Trace Evidence: A Virals Short Story Collection

by Kathy Reichs

  I’d come to a stop in the center of the platform, directly before a wild-eyed Dr. Allen.

  Beneath me, wood groaned audibly.

  The floor dipped, suddenly bouncy and insubstantial.

  “Everyone off the altar!” Matching action to words, I hot-stepped for the safety of solid ground, worried with every footfall that the whole thing would implode and take me down with it. Hi, Shelton, and Ben bailed immediately as well.

  The rest of the wedding party stood frozen like statues. Even Dr. Allen.

  “I’d hop to it,” Hi advised, pointing to several drooping planks in the center of the altar. “Unless you want to be on that thing when it collapses.”

  His words did the trick. With a curse, Eric DuBois leapt from the platform. Then herd instinct took over: the others raced down like lemmings, groomsmen shouting incoherently, bridesmaids struggling for balance as they navigated the narrow steps in their heels.

  As he crossed the center of the altar, a section of flooring separated beneath Dr. Allen’s feet. He tripped and fell forward, and only Ben’s quick reflexes saved the day. He caught the elderly priest’s arm and helped him safely down to the grass.

  We formed a ragged, panting line at the foot of the altar.

  Shouts erupted in the gallery. Whitney’s head whipped side to side in a panic.

  “What’s going on?” Kit hissed, staring at the unstable platform.

  Ben shed his jacket, jogged around the altar, and knelt in the grass. Hinges squeaked as he opened some sort of hatch on its backside. Before anyone could question what he was doing, Ben wiggled through the opening and disappeared.

  “Wha . . . wha . . .” Whitney seemed unable to form a coherent thought.

  No one else tried.

  Seconds ticked past, and the crowd grew restless. Mrs. Taylor began grumbling loudly to another member of the Magnolia League, and Whitney’s face crumpled.

  Then Ben’s voice carried from beneath the woodwork. “Found the problem! Somebody get my dad!”

  “What’s the deal?” Hi yelled, as Tom Blue circled the altar and, with a sigh, got down on his knees and shimmied under the structure.

  “The pins fell out!” Ben shouted, a note of incredulity in his voice. “The central joins aren’t locked into place. We’re lucky this thing didn’t fall apart, but it’s an easy fix. Shove them back in and we’re good. Give us five minutes.”

  “Uh, thanks, Ben!” Kit called, then he turned to address his guests. “Slight mechanical issue, folks. Won’t take a second to fix. Don’t worry, we’re still getting married!”

  Chuckles from the gallery. Rueful shrugs. Kit hurried to a member of the wait staff, and, moments later, trays of champagne flutes began circulating the thirsty crowd. The delay became a cocktail break. Everyone relaxed.

  Shelton and Hi sidled over to my side, consternation plain on their faces.

  “The pins dropped out?” Hi scoffed. “Who put this together, Stevie Wonder?”

  A cold feeling swept over me. “Weird, right? And right after the flower thing inside . . .”

  “What do you mean?” Shelton froze in the process of cleaning his glasses. “You think somebody did that stuff on purpose?”

  I didn’t have a chance to answer. Ben popped up behind the altar, followed more slowly by his father. The pair wiped grass from their pant legs as they swung back around the platform, wearing matching grins.

  “Done!” Ben said proudly. “Easy, honestly. Two pins just needed to be reinserted.”

  “Everyone take your seats!” Kit waved the wedding party back to their places. I stepped up slowly, testing my weight. But the Blues were right—the footing was firm and true.

  Thank goodness we’d noticed in time. Another disaster averted.

  The cold feeling returned.

  I don’t believe in coincidence.

  In the center of the altar, Whitney smoothed her dress, breathing deeply as she attempted to regain her composure. Kit squeezed her hand, planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Everyone was back in position. The next few minutes passed in a blur. The priest spoke. Whitney spoke. Kit spoke. Rings appeared, vows were made, for some reason they poured pastel sands into a vase together.

  I now pronounce you husband and wife.

  My father and Whitney kissed to thunderous applause.

  It was done.

  Sweet sassy molassey.

  Hugs. Backslaps. The happy couple floated down the aisle.

  I have a stepmother. This is not a drill.

  I began mentally listing Whitney’s good points, starting with how much Kit loved her, and how devoted she was to him. I almost forgot to take Eric’s arm as we followed them down the wedding gauntlet.

  This wouldn’t be so bad.

  Right?

  Right?

  Ahead of me, Whitney let out a squeal of delight, hugging my father close. “We did it!”

  A sigh escaped.

  I smiled. This time it wasn’t too forced.

  No, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Things change, and this wasn’t even a bad one.

  My father’s face. Tears of pure joy, manfully contained.

  As they passed into the building, their interlocked hands flew up in celebration.

  Not so bad at all.

  Welcome to the family, Whit.

  Dinner was about to be served.

  The ballroom was decked out in linen and silk, with a square of sparkling hardwood at its heart. Gleaming silver utensils flanked fine china and crystal water goblets. Elegant hand-printed menus adorned each place setting. A string quartet was playing in one corner.

  I snagged my personalized card as I entered, though I knew which table was mine. Whitney had dubbed the seating arrangement “the hardest thing” she’d ever had to do. Apparently half her family couldn’t stand the other half, and there were literally dozens of VIPs requiring pride of place.

  The tables were round, arranged in staggered rows. Mine was up front, of course, with Aunt Tempe, Harry, and some of Whitney’s family I didn’t know. My new stepmother had ignored my not-so-subtle hints that I’d have preferred a secluded table in back with my friends. Oh well. At least Ben was sitting with me. I’d insisted on that much.

  A sweetheart table for the bride and groom sat on a dais at the very front. Whitney took her seat, beaming, though her smile faltered a bit when she noticed the replacement centerpieces. She said something to Kit, who whispered a lengthy response, eyeing his new bride nervously as he held her hand. Whatever he said seemed to mollify her. It didn’t hurt that the new flowers looked fantastic.

  Whitney glanced my way. Gave me a grateful nod. I waved back. It was nothing.

  Her smile returned as she looked down on the mass of people like a queen on her throne. No one could mistake whose day it was.

  “Your dad looks comfortable,” Ben said sarcastically. Kit was squirming in his chair under all that scrutiny. “I assume he’s the one who wanted to eat dinner perched on a pedestal like a canary, in full view of a hundred and fifty people?”

  Kit drummed his tabletop, nearly knocking over a glass in the process.

  “I bet he had no idea.” I shot Ben an amused glance. “Like it would have mattered. This isn’t his show, and everyone here knows it.”

  “At least that dais looks sturdy,” Ben joked, fiddling with his ponytail. He didn’t wear his hair back much, but I was digging it. “We don’t need another structural emergency today.”

  “I know, right?” I leaned in close, speaking fast. “I can’t believe what almost happened out there. Don’t you think it’s weird that the platform was defective?”

  “Not defective,” Ben corrected. “It wasn’t assembled properly.”

  “Even worse!” My face scrunched in disbelief. “How could the set-up crew mess that up? The p
ins are literally all that holds the altar together, right?”

  Ben hesitated. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but yeah, it’s . . . bizarre. It’s not like that structure is particularly complicated, it’s just large wooden pieces connected by metal pins at the joins. I can’t see how you’d possibly miss any when constructing it, and I can’t see how they’d just fall out, either. It’s almost like . . .”

  He trailed off, but I finished the sentence. “Like someone pulled them out.”

  Ben lowered his voice. “Who’d want to sabotage a freaking altar?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe the same person who’d kill a room full of flowers.”

  Ben sat back, eyeing me. “You think someone’s trying to ruin this wedding.” He didn’t pose it as a question. Then his face clouded. “You know, only two pins were out of position. Both were in the center, right beneath where the priest was standing. That’s why the thing didn’t crater before, when the wedding party climbed up. But if Kit and Whitney had taken one more step . . .”

  “Boom,” I finished. “Game over for Whitney’s Irish fantasy service.”

  He nodded. “We got lucky.”

  I clicked my tongue. “Unless those pins were targeted. By someone who knew exactly which ones to remove.”

  Ben gave me a skeptical look. “So that the platform would only collapse when the happy couple stepped onto it? Seems pretty far-fetched. That’d take an impressive feel for physics, Tor. Weight. Tensile strength. Load-carrying capacity. All that stuff.”

  Good point. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that the flower and altar glitches were connected somehow.

  Before I could respond, a bell chimed. Everyone took their seats.

  “Talk more later,” I whispered as Ben pulled out my chair. “I might be crazy.”

  He raised an eyebrow. We could move to this channel. And you’re never crazy.

  “It’s okay, really.” Then I sent, Too many people around for telepathy. It’d look pretty strange if we just stared at each other the whole meal.

  Now Ben’s eyebrows bounced up and down. Staring at you is fine by me.

  I snorted, startling the DuBois relations sitting close by. Plastering on a smile, I nodded to our dinner companions, then pretended to hunt for my napkin. You see?

  After drink orders were taken, Ben and I built an invisible wall around ourselves. Harry and Tempe were all the way across the table—impossible to speak with anyway—and I’d spent an entire week schmoozing various DuBois clan members. Not tonight, thanks. Our tablemates took the hint, and we were quietly left alone.

  The first course was lobster bisque. As the noise level increased, it began to feel like a private date between the two of us. “Do you speak again?” Ben asked, spooning up the last of his appetizer.

  “No, thank God.” I blew a stray hair from my mouth. “My toasting duties were completed at the rehearsal dinner. Only the best man speaks tonight.”

  Another DuBois wedding quirk, but fine by me. One heartfelt speech extolling Whitney’s virtues was all I could manage. Her tearful hug last night had left makeup stains on the shoulder of my dress.

  Salads arrived, followed by filet mignon. Ben and I grimaced as Best Man Eric stumbled through a drunken, rambling toast no one could follow. The guy barely even knew Kit. Shrimp came last, disappearing in seconds. Then coffee. The band started up, and my foot began tapping on its own. Caffeine will do that.

  Ben and I were holding hands under the table, a habit we’d recently developed that I had no intention of breaking. I was about to ask him more about Warren Wilson’s science program—we didn’t discuss his leaving much, but we’d have to face reality soon enough—when a shadow fell across the table.

  I glanced up. Ben’s grip tightened, then his hand fell away.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Chance didn’t look sorry in the slightest.

  “Then don’t.” Ben deadpanned, but with a hostile undercurrent.

  Chance dismissed Ben completely, in that way only he could manage. “May I have this dance?” He extended a hand gracefully, as if he spent most evenings patrolling swanky tuxedo parties picking up girls. Who knows? Maybe he did.

  Ben went rigid. I was about to decline when Ella clapped Ben on the shoulders. “Come on, thundercloud. These two need to chat, and I won’t sit out another song.” Caught off guard, Ben allowed himself to be tugged away from the table. A second later, he was out on the dance floor, looking miserable as Ella grooved effortlessly beside him.

  “Well then!” Chance smiled rakishly, bending closer and whispering in my ear. “There doesn’t seem to be a problem now. Shall we?”

  I nearly refused out of pique, but took a deep breath instead.

  Chance obviously wanted something. I wanted to know what.

  He isn’t my enemy. He may even be an ally.

  “Tactful as always, Claybourne.” Taking his hand and rising.

  “A gift.”

  Chance led me onto the hardwood, away from where Ben was awkwardly trying to keep up with Ella. He nodded toward the bandleader. Instantly the song changed, a slower tune filling the room.

  My eyes rolled. “Oh, very nice.”

  Chance wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in. “Easier to talk this way.”

  We moved in rhythm, our heads nearly touching. I wasn’t able to see his eyes, but his voice crawled straight into my ear. “How have things been, Tory?”

  “Fine. Wonderful, actually.”

  A pause, then, “No . . . external complications?”

  I tensed, but responded quickly. “Nope. None.”

  He pulled back to look at me, his tone low and insistent. “Are you certain? No rooftop watchers? No suspicious visitors to your little island? Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing, Chance. They’re gone.” I swallowed. “I hope.”

  Chance nodded, seemed to relax a bit. We resumed our dance. “Same. Claybourne Manor has been positively . . . tame since you four stopped happening by.”

  I snorted. “If by ‘tame’ you mean nobody’s had to jump off the roof, then I’ll take it.”

  He chuckled, spinning me in time with the music. “I’ve had several less-than-cordial discussions with my security team about that, believe me.”

  We fell silent for a moment. I tried to spot Ben, but couldn’t pick him out of the mass of swaying bodies. I knew more was coming. Chance already knew that our pursuers had called off the chase. Whatever he really wanted to discuss, we hadn’t gotten there yet.

  “And you?” he asked suddenly.

  “Me what?”

  “Nothing going on . . . inside?”

  I felt a jolt. Tried to cover it. “You know what happened, Chance. You were there.”

  He didn’t respond at first, and we took another turn around the crowded floor. But I was beginning to sweat. Did he suspect my powers weren’t actually gone? Then I went cold. Was he experiencing the same thing?

  I decided to go on the offensive. “And you?”

  He cocked his head slightly. “What about me?”

  “Any lingering . . . feelings?”

  Chance watched me for several heartbeats. I couldn’t get a read on him. Then, “Not a ripple. It seems my work was entirely successful. Same goes for the rest of the red-eyed pack, I looked into it. None of the old magic remains. Being Viral has been snuffed out entirely.”

  “Good.” I turned away. “Same here.”

  Chance stopped dancing. “Are you sure, Tory? Have you really tried?”

  I glanced around, voice dropping to a hiss. “Of course I did. It’s gone, Chance. Done.”

  He watched me intently, for what seemed like an eternity. Then he sighed, drawing me in again. “I suppose it’s for the best.”

  “You think?” I whispered sarcastically. “Losing our powers was the only thing that saved our li
ves! We’d be locked in cages otherwise.”

  Chance nodded unhappily. “I know, I know! But I can’t help missing it, and I was Viral for a much shorter time than you. Surely you have regrets?”

  Regrets? How could I? I’d recently become something else. Something more.

  But I’m not telling you that.

  “There’s no point looking back,” I said curtly. “Done is done.”

  I could tell Chance didn’t share my opinion. To keep him from prying further, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “You and Ella seem to be getting along.”

  A wicked smile creased his lips. “Jealous? Ouch!”

  I removed my heel from his foot. “Oops! Sorry.”

  He breathed a throaty chuckle. “Guess I deserved that.”

  “And more.”

  “So how is Benjamin?” Chance asked dryly. “Still rooting around in creeks?”

  “He’s been accepted into a prestigious environmental science program,” I responded primly. “One of the best in the country. At a college. Perhaps you’ve heard of such places?”

  Chance sniffed. “They seem cute, but I have a company to run.”

  I gave him my most level look. “You don’t work there anymore, Chance. It was all over the news. The Board kicked you out after discovering those bills you ran up in Special Projects.”

  His expression soured. “Curing us was one of those expensive projects, thank you very much.” Then he snorted derisively. “Whatever. I still own the stupid place. Let those suits handle the boring daily details.”

  We swung another turn. This was a long freaking song.

  “Why don’t you go to college?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You’re too smart for your own good, and I’m sure you could buy your way in to wherever you felt like going.”

  Chance shrugged. “Maybe I will.” The rakish grin returned. “Or I could cut out the middleman, and simply buy a university. Give myself all sorts of degrees. You might be onto something, Brennan.”

  I was about to scold him when I spotted Ben, still manfully escorting Ella in circles, his head swiveling as he scanned the crowd. He located me just as the music finally ended. I tried to disengage, but Chance led on as another slow song began to play. Ben glowered, the old frown sliding into place as Ella gathered him up again.