CALLIOPE LEANED FORWARD on the vanity, which was littered with gleaming silver beauty wands and spray powders and a fresh manicolor mitt—all of it arrayed carefully before her, like weapons polished and laid out for battle. Her own lethal tools, which had always made her so dangerously beautiful.
“You ready?” her mom called out from the other room of their suite.
Calliope had been unsurprised that her mom had decided to come to the Mirrors launch party after all. Like her daughter, she had an incurable weakness for anything bright and glittering and extravagant—and tonight promised to be all those things. She and Calliope had been acting chipper and normal all week, but Calliope sensed that something was unresolved beneath the surface. Things had been weird between them ever since their fight.
Still, here they were, in a suite that Nadav had booked for them at the Fanaa, the gorgeous luxury hotel in the dark half of The Mirrors. The Fullers’ rooms were in the other tower, but Calliope had insisted on staying here; there was something seductive, almost forbidden, about saying one was on the dark side. She glanced around at the walls, which were lined entirely with mirrored screens. Calliope could have switched them to opaque, of course; but she left them on, enjoying the sight of her reflected selves swishing pleasantly about the room.
“I’m ready. Atlas should be here any minute now,” Calliope replied. He would need to head down early, as the host.
The entire day had been one long tribute to excess and indulgence. Calliope had ridden over with the Fullers on their private jet, which wasn’t exactly private, given that dozens of other people had been invited to catch a ride on it, all of them walking around the plane and chatting and clutching glasses of champagne as if the flight itself was just one big cocktail party, a logical prelude to the night to come. Maybe that had been the intent all along.
Elise leaned in the doorway, showing off her delicate white dress, which made her look intentionally bridal. “What do you think?”
“Amazing. What about me?” Calliope turned back and forth in a model-esque pose. Her long hair was gathered into a low bun, emphasizing the glamorous length of her neck; and her sparkling black gown clung to her with an almost shocking closeness. She relished the way the silk faille felt against her bare skin—like a seductive whisper in her ear, assuring her that she was young and beautiful and rare.
Elise came forward and took her daughter’s hands. “You know that you look stunning. Have an incredible time tonight, darling. You deserve it.” Her voice rang with an unusual sentimentality, and she was smiling at Calliope in an odd way, as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. “You like this boy, don’t you? Not just to con, but for real?”
Calliope was caught off guard. “I like him fine,” she answered, fighting the twist of guilt she felt at the thought of stealing from Atlas tonight. He was a good person, though admittedly a little tortured and confusing. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to go elope with him anytime soon,” she added jokingly.
Elise didn’t laugh. “And you like New York?”
Calliope turned toward the mirror, pretending to retouch her lips so she wouldn’t have to look directly into her mom’s eyes. It was easier to lie to people when you didn’t have to see them face-to-face.
“New York has been fun, but it’s time we moved on. I’m glad we’re going out with a bang,” Calliope said firmly, ignoring the way her chest constricted at the thought of leaving. Her mom met her eyes in the mirror, and Calliope smiled at her reflection.
A knock sounded at the front door. “That’s probably Atlas,” Calliope said.
“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“In other words, go crazy?” Calliope called out, and pulled the door open.
Atlas stood there in a simple black tux, looking more elegant and grown-up than Calliope had ever seen him. He’d cut his hair, she realized, but left the slightest shadow of stubble along his jawline.
“You look amazing.” Atlas held out an arm to lead her down the hall.
“You clean up okay yourself,” she told him.
He smiled, revealing that small dimple on one corner of his mouth. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Callie.”
They turned down a hallway that dead-ended into a window, looking directly across at the light tower. The waters of the canal churned far below them. “Do you mind if we stop by my parents’ first?” he asked. “They wanted us to meet there and all head to the party together.”
“Of course.” Atlas’s parents hadn’t been on the plane earlier—they’d flown over a few days earlier, to help set everything up. And Calliope had to admit that she was curious to finally meet the famous Fullers.
She expected Atlas to turn toward an elevator, but instead he stepped forward to the window and traced a circle on it. The flexiglass immediately shifted, shooting a clear tunnel across the empty sky as easily as if it were a beam of light.
Calliope was shocked into silence. She briefly wondered if the tunnel was a hologram—if this was some kind of virtual reality game, to test her willingness of disbelief—but a glance at Atlas’s proud face confirmed that it was, in fact, real.
“Etherium,” he explained. Calliope had heard about the programmable material, which used linear induction and carbon mesh to quickly build and un-build structures for the military, usually on-demand bridges needed for only a few minutes at a time.
“I see,” she replied, in an almost careless tone, as if she’d seen instant-construction bridges dozens of times and could hardly be called upon to seem impressed now.
“We got the first civilian license for it. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy.” Atlas sounded proud. Calliope realized with a start that he’d actually done this himself, had been the one to ping and persuade and make it happen.
“And here I was wondering what you did at your desk all day,” she teased, though she felt uncharacteristically proud of him too. She took a bold step forward, her stiletto landing emphatically on the bridge, and willed herself not to look down at the thin, flimsy layer of material separating her designer shoe from the vast distance below.
“You’re not afraid of it,” Atlas remarked approvingly.
Calliope turned to glance back at him over one arched shoulder. Her expression was almost a dare. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
As they emerged on the other side and the tunnel blinked back out of existence, Calliope felt a little shiver of adrenaline. There was something about crossing the sky in a temporary tunnel that felt like a good omen, like everything that happened tonight would go her way.
They reached the Fullers’ penthouse and the door swung open. Atlas’s dad stood on the other side. “You’re Calliope, right? Pierson Fuller,” he said with a charismatic smile, and shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Calliope wondered what exactly Atlas had told them about her. If she was meeting his parents, did it count as a date?
It probably depended on where she spent the night tonight.
She followed Mr. Fuller into the living room, its gleaming touch screens carefully hidden behind carved furniture and plush cushions. The crystal chandelier overhead bathed them in a soft halo of light. Everything was decorated in shades of white and cream, against which the touches of black—Atlas’s and his father’s tuxes, and of course Calliope’s midnight-black gown—stood out like stark exclamation points.
A woman who must be Atlas’s mom glided in from the bedroom, glittering in alabaster tulle covered with Swarovski crystals. “Which earrings should I wear?”
She posed the question to all of them, holding out her hands, in each of which lay a dark velvet box. One contained a set of pear-shaped colorless diamonds, the other a pair of perfectly matched pink diamonds. The jewels seemed to burn against the contrasting velvet, light kindling within them to flash in a thousand small sparkles.
Calliope’s breath caught, and she tried to take a few snaps without being conspicuous. What her mom wouldn’t give to see these earrings. It was hardly Calliope’s first time around excessive wealth, yet everything she’d seen over the last few years suddenly felt garish next to this. These people practically breathed money. Their every gesture was painted with it, glazed with it.
She wondered what they would do to her, if they ever found out why she and her mom were really here. Her grip on her purse tightened until her knuckles cracked. She knew the answer: they would destroy her with the same ruthless elegance that made up the rest of their lives.
Mrs. Fuller glanced belatedly around the room, then set the boxes down as she registered Calliope’s presence. “Calliope, my dear! Elizabeth Fuller. How lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you so much for having me,” Calliope said.
Mrs. Fuller just smiled and nodded. “Where’s Avery?” she asked her husband and son.
Mr. Fuller moved to the couch and leaned back, one ankle crossed over the other knee. “Who knows?” he mused, seeming unconcerned. Atlas stayed oddly silent.
“Well, then, which do you think that I should wear?” Mrs. Fuller went on, returning to the gleaming white side table where she’d placed the two velvet boxes with their priceless contents. After a moment, Calliope realized that the question had been directed at her.
Her mouth felt suddenly dry; her eyes flicking back and forth between the showstopping gems, both sets of which probably belonged in a museum, rather than on a wealthy socialite’s earlobes. “The clear ones,” she decided, finally. “The pink are a little heavy with your dress.”
Mrs. Fuller turned her plain but expertly made-up face back and forth, studying her reflection in an insta-mirror that had materialized out of nowhere.
“You’re right,” she concurred. “But someone should wear the pink ones. It would be a waste not to.”
Calliope could never in her wildest imaginings have anticipated what happened next. To her complete and utter shock, Mrs. Fuller held out the earrings—toward her. “Do you want to try them, Calliope?” she offered.
Calliope opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “Oh, I don’t know,” she finally stammered, though she could practically hear her mom’s voice in her ears, hissing at her to stop stalling and take the damned earrings. She’d just been too surprised to react properly.
Mrs. Fuller smiled. “They would look striking against your hair. Stones this color have to be worn by us brunettes, you know.” She gave a little wink, as if she and Calliope were allies against an army of diamond-stealing blondes, and dropped the earrings onto Calliope’s bare palm as easily as if they’d been a couple of chocolate candies.
This couldn’t be real. People didn’t act this way on their own, unbidden. Calliope thought of all the times she’d been given expensive things in her life, always by boys who were trying to get into her pants, and then only after a great deal of persuasion and manipulation, of dropped hints and innuendos and excruciatingly thoughtful conning. Yet here was Atlas’s mom, offering up the most expensive, exquisite items Calliope had ever laid eyes on, without any sort of prompting at all.
Calliope didn’t understand. She’d only met the woman five minutes ago. Maybe Atlas’s judgment of her character was good enough for Mrs. Fuller, she thought uneasily. Or maybe the Fullers were genuinely nice people.
Her mind flashed to that waitress at the Nuage; to the old man in India; to poor adoring Tomisen, Brice’s friend, whom she’d taken a “loan” from and left without a backward glance. They had all trusted her, and she’d cheerfully turned around and violated that trust. Maybe they had been genuinely nice people too.
Calliope wouldn’t know, because she’d never stuck around long enough to find out.
She felt shame rise up in her throat as if it were a physical thing, horrible and blocky, like that time she’d tried to swallow one of Mrs. Houghton’s rings and almost choked on it. What on earth have you been doing? her mom had screamed, giving her six-year-old shoulders a little shake.
What on earth had she been doing all these years? Calliope thought, as some core part of her worldview began to crumble. She felt like she was looking at herself from the outside in, as if she were seeing herself through someone else’s contacts. It made her dizzy.
Somehow, mechanically, she unscrewed her own small drops and fastened the spectacular pink diamonds into her ears. “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” she whispered, leaning toward the insta-mirror. The stones were radiant against the smooth curve of her cheek. She wanted them and she hated herself for taking them and she couldn’t look away from them.
The doorbell rang, and everyone momentarily forgot Calliope as a sudden influx of people poured into the room. The hum of voices grew louder, all of them laughing and complimenting and greeting one another.
“Flicker to Mom,” she whispered, turning aside, and closed her eyes against the dizziness as she began to compose under her breath. “Mom, you’ll never guess what I’m wearing.” Forget Nadav; they would have to leave in the middle of the party, catch a flight down to South America. These earrings would set them up for several years, at least.
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Calliope knew this was her chance, the kind of opportunity that would come along only once in a lifetime, and yet here she was, freezing up like a complete newbie.
“Callie,” Atlas said as he pushed his way toward her, and Calliope let out a strange sigh of relief. She would finish the message later. “A few of my friends are here. I’d love for you to meet them.” He nodded toward the entry hall, which was becoming even more packed, filled with teenagers and adults in their perfectly creased tuxes and elegant black or white gowns.
Calliope had always loved moments like this; glamorous and expensive, money softening the edges of it all. But looking at all the people gathered at the Fullers’, she felt strangely bereft. These weren’t her friends, this wasn’t her laughter and gossip, and this certainly wasn’t her boyfriend standing next to her. She was just borrowing the whole scene the way she was borrowing the pink diamond earrings.
And this time, she knew, the eventual moment of reckoning was going to hurt.
“Of course,” she said to Atlas with a forced smile. “Lead the way.” She gave her head a little toss as she followed him, feeling the heavy weight of the earrings that she no longer wanted to steal.
She would let herself indulge this fantasy—would pretend that she was a normal girl, at a party with a cute boy in a tux—for just a little bit longer.