Destiny's Song (The Fixers, book #1: A KarmaCorp Novel) by Audrey Faye Page B
Authors: Audrey Faye
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tried desperately to yank my thoughts away from visions of kissing the Inheritor Elect of a planet I’d never visit again. “You think fire’s necessary?”
His smile was a little wistful. “Yeah, I do. My parents have it. So do hers.”
On the digger rock I’d grown up on, life had been hard for everyone, but it had been far harder for some. Those who thrived generally did it on the strength of either big hate or big love. Heat and passion, either way.
Which were the last things I should be thinking about right now. I punched the subsonic notes of my Talent again, this time hitting my guts with quick, tight orders. Behave.
Devan smiled and moved back to the table and his half-filled plate. He stuck his fork into the plate of bacon and then looked back up to where I still stood, a statue in the doorway. “I won’t wish you luck, Lakisha Drinkwater. But it’s good to have met you.”
I turned and slowly walked away, trying not to drop my bacon or the few shreds of composure I had left.
I’d survived. I’d held my own, been as professional as I knew how to be in my bare feet, and managed not to jump into Devan Lovatt’s lap. Given the current state of my insides, I was going to call that a success.
Now I just needed several hours in a dark, cold, isolated cave. I looked both ways as two hallways intersected and scooted in the direction of my rooms.
“Singer.”
The single word stopped me before I’d made it three steps down the last leg of my retreat. I turned slowly, taking deep breaths as I went.
Evgenia looked me up and down and sniffed, particularly at my bare toes. My new host, doing her lady-of-the-manor thing.
I had to give her credit—it was a very nice manor. I called on every gram of the discipline KarmaCorp had tried to beat into my head over the last fifteen years. “Good morning, Madame Inheritor.”
“And to you.” She nodded her head in brief greeting. “I was hoping to find you.” Her eyes glanced at the plate still clutched in my clammy hands and then back up at me, unwilling amusement glinting in their depths. “I see that my son got to you first.”
She was a woman who didn’t miss much. “He was kind enough to give me a brief tour. You lay out an impressive breakfast.”
“We aim to please.”
I was pretty sure she did that about as often as I donned high heels and sat in a spacer’s lap. “In that case, consider me a well-satisfied guest.” Or one who would be headed that way once I had a chance to wolf down the contents of my plate.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying our food.” She smiled at me, widow spider to foolish prey. “I’ve arranged a small dinner party for this evening in honor of your arrival. Our neighbors will wish to welcome you to Bromelain III.”
She made it sound more likely that they’d want to run me out of town on the business end of a blaster. “That’s very kind of you, but I generally like to keep a low profile while I’m working.”
“You would be far more conspicuous in your absence,” she said smoothly. “Although if it’s a low profile you seek, you may wish to wear shoes to the event.”
My bare toes curled up in embarrassment before I forced them back out again. I wasn’t a nursling brat to be chastised—I was a Singer, and a damn fine one. I held back the growl rising in my throat. “I imagine I can find a pair by then.”
She acknowledged my parry with the barest tilt of her head. “If you experience any difficulty, just let a member of my staff know. They would also be happy to fill you a breakfast plate in future, should you so desire.”
The woman knew how to wield a delicate and vicious sword. I said nothing. Sometimes silence was a very useful weapon.
Her chin tipped two centimeters higher. “Dinner will be at dusk on the outside patio. Formal wear and dancing.”
If she thought she could embarrass a miner’s brat with a formal dinner, she was a thousand lightyears away from right. Trainees were thoroughly
His smile was a little wistful. “Yeah, I do. My parents have it. So do hers.”
On the digger rock I’d grown up on, life had been hard for everyone, but it had been far harder for some. Those who thrived generally did it on the strength of either big hate or big love. Heat and passion, either way.
Which were the last things I should be thinking about right now. I punched the subsonic notes of my Talent again, this time hitting my guts with quick, tight orders. Behave.
Devan smiled and moved back to the table and his half-filled plate. He stuck his fork into the plate of bacon and then looked back up to where I still stood, a statue in the doorway. “I won’t wish you luck, Lakisha Drinkwater. But it’s good to have met you.”
I turned and slowly walked away, trying not to drop my bacon or the few shreds of composure I had left.
I’d survived. I’d held my own, been as professional as I knew how to be in my bare feet, and managed not to jump into Devan Lovatt’s lap. Given the current state of my insides, I was going to call that a success.
Now I just needed several hours in a dark, cold, isolated cave. I looked both ways as two hallways intersected and scooted in the direction of my rooms.
“Singer.”
The single word stopped me before I’d made it three steps down the last leg of my retreat. I turned slowly, taking deep breaths as I went.
Evgenia looked me up and down and sniffed, particularly at my bare toes. My new host, doing her lady-of-the-manor thing.
I had to give her credit—it was a very nice manor. I called on every gram of the discipline KarmaCorp had tried to beat into my head over the last fifteen years. “Good morning, Madame Inheritor.”
“And to you.” She nodded her head in brief greeting. “I was hoping to find you.” Her eyes glanced at the plate still clutched in my clammy hands and then back up at me, unwilling amusement glinting in their depths. “I see that my son got to you first.”
She was a woman who didn’t miss much. “He was kind enough to give me a brief tour. You lay out an impressive breakfast.”
“We aim to please.”
I was pretty sure she did that about as often as I donned high heels and sat in a spacer’s lap. “In that case, consider me a well-satisfied guest.” Or one who would be headed that way once I had a chance to wolf down the contents of my plate.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying our food.” She smiled at me, widow spider to foolish prey. “I’ve arranged a small dinner party for this evening in honor of your arrival. Our neighbors will wish to welcome you to Bromelain III.”
She made it sound more likely that they’d want to run me out of town on the business end of a blaster. “That’s very kind of you, but I generally like to keep a low profile while I’m working.”
“You would be far more conspicuous in your absence,” she said smoothly. “Although if it’s a low profile you seek, you may wish to wear shoes to the event.”
My bare toes curled up in embarrassment before I forced them back out again. I wasn’t a nursling brat to be chastised—I was a Singer, and a damn fine one. I held back the growl rising in my throat. “I imagine I can find a pair by then.”
She acknowledged my parry with the barest tilt of her head. “If you experience any difficulty, just let a member of my staff know. They would also be happy to fill you a breakfast plate in future, should you so desire.”
The woman knew how to wield a delicate and vicious sword. I said nothing. Sometimes silence was a very useful weapon.
Her chin tipped two centimeters higher. “Dinner will be at dusk on the outside patio. Formal wear and dancing.”
If she thought she could embarrass a miner’s brat with a formal dinner, she was a thousand lightyears away from right. Trainees were thoroughly
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