Katharine McGee - The Dazzling Heights

“Chrissa, you know it’s not your fault that I took the job I did.” And Rylin knew that she would do it all again in a heartbeat, to give her little sister the chance she deserved. Then she thought of another complication. “Anyway, I can’t quit work now. We need the money.”

Chrissa’s smile was contagious. “Didn’t you see what it said about a cost-of-living stipend? It’s enough to keep us going, and if we get into a tight spot, we can always figure something out.”

Rylin looked again, and saw that Chrissa was right. “But why would they pick me ? I’m not even in school right now. There must have been so many applicants.” Her eyes narrowed at Chrissa as she began to think through the odds. “What did you put on my application, anyway?”

Chrissa grinned. “I found an old essay of yours about working at a summer camp, and made some tweaks to it.”

Two years before their mother died, Rylin had applied to be a junior counselor at an expensive summer camp. It was all the way in Maine—somewhere with a lake, or maybe it had been a river; the kind of place rich kids went to learn useless things like canoeing and archery and braiding friendship bracelets. For some reason, maybe because she’d seen too many holos about summer camp, Rylin had always fostered a secret desire to attend one. Of course they could never afford anything like that. But Rylin had hoped that maybe, if she worked there as a counselor, she would still have a version of the experience.

She’d gotten the job. Though it quickly became irrelevant, because her mom had gotten sick that year and nothing else mattered after that.

“I can’t believe you found that,” she said, shaking her head in amused wonder. She would never cease to be surprised by Chrissa’s resourcefulness. “Though I still don’t understand why they would pick me.”

Chrissa shrugged. “Didn’t you see the description? It’s a weird, nontraditional scholarship, for ‘creative-minded girls who would otherwise be overlooked.’”

“I’m not exactly creative-minded,” Rylin argued.

Chrissa shook her head so violently that her ponytail whipped back and forth, a dark shadow behind her head. “Of course you are. Stop selling yourself short, or you’ll never survive at that school.”

Rylin didn’t answer that. She still wasn’t sure whether or not she was going.

After a moment Chrissa sighed. “I’m not surprised you were friends with Eris. From the sound of this scholarship, she was really cool. I mean, she clearly wasn’t like the other highliers, if this is how her family chose to honor her.”

Suddenly Rylin’s mind was alit with memories of that night—of breaking up with Cord, then trying to win him back, only to find him with Eris; of seeing Eris on the roof, yelling at the other girl, Leda, then watching in horror as Eris tumbled off the side of the Tower and into the cold night air. She shivered.

“You’re going, right?” Chrissa asked, her voice hopeful.

Rylin thought of how it would feel, being at an expensive highlier school with a bunch of strangers who wouldn’t give her the time of day. Not to mention Cord. She’d promised herself she would stay away from him. And then there was school itself—how would she handle being in a classroom again, learning and studying and taking tests, surrounded by a bunch of students who were probably a lot smarter than she was?

“Mom would want you to go, you know,” Chrissa added, and just like that, Rylin’s answer was clear.

She lifted her eyes to her sister’s and smiled. “Yeah, I’ll go.” Maybe something good could finally come of that night. She owed it to herself, and to Chrissa, and her mom—hell, even to Eris—to try.

THE TWO WOMENstrode through the entrance to Bergdorf Goodman on the 880th floor, their four sharp heels making satisfying clicks on the polished marble. Neither of them paused at the sumptuously decorated lobby, its holiday-themed display holos dancing around the crystal chandeliers and jewel cases; tourists crying out whenever the reindeer swooped down toward their heads. Calliope didn’t even glance in their direction as she followed Elise up the curved staircase. It had been a long time since she was impressed by something as prosaic as a holographic sleigh.

The designer floor upstairs was scattered with clumps of furniture, each of them partitioned by an invisible privacy barrier and equipped with a body-scanner. Real gowns were draped on mannequins in various corners, for nostalgia’s sake. No one actually tried on anything here.

Elise flicked her eyes significantly at Calliope before heading toward the youngest, most junior-looking employee: Kyra Welch. They’d already preselected her online, for the simple reason that she’d worked at the store a grand total of three days.

Just a few meters away from the girl, Elise made a show of sinking onto a pale peach settee. She crossed one leg over the other and began scrolling through cocktail dresses on the screen before her. Calliope stood idly to one side and stifled a yawn. She wished she’d gotten one of those honey coffees from the hotel this morning. Or even a caffeine patch.

The salesgirl predictably hurried over. She had alabaster skin and a perky carrot-red ponytail. “Good afternoon, ladies. Did you have an appointment?”

“Where’s Alamar?” Elise demanded, in her most dismissive tone.

“I’m so sorry—Alamar is off today,” Kyra stammered, which of course Elise and Calliope had already known. The girl’s eyes skimmed quickly over Elise’s outfit, taking in the designer skirt and seven-carat stone on her finger, so high quality it was almost indistinguishable from a real diamond. Evidently she concluded that this was someone important, someone Alamar shouldn’t have upset. “Perhaps one of our senior sales associates can—”

“I’m looking for a new cocktail dress. Something showstopping,” Elise talked over the younger woman, waving at the holographic display to project this season’s designs onto a scan of her body. She flicked her wrist to scroll rapidly through the images, then held out her palm to pause at a plum-colored dress with an uneven hem. “Can I see this one, but shortened?”

Kyra’s eyes unfocused, probably checking her schedule on her contacts. Calliope knew she was debating whether to abandon her restocking duties in favor of this new, most likely lucrative commission.

She also knew that at the end of the shopping spree, after the various dresses had been instantly woven and sewn by the superlooms hidden in the back of the store, Kyra would haltingly ask for an account number to charge it all to. “Alamar knows,” Elise would say, with her sorry but I can’t be bothered shrug. Then she would walk out of the store, her arms laden with bags, without a backward glance.

Technically, they could have paid for the dresses the normal way—they did have money squirreled away in a few different bancs all over the globe. Though at the rate they spent, it never seemed to last very long. And as Elise always said, why pay for something you can get for free? It was the motto they lived by.

Elise and Kyra dissolved into a discussion of silk paneling. Calliope looked up, already bored, and saw three girls her age crossing the store, wearing identical plaid skirts and white button-downs. A slow smile spread across her face. No matter what country they were in, private-school girls invariably made easy targets.

“Mom,” she interrupted. Kyra stepped aside for a moment to give them some privacy, but it didn’t matter; Calliope and her mom had long ago established a code for situations like this. “I just remembered an assignment that I need to go finish. For history class.” History meant a group con. If she’d used biology class, it would have meant a romantic one—a seduction.