by Sarah Noffke
“Very good,” she says. “Why don’t you have her pack up the baby and Adelaide and move them to my house in Connecticut.”
I never told Vivian what my daughter’s name is, but the mole obviously knows.
“Why would I do that? Neither of them are suited for that kind of travel yet. They’ve been through a major medical ordeal,” I say.
“Well, we’re married. We need to live together. You’ll be living with me, won’t you?”
I can’t think of a better way to get covert information. And this just might be the perfect way to double test the anti–voice control technology.
“Yes we do, but Adelaide and Lucien aren’t in a position to be uprooted. So—”
“Well, I’m too busy to move right now, but I’m okay with moving to Los Angeles soon,” Vivian says, cutting me off.
“Oh really?” I say.
“Yes, I’d move into the mansion. But obviously you’ll have to kick Dahlia out. I wanted to discuss that with you anyway. This is the perfect opportunity. I recognize everything happened quickly with the marriage. I put up with her for too long and now it’s time you got rid of her,” she says, pulling a loose curl from the top of her head and tugging it down in front of her face, her eyes crossing as she takes in the platinum color of the strand. “Now that we are married Dahlia needs to go once and for all.”
“I agree, but it’s her house,” I say, my voice careful
She gives me an irritated expression. “Like that matters. And you said Adelaide and the baby couldn’t be moved, so kick Dahlia out and that way I’ll be happy. Then I’ll move in as soon as I can, but in the meantime I’ll visit.”
Vivian said she didn’t want to control me, but what I think she meant was she didn’t want to make me want her. She wanted me to desire her of my own free will. However, I never deluded myself in to believing that she’d refrain from using her powers on me if the need arose. A woman like this will always employ control when she doesn’t get her way on something. “I think we have to take things more thoughtfully than kicking people out of their—”
Her eyes turn sharp, cutting into my words. There’s a sudden menace in her gaze and I just spy the treacherous spirit shimmering off her. “Kick Dahlia out of her house,” she says and the words have zero control over me, but I still feel their power. It’s like I’m watching an eclipse through special lenses. I can see it without it burning my eyes using this technology.
“Yes, I’ll kick her out,” I say in a robotic voice. It’s the tone I’ve heard so often when I’ve used mind control to make someone do something.
“Good boy,” she says, brandishing a wide red-lipped smile. And then she leans in and kisses me, leaving my mouth covered in sticky lip gloss.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’m not surprised to hear the call of the demon when I enter the house. I’d almost rather listen to that racket for the next hour than do what I have to do.
I stop in the study doorway. There are a few dozen rooms in this monstrosity of a mansion and yet Adelaide has decided to be a squatter in my study. She’s just not happy unless she’s infecting my life with the curse that is her presence.
I have my speech ready but pause, my mouth half open, when I slide into the doorway and take in the contents of the room. Mae is holding the crying thing in the far corner. Adelaide and Dahlia sit on one couch and a strange woman is invading my armchair with her dreadful presence. Her long brown hair is draped over one shoulder, and an “I’m pretending to be pleasant” smile is plastered on her face.
“Get out of my chair,” I say, pointing at her, no greeting.
“Ren,” Dahlia says, drawing out my name like it contains multiple syllables. “This is Erin and she is with Child Protective Services.”
“I don’t care if she’s the fucking queen of England,” I say to Dahlia and then look at the woman, who has dropped the forced smile. “Get out of my bloody chair.”
“Don’t mind him,” Dahlia says, waving at me like I’m a child throwing a tantrum about my toys.
“It’s quite all right. I think we’re just about done here,” the woman says in a Louisiana southern accent. She stands, tucking a folder of papers up to her huge rack.
“Done with what?” I say, eyeing the person who has no doubt left dead skin cells and loose hairs in my beloved chair.
“Ren, Erin was assigned to Adelaide and Lucien’s case. Cheryl, the former nanny, lodged a complaint with CPS,” Dahlia says, a tension in her tone.
“And that just means I’ll be popping in to check on the health and well-being of the child. As of right now it appears that everything is in order,” she says, looking over Adelaide, who has large bags under her eyes, but actually looks like she’s properly bathed and dressed herself for once. “These things have to be taken seriously by the CPS; however, we are willing to consider that new mothers make mistakes,” the woman says.
“Ren can’t you make this go away?” Dahlia says, her tone hinting.
“I can, but I won’t. Adelaide has to deal with these series of problems she’s brought on herself,” I say. And it’s true. I don’t like the idea of this woman watching my home. However, I also don’t like that my immature daughter got herself knocked up and is doing a lousy job of caring for the monster she’s brought into the world.
“Don’t worry,” the CPS woman says to Dahlia. “We’re just going to be investigating to determine that the child is in a safe environment based on the testimony we’ve been given.”
“Well, and it’s just the ex-nanny’s word against Adelaide’s,” Dahlia says. “Does this really look like the kind of girl who would neglect her child by getting drunk?”
“That’s not for me to say,” the social worker says with that fake-polite smile again. “Judging by Adelaide’s history,” she says tapping her file, “I think it’s just a good idea for CPS to keep an eye on things. The child appears to be in good health, although possibly a little on the colicky side,” she says, indicating to the loud-mouth baby who hasn’t quieted down still, even with Mae’s efforts to bounce and swing him.
“Your nanny appears to be doing a fine job with the child, so I feel safe leaving him here and just monitoring the situation, but—”
“You can take him,” Adelaide says, cutting the woman off.
“Adelaide!” Dahlia yells, grabbing the girl’s arm, probably wanting to shake her.
“What?” she says, pulling her arm away from Dahlia’s reach. “He doesn’t like me. I don’t know what to do with him. All he does is cry nonstop, so maybe he wants a different family. And he’s a newborn, which are extremely adoptable.”
“He’s your child,” Dahlia says. “And Mae can teach you how to care for him.”
Again the social worker spreads her mouth with a mock smile. “It’s typical to have feelings like what you’re experiencing, Adelaide. You’ve been through a major event and postpartum depression is a very real factor in these cases. I think counseling will help, but in the event that you decide to put Lucien up for adoption—”
“She’s not doing that,” I say to the woman, cutting her off.
“It’s my decision. I can do it if I want to,” Adelaide fires back at me.
“You are my daughter and we are many detestable things but we aren’t quitters. You will keep your child just as I’ve kept you,” I say.
“But I don’t want—”
“End of discussion,” I say, interrupting her again. “Now, Ms. CPS, go ahead and see yourself out.”
She flashes her trademark disingenuous smile at Adelaide. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Ms. Fields.”
“Can’t wait,” Adelaide says with zero inflection in her voice before throwing herself back on the couch.
“Mae, a nanny will be here by the end of the day to replace you,” I say to her. “But for now I need you to take the monster into the nursery.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay another minute longer. I was only waiting until Erin left. I’ve got matters at
the Institute to attend to,” the old woman says.
“No, you can’t leave,” Adelaide says, real fear in her voice.
“I can and I have to. I just realized that Roya is overdue for her treatment,” Mae says.
“Treatment?” I say.
“It’s nothing,” Mae says, waving me off.
“Have someone else give it to her,” I demand.
“That’s not an option,” she says.
I raise a curious eyebrow at the woman. “But you said before that you’d stay as long as I need you to in order to care for the little bugger.”
“I did, but that was before I remembered a prior obligation,” Mae says. “Now, I’ve checked Lucien over and he’s in good health. There is nothing my healing skills can do to stop his fussing. I’m guessing he’s just having some fear issues, which is typical in babies born premature,” she says, carrying the thing over and holding him out to Adelaide.
My brat of a daughter actually ties her arms across her chest and shakes her head, like a school child refusing to eat her green beans. Mae pushes her wrinkled lips out and offers the screaming wiggling mess to Dahlia.
The diva holds up her hands and shakes her head as well. “I would but I feel a cold coming on. Wouldn’t want the little guy to get it.”
Again Mae flashes a look of disapproval. And for over eighty years old she’s fast. I realize this when the old woman turns at once and pushes the thing into my hands. Mae rips her hands away, forcing me to take the demon. And for worry he’ll crash to the ground and the CPS will be called back, I allow him to be shoved into my arms. Then as the old woman hobbles away, the thing in my arms falls silent.
It’s a true gift to hear nothing after listening to the incessant crying since I entered the house. With surprise written on her face, Mae turns and regards me and the thing in my arms. Adelaide and Dahlia both flip their heads up and stare at me.
“Lucien hasn’t been quiet since you handed him off to me this morning,” Mae says. “I was starting to wonder when the baby would sleep.”
“No fucking way,” Adelaide says, throwing her head back on the cushion repetitively.
“Well, it appears you have the right touch,” Mae says, turning around with a smile in her voice and hobbling out of the study.
“Who would have thought?” Dahlia says, looking amused.
“Shut up,” I say. “He just cried himself out. That’s all.”
“Oh, so now you’re referring to him like he’s a person?” Adelaide says. “Must be nice.”
“You shut up as well, Quitter,” I say.
The thing has closed his eyes and appears to be asleep at once. I lay him in the bassinet beside the sofa.
“Adelaide, I expect you to care for this little monster until the nanny arrives. Then you will work with her to learn how to keep it alive,” I say.
She blows out a frustrated breath.
“Confirm your compliance now,” I say.
“And what if I don’t?” she says.
“Then I’ll use mind control on you and force you to sit in a coffee shop in Hollywood. There you’ll be forced to listen to pretentious hipsters drivel on about their conservation efforts and how they’re thinking of purchasing new vanity eyeglass frames,” I say.
“You wouldn’t,” Adelaide says.
“Try me. And after that I’ll put you on tour with Dahlia and make you sit on the front row next to a bunch of shrieking teenagers,” I say.
“Okay, okay,” she says in a rush. “Just don’t make me listen to Dahlia’s music. It’s horrible.”
Dahlia gives her a pleased smile. “You love my music and you know it.”
“Sometimes when I really hate my life and want to punish myself, I listen to it. Some people are into cutting. Your music is that for me,” Adelaide says.
“Well, I can sing something for you now if you’d like,” Dahlia says, not deterred.
“You can’t actually. Firstly, if you wake up that thing I’ll go ape shit,” I say, pointing at the bassinet. “And secondly, you have to move out of this house right now.”
And then in unison both women burst into laughter. When they quiet down I say, “Ha-ha. Now pack a bag and get out.”
Dahlia’s face goes slack. Adelaide erupts into another round of laughter.
“Ren, what’s this about?” Dahlia asks.
“My new wife used voice control to force me to kick you out of your house. However, the Lucidites created a device that filters out the influence in her voice so it can’t control me. But if I don’t force you to move out then my cover is blown and Vivian will know I have this technology. So get out,” I say, throwing my thumb over my shoulder.
“You’re married?” Adelaide says. “Since when?”
“Ren, this has gone too far,” Dahlia says.
“Yes. And since recently,” I say to Adelaide. “And no it hasn’t gone too far. Not yet,” I say to Dahlia. “I haven’t decided exactly what to do about Vivian’s Smart Pods, but I need my cover so I can act if the need arises.”
“You expect Dahlia to move out of her own house?” Adelaide says.
“I do. But it’s not forever,” I say.
“Fine, I’ve got more meetings in New York coming up. I’ll pack a bag. But you’re going to owe me big for this, Ren,” Dahlia says, always willing to comply.
“I actually need you to have movers move out most all your stuff. Leave the things we will need, but Vivian is having a design team fill up the house with new furnishings,” I say.
“What?” Dahlia says.
“Well, she wants it to be perfect for when she moves in,” I say.
Dahlia stands now, her face flushed pink. “Ren, this is not okay. You married another woman and now you’re kicking me out of my own house so she can move in. All for a dumb job.”
“Dear Dahlia, I get that you’re upset about this, but please stop being hormonal. My job isn’t dumb,” I say.
“Hormonal?” she says.
No, I don’t have to be so rough on her but I’m trying to make this easier and the best way is to push her away. I’m bloody good at it.
“What if I refuse to do this? What if I don’t leave?” Dahlia says.
“Then you’ll ruin everything and I’ll resent you for the rest of our lives,” I say simply.
“I already resent you,” she says. “But I’ll go ahead and leave. I won’t spoil your precious case, but just know that I might not come back when this is over. I might just sell the house so my new husband and I have a fresh start.”
“Sounds good,” I say, turning away from her before hearing her stomp out of the room.
“You’re pretty ridiculous,” I hear Adelaide say from the sofa.
I turn and face her. “Yeah, I totally fucked up and you seem to have inherited that from me. You’re welcome.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I close my laptop with more force than was necessary. Maybe I broke the devilish piece of technology. However, in this one instance, the brain cell–sucking device was helpful. By gaining access to Smart Solutions’ files I’ve determined who the mole is. I already had my suspicions, but now I know for sure. I discovered more than just who the dirty rat is that’s been leaking secrets and sabotaging the news reporting department. I also uncovered truths that don’t paint Vivian in such a pretty light. I knew she’d kidnapped people and had them murdered, but I never saw this. Yes, she’s responsible for decreasing crime rates, but to do it she created a terrorist’s war. Trey didn’t want me intervening to stop the function of the Smart Pods; however, he’ll change his mind on that soon. And if he doesn’t, well then I’m still disabling the Smart Pods. Fuck Trey’s orders. It’s not like I ever listened to him before. I’m handling this case the way I want to no matter what.
But first I have to go deal with this fucking mole. And that won’t be as easy as I thought. I had seen the mole as some drooling scientist or uneducated maintenance worker. Someone I wouldn’t mind punishing for spying on me a
nd turning my secrets over to Vivian. But surprisingly, I actually don’t want to punish this person. Even though the things they did to fulfill Vivian’s demands are pure treason on the Lucidites, I’m not sure the punishment I had in mind is a good idea. And Trey will be devastated when he finds out who the mole is, but that’s the least of my concerns. Disarming this person is going to be hard. It’s going to feel hard at least. Like how it would feel to brutally punish a child.
Dr. Raydon was correct. My own strategic thinking kept me from finding the mole. I crossed them off the list prematurely because they didn’t fit the criteria. My agent checked this person out, but they operate using the same mode of thinking as me. And our reliance of stereotypes did fail us this time.
I rise from my desk, each step bringing with it a calculation in my mind. There’s only one way to deal with this situation that will make me feel okay long term. And to my revulsion it can’t include violence. That would scar my already blackened soul. But when this is over I suspect I won’t feel the vindication I desired. Why can’t this case involve bombs and warfare, instead of peace that has to be ended by my own hands?
I stop in the doorway to the infirmary. As I suspected the fucking mole is here. I burst through the swinging door and march straight over to the two women. Mae stands just behind Roya, who is sitting on the bed, her head bent down and her body readying to receive the medicine via needle.