The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year-Volume Four by Jonathan Strahan Page A

snapped it under her g-string and walked away.
    In the dressing room she looked at herself in the mirror. Twenty-four was too old for this. Definitely. She had no idea what time it was.
    She stuck her head out of the door. "Danny!"
    "Yes, doll."
    "Time is it?" She'd have to get herself a watch someday. A nice expensive watch.
    "Ten after," Danny said.
    "After what?"
    "Ten."
    Three hours earlier on the West Coast. She stacked her night's take, counted it, thought for a minute, peeled off two hundred in fives and ones. She stuck her head out of the door again. "Danny!"
    "Here, doll."
    "I'm gone."
    "You sick?" He ambled up the corridor, stood breathing heavily by the door.
    "Sick of this."
    "Mister Pergoletti says—"
    "You tell Pergoletti to stick it. I'm gone. Seriously." She handed him the wad of bills. "You take care of these girls, now. And have a good life."
    "Got something else lined up?"
    "Guess we'll find out."
     
    There was one bottle of beer in Cody's fridge. She opened it, poured it carefully into a glass, stared at the beige foam. A glass: she never drank beer from a glass. She poured it down the sink. She had no idea what was real anymore but she was pretty sure alcohol would only make things worse.
    She made green tea instead and settled down in the window seat. The sun hung low over the bay. What did Susana see from her apartment? Was her ankle better? Contraceptive pills, Jesus. And, oh, the smell of her skin.
    She was losing her mind.
    She didn't know who she hated more: Richard for making the proposal, or herself for accepting it. Or Susana. Susana had done it for money.
    Or maybe . . . But what about those contraceptive pills?
    And what if Susana did feel . . . whatever it was? Did that make it real? It was all an experiment, all engineered. Fake.
    But it didn't feel fake. She wanted to cradle Susana, kiss her ankle better, protect her from the world. The Richards of the world.
    She picked up the phone, remembered for the tenth time she had neither address nor phone number. She called information, who told her there was no listing under Susana Herrera in the Atlanta Metro area. She found herself unsurprised.
    She got the number for the Golden Key instead.
    A man called Pergoletti answered. "Cookie? She's gone. They always go." The music thumped. Cody's insides vibrated in sympathy, remembering.
    "—don't have a number. Hey, you interested in a job?"
    Cody put the phone down carefully. Sipped her tea. Picked up the phone again, and called Richard.
     
    It was open mic night at Coffee to the People. Richard was in the back room on a sofa, as far from the music as possible. Two cups on the table. One still full.
    "You knew I'd call."
    "I did."
    "Did you program that, too?"
    "I didn't program anything. I primed you—and only about the sex." He patted the sofa. "Sit down before you fall down."
    She sat. Blinked. "Give me her phone number."
    "I can't. She gave me a fake. I called her at the club, but she hung up on me." He seemed put out.
    "What does she know?"
    "I talked fast. I don't know how much she heard. But I told her she wouldn't get the rest of the money until we'd done follow up."
    The singer in the other room sang of love and broken hearts. It was terrible, but it made Cody want to cry anyway.
    "How long does it last?"
    "Love? I don't know. I avoid it where possible."
    "What am I going to do?"
    Richard lifted his laptop bag. "I planned for this eventuality." He took out a small white cardboard box. He opened it, shook something onto his hand. A grey plastic inhaler.
    "What is it?"
    "A vasopressin analogue, formulated to block oxytocin receptors in the nucleus accumbens. That is, the antidote."
    They both looked at it.
    "It works in voles," he said. "Female voles."
    Voles. "You said it tasted bad."
    "I've used it. Just in case. I prefer my sex without complications. And I've had a lot of sex and never once fallen in love." He arched his eyebrows. "So, hey, it must work."
    The elephant whistle