Page 54 of Coldwire
Nik steps back out into the hallway, which leaves Blare the open space to beeline for the wardrobe. They pull out a turtleneck. Then a long skirt. The place is sparser than I imagined. A Claw has been left on the vanity chair, still plugged in with the mini side screen active. When I wander into the bedroom, there’s another one in the port there, as well as a mattress with no bed frame. No curtains, either. The gray clouds hover heavy on the other side. A single raindrop lands on the glass.
I return to the living room to find Miz crouched in front of Xixi, examining her face. She wants to imitate her look as closely as possible, I assume, so I scan the items on the vanity by the television and pluck up an eyeliner pencil. I offer it.
Miz doesn’t make any move to receive it.
“I’m not sure if I know how to use that.”
“Okay,” I reply. “I can help.”
That doesn’t seem to put her at ease. Miz wrinkles her nose. “That’s fine.”
“Miz, stop being resistant,” Blare supplies. They’re half-buried inside the wardrobe, sifting through the shoes.
“I’m not being resistant,” Miz fires back. “Sorry if I don’t want this random girl holding a stick that close to my eyeball.”
“I’m not a random girl.” I pull the lid off the pencil. “I’m your kidnapped corporate soldier who gains nothing from poking your eyeball out. Besides, I’m good at this.”
Miz pauses. She looks at me properly, which almost feels like a victory I didn’t know I was working toward.
“You’ve done it before?” she asks.
“Well, not on other people.” I gesture to my own face. “But I can do it on myself, so how hard can it be?”
“That inspires confidence.” Despite Miz’s begrudging manner, she does turn toward me, which I take as permission to proceed. I crouch down and bring the pencil to the outer corner of her eye, drawing the shape that Xixi has. The pencil hasn’t been sharpened in a while. The black wax is stubborn upon application as a result, but my hand stays steady. I complete the line across her eyelid and move to the other.
“You’re doing great,” I offer. The reassurance comes as naturally as a fish flopping along a crosswalk. I am far from the type to coo to put someone at ease. But Miz is doing everything in her power not to twitch and mess up my work, so it deserves some indication that I appreciate the effort.
“It feels like a lifetime ago,” she says softly, “but my best friend used to do this for me before we went to parties.”
“Where is she now?”
I ask it without thinking. It’s only the natural follow-up, an idle question to keep a conversation going.
“They killed her,” Miz says. “NileCorp.”
Shit.I finish the other eye. I’m saved from saying anything more or—worst-case scenario—from needing to apologize when the front door opens. Nik has returned. He sets the man against the wall, and I stand up, laying the pencil back on the vanity table.
“How’s it going in here?” Nik asks.
“Just about ready,” Blare declares, emerging from the wardrobe. They hand Miz an outfit they’ve picked out, dumping it into her arms. Miz, without complaint, steps into another room to change.
Xixi stays passed out. Entirely silent.
“I don’t see her badge anywhere,” I say.
“Attached to the keys.” Nik shakes the bundle in his hands. “It’s a small key fob.”
“I would have thought there would be an actual picture attached to her entry badge,” Miz calls from the other room. “What with this emphasis on my costuming.”
It’ll be in their database instead, I assume. We’ll have to be careful not to let the cameras get too close to Miz.
She emerges from the room, opening her arms to ask for our opinions. A plain white turtleneck, tucked into nondescript jeans.
“All right,” Nik says. “Good to go.”
I pluck a disposable mask from the box that Xixi has near the door and offer it to her. “You should probably take the septum piercing out. In case it shows through.”
“That’s homophobic,” Miz deadpans. Still, she does it. The nose ring slips into her pocket. The mask goes on. When I look between her and the woman collapsed on the couch, the image is convincing enough.
