by K. C. Archer
Miles bent to pick up his sneakers. “I’ll see you around, Teddy.” He hesitated at the door, gripping its frame a moment for balance. “See, I told you I wouldn’t forget your name.”
She couldn’t help but smile, despite everything. “Nice to meet you, Miles.”
With that, he nodded and left. Which meant that Teddy could get to work. Traveling so soon after her ill-fated trip to New York seemed a pretty stupid idea. Add a possible concussion on top of that? But then Teddy Cannon wasn’t known for thinking things through. She was more of a ready, fire, aim type of girl.
Besides, thanks to Clint’s tutorials, this was well within her new skill set. She didn’t need to move through time, just space. Even banged up and bruised as she was, she could do it. She returned to her bed and lay down. Determined exactly where she wanted to go, pictured herself standing there, then braced herself for the agonizing tug as her astral body separated from her physical one.
The world went black. Gasping, Teddy opened her eyes, welcoming the weightless feeling, to find herself outside the clinic, standing mere inches away from Eversley and Whitfield. Neither man indicated the slightest awareness that she was there.
“But there are side effects. Serious side effects,” Eversley said, his tone anxious, impatient. “We should delay production. It’s too risky.”
“No,” Whitfield returned sharply. “No delay. We move forward. If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.”
“I cannot recommend against that strongly enough.”
“We have a test subject. We have the drug. We proceed.”
Heated discussion followed, too full of medical jargon for Teddy to properly grasp what Eversley was saying. Neither Whitfield nor Eversley had mentioned Hyle Pharmaceuticals or X-498 specifically, but that didn’t stop her from speculating. Had they begun testing the new genetic drug on human subjects? No one she knew would willingly volunteer to have their powers curtailed. Well, no one except Molly. Molly, who had fought so desperately not to feel anything in order to feel normal. Molly, who had vanished from the hospital last year. Could she be Hyle’s human test subject? Teddy’s mind reeled. She needed Dara. Dara would understand what they were saying, how it all connected.
From the doorway to the clinic, a voice broke Teddy’s concentration, pulling her back to her sickbed and to her physical body.
“How you feeling, recruit?”
Clint Corbett loomed. Maybe not the last person she wanted to see, but damn near the end of the list.
“Just peachy.” She leaned back against her pillow and stared out the window, willing him to take the hint and leave. He didn’t.
“I heard you passed out in Dunn’s class. Just hit the floor. What happened?”
Professor Dunn’s class. Shit. The conversation between Whitfield and Eversley had driven everything else from her mind, to the point where she had almost forgotten why she was in the infirmary in the first place.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her bed. Waited for her to speak.
“I had an OBE,” she said. “I astral-traveled to the site of the explosion. Was right there when the bomb went off.”
“I’m not sure I understand. You mean the case Dunn assigned you? I thought—”
“No, that case was about a plane crash.” She shook her head impatiently. “I’m talking about the bombing, Clint. I was there. I saw it.”
Clint frowned. “Teddy, I’m not following.”
“The New York City bombing. October 1998. You showed me the photo of my mother passing the building just before the bomb went off, remember?”
Clint’s expression of surprise slowly morphed into one of skepticism. “Just like that? Just by thinking about an explosion?”
“How would I know? You’re the expert here. You tell me how it works.”
“Want to tell me why you’re so pissed off right now?”
The silence stretched. Teddy knew she wasn’t being reasonable. “Because you knew, Clint. That’s why. You knew that photo of my mother would trigger something. And you wanted me to know my mother was guilty. Well, I saw her take the bomb into that building. You won. Happy?”
Maybe her OBE had something to do with the photo, though she suspected it had a lot more to do with Marysue’s pendant, which had warmed in her hand just before she’d launched into her astral travel. But she wasn’t about to open that door.
Finally, Clint spoke. “You’re right. I did—I do—want you to find Marysue, but not to torture you, Teddy. I need to stop the PC. That’s what this is about. Nothing else matters.”
“That’s exactly the problem. Nothing else matters to you. Nothing. Not finding Molly or shutting down Hyle Pharmaceuticals. Everyone’s accusing me of having tunnel vision. Of living in the past. But it looks like we both have the same problem.”
He shifted on his feet. “It’s a problem worth solving. I thought that was your goal, too. Finding the PC. In fact, I heard you were more than a little fixated over the summer.”
She rubbed the back of her head, where the knot throbbed. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
“So what’s the problem?”
She paused, drew in a shaky breath. “The problem is, we’re on different sides. You’re chasing Marysue down because you want her locked away with the rest of the PC. I just want answers.” That wasn’t the whole truth. She wanted answers. But she also wanted her mom.
“But when presented with answers, you seem reluctant to accept them,” Clint pointed out. “You saw for yourself this time, and still . . .”
Maybe it was because she didn’t want to accept the simplest answer, Occam’s razor and all that: Marysue was a member of the PC; she’d meant to bomb that building; she’d acted with intention. Accepting this explanation meant accepting that the mother she thought she knew was just a dream.
And if Teddy Cannon was going to stay on track, the track that meant she fought for what was good, what was right, the track that kept her at Whitfield School for Psychics, that was something she couldn’t accept. At least not until she understood Marysue’s intention. If she could fit this piece into the puzzle that was her existence as a psychic, she’d feel complete.
Clint crossed his arms over his chest. Gave her a hard stare. “Your mother is PC.”
“Because I refuse to believe that’s all she is. And forcing me to witness her crimes in some sort of astral trial isn’t going to change that. Not until I know why she did what she did.”
“I’m not trying to force you, Teddy, I’m trying to help you.”
“How is this helping?”
“I—”
“Miss Cannon?” Nurse Bell interrupted from the doorway. “How are we doing?”
“I’m fine.” Teddy cast a glare at Clint. “Or I would be.”
“Has the spinning stopped?”
No.
“Yes,” Teddy said.
“In that case, you may return to your dorm room to rest. Come back tomorrow and I’ll check on you.”
“Thanks.”
Clint stepped back from her bed. He looked as though he wanted to take her arm, to help her stand, to say more, but refrained from doing anything at all. Good deduction on his part. She’d had enough of Clint Corbett’s help. Enough of his help to last a whole lifetime. In fact, several, considering she could now technically travel to different time lines.
So Teddy grabbed her boots and got the hell out of there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHILE THE ANSWERS SHE NEEDED remained out of reach, Teddy’s only alternative was to apply herself to her studies so that she came out first in her class. Though a long game, the coveted FBI track would give her access to information that otherwise eluded her. So she worked on her astral travel. Attempted to master her psychometric skills. Threw herself into Boyd’s obstacle courses with everything she had. Meditated the hell out of the Zen garden. Ate vegan. Teddy Cannon wasn’t patient. But she was stubborn. She had resolve. She could do it.
At the moment, howev
er, her resolve was being sorely tested. She sat in a musty corner of the Whitfield library, staring not at the pile of casework in front of her but at Henry Cummings. To say he was a distraction would be an understatement. Gone was the ironed polo shirt. Instead, he was wearing mesh. And sequins.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Henry said, gaze trained on the paper in front of him.
Teddy tried to suppress a smile but utterly failed. “I mean, how could I not look at you. You’re so . . . sparkly.”
Henry put his folder down. “I am dressed as America’s sweetheart, Olympic medalist Adam Rippon. Who, I would wager, based on how he always seemed to know exactly which moves the judges wanted to see and in what order they wanted to see them, is probably psychic.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Teddy shuffled through the box at her feet.
“It’s Halloween. We’re supposed to be having fun tonight.”
“We might both be having a lot more fun if we could figure out this case.”
They’d spent hours in seership and their case studies class working through the logistics of John Polson’s death. Though they’d combed the reports and summaries, neither had experienced any psychic breakthroughs. The ballistics report continued to stump Teddy. The bullet used to kill Polson didn’t match any weapon carried on the plane.
Sloppy police work, she figured. But when she’d requested to see the bullet for herself, the local Tacoma PD had returned empty-handed. After Dunn had sent the request through the chain of command, the evidence baggie? Suspiciously missing. And as much as she wanted to blame the Alpha currently masquerading as America’s sweetheart for their failure, it wasn’t like she’d done any better.
Her classmates, despite also having complex assignments, had one thing they didn’t: witnesses. No one had been in the plane with John Polson. No one had seen the aircraft go down. The member of the Tacoma PD who’d worked the case was now deceased.
“If we could interview someone connected to the case, we’d have an easier go. Instead, we can only rely on our psychic abilities to gather new information. Which leaves us in the same place we started—i.e., with absolutely nothing.”
“So we take a break,” Henry said.
“No. We keep working.”
“You think that sitting here while everyone else is partying is going to make a difference in cracking a twenty-year-old case? Newsflash, Teddy. He’s dead. He’ll still be dead in the morning.”
Teddy knew that Henry had a point. But schoolwork provided cover. As she grappled with the frustration of having only pieces of Marysue’s story—pieces that created a picture she couldn’t accept—staying busy was the one thing that kept her sane.
“What are you supposed to be, anyway, a depressed person?”
Teddy was wearing her usual outfit. Jeans, combat boots, white tee. “Ha-ha, very funny.” She turned back to the paperwork.
“I hear there’s going to be a sundae bar.”
“What?”
“A sundae bar,” he repeated. “At the Halloween party. With actual ice cream.”
Teddy rubbed her head. She knew she really was depressed when the idea of ice cream—real ice cream, not the fat-free Tofutti crap they usually served here—didn’t excite her.
“And I have a date,” he said. “Believe it or not, some of us have lives outside of classes.”
She sighed. “Fine, okay. I give up. Go on your date. Eat ice cream.”
“Hallelujah,” he responded, leaving Teddy alone to her thoughts.
Yeah, he was an Alpha. But there was something Teddy liked about Henry Cummings, even in a see-through skater suit.
She returned her attention to the files. Whereas with Marysue’s case, Teddy had been presented an answer she didn’t want to accept, the Polson case seemed to have no answers at all. She’d received no psychometric reads on any of the objects. No psychic clues from any of the FBI reports. There had to be something important she was missing. She sighed and shuffled through the reports. Supposedly, they’d been given these cases based on their skill sets. Her telepathy hadn’t yielded any results. Neither would telekinesis. How could either skill help, she thought grumpily, when everyone connected to the case was long gone—
It hit her with the force of ten paintball guns targeting her at once. The answer practically stung. Not telepathy. Not telekinesis. Astral travel. A skill so new to her and so unmanageable that she hadn’t even considered it.
The bullet to the back of Polson’s skull, when Polson had been flying the ultralight alone. The fact that no corresponding weapon had been recovered from the cockpit or the crash site. No human remains except Polson’s had been found. It all pointed to one thing.
An astral traveler had murdered Polson sometime after takeoff.
It would be hard, near impossible, to project oneself into a moving object. But an experienced astral traveler could do it, Teddy guessed. And that same astral traveler could carry an object—say, a gun—leaving behind Polson’s body and ballistic clues but no trace of the weapon.
Teddy’s stomach plunged as Yates’s words took on a new and sinister meaning. Study this, and you’ll know what you need to do. She’d been hoping he would help her get to the bottom of what was happening at Hyle Pharmaceuticals. Or maybe give her a warning regarding the pair of psychics who had broken in to Eli’s apartment. Was he suggesting she use her newfound skill to act as a time-traveling assassin? That didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like a PC recruitment pitch.
Suddenly chilled, she glanced around the dimly lit room. She saw menacing shadows where there hadn’t been any before. Sitting by herself in the vast, empty library quickly lost its appeal. She should have left with Henry. She gathered her books and files and turned to go.
She stood and spun around—and walked directly into a man. She lurched back, expecting—despite herself—to see the goon from Eli’s apartment. But it was Pyro. He caught her by the arms to steady her, then let her go. Dara and Jillian stood behind him. It didn’t require special insight to see that they were on their way to the party. Dara, in a green jacket and wide circle glasses, could be none other than nineties sardonic-comic queen Daria Morgendorffer. Jillian rocked a Haight-Ashbury, peace-loving flower-child getup—a look that wasn’t much of a stretch from her normal wardrobe. Pyro was too cool for a costume and just wore his usual jeans and dark T-shirt. His only concession to Halloween was black eyeliner. He looked hot. Not that she cared one way or another, she told herself. And then spent the next thirty seconds trying to convince herself that was true.
Dara flicked a glance over Teddy’s attire and deadpanned, “I see I’m the only one who made an effort this year.”
“I let you put makeup on me, Jones,” Pyro said. “That required effort on both our parts.” He leveled a look at Teddy, then looked away.
“So,” Dara said. “You coming or what?”
Pyro arched a brow as if daring her to say no. A cocky expression. A look hinting that maybe he was getting as tired of their ongoing drama as she was. Maybe tonight they could figure out a way to move past it. So, yeah, for a lot of reasons, she was happy to ditch her solitary stint at the library and head out with her friends.
When they arrived at Harris Hall, she noted that the dining staff had decided to go with a “Stephen King” theme. In the corner, a bunch of first-years went at a giant piñata of Pennywise. Teddy scanned the crowd, wondering if she’d catch a glimpse of Miles, the guy from the infirmary. Just to check in and see how he was doing. No luck. Half the students were in costume, so it wasn’t like she would be able to recognize him anyway.
They gorged on the sundae bar, then joined the catcalling when it was time to judge the costume contest. (Henry lost to a fourth-year clairaudient dressed as a mime, which struck Teddy as grossly unfair—a classic case of popularity triumphing over originality and style.)
After a bit, the music slowed, and Pyro suggested the two of them move onto the dance floor. Which sounded like a great idea to Te
ddy.
“No,” Jillian cut in, bouncing on her toes with excitement. “She can’t. It’s nine o’clock, so it’s time for Teddy to take me to the Cantina for drinks. She forgot my birthday this summer, so she promised we’d do something special to make up for it. Remember, Teddy?”
“I did?”
“Tonight?” Pyro frowned. “Why head off campus when there’s an actual party here?”
Jillian shot Teddy a look. “Because it’s Halloween. Remember, Teddy?”
What—Oh. Eli. The message.
Not only had she promised Jillian, she’d helped engineer the illicit get-together. No backing out now. Brushing off Pyro and Dara’s offer to accompany them, they made promises to return to the party after a quick round of drinks and headed out.
The Cantina was packed. They’d barely made it through the door when a superhero sporting a red and silver suit, with a mask covering the upper half of his face, caught Jillian around the waist and pulled her into his embrace. After some serious PDA—which went on waaaay too long for Teddy’s comfort—Eli led them to a table he’d secured earlier.
“Everything all right now, Eli?” Teddy asked.
“Perfect,” he replied, his eyes not leaving Jillian, who beamed back at him.
There was nothing as obnoxious as a couple in the throes of mad, all-consuming love. “I was talking about the break-in,” she clarified. “Has anything else happened?”
Eli reluctantly turned his man-bunned head in her direction. “Oh, that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah. I got the super to install a heavy-duty dead bolt on my door, so it’s cool. Nobody’s broken in since.”
She enjoyed a moment of relief, and even toyed with the idea of ordering a drink, but the waitstaff was swamped, and she didn’t want it badly enough to claw her way through the crowd at the bar. Instead, she watched Eli and Jillian gush over each other as though they’d been parted for years rather than weeks. If one night of eco-friendly canoodling would put a smile back on her roommate’s face (and maybe stop her moping around long enough to get her ass back in gear and pay attention to her studies), so be it.