by Sarah Noffke
She turned, putting her feet under her and facing him. “My father used to say, People automatically think being lost is a bad thing, but only that which is lost can be found.”
“Untraditional thinking is how most should think,” Connor said, musing on the thought.
“I know why you’re here,” Adelaide said after a moment of silence.
“Because I could use a nap and there’s no better place to sleep than right here?” Connor said.
Adelaide turned her eyes back to the book in her hands. “I like napping in the peace of a library too,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“That’s not what I meant to say actually,” he said, trying her patience. She knew he’d been suicidal before, but thought the urge had passed. Apparently not.
“I know it was a git idea to think I could hide my identity from those wankers forever, but I wanted to try. It’s hard enough…” Adelaide trailed away, not wanting to admit the next part, and surprised she’d just rolled straight into that set of sentences.
“It’s hard enough…” Connor said, waving his hand in a circle to encourage her to keep going.
“It’s hard enough to feel like I’m adequate at this position and lead you dogs and Hooker Shoes without everyone knowing who my father is,” Adelaide said.
“That’s not at all what is going on here and I’m surprised that someone with your intelligence refuses to see the truth,” Connor dared to say.
She gave him a long look that she hoped communicated her hostility appropriately. Meaning that it screamed of her anger. “If you get up right now and leave the Institute, never to return, then I’ll allow you to live. That’s the only deal I’m making. No negotiations.”
“I’d rather die here than live a lowly existence outside these walls, so do your worst to me,” Connor said, a half-smile on his face.
The sound of books being pulled from shelves filled the air around them. The fire that burned in the large fireplace a bit farther down from them crackled. Adelaide kept her eyes on Connor, wondering things about him she’d never wondered about another. Namely, how to dispose of his body.
“I get the idea that other people thinking you’re riding Ren’s coattails is a problem for you. He created the strategic department and has quite the reputation in this place,” Connor said, swiveling his arm at the walls, meaning the Institute. “However, on another level, I don’t think you want the team to know about your father for the simple fact that you haven’t individuated yourself from him. For others at the Institute, it’s just something they’ve come to accept. You’re an extension of Ren. You say his lines as if they were your own. You follow his practices, since they are exemplary. And you’ve inherited his snarky nature. However, isn’t the real concern you have with the group the fact you don’t want them thinking you’re an imposter? Now that they know about him, they’ll know you’re impersonating. The power you pretend to wield is his. Isn’t the issue that you can’t let him go as long as you refuse to be yourself rather than him? Who is Adelaide Lewis? She is the daughter of Ren, but she isn’t him. Have you asked yourself how you’d act if you weren’t trying to keep him alive inside yourself?”
Never. Not once had someone said a series of words that pulled a thread that undid her. This was an absolute force. And every response she could think of was something Ren would say. Every response was one she’d learned. So she didn’t respond, but sat rather still and stared at the wall of art in front of her until her eyes blurred.
“Maybe I’m off base. Maybe it’s impossible to not act like our parents to some degree. But I just sense that—”
“You’re not completely wrong,” Adelaide said, her voice almost a whisper. “However, when I came to Ren I had a bad attitude. That is inherited.”
“And who are you now?” Connor asked, turning more toward Adelaide, pulling his leg up and folding it in front of him on the sofa.
“Lost,” she said simply.
“I can’t think of a better place to be in order to find yourself,” Connor said, leaning forward, a clever glint in his eyes.
“Did you feel lost after your mum’s death?” she asked.
“Yes, for a long time. But I think what made it easier for me was that I knew she was never coming back. You don’t have that same certainty with Ren, so you stay stuck in it. You’re haunted in a way,” Connor said.
“Yes, I think closure would help. I keep thinking he can see me. That he’s watching me somehow. Not from heaven, but from wherever he is,” she said.
“Which is why you’re acting in ways he’ll approve of. But what if you just forgot he might be watching? Judging? How would you be different?” he said.
“I don’t quite know,” she said, pondering the idea.
“Well, I have every hope that you will. Use the pain. I think it will help. It was Wilde who said that through his suffering, he came to know himself,” Connor said.
“Yeah…” Adelaide said, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Then she turned so her back was to Connor, but not completely, pulling her knees up to her chest as she did.
“Adelaide?” Connor said, and she sensed his eyes on her.
“Huh?” she said, her mind working through his words from earlier.
“I know you really want to kiss me again, like you did the other day. I’m certain it’s all you think about,” Connor said, the playful edge to his tone making her almost laugh as she spun around to face him.
“How dare you?! I wasn’t the one who… well, you know,” she said.
“Not so loud, missy. You’re in a library, you know,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face. “And I know exactly how it played out, just like I know how to get your attention.”
“By telling gigantic and dirty lies,” she said.
“Well, now that I do have your attention, I wanted to say that I get that you have a lot going on. I can’t say I don’t want to be a part of it. I know relationships are complicated and I won’t even pretend that I’m good at them. But I kind of want to screw up one with you if you ever want to give me a chance,” Connor said.
“Tempting offer, the way you put that,” Adelaide said, wearing on the other side of her cheek with her teeth.
“Yes, I’m certain I can piss you off on a regular basis and fail to meet your expectations often, but only if allowed,” he said.
“I’m fairly busy and don’t think so,” Adelaide said.
“I figured you’d say that, but I want to point out that I was able to make that rather brilliant observation about you because for some reason, I do know you so well. It’s like you’re a book I’ve read a thousand times without ever picking it up. Your prose that effortlessly falls off my tongue and yet, I’ve never rehearsed your words. Your—”
“Oh gods! I’m going to be sick if you don’t stop,” Adelaide said, covering her mouth and making a show of trying to keep the contents of her stomach down.
“Okay,” Connor said, nodding casually. “You’re not ready yet. I get it.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of being ready,” Adelaide said. “It’s more about trying to stomach you.”
“Uh-uh,” Connor said, shaking his head like her son would in protest. “You like me a lot better than those other wankers.” He did his worst show of a British accent, which actually made a real laugh pop out of her mouth. She hadn’t laughed since before…
His hand extended next to her shoulder, making her tense. Then he snapped his fingers. “Hand over the book. I want to read you one of my favorite passages,” he said.
Adelaide studied him, the green of his eyes. The way his features were strong, not one overshadowed by another. Finally she laid De Profundis in his outstretched hand. “Fine, but read in a British accent and I’ll never talk to you again,” she said.
“Consider that the last time I ever speak with my awesome British accent then,” he said, brandishing a full smile, one that tightened her stomach and made her strangely think he’d found her. Both at the libra
ry that afternoon, and in this life. Still, she wasn’t ready for this, and yet she wasn’t sure that tearing herself away was a good idea. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t ask herself what Ren would do; instead, she asked herself what she wanted.
I want to be happy, she decided. Life was always like that. Easy and infinitely complicated at the same time.
Rox had paused when the voices came into range. Connor had obviously beaten her here. She knew Adelaide would run off to the library. That’s where girls like her spent their time, needing the company of books, which refused to judge, but held an awful lot of judgments.
In her mind, Rox would apologize to Adelaide. She could admit that she’d been rude. That she’d taken the joke too far. And teasing about someone’s dead parent was wrong, even for Rox, who never took herself that seriously. However, at the sound of Connor’s and Adelaide’s voices she’d paused for some reason and only listened, hiding behind a shelf.
With a proud smile she turned for the exit. Zephyr and she had been careful, having been threatened many times by Adelaide. She’d hidden her affection for the alpha wolf, not wanting to risk losing her position at the Lucidites. And now the greatest hypocrisy had happened. And although Adelaide hadn’t been especially warm to Connor, it was obvious something was going on between them. Had been going on. They kissed. This was the perfect bait that Rox needed to get what she desired most. Well, not most, but close.
Chapter Twelve
“Dream Travelers are encouraged to sleep on a regular basis, as it promotes different benefits. Sleep has long-term effects that benefit the body, whereas dream traveling is more beneficial for the mind. Less dream travel time is needed to restore the brain than is needed with sleep.”
- Dream Traveler Codex
The light blue eyes of the old woman appeared almost white with the morning sunlight on her face. Cole Cosgrove opened the patient’s door a bit more, ensuring she wasn’t asleep, and then knocked on it. “Mrs. Birdy, are you awake?” he said, knowing that she was, but using that as a way to gain her attention.
“Yes, yes,” the woman said, sitting up taller in her bed. “I was just about to call for you, Doctor. I want to know when I’ll be released.”
A fond smile spread on the man’s face. “I’m not the doctor, actually,” he said. How many times did they mistake him for the doctor? It wasn’t fair, but it was the way of the current world. Hopefully things changed. “I’m a nurse. You can call me Cole.”
“Well, Cole, why don’t you call me the doctor, because I’m ready to leave here. My flowers in the garden won’t water themselves. And the bird feeders will need to be refilled,” she said, her New York accent flaring. Of course, Mrs. Birdy would have bird feeders as a top priority.
“Dr. Harris is making rounds late morning. She’ll be by then,” Cole said.
“She?” the old woman said. Cole was disrupting all of her stereotypes in one sitting.
“Yes, now how are you feeling?” he said.
“Like going home. I’m fine,” she said.
“I understand that,” Cole said, pulling the blood pressure cuff from the basket beside the bed and wrapping it around the woman’s arm. He didn’t think she was going home, not from what he’d read on her chart, but he was no doctor.
“You’re not married,” Mrs. Birdy said, eyeing his hands, absent of a wedding band.
“Why, are you asking?” he joked.
“You’re good-looking enough,” she said, leaning back to get a good look at him. “Tall, dark, and handsome. That’s what fits the bill for most ladies.”
“Yeah, well…” Most ladies also wanted someone who wanted to be with them, and Cole had never been that type. He preferred to work. To care for his patients. That’s why he’d lived a quiet life. And where does one meet a woman when they worked doubles regularly and volunteered at the hospice on their time off?
“What about you? You’re from New York, right? How’d you get down here?” he asked, holding the thermometer out in front of her, waiting for the answer before inserting it into her mouth.
“Like everyone else. I chose to retire here. The Destin weather is good for my bones,” Mrs. Birdy said.
“You’re retired?” he said with an edge of disbelief and a wink before placing the thermometer under her tongue.
The twinkle of the woman’s eyes faded and Cole shook his head, pushing the memory away and looking up at the sky. That had been his old life. The one he cherished. It was a stark contrast to the one he lived now, camping in the swampy waters and washing his clothes in dirty lake water. He’d been an avid camper before the strange people had abducted him, so it wasn’t difficult for him. Uncomfortable at times, but not arduous. Cole had seen enough death that living without convenience wasn’t a hardship for him. And the woods outside Destin, Florida, were the best place for him now, after what they’d done to him in the lab. Out in the wilderness he didn’t have to worry about hurting people, just animals and reptiles. Still, he’d spent his life trying to save those dying so it felt wrong that every seven days he hunted and killed, even if they were animals and not people.
Cole pulled himself fully into the present moment. He spent a lot of time in his head lately, a lot of that energy reviewing old memories. Stopping abruptly, he looked at his feet, where at first glance only leaves and sticks strewed the ground. He kneeled down, pushing a few brown leaves to the side, unveiling the hurt bird lying on its side. Its wing was held at a weird angle, a look of desperation in its eyes. Cole knew that expression well. He’d seen it in so many eyes, memorized it by now.
“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he said to the animal as he picked it up. The bird struggled against the embrace at first, but then settled down. Cole wrapped his large hands around the body of the bird, folding the damaged wing back into place as he did. Only the head of the bird tucked out of his fingers, its black eyes shifting from frantic to calm in a minute’s time. “See. I told you it was okay.” The bird pressed its head into the side of Cole’s thumb, a strange act of affection for a wild creature to do. Then it looked up to the man, pushing its wings against his hands, with a sudden need to move.
Cole pulled his hands down a few inches and then threw them into the air. The bird flew straight up to the tree tops, both its wings beating hard. With his chin in the air, Cole rubbed his hands together, feeling the warmth that always accompanied using his new gift. It had come on after escaping the labs. And since then gratitude and frustration had filled Cole to the brim. If only he’d had this gift of healing when he was a nurse. He could have saved so many.
Chapter Thirteen
“Sleep is also encouraged among Dream Travelers because unconscious matters become conscious through dreams.”
- Dream Traveler Codex
“The clairvoyants aren’t doing their job,” Mika said, on the verge of yelling.
“Sir, we have them on a manageable dose of the bufotoxin. I’m afraid if we increase it then the same thing that happened to the last subject will present itself,” Drake said.
“You mean when they supplied us with events where we could actually intervene?” Mika said, whipping a sheet of paper off the stack and scanning the next. Pages of events had been reported by the fleet of clairvoyants he’d made by giving them the hallucinatory drug secreted by frogs. However, at Drake’s advisement, he’d kept the dose low and now any future events they saw were devoid of detail. What use was it to know that Cole was healing a bird, but not to know where? “I need specifics,” Mika said, flipping yet another page.
“Well, just as long as you know that it will come at a cost. You have invested in these six subjects and increasing their dosage will no doubt lead to a brain aneurysm. So you might get a report or two, but then you’ll have to start over,” Drake said.
“Need I remind you that your job is to innovate these processes so that they yield successful results as well as preserve the subjects for as long as possible?” Mika said, his eyes narrowing on a set of sentences.<
br />
“I realize that, but you have a strict time—”
“Shush,” Mika snapped, rereading the report. “Did you read through these future events from the clairvoyants?”
“Of course,” Drake said, hands behind his back, an edge of reluctance in his voice. He must know what was coming next.
“Here it says that Derek walks through a market and stops to watch a show where fish are tossed through the air,” Mika said. “How didn’t you catch that this is the seafood market in Pike Place Market in Seattle?”
“Probably because I’m German and not well aware of American establishments,” Drake said, his eyes turning into slits behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
“That’s no excuse. I’m Finnish and yet I’m able to know something about the places in the country in which I reside,” Mika said, realizing this wasn’t totally fair. He’d been here for twenty years, whereas Drake had only been brought over to America that year.
“Send Haiku in here. I have a mission for him and Malcolm. We’re bringing Derek in,” Mika said.
Haiku tied the apron around his waist. This was a good plan. One that wouldn’t work on most of the werewolves, but that was the beauty of these beasts. Each one was so different and what worked on one wouldn’t work on the other. Mika had ordered Haiku to use force, but he’d offered another plan, one that involved using a skill other than physical. And that was for the best, since his back was still healing from where he’d been stabbed. He could have assigned this job to one of his men, or even to Malcolm, but that wasn’t going to happen. If a werewolf was being brought in then that would be by his hands. That’s why he chose strategy over force.