Chapter 18
Original House [ uh - rij - uh - nl hous ] noun
Any one of the bloodlines of Talents able to trace their lineage back to the Surge. Able to harness talent well beyond the commons, the most powerful of them boast special abilities, or ‘extras’ endemic to their ancestry.
– Excerpt from Glynfyls: A History
“Dual Talents, or twists, as they’re more commonly known, are by far the most reviled result of lines intermingling. Neither one Talent nor another, they steal from both and use their pilfered powers in unnatural ways.”
– Lord Hamn, Preceptor of Talent Theory,
Academy of Glynfyls
Kara awoke to Flynn’s agitation streaming through their link. It’d been rife with it since they arrived. She blinked the midday sun from her eyes. What was upsetting him now? Pushing back the faded quilt, her hand lingered on its patchwork squares, so like the one they’d brought up from the coop. The rest of the room was not. Immaculately clean, it had pale yellow walls hung with pictures showcasing pressed flowers. A tidy wardrobe was in the corner, and a small vanity with a mirror stood directly across from her. A neat pile of clothes sat on top.
Catching her reflection in the wavery glass, she gave a weak laugh, picking at the itchy lace collar. She felt better, but she sure didn’t look it. The ridiculous nightgown didn’t help. She padded over and got dressed, putting her hair into a messy bun. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, but the thought of pulling talent to erase them made her want to vomit.
Her ears pricked up at Flynn’s rumbling reply to something. She followed it out into the hall. A faded navy carpet ran down its center, and half a dozen doorways led off it. A staircase with a railed landing descended from one of them at the mid-point. Beyond it, a haze of smoke drifted from the doorway at the end.
The walls were papered with tiny china-blue flowers latticed across an age-yellowed background. Heavy oval frames of dark wood hung at precise intervals, stoic faces glowering out at her. Interspersed between them were newer images trapped behind glass. Photographs. She’d read about them. They didn’t have the depth of stills. She paused at one of a boy with a broad grin, holding up a fish. Her fingers trailed over its surface. Something about him…
Flynn was looking for her at the door when she entered, that same grin on his face. He sat at a scarred farm table plunked to one side of an antiquated kitchen. Rounded mint enamel appliances, a faded black and white checkered floor. The window over the sink and the one in the door had crocheted café curtains. What the heck was going on? She sank down beside him, and he put an arm around her, kissing her temple.
“Weird, right?” he asked. She just looked at him. “The farm’s been in the Scot family since before the Surge. Everything’s fixed to stay just like it was back then. Cal won’t let anyone but him change so much as a roll of toilet paper. ”
“If that were true, you’d have been out of socks long ago, Laughlin. The man never changes, period,” Miriam said, swishing out from the pantry with a canister. The shocking red dye job of her finger-wave updo was garish in the washed-out room. “Fixing’s unnatural, and mark my words, the first hooligan through here with a nullifier’s gonna turn it all to dust, him included.”
Flynn snorted, somewhere between amusement and irritation, totally unfazed by her frown. Kara wished she could say the same. Far from the kindly woman in a night cap, Miriam was intimidating in her matronly bustled skirts and high-necked blouse. It seemed to squeeze everything upwards and account for her look of disapproval. Her wide, downturned mouth instantly put Kara in mind of Leo. She struggled to place her in Flynn’s familial structure…that would make Miriam his aunt?
“Well, it’s good to see you up and about. A little exercise will do you good, but mind, I said little.” Miriam shot Flynn a dirty look, and his grin got wider. Kara went scarlet. “How about some lunch? Laughlin’s just finished, and I thought we could chat.”
He stood, resting his hand on her shoulder, and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m gonna go put together frames out in the barn. Go easy on her, Miriam.”
What! He was leaving? Laughing at her panic, Flynn gave her another quick kiss, barely dodging Miriam’s towel on his way outside, still chuckling as the door slammed behind him. Kara was wishing they’d both hit him when a large bowl of stew and a buttered roll was set before her. She thanked the woman and dug in, abruptly starving.
Miriam bustled around the kitchen, wiping down the butcher block counters and setting things to rights. “I hear you’ve a fondness for honey.” The pearl strands on either side of her cat’s eyeglasses bobbed in agreement, making Kara’s unnecessary. She kept eating.
“The Scots have an affinity for bees. They’re the sole reason any swarms survived up here after the Surge. This farm’s the southernmost apiary, and there’s three hundred fifty-two others just like it scattered throughout the Northern Territories. If there’s one thing we have plenty of, it’s honey.” She sat across from her, drying her hands on a towel and forcing a smile. It made Kara’s stomach drop .
“Cal’s asked me to help you get acclimated before we leave. I know Laughlin was hoping for more time, but things being what they are, we need to get you two north. So, first off, you need to forget that word, ‘subaltern.’”
Kara stopped with a bite halfway to her mouth, confused.
Miriam sighed. “You used it last night. It’s derogatory, and you’ll get yourself into a heap of trouble over it. People who aren’t talented are just regular people, ‘unaffected’ if you need a label. Understand? Good. Now, since people are just people, Talents can and do marry regular folk. Unlike a matched and bonded pair, where a talented child’s guaranteed, any kind of child’s extremely rare from such a pairing, but once in a blue moon, it does happen.”
Kara’s chewing slowed, that flat out wasn’t possible.
Miriam caught the look on her face and kept going. “Which brings me to my last point that you need to come to terms with. Laughlin’s mother was unaffected.”
Everything greyed, and when it cleared, Miriam was holding her upright.
“Better now, dear? Yes, I can imagine that’s quite a shock, but it had to be done.”
“How…?” Kara pushed the bowl away and cradled her head on the table. Subs weren’t even the same species. They couldn’t crossbreed. How was Flynn half sub? The kitchen door banged open and closed, his concern coming in ahead of him. Miriam went to fill up the kettle.
“What did you say to her?” Flynn thundered.
“I was just telling her about your mother.”
He scrubbed his face. “Christ, I thought?—”
“Well, that would be a first. Where else would you suggest I begin? And you watch your mouth, Laughlin James Scot, I won’t stand for blasphemy in this house!”
They glared at each other across the kitchen. Flynn looked away first. Sighing, he kneeled beside Kara. “Remember when I told you I was a lot of things?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“This is one of them. I’m still the same person, no matter who my parents are. There’s a lot you’re gonna have to get used to fast, and I know this is a big one.” He took her hands in his, his voice plaintive. “Does it really make that much difference if my mom wasn’t talented?”
Kara shook her head. “I made a choice back at the coop, and when I did, I thought you were a—unaffected.” She ran her fingers down his cheek where the scar had been. There was quite a bit both of them’d had no idea about. “I’m not upset over that. It’s all the lies. I can’t trust anything I thought I knew.”
A match flared. “You always were a smart girl, Karabelle.”
Kara spun at the voice, standing up so suddenly the bench fell backwards with a loud crash. A black wave of bloodlust surged up over her, and she lunged at the man in the doorway.
Flynn wasn’t sure who was more surprised when Kara leaped over the fallen bench and punched Cal square in the nose. There was a sickening crunch, and the old man fell back into the hallway, landing on his rear, legs akimbo as he skidded back and hit the far wall.
Holy shit!
Flynn grabbed her before she could go at him again. That sense of menace was staggering, her anger raging through their bond. She seethed against him, her breath coming fast. Miriam looked at the two of them in alarm before hustling to Cal with her towel, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Snatching it from her, Cal waved her off with a sharp laugh. “Well, I suppose I deserved that,” he mumbled through the towel.
Kara snarled, effortlessly shrugging out of Flynn’s grip and stalking toward the old man. That perfume was in the air, a wave of overwhelming desire threatening to drown him. Miriam’s face was white.
Flynn’s stomach knotted with the effort required to stay in control of himself. He wouldn’t lose it, not here. “Kara, calm down, what?—”
Her scent grew thicker at his voice, coiling around him with a serpent’s caress. His knees went weak, and he put a hand on the table to steady himself. That red haze surged up in response, tinting his vision .
She stopped dead in her tracks, turning back to him and riveting him with her gaze.
Goddamn, he wasn’t?—
She was before him, her fists gripping his shirt. Skimming her face up the side of his neck, inhaling with a low moan. His hands were on her, and an answering rumble started in his chest. Kara went to pull his face down to hers.
He caught her wrists, breathing hard. Shit. Another wave of lust crashed over him; he was going to bend her over the table in another minute. She leaned into him, and he took a deep breath, that smell lighting him up.
This fucking woman
Out of the corner of his eye, Miriam was pressed back against the wall, shaking.
Motherf—
His temper surged, and Kara staggered, dropping to her knees. A laugh burbled up his throat. Well, that sure as hell didn’t help. With a titanic act of will, he wrestled with his emotions until he could slam down everything beneath that blanket of calm.
He scrubbed his face, coming back to himself. Her perfume dissipated, head resting against his thigh. He helped her to her feet. She buried her face in his chest, trembling, her anger replaced by terror. Why was she so afraid?
Flynn tipped up her chin, and her eyes darted to Cal.
“I won’t go back.” Kara shook, and he held her tighter.
“You’re not going anywhere. Why’d you punch Cal?”
“Cal? That’s my Patron, Albanach.”
Flynn glared at the man, that growl rumbling in his chest again. Kara’s fingers dug into him. Fucking Cal. That was just par for the goddamn course. “Whatever the asshole’s calling himself, he’s my grandfather.”
Miriam edged over to the old man with an ice pack, eyeing the two of them warily. What had she seen? “Take it.”
Cal did, gingerly trying to set it on the bridge of his nose. Hissing, he tossed it back at her. “Well, you surer than shit broke the damn thing.” It did look off kilter. Kara pressed closer to Flynn, glowering. “ All right, look. I owe you some answers. Bind this for me so I can get about giving them to you.”
Flynn felt her emotions warring before she put a hand on either side of Cal’s face. There was a terrible crunching noise, and the old man howled. He gave her a long look, wiping his face again. Then the asshole winked at him, just fucking tickled.
“Let me feel every bit of that, the minx. Reminds me of your grandmother. Boy, are you in for a wild ride.”
Miriam fanned herself by the sink, tight-lipped. Flynn felt like he was the one who’d been hit. What the fuck was going on? He righted the bench and sat.
“Go get cleaned up, Cal. I think we all need a cuppa to settle our nerves after that,” she said, putting the kettle on the stove. Grunting, the old man left.
Kara collapsed onto Flynn’s knee. He pushed her more talent. After all that adrenaline, she felt limp. Shit, so did he. Miriam pulled a fifth of whiskey from the cabinet. Pouring herself a stiff jot, she drank it straight, leaning heavily against the counter.
“Never in all my years, Laughlin.”
There wasn’t anything he could say to that. He shrugged, staring at the teaspoon Kara’s fist was strangling, their bond churning with her hurt and anger.
“Did you know?” Kara’s voice was a study in control.
He shook his head, just as blindsided, but sadly, unsurprised. “No. All this time he’s been squawking about the liberation of Source Talents, I thought he ran some kind of resistance thing. I sure as hell didn’t know he was a Patron. Shit. It makes a hell of a lot of sense now that I think about it… Fucking Cal.”
“Language!” Miriam said sharply. “That man’s always up to his eyeballs in shenanigans. One of these days it’s gonna suck him right down, and God have mercy on his soul. I’m more concerned about the two of you. That bind needs to be addressed. Bernie will be here tomorrow.” Flynn’s jaw set. Miriam poured herself another jot, returning his glare.
“I know that look, Laughlin, and I’m putting my foot down. Your emotions are bleeding out into your energy. The field the two of you throw out is indecent.” She shot back what was in her cup, as scarlet as her hair. “I won’t have even a hint of a scandal! Politically, we can’t afford it. Theo Glass is furious about your betrothal to Marilla being broken; he’s brought a suit against us.”
Flynn winced at her words and the burst of hurt panic from Kara. She slid off his lap, shooting him an injured glare. Shit, she probably thought now that she was bred, he was looking for a second. Fucking Source.
“It’s not what you think. Lot set it up before anyone knew about us.” That insecurity was back, fragility creeping over her features. Goddamn it. He put his arm around her. “Hey, I told you, we don’t break bonds.”
“No, we don’t,” Miriam said firmly, catching on to Kara’s fear. She brought the kettle over and began to pour. “Marilla was just a politically expedient way for Lot to tie one of the more powerful Houses to ours. Laughlin…he’s opening the estate. We’re having the Introduction at Meddleton.”
Flynn’s eyes shot to the fifth on the counter, swallowing his pooling saliva. “Not St. Michael’s?”
Miriam sighed, her expression pained. “Truth be told, Father Benson wasn’t very receptive to the idea when I spoke with him. It would behoove you to attend service and start taking communion regularly once we’re settled.”
Flynn snorted. Fat fucking chance that was gonna happen. From the look she gave him, Miriam knew it, too. His eyes followed the bottle as she put it away. The estate had been closed since his mother died. Knowing she wouldn’t be there hurt. Kara leaned into him, and he rested his head against hers.
“You’ll like Meddleton,” he said after a heavy silence. “It’ll be better for kids than a flat.” Kids. The thought of the rambling halls filled with them made him smile. He gave a little laugh at her ambivalence. She’d come around.
Cal poked his head into the kitchen. “Ready?”
Not waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and sauntered down the hall to his study. They followed, and he motioned for them to sit, plunking down in his chair and rolling a cigarette. Flynn took the other seat, and Kara perched on its arm, radiating iciness.
“How do you look so different? If you hadn’t spoken first?—”
“Asshole can cloak the stripes off a skunk at fifty paces,” Flynn muttered. “Let me guess, hairless albino?”
Her expression confirmed it. “You’re a—Patrons are Talents?”
“No.” Cal frowned, tapping the butt on his knee. “I’m somewhat of an anomaly, and that particular parlor trick discourages familiarity.”
“Because your personality’s so welcoming otherwise.” Flynn snarked.
“Wise it. You wanted answers. Long story short, way back when, the Scots made one hell of a land transaction. Let the Corporation build a facility on a chunk of their property. Instead of a cash payout, your forbearers asked for a seat on the board. Corporation jumped at the deal. Must’ve thought it was funnier’n hell giving some hick farmer a chair.” He paused to light his cigarette, waving out the match. “Didn’t figure on the site exploding and mutating everyone within a couple hundred miles, including the whole Scot clan, but hindsight’s twenty-twenty, I suppose?—”
“Hindsight’s twenty-fucking-twenty?” Flynn sputtered. “Fuck the Surge, you’re a goddamned Patron! What about all those Talents?”
“All of them are the issue, north and south. Use your head, boy. You can’t change history, and the second the Corporation no longer has a vested interest in the Source, all those Talents get liquidated, then the Deep South’ll swoop in and fill the vacuum. That happens and make no mistake, whoever survives the wave of Sons pouring over the border’ll be hunted down and slaughtered quicker than you can blink. Without that abhorrent goddamned pleasure dome protecting our flank we’re ripe for the picking.”
“So they’re acceptable causalities.” Flynn scowled, feeling the same anger as Kara. Christ, he hated that term.
Cal gave him a sharp look. “If you wanna get down to brass tacks, they’re human shields, which is still better than the alternative, and until the Northern Territories gets their shit together, that’s not gonna change. ”
“Nora knows about all of this, doesn’t she?” Kara was pissed. Fuck, so was he.
“Your mother’s been instrumental in my efforts.”
“Yeah?” Flynn bit out. “You talk shop while you’re fucking her?”
Cal smirked and Flynn wanted to hit him. “Together, your mothers laid out the groundwork for what’s to come, but it was dependent on us showing a united front. Nora’s kept up her end at the Source, but without Deirdre, the Assembly’s fallen apart. This damned push for war goes through, and we’ll be offering ourselves up on a silver platter, and if we sit up here like we have been, when the Source sends up troops, they’ll harvest at leisure.”
He took another drag, his expression pinched. “Flynn, you have no idea how much I’ve missed your mother these past years. She would’ve had us where we needed to be. Instead, all her work’s been pissed away, and we’re ripe for invasion.”
Flynn grimaced, sure his father had more than a little to do with that. “If the drops are being compromised, someone up here’s actively undermining you. Any idea who or why?”
Cal stubbed out his cigarette. He got up and grabbed a bottle from a table against the wall, pouring two glasses of scotch. Swirling one around, he set the other on the table in front of Flynn.
“The short answer’s Titus.” Cal took a large swallow and sat. “Though I’ll be damned if I know how he got a toe hold up here, and I’d pay a pretty penny to find out how he knew when and where you’d be crossing.”
“You’re gonna have to pay it regardless. Leo’s guy fell through, and I had to buy papers from Mulligan. On top of which, I owe him a million in hush money for not turning us in. He’s the only person other than Leo and Graham that knew I was going through Ryfsbane.”
Cal didn’t bat an eye at the money, asshole had probably been the one to set the bounty in the first place. Christ, he still couldn’t believe he was a fucking Patron.
Shit. Yeah he could.
“He’ll get his check. Mulligan’s a weasel but wouldn’t jeopardize his bottom line. Still, the list of who knew you were coming back up here is slim.” Cal’s eyes lit on Kara, appraising her before continuing. “ Vector data from the lake came back. I know you used it, and so does Titus. Cat’s out of the bag; you need to show Flynn what’s at stake.”
He looked between them. Used what? She’d frozen, their link uncharacteristically quiet. Her face had smoothed out to a blank, that little hint of mischief he was used to seeing gone, leaving her doll-like. It was fucking creepy. Whatever Cal was asking, she didn’t want to do it. That fragility… What was she so afraid of? Flynn’s brow furrowed, but a piece of him understood. He tipped her chin toward him, and her eyes slid to meet his.
“Hey. You saw.” He fed her emotion. Everything he couldn’t say, like she had for him. She bit back a sob, then gave a little nod, dropping her gaze to the coffee table between them, and began to pull.
The center of the table rippled.
A pinhole formed, the edges of it rolling back on themselves, widening. Streams of matter dissipated into the air. Others dripped into the hole, like loops of yarn. Flynn’s mouth went dry. It was like she’d tugged on a thread of reality and was unraveling it.
That dark ring.
She was a twist, and what she was doing shouldn’t be possible.
The tabletop stopped disintegrating, bits of it dangling onto the rug. Kara slumped against him. He slid her onto his lap, his eyes glued to that goddamned hole.
Cal calmly rolled another cigarette. “Your wife’s a rare Talent. Only one of her kind, far as I can tell. Lazlo Merkel was an evil bastard, but he was brilliant. He hypothesized that if a Talent with a strong enough concentration of Original House genes bred with their balance, a fourth duality would be created, and I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right. Kara’s a Binder of enormous potential with a secondary talent, Unmaking.”
Flynn’s temper jumped. “Is that why they were gonna breed you to that shithead? For this?” She nodded, her face pressed into his neck. Jesus fucking Christ.
“They didn’t know, I wasn’t supposed to use it…”
Cal just sat there smoking. “You’ve seen what Titus’s done to the Breaker line. Imagine what he’d do with that.”
Flynn stared at the hole in the table, stroking Kara’s hair. After Diytan, he didn’t have to imagine a fucking thing. Talents wouldn’t be the only ones in chains. She trembled against him. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. What was their freaking kid gonna come out as?
He ran a shaking hand over his jaw. Breeding dualities. That was, shit, that just wasn’t done. He’d never heard of a fourth duality, but how the hell else could he explain what he’d just seen? “Seriously? Fucking dualities, Cal?”
He shrugged. “Used to be a regular love fest up here… Nobody gave a shit who was what. Somehow, things got skewed. Just like this twist crap. Kids used to wanna be dual Talents, now they beat them up. Goddamned ass-backwards prejudices. Our ability’s suffered mightily for it. Strongest Talents used to come from dualities pairing up. Now there’s what, maybe a handful of throwbacks every generation?”
Flynn’s eyes snapped to him. Cal was always waxing poetic about the good old days, but if he was a fucking Patron, he had the resources to do a hell of a lot more than reminisce.
Riegel and I share a dam. Our sires are different…but they’re both Breakers…
“You fucking asshole. You bred my goddamned wife.”
Cal lit a match and watched the flame for a moment. “I had access to certain tools and utilized them. You need an heir to take First, and your equal to get one. To get your equal, we needed a duality. I’d asked Nora to bond with Titus’s Breakers in hopes of a throwback. She saw the bigger picture and was amiable. House Scot gets its heir, and she gets a formal alliance with the North. Making a deal with Titus for the Breakers my geneticist flagged was like bargaining with the devil, but I fiddled a better tune. He got the shit end of the stick with Riegel. Whereas Kara…she’s one hell of a carrot.”
Flynn glared at him, the cuff on his wrist chafing like a shackle. Fucking Cal. He ran a hand down his face, wishing he could say he was surprised. It didn’t feel like Kara was either, just kind of hollow. She took the glass of scotch from the table. Flynn vaguely recalled pregnant women weren’t supposed to drink. Her look dared him to say something. She tipped the glass back, those dark shadows beneath her eyes stark.
“Regardless, it’s done. You both need to do as you’re told for the foreseeable future and cut whatever bullshit that was in the kitchen. Kara, I expect you to be the damn princess you are instead of the hoyden I’ve let you run around as. Listen to Miriam. The family’ll be here for dinner tonight, you’ll be able to trust them absolutely?—”
“Except for Leo,” Flynn muttered.
“Leo’s Leo,” Cal snapped. “He’ll save his own ass first, but he knows who pays his bills. Now drink your damn scotch before your wife finishes it all.”
“I gave it up.”
Cal’s smile was wry. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises. If chasing skirts isn’t already on that list, I suggest you add it. I’ve grown fond of not having to pay off half the lords in Glynfyls after you’ve deflowered their daughters.”
Flynn cringed at Kara’s jump of insecurity. Goddamn it. He was getting hammered with his past and hadn’t even gotten up to ground zero. Who the hell had he even been back then…other than a fucking asshole? Fake was the first word to come to mind. Miserable was the second.
Kara looked up, searching his eyes. His anxiety echoed hers. Need leaped between them, and he leaned in to kiss her?—
Cal cleared his throat. “Take it somewhere else, Laughlin.”
They went back down the hall to the back bedroom, tension crackling between them. Flynn rifled his hair. Christ, he knew he was gonna fuck this up. She bit at her thumb, withdrawn. The click of the door closing echoed through the little room. Shit, what Cal had just spilled?—
“So… Deflowering, huh?” Her voice was thick and her eyes glassy.
He cringed. Goddamn it. “Most of them weren’t—Look, pretty much all I did for a long time wasn’t—My House’s influence—a lot of women wanted a part of it. I wasn’t—I’m not a good man, Kara. The last one… Cal threatened to cut me off if I fucked up again. I saved him the trouble when I left.”
Kara’s brow wrinkled. “I thought you were with that girl, Julia. ”
“Yeah. So did she.” He grimaced, running a hand up the back of his neck.
She cupped his face, bringing it to hers. “And now?”
“This…it’s different. I’m different.”
Her kiss was laden with need, that insecurity gnawing through their link. Flynn pulled back, brushing the tears from her cheeks.
“Hey, whatever you heard in there, whatever I saw… I’m still me, and you’re still you.”
Burying her face in his chest, she sobbed. Flynn couldn’t even begin to sort out her tangle of emotion. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, holding her until she cried herself to sleep.
The Commandant stood at strict attention before Titus’s desk. The holos backlighting the man on his throne showed an array of military tribunals and firing squads. Marcos pointedly ignored them, fully expecting to be put before the latter, unless Titus was keen on getting some range time in himself. His Patron stroked his upper lip, giving Marcos his full attention.
It was beyond disconcerting.
“I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that your performance in the field has been laudable, particularly in regard to how you’ve kept the border situation in check. However, I think it’s safe to say the Jester girl’s slipped your net.”
A trickle of sweat crept down Marcos’s spine. “Yes, sir, I would agree with that assessment.”
“Mmm.” Titus tapped his lips in thought, then snapped his fingers. A sub walked out from the adjoining room and bowed. “Bring the Commandant a chair.”
Marcos’s shoulders tensed. It was noted and enjoyed. What was the man playing at? His Patron was many things, but none of them were cordial. The chair arrived and Marcos sat, expecting it to be jerked out from under him, or detonated as he did.
“I bred you specifically to lead the Corporation’s military division. You’ve the best bloodlines, education, and training, yet I sent you into this battle ill-prepared. As of now, I’m pulling you from all other duties and granting you access to the redacted files from the Third Harvest. You’re to begin reviewing them immediately. Promote Br3 to interim liaison, he should be shadowing you in any case.”
Marcos’s throat bobbed. He’d expected to be stripped down, not put on sabbatical—Titus pinched at the bridge of his nose, wincing like what he’d just said pained him. He took a bottle of pills from his desk and dumped several out, then threw them back with a swallow of bourbon, clearly unwell. Either could account for his uncharacteristic leniency.
Marcos still felt a noose tightening around his neck.
“You have three days to bring yourself up to speed. I expect you to report to me when you’ve finished, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Titus pursed his lips like he was rolling around something delicious in his mouth. Here it comes. The back of Marcos’s shirt became uncomfortably damp, the man drawing out the silence between them.
“You’re also to continue reviving your relationship with Nora Jester. I’d like you to begin courting her. Her file indicates she’s been groomed to appeal to a cultured clientele. I’ve made my private box available to you for whatever drivel is playing at the opera house. You’ll sit through it and pretend to enjoy yourself.”
Marcos struggled to keep a straight face, his gut burning.
“I’ve also approved and expedited the paperwork you filed to end your existing contract. You’ll report for breaking Thursday, 0800 hours.”
“I… Yes, sir.” He had to make a concerted effort to get the words out of his mouth.
Titus templed his fingers and sat weighing him. Marcos met his blood-shot eyes for a good ten-seconds before dropping his gaze. The man gave a satisfied grunt as he did.
“Lastly, your offspring, BrNC37.”
Marcos couldn’t hide his grimace. That was noted as well.
“His level of talent has dropped inexplicably. I’ve stripped him of his clearances and sent him for testing. In the event Kara Jester comes back unbred, you’re to stud. I’ve already pulled your meds in anticipation. In the meantime, instruct Br3 to prepare for retaliation from the North. Her extraction may create an incident.” Titus smiled as if he hoped that would be the case and swept the wall of holos between them.
Marcos exited the office in a daze. He was met by a young, tow-headed sub.
“Sir? Your belongings have been moved to new rooms. If you’ll follow me?”
Marcos trailed behind the boy. What the hell had just happened?