* * *
Six shopping bags, three boxes of shoes, and two purses later, I pull the Mini Cooper into an empty space outside Red Robin. Since we maxed out the Mini’s trunk capacity after our first stop at the Carlsbad outlet mall, most of our purchases line the back seat.
Sagging back against the driver’s seat, I look at Melanie, who is currently rummaging through the bags in the backseat, looking for her new Jimmy Choo’s. I feel like we’ve driven the length of California and back today.
“Do you want anything while I’m back here?”
“Not right now,” I tell her, too tired to enjoy our many purchases at the moment. “If you’re ready, let’s go get some food.”
“I’m good, I’m just dying to wear these shoes,” she says, slipping her slender foot into the delicate peep toes. Striking a sexy pose as we exit the vehicle, she asks, “How do I look?”
Smiling at Melanie and her carefree, impatient nature that has led to the fashion nightmare standing in front of me, I answer her.
“Ridiculous.”
“Ha!” She struts her stuff into the restaurant. “Not in these shoes, baby!” she throws back at me. Shaking my head I’m reminded that Melanie’s high heels and sweat suit combo isn’t the funniest thing that’s happened today.
An hour ago I received a frantic phone call from Ben.
“Gwen, please tell me your credit card was stolen.”
“Huh? No, what are you talking about?”
“Well, I was hoping there was a reasonable explanation as to why our bank account is suddenly empty.”
Laughing out loud, I responded, “Please, babe, you’re loaded.”
“No, my parents are loaded. We won’t be loaded until they die,” he jokingly reminded me. “You girls have fun.”
Leaning across the arm rest Melanie and I said, “Goodbye, Ben!” in perfect sing-song unison.
Catching up to Melanie at the hostess counter, I overhear her say we’ll find a table by the bar. Skipping up the two steps separating the bar from the rest of the restaurant, Melanie and I snag stools and order a couple hard lemonades. I savor that first long drink as Melanie flirts with Patrick, the cute bartender.
Handing her my purse and telling her to order me a bacon cheeseburger, I head to the restroom. Appraising my appearance in the mirror as I wash my hands, I note the dark circles under my eyes. I need more sleep. Between fretting about work, my weird gut feeling, and today’s shopping extravaganza with Melanie, I’m beyond frazzled. Promising myself an early bedtime tonight I grab some paper towels and dry my hands, taking an extra moment to fluff and finger comb my red locks before rejoining Melanie at the bar.
The wave of exhaustion that’s been threatening to capsize me for days finally rolls over me as I sit back down on my stool. Next to me Melanie is silent, which is more than a little unusual for her, but I fail to notice at first. Taking another gulp from my glass, the hush all around me begins to sink in. As my senses extend outward, other sounds start to filter in, background noises usually lost among the usual bustle of a crowded restaurant.
The evening news is on and I note all of the other patrons appear glued to the screen. Following suit I turn my head in the direction of the closest television screen above the bar. I feel Melanie’s hand squeeze my wrist reassuringly just as my eyes lock onto the anchorman and the short clip of footage playing beside him on the screen. The caption reads, “Fire detected—Cleveland National Forest.”
“How bad is it?” I ask automatically, throwing up a mask of stone cold indifference. Watching the looping feed of the fire, my heart races but on the surface I appear calm, nothing more than a concerned citizen.
“It’s too soon to tell. From what the reporter was saying, it hasn’t spread far. If they can get it contained quickly there’s no reason to worry, Gwen.”
“I know,” I reply, focusing on the burger I’ve just been served. Being one of my oldest friends Melanie knows I’m not going to worry needlessly. Unfortunately, she also knows that I sometimes use clinical detachment as a cover. So I order a second drink and do my best to engage her in light-hearted conversation, aware the more introverted I become the more closely she will watch me.
After her second drink, I feel her attention slacken, her focus shifting. Her stare no longer holds the level of critical observation one tends to adapt when dissecting a complicated organism. I welcome the change, be it a result of my brilliant acting skills, the alcohol in her system, or some combo of the two I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m merely grateful she doesn’t pursue the topic any further.
* * *
Pulling up outside Melanie’s apartment I wish for a second time she’d driven herself instead of being dropped off at my place this morning.
I’m so ready for this day to be over.
After helping cart her shopping bags inside, I don’t linger like I usually do. The jumble of thoughts and emotions currently taking up residence in my brain need to be released, and I really don’t want anyone around when I open the door.
Hugging her briefly I quickly say, “Thanks for the fun, girl.”
“Anytime,” she tells me.
Already making my escape down the stairs, I pause when a light pixie voice laced with steel floats down from the landing.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, and that you’re worried. I’ll be in touch.”
Damn it.
I continue my descent to the parking lot. Apparently I’m not nearly as smooth as I thought, and now I’ll have to deal with Melanie’s mothering. Could this day get any worse? Probably, I answer my own rhetorical question as I slam the driver’s door closed.
I barely make it out of the parking lot before my mental shields come crashing down. Anger, my go-to emotion, is the first to leap out. My driving takes on an aggressive edge typically unusual to my style.
I race around the other vehicles on the freeway like a bat out of hell. I’m upset. At stupid people in general. The ones who throw lit cigarettes out their car windows while driving. Who don’t take proper care of their camp fires, or aren’t responsible with fireworks. I’m mad at Ben, too, who selflessly volunteers to help instead of selfishly protecting his own ass for me, because, hello, I’d like to keep that guy around.
What my favorite emotion is masking, though, is fear—my fears to be precise. The crazy ones I have every day of losing Ben or of him getting hurt. But mostly it’s hiding my fear of not being in control. So I speed around the cars that can’t seem to move fast enough tonight as I externally and internally rage about not being able to do a damn thing about this potential situation. Mother Nature is such a cruel bitch.
One thing my anger does allow me to do is compartmentalize. I push the miniscule things I don’t have the time or patience to deal with now away, which allows me to deal with bigger concerns individually, and for as long as I deem necessary. By the time I get home, I have objectively ordered my concerns and walled off the ones most likely to elicit a spectrum of useless emotional responses, like crying or wallowing. Securing my mind around the fact this fire is not currently out of control, Ben is not working it, and thus unlikely to be hurt in the near future, I head inside to calm the fuck down. My restored peace of mind has done little to calm my sympathetic nervous system, which still has me pumped up for fight or flight. So after changing into my favorite sweats I do what any OCD person would do at 8p.m. when they’re wired: I start to clean.
Chapter 24
Kade
Basal rolls into town at about 4 p.m., totally spent. He hits the couch shortly after arriving to grab whatever sleep he can before our scheduled adventure back to Preston-Ward. I slip out around the time he arrives to help Zafir pick up provisions and prepare for our mission.
I let myself into Z’s apartment, knocking on the door at the same time so he knows I’m here.
“What are you doing?” I ask, appraising the situation in the bedroom.
“Packing,” he says looking up, a little befu
ddled.
“Well, I don’t think the crossbow or the semi-automatics will make it through customs.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed I riffle through his bag, watching Z debate which of the forty thousand weapons spread across the comforter needs to go with us.
“You haven’t packed any clothes!” I exclaim, laughing.
“Shut the fuck up,” he tells me, stomping arrogantly over to the dresser. He removes articles of clothing, haphazardly shoving the lot into his duffle when he returns. “There, now you won’t have to stare at my naked ass while we’re in the desert.”
“I’m sure the natives will likewise be grateful,” I say as I jump off the bed. Zipping his bag closed and setting it by the door, Z gently begins to put away the arsenal that didn’t make the cut and won’t be accompanying us on this trip. I help him silently, remembering to handle each item with care; Z’s weapons are like his children.
“Two minutes, bro. I need to make a call,” I say ducking back into the living room. After tonight we’ll be gone for a week or more and I still have a couple loose ends to tie up. I’ll be gone under the guise of attending the International Conference on Drug Discovery and Therapy in Dubai. I quickly call the only two people who might possibly note my absence to make my goodbyes. I’m not surprised when both calls go straight to voicemail.
After leaving an identical message for both my girls, I hang up to find Z watching me from across the room. “It’s done,” I tell him, my words not in harmony with my tone.
“You’re not planning to cross Adil on this one?”
Rubbing the tense spot on my neck, I stare out the window. “I don’t know, I guess not.” It’s not too late to grab Gwen and force her to go with us. The addition of Basal complicates things a little, but I’m sure we could come up with a workaround even for that. “If she can’t help, he’s right, she’d just be in the way. She could get hurt,” I admit, tossing up my hands, defeated.
“And if all hell breaks loose do you really want her to be halfway around the world?” Z asks with an intuitive look.
* * *
Three buckets of chicken and several two liters of soda later Basal, Z, and I sit and study the schematics of Preston-Ward. Zafir has been there a few times but doesn’t really know the interior layout and this will be Bass’s first trip. Their job will be to breach Mr. Taylor’s office and recover the sphere.
“What if the Sylph isn’t in his sphere?” Z asks, shooting a glance my direction.
“He was inside last night. Or at least the bulk of him was,” I say assuredly. A Wanderer’s primary ability is being able to sense a Sylph’s sphere and the essence of the Sylph inside of it. This ability wanes the further we are from the actual sphere itself, though.
Our job will be to ransack Lab 4B and confiscate every shred of Sylph evidence, then to stage a break in vandalizing offices and equipment in order to throw off suspicion. Scratching my head I concede, “I still don’t know how to deal with the harvested pieces. Once thawed, will they coalesce with the main body of the Sylph?” I futilely search my partners’ faces for answers they don’t have. None of us knows.
“Let’s just hope they don’t become evil Sylphlings,” Z says, slamming a cooler down on the table in front of us. “That’s why I bought this. To keep the little bastards frozen until we get to Utah; we can figure the rest out there.”
“Ingenious!” Bass smiles and slaps Z on the back.
“Okay, let’s do a verbal run of how this is gonna go,” I announce setting my pen down. Basal and Zafir share a look before Z jumps in.
“Bass and I will collect the sphere from Taylor’s office and turn the place inside out looking for anything you might have missed yesterday. But we leave the entire place exactly how we found it, not a hair out of place.”
Nodding my approval, Bass picks up where Z left off. “Next we’ll stop off on level 2, vandalize a few randomly selected offices, being sure Gwen’s and Joe’s offices are not involved.”
“Excellent,” I chime in. “Then the two of you will meet me in Lab 4B, and hopefully I will be done collecting the last of the evidence by then so we can turn over Lab 4A and be done.” Barking like a drill sergeant I ask Z to walk us through the getaway next.
“I will incapacitate the security guard manning the front desk as we leave, implanting a false memory that he was jumped by some young guys and got knocked out sometime during the altercation.”
Raising both eyebrows when I don’t immediately respond, he asks sarcastically, “Did I miss anything?”
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I answer, “No, Z. Thank you. Make sure this—” I toss the cooler at him “—and the bags with the spray paint make it into the Yukon. We move out in twenty, gentlemen.”
I step outside on the balcony and leave the guys to their own devices for a few moments. I allow my thinly restrained thoughts of Gwen to roam free. I haven’t the strength to contain them any longer and I cannot have them clouding my vision once our mission begins. So, standing alone in the cold night breeze with my guard down, I let myself feel what must forever remain locked in. Z’s right—I could defy Adil, force Gwen from her life, thrust her into the middle of a world she doesn’t understand under the guise of protecting her should the resealing fail. But I won’t. Coward. Her human life is so short she deserves any amount of happiness she can harvest from it before her candle burns out. Coward.
Poking his head outside, Z announces, “Kade, it’s time. Let’s go.”
* * *
We leave the Yukon parked on the street knowing tomorrow the security footage from every area of the facility will be carefully scrutinized.
“It’s 1a.m.—remember, in and out in one hour, guys.” Cloaking ourselves in a cloud of concealment, we slip up the front steps and through the main entrance right under the guard’s nose. Stealthily taking the stairs we climb, parting ways on level 4 when I exit, heading for Lab 4B. Moving silently, fingers crossed, I breathe easily when I see the lab is empty and appears to have been cleaned earlier in the evening. One of the main reasons for coming in this late was to be sure the custodial crew had finished the bulk of their work so we could move about the labs undisturbed.
I flip on the lab’s lights and pause on the landing, just inside the door, giving the fluorescent bulbs a minute to warm up. When the soft glow brightens, illuminating the entire space, I venture off my perch. Without a moment’s hesitation, I make a beeline for the closest freezer. Setting Z’s cooler at my feet I open the doors and start scanning the shelves for anything marked compound 253B.
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath as I’m confronted with row upon row of frozen compound. Luck favors the prepared, though, and I find once the packaging is removed the samples are quite small. I’ll be able to fit the whole lot into the cooler.
Staring at the empty shelves a few minutes later I close the door before tipping the whole contraption on its side for good measure. Moving onto the next freezer I don’t find anything useful. I unplug the unit while leaving one of the doors ajar, ensuring there will be a nice mess by morning. I quickly check the cabinets next to me, scattering their contents onto the floor before moving across the room to check the refrigerators. Desperately hoping there’s no half-stable Sylph-essence-thing inside, I yank open one of the doors, breaking the vacuum seal, and peer inside.
Nothing, I sigh. Well, nothing out of the ordinary anyway.
The few unlabeled things I find I toss on the floor before moving on. Halfway through the next fridge something sparkly catches my eye when I turn my head to the right. Standing up I don’t see anything except the fire extinguisher housing and a bare wall. I turn back to my task but again something glittery captures my attention. Stalking over to the wall I open the glass door, exposing the emergency equipment.
There, tucked behind the firehose is the empty sphere.
“Oh shit.” The expletive slips from my lips the same instant my brain processes the purple smoke gathered around my feet, which is a h
alf-second too late.
Chapter 25
Gwen
As I roll over in bed for the hundredth time, I check the alarm clock on the nightstand: 12:01 a.m. Punching my pillow in frustration, I sigh, realizing the Sand Man isn’t coming for me anytime soon. Whatever sleep I do manage to garner tonight will be hard won and not very peaceful.
Throwing the covers back I make for the bathroom and turn on the shower. If I can’t sleep I might as well be productive, or so I tell myself. And since the root of my insomnia (he Cleveland Fire) is a situation out of my control, I will focus on a dilemma I can conquer: compound 253B.
* * *
This isn’t the first time I’ve broken into work in the middle of the night. Well I have a key so technically I’m not breaking anything. Still, after-hours work is frowned upon because of some company liability thing if we get hurt or what not. Looking at my cell phone I read 1:30a.m. as I pull into the parking lot.
“Perfect,” I whisper. The building looks quiet. Other than the security guard manning the front desk and a few custodians, the whole place is completely empty. Locking the Mini I power-walk across the parking lot, constantly scanning my surroundings for signs of trouble. I’m a tad paranoid walking alone in the wee hours. The sooner I get into the building the better I will feel.
Hopping up the front steps two at a time I reach the main entrance in no time. I engage my key in the lock and slip through the front door, being sure it pulls closed and locks behind me.
“Good morning, Bill,” I say, smiling at the stout, middle-aged security guard sitting behind the front desk.
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