Read Online George R.R. Martin - [Wild Cards 18] by Inside Straight - Free Book Online Page A

trailer home at the edge of the desert, surrounded by Mexicanos like her, yet marked as different by her power, always the odd one. Now, suddenly, she’d been plucked from her old life and set down in a new one.
    She certainly wasn’t the odd one here.
    At the meet-and-greet party in the dining room at a fancy old hotel in Hollywood, the contestants met each other for the first time and learned their team assignments. All of it was being filmed.
Don’t look at the cameras
, Ana kept telling herself.
    After a while, she almost forgot they were there.
    She recognized the Candle, Gardener, and even Spasm from the Denver audition. Spasm waved at her across the room, hoisting his drink in salute. Everyone else was new, and she tried to figure out who they were and what they coulddo. There was Diver, the woman who had real gills. Rustbelt, whose skin was iron, whose touch could turn a car to rust, and who clanked when he moved. Then there was Drummer Boy, already a star as the front man for the band Joker Plague. Hard to miss, at seven feet tall. Not to mention his six arms. Ana felt even smaller among these—sometimes literal—luminaries.
    Of course, she was put on a team with Drummer Boy—who immediately announced that he preferred to be called “DB.” Then there was pretty blond Curveball. Ana was small and drab beside them.
Well, I’m not going to last long before they vote me off
.
    “You look kind of nervous,” someone said. Startled, Ana turned to find Curveball—Kate was her real name—standing beside her.
    “Yeah,” Ana admitted, “aren’t you?”
    Kate shook her head, and her gaze gleamed as she looked around, taking in the old architecture and the crowd of people. “No, this is exciting. I can’t wait to get started.”
    “So, I guess we’re all on the same team.” A man in his midtwenties, with scruffy brown hair and an amused expression, sidled up to them. He had his hands shoved in his pants pockets.
    “You’re Jonathan, right?” Kate said.
    Jonathan Hive offered his hand for shaking, which she did. Ana was prepared to slink into the background, but he noticed her and shook her hand as well.
    “Some of us seem to be a little more comfortable with this than others.” Jonathan nodded at Drummer Boy, who was signing autographs for some of the crew.
    With all those tattoos and that oddly shaped torso with its living drums, it was hard to look away from him. He seemed to enjoy being the giant in the room. He especially seemed to welcome the attention of the women.
American Hero
was blessed with—or rather, the producers had been sure to choose—a stunning selection of beautiful women, of almost every ethnicity. With six arms, Drummer Boy could flirt with all of them—resting a hand on one woman’s back, another on a different shoulder, while touching a strand of hair of a third.
    The hair in question belonged to Cleo—or Cleopatra—who could teleport herself and whatever she was touching short distances, leaving behind a
pop
sound, as air rushed to fill the empty space. In response to DB’s touch, Cleo laughed and sidled up to the joker, tucking herself by his side. Already, Ana had caught her new nickname among the production assistants: Pop Tart.
    “Hey, is that Peregrine?” Kate said, and Ana turned to look.
    It was, emerging through a hallway from another part of the building, followed by a lanky young production assistant carrying a clipboard and a cup of coffee. The talk show diva and perennial celebrity’s wings fluttered slightly as she turned and addressed the assistant. Ana couldn’t hear, but the exchange seemed odd—overly familiar, maybe. One hand on her hip, Peregrine pointed a finger, and the assistant nodded meekly at what turned out to be a lecture.
    That wasn’t a boss dressing down a subordinate, Ana realized. That was a mother admonishing her son.
    Peregrine took the cup of coffee from him and turned her attention to another member of the crew, and the production