CALLIOPE HAD BEEN to more holiday markets than she could count, in Brussels and Copenhagen and even Mumbai, but none of them quite compared to this one, at Elon Park on the 853rd floor. Though she had to admit, a huge part of the appeal was simply being here with Atlas.
She kept glancing over at him, wondering why exactly he’d asked her to come with him today: whether this was a date, or just Atlas calling in backup for his holiday shopping. Calliope had no idea how things stood between them after that moment last week, when they’d held hands at the top of the climbing wall, and Atlas had declared with such conviction that he was her friend.
All week long they’d been exchanging warm, yet decidedly not flirtatious, flickers. Then this morning Calliope had woken to Atlas’s message: Callie, I have so many presents to buy, and you’re the greatest shopping expert I know. Can you help?
Of course she would help. She had less than two weeks left to wrap up this con before Atlas moved to Dubai—unless she planned on following him there, which she wasn’t especially interested in.
Calliope had suggested they head to the upper-floor boutiques, but Atlas insisted they come here instead. She had to admit, it was certainly more festive. Red and green lights floated above them like dancing fireflies. The entire park was crisscrossed with vendors, their stalls filled with everything from cheap gimmicky nutcrackers and low-tech toys to expensive jewelry and Senreve purses, the latest models that shrank and expanded depending on what you needed the bag to hold. Calliope held her own fuchsia Senreve bag close to her chest. Her boots crunched on the snow underfoot, which was made with frozen velerio fluid instead of water so that it never melted or even looked dirty. In several corners, the snow attempted to form itself into small snowmen, self-generating into little round stacks, complete with buttons.
She and Atlas had both accumulated heaps of gifts, which floated before them on carrier bots: this market was upscale, but not quite nice enough to offer charge-send like the boutiques did. Calliope found that she didn’t mind. There was something delightful about watching her purchases bob along ahead of her, as if her own unabashed materialism were pulling her forward on an invisible cord like those children on proxi-leashes.
“I think I’ve discovered the way to make Callie Brown go anywhere. Just send a bot covered with shopping bags ahead of you, and you’ll inevitably follow,” Atlas said, as if reading her mind. Calliope laughed at being so blatantly caught out.
“I’m glad you dragged me here,” she replied, rewarding him with the full force of her smile.
“Me too,” Atlas said softly.
They turned a corner, and were surrounded by an enormous crowd pushing toward one of the stalls. Calliope took a step forward, curious—she never could resist being in the center of the action—but the animal yelps and squeals of the children gave it away before she’d seen the holo-sign.
The booth was full of tousling, barking puppies, all wearing festive red and green collars. They were forever-puppies, dogs whose DNA had been tweaked so that they never aged. There were always protests surrounding them—some people claimed they were unnatural, that it was cruel to deprive any living thing of a normal, full existence. Calliope didn’t think it sounded all that bad, being young and adorable your whole life.
Her eyes were immediately drawn toward one of the dogs, a sleek terrier puppy with a bright pink tongue. For a moment she let herself imagine taking him home. She would name him Gatsby, after that book she’d read at the boarding school in Singapore, the only school reading she’d ever finished. She would carry him in her purse and feed him treats and—
She let out an involuntary gasp. A little girl was reaching for Gatsby and handing him to her father. Calliope had a bizarre urge to cry out at them to stop, to let go of her puppy, but she stifled the impulse. There was no room for a puppy in her glamorous, nomadic life.
“You okay?” Atlas asked, watching her face.
“Of course. Let’s keep moving.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the quaver in her voice.
Atlas nodded. “I don’t know about you, but I need a sugar break,” he declared, casting his eyes toward the blustery gray ceiling overhead. “And it’s scheduled to snow soon. What about hot chocolate?”
“Hot chocolate sounds fantastic,” Calliope agreed, still surprised by her unfamiliar pang of longing.
They walked to the cocoa stand beneath the frozen ice rink—the park’s famous centerpiece, which was suspended ten meters in the air. The area beneath the ice rink was packed, shoppers and tourists gathered close together, their boots all tracking snow on the enormous silver-threaded carpet beneath them. Red poinsettias dotted the bar every few meters.
“Two large hot chocolates, with extra marshmallows and whipped cream,” Atlas told the serving-bot, then leaned back on his heels with a contented sigh. The light from above was soft and muted, filtered by the enormous burden of the hovering ice rink and the bodies of the skaters.
Calliope gave an appreciative laugh. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
Their hot chocolates arrived, and they both poured peppermint flakes over the top. “Thanks again for shopping with me today. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.” Atlas took a sip of the cocoa, leaving a goofy whipped cream mustache over his upper lip. Calliope decided not to tell him. She wanted to see how long it would take before he noticed.
“You would have bought decidedly worse gifts,” she declared, then lifted a hand to her mouth as she realized that they’d forgotten someone crucial. “Atlas! We didn’t get anything for Avery!” She’d helped purchase gifts for Atlas’s various family and friends: beautiful stitched sweaters and perfumed hand creams and a fantastic new laser brightener for his aunt in California. How on earth had they left out his sister, especially given that Avery was Calliope’s best chance to show off? She racked her brain, sorting through various ideas, trying to determine which of them was rare and fine enough to impress the girl who literally had everything.
“It’s okay. I already have something for Avery.” If she hadn’t known better, Calliope would have thought that a brief embarrassment flickered over Atlas’s face.
“What is it?” she asked, curious. You could tell a lot about a boy by the presents he bought for his family.
“An old historical print, of New York three hundred years ago.”
“A print?” Calliope wrinkled her nose in confusion.
Atlas tried to explain. “Ink on paper. You hang it on the wall. It’s like an instaphoto that doesn’t move.”
Paper, Calliope thought, rapidly losing interest. Honestly. If Avery Fuller weren’t so rich and beautiful, no one would want to be around her, because she was kind of a bore.
A group on the other side of the cocoa stand broke out into cheers. Calliope realized that they were all wearing obnoxious yellow jerseys. They must be football fans, watching the game on their contacts, and their team had probably just scored a goal.
“You’re coming to the Dubai launch, right?” Atlas asked as the sound died down.
Calliope took a sip of her hot chocolate to stall for time. It was hot and creamy and exploded in tiny pockets of sugar at the back of her tongue.
She so desperately wanted to go. Events like that were a great staging ground for cons, because they were crowded and full of strangers, and everyone dropped their guard when they were drinking.
Besides, it sounded like one hell of a party.
“I wasn’t invited,” she admitted, watching his reaction.
“Really? Then you should come with me.”
Calliope’s chest tightened in anticipation. What did he mean by that? Was he asking her as a friend, or as a date? But Atlas’s dark brown eyes were as inscrutable as ever.
“I’d love to,” she told him.
As they stepped out from beneath the ice rink, Calliope found that tiny flakes of silver were falling from above, catching in Atlas’s hair, settling on the dark sleeves of his sweater. The machine-made snow. She stuck out her tongue and let the flakes settle there, cold and crisp, the way she used to do in London as a child.
Atlas looked over and saw her. “You know that’s made of velerio. You shouldn’t actually eat it,” he said with a strangled laugh.
“I’m not worried,” Calliope decided. After Atlas’s invitation, she felt invincible. As if a little velerio could harm her, when her life was so evidently charmed.
“Calliope Brown, you’re nothing like the other girls I know,” Atlas said, still shaking his head in amusement. Calliope decided to take it as a compliment.
When she got home that evening, Calliope heard a series of thuds coming from her mom’s room across the suite. She ducked in to see Elise sitting cross-legged on the floor, folding a stack of flimsy silk dresses into an airtight bag.
“You’re back! Where were you?” Elise glanced up and asked, but Calliope could tell that her mind was elsewhere.
“With Atlas. Actually, he invited me to that launch party in Dubai.” Calliope’s gaze was still trained on the clothes scattered all over the floor. “What are you doing?”
“Just reorganizing my things. We’re leaving soon,” Elise announced, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.
“How soon?”
Her mom shot her a knowing look. “Things are moving more quickly than I expected. I think I’m going to get a proposal from Nadav. Can you believe, another engagement ring—and a big one!”
“Oh.” Calliope thought of Atlas, and the party, and didn’t know how to respond.
Elise was staring at her curiously. “You don’t seem excited. Come on, darling!” She laughed a bit, standing up and reaching for Calliope’s hand to give her a little spin. Calliope didn’t join the laughter. “You’re the one who’s always so eager to move on! I’ll even let you pick our next spot. What about Goa? Or the Mediterranean? I could use a beach, this time of year.”
“I don’t know.” Calliope managed a lackluster shrug. “What if we didn’t leave right away?”
Elise took a step back, her movements—and her voice—suddenly much heavier. “You of all people know we can’t do that, sweetie. We can’t afford the life we’re leading. The hotel is about to kick us out, we’re running through our credit at all the boutiques, and you know how much is left in our bitbanc.”
Calliope did know. She’d checked all the global bitbancs just yesterday. It consistently shocked her, how little cash they seemed to have. Of course, it was all wrapped up in clothes and jewels and accessories, she thought, her eyes narrowing at her mom’s overflowing closet.
“A few days from now and we’re done here, whether Nadav has proposed or not,” Elise finished.
They’d lived this way for years, and yet it had never really bothered Calliope till now. “I just wish that for once, we could stay somewhere. Just for a while,” she said, almost plaintively.
“Staying means getting attached to people, and we can’t afford that even more than we can’t afford this hotel.”
Calliope didn’t answer. Her mom’s voice lowered. “This is about Atlas, isn’t it? Look, it’s okay if you can’t get anything of value from him. You tried hard, that’s what counts—”
“Oh my god, stop!” Calliope cried out.
Elise shut up. Her smile had frozen funnily, falling off her face in shaky little pieces, almost as if it were melting.
“Just back off, okay? You’re the world’s greatest expert on lying, but you’ve never even seen a relationship through.” It came out harsher than Calliope intended.
She thought of Atlas—the way he smiled, the earnest warmth in his brown eyes, the sad wistfulness that seemed to haunt him, no matter what she said—and felt an odd protectiveness of their relationship, or friendship, whatever it was. She found that the thought of stealing from him wasn’t as appealing as it used to be. He probably won’t even notice, she reminded herself, but that wasn’t the point.
“I don’t want to talk about this con with you anymore,” she added quietly.
Elise took a step back, a stricken expression on her face. The same oval face as Calliope’s, same high forehead and strong cheekbones; only softened by age, and all the surges. Calliope had a curious sensation of looking through a fun-house mirror, through a tear in the fabric of the universe at a vision of herself in twenty years. She didn’t like what she saw.
“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again,” Elise said after a moment, her voice strained.
Calliope tried to nod. She couldn’t remember ever speaking like that to her mom—couldn’t remember disagreeing with her about anything before. “I just don’t want to leave yet, right when things here are getting fun. I want to go to this Dubai party with Atlas. He’s staying in Dubai after that, anyway. It’s my last chance to get something really big from him.”
“Of course,” Elise conceded. “If that’s what you want, we’ll stay through the party. Hey,” she ventured, as if getting the idea, “maybe I’ll come too. It could be fun!”
“That’s a great idea.” Calliope turned to walk across the suite to her stiff, impersonal room, with its cold windows and heavily stitched pillows and the frothy white comforter that looked like something out of a magazine.
She was Calliope Brown, she reminded herself, and once again she was getting what she wanted. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like such a victory.