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The ripple of conversation she spouted, so unlike her tone and actions in the garden, piqued my curiosity. Given the setting, I could understand using a public persona, but why was it one of a nitwit? Another puzzle.
Turning back to Steve, I smiled. “Does your invitation include them?”
A flare of mischief lightened my mood. This man was harmless, all I sensed from him was a desire to be loved and lonely wistfulness. He wasn’t possessed, and I’d fulfilled part of my mission already. There was a faint possibility Walker had lost his mind and arranged for them as backup, though I had no idea why these two in particular.
Joan clapped her hands. Her sleeve caught in the veil, and the continuing motion yanked it and the tiara off. Her bare scalp gleamed in the light.
Steven stared at her, his emotions shifting to reluctant amusement. He yielded with polish. “Certainly. Who’d want to miss such a charming woman with such grace?”
I shoved the rest of the fruit into my mouth.
Chance winced. Joan didn’t seem to notice the barb at all.
“The party’s upstairs,” said Steve, his hand on my waist guiding me forward. “It’s my sister’s gathering, actually, but all are welcome.”
As we headed for the stairs, Steven glanced at the knot of people around his father, as if making sure the older man was occupied. I risked a glance at the group before we started on the steps. While I’d classified Steven as harmless, I didn’t like walking away from Walker with him.
Walker was speaking with the President. His height and coloring contrasted sharply with Alan Cohen’s; who was light-haired with a ruddy complexion. They had fit physiques showcased by tailored clothing in common. Dierdre stood beside the President, her back straight as an exclamation point.
With Elise, she’d seemed a little fragile. Here, she looked brittle as a twig about to snap.
Another woman stood close by, she was unfamiliar to me. She was as tall as Alan Cohen with ice-blonde hair twisted in a sleek knot. Her conservative gown and the way she held herself all but screamed administrative assistant. Interesting, why would Cohen have an admin here?
I almost missed a step when I recognized the other couple standing by Walker as the Greenes, husband and wife. I averted my gaze quickly. He’d gotten very good doctors; the cyber replacements and plastic surgery were very subtle. His presence worried me. Given the charges against him, he should be in disgrace, not standing by the President. Was Walker being disciplined for finding against him?
Joan moved past us on the steps. Her gauzy dress fluttered in a yellow cloud around her. In this light, she looked jaundiced. Chance paced her a step behind, his expression growing more annoyed by the second. I couldn’t tell if it was my delay or the color of her dress.
Keeping in character I swayed my hips as I climbed. A few steps later, I saw the large open area at the top of the stairs had been partitioned in half; the area nearer the stairs contained security details wearing the uniforms of the President’s Guard. The air practically buzzed with their annoyance and irritation.
An officer from the Guard intercepted us as we walked toward the partition. “Sir,” he said. “Do you wish me to authorize them as guests?” He was Asian, I believed, and from the Western lands by his accent. I read his nametag. Colonel Ryo. The man was perhaps in his mid-thirties, probably on the fast track for promotions. Strange. Why would someone of that caliber be guarding a private party for the President’s offspring?
“Yes,” said Steve. His hand migrated to my butt as I paused. “I vouch for all three.”
“I still need to run a quick ID check,” replied Ryo, activating his minicomp.
“Why?” Steve snapped. “I said, I vouch for them.”
Joan giggled, her laughter light as a butterfly’s wing. “I’ve never been scanned by security before,” she said brightly. “All kinds of new stuff this evening!”
She stepped forward, her dress billowing. Steve crossed his arms and blew out an irritable breath.
“Put your eye here, thanks; cleared.”
Ryo didn’t turn a hair at my results, instead signaling another guard forward to wrap disposable magstripes on our wrists.
With the magstripe in place, the security net on the other half of the room would recognize us.
The concealment field faded, and the paper and wood screens masking the festivities became visible. Still no sign of people outside the line of screens; from the building plans, they’d also blocked off a balcony. No other exits were visible.
Steve led us toward music and loud chatter.
“It’s the newest tech, bends light, stops sounds and smells,” he explained.
Even before we entered the enclosed area, the smoke from recreational drugs hit me in a hazy fog. The air was so thick with fumes it was almost enough to give me a contact high. Between the drifts of smoke, which were being sucked to the edge of the area by quiet air cleansers, I glimpsed dozens of young men and women through the door. All were dressed in the height of fashion, glitter flashing and gauze floating, jewelry sparkling in the uneven lighting.
Far too many people here. The ambitious ones should be downstairs, making contacts and deals. Instead, I spotted several scions known to me from the media. Poise had deserted most of them; the laughter in here echoed shrill and sharp.
When I crossed the threshold, desire slammed through me. Lust spun in the air and radiated throughout the room, infecting all the partygoers.
