by Jus Accardo
“Morning, Jims!” he said cheerfully. Not at all like a man that had almost been blown to bits. Whatever he was smoking, I wanted some.
Neither man returned the boisterous greeting. Hell, neither man even blinked.
Wentz sighed and tapped the shoulder of the one on the right. “It’s my goal in life to get at least one of them to laugh.” He shook his head. “I’ve been at it for two years now. They’re starting to crack, though. Yesterday, Jim number one twitched!”
The paper said Wentz was eccentric, but this was ridiculous. Forget his elevator not going to the top—it wasn’t even getting off the ground.
He punched a code into the keypad, the door opened with a whoosh, and we stepped into a cavernous room full of men and women scurrying around in long white coats. Some wore masks, their heads bent over beakers and bubbling concoctions, while others were lost in papers, scribbling notes and checking figures.
Wentz walked with purpose down the center of the room and straight to the back where another door with a keypad matching the first sat on the wall. After punching in a code—I was pretty sure it was the same numbers as the first, which suspiciously looked like one, two, three, four—we stepped inside.
It was another office. No. Not another office. The same office. Aside from an odd glass case on the far wall, it was an exact replica of the office on the first floor right down to the waste basket in the corner and bag of Twizzlers on the desk—except these were the black licorice type and not the red.
I was about to question him, but he threw himself into the leather couch in the other corner of the room, and said, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
He waved a hand toward the door. “This is the part where you tell me you’d like to quit.”
I pulled up the chair and sat down across from him, meeting his gaze head on. Wentz was an interesting guy, and under different circumstances, I’d love to hang around and get to know him, but right now, the only thing on my mind was, where would a guy like this hide an uber-secret genetic formula? “It is? I hope that’s not mandatory, because I’m not much of a quitter.”
Wentz eyed me for a moment before chuckling. “I like you. Ya got balls.” He kicked both feet onto the couch. “We’re gonna get along great.”
“I do have a question though.”
He leaned forward, and with a waggle of his bushy brow, said, “You’d like to know why someone threw a grenade through my office window, right?”
“I’m a little curious, but believe it or not, that wasn’t it.”
“Oh, now I’m intrigued. Ask away.”
“Why did you hire a personal assistant?”
Swinging his feet around, he hopped off the couch and walked to the mini fridge on the other side of the door. The guy was like the Roadrunner on crack. Up. Down. Here. There. “That’s not what you wanna know,” he said, opening the fridge.
“It’s not?”
He pulled out two cans, popped the cap on the first, and tossed it back, then threw the second to me. “You wanna know what happened to the previous assistants. I’d bet my big ones Nader told you to head for the hills, right?”
“Pretty much.” I pulled up on the tab and took a swig without looking—and almost snarfed the liquid all over myself. “Is this beer?”
Wentz looked at me like I’d grown a pair of plump ones. “Yes?”
“It’s nine in the morning!”
He took another long pull from his can and shrugged. “Nah. It’s after ten. And we’re bonding here. It’s part of the experience. Humor me, man.”
He started pacing, and even though I itched to get my hands on the formula, a part of me was curious about what was going on here. “So, yeah. Nader? He’s a good guy, and he’s got my best interests in mind and all that fluffy crap, but if it were up to him, I’d stay locked in a room with no windows and steel walls ninety percent of the time. He’s been working for my father since he was in his teens, and he’s made it his life’s goal to keep me all safe and sound. Snug as a bug in a fortified rug, ya know what I’m saying? The dude makes it impossible to get a date. He does background checks on everyone.”
“Well, then that leads to the other question…”
He downed the rest of his beer and slam dunked the can into the garbage pail. “Why has Nader stayed at Dromere for so long? You know, I keep asking myself that same question. It’s not for the pay, that’s for sure. I keep denying him a raise in hopes he’ll move along.”
I rolled my eyes. “The grenade. Tossing an explosive through someone’s window is kind of hardcore. Someone out there isn’t your fan.”
“There are some people that aren’t happy with Dromere. My dad was a good guy, but not particularly an animal lover. It leaked out that Dromere used to do animal testing.” He held out his hands and waved them up and down. “We don’t anymore. I love animals. Well, I mean I don’t lurrrve them—if you know what I mean—but Rover and Fifi have no place in science. I even have a fish!”
“Ooookay.”
“Animal rights people can be pretty hardcore. I’ve been dodging bullets—some figuratively and some not so much. We’re trying to prove we don’t test on animals anymore, but it’s slow going.” He tapped his chin and tilted his head in my direction. “Do you think I should have publicity photos taken? Maybe with the fish?”
“Um—”
“You’re right,” he rushed on. “That’s ridiculous. The fish would never sit still long enough to take a good picture.”
I liked Wentz and had no intention of hurting him—or his company—but I needed that formula and we were wasting time. First, a test run. With a deep breath, I looked into his eyes, channeled everything that was Cain, and said, “Give me a piece of licorice.”
He threw me an offhanded wave and plopped into his chair. “No way, man. I’m generous, but no one touches the sweet sticks. Sorry.”
I sighed. Obviously the working details of Cain’s ability were going to be a problem—one I’d need to remedy. Fast. In the meantime, maybe I could find the formula another way. With what my father would call regroup and snoop. “So what will I be doing for you?”
His expression turned serious. “Very, very important things, Doug.” With a nod toward the corner, he asked, “How do you feel about air hockey?”
Chapter Six
Anderson wasn’t happy with me. He’d really expected me to walk in, demand the formula, and walk back out. After explaining I’d been unable to push Wentz because with some people, it took a bit of an emotional connection, he begrudgingly agreed to give me a few more days. I briefed him on what I did learn—which wasn’t a lot more other than the fact that Wentz was borderline certifiable—and retreated to my room to crash before dinner. On the way, I passed Carina in the hall. If her icy stare was any indication, I wouldn’t be needing that excuse to avoid her after all.
I was still a little edgy and twitching from the jump. And after nearly being blown to skate park heaven on my first day at work, I deserved a nap.
But apparently, what I thought I deserved, and what the universe thought I deserved, didn’t match up. No sooner did my eyes slip closed, then there was a knock on the door.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” This was becoming an annoying trend. Somewhere in the building there was a flashing red light that started going nuts every time my head hit the pillow. If Dez were here, she’d tell me this was karma. Payback for stealing the chocolate munchkins from the Dunkin’ Donuts box on Saturday mornings, leaving her with the icky jelly ones. “What?” I snapped, flying across the room and pulling the door open.
A short blur of brown and purple slipped past me and into the room before I had a chance to react. “Is it true?”
I pushed the door closed and fell back onto the bed. Burrowing deep, I tugged the covers up over my head and mumbled, “That I’m trying to crash? Yes. It’s true. Now leave me alone before I make you.” The truth was, I couldn’t make her.
I’d tried several times after th
e unsuccessful licorice episode to use Cain’s ability. All benign stuff. To get extra cream in my coffee, an extra tomato at lunch…but I’d had no luck. I couldn’t figure it out, and it was making me nervous. If I couldn’t nail down Cain’s ability, what were my chances of finding the formula before Anderson did something drastic? If I failed to deliver—meaning get the formula and scat—soon, he’d send someone else in. Someone who might hurt Wentz. If that happened, any hope of helping Dez would be gone.
She yanked the covers off and a cold chill replaced the soft fabric against my skin. “Did you save Mr. Wentz’s life today?”
I shot up and glared at her against the dark. The light from the alarm clock illuminated the outline of her face, giving it an almost surreal quality.
Surreal—but beautiful.
“That’s what you’re here about?”
She leaned forward and switched on the light beside the bed. “What? Did you think I was here to play tongue wars like Carina? Just answer the question.”
I cringed away, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. The Cain bits of me didn’t like her accusing tone. I had to wrap my fingers tight in the material of the sheets, fighting the urge to cross the room and smack her. Deep breaths. Stronger. I was stronger than him. “Why?”
The question seemed to confuse her. When my vision adjusted, I saw she was standing there staring like I had two heads. “Why what?”
I pulled the covers back up and made a half-hearted attempt to turn off the lamp. I missed. “Why do you even care?”
She yanked the covers down again, this time pulling them off the bed and letting them fall in a heap to the floor. “I don’t.”
I growled and dropped both legs over the edge, rising up onto my toes to stretch. I wasn’t going to get a full night’s sleep as long as I was in this place. If saving Dez wasn’t motivation enough, that would be. “So why are you asking, if you don’t care?”
“Because I want to know.”
I took a step forward. She was cute, but she was making my head spin and testing my precarious control. “I got that already. But why?”
Arms crossed, she stood at the foot of the bed giving me the death glare. It reminded me of the little kid my mother used to babysit. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I thumped my chest and advanced. A memory of Cain in his elementary school years confronting a larger boy on the playground, backing him into a corner, flashed in my head. It was all about intimidation. “But I owe you one, is that it?”
“Why is it so hard for you to give me a straight answer?”
I’d backed her against the wall beside the door. I had to give her credit. It was impossible not to see she was scared of Cain, but she held her ground, meeting his gaze dead on.
Hands pressed flat against the wall on either side of her head, I leaned close and said, “You’re awfully interested in what I do, and why, considering how much you hate me.”
She didn’t answer. Eyes on mine and lips parted slightly, her breath hitched. In that moment there was just something about her. Something magnetic. We were there in the room. Alone. So close… I didn’t know if it was me, or some lingering part of Cain that did it, but I pushed forward and kissed her.
The only thing my brain registered was the blissful and almost borderline painful need my body had to keep kissing her. If I’d been in my right mind, it would have surprised me that she responded, equally eager. I dropped my right arm, grabbed her around the waist, and jerked us closer together. It wasn’t until my fingers slipped beneath the hem of her T-shirt, the heat from her skin like a brick to the balls, that I was able to force myself to back away.
“Whoa…” I exhaled.
She stood there, statue still and pressed against the wall, breath coming in slightly elevated puffs. A rush of pride raced through me—something that was all Cain gloated over his ability to leave her hot and bothered.
She shook her head, eyes wide, and said, “I can’t believe you did that…”
I didn’t say anything, because truthfully, I couldn’t believe I’d done it either.
She touched her bottom lip. “You…”
“That makes two of u—”
One minute I was looking at Devin, beautiful green eyes and creamy soft skin—the next I was seeing stars. The blow rocked my head back and made me think of the time Dez punched Tommy Dodsen for trying to look up her skirt in first grade. She’d given him a fat lip. I hadn’t come across many girls that could throw a punch like that, and I was about to tell her she should be proud, but the watery brown and purple blur, accompanied by the sound of the door slamming, told me Devin had left.
What was this, pre-school? Snap-kiss-punch-leave.
First, dinner. Then? Some dream diving to see exactly what made Devin Glen tick.
…
I choked down dinner—overcooked spaghetti and meatballs so dry they fell apart when I stabbed them—and dove for the sheets.
In the beginning when I dream jumped, I was only able to watch. Change a few minor landscaping details—that’s what Sheltie had called the dream scene itself—and interact on a basic level. Over time though, I’d figured out how to do more. I still hadn’t mastered the ability, but at least now I could tap into the subconscious of the dreamer and make major changes. I was able to control most of the setting and content, and speak more freely.
My very first jump had been into Dez’s dream shortly after I’d died. It’d been an unconscious action, and I’d tried to warn her things were about to hit the fan—but I wasn’t able to control anything. In the end, I think I probably ended up giving her nightmares.
Going to sleep with Devin on my mind wasn’t hard. That kiss was pretty much all I could think of. If luck was with me, Anderson wouldn’t do his stupid drills tonight, or at least if he did, he’d leave Devin and me out of it since we had to be back at Dromere by seven a.m.
Burrowing under the blankets, I let the memory of the kiss engulf me. One minute I was warm and drifting off, the next I was in a large white room. At the far end, Devin was walking toward me. She didn’t seem to notice my presence, and when I got about ten feet from her, the white walls melted into something darker. A shadow crept closer on either side, then sprang upward, taking the form of dark brown wooden privacy fencing. There was a sudden cold breeze that made a faint whistling noise as it wove between the wooden slats and a distinct chill in the air. Backpack swung over her shoulder, Devin made her way closer.
So far so good.
She walked past me and I wondered what she was thinking. The set of her jaw was stiff, and her lips were pressed in a thin, tight line. It was the look people got when they were trying to ignore something. On most, it kind of looked like they were constipated—on Devin, well, it was pretty hot.
I thought about making myself visible, disguised, but someone else emerged from the shadows a few feet behind. The figure—definitely a guy—was blurry, approaching slow but deliberately. I squinted, trying to see him clearly, but whoever he was, this was how Devin saw him. As he passed, I fell in step, still keeping myself concealed.
“Hey,” he called out, face still blurry. With each step he took though, his features got a little clearer.
Devin didn’t respond. She didn’t slow, or turn around. If anything, her pace quickened.
The guy laughed. It was a dark sound edged with cruelty and violence. For some reason, it reminded me of Henley.
I blinked—nothing more than a simple flutter of the lids—and he went from several feet behind, to standing right behind of her. Grabbing Devin’s arm, he spun her around so they were face to face, his identity now completely revealed. He wore a dark jacket and gloves and had a small red stud in his right ear. As he restrained her, I could see the faint outline of a tattoo on the knuckles of his left hand. On the middle and ring was the word No. Across the knuckles on the back of his hand was the word Fear.
“I told you this morning, you don’t get to walk away from me,” he snarled, giving her
a good shake.
She tried once to pull free, but was unsuccessful. Once. That was it. As if resigning herself to something inevitable, she seemed to deflate. Her shoulders sagged and her head dipped low, chin no longer thrust in determination. This was a new side of Devin. Granted I didn’t know her well at all—neither did Cain—but what I had seen was a total contradiction to the scene that played out here. This girl was a victim, not a fighter.
“Josh…” Her voice was weak. Kitten soft. It held no fire. No challenge.
He pushed her hard into the fence, pinning her there with his body. “You think you’re better than me? That you can just turn your back? Well, you can’t. You’re mine.”
With a flicker, the scene changed and we were in a bedroom. Violet walls and snow white furniture. A shelf with a half dozen stuffed animals ranging in size hung above the bed. Devin was there, and so was the guy. Josh, she’d called him. He hovered over her, palm pressed tight against her mouth. “Go ahead. Scream. Make a noise. I’ll kill them. You know I will.”
Devin stopped struggling, and that’s when I realized how much younger she looked. Her hair was shorter—and darker—and her face was just a bit more round. Three years? Maybe four? It was hard to tell.
Josh laughed. “Good girl,” he cooed, removing his hand. “As long as you remember I’m in charge—as long as you do as I say—then everything will be fine.” Yanking aside her hair, he bent low and planted tiny kisses along her neck. I wanted to kill him right then. He was a figment of Devin’s memory, and that meant I couldn’t touch him, not in reality, but the need was so strong that I actually thought about revealing myself to interfere.
It was like watching a disaster unfold. I wanted nothing more than to turn away, but couldn’t. Every move Josh made, as he undid the buttons of her blouse, as he caressed her face, kept me rooted in place. A moment later, Devin inhaled, a sharp sound that broke the spell, and Josh’s face flickered. It grew fuzzy again, his body shimmering and changing shape. The clothing stayed the same, but everything else was different.
