Girl Incredible

by Larsen, Patti

  “He said you had your phone in class, Kit.” Mom doesn’t seem upset anymore. But now I am.

  “I told him I was sorry,” I say. “I even thanked him for a great class.” He called my mother and upset her over that? Anger sizzles down my throat, but I swallow it and pinch the inside of my arm, hard. “I don’t think he likes teaching.”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Ted Gladwell hated teaching when I was his student.” Mom was in his class? Cool fact, consider it stored. “But, Kit, you know phones aren’t allowed in class.”

  I don’t bother telling her about all the other students and their phones. Because it isn’t relevant. I’m the one in trouble here. “It won’t happen again.”

  Mom nods, kisses my cheek. “I know, Kitten,” she says. When she stops and stares at me, I wait, patient. Sometimes it takes my mother a bit to get around to what she really wants to ask me. I’m okay with waiting. Not everyone thinks as fast as I do. “How was your first day?”

  Now, normally I would tell Mom everything. I considered even asking her to help me sort out the weird puzzle. But, for some reason, the tone of her voice makes me hesitate. She’s worried, nervous. And her reaction to me getting in trouble seemed excessive. She knows me better than that. Does that mean I should be worried? I open my mouth to talk to her and, to my shock, all that comes out is, “Good.”

  Mom waits again. Which means I have to, too. She’s smiling a little, but her blue eyes tell me she’s not so sure of my answer. “You usually have more to say than one word.”

  If I have to be totally honest here, I can be a bit of a motor mouth. “It was fine.” I never said I’m a good liar.

  Mom doesn’t seem to notice I’m not being truthful. She nods and smiles, getting up, grabbing her purse. “I’m going to run to the school and take care of your phone problem,” she says. “Coming?”

  She drops me at home, leaning over the passenger’s seat to tell me out the open door, “I have to go back to the office for a bit, but I’ll be home at 5:30. Okay?”

  I wave as she drives away, bag tucked over my shoulder, breathing in the quiet afternoon. I wait a long time, for my heart to feel light again, for the buzzing of nerves inside me to settle. Neither happens. Finally, I retreat to the house and upstairs to my room.

  The door closes behind me, my boots making soft swishing sounds in the thick carpet. I normally love the sensation, but today I ignore it as I sink to the side of my bed and look out the window into the afternoon sunlight.

  So weird this feeling in my chest, like a constriction. It’s uncomfortable and I don’t like it. But I have no idea what to do about it.

  My computer chimes. I dump my bag and take a seat in the swivel chair, squeaking softly as I wiggle my mouse and check the screen. A message waits for me, from Calvin and Clare.

  Prrr, Kitten! Have a meowvelous first day of grade 11! Miss you LOTS <3

  Their message makes me smile, the photo attached goofy, Calvin’s nose scrunched, Clare cross eyed and sticking out her tongue. I love them and miss them suddenly with an ache that’s stronger than the tightness in my heart. They’d understand. Maybe I should call them and ask them what they think of my very odd day.

  Of this very odd feeling.

  Instead, I retreat and fall on my bed, closing my eyes.

  I’m wrong. I know exactly how to make myself feel better, normal.

  Her name is Kitalia Ore, CIA psychic assassin. And she always has the answers.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  I stare with fury at the spray painted message on my bathroom mirror, fists clenched at my sides.

  Remember me?

  Red spray paint. It’s dry already. Whoever did this is long gone, though they made sure to apply enough the drips formed pools of crimson on the white marble countertop.

  My safe house has been violated. Which means I’ve been violated, my privacy, my personal space no one is permitted to enter. There’s only one person I can think of who would post such a message, but I haven’t heard from him since Prague and the Ming mission.

  So, my psychic nemesis has found me, has he? I’d almost forgotten our encounter. But as I glare with fury growing in my heart, with the need to break something—break him in half if I get my hands on him—I realize it’s time I tracked him down and did something permanent to him.

  He is going to regret the moment he heard the name Kitalia Ore. I’m going to make sure of that.

  My shining black Shelby Cobra hums its way down the freeway toward CIA headquarters at Langley, though the surge of speed that usually eases my tension when I’m in a bad mood does nothing to loosen my clenched jaw. I screech to a halt at the gate, flashing my badge in irritation at the security post. They let me through without the usual banter. Smart move.

  My black shoes thud on the hot concrete, silk pants swishing around my ankles, suddenly cold in the air conditioning of the interior of the sprawling building that houses the Central Intelligence Agency. I bypass the entry line, taking the side wicket, fast tracking through to the bank of elevators. My thumbprint is enough to trigger descent as I wave off two agents who seem to think sharing my ride might be a possibility. The woman tugs her male companion backward at the sight of my scowl and, as the doors slide shut in their faces, I see her mouth “special ops” in his ear.

  Damned right I’m special ops. If they can infiltrate the minds of our enemies and uncover secrets that save our country from attack on a regular basis, they are welcome to take the elevator with me. Until then, I prefer to fume on my own.

  My foot taps the gray carpet as the Muzak hums happily to me. I short out the speaker so I don’t have to listen to the butchered rendition of “I Will Always Love You.” It’s either that or I explode. I figure my bosses would prefer it if I did as little damage as possible.

  A bit of wind is knocked out of my sails as I storm off the elevator when it finally settles twenty three floors below ground, only because I wasn’t prepared to run into a familiar face. Had I been less worked up, I would have known J.J. is here from across the Atlantic. As it is, I gape at him a moment in the concrete hallway while he runs one big hand through his hair and smiles that devilish grin at me.

  “Kitalia,” he says. “Where have you been all my life?”

  His terrible line does more than just make me smirk. It helps diffuse me further. My bosses have no idea the debt they owe him as I spin past him and stride down the hall, the MI6 operative hurrying his stride to keep up.

  “What are you doing here?” Yes, it’s rude. But, he’s used to me. Snarl one minute, sugar the next. I like to keep J.J. on his toes.

  “Your people asked me to come,” he says, sounding more serious. “There have been reports of a rogue psychic at work here in the US. Sounded like someone we know.”

  I stop in my tracks and spin to face him. “He was in my house.” I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but J.J. caught me by surprise.

  He frowns, closing the distance between us, worried look on his handsome face. “You’re sure it’s the same one? From Prague?”

  I shake my head and march on, dark concrete walls muffling the sound of my strides. The stairs to the situation room loom ahead, a faint sheen of green in front of them. I trigger the shielding to allow us through, J.J. not even hesitating to follow me, our feet rattling on the metal stairs. Sudden sound erupts as we break through the barrier and into the bull pen where fellow special ops agents monitor activities around the world. I ignore the flashing screens, the reclining bodies on beds with their minds hooked up to sensors. The glass doors ahead are my target. And the two people talking earnestly on the other side.

  Before I can trigger the automatic doors, J.J. grasps my arm in one hand. “Maybe you should let someone else handle this assignment.”

  I scowl, pull free. “You’ve lost your mind somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, MI6.”

  He bends over me, glancing around, voice low when he speaks. I catch the scent of him, cinnamon and cloves from h
is perfectly tailored suit as his tone rumbles deep in his chest.

  “If it’s the same guy, if he knows where you live… you’re in danger, Kitalia.”

  “Welcome to the job.” I push past him and through the doors, the hissing sound they make as they unseal attracting the attention of my two bosses. D. nods to me, his dark hair clipped close enough I can see he’s starting to recede. M.’s blonde bob swings as she turns away, arms crossing over her chest. I realize then they aren’t alone. I spare a glance for a young woman seated, ankles neatly folded, hands in her skirted lap, looking up at me with blue eyes that remind me of a baby deer.

  Fresh meat. Must be.

  “Kitalia.” D. gestures to the girl. “Allow me to introduce you to Tatiana.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she says, smiles, dimples showing. She stands and offers one hand. I don’t shake it. Not to be rude or anything, but I don’t know her and I’m a psychic. Obviously she has no idea about the rules.

  Tatiana’s expression falls a little as M. sighs.

  “She’s your new partner, Kitalia. Shake her damned hand and get on with it.”

  Leave it to M. to be so abrupt. I shield myself against Tatiana—not to protect her. Not at all. To keep me from seeing all her damned secrets.

  She’s not shielded, so not psychic. But I feel power in her.

  “What’s your thing?” I’m honestly curious.

  She dimples again, shifting her high-heeled feet, perfect A-line skirt falling past her knees. Polished and full of promise. I’m annoyed just looking at her.

  “Telekenetic,” she says just before she offers me a cup of coffee without touching the floating mug with her hands.

  I’d take a minute to be impressed, but I have more important things to worry about. I’ll figure out a way to unload this new partner my bosses seem to think I need later.

  A few choice sentences later and they are filled in on what happened at my home. They are both instantly alarmed, but the more upset they become, calling for instant backup to sweep my place, for the scent trackers to get there now and find the intruder’s path, the better I feel.

  My team. I might work alone—well, mostly—but they always have my back.

  ***

  “Kit!”

  I sit up, blinking into the darkening of my room. The sun is past the edge of the house. I must have fallen into a doze as I lay there.

  “Coming, Mom!” The smell of dinner greets me as I open my door and grin into the quiet hallway.

  Leave it to Kitalia to make me feel better. With my usual cheerful outlook firmly back in place, I head downstairs to dinner.

  ***

  Chapter Eleven

  I leap from the bottom step of the bus and head for the front doors, unable to wipe the grin from my face. My cell phone is tucked happily into the interior pocket of my messenger bag—big thanks and kisses for Mom for retrieving it for me—with the absolute promise to her and Dad I will not use it or take it out in class.

  They can count on that. Never again.

  It’s all fixed, too, new sparkles replacing the three gone missing in Mr. Gladwell’s room. I don’t ever want it in a position where it’s at risk again. Sure, it might just be a thing, but it’s my thing and I love its pink and white sparkly goodness.

  My morning is made when I spot Tate entering the school ahead of me. While her conservative outfit isn’t exactly my taste—she could use a pop of color to accent the plain jeans and brown jacket—I should be able to find one thing about her clothes to compliment her on. It’s been my experience that saying nice things about people’s dress makes for great ice breakers.

  Just a little tip for you there. You’re welcome.

  I’m almost at her side when I notice she’s not alone, that she’s walking along beside Mrs. Cradle. They seem to be whispering a conversation to each other. But, whatever it’s about, Tate doesn’t look very happy. She rushes away from her mother, out of my reach into the school while Mrs. Cradle watches her go. She looks so sad, I stop and smile at her, hoping to brighten her day a little.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Cradle.”

  She instantly smiles back at me, her principal’s smile from yesterday. Good, I’m doing my job. “Good morning…?”

  “Kit MacLean.” I offer my hand, shake hers. Her smile increases. “Welcome to Rimtree High, ma’am. I hope you’re having a great time so far.”

  “Thank you, Kit.” Mrs. Cradle releases my hand. “Have a good day.” She strides past me and into the school before I can suggest a meeting or something. I’d love to have the same relationship with her I did with Mr. Standard. Talking with him was often the high point of my day and he was enthusiastic about helping me challenge myself without having to move grades.

  I make a note to myself to set up an appointment with her as I join my fellow students in entering the building, blinking into the dimmer interior and almost regretting the loss of the sunlight. Another gorgeous day in Rimtree. I wish my teachers would take us outside.

  My new plan, as I settle into my seat and pull out my books, is to focus on class more these days. Sure, I might already know what’s being taught well enough I could probably teach it myself, but I’ve been spending a lot of time letting my mind wander lately. School is about the experience of things, right? I want to be sure I don’t miss a single exciting moment.

  I do have a secondary goal, too, however. Tate. It’s honestly driving me a little bonkers I’m not able to catch a few minutes alone with her. She can certainly move fast, but I know the school better than her. I don’t know why exactly I feel the need to talk to her, except that I just know we’d be great friends if she’d just slow down long enough for me to catch up with her. Maybe if I was more obvious about it? I consider finding ways to corner her as I follow her through the school all day. Rather than trying for a chance encounter—well orchestrated, of course—it might be a better idea to just jump in and be obvious about it.

  When my third period ends, I make up my mind, gathering up my gym clothes from my locker, slamming it with a firm and determined hand. I’ll just have to go over to Tate’s this afternoon when I get home and knock on her door. That’s a fabulous idea. She should have more time then, right? Grinning, I head down the hall—and spot her trotting up the stairs toward the second floor.

  Impulse has me follow her. I could invite her over to my house now, rather than waiting to go to hers after school. And this is the closest I’ve gotten to her all day. Her slim shoulders weave between students as she disappears down the hall between the library and the computer lab and I follow eagerly. I have five minutes before I have to be in gym. That’s lots of time to ask her over.

  To my surprise, I stumble to a halt at the sight of Tate talking with none other than Donnelly Holler and his boys. Again. She must have some kind of trouble wish if she’s hanging out with them. Sadly, my plans to make friends with her rapidly fading, I take a half step back, already turning to go. It’s clear she’s made her choice and I have no interest in getting involved with anyone who would purposely hang out with people who are mean to other kids.

  But, the expression on her face makes me pause. She looks… scared? Upset? And the way Donnelly looms over her like that gives me the creeps. I have the distinct impression Tate really doesn’t want to be there, that he’s holding her against her will somehow. And the moment that thought touches down in Kit Central, I’m moving forward again.

  Never mind the tiny fear growing in my heart that the KingPin’s warning might have had something to do with Tate. It’s the only interaction I had yesterday that was out of the ordinary and immediately preceded the cell phone picture barrage. While I have no idea what this KingPin might have to do with Donnelly and Tate, it doesn’t matter now. Not while I’m stomping my way to a halt between them again, grinning up at the bully like he’s my best friend.

  Oh, Kit MacLean, what are you doing? He looks very angry all of a sudden and I can’t help but shrink from him. Inwardly, that is. Outwardly
I continue to smile. It’s my best defense and always gets me what I want. At least, has in the past. No one can resist my smile.

  “Little kitten,” he snarls in my face. “I thought you were told to get lost.”

  Fear sparks, but anger is stronger. I don’t get mad often. Takes a lot to set that fire. But he’s being really mean and rude and I don’t like being afraid. “Why don’t you leave Tate alone?”

  Donnelly’s lips curve into a smile of his own, but I can’t bring myself to imagine it’s even remotely kind. He’s a giant gorilla, silverback wannabe, with a low brow and deep-set eyes, the stench of his musk choking me as he oo-oo-oos a moment before speaking.

  “Tate’s none of your business.” He looks over my shoulder, long, black fur rippling, knuckles dragging on the floor as his boys hoot behind him. The jungle surrounds waver and he’s Donnelly again. “Now beat it.”

  Tate doesn’t argue, even when I turn to check in with her. If she wants my help, I’m here, no questions asked. But, she’s looking at the floor and refuses to meet my eyes. All the puff goes out of my bravado at the sight of her shuffling her feet.

  I shrug. There’s nothing I can do then, is there? “Okies,” I say as cheerfully as I can muster. She looks up suddenly, panic in her eyes. It’s there, I know it. Her need to be saved. But she won’t ask. So now what?

  I back away, waving at them, grinning all over again. “Have a great day!” And turn, walk away. Right into the library. I have to do something. As I glance back over my shoulder, Donnelly is gripping Tate’s arm in his hand, shaking her a little. That’s so wrong and I have to act.

  Mrs. Moore stands behind the counter, smiles at me as I hurry to her. Concern crosses her face as I lean close, knowing my own worry is getting the better of me.

  “I need you to come right now.”

  She nods, circles the counter, follows me. “What’s the matter, Kit?” The older woman has always been kind to me and I miss hanging out in the library with her. I’ll have to return that activity to my schedule this year. She tells the best jokes ever. But, right now, I need her to step in and help Tate where I obviously can’t.