by Cast, P. C.
“Show us,” Sabine said. “Hey, Finn and I have already been sworn to secrecy, and I’m a sophomore pre-med student. I’m damn good at research. We can help. Let us help.”
Foster met his gaze and Tate shrugged. “It’s Cora’s stuff, so it’s up to you.”
“Let’s do this,” Foster said. “Come on. I’ll show you the Batcave. Bring the s’mores.”
* * *
“Okay, seriously. Your crazy daddy is brilliant,” Sabine said, glancing up from a thick file of equations and graphs and medical records. She was sitting on the floor of Cora’s office next to Foster with files spread all around them.
“He’s not my dad,” Foster said.
“Hey, sorry. This has to be really hard for you,” Sabine said.
“No. Yes.” Foster sighed and swept back her thick fall of red hair, retying her ponytail. “It’s hard, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.” She paused and looked from Sabine to Tate and Finn, who were sprawled on the floor beside them. “I shouldn’t take it out on any of you. I just … How about we don’t call him my dad ever again?”
“Done,” Tate said.
“Fine by me. The guy’s an ass,” Finn said.
“Anyone who could hurt Cora and you isn’t worth being called dad,” Sabine said.
“Thanks. So. We’ve been going over this stuff for three hours. I got nothing. How about you?” Foster asked the group.
“This crap is worse than a foreign language,” Finn held up a yellow legal-sized sheet of paper that was filled, front and back, with equation after equation. “It’s an alien language.”
“Tate? Any more revelations?” Foster asked him.
Tate tried not to jump guiltily and was unable to meet her eyes. “Um. No. I need more time, and some, um, biology books.”
“We could go to the library tomorrow,” Finn said. “After I feed. I need to run into Portland anyway. Want to come with me?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Tate said.
“Well, I have an idea, but it doesn’t have anything to do with all this stuff.” Sabine’s sweeping gesture took in the papers spread out on the floor as well as the Batcave, which was filled with more files. “Of the next two kids whose birthdays are in three days we know one of them was born in Louisiana and one was born in North Carolina, right?”
“Yeah, or at least that’s what we think we know,” Tate said.
“What if instead of tracking people we track weather and the state?” Sabine said.
“Explain,” Foster said.
“Tate says the next pair are bonded to water. So let’s watch the weather off the coast of North Carolina and in the Gulf. If the point is to draw the pair together and get them to manifest their element bond, then it seems logical that they would be drawn to one of those two states. Or at least that’s all we have to go on regarding their locations. Both states are on a coast. My guess is in three days one of those states is going to be the site of a major water disaster,” Sabine said.
“Damn, girl! Have I told you lately how sexy it is that you’re so smart?” Finn leaned forward and kissed the back of Sabine’s neck, making her giggle.
“Okay, but what then?” Everyone looked at Tate. “Let’s say that tomorrow we hear that there’s a weird hurricane forming off the coast of North Carolina. What do we do? Do we get in a plane and go … where exactly to do what exactly?”
“I think all we can do is watch and wait,” Foster said.
“And let those two water kids walk into something terrible like what happened to us? To our families?” Tate said.
“I don’t know, Tate. I wish I did, but right now all I know is that you and I are safe here, and there are six other kids who aren’t safe, whose families aren’t safe. I want to figure out how to save them, or at the very least how to get to them before the Fucktastic Four grabs them, but I have no clue how to do that. Do any of you?” Foster’s emerald gaze swept the group.
“Do you know where Stewart would take them if he caught them?” Sabine asked.
Foster nodded. “He’d go to his island. It’s just off the coast of Key West. Billionaire patrons bought it for Doctor Rick more than two decades ago. It’s where he was doing human genetic research as well as supposedly figuring out how to genetically alter seaweed to break down plastic and absorb pollution.When I was about…” she paused, thinking back. “Um, eight, I think, the government shut down the human branch of his research. They said he deviated from his declared study and moved to unapproved human trials, so the scientific community basically shunned him. Cora said it was a big deal, but I was too young to really understand much, and he refused to talk about it. All I know is after that he was still conducting the seaweed experiments up until five years ago, when he ‘died.’” She air quoted.
“Who’s on the island now?” Finn asked.
“No one. It’s abandoned and quarantined. There was supposedly some kind of toxic leak from his lab right after Doctor Rick’s fake death,” Foster said.
“But you don’t believe that,” Sabine said.
Foster shook her head. “That’s probably where he’s been all this time.”
“So shouldn’t we go there? Confront him?” Finn said.
“No!” Foster shouted. Then, with obvious effort, she calmed herself before continuing. “At least not until we know more about our powers—and the Fucktastic Four. Right now I can see us walking in there … and never walking out.”
Tate nodded. “I have to agree with Foster. As much as I’d like to face that old man and ask him what the hell’s wrong with him, I know that Cora was scared—of him and of the Fucktastic Four. Scared enough to spend an entire year setting up a safe house for us and teaching Foster how to live under the radar. I didn’t know Cora, but from everything you three have told me, she wasn’t someone who spooked easily. We need to remember that and stay well away from Stewart until we’re sure we can handle him and his Fucktastic Four.”
Foster sent him a look filled with appreciation, which had Tate’s heart skipping happily around inside his chest.
“Okay, I get it,” Sabine said. “So, tomorrow, when I’m at my mind-numbingly boring work-study job in the provost’s office at PU, I’m going to hope that the Internet actually functions. I’ll watch the weather off the coast of North Carolina and Louisiana. Better yet, I’ll head over to the Environmental Studies building. They offer a minor in Water Resources, and I’m almost positive that includes a weather study section. I’ll check with one of the PA’s over there about tracking unusual water weather patterns.”
“Don’t tell anyone why!” Foster said.
“Girl, please. I’m sitting outside your Batcave. I am in league with superheroes. I’m not saying shit,” Sabine said.
“Thank you,” Foster said earnestly. “I really appreciate you.”
“And you trust me?” Sabine prodded, raising one perfectly shaped brow.
“And I trust you,” Foster said firmly.
“Good.” Sabine held up her hand. “Finn, help me up. It’s time to go.”
“Oh, okay babe.” Finn stood and pulled Sabine up beside him.
“Hey, there’s no rush. You two want another s’more or anything for the road?” Tate asked, helping Foster up and using that as an excuse to thread his fingers with hers and hold her hand.
“We live ten minutes from here. We’re fine. And we’re not rushing. We’re just clearing out so that you two can figure out your sleeping arrangements.” Sabine shot Foster a mischievous look. “Which I want to hear all about tomorrow when I stop by for scones before class.”
Tate and Foster walked them to the door and waved good-bye. After Finn’s truck finished bumping down the road and disappeared into the night, they stood out on the porch staring up at the big, starry sky while they held hands.
“Um, so, about our sleeping arrangements?” Foster spoke hesitantly.
Tate looked from the sky to her. Foster was still holding his hand, but she was obviously uncomfortable—nervous even.
He gave a little tug on her hand so that she had to turn to face him.
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with our sleeping arrangements. I like my room. Do you like yours?” he asked gently, trying to be careful not to spook her.
He saw surprise flash through her eyes, and heard the relief in her voice. “Yes! I love my room. Cora made sure everything from our brownstone was moved here.”
Tate already knew that—knew that Cora had made sure Foster’s room would feel like a sanctuary, and there was no way he was going to trespass there until or unless Foster was more than ready to invite him in—and he didn’t think Foster was the “one date and we jump into bed” type of girl. “Well, good. Then I have no clue what Sabine was talking about, but I’m really tired.” He paused to yawn widely. “You, too?”
“Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize it until you mentioned it.”
“I’m gonna go to bed. Finn and Sabine are always here super early.” He dropped her hand and rested his gently on her shoulders. “Thank you for an amazing date. And thank you for not letting me disappear or crash to the ground.”
“You helped,” she said.
“That’s because we make a great team.” Slowly, Tate bent and kissed Foster—softly, gently, with only a little bit of heat. When he pulled away from her, Tate was pleased to see that she leaned toward him and seemed reluctant to let him go. “Good night, Foster. See you in the morning.” Tate grinned at her and kissed the end of her cute, freckled nose before he retreated into the house, with his mother’s advice echoing from his memory.
The most important thing a woman can give you is her trust. Earn that first and then you’ll earn a love that will last. Trust is based on respect. And if you don’t treat her with respect, you have no business being with her.
“Mom, I think you’d be proud of me,” Tate whispered to the wind as he climbed the stairs up to his room on the second floor of the farmhouse. Somewhere between the porch and his bedroom Tate realized that he felt good—really good—for the first time since that awful night just a couple of weeks ago when his world was torn apart, and the reason for his good feeling wasn’t the memory of Foster’s lips against his or the tantalizing thought that there was a chance that someday in the future he might be doing a lot more than just kissing Foster. The really good feeling came from the way she’d smiled at him when she’d realized he wasn’t going to try to pressure her into something—that she could actually relax around him and trust him to treat her with the respect and common courtesy she deserved.
And for a moment, Tate was sure he heard his mother’s voice whisper back, Oh, I am proud of you, Son … I am …
20
EVE
Eve tried to calm her excitement as she rushed into her brothers’ cottage. “I got your text. What did you find?”
Matthew looked up from the computer screen and grinned at her. “I found Tate’s grandfather.”
Eve almost collapsed with relief into the chair beside her brother while Mark and Luke emerged from the kitchen, cracking open bottles of IPA and handing one to her as they pulled up dining room chairs, sat, and studied Matthew’s computer screen with him.
“There!” Matthew pointed at a grainy digital newspaper image from The Daily News. “That old guy in the middle. That’s the boy’s grandfather.”
Eve read aloud. “Linus Bowen, retired high school coach and biology teacher, led the charge to save Galveston’s Corner Café from demolition and have it declared a National Historic Landmark. But don’t call Coach Bowen a hero. He’d be quick to correct you. ‘Nope, nope—I’m no hero. I’m just an old dog who doesn’t want to learn a new breakfast spot. Been coming here Monday through Friday for decades. I have no intention of stopping until you plant me in the ground.’” Eve glanced up at her brothers, a relieved smile shimmering in her dark eyes. “This is good work, guys! Really good work. So, Tate’s grandfather lives in Galveston. Nice coincidence that we have to be there in a few days anyway. How about we go early and pay Mr. Bowen a little visit?”
“We’ll have to visit him at this café. The old guy is like a ghost. It’s why it took forever to find him, and it was really just a lucky Google accident that I did. He’s retired, but I can’t find property listed under his name—or any name even vaguely like his. As far as I can tell old man Bowen doesn’t own a computer or a cell phone or a home—or even a damn car. He does have a driver’s license, but it’s expired and the address on it is the same as the café’s.”
“I wonder what this old man’s hiding,” Mark said. “It’s strange that he’s so tough to find.”
“Or he’s just a grumpy old hermit. Guys, let’s not start making up conspiracy theories,” Eve said.
“Yeah, you’re right. We should leave that crazy bullshit to Father,” Mark grumbled.
Eve shot him a “be quiet” look before continuing. “Okay, I’m going to give Father this good news and have him get the jet ready. I’m going to ask for wheels up in just a couple of hours. Mark, how’s the weather coming?”
“I’ve been increasing the waves in the Gulf every day—focusing on the Galveston area because we know Charlotte is enrolled in Texas A&M this semester. Surfers are flocking to the Gulf, and since Bastien left home without one damn credit card or cell phone, we can only hope that the waves are calling him there, too.”
“They are,” Matthew said firmly. “Tate and Foster were drawn together by my manipulation of air in Missouri. It’s going to be the same for the water, fire, and earth kids.”
“It better be.”
The four of them jumped in guilty surprise as Dr. Stewart soundlessly entered the cottage. Eve studied him as he moved toward them. He looked rough—thin and ashy-skinned. His usually meticulously trimmed goatee was scraggly and his linen pants and flowered button-down shirt were stained and wrinkled.
It had been two days since he’d last drained crystal power from her, but it looked like he hadn’t had a fix in weeks.
He’s getting worse … so much worse, she thought.
“Father!” Eve rose gracefully and hurried to his side. “I was just going to come to you and tell you the wonderful news. Our Matthew found Tate Taylor’s grandfather!”
The mean, haunted look in Stewart’s gaze softened slightly. “Matthew, well done my boy, well done. Where is he, and are Tate and Foster with him?”
“Linus Bowen is in Galveston, Texas, which is a happy coincidence! It’s going to be like killing two birds with one stone.” Matthew beamed under his father’s rarely given praise.
Stewart dismissed Matthew with barely a nod and turned to Eve. “Which means Tate and Foster aren’t in Galveston.”
“Father, it means we’re not sure about Tate and Foster, but we are sure about Charlotte and Bastien,” Eve said.
“Charlotte? The kid I altered’s name is Charlie. Charlie Davis. You have the wrong teenager.”
“Charlotte used to be Charlie. She’s transitioning from male to female and hasn’t used her birth name for years, remember? Or are you having memory problems?” Mark said. Eve tried to catch his eye—tried to tell Mark with a look that now was not the time to test Father—but her brother had locked his gaze with his father’s and didn’t even glance her way.
“No, Mark. I did not remember. And why? Not because I’m having memory problems as you call it, but because his or her gender preference is irrelevant. His, her, or its bond with water is all that should be important to me or to you.”
Mark had been sitting beside Luke. Slowly, resolutely, he stood—squared his broad shoulders—and faced Rick Stewart.
“They’re kids,” Mark spoke quietly, but there was no denying the anger that colored his voice. “Barely eighteen. Not even adults yet. But we’re tracking them and setting traps to draw them out like they’re animals. For what, Father? For the chance that maybe you can create an antidote to my hallucinations, Matthew’s disappearing body, Luke’s burnout, and Eve’s crystal tumors?”
Eyes glittering with rage, Stewart
opened his mouth to retort. Eve sucked in a shocked breath as Mark barreled on, speaking over his brilliant, mad, and quite dangerous father.
“We caused that disaster in Missouri. We did! It’s because of us that Tate Taylor’s parents and a lot of innocent people are dead. It’s because of us Tate and Foster’s worlds have been ripped apart, and before we tear up anyone else’s world—cause anyone else’s death—I want you to tell me how the possibility of helping the four of us is worth that, especially to you.”
“What do you mean by especially to me?”
“Father, I think what Mark means—” Eve began, but Mark cut her off.
“No, Eve. This time I’m going to speak for myself.”
“Hey, just so you know, Mark is speaking for himself, and only himself,” Luke said, after he took a long swig of beer. “I’m cool with there just being a chance that those kids can help us.”
“At the price of people’s lives?” Mark asked Luke.
Luke shrugged. “I don’t know them. Why should it matter to me?”
Mark looked from Luke to Matthew. “What about you?”
“Hey, all I did was call that wall cloud to Missouri. How was I to know air was so pissed it caused a tornado—and then those two kids threw the damn thing and it splintered? As far as I’m concerned, they’re responsible for those deaths, not me. Not us.”
“But it could happen again. I’m calling waves and altering currents and tides. I’m creating the perfect situation for a major hurricane. Charlotte and Bastien are going to be drawn to this change in water weather, and they could affect it like Tate and Foster did air. Those kids have no experience and no understanding of what’s happening. People could die. A lot of people,” Mark said.
“And I could disappear forever someday if we don’t bring Tate and Foster here,” Matthew said, turning back to his computer. “I’m with Luke. I’m not going to try to hurt a bunch of people, but if people get hurt, or even killed, because we’re trying to save ourselves—so be it. They’re strangers. We’re not.”