“How about Woodstock?” Far fished. Celebrating his eighteenth year of existence reminded him that their anniversary was on the horizon. One-upping genuine BeatBix would take effort.
Her expression lit—a definite yes. “Who’d have thought this crisis would make you amenable to vacations?”
“I like vacations.” Though he probably should take the crew on more of them. He would, if this mess ever got straightened out. Parisian streets and New York fields and wherever Gram wanted to go.
“You like going places to accomplish things,” Priya told him. “There’s a difference. We’ll figure this out, Far. We will. But right now there’s nothing we can do except take the night off and go to the pool—”
“The pool?” It was well past dark, but Far couldn’t spot a single star when he looked up, just a thick haze of light pollution that reminded him of home. “At this hour?”
“Caesars Palace pool. I got an interface message from Imogen telling us to meet them there. Dance party. Epic proportions. Remember?”
How could he forget?
Far felt the bass rumble at least a minute out when they wove through the casino—which looked nothing at all like the actual Domus Augusti, in its ruins or its prime. The closer they got, the more Priya’s steps started to bounce. The DJ would be hard-pressed to play a song she didn’t know; most were probably already on her “Golden Oldies” playlist.
The pools were a sight—waters lit, patterned floors shimmering—dancers in and out, splashing, flashing. Far scanned the crowd’s rhythmic mill of heads. Imogen should’ve been easy to spot, but it seemed she was in her natural habitat: GLOW. Several girls sported hair just as phosphorescent as hers—orange, blue, pink, green. Watching them dance was like will-o’-the-wisps gone wild. There were glow sticks, too, bobbing with wrists and necks.
Far felt very underlit. He let Priya take the lead. Together they skirted the crowd, music buzzing so loud it was almost hard to see. It was Eliot he spotted first. They were worlds away from the mirrors and pastels of Versailles. The night glittered neon, and electronica music clashed about them, yet she was every inch Marie Antoinette—girl at the center of the party, a fixture the crowd gathered around. When she caught Far’s stare, he felt his old failure afresh, as if a wormhole had opened up under his feet and slipped him right back into his old skin. He smelled the roses mixed with bergamots. He heard her whisper…I know an outlier when I see one.
Eliot stilled. The masses kept moving around her, but she was her own point of gravity. Instead of winking, her eyes held him solid, turning Far’s heels leaden. All of his fears fell on him at once, taking and taking.
You don’t belong here.
“Farway! There you are!” Imogen blazed into view—green hair, both arms sheathed in glow sticks. She had to scream at his ear to be heard. “You missed lotsa sun! And stuff. You ’n Priya good?”
“Never better,” he yelled back. “Where’s Gram?”
“Being a wallflower over there!” Imogen’s arm streaked— yellow, pink, blue—toward some cabanas. “We rented one…. He’s watchin’ the bottle!”
“Bottle?” That explained his cousin’s breath, though it raised a whole other set of questions. “You rented a cabana?”
“Me? No. ’Twas Eliot! She got a lil’ too distracted and won a bunch of cash at swim-up blackjack.”
“Eliot gambled?” Oh shazm. How many futures had she changed on Far’s watch? He should’ve known better than to leave her out of sight for so long.
The party suddenly felt more ominous than before, darker gaps between bodies and glow. Far looked over both shoulders, as if Corps operatives were about to leap out of the crowd, armed with stunrods and warrants. All he saw was the thorn in his side herself. She’d gone back to dancing—eyes closed, channeling French royalty at a rave.
Multitudes indeed.
“You’re too dim!” Imogen tore a blue glow stick from her neck and placed it on his head. “There. Now you look like a wizizard!”
“A what? Imogen, how much have you had to drink?”
She held up her thumb and forefinger. “Just a lil’ liquid courage!”
“You’ve never been afraid to dance,” he pointed out.
“No.” Her frown was a borderline pout. “Not for dancing. For… other things. Like talking.”
“About wizizards?”
Priya appeared. Somehow she’d already acquired two glow bracelets. “DJ Rory knows his stuff! This beatmatch is butter smooth! And did you hear that last fade?”
He hadn’t. He offered two thumbs up anyway. “I’m going to check in with Gram!”
Both girls wheeled off, and Far wound his way to the cabanas. He found Gram under a tented area, watching the sea of dancing light.
“Hey, Far.”
“Guarding the goods, I see?” Far nodded at the ice bucket, which held a bottle of something clear and strong. There was frost on the glass when he tugged it out. Belvedere. He recognized the brand from the shipments Lux’s other TMs came back with. Top-shelf spirits. In the Central market, it went for two thousand credits a pop. A third of the stuff was already gone. Not as much as he’d suspected. Then again, Imogen was about as lightweight as pigeon down.
The Engineer shrugged. “Figured this was the best place to plant myself. Least likelihood of getting trampled by stilettos.”
“I’m more worried about Corps stunrods.” Far looked around the cabana. Lounging cushions, fans, a tray full of snacks… Eliot certainly hadn’t skimped on expenses. “All this was bought with table money?”
“The girl can count cards,” Gram said. “She made the right bets, pulled in a bundle. I told her you wouldn’t approve.”
“I’m sure that only encouraged her.” Far grabbed two glasses from the tray and started pouring vodka straight up. “At least no one’s showed up to arrest us yet.”
“Any ripples her actions caused must’ve been minor.” Gram frowned. “Though there was one odd thing….”
“What?”
“She was asking about our landing times on the Titanic. When she first appeared, I thought she could be the cause of the aberration. Now I’m not so sure. The events are definitely linked, but it’s possible she’s here as a result of the disturbance as opposed to the disturbance being the result of her.”
Far handed a glass to his Engineer before downing his own. So cold, so burning. “You’re making my head spin.”
“Yours isn’t the only one. Trust me.” Gram took a healthy swig, coughing as he set the drink down. “It’s all conjecture at this point.”
“What isn’t?” Far poured another round. “Girl’s a no-show in the digital sphere. I’m starting to wonder if she’s a figment of my imagination.”
“A mass hallucination? That’s highly unlikely.”
“It was a joke, Gram.”
“Ah. I didn’t think you were in a humor.”
“I’m not.” Far looked out at the crowd. Their lights were blurring too fast for him to pick apart. Even so, he could see Eliot: lightless and shining. Her white jumpsuit stood out in the whirlwind of color. She doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here. Anger and fear, back to back and back again.
Far knew he was being drained. He knew he should stop it.
But how?
He slammed his second drink.