by Lee Hayton
“I’m not high enough up the totem pole for that,” I said. “But if you want to introduce me to the upper echelon, then I’m game.”
“You what?” He stared at me, his jaw hanging open.
“She’s a good friend,” Stefanie said, reaching out for my hand. “She stays here every night until I fall asleep.”
The man sniggered. “You’ve only been in here the one day, doll. You might want to let up on the pumping.” He jerked his head at her hand, thumb ready on the trigger.
“How about you let Stefanie decide what’s right for her,” I started quietly, “since she’s the one who ended up in the firing line?”
“I want to rest.” Stefanie pumped her thumb a couple of times for good luck. “Bugger off, Pete, and let me sleep.”
“I’ll stay, if you like,” I said, taking hold of Stefanie’s hand again. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to stay.”
“No.” She pulled her hand back. “I don’t want anyone staring at me for the moment. Maybe come back later. Pete’ll look after you until then, won’t you, Pete?”
I glanced over at the man, asking the question with a raised brow. The look of utter disgust on his face sealed the deal. He gave a nod and turned on his heel, not waiting. I leaned over to peck Stefanie on the forehead—always the consummate actress—then hurried after him, scampering to keep up.
Like I’d told my boss. Not exactly a stellar organization.
Chapter Six
The warehouse that Pete led me to was little better than a doss-house. There were mattresses in one room, barely a sheet in sight, and the communal atmosphere didn’t end there. Even with twenty or so people staying there, one kitchen, one living room, and one bathroom were shared between them all.
I would have turned my nose up at the whole arrangement—was walking around with it stuck up in the air already, in fact—when Pete showed me outside to the back garden.
It was a garden like out of the old-timey books that people wept over. The sort that meant I could close your eyes and imagine fairies visiting—pulling up a toadstool or a mushroom while they discussed the weighty topics of the day.
In a circle at the edge were large trees. They obscured the cinderblock walls they were so thick and lush. Green sprouting branches stretching out to overlap and intertwine with the plant next to it.
I ran out a few steps, taking off my shoes so I could feel the mix of cress and grass under my feet. Even at this time of day—late afternoon edging into the evening—it was coated with dew. Not soaked, nothing that uncomfortable or unwelcome. Just dotted onto each blade of grass so that stepping onto the lawn was refreshing.
I had to fight hard against the urge to change and run between the low-standing bushes that snuggled up to the trees. I just bet that underneath there, in the dry places where the twigs would snap if your body pressed against them too hard, small animals would scurry. Tiny creatures that would provide hours of entertainment if I got the balance between playing and killing right.
I shook my head to clear it, tipping back my neck until I was staring straight up at the slowly darkening sky.
How had this glorious reserve maintained its existence, given the harsh slabs of concrete and metal that surrounded it? How had nature clawed back this tiny island of paradise in the middle of a tarmac ocean?
“Come on,” Pete said, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me forward. The man didn’t seem to exhibit any sensitivity about personal space. When I walked closer to the party set up in the expanse of green lawn, I began to understand that was a common failing amongst the group.
To my left, a woman sat with her leg pressing close to her male companion, arm draped around his shoulder. A pair opposite her did the same, two males this time. As I scanned along the diners, I saw touching and personal space violations everywhere.
Believe me, I’m not against a nice cuddle on a welcoming lap, but this group seems far too close for comfort.
My comfort, in any case. Nobody else seemed worried.
“This is—” Pete broke off the introduction as he realized he didn’t know my name.
“Miss Tiddles,” I provided. “My parents didn’t see fit to bless me with a first name.”
Even though it wasn’t the first name I’d been given or the most appropriate for the job at hand, I preferred using the title that Norman had bestowed upon me. It made me feel close to him, now that he was so far away. Or dead.
“Welcome,” a young woman with her dark hair in a severe bob said, extending her hand to try to grab my arm. I moved back out of reach, nodding being enough of an acknowledgment for me.
“Weird fucking parents, you got.” Pete sniffed after pronouncing his verdict and slid onto the end of a bench seat. He patted the space next to him, but I stayed standing, looking for anywhere else to sit.
The woman with the bob grabbed for my hand again and once more I danced out of reach. “How about I just sit over here?” I sat down on a separate stool that had been plonked down next to the long bench seats on either side of the table. “This seems more comfortable.”
The woman pouted. “If you must. Julian—” she turned her head and jerked her chin at a man seated further down “—isn’t it about time we served up?”
It must have been, because the man stood and disappeared inside the house.
“Did you landscape this entire area yourselves?” I asked, spying the bag loads of fertilizer and fresh mulch that were stacked down the side of the modest house.
“We do most of the upkeep, but a lot of this area was like this when we moved in. The people before us had a commune and like the feeling of the trees.”
“Miss Tiddles was with Stefanie when the building exploded,” Pete said. “She’s been visiting her in hospital.”
I nodded. “It’s such a pity what happened to her. And so easily avoided.”
“Not just what happened to her,” one woman with tight ginger curls said. “Did you see how many animals were caught up in it?”
“We got the cages open.” The words came from a dark-haired young man with a scar down his left cheek. “It’s not our fault the stupid things didn’t know to run.”
Because, obviously, they should have realized you were about to blow the building sky-high.
I shuddered as I thought about how close I’d come to my own death. If Stefanie hadn’t let me out of the cage, then I’d have been caught up in the explosion, too. Half the poor things were probably still reeling from the control-bot injection.
“Perhaps with the next plan, we should spend a bit more time on what happens afterward.” I looked around the group, trying to catch their eyes but instead received a view of the tops of their heads.
“Here we go,” Julian said, returning back to the table, cradling three large dishes. “Dig in.”
I joined in with the meal, waiting for the cadence of the conversation to change so that I could insert another gentle inquiry. Perhaps it was the after-effects of the drugs, but my questions so far had more in common with a bludgeon.
I yawned and took another mouthful of the hot curry and rice. It reminded me of living next to an Indian Restaurant back when I was newly changed. Even if the meals weren’t hot by the time I rescued them from the dumpster out back, they were still hot.
“Did you hear from Glendale, over on the east side?” Julian was whispering to Pete, but in the absence of other conversation, I could easily hear.
Pete began to mumble through a mouthful of food, then gave up and nodded.
“We’re set for Tuesday?”
Another nod.
I turned to the grabby woman whose hands I’d evaded earlier. “What’s your role in the action on Tuesday?” Unlike Julian, I managed to keep my voice low.
She flicked me an annoyed look. “Why? What do you think it should be? Since I’m obviously no good at plans.”
I blushed, the tips of my ears burning. “Sorry. I didn’t realize—”
She turned away, cutting me off mid-sent
ence. I regretted choosing a stool off to one side. Now, I couldn’t ease my way into a conversation without shifting.
When Julian stood up with some plates in hand, I seized my opportunity. “Do you want a hand with clearing?” I’d grabbed up two plates and a handful of cutlery before he could respond, trailing him to the kitchen.
“Just leave them in the sink. I’ll let them soak overnight.”
“I could do them now, if you want?”
Julian shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll grab the rest.”
I filled the sink up and squirted in a load of detergent. When I pushed my hand down, bubbles escaped into the air, and I blew them against the wall, to burst and die.
“Here you go.”
Julian dumped an armful of dishes into the sink, then turned and walked away. Dammit! Now, I had to do the dishes alone instead of priming him for information.
When I returned to the dinner table fifteen minutes later, the group was in a tight bunch, sitting cross-legged on the lawn. I sat down on the edge of the group, but they stopped talking. Even if I hadn’t already been paranoid, that would have tipped me over the edge.
I beamed a bright smile. “Anyone have exciting plans next week? I guess that some of you are out of a job.”
“Where did you come from?” the ginger-haired woman demanded. “I’m sure that Stefanie never mentioned you before.”
“I was at the hospital—”
“She was in the animal shelter,” Pete said. “But I’d recommend that no one talk to her. For all we know, she’s the one who jammed the door so Stefanie couldn’t get out.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. “It was locked.”
“Yeah, right. It’s an exit.” Pete lay back on his elbows, a pretense at casualness that was belied by the tight rock of his abdomen. “By law, they’re not allowed to be blocked.”
“Perhaps you should have checked that before you blew up the building and carved off Stefanie’s legs.”
Pete’s face clouded over, and he lunged to his feet, leaning over to grab my elbow and drag me to my feet. “I don’t give a shit how or why you know Stefanie. You’re getting the hell out of here, right now.”
I tried to struggle as he dragged me toward the house, but it was useless. I wrenched my arm away and strode to the front door. “Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.”
The slam of the door behind me wasn’t enough satisfaction to offset my failure. You used to be good at this, an internal voice mocked. Remember when you could stay undercover for weeks at a time?
During my time working for the average man, I’d seen secret agents swing from high to low in a matter of a few jobs. The ease that an agent needed to insert themselves without suspicion would disappear—leaving every move awkward, appearing staged.
An excellent time for that virus to infect my performance. I wanted to know about my son so badly that my whole body tensed with the craving.
I couldn’t return to him empty-handed. I looked up at the wall that ran the length of the property and considered changing form. I could listen in on the conversation.
As I walked along the high fence, the afternoon gave way to evening, and a light drizzle began to fall. The group presented a collective groan, then moved indoors, closing the door against the night.
Plan B ruined.
I could try again tomorrow, but that could easily stretch into days. The group was half-assed, but they were also now on high alert.
Plan C, then. I’d call a meeting with the average man and lie through my teeth.
I hoped that skill hadn’t departed me.
Chapter Seven
The starkness of the waiting room offended me. For a place used as often as this one, there should be visible signs of life.
Scratches in the arms of the chair, scuffs on the carpet. Not the rigid austerity of perfection.
If my boss took his operation elsewhere tomorrow, a new tenant would never guess that a business operation once flourished here. Shady and underhanded, true, but that was where the money lay.
Something on the henchman nearest me beeped, and he nodded. “Go in.”
I swallowed hard and hoped I wouldn’t need to do that again during the meeting. My throat was so dry that the action hurt.
“Have a seat.” The average man waved me into a chair opposite him and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back. His chair was set a couple of inches taller than mine so he could look down on me.
I took a deep breath and sat.
After a moment’s silence, he shrugged. “Well?”
“The group’s planning an attack on Tuesday. Another explosion.”
The man clicked something on his watch. “Where and when?”
“On a blood bank. They didn’t mention the location to me, but they wanted to avoid hurting any more animals.”
“But homeless people are okay?”
Despite having started the conversation with my hands gripping onto the arms of the chair, they were now intertwined in my lap. I forced them to stop wringing together and popped them back where they should be, ignoring how exposed that made me feel.
“I think their problem with the animals was that they didn’t obey instructions to get out. I imagine someone hooked up to a needle would be more obliging.”
He nodded, turning his face briefly toward the blank side wall, then back to me. “What are they using to make the bombs?”
I thought back to the beautiful garden. The flowers and trees, the bags of mulch and fertilizer waiting to be applied. “Fertilizer. They’ve got a home garden to explain the purchases, but it’s not ending up there.”
A frown flicked over the average man’s face, then disappeared. My stomach twisted and lurched. The man was under such tight control that micro-expressions were the only clue I’d get to see if my words were being believed. That wasn’t a good sign.
“The group seems to think it’s harmless,” I hurried to add. “When I was talking with them over dinner, they showed a lot more concern over the dead strays than over their colleague, despite her legs being blown off.”
The average man waved his hand. “She’ll get new ones.”
“If she survives.” I looked down at my hands—they were linked together in my lap again, pressing so tightly that the skin over my knuckles shone in the overhead lights. “If they’re focused on getting people out of the blood bank, so they’re not hurt, it’ll give you plenty of time to interfere.”
“Only if we have a date and place.”
I nodded. The dryness in my throat made it feel swollen. I desperately wanted to swallow again but would need a glass of water to get anything moving. The muscles in my chest tightened painfully. Time to ask.
“I can go back in and try to get you more information, but I need a show of goodwill first.”
The average man stared at me, his gaze so sharp that it hooked into my eyes and wouldn’t let me turn away. My heartbeat quickened and a drop of sweat grew on my hairline, gathering moisture until gravity took hold and it rolled down my cheek.
“That wasn’t our deal.”
“I’ve worked off my previous debt to you, remember?” The pulse in my throat was ticking, high and fast. “We had an agreement that if you want my services, then you have to pay for them. Give me something to show your willing. These people may have terrible planning skills, but they’re not weak. If they find out I’m undercover, they’ll hurt me.”
He leaned forward. “And what happens if I do give you information? You could just disappear.”
“Then you’ll find me.”
I stared at him, the truth written upon my face. That was certainly what I believed—as soon as he worked out I was making everything up I expected a knock on my door. All I wanted was the chance to reach out to my son first.
“Your son did survive.” The man’s eyes scanned my face with the same emotion as a machine performing a retinal scan. “After your grand exit from the animal shelter, they decided to put a stay on his execution until th
ey could examine him. The name on his file is Fluffy Wallace.”
I recoiled, just a slight flinch but enough that the average man noticed. The micro-expression this time was the flicker of a smile.
“That name sounds made-up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Tiddles.”
I shrugged, the rush of triumph relaxing my tight muscles. If I sat there for too much longer, I’d start to get giddy.
“I’ll go back in for another visit.”
“Make sure you do.” The average man reached for a button on his desk, then hesitated, his hand hovering above it. “I do have a lot more to tell you about your son. I’ve got a file an inch thick to pass on when you get me the intel I need. You wouldn’t want to miss out on that just because you couldn’t be bothered sticking around until the end of the job.”
I nodded, and he pressed the button.
My heart was beating faster than ever as I walked back to the rebel group house. Not from fear this time but excitement. My son was alive. All these years of thinking that I’d failed him, my stupidity and inability to shift had sentenced him to die when instead, he’d lived.
Lived and perhaps flourished.
He won’t want you back in his life.
I stopped still, staring vacantly into space until a driver-less vehicle buzzed by me, so close that it sent a spray of muddy road water to drench me.
That was one feature the cars weren’t meant to have—avoiding all hazards was standard wiring—but the programs could be overridden. Usually, by a bored teen with too much time on their hands.
The water covered me with a thin sheen of dirty, but at least I was moving again. Besides, it wouldn’t matter to me for the job at hand. I walked a few steps into a side alley and changed, trotting back onto the sidewalk as a cat.
Now, I just had to wait until the rebel group unknowingly let me back inside.
In the end, I didn’t have to get into the house. By the time that dusk fell, the rebels came out to me.
Pete and Julian led the small group, with the black bobbed touchy-feely woman in there too. Another woman and a man were also included, but I didn’t recognize them.