“Eh?” Oscar craned his neck to hear better.
“Stop now,” he bawled. Oscar brought the cab quickly to the next curb, as Bracken fought to free himself from his seat belt. “I’ll walk. Just let me out.”
“This isn’t the best neighbor—”
He slammed his way out of the cab and swayed on his feet for a moment. I reached for him in alarm and then quickly withdrew my hand; his disgust was palpable. He braced himself against the car for a moment, and as soon as he got his head together, he fled. I watched him quick-march away. I’d have run from me too.
The car slid back into the flow of traffic, moving almost sulkily.
“You, uh, want to go home?” Oscar asked, not unkindly.
I nodded. In my bag, my phone started to chirp; it was June, checking in to make sure I had survived the evening.
I don’t want to talk about it.
I hit send, and tucked my phone back in my bag, ignoring the buzz of her repeated messages. I pressed my hot face against the window, watching the liquid city lights, defeated.
“THEN MY CREDIT card was declined twice.”
June was gasping for air, laughing so hard she’d stopped making any recognizable sounds and was just wheezing. She had a pair of swimmer’s nose plugs on to shield her from the scents of sweat and body spray and spilled crantinis at the karaoke bar.
“Oscar finally took pity on me and said he’d invoice E.”
“Shit, dude.” She gasped, fanning her face. “It’s so terrible. So terrible.” She tried to take a swallow of Chardonnay, but almost choked. I pressed my lips together and looked toward the stage, where Greg was belting out show tunes.
“Your empathy moves me.”
“I’m dying.”
“So is my sex life.”
“Are you going to call him again?”
“Oscar? Yeah, he’s a good driver, it wasn’t his fault.”
“No, you idiot, Bramble.”
“Bracken.”
“Whatever his terrible name is.”
“Obviously not.” I looked down into my gin and tonic, stirring it fretfully with the little straw.
“It could be a funny story one day. Your dramatic first date.”
“He was covered in blood and puke.”
“The start of a whirlwind romance. Your child will be named Decorative Hedge.”
“You know I’m naming my firstborn Worf.” I drained the rest of my drink and rattled the ice in the bottom of the glass while she cackled. “I need another.” I stood, wobbling in my heels.
I passed Greg on my way to the bar; he’d handed off the mic and was trying to attract the bartender’s attention to get another Long Island iced tea. He spotted me and lifted his hand for a high five; I walked right by, leaving him hanging.
He scowled and dropped his arm. “Cold, Anna.”
I leaned on the bar and ordered for both of us, as it was clear the bartender was going to continue completely ignoring Greg as punishment for singing “Mr. Mistoffelees.” Going out the night before the press conference, my first bit of fieldwork, was a mistake, but one I needed. I’d feel like shit in the morning, but the hangover and being made fun of by my friends might wash a little bit of the reek of failure that had been clinging to me ever since that decent-looking man had probably the worst date of his life in my company.
I slid Greg’s drink over to him. He picked it up and nodded in thanks; his phone had rung and he was struggling to give tech support over the tinny synth and off-key singing.
“Have you tried pressing ctrl-alt-delete? Yes, the buttons. Yes, at the same time.” He put his drink down and stuck his finger in his ear to try and hear better. I took a sip of my drink.
He hung up a moment later and we walked back to the table together. June had somehow acquired a martini and was fishing out a pearl onion with her pincerlike fingernails. She flicked it at me. She was still grinning.
“At least work seems to be going well,” she said, too cheerfully.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m cheering you up.”
“So magnanimous.”
“Shut up. Also, I mean it. E likes you, likes your work.”
“Yeah.”
“He was talking you up to Electrocutioner,” she admitted. There was a tiny bit of sourness in her voice, an edge of jealousy. It made me believe her.
I sat up a little. “That’s something.”
Greg had been nodding along. “It is something,” he agreed. “Going out in public with a villain is for-real henching. You’re part of the entourage.”
I smiled despite myself. “Let’s hope my energy is aligned tomorrow.”
June lifted a talon-tipped finger. “Also, stop dating civilians.”
My smile twisted. “Yeah.”
“You’re just going to get blood all over them. Start looking in the talent pool.”
“Another hench?”
She shrugged. “Or a villain.”
“Yeah, I already have one ex who stalks me, I’m good.”
“I’ve found the professionally evil are much more reasonable,” June said, theatrically drinking. She wound up spilling a bunch of martini down her shirt.
“Is that why you keep dating that one piece of Meat?”
She paused to glare at me. “We are not dating. He’s a semi-regular booty call at best. Also, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“I could just warn the poor civvy next time.”
June swiped at the front of her shirt angrily. “Pointless. They either write you off immediately or get a hard-on imagining you robbing banks in a thong and goth boots.”
“So I shouldn’t wear that to work tomorrow.”
“I mean, follow your heart.”
“ANNA! HOW ARE you?”
I flinched and turned to find E striding toward me across the Electrophorous Industries lobby. He was positively beaming, walking with a long, confident gait and wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit. His teeth were so white they seemed to glow, and his tan seemed especially deep. In one hand, he was holding a device that looked a lot like a gold dinner plate attached to a pair of brass knuckles. Two people from Ramp;D skittered behind him nervously, their eyes fixed on the device, hands twitching, certain he was going to drop it.
I swallowed and smiled, hoping my face was not too drawn. His excitement was aggravating my headache. “I can’t wait to see what the day has in store.” I took a sip from the gigantic coffee I was holding.
“Good! Good.” He fiddled with one of the knobs on the apparatus in his hand, and one of the researchers next to him grimaced.
“Is that the new model?” I didn’t have to fake my curiosity. The gadget looked like a more advanced version of a prototype he’d had in development for ages, something called the Mood Ring. It was supposed to be able to scan emotional states, or “read auras,” if you were feeling particularly pretentious. June was adamant it didn’t work and E just made all the readings up.
“Yes! Well, sort of.” He turned another knob and the Mood Ring started to emit a low hum, like a tuning fork. “No spoilers before the press conference, but it has a few new features.”
“Oh yeah.” I tried to sound game. E swept the Mood Ring up and down in front of me, then around my body like a handheld metal detector sweeping for weapons. He brought it a little too close to my face and almost knocked my glasses off. I smiled through my annoyance and nausea.