The swipe card still worked, and in short order, he was upstairs in the vast array of desks that made up the main office. Weaving through the room, he paused as he reached the place where he and Malden had been stationed.
He drew a sharp breath, and then flicked on his computer. The files were easily located, stored in the customary places on the server, and double-clicking swiftly, he waited impatiently as they loaded.
A window opened. The security tapes started. And it was just as the chief said.
Nothing.
Just… nothing. Static. Minutes and minutes of impenetrable static.
The recording rolled on and greeted him with a black screen once complete. Trembling, he reached out, smacking the playback button again.
Static.
She’d walked away and not a single camera had caught anything. Not a scream, not a flicker of her face. Half a dozen cameras in that hallway, and between the fire and the damned sprinklers, there wasn’t a shred of evidence left to exonerate them from this ludicrous fantasy.
The end of the tape. He hit the keyboard again.
He’d never been one for fantasy. He preferred reality, with all its flaws. He’d just tried to make them right. And then this girl came along.
The keyboard was going to break if he kept hitting the keys this hard.
Malden could still die. His whole legacy would be destroyed in the ensuing investigation. Criminal negligence, they were saying now. What would they say when weeks went by and the girl was still free? Would they blame Malden for his own injuries? Or say Harris had done it all?
He couldn’t stop seeing her face through the flames. The impossible, inconceivable flames that hadn’t burned her and melted metal like it was nothing.
She didn’t have an incendiary device. She hadn’t been covered in retardant. She’d just combusted. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prove it.
The screen flickered.
Harris froze.
Smacking the mouse, he cued up the recording and played it again. Static and copious amounts of nothing, and yet for just a moment, he’d seen something else.
Damn it all, he’d seen her face.
Breathing hard, he gripped the mouse and tried not to throw it across the room. Malden could die. He was going insane. And some little human torch just–
An image of the hallway flashed in front of him, and then disappeared.
“What the hell?” he whispered.
He rewound the security feed. A flash of hallway. A bit of her face.
The tape played again. There was Malden. He could see himself in the corner of the screen.
For minutes on end, he watched the recording over and over, and with every pass, the images grew clearer and the static began to fade. The whole thing was right there, plain as day on the tape the chief said was beyond saving.
But it had taken twenty viewings to see it.
Malden walked down the hall, escorting the girl in her department sweats and handcuffs. A few paces ahead, Harris reached the base of the stairs. And then she skidded to a stop, her back to the camera and her head shaking furiously. She’d been scared of something. The FBI guy. Harris remembered hearing the man’s voice coming down the stairs.
Fire rushed over her. Up her arms, over her body, and oh sweet merciful… Harris wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t for fear he’d wake up and find the cleared recording was just a dream.
Malden fell back, thrashing in pain. The girl stumbled away. The flames… they just vanished, no doubt about it. Flames. No flames. Not a burn on her.
She ran. In the corner of the screen, he watched himself fumble for the gun. He should have been faster. He could have crippled her. Shot her leg and gotten answers. He shouldn’t have let shock slow him down.
The recording ended.
He hit the mouse again, and then leaned back in his chair, thinking of the girl in the interrogation room yesterday. Her eyes had been like smudges of shadow in her bloodless face, and she barely seemed to understand what was happening. Fear radiated off her in waves, and only conviction of her guilt had kept Scott from seeing it.
“What were you really afraid of?” he whispered to the girl on the screen. “Because if you could do that… you certainly weren’t afraid of the police.”
Unexpectedly, anger rose up and, dream or not, he turned away from the monitor. He’d almost pitied her. Seen a kid where Scott saw a homicidal lunatic, and thought there might’ve been more going on than met the eye. She’d looked so much like a victim, after all, and stared at him like a wounded animal in the hunter’s sights. But the whole while…
He realized he was crushing the pencil cup; the fine mesh sides were almost completely bent inward. Carefully, he released his grip and returned his eyes to the screen.
The girl went up in flames and then ran, leaving Malden dying. He hit the button to play the recording again.
No, she certainly hadn’t been afraid of them.
A shadow fell across the room and he looked up to see a human wall blocking the light from the hallway. The wall approached, calmly moving between the desks and steadily resolving into an identifiable person.
He hesitated. Mr. Brogan. The FBI agent.
“Good evening, Detective,” the man said, his constrained voice everything Harris would expect in a fed, though perhaps not one with the dimensions of a Viking.
At Harris’ silence, Brogan smiled. “How is the department’s investigation coming?”
Harris’ face darkened. There was humor around Brogan’s eyes, as though he was enjoying a joke, and the expression was the last thing Harris needed right now.
“It’s progressing,” he said shortly.
“Good to know,” Brogan answered, unperturbed. “I’d like the chance to talk with you about that. Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”
“I’m busy. Maybe later.”
The humor increased, though Brogan said nothing. His eyes went to the screen and Harris grimaced, cursing himself for not turning the monitor off. And then he froze.
Brogan was watching the tape.
“Interesting recording,” the man commented. His gaze slid back to Harris. “Yet you’re the only one seeing past the static, am I correct?”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who would like to speak privately.”
Harris headed for the nearest interrogation room.
Brogan set his briefcase down on the metal table as the lights flickered on. “I suppose I should start by telling you that I am not with the FBI, though some of my associates once were. I represent a… group… with specific interest in capturing the young lady you detained, for reasons connected to what you experienced yesterday.”
Noting the pause for later review, Harris regarded the man. “I’m listening.”
“To put it simply, the young lady and those with her are not – for lack of a better word – what you would consider ‘normal’.”
“Human.”
Brogan made a hedging noise. “No, they are technically that. They simply have special skills that they choose to use in the service of their own ends. Doing as they please, or as they deem necessary. The latter of which you saw yesterday afternoon.”
“Burning people alive.”
“If it suits their needs… yes.”
“And how do you fit in?”
“My associates and I work to stop them. Many in our number have, in one way or another, been hurt by her type in the past, much as you have. And thus we try to prevent them from being able to harm anyone again.”
“How?”
“Various methods. Whatever is necessary to ensure the innocent remain safe.”
Harris paused. The answer truly defined vague, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. He needed answers. “Why can’t anyone else see the security videos?”
Brogan chuckled deprecatingly. “Fire is only one tool in their arsenal, Detective. Another is remaining invisible to those you would call ‘normal’ humans – aga
in, when it suits them, and barring the unusual event of someone withstanding their own discomfort long enough to break past the ‘static’ as you’ve done. Trust me when I say the latter is rare.”
Filing the information away with the rest, Harris’ gaze dropped to the table, remembering the girl in a room identical to this one. Invisibility. Fire. And she’d sat there the whole time, giving every sign of just being a frightened teenager.
“So she was setting us up?” he asked, anger beneath his tone.
“Or seeing what you knew. And when it no longer served her purpose to remain…”
Harris’ memory went back to the moment before she set Malden on fire.
“But she was afraid of you,” he said, his voice only barely making it a question.
A small smile crossed Brogan’s face. “We’ve had some success in stopping her kind before,” he admitted. “We are similar to her in skill, Detective, but there the similarity ends. Our goal is to bring an end to what her kind have done. We fight fire with fire, yes, but only to the degree necessary to achieve that goal. Yet most of her allies don’t even know we exist, and that anonymity is our best defense and weapon in the war to stop them.”
For a moment, he stared at the man, trying to process what he’d heard. He felt like he’d lost sight of the edges of the map hours ago.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“We want your help.”
“Why?”
“Several reasons,” Brogan answered. “For one, you are an ordinary human and, to their view, unworthy of consideration. Yet you can see them and therefore, if you choose, you can be a threat.”
Harris said nothing.
“And secondly,” the giant continued. “There is this.”
Flipping open the briefcase, he withdrew two photographs and then tossed them onto the table. Blown-up images met Harris’ gaze, both slightly pixilated but easily recognizable.
He stared.
In the nearest photograph, the girl was across a city street, staring directly at the camera. She stood next to a hotel he recognized, though it’d been closed for years. Two men were with her, African Americans, one of whom looked between forty-five and fifty, and the other in his early twenties.
The second image clearly originated from a security camera, and though nearly useless as all cheap video cameras were, the grainy picture nevertheless caught the younger girl, looking very much alive. The young man with her had his face turned from the camera and was blurry to boot. But the logo on the girl’s sweatshirt was visible.
A thrill ran through him. Brighton Modisett. The damned prep school was only a few minutes from here.
“Where’d you get these?”
“From associates,” Brogan answered cryptically. “The photo of the younger girl we obtained through contacts who are actually with the FBI. The other originated from one of our own who, unfortunately, was unable to catch the girl when her companions blew up a spray paint can in the street.”
Harris blinked. He hadn’t heard about that.
“Regardless,” Brogan continued. “I thought you’d like to be the first to know.”
For the moment, Harris ignored the last comment, grateful only to have a lead. “When were they taken?”
“A day ago. I’m told the school belonging to that logo falls within your jurisdiction, as does the building by the older girl. Thus far, we haven’t turned up anything on the men in either picture and, to be honest, we don’t even have the girls’ names…”
As he trailed off, Harris looked up. “What’re you wanting here?”
“Your assistance,” Brogan went on smoothly. “Your Internal Affairs department presumably needs answers for yesterday’s events, and I highly doubt they will find any to suit them. As I said, the elder girl and her associates are damnably good at covering their tracks. And when that happens… where do you think Internal Affairs will come?” He paused. “You will never be able to prove what you saw. And so we wish you to work for us.”
“Going after the girl?”
“The younger one.”
“What?”
“Our previous encounters indicate the younger girl might not be like her sister. She may well be an innocent in this situation, leaving her in greater danger from others of the elder’s kind. And yet, for all her brutality in attacking your partner and whatever the news says, the older girl does seem to have some feeling for the child. We believe she and the boy may have been separated unintentionally. And now, they cannot reconnect. But if we were to have the younger child…”
Brogan smiled. “Her sister would come to us. And thus, we could save the younger and stop the elder, all at one moment.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Family is important to her kind. Very important. The girl will come if she learns we have her younger sister. And then we can stop her.”
Brogan watched him. “So, Detective. May I tell my associates we have your help?”
Harris looked down at the photos, the laundry list of violations of the law he was considering scrolling through his head. It was a long list, starting from the major crimes and dwindling down to the relatively minor infractions, all of which would spell the end of his career. Jail was certain. Possibly for life and then some with all the sentences added up.
Just like that, twenty years of an exemplary career would be down the drain.
He’d given everything to the job. He was the job. And the job was keeping the innocent safe. The department would have his badge. He’d probably be fired, regardless.
But even if they didn’t, would it matter? Could he go back on the streets with what he knew? What would it be like, the next time he arrested someone, wondering all the while if they would spontaneously combust or do God knew what else? How could he work? He’d be retired or forced to resign within a year.
Because people didn’t go up in flames. People didn’t walk away after liquefying metal on their skin. People didn’t do that.
He studied her face in the enlarged photo. Pale. Ghostly. Still looking scared.
What were you frightened of this time? he wondered. The man with the camera, putting you one step closer to being caught?
Because you certainly weren’t ever afraid of me.
His gaze rose to Brogan’s. “Her name is Ashley,” he said. “And yeah. I’ll help you.”
Chapter Ten
Ashley stared out the window as the morning sun crept over the horizon to welcome in another day. On her lap, Tala’s head rested, the weight of the dog leaning into the side of her knee. Flopped over her shoes and positioned awkwardly between the seats, Mischa snored softly and dreamed, occasionally twitching as she chased her phantom prey.
The others had traded off driving as the hours passed, and never stopped too long anywhere. When their turn was over, whoever had been driving took the place of the person in the rear of the van and quickly fell asleep on the bench seat till the next driver’s turn was done. They never asked her to take the wheel, didn’t even seem to entertain the idea, but kept to a schedule all their own with barely a word needing to be spoken.
She’d slept for a while, waking only as the others changed places. The dogs had huddled around her halfway through the night, responding to some unknown impulse of their own. But she was grateful for it. They were oddly soothing and, in the dropping temperature of the night, comfortingly warm.
Idly, she ran her fingers through Tala’s dense fur, her gaze on the morning light. The dog leaned into the touch, putting more pressure on her leg and then heaving a satisfied sigh. Ashley gave the animal a tiny smile. She’d never had a dog near her before; never even petted one that she could recall. It was nice. She’d miss Tala and Mischa when this was done.
Her thoughts turned back to their destination as the nascent smile died. In a few hours, she’d leave the only four people in the world she still knew and disappear. A woman she’d never met would take her away and then…
Safety. As the miles passe
d, she’d started to wonder what the word meant. A place to stay. Somewhere the monsters wouldn’t find her. Somewhere to stop for a bit, and try to understand what had happened.
Somewhere that would never be home.
She swallowed, struggling to push the thought away. The past few days had been like a flood, sweeping her along. Forty-eight hours ago, or maybe a bit more, there’d been home. Now it was gone. And in all the changes, she’d just hung on, waiting for it to end and something that made sense to begin.
Even if she was starting to think that wouldn’t happen. She didn’t like this new world away from the farm, because in it, Lily and her father and everyone she’d loved didn’t exist. No one knew them. No one remembered them. Not these people in the van. Not this strange woman she’d be sent off with in a few hours.
Just her.
Other people would have funerals. Memorials. Burials and gravesites and mourners who at least said how sad it all was before they went on with their lives. There wasn’t even that. Without even pausing, without even noticing the difference, the world had moved on as if everyone in her whole life had never lived. As though with their bullets and fire, the men who’d destroyed her family hadn’t erased anything worth remembering at all.
Her nails bit her palm, driving back the tears. Crying made her feel like she was drowning, and giving into the pain just made everything else more real.
Tala nudged her hand to draw attention to the fact the petting had stopped. Mournfully, the animal eyed her, looking more like a sad puppy than a creature the size of a wolf. Drawing a shaky breath, Ashley ran her fingers through the dog’s fur, focusing on the simplicity of the action while the miles sped by.
As the sun inched toward noon, the van left the highway and curved along an off-ramp into Nashville. Around turns and down nameless streets, Samson navigated till he reached a public parking lot at the edge of a quaint shopping district. Spider grabbed her bag as the others climbed out, and Bus woke in the back seat, blinking at the city and doing his best to regain consciousness quickly.
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