The Rule of Luck (9 page)

I trudged by the fountains in front of the apartment and their calming reflection pools, then passed by manicured flowerbeds designed to repel anything the building AI deemed undesirable, be it weed or insect, and trees that only shed their leaves on the last day of autumn. I dialed in my pass codes until I heard the electric lock click and the door opened to admit me. At the end of the lobby was a bank of elevators. I pushed the call button, waiting all of two seconds for the next one; then I was on my way up to the 132nd floor.

The elevator stopped at my floor without interruptions. At the end of the nondescript hall of soothing grays was the unit Roy and I shared. I stood before our door, unsure what to say should Roy be inside. Finally, after I'd stalled long enough, I pressed my access code into the key panel and swung the door wide.

“Hi, honey. I'm home!”

I stopped in the small foyer and waited. Roy's black leather boots lay on their side on the cool blue tile floor and the picture of
Greece before the Floods
was crooked on the light blue wall. I straightened both while listening for noise. Nothing but quiet. No, wait. I could hear someone snoring. Roy.

The foyer opened up to a living room decorated with plants. I kicked off my own boots, then searched for the source of the snores. I didn't have to go far.

Roy lay sprawled on the cream suede couch in the living room. His chin rested on his chest and his blond hair stuck up in every direction. On the glass table were two bottles of whiskey—the good stuff—and a shot glass. One bottle was empty, the other half full. I frowned. Roy didn't drink. Behind the bottles lay Roy's service blaster, cocked and ready.

Roy stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at me, then threw up all over his shirt. He tried to get up. Fell. Hit the table. Knocked over the bottles. His gun fired, hitting the wall that led down the hall to our bedroom. It took all of five seconds for this to happen. Five seconds, yet more than enough time for me to realize that something significant had shifted in our relationship. Not just shifted—broken. From this moment on, Roy and I would not be the same.

Though it was too late to matter, I leaped away from Roy and his firearm. I cast a brief glance at the wall and the scorch mark left behind. If that had hit me…I shuddered. Ironically, part of me actually felt thrilled about it, like it absolved me from the guilt I felt over Petriv. Cheat on your boyfriend and he gets to take a shot at you. Poetic justice and all that.

Roy tried and failed to pull himself upright again. Whiskey was leaking out and staining the pale blue carpet—a color I'd specifically chosen because it matched the shade I'd once seen in a picture from the Old World. That stain made something in me snap.

“Roy, what the fuck are you doing? You don't drink and now you're holed up here, shooting the walls and destroying the carpet! I love this carpet! What's wrong with you?”

He managed to roll himself into a seated position. Vomit streaked his chin and the front of his shirt. His eyes, when he could focus them, centered on me. “Where were you? I've been looking and waiting…I shimmed…I always know where you are, but I couldn't find you…You were gone…Where were you?”

The pitiful tone sounded so unlike him. My disappearance and his inability to find me had reduced him to this: not angry, but defeated, like he'd reached the end of a long race only to lose at the finish line. Guilt flared hot and heavy in my chest.

“I'm sorry, babe,” I soothed, crouching beside him. He reeked of alcohol and vomit, and I almost gagged. “I have a new client who wants complete privacy. I thought you were on a long shift and wouldn't notice if I wasn't here.”

“No, we were supposed to meet up, remember? It was date night.”

Shit! Last night, when I'd been in One Gov's pit. “I know it's no excuse and I always keep you in the loop about where I am and who I'm with, but he threw around so many buckets of gold notes, I just…forgot. Gods, I'm sorry, Roy. I should have…” I was running out of lies. If he'd been angry, I could have been angry in return. But nothing had prepared me to see Roy in such a state. “You need to go to bed and sleep this off.”

I reached down to help him stand—awkward given that he had at least fifty pounds on me. I ignored the vomit and the stench, decided they were my penance, and worked to get his arm around my shoulders. He kicked aside the bottles, making more of a mess. With his help, I almost had him up and around the table when I remembered his service blaster. Well, I'd worry about that later.

Roy's head lolled close to mine. “You can't keep doing this. You can't.”

“Doing what, babe?” I grunted as we weaved around a floor lamp and staggered down the hall. I spared a glance for the blackened streak on the wall. Would I be able to scrub it off? Maybe a fresh coat of paint?

“You gotta tell me things. Let me know what's happening. I can't…I got scared. Real scared. I gotta know where you are. Always. Don't do that to me.”

“It won't happen again. I promise.”

“Okay, baby, that's good. Maybe it won't matter. Just don't do it again.”

“I said I won't. I'm sorry.”

Roy lurched, sending us into the wall. I swerved, righting us enough so Roy took the brunt of it.

“Lights. Dim,” I called out once we'd reached the bedroom.

The wall mounts muted themselves to a soft cream, and the window shades darkened to block the afternoon sun. A few more steps and Roy crashed onto the bed, hitting face-first and smearing vomit on the quilted rose-covered duvet. Damn. Granny G had made that for me. Well, maybe I deserved it. Maybe she was reaching from beyond the grave to let me know I'd made a huge mistake today.

“Roy, why was your blaster out? Doesn't the MPLE record unregistered firings? You could get into trouble.”

“Worried. I couldn't find you. Things were happening.” He rolled over and resettled himself on the duvet. “Impossible to track you. Panicked.”

“And your solution was getting drunk, shooting up the condo, and…”

His snores interrupted me. I sighed, then grabbed a blanket from the trunk at the foot of the bed and spread it over him. I set a glass of water on the bedside table along with two red al-effect tablets and a small pail on the floor in case he needed to throw up again. If I'd gotten the al-effects into him first, they would have wiped the alcohol from his system, but it was too late now. We'd both have to suffer through tomorrow's hangover. I shut off the lights. So much for my homecoming.

Back in the living room, I surveyed the damage and dealt with what I could. The condo's auto-clean AI would handle the menial details, but Roy and I would have to put our own efforts into spot-cleaning the rug and painting over the scorch mark. That definitely fell outside the scope of regular maintenance.

As awful as it was to find Roy in this state, it also meant I didn't have to tell him where I'd been the past two days. We'd have that talk eventually—but not yet. If I could salvage the mess I'd made and still get everything I wanted, it would be worth it. For now, it meant I could start organizing my trip to Denver without a messy relationship fight.

To avoid bothering Roy, I used the guest bathroom instead of the master. It was pretty luxurious considering our general lack of overnight guests. Green and black re-con marble graced the walls, floor, and ceiling. In one corner was a sonic-cleanser to slough off grime in a heartbeat—up-and-coming technology from the space transit program was becoming increasingly popular on Earth since it didn't use water. We thought it might help the condo's resale value. In another corner we'd installed a frosted-glass shower/sauna stall with multiple nozzle heads for when you had more time, and frankly, wanted more fun. When we'd been house-hunting, I'd insisted on as many luxuries as we could afford. Growing up poor and tech-free could do that to a girl.

I tapped the window, changing its glass to an opaque mirror that hid the outside cityscape. I winced at the dirty, forlorn-looking waif I saw reflected back at me. My clothes showed the ravages of a night in jail and a sexual manhandling, and I looked worn-out and just a little scared. Dark circles ringed my eyes like bruises, and my hair stuck out in all directions. Nice to know I'd looked like ass all day despite my best efforts.

I turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. Then I kicked aside my clothes and removed my c-tex bracelet. Stepping under the hot water was pure bliss. I sighed as I lathered and rinsed, washing away the grime of the past two days. Then I stood under the heated jets and let myself unwind.

How was I going to explain everything to Roy? He'd never understand, as much as I owed him the truth. I mean, I'd essentially cheated on him today, hadn't I? If I told him everything, he'd leave me. Worse, arrest me. Plus, I had another wrinkle to consider—my mother. I needed my cards. After I ran a few spreads, maybe I'd better understand the situation.

I considered Alexei Petriv…again. He was ridiculously good-looking—far beyond the typical genetic upgrades One Gov offered. Sure, a pretty face and a great body were nice, but when the package was too genetically and technologically enhanced, what lay below the surface? How could you be sure that what you were getting was still real? What made their reactions genuine? His Tsarist Consortium connections also made him extremely powerful. He was everything I should avoid, yet my gut had reacted the moment he'd appeared in my shop—a reaction stronger than anything I'd experienced in a long time. Hopefully the cards would provide a clue as to what he represented for me.

And because I couldn't help myself, I recalled the width of his shoulders and how my hand felt so small in his. Then, how he looked at me during lunch and his voice as he discussed his plans. His slight Russian accent was sexier than it had any right to be. And then after, what he'd done to me. Oh gods, what he'd done. Without thinking, I slipped a hand between my legs, touching myself. As the hot water ran down my body, I imagined Alexei Petriv, not Roy. My fingers quickened along with my breathing as I thought about him finishing what he'd started in the restaurant. With ease, he would lift me and place my legs around his waist. He would pin me to the shower wall with his powerful body and pound me as I screamed his name, my back slick against the wet tiles.

A second later, I came. My legs gave way and I went to my knees. I fought to catch my breath, horrified at my behavior, yet not completely surprised. Long ago, I'd learned never to lie to myself. Still, that didn't stop my disgusted groan. Charlie Zero was right. I wanted Alexei Petriv bad and wouldn't be satisfied until I had all of him.

Shower finished, I pulled on a bathrobe and wrapped a towel around my hair. Roy was still asleep. The room stank of alcohol and his snores nearly shook the walls. I retreated to the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee before padding barefoot to my office, which was nothing like the shop on Night Alley.

While the shop was decorated to impress clients, giving them what they thought they wanted—an exotic Tarot card reader who spoke in riddles and unraveled the mysteries of the universe (never mind that my readings were genuine and would be the same wherever I did them)—it didn't reflect the real me. Or rather, it reflected an over-the-top, amplified version of me.

At home, my office walls were set to the muted plum of a sky at dawn, with faint dark mountains far in the distance. Scenes like this existed almost everywhere in Kenya, though not where I presently sat, so I had my walls re-create them. The room was small, containing a metal desk, a nav-look for when I wanted to access the CN-net and didn't want to bother with my bracelet, a comfortable, form-molded chair, and a cupboard for my extra card decks. In the center of the room was my work-memory table. At its most basic, I used it for reheating my coffee. At its most complex, it recorded my readings should I need to recall them later and helped track my star charts and any associated research, its avatar making not always useful suggestions when it thought I was stuck. I'd considered disabling the personality mode, but I liked its quirkiness, even if it had moments where it tried to contradict my gut feelings.

I sipped my coffee as I opened my card cabinet and rifled through the decks, afraid of what I was about to do next. For the first time in my life, I was going to do a reading for my mother.

I've never held by the theory that the person you're reading needs to handle the deck. It's a nice theatrical touch if you're putting on a show, but I've found it's unnecessary. Usually I concentrate on the person, what I want to know—or what they want—then lay the spread.

I pulled a deck at random, and believe me, there were a lot to choose from. I collected decks of Tarot cards the way some girls collected shoes—although I collected a lot of those as well. I pulled the Heart and Soul deck. Interesting. It had been a gift from a former lover who'd wanted me to run away with him to Mars. Brody Williams had been fun for a few months and helped me get over the crushing pain of Dante's desertion, but Mars wasn't practical and I had no desire to get emotionally involved with anyone so soon after Dante, even if Brody had brought me back to life when I felt like dying. He'd told me to keep them as a reminder of our time together. Then he disappeared and I didn't hear from him again. Sometimes I still wondered about him and what might have happened if he'd approached me at a different time in my life. I assumed he was living on Mars now, but I'd probably never really know.

I slipped the cards from their case—which was lined with black satin to keep the energies neutral—and idly shuffled, thinking about my mother. It was a small palm-sized deck, so shuffling was easy. The backs were patterned in swirling pastels, beginning with ridges of spikes and ending in curlicues. The cards had a velvety feel and for some reason smelled like cinnamon to me. I always felt comforted when I used them—they felt like a hug from a good friend.

I touched the table and it lit up a clear, warm white; then the reflective surface became opaque. “Good afternoon, Felicia,” the table said, its voice warm and feminine. “It has been several days since you were here last. I'm glad you're back.”

“Thanks Eleat. Start a new file, please. Call it ‘Vaillancourt.' Lock it with the usual password security.”

“Yes, Felicia. I will begin recording when you are ready. I see you have selected the Heart and Soul deck. This must be regarding a personal issue?”

See? Quirky table. “I won't know for sure until I'm done. Begin recording.”

I took another sip of coffee and cut the cards. “Okay, Mom, let's see what you've been up to while you pretended to be dead.”

I laid down a classic ten-card spread. As I suspected, the reading contained many Major Arcana—the High Priestess, the Hermit, and the Wheel of Fortune. Monique Vaillancourt was a focused, driven woman, determined to make her own way in the world, whatever the cost. She was intelligent and looked to herself for answers, knowing that only she had the will to make what she wanted a reality. No surprise there. Of the Minor Arcana, the cards were split between golds and souls. Finance and career. I found no evidence of any strong personal relationships influencing her. Nothing whatsoever about a love interest—not even my father as a love from the past. She made decisions solely on how they influenced her career. She felt no regret about the choices she'd made or the things she'd left behind, including me. I shivered. My mother was a frightening woman.

I dictated a few notes to Eleat on my general feelings and impressions, made sure the layout had been recorded, and gathered up the cards. Next, I opened a new file and laid another spread, focusing on the man who worked for my mother—the one Petriv wanted me to discredit. Maybe the cards would give me something I could twist to my advantage.

This time, the deck gave me all Minor Arcana—daggers, hearts, and golds. This man led a double life and had an unfaithful heart. He was a liar and a cheat. I saw the Queen of Daggers—definitely my mother—controlling his actions, but he didn't mind because it paid well, as shown by the Four of Daggers, reversed. A greedy bastard. Oddly, it showed love lost as well. Interesting. That would give me something to work with once Petriv introduced us. I squelched any feelings of guilt. This was for my future with Roy. If I couldn't do this, I should just quit now.