Aaron walks over to us, and pulls his arm back. "No leader surrenders to a threat."
Eric laughs. "A smart one does."
He snaps his body around to bolt out the door. I grip my wrist, still throbbing in pain.
"Are you ok?" Aaron asks.
Victor knocks on the table, bringing our attention to his corner of the room. He gives a brisk wave of his hand to indicate goodbye. He steps towards the exit, but turns right before he leaves.
"Eric's right," he says, before shaking his head and leaving us alone.
The door shuts with a loud thump that echoes through the room. I consider chasing Eric down, but I’m lucky enough to get out of this alive. I'm going to warn Aaron about Eric when Aaron places his hand on my shoulder, startling me.
"I'm going to have to say something, Rose," Aaron says. "Tell them what I know."
"What?"
"It's gotten out of my control. They'll never trust me if I don't say something. Would you rather me turn the group over to one of them?"
I shake my head. "No, of course not."
"Well then, I have to keep my standing."
"And ruin my Dad's life and Elliott's life?"
"I won't tell them who are Catalysts. Just that they exist. Put something in the Basic Brigade newsletter."
"If you write an article, it will cause massive panic."
"Seems like the Catalyst is already doing that."
At that moment, I understand why Eric was here. And I'm reminded I still haven't told Aaron about him.
"Aaron, there's something you should know. That man, the one who grabbed me, he's the Catalyst."
Aaron grimaces. "Very funny Rose."
"No, seriously, I saw him leave Carol's house right after she was murdered."
"What were you doing there?" Aaron asks.
"Dad's under suspicion, so we tried to track the real Catalyst."
"Sounds like another one of your brilliant plans."
"Now you know why you weren't invited."
Aaron sits down, and buries his face in his hands. "So you're trying to tell me Ken is the Catalyst?"
"Yes, only his name is Eric. I think."
"How did he get past the sensor?"
"I don't know. But I do know why he's attending a Basic Brigade meeting."
"Why?"
"To create trouble for you. Don't you see? If he can discredit you and take over the group, he can use the Basic Brigade infrastructure to create even more scare tactics for Catalysts."
Aaron scowls. "So what am I supposed to do now? I have to say something."
"You need to leave this group."
"No! This is my group, Rose. My family, my friends, my—"
"They sure didn't seem to treat you like family a few minutes ago. This strange guy joined your group and rallied them against you. Doesn't sound loyal to me."
"You don't know them at all."
"The group is out of your control because it's never been in your control!"
"You're wrong, we've made advances. You have no idea how much I've accomplished. Keeping them in check."
"But that's just it. Keeping them in check. They don't want peace, Aaron. They want rebellion. They want—war."
"No one wants war."
"Jason did."
"I'm not Jason!" Aaron says, pounding his hand on the table.
"No, you're not. But you can't change the fact this group is his, from the very core," I say and walk over to the large painting depicting the basic and Elevated embracing. I lift up the painting to reveal what's underneath: a mural depicting a basic zapping an Elevated Inker. The Inker lies on the ground in a puddle of his own ink, which splatters like blood. Next to him stands a copy of himself, this one normal. "This is what your group is about, Aaron."
Aaron shakes his head. "This is a fantasy. Someone zapping an Elevated to become a Basic again. What's so wrong with that?"
I shake my head. "Everything Aaron. Everything.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The entire ride over to Café Basic, I have to endure a lecture from Elliott on how irresponsible it was for me to go to the meeting by himself, even though there was no way I could have invited him or Dad to come along and make it past the scanner.
“You could have been killed,” Elliott says, for the fourth time.
“Stop saying that! And stop telling me what to do!”
“I’m just—oh forget it!”
At this point, I decide the best thing is to stop arguing and turn my attention to the window. We pass by Fowler’s Grove and I watch some Runners and Fliers tossing around a spikeball. If only I could just sit back, watch a game for a while, and forget this. That would be nice.
When we reach our table, Peter promptly greets us.
“Another rough day?” he asks, noticing our sour expressions.
“You could say that,” I say.
“I’ll put in a round of shakes then,” he says, tossing some straws on the table and turning to wink at me as he leaves.
Elliott unwraps his straw and taps it against the table. He looks up at me with his blue eyes and gives me a smile so charming I can’t help but return it.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” Elliott says, and reaches across the table to grab my hand. “It’s just, you and your dad seem to have this thing about rushing into danger.”
I let go of his hand. “It’s not our choice.”
“Your dad doesn’t have to stop the Catalyst. Maybe it would be best if you left him alone.”
Before I can answer, my eyes catch Dad entering the restaurant. He takes a seat across from me, next to Elliott. As Peter returns with the milkshakes, Dad and Elliott glare at me from the other side of the table.
“Ordered for me I see,” Dad says, and he grabs the glass and chugs down the chocolate milkshake. When he emerges, a whipped cream smear coats his upper lip. “I still can’t believe you went there alone. Stupid move.”
The whipped cream mustache makes it impossible to take his stern expression seriously. I try to stop myself, but I let out a giggle.
Dad’s eyes narrow. "No, I mean it."
His face grows redder, which only exaggerates the whipped cream. As much as I fight it, I let out a huge laugh.
“This is serious!” Dad says.
Elliott looks at me, confused, and I point at Dad’s face.
Elliott can barely hold back a laugh. "Sir? You might be more imposing if you wiped your lip."
"Oh," Dad says, wiping his lip, and now his expression is fittingly scary. "It was a really stupid move. You could have been killed."
Elliott buries himself in his shake.
"Well," I say, "you both should have been killed plenty of times by now. Just comes with the territory."
Dad speaks firmly, emphasizing every word. "You can't take this lightly. This is a very dangerous situation."
Elliott emerges from his milkshake with a whipped cream mustache, and I lose it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say between chuckles.
I toss a napkin over to Elliott. Dad looks at Elliott and lets out a laugh, and for a moment, it’s like we are just having a normal, fun evening out. The dream disappears quickly as I think back to what Eric said at the Basic Brigade meeting.
“It’s more dangerous than you think,” I say. “The Catalyst must be trying to infiltrate the Basic Brigade to use them to create more publicity. Now we have to trust Aaron.”
“And do you?” Elliott asks.
It’s hard for me to respond. I want to say yes without a question, but my heart tells me otherwise.
“No,” I say.
Dad reaches over and grabs my hand. “It doesn’t matter, really. The secret never could last. Not with other Catalysts running around.”
“It's amazing it's lasted this long," Elliott says. "Who knows how many are hiding in secret."
"Can't be too many," Dad says. "No way to keep a secret when a lot of people know about it."
Elliott sighs. “Well, somehow Jas
on found one. Based on what Rose says, we know Eric and Jason talked to each other. That’s how Eric knew about the scanner.”
“If Eric is telling the truth,” I say.
“It makes the most sense. Jason told Eric how to beat the sensor. But what scares me is if Jason was actively recruiting Catalysts, then we may have an army. The Catalyst who attacks Maddock could be an entirely different person.”
“So we’re back where we started,” I say. “Great.”
Our server, Peter, comes to our table with his usual high energy. “Another round?”
I glance at my empty milkshake glass, and even though the stress of the situation makes me want to down another one, my stomach would regret it later. “No thanks.”
“A little out of sorts tonight?” Peter asks.
“You could say that,” Dad says.
“Well, when life gets rough, sometimes the best thing you can do is stop.”
“Stop what?” Elliott asks.
“Take a breather, relax. Don’t try to solve all your problems at once.”
“Thanks Peter,” Dad says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No problem,” Peter says, gathering our dishes.
"He's right," Elliott says.
"He likes you," Dad says.
"What?" Elliott and I say in unison.
"It's obvious, the way he winks at you," Dad says. "Do you really think it's a coincidence he's always your server?"
I hadn't thought of it before. I just thought he enjoyed waiting on us. But thinking back to our conversations, I begin to wonder. Was I sending him signals? I feel a bit guilty, worried that he might have thought I was interested. In my stress, I reach out for my milkshake glass to take a big sip, before remembering it's empty.
"You can stop freaking out Rose, I'm not jealous," Elliott says.
"Really?"
"I think if you liked him you wouldn't have freaked out like that," Elliott says.
"What do I do?" I ask.
"Just smile and nod," Dad says. "It's probably just a crush."
I nod, pondering my exact movements when he returns to the table.
"He's right though," Elliott says. "Peter."
"What do you mean he's right?" Dad asks.
"We should stop, you should stop," Elliott says. "Trying to play detective has done nothing but get us into more trouble."
"I don't have much choice," Dad says. "It's either that or have Maddock arrest me."
"On what evidence? If you constantly have alibis."
"All Maddock has to do is tell the world I'm a Catalyst. Then I'll be guilty as charged."
Elliott sighs and sinks back into his seat. "Still not a smart move."
I wonder what is a smart move. It seems no matter which way we turn, our choices lead us further into danger.
Peter returns with the check.
"Here you are," he says, winking at me.
I turn my head, unable to look back at him. But what if that sent him a signal that I was embarrassed because I was interested? I turn back to meet him square in the eye with the most disinterested expression I can imagine. His face shifts into a broad smile. He leaves the table.
"What are you doing?" Elliott asks. "Sending him that dreamy-eyed look?"
"This is dreamy-eyed? It was supposed to be disinterested."
"You look as disinterested as a hardcore ExTreame fan."
I sink back into my seat and cross my arms.
Elliott laughs. "You're terrible at this."
I punch him in the side.
"Jerk."
***
We are on the way to Mrs. Ford's trial and Elliott's nerves make me glad he's not driving the car. We're cruising down the highway when we hear a loud screech in front of us. The screen on the dashboard indicates the computer turned on the brakes and we come to a complete stop. All the cars around us have stopped too, and the passengers start craning their necks to see what caused the hold up. The screen on our dashboard lights up with a picture of a semi-truck parked perpendicular across the highway.
"Just our luck," Elliott says. "Another one of those clunkers deciding to conk out on the highway."
"Why doesn't he just switch it to automatic?" I ask.
"Probably jammed," Elliott says and smacks the steering wheel in frustration.
I reach out to grab his hand. "Calm down, we can still—"
"We won't make it. It's still another twenty minutes from here."
I brush against his shoulder.
"It doesn't matter anyway," he says. "We both know she's going to get imprisoned. I was just hoping to get to see her one last time before she left."
We receive an update through the screen. There’s an approximately thirty-minute delay while we wait for emergency vehicles to arrive. Even through the windows, I can hear drivers around us yelling out in frustration. Elliott is steaming. He positions his hand over the manual button. It won’t do us any good until we can get going, but I can only imagine how angry he will be after waiting around. The last thing we need is to get into an accident.
"Don't," I say, grabbing his hand. "You really shouldn't. You can only shave off a few seconds anyway."
Elliott sighs and drops his hand to his side. A sudden knock on Elliott’s window causes me to lurch against my seatbelt. Turning my head, I see Zach waving outside the door.
“Horrific traffic, I see,” Zach says. “Want a lift?”
“Unless the rumors of those drugs they pump in Volare athletes are true, don’t think you can lift the car.”
Zach laughs. “Not the car. You.”
“What about Rose?”
“I’ll return for her. By air it should only take a few minutes to reach the courthouse.”
“She shouldn’t wait alone.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But you shouldn’t be late for the trial.”
Elliott frowns. “Isn’t it illegal to lift someone without a crash cage?”
“Technically, yes,” Zach says. “But it’s rarely enforced.”
Elliott shrugs. “Fine, okay.”
He steps out of the car, while Zach unfurls his wings. His turquoise feathers glow under the bright sun. With a couple of flaps, he’s airborne. Then he swoops down to pick up Elliott and carries him across the freeway.
Zach returns just as the emergency vehicles pull up to tow away the semi-truck. I double check the car is on automatic and the destination in the computer, and I step out of the car. Zach smiles at me and asks me to turn around.
“Unless you want to face backwards the whole way,” he says.
I turn around and soon there’s wind from his wings flapping behind me. Even though I brace myself for his approach, a rush of excitement overtakes me as I’m yanked off the ground and over the highway.
“A tad better than traffic, isn’t it?” he says in a raised voice over the wind.
It’s interesting how being just a few feet above normal can make the city seem so different. Somehow, there’s a beauty to the grid work of buildings and roads that isn’t visible from the ground.
“Look on your right,” Zach says. “Fowler’s Grove.”
I turn my head to see my favorite park, even more majestic from overhead. The large lake in the center reflects Zach’s magnificent wings, and we wind around some kites held by children on the ground below.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“It is,” Zach says.
I smile. “Enjoying flying more?”
“I’ve gotten a bit more used to it,” Zach says, and although I can’t see it, I know he’s flashing a mischievous grin.
We soar around some other Fliers, who wave to us. Some give Zach a wink. They probably assume he’s flying me around to impress me. It’s a common tactic for Fliers.
And I understand how it would work.
“How is the spikeball going?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says.
“Just fine?”
“It’s hard, lacking the experience the other players ha
ve. They like to toss around terminology to show how ignorant I am.”
“You’ll catch up.”
“At least I’ll know soon. There’s a test game when we come back from break. Truth is, I’m supposed to be practicing right now.”
“Well don’t start tossing me around like a spikeball.”
Zach laughs. “By the way, I’d like to thank you for sending me your text. It lead me to a lot of research.”
I try to concentrate on what Zach is saying, but I’m distracted by the approaching bird flock. Right when it seems we are going to hit, he dives gracefully and avoids it.
“It appears,” Zach says, “the law regarding GEMO treatment was specifically worded. The prosecution is required to prove the defendant used an unauthorized GEMO treatment.”
“So they have no evidence then.”
“Precisely,” Zach says. “Their case can solely be built on the fact Mrs. Ford had powers that indicate a GEMO treatment. But they can’t prove the treatment itself.”
“If only that lawyer would have realized that,” I say.
“That’s no longer a problem,” Zach says.
“What do you mean?” I ask, holding Zach tightly as we wind around skyscrapers downtown.
“Let’s just say, Unsounds Society may have intervened on her behalf.”
“You hired a new lawyer?”
“Not just any lawyer. Brad Bolton. He’s an expert on these cases. His last case set a record for how long it took the jury to decide. Big Unsound supporter too. Has a daughter locked up for being a Shooter.”
I cringe at the thought of a family member becoming a Shooter. Their ability allows them to shoot poison from their mouths. They end up with weird blotches on their skin from the acid going through their body. Aaron showed me a picture of one once, leaked out by the Basics Brigade as part of their scare tactics. Usually the family members of the victims of that ability keep photos under wraps. It’s hard to imagine telling a family member they have to stay locked up for the remainder of their life.
But it’s hard to imagine anyone supporting a Shooter being released into society. I think back to what Elliott said.
“How does Elliott feel about this?” I ask.
“Oh, he’s insanely angry,” Zach says. “Thinks we’re just using his grandmother.”
“You’re not, right?”
Catalyst: (Elevated Saga Book #2) Page 11