"It's been some time since I've partaken in so called high society. I know hardly anyone here, my recent gentleman company included."
She shrugged away the admission, unperturbed by her outsider status. The suggestion of an older man flickered a brief smirk, but any gentle tease smoothed away, little more than an amused glint to her eye.
The question itself made it clear Evelyn had yet to speak to Brandon, if she truly did not know Jay was here. But seeking the Congresswoman's help had been an arrow shot in the dark; Natalie didn't begrudge that it hadn't come to fruition, especially now she had come by her answers via other means. "Heard, no. But I've seen him,"
she said, giving a moment's pause to ascertain the truth of Evelyn's ignorance.
"He's here. Whispers call the men in black the Nine. It seems he's one of them."
She said it without inflection, though she was curious how Evelyn would interpret Brandon's statement. Harbingers of peace, she imagined, a succinct solution to the troubles in Africa -- as was probably intended.
The man's response seemed to defuse some of Ivan's tension. He studied him, thought about his words. He didn't seem to be in Yun Kao's pocket.
That bitch spider was playing her games with everyone it seemed. And probably was making enemies right and left. He stepped back, let the power drain a bit- he still held on though, just in case.
Still, it was a possibility. There had been the Consul. He'd hoped to find and talk to him. But the more he'd seen of the guests at this ball, the less he liked the idea. He doubted anything would change. The guy reeked of ambition. He was the mini-Ascendancy. Very likely, both of them knew full well the extent of corruption in the CCD.
It made a perverse sort of sense. Governing an empire was work. You needed all kinds of tools, all kinds of leverage, he imagined. The sharks at this ball swam and circled, all looking for weakness, for advantage. Of course they would need corrupt DA's and police and lawyers. And others.
The carrot and the stick, a nudge here, a push there; a favor done for one, a threat to another. Puppet masters.
Ivan was fucking tired of being a puppet. It angered him how easily he had been led along by the nose.
He had strings to cut. Beginning with Yun Kao's. "Alright. Maybe we can."
He put out his hand. "Ivan Sarkozy."
She fixed Marcus with a half-terrified, half-threatening stare. "Don't you dare take off your shoes!"
But the threat turned to laughter. She had to lean on his arm to maneuver the heel back into place, but she was no longer lop-sided upon releasing him.
"Now get up. I'm not a cartoon princess,"
she quirked a brow. The man that she'd hit with her shoe was flashed an appreciative smile. He was handsome and handsomely dressed. The girl that occupied his arms was darling, as well.
The room spun a little. "Maybe I should sit down before I fall over."
((Sorry for the short post after such a long wait.))
Marcus smiled up at her. "Come now, Belle. Don't you recognize your Prince Eric? I just got a tan."
And then he stood. She really did have that cartoon princess look to her.
The legionnaire was dressed in his uniform, every inch the soldier. Marcus didn't have a read on him yet. The girl on his arm was tiny, though very attractive.
Despite her bravado, she knew she was a bit on the tipsy side. "Yeah, you look like you're going to fall down. Here, let's have a seat,"
he said, gesturing to the one of the tables near the dance floor. To the legionnaire and his date, he sad. "You are welcome to join us. I am Marcus DuBois and this is Danika Zayed."
Evelyn rolled her eyes. 2046 and men were still treating women like dolls. One would think the past generation would have resolved that silly issue, but it was beget to the next. A poor inheritance.
Natalie's admission gave her cause to blink. After all that worrying, Jay was here the whole time? "The Nine?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she turned about like just saying his name may be enough to summon him before her. She would like to see this young man for herself.
She turned back to Natalie. "How can that be? It would mean that Ascendancy created a team of men that --"
her voice fell as the pieces formed the puzzle in her mind.
She frowned and this time, her scan of the room searched for Nikolai. It wasn't difficult to find him.
"Excuse me-"
she started upon departing.
Threat subsided, Ryker's guard lowered slightly.
He clasped the man's hand. Tough. Strong. This was someone used to hard work. The name meant nothing to him, but Ryker didn't expect it to.
In turn, he offered his own name.
"Ryker Petrović."
Likewise, he doubted Ivan would know his name.
Ivan was of Moscow. If the accent didn't confirm it, the surname did. While Ryker was born in Kiev, more connected the two men than divided them.
"Before we proceed. It would be best if I read her note so we know what we are working with."
He opened the message and scanned the contents without reaction.
Instead, he gave the message to Ivan.
Quote:<dl>
<dt>Yun Kao</dt>
<dd> </dd>
</dl>
Let's meet in a more comfortable environment. One evening at your desecration. [Location described]
Yun.
"Seems she has a crush on me."
A smile twisted the corners of his mouth.
"Think what you do of her, but she can suck my dick any day."
Moving on, he pointed out the final portion of the message: a location to meet.
"Does this mean anything to you?"
Cruz greeted him like they already met. Jay shook the hand, but the memory was blank. He knew the name. He knew this was the kid Nox was there to protect. But if he saw this guy in a crowd, Jay never would have pointed him out. Probably a sign that he'd not been as sober as he thought the next morning when they'd supposedly met.
The kid charmed Vena and Jensen. Jay was content to stand back and watch a master socialite in his element. Jensen seemed like a deer caught in the headlights. It was curious that he was even here. The guy was a preacher. Jay knew that much. He had problems back in the States, but most of that took place while Jay was in the marines. Given he'd been a little busy to keep up with the tabloid-riddled drama of Texas, he had zero guess as to how he ended up in Moscow, let alone the Kremlin.
But he'd made news recently. Granted, Jay had also been busy in the top-secret, underground channeler training dungeon, but the news trickled down even to their level. Pretty much any channeler that made the news made the topic of conversation among the Nine soon after.
He'd healed a guy. Jay could see the video clear as day. Someone was shot. He'd seen plenty of people shot before. They all shared that same panicked expression of impending death just before the emptiness brushed their face clean. That same contorted expression appeared, but Jensen laid hands on the guy and the emptiness didn't come. Instead, life blushed new. He'd healed the guy. Healed him from dying.
And he became famous for it. A channeler that can heal.
Heal..
Jay felt his jaw drop. The excitement tingled up and down his arms. His mouth went dry even as the light of hope flashed across his eyes. "Jensen-"
Jay started, only to feel a buzz against the skin: Wallet alert. Only one person had the settings tuned to push a call through to his attention on a night like this.
Cayli.
He licked his lips, pulled the wallet from his pocket and the name confirmed it.
"I'll be right back."
He stated even as he turned away. "Don't let him go anywhere!"
He yelled as he strolled away, pointing at the Texan.
He had to get out of the room. The crowd and music was too loud to hear. Probably best to not let anyone see where he was, either.
He yanked the earpiece that connected him to the Nine as the rush of fresh air slapped his face. The balcony was quieter. The red walls of the Kremlin cast their hellish reflections in the uplighting across his shoulders. But the bloody walls couldn't damper his mood. Hope. Cayli could be saved. She could be healed of the cancer that her doctors couldn't treat. All because Jay found himself in the right place at the right time. A servant to Ascendancy. One of the Nine at this ball. Brushing shoulders with the world's most famous healer. This was the answer. It had to be.
He answered the wallet: "Cayli! You won't believe what--"
He stopped. The voice on the other end was crying. "Cay. Talk to me. What's going on?"
"Somethings wrong."
She finally managed.
She was pale. Sickly. Her face gaunt, her eyes panicked. Jay's stomach ripped into knots.
"I feel like I'm going to die. I'm scared. We're at the emergency room. Mom and dad wont--"
she was cut off. The screen jumbled around.
"Cayli!"
Jay yelled like he could reach through the device and bring her back.
His father's voice filled the void, but distant, like he was holding the wallet low at his side. "I told you not to call him!"
Powerless, Jay tried to reach him, "Dad!"
He tried. But nothing. "DAD!"
Finally, dad addressed him. The view was filled with his face. The background moved to some kind of corridor. "Jay. Sorry for bothing you."
"What the hell is going on? Why is Cay in the ER?"
"She's not been feeling well."
No shit! He was lying. It was worse than that. So much worse. That was genuine terror in her voice. She looked like she was about to die.
"I'm coming home as soon as I can fly there. Tell me where you are."
Dad's gaze sunk away. Tears touched the corners of his eyes. "TELL ME."
Finally, with beeps and voices muffled in the background, dad answered. "County Mercy."
Jay closed his eyes just as the connection ended. But the processing delayed him only a moment. Before he knew it, his fingers were flying over the commands on the wallet to find a flight. The party behind him might as well have sank into the abyss. He didn't care. He'd steal a plane and fly it himself if he knew how to pilot.
But panic slowly began to build when the same code flashed every time he tried to purchase tickets. DENIED BOARDING.
TICKET DENIED.
PURCHASE DENIED.
BOARDING DENIED.
He let his arm drop to his side. What was going on? He pinched his eyes. The power seemed to churn and writhe like it sensed the growing anger in his gut. This wasn't financial. He had the money to buy a fucking plane ticket. There was only one reason he could be denied an international trip.
He was red-listed. The CCD wanted him trapped.
Ascendancy was inside. He could turn around and demand the flag to his name be removed. Ask to leave. Beg for help--
But the CCD wanted him trapped was American. He was here with Danjou. Ascendancy had to be the one that ordered the flag to his identity in the first place.
He grew sick.
There had to be a way out. People snuck in and out of countries all the time. But no. There wasn't time. He had to get to Cayli tomorrow; now.
Not Ascendancy then. Danjou? No, he didn't have the political capital for that kind of maneuver. Not inside the CCD anyway. It had to be a CCD official that could grant his departure. If only there was someone--
Someone -- like a Patron.
Northbrook.
Natalie's grandfather was a Patron, and his only chance. He turned around, determination set, licked his lips, and silently begged god that Natalie didn't hate him too much.
Then, as though the force of his need willed it. She was there.
Evelyn's reaction was more visceral than Natalie had anticipated. Was she really so blind? Had she really trusted whatever promises Brandon had made to her? The woman's gaze moved to encompass those drifting black shapes amongst the guests, as though she had not truly seen them until now. Natalie had warned her, but apparently she had chosen to see goodness before the stark reality, while all the time betrayal happened hundreds of miles beneath her feet.
She nearly reached out to school the woman from leaving; now was not the appropriate time to demand answers, if that was what she intended. But she let her go instead, disinclined to further involve herself. Brandon made the mess. He could clean it up. Her pale gaze swept the crowd, settling briefly on the space where he entertained his guests before she turned away, finally threading her way to an escape.
Outside, the cool air burrowed a shiver across her skin. Three. She watched the shadows of the view, tuning out the noises emanating from inside -- and trying to will away the queasy itch between her shoulders. The music was not even remotely similar to the thump and bass of that night, but the anxiety did not differentiate. She could almost smell the sickly sweet stink of the chloroform.
A familiar voice broke the trance, ghosting another memory that just as quickly faded. She looked up and across the wide platform; Jay was oblivious to her presence, and the call was clearly personal. A few steps would relief her the discomfort of overhearing; there were other balconies from which to take a moment's respite. Her grip slipped from the railing as she retreated, at least until his voice rose, the raw emotion like barbs. She hovered between shadows and light. Torn.
A word of warning. A whisper of splintered loyalties.
Inside the glasses still clinked amidst music and laughter, unconcerned, whilst beyond Brandon's newest pawn declared his intention to go home.
When she turned again he was hunched over the wallet, and despite herself she watched the desperate emotion cloud his face. Now was the time to walk away. It would be easier to protect him from a distance.
But he turned before she could make the decision.
Then, as though the force of his need willed it. She was there.
She was perched on the threshold of two worlds. Fear flashed her pale gaze like she'd been caught. Jay had to ignore the fact that she'd been caught by him. Her sense of obligation seemed to leaden her feet, though. She was beautiful like a curling wisp of smoke that the more one tried to capture the faster it disappeared.
He hurried to her before she could run.
"Natalie, wait."
He couldn't keep the desperation from his plea. The sudden rush of emotion from the past few minutes mixed with the shots and he found himself unsure of what to say. He wanted to ask how she was. To comment on how beautiful she looked, remarkably so after all she'd been through. Explain why he was wearing Custody colors. Why there was no other way. That he wasn't a murderer. Though that would be a lie.
But none of that came out.
"I have to go to Iowa, tonight."
He smiled a weak apology. "Uhh- Can you ask your grandfather for help with ticket out of the country?"
That probably made no sense. No normal person would ask that kind of a question. "I promise I will come back. I'm not abandoning anything. But I have to be there."
The desperation crept back into his voice.
"And we have to take Jensen James with us."
Given that guy's value, he was probably as trapped as Jay.
He swallowed, barely holding onto her pale gaze. Wondering about the integrity of the shield over his own.
Instead, he turned the wallet and summoned a frozen image of a teenager, hair toppling, hospital gown askew, and showed it to her.
A piece of the past so protected now laid bare for scrutiny. She'd wonder why he left someone so fragile and defenseless. To trade family and bonds for jungles and gunfights.
Her feet were rooted even before the sound of his plea squeezed her chest tight. Much as she might wish otherwise, she was not immune to his distress; not even against her better judgement. She absorbed him in the moments before he spoke, like secrets might be uncovered in a glance, only to blink like worlds collided when he spoke.
He needed her name and the connections that came with it.
If anything had shown in her expression before now, she finally rallied to the smooth control she had employed during her father's trial. She ought not be surprised; it was the usual way of things, and one of the reasons she had not been forthright about her identity so many times in the past. The hurt banished deep, not least because she understood the desire to protect one's family beyond any reasonable cost.
"You don't need to convince me of anything."
Though her gaze dipped to the image anyway; one she wasn't sure she really wanted to process, the flesh and blood vulnerability laid bare in a single photo. She took the wallet in her palm. The resemblance was clear even if she hadn't pieced enough together already; wan and sickly, and probably not far off Alice's age. He thought she needed persuading, even after Africa. Like the pain in his voice wasn't enough on its own. "He won't help you if it means defying Nikolai Brandon."
The fact Jay was American plunged his chances to less than zero, though she chose not to voice it for the illumination it cast on her own past. Edward wouldn't risk those associations. Jay's services had been paid for; as far as the Northbrooks were concerned, there was no debt left outstanding.
She handed the device back.
"You'd do better to petition Evelyn Avalon. Interesting how this fundraiser was declared so shortly following her arrival, don't you think? She's a strong advocate for channeller rights. She might have sway with the right people."
A public path with little recourse if things went wrong. But it was not like Natalie was without less savoury contacts, should the need arise.