The Astral Traveler's Daughter

by K. C. Archer

  Teddy opened her eyes and looked at the IED. The C-4 was a misshapen mass of grayish putty; the timer and wires were scorched black. The detonator had fired. The blasting cap had gone off. But there hadn’t been an explosion.

  Teddy? Kate’s voice. What the hell just happened?

  Clint rolled over, and Teddy immediately scrambled out from beneath him. She scurried on her hands and knees toward the IED. Totally inert. Just a lump of C-4, disconnected from the triggered detonator and blasting cap. It didn’t make sense.

  She heard a groan and saw Miles huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth and holding his head in his hands.

  “Miles, are you all right?”

  No answer. His skin was waxen, his eyes were closed. His arms and legs tremored. Teddy, more than anyone, would recognize the signs of a seizure, even if she had been misdiagnosed as a child.

  “Hey!” Teddy shouted. “A doctor! I need a doctor over here!”

  She’d anticipated someone would rush to her aid. But panic had narrowed her vision. She’d been aware only that Miles needed help. As she looked up to repeat her shout—louder this time—she was forced to acknowledge the pandemonium sweeping across the room.

  None of the guests were aware that the IED had been neutralized. Chaos reigned, though at least there were fewer people to contend with. Boyd and Wessner had succeeded in turning the tide of fleeing guests away from the French doors and were funneling them through the dining room hallway and out the front door.

  Teddy saw one woman whose face had been shoved so forcefully against the French doors that a pane had shattered; her forehead and cheek were bleeding. A man cradled what was likely a broken wrist. An elderly woman sprawled unconscious on the floor, her husband bent beside her.

  Miles gave another groan. Before Teddy could react, Hollis Whitfield was kneeling at her side. So was Kate. “Let’s get him off the floor,” Whitfield said.

  Teddy caught her lip, uncertain. “Shouldn’t we wait for a doctor?”

  “Not necessary,” Whitfield said. His brow was furrowed, but his voice was firm. “He’s had these episodes before. He’ll be just fine. Won’t you, Miles?”

  “Already fine,” Miles said out, struggling to stand.

  On one hand, the most prudent move was to wait for a doctor to check him over. But Teddy had her own long and painful history of dealing with illness. She remembered all too clearly her desperate desire for privacy after such a turn. So she simply watched as Whitfield lifted Miles to his feet and together they moved gingerly down the hall.

  Teddy’s next thought was of Eli.

  She sprang up and ran into the kitchen. Empty. The back door was flung wide open—likely the exit that the catering staff had taken. She was about to leave when the sound of running water caught her ear. She was sure Eli would have fled by now, so she was shocked to find him standing at the sink in a small pantry, washing a wineglass. Scrubbing and rinsing the same glass over and over.

  “Eli?”

  No response.

  Teddy took him by the elbow and turned him to face her. For the first time that night, she looked directly into his eyes. They were distant and unfocused. Pupils too large. Teddy recognized the look. The cops last year in the Vegas casino. Molly in the obstacle course. The security guards at Sector Three. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her earlier that evening.

  Eli was being mentally influenced. Someone had psychically manipulated him into setting off the IED.

  Yates.

  But just because Yates was capable didn’t mean he’d done it. Teddy had surveilled the party upon arrival but had seen no sign of Yates. She hadn’t noticed anyone suspicious among the guests.

  If not Yates, who? And why?

  Teddy needed answers. Fast. She grabbed Eli by the shoulders and shook him. It was brutish but effective. Eli’s eyes came into focus, and his expression sharpened. “Teddy? What are you doing here?” He blinked and looked around, as if taking in his surroundings for the first time. “Hey. Where’d everyone go?”

  “Clear!” Kate called into the kitchen. “Wessner’s cleared the IED!”

  Eli’s baffled gaze slowly moved from Kate to Teddy. “Wait a minute, what?”

  “There was a bomb—a bomb scare—but it’s over now.”

  “A bomb? Holy shit. But—”

  “Listen,” Teddy said. “The authorities are going to blame HEAT. And you.”

  “Me? Are you crazy? I would never resort to violence. That’s not what HEAT does. Jillian knows that. Just ask her!”

  “What were you thinking, threatening Hollis Whitfield?”

  “Threatening Hollis Whitfield?” He continued to stare at her, looking baffled. “What the hell are you talking about? You asked me to back off, Teddy, and I have.”

  “Eli, I know what happened. You threatened—”

  “I haven’t threatened anybody. Neither has HEAT. I swear.”

  Teddy’s eyes narrowed. No jury would believe it was a coincidence that a bomb was planted at a social gathering of the Hyle Pharmaceuticals board just days after HEAT had pressured Hyle to shut down its lab. Particularly when witnesses could place HEAT’s leader near the scene. Maybe that was what someone else was counting on: whoever had engineered the IED had covered their tracks by setting up Eli Nevin as the fall guy.

  She watched horrified understanding dawn on Eli’s face as he reached the same conclusion. “Someone else did this, Teddy. It wasn’t me.”

  Teddy wasn’t a fan of Eli’s. Never had been, probably never would be. But she did believe him. And she was certain he’d been mentally influenced into triggering the detonator on the IED. She wasn’t going to stand by and see him arrested and thrown in prison for something he didn’t do.

  “Go,” she urged. “Do not talk to anybody. And don’t go back to your apartment. It may not be safe. Do you have someplace else you can stay?”

  “A friend of mine runs a rescue shelter in Mendocino. I could crash there.”

  “Good. Go. I’ll find you as soon as it’s safe.”

  For once, Eli didn’t ask any questions. He turned and ran out the door.

  Teddy moved to the window and looked for signs of Yates, recognizing the futility even as she scanned the sloping backyard. If Yates had been involved, he would be long gone.

  “Who was that?” Kate asked.

  “What? Oh. Catering staff. He doesn’t know anything.”

  Not a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

  It was then that Wessner stepped into the kitchen, preventing Kate from asking any more questions. “All right, heroes,” she said. “Come with me.”

  * * *

  Teddy and Kate reported to Whitfield’s home office. Boyd, Clint, and Wessner stationed themselves on one side of the room, while Whitfield perched on the edge of a massive oak desk. Pictures of Miles as a young kid, always by himself, were scattered over the walls of the room’s dark paneling. Holding a place of honor over the mantel was a framed photograph of a handsome young marine in full dress uniform, an array of medals pinned to his chest. The resemblance was strong enough for Teddy to peg him as a relative.

  Before she could examine the photo further, Whitfield asked her to recap how she and Kate had identified and disarmed the IED.

  Teddy hesitated. How had she and Kate disarmed an IED packed with enough explosive power to blow the side off the building? The old punch line sprang to her lips: carefully.

  But since she suspected humor wouldn’t be appreciated, she replied, “Training, sir.”

  “I need you to be a little more specific than that.”

  General Maddux stepped forward. He stood a little too close, in Teddy’s opinion. One of those men who instinctively attempted to intimidate everyone they met. The worst. “We’d all like you to be a little more specific. What branch of law enforcement are you with?”

  “These two are students at my institute,” Whitfield said, gesturing to her and Kate.

  “Students?” Maddux repeated. “Yet they w
ere able to disarm a sensitive IED? How is that possible?”

  “The truth is,” Teddy said, “I’m not sure we did disarm it.”

  Wessner looked at her. “Your modesty is unnecessary, Teddy. Obviously, you two figured out how to separate the detonator from the C-4. I personally examined the device. The blasting cap exploded. Had it not been disarmed, none of us would be standing here now.”

  Teddy looked at Kate, who simply shrugged. “You’re right, ma’am. But I’m not being modest. The truth is, I cut the wrong wire. That IED did not explode when it should have.”

  “Explain,” Wessner clipped out.

  Again Teddy hesitated, looking at Maddux.

  Clint cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse us, General. It appears my recruits need to discuss sensitive information. Information that is restricted to staff and recruits of the Whitfield Institute.”

  “I’m a general in the United States Army. That should give me adequate clearance.”

  Clint met his eyes. “With all due respect, sir, it doesn’t.”

  The two men locked gazes, sizing each other up. At length, Maddux broke the silence. “And you are?”

  “Clint Corbett. Dean of students at Whitfield Institute.”

  “Given the chaos that we all just endured, Dean Corbett, might I suggest you’re a bit over your head? I am offering my assistance. I think you would be wise to take it.”

  “I have the situation—”

  “General Maddux and I have been friends for decades,” Whitfield interrupted. “We can trust him. Furthermore, he has expertise in the field of military ordnance that may be of use. The faster we bring closure to this matter and shut down any unnecessary publicity, the better. It’s bad enough that HEAT pressured Hyle into shutting down our lab. We cannot condone their escalating tactics.” He stood and paced in front of his desk. “We’re damned lucky someone wasn’t killed today.”

  “What escalating tactics?” Maddux asked.

  At Whitfield’s nod, Wessner briefed the general on HEAT. Whitfield confessed that he had received another threat that very morning—though Wessner didn’t specify who had made the threat and what he or she had said. Whitfield didn’t elaborate, either. And Teddy didn’t share what she now believed to be true: HEAT hadn’t made a threat that morning.

  The general frowned. “You knew about this threat, and yet you put yourself and your guests in jeopardy by using students for protection?”

  Whitfield flushed. “Obviously, I had no way of knowing this would happen. There have been other . . . disruptions, but they’ve been only nuisances. There was no reason to suspect today would be any different.”

  But there was a reason, Teddy thought. HEAT didn’t make the most recent threats. Someone else did. There was no way to say that without disclosing her conversation with Eli.

  Whitfield drew himself up. “It doesn’t matter,” he continued. “I will not be bullied or intimidated. The work undertaken at Hyle Pharmaceuticals is too important to be shut down.”

  “What work?” Teddy said before she could stop herself. “Miles could have been killed today. He was standing right beside the IED. What’s so important that you would risk his life?”

  Whitfield paled. He seemed to consider Teddy’s words. “Miles was beside the IED . . .” He moved around his desk, collapsed into his chair. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Teddy shot another glance at Maddux, which Whitfield dismissed with an impatient roll of his wrist. “Go on.”

  She looked at Clint, who reluctantly nodded, giving her permission to speak. Not like they had much of a choice. Hollis Whitfield was, after all, the founder of Whitfield Institute, a school for psychics. Ultimately, the decision of whom to include in the inner circle rested with him.

  She told them that she and Kate had communicated telepathically. That Kate had used claircognizance to choose the wire. Teddy explained how she’d slowed time and disconnected the wire from the power source astrally. She told them that, despite their best efforts to disable the IED, she had seen the device light up, ready to explode, but somehow it hadn’t.

  Maddux took this all in. A sour look on his face. Then he shook his head. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

  “What do you mean?” Whitfield asked.

  “I thought you were preparing students for a career in service to their country. Law enforcement, military, CIA. That sort of thing. Not filling their heads with useless pseudoscience mumbo jumbo.”

  Clint bristled. “Whether or not you understand our methods, General, seems beside the point. These students disabled an IED psychically.”

  Maddux held up a hand to silence him. He looked directly at Whitfield. “I’m ashamed to admit the military has made similar mistakes in the past, Hollis. As have other branches of the government. Training soldiers to use so-called extrasensory perception. Naturally, none of it went anywhere. A huge waste of money, time, and effort. What you need is someone who can get to the facts, not stir up nonsense.” He paused, made a point of glaring at Clint. Then he turned to Teddy. “You were right there. On duty. Did you see who planted the IED?”

  Teddy felt all eyes on her and made sure her mental shield was firmly in place. “No, sir.”

  “Any suspects?”

  Yates and a lineup of various PC members flashed through her head: the large man, the blond woman . . . Marysue. “No, sir.”

  He asked Kate the same questions. She glanced to Teddy before shaking her head.

  “I believe my point is proved.” Maddux swung around to nod at Whitfield. “A roomful of people and no suspects. Hollis, your recruits would benefit from training in how to conduct an actual investigation, rather than whatever useless rubbish they’ve been taught. If you’ll allow me, I’ll get some of my men to focus on this HEAT organization, bring them in, and get answers.”

  “Absolutely not,” Clint said. “We’ll handle this in-house, the way we’ve always done.”

  Whitfield’s jaw moved as he thought, as though he were literally chewing over possible responses and outcomes. At length, he nodded at Clint. “We keep it in-house. But I want results, Clint. Not excuses and delays.”

  The last bit, a direct slap at Clint, was undoubtedly for the general’s benefit. But Clint took the verbal jab without objection. He’d won—for now, at least—and wasn’t going to complain. “Understood.”

  Teddy and Kate were dismissed. Kate, who’d been fawning over the general earlier that evening, looked shaken. She mumbled something about patrolling the estate to see if she could come up with anything they’d missed.

  Teddy stopped her. “Kate.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That guy’s an asshole. Don’t listen to him.”

  Kate looked past Teddy into the trampled remains of the living room: overturned tables and chairs, spilled food, draperies hanging askew. Judging from her distant expression, Teddy guessed she wasn’t seeing any of it.

  “You know that’s what I want to do, right? Go into service. I can trace my family’s military ties all the way back to the Revolutionary War. But how am I supposed to serve if everyone I meet thinks what I can do is bullshit?”

  “Look, not everyone is as closed-minded as that guy.”

  Kate sighed. “You don’t know how it works, Teddy. Maddux is a legend. If he thinks what we do is bullshit, so will everyone else.”

  The admission of doubt was rare for Kate. Teddy thought for a moment before replying. “Then quit now,” she said. “Or suck it up and prove that two-star idiot wrong. Show how good you are. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  “Right. Like it’s that easy.”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy. I said you can do it. It hurts like hell for me to admit it, but you’re good at this.” She paused. “Not as good as me, but hey, what do you expect?”

  “I’ll go toe-to-toe with you any day, Cannon.” A smile flickered briefly across Kate’s lips. Then she paused, cocked her head. “Now tell me: Who was that guy in the kitchen?” />
  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “Sure, Cannon. Sure.” With that, Kate turned and strode away.

  Teddy stood for a moment, thinking, when a moan came from down the hall. Another victim of the rush toward the French doors? She followed the sound into a stately wood-paneled library and found Miles lying on a leather couch. His glasses rested on a side table. He had his hands pressed over his eyes, and the overhead lights were out.

  “Miles? Can I get you anything?”

  “Need my medication,” he mumbled.

  He directed her to a black velvet pouch tucked in a drawer in a small end table. She walked it over to him and helped him to a seated position. Miles unbuttoned his pants and lowered them to his knees, exposing his boxers. He seemed almost oblivious to the fact that Teddy was there. He pulled a wrapped medical syringe from the bag, ripped it open with his teeth. Without bothering to clean the area with one of the alcohol swabs included in the kit, he jabbed the needle into his thigh and pressed the plunger. His head fell against the sofa and his eyes began to close.

  “Morphine?” Teddy asked.

  “I wish.”

  “What did you just take?”

  “That new drug I told you about. Some kind of blocker. It’s supposed to help level my moods, prevent blackouts and seizures.”

  “Is it safe? I thought it gave you those horrible migraines.”

  “Trade-offs,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Don’t,” he said. He opened his eyes. “Don’t even think about telling me what to do. You have no idea what my life was like without this stuff. What it’s like to lose control. What it’s like to feel . . . crazy.”

  Teddy stared back. “Try me. I told you before that I was misdiagnosed as epileptic. Tell me exactly what I don’t understand. Living on edge, never knowing what will happen next? The humiliation of waking up on the floor to a roomful of pitying stares? Not being able to trust your own body? Going to dozens of doctors to fix it, living with the constant hope of a cure that never comes? Is that what I don’t understand?”