Page 114 of CHOICE Lover
He has two remaining samples. He could call Sable off and put them back in storage.Or you could destroy them? That would really show her you were serious.
The permanence of the thought makes his stomach flutter anxiously. Once he gets Electra back, he’ll consider it.
39 – Fast Friends
Electra
January 15, 2391.
Sister Xelna frowns. “Aren’t you enjoying your fame?” She taps her tattooed whiskers. “I thought people from your time enjoyed that sort of thing. No?”
Electra slumps back onto the priestess’s cat bed–shaped couch. “True, some people were obsessed with celebrity. I wasn’t one of them.”
“Oh, so you don’t want fans?” Sister Xelna strokes the synth-cat. Its approving purr is more of an electronic vibration than an animal sound.
“I do want fans,” Electra says, absently scrolling through Dear Electrasubmissions.
“You just don’t want to meet them?” The priestess raises a brow.
She glances up. “Just not so often. The steady stream is zapping my creativity.”
That perks Sister Xelna up. “Excellent thought. We can arrange a monthly meet and greet with Dear Electra and sell tickets. At first, we can use the public chapel, then when we get larger, we can rent an event room.” She picks the synth-cat up off her lap and sets it next to Electra. “Perhaps we can arrange it before or after next month’s The Sacred Order of Feline Transcendence service.”
Electra blinks, unsure how her minor complaint escalated so quickly. The last thing she wants is to do a monthly Q&A panel with a bunch of unhinged future people. Though if the ticket sales went directly to Sister Xelna, that would take care of the issue of paying her back, giving her more time to get an ID. But she’s reluctant to agree to it yet. “Where are you going?” she asks the other woman’s retreating form.
“I’m going to get us Tuna-ish sandwiches. Then you can tell me about the story you’ve been working on.”
When the door closes, Electra closes her eyes, taking a few breaths. What she wouldn’t give to be in Res6’s large bed, tucked securely in a big pile of blankets. At least compared to the cot in the spare room, the cat bed–shaped couch is comfortable. But it requires her to be in the living room, thus subject to Sister Xelna’s prying questions.
Electra isn’t sure the priestess likes her for her, but at some point over the last few weeks, she determined she isn’t using her. Not exactly. Sister Xelna delights in the attention, whether it is being showered on her for her feline prophesies or she’s absorbing it vicariously through Dear Electra. Maybe this is just what friendships are now. That doesn’t stop it from feeling icky, like when she was one of two women on Res6’s arm as a publicity stunt.
Res6—God, why do her thoughts keep returning to him? Surely, she should be over it by now. They weren’t even an official couple, evenif she does look back on their unintentional dates with fondness. She groans, and the synth-cat’s ears twitch. She strokes its faux fur, an act that should horrify her. Strangely, it doesn’t. “This is what my life has become,” she says to A-Pawstle Calico, who purrs in response.
She returns her focus to her tablet, deleting a few ridiculous advice requests, before finding a message simply titled “ID.” Her heart skips. She clicks the message. There are two straightforward sentences:
I met them, and they are legitimate. Can you meet Seconday at 18:00—same place?
Intrigued, she clicks the user’s profile: @unknownerror2271. The profile picture is a generic avatar, and there are no other posts. The account was created today. It’s Res6, she’s sure. But the message is so sterile—does he want to see her, or is he doing this to assuage his conscience? Or did he somehow get found out, and he’s trying to lure her out to save his company? There’s no way he would set her up; it has to be real. So, guilt, most likely. Still, butterflies erupt in her stomach at the prospect of seeing him.
She’s still staring at the screen when Sister Xelna breezes back in. She sets the reusable takeout containers on the coffee table. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“He messaged me,” she says, still staring at the message.
“I thought you blocked him.” Sister Xelna scoops up the synth-cat and pulls it into her lap as she sits down.
Electra angles the tablet so she can see. “Not in the FrogBlog app. He never had an account.”
The priestess scans the two sentences. “An ID is good, right? Did you respond?”
She sets the tablet on her lap and balls her fists so they don’t tremble. “Not yet. Ihaven’t decided.”
Sister Xelna takes her hand like she’s about to deliver her some sage wisdom. “What would Dear Electra tell her to do?” Her brows raise as if she’s made an impressive proposition.
Electra can’t help but smile at her strange friend. “Dear Electra would tell her to be brave and have faith that everything is going to work out.” Giving advice and taking advice are totally different things.
“Then it’s settled.” The priestess squeezes her hand. “You’ll go to the meeting and let the dumb man get you the ID.”
“Right.”
