House Immortal (19 page)

Kiana White wore her honey-brown hair pulled back loosely, giving her friendly face a golden glow. Her slightly tilted, catlike eyes glittered with curiosity and she sat forward, taking in every detail. She wore a soft white blouse tucked into tailored white trousers, and an air of composure far beyond her apparent twenty-five-year-old looks.

“Today,” Oscar said, “she has agreed to prove herself galvanized. Abraham Seventh will assist in the display of her skills.”

There were only two other faces up there on screens. Welton Yellow, Technology who was still wearing the yellow frog shirt and half-lidded eyes, but must have finished his popcorn, and a man with short white hair and dark glasses, wearing a silver sweater.

White hair would be Reeves Silver, Vice. He looked like a betting man and had on his poker face.

“Abraham Seventh, Miss Matilda Case,” Oscar
continued. “Please step onto the mats. We are ready for you to begin.”

“No more talk,” Abraham said quietly as he walked past me, barefoot. “Let's tango.”

He bowed to the Houses, then turned and bowed toward me.

“Hold on,” I said. “Excellencies.” I gave them a nod, then turned. I took off my boots, shrugged out of my coat.

I'd never felt so naked.

He might be strong, but I was fast. He might be a better fighter, but I didn't have a half-healed gut wound.

I drew my hands over my hair and tied it into a knot at the back of my head, then turned to the mat.

I bowed to Abraham, mostly because I was already feeling a little guilty for what I was about to do to him.

He stepped out onto the mat. So did I.

He swung at my head, his fist big enough to knock a hole the size of Bangkok through the wall.

I ducked, threw a punch toward his neck. His hands blocked upward . . .

...and that's when I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls.

He buckled and slammed down on his knees with a groan.

I stepped behind him and clamped my hand on the side of his neck. I didn't know how long the sensation of touch remained after I let go, so it seemed safer to just hold on.

“This auction is over,” I said to the Houses. “I am off the block. I've chosen House Gray and signed the contract with them. I'm sure there are medical tests I could pass to settle the matter of being galvanized.”

Welton Yellow burst out laughing. The other Houses appeared angry and annoyed.

Buck still stood behind John Black, but his gaze flicked between Abraham and me, then settled on me with a new sort of caution.

“House Gray,” Troi Blue said. “Have you brought us here to mock us?”

“No, House Blue, I have not,” Oscar said. “The galvanized did not consult with me in this regard.”

“Is it true?” John Black asked. “Did you sign a contract?”

“Yes.” I let go of Abraham and immediately got out of his reach. I wasn't dumb. “I brought it with me, if you need to see it.”

“Stop speaking,” Troi Blue snapped. “Until spoken to.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from telling her off. This wasn't an argument I could win by being angry. This was a situation that would work out in my favor only if the contract I signed held, and if Oscar and the other Houses agreed that we had a deal.

“You have to admit it was fun,” Welton Yellow said. “Thank you, Oscar Gray, for today's entertainment. I concede your claim to the galvanized Matilda Thirteenth, as long as the contract is witnessed and she indeed proves to be galvanized.”

“House Yellow,” Troi Blue said. “You overstep.”

“No, I don't believe I do,” Welton said. “Who else wants to bid for a creature that can't be bought? I'd rather not display my wealth, nor favors.”

“Conceded,” Gideon Violet of Faith said. His screen winked out.

“What House did it claim before coming to you?” Feye Green asked.

“None,” Oscar said smoothly. “She was without House.”

“Unbelievable,” Aranda Red said. “And how is it you found her, Oscar Gray?”

“Accidentally,” Oscar said.

Her eyes flashed. She wanted him to say more, to tell her where my home was and what had tipped him off, but Oscar, bless the man, remained cheerfully silent.

“Let's see the contract,” John Black said. “Matilda, bring it to me.”

Abraham had gotten up off his knees, a sheen of sweat over his stony face. He stood between me and Oscar and refused to make eye contact.

I walked over to my coat and dug through the folds to the inner pocket where I'd stashed the paper.

Abraham took it from me before I'd gotten halfway across the mat and handed it to Oscar.

Oscar tapped something on the side of his wrist, and each of the Houses now had an image of the paper in their hands. Oscar handed John Black the original.

“So witnessed.” John Black shook his head. “I have some matters to go over with you, Oscar Gray,” he said.

“Of course. You are welcome to stay.” Oscar looked up at the screens.

So did I. Only Welton Yellow was grinning, a lazy cat smile. “Good day, all,” he said. Then his screen winked out.

Kiana White, Medical, spoke. “Well. That was very interesting. Oscar Gray, will you accept a technician from House White to confirm Matilda Thirteenth as officially galvanized?”

“That would be fine, Kiana White,” Oscar said.

“I'll send someone immediately.” Her screen flickered out.

Aranda Red scowled and said nothing before her screen went blank.

Troi Blue raised her chin. “This display of power and trickery does not sit well with me, House Gray. We will
speak more of this at the gathering.” She snapped her fingers, and her screen went blank.

That left only Reeves Silver, Vice, on the screen. “Welcome to the fold, Matilda Case,” he said coolly. Then even he was gone.

The room went silent.

After a moment, Oscar cleared his throat. “Well. We have some things to go over, don't we, John? Would you join me in my office?”

The two of them left the room. Buck threw Abraham an explain-later look before following behind.

The twelve refused to stay hidden, secret. They refused to be property. Together the galvanized stood against the world and declared war upon the Houses.—2099

—from the journals of L.U.C.

“D
on't you need to go with Oscar?” I asked.

Abraham took a deep breath and his eyes, when he finally turned to look at me, were cinnamon red again. Maybe pain. Most likely anger. “You have a special skill of stirring up trouble. Do you know that?”

“I was trying to untrouble the trouble,” I objected. “I signed the contract. I, um . . . ended the fight quick.”

“About that,” he said. “Dirty move, Tilly.”

It was the first time he'd used my nickname. I liked the sound of it from him.

“Yeah, well. I never said I was any good at the tango either.” I picked up my coat and boots. “I suppose someone will let me know my penance?”

“It shouldn't be too severe,” he said.

I was joking.

He was not.

“They might just write off the whole thing to you being excited and new and untrained. Tomorrow, though, we'll see that you're trained for the gathering.”

“Two things,” I said. “Which part of all this am I hoping they'll write off?”

“Your attitude, breaking rules, breaking arms, breaking protocol, and telling off the heads of the Houses. Not the best start for a galvanized.” He should sound angry about all that. Hell, he should be angry at me for
dropping him to his knees. But he just looked . . . I don't know . . . impressed.

“And the training?” I started up the stairs, and Abraham's footsteps were soon echoing behind mine.

“You haven't heard of it?” he said with overly casual interest.

“Has to do with the gathering?”

“Yes. The annual event where all the Houses gather and pose and position for who will wield the most power in the next year. It used to be a time when grievances against the Houses could be heard, but a three-day gathering isn't nearly long enough to hear all of that. Systems and courts and procedures were put into place to address complaints on an ongoing basis, which allowed the gathering to devolve into a bragging match.”

“What do they brag about?”

“Who had higher profits, gained more assets, had a breakthrough in technology or some other advancement. And, of course, who looks the youngest.”

“Really?”

“It's become the big race. Youth—or the appearance of it, at least—is a House obsession. The younger the heads of Houses appear to be, the more power they wield. Staying young takes a lot of money, time, and deals between Houses.”

“Oscar doesn't look all that young. Neither does John Black.”

“Oscar hasn't ever bothered with vanity. John Black prefers people to underestimate him.”

“All right, so who's the youngest?”

“It's a toss-up between Troi Blue, Feye Green, and Aranda Red.”

“What about Welton Yellow?”

“He's about as old as he looks.”

“Oh. So how old are Blue, Green, and Red?

“Just over a hundred.”

“It's a strange world you live in, Abraham Seventh.”

“You have a dragon in your backyard.”

“It's a lizard.”

“A lizard with wings.”

“Okay, so that's a little odd. Why do I have to train for the gathering?”

“Galvanized represent their Houses. If there are House disputes, galvanized may be used to settle the issue.”

“Settle?”

“Fight.”

“Wonderful.” We were out of the stairwell and across the sitting room now. “Is that what those posters of you and Loy Ninth were about on the street?”

“No.”

I looked over my shoulder. “Just no?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “The gathering isn't the only time we are on display.”

“Okay,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Should I mention we talked to Welton Yellow when we went for coffee?”

“We know. He's a friend of our House. He sent you to that coffee shop so I could pick you up. We thought it was public enough no other House would make a move on you, and we thought it was crowded enough you wouldn't do something stupid. Missed that by a moon.”

“Hey, now. I was handling it just fine before you showed up.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Broken arm and a revolver. A
revolver
, Matilda? You're a couple centuries out-of-date in your choice of weapons.”

“I like that revolver. You'd be surprised what a chunk of lead and gunpowder can do to even out a situation.”

“No,” he said, “actually, I wouldn't be surprised.”

“It's not illegal to own a revolver.”

“Neither is it illegal to own a canon. Not a lot of people lug them into a crowded metropolis.”

“Well, I hadn't planned to be walking around in a crowded metropolis. Then you showed up on my doorstep, all good-looking and bleeding and . . .”

We were in front of my door now. He stepped up and draped his hand on the door above me. Leaned in just a fraction shy of intimate distance. Close enough I could feel the heat of him, smell the warm notes of the cologne he wore.

“Good-looking and what?” he asked with a burr in his voice that gave me shivers.

“And I couldn't leave you bleeding.”

“For that, I should thank you.” He moved just a half inch closer, his mouth opening slightly on a smile. “Thoroughly,” he added. Then, “Unfortunately, I have other pressing matters to attend.” He reached behind me and was skillful enough that we didn't even touch as he opened the door. He leaned back so I wouldn't fall through it by accident and pointed at the room.

“I do hope you will refrain from running out for another cup of coffee or starting an in-House war for the next few hours.”

I released the breath I'd been holding and tried to get my heartbeat under control. The man did such things to me. Stirred my thoughts and need without even a single touch.

“Sure,” I said, trying not to sound hot or bothered. “For the next few hours anyway.” I smiled innocently.

He paused, studying my lips, my eyes, and I found myself wondering if he was going to touch me, embrace me.

Then I found myself wondering why I didn't just take that step into him and touch him.

He made a little
mm
sound, then turned and walked down the hall, leaving me surprisingly disappointed.

What was wrong with me? I couldn't have these feelings for the man. I'd known him exactly one day. I had a farm to run, a grandmother to take care of, a brother to free, and a new House to serve, apparently.

How did any of that, any of the past twenty-four hours I'd been through, add up to the feelings for Abraham Seventh that were taking root in me?

Foolish heart,
I thought.
I don't have time for you.

But my heart, being foolish, did not listen.

Okay. Since I wasn't going anywhere, I pulled the duffel out from under the chair and checked to be sure the scarf was still there. It was half-unraveled and I needed to do something to salvage it before it lost more stitches. I plucked a couple pens off the desktop and used them to knit a few rows, then stared at the clock and pulled the thread back out.

Time did not stop. So this knitting—however Grandma had done it—was a onetime trick. If I wanted to keep the scarf and the time it held near me, or, better yet, on me, I'd need to cut the length of yarn and bind off the edge so no more stitches were accidentally pulled out.

The light coming through the window at the end of the sitting room was already bright. I'd missed dawn, and enough of the day had gone by that it was midmorning. Kiana White had told Oscar that she would send a medical technician over to test to see that I was galvanized—a prospect that made me want to barf.

So that meant I could either pace around the room until the technician showed up, or I could work on the scarf to keep busy.

Scarf it was.

But even though my hands were busy, my thoughts just kept on thinking. Had I made the right choice to sign the contract? Would Oscar follow through with his promise to help me find my brother? Would he let my grandma live on our property without House interference? Would he work to make House Brown legitimized among the other Houses?

Abraham had almost kissed me.

And I'd kicked him in the crotch.

That was a promising beginning to a ten-year work relationship.

I finished tugging the yarn through the last stitch to
secure it, then wrapped the yarn around my hands a couple time and pulled until it broke.

I held up the scarf. It was definitely shorter. Probably wouldn't drag the floor when I wore it. But the stitches were all locked in tight until I wanted to unknot them again. No accidentally wasting time.

I tucked the scarf back in my duffel and wound the yarn into a small ball that I also tucked in the duffel.

“Good afternoon!” a woman's cheerful, clipped voice called out from the other side of the bedroom door. “Are you awake, Matilda? There is so much to do.”

“Be right there.”

The door flew open.

“Nonsense, darling. I shall come to you.” The small woman who had served us cookies and ice tea—Elwa—powered into the room. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a gray jacket, skirt, hose, and shoes all cut in a chic style. She had a bundle of clothes draped over one arm.

A dour-faced man about twice her size, wearing white from head to foot, followed her in.

“I am Elwa,” she said as she laid the garments across the foot of my bed in the adjoining room. “No need to worry about packing. It is done. No need to worry about what to wear.”

She turned and gave me a sharp eye, then nodded. “Country living agrees with you, Matilda, my darling. Here. This.” She pulled away a few hangers, leaving behind a lacy tank top, sweater, and slacks, all in shades of gray. “Perfect for your day. Your travel. But first the blood for tests. Quickly, now.”

“What?” I said, my brain not quite up to the speed of Elwa's mouth.

The man in white stepped forward right on cue. “Hold still,” he said with all the bedside manner of an undertaker.

I held still, eyeing him warily. “What are you doing?”

“A scan. Then blood.” He slipped the satchel on his shoulder forward and removed a device that looked like a clear, flat screen filled with fluids that shifted with every motion of his hand. He didn't touch me, but used the thing a little like a camera, holding it above my head, pausing, then shifting it in front of my face, then in front of my neck, pausing, and so on, all the way to my bare feet.

I didn't feel anything, didn't hear anything, didn't feel anything, but the liquid moved and changed color as the device scanned me from skin to DNA.

“Now blood,” he said after he'd stowed the liquid-screen thing.

Another device, this one the size and shape of a pen. He tapped it against my finger, which hurt a little, held it there until it had sucked up enough blood; then that too was tucked back in the satchel.

“Good day,” he said.

“Good day.” Elwa bustled over and all but pushed him out the door.

“Now,” she said. “Quickly.”

“Quickly what?”

“Shower. Dress,” she commanded. “Go. I will have lunch brought up. Something light. Something delicious.”

“I don't need new clothes,” I said. “I packed clothes. My clothes.”

She paused and tipped her head so she was looking over her nose at me. “Are they gray?”

“Uh, no.”

“Exactly!” she proclaimed. “Go. Shower. Elwa will take care of everything.”

So I took a quick shower, then hurried back to the bedroom in a towel. I had no intention of putting on the clothes she'd laid out for me.

“This, my darling.” She marched into the room and plucked up the clothes on the bed. She held out the slacks, a lacy tank top, and a pair of my panties.

“I'd prefer to wear my own clothes,” I said.

“These are your clothes. I have shopped for you. Planned for you. There is no need to worry.” She gave me the down-nose look again. “Do not argue, please. I have been running this House for more years than you have been alive, darling, and there is no argument I lose.”

“I thought Oscar Gray ran this House.”

She laughed, a musical tinkle. “He only thinks he runs this House. Poor boy. Here now. Slacks. Before you catch cold.”

She shoved the clothes into my arms and marched out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “I will wait. Ah yes, come in and set the food there.” She said to whomever had just entered the sitting room.

I had to admit, the clothes in my arms were soft and fine. Obviously well-made. And if Elwa was someone who ran the House, she would know what sort of clothes were most appropriate for whatever the hell I had to do next.

I sighed and put on the outfit, which covered up all signs of my life stitches, as long as I kept my hair down. I refused to wear the soft gray shoes set out beside the bed and instead put on my boots. Worn, dusty, they were comfortable, strong, and mine.

“Are you dressed?” she called out. “Come out now, Matilda. Before lunch is cold.”

I was starving. The last thing I'd eaten was a quick sandwich back on the farm. A twinge of homesickness struck me, and I had to take a breath or two before it faded.

I missed the farm, missed my world making sense, missed Grandma and all the stitched-up beasts. I didn't want to think that it might be a decade before I saw them all again.

Out in the sitting room, Elwa had brought in a table and set it with a lovely gray cloth, against which shone silver cutlery, crisp white china, and sparkling crystal.

It was lunch for royalty, not a country girl.

“What is wrong with your feet?” Elwa exclaimed.

I shot a look at my feet, expecting them to be on fire or covered in spiders or something.