“I’m sure their intentions were honorable, but there’s no way you can wear that,” said Leliefeld firmly.
“I don’t have anything else even vaguely appropriate at home except a bridesmaid’s dress,” said Felicity, “and that is fuchsia and has puffed sleeves.”
“What about the dress you wore to Ascot?”
“At the dry cleaners,” said Felicity grimly.
“If Judas Iscariot were alive, and a woman, and attending formal functions, wearing this dress would still represent a disproportionate punishment for his sins.”
“Her sins.”
“Right,” said Leliefeld uncertainly. “Anyway, I have a spare dress you can wear.” Felicity looked at her and tried to think of a diplomatic way to express her thoughts.
“That’s very kind of you, but you’re too short and your breasts are too small. Any dress that fits you would make me look like a whore or a sausage.” Maybe I should look at going into diplomacy, Felicity thought, quite pleased with herself.
“It’ll fit you,” Leliefeld assured her. “It’s very adaptable.”
*
The news channels had not calmed down about the Blinding at all, not even after the unrelated revelation that a married member of the House of Lords had been having a homosexual affair with a married foreign spy. Felicity, Leliefeld, and Alessio all sat on the couch and watched the constantly shown footage of the Blinding. Felicity had listened to the radio broadcasts, but it was different seeing it on television. The image of that yellow-green cloud spreading through the cities was somehow just as terrifying as actually being there. To make matters worse, they were also showing pictures of the victims, focusing on those few who had suffered the very worst reactions.
“Were you able to help that boy?” asked Alessio. They were all looking at one of the most famous photos from the attacks, a small dark-haired child who had been blinded by the fog.
“We probably could have done something,” said Leliefeld sadly, “but I’m afraid word came down that too many people had seen the picture, and his getting new eyes would strain the boundaries of a believable medical miracle. There’s no mainstream cure for losing your eyes after a biological attack.”
“And why not?” asked Felicity.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, you have a cure, and as you never tire of telling me, your work is based on science,” said Felicity. “Why don’t you people just go public and make billions?” The two Grafters exchanged glances. “What?”
“You’ve just described our worst nightmare,” said Leliefeld.
“Apart from attending a party with the Checquy,” put in Alessio. The two women shot him a look, and he subsided back into the couch cushions.
“There’s a lot of dangerous implications in what we do,” said Leliefeld. “For the world, and for us.”
“Why? After all, it’s science, our best friend in the whole wide world.”
“You know I don’t see it like that,” said Leliefeld. “And it’s complicated. To begin with, much of our work is still illegal in most countries. We’re talking genetic engineering, harvesting organs, cloning, weaponizing human biology. Alessio keeps human stem cells in his thermos.”
“For experiments, not for drinking,” Alessio assured her.
“Plus, people think that sort of thing is creepy,” said Leliefeld.
“It is creepy,” said Felicity. “It’s incredibly creepy. But you know they would throw those laws out the window if there was the possibility of curing cancer or doubling life spans.”
“It’s too big,” said Leliefeld, shaking her head. “If just one country gained unfettered access to our capabilities, it would become the world’s unquestioned superpower. It’s the equivalent of the Roman Empire suddenly being gifted with nuclear weapons. You of all people should understand that.”
“Yes, but it’s different,” said Felicity. “I was born with this ability, but anyone could learn how to do what you do.” Odette and Alessio both opened their mouths, and she hastily cut them off. “Anyone who’s extremely brilliant.” The Grafters looked somewhat mollified.
“You have to understand, we are literally centuries ahead of mainstream science,” said Leliefeld. “Even if we released the knowledge to everyone, it wouldn’t make things better. It would make them worse. Mainstream culture is not ready for what we can do. That’s why the negotiations are not just about how much money we can keep and whether we can be called in to help put down a giant malevolent porcupine. Protections are being put in place about the knowledge we possess and what can be done with it. We are not going to be making house calls so that the moneyed classes of Great Britain get a few extra centuries.”
“So, no new eyes for the little boy,” said Felicity.
“No new eyes for the little boy,” agreed Leliefeld sadly. “But Marcel is looking at amping up his other senses, maybe throwing in a little rudimentary radar. People seem quite willing to believe in that sort of thing.”
“What about that guy?” asked Alessio as a new picture was flashed up. This one featured a man clawing at his own face. “Did you help him?”
“All right, I think it’s time we start getting ready,” said Leliefeld.
“But we’re not leaving for ages yet,” Alessio objected. “And I only take a few minutes to get dressed and ready.”
“Well, take them now,” said Leliefeld as she turned off the television. “We’re going to need the larger room, so you can get changed in Pawn Clements’s room.”
“But don’t touch anything,” said Felicity.
The boy grumped, but he hauled himself off the couch and into the bedroom. “I’d like it if he took a bit of time away from the news,” Leliefeld said to Felicity. “Plus, the hotel will be sending someone up to do our hair in a bit, and we want to be dressed by then.”
“They taught us at the Estate that you do makeup first, then hair, then gown, then shoes,” said Felicity cautiously. The Socializing with Civilians class at the Estate had always been her least favorite, but she’d managed to remember the order of preparations through the handy mnemonic Monsters Hate Getting Shot. She and her friends had actually made up an obscene variation, Monsters Hate Getting Shot In The Face, but she could remember only what the Face part stood for, and she didn’t anticipate any of that going on that evening.
“Yes, that’s how I normally do it,” said Leliefeld. “But these dresses are a bit complicated and I want them all settled before any civilians wander in.” She sat down in front of the mirror and began dotting foundation onto her face. Felicity expected her to start blending it together, but instead, the Grafter unbuttoned her top and took it off. Despite herself, Felicity ran her eyes over the other woman’s body, evaluating and comparing. The Grafter looked as if she went to the gym only when she remembered to, but she had a lack of self-consciousness that Felicity couldn’t help but envy. It was all very well having no shirt on when the entire team was getting changed in the back of a truck, but that was part of the job. Felicity had never been the type of girl to strip off casually in the changing rooms.
Then she noticed the scars.
Faint white lines ran down the length of the other woman’s arms, and a pink Y-shaped incision ran down from her shoulders and met between her breasts. A single line emerged from the bottom of her bra and continued to below her belt, a few lines stretching across her stomach. Felicity’s eyes widened, and then she noticed Leliefeld looking at her in the mirror. Blushing furiously, Felicity glanced away.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine, they are noticeable,” said Leliefeld. She began dotting foundation down the lines and across her chest. “I’m not embarrassed by them,” she said. Thoughtfully, she traced the line running down her chest. “Actually, I’m lucky to have them.”
“Sorry?” said Felicity.
“These are pretty recent,” said Leliefeld. “Marcel put the improvements in right before we came to London. It was a sign that they trusted me.”
“That’s great,” said Felicity in as convincing a manner as she could manage.