Break the rules and pay the price. Except when it came to him because what Conguise had them doing on Level Five broke numerous laws. Experimentation like they were performing had been outlawed decades ago.
“It’s not as clear cut as that,” said Hugh.
McBrid leaned back. This was new. The last time he’d seen Hugh the man had idolized Conguise. It seemed those days were over. It’d happened faster than he’d expected, but Hugh wasn’t an average young man. Apparently, he was an actual genius but if he wanted to advance here, he’d have to learn to tether his opinion.
“You’re making the simple complicated.” Conguise’s lips twitched in amusement. “It’s a curse of the young.”
Hugh stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth, probably to keep it shut.
“He has a point, Dad.” Viola’s eyes darted to Hugh and then to her father.
McBrid took another sip of his drink. This was getting interesting. He’d never imagined Conguise’s daughter would take anyone’s side over her father’s and by the look on the professor’s face, neither had he.
“Sometimes the Guards and Servants have a good reason to be out without papers,” she continued.
“Such as.” Conguise wasn’t going to back down, even for his daughter.
“What if there was an emergency? Or they’d been attacked and lost their papers.”
“Attacked by whom?” Conguise smiled. “Our streets are safe and they need to stay that way”—he waved for the Servant waiting nearby to refill their wine glasses—“which is why undocumented Servants and Guards cannot roam the streets.”
McBrid nodded his thanks to the Servant who filled his glass. The elderly male ignored him as he’d expected but it didn’t matter. He’d been raised to treat everyone with respect, no matter their class.
“Absolutely right,” said Scottsmoor. “I don’t want my mother or grandmother attacked in the streets and that’s what’ll happen if we allow strays or the lower classes to roam about unaccompanied.”
Scottsmoor was a kiss-ass and not a very intelligent one. If the man truly wanted to worm his way into Conguise’s business he should be going after Viola but by the look on her face, his last comment had eliminated any chance he had on that front. Hugh on the other hand was making huge inroads with the professor’s daughter. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the man.
Perhaps, he should attempt to capture her attention. Most females found him attractive. He was an Almighty but different enough to titillate their imagination. Marrying Viola would solidify his position at the lab, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Congusie as a father-in-law. He smirked behind his glass. Although, tainting Conguise’s bloodline would be amusing.
“Scottsmoor is right. We must protect our way of life, but the threat won’t only come from within. We must prepare for the future,” said Conguise.
McBrid almost groaned. The professor was on his favorite topic – preparing for the inevitable war from across the sea.
“And we are,” said Hugh. “By finding ways to deal with the problems in our society, not wasting time and energy on something that isn’t...may never happen.”
McBrid took another sip of his wine. He liked Hugh even more.
“It will happen and if we wait, it’ll be too late,” said Conguise.
“We have weapons. We should allow our armies to practice with the guns again. The General warned about letting the soldiers go lax in this skill,” said Hugh.
The General. That was an interesting thing for Hugh to call his own father. Apparently, even wealthy Almightys had daddy issues.
“The weapons will do us no good in this war.” Conguise leaned forward, his long fingers tight around his wine glass – almost tight enough to snap the stem.
Hugh would never get that promotion to Level Five by traveling this route. Lucky bastard.
“They’re kept in proper working order though, right Dad?” Viola glanced from Hugh to her father, trying to placate them both. “In case they’re needed.”
“Yes.” Conguise’s face softened as his eyes landed on her. “There are Servants assigned to keep them oiled and functional and to ensure the ammunition is still good.”
“That’s little help if no one knows how to shoot,” mumbled Hugh.
“Those who will come will be eons ahead of us in weapons. Weapons were always their way.” Conguise’s voice was dropping and that was a warning. The man was most dangerous when composed. “And ours was science. That’s how we’ll beat them. That’s how we’ll protect our way of life.”
“Excuse me.” McBrid stood. He was in no mood to listen to this again.
Conguise nodded at him, still talking about the war that will end their world. McBrid couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
He strode down the hallway toward the bathroom, but since he didn’t have to go he turned and headed to the library. He could spend a quiet few minutes with a nice brandy before returning to the dining room. He’d had a hard enough time keeping his mouth shut about the lower classes, he didn’t think he was strong enough not to show some derision at the tales of their old history and its prophesies. Before retirement, his Uncle Robert had been one of those whose job it’d been to scour the ancient texts written during the Great Death.
Uncle Rob’s official task had been to see if there was anything useful in the old journals and books, but he’d learned early on that the real job was to lie and emphasize the stories of an inevitable attack. His uncle hadn’t agreed, but the scare of the coming war was the only thing keeping him and the others employed, so he’d continued the lies.
According to Uncle Rob, those stories were more legend than truth. If anyone on the other land had survived the Great Death, they would’ve come here by now. As it was, only their island had survived. The rest of the ancient world was dead.
CHAPTER 11: McBrid
MCBRID SLIPPED INTO THE library, went directly to the bar and poured a brandy. He took a long drink and sighed. Much better than wine. He topped off his glass and began to meander along looking at the books. He had a few minutes before he needed to return. He grabbed a book of poetry. His mother had loved poetry. She’d been a romantic until the end.
He walked to the couch and sat. Part of him wished she hadn’t wasted her life pining after his father while the other respected her dedication and determination to thwart his grandfather—the man who’d murdered his father. He opened the book. A small sob and then a sniffle drifted toward him from near the window. There was another sob. Whoever was crying was female and in this room. He should leave her to her sorrow, but he was in no mood to go back and listen to those ambitious idiots. He put down the book and walked toward the noise.
“Are you okay?” He leaned against the corner of the bookshelf. It was the Servant from earlier. The one who’d almost spilled potatoes and carrots all over him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She was sitting in the corner, knees up to her chin. She looked small and helpless. “I should go.” She stood.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded, her large green eyes pooling with tears.
“What happened?” If someone had accosted her, they’d answer to him. Almightys believed they could touch and do whatever they wanted to the other classes and although it was legal, it was intolerable.
“Nothing.” She glanced at the door.
“Come, have a seat.” He took her arm and led her toward the couch.
“No. Please, sir.” She pulled away from him.
He dropped his hold. She thought he was one of those Almightys. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He motioned at the couch. “You. Please sit and I’ll”—he moved over to the bar and leaned against it—“stay right here.” He smiled at her. “I’m a good listener.”
“It’s nothing,
sir. I should go back to work before I’m missed.”
“Is it that male you like? Did he do something to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked away, obviously not a very good liar.
“I saw him outside the window when you...got upset in the dining room.”
“Did everyone see him?”
“I doubt it. I only noticed because you almost spilled potatoes on my lap.” He smiled to take the censure from his words.
“I’m sorry about that.” Her cheeks heated.
“I know.” He finished his brandy and poured another. “Is he your mate?” If he were, he’d moved on to another which was typical of male Servants.
She shook her head and a few more tears slipped from her eyes.
“Do you want him to be?” This could work perfectly. Young love may not last but it was strong. His search of the shelters for House Servants in love had so far produced nothing. Conguise was growing impatient and that was never good.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s with Stacia now.” She sniffed. “She has privileges that I don’t.”
“Stacia?” He only asked to be polite. He didn’t need the male to love her, just for her to love the male.
“Viola’s personal Servant.”
“Ah. I see. The young male...”
“Jocko,” she supplied.
“I’m guessing he’s ambitious. Hopes to use his looks and charm to garner a promotion.”
“Yes, but he said he loved me”—she tapped her chest—“and I know he could again but Stacia is flirting and filling his head with lies. He’ll never get promoted. Barney hates him and Barney rules the Servants not Viola.”
“Do you still love him, even though he’s been unfaithful?” He sipped his drink. That was the important question. He needed her love to be strong because it was going to have to withstand a lot of changes.
She nodded. “I shouldn’t but I do. I can’t help it.”
“What if I told you I could help?” He poured himself another brandy.