Scarlet

parts for the bigger machines: hovers and tractors and ships.
    “Perfect,” she muttered, heading toward the back wall.
    They passed a young, acne-faced clerk sitting behind a worktable, and though Cinder instantly called up her glamour, disguising her and Thorne as the first thing that came to mind—dirty, grungy farmhands—she doubted the ploy was necessary. The boy didn’t even bother with a polite nod, his attention fixed on a portscreen that emanated the upbeat tune of a game app.
    Cinder rounded the aisle of power converters and spotted a boulder of a man leaning against an engine lift, the only other customer in the store. His attention was focused on picking at his nails instead of browsing the shelves, and when he met Cinder’s gaze it was with a taunting smirk.
    Shoving her metal hand into her pocket, Cinder found the vibrations of his thoughts in the air and twisted them away. You are not interested in us.
    But his smile only widened, sending a chill down her back.
    When he turned away a moment later, Cinder crept into the aisle, her attention divided between maintaining the glamour and scouring the mishmashed parts until she found the power cell they’d come for. She snatched it off the shelf, gasping at its weight, and hurried back toward the front.
    Thorne exhaled as soon as they were out of the stranger’s sight. “He scared me.”
    Cinder nodded. “You should go start the podship, in case we need to make a quick getaway.” She dropped the power cell onto the clerk’s desk with a thunk.
    The clerk didn’t bother to look up, one hand still playing the game single-thumbed while the other held the scanner out to Cinder. The red laser flickered across the counter.
    Dread settled in Cinder’s stomach. “Um.”
    The kid managed to pull his attention away from the game and gave her an irritated glare.
    Cinder gulped. Neither of them had an ID chip or any means of paying. Could she glamour her way out of that? She imagined Levana probably wouldn’t have had any trouble …
    Before she could speak, something sparkly dangled in the corner of her eye.
    “Will this cover it?” said Thorne, holding out a gold-plated digital portscreen watch. Cinder recognized it as the one Alak had been wearing, the man who owned the spaceship hangar in New Beijing.
    “Thorne!” she hissed.
    “This isn’t a pawn shop,” said the boy, dropping the scanner gun on the counter. “Can you pay or not?”
    Cinder glared at Thorne, but then spotted the strange man plodding out of the aisle near the back of the shop. Strolling toward them, he whistled a chirpy tune, then pulled a pair of thick work gloves out of one pocket and made a big show of pulling one onto his left hand.
    Heart hammering, Cinder turned back to the kid. “You want the watch,” she said. “It’s a fine trade for this power cell and you’re not going to report us for taking it.”
    The kid’s eyes glazed over. He’d just started to nod when Thorne deposited the watch into his palm and Cinder grabbed the power cell off the counter. They marched out the door, leaving the ringing of fake bells behind.
    “No more stealing!” she said as Thorne fell into step beside her.
    “Hey, that watch saved us in there.”
    “No, I saved us in there and in case you already forgot, that is exactly the kind of mental trick that I don’t want to pull on people.”
    “Even if it saves your skin?”
    “Yes!”
    A light flashed in Cinder’s eye, indicating an incoming comm. A moment later, words began tracking across her vision.
    WE’VE BEEN DETECTED—POLICE. WILL KEEP THEM OUT AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.
    She stumbled in the middle of the street.
    “What?” said Thorne.
    “It’s Iko. The police have found the ship.”
    Thorne paled. “No time to shop for new clothes then.”
    “Or an android body. Come on.”
    She took off running, Thorne keeping step, until they spun around the corner and both skidded to a halt.
    Two policemen stood between them and their podship—one comparing the ship’s model with something on his portscreen.
    Something beeped on the other officer’s belt. As he reached for it, Cinder and Thorne backed away, ducking around the building.
    Pulse racing, Cinder glanced up at Thorne, but he was scanning the nearest window. RIEUX TAVERN was painted off center on the glass.
    “Here,” he said, dragging her around two wrought-iron tables and through the door.
    The tavern stank of booze and fried fat, and was thrumming with sports on