“I did not intend to. But sometimes you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.” A ghost of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. With the tension dissipating from the room, we begin to converse like normal people again.
“Threatening me with Z and the prospect of being completely alone for all eternity, that’s a low blow but sobering nonetheless. Which I believe was your intent.”
“You get so stuck in your own head, Kade. This morning nothing short of dynamite was going to bring you back.”
Rising I cross the distance between us and lock forearms with my brother. “Thank you, now how about some breakfast?”
With a Cheshire cat grin spreading across his face, Hal looks out the window. “Kade, it’s 4:30 in the afternoon.”
“Oh, well how about a burger then?”
Slapping me on the back he laughs and says, “Now you’re talking.”
Chapter 19
Gwen
Shit, shit, shit!
Things in the lab have not gone smoothly for me this morning. The excitement I felt after our meeting last week has completely evaporated, much like my latest failed attempt with compound 253B is doing right now, evaporating into a beautiful purple gas that dissipates into nothing several seconds later. Looking over at Abigail, who has been patiently working with me all morning, I frown.
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean this up and we can try again,” she tells me, her upbeat voice matching her enthusiastic expression. Nothing gets Abigail down; most days I like that. Today it’s just making me even crazier.
Sometimes I don’t cherish the hot and cold mood swings that come with being a redhead.
Having a more even temperament might be ideal, I think to myself.
Shaking my head, I wander over to the workbench where I left my notes. Quickly flipping through them, I review the procedure I’m supposed to be following, hoping to figure out where I’m making an error. Sighing, I drop my notebook and begin to knead the sides of my temple with my hands.
Great. On top of everything else I’m getting a headache.
Once Abigail has the worktop sanitized we will begin our third attempt of the morning. Hopefully the third time really is the charm. We aren’t the only ones having trouble this morning. When I first arrived, I spent the first hour or so visiting each of the various teams, critiquing and lending a hand where I could. When it was apparent everyone was struggling, Joe and I jumped in to see if our luck would be any better. So far we haven’t faired any better than the rest of the team.
“Hey everyone, come take a look at this!” Joe belts out.
He and Charlie have been working together at Station 1, which is farthest from the bench Abigail and I currently occupy. Knowing we will be the last people to arrive no matter how fast we walk, I take my time getting up from my chair. While watching the mass of bodies converging around Joe and Charlie, I do a couple of back and arm stretches, hoping to loosen the tense knot that has taken up residence just above my right shoulder blade.
Abigail hesitates, looking at me for direction. Reading her face, I see the desire to find out what all the fuss is about war with the obligation she feels toward staying with me her partner.
Waving her on, I say, “Go, I’ll catch up in a minute.”
Cleary relieved, Abigail heads off to join the rest of the team. Aware lingering any longer at my station will be construed as rude, I collect my pen off the counter and make my way over to Station 1.
As I get closer, I catch snippets of conversation, my brain picking out words like stable, gelatinous, and corrosive. The team has formed a line, which is quickly moving past Joe and Charlie’s workbench. Too frustrated to care about much at the moment, I take my place at the end of the line and patiently wait my turn to see what marvel Joe and Charlie have come up with.
Locating me, Joe wanders over. “Gwen, it’s not perfect by any means, but it has maintained shape and stability for over twenty minutes.”
Beaming, he takes off his glasses, quickly wipes the perspiration from his forehead, and continues.
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect it to be this difficult, but hopefully things are about to turn around.” Joe steps behind me as we approach the bench, giving me clear view of Charlie and what appears to be a plate of Jell-O.
Keeping my distance, I listen as Charlie explains: “It doesn’t look like much, I know, but after removing the mold it appears to be maintaining consistency.”
Charlie is right; I can see that, while spongy, compound 253B is maintaining solid, well, semisolid form.
“Good work,” I say to Charlie.
Laughing, I step back, looking directly at Joe.
“So I can’t market it as a freezer pop for safety concerns, but you’re fine with Jell-O?” I tease, letting a fit of mirth consume me. Momentarily flabbergasted, Joe stares at me before bursting into laughter.
“We’ll make it the color of poop so kids won’t want to eat it,” he manages to get out between fits of hysterics.
Marching straight up to the workbench, I poke the gelatinous square with my pen, watching it jiggle for a moment before turning back to address the group.
“This,” I say, my pen still pointing in the direction of the plate, “is good progress people, and—”
A sudden gasp followed by exclamations of alarm all around stops me midsentence.
Turning back to face the workbench, I see it.
Right before our eyes, the briefly stable compound liquefies and then evaporates into wisps of purple smoke. Joe rushes forward.
“I don’t understand it. It was fine until you poked it.”
“Did anyone else touch it?” I ask.
“Yes, I did as well as a couple of others,” Joe answers.
So the only problem in this equation is me, I think to myself. My anger flares and spills over the poorly constructed dam that’s been containing it all morning.
Shoving my fists into my pockets, I look at Joe and say in a voice that’s too controlled for comfort, “I’m going to need a few minutes.”
Without waiting for his response I swiftly exit the lab.
Lost in my own head, I stalk aimlessly down the hallway for a few minutes, looking for a quiet place to be alone. My office is the first place I cross off the very short list of places I might hide. It’s the first place anyone looking for me will go. The ladies room, I decide, is my best bet for a few moments of privacy.
Chapter 20
Kade
I run a hand through my hair and look at the clock, impatiently tapping my pen on the counter. Almost lunch time but not quite.
I let out a deep breath and try to refocus on the mundane task in front of me but Z is all I can think about. I haven’t been able to reach him and the guy hasn’t returned my voicemails. Moments later I stand up, realizing my nervous pen tapping is drawing looks from my coworkers. Unable to concentrate I throw my pen on the tabletop and head for the exit. I have to call Z again and do something about the poison building up between us. Heading for the alcove around the first corner, I hit speed dial on my cell phone.
“Come on, come on, pick up,” I mutter under my breath.
“Kade.” The overconfident, gravely voice of my partner comes across the line like music to my ears.
“Z, I know I’ve done all of this poorly. I just don’t know how to separate myself from her. But Crash, that part of it’s over. I’m never going back, Z. You have my word.”
“No more punishment?”
“It’s finished.”
“Okay. Next time don’t be such a chick about it.”
A flabbergasted, “Huh?” is all I get out.
“Six voicemails, really dude? I can see your vagina from here.”
Ending the call I lean my head up against the glass window of the alcove and close my eyes. In the riot of circumstances troubling me right now, it’s nice to have an anchor.
I slip the cell phone back into my pocket as I step away from the window. Now would be as good a time as any to c
heck on Gwen. Passing by my lab on the left I stalk down the hallway, destined for Lab 4B. I toy with the idea of just telling Gwen what she is as I walk. Maybe understanding her legacy would help her connect to the power inside her.
These days people don’t know where they come from. Several hundred years ago that wasn’t the case—individuals could recite their bloodlines and Nephilim understood their remarkable heritage and the magic intertwined with it. Working through the logistics of such a gamble I round the corner at the end of the hall the same instant a red tornado slams into my unyielding chest.
The force of the impact combined with her forward momentum sends Gwen bouncing backward. A smile lights my face at our fortuitous meeting. Before I can check to see if she’s okay, Gwen sidesteps me and hurtles into the ladies room.
Recognizing the tell-tale signs of a temper tantrum, I follow her to the bathroom slowly, allowing her a few minutes alone to cool off. I can taste Gwen’s fury through the door; like an unpalatable flavor it coats my tongue. After a few minutes I’m concerned enough to knock on the bathroom door. As the echo of my pounding fades away, I try to wait patiently but the silence stretches on. Knocking a second time I try to coax her out.
“Gwen, I know you're upset. Come out please.”
When my tenderhearted imploring fails to elicit a response, I try humor. “Come on, we both know you’re not crying in there.”
Again I fail to garner a reply. Switching gears I imply threat of force to try and provoke the volatile redhead into leaving her cave to fight. “I’m not above dragging you out of there you know. If you come out nicely now I’ll even buy you a Coke. I know it’s been awhile since your last hit, you caffeine addict.”
After several long seconds Gwen finally concedes. “I’m coming!” she yells through the door. Stepping back I cross my arms over my chest and wait, desperately trying to wipe the smug expression off my face before she emerges. A cold and detached Gwen slinks out of the bathroom.
“Geez, what do you have to be so mad about, gigantor?” I ask. “As I recall, you ran into me back there,” I say pointing at the scene of the accident for effect.
“Are you done, because I actually have a lot on my plate at the moment and I don’t need ...”
She trails off as I grab her shoulders, stopping the tirade before it really gets going, and steer her around, announcing, “I’m cashing in on that lunch you owe me.” Without too much of a fight coming from her, I manage to march us across the street to the courtyard café and force Gwen down into a chair on the patio.
Under Gwen’s seething glare, I waltz back inside and place an order with the short brunette working the register. Grabbing the two large cups she hands me I make good on my said peace offering and fill Gwen's glass to the brim with ice cold Coca-Cola. After scoring us a couple of straws, I make my way back through the café and outside to our table. Gently setting the bubbly Coke down in front of Gwen, I take my seat before handing her a straw.
“Now spill.” Crossing my arms over my chest I lean back and wait. Clearly stalling she makes a fuss of undressing her straw and savoring a couple long, slow sips before meeting my gaze.
“Where do I begin?”
“Seeing as I have none of the details pertaining to the funk that's been surrounding you these last few weeks, just start at the beginning,” I tell her.
Closing her eyes she composes herself. “Okay, the beginning.” She enlightens me about the ordeal her team has had working on a new compound. “When we first got started we didn't think synthetic reproduction would pose much of a problem since the chemical structure appeared similar to the last couple of compounds we’ve dealt with. Turns out, however, the structure is nothing similar and doesn’t behave like anything I’ve ever seen before.”
Caught up in the telling of her story Gwen becomes startled when a waitress sets a plate of food on the table in front of her. "Wait, I haven't ordered anything yet," she tries to explain to the waitress.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you when we got here," I inform her, clearing up her confusion. After thanking the waitress I return my undivided attention to Gwen once more, who until the interruption had been expounding on a recent team brainstorming session in which they devised a new procedure for handling compound 253B.
"Let’s eat while I finish," she tells me. As I dive into a turkey sandwich I continue to listen. "So Abigail and I still haven't had any success, but just before you drug me out of there, Joe and Charlie had a breakthrough."
"Well that's great," I chime in.
"Don’t get ahead of yourself," she says, arching a single sculpted brow. "So, like I was saying, Joe and Charlie had a breakthrough. They actually managed to achieve a solid state—well semi-solid."
I cock my head quizzically, not sure exactly what she means. "It looked like Jell-O," she tacks on for clarification. "The fact that it came out of a plastic mold only helped to strengthen the relationship, I think." I open my mouth to ask a question and she waves me off, frantically swinging her arms. "So I'm the last one of the team who gets to observe their results and you'll never guess what happens. After poking the gelatinous mass with my pen, it does what compound 253B always does: evaporates into this pretty purple gas that dissipates into nothing almost immediately."
Successfully interjecting for the first time, I ask, "Purple gas? What kind of gas?"
"It’s more like wisps of smoke that vanishes seconds after you see them."
"Interesting. So, once manipulated, the product completely broke down."
"Yes. Well, not exactly. You see, I wasn't the first person to touch it."
Sitting up straight I set my elbows down on the table and rest my chin in my hands. "How long did you say it was stable before that?"
"About twenty to thirty minutes," she answers.
Frozen compounds can be tricky to deal with but why would compound 253B suddenly lose stability after thirty minutes? I ask myself. That's well past the risky first five minutes.
"I'm what's wrong with the equation!" Gwen tells me, not looking up from her glass. The despairing surety of her statement pulls me back into the conversation.
"Come again?" I blurt out in my confusion.
"The thing melted after I touched it, I've never gotten anywhere near stability, and neither have any of the team members I've worked with." Crossing her arms over her chest and slumping into her chair, she adds, "Everything falls apart as soon as I touch it—well, vaporizes that is."
Then I see it.
One minute I'm staring at Gwen trying to make heads or tails of her predicament and the next minute the lines of the puzzle have come together perfectly and I’m able to see the big picture. A new horror grips me slowly, spreading through my visceral organs and freezing in the pit of my stomach. If I'm right, Gwen truly is extraordinary and blissfully unaware of the complexities of the deadly organism she's been dealing with.
And I can't tell her a thing.
"You need a refill." I jump up from the table, suddenly needing space. Taking our glasses from the table I walk back into the café and begin to pace back and forth in front of the soda fountain. Setting the glasses down on the counter I pull my cell phone free of my pocket only to stare down blankly at it. Somehow I know I'm right and Gwen has been experimenting on a Sylph. Her description of it evaporating into wisps of colored smoke is a spot on description of a Sylph reverting to its essence. Still it's slim evidence to go on and if I call Adil now he'll only believe this is a ploy to try and convince him about Gwen's importance.
No, I can't call anyone yet, I think to myself in exasperation. Shoving my phone back into my pants pocket I refill our drinks and make my way back to Gwen. Offering her the fresh Coke I sit down across from her, gathering my thoughts and readying myself to lie.
"I think you're being too hard on yourself. As far as I know, there is no data to support one person being toxic to a compound." Unless you’re a Nephilim and the compound you're secretly dealing with is a Sylph. "I think yo
u've just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, so to speak.” Well isn't that the understatement of the century, I want to scream. “It doesn't sound like your new procedure is perfect, but you are starting to see results. Take that for the success it is and keep moving forward. You're the best, Gwen; you'll get it."
Reeling from the myriad of unholy reasons why Gwen's team would possibly be in possession of a Sylph, I sit back as she digests what I've just said. When the waitress approaches our table, a bit of my old humor surfaces. Gwen is purposefully staring at her Coke, tactfully ignoring everything else around her. Smiling at the patiently waiting waitress, I clear my throat to get Gwen's attention. Acknowledging me with a quick glance, my grin spreads. "I believe lunch is on you," I say, winking. Snapping back to reality, Gwen laughs while reaching for the wallet in her purse to pay our bill.
While I sit and wait for her to pay, a stray thought enters my brain. The recent events surrounding Mr. Johnson could also be explained by a Sylph’s presence. Employing phantom images to induce paranoia and mental instability in a master is a common trick of theirs. Could Mr. Johnson have been in possession of a Sylph? My instincts say no, but it is possible he became collateral damage. Sitting back in my chair I prepare to interrogate Gwen and find out what she knows about the situation.
“Hey, I almost forgot.”
“What?” Gwen asks.
“You know Mr. Johnson?”
“Umm, I don’t think so ... Is he from marketing?”
“No, you know, Mr. Johnson on the night cleanup crew.”
“Of course,” she replies. “My lab is part of his section. He’s one of the nicest men, always checks up on me the nights I work late.”
“Well, he just got put on medical leave,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Apparently he had a psychotic episode.” Gwen arches her brow as I elaborate. “What I heard is that he’s been seeing things around work and was raving about it in the break room one day. I guess he even came to work wearing garlic one night.”
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