Stranger (10 page)

Y
UKI

YUKI'S SENTRY DUTY ENDED AT SUNSET. HE STOWED
his weapons at the armory and loped up the path to the west harvest barn. Paco used it as his practice space. Yuki loved watching Paco drumming. Or watching Paco sparring, or riding, or even just sitting at a desk, his dark head bent over a slate.

The rhythmic tattoo reached him, and he slipped inside the barn. Paco was alone. He had a rule against people crowding in to watch him practice, but Yuki was the one exception. “Because he's quiet,” Paco had said.

Yuki walked softly across the dirt floor. The air inside the windowless barn was stifling hot. Paco stood at his tall drum, shirt off, sweat dripping down his bare back. The only illumination was a single lamp on a bale of hay. Golden light flickered across the sharp planes of his face and his damp black hair. Paco moved like a dancer, like a fighter, fluid and controlled at once, immersing his entire self in the rhythm. His eyes were closed, but Yuki was sure Paco knew that he was there.

Yuki leaned back against the rough wall. He could feel the vibrations in his entire body, as if the drum were making his heart beat to its rhythm. Paco played on, his head bent, his profile like a finely carved statue. Yuki's gaze followed those angular lines to the taut curves molding Paco's shoulders and arms, and from there to his long-fingered hands. They'd sparred together that morning, and Yuki found himself reliving the moment when Paco had caught him in a grappling hold, the imprint of Paco's fingers on his wrist and shoulder.

He wanted to be touching now. He wanted to walk right up and put his hands on Paco's shoulders, wanted it so badly that he felt like he might not be able to stop himself from doing it.

The drumming stopped. Paco opened his eyes, his gaze arrowing straight to Yuki for an endless moment. Yuki was sure that Paco could see everything that he felt, as clearly as if it were written on the heated air.

Then Paco moved. Yuki stumbled toward him, and they were kissing.

Yuki had no idea how much time had passed before he thought of anything other than Paco's lips and hands and skin. Then he blinked in sudden darkness.

“The lamp burned out,” Paco said, breathless with laughter.

“Do we need one?” Yuki asked, laughing too, light-headed and almost dizzy.

“No . . . yes. I'm due at Luc's at eight. I don't think it's eight yet. Come with me.”

Yuki had known for weeks that this would happen, just not how or when. But he hadn't imagined anything past the two of them together.

When he'd dated Dan Valdez, all of Las Anclas had to comment. It happened to everyone. Kids in the street made kissy noises if you so much as looked at each other, and if you broke up, what seemed like half the town would offered condolences the very next day. Yuki grimaced, imagining Paco's band members winking, and Meredith teasing, and the gossip about “the prince and the drummer boy.”

“Do you mind if we don't tell anyone yet?” Yuki asked. “At least, not the whole town? Everyone in Las Anclas knows the number of tomato worms in my family's vegetable patch. I'd like to have one thing that only the two of us know.”

Paco stroked his back. “Sure. We'll go separately, but you sit up front. After I play, we can go to my house. My mom's out with the other Rangers, and she said they'll probably be gone for a few days. Oh, hey—what do you think about Ross Juarez?”

Yuki looked away. “I don't know if I trust him. And he looks younger than me. Even if he's not a con man, he can't be very experienced.”

He felt Paco shake his head. “I didn't mean you should try to apprentice yourself to him. But he might have some interesting stories. Maybe he could tell you some routes to take, when you go out yourself.”

Yuki blinked. “‘When'?”

“You said you wouldn't wait around forever. I figured if you can't find someone to apprentice to, eventually you'll leave and teach yourself.”

“Yeah, that's my plan,” he admitted. “But everyone says if I haven't been trained properly, I won't last two days alone in the desert.”

“You lasted two days when Alvarez ditched you,” Paco pointed out. “And you didn't have weapons or supplies or even water. I think you could do it.”

“Thanks.” Yuki leaned back against Paco's chest. The one person who believed he could make it by himself was the one person Yuki would take along if he could.

Felicité

FELICITÉ KNELT ON HER BEDROOM FLOOR. WU
Zetian traced “SN” and “GN” on Felicité's palm, then, in small letters, “su.” Sebastien Nguyen and his wife Grace, at the surgery.

“Very good, darling.” Felicité kissed the rat's pink nose, then gave her a salted almond.

All Wu Zetian could report was where people went and who they were with. She was an exceptionally bright rat, but she was still only a rat. However, Felicité knew enough about Las Anclas to be able to extrapolate a lot—and what she couldn't extrapolate, she could find out via careful checking in person. Mr. Nguyen was not stealing, just trading nails in exchange for help turning his attic into a room “for boarders.”

She knew what that really meant. Many women found it hard to get pregnant and easy to miscarry. So they might fix up a room, but they'd say it was for boarders or visitors, in the hope of avoiding bad luck. And now the Nguyens were visiting Dr. Lee. Grace Nguyen was pregnant.

Felicité dusted salt off her fingers. It was surprising how many people carried on secret arrangements without their guild chief knowing. She was glad that her daddy handpicked the Rangers, who would never go behind his back.

She peered out the window. There was no sign of rain, so she decided not to bother with a veil. Instead, she draped a carmine silk scarf around her throat to set off the brilliance of her ivory dress.

Wu Zetian trotted into her rat house and curled up on the pillow. Clever Wu Zetian! She'd recognized Felicité's dancing dress, and knew she wouldn't be coming along.

“Felicité?” Her mother's voice came from below. “Are you ready? Your friends are on the veranda.”

She gave her reflection a last glance. Her figure was much more elegant than Jennie Riley's. Jennie's was all the same—big breasts, big hips, big butt, big everything. Felicité's had contrast, which made each part stand out more. She ran her hands from her gently rounded hips up to her slender waist, then cupped her breasts in her hands. She didn't have as much cleavage as Jennie, but it was more impressive because her torso was willowy.

She wondered again about what she'd seen the other night between Jennie and Indra. It was easy to fool oneself into seeing what one wanted to see. But, for the first time in six months, they had walked without being glued to each other's side, and Jennie's hands had been as tense as Indra's shoulders.

Felicité had been right to pick a night when Jennie couldn't come. All she wanted was a chance to see Indra in a social situation, alone. If he seemed interested, then she would be justified in pursuing her own interest.

As she passed the office, she saw her mother seated at her ebony desk, reading Felicité's minutes from the last council meeting.

“Mother, they'll all ask about the visitor's dance.”

Her mother laid down the record book. “I'm afraid your father and I are not inclined to permit that boy to stay. There are too many unanswered questions, and you know how careful we must be. No word of that to your friends: the council hasn't voted yet. But there can't be a visitor's dance if there is no visitor.”

Felicité suppressed a frown. Poise and control. “But you always say that celebrations are good for a town. They keep up morale. Can't we have a dance anyway? There must be something to celebrate.”

“There's a great deal of work involved, and we already have so much to do.” Her mother indicated a stack of papers.

“Then let me take the responsibility, Mother,” Felicité said. “I'd enjoy it—the whole town will enjoy it. The only work you'll need to do is put on your best dress, and be the guest of honor.”

Her mother paused, then smiled. “When you put it that way, darling, it sounds like an excellent idea. Very well. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job. And don't think you have to stay behind the scenes. You'll have plenty of time for dancing with someone special.”

“I was thinking of Indra Vardam.” Felicité wouldn't have said that much if she hadn't seen the tension between him and Jennie. It might not be anything, but why not try out the idea on the person who knew best?

“An excellent choice, my darling. Indra is a responsible young man from a respectable family.” She paused. “But he is a young man and you are a lovely young woman. You know that the Wolfe women have proved to be more fertile than many families. I trust that if you do go together, you will use contraception.”

Felicité recalled the briny scent of the kelp condoms at the back of her drawer. They had appeared, along with a set of menstrual sponges, once she'd started getting her period. Her maid replaced the condoms every few months, before they could grow brittle, but Felicité had never used them. “If Indra turns out to be the One, I will. Until I'm sure, I'd rather wait.”

“You are such a romantic, dear! It runs in the family.” Her mother kissed her cheek. “Now, don't be late to your own party.”

Felicité slipped on her scarlet dancing shoes. Everyone was waiting on the veranda. She paused a moment before she joined them, framing herself in the doorway. Then she showered them with sweetly chiming compliments, piling on extra for unfortunate choices. Sujata Vardam wore crimson velvet, which was lovely, but she'd soon be unpleasantly sweaty. Pale, yellow-haired Becky in a yellow dress looked like a jaundiced ghost.

“You remind me of a jonquil,” Felicité said.

“Really?” Becky said doubtfully. “I think I look like sour milk, but Mama has a lot of this cloth to get rid of. The dye was supposed to be gold.”

Felicité said, glad to be able to tell the truth, “That drape on the bias looks so sweet on you. Maybe it will start a new fashion.”

“That's what Mama hopes.”

Tommy Horst pushed forward. “Well? Are we having a visitor's dance?”

“Yes, and I'm in charge.”

The girls squealed gleefully. Tommy tried to elbow past Henry, undoubtedly intending to ask her out. Felicité had no intention of getting stuck between Tommy, with his ham hands and jug ears, and Henry, the class clown, who had been asking her out once a month since her quinceañera. Indra came first.

Stepping neatly in front of Tommy, she linked arms with Sujata and Becky. That used up the width of the path, forcing the rest to follow all the way to Luc's. Light and music floated out the open door. Sujata started dancing on their way inside.

The band formed a half-circle around Paco Diaz, who wore only a vest and black trousers as he pounded on his tall drum, hair spiked with sweat, the hard line of his cheekbones gleaming under the lights. Felicité hurriedly averted her gaze from Laura's hideous black claws strumming the guitar, and toward the older Norm guys playing the qeej and flute.

Luc's was already hot and crowded. Everybody their age had jammed around Yuki, who sat at the table closest to the band. His sister Meredith was dancing, flinging her arms out so wildly that she nearly hit Felicité.

The others offered her the best table under the window. Felicité looked around for Indra. Fat Brisa Preciado crowded up in front of her, blocking her view. Felicité was about to politely ask her to step aside when Brisa asked Becky, “May I have this dance?”

With a squeak of delight, Becky jumped up, and they hurried to join the dancers, Becky's yellow skirt clashing unfortunately with Brisa's bright pink. The ribbons in her pigtails trailed behind her like a banner.

Felicité eyed the glass of lemonade Brisa had left behind without even a coaster, making a ring on the table. She was about to have a waiter take it away when Sujata said, “That's the happiest I've seen Becky look in a long time.”

Felicité set the glass back down. Becky did look happy. Brisa wasn't the girl Felicité would have picked for her, but it could be worse. Brisa was Changed and from a poor fieldworker family, but at least her Change wasn't visible.

Indra finally appeared, his blue-black tail of hair soaking wet, with several fresh-scrubbed younger Rangers. They all stopped by the kitchen.

Felicité said, “I'll order us a jug of lemonade.”

When she neared the kitchen entrance, the waiter came out with a pitcher and a tray of glasses. She smilingly took them, saying, “Tonight's my party, remember?”

“Sure, Felicité.” He vanished back into the kitchen.

She set the pitcher and tray on a nearby table, and offered Indra a glass of lemonade. “Have you been training? You must be thirsty.”

“Thanks. You're always taking care of people, every time I see you.” He held up his glass in salute.

What to say to that?
It's the way I was raised.
No, that was pompous. “I like seeing people happy.” So he wouldn't think she was fishing for compliments, she added, “How was practice?”

“Sera works us hard. It's great.” Indra downed half his glass.

The fiddlers had slowed down to a slow, sad song, accompanied only by the flute player. Brisa and Becky waltzed slowly, holding each other tight.

“I love this song,” Felicité said, as a hint.

There was a commotion—the guest of honor, Ross Juarez, was standing in the doorway, blocking everyone trying to get in and out.

Felicité called encouragingly, “Welcome, Ross! This party is for you.”

Instead of looking grateful, let alone thanking her, Ross blanched like he was about to be hanged. What was wrong with him? She'd noticed how jumpy he was at school. She hoped it wasn't guilt over being a criminal on the run. If he was, she hoped he'd be out of Las Anclas before anyone ever found out that she'd thrown a party for an outlaw.

At least he cleaned up well, with gorgeous black hair falling softly over the collar of one of Dr. Lee's good linen shirts. Mia, who stood at his shoulder, had made a typically Mia sort of effort—she had traded her usual grubby overalls for riding trousers and another one of her father's good shirts.

“You look great, Mia,” Felicité called, hoping to extract them from the doorway.

“Hi, Ross.” Indra held up his glass. “I'm Indra. Want a drink?”

Ross stayed in the doorway like he was glued there. It reminded her of Rabbi Litvak—he lived outside of town, because he couldn't shut off his ability to sense emotions. Every Friday evening, as he walked through the town gates, he had to brace himself. Perhaps this was Ross's Change.

Mia urged him, “Come on—I promise, the tacos are worth the crowd.”

Felicité gave him her best smile. Reluctantly, led by Mia, he edged into the room.

When Ross was a few feet away, a music stand onstage fell over with a crash. Ross jumped backward and whipped out his arm like he was blocking an attack, knocking a glass of pomegranate juice out of Meredith's hand. Cold liquid splashed Felicité from head to toe. Ross lunged toward her to catch the glass.

“Get away from me, you mutant!” Felicité cried.

She snatched a napkin from the nearest table and hurriedly wiped off her face and hands. But though her hat brim had shielded most of her face, and her layers of petticoats kept her body dry, bright red juice dripped from her hat—her beautiful new hat!—and splattered the ivory gown.

The entire room had gone silent. Everyone was staring at her and Ross. Instead of apologizing, he bolted for the door.

Mia glared at Felicité. “He didn't do that on purpose. And I can't believe you used that word!” She hurried after him.

“I am so sorry—” Felicité began.

Meredith didn't let her finish. “What a hateful thing to say! Some party!”

The threat of tears burned Felicité's eyelids. “I didn't mean—”

“You did mean it,” Meredith interrupted.

“Give it a rest, Meredith,” Tommy shouted. “You call people names all the time.”

“Not that one.” She turned on him, looking like a flea challenging a wolf. “You think I'd ever call a human being a mutant? My own mother is Changed!”

“What do you expect?” the qeej player commented. Even the band had stopped playing to witness her humiliation! “She's Preston's daughter—she probably hears that kind of language every day at home.”

“I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it,” Felicité repeated, her brain frozen with horror. “Indra. It's not something I believe. It slipped out.”

“Does it slip out whenever you see my father?” Indra turned his back and stalked away, to the Rangers' table.

Felicité faced a room full of whispers and nudges. “I am truly sorry.”

For a long, painful moment, no one spoke.
This is what happens when you lose control. Remember it.

Brisa spoke up, for once not smiling. “Seems to me it's Ross you should apologize to.”

“Yes.” Felicité heard how breathless and shaky her voice was. “I intend to do that right now. The rest of you, enjoy the party. It's still my treat.”

She had to tell her parents before they heard about it from someone else. While her mother never discussed her feelings about Changed people in general, neither would she refer to them with a slur. And both she and Daddy would be disappointed at Felicité's lack of control.

She longed to go home and get it over with, but she had to keep her word. So she forced herself to walk to Dr. Lee's in a ruined dress that looked like she'd been murdered, just to be told that Ross and Mia weren't there.

Felicité knew that she would never be able to look at him again without being reminded of her humiliation. But luckily, soon the council would meet, and then he would be history.

Until then, she had her reputation to protect among those who mattered.

She'd apologize tomorrow. At school. In front of everyone.
That will be better, anyway. They will all see how sincere I am.