City of Shattered Light, page 20
Riven muttered under her breath and slipped into one of the changing pods.
Asa was still gawking at the stylist collection in the atrium, with dozens of sliding and rotating racks commanded by Bria’s datapad. The racks held a rainbow of colorful cloth—pleated, strappy, glowing, shimmery. The mirrored walls shattered the wardrobes into an infinite kaleidoscope.
“All right, heiress,” Bria said. “You’re next. Step over here for measurements.”
“What do you have in mind?” Asa held out her arms as the machine’s scanner flickered over her body’s contours. The room smelled like an expensive brothel, all musky perfume and hairspray. A place that transformed people into dolls for display. The barely there outfits on the mannequins made her worry exactly where this mission was taking them.
And what they’d have to do to steal those codes.
“If all goes smoothly, you’ll be able to take what you need without firing a gun.” Bria’s voice was husky. “You’ll be entering Olympus nightclub. The plan is threefold—a data terminal, stealing a key, and collecting the data from the Federation’s suite in the observatory deck.” They studied Asa’s face, then swiped through a row of colorful leotards on their datapad. “So the five of you need to wear something functional, but modern. Something suited for a trip to Olympus during a Darkday.”
“A nightclub?” Asa blurted.
“It’s one of the main bases of Rio Oscuro—the syndicate best known for its smuggling operations. Diego gave us the details. Seems their matriarch’s gone traitor.” Bria gave a razor-sharp grin.
Samir slid his hands into his pockets, appraising the racks. “As long as tonight’s plan involves you fitting me for one of those regency jackets, I’ll do whatever you say.”
Bria tapped the screen, and the racks shifted. A round rack lowered from the top of the stack, turning until a group of leotards sat in front of Bria. They grabbed a slashed red leotard with a tight collar and handed it to Asa, along with a pair of studded black shorts. “There. Try that.”
Asa grimaced at the slits slashing over the leotard. “Is this all I’d be wearing?” It looked like her tech-demo ball gown had gotten stuck in a turbine and only the top had survived.
Maybe that was the point.
Bria flicked a finger toward the changing pods, eyes fixed on their datapad. Asa blushed and stepped into a pod. When she tried it on, the leotard hugged her like a glove full of holes, revealing skin through the glitter-edged slits on the sides. The shorts didn’t add much coverage. Kaya might wear something like this in public, but Asa certainly wouldn’t.
“Excuse me.” Asa stepped out, tugging at the leotard. “It might be better if I had something with more coverage. If I’m going to be digging into any engines—”
“You’ll be fine,” Bria said. “We’ll get you matching heatproof gloves. Otherwise . . . the outfit fits you perfectly.”
“Seconded,” Ty said as he entered one of the changing pods. He gave her a secret grin, and she instinctively fidgeted with her gloves.
Riven emerged from her pod and scowled into the trifold mirror. A tight pink crop vest exposed the bottoms of her full breasts. “Absolutely not.”
Asa watched Riven attempt to pull the tiny shirt down. Why was Riven complaining? She looked good. Only when Riven shot her a confused look did Asa realize she was staring. She turned away, her entire face burning.
“I’m with Riven.” Ty emerged from the pod and tugged at his shirt—if it could be called that. It was a tangle of silver belts crisscrossing his chest. “Isn’t the goal to attract less attention?”
Bria smirked. “Depends on how you plan to get those codes.”
“I’ll just wear what I showed up in.” Riven crossed her arms over her chest. “Slug slime or no.”
“I think you’re all forgetting how little say you have in the matter. You’ve been given a very merciful bargain from Duchess Reyala tonight. You have a good chance of emerging from this mission alive.”
“She’s not using me for my tits,” Riven snapped. “I can’t focus if I’m thinking about them slipping out.”
Asa didn’t think she’d be able to focus either. She pushed the image of Riven out of her head, forcing her gaze toward a well-dressed mannequin. If she couldn’t bring herself to confront Riven, she couldn’t allow herself to daydream about her.
“Fine,” Bria huffed, scrolling through their datapad. “As for what you’ll be doing . . . Olympus has three tiers—the main dance floor, the GravSpheres, and the observatory deck. You’ll need to get through a few layers of security before you can steal the quarantine codes from the Federation suite on the observatory deck.”
“The GravSpheres?” Ty said as Bria handed him a pressed black vest and a slim masquerade mask. “Don’t they host gladiatorial death matches with Corte wildlife there?”
“After a certain time, yes. Before then, the layers are dance floors.”
Asa didn’t like the sound of that. She hoped the plan kept them far away from the gladiatorial shells.
“Can I take my guns?” Riven said. She’d taken them into Gnosis with no problem, terrifying as that was. Nobody on Corte carried guns, and it was safer that way.
“Olympus security usually allows handguns,” a familiar voice said. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”
Diego approached behind Bria. He’d been outfitted already—his tight curls were sculpted into a fade, and he wore a high-collared, moss-green long overcoat with tarnished buckles.
“Ah. There’s the one who’s going to keep you all in line.” Bria gave Diego a sidelong glance.
“Have to perform my solemn duty of keeping Samir from shooting himself in the foot.”
“What’s the matter?” Samir flashed Diego an incredulous grin. “Dee, are you worried about me?”
Diego suppressed a smile. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.” Samir pulled a night-blue jacket with silver epaulettes off a rack. “New goal is to see how many heart attacks I can give you tonight.”
“Have you briefed them?” Diego said to Bria.
“I will as soon as they stop complaining about their outfits.”
“Done complaining!” Ty burst from one of the pods, wearing a sleeveless black vest and a wire-frame mask forming a pattern across his cheekbones.
Bria grinned. “That’s better.”
Riven and Samir were fitted minutes later—Riven in a buckle-front bodice the color of the streaks in her hair, and a pair of carbon-plated electromagnetic boots with straps crisscrossing up her pants like garters. Samir wore similar boots and a sport jacket with epaulettes, and Bria painted lines of silver onto his cheek to mimic the cybernetic tattoos Asa had seen in the Crush.
“Now you look like a proper Almeida heiress.” Bria touched up the black wings on Asa’s eyeliner. They brushed and tousled Asa’s chin-length hair until it shone, glossy and blue-black, in feathery layers.
Asa’s reflection in the neon-framed mirror made her breath catch—red sweeps of eyeshadow, a small heart-shaped rhinestone under each eye. Her lips were plump and crimson, shining like speeder varnish.
Behind her, Riven snorted. “Didn’t realize sex hair was the hallmark of a proper Almeida heiress.”
Asa’s mouth fell open, and she shot a glance over her shoulder. Riven leaned against a makeup cabinet, smirking. At least she didn’t look as angry. Bria had scrubbed Riven’s smudged eyeliner away, applying a clean black line to one eye and covering the other half of her face in a skull pattern of purple-and-black rhinestones. Riven had complained, noting the similarity to Deathknell, but Bria once again reminded her she didn’t have a choice.
“One last touch.” Bria placed a mask across Asa’s cheekbones—delicate as copper wire, forming sweeping crimson lines that dipped beneath the rhinestones. The shimmer of the wires suggested it was a scrambler, designed to disrupt facial recognition tech. It didn’t look terrible on her either.
“If our heiress is finished dolling up, are we ready?” Riven said.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Diego said. He and Bria led them to a meeting room off the atrium, with an arched ceiling lined in gold. On the table lay Verdugo and Blackjack, and Asa’s EMP-fried wristlet. “Duchess Reyala said you could have these back.”
Riven’s eyes widened and she snatched the revolvers, eyeing the metal for scratches. When Asa tapped her wristlet, the screen turned on. Thank the stars for its hardened backup system.
Bria settled into one of the high-backed chairs, and they all followed suit. Bria looked dressed for a business meeting, and the rest of them . . . didn’t. Asa felt ridiculous in the red nylon, even if it might help her blend in.
Bria tapped the buttons on the edge of the table, and the entire surface lit up as a map of Olympus. They shoved a vapor-stick between their teeth.
“Let’s discuss the plan. And listen well, because if you fail . . .” Bria exhaled a cloud of vapor through their bloodred lips. “I’m sure you know Duchess Reyala will be very unhappy.”
chapter 20
OLYMPUS
True to its name, Olympus was a temple.
Massive columns and neon lights rose from the city block, and stainless-steel gods guarded its entrance. Etri gods, anyway—lithe and covered in ridges of bone, they looked like nightclub interpretations of archaeological inscriptions.
Asa leaned closer to the dark-tinted window of the cruiser. Driving on the ground instead of the skyway, Requiem looked even bigger—tilted layers of storefronts and pedestrian tubes, with signs advertising noodle bars and clothing shops and smoking dens, the smog blurring the lights into a muggy rainbow.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Leaving Kaya at the Duchess’s palace had left a hard pit in her stomach. It felt like a hostage situation. If Asa didn’t play her part, it was all over.
As soon as the cruiser rolled to a stop, Samir’s seatbelt clicked open, and Riven’s hand was on the door handle. “Let’s break some skulls.”
“If they don’t break ours first,” Asa said.
“You know the adage about how bad things always happen to good people?” Riven opened the door, unleashing a flood of jarring bass. The gemstone skull on her face glimmered under the galaxy of colored lights. “I figure we’re safe.”
It sent a chill through Asa. Right now, she was part of one of the galaxy’s biggest crime syndicates—a thief, a runaway, a liar. She was a nobody.
And she fit right in.
Riven strode toward the pillared entranceway and pulsing rhythm, her titanium-blonde braid swaying. Asa took a deep breath and followed, squaring her shoulders and lengthening her stride. The night air chilled her slits of bare skin, and she realized she was wearing less than she’d ever worn in public.
At the door, security guards pulled some patrons aside—checking bags, scanning faces. One guard leered at Riven until she flashed her revolvers at him. Asa didn’t meet any of their eyes, but then a heavy hand clasped her shoulder, and a guard’s silvery helmet tilted into her face. She froze up, but Samir returned the glare and put a hand on Asa’s back, ushering her into the roar and lights.
She’d thought being onstage had prepared her for Olympus, but she’d been wrong.
Olympus was as breathtaking as the edge of space. The main chamber was built like a colosseum, its arches containing scantily clad dancers painted and scaled to look like Etri. The gargantuan brushed-steel torso of an Etri deity held court at the edge of the dance floor, his outstretched claws carrying clubgoers between the four floors of the colosseum. The dancers gyrated and spun in the sea of swelling synths, illuminated by wavering lights.
“Whoa,” Asa gasped, but the word was drowned by the blaring bass and roaring crowds.
Riven beckoned over her shoulder. “Stick with us,” she shouted over the music. “Can’t lose you in here.”
Mistrust still hung between her and Asa. Their fragile alliance hinged on the trackers in their necks. With a pang of longing, she remembered Riven in the Gnosis elevator, laughing with her, trusting her. The mischievous fire in Riven’s eyes when they’d teamed up, before Riven knew the truth.
Riven would probably never want her again. Even if they were stuck working together for now.
They skirted the main dance floor and headed to the upper loft, where partygoers lined up for bars, döner kebab stands, and body-mod shops. Diego grabbed a table behind a fountain.
“I’ll camp out here for a while.” Diego zipped his jacket collar so it covered his mouth. His voice came through their earpieces. “Everyone know what they’re doing?”
“Security terminal. Right,” Asa said. “But we have to find it first.”
Diego nodded. “Tail some guards if you have to. But stay inconspicuous.”
Asa nodded. “Let’s go.” She took a deep breath and descended to the main dance floor, Ty trailing behind her. When she glanced over her shoulder, he gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes bright under the scrolling lights. Asa was glad to have him near. The hard contours of his arms were a good distraction from Riven, and he was the closest thing to a friend she had right now.
With every step into the thickening crowds, the weight of her self-consciousness lifted. The crowds were a jungle of stainless-steel cybernetics and barely-there cloth. A man with a forked tongue and pointed cybernetic ears hissed at Asa, and she recoiled, sinking further into the crowd. When she found Ty again, three tall women in rhinestone-studded makeup had him surrounded and were drunkenly asking about his mask.
Did Ty need her to save him? One woman laughed, setting a hand on Ty’s shoulder. He looked uncomfortable.
Just past them, at the edge of the crowd, a security officer tromped by, a pistol holstered at his hip. As good a target as any.
“Ty,” Asa blurted, grabbing his hand. “Dance with me.”
His eyes went wide under the mask, but he happily slid his hands onto her waist, his fingers brushing the slits of bare skin. “How long have you been waiting to ask me that?”
“Olympus guards,” she practically shouted into his ear over the blaring music. “Behind you.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.
Asa watched the guard over Ty’s shoulder, who stopped to talk to another guard at the base of the loft stairs. “Two of them. Chatting.”
“Bet you one of them will be on break soon.” The soft breeze of Ty’s breath on her ear made the base of her spine tingle. “Could do worse than to dance while we wait.”
The song changed to a smooth, sultry throb, and a giant pulse-line panel behind Ty fluctuated with the rhythm like a heart monitor. Something electric fizzed in Asa’s chest. This wasn’t part of the mission, but it was the least risky thing she could mess up tonight.
Asa set her hands on Ty’s shoulders and let her hips sway, hitting the beats. His grip tightened slightly on her waist. For the first time since the emergency landing, she felt like she fit in with the stifling, dangerous crowds. She exhaled her fear and breathed in Requiem—the press of bodies, the crashing waves of the music, the heady vapors, the rush of lurking danger, and the wood-spice scent of Ty, dizzyingly close.
The city resonated with a hidden part of her soul, a stronger skin she’d never been stripped down to until now. She pulled Ty closer. What if she could choose a home for herself? A place where she was wanted on her own terms? Even if she saved Kaya, she could never go back to Cortellion—and that feral, rougher part of Asa whispered to let this city devour her, to be pulled apart and re-formed as one of them.
Her lips were dangerously close to Ty’s when he took her hand and pulled her through the crowds. “They’re moving.”
Asa glimpsed the guards weaving at the edge of the crowd. She huffed to herself. Why did they have to be moving now?
People cooed with excitement as a bartender-android sauntered by, carrying a bottle of booze spurting red sparks. Ty and Asa reached the edge of the crowd as the guard entered a side corridor. As they followed, the guard stopped at a security room, keying a code on the number pad.
Right. She had a job to do.
“Simple,” Asa breathed. She pulled out a tiny wrench and her pen-laser. Disabling a keypad lock would be cake.
As the guard opened the door, Asa glimpsed the room—barely large enough for a desk, containing another bored-looking guard in front of the camera feeds. The guards swapped, and the second ambled into the hall, directly toward Asa and Ty.
“Asa.” The next thing she knew, a pair of hands jerked her away, pressing her back against the wall.
Ty stood over her, his masked face only inches from hers. He leaned on his hand, planted on the wall above her shoulder. “Guard’s coming,” he whispered, tracing the line of her jaw with his free hand.
Asa’s head swam. “We have to hide.” What was Ty doing? This wasn’t the time.
“Relax,” Ty whispered. “We’re back here for . . . other reasons.” He leaned closer. Close enough to kiss. “May I?”
Asa wasn’t quite sure what Ty was asking, but she nodded. Ty threaded a hand in her hair, tilted her head, and pressed his lips to her neck.
That was a surprise.
He kept going—soft at first, then fiercer, more intense. Asa gasped without meaning to. Slowly, it clicked: this was a way to blend in. An act. A couple of horny teenagers who’d grabbed the first side hallway they could find.
But the coiling feeling in Asa’s gut wasn’t an act. Ty’s lips felt like an extension of the frantic lights and pulsing bass—seductive, dizzying. He put a hand to her waist to steady her as he pressed closer, until his chest was against hers.
The Olympus guard gawked at them as he passed. Asa closed her eyes, pretending not to notice him. But as Ty’s teeth brushed her skin, she all but forgot about the mission.
