Kal’s cheeks reddened, stark against his fair, almost white hair as he gracefully caught his balance. He’d been in and out of the hospital most of his early life, his parents spending a fortune tweaking his code to make him the picture of the perfect elf in the hopes that he would attract a successful house. He had the slim physique of a long-distance runner, a respectable height that did not stand out, and of course, green eyes. But no children meant no status, and the Kalamack name was ready to fall. Trent was the very last one in a very long line, but he was the last.
“Let it go, Trisk,” Quen said in warning, and she shook off his restraining hand. She’d had enough of Kal, and after tonight, one way or the other, he’d be gone.
Kal drew himself up in the aisle, braver—or perhaps more foolish—with his parents gone, the two of them having escorted the NASA dignitary away for a drink. “I see Quen told you about his new job,” he said as he idly looked at his perfect nails. “If I get my way, he’ll be coming to NASA with me. I’ll need someone to make me breakfast, pick up my dry cleaning. I would’ve asked my father to hire you, but everyone knows women can’t drive.”
“Get out of my space,” she said again, hands fisted. Damn it, he’d gotten that NASA job. Everything was given to him. Everything. She stiffened when he moved closer, daring her to protest as he once more lifted the contracts to see who they were from.
“I got an offer from NASA. They want me to develop new strains of carrier bacteria that can repair a child’s DNA as early as three days old with a simple inhalation. And you,” he said, head tilted as he chuckled at the small-firm letterheads, “the closest you will ever get will be in some research facility’s library, shelving books for old farts who can’t work a Punnett square. Have fun, Flea.”
Smiling that confident, hated smile, he turned to go.
Her anger boiled up, and she shook off Quen’s restraining hand again. “You are a hack, Kalamack,” she said loudly, and the nearby conversations went silent. “Your theory to use bacteria to fix DNA strands into a new host is seriously flawed. Good for a doctorate, but not application. You can’t stop bacteria from evolving as you can viruses, and you will end up killing the people you are trying to save.”
Kal looked her up and down. “Huh. A second-rate security grunt thinks she knows my job better than I do.”
“Let it go, Trisk,” Quen warned as she took two long steps into the aisle.
“Kal?” she said sweetly, and when he turned, she punched him right in the nose.
Kal cried out as he fell, catching himself against his own booth. His hands covered his face, blood leaking out from between them, a stark, shocking color. “You hit me!” he cried as a handful of flustered girls flocked to him, digging in their little jeweled handbags for frilly handkerchiefs.
“Damn right I hit you,” she said, shaking the pain from her hand. Busting his nose had hurt, but casting a spell would have been worse. Besides, the chandelier would have stopped it.
“You little canicula,” Kal exclaimed, shoving past the girls. Wiping the blood off, he stood stiffly before her, his fine-textured hair almost floating as he reached through the wards on the room and drew on a ley line.
People fell back. Someone called for security. Trisk’s eyes widened, her attention rising to the huge chandelier as it shifted to a dark purple in response. A faint alarm began chiming.
“I can’t believe you hit me!” Kal said, and as Trisk stared flat-jawed, he spread his clasped hands apart to show a glowing ball of unfocused energy. It was a lot for a lab rat, making Trisk wonder if he’d been tutored on the side.
“Kal, don’t!” Quen shouted, and Kal sneered.
“Dilatare,” Kal said, shoving the technically white, yet still dangerous spell at her.
Hands warming, Trisk yanked a wad of unfocused energy from the nearest ley line to block it.
Quen was faster, and Trisk started when his aura-tainted streak of power struck Kal’s incoming bolt, sending both energies spinning wildly up and into the chandelier. They hit it with a shower of green sparks, and, with a ping that echoed through her hold on the ley line, the huge crystal-and-light chandelier shattered.
People cried out. Trisk cowered, arms over her head as broken crystal rained down on them in a weird chiming clatter of discord and sensation. With a harsh sound, the band quit.
Shouts rose, and the hall exploded into noise. Trisk straightened from her instinctive hunch, the power she’d pulled from the line still glowing between her hands, colored a golden green by her aura. Her lips parted and fear slid between her soul and reason. The eastern representative of the elven enclave stood before them, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Broken crystal crunched under his dress shoes, and with a gulp, she pushed the energy down and away, letting go of the ley line.
“What happened?” he demanded, and the hall became silent. Faces ringed them: her classmates, their parents, prospective employers. It felt like the third grade all over again, and Trisk was silent. Kal stared malevolently at her, his face smeared with blood and someone’s frilly handkerchief over his mouth. His nose was probably broken, and Trisk stifled a smile of perverse satisfaction that he’d have to get it fixed.
“You know there’s no use of ley lines this close to the city,” the bald man said, a tie pin the only show of his enclave status, but it somehow elevated his suit above the surrounding business attire and colorful cocktail dresses. “That’s why we have the place charmed.” His attention rose to the few crystals still holding. “Or at least we did.”