Called By the Dark

“Yeah, well.” I poke my rice with a pair of chopsticks. “I guess we’ve both been busy.”

“How’s the club treating you?” my sister asks politely, stirring her pho, the steam from the broth fogging her glasses.

But I don’t need to see her dark brown eyes to know there’s disapproval in them. Cynthia has never given me a hard time about my life, but I know she doesn’t love that I dance at Shakers, the newest “gentleman’s lounge” in the entertainment district of Draco City.

It’s not like stripping is a dream job, but I make halfway decent money doing it—more than I made as a cocktail waitress at a different bar. But there are only so many jobs available for someone like me. I’m only a denizen; I didn’t go into a service field that would have earned me citizenship, like Cynthia did. I don’t have the same rights. I became an artist, and if not for jobs like the one at Shaker’s, I’d be destitute.

Starving artist, indeed.

“Fine.” I shrug. “It’s a clean place. There are rules. There’s security, who enforce the rules.”

“No one…touches you, right?”

“No one touches me.” I note the relief on her face and refrain from telling her that no one can touch the dancers on stage, but there’s plenty of touching that happens in the upstairs lounges for the right price, and dancers can partake if they want to.

I have nothing against sex workers, but even with the promise of a significant chunk of change at the end of the night, there’s nothing about sex with a paying stranger that entices me.

“You could always come,” I add slyly. “Have a drink for your birthday. I could arrange a lap dance for you.”

Cynthia scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Right! Like I have time for fun.”

Then, as if on cue, the communicator band around her wrist lights up. With a groan, she swipes a finger upward, and a holographic smartphone appears. It’s a text message that she reads as a deep line forms between her brows.

I guess lunch is over…“Interesting news?”

“I just got an anonymous tip about my case,” she murmurs, rereading the message. Then she glances up at me, and I see the apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Saz, but I’ve got to—”

I’m bummed out, but I don’t want to make her feel bad. “I know, I know. It’s okay. But first…” I pull the little gift box out of my pocket and slide it across the table to her. “Open your present.”

Cynthia smiles and swipes the holographic phone down into the wristband. “You didn’t have to get me a gift.”

“It’s your birthday. Of course I did,” I insist, then smile. “Go on.”

She unwraps the box and pops the lid. Nestled inside is a gold locket. Both the chain and the pendant are delicate, which is how Cynthia prefers to wear her jewelry. The pendant is about the size of a fingernail. She carefully pops it open, and I silently recite the words I had engraved inside as she reads the tiny, precise script.

Sisters by circumstance, thicker than blood, for life.

Cynthia blinks up at me, tears filling her eyes. “Sazahn. Thank you.”

She gets up and wraps me in a hug. I squeeze back tightly, a lump forming in my throat, then help her put the necklace on when she asks.

We gather our trays and return them to the counter, then she walks me outside. We hug again.

“This is the worst birthday ever,” I joke. “A lunch you paid for. No time to hang out. Demanding work.”

“We’ll redo it,” she promises, cupping my face. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this case—”

I hold up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. I just want to spend more time with you.”

Cynthia smiles. “Me too. And we will. As soon as I wrap up this case, I’m going to take some time off. Hey, maybe we can take a little trip somewhere?”

I nod. “I’m going to hold you to that!”

“Take care of yourself,” Cynthia says, then touches the pendant and mouths, Thank you. She hurries toward the door.

The lump forms in my throat again.

“Hey, sis,” I call. When she turns toward me, I touch my fingertips to my lips, then flick them out toward her.

As always in our longstanding tradition, she smiles and lifts her hand, then clamps her fingers together, pretending to catch my kiss. Then she disappears inside, and I turn to trudge toward the silver bullet and get ready to go to work later.

I hate saying goodbye to my sister.