Quintessa stood there looking at him. Drajan stepped closer to see if she would back away. She remained motionless. He lifted his glass to her lips.

“Give me two weeks,” he said. “I won’t need longer.”

She took hold of his wrist and steadied it, and drank, and he leaned forward and kissed her neck, his lips light against the pale skin.

His head fell between her breasts, the fabric of her shift smooth against his cheek. He felt her breathing rapidly and took her glass from her hand, sank to his knees and moved his hands up and under the shift.

The new ruler must determine all the injuries he will need to inflict.

Drajan pressed his lips to Quintessa’s yielding body. His weapons subtler than the knife and sword, but no less effective.

9

New York City
April 17, 2024

Carmody awoke on the couch, head hurting, and checked his smartwatch. It was a quarter past five in the morning, and the apartment was dark and quiet. Kali was asleep in the bedroom. He wanted to be there with her, headache be damned. But so far his overpowering charm hadn’t gotten him out of the living room.

He pulled off his blanket, yawned, sat up in his T-shirt, and massaged his eyelids. He had done a lot of virtual reconnoitering the night before and at first had blamed the dull throb in his temples on that. What had Morse called it? Cybersickness.

He rubbed his eyes again. Maybe he did have a kind of allergy to V/R. In a way, that would suit him fine. He felt caged and restless and had done enough playing pretend. He was going to have to get things rolling today, head out to Teterboro Airport, talk to his guy there and then deal with something else that was on his mind.

He got up. His head felt thick and swollen. He had roped out of helicopters under fire without even a touch of vertigo but couldn’t handle a glorified video game.

“Cyber bullshit,” he said under his breath. And stalked into the shower.

It was eight twenty in the morning when Jot Musil double-parked his Acura outside the Woodmere Middle School in Queens to drop off his daughters for classes.

Raysa was ten and in sixth grade. Jani was fourteen and in eighth grade and graduating at the end of the year. Both girls had inherited their mother’s slight build, fine features, glossy dark brown hair and chestnut eyes.

Musil got out and opened the back door. Jani popped out of the car first after spotting some friends in the schoolyard. He helped her slip into her backpack, waited for Raysa, and got her pack on.

“OK,” he said, adjusting the straps. “Remember about your phones.”

“We will.”

“And call me from home after the bus drops you off.”

“We will.”

Musil bent to kiss their cheeks.

“I love you, mittha,” he said to Jani.

“Love you, Daddy.”