I left out the part about me being there.
“Wow. That’s intense, Spencer,” Kimbal said. “You dream this more than once?”
“Four times, so far.”
He took a deep breath. “So it’s likely coming?”
I shrugged. “Unless you can figure out how to avoid it.”
“Can you tell me anything else about the place? Color of the walls? Furniture? Artwork?”
“Uh . . . walls were white. Black light fixtures. Seemed pretty modern. The floor was wood, several shades of brown that kind of zigzagged.
His eye twitched just a little, but I saw it. He knew this place.
“Guess I’d better be careful,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Probably a good idea.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Sure,” I said.
Then he left.
Mr. Sloan wanted to know everything Kimbal had said. His worry made it clear Kimbal was no longer the trusted man he’d been—at least as far as the Mission League was concerned. No one had updated me on my questions regarding his past, so I couldn’t help but wonder what all the fuss was about. I told Mystery Sloan that Kimbal just wanted to give me a Christmas present. Showed him the Beats. Relayed all the stuff about his new assignments and how busy he was.
I didn’t mention I’d told Kimbal about my dreams. I’d reported those already, so it wasn’t like I was keeping anything from the FO. I knew how they felt about people sharing prophecies, but Prière and Mary had done it with me so many times, I figured it was my call to make, so I’d made it.
And I was glad I did. While I wanted to believe I’d figured out the truth about my mom’s death—that Kimbal had been the one responsible—I just didn’t have the facts yet. And I felt lighter now that Kimbal knew. If he got the idea to go charging into some building to rescue me, at least now he might think it through first. Come in another way or something.
I hoped I hadn’t talked him out of rescuing me.
I didn’t notice I had a missed call on my cell until I got home. Isaac had left a message. Said he had information about my dad. I called him right away.
“You got news?”
“Hey, Spencer. Yeah, it’s not all that much. Tony told me this morning that your dad did not report that final prophecy that was written in his journal. There’s no record of it in the database. The previous one is in there, though, so I think he never got the chance.”
“Why not?”
“Because the date on that prophecy you decoded is the same date your mom died.”
A chill ran over me. Dad had had the prophecy, so he’d taken off to try and stop Kimbal, but he’d been too late.
“Spencer, you there, man? Sorry to just blurt it out like that.”
“Naw, I’m good. I was just thinking that my dad probably ran off to find Kimbal and . . .”
“And it looked like he had no alibi,” Isaac said. “Could be.”
Isaac might not be ready to accept my theory as fact, but I had a feeling I’d nailed it.
● ● ●
Christmas day was quiet. Grandma and I ate breakfast and did presents. My last Christmas as a “kid,” and it was all over in twenty minutes. Kind of depressing.
That afternoon, Prière came over with a casserole and set about helping Grandma with dinner. Grandma put me to work peeling potatoes, and that’s where Prière cornered me.
“Spencer, I have some concern about this New Year’s party at Monsieur MacCormack’s house. If you come into conflict with anyone, you should remain calm. Do not defend. Do not engage. Simply walk away.”
I looked at the guy, at his small, dark brown eyes, his narrow face, that trim little mustache. “Is that just some sage advice you felt like throwing my way? Or did you have a prophecy?”
“Oui, I have had a prophecy in which you lose your temper.”
Aw figs. “With who?”
“I cannot say.”
“Cannot or will not?”
“I do not know this person, so I cannot tell you who he is.”
Great. “It’s a man?”
“Oui, a man. You and he are outside. It is dark. You are holding a cell phone. I’m afraid that is all I remember.”
I sighed. “Well, thanks, Prière. I’ll try and keep calm.” Which I was almost certain I’d never remember to do without more details. “If you remember anything else, tell me, okay?”
“Oui, oui, of course.”
About the time the turkey had the house smelling like a feast, the doorbell rang. Prière was setting the table, and Grandma had me mashing potatoes, so she went to answer it.
“Spencer,” she said, coming up to me and taking the masher. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
She just pushed me toward the living room. I went and found Grace standing by the Wall of Fame, hands behind her back, looking small and innocent. She was wearing jeans and a purple hoodie. Her hair was down and curly. She looked amazing.
“Hey,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“Mom drove me over, so don’t freak out.” Grace moved her hands from behind her back and handed me a gift bag. “I got you something.”
I took it and pulled out a Lakers’ cap. I had several. But this one looked just like the one Kimbal had gotten me before Moscow. The one I’d lost in the Pacific.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to get a new one. I made you something, but I’ll need your phone.”
“What is it?”
“A bunch of custom ringtones. It’s all set up for, you know, whenever . . .”
“Really?” She grinned. “I’ve been wanting to get some of those.”
“Yeah, you mentioned, so . . .” I shrugged.
We stared at each other, then the floor, then the walls.
Well, wasn’t this super awkward?
“How you been?” she asked finally.
“Good. You?”
“Fine.”
More awkwardness.
Laughter broke out from the kitchen. Grandma and Prière having way too much fun in there.
“Who’s all here?” Grace asked.
She had to ask. “Grandma invited Prière to Christmas dinner.”
“Oh, that was nice of her.”
I held back a sarcastic remark. I hadn’t told Grace that Grandma and Prière were now an item. I was really trying not to think about it as much as possible.
“Eli asked me out,” Grace said.
Nice. My chest got tight, but I smiled, looked her in the eyes, and said, “He’s got great taste, Sunshine. Your fan club is growing.”
She shrugged. “It’s just weird,” she said.
“Going out with Eli bothers you?” I asked.
“No. I told him no. And now things are weird.”
That I understood perfectly. “Well, maybe you should give the poor brother a shot.” I winked. Because I had to play it cool. But happy, I was not.
Grace scowled at me. “I don’t want to go out with Eli. Because I still love you.”
Oh-kay. Here we go again. I inhaled a long breath through my nose, but before I could think of what to say, she changed the subject.
“Also, I’m back in the Mission League. Mom isn’t real happy about it, but I told her it’s something I have to do.”
“Really? And what did she say to that?”
“I’ve been investigating on my own the past few months, and Brittany invited me to Valeria’s Dawning Party. That’s the highest type of FLY party there is.”
“Wait. You’ve been investigating on your own?” I asked. “Does Mr. S know this?”
“I’m allowed to bring a guest, so I’m going to bring you.”
My head was seriously spinning here. “Oh-kay,” I said, still trying to grasp the fact that she’d been investigating on her own. “As long as your mom and Mr. S agree.”
Her eyes flashed, but she recovered quickly and smiled. It looked kind of fake, bu
t I noticed the effort she’d made to control her temper. “Great,” she said. “Well, Mom is waiting.” She gestured to the door. “Have a nice Christmas. I guess I’ll see you next Sunday for your report.”
“Not next Sunday,” I said. “I’m not doing any investigating this week. I’ve got too many games.”
“Oh. Okay, well, I’ll be coming to Harris Hall again, so I’ll see you in class when school starts back up.”
She slid her arms around my waist and hugged me. I just stood there, smelling her hair, not sure what to do. Then she left, and I stood by the door, replaying the visit in my mind.
Grace shouldn’t be investigating on her own. Especially with her being the First Twin. She could get hurt. And if her mom was going to let her come back to the Mission League, did that mean she’d let us get back together? Did Grace even want to get back together? It had sure seemed that way. I wish she’d just say so. Maybe she just wanted to help with the investigation.
But she’d said she still loved me. And she’d hugged me. But Grace never did anything so straightforward. With Grace, things were always super complicated.
I wished I could read her mind, but I had a feeling that anything I heard inside that beautiful head of hers would be just as confusing.
REPORT NUMBER: 18
REPORT TITLE: My New Years’ Resolution: Listen to Prière
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Irving MacCormack’s Mansion, 14217 Evans Road, Los Angeles, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Monday, December 31, 8:47 p.m.
MacCormack’s New Year’s party was as boring as Ving said it would be. Watkins had given me a budget to rent a suit for the occasion, not wanting me to look out of place in my grandpa’s retro numbers. I was glad he did. Every guy at the party was wearing a black suit, even Blaine, who was looking very swanky with all his earrings removed.
“Whenever I introduce you to someone tonight, extend your hand to shake,” Diane squeaked. “I know that touch can sometimes increase the chances of having a glimpse.”
“Sure,” I said, wondering how she knew such things. So weird to hear a non-Mission Leaguer talk about glimpses, as if such things were normal to the whole world.
Because they weren’t.
“I’m particularly curious about Michael Renwat,” Diane said. “I’ll introduce you to him myself.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
But all she would give me was, “An associate.”
Whatever. Tony Watkins would give me the guy’s life story when I asked. And so that’s how the night progressed. Diane towed me around the room and had me shaking hands and smiling at the gleaming white teeth of people rich enough to keep their own dentist on staff.
I didn’t have one glimpse. And now I was wishing I had some hand sanitizer. Again I wondered how my dad could have ever been a dream dealer. I mean, I just didn’t think God would allow himself to be mocked. Did Diane really think she could fool the big guy upstairs? Seemed kind of gutsy to even try.
I felt as if I’d touched everyone in the room, with the exception of the wait staff, but not quite. Then Diane dragged me over to one more person.
“This is Michael Renwat,” she said, “an associate of mine.”
The associate was Asian, about Diane’s height, and mostly bald. I tried not to miss a beat, reached out my hand. Renwat took it.
Nothing. I think Diane could tell because she grimaced like she’d eaten some bad caviar.
Well, just because I failed Diane didn’t mean I wasn’t going to seize this moment for myself. Curious why Diane was so eager for a peek into this guy’s future, I decided to chat him up.
“What do you do, Mr. Renwat?” I asked.
“I’m in international distribution,” he said. His accent was Australian.
“Distribution of what?” I asked.
He chuckled and glanced at Diane.
“Films, Spencer,” she said. “Everyone here tonight is one of Ving’s industry friends.”
Yet she’d called Renwat an associate of hers.
“So you make sure people in Australia can see the Light Goddess films?” I asked.
“Something like that,” he said.
The vagueness at this party wearied me. I was about to ask Renwat if he distributed anything besides movies, when Diane said she had to introduce the guy to someone else.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, as they walked off. “Keep in touch.”
Guess I’d have to wait for Watkins if I wanted the full story on Renwat.
I stood there in the middle of the room until I realized Diane wasn’t coming back. Probably because Operation Shake-a-Hand was at an end. That meant I was free to run my own investigation.
I wandered around, making small talk whenever I got the chance or joining in on group conversations like I was one of Ving’s industry peeps. What Diane had said seemed to be true. Everyone there had some connection to the film industry. I did my best to weasel out details by asking people how long they’d known MacCormack, what they did for him, and where was home base, but it got pretty boring after a while.
When Brittany rescued me from some foreign film producer whose Italian accent was so thick, I hadn’t understood half of what he’d been saying, I about wept, I was so thankful.
“Antonio, ciao!” Brittany gave the man the Hollywood kiss-kiss. “You don’t mind if I steal Spencer away, do you? Ving is asking for him.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me away.
“What does Ving want?” I asked. “I swear I’ve met everyone at this party at least twice.”
“Shh,” she said. “I made it up. We’re ditching.”
Oh, thank you, God. My half-prayer reminded me that I hadn’t done any other praying all night. Time to check in with the Big Guy upstairs.
“God,” I prayed, “all those people I met . . . If there’s anything you want me to know . . . anything that might help me figure out how to catch MacCormack and Diane in whatever crooked stuff they’re up to, please show me.”
No vision came.
“So, maybe later, huh, God?”
Brittany and I slipped out a side door and down a hallway I recognized from MacCormack’s tour. I could still hear the murmur of voices from the party when the distant sound of a thumping bass started to rise.
A few more twists and turns and Brittany pulled me into a suite similar to the one MacCormack had “given me,” which could have passed for a night club. The lights were low, and some were flashing. I quickly noted a DJ set up on the kitchen counter. There were about fifteen people dancing in the middle of the room and just as many covering the couches and chairs. The patio doors were open, and I spotted more people out by the pool, which was lit with a bright spotlight.
We’d barely entered when three girls approached Brittany, all of them talking at once. Before I knew it, they’d all but carried her off amid raucous giggling which could rival that of any of the girls in any American high school.
I walked a little deeper into the apartment, observing, and trying to decide if I had enough energy left to talk to all these people—or at least those sober enough to answer.
Meg Farland appeared beside me. She was wearing a short green dress with a lacy hem and stringy straps. Her feet were bare. She held two bottles of beer in her hands.
“I got you a drink,” she yelled over the music.
I shook my head and yelled back, “I don’t drink.”
She smirked. “You? Really?”
I shrugged. “Gets me into trouble.”
She brushed up against me and nudged one of the beer bottles against my chest. “What’s wrong with a little trouble every now and then?”
Mama. I turned my head toward her ear, so I wouldn’t have to yell. “I’ve had enough brushes with the law in the past few years to scare me straight. At least until I’m legal. Plus I don’t want to do anything that will risk my chances of getting a basketball offer.”
“Ah.” She smiled. “Gotta kee
p a clean rep for the papers. I get that. Convenient for me, too.” She took a deep swig of beer, showing off her long neck as she chugged. When she came up for air, the bottle was empty. She gave her head a little shake, and her hair fluttered around her face. She grinned at me. “Because now we have a designated driver.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said. “I’m only seventeen.” Besides, Grandma would maim me if she knew I was driving around a bunch of drunk actresses.
Meg rolled her eyes and set the empty bottle on the kitchen counter, still holding the one she’d offered me. She took my hand and led me out onto the patio where the music was softer. I admired the way her hair fell against her shoulders, how the straps of her dress crossed in back.
Meg walked us to an empty beach chair and sat down, tugging me to sit beside her. Once I was seated, she leaned close, still holding my hand. Her spicy perfume snaked up my nostrils and jumpstarted my pulse.
“Why haven’t you come to a Jolt party yet?” she asked. “Your friend Kip has had, like, three. I went to his last one hoping to see you, but . . .” She frowned, bringing my attention to her lips and the way the top one was like a sliver of the moon.
“There was an away game that day,” I said, forcing my eyes to the pool, which, frankly didn’t help since it was filled with girls in bikinis. “Even if I’d driven myself to and from the game, I never would have made it back in time.”
She released my hand and lay back on the reclining chair. I stayed put, looking down on her and admiring the view of that lacy hem against her tan legs.
“Your girl Grace was there,” she said.
Mention of Grace when I was checking out another girl made my cheeks burn. I settled my gaze on my shiny black rental shoes. “Yeah, I heard that.”
“You and her still a thing?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes,” I said, which seemed true enough.
She chuckled and nudged me with her knee. “Oh, I get it. You’re a player, huh? Whenever you feel like it?”
The Profile Match Page 16
