Reid held up his hands as if it was a stick-up. “Don’t shoot, Officer Blair. Whitney’s fine. As a peace offering I’ll tell you about Vlad Dune, although he is not the sort of guy you will be itching to meet. He is a heavy-set African man with albinism and Carson Noir’s right-hand man. Carson Noir, as you may or may not know, is the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and the short version of her résumé is that she’s a maniacal megalomaniac.”
Dr. West grimaced as Reid said her name and he acidly said, “And don’t forget her most charming attribute, Reid. Carson plans to use pure energy as the new fuel source to make America the undisputed world superpower, even if it means killing an entire segment of the population to do it.”
“Noir’s what my mother would call an evil beastie,” Diana added, and Reid’s eyes acknowledged the familiar reference to his grandmother. His grandparents lived in South Carolina on an island near Charleston. Reid told me he hoped I would have the chance to meet them. Diana continued, “Lies and deception are her specialty and at her core is the basest kind of humanity. We must neutralize her before she pushes us into another dark age.”
“Yes, Dr. West gave us the rundown on her psychological profile and her intentions to rehabilitate the Tule Lake facility into a concentration camp if she scrounges up an ounce of pure energy to support her claims. So we have a simple goal—keep pure energy out of her hands,” Patrick said. “Although if she is the problem, I can’t help but wonder why not just take her out?”
Diana nodded and folded her hands neatly together as if she was striving for patience. “First, because those of us who work for Sunrise have a code of ethics that we adhere to and believe in. Our goals must be achieved within this code or they have not been met. Second, removing the Noir power vacuum leaves a void that might not be as easy to manage. Dr. West knows Noir and at least can anticipate how she thinks. Regardless of who is in charge, the goal is the same: to remove pure energy from the general population. That’s why we are focused on corralling Noir and retrieving the spear. Vlad has offered his help with our African expedition in exchange for protection from Carson. He has provided all the latest intelligence and geographic mapping from the CIA but, more importantly, he has told us his village’s version of the killer lake myth. The killer lake supposedly contains the spirits of Nommo and her two sisters. They were trapped on Earth in the form of a mirrored reflection and are waiting to be freed so they can go back to Sirius. The key to their release is that time will bring the truth to light.”
Dr. West caught my eye to make sure I heard what Diana said. The saying was not one I was likely to forget, as I had been mumbling it before I passed out after first reading it on the Wallace family sundial on their lawn.
Patrick leaned into the table and asked, “What’s the line from that Shakespearean play we are reading for Mrs. Johnson? ‘Double, double. Toil and Trouble’? Sounds like a perfect motto for this trip.” He pretended the table was a giant caldron and waved his hands over it.
Yes, I silently agreed as I recognized the famous line from the witches of Macbeth. In the play, the witches were in a dark cave in Scotland and it made me think of Saint Margaret. Her husband, Malcolm III, killed Macbeth and took the throne, and Saint Margaret’s grandchildren were the Stewart line of ruling kings of Great Britain. It seemed beyond coincidence that these people were also Reid’s ancestors.
“And Reid, the substance in this lake probably does not contain a property you can harness.” Diana extended one of her long, bare fingers in Reid’s direction to make sure he got the point. Reid nodded and exhaled.
“Nice, Aquaman. No wonder the SEALs scouted you,” I muttered. Diana had unintentionally exposed to me a key reason Reid was such an exceptional swimmer—as an empath he could use the energy in the water. If he could use the energy as a motor and hold his breath for long stretches of time he was practically a merman. It was becoming clear why Diana wanted to train Reid as a young boy. He was a powerful empath in his own right and I was beginning to suspect he had control over areas she did not.
“We leave for Africa in a week. This, like everything, will depend on perfect timing. Fortunately, a Sirius star orbit will pass near Earth over the Columbus Day weekend. It will buy us extra time but keep in mind we do not have any time to waste,” Dr. West said. He scowled at the mention of time because it reminded him they were late for dinner. He gave Diana a hard stare.
“All right. We are going. Your cover locations have been managed—Blair, you will be invited on a mountain retreat with Whitney and her father; Patrick, you will be going to Annapolis with Helga and Reid. That will explain why you will all miss your social events over the upcoming weekend. Reid, you took care of my request, correct?” Diana asked as she stood up. Her jeans were a faded sky blue and her leather belt and cowboy boots were expensive, soft leather. Reid nodded but did not look like he wanted to discuss her request further.
Dr. West was relieved Diana was ready to go. He got up and touched my shoulder. Our eyes met and telepathically he told me he would see me soon.
“I think we should get back to the party. We need to look as normal as possible and the four of us disappearing into a brand new Range Rover and not coming back doesn’t fit the bill. We need to make more of an appearance if we aren’t going to be around next weekend,” Blair rationalized after Dr. West and Diana disappeared. It was not a hard sell.
“Yeah, I need to pick up my truck anyway. My dad said that my beat-up wheels and after-school job are building my character. He claims my character is priceless. Unfortunately, I have checked the mall and I hate it when he is right,” Patrick complained.
“You are not the car you drive. Better to realize that sooner than later,” Blair said as she jumped onto the dock. “Gramercy High School is certainly not the norm.”
As I climbed off the boat, I noticed the cleat hitch. It was an old habit my grandfather taught me because if the line is not secured correctly, it can work itself loose. This line did not have the proper figure-eight loop and Reid noticed it as well. He competently readjusted it.
“I told you our security has changed,” he said as he passed the loose end of the line, called the bitter end, under itself to tighten it against any strain. “There is nothing here they could access but they are checking into everything that has to do with you. That’s why I got the car upgrade and you have a new chauffeur. And it has nothing to do with the material excessiveness of our high school.”
“Do you mean you think you are driving me everywhere? I don’t think so,” I contradicted as I walked off the dock. Reid caught up to me in one stride. He hooked my arm and turned me toward him. My eyes blazed a loud and clear message that I was trained to survive and I could take care of myself. His brown eyes slightly softened my rigid sense of independence but I did not want Reid to think he needed to take care of me.
“Calm down. It won’t always be necessary.” He nonchalantly pressed the button on the keychain and opened the car for Patrick and Blair to get in. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. The warmth of his skin never ceased to amaze me. “You could at least try to act like it wouldn’t be so terrible to spend more time with me. I even put some of your CDs in the car…or you could unwrap Sean’s present and play it.” He gave me a mischievous smile as he triumphantly held up the cassette tape in creased and battered Christmas paper Sean had given me for my birthday. I caught myself from swiping it out of his hand as my brain deleted my impulse.
“You know what songs are on that tape because you know it is from Sean,” I sharply accused. He had used his empath ability to read it.
“Mercy!” he squeaked as he ran around the car and jumped into it. He had not counted on the fact that his prank might be figured out before he pulled it off. Blair and Patrick looked on from the backseat with interest as we got in and buckled our seatbelts. Before I could admonish Reid and defend Sean he scrambled for backup. “Sean made Whitney a mixed tape for her birthday. Any guesses as to what is on it?” Reid a
sked to the backseat.
“‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’?” Blair suggested and laughed. No doubt she was remembering how she tortured Reid with the song.
“Yeah. Typical ‘I can’t live without you’ heavy metal love songs with some thundering drum solos and blazing electric guitar rifts?” Patrick guessed as he mimicked a rock star in the backseat. He used his thumb for a microphone and sang in an off-key falsetto, “Whiiitney! Caaaall meee.”
In spite of my annoyance, a laugh escaped and Blair was hysterical as Patrick uncontrollably shook his head and continued to say my name in a ridiculously high pitch.
“See, Whit? It doesn’t take an empath to know what kind of music Sean would put on a mixed tape for you. I can vouch for the fact that Patrick is absolutely correct. Except some songs are a little more distastefully explicit.” Reid had a sour look on his face. He was remembering something he would like to forget and I realized it was Sean’s emotions. I had no sympathy for Reid. He invaded my privacy on purpose and I was not pleased.
He put his arm behind my seat as he reversed the car and glanced at me for a second while he said, “The funny thing about that tape for YOUR birthday is that it is all about what HE wants. If I made you a mixed tape, I would at least make it full of music YOU liked or that had memories we shared together.”
Reid crossed into my mind and my anger abated. Reid gave me a gift that transcended time—moments to share and remember. I thought about the perfect moment in the boat cabin when he dazzled me with his gift and I gave him one in return by letting him feel how much I did not want him to leave for school that day.
He looked at me and said in earnest, “The tape was on the front seat of your car. I grabbed it when I was there to pull out some of your CDs. It’s fair to say I think I am a MUCH better DJ.” Reid pulled out a disk and fed it into the CD player. The lilting song “Africa” by Toto filled the car and I smiled.
“Well played, Mr. Wallace,” I said and pretended to tip my hat. I would take one moment of cleverness over hours of sappy love songs. “Here’s to the present.”
Reid grinned. “I’m a man of my word and I know what I promised. It will always try to make the most of our moments.”
“I love this song!” yelled Blair from the backseat. “This can be our trip theme song!”
I laughed that Blair had found another trip accessory and relaxed as Reid’s music choice washed over me. It wasn’t hard to adjust to the comfort of the Range Rover as we sped down the dark parkway.
“Don’t worry about Sean. He’s harmless.” I used his favorite adjective to describe Karen’s antics on purpose. I needed to resolve that nagging concern but was waiting for better timing. Acting like a jealous shrew was not a memory of me I ever wanted in Reid’s mind.
His face formed a pensive expression in the glow of the dashboard and he was serious as he answered me. “Someone desperate is never harmless. I cannot make the mistake of underestimating him. And I won’t.”
“Good advice,” I agreed, and I planned to do the same myself.
The car smoothly glided between the packed cars that lined both sides of the street. Plastic Zeta cups were scattered all over the lawn and the party had tripled in size since we had left. People from other high schools were here as well and the neighbors would call the police soon if they were not already on their way. Instinctively, I scanned for exits aside from the front door.
“Back to reality. Let’s go in and get some visibility. Whit—I’m talking about maximum exposure. Not your usual ducking in and out routine,” Blair dictated from the backseat. She had on the overhead light and was checking her lipstick in her compact.
“Roger that.” I gave her a thumbs up. “Look for me dancing on top of the tiki bar.”
“Sounds good,” Blair agreed. I rolled my eyes. Of course, she genuinely thought it was a good idea. It would probably make the recap highlights that would circulate through school on Monday.
“Not,” Reid quietly nixed as we went into the throng of people and his hand tightened on mine. “Exposure and an easy target is a fine line.”
“You could climb up there with me,” I teased. There were so many people I could not hear his reply. I breezed into his mind and saw he was reviewing the doors and windows. He was doing a thorough job of it and showed me he had learned the special ops protocol of an entrance and exit check.
It was the same thing I had done as we pulled up to the house. Mr. Parks claimed it was a key component to my survival instinct. He thought being an escape artist was a unique specialty and while I would not describe myself as Houdini, it was true that I always knew my exit.
A wet body slamming into our legs was unexpected but I should have known it would be Karen Eubanks. Zeta pledges were being sent down an elaborate Slip-N-Slide and Karen had come down it completely out of control. She had rolled off course at a turn and careened into Reid and me. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw her tank top was almost transparent. I felt like I was suffocating standing there. My flight response took over and I had to escape.
I vanished into the crowd and bodies pushed past me as I tunneled my vision to get to the deck. As I walked up the wooden steps, I sighed with relief that there was too much distance between Karen and myself for her to antagonize me. Her actions were such that she left me little choice but to consider her my enemy. The Art of War instructed to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. An exit strategy would not do and I needed to come up with a better defense.
“There you are!” Sean’s voice boomed. “I’ve been carrying your drinks around and looking for you and Blair forever, Whitney.” Sean gave me a lopsided smile as he lumbered toward me. I hoped he didn’t give me another bear hug because he looked unstable. I had forgotten Blair had sent him on an errand for us.
“Sorry, Sean. It was my fault. We were drafted for beach volleyball. Didn’t you see us out there?” Blair asked from behind me. Thank goodness, I thought at the sound of her voice. I looked quizzically at Blair. Beach volleyball? I silently asked.
She shrugged. The party was big enough that anything was believable.
“What’s up, Sean?” Patrick interrupted. Sean tried to hand me the drink but Patrick took it. “Perfect. I’m parched! Thanks, bro.”
“Gotta run, Sean. Whitney and I are in the hula contest. I promised Eileen and it’s about to start.” Blair clamped down on my wrist and dragged me rapidly toward the house.
“Great save. Thanks,” I said as I skipped along beside her to keep up. “How did you come up with a hula contest? That’s creative.”
“I didn’t. We are really in it. I told you, we are going for maximum exposure. We don’t do anything halfway, Whitney. You know that.”
“But I don’t hula!” I felt my hands start to sweat. I was having flashbacks of when Blair dragged me onto the Rebel Yell roller coaster at a local amusement park.
“You are so bizarre. Nuclear reactors are no problem but a hula contest makes you panic? Get a grip, Whit. How bad can it be?”
“Um, pretty bad,” I mumbled. I was not a good dancer. It was hard for me. I could pick up on rhythm but at the expense of coordination. I often seemed to move ahead of the sound and in a line dance that meant disaster. There was only one time I had fun dancing and that was with Reid.
All the girls were lining up on the deck. Ruth and Shannon were there and motioned to me to come over to them. They were standing in the back and I tried to break free of Blair and move toward them.
“Here’s a spot for us. Right in front.” Blair was firm. I owed her one for the Sean rescue so I shrugged at Ruth and Shannon that I had to keep Blair company. “Oh look, there’s Reid.” Blair waved to him. It was hard for me to swallow. The deck had become a stage and I could feel Reid angrily staring at me. I had compromised my security by leaving him and now I was a highly visible target. My situational awareness had gone out the window when Karen appeared. That’s where I needed to get a grip, I chided myself.
I br
iefly hoped Reid might pull me from the line under the guise he needed to talk to me. I shot him a pleading glance. He understood immediately what I was asking but didn’t move. It was his payback. I nervously bit my lip as a Hawaiian girl with long dark hair and a complete Polynesian ensemble walked out and grabbed a wireless microphone. There was no escape.
Amid the hoots from the crowd, she called out instructions of how to move our hips and spin around but I was so flustered I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. Blair effortlessly threw herself into the movements and it took her only a moment to see what was wrong. “Slow down,” Blair gritted between her teeth as I bumped into everyone around me.
The partner to my other side thought I was bumping into her on purpose and started to bump me back. She shot a pointed finger up like a number one sign and brought it horizontally across her chest. Then our line began doing independent and free-form disco moves and we rapidly deteriorated into a horrific hula that was dismissed from the competition.
Relieved, I scampered off the stage and found Reid waiting at the bottom of the deck stairs. He looked over my head and told Blair, “Good work. Whitney exacting her revenge on the macadamia nut by brutalizing the Hawaiian hula will be hard for anyone here tonight to forget. I know I won’t. Come on, we need to go.” Reid wordlessly extended his hand to me and I took it. “Is it a safe bet that you didn’t go to cotillion?” Reid asked with a smile. He was referring to the Junior Assembly Cotillion where you were taught not only traditional dancing but etiquette and manners as well. It was the debutant route that began in sixth grade.
“No. I was hanging out at the high school football games instead,” I said as we walked toward the car. At the time, I was relieved not to be spending my nights dressed up like a doll and wearing a corsage to the Holly Ball. Now, I was starting to see it had actual value and would have relieved some of my awkwardness.
The Light Bringer's Way Page 6
