by Angel Lawson
“I forgot about the clothing part. My entire closet is filled with sweatpants and tank tops. I have that one dress from the funeral…” She looks Quinn over. “Atticus probably has something in his closet but you’re three times bigger than he was.”
“I guess we could go shopping?” Quinn says.
Astrid groans. “Don’t make me. I’d rather cut off my own arm.”
His lips twist in a smile. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s worse than bad. There has to be another solution.”
But an hour passes and neither of them have one. Astrid is about to cave when the screen blips on the other side of the Lair. Casper’s cartoon avatar appears. “What’s up Goblin?” Quinn says.
“How much of Jensen’s visit did you hear?” she asks, pretty sure he’s jacked in all the time.
“All of it.” A buzzer sounds at the back entrance and a delivery man waits at the door. Casper says, “You may want to get that.”
Quinn handles the delivery man and returns with a large white box and a clothing bag. The bag obviously holds a suit. The box…
“You ordered this?” Her fingers graze the black formal dress. Sequins cover the top. She holds it up and reveals a flared skirt. A matching pair of heels are nestled in the bottom. It’s a little revealing and already her senses are on alert thinking about wearing it. She almost asks if he couldn’t find something with sleeves and a hood but bites her tongue.
“My job is to make sure you’re adequately prepared for a mission. These are your suits for tonight. Apparently, ordering formal wear is in my wheel-house.”
“I’d hug you if I could; I really, really didn’t want to go to the mall.”
“And I really, really, really didn’t want to have to go with her,” Quinn says, unwrapping his suit. It’s midnight blue, with a matching silk bow-tie. The color matches his eyes perfectly. “Thanks man, I owe you one.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “We’ve got six hours to retrofit these with the fighting tools you’ll need for the event tonight.”
“And to figure out what we want to do about Owen,” she adds. “Do we bring him in? He’s one of us. Or do we let him keep doing what he’s doing. This Pixie Dust thing isn’t making any sense. Why flood the community with drugs? Why kill for it?”
“James said it was about a state of mind—about something higher,” Quinn replies. He looks at the screen. “Did you ever get the results on the sample of Pixie Dust?”
“The Fed lab was a bitch to hack, but I got in. And there were a few anomalies—synthetics I’m trying to isolate. I’ll keep you posted.”
The afternoon is spent in the workshop. Atticus had begun a dozen projects before he died, including a few weaponized accessories for everyday use. None were finished but she manages to get two pieces to work. Well, sort of. A smaller cuff and a pin for her hair.
“That pin will act as the camera to your earpiece. I’ll be able to follow you the whole time.”
“Do not watch me in the bathroom,” Astrid says, running her finger over the small flower design of the hairpin.
Quinn shakes his head. “Me either.”
“Why do you guys think I’m a pervert who watches people in the toilet?”
Quinn shrugs.
“Sure, sure,” she mutters, helping Quinn with a tie pin and a complicated watch Atticus and Holden worked on that had several built-in tools. The odds of them working were slim.
With the gear and tech in place, Astrid goes upstairs to get ready. Looking like a princess isn’t something she’s used to, but she manages to get her hair into something that doesn’t look like a bird’s nest. She tries not to stumble on the heels when she enters the living room. Quinn glances up from where he’s fiddling with his watch and does a double take.
“Damn.”
She places her hand over her belly, feeling awkwardly uncomfortable. “I need a doughnut. Do we have any?”
“You do not need a doughnut.”
“It would make me feel better.” She glances around and grabs a black hoodie off the couch.
“No. No doughnuts and no hoodies.” He shakes his head. She’s well aware that her stress junk-food-eating makes him crazy.
She holds up the hairpin. “Can you put this in?”
“Of course.” His fingers brush back a few loose pieces of hair before slipping the pin in place. While he does this she straightens his tie, adjusting the similar-styled pin across the front. He nods. “Thank you.”
Astrid presses her com on and says, “Casper? Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” The next thing she hears is a whistle. “You look spectacular, girl.”
She flattens the poofy skirt. “Thanks. Hopefully I won’t break my ankle in these ridiculous shoes.”
“Hopefully we don’t get caught,” Quinn says. There’s a nervous air about him. Something about this is bothering him. She would certainly feel better in her suit.
“So the mission tonight is to follow Owen, gather some intel and try to bring him back so we can talk to him,” she confirms. “Anything else?”
Quinn holds up his hand. “No blowing things up.”
“That was one time!”
“One time is enough, darlin’.”
Casper laughs.
“You’re never going to let it go, are you?”
He smiles and offers her his arm. “Not a chance.”
*
She hasn’t told Quinn, but he looks pretty fantastic, too. His suit is a perfect cut; Casper must have gotten his measurements—hers too—off their profiles on the computer. She studies him on the way to the gala, the way his hands rest on his thighs, how his dark hair is a little long at the neck and curls up against the collar of his starched shirt. She knows his body under the suit. The way it moves and how it reacts to hers. It’s a good feeling to know someone so intimately. New, but good.
The car Jensen sent for them drops them off at the civic center down by the harbor. The building is ablaze with lights, and tiny boats rock in the distance. The party is set up inside and out.
Astrid tugs on her short satin gloves and Quinn slips his hand into hers. “Are you ready?” he asks before they get out of the car. She’s nervous about being in such a big place. So much noise, sound, and people. Her senses will be on overload.
“I can do it,” she says.
“I know you can.”
They hand over their tickets at the front gate. Security checks her bag. The wand buzzes near her hairpin. Her heart clenches.
“Please don’t make me take down my hair,” she begs, in a lighthearted tone. “There’s no way I can get it back together again.”
The guard smiles and waves her through.
Quinn triggers the wand and his eyes widen in panic. “It’s his power. Fucks with the scanner,” Casper says in her ear. “Just let them pat you down. You’re safe.”
He fakes good spirits while security searches him head to toe. “Must be a fluke,” he says, emptying his pockets.
The guard slaps the wand with his hand. “This thing has been going bonkers all night. Must be a glitch.” He nods him through and Astrid feels a sense of relief when he rests a hand on her lower back. In her ear, he says in a low voice, “There’s a lot of security in here. I can sense the currents.”
“More than you know,” Casper replies. “Cameras and sensors are placed at every entrance and exit. My detectors are picking up a lot of weaponry. Undercover security is everywhere.”
“Jensen’s men?”
“I don’t know,” he replies in her ear. “I’m guessing a few, but probably most are privately hired by whoever is throwing this thing.”
“Any word on who’s throwing this gala?” Quinn asks. He leads them to a waiter holding a tray of champagne. He takes two glasses and hands her one. Thank god. She needs something to do with her hands.
“I keep coming up with an entity, a corporation that has a high focus on charity works. Their actual function, I can’t r
eally tell. Imports or something.”
Astrid takes a sip of the bubbly drink and asks, “Do they have a name?”
“WIND-E.”
She’s vaguely heard of it—a manufacturer of some kind. There’s a large building downtown with their name on it.
“Well, whatever it is, this place is filled with wires, communication systems, cameras and everything else. My hands are vibrating,” Quinn says, holding one up for her to see. She clasps her gloved one over his, hoping to steady him. Instead she just gets a jolt of the current he’s feeling. That combined with the roar of sensations from the sheer number of people in the room is almost too much.
She’s about to suggest they abandon this whole thing, or at least go outside, when she catches the flash of a tall figure with white-blond hair crossing the room.
She nudges Quinn. “I think we found our Lost Boy.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Quinn
With Casper calling the shots, he squeezes Astrid’s hand and separates from her, weaving through the crowd and looking for Owen.
“Tell me what you see,” he says under his breath. Casper hacked into one of the security cameras for his own use.
“He stopped at the bar, ordered a drink and is chatting to the bartender. Nothing nefarious.”
“Yeah, you weren’t there the last time he made the house fall apart with his mind.”
“Actually I was.”
“Oh, right.” He pushes past two women in deep discussion. “Excuse me.”
“Any time, dear,” one says absently, but then actually looks at him. He smiles his thanks and the friend giggles at his attention. The women are attractive, and wealthy from the looks of the rings on their fingers and lack of wrinkles on their faces despite being a bit older.
“You should come have a drink with us,” the non-giggly one says. Her eyes aren’t laughing. They’re predatory.
“Thanks, but I’m looking for my friend.” He nods toward the bar and the woman follows his gesture. Her eyebrows rise.
“Of course you are,” she grins. “Come find me if you change your mind.”
Casper cackles in his ear as he walks away. “Dude, that cougar was all over you. You should definitely go find her later.”
“Shut up, Goblin.”
“She’s still watching. Astrid did say she didn’t want to label your relationship.”
He ignores him and focuses on the target. Owen is tall, lanky, and wears an affable smile on his face. Quinn holds back, declining a new glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He takes one small sip. He has no plans on drinking during this mission, but he shouldn’t stand out.
He scans the room and finds Astrid, in a nearly identical pose. She stands close to the wall, half-full champagne glass in one hand. A tiny pastry is in the other—go figure. Nothing seems out of place until two waiters unexpectedly crash into one another, dropping their trays.
“Watch where you’re going!” His words are hissed as he jumps away from the mess. He’s covered in champagne.
The other drops to the floor and begins picking up glass. “You darted in front of me!”
Another server appears with a broom and begins cleaning. Quinn glances back at Owen and frowns when he sees his amused grin.
“What’s he laughing at?” Quinn asks Casper.
“Must have thought those two idiots running into each other was funny,” he replies. “Because honestly it was.”
“See if you can rewind that footage.”
A woman next to him gasps and then so do two more. Another drops her drink and glass shatters like rain. Murmurs roll through the crowd.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asks the woman next to him. Her face is pale.
“There was something in my drink.” She lowers her voice. “It moved.”
He looks on the floor and sees nothing but liquid. “Are you sure?”
Her eyes glaze and she says, “I…I don’t know. I think I need some air.”
Her companion takes her from the room, but as if a wave has overtaken the room others hold their glasses, peering at the contents. Horrified is the only word to describe their expressions. Quinn looks at the glass in his hand and bile rises in his throat. Is that a wad of hair?
He blinks and it’s gone.
“What is she doing?” Casper says. He scans the room for Astrid. She’s smashed her glass into the wall. Quinn pushes through the crowd and runs toward her.
“What? What did you see?” he asks her.
“An eyeball.”
“It’s not real. It’s some kind of… where’s Owen?”
He’s still standing by the bar, moving his hand in a small circular motion. “Fuck.”
“Shit,” Casper says. “He’s mind-fucking everyone.”
Astrid pulls her eyes from the wet spill on the floor. Confusion clouds her eyes. “What?”
Quinn grabs Astrid by the hand and drags her to the bar, but lights flash at the front of the room and everyone shifts their attention.
“Check the main stage,” Casper says.
They both stop and he keeps an eye on Owen, who has also turned his attention to the stage. A man steps to the microphone. “Welcome to the inaugural Gala for Children’s Charities. It seems like we had a few spills on the left side of the atrium. If you can all give your glasses to a server, we’ll get this cleaned up and sorted quickly.” He laughs and adds jovially, “I know, I know, we’ll refill your glasses, I promise. Our hostess is here and wants to spend a few minutes with you. I know you do not want to miss it.”
He steps aside, not doing an actual introduction. The stage lights up and it’s decorated like an enchanted garden. Huge trees line the edges, stuffed birds and butterflies perch on branches and on the petals of flowers. Vivid green grass covers the floor. It’s all fake, but expertly designed.
A woman steps out of the shadows. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous dark skin, long wavy hair. She wears an extravagant ball gown made of shimmering white. Sparkles glitter from the floor-length skirt, it looks like little jewels or figures have been applied to the fabric. She smiles wide and welcoming when she approaches the microphone.
“Good evening,” she says, in the most pleasant voice, like a princess at an amusement park. Quinn doesn’t know this woman but he feels like he should. Her voice and face draw him in. “Thank you for coming to the first of what I hope are many events like this. I’d love to tell you a little about the charity I’ve established. I’ve long held a place in my heart for the children of Crescent City. The forgotten and the lost. The abused and abandoned.” She smiles down into the crowd. “I see the confusion on your face. Who are these children? Why haven’t we seen them? They reside in the Swamp. In the forgotten areas. The places those of us who can afford tickets to an event like this do not go. I was born there and lived there until my mother’s tragic death. And I vowed that one day I would return and give back to the place that created me.” Her eyes scan the crowd. “And some of you.”
Astrid links her fingers with his and he tightens his grip. He’s mesmerized by this woman. She’s young, but very wise. Silver, glittery makeup gives her face a sparkly glow and the room shifts with rainbow-colored lights.
“What’s happening in there?” Casper asks.
“I really don’t know,” Quinn replies.
“I know all of you are wondering what you can do to help the children of The Swamp. I’ve created a foundation and now is time to open your pockets and help the WIND-E corporation give back to the community. Be generous,” she says with that same, enchanted smile. She waves her hands and the jewels lift off her skirt and take shape, turning into dozens of tiny fairies helping one another carry baskets through the crowd. Tiny wings flutter on their backs.
The crowd ooohs and ahhhs, delighted by the display. They simply cannot be real.
Quinn blinks. Twice. They don’t vanish. “What the hell?”
He’s so distracted by the scene and also by Owen suddenly on the move that he doesn’t no
tice when Astrid slips away. He catches up to Owen and grabs him by the jacket. “I’ve been watching you all night. I know what you did with the glasses. Messing with everyone’s head. Are you doing this too?”
The blond turns and seems relieved to see him. “No.”
“None of it?”
“The shit with the drinks, yeah. I was trying to keep people from ingesting the drug.”
“What? What drug?”
Owen sighs. “She’s dosing everyone. Gets them loose and pliable. Look at them. They don’t even realize the mind control going on, the complete absurdity of the situation. They’re perfectly content to hand over all their possessions.”
He’s right, everyone looks thrilled at the fairies flying around the room. They’ll chalk it up to some kind of special effects or just being drunk. But really they’re being fleeced. Patrons drop everything into the baskets; money, jewelry credit cards.
“What’s the point? Just robbery?” he asks Owen.
“Control. She wants their minds, their money, their data. This isn’t about philanthropy. It’s about revenge.”
He shakes his head and watches the woman on the stage. She’s now surrounded by a growing set—the fake garden from before comes to life. Flowers bloom. Trees thicken and branches grow. Birds flit around the stage along with bunnies and a fox and the woman cradles a baby goat.
“Dude this is bizarre.” He’s still skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not doing this?” But Quinn knows it feels different.
“The shit I do,” Owen says, flicking his fingers toward a nearby glass. A hunk of floating dirt appears. With another flick it vanishes. “It’s not real. Total mind games.” One of the fairies walks by and Owen touches her wing. It bobs and flutters in response. “That is real. Not fake-altered reality.”
“If you’re not doing it, who is?”
Casper calls his name before Owen can answer.
“What?” he says into his com, feeling completely overwhelmed.
“Astrid’s headed toward the stage. You need to get her out of there before you’re compromised. Jensen wanted you to observe. Not contact. You’ve already done that with Owen. If people see her on that stage there will be documentation that you’ve been there.”
