Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3

by Karen McQuestion

  “I don’t think Russ means it the way it sounds,” Mallory said, glaring in my direction. “He’s not usually so rude.”

  Vice President Montalbo said, “No, he’s right. I don’t have much power.” He pulled his arm away from Mallory, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Not much power at all. At least not right now.”

  He picked up the phone and asked his assistant, Kimberly, to come in to take a group photo. We lined up as instructed and she took several photos. Afterward, she told us they’d be mailed to the address she’d been given.

  As we walked out of the room, Mallory spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Nice job insulting the vice president, Russ.”

  I shrugged. “I just wanted to know how he felt about being number two.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Nadia

  At the hotel, I dropped my bags at my feet, put my voucher on the counter and said, “The airline made a reservation for me. I'm checking in.”

  The two young women behind the counter (they didn’t look any older than me) stopped talking and gave me a look that said they didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Excuse me?” one of them said, adjusting a headband attached to a hair piece. The hair above the headband was straight and brown, a stark contrast to the reddish brown curls cascading below.

  “I’m checking in,” I said. “My flight was cancelled.”

  “Everyone’s flight was cancelled,” she said, acknowledging me. As her head was bent over my paperwork, she popped in a breath mint. I held back from asking for one even though I desperately wanted to. My mouth felt so gross. “I don’t know about this. I thought we were completely booked.”

  I had a bad feeling, not just from what I was picking up from these two women, both of whom radiated apathy and laziness, but also from what she was saying. The flights had been cancelled hours ago. It did seem likely that the hotel was full. “The woman at the airline said they’d reserved a room for me.”

  “They say a lot of things,” she said with a snort. “Just let me look.” She typed on the keyboard, the other girl looking over her shoulder.

  “Maybe they…” The onlooker whispered something I couldn’t hear.

  “No, because that guest still occupies the room,” the other one answered. “Hmmm.” She tapped her fingers on the counter, deep in thought. They both stared at the screen until finally the one who seemed to be in charge said, “The airline did call about a room, and it does look like someone at the 800 number booked it, but the reservation is for a room that’s already occupied.”

  My stomach sunk. “How can that be if it’s my room?”

  “The guest who was expected to check out extended their stay.”

  “Can they do that?” I asked, aghast.

  She shrugged. “They did.”

  “Can’t you honor my reservation? Ask the person to leave?”

  “No, we can’t really do that. Sorry.” Both of them looked like they wished I would go away. Well I had news for them. I had nowhere to go.

  I was so tired. All I wanted was to wash the airport dust off my body and sink into a soft bed, where I would astral project to Russ and confront him about that kiss with Layla Bernstein and then get some sleep, in that order. I needed a room and I wanted it now. “Can I speak to a manager?”

  The one with the fake hair said, “I am the manager.”

  My stomach sunk. “You need to find me a room. Please. Don’t you have anything?”

  She shook her head. “All booked up. After all the flights were cancelled, we got swamped. It’s been crazy.”

  “I’m an unaccompanied minor.” I didn’t want to pull this one out, but it had worked with the airline, so I figured it was worth a shot.

  Her eyebrows arched upwards, echoing the line of the headband. “Is that true? Because if it is, the airline should have made arrangements for someone to accompany you. Would you like me to call someone in authority?”

  Someone in authority? Meaning the airport authorities or the police? I wondered, but I wasn’t going to ask. I sensed she didn’t really want to pursue it. Lazy. “No it’s not true,” I said. “Just forget it.”

  “Okay then.” She gave me a knowing smile. We both knew I’d just lied, but she didn’t care enough to make good on her threat. Or maybe she was cutting me a break. Either way, I was in the clear.

  I picked up my bags. They’d gained about fifty pounds since I set them down. Every muscle in my body ached. I would have given up five years of my life for a comfortable bed and a firm pillow, that’s how tired I was.

  Her expression softened. “If you want, you can sit in the lobby,” she said, pointing. “Normally we only allow it for guests, but I’ll make an exception for you.” I must have looked unsure because she added, “Unless you have somewhere else to go?”

  I nodded wearily. “No, I’ll just stay here for now. Thanks.” The lobby furniture looked more comfortable than the chairs in the airport. It would have to do. I pulled my suitcase over to a chair and sat down, defeated. I found myself touching the cut on my neck and running a finger over the stitches. It bothered me. I couldn’t wait until the stitches were out and the cut healed.

  Another airport refugee, a middle-aged man, sat in a chair opposite me. He was slouched in his seat, head back, mouth open. Breathing through his nose in loud, raspy bursts. Great. Just great. We’d be lobby roommates for the night. I opened my phone to call my PG contact. I’d already decided not to call my dad. He had enough to worry about. The Praetorian Guard was a different matter. I needed them to pick me up at the airport if I was ever going to get to Russ. I waited while it rang three times and when it went to voice mail I said, “Hello, this is Nadia. My flight has been cancelled and I won’t be there until tomorrow.” I explained about the weather and that they’d rebooked my flight, gave my new flight number and the time I’d be arriving. I hoped they’d still have someone there to pick me up. It just occurred to me that I had no idea where to go once I got to Washington D.C.

  My night in the hotel lobby stretched on endlessly. I couldn’t get comfortable, for one thing, but it wasn’t like I would have been able to sleep anyway. All kinds of totally bizarre fears filled my head. I worried that if I dozed off someone would take my stuff, or molest me in my sleep, or that I might drool or snore. I sat and watched as the seconds turned into minutes, taking so long that time seemed to be moving in slow motion. Finally, after hours had gone by, I decided to risk astral projecting to Russ again. I closed my eyes, ignored the noises around me, and let myself sink into a trance. When I felt ready, I thought the now familiar words: Take me to Russ.

  Immediately I was in his darkened hotel suite, next to the bed. He’d left the bathroom light on and the door was slightly open, wide enough so that I could see his head and one arm above the covers. Underneath, the rest of his body created a hilly terrain of blanket.

  Russ! I said. Wake up! It took all my energy, and it still wasn’t enough. Except for the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he didn’t move at all. Russ! This is an emergency. Wake up now. I wanted to shake him and wake him, but physically I was less than a puff of air. If I couldn’t tap into his thoughts, I had nothing. Russ! He shifted and pulled the covers tighter. I took this as progress. Russ, can you hear me?

  And then, victory. He mumbled, “Nadia?”

  Yes! Yes! It’s me, Nadia. Wake up, Russ.

  His eyes were still closed. The words he spoke next came out haltingly. “Is this a dream?”

  No, it’s not a dream. I’m really here. Open your eyes!

  One eye opened just a little bit. “I can’t see you at all.”

  Good grief. I’d forgotten to show myself. I made an effort to make myself clearly visible, but in the half minute it took, he’d closed his eye again. No! Don’t fall back asleep, Russ! Listen to me, you can’t trust Mallory or Jameson. Watch out for them, okay? They’re in league with the Associates. Technically I wasn’t sure if Jameson was in league with the Associates
, but if he was under Mallory’s spell it was pretty much the same thing. I continued. Mr. Specter is not dead! You hear me? I’ve seen him with Mallory. They’ve got something planned for the Bash. There’s a needle in Mallory’s necklace. I don’t know what it does, but I can tell you it’s not good. Try to get the necklace away from her. There’s going to be trouble. Be careful.

  He didn’t show any sign of having heard me.

  Russ? Did you hear what I said? For a split second I was tempted to channel my mother and ask him to repeat things back to me so I knew without a doubt that he’d heard me. I always resented the way mom did that when I was a kid—so patronizing, but I could see the value now.

  Russ scrunched his forehead and said, “Trouble. Be careful.” He’d gotten the gist of what I’d said, but I wasn’t completely sure how much was just being repeated and how much had actually penetrated his skull. I tried again. Russ! This is very important. Do not trust Mallory or Jameson. Keep Mallory from going near the president with that necklace. Mr. Specter is the commander and she’s following his orders. Do you understand?

  I watched for signs he’d heard me but was getting nothing. His breathing was slow and regular now, like he’d lapsed back into sleep. A restful, happy sleep judging from the slight smile on his face. You had to be kidding me. Russ! This time I screamed his name in my head, but it didn’t matter. Still no movement. I kept trying, though, repeating my message again and again, each time pounding on every word. His lack of response was infuriating.

  I stayed for a few minutes, frustrated and emotionally spent from trying to get through. I was on the verge of anger, and then felt guilty for being mad about something he couldn’t help. If only he would wake up. I had to know he understood and I wanted to know why he kissed Layla Bernstein. I was sure there was an explanation that made sense and I wanted to hear it and believe it.

  I tried, and then I tried again, and kept talking over and over again, but nothing worked. After deciding I’d done as much as I could, I gave up and said, Good-bye Russ. I love you. See you at the Bash.

  I paused then, wondering if there was someone else I could go to for help. It had to be someone connected to the Praetorian Guard, so that eliminated most of the world. Mentally I checked off the possibilities. Mallory and Jameson: no. Mr. Specter, definitely not. I considered Rosie and Dr. Anton, but besides my visits to Rosie’s Diner, I didn’t feel like I knew them all that well. It was so hard to know who to trust. Mrs. Whitehouse? Absolutely, positively no. She was so awkward and patronizing I didn’t even want to talk to her in real life, must less go to her for help.

  My last choice, Kevin Adams, struck me as the best possibility. We’d spent time with him in Peru, so I felt like I knew him. He also seemed truly devastated by Mr. Specter’s death. Certainly he had no idea that it was faked and that Mr. Specter was a double agent working for the Associates. Kevin was a good-natured, unassuming guy. Down to earth. Likeable. Happy hanging out in his comic book store. Simple in his view of the world. Someone like that would want to help, even if the enemy was his old friend, Sam Specter. Maybe especially since it was Sam Specter. Kevin was probably going to feel angry and betrayed when he found out. Yes, Kevin was the one to go to. He could reach out to his Praetorian Guard contacts and warn them for me.

  I hovered over Russ one last second and then took the plunge. Take me to Kevin Adams.

  I’d been worried that I’d catch Kevin sleeping, so it was nice to see him sitting up and wide awake, sipping from a tall glass of what looked like dark beer. As I watched, he smacked his lips appreciatively. I almost made myself visible, but caught myself when I noticed he wasn't at home. And he wasn't alone either.

  He was sitting at a round table, across from Mrs. Whitehouse, who didn't look quite like herself. And judging from the slight thrumming sound, the curvature of the beige walls, and the squarish shaded windows, they were on a plane. No, a jet. A private jet, judging by the spacious design and lack of rows of seats. So very curious. I moved closer, careful not to let them know I was there.

  Mrs. Whitehouse nervously drummed her fingers on the tabletop while Kevin Adam took a long pull on his glass of beer. “This is good. A really good tasty brewski,” he said, setting the glass down on a cardboard coaster. “I should see if I can get this brand at home.”

  “Hmm.” Even without words, she managed to show disapproval.

  “I'm going to get a refill on this,” he said, reaching over to press a button above the table. Mrs. Whitehouse slapped his hand to get him to stop, but it was too late. “I'd like another beer, please,” he said.

  Mrs. Whitehouse lowered her head to talk directly into the speaker. “Cancel that. There will be no more beer.”

  “Yes ma’am,” came a man’s voice through the speaker.

  “Who died and made you boss?” Kevin asked. He ran a hand over his Elvis-styled hair, and gazed forlornly into the bottom of the glass.

  Mrs. Whitehouse barked out a laugh. “Funny you should mention it. Commander Specter died and made me boss, that’s who. Second in command, that’s what I’m going to be.”

  “Yeah, well it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Oh, it will,” she said, with complete confidence. “You wait and see. Sam promised. He saw it in one of his visions.”

  If I’d actually been there, my mouth would have hung open in disbelief. Kevin Adams and Mrs. Whitehouse were in league with Mr. Specter? Easygoing, lovable Kevin and nerdy, annoying Mrs. Whitehouse were aligned with the Associates? No! Couldn’t be. I heard it but found it hard to believe.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, not convinced. “That and a buck fifty will get you a cup of java.” He ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “But what I’d really like is another glass of beer.”

  “Show some discipline, would you?” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “That’s the key. How do you think I lost so much weight? And ten years I’ve kept it off.” She put a hand on one hip and I realized then that this was why she looked so different. She was thin, for her. I’d seen her in Peru earlier in the summer and she must have been fifty pounds heavier then. How had she lost so much weight so quickly? Her face too, looked different. It was like she’d wiped off stage make-up with wrinkles and age spots, and revealed a softer, younger version of herself.

  “Taking off the fat suit helped too.”

  She nodded. “That thing was hot. Wearing it behind the cafeteria line was torture. I was broiling inside that thing. Glad I’m not doing that anymore.”

  “What was the point of that? You were a lunch room lady, not an international spy.”

  “Even lunch room ladies have identities. And I knew that eventually I’d be changing mine. Having a different look to begin with will make the transition much easier. Sam suggested it, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time. Back when my last name was Whitman—”

  “Oh, here we go,” Kevin muttered.

  She continued on. “Whitman was just such a boring name. The only time anyone ever asked about it was when they wanted to know if my family was related to Walt Whitman. You know Walt Whitman, the poet?”

  “Not personally, no.” He lifted the window shade and looked out into the darkness.

  “We weren’t related to Walt Whitman, but I always said we were. Even as a child I knew I was born for better things. And then when we were teenagers and Sam said he saw me in a vision of the future and saw both of us in power in Washington D.C., it came to me.” She snapped her fingers. “My name would be Mrs. Whitehouse. A sort of inside joke. Sam loved it when I told him my idea. I remember getting it legally changed and the man at the courthouse asking if I was sure this was what I wanted. I was about twenty then, and skinny as a twig. They probably thought it was a whim, but believe me, it wasn’t.”

  “Why not Miss Whitehouse?” Kevin asked, suddenly interested. “Why Missus?”

  “Mrs. Whitehouse sounds better and it’s easier to say,” she said. “Try say
ing it both ways and you’ll see.” She flapped her hands at him. “Go ahead. Try it.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I knew that someday Sam would be in power and I’d be right by his side, like the first lady, only better. I’ve been preparing to be Mrs. Whitehouse for almost thirty years.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. When I’d seen her last, her hair had been dowdy and shapeless. Since then she’d gotten a sleek new cut and color. It almost looked chic.

  “You seem very confident that this is going to work,” Kevin said.

  “Of course it will work,” she exclaimed. “Everything we’ve worked for all these years has led to this. Do you think I wanted to be a lunchroom lady for the last twenty-five years? Criminy. Those high school kids are idiots and I walked around and made friends with them every single lunch hour. Every single lunch day. I chatted them up and earned their trust. Did the whole dimwitted lunch lady act so no one would be suspicious. And I did this for years. Years! Just waiting and watching to see when the Edgewood four would show up. The ones with all the power. The ones Sam predicted would come. And then we found them, one by one.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Mallory, Russ, Jameson, and Nadia.” She stared at a spot beyond Kevin, like envisioning all of us standing behind him. “Slippery little devils, what with two of them being homeschooled. That’s what threw me off. I was looking for four of them in the cafeteria. Rosie had her suspicions when they started coming into the diner, but Sam was the one who confirmed they were the ones. He had it all figured out.”

  “Sam, Sam, Sam,” Kevin muttered. “You think the sun rises and sets by that guy, don’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you. He’s a regular human being just like the rest of us.”