House Party

[Nesrin Aziz]

It was always nice when a puppy followed willingly. Since he hadn’t yet tried to forcibly remove the keys from her, violence seemed an unlikely outcome. But one thing she’d learned from the women of her youth was that you never really knew a man, or his capabilities. With the party still in full swing there were plenty of dark corners he could have tried to corner her into in order to force her hand. No one would have blinked an eye.

Nesrin went retro for the communication – this wasn’t the sort of dress you could hide a wallet in, and even if she’d had the nerve to liberate his for the task, it would be drowning in security and as good as useless. She watched him curiously before she bent to write her message on one of the labels, wondering at his patience, noting his clenched fist. Her print was as plain as that of her own name sticker and said nothing of the hand that penned it. She was hedging her bets with the query, and reading a person to stay on the right track was harder when you couldn’t see their face, but then Nesrin was good at this.

His first answer earned a patient stare, though inside she smirked – apparently he had a sense of humour for all he sounded like a robot. But the real answer was strange. He shifted between pronouns, and she couldn’t fathom a reason why – though it made her insatiably curious for a glimpse under that neon mask. The fluttering could only really be one thing, though. Maybe he was a channeler himself. There’s no way she would know. But they'd all witnessed the lights.

I know what it was, she wrote. Her eyes upturned, watching him from habit more than any likelihood of a tell. And I know who it was.