Page 21 of When We Lost The Moon

I felt the frustration rising in my chest. We’d just started making progress, and now he was retreating back into his games. He refilled my wine glass, and then went to an oak cabinet near the record player and began leafing through a stack of files. I’d taken them as vinyls, but I caught a glimpse of detailed charcoal sketches. Dozens of faces, the corner of each stained by a thumbprint in blood.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A private indulgence,” he said. “The blood banks down below are kind of like the state treasury. But as I mentioned, I prefer my negotiations to be a little more intimate. I started with photographic records but it felt too sterile, so I decided to practice portraiture. I’m not as good as I’d like, but I enjoy the process. I hope you’ll humor me, and allow me to capture you.”

“You want to draw me?” I asked.

“It’ll pass the time, as we finalize our agreement.”

I shrugged, looking around the room awkwardly for a place to stand. Most of the others were stretched out on the bed or sofa, in revealing garments.

I felt self-conscious in the tracksuit I’d already been wearing for a few days, but it’s not like I’d been offered anything else to wear. He seemed to guess what I was thinking, studying my clothes as he set up a small easel with a fresh pad of paper.

“There should be something in the closet that’s more comfortable,” he said.

“I’m not your doll,” I shot back, crossing my arms. I couldn’t help thinking about the guard’s snide comment in Iklebot, about the elite preferring their consorts in pretty clothes.

“It’s up to you,” he shrugged. “I’ll confess, aesthetics aside, it’s just easier to sketch simple dresses than something as mundane as that ensemble you’re wearing. And since we’re marking the occasion, committing it to posterity, you might want to think about how you’ll be remembered.”

I frowned, but checked out the closet, where a dozen gowns and strapless dresses hung from the rack, along with a tall row of shoes. It was disappointing, somehow, to find out Augustine was just like other elite. I should have realized it earlier, but this whole room was obviously just a penthouse to play with his toys; the wide windows would make it impossible for him to actually sleep here, and I had a feeling the bed wasn’t accidental.Who puts a bed in their office?

I felt like I was being coerced, but I also knew he couldn’t take anything from me against my will, without breaking his own rules. And I was a little sick of wearing the same clothes for days. If this was all it took to finish our conversation, it wasn’t too great a burden. Even so, I picked out things I liked, refusing the skimpy short dresses and choosing an embroidered, dark satin blouse, and a long pair of thick black tights. I even grabbed some well-maintained black sneakers with soft cushions, surprised they fit me.

And just to spite him, a gold bracelet full of gemstones. I didn’t think he’d let me keep it, but it seemed like it could be worth something. It was a weird ensemble, but it was comfortable enough. He smiled when I came out again, his eyes tracing my figure, then he gestured to the bed. I chose the couch instead, allowing myself to be coaxed into the position of his choosing, until he began to sketch. I wondered how long it was going to take, but his pencil flew over the pad, scratching my likeness.

“It seems to me,” he said after a few moments, “you may not need to fight a war. You just need to kill one elite. A quiet assassination. This doesn’t have to be a kamikaze battle, go in guns blazing. Save Damien, kill Nigel, and you could end the whole thing. Do you know anything about chess?” he asked, nodding to a small table in the corner, with an ornate chessboard.

“I’m familiar with the basics,” I said.

He put his pencil behind his ear and rose to bring the board closer, sitting beside me again. He replaced the white king with the black king and then spun the board around.

“The objective of the game is simple. Kill the king and you win. But the complexities lie in the limitations. Thequeenis actually the most powerful player; she can move infinitely in any direction. But if she moves recklessly and is taken, the other side has an improved chance at victory. The kings, meanwhile, are slow and plodding. They can only move one step at a time. They can be trapped behind other pieces on the board, but if given too much space, they are remarkably tricky to pin down.”

“Are we done with the drawing?” I asked.

“Almost,” he said, rising again to resume his work behind the easel. After a few moments of sketching, he started speaking again.

“You seem to be expecting Nigel to just wait around for you. But who are you expecting him to duel? Just you and him, or just him and I? Or would you make your prince fight your battle? Are you sure you can win? You’re like a queen, confident in her power, rushing into battle alone. But one tiny step in the wrong direction, and everything could be lost.”

“Nigel won’t fight a losing battle, and if he escapes, he’ll always be a threat. What you need is a way to keep the elites contained and distracted, while you make a few innocuous beginner moves. That comes first. Save your prince, your brethren. That comes next. Start there, win with manipulation and illusion. Immobilize the majority of Nigel’s forces, and trap him into a losing encounter. I have an idea about that, several ideas actually.”

“You mentioned. Care to share them?”

“The problem is, it’s still not enough. You may be able to fight, but you’re renitent. The chosen have been trained in combat, but they are mostly against you; as are the elite and royal soldiers. Even with the light on your side, even with guns and swords and bombs, Emily, this is a battle you may not win.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have an Ace up my sleeve,” I said.

I’d finished two glasses of wine and was feeling tipsy and a little bold. I still wasn’t sure if I could trust him, and I was semi-aware that all his little affectations and personal flourishes were a kind of manipulation. He’d told me as much himself.

But I could also tell, hewantedto help me. To be a part of something that mattered, something more than the deals and frivolous entertainment he provided, at the outskirts of civilization. He wouldn’t have visited the compounds otherwise, or gotten involved enough to keep tabs on me, to save us. He’d already risked a lot, actually, and for what? He said people needed hope. Maybe that’s what he was after. And it was something I could give him.

“You know I’m renitent,” I said, leaning forward, “but not why. It’s because my grandfather was working on an antidote to the elixir. A cure, to turn elite back into humans.”

At this, Augustine stood up straighter, his eyes gleaming. He gestured for me to resume my pose so he could finish his drawing, and I obliged reluctantly.

“For this trespass,” I continued, trying to hold my chin still, “his entire compound was destroyed; my mother was barely smuggled out as an infant. But he’d already safeguarded the formula in her blood, and she passed it to me. Damien gave me the location of a buried chest full of my grandfather’s notes. We broke into the citadel to steal the key, and experimented with the formula. It didn’t work at first, until we figured out that I was the catalyst. But it does work, and we do have it. We just need a way to duplicate and distribute it—”

Augustine held out a pale hand for me to slow down.

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