Exposure

by Kathy Reichs

  “Tory!” Shelton waved for me to hurry. “Let’s go! Double time.”

  Hi and Shelton sped-walked to the elevator. Shelton punched the down button repeatedly, his foot tapping mile a minute.

  “What’s the rush?” I said after catching up. “Is there a lunch special I don’t know about?”

  Ben strolled up at his usual, leisurely pace, but a smile quirked his lips.

  Shelton gestured for quiet, then hustled everyone into the elevator. Hi was grinning from ear to ear. Ben’s face was unreadable. I took a spot on the opposite side of the car.

  We descended in silence. When the doors parted, Shelton and Hi beelined for the exit.

  What’s with them?

  Ben didn’t hurry. We found ourselves walking side by side.

  No eye contact. Neither of us spoke.

  Ben held the door as we exited the building. I mumbled a thank-you.

  Outside in the warm sunshine, I hurried down the marble steps. Chasing Shelton and Hi. Leaving Ben behind.

  My thoughts returned to the Gable twins.

  Something in Hawfield’s body language. The way Riggins had emphasized the need for secrecy. There’d been tension in the room, carefully masked. I was certain there was more to this disappearance than those two were letting on.

  The police were worried.

  Which made me worried.

  I wasn’t tight with Lucy or Peter, but I knew them okay. We had three classes together every single day. Peter was the quiet type. Lucy was more vocal, but never antagonistic. They’d never been part of the crowd that mocked us. All in all, they seemed like smart, decent kids.

  Hi and Shelton were already at the corner, turning onto Broad Street.

  What are those morons up to?

  A glance over my shoulder. Ben was a few yards back, and following.

  I was more willing to chase after the doofus brothers than deal with Ben.

  At damn near a run, I fired down the sidewalk.

  Hi and Shelton waited two blocks ahead.

  “Why are we running?” I shouted. “Hi, did you lose a bet?”

  “Just come on.” Shelton was moving again. “You’ll understand in a minute.”

  We hustled another block. At the next intersection, both boys stopped and peered at something behind me.

  I turned. Ben was ambling down the sidewalk, in no particular rush.

  Though of average height, Ben is muscular, with a deep, coppery tan earned by spending most of his time outdoors. Black shoulder-length hair, usually tucked behind his ears. Dark brown eyes. Darker moods.

  Ben claims to have descended from the long-lost Sewee tribe, a Native American group that disappeared three hundred years ago. No proof, but it’s not something we contest—Ben takes his heritage seriously. He’d even named his boat Sewee. A nature freak, Ben would rather spend the day cruising salt marshes, or fishing for red drum, than just about anything else.

  The other thing about Ben is his temper.

  It’s a loaded shotgun, set to pop at any time.

  Don’t get me wrong, Ben isn’t a constant storm cloud. He’s wicked smart, and could be surprisingly sensitive and thoughtful. Perceptive, too. And loyal as bloodhound.

  Before The Game, anyway. Before he betrayed us.

  “Why is Ben following?” I whispered. “Wando is the other direction.”

  “Be cool,” Shelton replied. “He’ll want to see this, too.”

  My eyes narrowed. “See what?”

  “Hold your horses.” Hi was still grinning like an ape. It made me nervous.

  Ben finally reached the group. He’d slipped on dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, hiding his eyes. Freed from the Bolton Prep dress code, he wore his typical black tee and jeans.

  “Well?” Ben demanded.

  “Well what?” I said defensively.

  “Not you.” Ben was looking at Hiram. “What’d you snag?”

  Hi dug a folded sheet of paper from his pocket.

  “I should be a secret agent.” Hi blew on his fingernails, then buffed them on his lapel. “Or a magician. Maybe both. Someone write that down.”

  “Give me some warning next time!” Shelton snatched the page from Hi’s fingers. “You know I’m terrible at improvising.”

  “Check their lockers!” Ben mocked. “You sounded crazy.”

  “Somebody had to distract the police officers,” Shelton griped. “Stolowitski’s not as smooth as he thinks. I could hear him rifling Harris’s desk clear across the room.”

  I spun to face Hi. “You stole something? Seriously?”

  The scene replayed in my head. Shelton awkwardly drawing attention to himself. Hi puttering around the office. Things suddenly made sense.

  Except, of course, why Hi had risked swiping something in the first place.

  “Just look.” Hi tapped the sheet Shelton had unfolded. “You’re welcome.”

  The page was a color photocopy of a single object.

  “Ah.”

  I flashed Hi a thumbs-up. He winked.

  The image was some kind of old-fashioned playing card. An odd figure adorned its face: an elderly bearded man, dressed in what appeared to be a toga, wrestling a giant snake that coiled around his body. Above the figure was a lone symbol: Φ

  “This must be the clue from Lucy’s room!” I squawked. “Hi, you’re a genius.”

  “Of course I am,” Hi replied. “I spotted the pic while you were talking, and knew you’d obsess over it. Now we don’t have to break in at three a.m. to get a look.”

  “How about we don’t steal or rob at all?” Shelton suggested, eyes scanning the cross streets for hidden eavesdroppers. “I was looking forward to a felony-free semester. Been a while. And won’t Harris know you stole this? That cop said it’s the only evidence they have.”

  “The folder had four copies,” Hi said. “If we’re lucky, she won’t even notice.”

  I tapped the symbol above the figure’s head. “This is Greek. The letter phi.”

  “Duh,” said Hi. “But who is Captain Snake Wrangler?”

  “No idea.” My voice firmed. “But we’re going to find out.”

  “See what you did?” Shelton glanced heavenward. “Now Tory won’t ever let this go.”

  “Wise up, kid.” Hi tapped his temple. “She wasn’t letting this go, period. Not after hearing there’s a freaking clue.”

  All three looked at me.

  I shrugged. “Hi’s right. I’m hooked.”

  There was something unnerving about the image. The man with the snake gave off a cold, sinister vibe. Dead eyes. Unsmiling lips. His stern visage sent a chill along my spine.

  The card itself looked old, maybe even ancient. Though hard to be sure from a copy, the figure appeared hand-painted. My gut said the card was rare, and probably valuable. I hadn’t the faintest idea where you’d find something like it.

  I didn’t know Lucy well, but this didn’t strike me as something she’d purchase.

  My sixth sense shivered in warning.

  “The twins might need our help,” I said. “Maybe we should dig a little.”

  “Need us how?” Shelton took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. “The police are already on the case. What can we offer that they can’t?”

  “You really have to ask?” Ben scoffed.

  Shelton looked at him blankly.

  “We have superpowers, dummy.” Ben smirked as he scuffed a shoe against the sidewalk. “I doubt those CPD clowns can match that.”

  Ben’s flippant attitude infuriated me. “Shouldn’t you be heading the other direction?”

  “I’m taking a personal day.” Ben stretched his arms, locked his hands behind his head. “Wando can get by without me until tomorrow. Plus, I parked around the next corner.”

  After moving to Mount
Pleasant, Ben had taken his share of our stash and purchased a beat-up blue Ford Explorer. The mid-nineties clunker looked ready to die at any moment, but Ben now had wheels to complement his Boston Whaler runabout.

  The rest of us didn’t have so much as a motorized scooter.

  “I’m not suggesting we put ourselves at risk.” I spoke carefully, addressing all three boys rather than just Ben. “Or go on some wild flaring binge. In case you’ve forgotten, we have plenty of abilities besides the ones we inherited from Coop.”

  Ben snorted. I could sense his eyes rolling behind his shades.

  “In fact,” I continued, disturbed by his dismissive manner, “I think we should be more careful about our powers in general. At least until we access Karsten’s flash drive.”

  “How are we gonna do that?” Hi nodded toward Shelton. “Hack-Master General here says he can’t crack the code.”

  “That’s commercial-grade encryption we’re talking about,” Shelton replied testily. “Top-of-the-line security software. I’m good, but not that good.”

  “Then we need an expert,” I mused. “Someone who’ll do the job, but also keep their mouth shut.”

  “Good luck,” Shelton grumbled. “I doubt Anonymous could hack that drive.”

  Ben crossed his arms. “What do you expect to learn, anyway?”

  He’d addressed me directly. I was forced to respond.

  “We need to know exactly what Karsten was doing with Parvovirus XPB-19.” I ticked off fingers. “How he constructed the supervirus, what happened during testing, and how the microbe might mutate in the future.”

  “The future?” Shelton reached for an earlobe. “Why so concerned? Is this because of that . . . feeling . . . you get?”

  “Partly.” I took a deep breath. “I won’t lie. I’m worried about the stability of our flare powers in general. Things have gotten weird lately. We need to be careful.”

  Shelton’s eyes dropped. Hi shuffled his feet.

  They didn’t like talking about it. Wanted to avoid the issue altogether.

  But I wouldn’t budge. “We need to know if our condition will continue to evolve. And, if so, whether there’s a possible vaccine. Some kind of cure.”

  “A cure?” Ben hooted. “Insane. Why in the world would we want a cure?”

  I opened my mouth, hot words at the ready. Then closed it.

  Was Ben right?

  We had a unique gift—special abilities unknown to the rest of our species. Was that something we should consider giving up? Something we could give up?

  I shrugged off the question. Ben was being a jerk.

  Watching him now, he didn’t seem like the same friend I’d known for so long. I couldn’t put my finger on it, exactly. The arrogant set to his shoulders? The bitter sarcasm dripping from every word?

  Ben had always had a temper, but this seemed worse.

  I worried the media coverage had affected him. As the centerpiece of the prosecution’s case against the Gamemaster, Ben had been alternatively cast as victim and villain, depending on the source. Either way, he’d been at the eye of the storm.

  At first Ben had seemed spooked, almost paralyzed by the spotlight. Though I’d kept my distance, Hi and Shelton had reported his skulking, disappearing aboard Sewee for hours, always trying to avoid being seen.

  Then, abruptly, he’d seemed to accept the notoriety. Maybe even relish it a little. According to Hi and Shelton, in the last few weeks Ben had been out and about, wearing his dark designer shades, apparently unfazed by the gossip and the stares.

  The sudden change concerned me. It felt like a front.

  I was sure something was wrong. That Ben was bottling his issues deep inside.

  But I wasn’t ready to talk. Still couldn’t bring myself to forgive.

  As we lingered on the sidewalk, I examined Ben from the corner of my eye. He seemed relaxed, almost languid. Carefree. An unnatural response to the morning’s events.

  Then Ben yawned like a jungle cat uncurling from a nap. His movements snared my attention. Scratching his nose, Ben’s fingers moved just a little too fast.

  Pieces suddenly clicked together.

  Dark shades. Quick hands.

  Alarm bells began clanging in my head.

  Ben!

  My hand shot for the Ray-Bans, but Ben caught my fingers mid-flight.

  “It’s not nice to grab,” he said calmly.

  “You’re flaring,” I hissed. “Right now!”

  Ben chuckled. “So? No one can tell.”

  “Oh, man!” Shelton whirled to scan the block. “Bad idea, Blue. Spectacularly bad.”

  “Why are you flaring in public?” I whisper-shouted. “For no reason!”

  “You have some kinda death wish?” Hi snapped. “You wanna end up dancing for quarters in a government zoo? Because that’s what you’re risking, and you have terrible rhythm.”

  “Relax.” Ben’s voice had an edge. “I’m wearing sunglasses. Being careful.”

  “You are burning our secret superpowers, in broad daylight, in the middle of downtown Charleston!” My eyes flicked to a couple rounding a nearby corner, and heading our way. “Here come some tourists, Benjamin. Wanna show them your special skills?”

  “I should,” Ben snickered, waggling his shades. “It’d make their visit memorable.”

  I was about to straight flip the frick out when Ben’s shoulders quivered, sweat beading at his temples. Then he sighed, sucked in two deep breaths.

  Ben slipped off his shades to reveal normal brown irises. “Happy, grandma?”

  He tossed a mocking wave at the tourists as they strolled past.

  “No,” I said, once the couple was out of earshot. “I’m pretty damn far from happy.” Then, with a monumental effort, I moderated my tone. “You’re playing with fire, Ben. And if you screw up, we all get burned.”

  “I’m not a child, Victoria.” Replacing his Ray-Bans, Ben strode away up the block.

  “Well, that wasn’t great,” Hi said dryly. “But at least you two are talking now, right?”

  “I can’t handle all this tension,” Shelton moaned. “Too much fighting.”

  Hi nodded, watching as Ben disappeared down a side street. “We need to work on our conflict management. Maybe attend a seminar.”

  “Ben’s going all flare crazy,” Shelton muttered. “Hi’s burglarizing the DA’s office. Nobody’s talking about anything. Things are getting out of hand.”

  My palms came up. “What can we do? Ben’s impossible.”

  Shelton surprised me by jabbing a finger in my face. “You do nothing but look daggers at him, when you bother to acknowledge his presence at all. How’s he supposed to act? When are you gonna get over this, so we can move on?”

  “When Ben creates a time machine,” I shot back. “And undoes what he did!”

  Dumb words, but I didn’t care. I was seething.

  “Ben’s been flaring a lot lately,” Hi said quietly. “Every day, I think. I wonder if he’s just chasing the rush.”

  Those alarm bells became blaring sirens.

  Ben seemed totally different. I’d assumed it was stress from the trial, but now I worried it was something else. A more disturbing possibility.

  I knew our powers were becoming unsteady. I’d felt the tremors myself.

  But had they also become addictive? Or destructive?

  Ben was flaring often, even in public. Could that be changing his personality?

  Or could Ben’s overindulgence be causing the problems in the first place?

  What have we gotten ourselves into?

  Shelton checked his watch. “We’d better move. The headmaster wants us back by lunch, and we’re cutting it close.”

  “Fine.” What more was there to say?

  I walked the last few blocks in a fog, my mind s
ifting unpleasant possibilities. Considering dire scenarios. The chronic problem of our viral transformation suddenly seemed urgent. We’d put off seeking answers for too long.

  We had to learn more about the experiment that changed us.

  Which meant, we had to get into Karsten’s flash drive. But how?

  Thoughts wandering, it took me several moments to notice a feeling I’d been ignoring.

  The odd sensation had returned. That itch I couldn’t scratch.

  Two days in a row. It’s happening more often.

  As soon as I recognized the vibe, it began to dissipate.

  Concentrating, I struggled to capture its essence. Felt a closeness I’d not noticed before. As though my mind were trying to connect with something outside my body.

  But how? I’m not flaring.

  Then, like a sigh escaping, the moment passed. I nearly ground my teeth in frustration. Another opportunity to learn something—anything—had slipped through my fingers.

  With my mind a thousand miles away, I didn’t see the land mine right in front of me.

  Hi grabbed my arm. I glanced up, startled to see Bolton’s wrought-iron gates.

  And more surprised to see Chance Claybourne standing between them.

  My stomach backflipped.

  Some reactions are purely involuntary.

  Chance was exiting the grounds, a dog-eared folder tucked under one arm. He wore a hand-tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, silver tie, red argyle socks, and black patent-leather shoes. The outfit oozed casual expense.

  He paused mid-stride, chiseled face unreadable.

  Chance seemed carved from shadows, with dusky skin and deep, dark eyes. He had a swimmer’s build—tall and slender, yet wiry strong, with lustrous black hair framing a perfect chin. His every move was graceful.

  Chance was, hands down, the best-looking person I’d ever met in real life.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted.

  “Manners, Victoria.” Chance tut-tutted. “And here I thought we were old friends.”

  I cleared my throat, buying time to pull my thoughts together. Finally, “I didn’t expect to see you at Bolton. After you graduated, I mean.”