Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3

by Karen McQuestion

  “Remember, there’s safety in numbers.” Mrs. Whitehouse folded her hands in her lap.

  Mr. Specter said, “On to the next topic. As I mentioned in the meeting at my house, our primary objective for this trip is to locate David Hofstetter, or in lieu of that, find information relating to him. A document has been uncovered showing a map of Peru and three different locations as designated by numbers referencing latitude and longitude. We believe this map and these locations are somehow connected to David.”

  “Where did this document come from?” Mrs. Whitehouse asked.

  “It was in the possession of Mr. Gordon Hofstetter at the time of his death.”

  The answer didn’t satisfy her. She persisted. “Yeah, I get that he had it, but where did he get it? And how did you wind up with it?”

  “Classified information,” Mr. Specter said.

  “What, it just fell out of the sky and into your hands?”

  “For everyone’s safety, I believe it best not to elaborate.”

  “But you get to know?” She was indignant. “Don’t you trust us? How can we operate if we don’t have all the facts?”

  Mr. Specter looked exasperated. Russ lifted one finger and spoke up, his voice slicing through the tension. “He got it from me. Mr. Hofstetter gave me the map, right before he died. He said it would lead to his grandson.”

  “Again, this is classified,” Mr. Specter said, frowning.

  Mrs. Whitehouse scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. What happens on the plane, stays on the plane. No one ever wants to tell me anything.”

  Jameson raised his hand. “Can I ask what our strategy is?”

  “Strategy?” Mr. Specter pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “We’re traveling to three locations, and then what? We just wander around looking for a guy who supposedly died sixteen years ago?”

  Kevin Adams cleared his throat. “I’ll take this one, if you don’t mind, Sam.” He addressed Jameson directly. “Our ‘strategy’—,” and here he used finger quotes, “is to go to these locations, known hotspots for the Associates, by the way, and let the dogs loose. That would be all of you. Energy attracts energy. If there’re any of the Associates in the area, they’ll come out of their hidey holes to take a gander, you watch. And they’ll lead us to David Hofstetter, if he’s alive.”

  Mr. Specter sighed in exasperation. “And now, I think enough has been said.” He gestured to our folders. “I won’t insult your intelligence by reading the information to you. We have several hours in the air. Make good use of that time and be sure to read the complete packet by the time we land.”

  I turned my attention to my folder wanting to get the chore out of the way. It held what looked like standard class trip stuff: cautions about pick pockets, the water, food. The importance of staying with the group, and keeping our cover as students on a class trip.

  Along with the standard stuff was a sheet outlining our objective. It showed the missing man, David Hofstetter, as he appeared sixteen years before, the year he was thought to have been killed in a car accident. The page gave his height and weight as just under six feet and 170 pounds. His eyes were green; his hair was brown and just slightly wavy, kind of like Russ’s. Also, like Russ, his power was listed as being able to discharge electricity from his hands. We’d been told that our powers would fade with age. I wondered how much he’d have left at age thirty-two, assuming he was still alive. I studied the picture of David. He was a good-looking boy, but nothing out of the ordinary. Heads would not turn if he walked into the room. Still, I liked the way he looked. In the photo he had a smirky grin, a little lopsided, but charming nonetheless. Kind of a sexy smile, to tell the truth. I tried to imagine him dating Russ’s sister, Carly—the two of them a couple in love.

  At the bottom of the page was another photo. This one was age-enhanced to show how David would look today. If he were still alive, according to this picture, his jaw would have more definition, and his eyes would be deeper set, and more intense, but underneath it all, you could still see the teenager that he’d been. He appeared to have grown into his looks in a good way. If he had indeed died in that car accident sixteen years ago, it was a shame. David Hofstetter looked like someone who was going places.

  It was hard to keep my mind on my reading, because Jameson started speaking in Spanish to Mallory and soon they were having a lively conversation punctuated with a lot of laughter, something I knew was designed to draw attention. Jameson was doing it to show off and give Russ a hard time. Kevin Adams wasn’t the only one who liked to poke the monkey.

  I exchanged a glance at Russ and he jerked his head in Jameson’s direction and grinned like look at that idiot. Honestly, I didn’t care. Let them talk in a language I couldn’t understand. With their shared Spanish, there was always the possibility that Jameson and Mallory would pair up on this trip, and that would suit me fine.

  Just when I thought the two of them couldn’t act more annoying, Jameson upped his game. He opened his folder and one by one, had each piece of paper levitate in the air, until all of them floated in a row in front of him. Then, using his finger to direct them, he had them switch position and swirl around in a dizzying fashion. Mallory clapped and the adults looked entranced, but Jameson only cared about getting Russ’s reaction. “Pretty good, huh Russ?” He called out. “I’ve been practicing. You wouldn’t believe everything I can do now.”

  “Nice trick,” Russ said, barely giving him a glance. I wasn’t sure how he could be so nonchalant. Personally, I couldn’t take my eyes off the floating papers. Next Jameson had them bending in half, and sailing around in circles like ships chasing one another.

  “Oh, but it’s not a trick. It’s Jameson energy, and it’s getting stronger every day.”

  “Very impressive!” Mrs. Whitehouse said, pointing excitedly. “I’ve never heard of anyone being able to move more than one object at a time.”

  That’s all Jameson needed to keep going. He had the papers fly up to the ceiling and stop flat, as if stuck. We all watched as they remained in place, and then slowly he had them shimmy overhead until they were in a stack floating two feet above Russ.

  Russ kept reading, seemingly oblivious to it, while Jameson smirked, clearly impressed with himself. When the papers dropped suddenly, heading straight for Russ, I yelled involuntarily. “Watch out!”

  But Russ wasn’t as oblivious as he let on. Before the papers reached his head he’d jumped out of this seat and zapped them, a bolt of electricity coming off his pointer finger. The papers singed mid-air and fluttered down to his empty seat. The adults, who’d been silently watching this whole thing play out, jumped to action. Kevin Adams had a water bottle in hand, and Mr. Specter went to the front to get the fire extinguisher.

  “It’s okay,” Russ said, calling after Mr. Specter. “There’s no fire. I made sure it was a controlled response.”

  Mrs. Whitehouse tried to brush the charred paper off the seat with a napkin, but the pieces disintegrated into ash at her touch. “Well, I’ll be,” she said.

  Russ spoke directly to Jameson. “You’re not the only one who’s been practicing.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nadia

  My first view of the country was no view at all. It was just past sundown and all we could see as we landed were the lights of the city. One of the employees of the airport rolled a metal staircase up to the plane’s door so we could exit into the cool and clammy night air. Walking down reminded me of the old newsreels dating back to the 1930s, the ones that showed movie stars and heads of state arriving to waiting crowds on the tarmac. But there was no one there to greet us.

  True to his word, Russ stayed by my side. He helped get my suitcase, and hung back from the group to walk with me. Even though we’d traveled by private jet, we still had to stand in line and go through customs. There were multiple lines, all leading up to the separate officials who would approve our entry into the country.

  As we waited, Russ leaned over and said, “Are you n
ervous?”

  “No, why would I be nervous?”

  “I just thought since you hadn’t been out much for four years that going to South America on the spur of the moment might be kind of a big deal.”

  I nodded, my hood bobbing along with my head. “It is. But I’m not nervous.” Despite all the warnings by Mr. Specter, I felt safe enough. We were traveling in a group, some of us spoke fluent Spanish and we were American citizens. Plus, from all outward appearances, we were just a bunch of kids traveling with non-threatening looking grownups. There was nothing about us that was noteworthy. The packet, which I read twice on the plane, was disappointingly dry. Besides the sheet about David Hofstetter, which we’d had to leave on the plane when we disembarked, there was nothing about going on a mission or spying. We weren’t given any gadgets, not even binoculars. And none of our cell phones would work here. It didn’t feel like a dangerous mission, not at all. Really, what could happen?

  For me, leaving home after being under my mother’s hawk eyes for so long, this trip felt like an escape from my everyday life. Sweet freedom. And I was ready for anything.

  What I did feel was a little dazed. There was so much to take in. Airports are vast to begin with. All around us the sound of Spanish being spoken by so many people made me realize what a disadvantage it was not to speak the language. I regretted not having studied it at all. When my parents were planning my curriculum, they’d ruled it out right away. “Too common,” my mother had said, and I’d agreed. Preschoolers learned Spanish watching Dora the Explorer. It wasn’t for me. I needed something more challenging. Now I wished I’d watched a few episodes of Dora. It couldn’t have hurt. But I would get by somehow. One thing I knew for sure, I’d resort to charades before I’d ask Jameson for help.

  We shuffled ahead by inches, our suitcases alongside like loyal dogs. The people at the front of the line waited until they were waved up to the counter. At that point, we would hand over our form (already filled out by the Praetorian Guard) and the customs official would check our passport. I watched as they let Mrs. Whitehouse through, then Mallory, Jameson, and Kevin Adams. Russ stood behind me, a pillar of reassurance, and Mr. Specter brought up the rear.

  When it was my turn, the man behind the counter beckoned me forward. I left my spot in front of Russ and pulled my suitcase up to the official, a tired looking old man whose name plate said: Elias Raul Alejandro. He said something I didn’t understand and I slid my passport and paperwork across the counter. Time shifted into slow motion as he looked at my passport for what seemed like way too long. He gestured for me to lower my hood, which I did, and he stared outright. He looked at the passport and back at me, comparing the image with the actual face.

  “Nadia Josephine Barlow?” he asked. His pronunciation was terrible. I nodded and he turned back to the passport photo. I was starting to get the sick feeling that he was on to us—that something about my passport flagged it as a forgery and I was now in big, big trouble. Did they put teenagers in jail here? I swallowed and tried to keep my breathing steady.

  I looked around. Behind me, Russ and Mr. Specter waited in line, looking concerned. On the other side, the rest of the group stood against a wall, not wanting to proceed until all of us were through. I couldn’t help but notice that the lines on either side were moving right along.

  Finally, I had to say something. “Is there a problem?” I pointed to the passport. “Problemo?”

  He asked me something, speaking really quickly, and I shook my head. “No español.” I guess I knew more Spanish than I thought. The man twisted his body around and waved wildly to a guy in uniform thirty feet away. “Mario! Mario!” Even though this situation seemed to be getting worse, hearing the name Mario inappropriately reminded me of Mario Kart and I had to suppress the urge to grin. Mario came rushing over and the two men spoke rapidly, looking from me to my passport photo and back again.

  Jameson came over, rested his hand on my back and said something in Spanish to the two men. He was, I could tell, saying we were together and offering to serve as my translator, but the two men looked irritated at his presence. Mario scolded him and pointed for him to go away. Jameson said, “Sorry Nadia,” before he reluctantly trudged back to the others.

  Over and over again, I heard the two men excitedly use the same phrase ‘An-hill k-ma-da,’ in reference to me and my face. I had no clue what it meant. Some kind of monster? Something about my deformity? A reference to the authenticity of the passport? If only I were closer to them I could have used my powers to sense their emotional state. Mario took a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it, then waited for a response. When a man’s voice squawked back, he pressed his mouth to the device and said more, gesturing at me excitedly as if the guy could see. When their conversation was over, he motioned for me to follow him. “Come with me, please,” he said in heavily accented English. I paused and glanced back at Mr. Specter and Russ, waiting for one of them to save me, but neither one made a move.

  Not knowing what to do, I started to follow Mario, but the first man, the one at the counter called me back. “Nadia!”

  “Yes?” I retraced my steps.

  “Un momento,” he said. With a flourish he stamped my passport and handed it to me. “Enjoy your stay in Peru.” Each word spoken separately, as if he’d memorized the sounds.

  I said, “Gracias.”

  When Mario and I walked past the others, Mallory spoke up in Spanish, but her words were waved away. Mrs. Whitehouse stepped forward, blocking our path. “Now wait one darn minute,” she said a hand resting on each hip. “I am responsible for this girl and I insist that you tell me what this is all about.” Mario regarded her sternly, then let forth with a blistering spew of Spanish, before pushing her aside. He took my arm and led me briskly along; I turned my head to see everyone in my group receding in the distance, upset expressions on their faces. My captor, Mario, had a firm but gentle grip on my arm. He occasionally glanced down and smiled in a reassuring manner. He was not that much taller than me, and when he smiled he showed all his teeth. His breath smelled of spicy meat. Now that we were touching it was easy for me to get a sense of what he was feeling. Pride. That was it. He was proud to be pulling me the length of the customs area to wherever we were going. I felt a little bit of excitement on his part too. He was proud and excited to have gotten a hold of me. I wasn’t sure how to take this. We halted suddenly outside a closed door. Mario pushed the door open and motioned me inside.

  I get a little bit claustrophobic at times. I’m not happy in crowded elevators, or in crowds period. And I like my rooms to have windows. This room wasn’t crowded, in fact. it was empty, but it didn’t have a window, which made me nervous. It was an office consisting of a basic metal desk with a chair behind it, two other chairs for visitors, and a calendar on the far wall stating the month as Junio. One of the chairs had tape across the vinyl seat cushion, and the floor was scuffed linoleum. “Sit please,” Mario said. “I be back.”

  When he left and closed the door, I panicked a little bit. I was in the country less than an hour and already they’d taken notice of me. Russ had to be sorry that he’d come and gotten me at the last minute. I’d messed things up in a big way. As I tucked my legs under the chair and waited, I realized that my suitcase had been left behind. Hopefully, one of the others would claim it. Unless it had been confiscated. I grimaced at the thought of officials rifling through my underwear and checking out my deodorant. I didn’t even want to think about it.

  The room was getting uncomfortably warm and I could have used a drink of water. I had a horrible, sinking feeling. Wasn’t this what they did when they interrogated people? Turned up the heat?

  After what seemed like ten minutes or maybe twenty—I lost track of time—the door burst open. Mario had returned and was joined by two others, a man and a woman. The woman was smartly dressed in business attire and high heels. She sauntered in like she owned the place, and maybe she did, because she took the spot behind the desk and ba
rked orders at the two men in Spanish, speaking so quickly that there was no space between the words. Neither man sat down; both stood facing me.

  “You are Nadia?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Ana. Welcome to Peru. I understand you are here on a class trip from Wisconsin.” The words came out smoothly, only a trace of an accent.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Someone who spoke English and seemed non-threatening. “Yes. It’s a class trip. I’m a high school student.”

  “Very good. Wisconsin is a lovely place I have heard. I have not been there, but I visited Chicago once, which I understand is very close.”

  This small talk was confusing.”I don’t know why I’ve been brought here,” I said. She translated my words to the men in a chiding way and finally she spoke to me again.

  “I would like to apologize for taking your time,” she said. “You have made my co-workers curious. I just have a few questions for you and then you can join your friends.”

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “Peru is a country with a rich history,” she said, disregarding my question. “And the people are great storytellers. Some of these stories have been passed down from generation to generation. When I was a little girl, my grandmother kept a symbol on her front door to keep bad spirits away. Do you do anything like that in the United States?”

  I thought of four leaf clovers, throwing salt over your shoulder, and not walking under a ladder because it was bad luck. “Superstitions? Yes, I guess so.”

  “I am not a believer in the old stories myself, but a lot of people still do,” she said, resting an elbow on the desk and cupping her chin. “Can I ask what happened to your face?”

  “My face?” My hand involuntarily flew to my cheek. “I got burned.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “I was on a bus a few years ago and a crazy man threw a bucket of acid into the air and some of it splashed on me. Even after it healed, it left these scars.”