by R. J. Ross
He gets to his feet and heads for the door. Before his hand settles on the doorknob, he stops himself. This is his daughter’s first mission—also, racing across the country would easily bring attention to her that he doesn’t particularly want at the moment. He scowls, his mind racing, and turns back to his computers. This requires a less hands-on sort of approach--one that starts with waking Century up, he thinks with evil satisfaction as he waves a hand. A bit to his surprise, Century already has his personal computer on. The older man gives him a disgruntled look when he takes over the screen. “Now, son,” he says, “this is my HOME computer.”
“I realize that,” Nico says.
“Then you should realize that it’s not polite to hack into a HOME computer.”
“Really, Century, when will you learn that I don’t do polite, especially when one of my kids is in a dangerous situation?” he asks, his expression going hard. “If it were my son, I might yell at you—but this is my daughter,” he says. “What, exactly, did you send my little girl into? Your life might be dependent on this answer, so I suggest you be succinct.”
Century hesitates, a troubled expression crossing his face before he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Well… it’s like this—”
***
The only sounds around are the steady breathing of people sleeping at the campsite, and the clanking noise of metal bumping against metal. It’s the second that draws Rochester. He slips through the night, blending in as easily as he breathes. His clunky combat boots are back at his own camp, along with his socks. He’s going barefoot for this job—which makes him extremely glad it’s a corn field and not a cow field, he thinks dryly. His feet are tough enough to walk on anything, but he doesn't have any desire to step on a cow patty. With each step he picks up on small details, what animal last passed through, the last rain, the last snow. Most importantly, WHO had walked this land last, and where they are now. All of the land in the field is connected, after all.
Not that he needs that information to find the girl, he realizes with a hint of amusement. He can hear every movement she makes. She’s not trying to be quiet. He glances back at the camp, just checking to be sure no one’s guarding her, and then jumps on top of the half-built wall between him and her, crouching there like an owl. There, he thinks, standing in the half built building wearing blue and pink striped pajamas and strange white half gloves. She’s so intent on the machine she’s building that she doesn’t even notice.
It looks like a small torture device, he decides, or one of those old… sarcophagus, his mind supplies. The ones the Pharaohs are buried in. It’s metal—a dark, shiny gunmetal, and she’s welding one of the sides together with—is that her FINGER? She’s got a helmet on, with the mask pulled down, but she’s creating the spark with her finger, so… seriously, what’s the point? He’s a bit stumped by that one. He reaches down, touching the wall on the off chance that something has happened since the last time he touched it. Nothing. A breeze, a random cat peeing on it, a bird or two taking a moment to land before flying off. As long as nothing happens, he thinks, the ghost is perfectly content to leave it alone.
For now.
But that’s the thing, he thinks, standing and walking silently along the wall. Why haunt a building that’s brand new? Oh, he doesn’t doubt that there are ghosts—those three years of living in New Orleans have been enough to make him a believer—well, in a way. What he truly believes is that certain people invest SO much emotion—most often bad—into a place, that it lingers long after they’re gone. The amount is so great that even norms pick up on it and it affects the world around it. And since Rochester is primed to pick up on emotions lingering to begin with, he had thought it’d be the perfect job for training his kid on.
Except the ghost DOESN’T leave the emotional traces, he thinks irritably. Things just move, or a freezing cold breeze passes by, or whatever. And the old lady is intent on proving that the place is haunted—except according to Century, nobody said anything about ghosts before he bought the land. It’s like a huge chunk of the story is missing—and if the girl’s machine can help, he thinks, he might be able to figure it out. He goes still as the girl stops abruptly and digs one hand into her pocket. She pulls out a handful of tiny parts and tosses them into the air, where they float above her head. This is his chance, he thinks, running silently over the wall. His hand shoots out, grabbing one of the screws—just in time for her to look up and see him.
“What the—” she says, jerking back. “How did I not hear you?” she demands. “What are you doing with my screw?”
“’Ello,” he says a bit lamely, still stretched out with his fist in the air.
“Give me my screw back,” she demands, storming up to the wall and holding out a demanding hand. “You almost gave me a heart attack—and why didn’t you TELL us you were a super?” she adds as he slowly lets the screw drop into her hand. It’s already given him a decent amount of information, actually. He just needs to let his mind sort it out. He blinks as she pulls her cell phone out and shoots a green light at him.
“Hey!” he says, “what the hell was that?”
“You spy on me, I spy on you,” she says rudely, turning away from him and looking at her screen. “Oh… you’re a psychic type—” she stops, turning cynical green eyes on him. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” she says, even more rudely.
“What does that phone tell you?” he demands, hopping off of the wall. Before he gets close, she pulls a small light bulb out of her pocket and shakes it at him in a threatening manner.
“Don’t make me use this,” she tells him.
“A light bulb.”
“That’s right—you won’t like what I can do with a light bulb.” Confusion makes him go still, so satisfied, she goes back to looking at her phone. “Huh,” she says. “I’ve seen Mastermental’s scans, you know, so I know you’re not a telepath, or a telekinetic. What are you?” she asks him.
“I ain’t tellin’,” Rochester says stubbornly. “And I still ain’t sure what you’re gonna do with a light bulb,” he adds.
“Why does your son speak better than you do?” she asks.
“I made sure he got the schoolin’ I didn’t—well… I tried,” Rochester admits, guilt hitting him.
“Is he coming into his powers?” she asks, looking honestly concerned. It throws him off guard. “It’s always hard for capes with a lot of promise—I would think a psychic type would have it pretty bad, wouldn’t he?”
He schools his face in a bland expression, not saying one way or the other. She completely ignores him, digging a card out of her pocket and holding it out. “My group—well, other than Flame—we come from Cape High,” she says. “My dad’s the principal. We might be able to arrange something for your son. Or, if we can get rid of this ghost problem, we can see about him getting into this one.”
“This one?” he asks.
“This,” she says, motioning all around her, “is going to be Cape High South. I’m here to put in the computer system.”
He stares at her, almost falling over with shock. “THAT’S what this is?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she says. “But it’s sort of at a standstill now, isn’t it?” she says with a sigh. “I bet the ghost ran off the norm construction workers, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.” He scowls, looking around. This, he realizes, this is exactly what he’d not even dared to dream about. “So… in this school, him freakin’ out if he sees somethin’ ain’t gonna get the world’s notice?” he asks after a long moment.
“No, it shouldn’t,” she says. “It might get his teacher’s notice, but that’s sort of the point of school, right? How do you mean ‘sees something’?” she asks.
“I need t’get into the old lady’s house,” he says. “Can you an’ your team give me a hand?”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I haven’t had the chance t’see what she knows,” he says simply.
***
I’m
not sure if he’s creepy or not. I mean, I want to trust him for some reason—he obviously cares about his son, but at the same time—”How old are you?” I ask curiously, glancing over my shoulder at him.
He blinks, and a frown crosses his face as he starts tapping on his fingers—then asks me, “What year is it?”
I tell him.
“Well… think that makes me, what, close to forty?” he offers, looking thoughtful. “Somewhere around there. I ain’t paid attention to that in years.”
“You’re seriously the same age as my DAD?” I say, shocked. Dad looks older than this guy—but it might be because of their build, that and the white in Dad’s bangs. “You look barely older than I am!”
“It’s the baby face,” Rochester says with a hint of disgust. “I always did look like a kid.”
“And the piercings, and the ratty looking jeans,” I point out, “and going around barefoot doesn’t help much either.”
“Y’wanna make fun of me more, or wake up your team?” Rochester drawls.
“We’re already awake,” Vinny says, his hair lighting up. We’re surrounded. Wow, Dad’s creeping classes have really paid off, haven’t they? I barely heard them coming. Then again, I wasn’t listening for it. One of the first things I did when I learned to control my powers was train myself to IGNORE sounds. There is such a thing as hearing too much. But maybe I’ve gotten a bit too good at it.
“Step away from Zoe,” Kaden says.
“It’s okay, guys,” I say, holding up my phone. “He’s one of us.”
“If you’re saying that just because he’s a cape, well that means Shadowman’s one of us, too,” Vinny says all too calmly. “You might be Nico’s daughter, Zoe, and we’re not going to make light of that, but you’re still on MY team. It’s a pain in the neck, but I’m the one responsible for making sure you don’t get caught up in something dangerous.”
“I trust him,” I say. “At least for now,” I add when Rochester opens his mouth. I shoot him a sharp look when he dares to give me an injured look. “He’s a psychic,” I add, waving the phone at them.
“Psychometric,” Rochester says, sighing.
“Um… He’s crazy and obsessed with foreign measurements?” Kaden offers.
“Psychometry—I can pick stuff up by touchin’ things,” Rochester explains.
“Well, yeah, you usually have to touch things to pick them up,” Kaden says, looking at him as if he were a moron. Vinny turns away slightly, but I think he’s laughing if his shoulders' shaking is an indicator.
Rochester just stares at him. There’s an awkward silence for the count of five before he turns and looks at me. “I need t’get inside the old lady’s house. Maybe she knows somethin’ about the ghost that she don’t remember.”
“We were supposed to do this in a day,” Vinny says. “We can’t do it if we’re busy trying to keep someone busy so you can rob them.”
“Not rob, just touch a few things,” Rochester says. “An’ I could do it if it were only the old bat—it’s the cats that are the real problem.”
“So what are we supposed to do about the cats?” Vinny asks.
Rochester looks at me. “Just how big inside is that ghost trapper thing of yours?” he asks.
I stare at him. “You want to capture ALL of the cats and put them in a metal box.”
“Makes sense t’me,” he says cheerfully.
“Schrödinger’s cat,” Vinny says, “in a mass quantity. That’s just twisted.”
“Schro-dinger’s what?” Kaden asks.
“It’s an old question—if you put a cat in a box is it alive or dead?”
“You can tell, 'cause the box would be moving, right?”
“Well there’s a thing of poison involved, I think—but regardless, that’s absolutely animal abuse, especially if there aren’t holes in the box. Are there holes?” Vinny asks me.
“It was made to keep a ghost inside, remember?” I say. “We’re not putting the cats in the box.”
“Who IS this lady, anyway?” I ask. “I mean, she’s living on a farm in the middle of nowhere, in a rickety, falling down house, with way too many cats. Century bought this land from her, but they haven’t moved her off of it, and she’s… what does the ghost have to do with her?” I ask, looking at Rochester.
“As far as I know,” he says slowly, “she thinks that catchin’ the ghost will prove she’s not crazy, an’ that’ll get her land back from South Hall.”
“But she’s the one that sold it to them, right?” Vinny asks.
I hesitate, and then do something I’m probably going to get in trouble for. I clap my hands, pulling them apart and bringing up South Branch’s financial details. The rest of the group stops, watching as I search through all the various transactions. “Oh,” I say.
“Oh, what?” Vinny asks.
“The farm was sold to Century—but not by her,” I tell them. I tap the air a few more times, hacking into various records. “It looks like her nearest living relatives—second cousins’ grandkids, or something—had her placed into a care facility. It looks like they gained power of attorney when she was diagnosed with dementia—because of her obsession with saying the house was haunted, and possibly all the cats. That’s classic hoarder mentality.”
“And she somehow made it back here when the nurses weren’t watching,” Flame says quietly, his tone somber. "Before they managed to get people in to take the cats away, I'm betting."
“But the house IS haunted, isn’t it?” Kaden says.
“Whatever turned our power off earlier is real,” I say. “It might be a ghost,” I add, yawning. Look, Dad can stay up for nights on end, but I can’t. I’m abruptly realizing that fact. “I planned on trapping it to find out for sure. Something that can move things in the physical world has to have SOME sort of energy, right? Maybe?” It had made sense to me earlier, at least! “And if it’s energy, I can capture it.”
“So if we prove there’s a ghost, then she can prove she doesn’t have dementia, right?” Kaden asks. “And get her land back!”
“Well, possibly? And possibly not—but is her having her land back a good thing?” I ask, trying to put it as gently as I can. “She’s out here all alone. Cats don’t count. I don’t mean it’s good to be in a care facility with other people that really DO have dementia, but—what about those retirement villages they show on TV? Or someplace where she can be around other people with her interests? Besides, then all the work that’s already been done on the school will be a waste.” I motion all around us. “This is the perfect place for a Cape High. Nobody will notice things going boom when you’re out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“And what about the cats?” Vinny asks as we reach the homestead. There seem to be MORE of them than there were the last time I came here, I think a bit dizzily. “That’s definitely not sane,” he points out, as if we weren’t already aware. Look, one, two or even three I can understand, but this has to be at least ten times that many, and clearly an old lady alone isn’t a pet rescue mission.
“Well,” I say, “maybe we should call PETA?”
The screen door rattles as it opens and the old lady in question steps out with a massive basin full of cat food in her hands. “Here we go, lovies!” she calls out as all the cats come running. “Breakfast is serv—who are you?” she demands, seeing us. “Get off my lawn!”
Rochester is gone. I know that without even looking, but it’s reinforced when Kaden mutters “He’s gone,” under his breath. Now we have no choice but to distract her—
Well, actually we DO have another choice, but it’s sort of nasty just to ditch him like that.
“Hi,” I say, stepping forward. “We’ve got an RV that we parked nearby—but for some reason it won’t start now. Can we hook up to your electricity and charge the battery?”
She stares at us, suspicion clear on her face. “And why is a little girl in pajamas doing the talking?” she demands, looking over at Flame.
“She’s
the bossiest of us all,” Flame says with a simple shrug. “I tried talking them into waiting until we can call a tow truck, but she—”
“I’m from Kansas City,” I say, “it is WAY too hot down here to go without AC.” I wave my face with a hand, hoping it convinces her. It IS hotter here, after all—but I’m a cape. Temperature doesn’t really bother me. Although I think it’s even hotter in the RV without power because we have two fire types.
“I—” the woman hesitates, looking from me to Vinny and Kaden. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?” she says to him. “Where’d they grow you?”
“I’m Polynesian,” Kaden says. “My family line comes from Hawaii, but I was born on the mainland,” he says, shrugging. I glance at him, abruptly aware that I have no idea about his family life. Where are they? Are they capes, too? With his size and decent amount of ability, I can’t believe he’s the first in his line—
“One of those island boys, huh? Like in the Elvis movies?” the old lady asks curiously.
There’s this look on Kaden’s face that has Vinny turning away, hiding his laughter again. “Something like that,” Kaden says blandly.
“Or like in Lilo and Stitch,” Vinny offers shamelessly. Kaden shoots him a look. “He keeps trying to learn the bongos thanks to that,” he lies.
“Shut up, Vinny,” Kaden says, “or I’ll tell her about your Mafia ties.”
“Mafia?” the woman asks, looking worried.
“I’m NOT related to the mafia! My dad’s a janitor!” Vinny says.
“Can we hook into your electricity?” I ask. “It shouldn’t take long, I just need to—”
“You just need to?” the woman asks me, looking at me closely. For a second her eyes seem to focus and clear, looking at me closely.
“Um—my dad’s an electrician, so he taught me how to do it,” I say, wondering just how long we have to stand here.
“I wish I could believe you,” the old woman says, shaking her head almost mournfully. “And I might have—if you hadn’t brought THIS into my house.” She steps aside and I look up, watching as Rochester floats into view. For a second I think he can fly, but then I realize his arms are bound behind his back by something invisible.
