Sugar Skulls (31 page)

By the time I’ve got her in the center of the room where the dance floor will be, she’s seen so much that the lighting I’ve jury-rigged escapes her notice. Ditto for the remote in my hand. I dim the lights and cue the music as I draw her close, and she smiles, a radiant, intoxicating smile that makes a peasant feel like a king.

My hands find her waist as she drapes her arms over my shoulders, and we slow dance to the simple strumming of the song. Her eyes light up with recognition, and I answer her question before she asks. “Had a little help from Sasha and Jax. Recorded it yesterday.”

“On the new guitar?”

“Her name’s Sofie, thank you very much.”

“Good thing I’m not the jealous type.” Vee kisses me, just for a moment, before retreating to arm’s length. I stroke her cheek as she croons along with the recording of me playing.

You came in through an unguarded window,

Finding me alone in this dark and empty space,

Creeping through my every waking thought,

Quiet as a mouse, and vibrant as the chase.

I still tense up as the electric shocks of her voice roll over me, totally and utterly hers for the duration of the song. It’s a concert for one, and I sway with her, following her every lilt and half step.

As the last note slips from her lips, I hug her tight and we just stand there, lost in a stolen moment. Eventually, Vee breaks the silence. “They’re expecting us back at the Loft.”

I nod. “Game Night, right?”

Her face pressed hard against my chest, it takes her a second to answer. “If Jax wants to play Full-Contact Rock-Paper-Scissors again, I need you to watch my back . . .” The words trail off as she concentrates on her breathing, like we’ve practiced: one count in, two counts out. Two counts in, four counts out.

The last time we played, I’d gotten distracted trying not to step on Little Dead Thing in the middle of a skirmish. Jax had tackled Vee, pinning her to the couch and triggering a full-blown panic attack. With every day that passes, Vee’s remembering more and more of her time before Cyrene, her time in foster care. The neglect. Bad nights on the streets, in abandoned houses.

Every time she edges toward that dark place, I pull her close, just to remind her that she’s here, with me. Not alone. Never alone.

Counting Jax, Sasha, and Callie, we’re five against the world.
Again.

I run my fingers through the silky waves of her hair. “I’ll always have your back, Vee. I just wish . . . I wish it hadn’t come down to forgetting me or remembering all that.”

The smile she gives me now is tentative, wavering like water, but the words are strong. “I choose you, love. I’ll take the bad with the good as long as it means that I have you.”

My fingers brush over her silver necklace as I smile. “Forever, love. I’m not going anywhere.” Taking her hands in mine and squeezing them in reassurance, I leisurely lead her toward the back, past the stacked-up crates and beyond piles of building materials. “I do have one more surprise for you.”

I open the reinforced steel door labeled “Authorized Personnel Only,” and she laughs with delight as she takes in the miniature pad I’ve set up on the sly. There’s a double bed and a stack of pillows to lounge on. Rose petals on the bedspread, candles bathing the room with warmth.

“I know it’s even smaller than our old love nest under the Arkcell, but I figured if we ever need an escape for a night—”

“It’s going to be a lot more often than that.” Closing the door behind us with a definitive
click!
, she has me by the belt loops again. This time, I don’t mind it in the slightest, especially since she’s steering me straight toward the rose petals. “As nice as the Loft is, it’s a little like a fishbowl. A lovely . . .” Kiss. “Well-furnished . . .” Gentle bite to my lower lip. “Fishbowl.”

“And this is just for us.” I run one finger along her jaw and down her neck, my lips inching closer to hers with every syllable. “No intrusions, no cameras, no bullshit glamour or artifice. Just our words, our thoughts, our music. How does that sound?”

“Like a love song,” Vee whispers. “It sounds like a love song.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To our literary agent, Laura Rennert, who puts Micah to shame when it comes to delivering the goods. Thank you for finding a home for Micah and Vee’s story.

To the Skyscape team: Miriam Juskowicz, for being the first real investor Cyrene ever had; our editor, Robin Benjamin, for helping build the city and making it run; and our copyeditor, Ben Grossblatt, who outperformed our nanotech when it came to finding every bug and flaw in the system. You can all have ten minutes in the zero-g room at Sarabande, our treat.

And to Nicole Brinkley and Dave Olsher, for offering fresh perspective when it was most needed.

From Glenn:

I have an endless cavalcade of people to thank, only because I am blessed when it comes to both support and encouragement.

To everyone who picked up this book and read this far. Thank you for taking a trip into a peculiar alternate future with us. Hopefully a few of you woke up on Jax’s floor with a story to tell.

To my siblings, nephews, and nieces. Thank you for making my world a more colorful and adventurous place. Thank you for dragging me out of my head from time to time. Also, to my nephews and nieces, you shouldn’t have read this. There were lots of swears.

To all of my workshop pals, to the members of the HWC, to all the hilarious and creative folks I’ve met on Twitter, to my fellow FFBs—Dan Angell, Heather Clawson, and Amanda Wils—and to everyone on OpenDiary and ProseBox who ever took the time to read my scribblings and share your thoughts. Thank you for making me a better writer, for critiquing (and haranguing when need be), and for reminding me to cool it with the adverbs. Seriously.

And finally, to Lisa. Thank you for being the best writing partner I could ever ask for. Thank you for your laughs and your “Oh I LOVE that’s” and for all the times you took those extra five or ten or twenty minutes and helped me find the right words. Thank you for keeping it conversational. Thank you for that first email, so long ago, asking what I knew about guitars and if I’d like to be the bass-playing boy in your weird fictional goth-girl band. Thank you a thousand times for a thousand different gifts.

Let’s do this again sometime.

From Lisa:

(sweeping up the tickertape from Glenn’s Parade of Thanks but refusing to clean up after the elephants)

First and foremost, thank you to the readers. There was a tiny hop in style from the theater series to the steampunk novel, and then a massive leap to this near-future not-dystopian. Thank you for making that jump with us.

To my family. Over the course of this novel’s publication cycle, I’ve watched my daughter turn into a preteen, my baby turn into a preschooler, and my nephew join our motley crew. The kids, as well as my husband, mother, sister, and family-by-marriage, are the life and light that make the daily trudging worth every second.

To the loyal supporters, the faces that turn up at the signings, book launches, and conventions; the online enthusiasts; Patreon patrons; and Dress Circle members Cat Healy and Rose Elizabeth Pedersen. Your kindness, generosity, and love of reading never cease to amaze and delight me.

And last but certainly not least, to Glenn. For answering that first email with “I’m in. Let’s do this thing.” For all the hours on the phone. For the jokes you had to explain. For knowing where the hyphens should go. For taking all the notes I shoved at you with good grace even when the hour was impossibly late. And for hanging in there until our weird word baby found a home. It’s been a joy and a pleasure to go on this journey with you.

Yes, we really should do it again.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

When not working on puzzles for Penny Press or writing about them for PuzzleNation, Glenn Dallas is an author of short stories and at least half of one novel. After appearing in the acknowledgments of several outstanding novels, he looks forward to returning the favor in the future.

Lisa Mantchev is the acclaimed author of
Ticker
and the Théâtre Illuminata series, which includes
Eyes Like Stars
, nominated for a Mythopoeic Award and the Andre Norton Award. She has also published numerous short stories in magazines, including
Strange Horizons
,
Clarkesworld
,
Weird Tales
, and
Fantasy
. She lives on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State with her husband, children, and horde of furry animals. Visit her online at
www.lisamantchev.com
.