Arch-Conspirator(2)

“You could sit,” I said to Parth. “Tig probably won’t be on time.”

“These chairs make me feel like I’m playing teatime with my niece,” he said. Big guy, Parth was. Had the look of a guy who would turn out to be a softie, only he wasn’t. Too tricky for that. “Plus, I’m done. You let her come all the way here by herself? Some brother.”

“Tig can handle herself.”

Parth set his mini mug down on the table and eyed me. “You’re not gonna tell her nothing, right?”

“Of course not. But you know her, she might figure it out anyway.”

“Just so long as she doesn’t interfere.”

“Interfere with what?” a slim, reedy voice asked from behind him. And there she was: my sister, sidling up just as the clock struck 1400 hours.

“Antigone,” Parth said to her, with a head bob that was supposed to be like a bow.

“Parthenopaeus,” she replied. “Will you be joining us?”

“No, gotta run,” he said. “See you later, Pol.”

He dodged the beggar kid and his cup, crossed the street, and disappeared into a crooked alley. A gust of wind came up behind him, blowing dust into the air. Antigone pulled the scarf she wore over her hair across her nose and mouth until it settled. I just held my breath.

The waitress came by, that little bounce in her walk, and brought two cups of coffee, black, and a pile of sweetener cubes stacked neat like a temple. She didn’t look either of us in the eye. Didn’t ask if we’d like anything else.

“Thought you liked the service here,” Antigone said.

“I like the look of it.”

She snorted. “You don’t care who treats you like a pariah, as long as she’s got nice legs?”

“Can’t fault people for learning what they’re taught.”

“Can, too. I do it all the time,” she said. “So what was Parth on about?”

Should have known she wouldn’t let that go.

“Something’s brewing,” I said. “You know that.”

“Something’s been brewing,” she said. “You could just tell me what’s going on.”

“No need,” I said. “No help necessary, and it would just put you in a bad spot.”

She frowned at me. Back when we were kids, we went in and out of looking like our parents. Dad said kids were like that, mushy, sculptures still drying in the sun. Now, though, Tig was settled, hardened, and she looked just like Mom. Bend at the bridge of her nose, weak chin, big round eyes.

“I’m already in a bad spot,” she said, sharp as noon sun. “I live in the house of my patricide, and I’m betrothed to his son.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between a bad spot I put you in and a bad spot I didn’t,” I said. “Plus, the others would kill me. No potential mothers allowed at this level of the operation, you know that.”

“Ah, yes.” Sour as, and this is nothing like our mom, who could rip you to shreds with a gentle word, if she chose. No subtle streak in Antigone; she’s more like Dad in that way. “Can’t risk me; I’m just a viable womb on stilts.”

“That is the general attitude.”

“Fuck, Pol,” she said, leaning over the table, her scarf almost falling into her coffee. “I’m so tired of that.”

We both looked across at the little shop with its wares spilling out into the street. Stacks of old cookware, tangles of wires, piles of light bulbs still in their boxes, a rack of sunglasses with mostly intact lenses.

“It’s not me, though.” I reached across the table and covered her hand where it clasped the mug. “You know that, right? I know everything would be better if you were involved. It’s just that we’re trying to unite seven districts, and some of them are more … traditional than others. We’re only as strong as our weakest links.”

Her hand trembled a little.

“I know it’s not you,” she said. “Sometimes I just stare into the future and don’t like anything I see.”

I knew her future as well as she knew mine. We would go where Kreon said, do what Kreon decreed. We lived by Kreon’s mercy and we died by Kreon’s might.

“Marrying Haemon won’t be so bad,” I said.

“What do you know?” she said. “You’ll never fear your wife. But every wife fears her husband, even if she doesn’t say so.” She stuck her thumbnail between her teeth and bit down. A moment later, she added, “I don’t give a shit about Haemon anyway. That’s not what I mean.”

“Well, if everything goes right tonight…”

She laughed at me.

I said, “You don’t have faith in me?”

“It’s not you I don’t have faith in,” she said, “it’s ‘things going right.’”

“Well, I need you to find some.” I reached into the bag hanging off the back of the chair and took something out. It was a metal instrument about the size of my hand. Pointed at one end, thick at the other, almost like a syringe. An Extractor. I put it on the table between us.

She recoiled from it like it was a snake.

“Just in case,” I said.

“Get that thing away from me. You’re not dying.”