by LE Barbant
And the scientist had lost his patience with phase one.
With his subject’s absence, Chem poured over past results, making small modifications to the solution. But he needed Tim to continue his work. The serum’s diminishing returns were problematic, be he hoped that with the proper tweaking he could overcome that last hurdle.
A difficult task in his makeshift lab.
Chem slid the book onto the shelf next to the other ten. His notes were meticulous, and he knew his precision would soon pay off.
As if on cue, the burner phone buzzed in his pocket. He flipped it open and read the text:
Twenty minutes. Same place. Good news.
Shit.
Chem knew it would be a stretch to make it across town in time. He pulled out his personal cell, tapped the Uber icon, and headed for the door.
****
Chem skipped the over-priced tea and walked directly to the booth. The empty espresso cup was there, as was another manila envelope.
Kennedy held up an index finger as he tapped out something on his phone. It seemed to last forever.
Finally, the man looked up.
“They like what they see, Percival. Really like it.”
Chem suppressed a shit-eating grin and nodded instead.
“I’m pleased to hear that.”
Kennedy, for the first time ever, smiled. “You ought to be. This is the chance of a lifetime. This is what all you lab jockeys work for, and now it’s landing in your lap.”
Landing in my lap? I busted in my balls for this.
“I’m grateful,” Chem said.
Kennedy slid the envelope across the table. “Here are the details and the entire non-disclosure agreement. It’s typical. Strict, but typical.”
“You can let your people know that I’m happy to—”
Kennedy’s raised his index finger. “Of course, it’s contingent upon the conclusion of your current trial. Get us those results and it should be smooth sailing.”
Chem nodded again. “In regards to the final results, if for some reason they were inconclusive—”
Kennedy cut Chem short again. “Is there a problem Mr. Scott?”
“No. Nothing. Everything’s moving on schedule.”
“Excellent. Get us your final reports, and we can sign the deal. In the meantime, review our agreement and make sure it satisfies your requirements. Do you have any questions?”
Chem closed his eyes. He knew it was customary to ask something in a job interview, but he drew a blank. There wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell he’d turn this down. It was his dream.
“What’s the weather like?”
Kennedy glanced out the window at the cold, November, Pittsburgh rain. “A hell of a lot better than what you have here. It’s in the southern region, so, mostly temperate in the winter. But if you sign your name, there’s a good chance you won’t see the out of doors very much.”
“Fair enough.”
Chem picked up the documents. The package was heavier than he expected, and he wondered if he should have an attorney take a peek.
“Keep the burner on. We’ll contact you within the week.”
Kennedy stood. He placed his hand on Chem’s shoulder, sending a chill down his spine.
“This is a great opportunity, Percival. This company has changed my life. It will change yours as well.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The quiet suburban neighborhood boasted meticulously landscaped lawns. Late model vehicles filled the driveways and children armed with new winter coats played in the yards. It was the kind of neighborhood featured on the cover of real estate magazines. The zip code’s housing cost protected it from the urban exiles pushed to the suburbs by twenty-first-century gentrification, and the residents planned on keeping it that way.
The tiny Mumford house stood out amongst them. It came complete with a rusty van and a flowerbed overtaken by weeds. Elijah could feel the neighbors’ contempt toward the place as he walked up its short, cracked driveway. In comparison, the house could be called dilapidated, but in another neighborhood, it would seem perfectly satisfactory.
Compared to Elijah’s house in Homestead, it was a work of art.
The historian stepped onto the low porch and reached for the doorbell. A familiar ringtone chimed from his pocket before he could press the worn button. He pulled the chirping device from his pocket and hoped it might be Rhett or Chem with some good news.
Harry Smith.
Shit. This can’t be good.
Cheryl Stamford, the chair of the history department had been emailing all week. Too busy even to take a proper dump, Elijah had delayed responding. He knew it was a bad move, particularly since there were plenty of hungry, newly minted PhDs ready to take his classes to fill their adjunct workload. Putting her off was shortsighted, especially considering his current financial situation. Teaching undergrads while waging war with wizards made it tough to find other part-time work.
Now Dr. Smith, Dean of the Liberal Arts college had found his number. Elijah knew it couldn’t be good. His thumb hovered over the glass as the green dot screamed at him to punch it. He looked back at the door and thought of his friends.
“You’ll have to wait, Dean Smith,” he muttered.
Elijah pressed the doorbell, which was dangling by a single, loose screw and shoved his vibrating device back into his pocket.
He hoped that she would be there. Rita was not an easy person to find. She had no cell phone, no permanent address, and, despite her conspicuous appearance, was a master of stealth. Their meetings were always on her terms. Before that day, he had never sought her out, but now he needed her more than ever.
Rita was a hunter; she did the finding, not the other way around.
Chem informed him that much of her time was spent with Sylvia and Skylar Mumford. Whether it was the result of their brief captivity or the fact that they were both limited by their abnormalities, Rita and Skylar had developed a fast friendship. Elijah imagined she had found some solace in the Mumfords’ companionship.
If they didn’t know where Rita was, Elijah would be out of options.
Elijah heard the bell ringing through the paper-thin door and nothing else. Finally, there was the sound of footsteps. Sylvia cracked the door and peered out. Considering that she and her daughter had been taken abducted and caged like animals, her defensive posture was reasonable. Her narrowed eyes softened when she recognized the historian.
The warmth of the house quickly reddened Elijah’s cheeks. He was glad to be welcomed into the comfortable living room. The inside of their home matched its exterior. Everything, from the paint to the furniture, was ten years out of date—but offered him a sense of peace. Sylvia was fueled by a love for her daughter, and he could feel it in the house.
Elijah followed Sylvia into a kitchen hardly big enough for the small table. He sat in the only chair available. The opposite side was kept clear for Skylar’s wheelchair, which remained out of sight. He watched Sylvia push the plunger on the French press.
“I’ve let Rita know you’re here, Dr. Branton. She should be down soon.”
Elijah detected suspicion in her voice. He smiled as he accepted the steaming cup with hopes of putting his host at ease. “Thank you. And you can call me Elijah if you don’t mind if I call you Sylvia.”
Sylvia nodded but kept her eyes focused on the table. The silence only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like forever. He set his coffee down and tried to break the tension. “So, how’s your project coming along? Any progress?”
“Hmmm…What?” Sylvia looked startled. “I’m sorry. When you rang I was in the middle of a design change. Transitioning from machines to humans has always been a little difficult for me.” A tiny grin cracked across her face. “Not to mention, life amongst the humans has been a bit out of the ordinary lately.”
Elijah nodded. “I get it, believe me. This year has been anything but normal for me as well.” He paused. “I was asking about your work. How’s the
project for your daughter progressing?”
“Oh. Fine. I ironed out some bugs with the neural interfacing, and I’ve developed a few improvements to adjust for Skylar’s lack of bodily—” She stopped mid-sentence and looked over Elijah’s shoulder.
Over his coffee’s aroma, he could smell something off, like the smell of the faculty lounge after someone microwaved fish sticks. He turned and saw the bright yellow rain coat, the reptilian face shadowed beneath the hood. He suppressed a shudder, smiled and said, “Rita. It’s nice to see you. New jacket?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms but stayed standing.
Small talk with Rita seemed impossible. Given the situation, he was fine with that.
“Cool. I’m here because we’re pretty sure we figured out Willa and Tim’s location.” He paused, trying, without success, to discern Rita’s attitude. “Rhett and I are planning on going in tomorrow night. I was hoping you’d consider joining us. We could use your help.”
Her lizard face remained unchanged. Rita was a mystery. He knew that she and Tim would never be friends, but she had saved his life on more than one occasion. He hoped that she’d be up for a repeat performance, but Rita’s motivations were her own.
“How many other wizards will be there?” she asked without looking him in the eye.
“I’m not sure. At least a dozen but possibly more.”
“And they’re all like Willa?” Rita gurgled.
Elijah rubbed his hand across the nape of his neck. He wondered if he should undersell the Guild’s capabilities. Without Rita’s help, the mission would be exponentially more difficult. He decided to shoot straight. “From what we’ve seen, Willa is only a beginner. These are the real deal.”
She pushed her hood back. The fluorescent kitchen light glimmered off her scales. “What does a wizard base have in terms of defenses or security?”
“We don’t know.”
“And are Tim and Willa even alive? What shape will they be in?” Her voice maintained its composure with each question.
Elijah shifted in his chair. “We don’t know that either.”
Salesmanship wasn’t in his skill set.
Rita was tough but also a survivor. Running blind into a hopeless situation wasn’t her style.
He cleared his throat. “Look I know it doesn’t sound great, but—”
“I’ll do it.”
“What?” Elijah’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m in. I’ll help. They’d do it for me. Even the soldier, after all we’ve been through.”
The woman peered up at him. For the first time, her large black eyes looked almost human.
“Rita, thank you,” Elijah exhaled. “This means more than I can say.”
She grunted in reply. The awkward silence returned to the room. He opened his mouth to thank her again but was interrupted by Skylar and the hum of her electric wheelchair.
“If Rita’s going, I’m going.”
A wide metal band sat on her head with wires connected to the device.
“Absolutely not.” Sylvia shook her head. “Out of the question. No way.”
“Mom, I can do it. They helped us when we needed them. And it sounds like they’re gonna need an extra pair of hands.” A mischievous smile spread across her delicate face. “And with the suit almost finished—”
Rita gurgled in response. “Your mom’s right. It’s too dangerous. You’re not ready.”
“I’ll never be ready unless you let me try. We’ve been practicing in that warehouse for days. I’m sick of it, and I’m getting good. I know I can help.”
The look of determination on the young girl’s face reminded Elijah of Sean. He pictured the young man, wanting desperately to be a hero, confronting him on the streets of Oakland. When they cut him out, Sean pursued things on his own and ended up dead.
Elijah couldn’t shake the feeling that Sean’s blood was on his hands. Maybe this was a shot at redemption.
“What if she came along, just to observe,” he said.
“Really!” Skylar squealed.
“Dr. Branton—”
“Sylvia, I know this sounds crazy, but she’s not a normal kid. She’s special. We all know that. If you let her come, we’ll keep her far away from the action. Trust me, she won’t be in harm’s way.”
Sylvia looked into her coffee cup and swirled the creamy contents as she ruminated on Elijah’s words. He knew that the girl could be an asset, even from a distance.
“Rita, what do you think?” Her eyes begged Rita to disagree.
Rita paused, then said, “Skylar’s one of the strongest people I know. And her progress has been remarkable. But I think this is too dangerous.” Her words were slow and measured.
Skylar wheeled forward slowly. “I’ve been trapped in this chair for most of my life, always needing someone else’s help. You feed me, bathe me, and dress me. But this, this is something I can do. I could help someone else for once. Mom, you’ve spent so much time building this machine. Let me use it.” Skylar’s voice trembled, pleading with her mother. “Being a damned burden is all I know. Just give me this. Please.”
Sylvia looked up at her daughter, her eyes watery.
“Maybe there’s a way she could help and stay out of the way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Navigating everything from her first period to her first crush was difficult—particularly without a mother in the picture.
Add magical powers to the mix, and adolescence was damn near impossible.
Willa sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chin. She stretched her night dress down toward her ankles. She had outgrown it months ago—again, something a mother would notice.
The two male voices meandered up the stairs and through her door, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. Her grandfather’s visit was a surprise. From the look on her father’s face, she wasn’t the only one taken off guard by the old magician’s appearance.
Willa knew why he had come. Her father and grandfather had virtually no relationship. While she would love to believe that the gray-bearded man had arrived for her fourteenth birthday, she didn’t kid herself. He made the trip because of the incident. Her incident.
Marshall High wasn’t a terrible place. Students were generally cordial with each other, and they respected the invisible lines between cliques. Willa had a few close girlfriends and plenty of other kids she tolerated. But Marshall, like any other school, was infested with its share of bullies.
Smart enough to steer clear of the boys who liked to tease, Willa usually remained out of trouble. But growing up meant that things would change, the most prominent in her memory was the rise of the Marshall Mean Girls. Tracy Holloway, a friend through elementary school, somehow received the metaphorical tiara crowning her queen of the pack—a mantle she wore with glee. Everyone had their role at the school. The Mean Girls’ purpose was to help all the others understand their own inferiority. Tracy and her cronies were good at their job.
One day after school, on her way to literature club, Willa heard Tracy’s high-pitched shrill. “OK, Ssssssssussssie. Ssssay it again. Sssso ssssorry. I just could underssssstand what you were ssssssaying.”
Crap, Willa thought.
Susie Slessenburg was the current target of Tracy’s hate. Her speech impediment—combined with hand-me-downs from three generations of older sisters—made her the perfect victim. Susie’s name didn’t help her situation.
Willa had considered circumventing the school to avoid Tracy and her ilk. But anger welled up within her.
Someone needed to put an end to it.
Stepping around the corner, Willa concentrated on Tracy. She spoke the words she had spent the summer memorizing:
“Silence is all we dread.
There's Ransom in a Voice –
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.”
And this was why Willa’s grandfather had flown in.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Though his voice
was gentle, Willa felt the gravity in its undertones.
“I don’t know.” She couldn’t look at him. “What’s to talk about?”
His hand rested on her leg. It was larger than God’s. “Willa, this gift of ours is not to be used haphazardly. Some would say it is better not to be used at all.”
“What’s the purpose of a gift if it isn’t used?” she asked.
She looked up and saw a smile beneath her grandfather’s beard.
“I guess that’s a good question,” he said. “I asked the same not that long ago.” He paused, and she nearly melted under his gaze. “It’s funny, what we have. Magic is a great power, but it requires greater wisdom to know how—and when to use it. A wizard must be conservative, deliberate in their choices. If we are hasty with our choices, we will act selfishly; wielding the power for our own devices. Like you did at school.”
“My own devices?” Willa nearly yelled. “Tracy Holloway is a terrorist. She tears into anybody who isn’t in her circle. She had it coming.” Her cheeks reddened with hot anger. “And it wasn’t for me. It was for Susie. She didn’t even do anything. Can you imagine?”
Edwin Weil smiled, and Willa’s face cooled a few degrees. “A crusader for justice, huh? You were simply standing up for the little guy, right? But I also know how much you enjoyed it. You wanted this teenage ‘terrorist’ to be humiliated, didn’t you? Susie’s need provided just the opportunity you’ve been longing for.”
Willa stayed quiet, only nodding to her grandfather’s question.
“Just like in school, there are rules in the community of wizards, Willa. There is a group that oversees all of us—the Guild. You can’t use your power any way you want. And like in school, bad things can happen when you break the rules. Now, I know you need someone to help you learn the Way. I’m sorry I’m not here with you, but someday, I promise, we will work together. Learn together.”
