It felt like a riot. A rhythmic, and well-catered, riot. And most of the people here were my age.
I’d known other teenagers, of course. There had been many at the Factory in Newcago where I’d worked and lived since I was nine. But the Factory hadn’t thrown parties, unless you counted the movie nights where we’d watched old films, and I hadn’t interacted much with the others. My free time had been dedicated to my notes on Epics and my plans to bring down Steelheart. I hadn’t been a nerd, mind you. I’d just been the type of guy who spent a lot of time by himself, focused entirely on a single consuming interest.
“Come on!” Mizzy said, appearing from the party like a seed spat from the mouth of a glowing jack-o’-lantern. She grabbed my hand and towed me into the chaos.
The tempest of light and sound enveloped me. Weren’t parties about talking to people? I could barely hear myself in the middle of this thing, with all of the noise and the music. I followed Mizzy as she brought me to one of the food tables, which was surrounded by a small group of Babilarans in painted clothing.
I found my hand in my jacket pocket, gripping Megan’s handgun. Being in this press of bodies was even worse than being exposed. With so many people around, I couldn’t keep an eye on them all to watch for guns or knives.
Mizzy positioned me in front of the table, butting into a conversation among a group of older teenagers. “This,” she declared, raising her hands to the side to present me like a new washer and dryer, “is my friend David Charleston. He’s from out of town.”
“Really!” said one of the people at the table, a tall guy with blue hair. “I’d never have been able to tell that from his boring clothing and goofy face.”
I hated him immediately.
Mizzy punched the guy in the shoulder, grinning. “This is Calaka,” she said to me, then pointed at the other three at the table-girl, boy, girl-in turn. “Infinity, Marco, and Lulu.” She practically had to shout to make herself heard over the noise.
“So where are you from, new guy?” Calaka asked, taking a drink of glowing fruit juice. That did not look safe. “Someplace small, I’d guess, considering your wide eyes and overwhelmed expression.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Small.”
“Your clothes are dull,” said one of the girls, Infinity. Blonde and perky, she grabbed a can of something from under the table and shook it. Spraypaint. “Here, we can fix that.”
I jumped back and threw my left hand out while firming my other hand’s grip on the gun in my pocket. Everyone else in this crazy city could go around glowing as much as they wanted, but I wasn’t about to make myself an easier target in the night.
The four flinched away from me, eyes widening. Mizzy took me by the arm. “It’s okay, David. They’re friends. Relax.”
There was that word again. Relax.
“I just don’t want any spraypaint on me,” I said, trying to settle myself.
“Your friend is weird, Mizzy,” Marco noted. He was a short guy with light brown hair so curly it looked like he’d stapled moss to his head. He leaned on the table in an easygoing posture, turning his cup with two fingers.
“I like him,” Lulu said, eyeing me. “Quiet type. Tall, deep, sultry.”
Deep?
Wait … sultry?
I focused on her. Curvaceous, dark skin, lustrous black hair that caught the light. Going to parties was partially about meeting girls, right? If I made a good impression, I might be able to ask her for information about Dawnslight or Regalia.
“Sooooo,” Mizzy said, slumping against the table and stealing Marco’s drink. “Anyone seen Steve around?”
“I don’t think he’s here,” Calaka said. “At least, I haven’t heard the sounds of anyone being slapped nearby.”
“I think he was there,” Infinity said, her tone becoming mellow. “The other day. Uptown.”
“Bad business, that,” Marco said.
The others nodded.
“Well,” Calaka said. “Suppose we’d better raise a cup for old Steve, then. Creep though he was, if the Epics finally got ’im, he deserves a proper sendoff.”
Marco reached to take his drink back, but Mizzy ducked to the side, clinking it against Calaka’s and then drinking. Infinity and Lulu raised their cups as well.
They bowed their heads while Marco grabbed some glowing grapes off a plate on the food table and wandered back. I bowed my head as well. I didn’t know this Steve guy, but he’d fallen to an Epic. That made him kindred, to an extent.
Marco began tossing the grapes to various members of the group. I caught one. Grapes, the nonglowing kind, had been a rare treat back in Newcago. We hadn’t starved at the Factory, but much of the food had been stuff that stored well. Fruit was for the rich.
I popped it in my mouth. It tasted fantastic.
“Good music tonight,” Marco noted, eating a grape.
“Edso’s been getting better,” Infinity agreed, grinning. “I think the heckling made a difference.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “Aren’t you worried about Obliteration? After what he did to your friend? You’re just going to drink and move on?”
“What should we do?” Marco said. “Gotta keep living.”
“Epics might come,” Calaka agreed. “Could take you today, could take you tomorrow. But so might a heart attack. No reason not to party today, while you can.”
“There were some shots fired at that one last night,” Mizzy said, speaking carefully. “Some people fighting back.”
“Idiots,” Calaka said. “Making things worse.”
“Yeah,” Infinity said. “Half the dead would still be alive if we just let the Epics do what they want. They always get bored and move on eventually.”
The others nodded, Marco cursing under his breath about the “sparking Reckoners.”
I blinked. Was this some kind of bad joke? But no, there was no mirth here-though I did notice Mizzy relaxing visibly. It appeared that although we’d fought back, she hadn’t been recognized. I wasn’t surprised; in the chaos of Obliteration’s destruction, news of what exactly had happened-and who had been involved-hadn’t likely been reliable in the city.
The group moved on to a further discussion of the music, and I just stood there feeling awkward and depressed. No wonder the Epics were winning, with attitudes like this.
At least they’re enjoying themselves, a piece of my mind noted. Maybe there’s nothing they can do. Why judge them so harshly?
It just felt that with some of us trying so hard, everyone should at least acknowledge the work we were putting in. We fought for the freedom of people like these. We were their heroes.
Weren’t we?
As the conversation progressed, Lulu sidled up to me, a cup of glowing blue juice in her hand. “This is boring,” she said, stretching up and leaning in close to speak into my ear. “Let’s dance, handsome.”
Handsome?
I hadn’t even managed a reply before Lulu was giving her cup to Marco and towing me away from the table. Mizzy gave me a little wave, but otherwise completely abandoned me as I was pulled through the crowd. To the dancing.
I guess that’s what you’d call it. It looked like everyone had insects in their shirts and were trying really hard to get them out. I’d seen dancing in movies, and it had seemed a lot more … coordinated than this.
Lulu dragged me into the center of it all, and I wasn’t about to admit I’d never danced before. So I started moving, trying my best to blend in by imitating what everyone else was doing. Though I felt like a cupcake on a steak plate, the other dancers were so absorbed in what they were doing, maybe they wouldn’t notice me.
“Hey!” Lulu shouted. “You’re good!”
I was?
She was better, always moving, seeming to anticipate the music and flowing with it. In the middle of a move, she threw herself my direction, wrapping her arms around me and pulling herself in close. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant.