SEE? WE CAN BE NICE
FORTY-ONE
The scent of coffee permeates the restaurant as I stroll into the cozy space behind Wynter.
Maybe it’s because no one’s here, aside from our small bunch and a man sitting by the counter.
His four-thousand-dollar suit tells me he won’t be our server this morning.
When I received the text at four AM, I expected to come face-to-face with all eighteen initiates. Instead, there are seven of us.
Wynter, at my side, murmurs, “Think they failed their tasks?”
“Yup. You need to take a moment to consider what happened at the auction with Dyers.”
“What do you mean?”
“You passed something. You just don’t know what. Not everyone makes it through to the final rite.”
She blanches. “Damn, you’re right.”
I slip my arm through the crook of her elbow and stride over to the table. I recognize one of the assholes whose family trades in the cellular damage of teenagers’ respiratory systems and the kid whose suit looks like it came off the rack and not from a tailor.
Naturally, it’s the Vaping King who’s sitting in my seat. A chair that’s the same red as the cloak I wore at the meeting house.
Unimpressed, I stare at him from the aisle. “Move.”
“What are you talking about? My name plate put me here. Didn’t it, Jerry?”
Jerry clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s right, Ian.”
“I don’t think so.” I bark out a laugh. “Ian, the seat is red. As far as I’m aware, I’m still the only potentiate in our pledging circle. So… move.”
Ian’s nostrils flare. “You don’t know that. Maybe someone else took your position from you. I don’t know. Like me.”
Not willing to argue semantics with this inbred moron, I lean over the back of the chair, uncaring that someone’s seated on it, and grab the dessert knife. “You can either move or I can—”
“Fine! Jesus Christ. You rabid or something?”
“Or something,” I sneer before taking my seat. “Thanks for keeping it warm for me.”
His top lip curls, but he throws himself down beside Jerry.
Wynter hides a smile. “Think we should introduce ourselves?”
“We already know who—”
“No, Ian. We don’t already know who everyone is. Because some of us aren’t interested. What I know about you is that your father makes a very good living ruining people’s lungs.
“As for this bozo over here, I think his great-grandfather sexually assaulted Mother Earth and is trying to win fracking rights where polar bears just want to fuck and procreate…
“Your ego might tell you that you’re the Big.
I. Am. But let me reassure you, you’re about as interesting to Wynter and me as moldy cheese.
” With him sputtering, I beam a smile at everyone.
“Hi! I’m Victoria. I’m the potentiate. The red gave it away.
” I wink at Jerry, who immediately blushes.
“When I grow up, I want to be a Veronian. Every little girl’s dream.
” From sugar sweet to a growl, I continue, “And not one of you fuckers is going to stop me. Introduce yourself, Wynter.”
“Hi, I’m Wynter. Victoria likes me and I love the law.
You might think the fact we have ovaries automatically cuts us out of the running for a place around this table, but unfortunately for you, you’re wrong.
All you bring is money. And money, pfft.
Anyone can earn that.” She reaches for her coffee cup and runs a manicured nail over the rim.
“What you’re trying to broker here is power.
None of you have that. Jerry looks like he wants to piss himself and Ian’s still attempting to grow something I assume is a goatee.
We, by contrast, are already situated in positions that’ll help the Veronians.
“Before you think you can steal our seats, maybe you should think about what you bring to the society because the other pledges didn’t have what it takes and I think Jared Cartwright’s grandmother was a Rockefeller…”
I pat her knee under the table in congratulations.
Unlike us, however, the boys are very sullen and taciturn. Hell, they make Brennan look chatty.
When a server makes an appearance and dishes out food we didn’t order, the guys tuck in.
I, on the other hand, ask, “Excuse me, I never ordered this.”
“No, ma’am. This was pre-ordered for you.”
“Well, I don’t eat things that I don’t choose. So, please, can I have an egg-white omelet?”
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll see to that.”
Wynter requests, “I’d like avocado toast on sourdough, please.”
“Certainly.”
The guys frown at us but keep on eating.
When the server fades away, I notice the guy from the counter has disappeared. Pondering that, I shift tacks and decide to mess with the others’ heads by smirking at them.
Ian, of course, scowls. “Why are you so smug?”
“Because you’re sheep.” I settle my hands on my stomach. “I have a feeling this year’s class of initiates has underwhelmed.”
“Gee, ya think?” Wynter muses. “That’s a shame too. I share a lot of classes with Jerry. He needs to up his game because he’s smart enough to take it all the way.”
“You really—”
“What the hell would he bring to the table?” Harrison Franklin demands.
“Brains?” I scoff. “More than you have. We were in that innovation and strategy course together, weren’t we? You failed if I remember. Didn’t you come onto the professor?”
“Bitch—”
“Now, now. Don’t be overemotional, Harrison.”
“I’m not. You can’t just insult me and think you can get away with it.”
My lips curve. “Says who?”
He throws down his napkin. “I’m not sitting here to listen to this bullshit.”
I waft my fingers at him. “Au revoir.”
A couple of the other guys take off after him, with Ian calling out, “Wait up, Harrison!”
Only Jerry remains.
“Are you always such a bitch?” he inquires as he takes a bite of the eggs he didn’t order while sipping on a coffee he didn’t ask for.
“No, only when I’m surrounded by podcast bros who need a girlfriend to tell them to wipe their own asses.”
Wynter snorts coffee through her nose and then starts coughing.
I grin at her, then grace Jerry with a kind smile. “You have to fake it ‘til you make it, Jerry. How do you feel about heading someplace with Wynter and me after this?”
“Someplace where?” His tone’s wary. But I get it. This is dog eat dog and I’m not afraid to get munching.
Unless it’s on Salome.
I have standards.
“A tailor I know. You have to dress the part if you want to play the part,” I advise.
“I don’t have the—”
“Don’t worry. The tailor owes my uncle a favor. He’ll do it for free.”
“What? Why would you… I don’t understand. Why would you do that for me?”
“So you owe me, of course. But also because I’d prefer you to be a Veronian than those ham-handed numbnuts.”
He glances at Wynter, who’s still patting her nose. “Is she…?”
“She’s being nice.”
I settle my elbow on the table then prop my head on my chin. “I am capable of it sometimes.”
He tosses his napkin on the table too. “What kind of favor would I owe you?”
“I don’t know. Yet. Nothing criminal or illegal. I’m not a monster.”
Wynter coughs, but I know it’s to hide a laugh.
Jerry, clever boy, reads between the lines. “Okay.”
“Perfect,” I chirp, holding out my hand for him. “Pleasure striking a deal with you, Jerry.”
He just shakes his head. “Why do I think the Veronians have no idea what they’re inviting to the table?”
“Let’s keep it a surprise between us…”