Chapter 11
Lila stretched under her blankets as someone knocked on her bedroom door. Her eyes shot open, then opened wider at the strange surroundings, at the queen-sized bed, at the thick woven rugs covering the floor, at the chest of drawers and matching bedside table, at the painting of horses rushing across the dusty plains above her head. She’d woken up in strange places for a month now, feeling like some wandering refuge from her matron’s wrath, staying in the cottage by the lake, in Dixon’s bedroom, and now in the oracle’s compound.
She should have been used to it. She’d have to get used to it. This would be her life. A life that would be made easier after her mother returned her money—if she returned it. Lila had checked her accounts before trundling off to bed.
She’d found them empty. Again.
“Come in,” Lila said, sitting up with effort.
Dixon strode over the rugs, wearing nothing but a pink robe loosely belted at his waist. It billowed as he plopped beside her and scanned the furniture and the painting.
He pointed to his mouth.
“Please tell me you didn’t wake me up for breakfast. Wake me up for lunch and not a moment before.” She dug under the covers. “On second thought, make that dinner.”
Dixon dug under them too, flashing her in the process.
He pointed to his mouth again.
“No, I only went to bed a few hours ago.”
Dixon had gone to bed early after meeting with Kenna and Connell to review the bios of the matched children. None of the matches from the empire had been valid, but forty-six missing children from the Allied Lands had passed through their compound. The pair had assured Dixon that none would have collaborated with the empire.
Lila had been busy all evening and most of the night, working on a program to scout through the compound’s logs. Since she didn’t know what she was looking for, she’d cast her net wide, pulling anything from the logs with telltale marks of subterfuge.
Unfortunately, people being what they were, she’d pulled a great deal of data. Too many budding hackers sold snoop programs these days, guaranteeing their clients invisibility on the web. Fortunately, none of them could provide it, but that didn’t stop people from buying them.
She’d skimmed through the hidden and fairly innocent search records of curious, horny schoolchildren, the loss records of gambling addicts, the love letters of several cheating spouses, the comic book purchases of several middle-aged women, the obsessive profile-stalking of ex-lovers, and one very bold and secret love affair between two women in a BDSM relationship, neither of whom could stop fighting over who would get to be the top in their next interlude.
She’d found the ramblings of two secessionists as well, halfheartedly wishing someone would reinstate the Republic of Tejas. Lila could only chuckle. Roughly a hundred and fifty years ago, the American government had combined the republic with purchased acquisitions from the French territory east of the Mississippi River and a chunk of occupied, disputed territory claimed by the Mexican Commonwealth, or at least what would become the Mexican Commonwealth. America wouldn’t have been formed if not for the rivalry and arguments of the old countries. The Declaration of Peace had almost broken before the ink had dried.
Slightly more concerning were the ubiquitous messages to and from the other oracle compounds. Many believed that the oracles should rally against the civilian government, especially against Henri Lemaire. Bravado spurred bravado, with many pointing out that they had plenty of ammunition, training, and approval from the gods to take back the country, reinstating the old ways.
Lila wondered if her father knew about such sentiments.
She wondered if Mòr did too.
Lila found more than just calls for sedition. She’d also stumbled on porn—lots of porn—and whole libraries of pirated movies and television shows. In addition, they’d also pirated thousands of academic papers and journals, nearly outnumbering their pirated entertainment.
Their naughty behavior didn’t come close to the intrigue and crimes she would have found on a highborn estate, though.
It was almost adorable.
She’d finally run a filter on the results of her sweep, removing porn, pirated content, journal articles, and calls for sedition. While it ran, she’d written the terms of her contact for the disciplinary committee and sent it to Senator Masson for approval, telling him that she wouldn’t begin work on the rest of La Roux’s network until after they’d returned it.
The committee had sent back a signed scan less than an hour later. All five highborn senators had approved it.
Even Senator Hardwicke.
Lila had returned to the logs after securing her immunity deal. Her filter had reduced the results by ninety percent, but the file still bulged. It would take a week to go through all the data.
Before she began, she wrote a piece of code to find the IDs of anyone who had connected to anonymous mail clients while on the property. She’d spent hours hacking into each account, poring over the messages she found.
One user had sent nothing but photographs of kittens.
No one sent so many pictures of kittens unless they had something wrong with them. It piqued her interest, but Lila didn’t have any software that could perform cryptanalysis on the photographs. She’d left the program behind on a hard drive at the shop.
Progress stymied, she’d slipped into bed for a few hours of sleep.
Dixon poked her in the ribs and held up his notepad. Come on. I’m hungry. Kenna invited us to breakfast, remember?
Lila groaned. She’d forgotten that part. “Why are you wearing a pink robe?”
I like it. The color is nice, and it’s breezy.
“You’re going to breakfast like that?”
No, my clothes are in the dryer.
“We need to go back to the shop so you can pack a proper bag. Besides, you should tell Tristan where you are so he doesn’t worry.”
I sent him a message.
“That’s not the same. Why can’t you two ever talk to one another like normal people?”
Dixon shrugged.
“What did he say?”
He dug out his palm from the pocket of his robe and cycled through several screens to their conversation. Dixon’s message had claimed that he needed some time to clear his head.
Some time? With her? What does that even mean? Tristan had written back.
When Dixon hadn’t replied, his brother had sent several annoyed messages, culminating in one last appeal. This isn’t about you clearing your head, is it? Fuck you, Dixon. People are counting on you. I was counting on you. What’s gotten into you lately?
“I’m not getting involved,” Lila said, handing back his palm. “You’ll have to figure it out for yourselves.”
Maybe I don’t want to figure it out for a while. It’s not even about him, not all of it. Dixon yawned under the covers, his long eyelashes brushing against her cheek as he flung his arm around her. His shamrock bracelet chilled her skin.
Lila rolled into him. “So this sudden focus on breakfast has nothing to do with a certain blonde, rather absentminded astronomer?”
Dixon didn’t answer.
“You seem unusually interested in going to breakfast this morning.”
No response.
“You’re hungry? That’s all it is?”
Dixon nodded, a slight pink tint to his cheeks.
His dimples returned.
“If you were really hungry, then you’d eat something from the kitchen. Therefore, this has nothing to do food. You didn’t seem all that interested in breakfast with the oracle until Kenna mentioned that Blair eats with them before she goes to bed.”
Dixon’s heart beat a little faster near her ear.
Gods, he really did like her. Those beats meant feelings. Those beats meant butterflies. She wondered when Tristan had stopped feeling those same butterflies for her and when he’d begun feeling them for Katia.
Lila couldn’t help but feel as though she’d lost something.
“You like her,” Lila taunted gently.
Dixon snatched the covers and dropped them over her head, ending the conversation.
Lila giggled, a yawn interrupting her needling. Her eyelids fluttered, and instead of thinking of a new way to tease him about Blair, her thoughts turned to the mattress underneath her, the soft sheets, the warm volcano pressed against her cheek.
Soft snores lulled her into dreams.
The dryer’s timer jarred her out again.
Dixon startled, rushing from the room to gather his clothes. While he dressed, Lila took a quick shower, wrapped her damp hair into a bun, and dressed for breakfast.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Dixon tossed her his palm, an aggregated list of the day’s headlines filling the screen. Unsurprisingly, most were about her. Bullstow Drops All Charges against the Heir Who Wears Black read the New Bristol Times. The journalist claimed that a certain highborn had aided Chief Shaw in his investigation of the BIRD, trying to figure out how two hackers, both of whom awaited execution in Bullstow holding cells, had gained access. Not only had Shaw not confessed to hiring her until after the charges destroyed her reputation, but he’d also not found the hackers. He’d stopped Lila from investigating more deeply because he’d had an attack of conscience soon after she’d found the problem in the BIRD and patched it.
It was close enough to the truth to appease all parties.
The protests outside Bullstow had doubled. But instead of railing against the highborn or Lila, people now railed against Bullstow and Governor Lecomte, the latter for not knowing what his chief had done.
Tristan had even weighed in on the scandal, using one of his pen names to write an editorial. Mael Faucheux had torn Bullstow apart. Once again, the government had required assistance from the highborn families to function. As usual, Mael argued against such interference. The government should code their own software, rather than outsourcing the task to the highborn families, and if they could not develop it themselves, monitor it themselves, and guarantee the data’s safety, then they should not keep private records on the citizenry at all.
Lila might have been the only one to come through every article unscathed. At best she was a patriot; at worst, she’d only done what any highborn would do in that situation—seek an advantage for her family. There hadn’t been enough outrage to spare, given her tragic romance with La Roux. Quotes from Chairwoman Randolph dotted every article. According to her mother, Lila had been ferried away for some much-needed rest and relaxation at an undisclosed location, all so that she might recover after her lover’s death and the stress and mental anguish brought on by her recent trial. I have full confidence that my daughter will return to her family and her duties once she has had time to process recent events.
Jewel had weighed in as well. My sister never would have accepted a job from Chief Shaw if her lover had not pushed her into it. Of course, she hasn’t said a word about his involvement, for she would not deign to slander her dear, sweet Dorian in death, nor impinge upon his honor. But I know many people in New Bristol would understand the position those men put her in. Frankly, I blame them, and I blame Bullstow.
“Cute.” Lila returned his palm as they left for the oracle’s cabin. “My poo smells like lollipops and ice cream.”
Connell answered the doorbell, already dressed in his gray uniform. His boots padded softly across the rugs as he led them deeper into the house, toward the heavenly scent of eggs and bacon.
The oracle’s dining room bore some resemblance to the great house’s morning room. Windows filled two walls, letting in a great deal of light and a chill. A display case filled another wall, loaded with several sets of dishes and glasses, while a collection of paintings had been affixed to the fourth. Landscapes, horses, and people Lila did not recognize filled every available space above a bench, its back fashioned out of giant ship’s wheel. Two pillows and a blanket lay folded on the end, seemingly abandoned, but not out of place for an oracle’s home. In the center of the room sat a table and two benches large enough to fit ten grown men. A purple rug had been settled underneath. Nearly two meters stretched between the table and the wall, plenty of room and cushioning should the oracle fall during a meal.
Lila wondered how often it happened.
“Mòr, your guests have arrived,” Connell called out as she and Kenna trudged in with a few pitchers of orange juice. They’d already dressed in their robes for the day.
“Splendid.” Mòr added her pitcher to the table. Platters filled its surface. They’d made dozens of biscuits, a vat of white gravy, scrambled eggs, and bacon. They’d also cut several cantaloupes and honeydews into knuckle-sized chunks.
“You’re in for a treat, friends,” Connell purred as he stole a kiss from Mòr. “I had a hankering and made my famous gravy. And, of course, my darling made her biscuits.”
“You cook?” Lila gawked at the oracle. Highborn and most elite lowborn had servants for such things. She’d always thought the oracle lived in the same manner.
“Of course I cook. The compound only runs well if we all pitch in. It’s the same with our homes. Some of us cook. Some of us clean up after. It gives us time to chat in the morning and the evening.”
“More than just chatting.” Connell cupped his lover’s cheek.
“Yes. Sometimes we have exhausted colleagues over for breakfast.”
“Nico’s just worried. He pulled two shifts to cover for me yesterday. He’s always going to know when you’ve been ill. I can’t do anything about that. I should have made breakfast for him, rather than the other way around.”
“You just like his hash browns.”
“No, I love his hash browns. You do too.”
“Sit down both of you. We all love his hash browns,” Kenna grumbled. “As I explained yesterday, Lila, we do have a chef on the property. She and her crew cook a small breakfast and dinner in the cafeteria for those who do not have the means to do so for themselves, usually the elderly and the unattached militia. They also make lunch for everyone. I encourage you to eat there this afternoon. Perhaps it will help you get a feel for the compound.”
“We go in shifts, though it’s more of a guideline than a rule,” Connell added, tearing his eyes away from his lover. “Security, admins, kids, everyone. Eating together binds us as a group. It makes us a community, a family.”
“Eating together also makes it easier for a mole to snoop,” Lila said. “If you know where everyone is going to be and when, then you can move around freely.”
A bearded man in a gray security uniform trundled in, bearing a platter of hash browns, golden and crisp, heat steaming off the pile. Its bearer had not gotten much sleep, judging by his red eyes. Perhaps he had not gotten much sleep for several days, for his uniform was wrinkled and his scraggly beard had not been trimmed or combed. Patches curled to the side and outward.
He put down the platter in the middle of the table, his eyes slipping to Lila and Dixon. “Mystery guests?” He held his hand out to Lila, giving hers a firm shake. “I’m Nico.”
“I’ve heard of you. Your hash browns are legendary.”
He grinned, not taking his eyes from her face. “You jest, but you have no idea what you’re in for. They’ll change your world. Soon you’ll be knocking on my door at all hours, begging me to make you a fresh batch.”
“Will I?”
“Yes. I’ll save you the trouble of asking. I live in cabin twenty-four.”
“Take it down a notch, Nico.” Connell snorted. “You don’t even know her name yet.”
“I’m—”
Static filled the room, cutting off Lila’s introduction. “Monitoring to Chief Connell, monitoring to Chief Connell,” a woman said though the haze.
“Damn it.” Connell dove for the radio in his chair and depressed a button on the side. “Chief here.”
“Basement alarm tripped again. Boyd is checking it out.”
“How many did he take with him?”
“A dozen, sir. All from the overnight crew.”
“I’m on it.”
The bearded man snatched his own radio, which had been settled into its harness on the end of a bench. “Nico to monitoring. Let the chief have his breakfast in peace. I’m on it.” The radio dangled by his side as he walked toward the door. “I’m coming back for some hash browns.”
“We’ll make you a plate. Thank—”
“Don’t mention it, chief. It’s just more experience for me.” He gave Lila one last stray look before leaving the room.
The front door snicked closed a moment later.
Kenna and Connell sat on the benches, taking a space on either side of Mòr, who sat in a chair at the head of the table. “Nico is Connell’s second in command,” she explained. He’s been doing double shifts lately when I get ill so that Connell can stay with me.”
“He needs sleep,” Kenna said. “I hardly recognized him. When did he grow a beard?”
Connell shook his head. “He hasn’t. The man doesn’t even time to shave, but he wanted to offer his time to the oracle this morning. I couldn’t say no.”
“You could, and you should. If you and Mòr won’t turn him away, then I will. He’s doing plenty already. More than enough, and he’s wearing himself down.”
“I can’t tell him to stop making time offerings to the oracle. That’s goes against—”
The group quietened as Cecily shuffled into the dining room, wearing a long pair of purple flannel pants and a cartoon tank. Her brunette hair tangled across her face, and she plopped onto the end of the bench, far away from everyone, staring morosely at her empty plate. Camille followed, dressed in jeans and a sweater. She gave Kenna and Mòr an apologetic glance and sat beside her friend.
Lila spied bruises along Camille’s wrist, and a swollen lip, both covered thickly with makeup.
“Training got a bit hectic yesterday,” Camille said. “I’m afraid my university’s self-defense classes didn’t prepare me for the training here.”
Connell eyed her lip. “That’s because we don’t teach self-defense. We teach you how to fight. You’ll get the hang of it. You just need to keep practicing.” He turned his gaze to Lila and Dixon, who sat beside Kenna on the other side of the bench. “You’re welcome to work out with us too. We have a gym on the compound.”
Lila nodded absently. Cecily’s reappearance pushed her thoughts toward Tristan and Katia. The pair had likely slept in his bed again the night before, having countless rounds of sex late into the morning. Maybe they’d even made love on the couch, since they had the place all to themselves.
Blair bumbled in a few moments later, her concentration focused on some point in the distance. She clutched a book and a spiral tightly in her arms. A pencil worked through her bun, with loose tendrils falling into her eyes.
Kenna leaned over to Dixon and Lila. “Don’t even try to say a word to her yet. You’ll regret snapping her out of wherever she is right now. Let Connell handle it. You don’t bat at a mountain that thumps you back. Not twice, anyway.”
As if executing some routine, Connell poured Blair a glass of orange juice and traded it for her books in one swift movement.
Blair looked up, lost for a few moments. “Hey!”
“Sit.” He piled her things on the steering wheel bench.
“But I have—”
“To sit and eat. Spare us the rest this morning, won’t you? I do have a tranq gun lying around somewhere, and I am in the mood to test it out and see if it still works.”
Blair sat at her place. No more grouchy words. No arguments.
Perhaps he’d tranqed her once before.
Kenna passed a platter of biscuits around the table. Lila took a biscuit, something she’d only eaten a few times in her life, and poured white gravy on top, just as the others had done. Then she piled the rest of her plate with eggs and bacon and a hash brown. The meal might not have been up to Chef’s standards, but there was something comforting about the heaviness. Nico’s hash browns had not been overstated, either.
“How’s your cabin?” Mòr asked.
“It’s beautiful, and the computer has met my needs.” Lila couldn’t say more at the table, not without blabbing her reason for being at the compound.
“You look almost as exhausted as Nico. Is the bed comfortable?”
“Very. I just stayed up too late last night.”
“Why?” Blair sipped her juice. “Were you and your friend having sex?”
Lila nearly coughed on her second hash brown.
“Blair,” Kenna said, “I’ve told you a hundred times, you can’t just ask those sorts of questions at the table and not from people you don’t know.”
“I can. I just did.” Blair stared at Lila expectantly, her blue eyes curious.
“We weren’t having sex. I was just working.”
“Oh, I do that too,” Blair said before turning her gaze to Dixon. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
Dixon flashed the back of his notepad.
“Oh, yes. Now I remember. Your name is weird.” She then stood up, half her meal forgotten.
Without a goodbye, she gathered up her books and left the room.
Kenna sighed. “When I said we all cook and clean up, I obviously didn’t mean Blair.”
“For good reason.” Mòr snickered. “Do you remember that one time when she put dish soap in the dishwasher?”
“Yes. Bubbles oozed out into the kitchen. She nearly flooded the whole place.”
“What about the time she nearly burned down the kitchen when making—”
“Anything? Ever?”
Connell snickered. “Remember that one time when she put a star drive in the toaster by mistake? Gods, the smell.”
“That wasn’t funny.” Kenna frowned. “She cried for hours until she remembered she’d backed up her data. I can handle her being a brat. I can’t handle her crying. It’s much too sad.”
“It’s good she lives with you,” Lila said. “You can take care of her.”
“Yes, it’s so fun reminding her to eat and take a bath and wear her coat like she’s some toddler.” Cecily sniffled. “I bet she even bought me the same solstice present as last summer.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” her mother said. “At least she remembers to buy them now.”
“Only because I put it on the calendar. You’d think she’d remember the date of the solstices. She’s an astronomer.”
“Blair just has trouble remembering things. It has nothing to do with her feelings about you.”
Cecily hopped up from her place, her meal barely touched. “I have to start the dishes.”
Camille jumped from the bench too, and swallowed the last bite of her eggs. “I’ll help. We’ll get it done together.”
Kenna shot her a grateful look.
Lila and Dixon left after breakfast, their offers to assist with the dishes rebuffed. “Your work here is too important,” Mòr replied. “I wish we could chat more, but I must get to the temple. The crowd will be thick, since I did not go back yesterday afternoon. I hope to see you at dinner, though. Kenna always cooks something nice.”
Lila thanked her for the invitation, and she and Dixon grabbed their coats and trundled back out into the cold. The pair threaded through purplecoats and people out on errands in the crisp morning air. Chimney smoke filled the air above the cabins.
She didn’t remember my name.
“No, she didn’t. She wanted to know if we were having sex, though. That’s something.”
You don’t think my name is weird, do you?
“Apparently it is to her.” Lila laughed as the pair stepped across their cabin’s porch.
She reached for the door, then teetered off balance as it smacked her face.
A stiff arm shoved her to the ground. Her cheek caught a nearby bench on the way down, the blunt shock surprising her more than the sharp crack of wood against bone. A blur of black trousers, black boots, and a black hooded sweater rushed past them.
Dixon lunged.
The figure dodged and spun.
Before Dixon could react, the intruder leapt off the porch and sprinted away, clumps of mud flying underfoot.