by Kathy Reichs
A glance at his watch, then Chance strode past me down the sidewalk.
Like it never even happened.
Maddening, infuriating, impossible boy!
“What does that mean?” I shouted at his back.
Chance raised a hand. A black BMW pulled from an alley a block away.
Of course he didn’t walk. It was eight whole blocks.
Chance paused with the door open. “When things go bad for a normal person, what’s the first thing they do?”
Huh? “What?”
“They find their friends.”
Chance slipped inside and closed the door, never glancing back.
Ben was last to arrive.
He parked his beat-up blue Explorer beside Charleston University’s main building on Coming Street. A no-parking zone, but Ben never took that seriously. I was sure that one of these days we’d return to an empty curb and a note from whichever towing company to contact. Hopefully not today.
Ben sauntered up the steps, nodding to Hi, Shelton, and me, while pointedly snubbing Chance. “Sorry. Got tied up at Wando.”
Chance returned the cold shoulder. He’d changed into his “casual” clothes: pressed Brooks Brothers pants, a crisp blue button-down shirt, and brown patent-leather loafers. All that was missing was a clapboard sign saying YUPPIE.
Hi, Shelton, and I still wore Bolton Prep uniforms, though we’d ditched our jackets and ties in the Explorer. Ben was sporting his standard black-and-denim look. As a group we surely stuck out, but it couldn’t be helped.
“We’ll canvass the dorm.” Chance spoke directly to me. “See if any classmates remember Will spending time with someone in particular.”
“Should we use code names?” Hi popped up from the steps on which he’d been sitting. “Of course we should. Inside, refer to me as Rex Condor.”
Hi winced in surprise as Shelton smacked the back of his head. “You?”
Shelton shrugged. “Had to be done. Ben’s too far away.”
Ben gave Shelton a thumbs-up. My eyes rolled skyward.
“Game faces, guys.” Adopting my no-nonsense posture. “Speckman is Viral. He must be part of the Trinity. And he could be responsible for our creepy new fans. We need to find him ASAP.”
“These black-suit dudes are no joke.” Shelton’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We gotta think on that more. MIBs sniffing around are way more serious than everything else combined.”
I’d filled in Shelton and Hi while we waited for the older boys to arrive. They’d slumped down on the steps with matching horrified expressions.
I’d updated Ben by phone as he drove over from Mount Pleasant, wanting him to hear the news without Chance present. He’d been furious, though he’d kept his comments to a petulant “I told you so!”
I’d made Ben promise not to cause trouble. He’d agreed—grudgingly, but I’d take what I could get. Yet I knew that pot would boil over again eventually. Ben’s distrust of Chance was bordering on pathological.
Which is why I wanted to get the group moving. “Which dorm, Chance?”
“Coker. This way.”
Bypassing the admin building, we cut across a magnolia-dotted courtyard. CU is beautiful in spring, with flower-lined walks and shady arbors brightening the downtown campus. That afternoon students were outside in force, tossing Frisbees, playing guitars, or just napping in the shade. College life looked pretty relaxing to me.
Reaching a side street, we turned toward the residences. Chance led us to a bulky brick structure surrounded by pink dogwoods. “This is Coker. Will’s room is on the fourth floor.”
We caught a break—a long-haired boy carrying bongo drums was exiting the front door. He held it open with a friendly wave as we scurried inside.
“People need to respect security more,” Shelton grumbled as we crossed the flyer-strewn lobby. “The school issues key cards for a reason.”
“You think that dude-bro cares?” Hi pressed the elevator button. “He’s probably on a gummy bear hunt. He’d let you nap in his room if you asked.”
We rode up four floors, then Chance led us down a carpeted hallway to the last room on the right. He knocked. Waited. Knocked a second time.
Shelton pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Looks like nobody’s home.”
“Doubtful.” Chance hammered the door a third time. “I know Will’s roommate.”
I stood beside Chance, struggling to contain my impatience. Down the corridor, a few doors opened. Heads stuck out. One guy in a baseball cap watched us for a long moment before ducking back out of sight.
“Come on, Cole.” Chance raised his fist for another assault.
Abruptly, the door swung inward. A skinny kid with a wispy mustache stared over the threshold, headphones around his neck, Call of Duty paused on a TV behind him. Greasy potato chip crumbs covered his Bob Marley T-shirt. He seemed bewildered by the crowd outside his dorm room. A distinctly herbal scent wafted from inside.
“Yo?” Then, recognizing Chance, his expression soured. “Oh, Claybourne. You again. What is it this time, man?” The boy glanced from face to face. “Who’s the glee club?”
“Cole Gordon.” Chance’s nose crinkled at the overpowering odor. “I had a feeling you might be home. I’m still looking for my associate.”
Cole shook his head. “Haven’t seen Willie, bro. He’s, like, gone.” He made a wobbly, sweeping hand gesture for emphasis. “His parents are looking for him, too. They came by for his stuff, said Willie sent them a postcard from NYC or something. He totally ditched out. Ain’t coming back.”
Chance rubbed his mouth, thinking. “Has anyone else been looking for him?”
“Naw, just you, man.” Cole stroked his struggling peach-fuzz facial hair. Glancing behind him, I saw an unmade bed, a dozen empty Hot Pocket boxes, and concrete walls covered by movie posters and tribal art. “I mean, his girl came by, but that was like—”
“His girl?” I asked sharply.
Cole squinted at me. “Well, yeah. Black hair, super hot. Really, really mean. Don’t think she’s a CU student, though. I only saw her on weekends. I think she’s, like, younger or something. But I never talked to her much, because she said I—” air quotes, “—‘lack manners’ and ‘don’t smell good.’ Whatever.”
Chance had tensed noticeably. “Black hair? When was this?”
Cole scratched his greasy hair. “I dunno. A week, maybe? Like I said, she never talks to me, so I don’t pay much attention. She came by asking for Willie, I said he wasn’t around anymore, then I never saw her again. That’s it. End of story.”
Chance considered a moment, then grunted. “All right.” He turned from Cole as if the boy ceased to exist. “Let’s check the hall. See if anyone knows more than this guy.”
As an eye-rolling Cole closed his door, we divvied up rooms along the corridor. I chose a section including the boy in the baseball cap. Something about his reaction stuck with me.
“Let’s meet by the elevator when we’re done,” Hi said. “I want to hit that taco truck over on Market Street. Starving.” He clomped down the hall, a reluctant Shelton on his heels.
“Those foods trucks are nasty,” Shelton grumbled.
Hi snorted. “Nasty good.”
Chance knocked on the closest door while Ben took the next one down. I worried about leaving them alone together, but there’s only so much policing a girl can do.
As I approached Ball Cap’s room, a devilish thought occurred to me. Weighing its merits, I decided the risk was worth it. So before I could second-guess, I took out my sunglasses and slid them into place.
We were asking questions of strangers. People of unknown trust-worthiness.
I have a certain skill in that area.
It’d be a pity not to use it.
SNAP.
The flare opened smoothly, as t
hey had for the last few weeks. Following the initial jolt—fire, ice, an electric sizzle—my senses sharpened to preternatural acuity.
My eyes picked out hidden flaws in the grain of the wooden door before me. I could hear Chance and the others up and down the hall. Breathing. Knocking. Asking about Will Speckman. Then a smack of fetid, musty stench assaulted my nostrils, wafting from the communal bathroom two doors down.
Every muscle tingling with caged energy. I felt alive. Vibrant. Had to resist an urge to cartwheel down the hallway. To shout with the pure joy of my powers unleashed.
I flared. An indescribable feeling.
I cracked my knuckles and was overly careful knocking.
Didn’t want to smash the door off its hinges.
A dry-erase board on the wall proclaimed this the domain of Jordan Heffernan. At first there was no answer. Odd, since I knew someone was inside. But a second round of pounding did the trick.
Heffernan jerked open the door, irritation crimping his pimply face. “What?”
“Excuse me,” flashing my flirtiest smile, “would you happen to know—”
“I haven’t seen Will Speckman.” He kept one hand on the knob, leaning awkwardly, as if ready to slam the door in my face at any moment.
So much for seduction. And he already knew my question.
I forged ahead in a more businesslike tone. “When did you last see him?”
Heffernan frowned at my follow-up query. He straightened, his entire body screaming reluctance as a thumb began unconsciously drumming against his pant leg. “Two weeks. Maybe three.”
This guy seems nervous. Why?
Because he’s lying.
But I had to be sure.
I leaned forward and took an experimental sniff.
Heffernan backpedaled a few steps, eyes widening. “Did you just . . . smell me?”
I didn’t answer. How could I? It’s not a thing people typically do. Plus my nose was busy unwinding a bundle of aromas and sorting them into categories.
Of all my pack, only I have this ability.
While flaring, my nose can identify emotions. Impossible, but true.
A host of scents billowed from Heffernan—old pizza, Clearasil, string cheese, sweaty socks. I ignored those, focusing on a sour tang lurking underneath.
My nose scrunched in distaste.
Anxiety.
I was right.
Heffernan eyed me like a wary zookeeper. “Are you having a fit or something?”
“You haven’t seen Will Speckman?” Inhaling through my nose. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“No, already!” He retreated another few steps. “You’re weird. Why are you wearing sunglasses?”
I ignored the question as a denser stream of odors flitted through my brain. Dry paper. Muddy shoes. The earthy muddle of a long-dead fern plant.
And something else just below the surface. Weak, but growing stronger by the second.
A salty, acrid stink, like hot garbage.
Deception.
Pants on fire, Heff Dawg.
“You’re lying.” Calmly spoken. “Why?”
“What? No I’m not.” He shuffled his feet, a sickly sweet fragrance taking over the room. “This is nuts. You’re seriously freaking me out.”
Worry.
Interesting.
I crossed my arms and shrugged. “I’m not leaving until you tell the truth.”
Heffernan’s voice grew shrill as he pointed to the door. “I don’t have to take this. Get out of my room!”
“Make me.”
Shadows knifed across the walls. I didn’t turn to look.
I could sense Chance and Ben were now standing in the doorway.
“This guy knows something,” I announced. “But he doesn’t want to share.”
The appearance of two guys at my back seemed to change the dynamic for Heffernan. His shoulders slumped, a dull, stagnant odor washing over me.
Resignation.
He’s gonna talk.
“I promised not to say anything,” he mumbled at the floor.
“Not to say what?” Then, as the boy continued to waffle, “Look, man, we don’t mean Speckman any harm.” I don’t think. “We just need to talk to him. Straighten something out.”
Pretty accurate. As far as it went.
The fight leaked from Heffernan completely. With an audible sigh, he dropped onto a ragged two-seat couch. “Will came by three days ago. Said he needed to borrow my camping equipment. Sleeping bag, tent, et cetera. Said he was bugging out, and didn’t want anyone to know where, not even his parents. We used to hang a bit, me and Will, and I never use that stuff anyway. So, sure, why not?”
“This was three days ago?” My mind raced as Heffernan nodded. Speckman had visited him shortly before breaking into Claybourne Manor. “Was he alone?”
Heffernan looked away.
Ben’s voice arrowed from behind me. “Who was with him, friend?”
Softly spoken, but edged with menace.
“I don’t know,” Heffernan snapped. “Some chick. And somebody was waiting by the elevator, but I didn’t get a look.” When no one moved, his hands flew up as he squawked in an exasperated tone. “That’s all I know, I swear! Now, would y’all please buzz off?”
The Trinity. It must be.
So close! But only this wastoid had seen them.
In the end, we were still nowhere.
Unless.
No. No no no . . . okay, yes.
We needed to know.
Closing my eyes, I pushed my thoughts outward, piercing the black space I’ve come to think of as between minds. I recognized the close presence of Ben. Knew Hi and Shelton were behind him in the hallway.
Those three were easy—minds as familiar to me as old jeans. I noted another vibrant consciousness close by, and knew it to be Chance. His mind had the same glow—the same unique pulsating pattern as my Viral packmates—yet humming to a slightly different rhythm.
Like, yet unlike. I filed the observation away for future consideration.
Other vibes buzzed at the edge of my perception—people down the hall watching TV, talking on the phone, one pair doing something I quickly veered away from—but I focused on a fuzzy tangle of thoughts, ideas, and emotions directly before me.
Respect his privacy. As much as you can.
“Look,” Heffernan was saying, clearly nervous we hadn’t left his room yet, “I don’t know anything else. Me and Willie were friends, but it’s not like we shared our deepest secrets with each other. I already told you—”
I brushed my consciousness lightly against his.
He stopped dead, eyes rounding.
An image coalesced in my mind. A boy. A girl. But I couldn’t see their faces.
She’s wearing something familiar . . .
Heffernan’s hands shot to his head. “What the hell?”
Not good enough. I need to see.
I attempted a second contact, but his mental defenses had been triggered. Steel walls slammed into place around Heffernan’s mind. I recoiled, nearly sick from a sudden, crushing slap of vertigo.
SNUP.
“Blargh.”
My knees buckled.
Hands gripped my shoulders. One, Chance. The other, Ben.
Heffernan popped to his feet, unsure what was happening but very sure he didn’t like it. “Y’all get out! Now! Or I’m calling security, I mean it!”
I spun, steadying myself. Found my face close to Ben’s.
He raised an eyebrow. I nodded.
“Thanks for your time.” Ben ushered me through the doorway.
Chance closed Heffernan’s door, and the five of us hurried down the hallway.
Ten steps to the elevator. Forty seconds down. Twenty paces to the lobby door
s.
Outside, I made it ten yards before collapsing on the grass. Dry heaves wracked my body as I tried not to lose my lunch.
The boys huddled around me, shielding my body from easy view.
A last round of gasps cleared my head. I was able to stand unaided.
“So you did it again.” Shelton pressed both fists to his head, trying to keep his voice calm. “I thought we ruled that move out of bounds?”
“Had to.” Spitting a mouthful of bile. “That guy saw the Trinity. I know it.”
“Remind me not to watch any shows you miss,” Hi quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. “Downloading fools like a DVR.”
Ben smacked his head without looking. Hi barely reacted.
“Did it work?” Ben asked.
I tried to piece together the image I’d stolen. “Speckman was here. With a dark-haired girl, but I couldn’t see her face.”
Then it hit me. “But I did see what she was wearing.”
Chance frowned. “It wasn’t a Bolton Prep uniform, perchance?”
I gaped at him. “Yes! Plaid skirt pattern number three. I have two in my closet. How did you know?”
“Not mind-robbing like you, I promise.” He smiled to lessen the sting, but his eyes were serious. “No, I have an idea who this person might be.”
“Who?” Hi, Shelton, and I spoke at once. Ben waited silently, jaw clenched.
“His ex-girlfriend.” Chance sighed. “Tory, at least, is acquainted.”
At that moment a face popped into my head, fitting the image I’d taken from Heffernan’s mind. My hands flew to my mouth.
“Oh no.”
“Ashley.”
My stomach knotted as I spoke the name.
“Could be.” Chance scraped a hand through his hair. “She and Will dated off and on for a year. When I heard Cole’s description, Ashley was my first thought.”
Ashley Bodford. The nastiest of the Tripod.
And now, possibly, Viral.
My stomach unknotted, but only to drop through my shoes.
Shelton eyed me cautiously. “Did you . . . confirm . . . it was Ashley who came here?”
“Yes.” Then I stopped myself. “Well, no.”