She curtseyed, watched as “Catherine” returned the gesture, and asked, “Pardon me, madam, but may I have this next dance?”
The queen and the vampire exchanged glances. The pause went on long enough that Zada began to wonder if she had committed a faux pas. Surely at a costume ball, the one socially acceptable place to discreetly flirt with strangers, a person could ask another unknown person to dance. It was the reason everyone was careful not to let their masks slip.
“Very well,” said the woman, holding out one elegantly draped arm. “Shall we, then?”
Years of etiquette class had drilled into Zada that the one who made the first move was also the one who should lead. She guided them to a spot toward the edge of the dance floor. The orchestra struck up a waltz and Zada could at least take comfort that she knew what to do with her arms and legs, if not her words.
“An exquisite—um, an exquisite ball, isn’t it?” Zada managed as they took their first turn about the room.
The woman laughed. “I don’t see the need to stand on ceremony, given that you clearly know who I am, and I have a fairly clear idea who you are, as well.”
Zada continued to move through the motions of the waltz, running on pure muscle memory.
“I—what?” Zada stammered.
“You made a beeline for me,” said the woman. “And to be honest, I’ve thrown enough of these events to know that going entirely incognito is more work than it’s worth. I suppose it has its benefits, though, since it does make me rather more available to daring young people like you looking to make their mark on our world.”
“Ah,” said Zada, feeling very faint. Her careful count of measures and music fled her mind completely. She had no idea how much time had passed. She threw a frantic glance around the room, and although she couldn’t see any guards, that didn’t mean she wasn’t about to be thrown out, the entire plan ruined for her lack of stealth and her lack of skill—
“Let me venture a guess,” continued the woman, who was certainly Mozelle, “you’re a terribly skilled programmer, and your life’s ambition is to work on Heartsong.”
“That’s—uh, a lucky guess,” said Zada.
“So?” Mozelle raised an eyebrow so high, the top of the arc was visible behind her mask. “You have my attention. Make your pitch.”
When would Daphne’s distraction steal focus long enough for Zada to stealthily acquire what she needed? Had Zada managed a long enough period of time in front of Mozelle’s SmartGem to clone the Heartsong data? The only thing to do was stall for time.
“Oh gosh,” she said. “I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be,” said Mozelle. “Remember, everyone was a prospective hire at some point.”
To construct a lie while performing the steps as choreographed and waiting for Daphne to make a move felt like trying to juggle while flying a starship.
“I’m very bright,” Zada ventured. “I work hard.” A strange calm swept over her. She had already ruined her chances at applying for a job she didn’t even want. Nothing was at stake, except making Mozelle believe Zada cared. “I’ve always been interested in programs and devices. My second year at school, I so wanted the effect of a string quartet that I rigged up a program on my cello to create loops of sound that I could layer in live. I call it a triple cello. That was the year before our programming unit. I wanted to learn to do it, so I did.”
“An admirable quality,” Mozelle murmured. “And how would you say you respond to stress?”
Zada bit her lip, fighting to contain a peal of wild laughter. Judging by the last few weeks, she responded to stress by engaging in all manner of illegal activity.
“I don’t admit defeat easily. I examine the problem from every angle, I strategize, and then I act.”
Mozelle nodded thoughtfully. “How about this then, Mademoiselle Pirate? My partner has expressly forbidden me from bringing my Gem onto the dance floor, something about not taking my work everywhere with me. But if you stay right here, I’ll dash up to my room and fetch it, and take down your contact information in a wink before anyone notices.”
The pit of Zada’s stomach dropped out. All of that time wasted on the dance, and now Daphne’s distraction wouldcome too late.
Mozelle must have sensed her distress, because she added, “Oh, not to worry, my rooms are straight above this one! I’ll just slip through the back door. It really will only take a second or two—”
And then, from the atrium, there was a terrific crash and a chorus of screams.
“What in the world,” said Mozelle, whipping around as the music came to a screeching halt. Half the dancers froze. The other half ran toward the screams, Mozelle rushing to join them, shouting for order. Every guard in the room streamed after her, abandoning their posts at the entrance and exit.
This was her chance. Zada bolted for the back door, up a set of winding marble stairs, past several maintenance bots that beeped confusedly at her, and up to the largest and most ornate door in the hall, which she could only hope was the main bedroom of the mansion. There was an elaborate lock on the door, but thankfully it wasn’t a bioscan. Zada made quick work of it, her hands hardly shaking at all as she repeated the motions Daphne had taught her.
There was another bot inside, inert in the charging hub. A massive bed. An antique pianoforte. No immediate sign of Mozelle’s SmartGem.
There was no time to simply toss the enormous bedroom for an object the size of her thumbnail. If Mozelle really did work all of the time, then she likely kept her Gem somewhere readily accessible. Zada walked to the nightstand beside the bed.
Lying on top of a pile of paper letters was Mozelle’s SmartGem, winking bright blue in the light. It looked strangelysmall not set into a necklace or a ring. Zada snatched it up and dropped it into the pocket with her clone-scanner. She’d only need a moment.
