by Kami Garcia
Time to go to work.
Halfway down the stairs, he caught a glimpse of his mark. This would be easier than he had expected.
“Sergio, can you hear me?” More static. “Staff Sergeant? Report.”
“Sergio is unavailable,” X said. “You sound like a real crackpot calling him on that thing. If only everyone knew how sane you are…”
The man dropped the microphone. But he recovered quickly and jumped to his feet. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
X took off his blazer and draped it over the banister. “You don’t remember me, Major Winchester? That hurts.”
The Major studied X. “I don’t know you, and I never forget a face.”
“Unless we want you to.” X walked toward the Major. “It seems like you’re remembering a lot these days. Unfortunately, that’s a problem.” He slid a pair of black leather gloves out of his pocket and put them on. “And I’m a problem solver.”
The Major’s eyes went wide. “You’re one of them.” He took a step back. “What did you do to Sergio?”
“If I were you, I’d worry about yourself.”
“Whatever they promised you, it’s all lies,” the Major stammered. “They want our planet. Are you just going to hand it over to them?”
X moved closer. “The world is a pretty messed-up place.…”
The Major held his hands out in front of him. “I have a son. He needs me. Just give me a little time to make sure he’ll be all right.”
“Gary, right?” X asked, measuring the Major’s reaction. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a smart kid. We’re already keeping an eye on him.”
“Leave my boy alone, or I’ll find you in hell.” The Major’s tone turned to ice. “That’s a promise.”
“You’ve got a lot of fight in you, Major Winchester. It’s a shame you picked the wrong team.”
“You don’t have to do this.” The Major tried to take another step back, but there was nowhere left to go.
“It’s funny.… Your wife said exactly the same thing.” X tilted his head to the side. “You think that’s a coincidence?”
The Major’s expression clouded over. “There are no coincidences.”
He lunged at X, who pivoted to the side at the last possible moment. As the Major charged past him, X moved behind. In a rapid succession of movements, he reached over the Major’s shoulder and grabbed his chin, then caught the back of the man’s head with his other hand and jerked his hands in opposite directions. “I agree.”
X felt the vertebrae crack, and he let the Major’s body fall to the floor in a heap.
Now the real work began. X ripped the newspaper articles and photos of fake UFOs off the walls. He didn’t have anything against the Major’s amateur private investigator status, but he didn’t have time to wade through all this crap. So it all had to go.
The basement was next. A heavy-duty cable and padlock secured the door. X should’ve brought along a pair of bolt cutters. The nice thing about conspiracy theorists who were anticipating an alien invasion was that they always had plenty of emergency supplies. And they kept them in the same spot in the kitchen as everybody else.
“The cupboard under the sink,” X said as he bent down to open it. He picked up the red fire extinguisher and marched back to the basement door. He brought the base of the fire extinguisher down hard against the top of the lock.
Once.
Twice.
Three times—and it broke off.
X’s boss wanted a specific file. Number 12179. “It will have ‘El Rico Air Force Base’ stamped on the front.”
Easy enough.
The light switch at the top of the stairs had been removed, leaving the wiring exposed. With the basement door open, X could see well enough to navigate the stairs and locate the chain dangling from a bare bulb at the bottom. He pulled the chain, and a panel of fluorescent lights on the ceiling turned on one by one.
The entire room was full of cardboard file boxes stacked ten high. A commercial copy machine was wedged between stacks of green paperback books. X picked one up.
“Stormbringer? You were some kind of crazy, Major Winchester.” He opened a file box and took out one of the cream-colored files.
#12179. EL RICO AFB.
X pulled out two more, then opened another box and checked those. Every folder was labeled the same way.
#12179. EL RICO AFB.
“You won this round, Major.” He stopped in front of the wall across from the stairs.
The Major had written a message in huge black letters.
CAN YOU HANDLE THE TRUTH???
“You’ll never find out,” X said as he pulled the chain under the lightbulb and walked up the stairs.
X retrieved his blazer from where he’d left it draped over the banister and slipped it on. He strolled through the kitchen and stopped at the stove. From the interior pocket of his blazer, he pulled out the gift from the boss.
Nothing extravagant. Just practical.
A simple turn of a knob and the burner ignited. X leaned over with the Morley between his lips and lit the cigarette. One drag, and he headed to the back door. A halo of orange flames danced on the burner as he flicked the Morley onto the kitchen floor.
He was halfway down the alley behind the brownstones when Major Winchester’s kitchen exploded, taking the rest of the house with it in a matter of seconds.
X thought about the Major’s kid. He was almost eighteen, and in DC, you only had to be seventeen to be legally declared an adult.
The kid will be okay.
But X did have one regret.
I should’ve taken the Enterprise.
CHAPTER 28
Outside the Mulder Residence
5:55 P.M.
The black sedan with the tinted windows was parked across the street from Bill Mulder’s apartment.
X knocked on the window, and the passenger door swung open.
“How did it go?” his boss asked without disturbing the Morley tucked in the corner of his mouth.
“I smoked my first cigarette,” X said, leaning back against the seat.
“What did you think?”
“Not bad. But I see myself as more of a social smoker.”
“Did you just make that up?” He took a long drag of his Morley, then pointed it at X. “And if you did, don’t tell me. It sounds like the kind of garbage a guy in a white jumpsuit would say, and nobody should wear one of those except Elvis. And he’s dead.”
The Smoking Man was pissed off about something. X hoped it didn’t have anything to do with him. The funnel of ash on his Morley grew with every drag. X didn’t bother watching it. The ash wouldn’t break off until the boss allowed it to fall.
“Did you get the file?” He exhaled, and smoke snaked toward X.
“Files. Plural. Boxes and boxes full of photocopies.”
“I assume that was the reason for your fireworks show at the Winchester residence?”
“Yep.”
“And the Major?”
“Broke his neck,” X said. “I would’ve staged a natural death, but the guy was agitated. And there was no time.”
“Don’t make a habit of it.” The Smoking Man blew out a long trail of smoke. “Anything to report on Fox Mulder?”
“Bill came home last night, and the two of them got into it.” X shook his head. “The kid’s dad really is a jerk.”
“Bill means well. A son can’t always understand his father’s motivations. What were they arguing about?”
“The FBI had called Fox in to ask him some questions.” A hint of a smile played on his lips. “The kid met with Agent Ressler from the BSU.”
The boss nodded. “I know Bob. We went fishing once or twice. The guy has no sea legs. He threw up the whole time.” He tapped the edge of his cigarette on the ashtray and the funnel broke off in one piece, the way it always did. “How did Fox do with Ressler? On land, the man is tough.”
“Ressler seemed impressed. He wa
s surprised the kid pieced the case together on his own.”
The Smoking Man rolled the cigarette between his fingers. “You followed Fox Mulder around for the past few days. How did he figure all this out?”
X sat with the question for a moment. “He definitely has good instincts. And he never discounted anyone without giving the person a chance. He even listened to Major Winchester.”
“Fox Mulder is willing to believe.”
The Cigarette Smoking Man kept staring at the building.
He took another drag. “Belief has its uses.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Jonathan Maberry, my friend and fellow author: For coming up with the crazy idea to write about Fox Mulder as a teen, and for never abandoning it. If you hadn’t talked me into writing the short story “Black Hole Son” about sixteen-year-old Fox Mulder for your anthology this book wouldn’t exist. And no one else could’ve written Dana Scully’s origin story. You’re the real Agent of Chaos.
Jodi Reamer, my literary agent and the best in the business: For encouraging me to follow my crazy ideas down rabbit holes and helping me find my way out when I get lost.
Erin Stein, my publisher and editor at Imprint: For scoring me this gig and spending three days at my house outlining Mulder’s story with me. But most of all, for letting me take risks in my novels.
Joshua Izzo and Nicole Spiegel at Twentieth Century Fox: For your excitement and support, and for helping us get this done so fast; and to the Team at IDW: for the amazing stories they’re telling in the world of The X-Files Origins.
Chris Carter, creator of The X-Files: For creating Fox Mulder, one of the coolest and most iconic characters in television history, and for allowing me to write his origin story.
David Duchovny, the actor who brought Fox Mulder to life: For making us all Believe so completely.
Ellen Duda, senior designer at Imprint: For creating gorgeous cover art that captures the heart of the novel.
The “Believers” at Imprint: Natalie Sousa, Rhoda Belleza, and Nicole Otto. And to all the “Believers” at Macmillan: Jon Yaged, Angus Killick, Allison Verost, Molly Brouillette Ellis, Kelsey Marrujo, Lucy Del Priore, Kathryn Little, Johanna Kirby, Mariel Dawson, Robert Brown, Jeremy Ross, Caitlin Crocker, Grace Rosean, Jennifer Gonzalez and her incredible sales team, John Nora, Alexei Esikoff, and the eagle eyes of Valerie Shea and Christine Ma.
Writers House, my literary agency: For representing me and my literary works, with special thanks to Cecilia de la Campa and Alec Shane.
Dr. Thomas Sixbey, MD, and Dr. Edward Kurz, MD: For your unparalleled professional expertise regarding serial killers, the criminal mind, the FBI, and the BS. I can’t thank you enough for spending hours answering my questions and texts. You are the coolest psychiatrists I’ve ever met, and this book would not be the same without you.
Lauren Oliver, my friend and fellow author: For knowing even more about serial killers than I do and for coming up with what shall forever be referred to as “the blood solution.”
Sarah Weiss-Simpson, my assistant: For organizing my life so I have time to write. I couldn’t make it through the day without you.
Chloe Palka, my social media manager: For your expertise, creativity, and ability to read my handwriting. You deserve your own X-File.
Erin Gross, Yvette Vasquez, and Ursula Uriarte, my friends and three of the smartest women I know: For your brilliance, patience, and friendship.
Benjamin Alderson, Caden Armstrong, Katie Bartow, Yvette Cervera, Bri Daniel, Andye Eppes, Jen Fisher, Vilma Gonzalez, Kristen Goodwin, Erin Gross, Sara Gundell, Ruthie Heard, Mara Jacobi, Taylor Knight, Hikari Loftus, Caden Sage, Evie Seo, Tracey Spiteri, Amber Sweeney, Natasha Tomic, Ursula Uriarte, Lauren Ward, Jenny Zemanek, and Heidi Zweifel—For being “Reckless” and offering me your insight, creativity, and support. I can’t thank you enough or express how much it means to me.
Vania Stoyanova, my friend and photographer: For making me look cool in my author photo.
Lorissa Shepstone of Being Wicked, my graphic designer: For designing stunning graphics and swag, with little or no notice.
Eric Harbert and Nick Montano: For watching my back and being the best at what you do.
Alan Weinberger, my rheumatologist: For making sure I don’t fall apart.
Librarians, teachers, booksellers, bloggers, bookstgrammers, booktubers, and my readers: For sticking with me when I venture into new territory, connecting with my characters, and spreading the word about The X-Files Origins novels and all my books. You are my tribe.
Mom, Dad, Celeste, John, Derek, Hannah, Hans, Alex, Sara, Erin, Temple, Ryley, and Sawyer, my parents, stepparents, siblings, sister-in-laws, nephew, and nieces: for your support and encouragement. I love you all.
Alex, Nick, and Stella: For believing in me, even when I don’t believe in myself. I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kami Garcia is a #1 New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author and the coauthor of the Beautiful Creatures and Dangerous Creatures novels. Her solo works include the Bram Stoker–nominated novels Unbreakable and Unmarked (The Legion series), and The Lovely Reckless, a contemporary stand-alone novel.
Kami was a teacher for seventeen years and coauthored her first novel on a dare from seven of her students. If she isn’t busy watching Supernatural, Kami can teach you how to escape from a pair of handcuffs or bake a Coca-Cola cake. Kami lives in Maryland with her family and their dogs, Spike and Oz. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
The X-Files™ & © 2017 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation.
All rights reserved.
Imprint
A part of Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
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All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
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Imprint logo designed by Amanda Spielman
First hardcover edition 2017
eBook edition January 2017
eISBN 9781250119575
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