by Drew Hayes
And, as an HCP official, the last thing she wanted was a Super of his level and meltdown history losing control. Again.
99.
“So, how does it feel, being back at your Alma Mater?” Professor Sean Pendleton asked. After his class had ended, he’d joined up with Blaine and Clarissa, who were chatting in the dean’s office. The tall man breezed through the door and settled into one of the more comfortable chairs, unapologetically interrupting the conversation they’d already been having.
“Odd, nostalgic, sad, fun, and quite a bit daring,” Clarissa replied.
“Daring?” Blaine asked his question without turning his head; he was currently busy filling up water glasses for all of them.
“Certainly. I am sitting in the dean’s office, after all. Remember how many times Victor tried to goad us into breaking in here and toilet papering the place as a senior prank?”
“Oh Victor, so much muscle, so little forethought,” Sean recalled. “Dean Merrick would have shit a chicken if we’d actually done that.”
“As acting dean, I’ve seen a few students try to gain unauthorized entry, but I can say that it is not procedure to excrete any kind of fowl as a reaction.”
“Then tell us, Blaine, what do you do to them?” Clarissa asked.
“Depends on the student. Most are talked into it by someone more persuasive or confident than themselves. They get a week of supplemental gym training.”
Sean shivered involuntarily. He’d been on the receiving end of that sentence more than a few times in his Lander days. The professors had worn him down until even walking back to the dorms had required the assistance of his stronger classmates. Occasionally, he’d have nightmares of being back here and getting handed that punishment, even all these decades later.
“What about the ringleader?” Sean asked.
“They get some punishment too, but I also tend to write them letters of recommendation if they haven’t taken an internship yet.” Blaine set a glass down in front of each guest and kept one for himself. Usually, he preferred bourbon when entertaining; however, he and Sean still had a day of work ahead of them.
“A letter of recommendation . . . actually, I can see that,” Clarissa said. “It takes serious leadership skills to get seniors to do something that dumb. Victor could never pull it off, not even when he got Sean on his side. The only ones who might have been able to talk us into it were Joshua and Phil.”
The words slipped off her tongue before Clarissa could catch them in her lips, lingering in the air like a rotten stench. Phil was something she tried not to talk about, especially not with other members of her graduating class. It was just too much, too dangerous. Thankfully, Sean plowed right over it in his usual cavalier way.
“I’ll give you those two, sure, but I think you might have been able to organize a successful raid too. The way Victor and Casper both mooned over you, it would have been pretty easy to pull off.”
“They weren’t that bad,” Clarissa said.
“I’m with Sean on this one,” Blaine added. “Victor’s torch burned for you even after graduation. Or did you never notice how Bullrush always seemed to need lots of transport when Shimmerpath was doing the coordination?”
“By willful ignorance, I chose to believe that was just a coincidence.” Clarissa set her water down on the desk, gathering her composure. “Perhaps I should have kept that skill sharp; it might have kept me from seeing things today. It’s the boy with the silver hair, right?”
“That obvious?” Blaine asked.
“Not unless you’re looking for it, no. But once you are, it’s impossible to miss. His movements, his demeanor . . . the boy must have absolutely idolized Phil to have imitated him to such an extent.”
“Phil was the first person to ever give Vince a family. He took him in, raised him by himself, taught the kid everything he knows about how to live,” Sean said. “What child wouldn’t idolize a person like that?”
“Unfortunately, that very idolization is what’s now causing Vince trouble,” Blaine added. “His association with the criminal known as Globe has put him under exceptional scrutiny. There are people searching for any reason they can find to bar him from the title of Hero.”
“Fucking DVA lackeys,” Clarissa spat. “I got so sick of their bullshit toward the end; that’s why I went off the Hero-grid so completely. No one would leave me alone after the Globe fiasco, and I didn’t have Charles’s connections to make them back off. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Vince. No one should have to deal with those pricks, especially not a kid.”
“There actually might be something you can do,” Blaine said slowly. “A small side-project that may come to fruition, and if it does, then someone with your abilities would be priceless to have.”
“This is news to me,” Sean said.
“I’m keeping it quiet until I see if it actually goes anywhere. Until then, all I can say is that you, Clarissa, and you as well, Sean, would make a great difference to have on hand.”
“Blaine, one question,” Clarissa replied. “Was this whole thing, bringing me out to speak to the kids, just a set-up for asking me to help on your hush-hush project?”
“Of course not,” Blaine said. “The split was forty to sixty, at most.”
“Which side was forty?”
“You said only one question,” Blaine reminded her.
“You’re a real ass, you know that?” Clarissa said. “All right, you win. Count me in for whatever shenanigans you’ve got planned. Whatever it is, I trust that you’ve got the kids’ best interests at heart.”
* * *
Ralph Chapman put the pictures down and slid them back across the table. “What do we know so far?”
“She lives in an apartment with a large Asian man just off-campus.” The speaker was an unassuming man, almost completely unremarkable except for the dark, bushy mustache perched atop his lip. “As you can see from the photographs, there’s clearly a pre-existing relationship with Reynolds. Right after the kissing broke up, she fled the club with her roommate and the young man who lives next door to them.”
Another picture was handed to Ralph, who looked it over. “He’s wearing a mask.”
“It was Halloween.”
“You’re being paid to find answers, Smitt, not excuses.”
“Which is why I jimmied open his mailbox, grabbed some letters, and looked at his name,” Smitt replied. “It was Dig Bixby. Obviously fake. The girl’s mail identified her as Eloise Toggle, which is presumably not real either. I couldn’t find any information on a girl with that name fitting her age and description. I can keep digging, but it will take me away from watching Reynolds, and I know he’s your first priority.”
Ralph Chapman drummed his fingers on the worn table. Smitt’s office was small and dark, the sort of place that was easy to overlook. It suited him perfectly, but Ralph was feeling stifled.
“I want everything you can find on this girl,” Ralph finally decided. “We haven’t found any avenues of information on Vince Reynolds so far; Blaine and the others have clearly covered up everything. This girl seems to have surprised him, though. Perhaps she can give us the real scoop on the son of Globe.”
“You’re the boss,” Smitt replied. “I’ll get to work tonight.”
“Good. Call me the minute you find something. I can’t wait to tear down the web of lies the Lander HCP has spun.”
100.
The sensation wasn’t quite pressure, but it was akin to pressure. It felt more like something had accidentally brushed up against her, yet when she turned to look for it, there was nothing to be seen. It came again, firmer this time. There was no space, no world, nothing aside from the tame yet chaotic swirling of thoughts in her mind. The brushing came once more, insistent, continuing to increase until it seemed like something was trying to break through the outer membrane that encompassed her thoughts. It was surreal, and slightly scary. That fear caused her to tighten her mental defenses, and suddenly, the i
ntruding sensation vanished.
“Damn it,” Alice swore, opening her eyes. “Sorry about that. It’s hard not to push back when I feel your presence.”
“Don’t worry, this is still great practice,” Mary assured her. “Pretty soon, I want to try it again when you’re asleep.”
The two girls were sitting cross-legged in Mary’s room, the faint scent of incense burning and a soundtrack of ocean noises filling the room with a sense of relaxation. Mary was clad in a gray t-shirt and sweats, while Alice sported a pink tank-top and black yoga pants. They’d positioned themselves in a way that left their feet pressed against one another’s. All attempts at holding hands had resulted in discomfort and loss of the clear-mind state they were trying to achieve.
“You’ve gotten a lot better. When we first started, I couldn’t even tell when you were trying to make contact.”
“That’s probably at least partly because of how rarely I even managed to find your mind,” Mary admitted. “But you’ve gotten better too. The calmer your mind is, the easier it is for me to locate it and try to come in; probably why my power works best on people in dreams and trances. Anyway, for the last month, you’ve managed to make it a lot easier on me, so thanks.”
“Glad to help. It’s nice to be useful for at least one thing.” Alice leaned back slightly, stretching some of the muscles in her hips that were beginning to grow sore. “This damn Subtlety project will be the death of me. Three days in, and I’ve barely made any progress at all.”
“You’ve got a month and a half, that’s plenty of time.”
“For one cipher? Sure, but supposedly, there are a lot more steps, and who knows how long each of those will take.”
“Alice, your power has grown tremendously since last year. Honestly, I’m not sure if even I could beat you anymore. Whatever our test is, you’ll pass.”
“Maybe so, but I want to pass using Subtlety,” Alice said. She shifted back into proper position, pausing to pull a few loose hairs from her face by remaking her ponytail.
“Why? You’re a lock for Control.”
“I don’t have a great reason why. Probably because I feel like Professor Pendleton doesn’t think I’ve got it in me to do it, and that makes me want to show him that I can.”
Mary had her own theory about why Alice was clinging to Subtlety so hard, a theory that revolved around memories of a Nick that no longer was, and the class he and Alice had shared. Thankfully, Alice was not the telepathic one, so she wasn’t privy to the hypothesis being formed in Mary’s head.
“You’ve always found a way before. I’m sure you’ll think of something this time as well,” Mary said. “I’m sort of envious. I wish we had a way to prepare for the exam besides the usual classes and training. It would be nice not to be going in totally blind for a change.”
“I’m always surprised you don’t get any hints. None of the professors let their thoughts slip?”
“They might, on occasion, but there are a lot of people, and I can’t pay attention to all of them all the time. Plus, as far as I’ve seen, our instructors are all skilled at keeping their surface thoughts controlled. Probably part of the HCP training we haven’t gotten to yet.” Mary paused for a moment, debating on whether or not to broach the next topic with Alice. She tried to respect her friend’s boundaries; however, one of the perks of friendship was being permitted to step across them when occasion demanded.
“Speaking of mind-reading, are you going to reschedule with Professor Stone sometime soon? Your meditation skills have definitely improved enough that she should be able to pull up the memory this time.”
“I’ve thought about it, and I was actually leaning toward doing exactly that, but for right now, I think I’m going to hold off,” Alice replied. “Professor Pendleton’s exam already has me mentally consumed. Once I dig up the memory, I might find something useful, or I might get something that just torments me and makes me spin my wheels. If I knew for certain it would help lead me to my mother, I’d be there as fast as I could fly. But my life just isn’t that damn easy. So since I don’t know for sure, I want to put my energy toward the thing I know I can affect: my exam. Once it’s over, then I can roll the dice with memory scavenging.”
“Boy, you really do not like people underestimating you,” Mary said, shaking her head at her friend’s unruly determination.
“Damn straight. The last guy who did it got tossed in the air and dropped in a dumpster. And he got off easy. If I hadn’t been wearing a dress I liked, I might have gotten rough with him.”
“Why am I wholly unsurprised that fashion is the only thing which can restrain the mighty Alice Adair?”
“Fashion, and Subtlety assignments,” Alice corrected.
“I think I’ll hold off my judgment until we actually make it to test-time. You have a knack for pulling these things out at the last minute.”
“Last year was different. I had Nick to lean on.”
Mary reached over and poked Alice forcefully in the stomach. “None of that. Nick didn’t help you in the tailing assignment, you found the professor on your own. And for that matter, Nick didn’t even help you get to that point. You’re the one who out-foxed him. If that doesn’t speak to talent in Subtlety, then I don’t know what does.”
“You have bony fingers,” Alice said, rubbing her stomach where Mary had jabbed her. “And maybe good points. But I’ve never been good at this cipher stuff; it takes me ages more than everyone else. All I’ve been good at is tricking people.”
Mary gave a shrug, causing ripples to flow down the loose gray fabric of her shirt. “Is there a way you can just do more of that?”
“Probably. Actually, I’m sure there is. I even had a few ideas. But I want to do this one the proper way. If I ever do become a Subtlety Hero, however unlikely that is, it’s the sort of thing others would lean on me for. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to show Professor Pendleton that I can pass his tests even without putting my own spin on things.”
“I’ve got no doubt you’ll figure something out, but there is no way you’ll convince me that you can do anything without putting your own spin on it.” Mary gave her roommate a reassuring grin, then closed her eyes and began to let the thoughts flow out of her mind once more.
101.
These kids definitely weren’t normal. They ran tighter security than Smitt had ever seen outside a military installation. He’d done some illegal checking of the power-grid, and both apartments had several devices drawing the right amount of constant juice to signify alarms and cameras. Before he’d even gotten the chance to place a bug, Smitt had noticed them sweeping for listening devices three times daily. He’d never have realized it if the girl didn’t always come out and run her hands under the railing just outside their apartments.
Even watching them from afar held a certain amount of risk, as the well-muscled Asian one ran perimeter checks with the girl at unpredictable hours. They seemed to take orders from the young man who’d worn a mask on Halloween, known by his mail as Dig Bixby. That one at least had a class schedule he followed. Smitt had jotted down some of it, but Dig had proven slippery to tail. Either he knew he was being watched, or he took those kinds of precautions just because. Smitt was hoping it was the former; if this kid was already so careful out of habit, then he’d almost certainly become a ghost if he realized Smitt was watching.
Thus far, he hadn’t been able to get anything on these three—not their real names, not their reason for being here, and not their connection to Vince Reynolds. It was that last element Chapman cared about. He’d never deigned to tell Smitt why he wanted dirt on the silver-haired student so badly, and Smitt hadn’t asked questions. Getting paid in envelopes full of cash had that sort of effect on his curiosity. The bonus waiting for him if he actually found something solid on Reynolds would make his daily rate pale in comparison. That’s why he was sticking with this strange trio. Whoever they were, they were clearly up to something. If he could find a way to uncover it and link them with
Reynolds, that cash was as good as his.
Smitt watched the girl walk up the stairs, finishing her sweep. She gave a quick glance around, then entered the apartment registered to Dig Bixby. Getting closer would require some risk. Luckily, Smitt was an old pro. These kids could take all the precautions they wanted.
Nothing stopped Smitt when he was on a trail.
* * *
Nicholas was on the phone when Eliza walked in from her sweep, lying on the couch with his cell pressed to his ear.
“Take your time circling back. Eliza and I will wait for you before we get dinner.” He pressed a button on the phone’s side, ending the call.
“Everything go okay?”
“Perfect.” Nicholas rose from his sprawled out position, giving a mighty stretch. “You held his attention long enough for Jerome to slip the tracker on his car.”
“It wasn’t like it was hard. This guy might not be bad by California standards, but his thumbs would have been broken years ago if he tried this shit in Vegas.” Eliza went to the kitchen, withdrew a soda, and slumped into one of the chairs. “Do you really think there’s any chance he’ll lead us to Nathaniel?”
“No, it seems highly unlikely,” Nicholas replied. His eyes were focused out the window, looking at the Lander campus that lay only a few streets away. “The agents Nathaniel has employed were skilled, so much so that they managed to get the jump on us. This gentleman is far too low-brow for someone with our level of connections to utilize.”
“Could be a decoy; get us occupied with chasing the target we can see, while someone else slips by.”
“That has occurred to me, hence why we’ve doubled down on security; however, it still seems unlikely. Nathaniel is rarely the type to use convoluted methods; such is really more my style than his. It’s possible he’s learned new tricks, and I refuse to underestimate him again, but the probable explanation is that this gentleman is pursuing us for his own reasons.”