Operation Blackout

by J. L. Middleton

  “Unfortunately, this matter cannot wait, but I shall not keep you long,” he replied politely. He shifted, steepling his fingers as he set his elbows on the armrests, and continued. “Do you remember what I told you when I first came to you?” he asked, adopting the reproachful tone of a disappointed teacher.

  He must have been watching her for months, though she’d never figured out why—perhaps he’d had a vendetta against her husband, Johnathan, or the Whitcomb family—because he’d appeared within hours of her discovery of Johnathan’s infidelity. In this way, he had been like a fairy godmother, and it had not taken him much effort to gain her confidence and trust during this vulnerable time. He’d then planted the seeds of ambition in her heart: Why would a woman with powers like hers waste herself with a selfish cad who was foolishly endangering his political career for a few moments of pleasure? It would be more fitting for her to seize her destiny and thrust herself into the political limelight. She could go far, utilizing her natural and supernatural abilities, which he would teach her to use with greater finesse. Most of Johnathan’s political connections had originally been made by her, and it would take only a few words to convince his supporters to transfer alliances. Jack Everest had presented her with the perfect plan that would preserve the momentum of the Whitcomb political machine while transferring it to herself, and thanks to his brief tutelage, she had been able to dispose of her adulterous husband and his lover without drawing any suspicion or allowing the two deaths to be connected.

  He did not give her a chance to answer, instead making his question rhetorical as he continued his reprimand. “I said that if you came across anyone like you, I had only two requests: that they be kept from public record and that you report their existence to me immediately.” It had been a seemingly innocuous request and the primary payment of her debt to him, but as she’d grown to know him, she’d begun to wonder whether there was something more sinister to the arrangement than she’d originally understood. “In all the years that I have known you, you have never mentioned a single Other, and I thought that perhaps it was simply due to circumstances that I never received a report of them. But this morning, I was greeted with this.” He reached for his briefcase and pulled out a single page of a police report. It detailed an incident that had occurred near midnight in which a mugger had apparently burst into flames while assaulting his victim. Jack pointed to a specific line that stated that there had been no ignition source and that no accelerants had been used. This deficit had mystified the detective on duty, as the mugger had been hospitalized with third-degree burns and was not expected to make a recovery due to the extensive injuries he’d sustained.

  Amanda frowned prettily. She had been taught during her youth that ladies should always smile and that if she could not, she should at least concoct a pretty frown to enable her to keep a man. Men abandoned ugly women, and the only way to succeed was to be attractive. “What’s this?”

  “If you read between the lines, this Starr is clearly an Other,” he explained with displeasure, “which means you failed to fulfill both of my requests. Since I have knowledge of her existence, I have clearly already completed one portion of your debt, and I expect you to rectify the situation with the authorities before someone else discovers her existence.”

  “How do you propose I do that?” she asked pleasantly, swallowing her critical tone reflexively; there were few times she could afford to express her emotions freely. Then, with an apologetic smile approaching a smirk, she added, “I think you overestimate my sphere of influence.” Privately, she doubted it would take much effort to pull Starr’s file from city records and have the detective put on disciplinary leave for his “faulty police work”; all that this would require was a simple call from the mayor’s office to the chief of police. But abuses of power were always eventually found out, and she had her own plans and ambitions to secure. She wouldn’t risk her position or reputation unnecessarily.

  Jack scowled, his eyes cold, and his voice became low and intense, losing some of its polish. “Never mistake me for a pigeon, Ms. Whitcomb,” he growled, his accent also becoming coarse. “Take care of the situation, or the police may discover new evidence in your husband’s case—not enough to make you, but enough to cast suspicion in your direction and cost you next year’s nomination for senator.”

  Loathing rose like bile in her throat, overpowering the subtle fear he inspired; he’d almost made it through one of their private discussions without resorting to coercion. She could not muster the strength to swallow her emotions this time, but she was able to school her expression into a terse nod and convey her reluctant acquiescence.

  A cocky but handsome smile reappeared on his thin lips. “Brilliant. I expect to hear from you soon then.” He looked at his watch casually. “I have an appointment as well, so I won’t keep you any longer, Ms. Whitcomb.” He snapped his briefcase shut, leaving the report to chasten her, and bid her a final jovial farewell before departing. Despite being relieved of her tormenter, Amanda’s emotional state didn’t improve immediately, and she decided that she needed to compose herself over her remaining coffee before heading back to the office.

  - - -

  Orion woke with a start, and it took a moment for his sleep-clouded mind to register what was going on. At first, he thought he was late for school, but then he remembered that he had taken the day off to take care of Cassie and allow her to recover. He stretched the knots from his lanky body and yawned as he reluctantly got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Bleary-eyed, he examined his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, and he decided that a comb would not do much good today; the humidity was too high. He also didn’t feel like shaving, and it wasn’t as if his facial hair grew at an enormous speed. The combination of his youth and his blond hair, which was frustratingly lighter than that on his head, meant that no one could tell if he was growing a beard or had simply forgotten to shave that morning.

  He pulled his shirt on as he descended the stairs to start making breakfast for his sister, but he soon discovered that she was already in the kitchen, dressed and eating cereal at the bar. She smiled and greeted him cheerfully. “What are you doing up so early?” he asked, puzzled; his brain was still trying to clear the cobwebs and rouse itself. Typically, the roles would have been reversed, as he was the early riser, and she usually had to be dragged from bed. On weekends, she rarely rose before noon, and it was only after a cup of coffee that she could have a civilized conversation.

  “School,” she replied simply. “It’s past seven. I thought you might have left already or something.” She rinsed out her bowl and placed it in the dishwasher.

  Cassie’s incongruous exuberance was certainly making it harder for his foggy brain to wake up; she was acting like his evil sister’s good twin. He rubbed his eye and stifled another yawn. “No. I thought after last night, we could both take a break. I was going to let you sleep in while I made breakfast, but I guess I missed that.” He sat next to her on the island.

  She shrugged. “That’s okay. I feel fine anyway.”

  He shook his head. “I still think you should stay home. You couldn’t have gotten much sleep. I know I didn’t.”

  “I’ve got an English test today I need to cram for,” she replied, and he scowled at her immediately; she never studied and avoided mentioning tests because she knew he’d ask to see the results. “Cassie, what’s wrong?” he asked seriously.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just have stuff I need to do at school,” she replied evasively as she rose and started heading toward the living room. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late.”

  He stood and grabbed her arm. “Mom and Dad are coming down,” he told her, and she reacted with expected distaste. Softly but firmly, as they were her parents and she had to see them, he added, “I think you can stay home today.”

  “Like they really care,” she sneered. “If they do
, they can come pick me up from school.” She hoisted her gym bag onto her shoulder and began to storm out. As he trailed behind her, a stern reprimand on the tip of his tongue, the doorbell rang. He knew it couldn’t be their parents since they had a key, but he nevertheless hoped it would be. The presence of their parents might actually do some good for his sister; she believed that they didn’t love her, but if they arrived now, this would demonstrate that they’d driven through the night to see her. Cassie rolled her eyes, put her bag back on the chair reluctantly, and waited; she anticipated that it was probably the police doing a follow-up.

  With a quick glance, Orion verified that he was properly dressed, and then he answered the door. There was a man in a suit, which appeared a little threadbare, and he wore a cleaner, newer shirt underneath with a black paisley tie knotted loosely around his neck. He had dark hair, which, like Orion’s, did not react well to humidity, and he appeared to have made a cursory attempt to tame it with gel. The man nodded sharply. “Good morning. Is this the Starr residence?” he asked, revealing a barely identifiable British accent.

  “Yes. How can I help you?” Something about his demeanor made Orion think he wasn’t from the police department even though he wore plainclothes like a detective. While he had a worldliness about him, it didn’t have the metropolitan flavor New York City cops carried with them.

  “I’m Special Agent Connor,” he said, briefly flashing a federal badge. “I’m here to see Cassiopeia.” He smirked drolly. Some caught the pun their parents had saddled Cassie with, but others were simply confused by the length or pronunciation of her real name. “Your parents have a real interesting sense of humor, assuming you’re Orion.” He nodded into the apartment. “May I come in?”

  “Um… sure,” Orion replied, opening the door wider to allow the man access.

  The agent sauntered in, taking a look around the apartment. The foyer opened into a wide shared area that encompassed an open kitchen, bar, and the living room. A set of carpeted stairs toward the back led to the second level of their home, and Orion knew most visitors to SoHo underestimated the interior size of the converted warehouse apartments. The agent whistled appreciatively and muttered, “Nice place.” He laid eyes on Cassie and offered his hand. “Are you Cassiopeia?” She nodded but made no move to accept his handshake. He turned back to Orion. “Do you have somewhere we can sit and chat?”

  “Why? Who are you?” Cassie asked, dropping her façade of cheerfulness. It was probably too early in the morning to remind her of the events of last night.

  “Cassie,” Orion scolded.

  “It’s alright,” the agent replied. He turned to her and said, “I’m from the BSI. I’m here to talk to you about what happened.”

  “What’s the BSI?” she demanded.

  “The Bureau of Special Interests. We investigate incidents like what happened last night,” the agent replied calmly. Gesturing toward the living room, he requested authoritatively, “Can we take a seat?”

  Orion suddenly felt uneasy about having let this man into their home; he didn’t think the agency would have found her from a simple police report. “Um, Cassie and I have to head to school.”

  “This will only take a few minutes,” he insisted. Orion went into the living room obediently, wrapping his arm around Cassie’s shoulders as they walked together. He sat next to her on the couch while the agent took a seat in the recliner across from them. He took out a small notepad, studied it for a moment, and then began. “I have the police report right here, but why don’t you tell me what happened in your own words? I’d like you to clarify some things for me.” As he spoke, he removed a small, shiny object from his pocket and fidgeted absently with it. It caught the light once, reflecting its silvery brilliance into Orion’s eyes, and he realized that the object was a Zippo lighter. The agent continued to fiddle with the device, threading it through the fingers of his free hand like a coin as he took down Cassie’s words. He seemed oblivious to the reaction he was provoking in her. Cassie clutched her pant legs, tightening her grip until her knuckles turned white, as she slowly recounted the events of the previous night. She didn’t seem comfortable recalling the incident, and she either glossed over some details or omitted them completely, causing the agent to repeat some of his questions.

  As Cassie reached the part where the mugger grabbed her, the agent snapped the Zippo open and brushed a finger against the thumbwheel, throwing a tiny spark from the flint. She froze suddenly, like a rabbit sighting a predator, and her eyes darted toward the spark. Orion felt his heart stop. Perhaps this man had a smoking problem and was itching for a cigarette, but Orion felt that he was endangering his life by fidgeting with the lighter now when his sister was in an agitated state. The agent remained oblivious and asked, “What was your first reaction?”

  “I wanted to run. I wanted to scream, but…” She shook her head.

  “But you struggled with the man instead. Why was that?” When she shrugged, he pressed, “You said he was armed, and a young girl like you usually has no chance against an armed attacker. Did you have any mace, pepper spray, or anything like that in your bag?”

  “No.”

  The agent absently flicked the thumbwheel again, this time creating a brief, tiny flame. He clapped the lid shut, only to reignite the flame again in small spurts. “That man had a three-inch knife. You might live in a nice part of town, but do you realize what this man could have done to you?” he asked, scowling with concern. “He could have killed you, or worse, and then taken the bag,” he explained. He dipped his chin, eyeing her like a disquieted parent, and demanded, “So what was so important?”

  “I don’t know. I just couldn’t let it go,” she huffed defensively. “It’s just how I reacted!”

  The agent nodded. “When the man was close to you, did you notice any strange smells?” He continued listing, “Gasoline? Alcohol? Maybe some natural gas?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t really notice.”

  “So you’re struggling,” the agent said, maintaining unbroken eye contact with Cassie despite the constant movement of his free hand. Orion eyed the flickering flame appearing and disappearing in the agent’s grip as if he was adept at sleight of hand. He thought to seize the lighter, but he wasn’t bold enough to move toward the older man. “And this guy just bursts into flames.” He paused his fidgeting long enough to imitate a wide fireball. “It consumes him, but you aren’t even slightly harmed. And you didn’t see what caused the fire.” She shook her head, and he leaned forward, shutting and extinguishing the lighter with finality. He then tucked it back into his suit pocket and, with a grave expression, folded his arms in front of him. “Look at this from my perspective, Cassiopeia: You have a body in the morgue, nearly burned beyond recognition, and the only witness to the crime—the ‘victim’—can’t explain how the fire happened,” he said. “This sounds very suspicious.” Accusingly, he added, “In fact, it sounds like murder.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed, and she was on her feet in seconds. “How can you say that?” Orion rose quickly as well and tried to calm her down while she screamed at the agent. She denied any malicious intent and took to insulting the agent, the government, and anyone related to either of them. The agent watched the two of them passively and took notes while Orion fought to get his fiery sister under control. In the end, he couldn’t convince her to retake her seat on the couch, and she remained standing, glowering at the agent. The makeup that she had applied meticulously that morning was now streaked and running down her face.

  Since his sister wouldn’t allow him to comfort her, and the agent’s continued presence only agitated her, Orion turned to their unwanted guest and said quietly, “I think you should leave now.”

  The agent nodded, yet he made no move to leave, instead perusing his notes. “Has anything like this happened to you before? The spontaneous combustion, that is.” He studi
ed each of them in turn, and while it was obvious that Cassie remained furious, Orion wasn’t confident about his ability to retain a neutral expression, and he quickly looked away. “Maybe not setting fire to a person exactly, but maybe a small fire? Like a couch or some trash,” he clarified, clearly fishing for a reaction. He nodded to himself again as he wrote on his notepad.

  “I think you should leave,” Orion repeated, this time in a stronger voice.

  “Was anyone hurt the last time? Property damage?” the agent continued as if Orion hadn’t spoken. The agent was actually paying attention to the two of them now rather than to his notepad, and he apparently received the answer he was seeking, because he again took brief notes before adding, “I’ll keep in touch. If something else occurs, I suggest you contact me immediately.” He tucked his notepad into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card, which he offered to Cassie. She refused it, and he shrugged, unoffended, before handing it to Orion instead. “I believe you wanted to show me out,” he said. Orion nodded curtly and led the agent back through the living room and kitchen to the front door.

  Orion felt a strange sensation creeping up the back of his neck, and he turned to face the agent before they reached the foyer. The agent was squinting as if he was trying to read something in very fine print or the sun was directly in his eyes, but otherwise, his actions seemed innocent, and Orion shook off the feeling. He opened the front door for the agent, who paused before stepping over the threshold. “If this happens again, I strongly recommend that you contact me first,” he told Orion earnestly. Orion nodded, never intending to obey, but he was unnerved by the man’s authority. The agent shrugged and sighed, and then he took off down the hallway toward the elevator. Orion closed the door and leaned against it in relief.