Court of Glass and Dreams

Chapter 1 - Manage your expectations

On the ninth full moon of the year Court comes back into session. There were once seasons of extreme heat and cold. Dust clouds and weather shifts means that the idea of such a way of measuring time drifts away. Now spring, summer, fall, and winter, are little more than allegorical. But the moon's still here. I'm personally shocked man hasn't blown it up yet. When I bring that up people say the moon controls the tides. I say yes. I'm shocked we haven't blown it up yet. Still it's constant, only because man can't reach it to destroy it. I mean, I suppose we could. But that would take too much cooperation. Now we shoot each other's satellites out of the sky for fun.
"I think we should worship the moon," I say, by way of greeting as I come into the dining room. Court opens tomorrow, the day of the full moon, so we're back in London in our Tower, not near the nicest in the city, no, but well above the unfortunate poor.
"Yes get all of that out now," my mother says, already up and looking at a computer.
"Seriously though, why does the God of Death deserve our prayers? The moon is right there. Bring back pantheism, my new slogan," I say, sitting down across from her at the long glass table, built on wrought iron. It's expensive but durable enough for daily use. When I was little I would gleefully press my greasy fingers against the glass to watch the prints.
"I'm so glad you're planning to be normal this school year, it's very reassuring," my mother says.
I smile winningly, which she pointedly ignores.
"I'm only adjusting to the required level of idiocy necessary to survive another year," I say, face on my fist, "Creating a new religion—in my head—is a great way to distract myself from what I'm supposed to be studying."
"At least pay attention in your actual classes, that's all I ask," my mother says.
The New Order Academy is the only school on the Easter Hemisphere that trains psychics at anything like a competitive rate. The Americas have some cut throat places, apparently the added thrill of being murdered is icing on the cake to them. Here we have the Academy. It's not mandatory but it's a pride thing. The Terik family traditionally isn't one for formality and my parents have never stressed the need to be the best psychic ever. But we're an unusual family.
"Good Morning, Lord Alexander, will you be in for lunch today?"
"Way to manage expectations, Martin," I laugh as our butler brings my breakfast. It wouldn't be the first. Or fifth. Time I was sent home from school prior to lunch. On the first day. "No in fact, I don't know if I'll be home for dinner, it's a full moon tonight. I fully expect to be able to crash there Sergetta's party."
"Alexander," my mother finally looks up.
"Dad' ll want me to," I say, smiling cheekily.
"Your father won't want you to crash a party," she says.
"Bet," I say, stuffing a biscuit in my mouth.
At that point my father and younger brother enter, both in various states of trying to tie their ties something they can't do on their own.
"Mum, I can't get it," Lazlo says, tripping over to our mother,
"Come here darling," she says.
"Dad— want me to crash the Sergetta kids' full moon party tonight?" I ask.
"Absolutely if you can get invited," he says, without even thinking about it it. He's given up on his tie, just knotting it weirdly like he usually does.
I look pointedly at my mother who rolls her eyes, "I don't know if I need an invite if I hear when it's starting and show up I can get in."
"Yes do, do. For the past year the old man has blocked my vote in the Council," my father says, sitting down next to our mother.
I gasp, in unnecessary shock, "How dare he! All because you stole ten million from his import syndicate—,"
"Yes you're very funny—,"
"By altering account books you had no right to access! The nerve!" I say, hand to my chest.
"You're hilarious Alex, glad you recall the inciting incident," my father says.
"It's really on Sergetta for hiring you to begin with," my mother says, dryly.
" 'untrustworthy bastards' our new house motto," I say, slyly.
" 'nihil probari potest' does very well thank you," my father smirks.
"Can I go?" Lazlo asks, hopefully, "To the party."
"Eh—I"m not really set on you going to school to be honest," I wince, "Like really I don't think it's a very good idea."
"It's my first day," Lazlo frowns.
"Let me see how weird everyone is first, mate. And after the full moon party if you just act like you were there the first day—nobody and their hangovers are going to argue with you. Hell you're a Terik, nobody is going to argue with you to begin with," I say, shrugging.
"Your brother's right, might be best," our father says, nodding.
"I'll help you with the online coursework," our mother adds. Lazlo is the favorite. That's not negative, he's also my favorite. I'm the eldest, the proverbial sacrifice to a world of politics. I always have been. Lazlo is the baby. He's the precious one that gets to live his life as he sees fit, on an allowance. No seat on the Council. He doesn't have to be psychic. Nor do I but it's more expected, and I'll likely have need of my powers one day. So he doesn't have to. I'm fine with the arrangement. There's far worse lots in life, for example slaves. And to their credit our parents have always treated me with equal kindness. I just have a job to do.
"Okay," Lazlo relents, lowering his eyes. Creamy chocolate brown and thick dark curls. He looks like our mother. He's kind like her as well.
"Just let your brother gauge the environment," our father nods.
"Yes. And if they're all miserable like usual I'll remind them what a misery I am," I say. I'm seventeen. It's my fifth year. Students can be enrolled at the Academy technically at any age, but twelve to thirteen is typical. I have the worst attendance record in the academy something I'm honestly proud of, but I'm still here five years in. My tuition is one of the few luxuries we've been able to afford, well a bit more so since the last Incident in which someone was gullible enough to trust my father in the general vicinity of account books. Not that they can prove he did it. But they know he did it.
"Don't get expelled your first day," my mother says, looking me directly in eyes.
"No promises I can't keep," I smile. But I don't intend on it.
I have a full moon party I want to attend.
I finish getting dressed, the Academy has no uniform and the dress code is based mainly off of who the proctors want to punish, which is usually based off of who the powerful families don't like. Therons and the Sergettas are the primary examples. The Teriks are equally old, but we've never been as wealthy, usually skirting by with a seat on the council and a latest scheme. The patriarch, nine Alexanders ago, was psychic enough and unscrupulous enough to participate in enough genetic mutations to make us freaks like the rest of them.
My outfit of the day is a gold shirt, decent cargo pants, and shiny silver boots. I slick back my gold curls which I'm considering shaving off. Looking the pretty boy can have its advantages but as a rule I dislike it. Looking like a slave could be considered a fashion statement, though in my teenage rebellion I'd relish the anonymity when moving around London. I haven't done it though. I haven't fully decided and again, looking like the foppish princeling can have it's benefits. Distinctly.
I finish off the look with a gold choker, and matching bracelets, as well as a hoop earring in one ear. I have limited fashion accessories so most of them are versatile. Unlike the rest of my classmates my wardrobe is finite. Most of the other academy students will have spending money, in the form of a healthy personal allowance. We run on a much tighter budget. A tight budget that affords pearl earrings and diamonds is laughable for anyone but the limited 1%. But that doesn't mean I don't run in and con those circles. Someone has to keep them on their toes and redistribute the massive wealth. My father's last con? Didn't even cause the Sergettas to stop throwing parties let alone tighten their belts. It inconvenienced them. Slave labor is so cost affective (sarcasm). The Teriks found centuries ago that paying our help makes them much more loyal, and when they get a better lifestyle here in on the take, they're happy to lie for the sake of the con. Or cover the eighth time I got kicked out of school in one week. Yes there's five days in week. I achieved eight times by going back three times after having been asked to leave. In the same day. I'm very special.
My mother bids me goodbye, they'll feed me at the Academy and we're not sparing the family helicopter. That's for emergencies only, and I'm too stubborn to actually want to use it. The lift is impractical when I can simply walk.
"Be safe," she kisses my cheek.
I smile, kissing her back.
"I will do nothing that is not explainable in a court of law," I promise.
She sighs, fixing my coat. One of my father's I relocated because it has sparkles on the hem. He has yet to notice it's missing, he didn't use it that much anyway. And I'm as tall as he is now.
"Your father was looking for this last week."
Or he did notice. "Wow really? Amazing that we have the same fashion sense—,"
"Alex—," she smiles.
"I'll tell him," I say. Eventually.
I make my way out of the Tower and down to the smoggy street. Well. Not the lowest or 'sewer' level, but instead to the pedestrian level, where it's safe to breath the air. Long spiral wrought iron stairs let me out and I buzz out using my finger print. A luxury we've bothered to afford, since I got to the age my mother wants to know when I've come in or gone out. That's fair enough I'd expect, not that I've ever intentionally not told her, but now and then I've rushed out late for school like it's not by design and it's easier for her to check the scans than disturb me still asleep in bed.
Day before the full moon and there's plenty of foot traffic, though it's mostly slaves at this early hour. Most of the richer families don't dare to walk among the common people but the Teriks maintain a good image. Work for us, and we give you a cut of whatever we're making and a safe work environment free of things like harassment, though full of things like, illegal trading. Come to us with information we'll usually want to buy it. That reputation, otherwise known as the bare goddamn minimum of human decency, goes a long way and I and my brother can walk to the market ourselves unbothered.
Pre-academy I was educated at home, which means age four snuggled in my mother's arms while she read aloud ancient philosophy books and asked me what I thought. It's given me a depressing world view but damn if empathy isn't hard to shake once it's there. I know my own experience isn't universal but some approximation of it should be. And it's painful that way.
The Academy has been my formal education, though my mother's books and lessons have continued at home. The New Order Academy is central London, built on ruins and now rising into the foggy sky. All stone and no windows. No light getting in, and no secrets getting out. A stone's throw from the Court buildings, where my father will be with Council in session. The court, deceptively built mostly of glass, as if all their dealings are transparent. That's what it's meant to represent. Naturally the reality is quite different from the representation and cheerful slogan 'built upon the dreams of the people'. More like shattered dreams. But again with my depressing world view.
Most of the students are getting dropped off in helicopters on the roof. Only the riffraf like my good self go in the main doors. Young hopeful psychics coming for testing, and the lower families who happen to have gotten in. I flash smiles at a few familiar faces and make my way to the double steel doors. Students are loitering outside, comparing fashions and gossiping. A few glance my way. Of course I stand out I'm a Terik and they all know what that means. The social classes mostly self-regulate, but our instructors are quick to jump in and regulate for us. The first example is home room, our morning meeting which is regulated to the elite families. I assume that includes me. I've in my career twice been early enough to make it and both times I elected not to actually see where I'm supposed to be as being that early was entirely accidental. Sleep is important to me.
I buzz in with my thumbprint scan again, and smoothly put my mirrored glasses on. Not a requirement but it might as well be. Psychics gain control of another's mind through direct eye contact. Naturally in a building brimming with psychics the last thing you want is to be hypnotized or worse mind controlled. That happens daily as a part of a prank, prompting most of the younger students to wear mirrored goggles all day, the rich will wear disposable mirrored contact lenses, for example to the council meetings, the non-psychic members might do that. Glasses like I wear are a subtle dare, bit of cocky 'come at me'. You can control my mind sure, but first punch my glasses off my face I dare you, is the message it intentionally sends.
"Look who decided to show up," Andre Sergetta's familiar taunting voice alerts me to his toxic presence. One of the vast Sergetta family, and the exceptions to the glasses rule. The Sergetta's value their anonymity, and so wear elaborate full face masks whenever in public, revealing only their eyes. A poetic if prideful turn on the usual mirrored eye covering. They have no fear of other psychics. Because they're the most powerful psychics around. By design of course.
"Andre, morning," I say, to end the conversation. Sergetta's aren't as a rule my favorite people, and since I want to go to their party tonight I don't want to get into an altercation which is definitely what he's looking for. Tall and lanky, he's wearing a custom three piece suit all black with a blood red tie, and blood red mask. It looks cool, honestly, sadly though he's the human version of a migraine headache.
He flicks my earring with one manicured finger. "You coming to join us in the cages this morning? Or can't the lab rat perform yet?"
I wish the slur still didn't rile me. It shouldn't but coming from him it's between degrading and absolutely laughable. The old families, Therons, Teriks, Sergettes to name a few, have found various ways of keeping their descendants psychic. The Therons, and others, turned the age old arranged marriages. The Teriks primarily for centuries married among other psychics, or at least produced children with other psychics, marrying who they chose. My father made a different call, well aware of the need to produce another psychic, but wanting to marry for love he had himself cloned. I'm the spawn of his DNA in a lab dish.
That said, my mother carried me to term and they've raised me as their son, eventually Lazlo was born five years later but at that point they'd been unsure if they could have children. My mother isn't psychic so I was a safe bet to reproduce decent psychic ability to protect future children. Beyond looking a lot like my father it's mostly a non-topic, I've known all my life and plenty of rich families clone dead loved ones. Emotionally spiritually I'm a different person with completely different likes and dislikes and my own personality, just like an identical twin is.
None of that information matters when the primary point of this interaction is for Andre to abuse me. The choice phrasing 'perform yet' directly means he's doubting if I can sexually perform. It's rumored that clones are often sterile. And while I've suffered all my life from no physical appetite, and since I entered puberty have experienced no sexual appetite, doctors assured my parents that that is entirely personal, and not at all to do with my being a clone. The former was my parents primary concern of course, when I was a baby my mother would spend hours getting me to nurse, and as a small child I'd refuse to eat. Now I know I have to eat every so often I just don't really feel any hunger. Doctors again assured us time and again that's nothing to do with it, being a clone is legitimately no different than any other test tube baby or from being an identical twin, post mini-fetus or something I'm human like any other. Most families have a surrogate carry the baby clone, but my mother wanted to have me again they weren't sure if they could have children. Obviously there's the superstitious rumors. That things like me aren't meant to exist, I won't ever get to Terik heaven (hell). Which are of course little more than that, superstition. So it is primarily whatever other than familial jokes which we find funny like me acting surprised I look like my dad.
But being identical to my father, plus my father never hiding the fact that he'd contracted me as a clone, apparently it takes a couple of years, means everyone knows and sees that as the perfect thing to talk about at, oh it's seven am.
"Wonderful talking to you, Andre, really, say hi to—I'll just go with your family that covers it," I say, condescendingly. The Sergetta's practice blood purity, which is a nice way of saying incest. They inbreed to keep freakishly long lifespans and powerful psychic abilities. Which this moron genuinely thinks is a more normal thing than what I have going on. With the clone route, I'm exactly as healthy as my father and guaranteed a long lifespan to watch over my younger sibling(s) however long they live. Nice and simple right? No these jokers figure they'll fuck their moms. Seriously that's how this one got here, literally, there's like half a dozen of them from that union alone it's gross.
"Say hi to them yourself. My father says it looks bad not to invite the plebeians to the full moon party," Andre laughs.
His father is also his uncle. I have so much fucking material for this interaction and I can't use any of it if I want to go tonight. Actually never mind I'll get invited another way.
"Aw your uncle is so generous," I say.
"My uncle's still on the continent," Andres misses the dig completely. They forget their own incest thing so much they miss half my jokes it's awful. Not really they'd kill me. "Come. Or does Maureen need one of you at home?"
He's genuinely making the slur that I'm fucking my mother, because I'm a clone. Despite the fact that his family does it. For fun. Like they do it on purpose. We do the normal thing. It is too damn early for this.
"I'll be there," will not talk to you, "Anyway can't miss my first round you know how terrible my grades are."
"Aren't you coming up to the cages? Or are you not ready for that yet?" He asks.
The cages are where they bring up slaves, specifically for the little psychics to hypnotize into doing horrific things to each other.
"One of these days," I say, walking away, my stomach turning as I imply that's ever something I'd want to do.
Andre says something but I don't catch it.
I don't care. Let them all think I'm a shit psychic. I don't care. And I'd rather be a shit psychic forever than practice doing things like that. Entering other people's minds is awful, most of them think about sex (disgusting) or food (disgusting), and then manipulating them? Besides the moral issues with it. Even with a willing host it's entirely uncomfortable. I will do it to animals but I hate making them fight, feeling them die.
So I just do the bare ass minimum and am branded a terrible psychic. Why should I try to do more? I don't want to do more. My mother, non psychic, totally agrees and is horrified. My father was born in wartime so he had to practice but he sympathizes and has said it's probably better off this way.
I make my way to a room to check in. All morning pretending to hypnotize mice or puppies. And then I'll do the rest of my lessons for the afternoon portion.
We can change rooms throughout the day but usually I don't bother, most students this time of the morning are pairing up with friends an the like.
I clock into a room labeled 'puppies'. I'm probably just going to play with the puppies to be honest. Except to my dismay the room is occupied. By a Sergetta no less.
The Sergetta's send their little psychics to school at unholy ages, because they're the greatest psychics ever got to start them young. This one is dressed all in black, wearing a white mask that has clearly been colored on. The kid is tiny, maybe six? Hard to tell wearing the mask.  
"Hi," I say, closing the door. I'm clocked in now.
The kid is knelt in front of some sleeping puppies. My skin crawls nearing the child. Most psychics can sense each other, it's about like static electricity. But this kid might as well be an electrocution.
"Hello! I'm Espen Sergetta—you're Alexander!" He bounces up, holding out a hand. His fingers are clearly burnt.
"You are a clever one," I say, he said my name upon touching my hand. We can get minor things through skin to skin contact. Not a lot, I'm not that good but the boy clearly is. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you. Do you want to play?" He asks, hopefully, gentle brown eyes staring past the mask. He rubs underneath it uncomfortably, "I already saved the puppies."
"What—?" Oh fuck they're dead. Fucking psychopaths. Fuck me. I sigh. Little inbred monster can hardly help himself. "No can you not do that? Please?"
"Why? It hurts," he says, going to pet a dead puppy.
"What hurts?" I ask.
"Andre and Rupert think about making them fight. So I'm putting them ALL to sleep super quiet and safe before they can!" The child bounces.
Did not need a moral crisis before eight thirty. Okay.
"Espen," I ask, very nicely, "Did you sneak on your brother's helicopter so that they wouldn't hurt puppies?"
He nods hard.
"Oh sweet God," I mutter.
"Let's go find more!"
"Nope—not going to do that—," what member of his family is responsible? I can't call staff or even call the house. Yes I have their number. No I'm not supposed to different discussion. But I have it. But the thing is regular staff can't pick the naughty little psychic up he's a pain and he kills things already. Causing death in that manner, that is total possession of voluntary and involuntary functions, is super hard. Like most advanced psychics can't do it my father said he did only once. So I can't inflict him on a regular person because having a tantrum about being dragged home he could cause an injury or death not even meaning to if he's that strong. So glad you all married your cousins really glad.
"Why? Andre and Rupert and Bernard LIKE hurting puppies. And I like puppies. We can go together," he says cheerfully, bouncing.
"Who's your favorite family member?" I ask.
"My sister!"
"Which is?" I spin a hand.
"Jacquette," stomping his foot like I had a way of knowing that,
"Sweet also my favorite of your family," I say, "Come on, I know where she'll be."
"Really?"
"Really."
Jacquette is a few years older than me, maybe like three. Least odious of the Sergetta family, she was one of the 'mentor' students sent to help me practice when I first started at the Academy. She was generally cool about me not wanting to try. I don't know her, know her. The Sergetta's keep all outsiders at arm's length, but she'll make small talk about books or movies with me and she's never been outright cruel like her brothers. No she's never stopped them, but she's also never joined in. She'll do all the psychic upper level stuff but I get the sense she doesn't enjoy it.
Fine morning like this, she'll be cutting class to talk with friends in stairwells. Like a teenager.
"Yah, Jacquette is my favorite she reads to me. I can almost read!" Espen skips by my side, holding my hand politely. "Why are you sad?"
"I'm always sad before nine in the morning it's why I don't usually get up before then. Also I talked to Andre already," I say.
"Ewwwww. He's fucking stupid."
I actually laugh at the profanity coming out of the tiny masked baby.
"He is! I don't think he can read," Espen says, genuinely, "Jacquette says I need to tell more people that. She's my favorite sister."
"Isn't she your only sister?" I ask. I try not to keep track.
"Uhuh. But she can still be my favorite."
"That makes sense," I mutter. I need caffeine to make this conversation make sense honestly.
Third stairwell I check I get lucky. Jacquette is smoking a blunt and sitting on the railing, with a couple of other girls. She's in a black jumpsuit, wearing a glittery gold mask, hair streaked blue and loose around her shoulders. She looks thinner than last year. I don't know if she's sick or what, the Sergetta's would never admit it, but she misses school about as much as I do, or more she's probably also not here when I'm not here. As well as being not here when I am here. Damn the Sergetta's making me think before nine am.
"Ladies," I say, leaning on the open door.
"Hi, Jacquette! It's me!" Espen scurries up to his sister, arms out for a hug.
"OhtheGodEspenwhy—ah good morning Alex. Thank you," Jacquette says, scooping the little boy up for a hug. The other two girls take one look at the little Sergetta and make the good call to bolt.
"He's not supposed to be at school, is he?" I ask.
"Absolutely not, Espen we talked about this," Jacquette sighs, holding him up.
"I know but they were going to make the puppies sad," Espen says.
"He's been killing puppies," I say.
"Oh good, um, Espen we're going home now. Alexander I owe you lunch—,"
"Absolutely you do," I say, snapping my fingers at her.
I fully anticipate having to hold her to that lunch, but as soon as I'm out of the first period (sleeping with mice) Jacquette is there waiting, black patent human skin bag over one shoulder, head cocked.
"You get the menace home all right?" I ask, in what I think is a polite manner.
"Seriously, thank you for that, he's been hypnotizing his minders for months," she sighs, as we walk up the curving iron stairs to the roof, we'll be taking the helicopter.
"Oh not arming the nurses with the mirrored glasses?" I ask.
"Father likes letting us practice on slaves. Espen has been taking full advantage of that. So. thanks. He's only little," she says.
"Not a problem," I shrug.
"Most people are scared of Sergettas," she says.
"I'm not smart enough for that," I say.
On the roof we board the family helicopter. To a nice place for lunch then back in time for the afternoon it's nice to have rich and famous indebted to you. A short fifteen minutes later I'm seated across from Jacquette at a private table, curtain drawn, and we're beating served steaming hot shell fish, eel, fried in oil, and warm bread dripping in butter.
Jacquette has to take the mask off to eat. I've known her for years so I've seen her without it a time or two. I can't help but feel that she looks sadder each time. Big hazel eyes, mouth that looks unused to smiling, and no make up. Why bother when it's behind a mask?
"You get yourself invited to the party tonight?" Jacquette asks, slowly setting down the glittery gold mask. Her trademark. The boys will switch up to match their outfits.
"Yeah," I nod.
She stares at me pointedly.
"Look you don't need eye contact to know I usually have an angle," I shrug. I haven't taken my mirrored glasses off. I'm not completely stupid. You don't stare into a Sergettas eyes unless you truly want to die. She knows it's a compliment, not an insult. I've had them off around her a time or two before but this is a social occasion.
"Well so do I today," she says, spinning a fork in her hand rather than eating. I remind myself to take a bite as well. I'm better about eating than I once was but I will still simply forget.
"Oh how intriguing," I say, wearing a bite of bread.
"You've been out of town all summer. You up on gossip yet?" She asks.
"Nothing much reaches the lakes. My mother likes to go," I say, "And my father always obliges and minimizes schemes. And gossip."
"You call 'em your mother and father?" She asks, "Always?"
"They are. She carried me and has entirely raised me. That makes her my mother, the latter does alone. Not genetics. I'm stupid at science and philosophy but I know that much. And my father's blood gave me life so," I shrug a little.
"I don't, not in my head," she says.
"You don't call my father and mother father and mother? I should hope not," I say, flatly.
She cracks a rare smile, "Your wit gets you nowhere."
"I'm not trying to get places," I say, eating another bite. The slippery eel is appealing at least, warm and oily and satisfyingly fishy. An acquired taste to say the least Lazlo won't touch the stuff.
"I meant it though. I don't," she shakes her head, "But you didn't say if you'd missed all the gossip."
"I was trying to," I say. We're a bit focused on a few set schemes at the moment. My mother would know.
"I'm getting married. To Andre," she says.
"My condolences," I nod. Their incestuous marriages are well known and common in their weird little familial circle. Nothing illegal about it plenty of families will do it but it's weird and we'd like them to stop.
"I know. Seriously. But I want to fuck someone who isn't a family member, before that," she says, leaning on the table.
"You want me to find someone for you? I can do that," I say, surprising myself with how quickly I'm ready to become a pimp. "Male? Female? A few of our staff are about our age and probably wouldn't mind—,"
"I want you," she says, flatly.
"I don't do that," I say.
"If for some reason I got pregnant at least it would be psychic and at least you're—I was going to say nice that's the wrong word—you're mostly okay. And maybe if they found out then I wouldn't have to marry him," she says.
"You're using me—as Andre repellant?" I ask, trying to conceal that I'm flattered.
"Yeah I can tell you're happy."
"Damn," I wince.
"I'm not like them I don't—do that stuff, hypnosis," she says, waving a hand generally. Psychics, namely Sergettas are known for non consensual sex due to the whole hypnosis bit. That gives us a bad rap for a good reason. It's rare for like my parents to be psychic and non psychic since the psychic can so easily coerce the non-psychic.
"Good nor do I. I don't do that at all, sorry. I will find you someone who will sounds like a great reason—?" I gesture vaguely.
"Come on," she sighs, "Please? I'm not asking for it to be anything and I don't care if you and your weird other-you-father use it as an angle in some scheme."
"Oh thank god we'd have done that—but not me," I shake my head. She knows I don't eat. "It's like the food, I feel no hunger. There's no desire there. No offense. It's global apparently. I just don't care. Genuine question that might prevent the need for the whole thing—why does sex have to enter into it? I'm a test-tube baby, sorry, but it's much less ah, invasive. Even if yes Andre is the father."
"Blood purity. You're not the same thing—according to them," she holds up her hands, "I do NOT like it either."
"Hm. Disgusting," I nod.
"Yeah you could say that— please? I don't talk to anyone else I halfway trust," she sighs.
"Why does trust enter into it—you're the most dangerous person in the room?" I point out, "Like I said I can probably find someone."
"If it was you, then maybe he wouldn't want me and he'd make them call it off," she says.
"I'm sorry," I shake my head, "It's not me."
"I'd pay you."
"How much?" I ask.
"Wow," she says.
"I'm a Terik. You should have mentioned money a long time ago. No I experience no sexual attraction. I experience no rodent attraction either but I still put two dozen of those in Andre's locker," I say.
"OH THE GOD THAT WAS YOU?"
"Shh, keep your voice down. How much money?"
"Ten thousand," she says.
"Done, name the time and the place, pleasure doing business with you, five now to retain me, five afterward," I say.
"Tonight, at the party," she says, getting out her phone, "Do you want me to just—,"
"Drop it into my account, thank you," I smile.
She ignores me.
I message my father that he can sell to the tabloids in the morning that I slept with at least one Sergetta at the full moon party.
He replies a quaint : you really like making me explain to your mother why WE are like this?
To which I replay : you're lucky I'm giving you 50% of the take and sleeping in rather than do it myself
To which he replies : Alex that's not even better my son light of my life don't catch any diseases your mother will harm me if something happens to you
I take that to mean he's happy.
My account registers the money. I'm well aware it's pocket change to her, or at least, barely a month's allowance.
"Full Moon Party, don't be late," she says, standing up and putting on the mask.
"Late?" I laugh, "Me?"