Page 43 of Immortal Longings
Dismissed, Galipei nods and leaves the pharmacy, the paper bag clutched tightly in his hands.
CHAPTER13
Calla is already sweating when she finds Anton the next day, inhumanely early so that they can convene before either of their pings goes off. It’s piping hot despite the hour, the air sticky and humid. She swapped out her longer coat for a hemmed jacket and she isn’t wearing anything except her underclothes underneath the leather, but her skin still sticks to the inside of the material. At least she can put up with a little discomfort if it means her arms are protected from any flying blades.
“August is already up and at it,” Calla says when she stops beside Anton, turning her pager around.
Anton squints, trying to read the scrolling text that August has tacked on to his automatic code.
“Why’s he telling you tobe careful?”
Evercent Hotel. Number 79, the pager says. Then:I believe he is checking in at opening hours. Be careful.
“My cousin highly regards my safety,” Calla replies. A lie. August wouldbite off his own hand before he urged caution for the sake of her health and well-being. Anton seems to know it too, because the dark brow of the body he’s wearing today quirks up and stays there. He’s dressed lighter than she is: a button-down with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the deep-green fabric crumpled in a manner only expensive things can manage. It seems Anton is quite fond of jumping into the rich.
Calla waves her hand at him, starting toward the Evercent Hotel. August’s code always chooses targets that are either nearby or heading toward obvious landmarks, and the Evercent Hotel is the largest building in Er. Despite being some distance away, Calla and Anton move through San quickly, weaving in and out of the slowly stirring city, then trekking onto a bridge with their weapons hidden from view. If anyone saw them from afar, one might even think they were a couple taking a brisk morning stroll.
Maybe if couples these days went for matching bloodstains instead of wedding rings.
“You take the front, I’ll go around back?” Anton suggests as they approach the hotel.
Calla purses her lips. August’s warning about Anton flashes through her head again, and she shifts the sheath of her sword so it is easily within reach.
“I don’t see anyone at the desk, though. Seventy-Nine might not have arrived yet.”
Or he could be one of the people lingering right outside. A large group waits by the door: high-class escorts, ready to be picked up at check-in like an extra towel or a pair of slippers.
“Stay undercover until we know?” Anton suggests.
“Undercover until then,” Calla confirms.
Calla enters first, smacked immediately by the chill from the air-conditioning. She breathes out with a sigh of relief, trying to unstick her armpits from her jacket. Anton is close behind, coughing loudly. When Calla glances over hershoulder with a glare, asking wordlessly why he’s making such a scene, he waves around his face and shoots a nasty look at one of the courtesans holding a cigarette. Looks like she blew smoke right into Anton’s face. Calla gives the courtesan a smile. Anton scowls.
“Checking in?” the desk attendant asks when Calla and Anton finally draw near, tapping her acrylic nails on the stone countertop. Calla takes too long to answer, making note of the lobby details and its fraying carpet. Anton leans forward instead to stall, asking about the hotel amenities and room layouts. For whatever reason—perhaps genuine nicety, perhaps swayed by Anton’s borrowed body and good looks—the attendant tolerates the questions, pulling out reference sheet after reference sheet from the drawers behind the desk. Er is touchier about the games than San. While civilians in San are suicidal enough to risk a stab in the gut for the sake of a paid hospital bill, Er will close its shops early and forbid its children from walking on the streets alone while the games are ongoing. If the desk attendant knew they were players, she would not be speaking to Anton at all.
The doors to the hotel open again, and Calla turns around.
Only to see Seventy-Nine walking in with his wristband right in the open, surrounded by an entourage of ten men.
“What the fuck?” Calla mutters, her hand snapping out to grab Anton. He swivels around too, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight. Seventy-Nine flaunts his wristbandatopthe sleeve of his black suit jacket, flashing with light just as the wide metal rings on his fingers do.
“Have we ever seen him in the reels?” Anton whispers quickly.
Calla swallows. Seventy-Nine is walking closer, but his attention is only on the desk attendant. As far as he knows, Calla and Anton are merely other guests, moving aside for him as he checks in. The men surrounding him have knives. She can see the bulges in their pockets. When one of them looks around to take inventory of the lobby, his eyes flashsilverunder the lights. A Weisanna, likelyretired from the palace, gauging by his age. Heavens. This isn’t only hired help, but the best of it.
“No,” Calla answers. She tilts her head toward Anton, like they are merely discussing personal business before deciding on a room. As subtly as possible, they both slide their arms behind themselves to hide their wristbands. They would remember seeingthison the reels: a rich man walking around with others doing his bidding. “Never. Either he hasn’t killed or he doesn’t kill within view of the surveillance cameras.”
Which means the reels have had no reason to talk about him, and other players are taken by surprise when they encounter him. Playing in the games with a whole security team—what could he possibly be here for? Surely not themoney.
“Thismustbe against the rules,” Anton mutters.
“As long as the palace allows it,” Calla returns, barely audible. And it will allow whatever keeps its people entertained. Maybe Seventy-Nine has made some generous donations. Maybe he is a plant of King Kasa’s who can make sure the prize money flows back to the palace. Or maybe Seventy-Nine is doing what he wishes just because he can. The palace will still be sitting pretty when the news clamors to cover this surprise player instead of the unrest swelling in the factories.
Anton grimaces. By now, they have lingered long enough that the courtesans are glancing over, some gesturing for them to come closer. There is no way around this. They cannot fight ten highly trained men at once. The very point of their collaboration is that the two of them together are more likely to take outoneplayer.
“We should retreat,” Calla murmurs under her breath. “It’s not worth—”
At that very moment, her wristband starts to tremble, emitting a low sound from underneath her sleeve. There’s no warning before Anton’s joins in, and then Seventy-Nine’s too. Seventy-Nine’s head whips in their direction, andrecognition sparks in his eyes. He has never been on the reels, but Anton and Calla are its leading stars.
