Julia's fingers moved deftly among the peaches in the slat-wood box, selecting the best, enjoying the softness of the skins. Earth-grown peaches were less sweet and more expensive than the hydroponic kind, but Julia preferred the fresher taste of the former, and hydroponic peaches didn't have that soft fuzz.

She was becoming a good cook, or so Quentin said, and she was beginning to believe it, too, especially since she was able to get a sworn carnivore like him to enjoy fruit salads. She bought half a dozen peaches and slipped them into her shopping bag, on top of a packet of meat, a few potatoes, a plastic sack of green beans, and a roll of flatbread.

She had enough money left over for a dessert, and was debating whether to blow it all on one big thing or spread it out so she and Quentin could indulge all week, when she saw the man moving through the crowd and realized he was heading toward her. He was a syndicate man. She could see that right away. It was just something about the way he walked, how he held himself, his expression a mix of arrogance and wariness. This one was a lower level man, an errand boy. One could always tell, if one knew the signs. Quentin had shown her how to spot them.

A messenger, then, and coming towards her. By the hunch of his shoulders, she knew the news was not good. Her breath caught in her chest behind a heart starting to jump erratically, although he hadn't said a word yet. She didn't even feel the shopping bag as her limp fingers released it and it slid down her leg to drop gently to the ground.

He stopped respectfully before her, hands in his coat pockets. "Miss St. Clair? My name is Luis. I need to speak with you, privately. Will you come with me, please?"

She nodded. He took her arm, gently, and she went with him, out of the market, up one block to the little park where, on warmer days, the kids loved to run over the grass. Luis found an isolated bench and guided her to it. She sat, knees pressed together, hands folded in her lap, while a coldness spread through her belly and upward, as if she were freezing from the inside. She knew what the man was going to tell her. There was only one thing it could be, only one reason they'd send someone just to find her. "It's Quentin, isn't it?"

He nodded, his chin dipping low onto his chest, his eyes avoiding hers. "I'm sorry." The next words tumbled out. "It was a drive-by. Personal. But he wasn't the target. He was with – well, never mind who... an important man. We think it was the White Tigers. Got them, both of them, and two bystanders, too."

"Killed?" Her voice sounded faint in her own ears, the word emerging as if she didn't know what it meant.

Luis glanced at her then, bracing his hands on the bench on either side of himself as if he didn't know what else to do with them. He waited a moment, and when she didn't say anything, he swallowed and added, "It happened real fast. He didn't even draw. He never knew what hit him, I don't think."

She knew she should be reacting. Luis obviously expected her to become weepy, maybe even hysterical. But she couldn't. Even within herself, all she felt was the coldness hardening into a high wall that grew around her memories of Quentin, shutting them away. The only sign of her protest against the loss was that her fists clenched on her thighs. After a long time, she said only, "I see."

Luis took a breath. "Look, uh... you going to be OK? I can call my girlfriend, she can come and stay with you, if you want."

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. Thank you." She looked blindly around. "My groceries."

He had retrieved her canvas bag without her noticing it, and now he held it up by the handles. "I'll take you home."

"I need to walk."

"I'll take you home," he said firmly.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

At her door, she refused to let him come in, even to carry the groceries to the kitchen. Once in the apartment, she knew, faced everywhere with what was left of Quentin, that icy wall inside her would crack, and she didn't know what would happen then. She wanted to be alone.

"Well... OK." He handed her the grocery bag, then just stood there, a strong young man who still didn't know where to put his hands. They went into his pockets. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure. I'll be all right."

He shifted his shoulders uneasily. "I'll come back when... after the funeral and all. You'll need help. A job. We'll take care of you."

"Thank you. I... thank you." She turned and slipped through the door.

The first thing she saw, the very first thing, was Quentin's favorite leather jacket. He'd been meeting someone important today, he'd told her over breakfast, so he had to wear something fancier than the leather. It hung over a chair, spread as if waiting for his shoulders to fill it, the fob from his motorcycle key dangling from one pocket.

Once more the groceries slid to the ground unobserved. Her fists came up to her mouth, and she bit into her knuckles. Quentin. There were his breakfast dishes in the sink, and there was the magazine he'd been reading, tossed casually onto the couch, face down.

She spun, tripped over the grocery bag, stumbled to the door, yanked it open, and ran into the stairwell. Leaning on the banister, looking down, she saw the top of Luis's head as he walked slowly downward. The rail bit into her stomach. I can't be sick. I won't be sick. "Wait, Luis. Please."

He turned, looked up, ready to do whatever she wished. That was one good thing that could be said about the syndicates. They did take care of their own. And through Quentin, even in his death, she was one of theirs.

She managed an apologetic, sickly smile. "I'm sorry. I've changed my mind. Is there someplace else I can go? Just for tonight. I don't want to stay here."

"Sure. Is a hotel room all right?"

An anonymous, empty place. No memories, no echoes. A place where you expected to be alone. "Yes. That would be perfect."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

The next day, she still didn't want to go home.

Meri, Luis' girlfriend, a bubbly, curly-haired pixie of a girl, came to the hotel room, peered once into Julia's face, and took over. She asked what arrangements Julia wanted, then made all the calls and handled all the details. She got names from Julia, friends who needed to be informed, and made those calls as well. Between conversations, she somehow made Julia get out of bed and get showered and dressed. She couldn't coax Julia into eating the breakfast she had brought with her, but through sheer, gentle persistence, she did talk her into drinking a cup of coffee. The same technique got Julia out the door, and Luis drove them to the nearest mall, where Meri picked out a dress for Julia to wear to the funeral, then dragged her into a restaurant for lunch. However, she skipped over all the meal choices and went straight to dessert, insisting dessert always made her feel better when she was sad. She was sure it would help Julia.

Somehow, she managed to do all this without seeming pushy, even when she asked questions that might have been offensive coming from someone else. Julia followed her around, obedient but still in a daze, until, over ice cream, Meri asked, "You want me to come with you back to your place?"

A bit of the daze lifted, and panic leaked in. She set her spoon aside. "I... I don't want to go back. Not now. I can't."

Meri nodded. "I get that." She pushed Julia's plate toward her. "Come on. That's good. Eat it." When Julia picked up her spoon again, Meri went on, "I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to, either. I tell you what. If you want, Luis and some friends of mine can pack everything up for you. Then you just tell me what you want me to do with it. We can store it, or whatever."

Meri's sunny personality had somehow warmed that frozen place inside Julia, and she met Meri's eyes with gratitude. "Thanks. But I feel like such a coward."

"Hey, it would be really creepy if going back there didn't bother you. Don't worry. We'll take care of it all. Where do you want to go next? I mean, once the apartment's taken care of."

She knew what Meri actually meant, but she wanted to put that decision off for a little longer. "I have to find another apartment. Someplace small, that I can afford."

Meri, however, wasn't to be put off. "So, you're not going to work for the syndicate? You're going to, like, be a secretary or something?"

"I don't know yet."

After a moment, Meri said, "You're going to have to let them know soon."

"Yes. I know." Julia watched the scoop of vanilla ice cream begin to melt into a slowly spreading, shapeless glob. How could she make such an important decision now, when she still felt so numb inside?

She knew what her grandmother would have said, if she were still alive – get away from those people. But Julia had spent most of her life watching the daughters of her neighbors grow up, acquire husbands and children which they packed into tiny tenement apartments, work long hours at brain-deadening jobs, and still have to scrape and scrabble to afford the smallest luxury or a half hour of spare time. That wasn't the life she wanted.

Working for a syndicate wasn't the life she wanted, either. But maybe what she wanted wasn't an issue any more. Maybe she had unconsciously made the decision when she'd first gone out with Quentin.

She scooped up a little of the ice cream, let it slide over her tongue. The syndicate. Was it really that bad? She could be careful about what jobs she took and still make in a month what those other girls made in half a year. And was that important? Yes, she admitted. She wanted more for herself than her high school friends had ever imagined, and so far, she saw only one way to get it. It could be easy. Too easy. Quentin had brought her to the threshold and opened the door for her.

But now, the choice to move on, or to go back, was hers alone.

Finishing her own dessert, Meri watched Julia out of the corner of her eye. She said casually, "You know, if you think you want to hang around, then me and some friends of mine are sharing a place. A nice, big apartment, almost downtown. Sandy's moving out next month. You could have her room. She's even leaving the furniture."

Julia looked up. New home. New life. It sounded so good. "Thanks, Meri. I'll think about that. Seriously."

Meri smiled and said, "In the meantime, you don't need to worry. Luis will find you one of those weekly places to stay, and that'll be that." She added, with simple sincerity, "I hope you come stay with us."

Julia felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Having one person care what she did – even a stranger – made the decision easier.

Sobering, Meri said, "You know there won't be any kind of a funeral. Not a fancy one, I mean, with everybody there."

The tiny smile died. Julia nodded. "I know how it works."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Kito swept his arm outward in an elegant gesture. "This is it. You can see it all from here. And it's all yours, if you want it."

"What's the catch?" Vicious asked. He'd expected to have to work several more years before being given a territory of his own.

"Well, there's the usual. You'll be bulldogged by a Dragons accountant, in this case a hard-nosed bastard named Cho-Zhou, and you've got to show a profit. Fast. Then there's the less usual. Not that I think this'll be a problem for you, but Mao says you've got to bring that jerk of a kid along with you." When Vicious slowly turned his head to look at him, Kito said, "Yeah. He likes the kid. Annie likes the kid. Even Henry likes the kid. So Mao's taking an interest."

"But you don't like him."

"He's got a smart mouth and a bad attitude. That kid is nothing but trouble. He reeks of it. And if you want to know one reason why, look at what we call him. 'The kid', even though you two are about the same age."

"He's good. And I trust him."

"Sure, he's good. He's damned good. But he's a maverick, and he's going to blow up in your face someday. I wouldn't want him at my back. Especially now." Falling silent, Kito slid his hands into his pockets and surveyed Vicious' new territory. "You see what this is about, don't you?" he said at last.

They were alone, standing on the roof of a tenement. Their bodyguards stood alert, a respectful distance away. Vicious was the only man with whom Kito would have stood in this way, secret, separate, vulnerable. They looked out over a maze of streets that drifted down the crowded slopes away from them, an area in eastern Tharsis City that included Spike's old stomping grounds, the District, and bordered on the White Tigers' turf. "I think I do," he said.

"Let me spell it out, just in case you have any illusions." Kito smiled at that idea, but he continued anyway. "You're on the border. This is where the Tigers are the most active against us, both their big dogs and their fleas. We pushed into their territory when we took over here, and they want it back, useless as it is. So you'll be making your reputation the hard way. You'll either do really well here, or you'll get yourself killed. There's no middle ground. It'll be a fight in the trenches. There's too much going down here for you to just stand back and direct other guys."

"I don't like to do that anyway."

"I know. You're ruthless as hell. And you're smart. I recommended you for this, so obviously I think you can do it."

Some quality in Kito's voice made Vicious look at him again. "You've still got reservations, though. Is it because of Red Tony?" Red Tony was the man Vicious would be replacing, also hand-picked by Kito.

"No." Kito shrugged. "There's no problem there. Tony's lost his nerve. He needs a break in a quiet place for a bit, where the sound of something popping doesn't give him an instant coronary. What I don't like is the reason for all this sudden shifting and re-focusing. I don't think Mao buys into that fortune-telling mumbo-jumbo that the Van is so hooked on, but he's still got to do what he's told, just like us. And the Van is nervous about this Swimming Bird and White Tiger stuff the fortune-tellers are babbling about. They act like the world is coming to an end. So we do what they say. We look for this stupid bird thing, whatever it is, and we back the White Tigers down and wall them up. Zero tolerance. So, you're the best man for the job."

Vicious had even less respect than Kito did for the spiritual stupidity of the Van's gurus, but he didn't trust Kito as much as Kito trusted him, so he said nothing.

Kito asked idly, "You think your kid has the stomach for this?"

"I know he does."

"Your funeral. If nothing else, this will keep him busy and out of mischief. Just don't let him get you killed, all right?"

"That's the least of my worries."

Kito shook his head. "Be damned if I understand why you're fostering him like you do. You two are about as alike as bananas and diesel fuel."

"Maybe I like him, too, just like Annie and the rest."

"You don't like anybody. It isn't in you. I guess you're not going to tell me."

"No."

"Do I need to know?"

"It has nothing to do with the Dragons."

"That's enough for me, then. Keep your shaggy little puppy."

"He's hardly that."

"He may have a good eye and sharp teeth, but it's the puppy part that I don't like. Far too appealing, and for all the wrong reasons. Never thought I'd see Mao go soft. Annie, yeah. She's a woman." He shifted his shoulders. "Oh well, having a pet that Mao likes, if that puts you one more rung up the ladder, it's good for all of us." He turned to go. "We got a real nice place for you to live, too. All the details are in your car. The first person you contact should be Tony's second, named Feng Kwan. He'll give you the names, numbers, and places. If I know you, by tomorrow you'll have so much memorized that he won't have much to tell you."

"I'm just going to work out the geography. Spike knows the area."

"Good. He might be useful after all."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

By this time, Spike was used to being asked what he thought of someone. Vicious had no more illusions about himself than about anyone or anything else, and he knew that he lacked the kind of instinct about people which allowed him to assess them swiftly. He used his own intelligence, but he also used Spike's impressions, as once he'd used Crys's. Spike thought it over a minute as they walked, side by side, up Furlong Street toward the north, trailed by Vicious's Doberman-like bodyguards. Those guys gave Spike the serious creeps, although he couldn't have said why. He'd gotten used to that stupid bird Vicious always carried around on his shoulder, but he had never become comfortable with Vicious' human followers.

He tossed one cigarette aside after lighting the next with the butt, then said, "Kwan's a soldier. That's how he strikes me. Faithful, yeah, but in the old-school way. As long as you're giving the orders, he'll be loyal to his last drop of blood. But if someone else higher up gives the order, he'll knife you in the back. With regret, maybe, but without a moment's hesitation."

"The best kind of man."

"Yup. Got some cute kids, too."

Vicious looked at him sidelong, questioning.

"You didn't notice the kids?" said Spike.

"Not really. I just know there are two of them, both boys."

"Jeez, Vicious, sometimes you remind me of that Cho-Zhou guy." He stepped lightly around a spill of garbage on the sidewalk. The neighborhoods they were passing through were becoming increasingly seedy. "Where the hell are we going?"

"You don't have to come. I'm just checking something out."

"Couldn't we have driven?"

"No."

"Hey, don't break my back with your long-winded explanations."

That got a smile, if a small one. Vicious said, with a nod to the side, "In those alleys, there are rats as big as dogs. And dogs that will eat you alive."

"Yeah, I know. This is a real charming place. Lots of bars and pool halls, though. What are we doing? Scoping out the potential income?"

"Only partly."

"In that case, if you haven't noticed, we're 'only partly' in our own territory now. In fact, we left it about six blocks back." The remark was rhetorical, of course. Vicious always knew exactly where he was.

They were climbing a steep hill. At the top rose a building, standing alone, an imposing shadow in the slanting afternoon light, reaching up toward Mars' cloudy sky with a myriad of peaks and points that were evidence of some antique architecture. As they drew closer, the light hit a huge round window in the front, spraying out in colors that must once have been brilliant. "We're going to church?"

"Not exactly."

When they crested the hill, Spike saw that, whatever religion had once held sway here, it was long gone. The church still clung to its dignity, but now that came from nothing more than sheer size and the overly ornate yet oddly pleasing architecture. The broad double doors hung open, one of them partly off its hinges. Vicious stopped before them, studying the dim interior as if assessing whether it was worth it to go inside. In what little light reached into the building, Spike saw nothing but dust, rubble, and the pews that defined the corridor leading to the empty altar. It looked as if everything of value had been stripped except the pews and the stained glass windows.

The bird suddenly raised its head and let out a squawk. Vicious absently gave it something to eat from his palm. He didn't go up the shallow step, but instead, once the bird settled again, he hunched his shoulders and walked around to the back. He stopped before the remains of a chain link fence, now nothing more than posts and strips of twisted wire. Through the fence, they could see an empty lot, and opposite them was a long, narrow building, in worse shape than the church. The meager windows were broken, the doors ripped off, and the roof partially collapsed.

"Real scenic," Spike observed, watching Vicious from the corner of his eye.

"I grew up here."

From anyone else, Spike would have assumed that was a joke. But Vicious never joked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. This used to be an orphanage. A long time ago." He turned away from the lot and went to the front of the church again, this time going inside. Spike followed, confused. Vicious wasn't the type to indulge in nostalgia.

Inside, Vicious disappeared into the darkness, visible only by the gleam of his pale hair. When he spoke, his voice echoed hollowly, made deeper by the vaulted ceiling high above them. "You're wondering why we're here."

"I'm wondering, all right."

"I know this place very well." He'd moved to Spike's right, now not visible at all. "I wanted to see how much was left of it."

"Why?"

"I might be able to use it someday. There are a lot of hidden places, passageways, stairways, balconies, that kind of thing." His voice was growing louder, and he emerged into the little band of light before Spike. "It could be useful."

"For what? An ambush?"

"Exactly. We can go now."

Spike looked at them, the man and the bird, and resisted rolling his eyes. "Good. You owe me a beer, dragging me all the way up here."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Julia pulled on her boots, stroking the soft leather up to just below her knees. The boots would need repair again soon – they were high quality, and she'd wear out the soles many more times before the uppers ceased to look new. The lightweight raincoat she pulled on over her dress was tailored to fit her. Like the boots, it had been a gift from Quentin. They were the nicest things she owned, and, even more than the voices she could hear through her bedroom door, they reminded her of how far she'd fallen. Attaching tasteful earrings of real Ganymede pearls to her ears was another small bitterness. The pearls had been her grandmother's. All her other jewelry had been sold so she could continue to pay her share of the rent without having to do any syndicate jobs she found distasteful. But she didn't brood over that. She might have to share the place, but at least it was clean and safe.

She hadn't seen Annie Jacobs' shop since the last time her grandmother had taken her there. That had been more than two years ago, shortly before Gran died, so she was way overdue. Besides, sitting with Annie and having a few friendly drinks on a wet day like this was a lot more appealing than being in the apartment with her roommates. She'd never been good at sitting around sharing wine, stories, and girlish laughter with other young women. She didn't know why. She knew only that whenever she'd tried, mostly while she was still in school, she'd always felt like an outsider looking in, never part of the group.

She could be friendly, though. She gave Meri, Sharon and Ying a wave and a smile as she headed out, and when they called after her, she promised to pick up shampoo for Meri if she did any shopping. When she shut the door, however, she put up her umbrella and stepped out into the rain with a sense of freedom, refreshing if illusory. For a few hours, she was going to do exactly what she wanted, and at the moment, what she wanted was a long chat with Annie.

The soft patter of the rain on the umbrella and the regular click of her heels on the pavement lulled her spirit, banishing the last vestiges of the claustrophobic feeling of the apartment and the other girls, letting in silence and allowing her discontented thoughts to flow. Extra income and companionship hadn't been all she'd lost when Quentin had died. She also missed the zest for living that had made him so exciting a man. Because of him, she'd found a position in the world – even after his death – within the syndicate, and after a year of struggling, she'd created her own place, if a menial one. But this ordinary, peaceful life was beginning to bore her. She wanted a challenge, although she was unsure what the syndicate could offer to satisfy her craving without horrifying her.

Annie had contacts and experience. She knew everything; she could give Julia some sound advice, and she might even be willing to help in some way. If not, at least Julia would have spent the afternoon with someone whose company she actually enjoyed.

The shop was still there, more battered and worn since Granma had first brought her. It would be there as long as Annie was alive. The familiar façade made her smile. Under the overhang, she closed her umbrella and shook the drops from its folds, then slid through the door and propped the umbrella against the bench, just as she'd done for half her life.

Annie was talking to a customer who was leaning on her counter. She was heavier now, in her comfortably plump way, but nothing else about her had changed. At the ting of the bell as the door opened, Annie turned and saw her, and her round face lit with pleasure. "Julia! Julia, honey, you get in here and sit down. It's been such a long time!"

"Since Granma's funeral," Julia conceded, knowing it was her fault.

But Annie never got angry with people she liked. "I do miss your grannie," she said. "But you come on over here. You didn't just drop in to say hi, did you?"

"No, I wanted to visit for a bit, catch up. But you have a customer."

"This ain't no customer. Kito, take your lazy butt on out of here and let us girls talk."

Kito? Surely this man wasn't that Kito, the Red Dragons' Tharsis City capo? Julia took another, more careful look at him as he gave Annie a mock scowl and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray Annie slid his way. He was a lean man, of average height, with dark hair cut a little too long for his age, which was about twice hers. His face was narrow, his nose straight, and his mouth thin-lipped. Nothing about him particularly suggested danger or authority.

But when he turned toward her, straightening the collar of his coat, the look of his eyes instantly changed her first impression. They were dark, brightly observant, and amused, but beneath that, they were hard and cold, the eyes of a man accustomed to being obeyed without question. For a second, those eyes widened as he got a good look at her, then narrowed appraisingly.

The friendly smile that followed didn't erase the appraising look from her mind. Did he think his admiration would flatter her, just because of who he was? She returned his gaze with cool indifference and a polite nod.

If that offended him, he didn't show it. The smile stayed in place, and he asked Annie, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your lovely friend?"

Annie scowled with mock ferocity. "No, I am not. She's like a daughter to me, and you're a bad man." She flapped her hands, as if shooing away pigeons. "Get on out of here, and take your goons with you."

Goons? Julia glanced around and saw them for the first time, two men in the shadows, watching her intently. Watching her hands. Of course he had bodyguards. She was glad her hands were empty and in plain view.

"C'mon, Annie."

Orders never worked on Annie, but if she liked you, wheedling always did. She heaved a sigh. "Oh, all right. Julia, meet Kito. Kito, Julia St. Clair. There, you happy now?"

"Happier," he said, and turned his attention back to Julia. She offered him her hand. There was no way she was going to be any more rude than she'd already been, not to a man this powerful. She'd made her point.

His smile now lit his eyes and lightened his hard features. "I'm glad to meet you, Miss St. Clair. Maybe we can meet again, at a time when Annie doesn't want you all to herself."

"Maybe," she said. Admiration, even from a capo, didn't pay the rent, but more might come of it. Still, she didn't smile back and made no effort to keep him there as he said goodbye to Annie.

The doorbell tinkled again, and the three men were gone. Annie pulled out two glasses and a tall green bottle, and Julia forgot about Kito for the moment. "Sparrow's Pinot Noir! Annie, you remembered!"

"Of course I did. I've been saving this bottle just for you. Wait." She strode to the front of the store, turned the deadbolt, and flipped the "closed" sign outward. "We have a lot of catching up to do," she said happily, dusting off her hands.

Julia shrugged out of her coat, hitched herself onto a stool, crossed her legs, and settled herself for a long, comfortable gossip.

More than three hours later, Julia contentedly made her way home. The rain had stopped, but a damp wind plucked at her hair. She turned her collar up, hoping it would stay dry, because she'd forgotten her umbrella at Annie's. But with a home-cooked meal, half a bottle of wine, and some good ideas from Annie inside her, she felt warm despite the chill. She figured she could try out a couple of Annie's plans on her local boss as soon as she saw him, and was practicing the lines in her head when the limousine pulled up beside her.

The car was so quiet that she noticed other people moving away from her before she realized it was there. When the window slid down, she was gratified but not surprised to see Kito. "Want a ride home?" he said. She gave him her cool stare again, and his eyes twinkled. "Just a lift, Miss St. Clair, that's all I'm offering."

She regarded him for a moment, making him wait. "In that case… I accept. Thank you. I'll give your driver my address."

Before she could take a step, however, Kito lifted a casual hand to stop her. "No need. He has it."

The limo was the stretch kind, with two rear doors on either side. A bodyguard got out of the seat opposite Kito and opened the other door for her. Kito slid over to make room for her beside him.

She sank into the luxury of leather upholstery, real leather, the rich smell of it mingling with the scents of cigarette smoke and the roses in gilt holders on either side of the car. The paneling was wood, polished to a rich gleam, and she wondered if that was the real thing, too. There was so much room that she could stretch her legs without her feet touching those of the bodyguard opposite. The two men seemed in another world, almost, anonymous and hidden in shadow, for only Kito's half of the limo was lit.

Kito leaned forward, opened a panel, and looked over his shoulder at her, one brow up. "Coffee, or something stronger?"

She forced herself to forget the presence of the bodyguards and focus her attention on Kito. She'd asked Annie about him, and Annie, no fool, had measured her for a moment, then shrugged and said, For what he is, he's all right. And he's good to his women. "Nothing for me, thank you."

On the short drive, Kito kept up a light, friendly conversation, the purpose being to learn more about her, curious about her connection to Annie, sympathetic about her grandmother. If he noticed when she held back, he gave no sign of it, but went on to other topics. She might have been taking a ride with one of her roommates' friends. But when they pulled up in front of her apartment, Kito glanced around the street, looked at her with raised brows, and said, "A lady like you should be living in a better place than this."

"It's not so bad," she said, and reached for the door. Kito lifted a hand to stop her, then got out of the car and came around to help her out. He rebuffed her thanks for the ride with the assurance that it had been his pleasure, and then got back in the car with nothing more than a smile and a nod at her as the limo pulled away.

But Julia knew the game well enough. They had both lured, and they had both played the dance of advance and retreat. She knew his type. He would think it over, and if he liked her enough, he'd ask her out. A day, maybe two. More, if he were skilled at the game and knew the value of suspense.

He let five days go by, and she'd almost given up on him when she came home from work and found her roommates hovering in awed envy over an arrangement of exotic orchids, a vibrant mass of of purple and yellow in a silver bowl. Sharon handed her the card and demanded to know who her boyfriend was. Julia answered with only a smile as she moved away to open the card.

There was no message, only two small, flat items. The first was a ticket to the ballet for Friday night. One of the things she'd mentioned to Kito during their conversation was that she liked the ballet, although she'd never seen one live, only on vids. The other was a business card from a manager at an exclusive, expensive downtown boutique. On the back of the card was written Tonight, 7:00 PM.

Still cooing over the flowers, Ying said, "Julia's got a date!", and Julia checked her watch. Plenty of time to have dinner before she left. "Actually, I have two dates," she said, but none of their begging could get another word from her.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

The boutique was dark and shuttered for the night when she arrived, but as soon as she stepped out of the taxi, the door opened and the manager himself ushered her in. He was just short of obsequious and kept wiping nervous sweat from his hands with a linen handkerchief. He guided her to a fitting room in the back, where a dress was already hanging. "My client thought this would suit you," he said, lifting it down as if it were made of glass. As she pretended to eye the dress critically and not show how much she wanted it, he babbled on, "I must say, I think you'll look lovely in it. But it's just a suggestion! If you don't like it, my client wanted me to say that you may choose whatever you wish."

"I'll at least try it on," she murmured.

When she did, she knew there was no need to look further. The dress was floor length, off-white with a delicate self-demi-train, in a fabric that glided sensually over her skin. It didn't cling to her curves so much as caress them. The front bodice was relatively modest, but the back, between the gracefully draped wings of the train, dipped daringly low. The caped, dark red silk overcoat, with its turned up collar, was vaguely Chinese in style. Very little decoration detracted from the exquisite details of its tailoring. The outfit was for someone part angel, part devil. It was perfect.

She frowned a little, discomfited that Kito had read her so well. But when she saw herself as she turned in the mirror, she smiled in spite of herself. If he was going to read her, she couldn't object to his having good taste in reading material.

When she emerged from the dressing room, the manager stuffed his handkerchief hastily into his vest pocket. "If you wish to try something else, Miss...?"

"No. It's perfect. I'll be wearing higher heels than these – can the hem be lowered two inches?"

"Of course, of course! Whatever you wish. I will have it delivered to you tomorrow."

"You have my address?" she guessed.

"My client gave me that information, yes." He actually bowed her to the door, smiling. "While you were changing, I took the liberty of taking care of the taxi for you. It has been a pleasure to serve you, Miss. Please come back again, any time."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

When the dress was delivered, in the box was another box, a tiny one, containing a pair of dainty ruby earrings to match the coat. Her roommates' curiosity became tinged with awe.

Friday night, Julia went to her first live ballet feeling as if she belonged in that glittering crowd. Kito took her first to one of the so-called "mile high" restaurants, beneath which the lights of Tharsis City looked romantic. They were given the best table, escorted by the maitre d', and the sommelier appeared without delay. Two waiters served them, hovering unobtrusively out of their sight, yet somehow always ready to be of service at the slightest lift of Kito's hand or turn of her head. She told Kito she felt like royalty, and he winked and told her to enjoy it.

His easy charm disarmed her. He talked on a variety of subjects, none of them related in any way to the syndicate, and listened attentively when she spoke. She was braced for flirtation, unsure yet whether to repulse or encourage him, but he didn't flirt with her, simply treated her like a woman with whom he was enjoying himself. At the ballet, he had champagne and flowers waiting in the box, and although he obviously did not appreciate the art, he remained silent, contented to watch her pleasure as she stared at the colorful spectacle and gasped at the skill of the dancers. The only time he even touched her was to put a hand on her back to steady her as they went downstairs during the interlude, and the brief feeling of warmth on her bare skin remained with her a long time.

After the curtain came down, he poured her another glass of the champagne and asked, "Was it a good performance?"

"Better than good. You must know that this corps is... No, you don't, do you?"

He smiled, amused. "I don't know a thing about it. Not about dancing, anyway, but I do know the best of everything on Mars. So, yes, I knew this – corps, you call it? – is the best. You enjoyed it?"

"Every minute. But you must have been bored."

"I entertained myself watching you. But don't let that make you self-conscious. I tell you what, though – next time, you can educate me. Tell me what's going on."

"Reading the program would be a start," she suggested.

He laughed. "Probably. Very well, I'll do that. Next time. Tell me the one thing you liked best."

She couldn't settle on one, and was still describing her favorite parts when the door at the back of the box opened a few inches, then closed again. Kito rose and picked up her coat, settling it over her shoulders when she rose with him. "I have a private exit, and the car is waiting," he told her. "Would you like to go somewhere for a drink before I take you home?"

She did. She knew that he would take her someplace wonderful, and that it would be open as long as he wished it to be. But they were still playing the game, and she wanted to be available, but not easy. "Thank you, but no. I should be getting home," she said politely, and saw the flicker of amused respect in his eyes.

There was only one bodyguard this time, and he sat in front. There was a privacy screen between the front and back, so it was as if they had the limo all to themselves. But Kito was no fool, and he was a patient man. Nothing changed between them, and the only time he touched her at all was to turn a curl of her hair around his finger.

When the car parked, he got out and handed her to the sidewalk. His eyes flickered over the tenement house entryway and back to her. "I feel like I'm bringing Cinderella home from the ball," he said. He reached into an inner pocket handed her a card with nothing but a phone number on it. "But if you ever feel like playing Cinderella again, you call me."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

She made him wait five days, just as he'd done to her, before she called him. Three weeks and seven dates later, she was moving her things into a syndicate-owned luxury apartment on the 85th floor of the Stone Building.