“Wait.” Light hissed around Farway’s curls like rabid fairy dust. “Already?”
“Time flies when you’re plundering history,” Imogen told him. “And in case you were wondering, the gelato is just the beginning of the festivities. We have lots to celebrate! Eighteen is a big year!”
“Or 2,277,” Gram added. “We know you’re not picky about the age.”
“You don’t know how old you are?” Eliot stared at Farway through the flare, looking for answers even though she was the question. “How’s that?”
“He was born in the Grid.” It wasn’t until the information slipped out that Imogen second-guessed volunteering the fact. Not that Farway’s unbirthday was a secret. He was something of a celebrity in Central time for it, which made Eliot’s not-knowing that much stranger.
An odd duck, this girl.
“A boy without a birthday?” The sparkler was nearing the end of its run, but the newcomer’s expression lit and fizzed. “What a strange wonder.”
It was testament to how much Eliot disgruntled Farway that these words didn’t serve as instant ego fuel: Why, yes, I am a strange wonder. The most special of snowflakes! Born out of time, forever running to catch up to it! He resorted to mumbling instead, “All it’s ever done is fritz out med-droids. The bragging rights wear off real quick.”
“We should sing,” Priya broke in. “Before the sparkler dies!”
“Agreed.” Imogen’s five-flavor spread was melting, and she preferred to start eating before it turned into a gloppy rose-mint-sour-cherry-salted-caramel-chocolate-eggy soup.
The tune to “Happy Birthday” hadn’t changed much in four centuries. Imogen belted it with great gusto—off-key probably; she’d never had the ear for music that Priya did. Priya, who embellished and harmonized and, along with Gram’s steady bass, salvaged the song from becoming plastered-karaoke bad. Even Eliot joined for a line or two: “Happy birthday, dear [Farway/Far]! Happy birthday to you!” By the song’s end, the sparkler only had a centimeter of flash left. Already it was starting to fade.
Imogen turned to her cousin and recited the phrase Aunt Empra once used every year. A McCarthy family tradition. Words spoken just before the fire died. “Make a wish. Make it count.”
17
STILL POINT
SO MUCH DEPENDED ON a plastic spoon.
All throughout the celebratory dessert-before-dinner, Priya kept tabs on Eliot’s utensil, noting how the girl ran her thumb over the stem when she wasn’t using it. Between that and the dozen or so bites of blood orange gelato she took, there’d be plenty of DNA to analyze. It was just a matter of snatching the spoon and getting it back to the Invictus without Eliot noticing.
The task wasn’t that risky, or even very thrilling, but Priya’s heart thrummed inside her chest—a wild thing—as she watched Eliot toss her waste into the rubbish bin. Priya lingered in the back of the line, waiting until Eliot’s stare drifted elsewhere to retrieve the evidence and wrap it inside a clean napkin before stowing it in her purse. Far sometimes teased her for lugging such a large tote everywhere, and even Priya had to admit it could get cumbersome, but she needed its pockets for gauze, Heal-All spray, med-patches, and everything Imogen wanted to bring off ship but didn’t have room for in her clutch. Priya slipped the used spoon under Far’s swim trunks, pulse thumping all the while.
The group gathered in the hall, looking more tight-knit for the Bellagio’s grandeur: sweeping marble and columns. Priya joined them with a smile—one she hoped conveyed there’s nothing at all in my purse, certainly not Eliot’s DNA. It wasn’t easy to hold. She didn’t have Far’s poker face or Gram’s ability to drift out of a chaotic room even when he sat in the middle of it. Best to do the analysis as soon as possible.
Imogen’s eyes were glazed over in a way that meant she was reading her interface screen. “There’s not too much more here in the Bellagio…. We could go down the Strip and try the pool at Caesars Palace, or eat at one of Gordon Ramsay’s restaurants. Most of the shows and dance parties don’t kick off until later.”
“I’m going to have to steal Far away for an hour or two.” Priya slipped her elbow neatly through Far’s, bag wedged between them. Her smile was starting to feel too tight. “Girlfriend’s prerogative.”
“You do?” Far asked. Her arm tensed in his—not Morse code, but signal enough. “Oh. Yes. She does. We’re off to do, er, couple-y things.”
Eliot’s eyes narrowed, shifting from Far to Priya. Was that jealousy she sensed, playing tug-of-war between them? Or something else? Priya couldn’t get a good read on the girl. She also had trouble gauging Far’s reaction—yes, there was anger, yes, there was fear, but a different charge crackled amidst the pair. An absolute sort of energy, felt even on the periphery. Its pang crept into Priya’s chest, tendriled around her heart, pried open cracks she hadn’t even known were there.
Jealousy… maybe.
“How long will you be?” Gram asked.
“Three hours.” This was Priya’s best guess, between the journey back to the ship and running the tests. “Or so.”
“Hand over the swimsuits and we’ll find something to distract ourselves.” Imogen’s voice had a wink-wink, nudge-nudge quality. Not subtle at all, if one knew her well. “You two go have some fun.”
Fun wasn’t the word Priya would’ve used for the hike back to the Invictus. The heels Imogen advised her to wear had a six-kilometer-walk span. Maximum. She shucked them off before her toes became totally raw, but walking barefoot on the roadside wasn’t much better. Far offered to carry her the rest of the way, but Priya refused. The Invictus was within hobbling distance. She could see the parking spot but not the ship—its holo-shield was doing its job too well, mimicking the surrounding landscape. Blue sky, bland dirt. Out here, away from the Strip’s fountains and well-groomed palms, you could actually remember that Las Vegas sat in the middle of a desert. The air was so thin it felt lonely. There was no humidity, no sweat to smother the skin, just a solitude that stretched for kilometers—up to the hawk wheeling overhead, out to the highway’s cracked edge. There were no cars passing and no one to see them, though Priya was sure she and Far looked odd. Two teenagers clad in party-wear wandering through an empty field, vanishing from sight.
The ship’s internal air system blasted Priya’s bangs across her face as she tossed her purse onto the couch, narrowly missing Saffron. The red panda was curled among the pillows, clutching his newfound treasure. Eliot’s wig was markedly more frayed after hours of gnawing.
“Alone. At last.” Far latched the door shut and removed his aviators. The sun remained behind his eyes—desert bright and glaring. “I need a vacation from this vacation. It’s bad enough that she’s holding the Rubaiyat over our heads, but does she have to be so, so…”