THE NIGHT BEFORE
FIRST AND WHITE
JUNE hummed softly as the elevator rose.
When she reached the top floor, she found two men in dark suits standing outside the penthouse door. They were new, and one had the poor sense to try to stop her as she passed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
June looked down at the hand on her shoulder. When she looked back up at the man, she was him, down to the last hairy knuckle and acne scar.
“I go where I please,” she said, her accent coming through in his deep voice.
The security pulled back as if burned.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, genuine fear flashing across his face. That—that was a pleasant change. She’d gotten surprise, shock, even awe once or twice, but never such a simple thing as fear. They hadn’t known who she was, but they knew what. An EO. And it clearly scared the shit out of them.
Maybe Marcella was right. Maybe EOs shouldn’t be the ones hiding.
“Not to worry,” said June, cheerfully, shifting back into the brunette. “Honest mistake.”
They scrambled to open the door, and she stepped into the penthouse, marveling a little at the strange comfort of returning.
We really need a dog, she thought. Something to greet you when you get home.
She reached the open living room, where Jonathan sat slumped on a leather sofa, palms pressed against his eyes.
“Johnny boy, why so glum?” Her steps slowed at the sight of a large red-brown stain on the floor. “Well, that’s new.”
“Yeah,” said Jonathan, looking up, “she’s been busy.”
“I can see that. And where is our fearless leader tonight?” Jonathan didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Marcella’s voice streamed from her office.
“Why would I want flowers?”
“They’re lilies,” said a man’s voice. “I thought they’d make an elegant centerpiece.”
“I’m the elegant centerpiece.”
“Without something to soften the space, I’m afraid it will look awfully austere.”
“This is the beginning of a new age,” snapped Marcella, “not a fucking sweet sixteen. Get rid of them.”
The man hesitated. “. . . If you’re sure . . .”
June heard the telltale click of heels on marble. “Well, perhaps you do know best . . .” There was a shuffle, a gasp, and June stepped through the door just in time to see the man crumble in Marcella’s grip.
“Oh, I’ve missed this,” said June pleasantly as what was left of the man fell to the floor. She considered the ruined heap, adorned only by a few tattered bits of silk and a silver cufflink. Marcella was burning hotter, faster, and—as far as June could tell—she still had yet to find her limit.
Marcella leaned back against her desk and took up a cloth, wiping her hands. “I’ve always hated having to repeat myself.” She glanced up. “Shouldn’t you be watching over our new arrival?”
“I’ve had enough babysitting for one day,” said June. “I delivered your message.”
“And?”
“He’s a tough one to predict, but I think he’ll come.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Marcella. “I am glad you made it back in time.”
“For what?” asked June.
Marcella handed her a card.
June took it up, turned it over, eyes flitting over the paper. She shook her head, baffled and amused. “Jesus, Marcella, anyone ever told you that you’re batshit crazy?”
Marcella pursed her lips. “Several times,” she said. “It’s an insult men love to aim at ambitious women. But aren’t you forgetting, June—this was your idea.”
“It was a joke and you know it.” June flicked the card away. “How many people did you send that to?”
Marcella ticked them off on her fingers. “The mayor, the chief of police, the district attorney, the director of EON.” She waved her hand. “And a few hundred of the most powerful—well, formerly most powerful—people in this fine city.”
June shook her head in disbelief. “Drawing this kind of attention is a very bad idea. You’re putting a target on our backs.”
“There’s already one there. Haven’t you noticed? They’re going to come for us, one way or another, June, and if we stay hidden, no one will ever know we were there. So let them see us. Let them see what we can do.” Marcella smiled, that radiant, seductive smile. “Admit it, June. There’s a part of you that wants to stand in that light. No more running. No more hiding.”
Marcella didn’t understand that June would always be hiding. But the woman was right about one thing.
People had tried to bend June. Tried to break her. Tried to make her feel small.
Perhaps it was time for them to understand how small they were. June could never be herself, not the self she was before, but she could be someone. She could be seen.
And when EON came calling, well, they wouldn’t catch her.
Which left only one question, really.
Who was she going to wear?