A sequel to the Gun Princess Royale. Yanked off the streets of New Angeles by the tenebrous Pantheon organisation, and gifted with a deadly avatar known as a Diva, Nikola 'Sola' Raynar is a Lanfear - a huntress of Bloodliners and Wolvren. When she isn't hunting down the denizens of the night, she's busy finding ways to build up her nest egg for the day of her retirement from Pantheon. But when her rampant greed carries her a little too far, she finds herself in a mess that wasn't entirely of her own making. And things only get worse when the one who recruited her, the Goddess Aphrodite, decides to use Nikola to draw an enemy of Pantheon's out of the darkness and into the light.

Author's Note: Started a Twitter account (@HartSimkin) to post notifications on how the various novels are progressing, along with other bits and pieces.

It has become increasingly clear that the Bloodlines and the Clans are actively probing the inherent weaknesses of the Aventis-Fury system.
Hence, I write to you as a matter of urgency as this development can no longer be ignored.
My chief concern is the loss of our field personnel to either the Bloodlines or the Wolvren Clans. A secondary concern is the undermining of the morale and self-confidence of our people on the streets as we can no longer claim to hold absolute superiority over our adversaries. The progressive development of modern weaponry and the lack of advances on our part, has diminished the performance gap between our Furies and the Bloodlines private armies.
In response, I seek the support of the Lanfears and their Divas.
I am aware of Pantheon’s reticence to employ them in our overarching field operations.
However, I fear that unless the Bloodlines and Wolvren are sent a clear message that we will not tolerate their actions, they will continue to test our weaknesses and develop effective counter strategies against the Furies, eventuating in the loss of our Aventis out in the field.

####

Zen told me that in the old days it was easy to move about.

By that, she meant moving about the city with her Fury.

Even though Big Brother had been using cameras to surveil the populace since the late 20th century, it wasn’t as widespread as it was now with eyes and ears at every street corner, and in between. However, what made things difficult for me wasn’t the surveillance web Big Brother had a street level. It was the rooftop web that presented the most difficulties for the Aventis, because it was near impossible to travel across the skyline unnoticed. Even using our bots to disrupt photronic equipment around us wasn’t a foolproof means of ensuring our travails across the city wouldn’t be recorded.

That said, it wasn’t for lack of trying.

To that end, Speedy was customized with all the latest gear that could blanket the eyes and ears of Big Brother’s web within a few dozen meters. However, I’d recently been informed that a certain upgrade for Speedy had hit the market, and I was eager to get my hands on it.

Ergo, the reason for the sudden call that woke me up in the morning while I was dreaming of a different life that I’d once led. Snug under the blankets, I listened to a gruff yet familiar man’s voice on the phone line tell me about the new Canceller that had just landed in his hands.

I warned him, “Don’t you dare sell it to anyone else.”

“I’ll give you an hour to get here. Then I call my next best customer.”

I sprung upright on the bed as though my back was spring loaded. “An hour? Are you serious?”

“The clock is ticking.”

“An hour to get to your shop?”

“Business is business. Do you want it or not?”

I waved a fist at the mental image of the other party. “Pops, I swear, if you sell that to anyone else, I’ll do something I’ll regret!”

“You’ll regret? Or I’ll regret?”

“You don’t want to see me at my worst.”

There was a hefty pause on the line, before he replied, “Fine. I’ll give you ninety minutes. The clock starts…now.”

I quickly glanced at the time on my phone’s screen and memorized it. “Okay. Ninety minutes I can do.”

With that, I ended the call, then quickly started a countdown running on my phone from eighty-nine minutes, rather than ninety.

Kicking back the covers, I jumped out of bed but then spent the next few seconds wondering where I was. Taking a good look at my surroundings, I observed the spacious bedroom, the big bed, a built-in closet occupying most of one wall, recessed lighting on the ceiling, and a stylish bedside table and vanity.

Frowning, I soon remembered this was the guest room of Fiori’s apartment.

“Right….” I nodded. “No wonder I slept so well.”

The room had an en-suite bathroom with a shower that I chose to make use of. Once I’d freshened up and changed into clean clothes that I took out of my luggage stored in the Cradle, I headed for the door, but abruptly stopped and then walked over to the built-in closet.

Opening its doors, I regarded the extensive wardrobe hanging neatly inside that included dresses, pants, blouses, tops, coats, and shoes. All of it was women’s clothing from expensive brands, and they happened to fit me rather well. I knew this because on occasion I would pick a handful of outfits and try them on for size. Last night was no exception, and in fact, the pajamas I’d slept in came from a closet drawer.

I couldn’t describe wearing the different collections as a guilty pleasure.

Rather, it was closer to a morbid curiosity, and though Nikola looked good in everything I’d chosen out of the closet, I wore the outfits with a sensation of weak disgust in the pit of my stomach, perhaps because in my mind I felt as if I was crossdressing, though to the observer that couldn’t be farther from the truth. However, what truly puzzled me was that whenever I stayed over at Fiori’s apartment and slept in the guest room, I’d look in the closet to discover either more or different clothes hanging in there.

“What is he thinking?” I whispered aloud while gazing at the vast collection before me. Then shaking my head, I closed the doors with a softly spoken, “I don’t have time for this.”

Exiting the guest room, I hurried through the living area on my way to the apartment’s front door.

However, I didn’t get very far.

The smell of food in the air turned me about, and I saw Fiori in the kitchen making breakfast.

He glanced at me over a shoulder. “You’re heading out?”

I blinked at him, uncertain of what to think or say. Eventually, I muttered, “Yeah….”

“You have time for breakfast?”

I glanced at my phone and read the countdown on display. I had 72 minutes left before I lost the Canceller to someone else. “I’m not sure. I got a call from Pops Hunter. He’s got an upgrade for Speedy, but I’ve got a deadline.”

“Meaning what?”

“If I don’t arrive in 72 minutes, he offers the upgrade to someone else.”

“Just tell me the part you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Huh?”

Fiori jerked his chin at the kitchen bench that doubled as a table. “Take a seat. It’ll be ready in a moment.”

I peeked around his body to see him making French toast, then looked at my phone’s screen again.

Seventy-one minutes and counting.

Fiori glanced at me again. “Call him and tell him you have a better offer.”

I twisted my lips in a troubled pout. “You’re not bluffing, are you.”

“No, I’m not. Call him and tell him you have a better offer. If he doesn’t give you more time, then he doesn’t value you as a customer.”

I weighed the value of breakfast against Speedy’s Canceller.

Then I sent a message to Pop Hunter, telling him about the so-called better offer.

Afterwards, I pulled out a stool from underneath, then sat down to wait for breakfast.

This feels weird, I thought to myself.

“Can you really get me a Canceller for Speedy?” I asked Fiori.

“I can certainly look into them. I’ve got a few sources I can tap into.”

“Is that define Yes or definite No?”

“It’s a Yes.”

I wasn’t convinced. “I really need a better Canceller for Speedy.”

“And you’ll get one.”

I exhaled heavily, hoping he would hurry up with the breakfast he was making. However, Fiori wasn’t making conversation, and the silence between us felt uncomfortable, so I ended up asking, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, I do not.”

“Oh…then what’s with all the clothing in the guest room?”

He glanced at me over a shoulder. “What about it?”

“Does it belong to somebody?”

“It’s there for emergencies.”

“Whose emergencies?”

“Yours.”

I bit my lower lip for a second before stating, “But I have clothes.”

Fiori turned off the oven plate he was using, then walked over to the bench carrying a tray with several slices of French toast on a plate, and what appeared to be a mug of very warm chocolate milk. “Yes, I’ve seen the clothes you wear.”

I started eating the breakfast he’d prepared. “Are you implying there’s something wrong with my clothes?”

“Are you implying you don’t like the selection in the guest room?”

I didn’t like being answered with a question and scowled at him before cautiously drinking some of the chocolate milk in the mug, mindful that it was actually piping hot.

“I didn’t say that,” I told him.

“Then you don’t disapprove.”

“I’m not saying that either.” After drinking more of the milk, I resumed feasting on a toast. “But it’s clothes I can’t wear.”

“Why is that?”

I sighed at Fiori. “I can’t wear quality clothing in the lower levels. I get caught wearing upmarket brands like those, I’ll be stripped naked faster than a swarm of piranha can eat me.”

“A school of piranha.”

I scowled, annoyed. “You know what I mean.”

He stared at me in silence for a few seconds, then nodded. “You can take what you like from there.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Didn’t you just hear me?”

“What about Anthea?”

I frowned. “What about her?”

“Have you considered changing her outfit?”

I eased my frown into a questioning look. “I thought that wasn’t possible?”

Fiori lightly shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. But remember that Divas like Anthea are not like the Furies your friend Zenovia operates. They can do more.”

I went back to frowning. “I guess I could give it a try….”

I couldn’t deny being intrigued by the possibility of changing Anthea’s attire to something other than her stylish purple and black outfit.

What could I make her wear?

Anthea was taller than Nikola, with long, toned legs, a narrow waist, and a hefty, yet firm bosom. In short, she was fit for both a fashion runway and the pages of a swimsuit spread, so there was a lot she could wear.

However, the question was how to go about it. Would I need a strong mental image of how I wanted Anthea to look in order to change her appearance after summoning her? Perhaps I should subscribe to a fashion garb to pick up ideas on how to dress up my Diva.

Idiot, I admonished myself, she’s not a doll.

Fiori intruded into my musings. “There’s no telling when you’ll be transferred to another district.”

Puzzled, I stopped eating. “What does that mean?”

“That the clothes maketh the woman.”

“Huh?”

“That there may be occasions when you’ll need an upmarket and elegant appearance.”

I finished off the last piece of French toast on the plate, then helped it down with a generous swig of chocolate milk. After placing the mug down on the tray, I looked at Fiori with suspicion written on my face.

“Are you telling me that I’m going to be transferred?”

He glanced away in thought, before giving me a characteristic light shrug. “Perhaps. You’ve been assigned to the Santa Monica area for almost a year. Your rotation interval is coming up.”

I was confused, not seeing the point he was making. “I don’t get what you’re saying. I spend most of my time as Anthea travelling the city by rooftop. Who cares what she wears?”

“Where do you see most of the action?”

I swallowed quietly. “The alleyways and sublevels.” I cocked my head at him. “Where else would the action be?”

Fiori collected the tray from the bench top. “A wise man once said, the action is where you find it.”

I watched him carry it over to the kitchen’s twin sinks. “Stop beating around the bush and tell me.”

“You’re going to be late. You’d better hurry.”

Scowling at his back, I climbed off the stool. “Fine, I’m going but this conversation isn’t over.”

Returning to the guest room, I brushed my teeth in the en suite bathroom, used the mirrors mounted to the inside of the closet’s doors to check my appearance – faded jeans, hiking boots, a black T-shirt, and a heavy grey bomber jacket – then rushed out of the apartment with a curt wave and hasty goodbye to Fiori who appeared to be making breakfast for himself.

However, I didn’t get far because Fiori called out to me from the kitchen.

“When you’re done, give me a call. We need to chat.”

I stopped and spun around with a puzzled look on my face. “Why?”

He stepped out of the kitchen. “I may have a solution to your problem.”

“Which problem? I have many problems.”

“Your problem with Shifting when you can’t gauge how far you need to jump.”

“Oh…that problem.” I cocked my head at him. “That’s only a problem in thick fog.”

“Meet me up on the rooftop. I may have a way to resolve it for you.”

Genuinely surprised, I straightened my head. “Really?”

“Message me when you’re on your way back.”

Fiori returned to the kitchen, leaving me standing with unfulfilled expectations.

Yet again, I scowled at his back. “What? That’s it? You’re not going to tell me how?”

“If you’re late for Speedy’s part, don’t blame me.”

I growled in frustration, then raced down the hallway and out of the apartment.

I took the lift down to the ground floor, then crossed the lobby at a brisk pace, before exiting the Century Tower through its permaglass doors. Outside the building, I stood at the top of the broad steps leading down to the sidewalk and took the time to retrieve a faded black baseball cap from a jacket pocket. Slipping it on my head, I peered up at the grey sky for a second or two before descending the steps to join the morning crush on the sidewalk as millions of people headed for work or otherwise.

The overnight rain had abated, and the clouds overhead had retreated to a higher altitude so when glancing up, I could see the tops of New Angeles’ towering skyline and the overcast sky between their angular peaks.

However, the ground underfoot was wet and there were numerous puddles to be found.

To me, puddles were an enigma.

No matter how many people stomped on them, they never seemed to run out of water to splash at my ankles.

“Seriously?” I grumbled, while grateful I’d chosen to wear my sturdy hiking books as I was swept along by the crowd streaming down the sidewalk.

Occasionally, I nimbly sidestepped past those pedestrians who were intent on marching into me. I wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of knocking me aside.

From Tristen’s building, I made my way southwest along West Olympic Boulevard, past the Century Park megascraper – and arcology type building with indoor recreation grounds – and soon arrived at another massive skyscraper with a fat backside sitting on a city block surrounded by the boulevard and three avenues.

The elevated maglev station was here, and I climbed up the steps to the short concourse, marked the start of my journey by waving my phone over the turnstile scanner, then walked over to the platform standing some fifty feet above street level. From there it was a short wait until a maglev swooped in down the rail line and came to a smooth stop alongside the crowded platform.

Once again, I was pushed into a carriage by a wave of commuters, and it was then a matter of finding myself a spot where I could stand without being crushed by the human bodies surrounding me.

Anyone suffering claustrophobia would have experienced a seizure right there on the spot.

I could hardly breath and when I did, all I smelt was a smorgasbord of aftershave, colon, perfume, rainwater, and sweat. Then someone nearby started to vape – gods, I really hate that smell – and that caused a scuffle when somebody or other tried to stop them.

In the commotion, I got pushed up against a carriage support beam.

I hit my limit and pushed back, using a strength uncommon for a ‘girl’ my age and size, and succeeded in gaining some breathing room.

Cursing my decision to take public transport, I was relieved when I had to change over at station a few blocks down the line. But the second maglev I boarded was as packed to the brim as the first one, and I endured another twenty odd minutes of commuting Hell before scrambling off the carriage and onto a platform that had seen better days.

A glance at my phone told me what I needed to know.

I had twenty-eight minutes before the deadline was up.

At a turnstile gate, I waved my phone over a scanner plate. The transport network server recorded this as the end of my journey by maglev, and the cost of travelling through the city like a sardine in a tin can was deducted from my bank account.

I bit down another curse as I exited the station via its short concourse, then hurried over to a short bridgeway that connected the elevated station to the megascraper beside it, crossing it in seconds before plunging headlong into the throng of people inside the building.