Page 5 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

After patting the pillow into shape, Toby focuses on his own breathing, on the rise and fall of his chest, until anything but the weight in his limbs fades away. When he falls asleep, Mike’s breathing is reduced to a quiet, constant pattern at the outer edge of his consciousness.

II. Chapter Two

T oby wakes up to find Mike rifling through the bag of equipment that was stored in the oversized in-room safe, to keep it away from the prying eyes and inexperienced hands of hotel employees.

The safe was locked. Toby doesn’t ask.

“Find anything you like?” he inquires with the same friendly interest he’d use when asking a child about a trip to the toy store.

Mike glances at him. All traces of tiredness have disappeared from his face, his eyes sharp and bright. He’s exchanged the suit for cargo pants, but he’s meant to stay out of sight anyway, so there’s no reason to object. “I personally prefer Wilson Combat to Seecamp, but the LWS .380 should do. You don’t expect much opposition, correct?”

“There are six guards on duty, making their rounds in twos. Someone must be monitoring the camera feeds, but I doubt it’s more than one person, and there are enough blind spots that you can get in and out without drawing anyone’s notice.” Toby climbs out of bed, pausing to stretch, arms raised high above his head. He thinks he sees Mike’s gaze flicker down to a strip of exposed stomach, but... probably not. Irrelevant either way. “The cameras and their angles are all on the map. There are no cameras back where I expect them to be assembling the weapons, only a couple trained on the doors leading in. Can’t say their security system blows my mind.”

Mike picks up the night vision camera to examine it with a critical eye. “You’ll wait outside?”

“It’ll be easier for one person to get in and out unseen,” Toby replies. “I’ll monitor the guards and camera feeds.”

A glance at the clock confirms that they’ve got plenty of time before they need to set up. In other words, there’s room for a nice, leisurely breakfast before Toby walks Mike through the details. Toby discovered a café not far from Madhur & Sons with decent coffee and mostly decent food, and passing by the production hall is only a brief detour—two for the price of one.

Time to become a ginger again, just in case.

***

They find a table at the very back of the café, surrounded by loud chatter and bright colors and more silky cloth than Toby can reasonably handle. He’s not fundamentally opposed to things that sparkle, but when silky cloth liaises with rhinestones to take over every available spot, the two then combining with ornate patterns to form an imitation of luxury while outside, street children are begging for money… Then, well. Toby’s sense of justice kicks into action.

“Out of curiosity” —Mike turns a page in the English menu— “has the choice of beverages done anything to offend you?”

“Not specifically.”

“What is it, then?” Mike sounds mildly interested, but mostly amused. “The translations are creative, granted, but I don’t think ‘strange flavor coffee American’ is a personal slight. You’ve been here before, right?”

“Not on a Saturday,” Toby says curtly. He snaps the menu shut and glances around the overflowing café. Ironically, their fellow customers are a mix of well-off Indians in predominantly Western clothing, while most tourists are dressed as though they just stepped out of a Bollywood movie. “It was a lot emptier the other two times I was here.”

Mike’s brows raise as he snaps the menu shut, his full attention on Toby. He really is very attractive. “You got a problem with people?”

“I don’t like the contrast between too many sparkles in here and too much poverty outside. Kids shouldn’t go barefoot.” Toby clears his throat and looks away. “Unless they want to, of course. Running around barefoot is great when you’re a kid, don’t get me wrong—been there, done that, got the bee stings to prove it. But when there are shards of glass on the road, plus all that trash to get an open wound infected...” The chair is pretty but uncomfortable, made of wrought iron with bars that dig into his spine. He shifts, squinting at the light that spills into the café—it’s another hot, sunny, dusty day. “Not that it matters. I know that’s not why we’re here, don’t worry.”

“It’s not.” Mike’s voice lacks its usual humorous quality. “But I know what you mean.”

“Yeah. Well.” Toby exhales and drudges up an apologetic smile. “Still, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Why?” Mike is watching him seriously, his gaze sharp, no trace of an answering smile. It makes Toby feel uncomfortably warm to be the focus of Mike’s attention—so naturally, he deflects. It’s a skill.

“Didn’t mean to diss the sparkles. I hear the combination of sparkles and vampires is very popular these days, and far be it from me to judge.”

It’s only a second before Mike’s mouth curves into a lopsided grin. He’s sprawled in his chair with the kind of laidback air that suggests he’d be equally comfortable on a sharp-edged rock or a tree branch. “I thought pale, bloodthirsty teenagers are so 2000s?”

“I’m impressed.”

Mike tilts his head in a silent question.

“You caught the reference.” Toby shrugs. “I admire a person who’s up to date on their mainstream trivia.”

“Never underestimate the power of small talk,” Mike states seriously.

“Amen.” Toby places his menu on the table, rests his hands on top of it. “Also, I have a niece who’s a fan. You’d think she’s too young for vampire movies, but her dad’s never been the responsible sort.”

Right after it’s out, Toby wonders if he made a mistake; paranoia is a natural side effect of their work, where a revealed identity can endanger entire families. But a young niece isn’t exactly uncommon; it wouldn’t give Mike much to go on should he turn out to be working for the other side.

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