Legacy to Zero

22: Choices

Harlow

Before the sun woke, Aunt Leala was carting me to Gemstone. The store was an old house that had been abandoned, transformed into a storage space for stacks of books, outer-cities stationary, and boxes filled with mostly dust.

I hid in the back, seated on an upholstered chair that floated a few inches off the carpet. Cross-legged, I peeked through the sheer curtain—that worked a bit like Ishanti's gated alarm system—into the storefront.

An old cash register, its levers a gold-plated metal, blocked my line of sight. Besides the back of Aunt Leala's head. By the sound of her loudly shouting a thank you, she was finished helping a customer, and it was time for her to turn around to check in on me.

I gave her a weak smile when she turned around. Curse it all, I missed working.

Work wasn't always perfect. Sometimes, it wasn't even great. But I'd forgotten when my next shift was supposed to be. I'd forgotten how every week, I scheduled around my classes and strategized how to match when Lars worked to mine, hoping he'd never figure out it wasn't a coincidence.

I'd been on Luna again, searching for other pictures and information. Hadn't found anything worthwhile, and losing myself in Prismatrix's comments didn't seem productive.

Upon the sound of the bell at the front tinkling, I spun around in my chair and tried to zone out. Meditation would help.

At least for a beat, it worked. The curtain budged as my aunt came in, passing me on her way to the boxes. She kicked it. "Sorcerer here." Another three thuds against the flaps. "Prismatrix-issue suit."

Run. I toed the pedals of the chair, lowering it to the ground. Aunt Leala pulled the curtain back on reentry, her voice leaping through the rooms. "I checked the back room, and I think we're out of stock. Do you want to take a look here? Let me show you..."

I crouched low to the baseboard. Whoever it was wore wide-heeled shoes. I rushed to the window behind me, using the box to boost me closer. Once I'd gotten a foothold in, I wrangled my body upward and swung. My chest pressed against the windowpane, sending pinpricks across my shoulders.

There had to be a better way to do this, but I wasn't sure if I knew it. I shimmied until I was in place to move back on solid ground.

I circled the building. How could anyone find me? I haven't been staying in one place for too long. Haven't been leaving a trace.

Through the side window, the sorcerer became visible. It wasn't the one who'd announced me as a suspect. This guy was taller, his face partially visible below a half-mask. His hands pinwheeled as he spoke to Aunt Leala.

She nodded, a bit too enthusiastically for my tastes, and leaned an arm on her water cooler. Bubbles lifted to the surface. She grabbed a mug and filled her own before offering the sorcerer the other.

I'd seen this trick before. Aunt Leala turned away, facing the window. Her eyes locked with mine.

Her influence was trust. The moment the sorcerer took a drink, she led him to the door and what they were saying crossed to me.

"Really sorry for the trouble," he told her. Without knowing my aunt's thread, the rising octaves in his voice would have been out of the ordinary—usually a signal that someone was lying. It was the same giveaway I tried not to hear in my happiness—a certain vocal fry that made it lose all credibility. I doubted that anyone but influence sorcerers noticed it. The sound when anyone was acting against an instinct, but couldn't fight it.