by Hayes, Drew
“Totally understandable. No offense taken,” Alice assured her fellow Subtlety student. Screamtopia was a good time—unless one had an unexpected journey into their own mind—and probably should be experienced at least once. She watched as the four made their way past and moved towards the showers beyond the double doors. Alice waited patiently to see if anyone else would automatically step away, but there were no other followers. The rest of the crew was at least interested enough to hear the details.
“It won’t be anything too fancy, just an apartment party on Halloween night, so to those hoping for another club outing, sorry to disappoint. Friends, food, drinks, and horror movies playing in one of the rooms. I think games, too, for those who like that sort of thing.”
“Drinking games?” Violet asked.
“Have you ever played a game you couldn’t turn into a drinking game?” Thomas said.
“The man makes a point,” Violet agreed. “Alice, please continue.”
“Glad to. Anyway, since it’s Halloween, we do request costumes, and that’s for more than one reason.” Alice hesitated; so far, everyone seemed more or less on board with the plan. This was going to be where she lost people, though. “This won’t be an HCP-only party. You’re welcome to bring friends from your regular classes if you want. Hence why we strongly encourage costumes and masks. Never hurts to put a little extra protection over the identities.”
“Hold on a minute,” Shane interrupted. “You’re going to try and cram regular people, on top of most of our class, into Melbrook? I’ve been inside; I’m not sure there’s enough room for that.”
“And that leads me to the last pertinent detail.” Alice felt grateful for Shane bringing up the space limitation—this offered her the chance to address the issue without a forced, awkward segue. “The party won’t be held at Melbrook, for the very reason that Shane just pointed out: we don’t have nearly enough room to do it well. Instead, we’re reserving the general use room at a nearby apartment complex.”
She took a deep breath and braced for whatever came next. It was now or never time.
“More specifically, it’s being reserved by one of the occupants, and an old friend: Nick Campbell.”
* * *
“Uh huh. Are you sure? I really think I should—yes, ma’am.”
Nick picked up those last scraps of conversation as he entered his apartment, textbook-filled-backpack in hand. Of all the things he despised, few were quite as annoying as professors who took attendance in their classes. Wasn’t it enough for them that he could ace the tests and homework on his own? Why did they demand to steal his precious, useful time week after week? Walking in on Eliza in his apartment, getting orders no less, was a welcome distraction from the hours he’d just spent trying not to fall asleep at his desk.
“I have to go.” She closed the phone immediately, wisely not trusting Nick to resist the urge to eavesdrop. “How was class?”
“A thrill a minute.” He tossed the book bag unceremoniously to the floor, where it would lay untouched until his next forced educational outing. “What was that about? The guy who books kegs giving you a hard time?”
“No, just… home office. You know how it goes.” Eliza was unusually squirrely today, a very rare occurrence. She was obviously hiding something from him, but that was par for the course in their line of work. Everyone was hiding things from everyone, except Ms. Pips, who oversaw all their little secrets and personal plots. She alone knew it all, and she was the one who decided when to force her people to share their hidden gems with one another. Eliza hiding something was well within the norm, something he’d long since grown accustomed to. So… why the odd behavior?
Rather than press the issue like a novice, Nick decided to back away. Right now, she was on-guard: no amount of pushing or prodding would uncover whatever she was concealing. Better to let it mull, play a slower, more careful game to extract the truth from her.
“I do, indeed. Gotten more than my share of those calls, and I’ve truthfully lost count of how many times Ms. Pips called me into her office for a ‘chat.’ Is that why you broke into my apartment? Didn’t want Jerome to hear you getting chewed out?”
“Actually, I was waiting for you, since someone decided to be a controlling douche and demand regular updates about the party.” Eliza seemed to be shaking off her jitters, slipping back into their familiar dynamic of verbal jabs. “The pool table is rented, Jerome bought the kiddie pool, and I’ve hired some people to lay down plastic sheeting over every inch of the floor so we don’t have to buy the whole room when this is done. Also got the keg booked: nice stuff, but not too nice.”
“Cheap booze: the never-ending curse of my façade,” Nick moaned. “What about liquor and wine?”
“What about it?” Eliza asked. “I was going to go grab a few bottles of everything the day before and then just duplicate the entire stock until we’ve got enough to fill a bar. Speaking of, how many kegs do you want there? I can’t start busting out my power mid-party.”
“Let’s go with two. There won’t be a lot of people coming, but some are notoriously heavy drinkers.” Nick imagined Roy might be able to nearly put down one of those by himself, if given the inclination. “I trust Jerome is following up on security?”
“Doing all we can to keep the DVA out using legal means,” Eliza assured him. “By all accounts, this will be a hell of a party. I’m not sure why you keep riding us on the details.”
“Experience,” Nick said, the group’s Halloween history well catalogued in his mind. Just this once, he’d like his favorite holiday not to be looked back on with wincing and regret.
59.
October’s chill managed to bring the California temperature from hot to merely warm as it blew in winds from the oceans. Across campus, shorts slowly evolved into pants, and the occasional windbreaker could be seen on the more cold-sensitive students. Protesters for the “Take Back Lander” campaign could still be seen gathering signatures, though their activity seemed to be dropping right along with the temperature. The HCP remained as climate-controlled as ever—deep beneath the surface and immune to the fickle decisions of Mother Nature.
Miles from campus, tucked away in a hidden bunker all but forgotten by time and those who’d once needed it, Dean Blaine had gathered up his trusted circle to discuss their next step in trying to acquire answers about Globe. Nick, Professor Stone, Professor Fletcher, Professor Pendleton, Mr. Numbers, and Mr. Transport all sat around the large table, waiting for word of what came next. With only dead-ends greeting them at every turn, Dean Blaine had run out of other good leads. Though he disliked it on multiple levels, it was time to seek out the dream-walker.
“I’ve procured the services of a very talented Super with the power to mimic others,” Dean Blaine began. There was no file to hand out on Galina, no references to check. Either they trusted his judgment on using her or they didn’t. She wouldn’t tolerate being vetted. “Her power allows for full transformations and power absorption from as little as a few strands of hair. This will permit us to use Rich Weaver’s ability without actually bringing him in.”
“Hang on a second; wouldn’t it make more sense just to find someone else who has the same power?” Nick asked. “A mimic seems kind of dicey.”
The urge to chastise him darted across Dean Blaine’s tongue as he exchanged weary looks with his fellow educators. Though an undeniably smart young man, Nick lacked enough experience in dealing with other Supers to grasp one of the fundamental truths of their kind. Having failed out sophomore year, the HCP hadn’t been able to fill in that gap for him.
“There are other Supers who can subdue people with a look, though very few of them. More importantly, it’s impossible to know whether their abilities would cause the same reaction to Alice’s mind as Rich’s does. While many abilities are similar, each Super is unique. There are always variances, and in a case like this, we don’t have the luxury of risking that a similar power won’t get the result we need. Thus, a mi
mic is the more pragmatic solution.”
“I know there are risks,” Nick replied. “But potential variance sounds better than allowing that sort of mimic near us. I mean, no one needs me to point out that a Super who can work with as little as a strand of hair is insanely dangerous, especially around Supers with your power sets.”
“He raises a fair point.” Professor Fletcher was polite in his objection, but his decades of experience dealing with people of less-than-savory natures had clearly left him wary about associating with someone so strong.
Dean Blaine nodded. It was a concern worth addressing, and one he’d considered before hiring Galina. “The tradeoff to our mimic’s ease in taking on forms is that she cannot sustain them for long. Even with fresh hair samples, her body reverts back to its natural state after approximately an hour, and she is unable to retake the form for nearly a day. That is part of why she’s deemed trustworthy enough to have been recommended to us; it would be impossible for her to mount any real assault unless she’d taken an Armageddon Class ability.”
“An hour a day is plenty long enough to ruin someone’s life, if you know what you’re doing,” Nick pointed out.
“Mr. Campbell, if you have another mimic you’d like to bring on board, one whom you would trust with not only your life and ours but the lives of all of your friends, then by all means present them.” Dean Blaine’s patience was slipping. No one knew better than he how dangerous this was, which was why he’d tried for weeks to avoid doing it. “Yes, using this asset comes with risks. I am doing all I can to mitigate them. If you find them to be unacceptable, then feel free to propose a better system.”
Nick leaned back in his chair, distancing himself from the conversation. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes, just pointing out potential security issues. You’re right; this mimic probably is our best option for getting at Abridail. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take precautions to keep my friends safe.”
“On that subject, we wholeheartedly agree,” Dean Blaine replied. “If you would let me finish, I’ll outline the contract that Galina has signed, as well as the security measures I intend to put into place. The first issue to tackle, however, is yours, Mr. Campbell. Have you informed Alice and Mary about our plan?”
“Mary knows, obviously.” Nick tapped his own temple, just in case anyone had missed the insinuation—which they hadn’t. “It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell Alice until we had some details, though. She’s not squeamish, but she does prefer to go into situations knowing exactly what’s going to happen. No sense in leaving her with questions that none of us would be able to answer.”
“Seems like that’s no longer the case, now that Dean Blaine has the details ironed out,” Professor Pendleton said. “If needed, I can broach the subject with her.”
“Probably better to let me handle this,” Nick told him. “You two are already on a bit of thin ice, what with the whole ‘secret uncle’ thing.”
Professor Pendleton raised an eyebrow. “And you think she’ll take the news of secret plans involving her better from you, her… romantic entanglement?”
“Well, at least she’s used to it from me. It’s part of our dynamic,” Nick said.
Professor Pendleton gave the younger man a long, hard stare before shaking his head. “Why in Heaven’s name am I not trying to scare you off from dating my niece?”
“Because deep down you know it wouldn’t work. I don’t scare that easy, and Alice isn’t inclined to listen to your advice outside of class.” Nick’s ever-present smile dimmed a bit. “And you also know that I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.”
“A sentiment that will come in quite handy when the three of you are negotiating with a dream-walker inside her brain,” Dean Blaine said, forcefully grabbing the conversation and steering it back under his control. “Now, let’s flesh out the details so that we can get on with this. The sooner we talk with Abridail, the sooner we might get our hands on a lead about Globe.”
60.
Vince ambled through the aisles of costumes, plastic and fabric of countless colorful designs meant to mimic characters from a pop culture to which Vince had hardly any exposure. Beside him, Hershel scanned a rack of what looked like outfits meant to resemble giant turtles, though why they would come with eye-shielding masks, Vince couldn’t fathom.
Alex and Chad were already in the store’s “dressing rooms”, makeshift though the facilities were. Chad had grabbed the first costume that seemed like it would fit, and Alex had come in with a game plan, which was a surprise to no one. Nick, Vince’s usual guide into the world of playing dress-up, had texted that he was running late, which left Vince and Hershel to walk the racks until something jumped out at them.
“This might work.” Hershel had yanked an outfit free from the jumble of clothes, one with orange colors and a pale piece of plastic perched near the top. “I could go as a monk, wear the robe for my part of the night, then Roy could ditch it when we do the hand off.”
“You’re supposed to have a mask,” Vince reminded him. He stepped forward, inadvertently activating a spring-loaded spider that jumped out from the shelves. Only constant training and discipline kept Vince from roasting it on the spot, though the area around his hand did grow warm as he suppressed the urge to summon a fireball.
“Roy hates masks. Covers up the goods, as he’d no doubt say.” Hershel’s expression seemed to pinch for a second as he tucked the monk costume back into the racks. Vince had been noticing that look on his friend’s face more and more over the recent months. It didn’t seem quite like worry, more as if Hershel was feeling unsettled by something. It also wasn’t the sort of thing Vince felt was his business to push, and certainly not in a Halloween store filled with other shoppers. There was a reason Hershel used terms like “hand off” instead of “shift,” after all.
“He might have to make peace with it, at least for one night,” Vince said. “Maybe we should start from there. Can you think of any masks Roy would be okay with wearing?”
“Nothing that jumps to mind,” Hershel replied. “Let’s focus on you, though. We both know that if you don’t have some sort of game plan by the time Nick gets here, you’ll be entirely at the mercy of whatever half-cocked ideas he has. Do you know what Camille is going as? A couple’s costume is probably safe ground.”
Vince shook his head. “She got roped into Alice’s outing this weekend. Apparently, it’s going to be a full-day event.”
“Oh, I’m aware. Mary hasn’t stopped trying to scheme a way out of it since Alice roped her in,” Hershel said. “She did her best to resist, but then Alice started in about how it’s our last Halloween in college together, and who knows when we’ll all be together like this again, and… well, the girl knows how to guilt.”
“At least Violet and Jill are going as well. That should make things a little easier on them.” Vince glanced down at his footing to make sure there weren’t any other spider-traps lying in wait. As it turned out, there were not, though there was a pad with wires running to a nearby skeleton. Rather than discover what happened if he trod on it, Vince merely stepped to the side, smacking into a hanging rack of the most garish outfits in the entire store.
“Careful!” Hershel darted forward, snagging the top of the metal stand with speed and reflexes that would have been impossible for him freshman year. Endless training and sparring were having a noticeable effect, though: as with every passing month, he’d grown stronger, and now the Hershel perusing costumes with Vince was almost unrecognizable from the one who’d first stepped foot into Lander all those years ago. In fact, nowadays, he and Roy actually did look something like brothers, albeit with some serious differences in height and mass.
“Hey… this might not be a bad idea.” While Vince had been dwelling on Hershel’s improvement, Hershel had taken a hard look at the costumes he’d saved from falling to the floor. To Vince’s eyes, they looked like little more than brightly colored outfits with no discernible theme or patte
rn, but Hershel was staring at them with an unusual sense of nostalgia and interest. There were masks on some of them, Vince noticed, though he couldn’t fathom why these would be different enough to garner Hershel’s scrutiny.
“Does Roy prefer the full head-covering models?” Vince asked, trying to suss out what had grabbed Hershel’s attention.
“It’s not the style. It’s the context.” Carefully, Hershel pulled one of the costumes out to study it, taking in the details with a discerning eye. “Do you know what these are?”
“Um… truthfully? They look a bit like what some people were wearing at that gay pride parade on the news a few weeks ago.”
Hershel snorted as he tried to keep his laughter in check, a sound that made it seem like he was about to blow his nose into the open air. “I guess I can’t entirely disagree with you there, but no, that’s not what these are. This, Vince, is a wrestling costume. Actually, a luchador, with the mask and all. Going to take a wild shot and say that’s something you haven’t had time to learn about.”
“It’s the one that’s fake, right?” Vince was a bit proud of himself for knowing this much, though in truth, it was only because Thomas had used wrestling as a touchstone when explaining MMA fights several years prior. Still, he knew something, and for Vince and pop culture, that was considered a victory.
“Whoa now: the outcomes might be predetermined, but what those people can do is anything but fake.” Hershel was barely even looking at Vince or the costume anymore. He seemed to be staring past it all into a chunk of time that only existed in his eyes. “When Roy and I were kids, we’d watch the matches alongside our dad, and of course try out the moves and hurt ourselves. Well, I’d hurt myself, anyway. Point is, we used to love wrestling. I bet Roy would be okay wearing a mask for this costume. And it comes with a vest for me that he can ditch when it’s his turn.”