Alliance

by Leigh, Trisha

  I’m starting to think the food is one of the main things I miss about living in this city.

  “Well? Are you going in or chickening out?” Despite Goose’s attempt at laid-back banter, there’s tension in his shoulders and face, in the clench of his hands.

  The same anxiety twitches above my right eye and somersaults through my stomach. It’s not going anywhere until I talk to Dane long enough to determine his willingness to trade information.

  “No.” The last thing I want to do is nothing. “It’s just…this place.”

  “Ah, secret Dane and Norah spot, huh?” Goose shoots me a smile that lets me know he’s not looking for an argument. “Remember who he is, Gypsy. We want his help but we don’t need him, got it?”

  It’s still weird having two names. It’s even weirder how many times I’ve been called Norah in the past few days after two weeks of not hearing it at all.

  I try a smile for Goose, as practice. “We have a thing for graveyards.”

  “You’re in the right place. What are there, like, two hundred churches in Charleston proper?”

  “More than that, maybe,” I murmur.

  My fingers are cold. I stuff them in my pockets and chew on my lower lip while Goose reads the funny sign informing tourists that, no matter how much their tour guide insists, there are no ghosts on the church grounds other than the Holy Spirit.

  He turns back and jerks his thumb toward the fence. “What the hell is this?”

  “Cursing in front of a church, Goose? Really?”

  “You suddenly put stock in this stuff?”

  The way he asks it, as though he really wants to know the answer no matter what it is, makes me think twice about my answer. “I don’t know. I guess I put more stock in the power of belief than I did a few months ago.”

  He cocks his head to one side, bright red hair falling across his forehead. “Explain.”

  “I think collective belief, or even really strong individual belief, can make things happen.” I gesture to the church and the city behind it, a skyline of steeples and spires. “This city was founded on it. It spurred citizens to support the politicians that shaped the country. And belief in ghosts and spirits—in living history—is what draws people here, what makes locals and tourists alike fall in love. They believe in this place. And they have for centuries.”

  “Have you been taking online philosophy classes behind our backs?”

  He grins as I whack his arm, my cheeks a little warm from the teasing. Despite his ribbing, there’s a thoughtful expression in Goose’s eyes that satisfies me. I turn my back on him and stare into the “stranger” side of the church’s burial grounds, if local lore is to be believed.

  I squint into the distance, around the mature trees and large, ornate headstones, my gaze roaming the edges of the resting place of one of Charleston’s more famous residents—John C. Calhoun. When I see the tip of a black Chuck Taylor resting on the wet grass on the opposite side of the monolith, it hits me like a punch to the gut.

  “Okay. I’m going in.”

  Goose screws up his face, unhappiness in his dark eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?”

  “I know him the best, and we have a rapport. At least, we did,” I amend. “I just think we’ll have a better chance of getting information if we at least appear to play by his rules.”

  Multiple replies flicker across my friend’s slightly goofy features before he settles on acquiescence and gives me a nod. “Fine. But if I hear anything that pisses me off I can’t promise to stay out of the way.”

  “I’m counting on it.” I give him a rueful smile. “There’s no one I’d trust more to wrestle a full-grown man to the ground. He’d never know what hit him.”

  Goose’s snort echoes in my ears as I take a step into the graveyard, then another, then a few more. The walk feels more like swimming, with the world gliding along my body, blurry and void of sound.

  Which is maybe why the sound of my name, once again on Dane’s lips, is loud enough to make me flinch.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Norah Jane.”

  He looks exactly as he does in my memory—sleek black hair, eyes the color and shape of polished almonds, a solid, pleasing build that used to make me feel a little bit safe. Dane’s sitting on the small ledge on the back side of Calhoun’s tomb, where he and I sat together just weeks ago with, as it turns out, a lot more lies between us.

  Or maybe that’s a judgment call.

  I swallow and find my voice, determined not to be intimidated. The more I think about how he could have helped me back then if he’d wanted to, the more anger replaces my worry. If he would have trusted me, told us at least a little bit about the Olders, the Cavies and I might have made a more informed decision before going with them.

  Of course, if we hadn’t gone we might never have found Flicker.

  “Yeah,” I manage, taking a seat next to him, mostly because my knees are wobbly and about to give away my nerves. “Are you waiting for me or something?” I joke, trying to keep my cool.

  That makes him smile, and it looks as easy as the first one he ever gave me. Maybe because he lies for a living. “Waiting for you? History has shown that to be a waste of time, hasn’t it?”

  I don’t know the best way to respond to that, so I don’t.

  “I was just taking a lunch break.” He nods toward a crumpled brown paper bag by his feet. “Tuna. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

  His tone irks me, the way he acts like nothing has changed since the last time we were here. The thought stops me. It makes me wonder whether, in the grand scheme of things, anything really changed at all.

  I shake off my uncertainty. Making me question myself is exactly what he wants. “I’m here for my friends.”

  Silence pushes between us, prodding Dane, then me, in an attempt to push one of us to break this standoff. I have a million questions, which he likely knows, but Dane must have his own agenda for this little chitchat.

  I’m guessing it’s still to recruit us.

  In the end, the quiet bullies me, but only because time is running short. I’m not sure how long Goose will wait patiently on the other side of the gate, and anyway, the Cavies have some serious decisions to make, and the sooner the better, especially if we need to leave town in a hurry.

  “I saw Jude last night,” I begin, testing the water with a single toe.

  Dane’s eyebrows go up. “Is that right? Well, I must say, I’m not surprised you sought him out first. Disappointed, sure, but not surprised.”

  I ignore the ridiculous comment. “He said you’re the reason he got to go back to school instead of spending who knows how many years locked away because of what he saw.”

  Dane purses his lips, nodding along as though the information coming out of my mouth is all very thought-provoking. “Hmm. Interesting theory. And what exactly did he see, Norah Jane?”

  He’s asking me to lay all my cards on the table, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep a few hidden up my sleeves. “He saw Mole light stuff on fire with his eyes, Geoff lift Dumpsters off the ground with the flick of a finger, Haint disappear. He knows what we can do, even if he can only guess at what we are.”

  “His guesses are more educated than most after living with his unrelenting father. That man doesn’t know when to quit.” There’s something regretful in Dane’s tone. “I tried to talk to him, you know. Get him to shut up, to dispose of the evidence in his house, but he won’t let it go. Didn’t you ever wonder why?”

  The way Dane poses the last question brings all my uneasiness from last night crashing down.

  Ask the right questions, Gypsy.

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “Because he’s a reporter looking for the story that will shake his career.”

  “Another interesting theory.”

  “If you have a different one, I’d love to hear it.” My teeth dig into the inside of my lip in an attempt to stop Dane from baiting me, and when he doesn’t answer, I mov
e on. “You think the threat of something worse happening to his dad is enough to keep Jude in line?”

  Dane watches me, seeming to consider his answer. “I think Jude has more than one dog in this fight, and they’re enough collectively to keep him from opening his mouth. He cares about you, too, and he’ll keep quiet if he thinks that’s what you want.”

  My heart pounds so hard my ribs ache. Poor Jude.

  As sweet as the sentiment is, in my mind all I can see is the sorrow in his dying gaze. My ears strain to make out the words he’s desperate to speak in my vision, sure they’ll make all of these jagged edges line up.

  “How’s Eve?” It’s an unconscious decision, using Reaper’s given name, or maybe it’s because that’s how we all knew each other at Charleston Academy.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the status of any current CIA Asset.”

  I pause, waiting for him to crack a smile. It doesn’t happen. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. If you’d let me talk to you about the foolishness of your decision to join forces with the older generations, maybe go back to the safe house, we could probably arrange some information for you.”

  I take several deep breaths because I’ve got a few more toes in the water now and sense that there might be piranhas circling. If I make a wrong move, I might lose a valuable appendage. “How about we take this one step at a time.”

  His gaze, still trained on me, narrows. Dane might be on a mission, but he’s not a fool. And it would behoove me to remember that he’s a professional spy, not an actual high school student.

  “I’m listening. What’s the first step, then, as you see it?”

  “I want to know what you know about the Olders.”

  “The Olders?”

  “Yeah. That’s what we’re calling them. The other Cavies.”

  “Ah. Well. Since you and your friends are smart kids—engineered that way, but still, smart—” He gives me a small smile when I acknowledge the intentional barb with a snort. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that they want something from you, too.”

  “Yeah, you told me that before we left. Do you know what it is?” Impatience makes me sweaty, twists my stomach into loopy knots.

  The look on Dane’s face suggests he’d like to hear my theories first, but that’s not going to happen.

  “We know they’ve been funded by someone with endless cash. I know they’ve developed a way—using that money—to enhance their genetic mutations, but that whatever they’re using hasn’t been tested or approved.” Dane stops there, even though there must be more.

  “Nothing that has ever been done to us was approved, Dane.” My voice is scratchy, full of more emotion than I expect. It catches me off guard, to finally say aloud that I’m angry about how my life began.

  Dane’s eyes go soft, shift from the suspicious interrogator to the kindhearted boy determined to help me fit in, and he reaches out his hand to cover mine. I jerk away, despite the fact that when I touch Dane I see nothing.

  Saw nothing. Who knows what would happen post-GRH-18. Either way, plugging more emotion into my charged system could send it sparking into overload.

  “Of course it wasn’t,” he says, his voice as careful as his gaze. “All I’m saying is that what you are, Norah, is the result of decades of work. Of trial and error. These Olders are tampering with that, using themselves—and now you guys—as guinea pigs.”

  “That’s what we are, Dane. That’s what Cavy means.” I let all the hatred in my heart bleed into my tone, not caring how it makes him feel. “Don’t pretend you give a shit just because you’re not the one holding the syringe this time.”

  Dane’s never administered anything to me or any of my Cavies. It’s more a metaphorical point, but by the way his skin pales, it’s clear I hit a sensitive spot. I use the success to bolster my confidence, false as it may be.

  “So, y’all don’t know who’s funding them, then?” I ask, trying to calm myself down.

  “No. We have a shortlist of possibilities, but so far all of them have checked out as legitimate.”

  I don’t know if he knows about Hatfield, yet, but I keep that intel tucked in my back pocket.

  “What about why they wanted us so badly? Why they gave us enhancements without asking?” They’re the questions I most want answered, and I know in my gut that if we asked Chameleon or any of the others, they would never give us a straight answer. So far all they’ve done is spout b.s. about us being family, being the same, as if there could be no other reason for our alliance.

  “There could be a ton of reasons. Most likely, they need more test subjects.” Dane reaches out again, and this time touches me before I can pull away.

  There are flickers at the edges of my vision, waves of sound or light or water, and I hold my breath waiting for his death to appear. Nothing materializes before I pull away again, using my hands to tug my hasty ponytail tighter. He’s not going to tell me anything, either. Not without encouragement. “What if we knew who was funding the Olders? Would you know anything more specific then?”

  Surprised excitement lights his dark gaze before he can tamp it down and he sits forward, hands clamped over his kneecaps. “You know who’s funding their research?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Maybe.”

  “Wait, are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “It’s not blackmail, Dane.” I roll my eyes. “It’s an information exchange. I’m not going to hire a mobster named Tony to break your legs if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  “You really do watch too many movies.”

  “Yeah, well, it was the only connection we had to the real world growing up at Darley.”

  “You’re not going to make me feel sorry for you, so you can stop trying.” His eyes bore into mine, determined now. “I might feel badly for little Norah Jane, but you’re nearly an adult. It’s time to stop lamenting your childhood and figure out who you want to be now.”

  It’s tough to hear, but pretty much what Mole and the rest of us have decided these past couple of days. We’re looking into the future without a map, but it’s still better than looking back.

  “And there is probably more we can tell you about the Olders,” he adds, “if you’re willing to share information. But that’s not where it’s going to stop.”

  “If we did come to talk to the CIA, what would they say? Give me the recruitment speech.” Knowledge is power. It can’t hurt to be prepared for how they’re going to try to woo us to their side.

  “They want to help you develop and improve your abilities in a natural way. They want to let you continue your education past high school, if that’s what you desire.” He pauses, then shrugs. “They want you to work for them. To be available for covert ops and to serve your country to the best of your rather unique abilities.”

  “So, be spies.”

  “In layman’s terms, though that won’t be the extent of your duties if you agree.”

  There it is. On the table. For some reason, what the CIA might ask of us seems less scary out in the open. The devil you know, and all that. The shadow of the Olders’ intentions could as easily be full of nightmares as daisies.

  The truth is, though, it’s not what they might ask of us that’s causing me to hesitate. It’s the fact that they did all of this to us in the first place, planned on using us our whole lives and never really thought they’d have to ask us at all. Maybe it means I’m selfish and stubborn, but part of me wants to give them the finger just because I can.

  Dane and I stare at each other for a long moment. His response bothers me, and something about the way he holds his shoulders tight against his neck unsettles me.

  “Why do you say they, not we? Don’t you work for the CIA?”

  “Of course. But I’m not them, Norah. I’m not a robot.” He glances away, as though afraid to let me see behind his eyes. “I got to know you, and Eve, and yeah, even Jude. It’s not the same for me now.”

  “That’s why you wanted t
o talk to me alone. You think we’re friends.”

  His gaze is still soft, but there’s wariness around the edges. As if he’s not sure he wants to continue the conversation. “I don’t know about friends, but I wanted to tell you that you can trust me without the others rolling their eyes at you. I’ve got your best interests at heart, and I’m telling you the government is the lesser of two evils.”

  “Oh, so basically the Olders are strangers handing out candy in the back of a white van?”

  “Nice real-world reference there, freak.” He winks, and I can’t help but feel pleased. “Listen, I’m not going to sit here and blow rainbows and sunshine at you. It’s not who I am, you’re too smart to fall for it, and it doesn’t do either of us any good. The government created you. They own you, whether you like it or not, and they will expect a return on that investment.”

  I bite back a growl, my chest hot at the claim that anyone owns me and my Cavies. Maybe they don’t even think we’re people. “What does that mean?”

  “It means they’re going to come to you with unique cases and problems and expect your help.”

  “Like this situation with the computer virus out of Russia?”

  That makes his jaw drop and a not small amount of satisfaction flush my skin. I got the drop on Dane, for once, and it feels pretty awesome.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I’m friends with Cavies. Some of them can do pretty awesome things.”

  “Well, yes, exactly like that, and we especially need Mole, Haint, and Athena on this one.”

  Shame smacks me across the cheeks, as hard as any palm. They don’t need me. They need my friends.

  The internal lecture about how messed up my reaction is can’t come quick enough, or be convincing enough, to stave it off, and in my too-long pause, Dane rushes on.

  “We want you all. We can utilize each and every one of your talents, but those three are the ones we have missions for right up front, is all.” The fact that he’s trying to make me feel better, that he knows me well enough to sense my insecurity over my bogus mutation, twists a knife in my heart.