My stomach lurched. I sprang to my feet so quickly that my half-finished fifth—or sixth?—glass of champagne tumbled off my side table and shattered on the carpet. Everyone stared at me, and I cast around for an excuse. My head was swimming.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. I—I need to use the ladies' room."
I turned on the spot and started out the double doors I'd come in. A voice behind me called, "Hon?" and I turned, the room spinning under my feet. "It's that way." One of Rugen's girlfriends was pointing to the hallway off the opposite side of the room. I crossed as quickly as I could, stumbling slightly in my heels as I went, and I heard her cackle behind me.
I pounded through the door of the ladies restroom. Thank god, there was a powder room with a sink at the vanity. I threw my purse down on the counter and vomited into the sink.
Zarc had invited me.
I ran the tap, and dropped onto the velvet pouf at the vanity, laying my forehead against the cool marble. My head was swimming. The room was spinning. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Zarc had arranged my entire evening. Every detail, probably; insisting I be added to the VIP list, dinner service, champagne, roses. His outburst about the ice in his drink was probably all some theatrical distraction to get Diesel and Rugen to stop ridiculing me. Maybe Shino was in on it. He had to be; as the party's host, Zarc would have demanded he send out my invitation. Shino had probably invited me into the Blackrose Lounge to impress Zarc by acting interested in me and my work. What a toy I was.
I let myself lie there, slumped on the overstuffed pouf with my face on the counter for another several minutes, unsure as to whether I'd throw up again if I tried to stand. What did he even want with me? To get me drunk…well, he'd succeeded at that, but I was not leaving the restroom anytime soon and he'd missed his chance to try anything on me. Not that he'd seemed interested in taking a chance at all; he'd ignored me the entire evening. Elaborately arranged my evening and ignored me.
"Miss Akaba?"
I jerked my head up, and immediately felt dizzy. It was my waitress from before, who had served my drinks and my dinner at my table, holding a cup of tea and a glass of ice water in either hand. She placed them silently on the counter beside me, and turned to leave, when I yelled in a strangled voice, "Did he hire you?"
She turned, and met my watery gaze as though considering whether to answer.
"Did Zarc pay you to take care of me?" I repeated, less forcefully.
With a slight smile, she said, "Yes, Miss."
"Why?"
She blinked, looking slightly confused. "He wanted to ensure that you would have a nice evening."
Behind her, the restroom door banged open and admitted both of Rugen's golden-skinned girlfriends, and the waitress took her leave. The ladies spent some time in the stalls, gossiping in nasal voices about some inane subject I couldn't follow; and continued at the sinks, probably fixing their makeup. I was taking up the vanity, after all. They walked back past me, and I heard one of them snidely comment, "Damn, hon, you're trashed," before leaving me alone again and laughing out in the alcove, "Why was she invited?"
I held the teacup between my hands. The ginger aroma was soothing. Those women, Rugen's girlfriends—or escorts?—everyone thought of them as nothing. They were his accessories, the symbols of his ostentatious indulgence, eating sugar out of his hands like horses. They probably attended plenty of parties like this one, but only as his trophies, not as anyone whose work or opinions were ever respected or sought after. I'd spent the evening being treated like a savvy and valuable business asset, flattered for my intelligence and my work. Plied with champagne, because—now that I thought about it—I'd let slip to Zarc that I liked it. If he'd wanted a woman for an arm accessory, he could have found himself one easily, prettier than me and far more vapid and compliant. Instead, he had paid that waitress—maybe the doorman too, or even the entire event staff—to make sure I had a nice time without subjecting me to his presence and making me look like a brainless object hanging from his elbow. And really, I had had a nice time—up until now, when I was vomiting in the ladies' room in drunken shock, but the business cards in my purse were still valuable. Rugen's girlfriends probably received gifts of fancy jewelry and sparkly dresses, rhinestone manicures and fine handbags, but I got a stack of connections that could boost my career and bring in funding for my father's and my research.
A gentle chime issued from my purse. The DDC?
I unsnapped my purse in confusion and fished the device out. Perhaps my father was checking in, even though he was usually absorbed in his work in his home office at this hour. But no, a message had appeared on the screen from an unknown disk code.
Meet me in the lobby after everyone else is gone.
I stared at it, my dizzy head only barely understanding the message before a second message followed it:
P. S. You shouldn't pass your personal device around. Someone could steal your contact information.
And finally, a third message:
-Z.
I dropped the DDC on the carpet and put my head down on the counter again. Meet him in the lobby? I had every intention of spending the rest of the evening in this restroom and then sneaking out a side door to hail a taxi. I should have brought a change of shoes.
I sat up, and looked at myself in the mirror. Even through my watering eyes, I still looked okay; my makeup was holding up, thank goodness for the expensive kind. Maybe no one would suspect that I'd just thrown up. I drank the tea, and instantly started to feel better; still jittery, but it settled my stomach.
I looked down at his messages on the DDC. I wasn't going to respond, but…
It would be rude not to at least cordially thank him. He had a lot of power and snubbing him could cause trouble for our department, more shame for my poor, undeserving father. I'd stood in Zarc's own home and told him how much I hated him and his cruel entertainment, but he had still seen fit to invite me to this exclusive party and ensure that I was treated with respect. It didn't make any sense. If anything, I ought to ask why.
What if I did go and meet him?
The party ought to be winding down now, but I stayed in the restroom for another half an hour, finishing the tea and the water until my head was clearer and the taste of bile had washed out of my mouth. I picked the DDC up off the floor and stood up. Even in my insensible shoes I felt I was relatively stable to walk again, and began pacing around the powder room and going over my plan. I could sneak out the back door of the lounge and bypass the ballroom, and then ask for a taxi as soon as I got to the lobby. If Zarc couldn't meet me before the car arrived…well. That would be a shame. I could message him my curt thanks as I rode home.
I pushed the restroom door open and peeked out. The alcove hallway was empty, and I couldn't hear any talking from the lounge, so I crept out and looked into the main room. Completely deserted. How long had I been in the restroom? Everyone was already gone from the lounge? Even outside in the hallway it was quiet, although the low hum of voices and clinking of glasses could still be heard issuing out of the ballroom. Good, so the party wasn't completely over yet. In relief I hurried, as quickly as I dared, along the slick marble floor in my high-heeled shoes, back toward the elevator that I had arrived in. The doorman who had led me in was still there at the ballroom entrance, and he nodded at me as I passed by. I attempted a shaky smile.
I took the elevator alone, staring up at the mirrored ceiling at my own pale face. All I had to do was ask for a taxi. Then I could escape politely without upsetting Zarc.
But the lobby was completely empty. No hotel attendants, no receptionist, no concierge at the desk. I turned, thinking I must have to hunt someone down in the hall.
"I thought you might have run away."
He was there. Zarc. Still wearing his black sport coat with the rose boutonniere over a dark dress shirt, he gave an impression of feral elegance as he stood casually with his hands in his pockets.
Either I had completely missed him in my fixation to ask for a taxi, or he had intentionally crept behind me. He'd done the same at his home, waited until I had my back turned and caught me off-guard—well, I had dropped by unannounced, but he had seen me coming and allowed me in. Again, his face held none of the complacent smirk he had worn in the Lounge for the benefit of his lesser peers; he looked passive and thoughtful, even a tiny bit apprehensive. I stared at him, trying to rearrange my strategy, to stammer a quick and polite thanks and come up with an excuse to leave, but—
"Take a walk with me?"
It wasn't a demand. I could still refuse, say I'd called for a taxi and it would be here soon and then lock myself in the restroom again. But a certain curiosity was starting up within me—that same feeling that, on the night when I'd broken into his home to give him a piece of my mind, had led me into admitting our strange shared secret. There was more to it than just to thank him. I had questions.
I nodded silently, and he walked to my side while I avoided eye contact with him. He offered me his arm, but I wordlessly crossed my hands over my purse, and he dropped it without a word.
The hotel had a fine and spacious outdoor garden, with walkways enclosed by lamplit trellises. There were a few couples here, sharing their drinks and desserts away from the noise of the ballroom to wind down the evening as soft strains of cello music floated over from a gazebo on the far side of the garden. I thought I heard Rugen's raucous laughter from a far table, and Zarc gently took my elbow and quickly pulled me into one of the trellised walkways so as not to be spotted.
"What, you don't want to be the center of attention right now?" I said, unable to keep the mockery out of my voice.
He didn't turn his head toward me, but said simply, "No."
I was still confused. The Elites treated women like status objects; showed them off, staged "accidental" scandals to stay hot in the tabloids, keep themselves in the center of attention. Rugen would have a new set of girlfriends next month, sparking a wake of accusations and shocking news plastered all over the trashy magazines at convenience stores. Zarc had stayed away from me for most of the party, and even now it seemed he didn't want to be seen with me. We walked some yards through the trellises; gradually the tinkling of tableware and murmur of the voices in the garden faded into quietude. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he seemed lost in thought, disengaged.
I still had questions, and perhaps because the alcohol still in my system made me feel brave, I said, "I suppose I ought to thank you."
He looked around at me in surprise as though he'd forgotten I was there. "Why?"
"For this evening," I continued, "You arranged my invitation."
"This was my thanks to you," he replied.
I blinked. "For what?"
"An engaging conversation the other day." He looked upward at the lamps along the top of the trellis, and then smiled at me. It was unthreatening and genuine, completely different from the bared fangs he'd flashed at his Elitist peers in the lounge, before it dropped into an uncharacteristically somber expression. "And I…I'm sorry if I scared you."
His sincerity took me aback. I couldn't think of any witty retort, so I just said, "Thank you for apologizing."
"I was just surprised. I, ah," he absentmindedly put his hand over his breast pocket, "Have never met anyone…anyone else like me before."
He stopped walking and turned to face me. He really did look a little apprehensive. Long ago, I'd been on dates with boys before and they'd looked the same, the same mixture of hopefulness and nerves and…vulnerability, unsure how much of their hearts to bare.
"I wanted another opportunity to talk to you. But I got the impression the other night that if I invited you personally, you'd refuse."
Well that was true. I would not have accepted an invitation to be the female accessory of the man who had ruined my father's life. Ruined my life. Or anyone who held onto my wrist in an elevator and refused to let me leave before I answered his question.
"What do you mean, anyone else like you?" I said, although I knew what this was about. I didn't love the idea that I had something special in common with Supreme King Zarc, but he, too, was the only other person I'd met that could so deeply understand his monsters.
His apprehensive face flashed a bit of impatience, as though he could tell I was playing dumb on purpose. "I've been able to hear them since I was young," he went on. "Whenever I'd play, it was like they were helping me. They told me their secrets. They taught me how to duel." He peered into my face intently, trying to see if I believed him.
I felt strange to even be talking to him about this. For the past three years I'd watched him shatter bones to tumultuous approval, despised everything about him and blamed him for the drastic change he'd caused to my own life. Father had pulled me out of the Pro League because he was afraid I'd get injured, and I'd taken the job in Development while bitterly watching this man rise to the title of Champion with a wake of blood and cruelty and vicious admirers. And now here he was in front of me, confessing a raw secret to me in a trellis-covered lamplit pathway, wearing a boutonniere that matched my hair.
"My father taught me how to duel," I said slowly, turning to continue walking so I didn't have to look directly at him, "He always said if I believed hard enough, the monsters would help me. After some time I started to—well, it was really more like a feeling. I could tell when a monster was happy, when they'd be pleased they'd won a turn, or when they'd be regretful that they couldn't do more if they lost. They love to play the game. It's why they exist. Over time the feelings got stronger, I could sense more specific ones, I began to discern their personalities. Certain ones calling out, asking me to trust them."
"And your father decided to develop Real SolidVision just to enhance the game?" Zarc concluded, "For you?"
"For everyone," I replied, smiling at the memory of my father happily reporting the progress he'd made on his project every evening over dinner when I would come home from school. "I remember the first time he brought me to his lab—well, I work there now—and he had this projection plane and he asked me to choose a monster, and then suddenly there she was, perfectly solid. She held my hand, and I could feel her joy at finally getting to meet me…" I looked up at the glowing lamps along the top of the trellis as we walked, shining like my lovely monster had shone for me on that day. "And I just felt that her soul really was alive. I told my father so, and he just laughed and said, 'Yes, they seem so lifelike, don't they?' But of course he didn't really believe that the monsters have souls; he doesn't believe in magic. He's an engineer, after all. He just loved the game, and loved sharing it with me, and—" I stopped walking and turned around, realizing that Zarc had stopped along the path a few seconds ago.
"Magic?"
He was staring at me as though he'd never even heard the word before, bewildered.
"Well, yes," I said, almost laughing, "They're cards; it's a game. If they have souls it's because the game is magical. Don't you think?"
He walked toward me, closing the gap between us, with his hands shoved back in his pockets. He stopped right beside me. A little too close. Why was my heart pounding like this, if I was no longer afraid?
"I don't believe in magic." He fixed his gaze on me, but I didn't step back or look away. "They're real. They chose me. They're a part of me." I could hear the fervor rise in his voice, and maybe he heard it too. He turned away and kept walking, as though to cool his head, and I followed beside him, waiting for him to go on. I didn't want to run away anymore. He intrigued me.
After recollecting his thoughts he continued, "I don't even remember a time when they weren't with me." His hand was on his breast pocket again. "They started out as quiet little voices, but the more I listened the louder they spoke, inviting me to play alongside them. They want to be with me, always. I want to make them happy, I want them to live. When the game was just in the hologram stage I could feel their presence and hear their voices, but it was distant, like they were still separated from me through a wall. The application of Real SolidVision to the game was…When I finally made it into the Pro League and I could feel the ground shudder beneath their feet and see their breath in the air and their voices were clear and resonant, it was like…it was like I was…"
"Home?"
This time it was I who stopped walking, stepping in front of him to peer into his face with curiosity and resolution. Here was a man who had spent his whole life listening to his monsters, dancing alongside them in the arena. Of course it was expected for a professional duelist to immerse himself in the game, but the way he spoke about his monsters was as if they were his family. It was as though he was seeking comfort in me, the only other person in the world who knew what it was like to understand the mysterious souls of these creatures.
He raised the hand that was over his pocket to brush my hair away from my face, holding my cheek, and he smiled in relief. "I knew you'd believe me."
I lost track of what happened at that moment. He kissed me—he kissed me?—and suddenly I was wrapped up in his arms. It had been so long since I'd kissed anyone, and he was so earnest in the way he held me and kissed me…There was a delicate scent that lingered around him, a sort of musk with a smooth, warm finish; subtle and entrancing. The world was spinning around me, gravity wasn't working properly, and I had to hold onto him so I wouldn't fall over or fly away. Where was I? What had we even been talking about…?
A muffled, high-pitched shriek issued out from somewhere in the garden. I broke away with a compulsive step backward—the heel of my stupid shoe snagged in a crack between the pathway's flagstones—and I was halfway to the ground before he caught me deftly. My brain took an extra second to catch up with what had happened, and why the arm under my back and the shoulders I was suddenly holding onto were all so exceptionally firm, before he lifted me back up and set me carefully on my unsteady feet. I stared at him for a long moment; he was still holding my upper arms to keep my balance, until I blinked.
Zarc cleared his throat and stepped back, letting his hands slip away from me, and I let go of his shoulders as the realization of what had just happened crept in through the back of my inebriated brain. My stomach twisted; I thought I might throw up again. Oh god. I'd had too much to drink and I'd kissed the worst person in the world. The person who ingratiated the crowd to my father's chagrin with his decadent displays of violence. The person who had taken everything I'd worked so hard for away from me. Somehow the champagne and his soft voice and his lovely smell and his…his mysteriously gentle, disarming presence had overpowered my judgement. Even he looked sheepish, shoving his hands ruefully back into his pockets, as though this hadn't been his plan either.
"I—" I choked, trying to keep my voice steady, "I should go home."
He looked regretful. "Alright."
I turned to leave, took a few steps, and he caught me suddenly by the hand.
"Ray," he said, and I realized it was the first time I'd heard him say my name all evening, "I—I want to invest in your project. In the DDC."
"The DDC?" I said, taken aback, "It's just a pet project. It's just a communicator that stores data from—"
"No, no," he shook his head, "The part that can stabilize the monster projection. That little lag when the Field refreshes, it—it pinches."
I blinked. He was still holding my hand. "It…pinches?"
"The monsters," he said, "When they flicker out for that second, it pinches. They don't like it, it hurts them. Please," he squeezed my hand a bit, "I'd like your department to be able to focus on that project. I'll put a call in on Monday to make a contribution."
"Yes, alright," I gently pulled my hand away, but still added, "Thank you. And for this evening, Zarc." I met his eyes again, holding his gaze for a little longer than I intended, until I turned and began walking away again.
"Yuusha."
I turned around again. "What?"
"My name is Yuusha," he said quietly, looking up at the lamps again, and then back down at me. "It's what they call me. I figured you should, too."
Completely lost for words, I nodded and repeated, "Yuusha." It was what they called him? His dragons called him by his real name?
He smiled again, and then turned around and made his way slowly in the opposite direction.
Back out of the trellised pathway, back into the lobby which was, mercifully, populated with its usual staff again. The concierge looked up when I arrived, and said with a kind smile, "The car for you, miss?"
"Yes, please," I said. I suddenly realized how badly my feet hurt from these awful shoes.
She dialed an extension on her phone and said into the line, "The car for Miss Akaba, please."
Of course it wasn't a taxi. Of course there was a car dedicated just for me. The concierge refused my tip, just as the rest of the hotel attendants had, and a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled into the porte-cochère within a minute, the driver stepping out to open the rear door for me without making eye contact. The car was inconspicuous on the outside but had a deeply luxurious interior, the kind of vehicle I was sure Danny's company would employ for chauffeuring their Elite clients.
The driver would not accept any ride fare or tip either, and as I sat on my way home, watching the street lamps fly by through the tinted glass, I thought that this must have been the strangest date I'd ever been on.
But it was a good kiss. A really, really good kiss.
