Masks (Out of the Box Book 9)

by Robert J. Crane

  The sound of a wet cough disappeared in seconds, and Jamie was left hacking dryly, then she stopped as she sat up, her bodysuit glistening as Scott absorbed the water out of her costume. She sat up and looked at the pillar of water upon which she was perched. With mild surprise, she ran a hand over her costume and her fingers came back dry.

  “That’s new,” I said, and Scott looked over at me with heavily lidded eyes. “Also, congrats on not drowning.”

  “Something I figured out recently,” Scott said coolly. “I can’t drown. My powers work unconsciously to keep me alive whether I’m awake or not. Like you and soul sucking.”

  “Hey,” I said, “I’m not—oh, you meant literally on the soul sucking.” He smiled, but he wasn’t amused. “How are you doing, Gravity Gal?”

  “Feeling drowned but without any liquid in my lungs to show for it.” Jamie’s voice sounded scratchy. “So … the ship kinda sank.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That was a thing that happened. Thanks for not letting me die in the water, by the way. Because I can actually drown. Probably.”

  “No problem,” she said, closing her eyes like she was suffering from a headache. She had been oxygen deprived, after all. “What … what do we do now?”

  “Well, I need to stop by my hotel and get a new cell phone,” I said, pulling my current one out of my pocket. It dripped water out of the speakers at the bottom, and I held it out to Scott. “Unless you want to see if you can work your magic on it?”

  He stared at me darkly for a second, then held out a finger and squirted it right out of my hand. It dropped into the bay below, disappearing with a plop! “Oops,” he said mildly. “Accident.”

  “Whatever,” I said. I had replacements after all, and if he wanted to be a petty dick, it was no skin off my nose. That thing was fried anyway, probably even if he had sucked the water out. “What time is it?”

  Jamie looked at me, then to Scott. “I … I don’t know. I don’t carry a cell phone or anything with me when I’m …” she looked down at her costume. “Well, you know.”

  Scott pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and it turned right on. It looked like one of those new ones they were advertising as water-resistant. “It’s one in the afternoon,” he said to Jamie, pocketing the phone again. He looked completely dry, and so did Jamie. I was still dripping. Dripping and hovering, because the pillar of water wasn’t big enough for three.

  “Did you see the registry on that ship?” I asked Scott, who seemed to have decided that now that I’d done all I could for him, he was going to do his best to ignore me, or be passive aggressive, or something. He looked at me, barely, for just a second before looking down at Jamie. “It was from Canta Morgana.”

  I saw a flash of interest in his eyes that he couldn’t hide, but he didn’t say anything. Jamie did, though. “Where’s Canta Morgana?”

  “Eastern Europe,” I said. “They’re in the middle of a lovey-dovey voluntary annexation by Revelen, but even now they’re sort of a clearinghouse for old Soviet tech, a wayside for mercenaries, haven for cybercriminals and other ne’er do wells. The Russian mob has mad ties up in that place, and rumor was they might be running the whole enchilada, which is really scary when you consider that right next door in Revelen they probably had nuclear silos before the Iron Curtain fell.”

  “I … I’ve never heard of these places,” Jamie said, shaking her head.

  “Most people haven’t,” I said. “They’re a small spot on the map, only of interest to foreign policy wonks and people who have seen some of the troubles they’ve exported land on their doorstep.” Last year, I’d had a tourist from Revelen come back to Minneapolis with super-duper-Gavrikov fire powers that he hadn’t had before he left. It had caused some problems for Reed and Augustus when they’d had to track the guy down. He’d left a bit of a mess behind him, too, and when I’d caught up on the file once it was all over, I’d thought the Revelen connection was a little strange. Especially when I saw how many mercenaries were passing through that country lately. It was a stamp that could be found on almost any gun-for-hire’s passport—assuming you got him to give up the real one instead of a fake.

  “What does this have to do with what’s going on?” Scott asked, coming out of his self-imposed silence to sound impatient.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “They were probably just hired out of either Revelen or Canta Morgana, these guys. Pros. Mercs. The bank job was a distraction for the FBI HQ hit.” My mind was whirring away. “There was a bigger purpose here, but I can’t think what.”

  “What … what do we do now?” Jamie asked. She got to her feet, standing atop Scott’s pillar of water, and looked uneasily down at the seemingly solid surface beneath her feet like it was going to drop her at any minute.

  “I should get back to the NYPD, make my report on what happened to Lieutenant Welch,” I said. I looked at the still-bubbling place where the Tirragusk had sunk. “This looks like a dead end until they … raise up the wreckage or whatever.” I glanced at Scott. “Unless you can do it.” He gave me a look that told me it wasn’t happening, either because he wasn’t that strong or because he didn’t want to, and then looked away again, toward the finger of land in the distance. “Maybe their investigation has turned something else up by now.”

  “I should get home,” Jamie said, looking a little unsteady on her feet. “If our work is done for a little while.” She looked almost apologetic. “I mean, investigating is not really my … forte …”

  “It’s not hers, either,” Scott muttered under his breath.

  “Thanks,” I said. “And here I was actually worried about you for a few minutes.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said, going from cold to harsh. “I can take care of myself.” And with that, he shot off his pillar and was zipping along on the surface of the water again, faster than before. Faster, in fact, than I would have thought he could go, probably over a hundred miles an hour, like he was riding an invisible jet ski.

  “Sorry about that,” I said to Jamie, who looked at me. “Because of the awkward hostility.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m used to arguing with a teenager, so … that didn’t seem that awkward or hostile to me.”

  “It’ll get better,” I said, trying to be vaguely reassuring.

  She surveyed me with a wary eye as I felt her attach herself to me via a tether, like she knew the water pillar she was standing on could go at any second. “What do you know about teenagers?” she asked, not snotty, more subtle and amused, as if she really wanted to know.

  “Well, is yours a pain in the ass?” I returned.

  “Yes.”

  “That makes her a normal teenager, then,” I said. “Trust me. I was one more recently than you. You want to hold tight to me in case—”

  The pillar dropped, and Jamie activated her tether just in time; the water splashed back into the surface of the bay, and she was left hanging beneath me, the same weight around my waist as last time. “Good call,” she said.

  “Want me to drop you back on Staten Island?” I asked, starting forward slowly. I didn’t want to whipsaw her head back from the sudden start.

  “Sure,” she said, as I headed toward the left side of the bridge ahead of us. “I kind of … left work without saying anything to anyone. I should probably get back there … pick up the pieces …” She sounded introspective and a little sad. I’d never dealt with a secret identity, and just hearing the way she said it made me suddenly very glad I hadn’t.

  I was almost to the bridge when I saw something moving quickly toward us, a white trail skating out from behind the bridge. I peered at it, staring, and saw something coming across the water, leaving a trail behind it. I thought maybe it was Scott for a moment, and then I realized I was seeing a suit.

  An all too familiar suit. With yoga pants as the bottoms.

  “Hey!” Captain Frost shouted as he got closer. I considered buzzing past him without a word, maybe hard enough to create a sonic boom and k
nock him off the ice floe he was steering around like a boat. “I heard you guys were up to some good out here, figured I’d see if I could help.”

  “No good to be done here,” I said, slowing us only slightly. He gave me a slightly uneasy look that told me he hadn’t forgotten me calling him an idiot, and I wondered for a second why he would have come out here after that.

  Then I saw the fleet of boats behind him, people with cameras and cell phones held high, snapping pics and video of everything. “You brought the paparazzi?” I asked, leaning my head back and staring at the sky, now clouded over with white tufts.

  “Hey, they follow me because they know a good story when they see one,” Frost said with his easy grin. “How about we—”

  I didn’t even wait for him to finish. I said to Jamie, “Holding tight?” and as soon as she nodded, I snapped into flight so fast that it made a sonic boom that knocked Frost off his ice. I swooped back around just to be sure.

  “Ow,” Jamie said, opening her mouth and poking at her ear like she had water in it.

  “Sorry,” I said, looping higher and zipping back toward Staten Island a little slower after I’d confirmed that Frost got soaked. “Your ear will heal, but that …” I looked down, and Frost was waving his fist angrily at us as the paparazzi converged. “Well, that’s the sort of magical moment that I won’t soon forget. Kinda makes the job worthwhile.” And in spite of the chill of the stinky ocean water all over my clothes, I felt surprisingly warm as I flew toward Staten Island to drop off Jamie.

  50.

  Jamie

  Sienna had dropped her off two blocks away from work and nearly a mile up, after Jamie had reassured her that it would be all right. She’d done the freefall thing, letting herself draw closer to the ground at a vacant lot a couple blocks away from the warehouse, and then gently caught herself on a channel she set up, slowing her momentum to a stop over the last thirty feet or so like a wafting feather. She could see her business clothes strewn just outside her office window where she’d left them while changing hurriedly out of them on her way into the city. She touched down lightly and hurried toward them, gathering them up and looking around furtively. She was hidden by high fences on the different sides of the building, but her office was up above, and she reached up, sliding the window open with a gravity channel as she looked to see if anyone was watching.

  When Jamie was sure no one was in sight, she flew up through the window, pants and clothes in hand, and then shut the window behind her. With a quick channel, she locked her door from across the room; the blinds, fortunately, were down so that no one could see into the office. She shut the window behind her with a quick look. No one seemed to be watching.

  She dusted off her pants and then tugged them on, prepared to wince when she reached the cut on her leg, but found it nothing more than a raised line where the skin had already mended together. She touched it lightly, feeling the smooth bump where the flesh had been rent, then slipped back into her shoes. She pulled on her blouse, buttoning it while brushing off the dirt that had accumulated on the left breast where she’d left it on the ground. She sighed, then pulled off her mask, wadding it up and pocketing it after giving it a sniff. She blanched; it needed washing desperately. “Even sucking all the water out couldn’t get rid of the smell,” she muttered as she reached out, unlocked the door with a quick channel and then flipped the lights from across the room.

  She settled back in her chair and looked down to see a bagel sitting there in front of her. She touched it, experimentally. It was stone cold, of course, the cream cheese spread across its center hard like poured concrete. There was coffee, too, but this she wasn’t too proud to guzzle. It tasted better than the ocean, at least.

  The door sprang open and Clarice walked in, looking down at her pad, ensconced in thought. Jamie watched her as she stepped inside then closed the door, fumbling for the light switch. She paused, looking up without seeing Jamie there, perplexed as she realized the lights were on, and then her eyes settled on Jamie in her chair, and a flicker of surprise ran across her face before drooping into disappointment. “Oh. It’s you.”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Jamie said, feeling a hint of alarm. Clarice was many things, but coldly disrespectful was not one of them. “I had to step out for—”

  Clarice’s look quelled her at once. “A buyer came by while you were out,” she said. “Wanted to speak with you. Could have been a big account, but they left without giving me their name.”

  “Oh.” Jamie’s stomach fell. So that was what this was about. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I—”

  “Is Kyra okay?”

  Jamie blinked. “I—I hope so. Why, did you hear someth—”

  “So it wasn’t Kyra?” Clarice asked, pulling her open planner close to her chest. “The reason you were gone? Because I could have seen her being the reason. A reasonable reason—”

  “No, it wasn’t Kyra—”

  “So then you just left,” Clarice said, sighing. “Again.”

  Jamie stared at her. Clarice had never talked to her like this. She was so even-keeled … “I had to go,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I shouldn’t be mad,” Clarice said, looking around like she was searching for words or feelings. “This isn’t my company, after all …”

  “You’ve been here since the beginning,” Jamie said, feeling the sting. “You’ve helped—”

  “Okay, so maybe that’s why I’m pissed off,” Clarice said. “You’re right, I’ve been here since the beginning. I was here for the long nights, the weekend deadlines. I saw how much of yourself you poured into this company trying to get it off the ground.”

  “You were right there with me for a lot of it,” Jamie said quietly. The air between was streaked with dust, as it always seemed to be in the factory.

  “It tears me up inside seeing you wreck the business you’ve worked so hard to build,” Clarice said, and now her accusing eyes were right on Jamie. “It shouldn’t, but you’re right. I put the time in with you, believed in this place, in your designs—in what we make—and it hurts me physically to watch this.” She walked up to one of the chairs in front of Jamie’s desk and pulled it out, sitting down on the edge of it, so prim and upright. “I get sick to my stomach at night thinking of it. I woke up at two in the morning last night and couldn’t back to sleep worrying that these loans with Mr. Penny might not come through—”

  Jamie settled back in her chair, closing her eyes. “I’m not trying to—”

  “Oh trust me, we can tell you’re not trying,” Clarice said.

  “Not what I meant.” Jamie waved a hand in front of her like she could swat away her problems. “I—you’re talking like this is the end. It’s not. Mr. Penny is working on the loans, and I’ll—I will try to be more present—”

  “You’re the straw that stirs the drink here, all right?” Clarice said. “I can do the admin. That part of the business is still cooking along fine. But I don’t have your flair for design, and it’s like you’ve gotten bored with creating new products, and when you’re a design company, you don’t get to rest on your old laurels for very long—”

  “I—I know, and I’ll—”

  “This is not going to work.”

  “I …” Jamie put a hand over her eyes, like she could blot out what she was seeing and hearing.

  “If you keep doing what you’re doing, your company—hell, our company—is going to die,” Clarice said, fierce urgency running through her words. “Do you even care?” The question came softer, wearier.

  “Of course I care,” Jamie said wearily, her efforts of the day, the night before, and now this all conspiring to drain her.

  “Because,” Clarice went on, like she hadn’t said a word, “even when you’re in the building, it’s like you’re not here.”

  “There’s just a lot going on right now,” Jamie said, feeling as exhausted as if someone had hooked a machine up to her to drain her blood. “I know I’m distracted—with Kyra, with … ot
her things—”

  “Distracted is a good word for it. Did you even see Mr. Penny when he came in yesterday? Because the Jamie I know would have at least recognized the non-monetary assets on that boy—”

  “I—I don’t—” Jamie settled her hands in her face. She took a long, slow breath. “I just need to work harder.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Clarice said, and here came a hint of pleading. “Or at all, Jamie. You went from eighty to a hundred hour work weeks a year ago to … hell, I don’t know. Ten, maybe? Less? No one’s saying you need to kill yourself like you were before, but … this business is going to die on the vine if you don’t step it up.” She stood up and started toward the door.

  “You know,” Clarice said, pausing with her hand on the knob, “when you first started … slacking off, I guess, I thought, ‘Good for her.’ You’d worked long enough and hard enough, I figured you deserved a break. That Kyra deserved a break. Things were … they were starting to really look up around here, really run smoothly …” She shook her head. “But it’s … gone too far the other direction now, Jamie.” Clarice looked back up at her, her warm eyes surprisingly cold. “You’re going to lose everything. The people here are going to lose their jobs.” She ran a hand nervously over her other arm. “I’m not gonna lie. I like working here. I don’t want to go work for anyone else. You’re the best boss I ever had. I don’t want another job, and no one else on Staten Island is going to pay me what you do, so … please. I don’t want to ride the ferry into Manhattan every morning.” She looked right at Jamie, completely sincere. “Get it together. For all of us.” And she shut the door gently behind her.

  Jamie slumped, head against the desk, as soon as Clarice was gone. Her fingers were interlaced in front of her, her cheek pressed against them. The words her friend had spoken felt like a huge worm, burrowing its way through her stomach and spreading nausea everywhere it went. She closed her eyes, weary, and muttered. “How am I going to do this?”