I looked up at the knock on my door. “I have the reports from operations and the data teams,” Jocelyn said. She stood in a neat, tidy office dress and wore heeled shoes that gave an extra inch or two to her height. Her hair had also been pulled up into a messy bun.
“Hot date tonight?” I asked, reaching for the papers.
“Just because I decided to wear a skirt does not mean I have a date,” Jocelyn teased as she handed them over. “Or that my date is hot.”
“Blind date, then?”
She nodded, and let out a sigh.
“Is that a sign I need to keep you late, or make sure you get out on time?”
“You’ve heard of arranged matches, right?”
That was very dangerous water. My spine locked just thinking about it. So much bad press lately centered around us supposedly leaking words and arranging matches. We never would, but it was out there. “Yes,” I said, and then had a sudden panicked thought. If Dad ever found out what my words said - he wouldn’t, right? If she started fishing for my words I was going to get angry.
“I have a feeling that’s what my friend is trying to set up,” she said. Immediately the tension fled. I felt bad for her, yes, but Thank Ink that wasn’t me. I waved for her to sit down and continue as I leaned back and got comfortable.
“Tricky to do when most people won’t show their words to just anyone,” I said. “We work very hard to keep the database secure.” Because even if the tension was gone that still hung over our heads.
She didn’t sit down, but she did lean against the door frame. “True, but he knows my words. I had to show him so he knew I wasn’t his, since my words were really close to what he has. He knows how I normally greet people, and he goes out and tries to figure out how others normally greet people. When he finds someone who says words close to mine then he sets up a date.”
“Not an exact science,” I said, “and really not an arranged match. It sounds pretty close to how we arrange Balls, actually.” Arranged matches were entirely contrived. Two people given scripted words to say to each other based on what was written on their skin made an arranged match. Some people believed that was enough for fate to see they were made for each other. If they were lucky then the words stayed, close enough they could learn to love. Sometimes marks just faded. The really unlucky ones…
Soulsickness was a thing. It was unpleasant and deadly.
“I appreciate the thought, really, and I’m glad he cares enough to try and help - but I just - “ she huffed, uncertain how to finish.
“You wish he were searching for someone you’d like rather than someone with your words,” I guessed. It wasn’t uncommon, and similar to my own reasons. My biggest dread was that I would force my soulmate to say my words.
Jocelyn’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. Unlike you I actually want to find my soulmate, but I didn’t want a Ball for a reason. I want the meeting to be more natural.”
“I keep telling you I don’t have soulwords.”
“You say that,” Jocelyn agreed. “But not once have you said you don’t have a match.”
“What?”
Jocelyn looked over her shoulder for a moment, attention drawn by something, then looked back me. “Off the record?”
“This whole conversation better be, or HR will have our heads.”
“Most people who don’t have soulwords also say they don’t have a soulmate. I’ve heard you tell your father several times that you don’t want to find your soulmate for whatever reason - whether that’s because you don’t want to find them or because you don’t believe in searching is none of my business - but not once have you said that you don’t have one. You’ve never even tried to convince anyone that they don’t exist. Not around me, at least.”
“Just yesterday I told Dad my match may not exist.”
“May not?” she asked. “May not doesn’t mean does not.”
I glared. She was way too observant. “Stop trying to make sense.”
“I didn’t say a word,” she said, taking a breath and closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she stood straighter and seemed to have found her balance. “I’ll need to leave on time today. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” I said, waving her concerns away. “Have fun.” She deserved a night off.
She went back to her desk and I was left with thoughts of marks and matching. I couldn’t quite remember the last time I’d really looked at mine. I’d been so horrified by the words when I was younger, denying them had been a gut reaction. Like maybe they would change if I just believed hard enough. Because I was both desperate to find my match and terrified of what the words meant. It never occurred to me to deny the existence of my match to anyone but Dad. It would cause questions to start doing that now, questions I could probably handle, but even the thought of it made my gut wrench into knots. To say the person didn’t exist felt like killing a dream. Tempting fate. It would become real.
I set the reports aside and looked back over the event planning for Friday’s party. I’d managed to book the club; it had cost a bit extra to get it short notice, and Saturday night was all that was open. I hadn’t specifically said it was a Ball. I’d wanted it to be a party. A few tickets for free drinks for each person, some dancing, and free access to the club’s lounge where they would set up snacks. A quieter area for those who wanted to actually meet and talk.
It looked like every other Ball.
Damn it.
Comments (1)
See all