Human Bait

Chapter 47: Mingling Dance

I buttoned up a green dress-shirt, tugged on black skinny jeans, and fought to tame my curls. While I primped, nerves pinched my shoulders and strummed through my veins. And on the walk back to the cafeteria, I repeated a promise to myself.

Never again will I ask Serigg's advice.

When I entered the cafeteria, the tables had retreated into the floor and the speakers blasted a peppy Southie tune popular before the Implant Era. The anxiety from an hour earlier still festered in the air, but the refugees appeared determined to celebrate anyway. Perhaps surviving eight years of the Implant Era had exhausted everyone's ability to remain on-guard. Conversation popped and fizzled like the first bubbles in a simmering pot, and hips swayed to music.

I strode toward the drink table and then hesitated, Serigg's advice buzzing in my mind like a fly. Go have one drink, and then... Then came the worse part: Then you network.

That was basically her whole plan. According to Serigg, our three suspects shared two important commonalities — they all liked a stiff drink or five, and they all liked me. At the Mingling Dance, alcohol would flow freely, and, Serigg hoped, so would secrets. The rest would unfold like a children's mystery board game. With a few ticked boxes and weaving arrows, I would unveil the name in the mystery envelope.

That, or I would step on a landmine, and the Head Chef would add me to his army of mindless robots.

I plucked up a plastic cup and traced a finger over the ridged edge as if to read the answer there. Did I need the liquid courage? Where was the line between courage and abandon? I dunked the cup into the bowl of violet liquid and brought it to my lips. As it burned a path down my throat, I fought a grimace — and the urge to dump out the rest.

Ivogg clapped a hand over my shoulder. His eyes shone bright, and his other hand clutched a mostly-empty cup. "Ru! I'm so pleased you made it. But where is your special friend?"

"Uh... you mean Rekkan?"

A withheld laugh strained his voice. "Do you have another special friend?"

I took another sip, cold on my tongue, sticky on the way down, and hot in my belly. "Rekkan needs a little more time alone, after..."

"Ah, after the old —" Ivogg mimicked an uppercut, splashing the remainder of his drink onto the ground. "Oh, great Ether. I've already had too much!"

"Let me help you." I snatched the cup from his hand, skimmed it across the bowl next to me, and handed him a replenished drink. "There you go."

He accepted the drink with a nervous chuckle. "Feels a bit irresponsible to drink while Zhina and the lab experts are still running tests in the infirmary, but they told me I was just getting in the way."

"How are the patients?"

"Well, it seems Lekk, Bokk, Megg, and Bezan have the same skin affliction as Nezuli, and Nezuli has also been acting increasingly strange. Zhina's got theories about a new Implant or something, and she even convinced Doctor Vizan to search their bodies for the kind of mark an Implant would make. Crazy, right?"

I forced a laugh. "Crazy."

"Of course, Doctor Vizan and Zhina could find nothing of the sort. Anyway, I have every faith we'll find an answer before anyone valuable is affected." His eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sweet Ether, what did I just say? Of course the Sentries value everyone here. My mouth sometimes runs ahead of my mind when I drink. I do apologize."

A flutter of nerves trembled through my fingers. Perhaps Serigg was not all wrong. "Hey, tonight is about letting go a little, right?" I said. "No apologies needed."