“Oh, our maintenance crew still comes across some lingering damage every couple days.” Maggie maneuvered the car forward, across the wide driveway to park at the stairs of the main building. As she turned off the ignition, she raised her eyes to the rearview mirror. “We’d probably better hurry. Oliver’s first class starts in twenty minutes. I’ll show you both where your rooms are so you can put away your things, but we should be quick about it. Principal Gates has very strict rules about tardiness, and they’re even more heavily enforced since the incident.”
Maggie kept referring to the trouble with the Wests as “the incident,” almost as though it was a minor misfortune that had been properly swept under the rug. It was starting to get on Emily’s nerves.
“Do I have to go to class with Oliver?” she asked. She didn’t have much of a day ahead if the answer was yes.
Next to her, Oliver snorted derisively and shoved his door open. Maggie appeared not to have heard the question, her own door ajar as she gathered up her things from the front passenger seat.
“Is that a no?” Emily asked, more irritated by the second.
“Quickly now,” said Maggie. “If Oliver’s late to class, he’ll have to serve a detention after school.”
That was enough to get Emily moving, determined as she was not to cause Oliver any more trouble than she already had. She scrambled out of the car and around to the back to collect her messenger bag. Oliver had already retrieved his things and was stomping away toward the dormitory. Maggie seemed impatient to follow.
“So we’re staying in the dorms again?” Emily asked as they hurried after the ten-year-old. “Same rooms as last time?”
“No. You have proper rooms this time, a dedicated place for you and your things. It’s best to have your own space.”
Emily didn’t like the sound of that at all. It seemed more permanent than she or Oliver wanted. “And do I have to attend class with Oliver during the day?” she asked again, intent upon getting a definitive answer on that point at least.
Maggie stopped and stared blankly at her. “You were serious? I thought that was a joke. Oh, you’re new!” she suddenly cried. Emily wanted to slug her. “I forgot. It’s just that… new handlers go through this whole orientation, and it really was out of the ordinary that you were sent before you’d done that. But, of course, there were extenuating circumstances—”
“Do I have to go to class with him?” Emily interrupted in a tight voice. All she wanted was one answer to one stupid question, not an exposition on the process of training new handlers about the ins and outs of their babysitting job.
“Not with him. You sit in the observation room with the other handlers. Most people use that time to keep up on their reports.”
“Reports?” she echoed faintly. Maybe she did need the exposition on how to do her job after all.
“No time to explain now. Here we are, up the stairs and to the left. Come along, Oliver. We’ll take your handler by her room and then drop your things off and rush you off to class in a jiffy. Here we are, handler’s quarters.” She twisted the knob of a sterile white door and motioned Emily inside. “Have a look around, make sure everything’s there, and then come back so we can get Oliver to his room.”
Emily didn’t know what she meant by “make sure everything’s there,” but she pushed the door open nonetheless. Panic welled in her throat at the sight that met her eyes: stacks of cardboard boxes stood next to a naked bed and empty bookshelf. “What is all of this?” she asked, but her eyes fixed on a familiar chair in the corner. Its presence gave her an answer before Maggie could: it was from her apartment in New York.
Maggie wore a vacant smile. “Your things arrived yesterday. There’s a manifest of boxes there if you want to make sure everything’s here, but bring it along.”
Emily’s breath quickened. “I thought this was only temporary,” she said, trying to remain calm. Shipping all of her things from the East Coast hardly seemed temporary.
“It’s only a two-year internship,” said Maggie with a shrug. “That’s temporary.”
Nausea churned in Emily’s stomach. So she was stuck in Montana for the next two years? But she deserved no better. Handlers were shunted around from child to child every two months, so she could just as easily serve out her internship here as at Prom-A. She forced a smile as she resolutely closed the door.
“You don’t want to check the manifest?” Maggie asked.
“No point. I didn’t do the packing, so I’ll have to inventory tonight instead. I don’t want Oliver to be late to his class.”
She stole a glance in his direction and thought she saw a look of pity on his face. He was going back to Prom-A, but she wasn’t. The pity was short-lived, though, replaced with contempt. She could practically read his thoughts: Oliver despised Prom-F, and he despised Emily, so the two would go well together.
His room was the next hall over, in the students’ section. Maggie led him straight to the fifth door down, where she twisted the knob and tipped her head inward. “Drop your bag in there, quick, quick. They should have all your new supplies waiting at your first class.”
He took two steps into the room and stopped short. “Why are there two beds in here?”
“You have a roommate. His name is Tyler. He’s probably finishing his breakfast, so you’ll have to meet him later.”
Oliver turned wide, outraged eyes upon her. “This doesn’t look any more temporary than her room did,” he cried, and he leveled an accusing finger toward Emily to emphasize his point.
“You’re on our roster, so we have to treat you like a regular student,” said Maggie with diplomatic calm. “I’m sure you can talk to Principal Gates about it if you get the chance.”
“I had my own room last time!”
“That was then. Come on, now.”
The message was unspoken but clear: Oliver would be here for some duration, and they had no intention of making special provisions for him during that time. Emily only hoped that it was more government red tape that was gumming up the transfer process, and not that Oliver’s residence would be as permanent as hers.
She was free in two years’ time. He was at least seven years shy of graduation.
Oliver’s thoughts seemed to run along the same lines, for a deep frown worked itself onto his face. Sullenly he dropped his bag next to one bed and returned to the hallway. “Get on with it,” he grumbled. “I don’t want detention.”
The trio trekked back down the stairs and across the lawn to the main building. “First class should be English literature,” Maggie said as she held the door for them. “That’s third floor, room 315. Did you bring your homework, Oliver?”
His eyes bulged. “You just told me to leave all my stuff in my room! You said they’d have everything I’d need!”
“I can get it,” Emily offered.
“No, no. Handlers aren’t supposed to be more than twenty yards away from their charges during the daytime hours. He’ll have to turn it in tomorrow—it shouldn’t affect his grade too much.”
“What?” cried Oliver.
“It shouldn’t affect his grades at all,” said Emily hotly. “It’s not his fault that he got dragged out of bed in the dead of night to travel six hours to a new school. Can’t they cut him some slack on his first day?”
Maggie was unfazed by their combined outrage. “Making exceptions creates weakness, Principal Gates always says. There’s the first bell—you have two minutes to get up the stairs and in your seat.” Then, she motioned to the nearby stairwell. It was blatantly obvious that she wasn’t coming with them.
“I think I hate this school,” Emily muttered when they circled around the second landing where Maggie could not overhear. Oliver made no response, but just continued to climb as quickly as his short legs would carry him. They were both breathing heavily as they came to the third floor, but he paused to straighten his shirt and futilely brush at the wrinkles in his pants. He seemed determined to enter his classroom with dignit
y.
“Your hair’s falling out of its band,” he told Emily, and she suddenly realized that he expected her to enter with dignity as well.
“Thanks,” she said, and she quickly pulled out the rubber band and smoothed the offending tresses back into a ponytail. “Is that better?”
Oliver spared her a cursory glance. “Try not to embarrass yourself too much.”
They had come up a stairwell at the end of a corridor. Rows of classrooms lay before them, doors open, with children and handlers hurrying to their proper places. Everyone had come from the main stairs or the bay of elevators in the central part of the building, with nary a glance toward the pair of newcomers. Oliver took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and stepped forward toward the throng.
“Room 315,” Emily murmured under her breath. “Here we are. Ooh, hang on! Your shirt’s untucked in the back!”
Oliver mechanically fixed the sloppy shirt. “You go into 315-O with the other handlers. That’s O for Observation,” he said with a sarcastic sneer.
“Thanks,” said Emily. “I’d have wondered about that for hours if you hadn’t told me.”
A breath of silence passed between them. Fear chased across his face in that momentary hesitation.
“Have a good class, Oliver,” she said impulsively. “Show all those Prom-F yahoos what a Prom-A genius is capable of.”
He snorted, false bravado back in full force. A couple students glanced curiously toward him as they hurried into the room. Oliver followed them at a more dignified pace.
“He’ll be fine,” said Emily, to no one in particular. Much as she hoped that was true, her anxiety yet fluttered on his behalf. Was this what a mother felt like when she sent her child off to school for the first time?
But she wasn’t his mother, and the Prometheus Institute wasn’t a typical school. They wouldn’t have the discipline problems of the public schools here, or the elitist bullying of the private ones. She had no cause to worry.
The second bell rang as Emily crossed the threshold into 315-O. Within, seated at a long table and on a couple of industrial-style couches, the other handlers had already assembled. Two were typing away on computers in the corner, and three more were reading either books or files. The other three had their attention fixed upon a television screen mounted next to the door.
It was broadcasting NPNN. Emily grimaced.
A large picture window allowed perfect view of the classroom beyond. Nine students sat with their backs to the observation room as their teacher took attendance. Emily felt conspicuous standing in the doorway, but her eyes instinctively sought out Oliver. He was seated directly in the middle, surrounded by Prom-F students and the subject of many covert glances.
“Hey, new girl!” a voice hissed.
Emily started. A familiar face stared back at her from the nearest couch. “Oh!” It took her a moment to match the face to a name. “Crystal!” They had interacted only briefly on Emily’s first visit to Prom-F, when Oliver had been briefed about “the incident.” Crystal had been Honey West’s handler at Prom-B. If she was still here, that meant that she’d been transferred to this campus too.
“Come inside and shut the door,” Crystal said, motioning her inward. “Those salivating morons will throw a fit if you interrupt their hourly Veronica fix.”
Even as Emily obeyed the instructions, her confused attention shifted from Crystal to the “salivating morons,” as it were—three handlers, all men, who sat watching the TV. One of them turned and bared his teeth at the insult, but the other two didn’t even acknowledge that they had heard it.
The “Veronica fix” referred to Veronica Porcher, a popular NPNN anchor who read the hourly updates throughout the day.
“They just watch NPNN all day?” Emily asked as she took the available seat next to Crystal. “By choice?”
“They’re addicts. Not really surprising—Veronica’s got her charms, after all.”
The beautiful reporter’s face flashed on screen and her melodic voice read the latest news. “I used to really like her,” said Emily with growing distaste. “I guess after a few weeks of nothing but NPNN, I’ve gotten sick of her.”
Crystal quietly laughed. “I used to really like her, too. Then I got assigned to be Honey’s handler.”
Emily’s head twisted sharply. “What’s Honey West got to do with it?”
A faint, knowing smile played around Crystal’s mouth. “When you encounter a high-grade projector like Honey, I think it must dull your senses to these lower-grade charlatans. At least, that’s what it did to me.”
“You mean Veronica—?”
“Prom-C, class of ’44.”
Emily shifted her attention back to the broadcast. “That’s… You’ve got to be kidding me. How many of those monsters are roaming around?”
Two of the entranced males turned and angrily shushed her.
Crystal chuckled again, but when she spoke, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Think we should tell them they won’t be getting their fix during this class?”
“What do you—” Emily started, but her eyes traveled to the picture window and the little boy seated in the center of the classroom beyond. “Oliver,” she said with dawning comprehension.
“High-grade null-projector,” said Crystal with a nod. “I don’t think it’s general knowledge that he’s been transferred here, and those three idiots certainly wouldn’t put two and two together. They probably don’t even know that Veronica’s a projector, though. It’s not like that detail’s ever been broadcasted.”
So how had Crystal discovered it? “Maybe it’s not her news reports they’re interested in,” Emily said. Even without the ability to project, Veronica Porcher was still an attractive woman.
“Well, they are men,” said Crystal with a shrug. “So tell me, is it true that you met my errant little Honey?”
Emily recoiled, wide-eyed. “What have you heard?”
“A lot of things, and most of them are probably false. But it’s pretty telling that you and Oliver are here and Honey and the others are still unaccounted for. So what happened?”
It had been a humiliating incident, and what little time had passed had not diminished that humiliation in the least. Emily opened her mouth to deflect the blunt question, but the television on the wall caught her attention. Like a specter that appeared when its name was spoken, the picture of Honey West flashed on screen, alongside one of her little brother Happy. Veronica’s news report registered in Emily’s ears.
“Authorities are still looking for Maddie and Alex North, who were taken from their home in the early hours of July 1. Their whereabouts are still unknown, but the family announced yesterday that they have increased the reward to fifty thousand ameros for any information that leads to the return of these two children. The case has baffled authorities from the very beginning, but the federal agents in charge of the investigation continue to express confidence that Maddie and Alex are still alive. Anyone with information about this crime or its victims is encouraged to call the National Hotline at—”
“You’d think by now they’d realized that reporting on this story is a waste of time,” said Crystal with a frown.
“It’s the only way they can track those kids, though,” Emily said. “No one who encounters them is going to get anywhere near them, thanks to Honey.”
“Thanks to Happy, more like. Honey actually has to talk to you to affect you. Happy can keep people away with a simple glare.”
“And Hawk can rain a flock of angry birds down on your head to peck your eyes out while he runs away,” said Emily.
Crystal perked up. “Now that I hadn’t heard. Did he really?”
“In Vegas. I’ve had nightmares about bird attacks ever since. It was like nothing I’d ever seen.”
“Wow,” said Crystal, impressed. “Sounds like you guys had a rough month.”
Emily couldn’t stop the cynical laugh that bubbled up in her throat. “The first week was rough. We’ve been in confinem
ent for the last three. Thanks to Honey,” she added with a pointed glance.
“She must’ve gotten you good.”
“She left me duct-taped in an abandoned office suite, after she picked my pockets for any money and my brain for everything I knew about Oliver, Altair, and the GCA’s pursuit of her and her brothers. Luckily I didn’t know much about any of them.”
“Being the new girl paid off, then,” said Crystal with an appreciative nod. Her expression shifted into something much more guarded, and she leaned close. “They really asked you about Altair?” she whispered, her voice so low that Emily barely caught the words.
“Yes! What exactly is it?”
Crystal shook her head, her attention flitting toward a security camera in the corner of the room. “Don’t talk about it here. Ever. Don’t mention the name. Don’t ask any questions. Ignorance is your best defense.”
“But—” Emily started.
“What little I’ve heard is enough of a warning,” Crystal said with another nervous glance around the room. “If the GCA suspects you’re affiliated, or that you know anything about it, you’re gone. No questions asked.”
Her anxiety was contagious. Emily’s own gaze shifted from the television-gawking trio to the other four handlers, each seemingly engrossed in his or her work. Any one of them could be a snitch, but even more likely was the chance of a hidden microphone with the surveillance camera that recorded their conversation.
And, of course, each one of them carried a government-issued cell phone that was rigged to perpetually record and transmit sound to a remote database.
“Well, I don’t know anything,” she said, more because she wanted that on record than because she needed to convince Crystal. “They already confirmed that I don’t know anything. Your little monster nearly cost me my job.”
That minor shift in topic alleviated the oppressive atmosphere. Crystal sat up with an open smile. “She nearly cost me mine, too. Or did you think I requested to be transferred here? It’s not a big deal, though.” She fluttered her hand in a careless wave. “My internship is up in less than six months, and there’s no chance whatsoever that they’ll pair me with another projector between now and then. I’ll be fine. I’m assigned to a real gem right now. That’s her in the front row, left side: precious little Lucy. She’s a piece of work but couldn’t hold a candle to Honey’s brand of monster.”
A Rumor of Real Irish Tea (Annals of Altair Book 2) Page 2