by Joshua Roots
When the peace accord was finalized and the Skilled stepped out of the shadows, my folks had worked overtime to make sure that I grew up with Normal friends. After my Skilled training, Mom would haul me to little league, soccer and countless other after-school activities where I could mingle with non-magical kids my own age. Seamus and I wound up at the same computer class one summer and became instant buddies.
Seamus hadn’t changed much over the years. He had fewer hairs and several more pounds, but he was still the same jovial, good-natured guy he’d been as a kid. Unlike most people, he’d followed his passion through school and into the business world. As a stroke of karma, the kids who made fun of him back in the day were now the ones sending their resumes to his homegrown Fortune 500 computing company.
“Hey,” he said in a low voice as I approached, then crushed me in a bear hug. His subtlety was one of the reasons I loved him.
“Hey, yourself,” I whispered once he released me. “Hope I’m not keeping you up.”
“Not at all. The best thing about being the boss is getting to make your own hours. Becky and the kids are asleep, so we’ll have to play in the basement.”
“How is the family?” I asked, tiptoeing through the minefield of toys as I followed him.
“Good! Becky was promoted to project manager on a new website design. Harrison starts first grade this year. The twins are adjusting nicely, although there have been a few issues.”
“Issues?”
Seamus shrugged. “Mostly sensory with the occasional outbursts. We’re working with counselors, but the biological mom keeps messing things up.”
I frowned as we descended the stairwell. “I’m surprised she’s allowed contact.”
“Red tape. Until all the paperwork clears, she’s still allowed minimal visitation rights. Which is a pain because it takes almost a full week to get them back on track. But Becky and I don’t mind because it’ll all work out in the end.”
I smiled. Seamus was one of those people who saw life as half-full. His optimism, even in the face of darkness or strife, was invitational. And infectious.
“Well if those kids stand any chance of a normal life, it’s with you two as parents.”
Seamus beamed.
We eased quietly down the last few stairs into what could only be described as his Nerd Lair. Unlike the mess of toys upstairs, his techno-dungeon was a thing of organized beauty. Glossy, high-def screens covered almost every wall while sleek, powerful computers hummed with life. A large, glass desk with an expensive, ergonomic chair took up most of the room. The rest of the space was filled by a large drum set.
Seamus slid into the chair and flipped on a screen. “So, what kind of trouble did you have in mind?”
“I need to find information on the Skilled database that is either missing or hidden.”
“Hacking, eh?” he asked with a hungry grin. “I like where this is headed.”
“It absolutely has to stay below the radar. I’m on thin ice with the senior leadership already, so I’m pretty sure if I get caught poking around behind firewalls, the Council will draw and quarter me.”
Seamus scowled. “Your people don’t still do that, do they?”
“We may be fairly antiquated compared to modern standards, but we have evolved. Although, I know a couple folks that could use a little medieval torture.”
He rolled his eyes, then focused on his screens. “So what kind of files are you searching for?”
“Lots, actually. First, anything surrounding a Mimic attack seventy years ago in Maryland. A person named Benjamin Devon was leading the investigation team, but the only report I found was on microfiche and was heavily censored. I have the file number if that will help,” I showed him the picture of the report on the phone.
Seamus gave me an expression as if he’d eaten a bad deviled egg. “Microfiche?”
“Hey, the Skilled world has only had a couple decades to catch up with everyone else. For many, microfiche is still new-fangled technology.”
“Living in your society would be hell for me,” he said, hammering away at the keyboard. “Okay, so I’ll see what I can find about your report and this Devon character. What else do you need?”
I told him about Rancin’s order to keep the first rift open, then about the denial of the second one’s existence. “Something fishy is happening with our R&D department,” I added. “See if you can find any of the recent communiqués between the Elders and R&D or anything on the recent attack at HQ, on me, or on Carla Jones.”
Seamus’s fingers paused. “That’s a lot of info, dude.”
I felt bad for asking so much of him. “I know. But there are a lot of oddities going on and I’m positive there’s a connection. At the moment, all roads point to Devon, so maybe start with him.”
“You got it.” His fingers flew across the keys.
“Anything I can help with?” I wanted to do something other than just stand there.
He shook his head. “This will take a while. Maybe you should close your eyes for a few minutes. No offense, but you look awful.”
Reluctantly, I eased into the chair behind his. “It’s been a long day. Wake me if you find anything.”
His response was distant and muffled.
Images of a blue oval floated before me. The rift hummed gleefully. A shadow moved inside the phenomenon and the feeling of familiarity overwhelmed me once again. Sparks of electricity popped around it like mini-fireworks.
As I walked toward it, the shadow morphed into Quinn.
She was crying.
I reached for her, only to have her back away, fading into the rift. Steve appeared, grabbed my arm, and began pulling me backward.
I fought him, watching in vain as Quinn vanished for good.
I jerked awake. The rift was gone. So too were Steve and Quinn.
Seamus looked over his shoulder. “You alright?”
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and struggled to slow my heart rate. “Dozed off.”
“It’s been almost two hours.”
I squinted at my watch. “Wow, doesn’t feel like it.” I blinked several times, clearing the fog from my mind. “So, what’d you find?”
“Surprisingly little,” he said in a frustrated tone.
My heart sank. “That’s not what I was hoping to hear.”
He shrugged. “I’m as shocked as you are. But you weren’t kidding about the Council being antiquated. There is literally no access to your secured database.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. I snooped around, but everything you people keep online is fairly benign. Meeting minutes, emails, judicial findings, etc.”
“So, no reports?”
He shook his head. “Best I can tell, the information is entirely off the Internet grid. That means everything you’re trying to find is located on the computers, books and microfiche in whatever location the database is kept. Ironically, that makes it one of the most secure locations on the planet because unless you physically breach the barrier, you can’t access the data. If you had access to a port that was connected, I could probably hack in, but there’s not much more I can do from here.”
I swore. Considering how popular I was with Devon, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get back into the Secret Squirrel Council Library again without bribing someone.
“I’m sorry to waste your time.” I felt even worse that I’d kept him up so late.
Seamus smiled. “It wasn’t a total waste. I was able to hack into the personal account of Elder Devon like you wanted. Did the same with the other Elders, just for good measure.”
I perked up. “Anything interesting?”
“Heck if I know. Most of what I found was gibberish to me, although I did find an interesting tidbit from your friend.”
He scooted aside, waving me toward the monitors. Air from the computer cooling fans warmed my feet as I read the message sent to an undisclosed list right after my visit with the Elder.
“Marcu
s has crossed the line by butting his nose into matters beyond his understanding,” Devon wrote. “Someone please handle this before he causes something to blow up in our face.”
I fumed. Not only was I furious that he was calling me out like that, but more, I couldn’t put a finger on what Devon was pissed about. He could be referring to the negative media attention I was starting to garner, the report I’d thrown in his face, or any number of cheap shots I’d taken at the Council over the past year.
Shaking off the anger his email caused, I clicked through page after page of message traffic and browser history. Most of the information was junk, nothing more than meeting invitations, work banter between Council members, or pictures of cats.
But buried beneath the mound of useless crap was an interesting trend.
Over the past month, the number of meetings between the Elders and Ambassador Jones had increased significantly. By the time of the attack, Carla was at HQ at least once a week and always at the same time.
Which meant anyone who knew the Ambassador’s schedule could have organized the attack. That list included, but was not limited to, her staff, the Elders and the Elder’s staff. A quick count put the number at almost thirty.
Lovely.
The other interesting tidbit from the message traffic was the conversation between the Elders and Council as these meetings progressed. What initially started as reluctance and suspicion among the majority quickly turned into an “us” versus “them” argument between four of the thirteen Elders and several senior Councilmembers.
Those fighting to expand our relations with the Normals included Dad, Monroe, Pell and a bunch of others.
The Elders adamantly against increasing the “openness” of the Skilled world? Devon, Rancin, Watkins and Bristol.
Those names surprised me. I knew from my history classes that the first two fought hard to create the Reformation Treaty. Why hit the brakes a generation later?
As for Bristol and Watkins, I didn’t know either of them all that well. Bristol was severe while Watkins seemed like a nice enough guy. Hell, he’d almost been on my side during my inquiry. So why was he casting his lot in with the other three?
“What?” Seamus asked when I huffed.
“Looks like there’s a rift forming within the Council.”
“So?”
“That doesn’t happen. The Council debates a lot of stuff, but when push comes to shove, the Elders force a decision down their throats. These messages make it sound like the Council is beginning to push back. They’re supporting Carla’s request for more transparency—both from the Elders and between Skilled and Normal societies.”
“Carla?”
“Ambassador to the Skilled.”
“Oh.” He seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Um, is swaying to her way of thinking really that bad?”
I shrugged. “Personally, I think we should be more transparent. Operating in secret like we do, keeping the Normal politicians at arm’s length, only breeds suspicion. But I can certainly understand the reluctance of the Elders. They grew up in a world where the Skilled were outcasts. Integrating with Normals wasn’t an option for most of their lives. Then overnight we’re one big happy family? That has to be a tough change. Add in a tendency for our people to focus on the past and it makes it hard to move forward. We’ve only made baby-steps with modernization.”
“You seem pretty hip to the modern world. Cell phone, computer, indoor plumbing.”
I laughed. “Funny, smartass, but when I was growing up, integration with the Normal world was standard. My generation is more accepting, but a lot of the Skilled are old school. Tradition makes and breaks us in their minds.”
My stomach dropped as that thought sank into my brain.
What if the attack on the Ambassador was a means of slowing or halting our march to modernization?
What if it was designed to drive a wedge between the two worlds?
Maybe the attack on me was for the same reason. I was the Council’s poster-boy for the unity. Elsa was also in the spotlight, but I was the one making headlines recently. Killing me or Carla would certainly cause a media storm and add fuel to the fire of those opposed to the peace. And if that was the case, then someone was playing a much more sinister game than I initially thought.
“So, anything else I can help with?” Seamus asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Just a printout of everything you have,” I said, unable to shake the dread that was building inside me.
He handed me a large stack of papers. “I figured you’d want to murder a forest. ’Cause you’re old school.”
“Ha-ha. And thanks.”
“Anytime. Hopefully that gives you something to work with.”
I looked at the stack of information, intimidated by the sheer volume of data. “It’s a start.”
* * *
The drive home felt like an hour instead of the actual ten minutes. The nap, although long, had been insufficient after an exhausting day. It was everything I could do to keep my eyes open. I cranked the Senior Mobile’s A/C on to full blast, hoping the chill would get me the last few miles to my house.
Then I turned into my neighborhood and my heart rate rocketed back to “Fully Awake.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I growled.
The crowd outside my place had grown to the point where the lines between the media and protesters blurred. In front of my house were two local patrol cars. The cops stood guard by the barriers keeping the throng from my front stoop. Portable construction lights illuminated the entire scene in a stark, eerie glow.
Unlike the last time I arrived on the scene, the crowd remained stationary. It was a blessing, but the protesters seemed more agitated. Rather than just hold their hateful signs, the crowd was shouting.
As I passed, I gave the men and women my best fake smile. Don’t let them get to you, I thought, focusing on the calm inside me. Just keep smiling.
Andrew would have been proud.
An egg smashed into the driver-side window, splattering the glass with yellow goop. The stillness in my soul was replaced with liquid-hot magma.
I jerked the car to a halt and leapt out.
“Who the hell threw that?” I snapped, charging at the group. The protesters quieted, scrambling backward. Some even appeared terrified.
Good. Maybe if they were scared, they’d leave me alone.
One of the cops intercepted me.
“Sir, I have this,” she said, as the crowd slowly returned to its previous level of agitation. I started to respond, but she simply pointed at a young man dressed in skinny jeans and a hooded jacket. “You. Give me the eggs.”
The kid made a show of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about, but the cop just glared at him. His cocky grin faded. He bent down and handed her the carton.
“Sticking up for the freak, eh, cop?” he asked as he passed them over. “No wonder our society is so screwed up.”
“Watch yourself,” the lady growled.
“His kind is a threat to all of us,” he replied. “I heard about what happened in Maryland. How those monsters attacked the folks on the highway. You don’t think that was his doing?”
The anger bled out of me, replaced instead with utter shock. “Whoa, my fault?”
The people around him grumbled with approval.
Fueled by the sudden wave of support, the kid perked up. “We were fine until the Skilled showed up. We lived ordinary lives and dealt with ordinary issues. Now we’re forced to operate in a world where wizards and magicians threaten us. Worse, they bring with them monsters.”
The fire inside me returned. “We didn’t create the paranormals. They existed long before any of us.”
“Oh really? Then why did they show up at the same time as the Skilled?”
“Because it was part of the Reformation Treaty, you pimply-faced moron. Haven’t you studied history?”
“History that you all claim is true!” he shouted back. The crow
d cheered. “For all we know, that’s nothing more than clever lies created to protect a society of circus freaks.”
The flames inside reached their peak and I stepped forward with a snarl. The kid’s eyes went wide as the crowd backed away with a gasp. I seethed as the ashen faces stared back at me. Then I realized a number of them weren’t actually focused on me, but on my hands. I looked down.
Electricity popped around my fingers.
I hadn’t been aware of activating the spell. But sure enough, one of the nearby cameras was dead, having been sucked dry by my Skill.
Everyone, even the media people, held their breath.
My emotions swirled, battling for dominance. The rage wanted to be released, but the rational part of me fought it. I’d nearly lost control—this time at a Normal.
What kind of damage would that have done?
To the treaty? To the Council? To me?
Heaviness settled into my shoulders. I’d screwed up enough for one day. I released my hold on the spell, allowing the electricity to dissipate harmlessly into the air.
Then the whispers started.
“See?”
“They really are a danger.”
“How can we be safe when someone like that might lose it?”
And so on.
The cop gripped my arm, redirecting me toward my house as the noise from the crowd increased. “Perhaps you should go to bed.”
Exhaustion from the day weighed on me. I poured myself back into the Senior Mobile, then pulled into the garage.
Once inside my house, I trudged up the stairs, dropping the stack of papers from Seamus on my kitchen counter. Before I switched off the light and climbed to my bedroom, I gave the pile a final glance.
Guilt knotted my stomach.
I hadn’t been completely honest with Seamus. The documentation was helpful in several ways—not the least of which was that it gave me traction in one direction.
If someone really was trying to stir up trouble between the Skilled and Normals by targeting me, then they were about to get a wake-up call. I was done reacting to the situation.
It was my turn to go on offense.
Chapter Fifteen