Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3

by Karen McQuestion

  Trust Jameson to come up with a comment like that. “I could have died, you know,” I said.

  “Yes, but you didn’t, did you?” He gestured to an exit sign. “I think taking the stairs is a safe bet.” He tried the knob, but the door was locked. I motioned for him to step aside, and gave it a blast, blowing it open.

  “At least one of us has skills,” I said as we went through. We charged down the stairs, down and around from floor to floor, grabbing the railing at each turn.

  “Yeah, well you would have fallen on your ass a few minutes ago if not for me.”

  “That was you?” I thought of my drop from the ceiling and the sensation that a giant pair of arms had caught me on the way down. It didn’t feel like Jameson, but I didn’t have any other explanation so he had to be speaking the truth. I owed my life to Jameson. What a revelation.

  “All me,” he said. “So if you’re talking about skills, give me some credit.”

  “Thanks, Jameson.”

  “You’re welcome, pal.”

  We got to the first floor and burst out of the stairwell. Jameson said, “They’d have to drive out of here. I say we try the back parking lot where the employees park.”

  “We need to check the front where the valet is,” I said. “They’d be in front. Definitely in front.”

  “Don’t you think that would be too obvious?” Jameson said.

  “That’s why they’d do it,” I said, leading the way. There wasn’t time to get into it, but my hunch was based on more than that. You’d have to be completely arrogant to show up at the Presidential Black Tie Bash in disguise wheeling in a weapon of annihilation and think you could get away with it. And that’s exactly the kind of person who would come and go using the front door with the rest of the guests.

  We made our way across the lobby and through the doors that led outside. The front circular walk was crowded with guests waiting for their cars. I overheard one woman say, “I’m surprised the police aren’t here taking statements.” As we pushed through the crowd, conversations buzzed around us. Judging from what I overheard, everyone here had gotten out before the explosion. They were all clear that something had happened, they just couldn’t get a handle on what it was. Was it a light show gone wrong, a terrorist attack, an electrical malfunction? When we reached the valet, I asked, “Did you see a short old man with a beard? He was with a young guy, his son?”

  Jameson stepped next to me and joined in. “The son is like his size,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder, “but super muscular. Like, even the guy’s neck is big.”

  The valet, a young guy with a blond buzz cut shrugged. “Yeah, I saw ‘em. They drove up in a Bentley.” He raised his eyebrows. “Nice ride.”

  “Can you tell us where the car is parked?” Jameson asked.

  “It’s not parked anywhere; it’s right there.” Turning around, we followed his outstretched arm and saw a silver Bentley speed past and accelerate down the drive toward the road. “Their chauffeur just picked them up.”

  Without a word, Jameson and I took off running after the car. Two people rode in the backseat, but it was impossible to see much more than that. The u-shaped drive had a median filled with flowering bushes surrounded by decorative stone. Jameson tried to stop the car by telekinetically winging some of the stones at it while I made a feeble attempt to shoot electricity at the rear wheels, but the fact of the matter was that we were too far out of range.

  As we settled back on the curb in defeat, both of us panting breathlessly, Jameson picked at a piece of grass and said, “So close. Man, that was frustrating.”

  “At least we tried.”

  He said, “Why didn’t you catapult yourself at them?”

  “I couldn’t do it. Tapped out.” I leaned back and stretched my legs. Off in the distance I heard the wail of an ambulance. “Maybe we’ll get another chance.”

  “Yeah I’m sure you’ll be seeing Mrs. Whitehouse in the lunch line when you go back to school,” Jameson said. “You can take her down while she’s spooning out macaroni and cheese.”

  “The lunch program doesn’t serve macaroni and cheese,” I said, but I got his point. Chances were good we wouldn’t be seeing Mrs. Whitehouse ever again.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Nadia

  The death ray aimed at Russ’s chest reversed direction and a second later the machine exploded. I left Russ’s side to give Jameson a frantic message. Catch him! I said. There was only a fraction of a second, but I have to give Jameson credit—he totally came through, cushioning Russ’s fall right before he would have hit the floor.

  Russ looked dazed, but okay. Jameson and Mallory got through it too, but David Hofstetter must have been standing too close to the machine, because he’d gotten hit and knocked to the floor. Mallory grabbed a napkin off the floor and knelt down to apply pressure to the wound. As much as I wanted to stick around, I had to see where Mrs. Whitehouse went.

  I’d noticed her earlier, still in disguise, slipping out of the ballroom, along with her sham son. This had happened about the same time Russ had thrown himself onto the death ray. While he was risking his life to undo their dirty work, they’d scurried away like rats leaving a sinking ship. So much for loyalty to Mr. Specter. He was the bad guy in all this, but still I felt for him. Having friends betray you was the worst.

  But now I had to see where Mrs. Whitehouse and her cohort went. If they had something else planned and were coming back, I wanted to be able to warn Russ and the others.

  Take me to Mrs. Whitehouse.

  The two were exiting an elevator and heading toward the front door of the building and I followed right along. The son, a bulky young guy with his neck tattoo now starting to show, had a cell phone to his ear. “Right now. Yes, this minute.” There was a pause while he listened to the person on the other end and then he answered. “Aborted. We’ll explain later.” He ended the call and stuck the phone in his pocket. “He said he’s sitting there and he’ll pull the car around.”

  Mrs. Whitehouse didn’t say a word. She stopped and looked back at the elevator with teary eyes.

  “What are you waiting for?” His eyes shifted from her to the front door and back again. “The deal was if it didn’t go as planned, I was out of there. And it didn’t go as planned. In a few minutes this place is going to be overrun with uniforms and I’m not gonna be here when that happens.”

  “But what if Sam’s injured and I’m not there to take care of him?” She asked, her voice plaintive.

  “Look.” The guy lowered his face to hers and spoke in a harsh whisper. “One of two things happened. He’s either okay and he’ll meet up with us later, or he’s dead and it won’t help for you to get caught.”

  At the word dead her lip started quivering, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care. She gulped as if trying to pull back tears.

  He continued, “Now march to the door, and get your act together. I swear I’ll leave you behind. I swear, I will walk right out that door,” he pointed, “and I will not look back. I am not getting pinched because you can’t deal. Now move.”

  She trudged behind him with the enthusiasm of a teenager forced to go on a family outing. Through the swinging glass doors they went and outside where the valet stood at his post. Other patrons were exiting now, all of them buzzing about the odd way the evening had ended. “I bet we read all about it tomorrow,” a silver-haired lady in a mink shawl said. “It’s probably some kind of preview for a show or movie.”

  Her portly companion nodded. “A magic act, no doubt.”

  While she waited, Mrs. Whitehouse stroked her fake beard, and muttered under her breath. “Come on, come on.” She craned her neck. “How long does it take to pull a car around?”

  “Just relax, Dad. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

  They waited a few more minutes, Mrs. Whitehouse sadly stroking her beard and looking like she was on the edge of losing it, while Snake Boy stood stock still, cool as can be. Behind them, people poured out of the b
uilding, chattering away about the spectacle. The new arrivals had seen more and the fear in their voices was evident. They wondered why the authorities weren’t there. “Who’s in charge here?” one man said. “I’d like to talk to someone in authority.”

  “How much longer?” Mrs. Whitehouse asked, her eyes wide. “Maybe we should start walking.”

  “Cool it. Look, that’s him.”

  A large silver vehicle with an impressive front end and distinctive prism headlights circled the drive and pulled up in front of them. The driver, who wore a classic chauffeur’s cap, didn’t get out to open the door for them. Instead, Mrs. Whitehouse yanked it open and slid into the back, followed by her fake son. I went along for the ride.

  “What the hell happened in there?” I recognized Kevin Adam’s voice before the chauffeur even turned around. Usually Kevin had a middle-aged cool thing going for him, but he didn’t have it now, and he’d aged about ten years since the last time I’d seen him. His eyes were hangdog tired. His mouth turned down in a disapproving line.

  “Just drive,” Snake Boy said. “We’ll have time to talk later.”

  As the car sped down the drive, Mrs. Whitehouse noticed something out the back window. “Faster,” she cried. “Before they catch up.”

  Snake Boy and I turned to see Jameson and Russ running behind the car, their arms pumping with every stride. Snake Boy turned and glared. “Unbelievable.”

  I mentally cheered them on, even as I saw they weren’t keeping pace with the car. Russ flung a small lightning bolt in our direction but it fell short. With a tilt of his head, Jameson lifted some pebbles from a planting bed and tossed them after us. They hit the window, but not too forcefully. Ping. Ping. Ping.

  “What was that?” Mrs. Whitehouse turned around, her eyes wide. She’d pulled the beard and mustache off and bits of adhesive stuck to her chin.

  Snake Boy scoffed. “It’s nothing. Just keep going.”

  The Bentley turned out of the drive and onto the roadway, losing Russ and Jameson who watched helplessly from behind. They’d stopped running. Russ dropped his hands to his side in defeat while Jameson palmed his forehead. Kevin floored it and Russ and Jameson got smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see them at all. A few miles out, Kevin took off the chauffeur’s hat and ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain his Elvis pompadour. Tears streaked down Mrs. Whitehouse’s face. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” she cried. “Sam and I should be out celebrating right now.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. “We were going to make a difference. A lot of people talk about it, but we were actually going to do it. We can change the world, is what he always said. The two of us were going to change the world for the better. And not for the glory,” she said. “But because someone needed to take charge. Someone smart, someone looking out for the collective. We’ve planned this for years. We spent ages gaining allies on the inside, anticipating problems, practicing every scenario. And for what?” Her voice was bitter. “For nothing.”

  “What exactly happened?” Kevin asked. “Where’s Sam?”

  “We had to leave him behind,” Snake Boy said. “Don’t worry about it, just keep driving.”

  Mrs. Whitehouse said. “I’ll tell you what happened. That damn Russ Becker intercepted the beam so it never reached the target. By all rights it should have killed him but since he was just out there running after the car like a dog, I guess it didn’t.”

  “If he’s still alive maybe Sam’s okay,” Kevin said hopefully. “Then we can all go back to Edgewood and forget this nonsense. Just live a normal life.”

  “I’m not forgetting anything,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, resting her forehead against the window. “No way, no how. I’m remembering every bit of this for the rest of my life.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Russ

  Jameson and I only rested for a few minutes before we got up from the curb, brushed ourselves off and headed back. When we got up to where the Bash was held, we found the doors closed, locked, and guarded by beefy security officers. “We need to get into the hall,” Jameson said to the guy standing in front of the door we’d used just twenty minutes before.

  “This whole area is off limits.” The guy folded his arms and I saw that his biceps were the size of Jameson’s head.

  “Is there someone you can check with?” I asked. “Because I think they’ll make an exception for us.”

  “No exceptions.”

  “You must have a list. I think you’ll find our names on it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You two are somehow special?”

  I ignored his sarcasm. “I’m Russ Becker. Maybe you’ve heard of me? I was Layla Bernstein’s date?”

  “Layla’s gone home and I think you should too. Run along now. Playtime’s over.”

  Jameson and I exchanged a questioning look. Should we try to get past this guy, wait it out, or what? Before we could decide, the door swung open and Dr. Anton stuck his head out. “Russ? Jameson? Oh good, you’re back.” He spoke to the guard. “They’re okay. Let them pass.”

  Jameson gave the guy a smug grin as we walked by but I didn’t bother. “Is the president and her family safe?” I asked.

  Dr. Anton nodded. “And the vice president and his wife too. You did it, Russ. Because of you, we’ve avoided an international incident.” He led us further into the room. “Come this way. We were watching on the monitor but by the time we came in you two were gone. We’ve been looking for you.” We stepped over debris, including broken glass, soot, and assorted pieces of metal. On the opposite side, paramedics ratcheted a stretcher up so it could be wheeled out of the room. My sister stood nearby wringing her hands. When Carly saw me, she yelled, “Russ, get over here.”

  I hurried to her side. The paramedics had pulled a sheet over the body. I knew what was underneath. “David?” I asked.

  Carly bit her lip and nodded. “You’ve got to help him, Russ.” She blocked a wheel with her foot so they couldn’t move it. “Give my brother a chance. He can fix him.”

  The two paramedics exchanged a look and then one of them said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, ma’am, but he’s gone.” He did sound sorry. He sounded very sorry.

  She ignored him and pulled me closer. “You can do this.” Her voice was ragged. “You have to do this.”

  Dr. Anton spoke to the paramedics. “Hey guys, could we just have a few minutes here to pay our last respects?”

  The one who had spoken shrugged. “Sure, okay. We’ll take five.”

  Before they’d even walked out of hearing range, Carly had uncovered David’s face. His eyes were closed and there was a small cut on his forehead, but otherwise he appeared to be fine. “I was just talking to him a few minutes ago. There shouldn’t be oxygen deprivation damage or anything yet. Do your thing, Russ.”

  My heart sank. I had healed people on the brink of death, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t raise someone who was already gone. I wasn’t God. I was only a high school junior with superpowers. I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw Rosie standing next to me. “Just try,” she urged. “Even if it doesn’t work, your sister will know that you tried your best.”

  “Don’t just try,” Carly said angrily. “Do it.”

  I held my palms over David and willed the energy to go from my hands to him. I wished that his cells would draw from my energy and jumpstart his heart. I envisioned Carly, Frank, and David as a family and tried pouring the love Frank and Carly would have for David into his still body. I kept wishing and thinking and hoping. Energy. Love. Life. I took the words and channeled them through my hands to David’s body.

  I glanced up at Carly, took note of her tear-stained face, and tried again. Energy. Love. Life. I knew how to do this.

  But none of it worked. David was gone, only a shell remained. I looked up to see Carly wringing her hands. I shook my head. “I’m really sorry, Carly. I’m not getting anything.”

  “Try harder then,” Carly said, and when I shook my head
no, her face contorted in anger and she lashed out at me, hitting me over and over again, the flat of her hand against my back. It didn’t really hurt, but still I flinched. She cried, “Do it! Do it! Just do it!”

  Finally Dr. Anton said, “That’s enough,” and pulled her away. “Russ can’t do it, Carly. If he could, he would.” She shook him off and collapsed into the fetal position on the floor, rocking back and forth and wailing. When Rosie tried to place a consoling hand on her shoulder she pushed it away.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said helplessly. “I can’t do anything. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

  She looked up, her eyes smudged with makeup. “He was alive a few minutes ago. Where were you then, Russ?” she asked, venom in her voice. “What was so all-fire important that you couldn’t be here for me? The one time I needed you and you were gone.”

  Her words shook me. She was right, I’d let her down, and now David was dead.

  Almost like she’d heard my thoughts, Rosie put a comforting hand on my arm. “It’s not your fault, Russ. You’re only one person, you can’t be in more than one place at a time.”

  “I would have stayed,” I said, “but he didn’t look that bad off.” Even to me it sounded lame. “And Mallory said to go.”

  The quiet threatened to devour me. I glanced around the room. “Where is Mallory?”

  Rosie said, “Mallory is working downstairs right now. They stopped all the folks who witnessed the explosion and she’s using her talent to convince them it was just an act, part of tonight’s entertainment.”

  “Is someone watching Mallory to make sure she’s doing the right thing?” The fact that Mallory ran toward the death beam and tried to stop Mr. Specter made me believe she was on our side. Still, Nadia had said she couldn’t be trusted.