Marina Soleil's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The opening walk bought Marina forty minutes before the next round call. She used them. The judges' table had already emptied for a break, but their notes were still there, and the judges themselves were somewhere in the building drinking free wine. She needed to know what they wanted in the tank. Charm did not work through six feet of water. She had to walk in already knowing which judge liked what, or the endurance round would strip her down to a stranger they could vote out without guilt. She left the floor barefoot and went back up to the lounge. Velvet Mirage was still at the window. Omaha was gone. Marina sat down and did not waste the opening. "I need to know what the tank judges want. Private tastes. Who leans which way. I cannot walk in blind." Velvet tilted her glass and watched the light move in it. "That is a second favor." "I know." "You have not paid the first." "I know that too." Velvet was quiet long enough for Marina to hear her own pulse. Then she lifted one finger. Omaha slid out from behind the bar curtain like she had been waiting for the cue, tail flicking, green eyes bright. "Sweetheart," Omaha said, "I already walked their coats." Omaha dropped onto the couch and counted on her fingers. The head judge liked stillness, not smiles; last year he marked down every girl who kicked. The woman on his left wanted eye contact through the glass and hated hair across the face. The third judge, the one who never spoke, scored on breath control alone and timed it on his watch. The fourth had a daughter who drowned two seasons ago and could not watch panic; any thrash and he closed his eyes and gave a floor score. "Do not fight the water," Omaha said. "Hold his gaze. Show the quiet one your ribs going slow. And keep your hair back." She pulled a thin black cord from her leggings and pressed it into Marina's palm. "Tie it before you go in. They will not see it wet." Marina closed her hand around the cord. Velvet was watching her, not Omaha. "Two favors now," Velvet said. "I will pay," Marina said. On the way to the tank corridor a woman stepped out of a service door and matched her stride. Wet black hair. Blue eyes lit from under. Tattoos down one arm. Marina had never seen her before. "You are going in the water," the woman said. Not a question. "Yes." "The water reads what you bring to it." The woman touched two fingers to Marina's wrist and let go. "Bring less." She was gone before Marina could ask a name. Marina tied her hair back with the cord and kept walking. She had the judges now. She owed two favors and something colder she did not understand yet.