A Dangerous Game (H 1.6)

Location: Car Lyle
Time: morning

---

Helix,

You were woken early by the arrival of the Merrimack at the Car Lyle port. Music blared from speakers and even the people in the penthouse floor came down to see the big ship. Salem climbed down with you after you both ate some oatmeal sweetened with a bit of honeysuckle. Salem clung to you as you moved among the Sippians who boarded the ship and took a look around at all the guns and the huge engine. It is the closest to a party atmosphere you've seen here. The Sippians celebrated the Merrimack - Lucky brought out an expensive-looking bottle of some alcohol and smashed it against the bow to cheers.

After the christening, the Sippians split back into work groups and Lucky started naming off the crew for the "official maiden voyage" - you were not on the list. Nuport wasn't either. When the crew began loading up to ship out, you spotted Regal. It seems he wasn't added to the crew, either.

Was Bristol chosen for the Merrimack crew?

With Salem still clinging to you, what do you do after they leave?

Salem has stuck to my side not realizing that the barnacle riding the ship's hull is the first thing to get smashed upon the rocks. She feels safe with me, but I know I'm sailing ever closer to the shallows and I don't want to be the cause of her demise. I allow her to stay near as we start the day and explore the Merrimack though, endeavors that are in a safe enough harbor for her company. Part of me even finds comfort in her closeness as we come close to the weapons onboard the ship. I don't like what they imply about the Merrimack's future.

But when the Merrimack empties of its gallery and fills instead with its assigned crew, I know it's time for me to leave port - and Salem - behind for the day. Spotting Regal left behind gives me hope for an opportunity. With many of my usual minders, including Bristol, on the Merrimack, we might steal a moment alone. I haven't spoken to him in years, but he is the closest thing to an old friend I have here.

I crouch down to get on eye-level with Salem. "If I remember right, you usually have lessons around this time, right?"

Salem pouts a bit, but she's easily pushed off to climb up for lessons. When you approach Regal, he's fishing off a balcony by himself, tending to a bottle of rum.

Accepting the bottle has less to do with the liquid inside and more to do with acknowledgment of equal standing - very much unlike accepting the charity taste of Wells Fargo's whiskey last night - so I take the bottle and tip it back for a quick swig before handing it back to Regal.

"Hey," I echo. I move up to lean my elbows on the railing, gaze following his line down to the water, then I turn my head to look up at the building continuing above us. I'm quiet for a beat before I ask, "Do you still climb at all?"

"The upper tiers would make it fun," I comment on the building. It strikes me that Regal referred to them as "the Sipps" and not "the other Sipps." I guess it's true what they say - once an Ivy, always an Ivy. Even when you get too big to be useful to the Gardeners anymore.

"I climb, sometimes. But it's..." I think about how loud the Whispers can get when you're hanging onto a ledge no wider than your pinky. How I had to stop being an Ivy because of them. How they taunted me even just climbing up to the penthouse last night. "It's not like it used to be." I turn my attention away from those heights and look at Regal instead. "I saw you going for your gun that night." That night being the night I smashed Karo's hand and got myself into this mess.

I exhale a huff that is equal parts amused and sardonic. "Are you getting support from other Ivies I don't know about? Because you're the only one who's even looked like they might help me since I left."

His confident response reminds me of what the Whispers tell me. We liiiike you. How did I get to be so fortunate?

"Clearly you have them all fooled," I tease back, though I don't smile with the levity. I work a little pebble out of the rug with the toe of my boot, kicking it over the edge of the balcony and watching it fall until it disappears. "Why'd you end up with the Sipps? Did you choose them or did life just land you here?"

"It wasn't that much trouble. I just had to climb faster than you could fall."

I don't mention, of course, that the real trouble came after - when the Ivies who'd unhooked Regal's harness in the first place found out what I'd done. I saw the looks and whispers after that though, of course. He's not wrong about what everyone assumed and his naming it aloud now makes my lips feel the breeze in a new way.

I turn my back to the water, leaning back against the railing lightly as I look at him. "I bet none of them thought we'd end up together quite like this though. Stuck with the Sipps."

I nod, exhaling. "I know. I wouldn't have wanted you to anyway." I'm not worth it. I did this to myself. I push those thoughts away. "What are the Sipps saying about it? Does everyone assume I'm here to give Lucky an heir? I mean, not many people can slap a gang leader in the face and walk away from it."

A crease forms between my eyebrows at his words. "You know that for a fact? Are they planning something?"

But even while that's what I give voice to, the part that truly sticks with me is his assertion that I'm undermining Lucky's position just by being alive. He's not wrong, of course, but what surprises me is the fact that I feel guilty about it. What other course could I have possibly taken though? I don't want to be killed or tortured or nailed to the side of the building as some sort of beacon. Still, I find myself wondering what I could do that would help Lucky save face with his crew. Would staying on as his advisor make it better or so much worse?

I frown at his words, pondering them quietly for a few moments and trying to reconcile the guilt and responsibility colliding in my chest with the thought that keeps playing over and over in my head: this isn't my gang, these aren't my people, why should I care what happens to any of them?

"Yeah. It's not a good look." My lips tighten at the bitter taste in my mouth, the one that tells me I need to fix this anyway and that it won't be fun. "Having Lucky in charge of the Sipps is a thousand times better than having any of those other idiots running things." I run a hand through my hair. "I can make that happen." I push off the railing and straighten, moving closer to Regal and lowering my voice. "You'll help me, right?"

It has been a long time since a man touched me quite so gently. I stare up at Regal, frozen, a frisson of something that is not quite fear and not quite fervor flashing through me. My lips part gently, a soft breath escaping and not returning, stolen.

"We sure do, Tus," I finally say softly, using the nickname I called him when we were Ivies. I wonder how long it's been since he heard that name, or how long it's been since he thought of it himself. Years? Months? Minutes? Do we ever move on from the things we leave behind?

I look down, my face moving away from his gentle touch with the motion, and when I look back up, I am resolved to push forward, not be trapped by romantic reminiscing and dangerous dreams. "I need to go see the Vaulters. I want to take Nuport too, but I don't trust her enough to ride with her. Would you take us?"

I really hope that this is worth spending the debt I hold over him. "I just need to change and talk to Nuport, but it should be soon. I want to be back before the Merrimack returns." I take half a step to head back inside. "We can meet you down at the docks soon?" I wait for him to confirm before I head off to change clothes. I'll pick up Nuport on my way down.

Regal agrees to meet you at the docks soon and you head off to look for Nuport. You don't see her in any of the apartments which stand open during the workday, so you head to the bathroom where you saw her chained up. That's where you find her. Her body is covered with fresh bruises and scrapes. Her right pinky is gone, leaving a burned-over scar.

I can't help momentary horror from crossing my face when I see her state. "What happened to you?"

She says Karo, but I hear "you." I'm not even sure if it's the Whispers or my own guilty conscience this time. I study her bruises and cuts, the nothing where her finger should be. It makes me sick to think that, if Karo had his way, all those wounds would have been mine. Is this what the Sipps expected Lucky to do to me?

I swallow down the bile climbing into my throat.

"Where's the key to those chains?"

My molars clench at her question. Karo is an egotistical cretin and the more I know of him, the more I want to watch worms gorge themselves on his wasted brain.

"I'll go find a glass," I tell her, and I turn to go knowing that I plan to return with a glass, and a key. As much as I'd like to take a knife to Karo's back and take his, I look instead for Pall Mall. I can't murder a Sipp and stay only a slave here, so when I kill Karo, it can't be obvious and I can't be here.

Even knowing what the room will smell like doesn't prepare me for the curtain of odor that washes over me when I step inside. I blink back the water in my eyes, walking toward Pall Mall but trying to keep my shoes out of the muck.

"I need Nuport's key," I tell her as if this is an expectation and not a request.

She mentions a fillet knife and my stomach flips. Did she notice I stole the knife after we finished in here yesterday? Or did she just so happen to mention the very tool I walked away with? I'm silent waiting for her to clarify, but then she just asks about Nuport and I let out a quiet breath.

"I'm running an errand for Lucky, and I have to take her along." I give her the answer I practiced in my head like there's no other way about it. This is the task, so I'm doing it, just like her cleaning the squid.

I don't react at first as she fixes her gaze on me, the truth humming in the air between us while I blink slowly once, then again. By the third blink, my gaze is on the sordid floor.

"I'll go get it," I tell her softly. I lift my gaze as I add, "I'm not a newbie. That implies I'm sticking around."

While I retrieve the knife, I take the opportunity to change into something that I hope will make the Vaulters think twice before they shoot me in the back like they did Hard Strike. Beauty is the best armor I can wear.


With the key in hand, I head back to Nuport's prison, increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that it seems - once again - that the Whispers were right. Nuport called me the key, and here I am, showing up key in hand at the Whispers' prodding. With that driving me to simply move past it, I don't waste time heading down to the docks. The longer we linger, the more likely some Sipp will try to stop us. It's best we go quickly.

Nuport's first words to me when we reach the docks aren't what I expected. I look at her as if I may have heard her incorrectly, but then the words don't change. I'm grateful Regal says something, because I'm not sure how to respond to Nuport. Perhaps that makes me a coward, but I am brave in many ways. I think I'm deserved a few divergences.

"When you visit the Vaulters, it pays to be posh, right?"

Though there is a part of me that worries that how I look is the proverbial pre-packaged cake to their decadent delicacies. How much do I really know about the Vaulters and how they function? Still, having Regal's regard is a reward in and of itself.

Regal moves to the edge of the boat to help you board, but ignores Nuport. Soon, you're skimming along the deep blue waters from Car Lyle northwest towards The Vault. The trip isn't far, but as you come within a half-mile of the place, you see the small islands of buildings nearest The Vault - with their large guns mounted on top. They aren't quite as big as the ones on top of The Tower, but there are plenty of them. Regal pulls out a white flag to fly, orders Nuport to duck down out of sight, and suggests you do the opposite. "Let them see why they shouldn't shoot at us," he implores.

What do you do?

Working at the Belly and living a secluded life in my apartment hasn't often afforded me the opportunity to explore the city around us. Seeing those guns mounted around The Vault is a hard strike of reality. The phrasing passes through my mind before I can think to stop it, and a chill creeps down my back at the idea of going to the place Hard Strike's killer calls home. But it's no different than sitting at the arm of her killer last night.

At Regal's leading, I grip the edge of the boat's windshield and stand as we approach The Vault, wind whipping little tendrils of hair free from their styling and dancing along the hem of my dress. I look at the building and those guns as if I am daring them to fire, as if they would be stupid to do so, as if there's no chance they will realize that I am the stupid one here.

Your bravado is rewarded as the men (and a grubby-faced woman) behind the guns peer and gawk instead of drawing a bead. With the white flag flapping in the sudden breeze, the boat creeps closer to The Vault, which sits proudly out of the depths like a jewel in a blue setting.


As Regal pilots the boat closer to the short dock with no other boats, a blue-haired woman stands on the dock and peers at you with binoculars. Once you're in earshot, she speaks.

I try to keep my nerves from showing as I call back, "I'm here to visit Wells. He invited me for cake." Then I realize she introduced herself so I should return the favor so I add, "You can tell him Helix is here, from Poseidon's Belly." I choose to associate myself with the Belly, not the Sipps. I'm not one of them, no matter Lucky's offer. I haven't agreed to stay.

I hear the specificity of the invitation and I don't start moving to leave the boat just yet.

"They have to stay with me," I say, indicating Regal and Nuport. "It's the only way I could get away." It's sort of true, if you squint at it hard enough.

I glance at Regal and Nuport, torn between who to take and who to leave behind. I would rather have Regal at my side if it were up to me, a stable presence in an unstable situation, but the Whispers have bartered Hard Strike's wisdom for Nuport's trust. What better way to gain that than to trust her enough to bring her along?

I know what the Sipps would have done. Any one of them would have given the question a half-second's thought before saying they would leave the "dog" with the boat. It is that thought that makes me look at Nuport and say, "Come with me." And beyond that, she wasn't wrong before. If my presence makes her feel even uglier, then her presence must make me look even more beautiful. I will take any advantage I can get.

I give Regal a glance that contains both an apology and a reassurance that I will be back - and safe - then I carefully move to climb from the boat onto the dock. "Thank you," I say to Verifi, reminding myself that respect can go a long way toward remedying any foibles. The scalpel I have hidden in my boot burns against my skin at the idea of a weapons search, but maybe she won't find it. "I'm sure you keep things very safe here."

Nuport's good eye widens with surprise when you name her the one to accompany you, but she doesn't argue. When she steps up to the dock, Verifi moves up to pat her down. Thoroughly. Verifi even shoves a hand up Nuport's top. She pats down her legs roughly and makes Nuport kick off her boots to check them, too. If you want to keep this scalpel hidden, you better Act Under Fire.

While Verifi searches Nuport - very thoroughly - I stand by the side as if I have no concern of a similar shakedown for myself. I am just a lowly server from the Belly, a slave of the Sipps, a nobody with no fighting skill to speak of and no danger to anyone. When Verifi finishes with Nuport, I spread my arms out to the side as if expecting a pat down and completely welcoming of it. What could I possibly have to hide? Look at me. I'm a swan in these gator-infested waters, here to be beautiful until the real rulers of the tides tire of me.

Verifi runs her hands over your dress, under your breasts, and even up your thigh, but it's all dren that could be mistaken for "being thorough". And you can tell she isn't into you or anything, it's a power-play. You suck it up and have to give Regal a look to stand down, but she doesn't find the scalpel and steps back. "Follow me," she says, then turns on a heel to lead you down the short dock.

The dock is well-made and sturdy. It must be lashed to something underwater because it doesn't sway like the dock at the Belly. It has four berths at most, so you reach the door at the end quickly. Someone inside opens the door for you both and Verifi stays on the dock.

The interior is immaculate. It has stable power, too.


Truist is waiting at the door and escorts you down the long hallway. He's wearing a thick leather jacket and has a holster with a stun stick swinging at his hip. Nuport looks around the place with curiosity, muttering softly to herself about what she's seeing.

The Whispers are speaking to you here, Helix, and their words seem to echo.

"Best be careful," one urges with sleek mirth. "They will gut you if you step wrong."

Apart from the glance toward Regal, I don't move while Verifi searches me and establishes her dominance. It's a high I am happy to let her have, especially when it means I walk through the door armed. The feeling of her hands on me disappears as I take in the space inside. It is so clean, so grand and solid. If Verifi's promise of security outside didn't reassure me, the strength of these walls certainly would. Of course, strong walls can keep you in just as well as they can keep others out.

I watch Nuport in my periphery, worried about what she might do and wishing I had established some ground rules for this outing. If the Whispers are echoing for me here, I can only imagine what they are like for her.

'Don't you think I know that?' I push back at the Whisper that's loudest. 'Maybe tell me something actually helpful.'

That's the plan, I think when Truist points out how happy Wells will be. But aloud, I only comment on his expectations about my impending demise after I left with the Sipps. "You aren't the only one."

Nuport's explanation of her existence here reminds me of Mikkie. Do the Whispers turn all their people into killers? One day, will I be the deranged deliverer of their deadly justice? The vain part of me hopes I will always stay their pretty piece on the chessboard instead, and the vain part of me is large.

I look at Nuport while I answer Truist. "She's joking," I say while giving her a look that says she'd better be joking. "We aren't here to cause problems. Just to eat cake." I look to the golden elevator doors wondering if it's possible that these ones actually function. After climbing up the elevator shaft at the Car Lyle with the Whispers in my head, a ride up would be a luxury.

I glance quickly at Nuport, a childlike spike of shock and disappointment running through me. Is the cake a lie? Do we all know that? Should I have known that?

A part of me that is about the same size as the vain part had really come here just to luxuriate in cake. The rest was just a convenient opportunity to dig into the dealings between Lucky and the Vaulters. Now I'm worried I'm even more of a fool than I thought, and like a fool, I find myself reaching out to the Whispers for help.

'IS the cake a lie?'

"For her, the cake is a lie," a Whisper answers without hesitation. "She knows she'll never get the fine treatments you will. She's unworthy."

The elevator is golden inside as well, with mirrors that make you look even more beautiful while pointing out every bruise and blemish on Nuport's naked arms. Truist hits the number four and the doors close. Music plays on hidden speakers as you slowly move from the first floor up.

I don't see how the Whispers can call Nuport unworthy when she's obeyed them over and over again. Apparently they made her shoot Kiwi, rescue me from Karo, and probably drown Condor too. But maybe they aren't talking about their meter of worthiness this time. Maybe they're talking about Wells', and that is hard to argue with.

Inside the elevator, I can't help but study my reflection before worrying about anything else. It's mesmerizing, being surrounded by so much shine, and the marks left from Lucky throwing me to the floor in the Belly and Karo hitting me are so insignificant compared to Nuport's tapestry of pain that they're almost inconsequential. It reassures me that I made the right call in bringing her along.

I can't help but reach up to fix a little lipstick at the corner of my mouth, making it just-so before I tear my gaze from the mirror and look at Truist. "Does Wells get many guests here?"

The elevator stops and pulls her from her reverie. Truist leads you down another cavernous hallway to a gigantic meeting room, where he leaves you, assuring you Wells will be here soon.

This is the room:


What do you do?

I catch that moment of vulnerability in Nuport's visage, but even the indirect view in the mirror is hard to look at for long. I can't take that on my shoulders. Her problems aren't mine. Or, at least, everything before her getting beat down by Karo isn't mine. That last one weighs on me. For a moment, though, it seemed there was something deeper than that showing in her eye, as if the wounds and the missing finger are only as much the surface of her pain as they appear to be.

The room Truist brings us to is far bigger than I expected. The height of the ceilings alone makes me more insect than woman. In the quiet, I can almost hear the echoes of dealings past made here - the words of people far smarter and far more important than me.

I look at Nuport. "You're on my side here, right? I'm trusting you not to do anything that would ruin this. You trust me, too, right?"

I find no mirth in her calling me Keybert, but I don't reprimand her either. I know when a battle is not worth fighting.

I frown as she moves to the corner and wonder if I should sit at the huge table, but that seems awfully lonely. Instead, I go over to the window to pull back the curtain and peer out. Maybe it's the Ivy in me, but I always find myself looking for windows that open and sizing up the potential climb outside.

The view from the windows here look over what was once the mighty Mississippi River, now the deepest waters in the Downtown Archipelago. Three concrete spires stand above the water near you. Like proud triplets, they survey the Vault. One of the big guns is mounted on the middle triplet, with a rope ladder and a small motorboat bobbing below. Only an Ivy would feel comfortable that high up - all alone. You peer for a moment and recognize them. An Ivy who tried to get Tuscan killed. Who are they?

Manning one of those towers might be almost peaceful for an Ivy, apart from the fact that you would be sharing the space with a weapon and may be called on to rain death down on those below at any moment. Of course, if it really is Vox I see up there, then I'm sure he is loving the whole experience. Vox tried to set up Tuscan more than once to get gone. People said it was because he was jealous of Tuscan's finds out there in the tallest towers, others said it was because Tuscan stole Vox's finds to bring to the Gardeners as his own. I know who I believe, but I've never asked Tuscan about it directly. Now, though, I'm worried Vox might take one final shot at Tuscan. I've gotten turned around in the building, and I search the water below Vox's nest to see if the Sipp's boat is within his sightline.

The doors are opened and you see an older woman in a servant's attire. She doesn't lift her head to meet your eyes. She pushes in a wheeled to-level cart covered in a pristine white sheet. On top of the cart is a lovely silver cloche. The doors remain open and she steadily pushes the cart deeper into the room until she reaches the end of the table. She "parks" the cart and reaches forward to the handle on top of the cloche to reveal this wonderful-looking creation:


"Your cake, Miss Helix," the woman says clearly, your name has an extra lilt to it. Nuport gasps and sits up, staring at the cart.

What do you do?

I turn away from the window to watch the woman making her journey into the room, my eyes tracking her every move. It isn't until she actually reveals the cake and calls it mine that I actually believe this is happening. Even from near the window, the scent of sugar and chocolate reaches me, all of it swirling in butter and fat that hasn't been used and re-used a hundred times to fry a hundred batches of fries and walleye. Without even tasting it, I already know it is worlds away from the packaged cakes I've had before. My mouth waters as another wave of aroma washes over me bringing the richness of dark berries and the impossible softness of a kind of sugar that doesn't even know what granularity is.

I take a step toward the table without even realizing it, wanting nothing more than to swipe my finger through the frosting and lick it off like I did with the yellow cream-filled cake left at my door, but I stop myself and look back at the woman.

"Did you...make this?" I'm a little embarrassed at the awe in my tone, but I don't try to correct it, knowing that would only draw more attention to my inferiority in this place.

"I did," she answers without looking up. "It's a Chocolate Layer Cake With Blackberry Italian Buttercream. Mr. Wells told me you had a sweet tooth." She reaches for the knife lying by the side and offers to cut it. "May I cut a slice for you?"

Even her description of the cake is decadent. I find myself walking closer, the beauty of the cake coming into ever-fuller glory.

"It’s beautiful," I tell her. "Yes. That would be wonderful. But are we dining alone?" I drop the "we" in casually, hoping she might offer some of "my" cake to Nuport as well.

With careful and precise movements, the woman cuts through each layer of cake and deftly lifts a slice onto a small plate.


She scoots the plate and a fork closer to you as she answers your question, "Mr. Wells will be along presently. But the cake is yours, ma'am." She dutifully slices the cake into several more slices before she takes the knife and starts to leave.

The cake is not a lie.

The cake is calling to you.

What do you do?

Watching the knife go through the cake, I can just tell how moist it is and how creamy the frosting will be. It's not that crusty, dried-out frosting I've had before. It's real. I'm so entranced by watching that I scarcely notice her calling me "ma'am" which isn't something I think anyone has called me before, except in jest.

She says the cake is mine and it's just sitting there waiting for me. Is it rude, though, to eat before "Mr. Wells" gets here? Is this a test?

I wait until she's gone before I sink into the chair in front of the cake, looking at it like it may disappear at any moment. "Are you seeing this?" I ask Nuport softly. "Incredible, right?" But I don't touch the fork yet. I'm still not sure what to do.

"You frelling idiot" is actually a more familiar name to me than "ma'am" and hearing it snaps me out of my indecisive haze. I want to do the right thing, and I don't want to offend anyone, but this is the first time in my life I've had a chance at something this luxurious. For all I know, I'll never have the chance again, though I hope to.

Instead of picking up the fork like a Vaulter probably would, I do exactly what I've been wanting to do since the cake appeared. I swipe my finger through the frosting and bring it to my mouth, sucking off the delicious sweetness and closing my eyes to savor the taste as much as the texture. "Mmmm."

Nuport's nearness nearly overpowers the ambrosia aroma of the cake and I want to tell her to back off so I can enjoy my treat in peace. But I push my selfishness aside and swallow the first taste of frosting before I open my eyes and turn to look up at her. "Oh, it's amazing, Nuport. Buttery and sweet and just the right amount of tangy." I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, savoring the lingering taste. "It's...heavenly." I hesitate, not sure I want to say the words I feel pressing their way up my throat, then like a child being coerced to share a favorite toy, I offer, "Do you want to try some?"

I draw back a bit when she turns away, questions pulling my eyebrows together. Does she avoid letting anyone see her face, or is it just me?

"Okay," I say quickly, trying to keep her calm. "Okay, you don't have to." I lick my lips, tasting the icing on them and a shiver of delight runs through my spine. I finally pick up the fork and cut a bite of sponge and frosting. I turn the fork to offer the handle to her, balancing the bite on the end. "Why don't you take this back to the corner then and you can try it where I can't see?"

My jaw tightens. "Frell the Whispers." I extend the fork a little further toward her, hoping she'll turn around and take it. "If it's my cake, I can do with it what I want. Have a bite, and then I'm definitely eating the rest of this myself. This isn't charity. It's because you got the crap beat out of you for defending me."

In my head, I yell at Whispers, "What is wrong with you? I thought you wanted me to gain her trust."

The Whispers chortle and guffaw at your frustration. A thin, reedy voice whispers back, "We do, we doooo. She fights us, but you save her. She wouldn't trust you without an enemy to face together. Silly girl, it's so easy. Now do the thing we ask."

"I might if you don't hurry up," I tell her when she asks how I'll eat my cake without a fork. I eye the icing again and dab my pinky into the frosting, bringing it to my mouth again, savoring the sweet flavor while Nuport's noises of delight continue in the background. I sneak a look over at her from my periphery, not wanting to stare and set her off. She's a sad little creature, all huddled over there, but hearing her voice clearly makes her seem a little more human at least.

The Whispers' answer about giving us a common enemy seems so obvious now that I hate myself for not thinking of it on my own. It's not exactly an encouraging omen for me trying to work out the dealings between Lucky and the Vaulters, but there's no turning back now. I just hope the Whispers won't abandon me when I need them most.

The doors from the hallway into this long room suddenly open, drawing your attention. Wells stands in the hall, waiting for the servant to finish opening the doors for him. When he judges the space wide enough for him to enter, he steps across the threshold into the room, moving to the empty space between the two long tables as if he's the object of presentation in this conference room.

My heart is a surging storm in my chest when the doors open and Wells enters the room. I am impossible waves and whipping wind on the inside, but outside I merely raise a hand to brush over my collarbone at his compliment, as if I am just now realizing what I'm wearing and how I look. "Oh, thank you," I answer with as much demure humility as I can manage. "The cake, as you promised, is nothing like what I've had before." I don't call attention to how I've only tasted the frosting. With my fork still in Nuport's possession, I'm a bit stuck at that. If I were at the Belly, picking the whole piece up with my hand and eating wouldn't make anyone bat an eye, but here? I don't dare. Not with Wells watching.

"I didn't realize how generous an offer it was when you made it last night. Now, I'm not sure I deserve it."

At Wells' words and the lingering brush of his finger across my shoulder, I'm certain I made the right call in bringing Nuport along instead of Regal. She may be a wildcard, but after the way Regal watched Verifi searching me, there's no way he would stand quietly aside here, not for long anyway and I need this dance to last. I haven't even had my cake yet.

I give Wells a pleasant nod. "Of course. I can't wait to try it." It strikes me that his words are very much like mine last night, when I told him I just wanted to watch him taste the whiskey so I could see how good it was.

I stand slowly, trying to give Nuport plenty of time to put her mask on again if she wants, then turn toward her. "Are you done?" I ask, then I start walking toward her corner, hoping that the view will keep Wells from demanding that Nuport should deliver the fork to me, rather than me fetching it from her.

Wells is watching. Will you pick up the fork and eat with it? It feels like a test.

I try not to react to catching that glimpse of Nuport's face, but when she catches her pinky stub in the straps I can't help but wince. I snatch the fork up and turn away as quickly as I can, not wanting to keep her in torment any longer than necessary. The moment I turn around, I go from the manic unhingedness of Nuport to the cool collectedness of Wells. It's like playing with fire and ice, and both will burn in different ways.

I pace back toward the cake, fork in hand, test on the table. When I reach my chair, I don't sit though. Instead, I look from the fork, to the cake, to Wells.

"It would be a shame to sully such a pretty cake with a dirty fork."

The doors quickly open and the woman you spoke with earlier appears. Wells holds up the fork and she hurriedly walks down the space between the long tables to take it gently from him. Her steps swish across the carpet, the only sound in the room for what feels like several minutes. She turns and exits the room at the same brisk pace, but she doesn't close the doors.

Wells crosses his arms but otherwise waits patiently for Clarissa to return. She swishes back across the carpet holding a fresh, clean fork, and places it on the table by the cake. She turns to exit again without hesitation.

I exhale a silent sigh of relief when he seems to approve of my decision. The stretches of silence while the new fork is delivered feel eternal, and when Clarissa drops it off, I murmur a quiet thank you before I take my seat again. It feels very much like being under the spotlight as Wells watches over me, and now I wish I’d eaten a bite before he got here so I could enjoy it uninhibited. Of course, uninhibited is probably exactly how he wants me now.

I pick up the fork and cut a bite that is equal parts cake and frosting, lifting it slowly toward my mouth. The aroma makes my mouth water in anticipation before I take the bite, closing my eyes and letting the bite just sit on my tongue while the flavors dance on my palette. It is music in every sense. A chorus of ever-blossoming harmonies, a sweeping melody that demands attention.

The sound of pleasure that I sigh is involuntary and almost startles me. I open my eyes again, swallowing the bite and once again remembering that I’m here in dangerous waters.

I give a small, close-lipped smile to Wells and say only, "Divine." Then I go for another bite. This is a song that needs a reprise, no matter the audience.

I can feel the sugar in my blood, the rushing zing of it tempered by the richness of the butter and chocolate until it is all syrup and joy. Even what I know my answer must be to Wells' question can't stop the thrill of it.

"If I had the freedom to do that, I might try, but I'm not a free member of the Sipps, and sending them back without me would only invite a fight. I don't want to make it look like you're trying to steal me." I push out a short laugh, but it dies quickly and I grow more serious as I look over at Nuport for a moment. Then I turn back to face Wells. "Besides, I brought Nuport inside with me as a thank you to her. She saved my life, and took the beating that was coming to me herself." I stand and brush a casual hand over the smooth skin of my neck, my skin clear and Nuport's mottled by bruises. "She doesn't need to stay with us, and I would love to visit the dragon I hear you keep in the basement." I mention the dragon with a tone that says I don't buy it, like this is a joke Wells and I share now. "But maybe her sacrifice to preserve this," I let my hand fall from my neck in a brief gesture to the rest of my body, "is worth a quiet afternoon with a piece of cake all to herself." I pause, watching him. "But I'll let you decide what I'm worth."

Wells offers Nuport so much more than a quiet room and cake. I have to admit, it fiercely fuels my appetite for further fancies of my own. I think of what Kiwi told me the day he died - how we're too pretty for the Belly, that we should go get jobs in the Tower. Then I thought there was no way I'd do anything of the sort, but now...maybe I owe it to Kiwi somehow. I don't care if Nuport is right in her assessment - Wells IS trying to impress me, and it's working. Of course, I showed up in part to impress him, and that seems to be working so far too.

"If it's a bribe, then you should take it Nuport. Enjoy it." I look at Wells. "I'm curious though. If that's her agenda for the day, what's ours?"

"Pine to return to me" he says. I hear it more plainly than anything else -- not pine to return to the Vault, not pine for another visit, no. Pine to return to him. I already knew Wells to be possessive, but I realize now more than ever before that the longer I spend with him, the more possessive he'll become. I just hope I can spin it to my benefit when the time comes.

I look at Nuport. "Stay here," I tell her, trying my best not to make it sound like the kind of command you would give a dog. She gets enough of that already. "Let them treat your wounds, take a bath, feel whole again. I'll find you again before we go." I don't say it, but I give her a nod that says I'll be okay.

I am careful not to look at the cake still sitting there just begging to be eaten and instead start walking around long U of tables to meet Wells at the other side.

Wells actually invites me to walk with him, with his words, and it makes me think of how Lucky never actually tells me when he wants me to follow him. The contrast is so stark, just like every other part of this place. But I can't help but wonder if Wells ever sits on the rooftop at night and watches the water and stars, worrying over his people and how to lead them well.

I keep pace with him as we move through the hall, not missing a step when he asks about my approach in the VIP room. "You have," I agree, "and it was." I look over at him as we walk. "I guess you wouldn't believe me if I told you it really was just a play to get a sip of the good whiskey." I take a breath and look ahead again. "I have a...business proposition for you. But I had to make sure you were interested first in what I have to offer."

I'm glad he seems to have fond memories of our interactions last night. If I'd known then that I'd be here today, I probably would have been even nicer, but hindsight is only there for regret, and regret is only unnecessary weight for the future.

"Truthfully," I tell him, "I don't know who paid for the whiskey. The Sipps pulled me away early, so if it wasn't you, then it was either Mikkie or me." Or maybe Parcher forgot to keep the tabs straight and it was truly a free drink all around. That's my best hope, because if Parcher, or Blackjack, put that drink on me, then not only are the Sipps going to be upset when my/their paycheck is zero, but I'm probably going to be in debt to more than one person. A flicker of a frown crosses my face at the thought. My finances run about as deep as Karo's subtlety. There are too many fancy clothes to buy and never enough jingle to pay for them, but even a pauper in a pretty dress may be perceived as a princess. Look at me now.

I don't know exactly how I went from "beneath notice in the Belly" to a date, but Wells' forthright christening of our meeting isn't what I expected. Unless, of course, he "dates" every woman he finds attractive until the deed is done and the books are settled. But the look in his eyes seems so serious, I'm not sure if that scenario makes sense for this. Of course, what do I really know about Wells?

For some reason, I think of Regal sitting out there in the boat, just baking in the sun and waiting for me. I don't suppose this being a date is any different than it being a mere opportunity to seduce gifts and favors from a wealthy benefactor, but it gives me pause anyway.

After a quiet moment of processing his words and the look on his face, I reach out and loop my hand around his elbow like I've seen some of the Tower girls do with their dates on their way to the VIP room at the Belly. "Then let's put business aside for now and just enjoy the date."

First vault, he calls it. I suppose for a building called the Vault, there would be more than one, but it's hard to imagine needing that much space to house my holdings.

I let go of his arm when he takes out the key and moves to the door, watching with curiosity as the door swings open and the lights flicker on. My lips part as the lights illuminate the shining bars of gold which glint like a thousand fireflies. I pace a few slow steps forward, moving between the rows to better understand the expanse of the space. I have no idea what something like this is worth in our world - does a brick of metal compare to fresh ammunition or a safe place to sleep anymore? - but I do know this...it is deliciously beautiful. I don't think I've seen anything shine in quite this way before. I am a moth drawn to the fire of the gold's surface and I reach out to touch one, then draw my hand back, not sure if I will get burned.

I turn my head to look at Wells. "What is it all for now?"

Wells walks the aisle like he owns this place...which is true to some degree at least. I'm not sure how the Vaulters have split their duties or their treasures, but Wells did have the key.

He tells me to pick up a bar, and it's an invitation this moth can't deny. I touch one of the bars with delicate fingers at first, a respectful approach to a surface as cool and smooth as Wells himself. But he's right that it is heavy for its size, so I use both hands to lift it from the stack, the weight of it almost comforting, perhaps in the way that using my arms to climb a tower or serve a tray of drinks made me feel productive and strong. This weight, though, isn't practical. It's pure luxury. My eyes flick up at him when he names the price it once fetched and suddenly I'm not sure I should be holding it.

I wet my lips with my tongue. "What is it worth now?"

I turn a slow circle, the priceless brick of gold still in my hands as I take in the shelves upon shelves, bricks upon bricks, each one invaluable, each one worth more than every bit of scrap I salvaged as an Ivy, every tip I made at the Belly, every last blessed thing I own all summed together. The thought is dizzying and I carefully place the brick back on its shelf, suddenly feeling unworthy of holding it.

I swallow back my feelings of inadequacy and focus back on what's important here - impressing Wells enough that I get what I want. "With all of this, you could probably just buy the Tower and everyone in it." I say it with a bit of levity, knowing such a thing would be impossible, but wanting to flatter Wells nonetheless.

I reach out a finger and run it across the surface of a gold bar like it's frosting one last time before I move up to take Wells' arm. "I could eat."

The feeling of the gold lingers on my skin, cold and heavy, the feeling of security, or of drowning at the bottom of the ocean. I'm not sure yet which prize this game will win. The Whispers might know, but I don't want to ask.

When you think of what the Whispers might know, that's when you realize you haven't heard a single one in a little while. As soon as you stepped into the vault, they fell completely silent. Wells guides you through the rest of the gold room towards an elevator, chatting about a few of the art pieces on the walls, history he's committed to memory like badges.

For all the time I have spent trying to quiet and deaden the Whispers, it seems I should appreciate their sudden silence. Instead, their sudden retreat makes me feel abandoned and alone with Wells in uncharted waters. I shouldn't want them here, but I find myself reaching out for them anyway.

'Don't tell me a room full of gold made you shy.'

I look at the art Wells points out, the people and scenes depicted seem so serene compared to the world I know. I wonder if anyone has been jealous of a painting before.

"Which one is your favorite?" I ask when he finishes sharing about another piece.

I study the poster he points out. Some of it seems familiar - tall towers and an armored warrior with a sharp axe - but other parts of it seem foreign to me - the hills in the background covered in green. The hope in the girl's eyes.

"Once," I tell him. "When I was a child."

I don't tell him that it was a special treat from the Gardeners to us Ivies because we'd had such a productive month.

I do tell him, "It was about talking fish, a father trying to find his son who'd been kidnapped."

I don't tell him that I left partway through because seeing the dad fish hunting so desperately for his son made my chest ache and my eyes get misty. I don't tell him that some other Ivies followed me out and beat me up in the bathroom for being a sissy.

I do tell him, "I missed the ending though."

I turn from the poster to face the elevator and I'm tempted to poke the Whispers again to see if they stir, but I hesitate before I do. I know within ten seconds of their return, I'll be wishing them silent again. I'm sure they'll return at exactly the wrong time, as they are wont to do.

I don't laugh with him, quietly joining him in the elevator instead, faced again by golden walls and shining mirrors. I watch with interest as he puts the key into the panel and more buttons light up. I'd thought they were just burnt out before. Knowing it's a part of some intentional security system is impressive.

At his questions, I look away from my reflection and over at him. "That sounds awfully close to business talk," I tell him. "But I came today because I had to make sure you wouldn't forget about me or your offer of a visit." I tack on a little extra flattery at the end with, "I know you're a busy man with many important things to keep track of. I wouldn't expect me to be one of them for long." I look back at the mirror, watching his reflection this time instead of my own. "Lucky doesn't know I'm here yet. Regal owed me a favor."

The elevator seems suddenly smaller when he keeps the doors closed, but I try not to let my alarm reach my face. I know when Wells talks about more cake this time, it is a lie. Or, rather, it is cake, and so much more.

But isn't that why I'm here?

"I saved Regal's life," I answer, turning to face Wells directly instead of watching the doors that now seem more prison than portal. "It might be hard to top that, but I don't think Regal is the one you need to worry about negotiating with." I move a half step closer to him, the distance between us close enough that I have to tip my head back to look up at him. Whether he wanted it or not, it's time to talk business.

"I told you I approached you last night because I had to be sure you were interested in what I have to offer." I meet his eyes and will the calm waters of the morning into my expression. "It seems that you are. So now the only question is, what is it worth to you?" I pause. "What am I worth to you?"

My heart pounds in my chest, the vein at my neck feeling more vulnerable with each beat. "I know what Lucky would trade me for. And you're the only one who can pay it."

I am the only thing I've ever had to offer, I think, letting his comment about me being a gadfly roll off of me. Maybe I'm proving I'm worth a little more than that.

"That's what's happening here," I assure him, dangling myself in front of him like bait on a hook, swinging above depths even I don't comprehend. I let that settle for a moment before I continue, "But it's more than you think. Lucky wants me to be his advisor, because I see things others don't. I'd offer you the same thing." Then, as if to prove the things I know, I ask, "How was your meeting Lucius the other night? I know you were expecting him."

I wonder if Wells means he killed Lucius at their meeting, but I don't dare ask, not now.

If Wells had offered me this exchange a week ago, I might have just taken it. The idea of being here - living here - is so tempting that I don't care if it does mean being paraded around like a prize he's won. How is that any worse than slaving away at the Belly for a pittance, really?

But everything's different now, and a mere trade of my affection for his wealth isn't enough.

"Me for the Merrimack," I answer, not moving away or toward him. "No Sipp library attack, no books or kidnappings. I'm sure you can send someone else for those things anyway, but I'm something you can only get from the Sipps."

I call myself something instead of someone, certain that Wells is thinking the same already, and I straighten a little, trying to seem strong and certain even while nervous tremors make my knees feel weak beneath me. It's not beyond my notice that while Lucky has refused the opportunity for affection and instead sought my advice, Wells will almost certainly do the opposite.

"Settle that contract with Lucky in full, give me a chance to say goodbye, and I will be yours." I take a small step closer, close enough that my body brushes against his and I slide a hand beneath his jacket to rest on his waist. "Jay Pee will be very jealous. I'll make sure of it."

So close. I'm so close to what I want. All I have to do is get through this date without ruining it, and the Sipps will have the Merrimack, Pellet will be safe, and soon enough, Lucky will have his revenge and I'll be free again.

I glance at the gold-covered elevator, sitting here with stable power, just waiting to release us to what I'm sure will be a meal better than I've had in...maybe ever. Is freedom from this really the sort of freedom I want?

There isn't time to consider that question right now, so I bring my focus back to Wells and incline my head.

"Fair enough." I slip my arm around his waist, turning to face the door, ready to move along before I lose all my nerve. "Let's make this a ship-worthy date then."

As soon as the elevator reaches the second floor, the Whispers return.

"You fool! Now he won't show you any more goodies!" a sharp voice accuses.

"You're the one who has to impress HIM now. Or he'll kick you out and you get NOTHING but the memory of this food." another whisper tells you.

True to my prediction, the moment the Whispers return, after a brief period of relief, I wish they were quiet again. I frown as I study the buttons on the elevator, wondering where they might have taken us, and where they're taking us now.

"I always had to impress him," I answer them with more confidence than I feel. "Nothing's changed."

But the tides are different now, the temperature in the water is changing, and Wells' pleasant smile might be that of a shark spotting a vulnerable target. It's too late to take anything back now though. My only move is to make sure Wells will still agree to my terms when the day is through.

"It sounded like you have a menu already decided," I comment, trying to be pleasant and amiable. "Do I get to know what we're having?"

To the Whispers, I jab back with, "If you're so worried, then tell me something helpful."

Wells presents the coming meal like it's poetry and I wonder how many women he has wooed with these words. It's foolish, both vain and selfish, but it bothers me to consider it.

He offers an option of cobblers, and I know apples. They travel well and last longer than other fruits. Blackberries, though, are a treat.

"Black is my favorite color," I tell him. "I couldn't say no to blackberry." I look up at him. "Suddenly I'm glad I didn't have too much of that cake. I want to try everything."

I force a smile up at him as I say this, actually using Blackjack's advice that smiling and flirting brings in more tips. I hope it works outside the Belly too.

The gleeful way the giggling Whisper gives the story of what happened to Wells' mother makes it somehow even more gloomy. I wonder if they've ever giggled about my past to Mikkie or Nuport, or seas know who else.

"That was actually useful," I admit to them begrudingly. "Maybe you do like me."

I do my best to keep up with Wells' quick pace as we head down the hall, but his steps are longer than mine. Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for his hand, holding onto it like we are old lovers.

"There's no need to rush," I tell him, slowing him. I give him a smile. "I want to make sure you have all the time you need to see what I have to offer."

He does slow down at your urging, but he doesn't stop, except to move to some panel on the wall where he leans his face close to the panel. A red light emits from a section of the panel, hitting him right in the eye! He doesn't flinch, and a moment later a soft voice intones,
"Identity accepted."

The doors ahead open up to reveal a large room.


As you pass through the doors, you see two long couches with the oddest art piece in the middle:


There's also a gigantic vault door, all gold and steel, beautifully ornate as the gears inside it turn and whir while it slowly opens on a titanic hinge without a sound.

When you step into the room, you see a long bar to your right where a man in servant's livery stands waiting.

I watch in silent awe as Wells opens the door, that mere act alone impressive. It's staggering, then, to be treated to the grandeur that lies beyond. It is gold and gears, guilded walls and ceilings, a grand glamor.

I'm so taken aback that I almost don't hear what Wells says. I blink myself back to the present as he leads me over to the couch. I follow without hesitation. "Your...abode," I echo the words I nearly missed. "You live here." It's as much a statement as a question.

I perch on the edge of the couch, turning my head to take it all in. Is that bartender's whole job to stand here waiting to make drinks for Wells and his guests at a moment's notice? I try to imagine Parcher doing the same, but all I see is him scowling about being bored up here. Kiwi could've done it, though. He should've. He'd still be alive, safe behind that eye-locked door.

Now you have to impress him.

The Whisper's reprimand is a mirror in my mind, reflecting back how underqualified I am to be negotiating my life for ships. For a second, my hand rests limply against Wells' neck, instinct from the Belly telling me to pull away and get back to serving tables. But the shaking of the ice in the background reminds me that I'm not the server here, or at least, I'm not the type of server I used to be. My wares have changed even if the customer remains the same, and I would rather give Wells a massage than pull fish guts from their cold corpses for hours on end.

I turn on the couch a bit further to face him and bring my other hand up to his neck, trailing my fingernails gently across his skin and into the hair at the base of his neck. I do this a few times before I increase the pressure with my fingers, moving from his neck out to his shoulders as I consider his question.

The music at the Belly drowns out the Whispers, and that has been the primary role of music in my life, a purely practical one, apart from the one piece of music I own myself.

"I have a CD I like. The artist is called Yo-Yo Ma." I give him the name the woman who sold me the CD gave me, hoping she wasn't lying to me. "Have you heard of him?"

You see Standish there holding a tray with two tall glasses of a mixed drink you've served Wells at the Belly before. He hands Wells a glass, then when Wells nods to you, he hands one to you as well.

What is it about this mixed drink that's particularly sinful, Helix?

As Wells sips his drink, what do you do?

When Wells speaks to Alexa, I turn, expecting to see some other servant appear out of the wall, but there's no one there. Instead, music begins playing as if by magic and I turn back as it fills the room, certain Alexa is watching from some secret servant's space I can't see. I lean close to Wells' ear and say softly, "I hope I've scored more than one point by now."

I lean back and continue the massage while the music plays. It relaxes me and makes even this golden place seem more like home. When Standish appears in front of us, I pull my hands away from Wells' shoulders. I notice that Standish doesn't offer me a drink until Wells gives him approval and for a moment there's a little spike of fear in my stomach, fear that whispers that as easy as it is for Wells to spoil me, he could equally easily deprive me. I push the thought away, reminding myself that Lucky's promise to avenge his mother means Wells wouldn't have me for long anyway. I should enjoy this while I still can. I'll be missing it when it's no longer available to me.

I take the drink and when I lift it toward my lips, catch the familiar scents of a cocktail called The Sun Also Rises that we serve at the Belly. The glasses we use aren't so nice, unless it's going to the VIP area of course and even then it's not the same, and our version doesn't have the mint leaf on top, or the frothy white foam. I thought I heard an egg crack behind us earlier. Is that the whip on top? The base of the drink, at least, seems the same. It's mostly alcohol - rum, cherry liquor, and absinthe - mixed with just enough citrus juice to take off the edge, which is why it's so dangerous. Of course, most people at the Belly can't afford more than one, but then one is usually more than enough.

And these are doubles.

I don't often allow myself the luxury of getting buzzed, and drunk is a state I've only found myself in a handful of times past. Perhaps things like that are the reason Pellet referred to me as "oddly chaste." It seems everyone allows themselves more freedom than I do, but my caution is a learned trait, gained from so many years of needing to watch my own back. Do I dare allow myself to relax now?

I lift my glass in a little cheers to Wells and take a sip. "Delicious," I tell him as it settles in my chest, warming me from the inside with a blossoming reach. "You have great taste." I settle a bit on the couch, but reach the hand not holding my drink up to continue playing casually with the hair at the back of his neck. Maybe because it is so close a concept to me right now, I find myself asking, "What's the biggest risk you've taken, Wells? Did it pay off?"

My jaw tightens when he brings up Mr. Stanley and fleetingly, my fingers freeze on his neck as the memories flood back. I'm now accustomed to troublesome customers at the Belly. I've weathered the insults and innuendos, solicitations and short-staffed nights, but meeting Stanley was trial by fire. He set the bar, and maybe that's why I've stayed at the Belly so long. People are bad, but he made everyone else seem tolerable by comparison.

Every time he came in, Kiwi had to remake his drink no less than three times because it was never quite right. The last time he sent his drink back, Stanley dumped the drink out on my feet when I came to collect it, telling me all it was good for was the mop bucket. The shoes I was wearing that night still smell like cranberries when they get wet. He made Dakota stand by his table and feed him his french fries one by one. She told me later that she didn't mind, that Blackjack could've intervened if she needed her to, but I never really believed her.

And then there was Moxie, the water moccasin we had before Orion. The reason Kiwi hated Stanley.

He ordered a snake bite, and I warned him about the potency, reminded him that it was made with the snake's venom. He insisted.

I wanted to tell him that while Rafters and Boaters are tough enough to handle the drink, Vaulters in the VIP room usually aren't, but I know he'd only have been insulted. After he downed the shot and his tongue started to go numb, he went on a tirade. He accused me of trying to poison him, of Kiwi trying to kill him, and he made his bodyguards storm into the back to make sure the culprit paid.

Moxie was a kinder snake than Orion. We all miss her.

To top it all off, he never tipped. Ever. That bothers me even more now that I know what the Vault is like.

I blink back to the present and my fingertips resume their movement. "He's hard to forget."

"Betray Lucky's intent to him, Ivy," a Whisper insists.

A flat-toned Whisper adds, "You don't deserve this. And you could have it anyway. No more wants. No more Belly. Who cares if he killed some Sipp you never knew?"

The moment of shared experience in Wells' glance stills me. I wonder what wounds Wells wears as a result of the man's constant criticisms, and I almost can't blame him for killing the crank.

The Whispers tones splice into the moment like unwelcome splinters making my eyelids flutter. I pull my hand away from Wells' neck and shift my glass into it, bringing my focus back to the present.

"Yes, it paid off, certainly." I lift my eyes and take in the room again. "You must have everything you've ever wanted." My last words are softer, considering if I really could have it all too, but then most of my life hasn't been about what I want. It's been about what I need. What do I need to get to tomorrow? To eat for the week? To pay rent for another month? What do I need for this day, this shift, this minute?

What I want? I'm not sure I even know what that is, but this would be a good start and if Lucky kills Wells, I lose it. I wet my lips, wondering if I should heed the Whispers' urging this time, but then I quickly change my mind and take a drink instead.

"I can't tell him Lucky's plan until the Merrimack is secured," I argue to the Whispers. "I don't care about what happened to Hard Strike. I do care about what happens to Salem. The Sipps will need that ship if they're going to survive."

Wells seems happy with your agreement. Another Yo-Yo Ma song plays and soon after, Clarissa enters the room.

She's pushing a metal cart on wheels like the one from earlier. On top of it is another silver cloche. She wheels it up to the space where you're sitting as Standish brings a long pane of thick glass which he sets on top of the bronzed bowl in front of you - making it into a dining table.

It is only the salad, but I can already tell that this is the nicest meal I have ever eaten. Everything is colorful and fresh, and when I take a bite, the salty tang of cheese and bright bursts of cranberry balance everything perfectly. I haven't even noticed the balance of food before, concerned more with the fact that it exists than anything, so this is a new experience.

I keep my napkin in my lap, munching quietly for a few moments and just appreciating the experience before I can't help but asking, "Do you? Have everything you ever wanted?" The question has been lingering since the thought crossed my lips, but now that it's out, I worry it might be the wrong question.

The Last Vault. The title alone makes my skin shiver. If the first Vault held all that gold, what treasures could be inside the last? I'm sure the Vaulters don't even know, and that's what makes it such a prize, a prize worth a ship. A prize worth me? I try not to let my doubt show, instead taking another bite of the food, determined to enjoy this meal to its fullest.

I'm about to tell him that I can help open the Last Vault - I'm sure the Whispers know something - but then he brings up the medical exam and my lips close again. The tone the words are delivered with reminds me that this role I'm offering myself up for is just another employee on his roster, unless I can convince him to truly open up to me like the Whispers said, unless I can convince him I truly care for him first.

"Of course," I answer calmly. "I expected as much."

I expected nothing of the sort, and it makes my heart race to think that some doctor might look deeply into my eyes and find the Whispers there, that they might know the voices in my head and mark me unwell. Then I remember the series of small, circular bruises left behind by the leeches on my inner thigh. Some are almost healed, but one at least is fresh - deep purple with a small scab in the middle. How will I explain that to a doctor? How will I explain it to Wells?

I stab a bite of salad that has all the best parts in it. "I'd be happy to."

"They don't have a person doctor, Helix," a Whisper informs you.

"It's a machine, and they will steal your ability to hear us," a flat-toned Whisper states. "You won't be special anymore. Mikkie will hate you. Nuport will pity you. You'll just be Wells' toy-thing."

Wells talks about the diseases I'm surely carrying like I'm some mutt he picked up off the street, like I am the rotten apple spoiling his perfect barrel, and he has the audacity to tell me not to worry as if he's certainly the savior I've been longing for.

Then the Whispers chime in and the way my mind starts spinning momentarily overwhelms my annoyance.

The Whispers would go away? Forever? With one machine's examination?

For so long, that's all I've wanted. I've drowned them out, pushed them away, sequestered them to tiny corners of my mind, forever in a tug-of-war over who has control of my life, but faced with the prospect of them going away forever, I suddenly want to keep them. It's the same feeling I had earlier in the elevator when they were so silent, but this time they wouldn't come back.

I am torn in two at the idea - half of me screaming about how I could let this opportunity to be rid of them pass me by, the other half screaming about how I'd be nothing without them. Or is that them screaming about that, for their continued existence? How would I even know the difference?

I could tell him that Fubu gave me the okay, but I don't think Wells would accept the word of a street doctor. The only source that might be higher than the word of the Vault might be... "I don't think you need to be worried. Edmund gave me a clean bill of health just a little while ago. Do you know him? Edmund Sterling? From the Tower?"

I keep eating as if this isn't surging panic into every part of my being, as if I'm not angry or offended or lying, as if Edmund even knows who I am.

I let out a soft breath of disappointment when Wells doesn't immediately take "Edmund's approval" as enough to bypass the tests. It was stupid to even try. Of course it was stupid, I thought of it. Just like I thought of coming here in the first place. I thought I could get Lucky his ship and his revenge and myself my freedom all in one go without having anyone except Wells get hurt in the process.

I don't need the Whispers to say it. I hear it in my head myself - stupid, stupid, girl.

I watch my salad disappear from in front of me without my okay, realizing again just how in control Wells is here, but what replaces it is so fragrant and glistening with fresh flavor that I almost can't be upset over it.

Then I realize what Wells asked Standish and I look to the door as if the answer might appear there. Did Nuport go through the same medical tests Wells wants for me? Were the Whispers already stolen from her? I can't begin to guess how she might react, but if her reaction is poor, these might be the final few minutes I have in this place.

I dive into the food without hesitation. Tomorrow, I'll be back to soggy oatmeal and boiled fishhead soup. Right now, I have this. I'm not about to leave it on the plate like the cake from earlier.

Each bite is better than the one before it. The gentle crunch of the asparagus pairs with the fluffy taste of the rice. The smoky flavor of the salmon is enhanced by the glaze. While Standish is gone, Clarissa brings fresh, pure glasses of water, which only livens up the taste of the meal. Easily the best things you've ever tasted, simply heaven in your mouth. The salmon melts in your mouth, exploding with wonder. Even the Whispers seem to be in awe of the meal.

Wells makes soft sounds of pleasure as he eats. He savors each bite and is still working on the salmon when you realize you've nearly scarfed down all of your meal.

What do you do?

I know I'm scarfing this food down compared to Wells, but I don't care anymore. It feels like this whole attempted reach for a better existence is about to fall apart, so I'm taking every bit of it I can get. I start taking bigger sips of my drink too, the alcohol smoldering in my chest, a quiet fire.

You tuck into the salmon delights and finish before Wells. Wells continues eating and savoring while Clarissa takes up your plate once you're completely done. And for several minutes, you sit there with nothing in front of you as Wells chews and slowly moves his head to the music. He seems interested in the food and doesn't engage in conversation. All the while, the Whispers are telling you how doomed you are.

What do you do?

I expect Wells to say something after I've finished, but when I realize how absorbed he is in his own experience, I sit back on the couch a bit with my drink in my hand and Whispers in my head. They push and prod, reminding me how bad a situation I'm in, and finally I break. There's no reason to hold back now if I'm already in this deep.

"It wasn't fair, you know," I say. "The way your father blamed you that day." I don't name the day, or his mother, waiting for Wells' response first.

The muscles in my back are tense, but I try to keep my expression placid while I wait for his reply and consider my answer.

"Your mother," I answer so softly it's almost below a whisper. I risk reaching a hand over to take his, squeezing it while I meet his gaze if he'll let me. "I want to be more than just a lover to you, Wells. I can be more than just a lover, if you'll let me. I told you, I see things others don't."

For perhaps the first time ever, I welcome the Whispers back to me and pull them closer like a security blanket. I stare at Wells, processing his request with as much shock as Clarissa does. It's reassuring, strangely, that it seems this isn't a common occurrence for him, that he is usually more refined than this. Though he offers cobbler like a master tempting their dog to do a trick with a piece of jerky, at least I know he hasn't tempted many dogs before, at least I know what I said was true enough to hit a nerve, but perhaps it was too true, too close to home.

I swallow, glance over at Clarissa then back to Wells. My words come slowly, quietly. "Can we...at least go somewhere...private first?"

Clarissa scurries away like a meek mouse, leaving you alone in Wells' vault room with Wells. He arches a brow and crosses his arms as if to say, "it is now your turn".

"He will see the bruises!" a Whisper tells you urgently.

What do you do?

"I know, I know," I answer the Whisper's warning as I stand. Clarissa's tone sticks with me, reassuring me without so many words that she won't let Standish burst back in here unannounced, though I can only imagine what their conversation in the hall might be while they wait. I don't need to be pitied.

I move over to stand in the open area beside the table, my back to Wells. I am a paper doll with thin knees and delicate hands, easily torn but defended fiercely by the ones who own me, if I can land the right owner.

"This isn't about stripping. This is about control. He just wants to know he's in control." I don't think I've ever spoken to the Whispers so openly. Our typical interactions have been me telling them to go away or shut up, or asking them for help. This is just...making me feel less alone.

My back still to him, I slip my arms out of the off-the-shoulder sleeves of my dress then fold the top of the dress down around my hips, baring my body from the waist up. My skin tingles as the air of the room moves over it and I take a few slow, shallow breaths before I turn to face him. I take small steps closer to him then kneel on the floor in front of him, finally bringing myself to meet his eyes.

"I am sorry," I tell him softly. "I shouldn't have said anything, especially with others in the room. You deserved privacy for that intimate moment too." I swallow and reach a hand up to rest on his knee. "Please forgive me." My gaze drops again, a stray piece of hair falling in front of my eyes, and I wait, heart pounding so hard I'm sure he'll see it.

The idea that Clarissa might suffer for my mistake is...probably exactly the kind of fear Wells wants to produce in me. I hope that it's just a threat, a tool to get what he wants, but I'm not nearly secure enough myself to start worrying about anyone else just yet. Clarissa will need to take care of herself, just like me.

I lift my head slowly until I meet his gaze again, breathing in and out a few times before I say, "Benson and Hedges suspect Lucky of killing Hard Strike. They haven't had the proof or power to do anything about it, but they will eventually if he can't prove otherwise or put them in their place."

I don't move from his touch, but I have to admit that the idea of Lucky learning I'm here now, feeding information to Wells instead of him, bothers me. It's what I've asked for, worked for, taken so many risks for, and it's illogical to feel the way I do, but aren't all emotions illogical? At least impractical.

"He does," I answer. "And he knows he needs to deal with them. He will."

I wonder just how much power Wells has over Lucky, if it's more than just the Merrimack. Maybe I would only cut a few strings from the puppet by trading myself for the ship, but isn't it better to belong to the puppetmaster than the marionette?

Wells is a shark, king of these waters, and it is both a disappointment and an encouragement that he maintains his interest in me. A disappointment because my half-naked apology wasn't enough to dissuade him, and an encouragement for the very same reason - he still wants me. For now.

I look up at him from where I kneel on the floor, quiet, then finally venture, "If I do...I'm worried you won't want me anymore." I lick my lips and lift my butt off my heels as I knee-walk up between his knees as he sits on the couch. I take his hand in both of mine. "You wanted me to prove I'm not some common trollop. Change the contract for the Merrimack officially, to make me yours, then I'll finish stripping for you."

"Stupid, stupid girl!" a Whisper berates angrily, mirroring your own emotions.

"They're coming back now, they were listening for him to call. Hurry, hurry," a girl Whispers.


What do you do?

I didn't think there was a way for me to be disappointed about redressing so soon, but this is it. I quickly get up from where I was kneeling, slipping my arms back into my dress and shimmying it back up my body as I move back to my seat on the couch trying to get myself into a dignified position before Standish and Clarissa return. Everything feels off-center now, spinning out of my control and right into Wells' commanding grip. I'm still assured of nothing, still as powerless as I was when I walked in here, maybe even weaker.

But at least I get blackberry cobbler and ice cream. At least I still have that.

The cobbler tastes buttery and flakey and the blackberries have to be freshly picked. The sharpness of the berries is cut by the sweetness of the half-melted ice cream, which is a perfect vanilla. Wells enjoys the dessert, but not with as much vigor as the main course. Clarissa rejoins you and attends to refills with purified water. The dessert feels unnerving as the Whispers continue to taunt you for frelling up with Wells. Clarissa checks on you a few more times than before.

The doors click audibly and smoothly swing open and Standish enters. He pulls the woman along with him. She seems dazed, possibly drugged. It's only when you see her missing finger and the vacant spot where her right eye should be that you recognize her.


It's Nuport.

Standish leads her over to a chair and helps her sit down before heading back to the bar.

I stare at Nuport in silent shock. She's clean and calm, converted into someone I almost don't recognize.

It's not until I remember how panicked she was earlier about me seeing her without her mask that I'm finally able to tear my gaze away, but even that can't keep my eyes from her for long. Somehow I'm on my feet, moving closer to her and studying her face, trying to pair what I see now with the chained creature drinking from the toilet in the Sipp's bathroom.

I wonder if they gave her pain meds for her finger, or something to keep her subdued when they took her mask away. I wonder if she feels better now. I wonder if... "Are you okay?"

I stop in front of her, taking in the whole of her. I realize I've been quiet for too long after her answer and finally say, "That's...that's fine." I glance at Wells, not sure if it's really my place to say what's fine or not, but then I look back at her.

I want to ask, but not out loud. I reach for the Whispers instead - hers or mine, I'm not sure, or maybe they're all the same - "Are her Whispers gone?"

"We left her alone when she was taken into the machine," a Whisper replies sadly. "So many screams she's forgotten."

"We will return to her later," a flat-tone Whisper states.

I blink, inhaling at Wells' words and the seemingly sudden appearance of Standish with a drink. It wakes me up and I take the drink from the tray, putting on a less stunned visage as I move back to my place on the couch.

"Yes. She's...yes. Thank you." I take a big gulp of the new drink, disconcerted but not sure why. Nuport has obviously been physically saved, and maybe a reprieve from the Whispers is exactly what her mind needs, but it feels strange having her here. She should be curled up somewhere recovering in peace.

I look at my newly refreshed drink, wondering if Wells is trying to get me drunk by expecting me to down it all before I go. Standish's presence is a sand timer on my continued existence here and I hesitate to do anything for a few moments.

I could try to convince Standish to lie for me after we leave, but if my words earlier were enough to threaten Clarissa's position here, I can't imagine what a full-blown lie would mean for Standish. I have no love for him, except that he's been our bartender and I'm overly sensitive about bartenders being hurt on the job.

 I look at Wells and put my drink down on the table. "I can't. I won't be able to...see anymore." I lick my lips. "Let me go to a human doctor instead."

My worries are nothing but undesirable specks of dirt on Wells' perfect table, bothersome but easily swept away and forgotten. My forehead creases with concern and I glance at Nuport, her Whispers already stolen. I have negotiated my way into an impossible corner, and Wells knows it. He knows it so fully, he's not even bothered over it.

A strange, cool calm settles over me and I reach forward to pick up my drink again. "When I'm done with my drink." I take a sip. "Like you said." I continue sipping my drink slowly, but I know there's only one option left for me. One way to get out of this and maybe get back on top. Wells wants me, I know he does, and he thinks he has me already.

I need to prove to him he doesn't. I need to give him competition. I need to give him a contest to win, a position to defend, and someone to defend it against.

"I need Lucky here," I tell the Whispers. "Now."

The doors swing open silently and on the other side, you see the leader of the Sippians. He has no idea how he got here. He steps into the room, looking around until he spots you - and Wells.

I feel like I might fall through the floor when the doors open and Lucky steps through. My plea to the Whispers was desperation. I didn't anticipate that it would turn into reality. Is this what happened the time Litch saved me from the Sipps?

"I'm glad you're here," I tell him instead of trying to explain how he got here - I'm not sure I could if I tried - or how I got here, because I don't want to get Regal in trouble. "I've been talking with Wells about the Merrimack." I study Lucky, wondering if the Whispers' magic means he didn't go through the same pat down Nuport and I did when we got here. Is he still fully armed?

I am sipping a drink while balanced on the edge of blade. Seeing Lucky again, in this foreign environment, makes him seem even more rugged and dangerous than usual. I swallow a bit more liquid courage, before I answer. "Not yet, no. That's why you're here. I know you'd like to own that ship free and clear." I move my gaze to Wells. "I know you want me." I lift my drink a bit to both of them. "And I want the treasures of the Vault." I take another small sip. "Trading me for the Merrimack is a win-win...win. For all three of us." I meet Lucky's eyes, trying to convey to him that there's more to this too, more that I can't say aloud. "This...is what you asked me to do for you." I take a short breath. "But if you don't want to let me go, then I guess there's nothing we can do." I glance at Wells when I say "we" as if he's a part of it; as if Lucky is obviously the one in control here who could end all of this.

I go still when Lucky leans in to Whisper to me, realizing now that his weapon could just as easily be used against me as it could against Wells. I whisper back, "You can have both."

Everything is happening too fast and too slow all at once. My heart races at Lucky's demand, and Wells' move. I realize that Wells could be going for a weapon, and he needs Lucky more than he might need me. Lucky is the key to the library, I'm just some floozy who doesn't want to go through his medical tests before he beds me. Wells would do better shooting me to keep me quiet than shooting Lucky.

But if I can calm Lucky down, I can calm Wells down too, and I can still walk away from this.

I stand up, hands up in surrender and try to step between Wells and Lucky, my eyes on Lucky. "You're right. You're right. I owe you that. Just get Nuport and I out of here and we can talk, okay?" I nod toward where Nuport sits, hoping it might be enough to distract Lucky and de-escalate things.

Lucky meets your eyes - he'll agree to this. You pulled him here, somehow - he'll get you out. Wells, however, knows you know who killed Hard Strike and he doesn't trust you not to rat him out - here and now. In fact, he suspects this was all a setup to get him in a vulnerable position. You can feel it, Helix. It's all slipping away - the calm, the control, the peace. Wells will not allow this, and you're the single piece that is a true threat to all he's wanted.

"Run! Run away!" a Whisper screams in your head. You push the warning aside: surely, the Whisper's only yelling at you for being a fool thinking you could hold sway with these two animals from different zoos.

When you look over at Wells to try and find some way to soothe his worries, you see it. Through the window that looks out onto the water, you see a little pencil-sized something floating in the air and coming closer - fast. You notice a plume of white smoke trailing behind it. You've never seen anything like it, but you can tell it is coming right the frell at that window. Which is right in front of you.

You have just enough time to turn and try to run before it slams into the window and explodes, sending glass through the entire vault. The explosion throws everyone to the floor and your ears ring louder than the Whispers can scream warnings. Your vision is blurry and swimming when you look at the open space where the window used to be.

Before you lose consciousness, you look up to see someone swing on a line into the room - a woman with a metallic jaw and a very big gun. She stomps over to grab you and throws you over her muscular shoulder to carry you out of this sudden warzone before you pass out.

End Scene