by Carrie Jones
I yank her toward me, hugging her doggy body to my chest. “Enoch! You could be hurt!”
She licks my face. Her tongue smells like blood. I try not to think about this and just bury my head in her fur for a second.
China’s voice comes from above us. “That is not a normal dog.”
“She’s special,” I say.
He makes some sort of sputtering sound. “Yeah, she’s special, all right.”
I just hug her more tightly for a second and then whisper, “Thank you for saving us.”
She tries to lick me again, but I stand up, brushing snow off my pants. I stay close to her as I stare up at China and wonder if there are any more Wendigos hanging about waiting to attack. Enoch seems calm, though. After a moment I ask China where we are exactly, other than a Wendigo attack center. I am only half kidding.
“Big-time headquarters,” he says, pressing a button on the screen of his cell phone. A tree splits in half, revealing the bright, steel sides of an elevator.
“Did you kill a tree to do this? Or is this a fake tree?” I ask after my moment of shock passes. I grab my bag, which still has the crystal in it, and hit my thigh to get Enoch to come.
“You care about the tree?”
“Of course.” I almost scoff because who wouldn’t care about a tree, but decide against it and instead just stride toward the elevator tree, trying not to worry about things lurking nearby. Lyle would love this.
But before I can get there, China stops me with a hand on my arm. “Mana.”
His face is illuminated only by the moon and the stars. It looks … worried.
“I haven’t been telling you something.”
My breath escapes me. “Join the club.”
He doesn’t move away, I’ll give him that. When China shares difficult information he doesn’t shirk or make excuses or hide or distance himself, he just says it (eventually), and I appreciate that bit of bravery and forthrightness. Enoch relieves herself on a tree that is not an elevator and prances back toward me, pressing her side into my shins and knees like she’s either blocking me from moving forward, creating a protective doggy barricade between me and China, or else just looking for some love. I scratch her ears in case it’s the third option and say, finally, “Okay. What is it?”
We’re facing each other and I have to gaze up a bit, but then he spreads his feet a little, shortening himself. He checks a text on his phone and clears his throat.
“I’m just going to get this out. Do you know how I asked you if you wanted to help me with this—?” He waves a hand to indicate the sky above us, the world around us, all dark and obscured, and then continues, “Well, it turns out that wasn’t up to me.”
“What do you mean?” I duck my head and focus on Enoch because the pity in China’s usually pitiless eyes is too much for me.
“I mean, there are people higher up than I am in the organization—”
“I thought this was a renegade organization.”
“It is, but we still have a hierarchy.” He puts a heavy hand under my chin and lifts my head up to look at him. “They think you are too much of a risk to use. That’s why—that’s why there’s been so much silence on my part. I never should have offered to let you help. I believe you can absolutely be vital to our mission. I’m—”
But the world has stopped. Anger rolls up into my throat, hot and full of acid.
“A risk?” I interrupt. “What the hell do you mean? How am I a freaking risk?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “They think you’re an unknown, Mana. You’re human with alien tweaks. You’ve been messed with. They don’t know if you have some brainwashing element still underlying all your external persona. They don’t—”
I swear.
He stops talking.
“Pierce can’t brainwash me. You just said that. I highly doubt I have some freaking subliminal programming underneath it all. What do they think? I’m just going to go crazy and blow up the world?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Seriously?” I give up. This is just stupidity. I stride toward the tree.
“Mana!”
I shake my head and keep walking.
“The aliens made a treaty with Eisenhower in the 1950s, the ones people call the Grays, working with the Samyaza.”
The tree shines like a freaking beacon in the darkness, illuminated from within. Enoch keeps pace with me, leaning against my legs, her shoulder lightly grazing me, and I keep my left arm down so that my fingers can feel the soft fur of her back.
I stop and turn back to him, standing there in the darkness and cold. The night sky is thick above us. You’d think it would make me feel safer, the darkness. It doesn’t. “What are you saying?”
He moves forward three or four strides, closing the distance between us. “They made a deal—the United States government and the Grays, the Samyaza.”
“Yes, we know this. They said they could abduct people for technology or something. I’m cold. Can we not do this now?”
“They duped the government. They said that their planet was dying, that their species was dying. They needed humans to help strengthen their own DNA, to help their species survive. They appealed to our humanity.” His laugh is short, bitter, and it catches me off guard. Enoch presses against my legs as China continues, “We gave them underground bunkers. We gave them permission as long as they promised that no humans would be harmed; that the abductions would be limited; that the humans, the abductees, would have no memory of what happened. They broke the promises. They took enzymes. They took blood. They experimented, genetic experiments that would make the Nazi doctors of World War Two envious. Survivors call one of the levels at a bunker ‘Nightmare Hall.’”
I shudder. I don’t want to hear this. Panic starts to rise inside of me. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You need to know how serious this is, Mana. How big.” He comes and grabs my hand in his, engulfing it. I let him. “They crave us. They crave our blood, our DNA, our enzymes. Many abductees become food, strung up and used. Some get implants—implants that could potentially control them when the Grays and Samyaza decide they need to be controlled.”
“To do what?”
“An army. A human army to fight alongside them when they decide to take over the world.”
The woods are silent.
“That’s not going to happen,” I say.
“Nobody wants it to happen.”
“It will not happen,” I insist. Each of my words punches the air.
“Our leader is driven. It isn’t about caring about the feelings of one person—not you, not me, not anyone. It’s about protecting the entire planet in a near impossible situation.” He sighs. “You need to understand that. You need to understand the stakes.”
“Got it.”
“You sure?”
I pull my hand away and start walking, totally bluffing. “Of course.”
He sighs behind me. The world seems to sigh with him.
“Are you coming?” I call back to China, slowing my pace a tiny bit so as not to be rude. “I know you’re just the messenger and it doesn’t come from you. You aren’t the one I’m mad at.”
In fact, his silence now makes sense and in a weird way it makes me feel better that he wasn’t the one hesitating.
“I know it’s insulting,” he says, quickly catching up to me as we enter the elevator. “They have trust issues, that is what it comes down to.”
“We all have trust issues,” I snark as China and Enoch settle next to me. There’s just enough room for all of us.
“It’s the state of the world.” The doors close.
“Not the state of the universe?” I ask.
“That, too.”
Enoch barks once and then sits at my feet.
“That dog is remarkable,” China says. “So are you. Big breaths, okay? We’ll get through this.”
“Of course we will,” I say, but inside I’m not quite so sure. The elevator feels almost mo
tionless and I am silent for a moment. We all are. Enoch pants a bit, but that’s it. When the doors open again, I think I’m ready for anything—science building with blank white walls and the smell of hot electrical wires overheating in multiple computer hard drives, military compound with steel, reinforced walls and oppressive feeling of death … but instead the elevator door opens to a bright, well-lit room. Blue light beams move up and down from the walls, touching us.
“It’s security. Just be still,” China says.
“Name?” A voice asks from the wall. “All of them.”
“Patrick Kinsella. Mana Trent. Dog currently named Enoch. History unknown,” China says. It’s more of an announcement really.
Enoch grumbles.
I admire her.
“Cleared. Please proceed,” the voice says. “They are waiting in the red room.”
China places a hand at the small of my back and starts walking forward toward the empty wall.
“China?” I say as he just keeps striding.
“Hologram.” He pops through the wall and disappears, then sticks his hand through it and wiggles his fingers. “Come on.”
I yank in a breath and step into the wall, ready for my face to hit wood and someone to start laughing like it’s all some big practical joke. But I go right through and step into a hallway that’s full of dark, rich mahogany wood, high ceilings. A red Afghani carpet lines the floor, stretching on forever in an intricate, ornate design. It’s like some sort of billionaire’s old house, if the billionaire is old-money billionaire and likes the style of old English manors and Gothic mysteries.
China stands there in the middle of the hall, waiting.
I whistle for Enoch. She hops through the wall, which looks like a door from this side.
China smiles at us. “They’ve designed the rooms in a way that is homey and sort of Victorian chic. They think it calms people. In retrospect, I think the strangeness sets people on edge, so be prepared.”
I could care less about the room’s design and décor. “Who are we meeting?” I ask.
“Probably the head of our organization, Julia Bloomsbury, and the lead scientist, Jon Hill.”
“The head is a woman?”
“Are you surprised? I thought you were a feminist.”
“Surprised in a good way,” I say as we stop outside a black-painted door. It shines.
“Be prepared to be surprised again,” he says, opening the door.
I almost gasp when I peer inside because the room isn’t just Victorian chic, it is huge and glamorous, if you’re into that sort of thing. The ceilings are easily twenty feet tall. Giant windows with muntins separating them into 144 panes extend up the far wall, revealing the darkness of the outside world. Between the windows are dark-red wallpapered beams that support a paneled ceiling. White carpets are scattered along the dark wood floor. There are wooden desks, ornate Queen Anne chairs, Tiffany lamps, golden-framed portraits. Huge crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling.
“Are we in a castle?” I whisper. “We’re still in the United States, right?”
He sort of laughs, but not really. It’s more a chortle. I don’t have any time to respond because two people are approaching us. One is a tall woman with long reddish hair and dark skin. She eyes us and smiles, but it isn’t a happy smile. Behind her is a nondescript white man with dark hair and eyes, and a distinct lack of a smile. They are both dressed like white-collar office workers.
“China. This must be Mana,” the woman says, extending her hand.
We shake hands and everyone is quickly introduced. As I scan the surroundings, uneasiness makes me a little jittery, which Julia Bloomsbury must notice because she pats a chesterfield couch and indicates that she wants us to sit down. I perch on the edge of a leather cushion, ready to spring, while China just relaxes into the couch like he’s suddenly Captain Casual.
Over at a table, Jon Hill, the scientist guy, starts pouring glasses of water. Our fingers touch when he hands it to me and there’s something in his eyes that seems … It’s like he’s trying to tell me something telepathically, but I’m not getting it. I don’t drink any water, but China does. It seems he’s more trusting than I am right now.
“Tell us about your day,” Julia says, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other.
China begins. I add to the story. I don’t mention the crystal.
Her lips press together as we tell it and she asks the occasional question until I finally can’t stand it anymore.
“I’d like to know why you don’t think I can be involved,” I blurt. “It’s pretty obvious that I’m already involved.”
“That’s not what we think. It’s not about involvement. It’s about access and trust. We think that you can’t be an agent. You’re an unknown, Mana. Human but enhanced. We don’t know what they did to you—not all of it, at least. Melissa Trent, who you know as your mother, bless her heart, has been watching you all this time, but—”
“My mother was taking care of me, not watching me,” I interrupt.
“You have a temper.” She arches an eyebrow.
“I have a temper when people distort the truth to suit their agenda. Yes. And I also have a temper when there are hate crimes, bigotry, and people are cruel to animals or my friends.”
She chuckles and turns to China. “She’s very self-aware.”
“In certain ways.”
I want to shout I am right here! but I’m trying not to show my temper, especially when they are talking about it. Instead I say, “I think I’ve been alive long enough and been involved enough that I can be trusted.”
“No one can be trusted,” she snaps.
“Well, I’ll fit right in, then.” I cross my legs, mimicking her posture. Enoch sniffs at my glass of water. I lower it for her and she laps the liquid out pretty daintily for a dog. I swear the Julia woman looks like she might faint.
“This,” Jon says. “This is why she should be here. Look at that.”
“The dog?” Julia asks.
“She shows it love.” He raises his hands as if that explains everything, but we all give him clueless looks. He groans. “She’s obviously kind.”
“Kindness doesn’t win wars,” Julia snaps.
“Kindness wins hearts,” he retorts. “‘No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted’ or something. Aesop. Or maybe Taylor Swift?”
Julia leaps up into standing position, pacing away. “Two potential agents with kindness in their hearts were brainwashed today. Do not tell me about kindness.”
Standing by the windows, she stares out into the darkness. I try to catch China’s eye but he keeps looking straight ahead. Something inside my brain clicks and I get it. Jon Hill clears his throat.
“Are you talking about Lyle and Seppie?” I ask. “They are potential agents but I’m not? The camp they were going to was agent camp? Is there such a thing as agent camp? Holy—”
China gives a quick nod. “It wasn’t my call, but yes.”
“You all kept this from me?” I demand. “Even when I specifically asked you? You just lied. You pretended Lyle could be a skin walker, a shapeshifter. You misled me.”
Bile rises in my esophagus and hits the back of my throat. My hands clench from anger, or maybe betrayal.
“You are not some special snowflake that gets to know the inner workings and hirings of our agency,” Julia snaps at me, not even bothering to turn from the window to deliver the dis. This enflames my anger even more. “He was following my orders.”
“Your orders?” I gape at her. I know I’m gaping. I do not care. “What is wrong with you?”
“Do not be insolent. This is exactly why we can’t trust you. Why you can’t be an agent. You have no respect for authority.” She turns to face me finally.
“My respect has to be earned.”
“And so does mine,” she counters, staring at me like she is some sort of alpha dog trying to get me to back down.
“You aren’t even giving me a c
hance to earn it. Why them?” The question sputters out. Anger has overtaken me. Anger and resentment. Who is this woman to decide whether or not I’m worthy? Who is this woman to put my friends in danger without including me?
“They already know about us. The girl is brilliant. The boy is alien, totally infiltrated into society and fast, smart, with no anger issues.” She gives a little sigh and breaks her gaze. “Jon, I find this conversation tedious. Why don’t you show Miss Trent to her room and explain things while I talk to China here.”
Jon perks up, walks forward, and beckons for me to follow him. I feel dismissed, but I don’t actually mind. I’ve already made my mind up about China and my mother’s employer. I don’t need to waste any more time in some fancy room with people condemning me for nothing while giving me some old-lady version of a mean-girl stare-down.
I follow Jon out into the corridor and Enoch trots by my side, which I appreciate. At least someone is loyal. I’m fuming inside. Lyle and Seppie were both being recruited by China and my mom’s employer, the employer that I was supposed to be working with, and neither of them told me. Seppie’s whole camp thing was a total lie. And Lyle? Was this part of the reason he was acting so strangely? And why were they at the hospital instead of wherever the camp is? Did they even make it to the camp?
I try to push all the anger and betrayal out of my head as I follow Jon Hill. As we pass old portraits and dark, heavy wood doors, I try not to notice my own insufficiencies, which are kind of glaring in a place like this. My jeans are dirty. My hair is dirty and possibly tangled. I need a shower and clothes. I need a hoity-toity vocabulary. I need to know what’s going on.
“Jon,” I say, “are you authorized to actually tell me what’s happening, or are you just sort of my chaperone to my room? I do have a room, right? Or is she kicking me out?”
“You have a room,” he says demurely, but then his brown eyes twinkle. “For the night at least…”
“You’re a tease, aren’t you?”
