Page 2 of Zalis
“She’s real sorry, and we’ll be going,” the woman said, handing the bottle to the bartender.
“You suck, Clarissa,” she said, jabbing a finger at her friend. Employee, technically. “First, I’m your boss. Not the other way around. You don’t get to make decisions for me.”
“That’s literally my job description, especially when you’re fighty drunk.”
“Second—” Gemma slid off the stool and teetered before gaining her balance. Clarissa grabbed her elbow. She shook her off. “I’m not drunk.”
“Sure.”
“The barstools make my legs fall asleep. And you owe me five bucks for my drink.”
“Take it out of my check then,boss,” Clarissa said, steering Gemma out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. She didn’t have to say anything more to drive home that Gemma was being an ass.
“Sorry. I was out of line,” Gemma said. “You’re my friend and my assistant manager.”
“And I’m amazing at my job.”
“You are,” Gemma agreed.
“And you couldn’t do any of this without me.”
“Absolutely. Who said I could? Because they’re liars. We should egg their house.”
That earned Gemma a small chuckle. Not completely forgiven, but good enough for now.
Clarissa walked with her to the corner, where their paths diverged. Lights from the bakery glowed at the end of the street, guiding her home.
LeBeaux Bakery: her dream that alien blood money helped build.
Fine. She was being dramatic, but the money paid out as compensation for being snatched away by aliens was tainted. A better person than Gemma might have struggled with feelings of hypocrisy, railing against the draft but taking the dirty money, but the money wasn’t the problem. Money was a tool.
The problem was that her twin, Emry, had been matched and snatched, leaving Gemma with a bag of cash. Gemma didn’t know what to do with herself. Her best friend, her sister, her twin, was gone. She’d never gone more than a handful of days without Emry. Now she faced a lifetime of being a galaxy apart. She didn’t know what to do with herself now that she was just herself, not part of a duo. It was hell.
Days later, Emry came back. Best possible outcome, right? Yes, Emry had been humiliated, possibly even had her heart broken. The alien rejected her and returned her to Earth. Emry didn’t need to explain the massive chip on her shoulder, Gemma knew. Call it a creepy twin thing.
While Gemma’s soul ached for Emry’s pain, she was secretly ecstatic. She had Emry back. They used the money to open the bakery, fulfilling her lifelong dream. Gemma loved it. She felt their father’s presence when she worked the dough or pulled fresh loaves of bread from the oven.
There was even a bit left over to bribe the right sort of people to get Gemma’s name removed from the bride program registry. It really was the best possible outcome, and it wrecked Gemma knowing she got everything she wanted at Emry’s expense.
Well, it turned out all of Gemma’s choices were a slow-moving catastrophe. Emry hated the bakery, even though she wouldn’t admit it. The hours were long, the work was hard, and the profitswere minimal. That didn’t worry Gemma so much. They’d work it out. The catastrophe was far more dramatic.
Turns out, when you give shady people money to do something shady, they keep asking for money.
Gemma was blackmailed by the people who removed her from the registry. She paid it at first, just wanting the problem to go away, but the requests kept increasing. Then the blackmail shifted from friendly requests to threatening demands. The night a pair of heavies cornered her outside the bar, the demands turned into physical threats. Gemma didn’t know what to do.
Emry did. She signed a contract as a personal chef for a ridiculously rich alien. The bonus money paid off the blackmailers with the understanding that the extortion was over.
Long story short, Gemma felt guilty. She got exactly whatshewanted, and her sister paid the price. It sucked. Gemma sucked. The system that treated the twins like a commodity sucked. Everything was terrible, and self-loathing mixed with rage bubbled inside Gemma. It’d eat her alive one day.
Distracted by all the rehashing of guilt and things beyond her control, Gemma failed to notice the figure waiting behind the bakery. The glowing ember end of a cigarette alerted her to the stranger’s presence.
Gemma paused in the alley between buildings. Shadows cloaked the narrow walkway, keeping her presence hidden. Light from the streetlamps pooled at the entrance, urging her to turn around and run. There was just enough moonlight for Gemma to make out the smoker’s profile: Barney the Brick. Look, it was ridiculous, but Gemma wasn’t in charge of naming goons.Regardless, Barney waiting for her outside the bakery’s back door was bad news.
Gemma backed out of the alley, returning to the street.
Her hands shook as she fumbled for her phone. She had a good idea why Barney was darkening her doorstep and needed to speak to Emry right now. The call would be expensive, and more often than not, there’d be no answer. Real-time calls involved relays and priority channels, andprioritywas marketing talk for expensive. Budget-minded calls had a significant delay, making an actual conversation impossible. The cheapest calls were recorded, uploaded, and bundled with other messages. It got there when it got there. Assuming the message wasn’t dropped or gobbled up by space-time wormholes.
The call connected. A green dot appeared in the top corner of the screen. “Em. Emry. Em,” she said, pausing to see if the connection held. The green dot remained steady. “I messed up. I’m sorry. Call me when…just call me.”
