“You look beautiful,” Aiden admits, twirling me around the dancefloor, “Not that you were ugly before Morrigan fixed you up. Or not fixed, I mean before she touched you up.”

    “You sure do have a way with words,” I say sarcastically.

    “You’re always very straightforward,” Aiden notes, smiling. His clammy hands fit into mine, and on them, I feel something. Scarred bumps, bandaids, and burns.

    “What happened to your hands?” I ask him.

    “Oh,” He looks down, his hands turning in mine as we turn with the music, “I sometimes get burnt when doing magic. Fire is unpredictable, hard to control. Sometimes it runs loose and burns me.”

    “I thought you’d be fireproof,” I admit.

    “Have you ever run so much your feet started hurting?” He asks me.

    “A couple of times, yes.”

    “See? We still hurt and feel pain, we just do it cooler.”

    I laugh, hating it as soon as I do it.

    “You’re softening up,” Aiden says, eyebrows raised.

    “I am not,” I scowl. 

    “It’s okay,” He laughs, “We’ve all been there. No one is going to get you like we will. It’s part of the deal, you get superpowers, eternal life, and a handful of platonic soulmates. Although I’m still waiting for my real soulmate.”

    “You believe in soulmates?” Shira asks as she and Adi float by.

    “I mean, magic exists and I’ve looked like a twenty-something for thirty years, so yeah.”

    “That’s so cute,” She laughs and drifts away, Adi too focused on his steps to care about the quick, teasing conversation.

    “I don't think I would call this lot platonic soulmates,” I nod towards the dancers. They all seem too frayed, too out of bounds, to love each other like that. There are clear friendships and clear contentment between them all. Worst of which might be Morrigan, whom I have only seen take Lynn seriously. It's so clear that she hates me and everyone else, that I can't help but feel suspicious. Adi talked about northern European solidarity, but I feel none of that from my fellow scandic girl. She's cold to the touch, like a ghost.

    “I think the more you know a person, the more you’ll start being comfortable being mean around them,” Aiden tells me, “Like I’m always polite to new people I meet. It’s only when I know them well I can tease and bite. It’s about trust, and knowing each other’s boundaries.”

    “We were not usually this messy,” Erika interrupts as she and Zeph start dancing around us, “It started after you know what happened.”

    The two deaths.

    “Is everyone listening to your conversation?” I ask the room.

    “Yes,” They all respond.

    I stop dancing in the middle of the floor, “I’m hungry, can we get this dinner over with?”

    “Sure,” Erika says, stopping Zeph and her dance. Zeph slings an arm over her shoulders and she relaxes into him. 

    I sit between Erika and Zeph. It’s a long table, stretching from one end of the room to the other. We are all gathered in the middle, four people on each side of the table.

    “So what do you think?” Erika asks quietly, leaning towards me. The others have started eating, as have I.

    “About the food?” I ask between bites.

    “About everything,” Erika clarifies, “You seem on edge, I just wanted to see if there was anything I could help with.”

    “It’s fine,” I lie, “It’s a bit much, but it’s all fine.”

    “What about the people?” She inquires, eyebrows wriggling and a light smile on her plum, crimson red lips. "You and Aiden seem to be getting friendly."

    “I guess I have a lot of personal opinions,” I tell her, returning my gaze to the foot on the plate. It’s not bad.

    “You’re very secretive,” Erika comments, digging into her own food, “It makes sense. You must have learned it while homeless. One day you’ll have to tell me if you were homeless because of circumstance, or if you were running from something. Don't worry, we’ve all got pasts like that.”

    “Tell me about your past,” I commanded, “Then maybe I’ll tell you about mine.”

    I can hear the talk around us quieting down. Everyone must be listening. We are only eight people, after all. I would be eavesdropping too if I was in their place.

    “Alright,” Erika nods, wiping her hands in the embroidered napkin and leaning back in her chair. She is so relaxed that I want to scream. “It’s not an impressive story. There are better ones in this room, I can assure you. I was born in 1945 in Jacksonville, Florida. That in itself should tell you a lot about my adolescence. I mean all the others have assumed correct when they first met me. My parents were workers, I went to an all-black girl’s school. I wanted to have friends there, so I had them. I wanted to go to college, so I got accepted. I wanted a bigger house with a view of the sea for my parents, so they got it. I used my magic like that, to get the stuff I wanted.

"That doesn't mean my life was all good, it was a terrible time for all black people in America. I found out I was Tethered when I was seventeen, Adi and Miriam found me and talked to me, but I decided to stay for three years. I went to protests a lot, and I even got in serious trouble. As serious as someone with my abilities can. You know, for the last year before I joined the Organization, I was homeless too. My parents started to catch on, and I didn't know how to tell them. So I faked my own death. It wasn't hard, black people were killed all the time, so getting a body wasn't an issue. The police sure as hell weren't going to look too far into what happened. I don't know if they even would have found out the body wasn't mine. Morrigan helped me change the face of the girl.”

    I let go of my fork, “I don't believe you.”

    “White people are always like this,” Shira says, pointing at me and looking at Erika, “Shocked that bad stuff happens to us.”

    That wasn't it. I know bad stuff happens, and I know it would have been way worse for me if I was anything other than white. I know that saved me a lot of the time, especially when it came to the police and the help of strangers. The truth is I simply don't believe Erika. I don't know why, her story makes perfect sense. I know America is shit, and I know it was even shittier for her back then. Everything makes historical sense, everything is so true that I can't believe it.

    So why doesn't my gut believe her?

    “Sorry,” I say, lying, “I shouldn't be shocked. It must have been terrible.”

    Erika looks at me, and in her eyes, I see something that scares me. Guilt.

    “Who’s next?” Zeph asks, sipping wine from a straw. I don't know how he got a straw, “It’s getting good. I love tragic backstories.”

    “Can I tell mine?” Aiden asks, raising his hand.

    “No,” Lynn and Morrigan say at the same time.

    “You guys never want to hear my story,” Aiden slumps back in his chair, arms crossed.

    “It’s because yours is no fun,” Morrigan explains.

    “It was plenty of fun to me,” Aiden says defensively.

    “Fame just complicates things, it doesn't make it fun,” Morrigan says quietly, her finger running along the shining silver edge of her knife.

    A silence falls over the table.

    “You were famous?” I ask Aiden.

    “I mean my parents were,” Aiden explains, “My dad was the best hockey player of his time, and my mom was the first violin in the national orchestra. But I was in the news a lot when I was younger. Their divorce was very messy.”

    “Third-degree famous,” Morrigan explains, her head turned away from Aiden, talking as if he wasn't sitting in front of her, “Only obscure fans would recognize him. Still a chance, still searchable on the internets, but still. Third-degree.”

    “Why do you always gotta do this,” Aiden questions Morrigan, hurt painted on his face, “A lot of other stuff happened in my life before too. It was important to me.”

    “You want me to cut it out in paper for you, little boy?” Morrigan leans forward, talking down to him, “None of us trusts you. I’m sorry I’m the only one who has the guts to tell you.”

    “I don't think this dinner was a good idea,” Aiden admits. I see tears form in his eyes, but before any of us can say anything, he has left his chair and is making his way towards the elevator.

    “That was uncalled for,” Shira says, looking towards the closing doors of the elevator, her eyes filled with empathy.

    “I’m just saying what we’ve all been thinking for four years,” Morrigan defends, “He’s the only one who doesn't make sense. Plus, he was the one who benefited the most from the deaths. His powers are weak, but they were even weaker before he killed Miriam and Javier.”

    “That’s enough,” Zeph says.

    Morrigan shuts up, looking at Zeph with surprise and guilt. Oh, that's interesting.

    “We should just finish this dinner,” I say, “It was nice.”

    “You don't have to say it was something it wasn't,” Erika turns to me, touching my hand.

    “I mean it was nice enough before all this,” I tell her, but my mind is elsewhere. They told me it was properly just suicides or outside forces. But Morrigan thinks Aiden did it. Even when I danced with Aiden, I could tell something was off about him. I have to find out if he’s the murderer. My own life could be on the line if the person who did it lives here. I don't see why anyone would want to kill me, but I also don't see why anyone would want me to live. It’s clear that these people all have their own opinions about me and each other, what if it really was an inside job? Aiden could have done it, Morrigan could have done it. I don't know, I don't know them yet.

    And then there is Erika. What was so bad about her story that my soul and stomach rejected it?

    One thing is clear: I can't let my guard down inside this pyramid.