Scarlet

Seventeen

The train’s corridor was buzzing with activity. Making her way to the dining car, Scarlet passed servant androids delivering boxed lunches, a woman in a stiff business suit talking sternly at her port, a waddling toddler curiously opening every door he passed.

Scarlet dodged them all, through half a dozen identical cars, past the myriad passengers who were on their way to normal jobs, normal vacations, normal shopping trips, perhaps even going back to normal homes. Her emotions gradually started to fall away from her—her irritation with the media for demonizing a sixteen-year-old girl, only to discover that girl had escaped from prison and was still on the loose. Her sympathy for Wolf’s violent childhood, followed by the unexpected rejection when he chose not to come with her. The fluctuating terror over her grandmother and what could be happening to her now, while the train careened too slowly through the countryside, tempered only by the knowledge that at least she was on her way. At least she was getting closer.

Her mind still spinning like a kaleidoscope, she was glad to find the dining car relatively empty. A bored-looking bartender stood inside a circular bar, watching a netscreen talk show that Scarlet had never liked. Two women were drinking mimosas at a small table. A young man was sitting with his legs up in a booth, tapping furiously on his port. Four androids loitered beside the wall, waiting to make deliveries out to the private cars.

Scarlet sat down at the bar, setting her port beside a glass of green olives.

“What will you have?” asked the bartender, still focused on the interview between the host and a washed-up action star.

“Espresso, one sugar, please.”

She settled her chin on her palm as he punched her order into the dispenser. Sliding her finger across the portscreen, she typed,

THE ORDER OF THE PACK

A listing of music bands and netgroups spilled down the page, all calling themselves wolf packs and secret societies.

LOYAL SOLDIER TO THE ORDER OF THE PACK

Zero hits.

THE WOLVES

She knew as soon as she’d entered it that the term was far too broad. She quickly amended it to THE WOLVES GANG.

Then, when 20,400 hits blinked back up at her, she added PARIS.

One music band who had toured in Paris two summers ago.

WOLF STREET GANG. WOLF VIGILANTES. SADISTIC KIDNAPPERS PARADING AS RIGHTEOUS LUPINE WANNABES.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Frustrated, she tucked her hair into her hood. Her espresso had appeared in front of her without her notice and she brought the small cup to her mouth, blowing away the steam before taking a sip.

Surely if this Order of the Pack had been around long enough to recruit 962 members, there must be some record of them. Crimes, trials, murders, general mayhem against society. She strained to think of another search term, wishing she would have questioned Wolf more.

“That’s quite the specific search.”

She swiveled her head toward the man seated two stools away, who she hadn’t heard sit down. He was giving her a teasing, droopy-eyed smile that hinted at a dimple in one cheek. He struck her as vaguely familiar, which startled her until she realized she’d only seen him an hour ago on the station’s platform at Toulouse.

“I’m looking for something very specific,” she said.

“I should say. ‘Righteous Lupine Wannabes’—I can’t even begin to imagine what that entails.”

The bartender frowned at them. “What’ll you have?”

The stranger swiveled his gaze. “Chocolate milk, please.”

Scarlet chuckled as the bartender, unimpressed, took down an empty glass. “Would not have been my first guess.”

“No? What would you have guessed?”

She scrutinized him. He couldn’t have been much older than she was and, though not classically handsome, with that much confidence he undoubtedly had never had much trouble with women. His build was stocky but muscular, his hair combed neatly back. There was a keenness in the way he carried himself, a certainty that bordered on arrogance. “Cognac,” she said. “It was always my father’s favorite.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never tried it.” The dimple deepened as a tall glass of frothing chocolate milk was set in front of him.

Scarlet clicked off her port and picked up her espresso. The scent seemed suddenly too strong, too bitter. “That actually looks pretty good.”

“Surprisingly high in protein,” he said, taking a drink.

Scarlet took another sip from her cup and found that her taste buds disapproved. She set it back down on the saucer. “If you were a gentleman, you would offer to buy me one as well.”

“If you were a lady, you would have waited for me to make the offer.”

Scarlet smirked, but the man was already beckoning to the bartender and ordering a second chocolate milk.

“I’m Ran, by the way.”

“Scarlet.”

“Like your hair?”

“Oh, wow, I’d never heard that one before.”

The bartender set the new drink on the bar, then turned away and upped the volume on the screen.

“And where are you traveling to, Mademoiselle Scarlet?”

Paris.

The word clunked into her head, filling up her thoughts with its weight. Her attention danced to the netscreen on the wall, checking the time, calculating their distance, their arrival.

“Paris.” She took a long drink. It wasn’t fresh like the milk she was used to, but the thick sweetness was a rare treat. “I’m going to visit my grandmother.”

“That so? I’m heading to Paris too.”

Scarlet nodded vaguely, suddenly wanting the conversation to be over. Sipping at the thick beverage, it occurred to her that she’d gotten it through manipulation, subconscious as it may have been. She wasn’t interested in this man, had no curiosity about why he was going to Paris or if she would ever see him again after this moment. She had only needed to prove that she could garner his interest, and now she was annoyed that she’d captured it so easily.

It was just like something her father would do, and that realization turned her stomach. Made her want to shove the chocolate milk away.

“Are you traveling alone?”

She tilted her head toward him and smiled apologetically. “No. In fact, I should be getting back to him.” She emphasized him more than was necessary, but he didn’t flinch.

“Of course,” he said.

They finished their drinks at the same time and Scarlet swished her wrist over the scanner on the bar before the stranger could object, paying for her own.

“Bartender,” she said, sliding off the stool. “Do you have orders to go? Some sandwiches or anything?”

The bartender jerked his thumb at the screens inset into the bar. “Menus.”

Scarlet frowned. “Never mind, I’ll order something back at the room.”

The bartender showed no sign of having heard her.

“It was nice to meet you, Ran.”

He propped an elbow on the counter, twisting his stool toward her. “Perhaps our paths will cross again. In Paris.”

Hair prickled on her neck as he settled his chin onto his palm. She noticed with a jolt of disgust that each of his fingernails had been filed into a sharp, perfect point.

“Perhaps,” she said, her tone suffused with politeness.

The instinctual alarm hung with her for two whole cars as she made her way back through the train, a warning buzzing in the air. She tried to shake it off. This was her own nerves playing tricks on her, paranoia finally catching up to her after what had happened to her grandmother, and her father. It was amazing she could carry on a conversation at all with all the panic that was residing just beneath the surface of her skin.

He’d been polite. He’d been a gentleman. Maybe talon-like nails were a growing trend in the city.

Just as she’d determined that nothing about Ran had been deserving of the sudden, ardent distrust, she remembered.

She had seen him on the platform in Toulouse, stepping off the escalator in his ratty jeans and no luggage, when Wolf had become so on edge. When it seemed like Wolf had heard something, or recognized someone.

A coincidence?

The speaker overhead crackled. Scarlet barely heard it over the noise of the corridor, until the repeated words gradually silenced the chatter around her. “—experiencing a temporary delay. All passengers are to return to their private quarters immediately and stay clear of the corridors until further notice is given. This is not a test. We are experiencing a temporary delay…”