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“I have a friend who does that. Luke’s dad actually, but only with books.”
“I’d love to trade collections,” Augustine said.
“He’d like that,” I smiled. I still remembered the small library in Algrave, with round windows and comfy benches, with state-approved stories. Even so there had been plenty of novels. I couldn’t imagine how many books he’d have here.
“We give people the chance to practice, to perform. To improve at a skill. They can become musicians if they have an ear, actors if they have a voice, or soldiers if they lust for violence. We also have games and sports, which we bet on, of course. You can open a restaurant if you want; whether it succeeds or fails depends on your cooking.”
“This is, as close to real life as possible. People can leave if they want, though few do. We have scavengers and traders—often young men—who will leave their families, hoping to strike it rich prospecting in the wilds, and return with enough value to buy or rent an apartment so they can move into their own space.”
A chilly breeze fluttered the tablecloth and I realized we were alone. The other diners had left and even the servers were gone. I felt a slight dizziness and the colored lights had a soft glow around them. What time was it? How many cups of sherry had I finished?
“So, what do you think?” Augustine asked, stepping out towards the balcony. I joined him at the edge, looking down at the crowds and vehicles far below. The shifting lights made it seem like the strip was on fire.
I felt like I was awakening from a trance, struggling to think clearly. Was he searching for approval? Or forgiveness?
“It’s a lot,” I said. “Like nothing I’ve seen before.”
“Good. Well, now that I’ve shown you my cards, how about you show me yours?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, taking a step back. I felt the conversation had taken a shift, finally arriving at a sense of purpose, exactly when I was least prepared.
“There are things you haven’t told me. Things you’re keeping from me. And you still haven’t offered anything I want.”
“You’ve been waiting for me to throw myself at you? Is that what you want from me? To extract a price?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to trust me. Enough to ask for help.”
“I don’t need your help. Not enough to beg for it. And I haven’t asked you for anything, except a ride back home; something a gracious host would grant.”
“Don’t you?” he leaned forward, and his voice took on a more sinister tone. “Your prince is captured, the revolution has fallen. Your allies, waiting to hear from you, will lose interest quickly if they learn you’ve been taken by a foreign kingdom. In your absence, royal guards will no doubt round up and execute the traitors, if they haven’t already. You’ve got a lot of spinning knives in the air, Emily Sharrow, can you catch them all?”
“I hate talking in riddles. Just tell me what you want.”
“It’s not my responsibility to tell you what I want. It’s your job to offer it.” He seemed half playful, half annoyed. As if I was the dense one. He was choosing his words carefully, but leaving out the crucial meaning and hoping I’d fill in the rest.
“Consider this, then,” he sighed. “You may have the ear of the king in the near future; from a powerful kingdom that has always treated us as dangerous criminals, simply for existing beyond its reach. If I do nothing else but give you the opportunity to understand and appreciate what I’ve built here—”
“I see. You want me to be your ambassador.”
“Not quite. Though I could be your friend. Or more, perhaps.”
He leaned in even closer, and I felt a flush rise into my face and neck as he paused, just a few inches away. The rooftop was mostly dark now, except for a few candles, and the neon halo of the strip below, that illuminated his long eyelashes.
Was he listening to something, or trying to provoke me? My body responded to the elixir in his blood, and I resisted it. He was handsome, and charming, like all elite. Is this what it felt like to be seduced by a vampire? I pushed any carnal desires away. I knew I couldn’t trust them. Was he compulsing these feelings in me? Was I allowing them?
Finally the moment passed and he turned away towards a closer table. He waved his fingers over the still-lit candle until I could smell burning flesh and see curls of acrid black smoke. He hissed at the pain, but didn’t pull away.
“I thought elite were afraid of fire,” I said. “Is this another magic trick?”
“You know I hate that term,” he scowled.
“Sorry, what is it you call yourselves. The fangs?”
“The teeth. Venom is flammable. We aren’t afraid of fire, but we are careful. We burn, and it’s very painful. We are fast enough that it rarely kills us. Drop and roll to smother it, then find water. But it still hurts.”
“So why play with fire?” I asked. He brought his hand up suddenly, in a flash of light. The flame exploded from his fingers into a bright ball of sparks, and when he flicked his hand to the side, it had turned into a white rose.
“I’d rather be intimate and familiar with the things that might kill me,” he said, handing me the rose.
