Chapter 5

I blink at him,shell-shocked. He, this gorgeous creature, thinks I'm beautiful?Me?

The glow from the compliment almost obscures the other part of his statement: that I'd have to pay for my request. Now that I'm thinking about it, though, is it wrong that I hope he asks for something inappropriate as payment—say, my body?

"The Senate asked me to look into a certain classified matter for them," he continues, "and I could use someone with your investigative skills to help me out."

My horny bubble bursts. The Senate is the main governmental body on Gomorrah—which, unlike the Councils elsewhere, is elected by a democratic process. Going by what I've heard in the media, a classified investigation for the Senate might be an extremely dangerous undertaking.

I take a sip of my tea to calm myself. "I've just barely survived one investigation. What do they want you to figure out? I can't help my mom if I'm dead."

He frowns. "What's wrong with your mom?"

I put down the beaker. "It's a long story."

"Tell me." He grabs a blue fruit reminiscent of an orange and peels it.

I hesitate for a second, then tell him everything: how Mom got into the accident and how the medical bills drove me to accept jobs of dubious legality, including his. I also explain that the healing Isis performed was incomplete and that I now need to get more power so I can wake Mom from inside her dreams.

As I speak, Valerian's chiseled features soften, and as I'm wrapping up my explanation, he covers my hand with his big, warm palm. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm glad those jobs I gave you helped out."

I resist the urge to pull my hand away—in part because I like his touch and in part because he's being nice and I don't want to insult him by implying he has cooties. Though he totally does. In his case, though, I weirdly don't mind it too much.

I bet even his cooties are hot.

I clear my throat. "This investigation, how long do you think it'll take?"

Before he can reply, the dryad comes back with two plates and what must be the second part of his order—a selection of vegetables in nut-based sauces.

Valerian deftly divides the food between our two plates and tastes a mushroom-like morsel. "Delicious," he breathes, his eyes closing in ecstasy.

The dryad beams at him. "Erato will be pleased with your praise."

I feel a sudden urge to choke an innocent server, for no reason at all. I mean, all she did was smile at Valerian. Would I rather women be depressed around him?

Hmm. Maybe.

The dryad leaves, and I try my own version of the mushroom.

The thing is so foodgasmic a moan escapes my lips.

When I blink open my eyes—I didn't realize I'd closed them—Valerian is watching me with a hunger that has nothing to do with produce.

My face turns hot, my heartbeat ramping up. "You never answered my question," I mumble around a mouthful. "How long is the investigation?"

He peers at the greenery all around us, as if seeing other patrons and servers through the foliage. Then he refocuses on me. "I've just given us privacy with my powers," he explains. "If the waitress comes back, she'll see us eating and exchanging trivialities about the weather. Meanwhile, we can do anything we want and no one will be the wiser."

Nearly choking at the thought of doing "anything I want" with Valerian, I locate a juicy, broccoli-like stalk and stuff it in my mouth.

He watches me chew with evident fascination before finally answering my earlier question. "I have no clue how long the investigation will take."

Ignoring my disappointed grimace, he locates his own version of the plant that I just ate and attacks it.

Watching his jaws move, I realize this process can be fascinating—I have an especially hard time keeping my eyes away from his mouth. With effort, I marshal my wayward thoughts. "How about you tell me what exactly we'll be investigating?"

He swallows his food with obvious pleasure. "That's classified. Without clearing it first with the Senate, there's not much I can tell you."

"Good thing we have privacy, though." I spear a giant bean with my fork. "Wouldn't want someone to overhear the nothing you just told me." I put the sauce-drenched bean in my mouth. Just like everything else so far, it's divine.

Peeling his eyes away from my mouth, Valerian says, "The mere fact that I'm investigating something is need-to-know information. I only told you because I trust you."

I narrow my eyes. "I wish that were mutual."

"You don't trust me?" He makes boyish puppy eyes—and it's unclear if he uses his powers to make me melt at the sight, or if his control over his face is that good.

A short fantasy plays in my head, one where he and I reproduce and have a boy child who makes those exact eyes at me to get a pony made out of chocolate frosting.

Wait, what? What am I thinking?

I grab the beaker and slurp the tea loudly to banish the insane thought. "What about the game development?" I ask. "How long do you think that would take?"

He smiles. "I'd need to talk to my team to find out for sure. I know this much: The Illusion Scope—the hardware for our games—is going live in a few days, along with a couple of games, so my team is stretched thin. The game in question is phase two, so lower priority." He makes short work of his own giant bean—as in, the legume, not the part of his body my mind keeps drifting to.

Tamping down on my unruly libido, I ask, "Would it be possible to make it higher priority? Maybe have your team start working on the changes to the game in parallel with your investigation?"

He raises an eyebrow. "As in, you want to get your payment before the job is even done?"

"Why not? You just said you trust me. Either way, you don't have to release the game until I finish the investigation. I just want to help Mom as soon as possible."

He gives me a dazzling grin. "You've got chutzpah, I'll give you that." Forking something that looks like a bright orange asparagus into his mouth, he consumes it with that signature relish of his.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. "Is that a no?"

"If you take all the money I've ever paid you and put a few zeroes at the end, that's about how much it would cost to do what you ask." He devours another morsel.

I edge forward on my stump-chair. "What if I helped with the game development?"

Mouth busy with the largest veggie on his plate, he gives me an incredulous look.

"I took courses in video game design," I say defensively. "On top of that, dreamwalking and game design are quite similar—and I have lots of experience with the former."

He chews thoughtfully, clearly not convinced.

"A good friend of mine also took those same courses. What if I convince him to help as well?"

Valerian swallows his food, his expression unreadable.

Possessed by some inner demon, I blurt, "He and I are not romantically involved."

Now he looks amused. "You should've led with that. He suddenly seems perfect for the job."

I tap my fingers on the stump-tabletop. "Felix is a wizard with computers. Literally so—he has power over silicon on top of his deep knowledge of computer science."

Valerian's gaze sharpens. "Is he that technomancer everyone hires to do their cyber security?"

"I think so. He certainly calls himself a technomancer." I give him a level look. "He owes me a favor, and I think I can get him to help."

That's a fib. If anything, I owe Felix a favor—or several. Still, I think I can convince him to lend a hand. In the worst case, I could pay his usual rates—assuming he'd accept payment in Gomorran cc instead of US dollars.

"Fine." Valerian extends his hand. "You've got a deal."

With almost no hesitation, I grasp his palm. Cooties or not, his handshake is strong and firm, his skin pleasantly warm and dry as his palm engulfs my fingers. A part of me never wants to let go, even though the knowledge of the germs we're sharing freaks me the puck out.

A few loud heartbeats later, I realize we're still holding hands—and that he's gently massaging my palm. Whoa. His thumb is rubbing in the exact spot where my palm feels tense, and it feels both soothing and—

Something chimes in Valerian's pocket.

Frowning, he lets me go and makes a gesture that looks like a VR command. "That was my alarm," he says apologetically. "I have an important meeting I have to get to."

Flabbergasted by the handholding, I just nod.

He rises to his feet. "Get Felix on board and meet me at my headquarters on Earth later today. I'll send you the time and the address."

I nod again, still mute.

He makes a few gestures that look like he's taking care of payment, then leans in and brushes his lips over my cheek.

My heartbeat goes supersonic. Openmouthed, I stare as he exits my personal space and strolls out of the restaurant as if he has no care in the world.

When he disappears from sight, I hygieia my hands and face and gulp down the rest of my tea before mindlessly devouring the rest of my food. Though everything is as delicious as before, the overactive state of my parasympathetic nervous system prevents me from enjoying it. Finishing the meal, I open up the app to pay and find that Valerian already paid for my portion.

That's nice of him. It's as if we were on a date. Wait a minute—were we?

Shoving aside the unsettling thought, I leave the restaurant and retrace my steps, taking the hyperloop and then a car to the hub building.

When I get into the elevator, I check my messages.

As promised, Valerian sent me the deets for our meeting.

I memorize the location in case my comms stop working when I get to Earth—though I doubt they will. Strictly speaking, I should leave all Gomorran tech here, but I'm feeling daring today. The New York Council owes me one, so even if I get caught, I'll probably get off scot-free.

Hopefully.

Exiting the elevator, I take in the view from the top of the skyscraper and bid civilization farewell. With a few decisive strides, I enter the pulsing energy of Earth's gate and arrive in the hidden section of the JFK airport. A few labyrinthian corridors later, I join the human travelers who have no idea this airport can take you to another world.

First things first: I find a place that sells hand sanitizer and get a few bottles. With no access to hygieia, this is the best I can do.

Ready to face this germ-infested world, I head for the taxi pickup location and text Felix on my Earth phone: Need to talk to you in person.

His answer comes back instantly: Come to my apartment.

I reply in the affirmative and use an app on my phone to summon a ride. Soon after, we hit traffic, my least favorite aspect of this place—besides the lack of proper sanitation, that is. On Gomorrah, we share the cars, which, combined with hyperloop and flying vehicles, has made traffic a thing of the past.

Eventually, we arrive in Manhattan.

Battery Park, the neighborhood where Felix lives, is nice—at least for Earth. There's lots of greenery all around, and the views of the toxic waters of the harbor are pleasing to the eye. When I get up to Felix's floor, it's bullet—and maybe even rocket—proof, something that's not the case with other apartments in the building.

I ring the doorbell.