He pushed up from the bed, moved toward his closet, and opened his fire-station-supplied satchel, removed vials, and then passed them to me. I lifted the vial to the light and ogled the blueish liquid. Mana.
“You won’t get caught,” he assured me. He then pulled on his khaki pants and a crisp white button-down shirt.
“Leaving me here?” I asked.
A grimace was his response until he hid it behind a casual smile. “You can show yourself out. I hate to eat and run, but the sick aren’t going to heal themselves.” The vials rested next to me. “Don’t forget: Deliver this before curfew.”
“I have to make it to my callback today,” I said.
“You’ve been trying to be a dancer for months. This delivery is more important. You could do some good, and art isn’t what this world needs. Trust me.”
We’d always done this dance.
He offered a paradise that I couldn’t enter without him.
I nodded. It was easier to appease Rust than to cause an argument. Plus, my friends, Chi, Emili, and Ola would meet with me later.
And Rust was right. It wasn’t like I was going to get the internship. I was a simple Tier-C, and he was a B. I should have been happy to even be allowed to be there with him.
Love didn’t ask questions; love didn’t wonder if he had my best interests at heart or his own.
Instead of asking, I nodded my agreement and turned away. Relationships required a dance, not a requiem.
I heard the apartment door snick closed behind him. Seeing that I still had time before my new item on my to-do list, and losing Rust wasn’t part of that, I stared at the spot where his ring rested.
All I wanted to do was believe him and in the happy ever after he was promising, but our lives were so intertwined that I wasn’t sure happiness was truly there.
Love came with a cost, dues, and it was time to pay the entry fee.
Rising from the bed, I moved and gathered my rumpled clothes from the floor. I had a delivery to make.
Chapter Three
I walked in a swarm of people, and armed soldiers observed us. They gripped their weapons, and like a pendulum, stalked left and right in search of something, or someone.
Their tactics, surprise patrols, and arrests had increased over the past few days.
In this place where either cameras, eyes, or both were on you at any time, it was hard to be part of the rebellion. The police had been absorbed into the guard, and now only soldiers watched over us, all obedient to the invaders’ orders. Supposedly, there was no more “Big Brother.” One was either for the invader or against them.
But then, some walked the line in between.
And we all had reasons for participating.
I pushed away any thought as to arrests, prisons, or anything else that might be picked up on an emotional scanner. The last thing I needed was to be plucked out of the group of pedestrians.
Misstepping, a young man wearing tattered clothes bumped into me, turned to look over his shoulder, and ducked deeper into the crowd.
“Stop!” a soldier called out, and the young man was then quickly felled by a light taser.
He must have been human for the light taser to be used. Maybe he’d done something petty. He seized on the ground, and out of his hands fell a loaf of bread still wrapped in the Le Pain, Tier-B, paper wrapping. A tier he surely did not belong to.
It must have been close to the end of the month, and the arrest quota needed to be filled. Nervousness wafted like the stench of raw sewage. I gulped, pressing down anything that might resemble fear.
In this world, fear was a sign of guilt, a symptom of something larger than the desire to survive.
There was a way to survive the overlord’s oppression and being unmemorable was one of them.
Confidence was the key. Not too proud, not like one owned the street, but that one didn’t have to crawl along it.
And not getting caught.
Neon lights flashed; electricity flickered as dusk settled. The bell chimed, and everyone stopped to stare at one of the large jumbotrons overhead which depicted two supernaturals sparring—a vampire and a were shifter. The gladiatorial-style games of supernaturals sparring were interrupted—magic was illegal everywhere except in that ring.
The scene changed to depict one of the Dark Elven Generals, flashed his pinched face on the screen, and Elvish, English, and Spanish subtitles scrolled underneath.
Everyone stopped like a clock and tilted their heads upward to watch the screen. We were required to gaze upon it with admiration, to honor the news of the Overlords and their might.
“Your city is now safer, as the magical rebellion led by the apostates has ended,” the prim and properly coiffed blonde news anchor stated. The inflection in her voice proving that she’d either left her humanity behind or truly believed their propaganda. “Our leaders have embraced our new ways to ensure your safety and that of our community. We continue to find ways to improve our relationship. Our reward system has been updated, and new credits placed on your account for your patriotism. Honor the Elves. If you see the spark of rebellion, report it for your chance to be blessed by the Overlords for a chance to win an increase in caste tiers.”
An audible gasp moved across the sidewalk, and the bell chimed again, signaling the return to normalcy.
“Thirty minutes until curfew,” the AI announcer said, and the cacophony of the crowd returned.
I pulled the collar up on my black wool coat and strutted along with the other pedestrians of C-Class, always blending in with the non-bright color mélange of despair. Always orderly, never capturing attention, slow and steady like it was a simple stroll meant to be enjoyed.
One foot after the other.
No clenching hands, back straight, head up, stepping with purpose.
Above ground, there could be no shuffling. That was a sure sign that one belonged
