[Phoebe Pope 01.0] The Year of Four

by Nya Jade

  Gabe sighed heavily. “My initial instinct was to seek help. But I got a warning note that my every move was being watched, that if I alerted the officials, my daughter would be killed.” He brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyebrows. “I let my fear for her life trump seeking help.”

  “So what are they going to do to you?” Phoebe asked, calmly nodding toward the Blackcoats.

  Gabe shrugged. “Nothing they do will torture me more than knowing my daughter was with those monsters.”

  A Blackcoat gestured at Gabe, indicating that his time was up.

  When Gabe made to rise, Phoebe said suddenly, “But now you’re going to sit in jail for the rest of your life.”

  “Yes,” Gabe said, smiling weakly. “But my daughter is alive to visit me. I’m an old man, Phoebe. What do I have to live for if I don’t have her?” Looking up at Gabe’s face, reading the peace in his eyes, Phoebe felt she understood his motivation. In fact, she didn’t think anyone could have witnessed his recent display of desperate love for his daughter without feeling empathy. But it didn’t mean that she had to forgive him.

  THIRTY- ONE

  “And this torture went on for how long?” Afua asked the boy who sat staring at his hands; obvious curiosity was etched on Afua’s face as she sat across from the real Scott Roland in an armchair in Professor Yori’s office.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice stiff. “Maybe hours.”

  Phoebe watched from her seat on the sofa, feeling a double pang of both sympathy and curiosity. It had been a shock to meet the real Scott Roland, a Hypha whose electric blue eyes held both intense anger and profound relief. His dark hair was closely cropped instead of wildly disheveled. But the build—tall and athletic—was eerily the same. And then there was the soccer jersey. . . . What he’d been through, all this time a prisoner, Phoebe did not want to know. But here she was, listening to the real Scott’s debriefing at Afua’s request. The Blackcoat had explained that listening to Scott’s debriefing could help make better sense of her experience in the crèche.

  “What kind of things did they want to know?” Afua asked, watching him closely.

  “Everything about my life. My likes and dislikes. My passions and future ambitions.” Scott growled. “He wrote everything down.”

  “The impostor?” Afua asked, clarifying.

  “Yes.” Scott clenched his jaw. “I didn’t think he could pull it off. But he knew everything about Shaper history and customs. He knew everything about my family. That’s how he . . .” Scott’s voice trailed off as he clenched his hands into fists.

  Afua prompted him, gently. “That’s how he what?”

  “That’s how he could threaten their safety. They knew where my parents were.”

  “And your parents had no clue of your abduction?” This was Professor Yori speaking.

  “He sent them weekly emails from my account. My parents,”—Scott looked around at those gathered—“know that I can get absorbed in camp so to hear from me at all is a big deal.”

  “Camp?” Phoebe spoke louder than she’d meant to. Scott met her gaze briefly, his blue eyes appraising. He looked away when Afua explained, “Cadet Roland was scheduled to be on campus two weeks before the start of classes to take part in a soccer camp Green Lane holds for its varsity players.”

  “Only I didn’t get to participate,” he said bitterly. “I got snagged at the airport.”

  “Oh,” Phoebe said, feeling bad for having opened her mouth.

  “I have a question.” Scott sat forward in his seat. “How did he physically pass as me??”

  The headmaster cleared his throat and spoke. “All of your admission documents came with the impostor’s photo.”

  “We’re in the process of investigating how that happened.” Scott didn’t hear Afua’s words. His face had taken on a color of fury that Phoebe recognized. He felt violated.

  After a few more questions, Scott was dismissed. Phoebe watched him go, finding it strange that she knew a lot about a boy she didn’t know.

  “Did the impostor tell you how he was able to move among us undetected?” Afua asked, pacing in front of Phoebe’s sofa. It was Phoebe’s turn for a debriefing.

  “He said he could mentally dampen the heat of his physical energy to feel like the warmth of a Shaper, so that we would sense him as one of our own,” Phoebe said, guiltily relaying what she’d actually learned from Colten.

  “And he told you that he was the only born Vigo?”

  “Yes,” Phoebe lied. Even though her hearts thundered against her chest, Phoebe met Afua’s gaze with an equally intense one of her own.

  Within half an hour Phoebe had told them everything about her time in the crèche: the artificial Utaviium, the dead scientists, Scott’s potential promotion to Alpha for his services, and a full description of Alexori—something that had previously been unknown. And when Afua had asked about the dead guard upstairs, Phoebe had held her breath while saying tersely, “The impostor killed him for his insubordination.”

  Afua continued. “Did the impostor mention how they had acquired Professor Jones?”

  “No.” Phoebe had learned in the van ride that Professor Jones didn’t know who had kidnapped her; like Phoebe, she had been hit from behind at night. The only reason she felt certain that it hadn’t been a Vigo was that Jones hadn’t felt the warning burn.

  There was a moment’s silence, and then Yelena, who had been quietly leaning against a bookcase with Deborah-Anna at her side, addressed Professor Yori. “Was there any sign of distress in Professor Jones’s note? Anything that sounded unlike her?”

  “No,” Professor Yori said. “And when I mentioned her leave of absence to Gabe, he never let on that he had a problem. I didn’t pursue it. To tell the truth,” the headmaster raised his hands in a helpless gesture, “at that time, I was preoccupied with how to fill the position, given the short notice. But I caught a break when Montclaire called me for old time’s sake. She told me she’d retired, and when I brought up my situation, she offered to sub until Professor Jones got back.”

  Phoebe stopped staring at her hands. She’d heard a distinct break in the headmaster’s voice when he’d said “old time’s sake.” She was unable to stop the words from leaving her mouth. “You already knew Montclaire?”

  Professor Yori looked past Phoebe, sweat beading on his bald head. “We were friends—co-agents in SIS before she was tapped to become a Blackcoat.”

  Again, Phoebe heard the headmaster’s voice break. It had wavered when he’d said “friends.” Quickly lowering her mental guard for just a moment, Phoebe sensed an emotion from him that made her eyes widen. It was faint, but it was there. Love. In the moment that Phoebe registered that feeling and flashed her eyes to meet the headmaster’s, his words came flooding back to her: I know for a fact that Montclaire’s loyalty is immutable. It transcends work, love . . . and unless you can give me proof stronger than that. . . .

  “—what you are saying is that Montclaire called you the same day you received Professor Jones’ note informing you of her absence.” Afua’s words brought Phoebe back from the memory.

  “Is there a problem?” The headmaster’s eyes flicked to Phoebe when he spoke.

  Afua brought a finger to her lips. She then pointed between Deborah-Anna and the door. Deborah-Anna nodded, quickly sweeping out of the room. Both Phoebe and Professor Yori stared in puzzlement as Afua and Yelena began to methodically lift objects in the office and examine them.

  Three minutes later, Deborah-Anna returned, her face fixed in a frown. “She’s gone,” she said.

  “What?” Professor Yori and Afua said in unison.

  “Everything in her office has been cleared out,” Deborah-Anna added.

  Phoebe could tell that Afua was becoming increasingly incensed. “Does everything in your office belong to you?” she demanded, her eyes boring into Professor Yori.

  “Yes—why wouldn’t it?”

  “No recent deliveries? Gifts?”


  “Why?” his eyes narrowed slightly before taking on a slightly hurt and distinctly puzzled expression.

  Yelena said, “Have you forgotten Montclaire’s expertise was in collecting intel? Think.”

  Professor Yori paled, his eyes darting to the tall white orchid on his book shelf. Deborah-Anna swept over to it at once, placing her palms inside the pot. Phoebe caught her breath as the plant slowly wilted and then disintegrated, leaving in its place two hair-strand-thin wires.

  “I don’t believe it,” Deborah-Anna said, openly shocked for the first time since Phoebe had met her. She stepped back from the desk, her expression awe-filled.

  “What is that?” Professor Yori sputtered.

  “It’s a PLANT,” Deborah-Anna said softly.

  “Of course, it was a plant.” Professor Yori sounded insulted.

  “P.L.A.N.T.,” Deborah-Anna said shaking her head, “stands for Plant Laced Acoustic Nano Technology.” She leaned in, giving the wires a closer look, studying them. “It’s a listening device grown from seeds that are engineered to develop with the technology inside. I’ve only seen seedling prototypes,” she added. “Never anything this big. . . . Montclaire launched this program before her retirement.”

  Afua glared at the headmaster who kneaded the back of his neck, trying to relieve tension. “When did Montclaire give you the plant?” she asked.

  “She brought it on her first day here. It was a thank you gift to me for giving her something to do while she sorted out her next steps after retirement.”

  Afua was suddenly agitated. “She was aware of our every move and—”

  Phoebe, who had been quietly watching the exchange, blurted. “Why did Montclaire retire? She’s not much older than you three. Please. At least tell me that much.”

  The Blackcoats exchanged glances and then Yelena began, “Earlier this year, the Royal Court ordered a classified mission. Apparently, Montclaire advised against it claiming that according to her intel, it would be too dangerous, but she was ignored by the Court.

  “The mission went forward and Montclaire lost several members of her unit. When she returned to the Court, Montclaire stormed into a royal meeting and with a few choice words expressed what she thought of them. Shortly after receiving her remembrance tattoos she was asked to take an early retirement.”

  “She told me she left on her own. . . .” Professor Yori gazed blankly at the wires shooting from the clay pot and then added, “Why didn’t any of you say something to me?”

  “Our main focus has been this investigation. As far as we were concerned, Montclaire had found a new vocation. And because of our awareness of your history with her, we didn’t think it strange that she would end up here.”

  Professor Yori looked up, surprised. “You knew?”

  “We made it our business to run a background check on you,” Yelena said. “It’s completely standard.”

  “Why? My record speaks for itself.”

  “So does Montclaire’s,” Afua said.

  Professor Yori said nothing, as Afua’s words sank in. Fingering the Privaque on his lapel he said, “I knew Montclaire years before she was selected for the Royal Security Corps. My trusting her was based on what I knew then. Had I been aware,”—his eyes flicked to Phoebe’s—“well, had I been aware. . . . Do you actually think she could she have been behind this whole thing?” his eyes were incredulous and Phoebe could feel guilt emanating from him even with her mental guard firmly in place.

  Afua removed the plant from the shelf and bent the wires. “At this juncture, we can only speculate what role she played. Cadet Pope,” she said, turning her attention to Phoebe. “Unless there is anything else, you are free to go.”

  Phoebe paused on her way to the door. Another thing Colten had mentioned flashed into her mind.

  “What is it?” Afua said, when Phoebe turned on the spot and looked around at her, hesitation writ all over her.

  “The Anzaini,” Phoebe said.

  Afua narrowed her dark eyes. “What about them?”

  “Alexori was following their orders. To capture us.” She bowed her head.

  Everyone in the room stilled. Yelena and Deborah-Anna looked at each other while the headmaster colored and loosened the tie around his neck.

  “Are you sure?” Afua asked, a little more forceful than usual. “It’s very important that you are.”

  Phoebe swallowed. “Yes.”

  “And Alexori told you this?” Afua said, expectantly.

  Phoebe nodded. Colten had said it. Alexori had alluded to it. Either way, it was the truth.

  “Thank you,” Afua said. Phoebe left the headmaster’s office wondering about the strange look of satisfaction that had subtly spread across the Blackcoat’s face.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “So Vampire Weekend, huh?” Colten said, running his fingertips through Phoebe’s white streak. “That’s another new thing I’ve learned about you.” It was evening, and Phoebe was comfortably curled up in Colten’s arms on the sofa in her room. The privacy they enjoyed came courtesy of Cyn who had left half an hour ago after grabbing a few dresses from her closet and mumbling something about having a date. As Colten continued to caress Phoebe’s head, she knew he was only trying to distract her from the questions she’d just asked him. She’d give him some more time.

  “Yes, I’m a fan,” Phoebe said, gazing adoringly at her wall. “You object?”

  “No.” Colten made an effort not to grin. “I can get behind your taste in music.”

  “You better!” Phoebe said, play-slugging Colten in the chest. She couldn’t help the shiver that came with each of Colten’s caresses.

  “I even dig some of Adele’s stuff,” he said, waving a hand at the singer’s poster.

  “Oh, God,” Phoebe said, a thought coming to her mind. “Please don’t tell me she’s Vigo.” She raised her head to get a better look at Colten’s reaction.

  “She’s not, but I can’t vouch for Vampire Weekend.” Phoebe paled and Colten, laughing, pulled her back down to him. “I kid. I kid. Remember it’s mostly behind the scenes execs.” Colten leaned in for a kiss and Phoebe’s hearts fluttered. She welcomed it like the soft feel of a wonderfully worn-in sweater. She twisted her fingers in his hair as she enjoyed the warmth of his lips pressed against hers. Every nerve in her body sizzled, as they brought their bodies closer together and their kisses grew more desperate and intense. The heat from Colten’s chest permeated her clothes warming her down to her toes.

  “Look,” Colten said, pulling away and sighing heavily. “I know you’re waiting for answers but you’re not going to like one of them.”

  “There are a lot of things I haven’t liked about this whole thing,” Phoebe said, fingering the Privaque she’d clipped to her sweater.

  A moment of serious silence followed.

  “I’ve never done it before—split forms,” Colten said, finally. “I don’t even know how it happened. I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

  “You were weak,” Phoebe said. “Maybe that’s all you could manage to morph.”

  Colten shook his head. “I’ve been around weak Vigos. It’s not something that’s normally possible. Ever possible.” Then frowning, “Guess there’s stuff I’m still learning about my Vigo-human condition.”

  “And my other question?” Phoebe said, stopping Colten before he started kissing her ear.

  Colten clenched his fist. “You have to understand, I was desperate. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. . . .”

  Phoebe looked into his darkened eyes and braced herself.

  “When I heard the Blackcoats coming, I knew I only had minutes before they searched the mansion,” Colten said apologetically. “The balcony had a fire escape. I barely made it down. I kept to the shadows and found my way to the road. I was delirious. . . . There was a woman walking a dog and . . . I couldn’t stop myself. I needed the mito.”

  Colten’s words hung in the air for a moment before Phoebe could say, “Did you—?”
r />   “I didn’t kill her,” Colten said at once. “I took what I needed. But I won’t lie, Phoebe. I needed a lot.”

  Phoebe let out a breath. “And she’s okay?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I called an ambulance for her. Look—”

  Phoebe brought a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “You were desperate,” she said. “End of topic. Now tell me how you found us.”

  “You were right about the crèches,” Colten said. “I narrowed my search to the only two that had gone up within the last year. I went to the wrong one first . . .” Phoebe felt his body tense beneath her. “If I hadn’t reached you in time to stop . . .” his voice broke and he nuzzled his face in her hair for a moment. Phoebe felt tiny electric shocks all over her body.

  “But you did,” she said in a whisper and then louder, “How did you know about the fake Scott?”

  “At the first crèche, the photos of the recent Mark Day graduates were up.”

  “And you saw Scott,” Phoebe said, guessing. Colten nodded, his face lost in a dark thought. “Were you shocked to learn there was another Vigo like you?”

  Colten didn’t answer her question. Instead he slid his hand between her hairline and the back of her neck and carefully traced her scar with his thumb. Phoebe was too distracted by his silence and his unexplained mood change to register what he was doing.

  “Tell me what you did to me at the crèche,” Colten said cautiously, after a while, yanking Phoebe out of her daze.

  She looked into his brilliant green eyes, carefully considering what it meant to answer this question, to trust someone other than herself with an ability that she was still growing into, still understanding. Colten’s hands had slid underneath her shirt now, and he traced the pattern of the scar along her stomach with an almost unbearable tenderness. She admitted to herself that she felt safe in a way she never had before. And she was allowing herself to love and feel love in a way she’d never felt she had the freedom to explore before either. The intensity of it was all so strange for Phoebe, but knowing that she knew Colten’s secret, she decided she could tell him hers. Just as she was about to respond, another question flashed across her thoughts.