The Astral Traveler's Daughter

by K. C. Archer

  “You did?” Jillian trilled, bouncing on the bed. She gave a puzzled frown. “Why? I’ve been here.”

  Teddy turned to Pyro. “Where’d you get tequila?”

  “One of the security guards owed me a favor. So he didn’t check my bag on the way up from the Cantina.” Pyro poured Teddy a shot. She downed it, then brought up her glass for another. Screw the rules. She was pissed, she was tired, and since she’d skipped dinner looking for her ungrateful friend, who hadn’t even had the courtesy to come back to their room after the meeting and tell her what had happened, she was hungry. Might as well add irritated as hell to the list while she was at it.

  “Well?” Teddy said. “What happened with Boyd?”

  “Probation,” Jillian said, as if it were a death sentence. “For three whole months. I’m basically under house arrest for the rest of the semester. I can’t leave the island. And that means I can’t see Eli.”

  Teddy’s mood immediately brightened. For maybe the first time in history, Teddy Cannon actually agreed with Rosemary Boyd. It looked like her roommate was about to undergo a mandatory little Eli Nevin detox. A punishment worthy of a celebration.

  Jillian sank down on the mattress. “Boyd wanted to kick me out of school, but Clint wouldn’t let her. He said that since the security guard showed up before we released the animals, there was no actual crime committed—well, except for B and E.” She paused, giggled. “Nick kept calling it B and E. Do you know what that stands for, Pyro?”

  “Breaking and entering.”

  “Right! Not bacon and eggs. Or business and economics. Breaking and entering. That’s what Eli and I did. Along with probation, I have to write a letter saying I understand the seriousness of my actions.”

  So Clint had stood up for Jillian. Teddy made a mental note to thank him in their next session. She watched as Jillian flopped back on her pillow, arms splayed. “The room is so dizzy right now.” She gave two heavy blinks and closed her eyes. A minute later, she was snoring.

  Teddy grabbed the bottle and moved across the room. She settled on the floor, letting Dara sprawl on her bed while Pyro slid into her chair and propped his feet on her desk.

  “You may joke that I’m a conspiracy theorist, but what I can’t figure out,” Dara said, “is what all this has to do with Whitfield Institute.”

  Teddy looked at her. “Meaning?”

  “Why would Boyd order an investigation before they even knew students were involved? They must’ve just put it together that Jillian broke in. Otherwise Clint would have called her into his office much earlier.”

  Teddy shrugged. “FBI protocol?”

  “From Boyd? She’s military. It’s not a government lab. Or is it?” Dara said.

  “Not sure. I just know that it was a seriously reckless move on Jillian’s part,” Teddy said.

  They sat in silence until Pyro broke it: “When Jillian wakes up tomorrow with a killer hangover, I guess I can’t make any ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ jokes.”

  “Yeah, no.” As much as she wanted to laugh, Teddy couldn’t. “Jillian never used to be like this. It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t met Eli over the summer.”

  Dara let out a breath. “Well, to be fair, her picker’s not great. Remember Brett?”

  Teddy frowned at the reminder of Brett Evans, Jillian’s love interest last year, a third-year recruit turned PC member. The same Brett Evans who’d shot and almost killed Clint.

  “I just get this sense that he’s using her.” Teddy shrugged. “She doesn’t see it that way, obviously.”

  Dara gave a sorrowful shake of her head. “They never do. Not till it’s over.”

  “I don’t know,” Pyro put in. “Eli is kind of annoying, but maybe he’s got a point.”

  Teddy turned. “What the hell? You’re actually defending the guy?”

  “Give me a break. It’s just—why dogs?”

  “Dogs?”

  “We had four German shepherds in our K9 unit. Brave, loyal, smart, playful, the whole bit. It pisses me off to imagine them stuck in a cage somewhere. Don’t most labs test their products on mice or rats or whatever? Why is Hyle using dogs?”

  Good question. Teddy rummaged through the papers piled near her desk until she found what she was looking for.

  “What’s that?” Dara asked.

  “Something Jillian snatched from the pharmaceutical lab.”

  “You’ve been holding out on me. You know I love an illicit report. Gimme.”

  Teddy swiped her hand away. “I’m reading this.”

  Dara rolled onto her side and peered over her shoulder. “Waste of time. You don’t understand science talk. Admit it.”

  It was true. Under the daunting heading “Experimentation on Gene Mutation, Expression, and Function in Canine Subjects” loomed a dense paragraph with terms like adenovirus and delivery systems and cranial pressure alleviation. A drug identified as X-498. Teddy couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Pun intended.

  Her thoughts drifted back to Eli’s diatribe at the Cantina Friday night. Some owners claim their dogs have an actual sixth sense. Coincidence? Maybe. But Teddy wasn’t a big believer in coincidence. She kept reading. Finally, something caught her eye. A name. One she recognized.

  Why was the Whitfield Institute so concerned with a break-in at a private lab before it knew that one of its students had been involved?

  Printed in bold black type in the byline was the answer: By Dr. David Eversley, MD.

  The school doctor at the Whitfield Institute for Law Enforcement Training and Development.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHEN TEDDY HAD ARRIVED AT Whitfield last year, Dr. Eversley had taken a sample of her blood and explained the founder’s intentions to research the scientific origins of psychic expression. Yates had cautioned her about a place that used students as a subject pool. How could she not have seen that Eversley’s research would eventually lead here? As much as Teddy hated to admit it, Yates had been right . . . again.

  The morning after she read the Hyle Pharmaceuticals report, Teddy stood before Clint’s office door with Pyro, Jillian, and Dara at her side. None of them had slept much the night before. They’d spent hours poring over the report, trying to decipher the scientific jargon. Then they’d combed through Molly’s file, looking for connections. When their discussion had become heated enough to rouse Jillian from her drunken slumber, they’d filled her in and gone around the issue a second time. But no matter how many hours they spent, they couldn’t come to a consensus on what the report meant. Each time, their conversation ended on the same line from Eversley’s note in Molly’s file: Patient is excellent candidate for Hyle Pharmaceuticals X-498 clinical trial. Recommend once animal testing is cleared.

  They needed more information. There was only one place to get it.

  Teddy took a deep breath and pushed the power to eleven on the electricity that made up her mental shield. Readied herself for what was likely to be an ugly, confrontational meeting.

  Pyro placed a reassuring hand on her back. “We’re ready,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  Teddy gave him a decisive nod, then lifted her fist and rapped on Clint’s office door.

  “One second,” he called.

  Teddy didn’t wait. She twisted the handle and stepped inside. Her friends followed.

  Clint set down the pen he’d been holding and leaned back in his chair. “Well,” he drawled, “looks like you four have something on your mind.”

  Teddy bit her tongue. A year ago, when they’d first started working together, she’d liked Clint. But now there were too many secrets and half-truths between them. It wasn’t that they were on different sides of the table. They were playing different games.

  “Well?” he prompted. “Anyone going to tell me what’s going on here?”

  Teddy passed him the Hyle Pharmaceuticals report, along with Eversely’s recommendation that Molly undergo treatment. Teddy had vowed to remain cool and collected, to get the facts regarding Hyle
Pharmaceuticals, Molly Quinn, and Dr. Eversley. But as she regarded Clint, she felt her carefully practiced, rational questions evaporating. There was only one phrase that could do this moment justice.

  “What the hell, Clint?”

  He frowned at the paperwork. “What is this?”

  “You tell us.”

  Clint lifted the pages. A full ten minutes later, he set the paperwork down. His deep voice cut through the suffocating silence. “What I want to know is how you four came into possession of what is clearly a proprietary internal memo belonging to Hyle Pharmaceuticals. As well as a student’s classified file.”

  “That’s your takeaway?” Teddy’s agitation rocketed. “We’re not going to play that game. How we got it doesn’t matter. What matters is what those papers say.”

  “Clint, those animals are sick,” Jillian said. “What they’re doing to them is horrible.”

  “And Eversley wanted to do that to Molly,” Dara interrupted. “Tell us straight, Clint. Does Hyle plan to experiment on psychics?”

  “So what happens now that Molly’s not here?” Teddy demanded. “Let me guess: they start testing on us. Dose our water, sprinkle it in our granola. You promised this wasn’t going to turn into Sector Three.”

  Clint angled himself to face her. “And I meant it. You have my word.”

  “Your word. Yeah.”

  Clint looked offended. “Now wait a minute.”

  “No. We’re not going to wait, Clint. Not this time.” Teddy leaned closer. “We want answers. Eversely signed the report. Which means Whitfield Institute is somehow involved. Which is why you and Boyd and Nick handled the break-in. My guess is you wanted to keep it quiet. So what is the exact connection between this school and Hyle Pharmaceuticals?”

  Clint set the paperwork on his desk carefully and deliberately, as though they’d handed him something that might explode if not handled with utmost care, rather than a student file and a lab report. He looked between them. “Sit down,” he said. “All of you.”

  Teddy hesitated. Although she hadn’t consciously decided to loom over his desk, she didn’t want to give up that slight physical advantage. Sensing, however, that they weren’t going to get any answers from Clint until they complied, the Misfits each pulled a chair into a loose semicircle in front of his desk and grudgingly sat down.

  Clint paused. Squared the bottom of the sheets to the edge of his desk. Raised his gaze and looked at each of them in turn. “Item number one. All of you are aware that Molly Quinn found her gift of empathy a tremendous burden. She voluntarily underwent treatment at this institute to alleviate some of the unwanted effects of her psychic ability. When the time was right for her, she voluntarily left this campus. We did not hold her against her will, nor did we ever subject her to a treatment she didn’t want. If you look at the bottom of her medical files, you’ll see her signature of consent.”

  That was something. Though Jeremy had implied that the PC had overseen Molly’s treatment. Was there another connection they had missed?

  “Item number two. Until Jillian and her boyfriend broke in to the lab in San Francisco, Hyle was just a name to me, a Bay Area company that specialized in drug research and development. But you’re right. There is a connection to Whitfield Institute. After some investigation, I’ve learned that Hollis Whitfield is the majority shareholder of Hyle Pharmaceuticals.”

  Teddy blinked. Wondered for a moment if she’d heard him correctly. Hollis Whitfield, founder of Whitfield Institute, the majority shareholder of Hyle Pharmaceuticals. The implications were horrifying. “How can you be so calm about this?” she demanded.

  “Calm?” Clint said. “I’m not calm, Teddy. The truth is, I find it deeply upsetting. But I’m trying to remain objective. Like any good investigator would.”

  “Right,” she scoffed. “Objective. Like you’re objective about Yates? About my mother? Were they innocent until proven guilty?”

  Clint’s face darkened. “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Because their guilt has been demonstrated beyond a reasonable doubt—whether you want to accept that or not. But we don’t have all the facts in this case.”

  Tense silence filled the room. Clint studied them, his expression inscrutable. After a long beat, he said, “After Jillian’s incident, I started looking into Hyle Pharmaceuticals. When I discovered Hollis Whitfield’s relationship to the company, I went to him and expressed my concerns. He explained that he’d brought Eversley over to Hyle to work on a specific project because Eversley is one of the best neuroscientists in the world. Hollis wanted his consultation and expertise. That’s all. He assured me that there is no crossover between this institute and the drug they’re developing.”

  “And you believe him?” Pyro scoffed.

  “Yes.”

  Dara shook her head. “This memo talks about a gene therapy. Gene therapies cure mutations by replacing them with healthy genes. He wants to cure psychicness.” As she paused, letting that sink in, Teddy’s thoughts flashed to Molly and whatever treatment she had believed would cure her. It hadn’t worked. It had changed her. Taken away the very essence of what had made her Molly.

  Pyro’s thoughts must have been traveling a similar path, for he said, “You can’t believe drugs help. Otherwise you wouldn’t work at a place like this.”

  “Exactly,” Clint said. “Stop and actually think about that. Carry that logic one step further. Why would Hollis Whitfield, someone who’s given millions of dollars to fund an institute for the express purpose of training psychics, want to cure psychicness?”

  Pyro folded his arms across his chest, unmoved. “We need to shut Hyle down.”

  “On what grounds? C’mon, Lucas.” Clint released an exasperated breath. “You were a cop. You know the rules as well as I do. Hyle hasn’t broken any laws. Until they do, our hands are tied. We wait, we watch, we monitor the situation. Until then, nothing is happening on this campus. And if I thought for one moment that Hollis Whitfield planned to use students for experiments, I never would have signed on to be a part of it. Never. You’re getting ahead of yourselves.”

  “But—” Jillian protested.

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Yes, Jillian. The process has affected the lives of some animals. Which many drug companies routinely do. Safely and legally.”

  Teddy looked away. Despite Clint’s reassurances, her fears hadn’t been allayed in the slightest. Judging by her friends’ skeptical expressions, the same was true for them.

  “And though I appreciate your concerns, what troubles me,” Clint continued, “is that you four have once again taken it upon yourselves to compromise your standing at this institution by bending the rules. By stealing student files. Breaking in to Hyle to satisfy your own personal agenda. Understand that any more of this behavior will not be tolerated. Continue only if you wish to forfeit your place at Whitfield. Am I making myself clear?”

  Clint waited until they’d all mumbled their agreement, then shoved back his chair and stood, indicating their interview was at an end. They stood and silently filed out of his office. Teddy was last in line. When she moved to close the door behind her, Clint raised a hand to stop her. She motioned for her friends to go on, then stepped back inside.

  “Your astral travel,” he said without preamble. “Are you making any progress with the techniques we went over?”

  Teddy shrugged. “I’ve been practicing, but I’m still having trouble.”

  Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Then work on it, recruit. Don’t just shrug it off. I thought I made it clear what the stakes are for both of us if we fail to bring down the PC.”

  Teddy blinked. “Understood,” she clipped out. “Anything else?”

  “No. Now go get to work.”

  “Yes, sir.” With that, she turned and left Clint standing in the doorway of his office.

  “Everything all right?” Pyro asked.

  Not even close. They’d gone to Clint for answers, but he’d stonewalled the
m with promises that he was monitoring Hyle. But that didn’t mean she intended to let the matter drop. The images of her father at Sector Three were too fresh in her mind. Logically, she understood what she’d seen had happened decades ago. Her father was gone. Even if she could master her astral travel enough to go back and release him from his leather bindings, free him from Sector Three, Teddy understood that her actions would set off a chain of events, whatever they were, that would change the future. Butterfly effect and all. Though she was a rule breaker, a rebel, even Teddy Cannon knew there were certain rules you didn’t mess with. But the pain she’d seen. What those government officials had done to him . . .

  And what if it was going to happen once more, at Hyle Pharmaceuticals? She felt the weight of her mother’s crystal around her neck. Had Marysue somehow influenced the direction of her OBE, sending her back to that particular place and time as a warning? If so, Teddy wouldn’t let her mother down, either. She couldn’t alter the past, but she could damn well stop it from happening again. If Clint wouldn’t give them the information they needed, she knew someone who would.

  That night, before joining her friends for dinner, she went down to the Cantina and bought a postcard. A nice one that said: Wish You Were Here!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FOR THE NEXT THREE DAYS, Teddy walked down to the pier to watch tourists exit the ferry. Laughing and good-humored, they duckwalked down the plank, their gaits thrown off by the rocking of the boat. Tonight, a spectacular sunset lit the sky rose and orange behind them. These were the smart ones, she thought. The tourists who knew to skip San Francisco in the summer, when the sky was cold and damp and leaden with fog. The best time to visit was in the fall, when the crowds were gone, the air was warm, and the off-season rates meant everything was cheaper.

  She waited until the last passenger exited the ferry, then turned around to make the trek back to campus. She spotted Pyro standing a few yards away, watching her. She went to join him. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”