She reached out and grabbed Perfume, holding her up. “Perfume? Merena? What’s wrong?”
Perfume’s eyes didn’t seem able to focus. They flittered from one location to the next. “I don’t know.”
“You asked for help. Help with what?” She noticed Perfume had two purplish blue abrasions on both temples—a darker version of what she’d seen on herself after hypnotherapy. “Let me take you to the infirmary.”
“No. I have to get away from here. Before they find me.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Them.” Her eyes closed.
“Them? Coutant? Someone else? Have they hurt you?”
“You’ve got to get out,” she whispered, barely audible, “before it’s too late. Get word to Ohm.”
“Ohm? Who’s Ohm?”
Perfume slid lower in her arms. She had to dig in to keep them both from tumbling to the ground.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really not following this at all. And I think—”
“Honeysuckle lemon.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what you have to avoid. Honeysuckle lemon.” The sleeve of Perfume’s blouse slid upward and she saw a large strip of gauze covering her upper arm. Blood spots dotted the bandage.
“What have they done to you?”
“I—don’t know.” Perfume’s arm pulsed and throbbed, expanding, almost doubling the size of her bicep.
Her mouth went dry. She didn’t know whether to stay with Perfume or to run for help. This could not be normal. She didn’t know any disease that could cause this, and she didn’t know how to heal it, either. “What’s happening to you?”
No response. Perfume’s arm continued to pulse. Her veins stood out, almost as if they were bursting free of her arm. Then the blackness crept in, slowly creating an ebony network beneath her skin. The black oozed, spreading down to her fingers and up her neck, like oversize subcutaneous roaches.
“Perfume—what the flick is going on?’
The girl’s arm pulsed and expanded to three times its normal size.
“Stop it,” Perfume cried. “Please stop it. It hurts so much...”
She heard footsteps clattering behind her. She craned her neck.
Coutant. With three men, two of them in lab coats. One was the man who had come to Dr. Hope’s office.
“Perfume needs help,” she started. “She—”
“What are you doing here?” Coutant snapped. She ripped Perfume out of her arms. The two men helped, one grabbing Perfume by the shoulders, the other wrapping his arms around her waist. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near here.”
“I was on my way to my next session.”
“You’re a million miles from your next session. Have we not made it clear what happens to clients who don’t follow the rules? I’m trying to look after you, Aura, but you’re making it extremely difficult. Do you want to be deported to Mordock?”
She didn’t know what to say. Everything was happening too fast. “I think Perfume’s hurt. She—”
“Let us worry about her. You worry about yourself.”
“But—I just—”
“This is a serious infraction, Aura. More than enough to get you shipped out of here.” The two men had difficulty managing Perfume, not so much because she struggled but because she couldn’t stand up straight. She was a rag doll in their arms.
“I didn’t do anything. I just—”
“You will tell no one about this. Understood? Absolutely no one.”
“She needs medical help.”
Perfume screamed. The sudden shrieking pierced the air. One of the lab-coated men injected her with something. A moment later, her entire body went limp.
“Choose your future now, Aura. You might not get a second chance.” Coutant pointed behind her, away from the stables. “Your therapy session is over there. Joseph will escort you.”
The others left, dragging Perfume with them.
“Come on,” one of the men, apparently Joseph, said. “This way.”
She followed, but not without glancing over her shoulder.
Perfume had emerged from those stables. She was certain of that, even though the place appeared completely vacant and long unused.
What went on in there? Something not readily apparent to a casual onlooker. She had no idea what that might be.
But she had a strong desire to find out. Before what happened to Perfume happened to her.
11
Agent Coal carefully snipped the tip off her imported cigar, then rolled it back and forth in her hands. She loved the sandpapery feel of it, the way it bulged in the middle, the way it tapered at the ends. She lit it with a single flick of her laser. Too much heat could char the smoke.
She inhaled, held it, then slowly let it pass between her lips.
Korean cigars were the best in the world. Even after electric cigarillos and artificial nicotine. The best.
She only allowed herself one, once a day, at closing time. She earned it, earned more in fact, but she had to remain disciplined. She could not allow herself to become self-indulgent. She knew what was coming—the Chief reminded her often enough—and she knew only the heartiest specimens would survive.
She intended to be one of them.
She also allowed herself one glass of Scotch each night, only Glaswegian, the real thing flown in from Scotland, not that dreadful 3D-printer stuff. But the Scotch would come later, when there was little chance that her services would be further required.
A small red light flashed on her tablet. She activated the feed, then touched the air above her desk, bringing up the day’s reports from all her operatives. Most could be skimmed quickly. She fanned her fingers in the air, a gesture not unlike the Queen waving from a passing motorcade. She had learned to sift through these files efficiently. She had a gift for plucking out the most salient details.
The only report that held her interest for any length of time was Dr. Coutant’s. But there were dozens of others, from the highest echelons of government, from the top scientific laboratories, from the most successful research and technology corporations, from the other Shine containment facilities. They had agents in all of them, though no one knew that other than those who needed to know. And there were not many who needed to know.
She always saved the reports from scientists for last. The authors of these papers were among the smartest people on earth, but their verbal skills were the worst. As a result, the most important reports were often the most difficult to read.
She took a moment to gaze out her office window and admire the Pacific coastline. Cars darted up and down 101, leaving neon trails in the darkness. The choppercars emitted an almost phosphorescent glow. She could even see the Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier. Always lit, and always teeming with action. People meeting, talking, loving. Feeling safe within their secure little worlds.
And terrified about Shines.
So much so they wouldn’t perceive the real threat. Until it was much too late.
A signal indicated that a comm line had opened. She tapped another virtual switch. The holographic image appeared on the imaginary tableau before her, sweeping away the files.
The Chief was never one for small talk. “I gather you’ve supervised the latest developments?”
“From a distance.”
“Any surprises?”
“No one expected Perfume to escape. She’s much stronger than they realized. I think her continued residence here is an unacceptable risk.”
“I was asking about Aura.”
Of course. It was always about the little girl with the big blue bangs. “No surprises. She seems completely oblivious. Just another teenage girl who ran out of options.”
“Hardly just another teenage girl. Do the others know who she is?”
“If they don’t, they soon will. The stories we’ve been planting on the Web have made her one of the most famous—make that infamous—people on earth.”
“So the other Shine
s can blame her for their detainment. Good. How’s her attitude?”
“About what you’d expect.”
“Keep a close eye on her therapist’s reports,” the Chief continued. “Have you collected all the samples we needed?”
“Got all the biological and neural wave data without her suspecting a thing.”
“What about our little Mata Hari? Any problems there?”
“Just the usual. She wants out.” Coal took a long slow drag on the cigar, savoring and identifying each disparate element, each distinct component of the aroma.
“Can’t blame her for that. Trapped with headshrinkers and twisted teens. Sounds like my idea of a nightmare. Still, any indication she might betray herself? Or us?”
“None. She’s completely devoted to our cause.”
“And she’s performing her functions?”
“So far as I can tell.”
“Make sure of it. We spent a great deal of time and money planting her.”
“Understood.” Coal almost disconnected the line, but she could see the Chief was not quite finished.
“Agent Coal…do you enjoy your work?”
“You know I’d like to be transferred to the front lines.”
“Yes, but you’d still be doing more or less the same work. Do you enjoy it?”
She was uncertain how to answer. “It’s work. It’s not meant to be enjoyed.”
“All work and no play makes Coal a dull girl.”
“I like to keep my life simple. Uncluttered.”
“So for you it’s just work, work, work.”
“I do believe this Shine problem has to be contained.”
The Chief peered at her for a long time. Making direct eye contact over a virtual comm line challenged her, but the Chief appeared to have mastered it. “Very well then. Keep up the good work. You know this business will be heating up, very soon. I’ll be depending upon your eyes and ears. And I don’t want any problems.”
She hesitated. “You know—we could eliminate the problem.”
“You mean, we could eliminate Aura?”
“Or sequester her. Permanently. We do have the capability. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”
“Agent Coal, do I strike you as the type to squander resources?”
“No.”
“Would that not then suggest that if I’m doing something, say, letting a potentially troublesome girl endure, there must be a reason?”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You are not capable of offending me. But perhaps…” A long pause ensued. “Perhaps it might be best to take out an insurance policy. Perhaps the one you want to sequester is…Beverly.”
“That’s a fresh approach.”
“Well, the girl doesn’t have a dog. Squeamish?”
Coal tilted her head to the side. This would not be a smart time to admit to having a conscience. “Not squeamish. But not desirous of unnecessary risks, either.”
“We share that. But consider this from my perspective. We must maintain control over what could be the most valuable resource since the dawn of the Shine phenomenon. Since the dawn of humanity, actually. But I need a hole card.”
“I’ll be happy to—”
The Chief cut her off mid-sentence. “Aura could play a critical role in our inevitable future. Let’s face it, overseas—we’re losing. And this battle yet to come will make those conflicts look like a game of Yahtzee. I’m willing to do anything to make sure we win that battle.” The Chief’s eyes burned across virtual space. “I’m willing to sacrifice anything, too. Anything or anyone.”
12
Aura sat on her bunk pretending to read the Big Book.
None of her roommates said a word to her. Granted, Harriet never spoke to anyone. But Dream and Twinge were sulking. They’d given her the lecture about the importance of loyalty to the denizens of 4A. And then she’d had the audacity to whip their butts at dodgeball.
She couldn’t stand the cold-shoulder treatment. She got enough of that in high school, before anyone but Taj knew she was a Shine. She sure didn’t need it here.
She hadn’t told them about her bizarre encounter with Perfume. Not that she was sure she should, especially if, as Twinge said, they were constantly being watched. Coutant warned her not to tell anyone. But she knew they worried about their former roommate. And if they were all in danger, shouldn’t she tell them?
She didn’t know. She was still completely rattled by the whole twisted encounter. Perfume looked so…damaged. What happened to her couldn’t be natural. And that suggested some horrifying possibilities about this so-called rehab.
Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking for an hour after they dragged Perfume away. She’d been in a constant state of fear ever since Seattle, but this was almost unbearable.
Enough already. They had to talk. She’d start with the trivial and try to move up to the more important.
She slapped the book shut. Beverly always said the best way to solve a problem was to talk it out. She’d give it a try.
“Look, Dream, I know you’re upset about the dodgeball game—”
Dream did not look up from her magazine. “Did we play dodgeball today, Twinge?”
“Not that I recall, girlfriend.” Twinge didn’t look at either of them.
“Oh come on.” She pushed herself off the bunk. “It’s not my fault I got put on the other team.”
“I got to admit, though,” Twinge continued, “my memory is not working so good. I think maybe I got a severe head injury today. I hear that does stuff to proper brain functioning.”
“Look, I’m sorry about that. I was just trying to win.”
Dream turned a slick page. “I thought all the girls who cared about winning sporting events were in LL.”
Twinge nodded. “Likewise, girl.”
Then why are you sulking so much? “Okay, fine, I’m sorry.” She walked over to their side of the room. Maybe the right-in-your-face approach would work. “Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”
Dream pursed her lips. “Like what?”
“Anything. You name it.”
Dream tapped Twinge on the shoulder. “Did you hear what I just heard?”
“I did.” She smiled. “Laundry for a month.”
“Year. No, wait. Not sure I trust her with my delicates.”
“Can she do our community service hours?”
“Possibly. If she asks nicely.” Dream looked up. “How do you feel about picking up trash on the side of the highway, Aura?”
“I think I’d rather go back to the silent treatment.”
The discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Dr. Coutant poked her head through a crack in the door. “Sorry to disturb you, ladies, but we’re going on an unscheduled off-campus outing.”
“I gather from your tone that we’re not going for ice cream,” Dream said.
“I’m afraid I have some…unfortunate news for you.”
“It’s Perfume,” Harriet said, her hands rubbing invisible shampoo into her hair.
Coutant nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you—”
Harriet cut her off. “She’s dead.”
Coutant lowered her head. “I’m afraid she is.”
A tangible silence permeated the room. She didn’t know what to say—especially in light of what she knew. She couldn’t tell the others with Coutant in the room. She probably couldn’t tell them at all—her roomies would think she kept secrets from them. “What happened to her?”
“We’re not sure.” Was she imagining it, or was Coutant staring directly at her, daring her to challenge what she said? “Perfume has been having some health issues, both mental and physical. Somehow she escaped TYL.”
“How can you escape from an island?”
Coutant ignored her. “We fear Perfume may have fallen in with some people who…did not have her best interests at heart. And now this.”
Twinge covered her face with
her hand. “They found her body?”
Coutant made a coughing noise. “Sort of.”
She pressed a hand against the wall, steadying herself. Earlier Perfume was running out of the stables begging for help, and now she was dead. How did this make any sense? There had to be more Coutant wasn’t telling them.
Coutant appeared grieved about Perfume’s passing, but earlier she’d had a very different attitude. Where did her goons take Perfume?
And why was she suddenly even more scared than she had been before?
“How did Perfume die?” she managed to ask.
Coutant shook her head, eyes closed. “Horribly.”
13
Aura felt a tugging at her arm. While the others piled out of the choppercar, Dr. Coutant pulled her to one side.
“Aura, I know you must be confused. Especially after…what you saw earlier. I wish I were at liberty to tell you everything. I’m not. But I need you to know this. I had nothing to do with Perfume’s death. Neither did anyone else at TYL. We are as much in the dark as you are.”
“Your thugs hauled her away.”
“Yes, they took her to a mainland hospital for treatment. And they left her alone for a second and she disappeared.”
“How is that possible?”
Coutant drew in her breath, then slowly released it. “Obviously, she had help. And that may be the scariest part of this whole ugly scenario.”
***
The stench smacked Aura before she even crossed the street. She’d been to Santa Monica’s 3rd Street Promenade many times before and she’d enjoyed it. Some of the joints were cheesy, but she always liked Anthropologie and Gap Goth and anything that sold vintage clothing. The coffee shops were cool, too, even though California banned hypo-caffeine snorts. She even liked the old-style amusement park out on the pier, with the rickety roller coaster and the absinthe cotton candy.
But all that was gone now. Santa Monica had suffered a seismic destruction, eruptions, fire, decimation. Not as bad as Seattle, but bad, just the same. Nine city blocks had been completely leveled, as if a Level-5 tornado had blown through.
Another city ruined. And once again, a Shine was at the center of it.
Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1) Page 6
