The Stargazer's War - Chapter 3.6

Chapter 3.6: Immaculate Reception

“Are you sure I have to wear this?”  I patted down black jacket Lucy had dug up for me, fingers tracing the high collar that formed a flat line from shoulder to shoulder.  “I’m not sure it suits me.”

“It didn’t suit Cedric either,” Lucy replied, a tendril of qi polishing one of the silver buttons that ran diagonally from my right collarbone to my left hip.  “But the demands of the occasion trump fashion preferences every time.”

I let out a sigh as I spun, eyeing in the mirror the black silk ribbon that hung freely from my right shoulder all the way down to my waist.  “It’s a bit much, isn't it?  Don’t you think somebody will notice I’m wearing ISH fashion?”

“I already swapped out the embossed buttons, if that’s what you’re asking.  And I’ve spoken to Charlotte.  Nobody here has any reason to have the slightest clue what people wear at ISH galas.  You’re from out of system, everyone knows you’re from out of system, so you should dress like it.  It’s not like you can wear a sect uniform anyway, and the all black keeps you out of any of the local house colors.  It’s a politically neutral outfit for a politically neutral outworlder.”

“The Black Maw wear all black,” I argued.

“The Black Maw wear robes,” Lucy countered.  “Nobody’s going to be confusing you for Black Maw.  Now let’s go.  The others are waiting.”

I spared a forlorn glance at my usual jacket hanging from the hook on which it lived as I allowed Lucy to usher me out into the hallway.  For all I’d been wearing Cedric’s clothes ever since Lucy had pulled me from the corpse of RF-31 with nothing but a tattered vac suit to my name, tonight marked the first time it truly felt like it.  T-shirts and leather jackets were normal clothes for normal people; well made as Cedric’s were, they may as well have been anyone’s.

Tonight’s getup, this whole ordeal of velvet and silver and silk, made me an imposter.  I wasn’t just wearing the only clothes available to me, I was masquerading as the lost heir to ISH, if not in name than in spirit.  For all the crazy shit that’d happened to me, I still couldn’t fully internalize that I was the type of person to ride in on a soulship and attend fancy galas and dress to look politically neutral.

In that moment, I wished more than anything that Jeremey would get back to me about a vac welding job sooner rather than later.  I really needed to feel like a normal human being for a bit.

I found the others waiting on Lucy’s upper deck, all in matching dress uniforms denoting their place as core members of The Dragon’s Right Eye.  Over the dark military gray, all three of them wore the same pale blue and white sash, colors of House Velereau.  As actual members, let alone ones so closely tied to Charlotte, none of them could afford the luxury of neutrality.

“Perfect, you’re here.”  Charlotte stood.  “Our transport’s waiting for us.  It wouldn’t do to be late for our own reception.”  Without another word, she moved for the gangway.

As we followed, I fell into step beside Micaiah.  “You ever been to a reception before?”

“A few,” she replied.  “The archaeological society held a few while I was there.  Apparently getting drunk and bragging about your research is classy when you do it in a cocktail dress.  At least there was usually dancing.”

“No getting drunk!” Charlotte interrupted from in front.  “Keep to mundane alcohol and run your blood and kidney meridians every once in a while.  Don’t touch the spirit liquors.  It might look like a party in there, but believe me, it isn’t.  Not for us.  We’re there for the powers that be to get our measure and figure out where we fit in their schemes.”  She stopped and turned as we reached the lobby with its spectacular view.  “Cal, your core.”

“Right, right,” I muttered, reaching into my shirt to turn my artificial core back to bronze.  As we stepped into the hallway with the transport docks, Jeremey materialized with a rigid salute.

“Caliban, sir.  I’m pleased to inform you I’ve arranged a meeting with our head of exterior maintenance tomorrow.  The details should reach your holopad shortly.”

As if by magic I felt a buzz at my arm.  “Oh, perfect.  Thanks, Jeremy.”

“Of course, sir.  Please, enjoy your party.”

Micaiah raised an eyebrow at me as we boarded the transport.  “Head of exterior maintenance?”

I shrugged.  “I asked him to see about getting some work as a vac welder.”

“And he got you a meeting with the guy in charge?”

“Our Jeremy goes above and beyond.  Can’t fault him for that, can we?”

I pulled up my holopad to confirm the time and place as we settled into our seats and got underway, cruising through the air in comfort towards the Morris estate.  Despite Charlotte’s repeated warnings and my own sense of being out of place, a part of me couldn’t help but look forward to even to come.  It was, after all, ostensibly being held in our honor, and little as I thought of it, I wanted to at least taste the extravagance bandied about by the ruling class.

‘Extravagance,’ I decided as I first laid eyes on our destination, was the right word.

Our transport deposited us into a receiving lobby much like the one at Lucy’s hangar, albeit manned by no fewer than eight staff members in white jackets bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne and cocktails pretty enough to qualify as works of visual art.  At Charlotte’s withering glare I ignored the latter, reaching instead for a flute of bubbly as I disembarked.

“Welcome, honored guests, to Starlight Manor,” the lone staff member not holding a tray greeted us.  “Please feel free to sit and enjoy some drinks and small bites.  I’ll return shortly when it’s time to announce you.”

I shared a raised eyebrow with Micaiah as the man took his leave before slipping past the row of snack-wielding servants to collapse back onto a velvet couch.  It was a lot less comfortable than it looked.

“Oh this ish good,” Xavier addressed one of the waiters with a mouthful of amuse-bouche.  He swallowed.  “What is it?”

“A quail’s egg mirco-quiche with spring onion, roast pepper, and gildlily nectar.”

Xavier grinned at that and reached for another, for some inexplicable reason waiting until it was in his mouth before asking, “What’s a quail?”

Micaiah exhaled.  “Import species, and not one of the useful ones.  Think a chicken but worse in just about every way.  Their only advantage is that because they’re so small, their meat and eggs are more expensive and thus more ‘luxurious.’”

“Fancy chicken, got it,” Xavier said snatching a third micro-quiche from the tray.

Micaiah shook her head.  “You’d think after a thousand years in this system the people in power would’ve picked up at least some Ilirian cuisine instead of rehashing the same tired imports.  It’s like they want to pretend their ancestors never moved out here in the first place.”

“I’ve had quail before.”

Everyone looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head.

“New Heravia didn’t have any stable biospheres,” I explained.  “Station-farmed imports were all we had.  My mom used to buy a whole bird at the grocery store and fry it.”

Nobody replied.

“What?”  I asked.  “Is that so strange?”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow at me.  “You don’t talk about your childhood much.  It’s weird to hear you describe something so normal.”

“Just because my mom was a narcissistic bitch doesn’t mean she didn’t feed us.”

Charlotte let out a small chuckle.  “Yep, there it is.”

I took a sip of my champagne.

The sound of a door opening pulled us from our moment of thoughtful silence as we all turned to spot the man from before.  “They’re ready for you,” he told us.  “Please right this way.”

I stood, downed the last of my champagne in a single gulp, set the glass on one of the small tables next to the couch, and moved for the door.  The others, having mostly skipped step two, beat me there.

He led us down an empty hall to a pair of real wooden double doors so massive I could scarcely imagine the tree the must’ve been carved from, certainly none native to Ilirian.  Two staff members manned it, white gloves and all.  Our guide waved us to a halt right in front of them, eyes fixed to his holopad as he moved us around.

“You three, front and center,” he directed the others.  “The lady in the middle please.  Now take a step forward… perfect.”  He gestured me away.  “You, back, back, out of sight.  You’ll come in after.”

I scowled.  “But I’m with—”

“They’re inner members; you’re a visiting outworlder.  The protocols are different.  Please, sir, you’ll be right behind them.”

I obeyed with a quite sigh, stepping out of line of sight of the soon-to-be opened doors.

“Remember,” Charlotte said as the doormen reached for the handles.  “Reveal as little as possible.  Agree to nothing.”  Her eyes flitted over to me.  “And for threads’ sake, try not to piss anyone off.”

I grinned.  “Best behavior.”

Without so much as a squeak, the well oiled doors swung open.

“Introducing heroes of Ilirian and the newest core members of our glorious sect The Dragon’s Right Eye, Micaiah Ferendin, Xavier Honchel, and Charlotte Velereau!”

Applause somewhere along the spectrum between politely respectful and vaguely sarcastic echoed in, my only hint as to the contents of the party itself from my vantage out of sight.

“Showtime,” I heard Charlotte mutter over the din as she walked forward.  The others followed a half step behind.

The doors swung shut.  The hall fell into silence.  Still looking at his holopad, the man waved me into position.

I took a breath.  I ran a hand through my hair to make sure it’d stayed in place.  I cycled my heart meridian to quiet my nerves.

The seconds dragged on.  I imagined the others slowly descending a flight of grand stairs into a hostile mess of self-important cultivators.  The doormen reached for the handles.

“Introducing hero of Ilirian, passenger of the soulship LC-81535, outworlder Caliban Rex!”

Light and sound washed over me like a tidal wave, not just applause but music and chatter and a hundred conversations carried out among those who cared little for the introductions.  There was no staircase.  The doorway led directly onto the ground floor of a cavernous ballroom, its vaulted ceilings painted in complex organic imagery, its people half distract and half staring directly at me, and its floor a single massive pane of glass from which the red light of the sun shone through.  It was tinted dark enough for the ceiling fixtures to remain the dominant light source, thank the threads, but as I stepped into the reception, it imparted the distinct impression of walking directly across the surface of the Dragon’s Right Eye.

I was halfway caught up to the others when I realized the star’s position meant the artificial gravity here ran at a ninety degree angle to that in Lucy’s hangar.  Of course the sect master had his own personal grav generator in his house.  I hadn’t even noticed the change.

“Cal!” Charlotte’s use of my name pulled me from my thoughts, the sheer noise of the reception fading into the background.  I ignored the handful of eyes still lingering on me as I joined the others where they stood with two men, one familiar, and one sharing a telling resemblance.

“Uncle Neville, I’d like you to meet Cal.  Cal, you’ve met Pierre, this is his father, Neville Lyons.”

I flashed a respectful salute to the pair of titanium cultivators—one newly advanced and one near peak—and spoke.  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet some of Charlotte’s family.  She’s told us so little.”

“That’s our Charlotte.”  Neville grinned.  “I’ll tell you I’ve never worried she’d give away family secrets.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” I said.  “Here I thought she was just being all dark and mysterious.”

“Reassuring, is it?” Pierre asked.  “Got a few secrets of our own, have we?”

“Shh, I’m trying to be dark and mysterious.  I mean, look at this outfit.”  I gestured down to my all black ensemble.  “It’s practically begging me to cover up my enigmatic past.”

Neville let out a polite chuckle.  “I’ll respect your privacy, then.”  He turned—unwittingly I can only assume—to the man with the most dangerous secret present.  “Now Xavier, you’re the one I really want to interrogate.  Not even the great Liam Morris could win Charlotte’s affections.”

“Liam Morris almost got me killed is what Liam Morris did,” Charlotte snapped.  “Twice.”

“I wish I could say he’s matured a bit in the years you’ve been absent, but you know what they say about wishes and fools.”  Neville shook his head.  “Good news is, he’s fickle enough to fall for out of sight out of mind.  Word is he’s fallen for the youngest Gannow girl.”

Charlotte scowled.  “She’s only… well I suppose she’s nineteen now.  Still, that’s half his age.”  She shuddered.  “He always did like them weaker than him.”

“Well that tells me everything I need to know about the future of this sect.”  Micaiah failed to fully mask the revulsion on her face.

“Yes, yes, why don’t we return to happier topics?”  Neville returned to conversation to his intended target.  “So, Xavier, how did you meet Charlotte?”

“Through Cal, actually,” Xavier answered. 

“Really?”  Neville turned to me.  “Do tell.”

“Xavier, ever the overeager one, challenged me to a duel within minutes of my arrival on Fyrion.  He beat me honorably, of course, but it brought up some recent trauma and set me panicking.  The crowd was laughing and jeering, Xavier was standing there with no idea what to do, and Charlotte jumped up and announced it was a panic attack and that her father gets them too.  Got us both out of there much less worse for wear than we might’ve otherwise.”

Neville leveled a glare at Charlotte.  “You’re playing a dangerous game lying about your father like that.”

My eyebrows shot up.  “You were lying?”

“Of course I was lying.  It never struck you as convenient that the hero of the sect suffered from the same thing you were going through?”

Pierre nodded.  “It definitely makes a more effective story than your struggles with them.”

Charlotte froze, turning slowly to stare ice at her cousin.

Pierre’s eyes widened.  “They didn’t know?  Oh, Charlotte.  Surely after everything you’ve been through your friends would understand—”

He never finished his thought as the music suddenly swelled to a grand crescendo, and a man appeared on the stage in front of the band.  Even without the context, without his overdecorated uniform resplendent in Morris colors, without his clear resemblance to the snide nephew who’d greeted us on our arrival, I knew him to be the sect master.  His tungsten core, brilliant and brightly awash in red flames, could belong to none else.

“Core disciples of the Dragon’s Right Eye!” his voice boomed to the far corners of the room, loud enough I considered cycling my sense meridian to flatten its intensity.  I couldn’t of course.  Cool as it might’ve looked with my all black outfit, sunglasses would not be welcome at such a formal affair, and showing off my starry eyes for all to see certainly wasn’t an option.

“I’d like to welcome you all to Starlight Manor for what is already developing into an exquisite party if I do say so myself.  Our chefs have truly outdone themselves with tonight’s spread, and the bar is, as always, fully stocked.”  He flashed a smug grin and raised a glass of wine that positively radiated qi to my senses.  “So please indulge.  Someone’s gotta drink all this booze, and it’ll be Liam if you all don’t drink your fill.”

Polite laughs filled the hall at the joke, one I forced myself to echo despite the subtle discomfort as the sect master made fun of his own son.

“Now, there’s one last order of business before we can get to the real reason we’re all here, but don’t worry, the buffet will be open soon.”

The sect master stepped forward and I braced myself a renewed onslaught of attention.  It never came.

“As many of you know, Barustra’s Cache is due to return shortly after the end of the current cycle.  The Dragon’s Right Eye intends to take full advantage!  To be sure we send our best and brightest into the system’s most rewarding trial, a second grand tournament will be held alongside the first, open only to those eligible for entry into the Cache.  My nephew Gary seems quite adamant about winning his spot, so be warned, the competition will be steep.”

Sect Master Morris paused and waved the gaggle of musicians from the wings onto the stage.  “Alright, important business out of the way, it looks like our wait staff have finished bringing out the entrees while I’ve been distracting you, I believe my job here is done.  Core members of the Dragon’s Right Eye, I give you, The Rakish Gleams!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered over the sound of applause that thundered through the ballroom as the band struck their opening chords.

“I know, right?”  Micaiah grumbled.  “This whole thing was supposed to be in our honor and he didn’t even mention us.”

Charlotte shook her head.  “This was never for us.  The sect doesn’t care about a bunch of nobodies from Fyrion.  They have to make it look like they do to save face, so they invite us here and they throw this party, but everyone here knows it’s just for show, so why bother?”

“Not that,” I said.  “I prefer him not calling more attention to us.”  I pointed up at the stage, where the lead singer strummed at an all too familiar guitar.  “Him.  I know him.  He’s that guy I told you about.”

Charlotte scowled.  “Didn’t you say he was kicked out of the sect?  What’s he doing here?”

I opened my mouth to theorize an answer to her question before thinking the better of it.  “You know what?  I don’t care.”  I reached out and grabbed Micaiah’s hand.  “Come on.  Let’s dance.”

I let Carlos’s music wash over me as I led the way to the dance floor, past the faceless mob of snooty cultivators in their formal dress, past the looks and the sneers and the under breath gossip.  Already the party had well and truly started, the more enthusiastic guests swaying and twirling across the glass.  I pulled Micaiah to me, placed a hand respectfully on her waist, and off we went.

I’ll be the first to admit I am neither an experienced nor particularly talented dancer, especially not of the variety found amongst the cream of the crop rather than the dark and dingy nightclubs of New Heravia, but I had in fact listened to music before, and qi technique of otherwise, something about Carlos’s performance simply begged to be moved to.

So, move I did.

Micaiah, with marginally more experience in the style, made for a patient partner as we laughed and spun and did our best to ignore our politicking neighbors.  It was freeing.  It was beautiful.  It was fun.

The song ended all too soon, prompting a smattering of applause from among the dancers as people took the opportunity to enter or vacate the floor.  I would’ve happily continued on through the next one, but Charlotte approached with an outstretched hand.  I took it, handing Micaiah off to Xavier for the second dance.

“It’s bad form to monopolize a dance partner,” Charlotte warned me as she led me away.  “Keep to the first dance and last dance, maybe one in the middle if the evening’s long.  She’ll spend the whole night waiting then she’ll get you for the slow dance at the end.”

“You’re diabolical.”

She grinned as she placed a hand on my shoulder.  “You’re so proud of being born and raised a mortal.  You know what it’s like to have a job or travel between systems or pay rent.”  She gestured with her head at the party around us.  “I was raised here, doing this.  You know how to vac weld.  Xavier knows how to fight.  I know how to dance.”

I doubted she’d really been talking about dancing with that comment, but as the music struck up again, Charlotte more than proved her point.  The girl was a whirlwind.  She twirled and she moved and she swept me across the dance floor, always in time, always in step, always immaculate in her presentation.

What it wasn’t was personal.  Charlotte might’ve been nothing if not an incredible dancer, but we didn’t laugh over our stumbles.  My heart didn’t pound with the rush of being close to her.  I found my mind drifting towards my dance with Micaiah, wanting to repeat the experience, impatient for the evening’s final dance, and I realized that the edge of Charlotte’s advised strategy cut both ways.

I subtly cycled my lung meridian to keep myself from panting as the song came to a close, grateful nobody could sense my invisible qi in motion.  This time, I applauded whole-heartedly.

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter and her mysterious outworlder.”

Charlotte smiled venom.  “Ayuma, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.”

I turned to find a blond woman in the yellow and gray of House Urlitch looking me up and down.  I followed Charlotte’s lead and didn’t salute the titanium cultivator.  “Caliban Rex,” I introduced myself.

“Ayuma Urlitch.”  She held out a hand.  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

I raised an eyebrow.  “Careful, I might mistake you for someone who actually wants to dance.”

“With you?  Not particularly.”  She extended her hand even further.

I took it.  “But you are anyway.”

She pulled me into dancing position as the first notes rang through the ballroom.  “My mother demanded I dance with a least a few men my generation to help slow down the rumors.  You’re the least boring of the lot.”

“I’ll… take that as a compliment?  Truth be told I’m not that interesting.”

“A poor lier too.  It’s cute, watching you flounder.  Like a lost puppy, or perhaps a kitten.  Hmm, yes, a kitten.  The big one is the puppy.”

I let out a sharp laugh.  “That I can agree with.  Xavier’s more of a puppy than some actual puppies.”

Ayuma narrowed her eyes at me.  “You’re rather strong, for a bronze core, outworlder.  Almost as if you’ve begun tempering your body early.  It’s an interesting Way you walk.”

“All a part of my brooding and mysterious charm, I assure you.”

“You are a curious one.  I do find myself wondering, she seems so attached to that puppy dog of hers, how Charlotte convinced you to patronize her.”

My face hardened.  “She’s my friend.”

Ayuma scoffed.  “Charlotte Velereau is nobody’s friend.  It’s not in her blood.  Whatever she’s giving you, it’ll dry up as soon as she gets what she wants.  I imagine that’ll be soon now you’ve brought her home.  Already her cultivation has eclipsed yours.”

“And I imagine House Urlitch wants to, what, match her offer?”

“Your words, not mine.”  Ayuma smirked.  “She’ll betray you sooner or later.  It’s in her nature.  She’ll milk you for everything she can get just like she milked Raul Thurman, just like she milked that pig Liam, and once you run dry or blow up in her face she’ll move on.”

I snorted in my attempt to suppress the laugh.

Ayuma glared at me.  “What’s so funny?”

“It’s—”  I stopped myself as another laugh escaped.  “You really have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?  Oh, I’m sure Charlotte’s taken advantage of people like that.  Threads, I’ve seen her do it, but you can’t fathom what we’ve been through, not really, and your whole ‘wise elder cultivator offering advice’ thing falls apart when you talk about Charlotte milking people until they blow up in her face.  I mean, I know you’re gay or ace or whatever but come on.  Even you have to see the innuendo there.”

She stopped cold, hands pulling away from me as she stood unmoving while the song played on and the dancers twirled around us.  “I can count on one hand those who would dare speak to me that way.”

“No, you can’t.  Those in this room, sure.  Maybe even those in this whole manor, but that’s as far as you’re getting.  I’d wager there’s at least a few million mortals on this station too proud and too dumb to genuflect properly, but I doubt you’ve met anyone that wasn’t a sect member or in direct service to the sect.”  I pointed up, away from the sun below us.  “Out there?  There’s more of ‘em than live in this sector, let alone the system.  

Ayuma seethed.  “That mouth of yours is going to get you killed, outworlder.”

“People keep telling me that.  It’ll happen or it won’t.  You don’t intimidate me.  Your mother doesn’t intimidate me.  Threads, the big important sect master doesn’t intimidate me.  I’ve stared down things far more powerful than you, and I’m still here.  You are small Ayuma Urlitch, just as tiny and insignificant as the rest of us.  It’s up to you whether you come to terms with that or continue deluding yourself into believing any of this actually matters.”  I held out a hand.  “In the meantime, I believe you asked for a dance?”

She took my hand and yanked me towards her violently.  I stumbled into position, and off we went.

“Were I not under strict orders not to make an enemy of the visiting soulship, this conversation would’ve ended very differently.”

I laughed.  “Oh, hey, I had similar orders.  You’re doing a lot better at it than I am.”

I thought I caught the tiniest twitch of a smile breaking through her frigid mask as we danced on in silence.  The number came to an end, and I turned to applaud the band, only to find when I turned back around that Ayuma had vanished.  With a shrug I picked a stranger at random and asked for a dance.

By some miracle, as the songs came and went and the partners along with them, I managed to avoid tapping anyone important.  The faces and names blended together, the conversations rarely escaped basic small talk, and I allowed myself to forget politics and cultivator pride and looming war for a little while and actually have fun.

Through it all my eyes kept catching Micaiah’s in sideways glances and brief flashes before one or the other of us spun away, each look accompanied by a tiny grin, by the tantalizing promise of the last dance to come.

I caught Charlotte dancing with each of the younger Morris’s, Gary, whom I’d met upon our arrival, and his cousin Liam, whose affections had first chased Charlotte all the way to Fyrion.  Something still felt missing from that story, not the least of which who’d sent the first assassin after Charlotte.  Much as I trusted my friend, Ayuma’s words had left me the distinct impression that Charlotte hadn’t shared the whole story.

Xavier, in contrast, spent much of his night away from the dance floor, lingering near the food and drink as he chatted with a group of similarly well built men.  I spotted him demonstrating an axe swing or piece of footwork to boisterous debate, and I chuckled.  Leave it to Xavier to find the battle junkies at the party.

Before I knew it and far later than I would’ve liked, Carlos’s voice rang out through the ballroom.  “You’ve been a beautiful audience, but alas our time together is drawing to a close.  I’m Carlos Esperanza; these are The Rakish Gleams; we’ve got one more song for you, so let’s make it count!”

I made a beeline for Micaiah, cutting off an unfamiliar cultivator who’d already extended a hand so I could beat him to the punch.  “Micaiah Ferendin, may I have this dance?”

“Caliban Rex, it would be my pleasure.”

As she took my hand and moved to lead me away, I stuck my tongue out at the other man.

Micaiah raised an eyebrow at me as she grabbed my shoulder.  “That was childish.”

“Good,” I said.  “Somebody needs to keep all these sect cultivators from taking themselves so seriously.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ve managed that.”

“Oh, of course not.  It’s a Sisyphean task, completely impossible.  Worth a shot though.  I’ll have you know I almost got Ayuma Urlitch to kind of smile.”

Micaiah’s lips stretched into an asymmetric grin.  “Was she also incredibly angry with you?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.  For the greater good, you know.”

“For an almost-kind-of smile.  Yeah, you’re right.  It had to be done.”

I pulled her a little closer as we swayed to the music.  “And how’s your party been?”

“Fun,” she answered.  “Long.”

“I know what you mean.  I’ve been waiting for this all night.”  The conversation drifted off as I enjoyed the lilt of the music, the warmth of her body close to mine, the depth of her dark brown eyes.

It ended too soon.  It didn’t end soon enough.

As Carlos strummed the final notes, as the dancers around us separated to politely applaud, as my heart pounded in my chest, I leaned in for a kiss.

A shriek pierced the romantic atmosphere like a spear through the heart.  On instinct I spun to face it, hand reaching for the sword I hadn’t brought.  

I heard Micaiah mutter under her breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Whispers of confusion spread as people rushed towards the source of the noise.  I stayed put.  I’d already spotted it through a gap in the crowd, a figure lying on his back, his face a dark purple as foam fell from his mouth.

Worse yet, I recognized him.

A man I’d publicly antagonized just yesterday, whose cousin I’d just mouthed off to, lay poisoned on the ballroom floor.  With my spiritual sense I watched as his core flickered, then fell apart, his life qi dissipating into the environment.

Austin Urlich was dead.

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