“Man, that’s crazy,” Voss said. “Woman’s probably trying to sell a book or something.”
Freddy perked up. “That’s right,” he said, turning to Voss.
“She’s trying to sell a book?” Jack asked.
“No, Voss is right that everyone has an agenda, an endgame. So, what is Wyeth’s goal?”
“He’s been creating reapers for thousands of years,” Jack said. “He’s about killing people.”
“That’s all he wants? To kill people?” Freddy asked skeptically. “That makes no sense. Why would somebody fight for centuries just to kill people?”
“Maybe he wants to wipe humans off the planet,” Voss said. “Like an exterminator.”
“No, Freddy’s right,” Claire said.
Freddy seemed surprised. “I am?”
“If Wyeth’s goal was to kill people,” Claire continued, “why would he disappear for thirteen years? Plus, the darkened are different from reapers. His strategy has evolved. He must have found somebody with the ability to create a virus like that.” Claire looked at Jack. “You said the simulation of Wyeth spoke to you. What did he say?”
“He didn’t say much,” Jack admitted. “Just that I was weak, stuff like that. Taunting me, almost.”
“Say that Freddy is right,” Voss said. “That Wyeth is trying to accomplish something. How are we supposed to figure out what that is?”
“Same way you figure it out about anyone,” Freddy said. “Figure out who he is and where he came from. Find out who he is at his core, and you’ll find out what he wants.”
“That actually kinda makes sense, Freddy,” Jack said.
Claire was already tapping her band, pulling up holograms. “Seems like reaper origin records are classified.” She turned to Voss. “But I bet you could get into them. I heard you can hack anything.”
Voss shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He pulled up a similar hologram on his band. Then he pulled up his spin cipher. He twisted the cipher around for a few minutes before he swiped it away.
“I can’t get it,” he said, frustrated. “It’s not hackable.”
Freddy hooted. “Big, bad hackerman! What, you finally discovered the perfect online security system?”
Voss shot him a sour look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I did. It’s called a book.” He focused on Claire. “These files are kept by the historian. In actual books. The only way to access them is to ask him if we can read them.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Claire asked. “Go get Asha. We’re going to visit Instructor Rufus.”
Rufus answered his own door. Apparently, Barnabas had served his time and managed to transfer out of the historian’s apprenticeship.
“A history project? And you need my help?” Rufus asked.
“Yes, sir,” Freddy said.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” Rufus walked back to a large bookshelf with seemingly no organization. “As you know, I happen to be the Hadley Academy historian. And your project is on . . .?”
Freddy cleared his throat. “The Reaper King, actually. On his motives and what he’s trying to accomplish.”
“Well, I am afraid that the information on Wyeth is classified. You knew that, perhaps?”
Freddy’s face fell.
“Of course,” Claire interjected. “But now that they know Wyeth is back, they’ve declassified everything on him. They want everyone working on gathering information, even recruits. I’m sure they told you first, as the Hadley historian?”
Jack tensed. Rufus’s eyes clouded momentarily. Then he relaxed with a smile. “Ah yes. The declassification memo. I was involved in that decision, in fact.”
Freddy shot Claire an impressed look. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he whispered.
“You’re rubbing off on me.”
“Is that, like, a static electricity joke?”
“No.”
“Because it was pretty good. You should take credit for it.” Freddy turned back to Rufus. “So. You have files on him, right?”
“All of them! But these are the files on reaper activity,” he said, motioning to the messy bookshelf. “We’ll want the history of Hadley.” He waved at them to follow him into another room.
Voss frowned. “The Reaper King data isn’t under reapers?”
Rufus hesitated. “Wyeth wasn’t a type of reaper, dear boy. David Wyeth was an improbable. The first, as a matter of fact.”
Instructor Rufus dropped a dusty book onto the desk. It was the sixth book he had brought from the back room, but each time he had completely forgotten what book they wanted. Scattered over the table were books on outdated recruit training techniques, honorably discharged improbables who had done amazing things in the dormant world, and a handwritten cookbook of the Maliseet Indian tribe. Finally, they had found the relevant book.
Rufus opened the large tome and flipped through the pages. “David Wyeth, let’s see . . . Move that lamp closer, would you dear?” he asked Claire. “Ah, here. David Wyeth was born in Scotland in the early eleventh century. Wyeth’s birth was foretold in the first prophecy of the Order of the Grays. He was the first human born with what we now call an improbable gift. Wyeth has often been mistaken as an immortal, but that isn’t technically accurate. He could shift his cells and DNA so that he would never age. He could still be killed, but this gift made him extremely powerful and gave him unnaturally long life. For this reason, the Shadow chose Wyeth and entered him when Wyeth was a baby.”
Freddy looked at the others, confused. “But where did the Shadow come from?”
“The Shadow is a spirit, my young improbables. It is a mist, an ancient force. The Shadow chooses a human to inhabit.”
“What about the ability to create reapers?” Jack asked. “Wyeth was born with that?”
“Wyeth was not born with one of the four spades of the Grays. Instead, Wyeth was born with one of the three ancient shadow spades.” Rufus counted off on three fingers. “Creator. Psionic. Viral. Wyeth was a Creator. You’ve seen his creation: the shadow reapers.”
“I thought Jacob Hadley was the first improbable,” Voss pointed out.
Rufus slapped Voss on the back. “That’s public relations for you, young man! How inspired would you be to be part of the Hadley legacy if you knew the first improbable was Wyeth himself?” Rufus hacked out a laugh that descended into a cough.
“Jacob Hadley was the second improbable, as foretold in the second prophecy.” Rufus continued after taking a sip from a mug of tea. “The Grays found the boy in a village in ancient Ireland. He was the first person to manifest one of the four spades of the Grays. He was a Theoric, a leader.” Rufus flipped past several pages. “Jacob Hadley also had the ability to identify other improbables, and he was a natural general. He led his recruits into battle against Wyeth and the earliest shadow reapers. He established the Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted on Elk Island. Jacob Hadley and David Wyeth, the first improbables, represent not just the two kinds of spades, but indeed the two sides of the struggle for the human soul.”
“The struggle for the human soul?” Asha asked.
“You came here wanting to know what Wyeth wants, which is the same as what the Shadow wants,” Rufus reminded them. “The Shadow wants a world he can control. The Shadow knows, just as the Order of the Grays knew, that each one of us has both good and evil inside us. Every day is a battle for our soul. Will we be other-centered or self-centered? Will we sacrifice ourselves or our neighbors? Which voices do we choose to listen to: those that tell us the world is here to serve us? Or the voices that tell us that we are here to serve the world?”
Rufus tapped his chest. “Every day we choose. Our soul chooses,” he said. “Wyeth knows that the human race is far easier to control when people choose self above others.”
“So the shadow reapers prey on people who can lead others to the self-sacrificial side. Roots, right?” Freddy interjected.
Rufus closed the book, producing a small dust cloud. “
Throughout history we’ve seen the impact of taking down a single leader—one who stands out, one who inspires others to make a difference in the world,” Rufus confirmed. “Yes, we call them roots. The reapers prey on those roots.” He grunted as he lifted the book to carry it back to the other room. “Help me with this book, won’t you, young man?”
Voss took the book and they all followed Rufus to the back room of the archives. It was literally a gigantic pile of books, as if they were about to be lit in a bonfire. “Just toss it with the others, thank you.”
Voss set the book down gently and wiped his hands. “So why did he create the darkened? Why now?”
Rufus pressed a handkerchief to his nose and trumpeted into it. He wiped vigorously before he pocketed it in his jacket. “The Shadow wants to remake the entire human race. For a thousand years he’s tried to break civilization using reapers. But he has discovered a far more effective way—to turn the civilians of the world into reapers.”
“So why didn’t he do that from the beginning?” Claire asked.
“He never had the power before,” Rufus told her. “Wyeth has one very powerful shadow spade. He is a Creator. But he does not have the ability to affect the souls of civilians. For that he would need somebody with another shadow spade. Wyeth would have needed a Viral to join him, a maker of viruses. One who could create a virus capable of enslaving the very soul of a person. For that, he would need a very powerful Viral indeed.”
“And now he’s found one,” Jack said grimly.
“It seems that he has, yes,” Rufus said. “Just thinking about it all is exhausting, don’t you think?”
Rufus yawned, and his eyes began to close. Voss caught him as he started to list to the side. The old man woke with a start and looked around at Team Thirteen.
“Ah. You must be from Prophecy Hall. Come seeking the famous broiled mackerel recipe of the Maliseet tribe, have you?” He chuckled. “I have it here somewhere.”
“No thank you, sir.” Freddy eased Rufus into his chair and glanced up at the others. “I think we have what we need,” he whispered. “Let’s let the old guy rest.”
They stepped outside onto the Bluffs. The river just below them rushed past in the dark.
“Wyeth is an improbable,” Asha said. “In a way it’s good. If he’s not immortal, then he really can be killed.”
Claire shook her head. “It makes me more worried. He’s turned a team of operatives against Hadley. And somehow he’s found this Viral to create this Dark Virus.”
Freddy checked his band. “We can talk about this later. Right now we’re on cleanup duty again at Prophecy Hall.”
“It only really takes two of us,” Claire said. “I can go. Jack, you wanna join?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. I’d like to.”
Freddy gave them a cautious look. “You guys sure?”
“Yeah.” Claire headed down the path, back toward the bridge. “Hurry up, Jack. I’m not starting without you.”
CHAPTER 21
A GIANT PROBLEM
Claire speared a bite of apple pie. “They just leave all this dessert out. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s motivation to do cleanup duty,” Jack replied, pushing himself up from his chair. “We should get started.”
Claire took a last bite of pie and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You know you want to ask.”
“Ask what?”
“Why I dated Brandon.” She stood, gathering up their dishes.
Jack stacked the plates left on the table next to them and considered how honest he wanted to be. “Okay. Fine. Why did you? The guy is a jerk.”
“He wasn’t a jerk to me,” Claire said. “And he didn’t need me to be chatty or chirpy or whatever. He didn’t need me to constantly tell him he was great. He didn’t need any of that. He planned everything, and he did all the talking. I could just relax with him. And I liked that.”
She put her plates on a rolling cart and added Jack’s to the stack. “He didn’t have anyone in his life he could talk to. Not about the real stuff. So he talked, and I listened. He was the loneliest person I’ve ever met.”
“Lonely?” Jack asked. “I never saw him alone. He was surrounded by a dozen friends all the time.”
“Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely,” Claire said. “Everyone wanted to brag that Brandon was their best friend. Being close to him made them look good. You think anyone actually cared who he was as a human being?”
“Okay, fine. But . . .” Jack shifted uncomfortably. “Why did you date him?”
“He kept his hands to himself, Jack,” Claire said firmly. “He just wanted a connection with somebody where he could be himself.”
“What could Brandon have to hide?” Jack asked. “He was the king of St. Paul’s—the star athlete, son of a famous billionaire defense contractor. What more does he want?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Can you even hear yourself? Think how hard it must be for him to live up to that stupid, unrealistic image! It’s exactly that attitude that makes people like Brandon hide his real self from the world. His father is in the news all the time, getting interviewed about whatever new weapons systems he’s created. That kind of fame is just more pressure piled on. Everyone is watching Brandon, waiting for him to fail.”
“So he has the right to be a jerk?”
Claire turned around and stretched out a hand. Three more metal carts, piled with the dirty plates they had gathered, came rumbling toward her. Jack caught two of them and pulled them toward the kitchen. Claire took the remaining two carts and followed him between the tables.
“He has the right to keep people away from him,” she corrected. “He did that by being a jerk. Everyone hides part of themselves.”
Jack stopped and turned around, leaning on one of the carts. “So what are you hiding?”
Claire stopped short. Jack wished he could suck the question out of the air and back into his lungs.
But he didn’t take it back. He didn’t change the subject. This wasn’t eighth grade, not anymore. This was the Hadley Academy, where quirks turned into weapons—but only if you had the courage to explore the good and the bad of your strange gift, the weakness with the strength. Hide your vulnerability and you would never discover what you were truly capable of.
“My dad,” Claire began quietly. She leaned against one of the heavy wooden tables and stared up at the tall ceiling. “Everyone liked him. He was so charming. But Dad would start drinking before dinner. I can remember him dancing with my mother in the kitchen, holding her tenderly and singing to her. Then something would set him off. He’d bump into a chair or spill his drink, and he would snap. Every night. He was an abusive drunk. That’s what love looked like to me: a swinging pendulum of violence and charm, never coming to rest.”
Jack had never heard Claire talk about her parents. She had told him about her grandmother, who she visited every weekend, and an aunt, who was like a big sister to her, and friends at her old school. Jack had thought she didn’t bring up her parents because they were divorced, and she didn’t want to talk about it.
“One night when my father came in to say good night, he bent over to kiss my forehead and apologized for ‘disagreeing with Mommy’—that’s how he said it. His breath stank of alcohol. He mumbled that he would never hurt me, as if it was okay to hurt my mom.” Claire scratched at a stain on the side of the table. “That’s when I discovered my spade. The spark was so loud. It threw my father against the wall.”
“I went out for a run the next morning before he woke up. I started doing that every morning, and I tried to come home after he had passed out.” She looked up at Jack. “That’s why I never wanted to be touched. Because that’s how it starts, that’s how they manipulate you. They pretend they care. Then they own you. Then you’re my mother.”
“And you discovered you could keep people away.”
“When I was little, I thought everyone could do it. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was doing, even, just that I c
ould control the energy around me and control my personal space,” she said. “That was important to me.”
Jack thought about the countless hours in Coach’s van. Coach picked them up in front of their apartments, Jack first, then Claire sliding in next to him ten minutes later. Coach kept his window cracked open, even in the winter, and one day Claire brought a thick red flannel blanket under her arm. She threw it over the two of them and jokingly patted it down on him like a mother. But they had never touched skin to skin.
Jack and Claire said almost nothing on those drives. Then they ran, working their way up in distance. By eighth grade they ran ten miles in silence, pace matching each other. They ran through the woods, over roots and puddles, with their milk-white breath chugging out like steam trains. They would end up back at the gray St. Paul’s Prep van, where Coach would click the stopwatch like a proud father. Claire would hold up her hand and Jack would mirror it. That remote hand slap was as close to a secret handshake as he had with anyone.
Then in the van, Claire would put her knees up and talk. She told Jack about her old school, her grandmother’s house that was next to a playground, some test they had coming up, all that she had been processing over the run. Jack would just listen. It was his favorite part of the day.
“Fine, I admit it. I didn’t like that you dated Brandon.”
“And you took it out on me,” Claire added.
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
“But you’ve changed, right?” Claire said slowly. Jack looked up to see her smile flicker.
Jack laid his palms flat on the cart and stared Claire in the eye. “I was a jerk. And judgmental. And I’ve changed. You’re my best friend.”
“After Freddy.”
“Freddy is more like my brother.” Jack squirmed. “You’re really making me work for this.”
“It means a lot to me.”
“I really am sorry I had a hard time being friends over the last year. It was dumb. I don’t know what else I can say. You believe me?”
“I know you, Jack. I don’t get close to many people, but I trust you. That’s more powerful than believing you.”
The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted Page 18