“And where are you going to get canes?” demanded Mae.
Porfirio glanced over at an Indigo woman standing near him. “Connie, go see what you can dig up. You’re good at this stuff.” She nodded and scurried off, which somehow annoyed Mae further. Was that typical of his dealings with women? A quick command and they jumped? Maybe that’s why he was so confident in his abilities against her.
Wagers flew fast and furious around them. Porfirio listened with amusement as he carefully retied the ponytail at the base of his neck. When he finished, he smoothed a few wayward hairs into place and then glanced at Mae. “What do you say? Want to put some money on the line? We can keep it low, if you want. I don’t want you to have to write home for a loan.”
“I don’t want your money,” she said. She paused for effect. “I want your hair.”
A few Indigos nearby fell into awed silence at her words, confirming what she’d suspected. Porfirio was a man in love with his hair. No one grew and touched his hair like that if he wasn’t completely obsessed with it. And, if he was like her, he’d probably been raised to flaunt his Cain-free features.
He smiled at her, like this was just some kind of funny joke he hadn’t quite caught the punch line on. “My hair?”
“Sure. If I win, I want you to cut it.” Mae helpfully mimicked using scissors. “I want to keep it on my dresser.”
More people—especially those who knew him—quieted to listen eagerly. Porfirio’s smile went away. “I am not cutting my hair.”
“Of course you aren’t. Because you’re going to win, right?” Mae felt like she was getting control of this situation now and had taken his measure. She raised her voice, playing to the crowd. “I mean, there’s no real risk—unless you’re afraid.”
This got catcalls and cheers, and then everyone waited in anticipation for his response. After several tense moments, he relaxed, and the old arrogance returned. “Fine. If that’s the wager you want, so be it. Like you said—makes no difference to me. But what do I get when I win?”
Mae smiled at the choice of “when” over “if.” “Pick,” she told him. “You want me to cut my hair?”
He looked her over with as much intensity as he had in his initial assessment of her, a brazen look that had an almost tangible quality. Only this time, not sitting behind the table, she had more to show. Some semi-reasonable voice inside her suggested signing on for a fight in a dress and heels was, perhaps, not the wisest choice.
“That would be a shame,” Porfirio said mildly. “Especially since I plan on seeing it fanned across my sheets. When I win, I want you. That’s my wager. You come home with me.”
There was a collective breath. This was high drama. The pr?torians loved it.
“Done,” said Mae without hesitation. She shook his hand as the others whooped, and she tried not to imagine how those strong hands would feel on her body.
Porfirio’s lackey surfaced soon thereafter and had amazingly turned up two sticks, which, although certainly not regulation, weren’t that far off from what canne players used. A space was cleared on the far side of the room, despite some of the Maize pr?torians’ unease that their venue was about to get trashed. Mae realized then that they actually had no clue what was about to go down. Porfirio strode boldly toward the makeshift arena’s center. Mae followed, and Val fell into step with her.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Mae scoffed. “Of course I do. Can you imagine their reaction if I bailed? Besides, it’s like Dag said. It’s the principle of the matter. And stuff.”
“Uh-huh.” Val’s eyes fell on Porfirio’s powerful body walking ahead of them. “If I were you, I think I might throw it.”
“Never,” said Mae fiercely. “I’m going to send him crawling back to his cohort.”
Val glanced back and gave her a searching look. “So help me, you’re serious. Goddamn it, Finn. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”
“I do,” said Porfirio, catching that last bit. “Let’s do this.”