Age of X01 - Gameboard of the Gods (8 page)

Mae’s breath came fast, and the wineglass slipped from her hand, spilling onto the floor. He didn’t care. His lips found hers again, and all that mattered was his burning need to possess her again and—

A soft chiming sound that he barely heard made Mae sit upright and pull away. With more of that remarkable speed, she sprinted from the bed and out the door. She returned moments later, more slowly, looking at something in the palm of her hand. At first, Justin was too transfixed by the sight of her naked body to notice much else. Then he realized she was holding an ego.

Careful,
said Horatio.
Dashing Eastern Alliance diplomat Huan Korokov wouldn’t even blink an eye at that.

I know, I know,
Justin said.

He wished he could get a better look but knew Horatio was right. Telecommunications were sketchy around here, and it was hard enough
getting a good portable phone, let alone anything as sophisticated as an ego. It governed a Gemman’s life. It made calls, provided unlimited access to the stream, managed money, verified identity…. Being without one for four years had been a huge adjustment for Justin. He’d grown up with people and information instantly accessible, and that lack had only increased his feeling of isolation in exile.

Mae sighed and looked up from the ego’s screen. “I have to go. I took too long.” She began hunting around for her dress. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. His words were gallant, but there was a sinking feeling welling up in him, not unlike when Huan had announced his departure. “I’m honored to have even had such a brief moment of a Valkyrie’s time.”

She gave him a wry smile as she tugged the dress up. “You already had me in bed. You don’t have to keep laying on the charm.”

“I don’t know how to stop it.”

That got him a bigger smile. He found a robe and walked her to the door. She opened it and then lingered in the doorway, looking at him in a way that managed to be both bold and shy at the same time. “I hope you find something to make you happy.”

“I already did,” he assured her.

“It really doesn’t stop with you.” She gave him a long kiss good-bye, one even she was reluctant to break. “If I ever get back here, I’ll look you up again.”

He smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Won’t that be a nice surprise for Huan the next time he’s in town,
said Horatio.

Justin watched her walk away, feeling both light and weighted down at the same time.

The bargain is complete,
said Magnus.
You’ve claimed the crowned woman.

That startled Justin out of his melancholy.
What? No. Not her.

You saw the crown of stars and flowers,
insisted the raven.

Panic suddenly seized Justin as he remembered that moment, in the throes of postorgasmic bliss, when he had indeed had a brief vision of Mae crowned in glory. A conversation from long ago, with a figure in
shadows, replayed in his head. Justin knew the words by heart:
You’ll know her by a crown of stars and flowers, and then when you take her to your bed and claim her, you will swear your loyalty to me.

After a bit of analysis, he relaxed.

No,
he told the ravens.
I didn’t claim or take the crowned woman to bed.

Really?
Horatio was incredulous.
You were most definitely in bed with her. And there was a lot of claiming going on.

No. The deal was that I would
know
her by the crown and
then
claim her. Key word: then. The woman I took to bed was a lovely Nordic. I didn’t see the crown until afterward. So, therefore I didn’t claim her when I recognized her.

The ravens were silent for long moments, and Justin held his breath, more terrified than he was willing to admit of the precipice he stood on. It was a tenuous argument, but he had a feeling their master appreciated such subtleties. In fact, he wondered if they were conferring with him now. Finally, Horatio admitted grudgingly,
You’re right. You’re a slippery bastard, which is why he likes you.

But you know her now,
Magnus warned him.
You’ve seen the crown. You know who she is. No more excuses. The next time you make love to her, the deal is done, and you must fulfill your part and swear loyalty. Do you understand?

Yes,
Justin told him smugly, amazed he’d gotten away with this.
And I also understand I’ll never see her again.

Just then, one of Cristobal’s henchmen rounded the corner and approached. Justin sighed, unhappy at this intrusion on his afterglow. “Are you here to break my knees for pissing off Señora Santiago?”

“Nah.” The guy fished an envelope out of his pocket. “I’m just supposed to deliver this to you.”

Justin took the envelope, nearly dropping it when he saw its seal. The RUNA rarely used paper for correspondence, but when it did, there was a type of sticker used to ensure the envelope’s security. It was a metallic square that showed the country’s seal in glowing blue. As soon as the edges of the sticker were lifted even a little, the seal went dark.

“Where the hell did you get this?” Justin demanded.

“I don’t know. Someone gave it to Cristobal.” The guy waited expectantly, and Justin realized he wanted a tip.

“I’m out of money. Hit me up next week.”

“You spend it on the blonde I just passed?”

“Didn’t need to.”

Justin shut the door without another word and moved toward the couch like a sleepwalker, unable to take his eyes off the seal. He sat down, took a deep breath, and then opened the envelope. It contained a small piece of paper reading:
Perhaps there are supernatural forces in the world we can’t rule out after all. —CK.
Below that was the address of a hotel across town and a room number. Justin felt his mouth go dry. He closed his eyes. This had to be a trick. There was no way—not after four years—that this could be real.

One way to find out,
said Magnus.

Justin opened his eyes and sprang up from the couch. He made the effort to find dry clothes but did little else to improve his disheveled state. Five minutes and two shots of courage bourbon later, he was out the door, on his way to the hotel in the note.

He knew the place. It was owned by one of the older families, one that held a fairly neutral position. That was a nice perk for guests not wanting to be woken by or shot in middle-of-the-night raids. The downstairs lobby and bar still held plenty of vices, prostitutes and dealers available to make visits that much more enjoyable.

The room in question was on the third floor. The part of Justin that was still certain this must be some kind of joke or death trap fell silent when he cleared the stairs and saw uniformed Gemman soldiers in gray and maroon standing at attention outside a cluster of doors. He came to a halt, wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t rule out a death trap after all. But none of them shot at or even assaulted him, though their eyes followed his every move. He reached the door in the note, hesitating in front of the soldier.

“I’m Justin March, here to see…Cornelia Kimora.” Surely there was no other CK the note could’ve been referring to. The soldier gave a curt
nod and knocked. Someone called an invitation to enter from within. He disappeared inside for a few seconds and then returned to wave Justin in.

With no more hesitation, Justin plunged forward, ready to face whatever it was that waited for him. He stepped past the soldier and found who he’d both hoped and dreaded to see: Cornelia Kimora, his old boss, complete with boring clothing and a bad dye job. She looked exactly the same as she had the day she’d told him his last report was unacceptable and that she was “sorry things have to end this way.” His military escort had arrived soon thereafter.

They were in the living room of a suite, and she rose from her chair with a smile Justin knew with absolute certainty was faked.

“Justin,” she said. “I’m so happy to see you again.” That too was a lie, and he returned it in kind as he kissed her cheek.

“Likewise.” His brain was screaming with a thousand questions, and he had to fight down the urge to grab hold of her and demand an explanation for what had happened to his life. Instead, he put on the same pleasant face he’d have worn if they were friends catching up after a few months apart. It was the same face he used to interrogate cults and learn their inner workings. “You’re just as lovely as always. Do you want to get out and see some sights? I’d be happy to show you around.”

Her smile tightened, showing how unfunny she found him. “Just as droll as ever. Please, have a seat so we can talk.” No pleasantries here. It was nice to know some things hadn’t changed. She glanced over at the soldier who’d let Justin in. “Go fetch the others.”

Justin took the offered chair, which was one of four set up at a round wooden table. A wall near it displayed a large portable screen Cornelia’s entourage had brought along. Justin felt the same pang of longing for it as he had Mae’s ego. It was thin and light, with crystal-clear visuals and all of its hardware contained within itself. No need for a separate computer. The Panamanians had no technology to match that. Their computers always seemed clumsy and unwieldy to Justin, not to mention slow and unreliable.

Dents in the carpet showed the table had been moved to this position, which provided optimal viewing of the screen. Justin wondered if
there was a presentation in his future. Cornelia wasn’t offering any guidance. She’d sat down again as well, crossed her legs, and seemed content to wait until “the others” showed before casting light on this situation. He had to give her points for staying true to herself. There was no awkwardness on her part, no gruff “sorry about the exile, you know how it is” or “glad you’re still alive.” Cornelia probably hadn’t lost any sleep over her decisions and wasn’t going to pretend otherwise now.

The door burst open, and a tall, gangly man entered. He was close to Cornelia’s age and had thinning gray hair. Upon seeing Justin, the man’s face lit up. He sprinted across the room, and Justin managed to get to his feet just in time for a frenzied handshake.

“Dr. March! At last! I am so, so, so happy to meet you. You have no idea. I’m such a huge fan of your work.”

I wonder which work that is,
mused Horatio.

Me too,
said Justin.

But again, Justin played it cordial and unassuming. “Why, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say, Mr….?”

“This is Director Francis Kyle, from Internal Security,” said Cornelia.

Just Internal Security. When no one assigned you a subdepartment, it meant you were high up. Very high up. Certainly higher than Cornelia, who was having a difficult time hiding her dislike for her superior.

“Please, please, just call me Francis. I want this little gathering to be as friendly as possible.”

At least someone does,
Justin thought, casting another look at Cornelia. The circumstances of this meeting were still a total mystery, but one thing Justin knew at a glance was that Francis wanted to be here and Cornelia did not.

“We should order drinks then,” Justin told him. “I’m sure they have some sort of room service to—”

The words died on his lips as another person slipped into the room.

It was her.

She wasn’t naked or even in a mauve dress, but there was no mistaking Mae. She was dressed simply in blue-gray linen pants and a white cotton T-shirt. From the way her hands hastily tied her hair back in a ponytail as she walked, she’d probably only just finished taking a blow
dryer to it. The makeup was gone too, not that her complexion had really needed it. She looked brisk and efficient in her sportier attire, though still devastatingly beautiful.

Also, devastatingly surprised.

She came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room when she saw Justin. Her hands dropped to her sides, and her eyes widened. Justin felt his own face mirror her shock as he lost control of his casual façade. For a few seconds, he was almost able to grasp at some sort of explanation. She was support staff for a Gemman military attaché, so perhaps it wouldn’t be that unreasonable that she would be here for a—

“Ah, Prætorian Koskinen,” said Francis, beaming at her. “You’re back. How splendid. This is Dr. March.”

Mae gave a weak nod, her eyes never leaving Justin.

The words hit Justin like a slap to the face. “Prætorian?” His sluggish mind suddenly started working again as a terrible thought popped up. “Are you…are you here to kill me?”

After several more moments, she seemed to regain her own control too. Her astonishment vanished, replaced by a cool and composed face that was much frostier than the one Justin had gotten to know earlier that night. “Dr. March,” she said calmly, “if I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

CHAPTER 5

A BURNING BRIDGE

Even Cornelia seemed to find that comment funny, probably because it was something she wished had actually happened.

“She’s joking, Dr. March,” said Francis, taking a seat beside Cornelia.