Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3

by Karen McQuestion

  The rest of the story was the most troubling to me because it involved Nadia’s death, something that made me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. But of course that would never happen. Nadia was on her way here, not Edgewood. The scenario didn’t fit, so it couldn’t possibly happen.

  So the comic book wasn’t completely accurate, but it still held clues, I thought. But what if, even as a teenager, Mr. Specter anticipated crossing over to the other side, and through the comic book he purposely tried to steer us wrong? That would take a lot of anticipation and planning. It seemed unlikely, but then again, everything that had happened since the night I saw the lux spiral seemed unlikely.

  Mallory and Jameson had been talking quietly to each other this whole time, pointing out celebrities and debating if anyone would stop them from having a glass of champagne. They caught me listening to their conversation and I shook my head in disapproval. Jameson said, “Russ is a killjoy.”

  “Not a killjoy,” I said, turning my attention back to the line. “Just a superhero of the twenty-first century.”

  “Whatever,” he said.

  I watched the line approach the first family, and when the aide announced, “Dr. David Hofstetter,” I did a double take because I’d forgotten he was going to be here. I thought of Carly watching this event on a monitor in an adjoining room and wondered if she’d recognize him. Who knew? Maybe she had audio and even heard them say his name. I tried to catch his eye. Not to talk to him or anything, just to let him know we were there, but he didn’t look in our direction. David was too busy talking to the president and Mr. Bernstein. From their familiar greeting it seemed that they’d met before. As he went through the line I noticed that his exchange with Vice President and Mrs. Montalbo was clipped and brief. I didn’t think they had met before.

  When a server came by with a tray of soft drinks, I shook my head, but Jameson and Mallory each took a glass. My stomach growled but I turned down hors d'oeuvres too, even though they looked delicious. Next to me, my friends ate and drank and talked like we were at a party where nothing terrible could happen, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that in the upcoming hours this lovely social event could turn into tragedy. I remembered Dr. Anton’s answer when I asked him how he thought things would go: I think this is going to go badly. If it were up to me they’d cancel the Bash. I didn’t think he’d try to scare us unnecessarily. That’s just how he felt.

  I flexed my hands by my side, ready to shoot out the electricity coursing through my body on a moment’s notice. I was on edge, but I had to be.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Nadia

  Nedra took me to a room that held three barber chairs and two small makeup stations complete with vanity mirrors and more trays of cosmetics than you’d find at Macy’s display counter. An older woman who’d been sitting in one of the chairs, jumped up when we walked in. Her eyes narrowed while she looked me up and down and she didn’t look happy with what she saw. When Nedra introduced us (Maisy this is Nadia, Nadia this is Maisy), and we shook hands, I sensed that somehow without even knowing her, I’d become a disappointment. Maisy shook her head sternly, “I have no idea if I have a dress that will fit her.”

  Nedra said, “Surely you must have something.”

  “I have a lot of somethings, but this Bash is for grown-ups. I have nothing that will fit an eighth grader.” She gestured to a rolling rack filled with dresses and scowled.

  “She’s tiny but certainly you have dresses in a size two?” Nedra turned to me. “Is that your size, Nadia?”

  “Maybe,” I said, not really certain. The clothes my mother ordered for me were women’s small. My jeans were purchased by waist size and length. I wasn’t used to getting clothes by size, but I was pretty sure size two was for models.

  Maisy said, “The size isn’t the problem. It’s the length that’s going to kill us. Not only that but her shoulders are way too narrow.”

  Nedra strode decisively over to the rack and started pulling dresses. “Strip down, Nadia,” she said. “I’m going to need you to try these on.”

  “Can’t I go to the Bash like this?” Even as I asked I knew the answer was no. Showing up at the Black Tie Bash in jeans and T-shirt under any circumstances was never a possibility.

  Nedra dumped an armful onto the chair. “Start with these.”

  Maisy said, “Even if we find a dress, there’s the problem of her hair.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” I kicked off my shoes, and unzipped my jeans and stepped out of them.

  “It looks like a three-year-old cut your bangs.”

  “I’m letting them grow out,” I said, pulling off my T-shirt. To minimize the amount of time spent in my underwear in front of two strangers, I took a yellow dress off the pile, pulled it over my head, and let it shimmy over my hips. The excess fabric at the bottom pooled around my feet like I was standing in a spotlight.

  “Maybe with high heels?” Nedra said doubtfully.

  “Not even with stilts.” Maisy stood with her arms folded. I had the feeling she’d be on a break right now if not for me. “By the way, Nadia, you need to lose the bra. All the gowns have built in cups.”

  I tried on dress after dress, all of them too long. When I pulled the last one over my head, I was so flustered that at first I tried to put my head through the opening for my arm. Lost inside a sea of red chiffon, it was Nedra’s voice that saved me. “Let me help you.” I felt her hands guide my arms toward the sleeves and pull the fabric around my head until everything came out of the right opening. Part of the cloth was still over my head even as the rest of the dress fell to the floor. “It has a hood?” I asked.

  Nedra flipped it back. “No, it has a low back which drapes at the bottom.” She looked at Maisy. “I think this is perfect for her.”

  Maisy begrudgingly agreed. “But only because the dress is supposed to fall mid-calf. On her it’s all the way to the floor.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nedra said. “It’s perfect.” She led me to a full-length mirror, where I saw the image of someone who could have been me, if I were beautiful. For an instant the crisis faded and time paused while I gaped at myself in the dress. I pinched the chiffon fabric and pulled it up, then watched as it floated down.

  “Oh, it’s so beautiful,” I said, turning to see the view from the back.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous,” she said. “The only problem is that the dress will be too short with high heels. I’ll find you some flats. Size five?”

  “Six please.” She took off into an adjoining room, leaving me to stare at the dark-haired girl in the mirror who looked almost perfect to me.

  Maisy came up behind me and said, “While Nedra’s hunting for shoes, let’s do your hair and makeup.” She steered me into a chair and stepped back to appraise my face. “Your skin is nearly perfect, so there’s not much to do there.”

  “Oh no, my skin is awful,” I said, lifting a hand to the side that had been burned. “The worst.”

  “From where I’m standing it looks great.” She shrugged. “If you normally have breakouts, you don’t have them today. Since you’re in a hurry, we can skip the foundation and make do with some lipstick and a touch of bronzer and, I have to tell you, I do a really great dramatic eye. I usually do Layla Bernstein’s makeup so you’re in good hands.” She took a long handled brush and dipped it into some powder and began sweeping it over my cheeks. She stepped back to survey her work.

  Oh man, this was going on for way too long. I needed to get out of here pronto. “You know I don’t usually wear much make-up and I’m going to miss the whole Bash if we don’t hurry. I want to skip the rest.”

  “Skip it!” she exclaimed, clearly dismayed. “You can’t skip it.”

  Nedra came rushing in, holding a pair of black and red flats. “Not a great match, but good enough.”

  I stood up and slid my feet into the shoes. “The dress covers them anyway,” I said.

  “It won’t cover them when you’re dancing
,” Maisy said, her voice grumpy. She grabbed a comb off one of the vanity tables and ran it roughly over my head, then pulled my hair up in the back and pinned it quickly in place.

  Nedra took my hand. “That’s enough, Maisy. I have to get Nadia to the Bash.”

  “Geez, what’s with you two? You’re like Cinderella rushing to go to the ball.”

  Cinderella actually rushed to get away from the ball, but I wasn’t going to correct her. We said our good-byes and Nedra led me out the door. We were halfway down the hall, when we heard the clatter of Maisy’s feet coming up behind us. “Wait!” she yelled. I turned to see her brandishing something curved and shiny. A red gem-studded headband. She skidded to a stop right behind us, and taking a comb from her pocket, quickly brushed my bangs to one side, the placed the headband on my head. “There,” she said. “You needed that.”

  A wave of professional pride rolled off her. It bothered her that I’d left her with uneven bangs. “Thanks,” I said.

  As we continued down the hallway Nedra said, “I must say it does add just the right touch.” Off in the distance I heard music playing from the Bash hall. I’d missed the meet and greet, but it wasn’t as late as I’d thought. And at least I wasn’t hearing explosions.

  Nedra took me right to a set of double doors blocked by a heavy-set guard. She flashed her security badge and he stepped aside. “This is where I leave you,” she said bowing slightly. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Nadia.”

  “Did anyone tell Russ I’m here?”

  She pushed the door open and ushered me through. “You can tell him yourself.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Russ

  After the last of the crowd came through the receiving line, a man strode up to a podium in the front of the room, and spoke into a microphone. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I give you the president of the United States!"

  A hush fell over the crowd and President Bernstein stepped forward. She adjusted the microphone and with a smile said, "Welcome everyone, to the third annual Presidential Black Tie Bash!” She waited for the applause, which came thundering. When it died down, she said, "I am proud to see assembled here some of our brightest and best citizens. Whether you’re an entertainer, a scientist, a diplomat, a politician or what have you, please know that you play an important role in making America a great country. This evening is a thank you for your talents and support. As a nation we still have our challenges, but just for tonight, please set those concerns aside and enjoy our hospitality. Very soon the band will begin and dancing will commence. In the meantime, we'll keep the champagne flowing. If anyone imbibes too much and needs a ride home at the end of the evening, please let us know." A few people in the crowd laughed and a smattering of applause came from somewhere in back.

  I felt a hand on my arm and glanced over to see Layla standing next to me. “Hey there,” she whispered. “Now I can relax. The worst is over.” I hoped she was right, but the night was young. A lot could happen.

  The president wrapped things up by saying, “And now, let the fun begin.” She had a joyful look on her face, such a contrast to the hospital scene of a few days ago. When she’d said the part about the evening being a thank-you for your talents, I felt like she was talking right to me. But maybe everyone in the room felt that way.

  The president stepped away from the podium, and the noise level in the room rose as people resumed talking and drinking. I heard the clinking of glasses and more laughter, a sign the champagne had begun to kick in. People milled around and several guests approached the president and her husband to talk. I watched worriedly, but didn’t notice anything that looked threatening. On the other side of the room, a young woman I recognized as an actor from the Syfy channel had Vice President Montalbo’s attention. She chattered away gesturing wildly with her hands, while he listened, amused. Next to me, Mallory and Jameson were watching too.

  The staff began setting up table and chairs around the perimeter of the dance floor. Each circular table was covered with a linen table cloth and topped with a candle. On the raised platform on the far end of the room, the band was setting up their equipment. Someone, somewhere, lowered the lights to give the evening some ambiance, and my heart fell as I realized this would make it even harder to check out the guests. I clenched my fists again, ready to strike if I had to.

  “Lighten up, Russ,” Layla said, giving my arm a squeeze. “You look like you want to kill someone.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want to kill anyone,” I said. “But I’m ready to do what I have to.” Now that I had her next to me, I was able to say it. “Tell me about Nadia.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my, that was amazing! One second I’m alone in the bathroom, the next she’s right there like she beamed up from the Enterprise. She’s really super cute, by the way. At first I thought she was a ghost—”

  “But what did she say?”

  Layla laughed. “Someone’s impatient! If you’ll give me a minute I’ll get there.”

  There was no stopping her; she was determined to tell the story her own way. I listened politely while she told me the whole thing, complete with her reactions and how Chloe kept knocking on the door because she couldn’t figure out who Layla was talking to. Nadia had told her there was a plan to kill her and her mother, which didn’t seem to alarm Layla in the least. “It’s a big country,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “There’s always some crazy who wants the president and her family dead. We get threats all the time.” She had trouble remembering it all. “And something about a Specteron. You know what that is?”

  “No.”

  “Well she seemed all worried about the safety here. I assured her the Secret Service has it all locked up tight. That’s sort of what they do.” She waved her hand. “I told her I had no interest in you, which I think made her feel better.”

  When she finished, I felt the need to recap. “So she said the inspirational stones Mrs. Whitehouse gave us contained explosives?” Layla nodded. Good thing we threw the stones away at the airport. Somewhere a landfill full of garbage would be exploding. I continued, “And she said I shouldn’t trust Mallory or Jameson?” I glanced in their direction but nothing in their faces said they had traitorous intentions.

  “Yes, young man, that’s pretty much what she said. I told her not to worry. The security at this thing is crazy, but she was all concerned about you. It was pretty adorable.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  Her pursed lips moved from side to side as she thought. “There was something else, but I’m having trouble remembering.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh!” she said. “I know what it was. She was on a flight here at the time, and it sounds like she’s going to make it to the Bash. She’ll be late though.”

  “What time? Did she say?”

  Layla shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. But remember that you’re my date so I’m not giving you up once she gets here. She can have you for the rest of your life, but tonight you’re mine.” She linked her fingers through mine and said, “Time to dance!” The band had started with a slow song and some guy at the mike was doing his best Frank Sinatra impersonation.

  The next thing I knew, I was being dragged to the middle of the empty dance floor. Mallory and Jameson, following the instructions that we all stick together, were right behind us. We were the only ones out there. When we got to the center of the floor, Layla very theatrically curtseyed to me. This hadn’t come up in our dance training, but I played along and bowed. On the sidelines, the crowd’s attention shifted to us, and when Layla and I finally came together and began dancing, applause broke out. It was mortifying to know that every pair of eyes in the room looked our way. Luckily for me, my worst dancing beat Jameson’s best dance moves any day of the week, so by comparison I was doing pretty well.

  Layla’s pressed her body tightly against mine and breathed into my ear. “You’re probably wondering why I wanted to be the first on the dance floor.”

  “Yeah, I did wond
er. Isn’t the president supposed to dance first?”

  “Technically yes, but trust me, my mom doesn’t care,” Layla said, shifting her head in the direction of her mother, who watched us with a pleased expression. “She’s just happy to see me touching a man.”

  “So I qualify as a man?” I felt my lips tug upward into a grin.

  “More or less. But to get back to my point…”

  “Yes?”

  “If we’re looking for infiltrators, this provides us with an excellent opportunity to scope out the crowd. They’re stationary but we’re moving. Look at the faces,” she urged. “Are there any in particular that are looking at me in a strange way? Calculating, maybe? Or impatient, like they’re waiting for their moment?”

  As we swayed and twirled I kept my gaze on the rest of the guests. Dressed in tuxes and ball gowns, they all looked vaguely alike. We might as well have been at a costume party. “I’m not seeing anything odd.”

  “Keep looking,” she said, “because I noticed a few suspicious looking people and I want your opinion.”

  Next to us, Jameson valiantly tried to keep in rhythm. With each step I saw his lips move. I swear he was counting to himself. When we first got on the dance floor Mallory had laughed at his jerky moves, but if he stepped on her toes one more time, she’d be losing her patience real fast.