Chapter 19

Normally, moderating was fun; it appealed to August's enjoyment of leading people into the behaviors she chose for them. But this week, her three shifts dragged to infinity and beyond.

August tried some poker to pass the time in between. It was shockingly bad. At first she put it down to luck, but eventually had to admit it was something else: always the same distracting thoughts causing idiotic errors, which made her angry, causing more errors. Poker was a game of composure. When you lost your head, you lost your chips.

Unable to do anything else, she focused on preparation for the next time she got ahold of James Kirkpatrick. But there was only so much to do. After three days, August was climbing the walls; midway through the fifth, she began to wonder what was wrong with her. She had never been this anxious and impatient in her life.

The conversation with John weighed heavily. Everything he had said was true. Three failed years on assignment—with nothing to show for it but a cushy job at UCC that she actually enjoyed—made August both sound and feel like a traitor. She had access to the inner workings of UCC, yet could find nothing to implicate anyone: not Donald Marsh, Daisy Egan, or James Kirkpatrick; not the Easter Bunny, Peter Pan or anyone else. It was frustrating, maddening to know that things were taking place right under her nose and that she didn't have the wit to search them out.

Though deep down in the heart August had locked away as a useless hindrance, she was almost ready to believe they were clean. Not just James. All of them.

Finally, on the night of the fifth day while August was in-game spinning her wheels, her phone beeped an alert: James Kirkpatrick had logged in. She began typing a message, erased it, began again, erased it again and growled in frustration.

She couldn't call him first.

Pushing aggressively because of her mission's stagnation had been a mistake. It was important to keep the benefit of the doubt with James, even if that meant biting her lip so hard that it almost bled, willing him to call.

But he didn't. And didn't. An hour later he logged off, and August slumped with a physically nauseating sense of defeat. She went to bed and lay awake for three hours, knowing that everything she had worked for was slipping away, and not knowing how to stop it.

***

When August awoke, the faded light of a frozen winter morning did nothing to warm her.

Without any idea what to do, she logged into Shattered Land. She had no work, and no ability to play poker in her current condition. For someone whose life contained nothing that was solely for enjoyment, that left her at a loss. She was in such a state that when her phone rang in her pocket, she almost screamed.

Bloody hell, get a grip.

"Yes, hello?" August said, without checking the caller ID—superstitiously believing that if she looked, it wouldn't be him.

"Hey," James said. "Good timing. About to leave for work, but I came on to see if you were around."

"Thanks for calling," August said, not caring how James interpreted her gratitude. Melodramatic as it was, she felt like his call had saved her—from going crazy, if nothing else.

"Meant to call last night, but I fell asleep while logged in. Turns out the headset shuts down if it detects sleep patterns. Anyway, you wanted to team up for the event?"

"If it's alright with you. I may not be a match for team 28 without moddy privileges and all, but I'm not half bad," August said, and immediately wondered why she had said that. She needed to be building herself up, not reminding James of just how amazing everyone else that he knew seemed to be.

"I'm not a match for team 28 either, and I'm in it," James said.

August couldn't stop the genuine laugh that escaped her throat. "Things'll be set to go at 10 our time. Sunday, that is. In three days."

Yes, he knows that Sunday is in three days. Good Lord, keep it together.

"And you want to meet up early and do what exactly?"

"Well, I've seen a few of these things before. It'll probably degenerate into a bloody great brawl right after first contact. If we stick together and implement a strategy, we'll rack up some right pretty bonuses."

"So, the stronger and more organized our unit, the better."

"Righto."

"I'll contact you Sunday morning and let you know where we're meeting up. Okay?"

There was something different about James again. Most of August's ability to read people relied on body language, so the phone was a handicap, but that was no excuse; James had been in control of the conversation from the start.

"Okay?" James repeated.

August snapped from her reverie with a physical jerk. She had been blankly holding the phone for who knew how long. "Um, sounds brilliant."

"Alright. Catch you later."

A witty parting line eluded August until after James had already hung up. She logged out and went to lie on her white leather couch, searching for soothing pareidolia in the stucco of her ceiling; try as she might, she found nothing.

Five days spent planning the conversation, and it had turned out exactly the way she wanted.

Why did it feel like she had lost?

***

Sunday's event couldn't come soon enough.

August spent the interim making a chart of possible outcomes. It was a delicate balance: engineering positive events for conquering James Kirkpatrick while defeating the possibility of negative events. She couldn't afford another mistake like the concert. If James summoned a harem into existence while single-handedly repelling the Grendelheimian army, it didn't completely preclude August from accomplishing her goal, but it would unnecessarily complicate matters.

For purely mechanical reasons, she needed him all to herself.

Saturday night, August was wound so tightly that sleep was impossible, despite knowing from poker experience that exhaustion was a significant cause of human error. At midnight, when she still felt as if her eyelids were glued to her forehead, she took a sleeping pill from her secret stash.

At 8:30 AM, the alarm clock blared. August yanked the cord right out of the wall, rolled out of bed with a groan and shuffled into the shower. Twenty minutes later, she felt like a human being, and still had time to fix her hair and apply some light makeup. When she logged in she could make those sorts of alterations by thinking about them, but it had become a morning ritual on important days. At the table, it was best to have your opponent gazing into your eyes or cleavage instead of searching you for tells; even outside poker, looking good was feeling good.

Primed and ready, August ate a cup of yogurt and a slice of toast, then logged in, aware that she was holding her breath.

Please let things go well.

An odd prayer to an unnamed entity from the girl who claimed to believe she could absolutely define her fate. But a little humility couldn't hurt.

When August materialized, her phone already held a message from James. Coordinates for the meet up. On the way, she straightened her clothes and hair for the second time in the last half hour, using the mirror function on her phone to make sure there were no bags under her eyes; sometimes the strangest effects got translated into a mental image. But everything was fine. She felt good and her tank top sat nicely on her curves, as did her knee-length white khakis. August began to feel seriously optimistic for the first time in a week.

...Until she reached the hill, and saw James Franklin Kirkpatrick already halfway to becoming the heroic harem-master gigolo of her fears. He stood atop a slight rise in the center of the park with nearly twenty people gathered around, two thirds of whom were women, many sticking suspiciously close. Just when had he become a charismatic military leader?

August squashed her instinct to barge in and take charge. As she listened and watched, a different dynamic took shape. There was no harem angle here. The conversation was businesslike. Battle-readiness permeated the air. Kanade Aizawa was there, disgustingly cute in a light summer dress, and James himself was in cotton shirt and slacks, but everyone else sported heavy armor, an intimidating weapon or both. August began to feel seriously underdressed, though her plan had been to catch his eye with femininity.

"Hullo!" August called, starting up the hill before she could lose any more momentum.

A chorus of heys and sups greeted her. James turned to watch her approach. August felt exposed; half the group she didn't know, and the other half had been her enemies in the Laurentian forest.

"Morning," James said, smiling with neutral politeness—the first time August had seen such a perfectly sculpted expression on his face. A wave of goose bumps crawled up her spine.

Kanade hovered close to his elbow, watching August with cool dark eyes, and the way she subtly edged athwart August's path of approach was an unmistakable message.

The suffocatingly calculated atmosphere was nothing like simple jealousy. They knew something, or thought they did. But what?

A reflection of sun off brilliant golden locks drew August's gaze to the right. Casey Carter was approaching, and so the loop was closed. The younger girl gazed at August with interest, not hostile, but clearly curious.

"G'day!" August said, nodding first to Casey, who nodded back, then to Kanade, who didn't, then to James, who just kept smiling. There was nothing accusatory in that smile, but its artificiality made her sad.

"G'day indeed," came a vaguely British accent. August turned to find the leather-clad, raven-haired Julia Bannigan there, the very last person she wanted at her back. If anyone was going to shoot August first and ask questions never, it would be Julia.

"Guys, I'd like to introduce August Evans," James said, smoothly cutting in. "This general plan was her idea. She'll be with team A. Please get along with her."

A polite welcome, but his please get along with her made August feel childlike and vulnerable, as if she needed permission to be here and was under his protection; that it was basically true made it worse.

"A pleasure," August said, nodding toward anyone who nodded at her. "What's team A, then?"

"The non-trademarked version of the A-Team," someone said.

"Team A is my team," James said, to August's vast relief. "We're splitting into three. Myself, August, Kanade, Casey, Julia, Jaleet and Sara will be team A. Team B is being led by Patrick Kerrigan, already in position at the north gate. Team C is everyone here who isn't in team A, led by Donald and Daisy."

"The fuck you mean, Donald and Daisy?" Donald said. "Why can't I lead on my own?"

"Because Daisy is scarier than you?" said someone August didn't know.

"Because I'm not in your group, and if you collapse in all that plate, somebody needs to take control," Kanade said.

"Hell with all of ya. I'll show those bastards what I can do whether you're here or not."

"That's the spirit," James said.

"That's another thing," Donald said. "How the shit did you get your own team, and why's it got all my people in it?"

James shrugged. "By acclamation, I guess. Casey nominated me and the rest said they wanted to come."

"Why do I get all the damn leftovers?"

"Who you calling leftovers?" said three people in harmony.

"Because you showed up late," James told him.

"At least gimme her," Donald said, pointing at August, to her rising horror. "She was late too."

"Sorry, I'd like her with me," James said.

August caught her swell of appreciation and held it sternly in check.

He's not helping me. He's planning something.

Even still, she couldn't douse the anticipation in her chest. Her plans were sound and the opportunity was here at last.

She had a job to do, and she would do it.