Zero Sum (25 page)

Dante was more interested in the wine. He’d downed five glasses before I’d even started on my chicken. Then again, the poor guy needed Dionysus’ aid. Dolores Fink was going in for the kill.
 

“And have you played guitar long?” she asked, as Dante tried desperately to build a fortress of potatoes.

“Since I was five, ma’am. My dad hoped I’d take to the banjo, but I kept reaching for the six-string.”

He took another sip of wine.

She batted her lashes.

He swallowed. “Just called out to me, I guess.”

“And one should heed such calls…” Dolores ran one of her long fingernails up his arm. “I’d love a private session.”

Now, Ms. Fink wasn’t an ugly woman. Not by a long shot. She had the look of the classic trophy wife: salon baked hair, lips as full as plums, upgraded front bumpers…but she was also the human equivalent of a Brillo pad, with a nasally voice that could shred granite. But I decided what bugged me the most were her enormous black lashes. They were fluttering about like horseflies in heat.

“I feel like I’m watching
Ta Catch a Predator
,” Jules whispered.

A sip of water shot out of my nose.

Dolores glared at us from across the table. “Is something funny?”
 

“Nope,” Jules said through a way-too-guilty smile. “Choked on a bean is all.” She took a dainty sip of her white wine, flashing her lashes as she did. “Ah, it soothes the pain, doesn’t it, Dante?”
 

Dante swallowed.

I nearly lost it. I’d never seen Jules act like a brat before…it was totally endearing.

Dolores deposited her silverware on her plate. “Ms. Nelson, I’ve been meaning to ask, what drew one of the venerable Dru to our humble continent…did Europe run out of trees?”

Jules looked none too pleased with that one. She deposited her cutlery as well. I decided it was best to defuse this dust up with a bit of light humor…

“Severe cabbage allergy,” I offered.

Jules’ heel found my toe.

“Why, Ms. Fink, I’ve always admired the United States. The natural beauty of this land is unparalleled, as is the industry of her people. As a young girl, I was enchanted by your movies; as a young woman, your many scholars. When Dean Albright contacted me about attending Elliot, I became most excited. A chance to live in America and study at such a fine institution—one would be foolish to let pass such an opportunity, would they not?”
 

I looked at Dante in surprise. Where’d Jules learn to talk all high-society? She’d dropped her accent like a bad habit.
 

“But why not study in Vienna?” Ms. Fink inquired. “The Rudolphina is the prima donna of the art.” I frowned. I had a feeling that not knowing about the Rudolphina was probably like not knowing the difference between a loo and the Louvre.

“Because the Old World is too tangled up in itself. Two thousand years of grudges. You can never seem to get free of them. It’s not like that in America. Here there’s this magnetism, this unique urge to renew. You can feel it on the streets. You can sense it in every classroom.” The royal greens of Jules gown glittered as she spoke. “The economy might be dragging them down, but the people here haven’t even thought of giving up. They try to build new businesses. They go back and get new degrees. A tireless churn of new ideas arrive with every single newspaper. New theories. New debates. New hopes. New dreams.” Jules leaned back and let out a sigh. “If I had stayed in Europe, I would have become what was expected of me…but here…here I get to choose my own path.”

Madam Fremont applauded.
 

“Tish-tosh.” Dolores said with a wave. “That’s all nonsensical fluff. You and I both know that the Continental Model is far superior. And the libraries. They are marvels to behold. Grimoires of every shape and size. Scrolls dating back to the dark ages. And the Lode of Alexandria! Why would anyone abandon such resources?” She looked at Jules with some concern. “Surely your marks were adequate?”
 

Dante dropped his glass.
 

The world ceased its orbit.
 

Stars above. Had Dolores Fink just questioned Jules Nelson’s GPA?
 

Better to burn down Guinness’ headquarters.
 

Better to take away all potatoes.

“Ms. Fink, my marks were sufficient to earn me Elliot’s lone Dean’s Scholarship.” A tiny artery was pulsating on Jules’ temple. The throb-of-doom…I’d witnessed it only once before, when an errant fireball incinerated one of her three-ring binders. Few men had survived the night. You either plugged that sort of monster with chocolate or faced unholy hell.

“I still cannot fathom your interest,” Fink said with a flick of the hair. “Everything in the New World is so…new.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Ms. Fink, I see some old wrinkly things here and there.”

Ms. Fink’s lips went thin and white.

“Goodness,” Madam Fremont said with a flutter of her fan, “I do hope they hurry the dessert.”

“Any chance it’s chocolate cake?” I asked. I gave the waiter next to me a desperate look. “We could all really use some chocolate cake right now.”

“Nelson…” Ms. Fink continued. “I do believe I’ve heard that name before. Doesn’t the Nelson Circle of Old Ennis produce the
Witches Almanac
?”

The other guests’ conversations had quieted long ago, but now the tenor of their attention shifted.
 

At the far end of the table, Ambassador Balcon cleared his throat.

“Young lady, you wouldn’t happen to be related to Molly Nelson?”

“Um…” Jules began. Her fingers were fumbling with the edge of the tablecloth. She’d gone all shy, but I wasn’t about to pass up a way out of this freaking death spiral…

“Hey, Jules, isn’t Molly the name on all your care packages? She’s your grandmother, right?”

To my surprise, instead of blushing, Jules gave me a look of utter despair.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
 

“Goodness!” A woman shouted from across the table. “You can scry!” Tossing decorum to the wind, she kicked back her chair. “Oh, please do mine. We’ve been trying to conceive, you see.” She turned to the nearest waiter. “A bowl. Fetch us a bowl!”

A twisted smile crept across Ms. Fink’s face. “Elise, what a marvelous idea. We should all have our fortunes read.”

The words sent the whole party out of their seats.

“Everyone, please,” Ambassador Balcon said above the growing ruckus. “There should be some order to this. Perhaps we could set up in the card room?”
 

The portly bourbon fiend applauded. “Good show, Balcon. Perhaps we should draw straws?”

My heart sank. Ms. Fink had merely intended to ruin Jules’ evening with a flood of unwanted clientele, but she couldn’t have aimed better. I went to take Jules’ hand, but a knock from the side sent me out of my chair.

“Dieter?” Jules looked left and right. She looked like she was going to freak. “I can’t…”
 

Five men and women jostled for her attention, as an overzealous waiter rushed a water basin to her chair. It had to be a living nightmare for her, like arriving at school naked with the American flag burning in the background (okay, my living nightmare, never mind).
 

I did the only thing I could think of. I picked myself up off the floor, dug into my pocket, and rushed over to the band. The singer was enjoying a smoke break during the chaos. He looked up at me as I ran over.

“Sup, Mr. Elliot?” he asked.

“I assume you guys can do stuff other than elevator music, right?”

He smirked. “Perchance, sonny. Perchance.”

“And you’re mages too?”

“We’re playin’ here, ain’t we?”

I split the wad of cash Albright had given me in half and planted a mound of Benjamins in his palm.

“If you guys can be more interesting than a scrying session, you get the other half.”

“You want us to top a squint spinnin’ a bowl of water?” The man dropped his smoke and snuffed it out with his shoe. “Son, for that much money I can be more interesting than His Holiness fuckin’ a chicken in the Sistine Chapel.”

“Um…great?” That image was kinda hard to shake. “Save the innocent maiden, please.”

“Hold on, sonny. These wheels don’t haul by their lonesome. You’ve gotta give us some traction.”

“Traction?”

The plump drummer leaned forward. “What my man is sayin’ is that the fair lady must be extricated from her current precarious predicament.” He gestured to Jules, who appeared to have commenced hyperventilating. “What do you say, college boy, can you manipulate a petite blonde around a dance floor?”

My mind raced. “I don’t know any of that waltz stuff, but I worked at this place called Newmar’s. They used to have this thing called Swing Night. The strippers, they—”

“Strippers?” all five of them asked at once.

“Never mind the strippers. Can you guys do that—swing dancing, I mean?”
 

The five of them started laughing.

“Did this kid just ask us if we could play swing?”

The drummer gave me an empty-toothed smile.
 

“Son, we invented the damn thing.”
 

I frowned. I wasn’t an idiot. “Listen, I know African Americans developed the style. It’s just I don’t like going around prejudging people. Not all Asians are ninjas. You know what I mean?“

The drummer guy near fell off his stool.

“No, sonny,” the singer explained, “I mean we invented it. Back in 1928. Georgy over there got hammered and started lilting his notes. Folks loved it. Rest is history. Now get that sweet little thing out on the dance floor. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Oh.” Celebrities. Cool. I blanched. “Okay.”
 

My heart pounding, I pushed through the crowd. I tried to remember the steps as I flipped Jules, giant gown and all, over my trusty right shoulder. The crowd was surprised by my gallant maneuver and largely allowed it. Screaming, Jules kicked her feet in a futile attempt to defeat me, but she settled down when I deposited her on the dance floor.
 

Green eyeliner streaking, she shouted, “What now, ya traitor? Are ya feedin’ me ta a dragon?”

“Not quite…” The band kicked out the first six count. “I’ve bargained your sentence down to dancing.”

“Oh.” She looked down at my feet. “Wait…ya know dancin’ and stuff?”

“Well, I’m not nearly as good as the strippers.”

“Strippers! What kind of dancin’—”

“Swing.”

Jules looked pleased. “Ya know, Dieter, we Irish invented—“

“No you didn’t. Those guys did.”

“Oh.”

“We’re gonna do a four beat starter. You go right. I go left. You make the lines. I’ll stay out of your way.”

“That isn’t proper, Dieter.” Jules shook her head. “We really should discuss the handoffs before we—“ The band finally delivered. The sound felt like it was coming from inside me. I could feel the base guitar from my head down to my toes. But that wasn’t all. Each note churned out color. Brilliant violets streamers shot into the air above us. Ribbons of blue swirled across the floor.

“Holy Shit!” I shouted. “This is like Fantasia!”

“I think we’re supposta start dancing now!” Jules yelled back.

Fighting off my surprise, I pushed Jules into the first cycle. She was no slouch. Three times through and she had all the steps down. (No surprise, really. Jules was freaky good at memorizing things.) Getting more confident, I decided to split the time and speed up on the fourth. Our feet met a few times, but then we caught the rhythm. I looked up to see her smiling. Not at the music. Not at the scene. But at me. Only me.
 

I think other people started dancing. I think I caught Dolores curled up around Dante. But I didn’t bother keeping track. I never sensed anyone else with my Sight. I never hear their voices. It was just Jules. Her hands. Her aura. Her smile…Jules and I had been dancing for months now. Night after night, we’d pulled off spell after synchronized spell. Jules and I didn’t have any trouble reading each other’s gestures. We’d come to know how to predict one another’s movements. But tonight, there were no crazy dangers to worry about, no brain crushing mana stream reading to burst across the horizon. To just be responsible for our feet…it was liberating. And the rest of the world was more than happy to move out of our way. I don’t know how many songs had gone by when the band finally shifted to slower numbers. I’d lost track of everything but her motions.

“Ready to run?” she asked, breathless but still amused.

Smiling, the lead singer flipped me the bird and told me to get lost. The change in pace dragged out the old folks. The larger crowd gave us a chance to slip away. Jules gave my hand a tug, and we fled through the flock of penguins. Free of them all, Jules and I scampered up the stairwell. Once we reached the safety of the second landing, we took a breather.

“Jules, you were really good!” The way she could pick up steps was unbelievable.

“Dieter, that wasn’t normal.” Jules swept the matted curls from her forehead. “I didn’t even have ta guess at yer moves…we might make a good pair.”

I smirked. “I don’t do dance competitions, Jules. That was a one time event.”

“That’s not what I…never mind, ya thicko. Thanks for bailin’ me out.” Jules looked down at her shimmering emerald shoes and flushed. “And thanks for makin’ me feel like a princess tonight.”
 

I took off the sweat-soaked jacket and leaned back against the wall. Jules was the best student in her class. She was widely respected around campus. Half a dozen cataphract trainees had her tutoring to thank for their passing marks. Yet it struck me that outside of the classroom, Jules Nelson didn’t think much of herself.

“What do you feel like normally?”

She leaned her head against my shirt. “An old hag.”

I patted her curls. “There, there, Jules. You don’t look that old at all.”

“Ya get a pass on the snark tonight, Sir Galahad.” Pushing off me, she kicked off her heels and scampered up the stairs.

“I don’t want to be Galahad. That dude never got laid.”