The Dazzling Heights

“I’m sorry,” she started to say, but she didn’t have an answer, and he knew it.

“Are we ever going to run away together? Aves”—Atlas seemed to falter a little—“do you even want to run away with me anymore?”

She blinked in shock. “Of course I do,” she insisted. “It’s just complicated. I can’t explain.”

“What can’t you explain? What aren’t you telling me?”

Avery shook her head, hating herself for keeping secrets. She swallowed against the hard, vicious sobs that rose up in her throat.

“I’m going to leave now. You should probably wait, so that we aren’t seen walking out together. You know, for appearances’ sake,” Atlas added, with just a touch of acid, and then he was gone.

Avery wrapped her arms around herself. She realized that a few tears had escaped, probably running in dark rivulets over her makeup. She reached up brusquely to wipe at her face. The part of her that was seventeen and in love felt utterly snubbed, and bruised, and a little bit eager to lash out.

Atlas didn’t get it. He couldn’t understand all the pressure she was under. And aside from that one date with Watt, which anyway had ended with Avery confessing her love for Atlas, Atlas had never really seen her with another boy. He didn’t understand how it was, knowing he’d been with other people, torturing herself with mental images of them together—

Maybe Atlas should find out what it was like, she thought spitefully, storming back into the party with new purpose. He deserved to see how it felt, watching Avery laugh and flirt and drink and dance with someone else.

Her eyes lit on Cord, standing alone near the bar, looking as aloof and handsome as ever. He was her date, after all. And he was always game for a little fun.

“I want a drink,” she announced, leaning her elbows forward on the bar in a way that her mother would have scolded her for. But she couldn’t find it in her to care about much of anything right now, except her new determination to let Atlas see how it felt, just a little.

Cord smiled at her abrupt greeting. “Champagne, please,” he told the bartender, but Avery shook her head.

“No, I want a drink drink.”

“Okay,” Cord said slowly, studying her a little to gauge her mood. “Vodka? Atomic? Whiskey?” he guessed, but Avery didn’t care what she drank as long as it was something strong.

“Whatever you’re having. But make it a double.”

Cord raised an eyebrow. “Two scotches on the rocks, double,” he told the bartender, then glanced at Avery. “Not that I don’t love when you get all reckless, but can I ask what happened to prompt this?”

“You can ask, but I won’t tell you.” Avery felt a few curious sets of eyes on them, but for once she didn’t care who saw, didn’t care whether they all posted snaps of her directly to the feeds. Let them.

“Well, then,” Cord said equitably, as if this was exactly what he’d expected her to say. “How can I help?”

“Easy. You can help me get as stupidly drunk as possible.”

“My pleasure.” Cord’s ice-blue eyes danced with mischief, and Avery felt a slight uptick in her angry mood. If nothing else, she reflected, Cord was a good partner in crime.

She clinked her glass to Cord’s and tossed back the drink, draining it in a single gulp. It was bitter on her throat, but she didn’t care. For the rest of tonight she would be the most sparkling, unattainably gorgeous version of herself, nothing but smiles and flashing eyes—and no one would ever see how hurt she was, beneath it all.

CALLIOPE

CALLIOPE WAS QUITE pleased with her decision to come to the Hudson Conservancy Ball with Brice Anderton.

She and her mom had always loved making an entrance: the way all eyes in a room inevitably circled toward them when they arrived at a party; especially in new cities, where people wondered in hushed whispers who they were and where they’d come from. Every now and then Elise made a halfhearted attempt at keeping a lower profile—“We don’t want to be too notorious, it isn’t safe,” she would remind Calliope. As if she didn’t love the attention even more than her daughter did.

By now, Calliope thought she was used to attracting that sort of attention. But she hadn’t been prepared for the reaction to her and Brice walking into the underwater ballroom together.

She hoped at least some of the glances were because they looked so striking together, both of them tall and lithe and dark-haired, with haughty smiles. But she admitted to herself, with some reluctance, that Brice was the more intriguing of the pair. Everyone’s eyes kept darting toward him with undisguised interest. They all clearly knew who he was, followed his various misadventures, wondered about the new girl on his arm.

And it definitely caused Atlas to take notice. Calliope had made sure to flirt with him—no thanks to Avery’s inept attempts at joining the conversation, and her weird insistence on dragging Atlas away. Calliope had dealt with protective siblings and parents before, especially when she tried to con sheltered private school kids. But she had to say that Avery was one of the worst she’d ever encountered.

She lifted her head with proud purpose and surveyed the underwater domain, glittering with money and status and connections. Her mom was here too, with Nadav and his daughter, Livya. Calliope had chatted with them for a few minutes earlier. Elise kept glancing at her with raised eyebrows, clearly hoping that Calliope would take Livya off her hands so she could focus better on Nadav, but Calliope hadn’t been in the mood to play nice. As far as she could tell, Livya was a pale, insipid bore, and babysitting her was a waste of Calliope’s talents.

She stood now with Brice and a group of his friends. They were telling a story about an old prank, where they’d graffitied a bunch of hovers in writing you could see only on a certain contacts setting. It sounded lame, but Calliope joined in their laughter anyway. She glanced over at Brice, who was laughing too, but standing a little apart from the rest of them, with the sleek self-assurance that comes from being wealthy and drunk in a bubble at the bottom of a river.

The music changed, and Brice stepped forward to take her hand. “Dance with me,” he asked, more a demand than a request. Calliope set down the drink she’d been holding for show—she was trying to keep a level head tonight—and followed.

Why not flirt with Brice a little? She definitely couldn’t con him; it was too risky, given that he’d almost recognized her. Of course, Atlas was risky too, since he’d already rejected her once. But he wasn’t about to blow her cover.

And now that she knew how rich he was, part of Calliope was determined to steal something from him, just to say she’d conned the boy on the thousandth floor. God, what a story it would be. Not that she could ever brag about it to anyone, except her mom.

When they reached the dance floor, Brice turned around, moving his hands confidently around her waist. Overhead, holographic jellyfish glowed like floating candles, chased by the occasional neon shark. The dappled blue light played over Brice’s features, his aristocratic nose and sharply carved cheekbones. It wasn’t a face that had been made for gentle expressions.

“Calliope.” Brice pronounced it with that same laughing irreverence, and she wondered again how much of the truth he really knew. “Tell me about London.”

“Why?” she challenged. “You’ve probably been to London dozens of times. There’s nothing I could add that would change your opinion of it.”

“Maybe it’s not my opinion of London I’m looking to revise, but my opinion of you.”

She gave a little spin to gain herself some time, letting the folds of her dress fly out around her body and then fall sculpturally behind her. “Well, now I’m curious about your opinion so far.”

“Please. I know better than to walk into a trap like that.”

Brice pulled her nearer as the music picked up speed. Calliope wanted to retreat a step—this was too close, she could feel his heartbeat through the layers of his tux, could smell his cologne, light and just a little bit astringent—but his hand was playing idly with the zipper on the back of her dress, and her breath seemed stuck in her throat.