City of Light (Outcast 1)

“Interesting choice,” I murmured. Especially given “zindela” meant “man’s defender.”

“I thought it was appropriate,” she said, voice mild.

Leaving me wondering yet again just how much her seeker skills had picked up on me. Obviously not too much, otherwise I doubted they’d be sitting near me so calmly.

Jonas rose, the scanner in one hand. “Let’s get this done, then you can head off for your meeting with the lover. You want to stand over near the wall?”

I rose and walked over there. Jonas followed me, a presence that washed heat across my spine despite the fact he wasn’t close.

“What address did you give me?” I asked as I turned around. “Here?”

Nuri shook her head. “You’re not likely to get a job anywhere in Central if you list Chaos as your address. They tend to ignore us at the best of times.”

I frowned. “Then what did you put?”

“Smile,” Jonas said. “Unless, of course, you want a frown to be your ID comparison picture.”

I flashed a brief smile. “Better,” Jonas said, and hit a button. Blue light scanned me, running my length several times before beeping.

I glanced at Nuri, eyebrow raised.

“There’s an inn called Old Stan’s on Twelfth run by friends of mine. We’ve used them for cover purposes before. They’ll run interference on any queries you might get, or pass them on to us.”

“Okay,” Jonas said. “It’s done. Give me your right wrist.”

I held it out. He wrapped his fingers around my hand, his grip warm and strong as he pressed the unit against the underside of my wrist. The machine emitted another beep, then there was a short, sharp sting as the RFID chip was inserted under my skin.

“You’re now officially one of them,” Jonas said, his grip lingering perhaps a little longer than necessary.

“Great,” I muttered, glancing down at my wrist. The skin was slightly red where the chip had been inserted, but other than that, there was little sign of its presence.

“You’ll need to learn these points off by heart.” Nuri slid a piece of paper across the table toward me. “It’s your birth date, where you were born, et cetera. They will ask you, even if they can get the info f

rom the RFID.”

Jonas stood to one side. I brushed past him, my skin tingling at the brief but luscious contact, and picked up the piece of paper. “Newport?” I glanced at Nuri, eyebrow raised. “It’s a back-of-nowhere town—why choose that as my birthplace?”

“Because fifteen years ago a virus voided the town’s RFID system, rendering all birth and death records up to that point irretrievable.”

“How fortunate.” My voice was dry.

“It was, rather. And no, we didn’t do it. We do, however, make use of it. Central won’t check your records because they can’t.”

“Surely they’d have to be aware that such destruction would be open to abuse by . . .” I hesitated, searching for the right word, not wanting to give offense.

“Less-than-savory types?” Nuri prompted, with a smile. “And yes, they are. Which is why we’ve also given you a work history that can be checked.”

I frowned. “Your organization is sounding bigger and bigger.”

“We’re mercenaries,” Jonas commented, moving back around to his side of the table. “And there’s a large network of us who work on a quid pro quo basis. We back their histories, they back ours, as necessary.”

“And,” Nuri added, “the relevant people have already been informed of your new ID.”

Huh. These people didn’t muck around any. I folded the piece of paper and tucked it into my pocket. “There’s one other thing I need.”

“That being?” Nuri asked.

“I want to talk to some of the women who worked the night security but quit.”