False Hearts (28 page)

Shiny, silvery bait.

He leads me out of the white room into another across the hall. Here, everything is comfortingly modern. The room is warm, decorated in oranges and browns. I perch on a chair, crossing my legs and folding my arms. It’s a defensive body posture, but I can’t help but try to barricade myself against him.

I have two options: I can plead illness and hope he lets me leave and go home. Or I can be Tila.

She’s done this. She’s trapped him with all her grace and sex appeal. She’s someone who stops at nothing to get what she wants. I could do the same and ride this out and see what happens.

As soon as I make the decision that this is what I’m going to do, I relax.

I slouch back, leaning on an elbow. The man sitting across from me is more powerful than the mayor of San Francisco, and maybe even the president of Pacifica.

Out of the corner of my eye I think I spy a spot of blood on my silver jumpsuit, but it’s just a play of the light from the false fireplace. I blink, willing the memory of the bloodbath, the bodies, away, but the smell of my own vomit still lingers.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
I really wouldn’t mind some mouthwash.

“So, now that I’ve passed your Test, what happens next?” I ask, my voice teasing. I can’t be scared. Tila never seemed scared, no matter how difficult things were. She seemed so calm when we ran away from the Hearth. Her strength was what got us out of there. Without her I wouldn’t have made it. Now it’s my turn to rescue her.

Ensi pours two glasses of what looks like whiskey and passes it to me. I drink it, more to get rid of the lingering taste of vomit in my mouth than anything else. Of course, it’s not Synth. I don’t know enough about whiskey to guess at the type, but I’m sure it’s one of the most expensive to be found in San Francisco.

I’m trying my hardest to be Tila. But I’m on such thin ice. I have no idea how well they know each other. If he references anything specific, a past conversation or event, I’m doomed. I’m so very aware that the likelihood of me exposing myself as a fraud rises the longer we speak.

So. I’m going to have to get him to stop talking. The best way to get him to stop talking is probably to sleep with him. I look at him under lowered lashes. Physically, he doesn’t repulse me, quite the opposite. From growing up in the Hearth, I’ve always thought of sex as a conversation or a connection. In this case, it’s a tool I can use, and I’m fully aware of that. I can’t say that sleeping with the head of the Ratel was how I expected this evening to end.

Goddammit, Tila.

“Now, you’re in,” Ensi says. “You help me, I help you, and all of San Francisco is at your fingertips.”

I force myself to smile, as if that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Really, I’d rather grab a nearby candlestick, bash him over the head and run away. Evidently I’m capable of it. I flinch at the violent urge. Did the Verve or the Test change me? I finish the drink and set the glass on the little table by the sofa.

“You caught my eye when we first met,” he says, standing and drifting closer to one of the paintings on the wall. I join him, my mind still spinning. Where did they meet? When? “You put yourself to any task I asked of you with a single-mindedness few possess. You’ve proved yourself at the Verve lounge, these last few weeks. I have no doubt you’ll be an asset to us.”

He has a way of speaking that seems familiar. Didactic—that’s what it is. Expansive, confident, the way Mana-ma would deliver a sermon. His voice draws me in close. I try to resist his spell. I wonder if there are still remnants of the drug in my system, or if he exudes some sort of pheromone that I can’t resist, either manufactured or natural, that makes me want to open to him like a flower. I close my eyes and call on Mana-ma’s training, imagining a bright light cleansing my whole body. When I open my eyes, I feel in control of myself, cold and calculating.

“When do we start?” I ask.

“Soon enough. Tonight, though, is a celebration. Don’t worry about business for now.” He moves closer, holds out his hand. “Shall we dance?”

I take his hand, warm and soft. No manual labor for him. “Shouldn’t we go downstairs, where the music is?”

With a flick of his eyes, the same music that plays downstairs flows through unseen speakers. “Much as I’d like to, I can’t go down to join in. Not just yet.” He smiles to himself, as if he’s told an amusing joke. I shiver.

His hand moves around my waist, slipping on the silver fabric. It reminds me of when I danced with Nazarin, and I flinch from that memory. I put my arms up around his neck. He’s six inches taller than me, even with my heels. We move in time to the music.

“Ah, little Tila,” he says. “What a relief. After that Test I know all about you.”

His words are ominous rather than reassuring. I look into his eyes as he dances. I can’t see any sign that he doesn’t think I’m Tila, but I’m still nervous. We’re similar, my sister and I, but our personalities are not identical. I’m also sure the Ratel have looked up Tila’s file and know she has a twin, and I have to hope they know the twin is meant to have a different face.

We dance to the music, soft and steady. It’s almost hypnotic. Ensi knows just where to put his feet, just how to move. Before long, he bends his head down to kiss me, and I open my mouth to his. His mouth is warm and sweet, tasting of spices and whiskey. He’s surprisingly gentle for the crime lord of the city, yet firm. He wants me. And he expects to get me.

It occurs to me again that I still have time to change my mind. Draw away and shake my head and smile, reach for some whiskey. I could say I was unwell or on my period. I don’t. I’m choosing to kiss him.

There are several things that keep me kissing him. One: sex is a way to get to understand him better, to see him in a state of vulnerability. Two: these are his personal chambers, or one set of them. I’m pretty sure Alex Kynon is actually one of his (several) aliases. There could be something in here I need. There are wallscreens. I’ve brainloaded a lot of information on hacking during the last few days. If he trusts me, it will make it all the easier for me to get what I need from him. Three: he’s a good kisser and I’m surprisingly into it. Four: it’s what Tila would do.

It’s risky, though. For all I’m close with my sister, we’re not close enough that I know exactly how she has sex. I have to hope we’re similar enough. Another thought of Nazarin and Tila together. Such strange, inverted parallels.
Stop. Nothing happened. Let that go. Focus on the here and now.

His arms move lower, and I can feel the strength in his fingertips. Perhaps I enjoy the danger. Perhaps I’m more like Tila than I thought.

He picks me up, presses me against him. His hair tickles my face. I wrap my arms and legs around him and he carries me to the sofa.

The music trails away, forgotten. He pushes me into the soft velvet. I kiss him fiercely. His fingers run through my short, blue hair. I dance my fingers along the skin of his neck, unbuttoning his shirt. He helps me, shrugging off his coat and pulling his shirt over his head. He has a swimmer’s body, with hardly any fat to speak of, his abs a rippled six-pack. I touch his skin, and he shivers.

A little notebook peeks out of his jacket, and attached to it, I see a small datapod. I half-lid my eyes as I study it. I want it. It’s important enough he keeps it on him at all times in the inside pocket of his jacket, where no one can get it.

He soon distracts me, at least somewhat, from the thought of the little paper book. His lips move from mine, down to my neck. I arch against him, my nerves on fire. The adrenaline of the recent Test is still pumping through my body. I pull him against me, nipping his neck with my teeth.

Those long, nimble fingers work at the zipper at the hollow of my neck. Within moments, I’m exposed to him from neck to navel. He traces the scar down my sternum with his fingertip. It reminds me uncomfortably of Nazarin.

His fingertip moves from the scar to circle my left breast, teasing the nipple until it stands upright. He bends his head and I stare up at the ceiling, gasping slightly.

Bang.

We both start. His head jerks up, and I squirm to a sitting position.

The sound came from downstairs. It sounded like a gunshot. People scream.

“Was that—?” I start, but then my question is answered by an outpouring of screams, more gunshots, and the stampede of fleeing footfalls.

He jumps away, reaching into a cabinet under the alcohol bar and drawing out a weapon and a bulletproof Kalar jumpsuit. I have a feeling they are hidden in every room. What that means cuts through the fear for a moment: this is a man who always expects an attack.

Ensi wriggles from the remainder of his clothes, his lithe body catching the light before he covers it with the black fabric. He hefts the gun, not quite pointing it at me.

“Were you the distraction?” he asks me. There’s a tightness to his voice. Is he hurt by the possibility? How close are he and my sister? “Do you know who’s down there?”

“No.” I don’t have to feign surprise.

A long pause.

“No,” I repeat, meeting his eyes, willing him to believe it. “I have no idea what’s going on. But I’m scared shitless.” I’m shivering, folding in, covering my naked torso with my arms.

The tension bleeds from his shoulders. “Stay here.” He starts to leave, then turns back, grabs another gun and tosses it to me.

I catch it, holding the gun like it’s a snake that will bite me. I’ve had training through brainloads, and done a gun simulation, but I’ve not touched a real one. I wonder whether Tila is experienced with guns. Two weeks ago I would have sworn to anyone that she’d never even touched one. Not now.

Ensi gives me a last look and shakes his head before he pulls the bulletproof hood up, until every part of him is protected and obscured by the Kalar.

I want to ask what’s going on, but he’s already gone.

I stay there for roughly half a minute, listening to screams and gunshots, before I realize that standing there and doing nothing is not an option. I go to the cabinet, my body confused by the whiplash of fear, arousal, and fear again.

There are another few bulletproof jumpsuits hidden in the cupboard, so I shimmy out of my silver outfit and trade it for a black Kalar, pulling it up over my face. I can see through it just fine, and I feel safer.

Like earlier when I went down the corridor to the Test, I have the sensation that I’m just a floating head attached to my body. That this is not me or my life that I’m living, but someone else’s. Not Tila—more like, this is all a dream or a movie, and I’ll wake up, or the credits will roll.

But they won’t. This is me. I’m dressed in a Kalar suit. I’ve just kissed the leader of the Ratel. I’ve committed criminal acts, thinking they were real. It was all me. But I’m also not the same girl that set out curry on the table, waiting for her sister to come home from work so she could tell her about that exciting job in China. I don’t know who I am anymore.

And I have no time to figure that out.

I grab my gun and turn it over, trying to figure out how it works. I press the button and it turns on, humming slightly. It’s not a laser and has actual bullets, but it’s more complicated than the hunting guns we had at Mana’s Hearth.

I want to test a shot but the room is too pretty to destroy. I have to hope my virtual training is enough.

Before I leave the room, I remember Ensi’s jacket. I duck down and take out the notebook. The Kalar suit will hide my fingerprints. I unzip the suit enough to free my face. Will scanning work? I turn on my ocular implants. As long as I don’t try to upload it yet, I can scan the notebook. I turn each page, running my eyes along the text. Each shot downstairs makes me flinch. I want to help, but I have to finish this, first.

The notebook is his personal schedule and diary. It’s all in a code of scribbled acronyms, and I can only hope I can find a way to decipher it. When I finish, I pick up the datapod dangling from the bookmark. I set it to my ear, but, of course, it’s locked, and I don’t have time to even attempt to break the encryption. I set everything back in his pocket and arrange his jacket just as I found it.

I leave the room, peeking out into the darkened hallway. All the sounds of the melee are from the ground floor, the ballroom. I grit my teeth against the screams of pain and fear.

My mind spins. Who can it be? Is it the police? Is this why Nazarin snuck off?
Was
I actually the distraction against Ensi? I swear, if that man has lied to me yet again, I’ll harness my new penchant for violence and use this gun to shoot him in the leg. Or between the legs. I’ll decide when the time comes.

If he’s not responsible for this, then that means Nazarin is in just as much danger as I am. More, if he’s still down there in the ballroom.

I reach the top of the staircase. Bits of the banister are riddled with bullets. I peek over the edge. The guests are rounded up in one corner. The grand, green chandelier has been shot down, leaves and emeralds strewn along the floor. There are a few casualties scattered on the floor, sprawled out with legs akimbo, red mixing with the green. I swallow hard, memories of the vision of Ensi’s Test fresh in my mind. Of seeing Mia killed in the hologram. The death in Mia’s dream world. The crime scene in Zenith. Death and blood is following my every move.

Focus, Taema. Focus or death will catch you, too.

A bullet whizzes by my ear and I duck down. At least the other side doesn’t have lasers, or we wouldn’t stand a chance. I look over the banister again, taking the safety off the gun. There are about twenty people in dark blue Kalar suits, holding weapons. Enough to overwhelm the guards, though dismantling the security must have been a bitch. I see security people and droids scattered on the floor, the droids spilling wires, the people spilling blood. I try reaching out through my implants to contact the police, but that signal’s still blocked. We have two members of our team just outside. Did they hear the shots? If so, is there anything they can actually do?

A suited figure fires another warning shot to gain people’s attention. He has a rapt audience.