THE EDGEWOOD SERIES

Karen McQuestion

Includes:

Edgewood

Wanderlust

Absolution

OTHER BOOKS BY KAREN McQUESTION

FOR ADULTS

A Scattered Life

Easily Amused

The Long Way Home

FOR YOUNG ADULTS

Favorite

Life on Hold

Edgewood (Book One)

Wanderlust (Book Two)

FOR KIDS

Celia and the Fairies

Secrets of the Magic Ring

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Edgewood

Wanderlust

Absolution

EDGEWOOD

Karen McQuestion

For readers everywhere. You matter.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright © 2012 by Karen McQuestion.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781478349426

ISBN-10: 1478349425

One night that changed everything. If I’d known what was going to happen would I still have gone out walking after midnight?

Absolutely.

—Russ Becker

Remember tonight…for it is the beginning of always.

—Dante Alighieri

CHAPTER ONE

I couldn’t believe it was happening again. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep. It was a Monday night; school started the next day at 7:20 a.m., and I was exhausted, but my body didn’t care. I shifted in bed and punched my pillow into different shapes, like that would help, even though it never did before.

Finally, after midnight came and went, I dealt with it in my usual way—I got up. I got out of bed, threw on some jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and tiptoed downstairs. When I got to the back door, I paused to pick up the Nikes I kept next to the mat and slipped out into the night. Once outside, I pulled on my shoes and headed out. Just me and the night air. I was never afraid to be out alone at night because I kept undercover. Even though I was a pretty tall guy, almost six feet, I was able to stay hidden in the shadows. I relished the time alone with my thoughts. But mostly I looked forward to getting back home when I was done with my walk so I could finally get some sleep.

The weather was cool and a little clammy. Not too bad, pretty warm for spring in Wisconsin, and there weren’t any mosquitoes yet. Our next-door neighbor had used his outdoor fireplace earlier in the evening and a faint smoky smell still lingered.

I walked around to the sidewalk in front. My house was dark except for the one lamp my mom always kept on in the living room to scare off burglars.

I didn’t stay there for long. I had a certain route I did every night and it didn’t involve roads. I preferred cutting through yards, fields, and parking lots. I told myself that if I just covered this route I could go home and go to sleep. It was a little psychological game I played, and it worked like nothing else did. I didn’t know it yet, but tonight was going to be different.

It’s amazing how many people are up at two in the morning. Driving or working mostly. There are others too, people like me who just seem to be awake for no reason at all, pacing in their houses, watching late-night TV, reading. They can’t sleep and I can’t sleep. It makes me feel better when I see them through their windows and know I’m not the only one.

That night started off the usual way. I did my route through a residential section on the other side of town. There were a few houses that were always lit up, occupied by people like me still awake at that hour. I’d pause by each house watching them through the window, feeling a sense of kinship even though they never noticed me lurking outside. After that, I headed for the strip mall three blocks from my house and wandered around behind the building before taking my usual path through the industrial park toward the old, boarded-up train station.

I was almost to the train station when I noticed a series of bright lights moving fast in the sky overhead. I stopped, trying to figure out what it was. It wasn’t a plane or a flare or any kind of reflection. More like a blur of shooting stars. Except that shooting stars were usually higher in the sky, I thought. This thing was heading downward and breaking apart as it traveled, almost like fireworks, but dispersing in a more random way. It looked a little bit like photos I’ve seen of an aurora borealis, but I was sure if something like that was going to happen I’d have heard about it.

I wished someone else was around to see this thing, to tell me what they thought it was. I sure couldn’t figure it out. Then I heard the rush of air as it arced in the sky. It seemed to be dropping down at a slower rate now, almost defying gravity, and broke apart, scattering sparks as it went. The pieces fell to the ground in a slow, lazy motion, like an artistic explosion. The whole thing landed close, maybe only a block away, on the other side of the train station. Despite the slow descent, when it finally hit, the whole mass came down hard. I swear the earth vibrated on impact. The soles of my feet tingled in a weird way, and I found myself moving toward the thing, whatever it was. I wanted to get a closer look.

I darted around a building that had once been a train station decades before. It was boarded up and there were signs warning people not to trespass. I walked over the tracks, now unused and in disrepair, over to the other side. The field beyond glowed with fragments of something, like someone had tipped over a charcoal grill the size of a water tower. The embers glowed blue and gold, beautiful like jewels. I got closer and noticed the glowing chunks were different sizes but that overall they formed a swirling pattern that covered the entire field. How could it have landed in such a perfect spiral?

Heat emanated off the field, but nothing was on fire or even smoking. So weird. I walked into the center of the pattern, thinking the temperature might drive me back, but it wasn’t as hot as I would have thought. What could have caused this? A meteor, a shooting star, a weapon, a fireworks display? Standing in the center of the swirl, it was so bright I could have read a book, but it wasn’t blinding, just glowing. I suddenly felt good and energetic, like I do after going for a run on a sunny day. Whatever this thing was, it was having a positive effect on me.

A scattering of fragments fell all around me, but I wasn’t worried about getting hit or burned. The sensation was pleasant, like the feeling of the sun coming out from behind a cloud on a gloomy day.

The pieces on the ground sparkled. Twinkle, twinkle, little star…

You know how sometimes you stop to look at something interesting and then after a few minutes, you’re done looking and you move on? Well, this wasn’t like that. I could have stood there forever, that’s how I felt. I walked until I was right in the middle of the swirl pattern and planted myself, content to stand there and take it all in. I didn’t leave until the light of the embers had faded to a soft glow. Finally, when I realized how much time had passed, I reluctantly headed for home, still not sure what I had experienced, but confident that it would be on the news tomorrow.

Something that incredible didn’t happen without the world noticing.

CHAPTER TWO

For the past few months, there have been nights when I can’t sleep, no matter what. I’m tired, exhausted even. I close my eyes and wait for it, wait to slip into blissful slumber, to go into a sleep coma, to fall into unconsciousness. I’m always ready for a visit from Mr. Sandman, but the bastard never shows up.

When I first had developed this problem, my parents took me to a psychiatrist, Dr. Anton. Nice guy, Dr. Anton, burly and kind, with a little goatee, always suited up with a tweed jacket and gray pants. He wore a bow tie. I thought it made him look goofy, but my mom said it gave him a “snazzy” look, whatever that means.

Dr. Anton specialized in pediatric sleep disorders. He was a good listener, I gave him that much. When I talked he tilted his head to one side, and the expression on his face showed he really cared. “We’re going to get through this, Russ,” he said, like we were in this thing together. “I’m going to teach you how to send your body cues that it’s time to sleep.” He suggested dimming the lights, drinking warm milk, and not going on the computer or playing video games too close to bedtime. Unfortunately for me, he was opposed to sleeping pills. “You just need to retrain your body’s circadian rhythm,” he said.

I tried all his suggestions and more. I exercised to tire myself out, ran a fan for white noise, and visualized lying in a hammock on a deserted beach. I took melatonin for a few nights and nighttime cold medicine after that. Nothing helped. I stopped going to Dr. Anton after a while because I felt like such a failure. I lied and told him I was all better, sleeping like a baby now, which was actually the truth since babies are up all night long. My parents were relieved I’d outgrown my insomniac phase.

At some point I figured out that walking was the only thing that helped. After an hour or two, I was able to come back home and zonk out. I was still tired during the day, but it was almost the end of the school year and soon enough it wouldn’t make a difference.

I didn’t inherit this problem from my parents. Every night they tried to stay up for the late-night news, but they usually didn’t make it. It was so easy for them. My dad could even fall asleep in his recliner with the TV on. I’d look at him with his head tipped back and mouth open, making snorting noises, and I wished some of that would rub off on me. Not the noises, but you know what I mean.

The first few times I went out at night I thought for sure I’d get caught, that my parents would hear the back door open and close, or check my bed and worry that I was gone. I even left notes in the beginning—Couldn’t sleep. Went for a walk. Be back soon. But the notes weren’t necessary, as I soon found out. No one woke up. No one wondered where I was. Ironically enough, my folks slept right through my insomnia.

Being outside at night was cool, even in the beginning when there was still snow on the ground. I got a thrill from being where I wasn’t supposed to be. If the cops ever stopped me, I’d be in big trouble for violating curfew, but I was careful and darted into the bushes whenever I spotted headlights in the distance.

After the first week or two, I found myself going the exact same way. I always started out walking behind the strip mall. Sometimes I found interesting stuff by the dumpsters. The grocery store in particular threw out lots of perfectly good things, dented canned goods and bananas that didn’t look too bad. Someone, somewhere, would have been glad to get that stuff, but instead it was thrown out. What a waste.

After going past the strip mall, I went through the industrial park, three blocks of small factories. I wasn’t really sure what went on inside the buildings—welding and machines for molding rubber parts was my best guess, based on my observations. When I came by, I saw men hanging around the back loading docks, working sometimes, but other times smoking. Occasionally, I lingered and listened to them talk. They had this sort of easy back and forth trash talk that was funny. Razzing each other about their beer bellies and who lost the latest bet. I knew Bruno’s booming voice, and Tim, Mike, and Dougie by sight. I felt a sort of kinship with them. When they handed out cigars because Tim’s wife had a baby boy, I wished I could step out of the shadows and join them in slapping the new father on the back. Just one of the guys.

My favorite part of the route was the houses. I stayed out of my own neighborhood—that would just have been creepy. Instead, I went to a section on the edge of town, Old Edgewood. It was the complete opposite of where I lived, New Edgewood. Clever, huh?

The houses in Old Edgewood were smallish and close together like mine, but that was the only similarity. Mostly brick with big porches, they had more character than the houses in New Edgewood. The thick tree trunks were good camouflage. I could stand on the sidewalk, and as long as I was behind the trees I could watch without being seen. I know that makes me sound like some kind of perv, but it’s not like that, really. I was just interested in how they handled being up at night, and after a while I felt like I knew some of these people. At least I knew their nighttime habits, what they did when they couldn’t sleep.

I grew kind of fond of all the nighttime people and found myself labeling them. There was Grandma Nelly, and the Woman-Who-Played-the-Piano. Third-Shift-Guy lived on Elm Street. If I got there early enough he was leaving for work as I was arriving. Three doors down from him was Knitting-Lady. Always knitting, all the time. There were others, but the ones I mentioned were the regulars. I wondered how many of them tried to sleep, but just couldn’t. Did they lie in bed like I did, feeling like their heads might explode if they had to stay there one more minute?

I ended my nighttime route by looping past the abandoned train station on the outskirts of town. The building itself was old and boarded up, but still pretty solid. There had been some talk by the local historical committee to have it restored, but that never happened. Beyond the train station were the tracks, no longer in use, and beyond that, what seemed like an endless field. Signs on the building warned about trespassing, so no one ever went there but me, or at least that’s how it felt. I liked ending with a trip to the train station. It was forbidden and dark. A little scary. It made going home seem like a relief.

Each night, I thought this trek outside might be my last. It was ridiculous, I thought, to be roaming around when I was so tired and all I really wanted to do was sleep. I had to figure out a way to sleep without leaving the house. But a solution never came and I just kept going.

You might be wondering—why didn’t I just do this walk thing earlier? Eight, nine, ten o’clock? If I did that, I’d be back in plenty of time for a normal bedtime. Don’t think it hadn’t occurred to me. I tried it, more than once, and it didn’t work. It only worked when I left after my usual bedtime. I knew it was just a head game, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Like I said before, my parents have no trouble falling asleep. “I wish I had your energy,” my mom says, as if energy has anything to do with it. She’s a speech pathologist at a school (not mine, thank God), and pretty worn out most of the time. She and my dad are in their late fifties, a lot older than my friends’ parents. One drawback to having older parents is that I don’t have any living grandparents; the last one died when I was a little kid. I do have an older sister, Carly, but I don’t have much in common with her. I was born when Carly was still in high school. Her son, my nephew Frank, is only five and a half years younger than me. I was what people call an “oops” or “change of life” baby.

My mom told me that when she learned she was pregnant with me they were over the moon with excitement, but Carly said otherwise. Her version is that Mom cried and cried when she first found out.

I know that having me put a damper on my parents’ plans. They were just about done with the whole child-rearing thing when I came along. Knowing this makes me feel bad, but there’s not too much I can do about it. Carly was hell on wheels, even she admits that. She drank and smoked pot and flunked classes and wrecked the car. I heard my dad say they couldn’t go through that again, that they’re glad I’m a good kid. I figure it’s the least I can do. I don’t want them to worry about me and my psychological problems.

So I keep my troubles to myself. When I can’t sleep, which is most of the time, I walk at night. I do my rounds, going from the mall to the industrial park to the houses, and then I go home and crawl into bed.

CHAPTER THREE

That night after seeing the light explosion I fell into a deep sleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. I actually remember sinking through all the stages of sleep. Down, down, down I went, into a sinkhole of comfort and warmth. I had dreams, vivid colorful dreams, and I remembered them when the alarm went off, but somewhere between me hitting the snooze button and my mother yelling up the stairs, they completely left my brain.

I did a quick look online to see if there was anything in the news about meteors or shooting stars or weird lights in the sky, but there was nothing at all. Nada.

It was starting to feel like one of those vivid dreams that seem real when you first open your eyes, but fade the longer you’re awake. I didn’t have too much time to think about it, though, since I needed to get my stuff together and head for school. As the day progressed, I somehow managed to put it out of my mind. Until last hour when I had science with Mr. Specter.

Specter was one of the better teachers at my school. He was almost as old as my parents, and he didn’t try to relate to the kids, something I liked. Nothing worse than teachers who act like they know the latest slang or ask about rock bands or popular YA novels, like they’re one of us. Mr. Specter just did what he was supposed to do. He taught us science. He totally loved the subject—that much was clear. I was taking what everyone called dummy science, a class called Science Samplers, which consisted of units in biology, chemistry, and natural science. Basically, Specter covered whatever he was interested in. It seemed to vary from year to year and class to class, but no one ever complained because he was brilliant and funny and interesting. We saw films on technology, and he did magic tricks and explained how they were done, and he encouraged us to bring in things to share like a sort of high school show-and-tell. One kid brought in his uncle’s taxidermied squirrel, which started a whole conversation about how it was done and why. Another student in my class brought in fossils she found on vacation, and then we were all about fossils for the next week. You didn’t know what you might get in Specter’s class, but it was never dull, and that’s saying a lot when you’re a sophomore in high school.

That day, I sat down in my seat, the middle of the row closest to the door. I settled in and dropped my book and notebook on the desk. We hardly ever used the textbook, but I felt compelled to keep bringing it anyway. The rest of the class filtered in bit by bit, but Mr. Specter wasn’t upfront like he usually was. The bell rang and still he wasn’t there. A few kids speculated that we would be on our own. There was talk of leaving, but no one did. Some pulled out their phones and several of the girls started talking, the way girls do sometimes, kind of show-offy, laughing and smiling in the direction of guys they liked, hoping the guys would notice and drift over by them. I wasn’t the kind anyone wanted, so I kept quiet and took it all in.

Finally, half an hour later, out of complete boredom, I opened my notebook and started doodling randomly. Without realizing what I was doing, I started sketching the light show from the night before, first as it appeared in the sky and then how it looked on the ground. In the background, I drew the abandoned train station, quickly and with great detail. I’m usually terrible at drawing, but this turned out good, surprisingly good. My hand had a life of its own. It knew where each line and dot belonged, like someone else was drawing it through me. Without even thinking about it, I sketched a figure standing in the middle of the field, right in the center of the glowing swirl, arms raised upward. It was a picture of me, although I didn’t remember standing quite that way.

When I glanced up, I saw that the girl in front of me, Mallory Nassif, had turned around in her seat and was watching me draw. I didn’t know Mallory that well. She was the sort of girl who blended in with the crowd, until you noticed her, and then she clearly stood out. She had big doe-eyes fringed with long lashes, shiny dark hair always in a ponytail, and this really nice laugh that carried across the lunchroom. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream. I sometimes got that tan by the middle of summer, if I was out a lot, but her coloring came naturally. Besides what I saw in front of me, all I knew about her was that she’d been the new girl the beginning of this school year, and she played on the field hockey team. Our eyes met for a second and then she gestured to my notebook. “Whatcha drawing there, Russ?” she asked.

I stared, surprised she even knew my name. I started to say something about how it was nothing, just a doodle, but before I could get the words out, the door flew open and Mr. Specter strode in. I shut my notebook.

“Okay, people,” he bellowed, heading to the front of the room. “Settle down. Free time is over. Now it’s my turn.” He seemed a little out of breath, and not himself, frankly. He wore a button-down shirt with a sweater vest over it and a pair of creased gray trousers, per usual. His wire-rimmed glasses had slid to the end of his nose and perspiration shone on his forehead.

“You okay, Mr. Specter?” asked one of girls. Emily, a total suck-up. “You’re not sick, are you?’

“I’m fine, Emily,” he said. “Just coming back from a meeting that ran a little late.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk and went to his computer to send attendance to the office. Everyone was quiet now. We all respected Mr. Specter. He was a real teacher. “Now,” he said, walking away from his desk and standing front and center. “I thought we’d talk about astronomy today.”

“I’m a Capricorn!” This from Chris Jennings, a guy I was friends with in grade school, back before I had good taste in people.

“That would be astrology, Mr. Jennings.” Mr. Specter pulled a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and mopped his brow. “Another fascinating subject, but not one that’s included in our curriculum.” Our curriculum—what a joke. As if we had a set schedule. “No, I’m talking about astronomy, the study of objects and matter outside the earth’s atmosphere and of their physical and chemical properties.” He looked at us over his glasses. “That’s an exact dictionary definition, a rather narrow view in my opinion. Astronomy is so much more than that.” He glanced around the room. “William Shakespeare said, ‘It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.’ Does anyone know what that means?”

Mallory raised her hand, and when he nodded, she said, “That’s not quite right, Mr. Specter. The actual line is from the play Julius Caesar and it goes like this: ‘Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’”

I thought Mr. Specter might be irritated at being corrected, but he just nodded. “Well done, Ms. Nassif. And what exactly does that mean?” He glanced around the room. Mallory started to answer, but he brushed her off saying, “Let’s give someone else a turn, shall we?”

He pointed to a kid in the front row, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah, I got nothing.”

Mr. Specter leaned back against the whiteboard. “Come now, there are twenty-four students in this room. Miss Nassif can’t be the only one with a brain in her head.”

Whoa, kind of harsh. Especially coming from Mr. Specter, who wasn’t usually demanding at all.

“Can you repeat the quote?” someone called out.

Mr. Specter raised his eyebrows at Mallory, who sat up straight and repeated, “Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

“What is this, English class?” another guy grumbled. “I want to do science.”

Mr. Specter ignored him and walked up to me. “Mr. Becker, would you care to tell us what that means?” He leaned over and drummed his fingers against my notebook.

I nervously cleared my throat. “Umm, I think it means we determine our own fate. It’s not what happens to us in life, it’s what we do about it.”

Mr. Specter gave me a penetrating look and then nodded. “Very good.” He walked briskly to the front of the room. “Last night a phenomenal astrological event happened only a few miles away from here. If you were awake last night around one in the morning, you would have seen it. Does anyone know what I’m talking about?”

I knew immediately what he was talking about, but I wasn’t about to fess up to being out that late at night. “Come on now,” he said, when a minute or so had passed. “This was spectacular. Someone had to have seen it.”

“Tell us what it was,” Chris Jennings said. “Maybe I saw it and didn’t know it.”

“You would have known it,” Mr. Specter said, more quietly this time. He looked around the room searching each face, one at a time. “Extra credit for anyone who can tell me about it,” he said in a cajoling tone. I looked down at my desk, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Come on, Mr. S., give us a clue,” one of the girls said.

“No clues.”

He walked down the first row, the one closest to the door. “Anyone who saw it and can accurately describe it will be excused from having to do the final project and will automatically receive an A for said project.” That made everyone take notice.

“Whoa.”

“Cool!”

“No fair. I can’t help it if I didn’t see it.”

“Ooh, ooh.” Allie Westfahl raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Westfahl?”

“I remember now. I was looking out my window last night and I saw an eclipse.”

“Nice try, but that’s not it.”

Mr. Specter moved methodically through the room, row by row, desk by desk, pausing by each student and placing a hand on their shoulder. If they didn’t look at him, he’d say their name until they glanced up. No one knew what he was talking about.

Except me. He was five students away and I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle this.

Now four students to go before he got to me. “Brad?” Mr. Specter said, but Brad shook his head.

Three students. My heart sped up a bit. I concentrated on not looking flustered.

In front of me, I heard a strangulated gargling noise that made me look up despite myself. It was Mallory Nassif. Her head trembled and then shook, making her ponytail swing back and forth. She fell out of her desk chair and onto the floor in the aisle, her head hitting the linoleum with a loud thwack.

Once she was on the ground, it was pandemonium. One of the girls screamed and people were shouting different things all at once.

“Someone should call the office.”

“Screw the office, call 911.”

One girl said, “I heard that for seizures you should stick something in their mouth to keep them from swallowing their tongue.”

It didn’t seem like a seizure though, because once she landed on the floor, she stopped shaking and fell limp. Mr. Specter quickly took over, sending one girl down to get help from the office and telling the rest of us to move the desks away from Mallory’s body. Body, like she was dead. The whole thing was pretty surreal. Mallory was completely still, not even flinching when he knelt down next to her and put his fingers on her neck. “I have a pulse and she’s breathing,” he said to no one in particular. By the time Mrs. Schroeder, the woman from the health room, came to the door, Mallory’s eyes had fluttered open and he’d helped her to sit up. “Easy now,” he said, in a kind way. She looked around, seemingly confused.

Some of the girls fussed and made idiotic comments. A few pulled out their phones even though it was against school rules. I’m not sure if they were posting to Facebook or texting or what, but it seemed pretty insensitive to me. When Mrs. Schroeder and Mr. Specter helped Mallory to her feet, everyone clapped like they would for an injured player getting up at a sports event. She looked unsteady, and the adults decided she should get checked out by a doctor. “I think I just got lightheaded,” Mallory protested. “I didn’t eat breakfast this morning and my blood sugar is low. I’m probably fine.”

I didn’t think she could be fine, not the way her head smacked against the floor like a dropped cantaloupe.

“It’s best to get it checked out,” Mrs. Schroeder said in a soothing way, easing Mallory toward the door. Emily gathered up Mallory’s things and followed along like the suck-up she was. They were barely out the door when the bell rang and class was over.

CHAPTER FOUR

That night, out of habit more than compulsion, I left the house around midnight and did my usual route, thinking about Mr. Specter’s class as I walked. So weird that he’d brought up the astronomical event I’d seen the night before. How was it that he knew about it but it wasn’t mentioned on the news or anywhere online? I wasn’t about to say what I knew in class, even with his bribe. Extra credit, big deal. Like that would make me confess to being out in the middle of the night. And there was something odd about the way he asked, too. He wanted the information a little too badly. Suspicious.

I was still thinking about this during my nighttime walk when I got to Old Edgewood. One of my first stops was a house where a really old lady lived. She had to be ancient, eighty-five or so. The drapes were always open, so I could see her clearly through the window. She slept sitting up in a recliner, but sometimes she shuffled around using a walker. Mostly she watched television, but she never looked interested in what was on. No one was ever with her: no nurse, no family members. She seemed pretty frail to be alone. I looked up her address online and got a name. Nelly Smith, that was her. Even though it was the middle of the night, I never saw her in a bathrobe. It must have been cold in her house because she always wore sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt (usually decorated with birds or ladybugs).

None of my grandparents were living, so I started to think of Mrs. Smith as Grandma Nelly. I thought about going back to her house in the daytime and offering to run errands for her, or maybe getting her groceries. But in the morning I felt differently. I didn’t really know her, after all. Maybe she was mean or crazy. I mean, why didn’t she have family or friends looking after her? If she was a lovable old lady they’d be there, right?

That Wednesday I rested next to a tree in Mrs. Smith’s front yard, like I always did, pressing my back against the rough bark. I heard a truck rumbling in the distance. The front porch light was on, but inside the only source of illumination was a floor lamp in the front room. She wasn’t in her chair, but that wasn’t unusual. Nelly Smith was elderly, but she wasn’t dead yet. Maybe she went to the bathroom or to the kitchen for a snack. I waited for what seemed like a long time, but there was no movement in the house. Odder still was the fact that her walker stood next to her chair. I’d never seen her without it, not in all my weeks of visiting her yard.

I almost wrote it off—almost left to go to my next stop, but something made me stay and creep closer to the house until I was on the front porch looking directly into the front window. I had a view of the whole living room—the television still on, the recliner upright, and Nelly Smith lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

CHAPTER FIVE

I don’t know how long I stood on Nelly Smith’s porch peering through her window. Thirty seconds, ten minutes, forever? My breath caught in my chest and I felt my heart accelerate: buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-bum. She wasn’t moving and I couldn’t tell if she was breathing, but that didn’t mean she was dead. Still she was old and obviously not in great shape, so the dead thing was a real possibility. I shifted my weight and looked around the neighborhood, unsure what to do. Flag down a passing car? Knock on a neighbor’s door? And then what? Doing any of these things would lead to questions about who I was and why I was far from home on a stranger’s porch in the middle of the night. Even to me it sounded suspicious.

I lifted my hand to press the doorbell and then let it drop to my side when I realized how stupid that was. Like I’d ring the doorbell and Nelly Smith, who was either dead or stroked out, would rise up when she heard it, come to the door, and assure me that she was fine, really, just resting on the floor. What was I thinking?

I pulled my cell phone out of my hoodie pocket. Damn. My battery was dead. I was looking down at it when I noticed the doormat beneath my feet. It was one of those brown bristly types that usually say “WELCOME.” This one, however, said “GO AWAY.” The old woman had a sense of humor, anyway. Under different circumstances I would have laughed.

On impulse I stepped aside, leaned over, and lifted the mat. Aha—a key. Didn’t Ms. Smith know that putting a key under the mat was like inviting criminals into your home? Luckily, Old Edgewood wasn’t known for break-ins.

I picked up the key, opened the screen door, and unlocked the front door like I lived there. I tucked the key back under the mat before opening the door. “Mrs. Smith?” I called out before stepping over the threshold. Man, was I in trouble if she thought I was breaking in. Not likely since there was no response. Cautiously I went in, crossing the room to Mrs. Smith’s body. She was curled up on her side, a cordless phone on the floor next to her head. I knelt down and put my fingertips against her neck, not knowing what the hell I was doing, but recalling something I saw in a movie in seventh grade. Her skin was cold to the touch. Please God, don’t let her be dead. I have a big test tomorrow and I’m so tired. I really don’t need this right now.

I moved my hand closer to her throat but couldn’t find a pulse. Oh man, this was terrible. “Mrs. Smith,” I said, “I’m Russ Becker. Just hang on. I’m going to call for help, okay?” No answer, but saying the words made me feel better, like someone was in charge. I picked up her phone, stood, and dialed 911. I heard my own voice say, “I need someone to come right away.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Russ, you look terrible,” my friend Justin said, when he’d caught up to me at my locker the next day at school. “Smoking all that crack is catching up to you.”

“Get it right. I don’t smoke crack anymore,” I said, playing along. “It’s meth all the way now, and I’m not stopping until my teeth rot in my head.” I bent down to unload my backpack.

“Whatever you’re doing, it can’t be good. You look half dead.” His voice took on a more serious tone. “You’re not still roaming around at night, are you?”

“Just now and then,” I said, “when I have trouble sleeping.”

Justin was the only one I’d told about my late-night walks. He’d been worried when I told him, saying I really should go back to Dr. Anton and beg for sleeping pills. “Dude, that’s his job to push the pharmaceuticals. Tell him you need it.” He wouldn’t shut up about it and kept bringing it up until I finally told him I had it under control.

“Did you have trouble last night?”

“Nope, last night I slept like a baby,” I said, slamming my locker shut. In fact, I hadn’t slept at all. After running all the way home, I’d lain awake in bed as jittery as if I’d downed a four-pack of Red Bull.

I kept replaying the whole thing in my mind, the way I picked the phone off the floor and called for help. I was standing next to Mrs. Smith’s body, talking to the operator when I felt a tug on the bottom of my jeans. I jumped a little—anyone would have—and told the 911 lady, “She’s coming around. She just moved.”

“Good,” she said calmly. “Just stay with her and keep talking to me. Help is on the way.”

I squatted down next to her, the phone still up against my ear. I patted her arm. “It’s going to be okay. They’re sending an ambulance. It’ll be here soon.”

She gave me a wide-eyed stare. “You shouldn’t have done it,” she said, her voice raspy. “I didn’t want to come back.” Confused, clearly.

I stayed by her side until I heard the ambulance pull up in the driveway, and then I set the phone on the floor and went out the door to meet them. Something about the way the two men exited the vehicle, one carrying what looked like a large toolbox, spooked me. Going through my head were the words, You’re not supposed to be here.

My flight instinct kicked in then, and without thinking, I took off, running past them into the darkness. One of them yelled, “Hey!” as I went by. I never looked back.

I only slowed when my own house was in sight. Quietly, I eased my way through the back door and up the stairs, careful to skip the creaky step. My house was a bungalow, one bedroom down, two up. My parents’ room was on the first level, which gave me the upstairs, complete with bathroom, all to myself. My friends thought it was cool that I had my own space. I didn’t think too much about it, except when I was coming and going and wondered if they could hear me on the stairs.

In a way, getting up that morning was easy. I was already awake when my alarm went off. I felt like I’d been hit by a bus, but otherwise I was okay. I stumbled into the shower and felt a little better. Standing under a spray of warm water is a quick but short-term fix to most of life’s problems.

I decided that if I got through school without walking into any walls or dozing off, the day would be a success. Besides Justin’s inference that I resembled something you’d normally find in a septic tank, no one else noticed I was a wreck.

I was at my locker after lunch when Mallory came up next to me. “Russ Becker?” she said, sternly.

I closed my locker and slung my backpack over one shoulder. “Mallory, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You clunked your head pretty hard when you had that seizure in Specter’s class.”

She waved away my concerns. “Oh that. Just a diversion. I was faking it.”

“Really? Why would you do that?”

“Why I did it isn’t important right now.” She leaned close to me in a seductive way, but her words were more accusatory than sexy. “Here’s the thing. I saw you last night.”

“Last night?”

“In the middle of the night. I live right next door to that old lady’s house and I saw you running away when the ambulance got there. What happened?”

My stomach lurched. What kind of eyesight did she have? It was dark and I was running very, very fast. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“I know what I saw. I saw you.” She tilted her head to one side, waiting.

“You must have me confused with someone else.”

“So you’re saying it wasn’t you?”

“Nope, not me,” I said, trying to be nonchalant.

“I was eight feet away. I know it was you.”

“I have to get going or I’ll be late for class. See you later.” I stepped around her and staggered a little, the lack of sleep kicking my butt at last.

“We’re not done, Russell Becker,” Mallory called after me. “Don’t think I’m going to just let this go.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I completely crashed when I got home from school. I left a note for my mom to find when she got home from work. Mom, Taking a nap. Wake me in time for dinner. Russ.

If life were fair, I’d have been able to stay awake until ten o’clock and get a good night’s sleep like a normal person. But I was too tired. Life was so not fair.

Mom woke me by calling my cell. She never walked up the stairs if she could help it. Five minutes later, I sat at the table with my mom and dad, chewing on garlic toast and listening to them discuss their respective days. Nothing good ever seemed to happen at their jobs, at least nothing they ever mentioned.

At six o’clock, my mom turned on the small TV she kept on the kitchen counter. We always watched the news during dinner, a tradition that would have horrified my health teacher had she known. Apparently watching TV during meals is the primary cause of the breakdown of the American family. Not to mention that a person statistically consumes more calories watching a screen than conversing. All of America was going to become obese and disconnected from its loved ones, and it would be the fault of technology. According to Ms. Hadley, anyway.

We sat quietly through the newscast teasers: the promise of unseasonably warm weather, upcoming predictions for the local ball team, a man gets a life-saving kidney donation from a brother he’d never met, a local woman gets a most unusual visit. Blah, blah, blah. It’s always something.

I was only half-listening, my mouth full of spaghetti, when they got to the local woman story at the end of the forecast. The female half of the anchor team, Madeline Park, covered the story. “Yesterday, Nelly Smith of Poplar Drive in Old Edgewood had an unusual late-night experience.”

I sat up straight. The food in my mouth suddenly congealed and felt like wet cement.

Madeline Park kept talking even as I was having trouble breathing. “Mrs. Smith, who is eighty-six years old and lives alone, experienced a heart attack at approximately one a.m. this morning. Paramedics were dispatched to the home after receiving a 911 call from the residence. The call was placed by an unidentified man, who was not on the scene when they arrived. At the hospital, Mrs. Smith told our reporter that despite her door being locked, an unknown man entered her home and brought her back from the dead. Police say there was no sign of a break-in.”

Mom sprinkled Parmesan cheese on her noodles. Thankfully, neither she nor Dad were looking in my direction. I was sure my face would have given me away.

The news broke away to a shot of the Smith home. Across the bottom of the screen it said: Local woman believes she died and was revived by a stranger in her home. Then the shot switched to a reporter, Patrick Doolan, who stood in front of the house and repeated most of what Madeline Park had already said.

“Why do they always recap like that?” Mom asked.

Dad shrugged. “Filler. It’s damn annoying.”

On the screen Patrick Doolan said, “In a fascinating account, Mrs. Smith told me she remembers being in pain and then leaving her body and floating upwards toward a beautiful light where she was met by deceased family members. The next thing she recalled was being pulled back to earth by the touch of the unknown man who called 911. Mrs. Smith is resting comfortably at the hospital and declined being on camera. With us is her neighbor, Mallory Nassif, who saw the ambulance arrive from her home next door. She has some insights of her own on the situation.” He held the microphone out and the camera zoomed in on Mallory’s face. “Mallory, can you tell us what you observed last night?” I felt like I was going to throw up.

She smiled, straight at me, it seemed. “I got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water and happened to look out the window as the ambulance was leaving, around two fifteen. My mom and I check on Mrs. Smith sometimes, so we know her really well. I heard she’s in stable condition now, and I’m going to visit her tomorrow.”

Patrick Doolan’s voice in the background: “What do you think of Mrs. Smith’s assertion that the person who called 911 was a complete stranger who somehow got into her locked home and revived her from death?”

“I think it’s possible,” she said. “Why not?”

“Some would find the idea unbelievable,” Patrick Doolan said. “What would you say to those skeptics?”

Mallory smiled again. “I think Mrs. Smith knows if her door was locked. And the house was open when the paramedics got there, so no one broke in. And if she said she died and came back, I’m willing to believe it. Miracles happen sometimes.”

“There you have it, folks.” Patrick Doolan’s face filled the screen. “A miracle on Poplar Drive.”

Back in the studio, Madeline Park said, “We love a happy ending here at News Center Five. And I love that young woman’s attitude. I’m willing to believe in miracles, too.”

As Madeline exchanged small talk with her co-anchor, Dad got up and turned the TV off. Somewhere along the line I’d started breathing again. I hoped my face had recovered from the shock.

“What do you make of that?” my dad asked.

“Weird.” Mom took a sip of water.

“Okay, forget about the back from the dead thing. Focusing just on the unknown stranger—they must have the guy’s voice recorded on the 911 call,” Dad said.

“Yes, but he didn’t identify himself,” Mom said.

“Hmmm.” Dad shifted into problem-solving mode. “Sounds like a case for CSI. Here’s what they should do—dust for fingerprints, look for strands of hair, check for footprints inside and out, and test for DNA. A person can’t even walk through a room without leaving something behind.”

“I’m sure Edgewood doesn’t have much of a forensics department,” Mom said. “Besides, no crime was committed, right?”

“True, but an investigation would rule out paranormal entities. And clearly it was someone who wasn’t supposed to be there—a would-be burglar or something.”

I hoped no one in the room could hear the pounding of my heart. I said, “Why does it have to be a criminal? Couldn’t it just be a passing Good Samaritan? Someone going for a walk who noticed something wrong?”

“At one in the morning?” my mother questioned. “What kind of person is out for a walk at that time?”

I shrugged. “People who work the late shift?”

“But wouldn’t someone like that stick around? Why run off when the ambulance arrived?”

I had nothing to say to that.

Dad said, “I like that your tendency is to think the best about people, Russ, I really do, but in this case, I think there’s more going on. It’ll come out eventually, you wait and see.”

When he said that, a chill went up my spine, the kind you read about in horror stories. I’m not sure why I felt so guilty. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and in fact, if you really thought about it, I’d done a good thing. I saved Grandma Nelly’s life, right? What would it hurt to tell my parents it was me? Sure they’d be upset that I’d gone out at night, and Mom would be hurt I hadn’t told her I’d had more problems sleeping. I’d probably have to go back to Dr. Anton and he’d try to dig deeper into my psyche, or whatever you call it, trying to find out the root of my problem. And I sure didn’t want that. But maybe I could downplay the whole thing, say that last night was the only time I had trouble sleeping, the first time I’d gone for a walk at night. Of course, once Mom and Dad knew, they’d be watching me all the time and that would be the end of my late-night walks. And then how would I ever fall asleep?

“I forgot to tell you, Russ,” Mom said. “You got a phone call while you were napping. Some girl.”

My hand, holding a forkful of spaghetti, froze. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know. She said it was important. I gave her your cell number.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

After dinner I went upstairs to do my homework. That was the official version, anyway—doing homework. I spent most school nights up in my room. I had my own TV, game system, laptop, and phone, so there was no reason to be anywhere else in the house. Mom and Dad never questioned how I spent my time, probably because I had a 3.6 GPA and, unlike Carly, I’d never had any visits from the police. Having her come first made everything easier.

I sat on my bed and checked my cell. No message from the mystery girl, the one I feared would be Mallory Nassif, but there was one from a friend. I had a circle of guys I hung out with, but Justin and Mick were my main friends. This was Mick’s voice mail message: “You loser. Answer me, dammit.” Typical. He’d left me seven text messages, most of them complete gibberish.

I called him back.

Me: “Sup?”

Mick: “What are you doing right now?”

Me: “Homework.”

Mick: “Ha! Good one. Seriously, you have to go online now and watch this thing. Funny, so damn funny. You’re gonna die. I’m sending you the link.”

Me: “Okay.”

Mick: “What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Mick: “Your nothing sounds depressed. Don’t kill yourself, okay? Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

Me: “Do you know Mallory Nassif?”

Mick: “Not as much as I’d like to.”

Here I have to stop and explain that Mick is sort of a wannabe womanizer. He never got any action in that department, but he made comments about every girl who walked by. And he was always convinced he was on the verge of getting some. He was delusional that way.

Mick: “Why? Is she asking about me?”

Me: “You wish. I just asked because she was on the news.”

Mick: “Mallory Nassif was on the news saying she wanted me?” (He choked out a kind of heh, heh, heh laugh.)

Me (ignoring him): “No, her neighbor had a heart attack.”

Mick: “Someone our age?”

Me: “No, a really old lady.”

Mick (sounding bored): “Oh. Well, that stuff happens when you’re old, right?”

This is the part where I got really annoyed. Yes, that kind of stuff happens when you’re old, but it’s different when you see the person lying on the floor. Then it’s a really horrible thing. Being there, I was involved. But I didn’t want to tell Mick that. At least not yet. Something inside of me said I should keep it to myself. “I gotta go,” I said. “I have a math test tomorrow.”

“Give me a break,” he said, and started going on about something he saw on Comedy Central. I hung up while he was still talking, the way I always did. Most people would think it was rude, but it was just the way we did things.

I’d been having some trouble with math, so I knew I had to study if there was any chance of getting an A that semester. My friends thought getting good grades came easy for me. I never let on how many hours I spent poring over textbooks and making notes at home. Sometimes, during study hall, I even went to the math lab, the refuge of the truly desperate. Unlike some of the kids I knew, I was on my own. Once I reached sixth grade, my parents refused to help me with my homework, saying too much had changed since they went to school. My mom, in fact, claimed not to know anything besides basic addition, subtraction, division, and multiplication. Hard to believe she had a master’s degree.

I was knee-deep in logarithms when my cell phone went off. My eyes still on my notebook, I answered. “Yeah?”

“Russ?”

I had a sinking feeling. I sat up straight. “Yes?’

“It’s me. I told you I wasn’t going to let this go.” There was a long pause where neither of us spoke, and then Mallory said, “Are you there, Russ?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Well, don’t you have anything to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

She sighed heavily, for my benefit, I thought. “I think this would work better if we both cut the crap. I know about the lights in the field, and I know you were at Mrs. Smith’s last night and so do you. Pretending differently doesn’t change things.”

I picked up a pen and started drawing spirals in the margins in my notebook, a nervous habit I’d had since grade school. “Just say I was in your neighborhood last night,” I finally said. “And I’m not saying I was, but if I was—so what? It’s not like it’s a crime or anything. And no one can prove it either way.”

“I’m not interested in proving it,” she said. “I know what I know. I saw you there as sure as I know anything in this world.”

“Is there a reason for this phone call?” I said. “Because I’m in the middle of something right now and don’t have time to play games.”

“I’m not playing games.” Now she sounded indignant. “I’m calling to invite you to join my group. This is completely secret. I wouldn’t ask just anyone, but if you aren’t interested—”

“What kind of group?” I asked. I had to admit, she got my attention.

“I’m not telling you about it unless you’re in for sure,” she said. “It’s strictly confidential.”

This girl was insane. “I’m not joining some group I don’t know anything about,” I said. “If that’s a condition, forget it.”

“This is an opportunity to be part of something important,” she said, emphasizing each word. “You are part of this whether you know it or not. We need each other—you’re going to find that out sooner or later.”

There was a long pause, for dramatic effect on her part, I guessed, and on my end, because what the hell do you say to that? “This is a church youth group, isn’t it?”

“No.”

I guessed again. “A service organization?”

“No.”

“An exclusive academic club?”

“No, no, and double no,” she said and laughed. “Do you really think I’m that type of person?”

“Frankly, I don’t know what type of person you are, Mallory Nassif. I know you believe in miracles on Poplar Drive, and you play field hockey. That’s all I know.” I looked down at the notebook page, which was now covered in doodles. I wrote, CRAZY in large letters and circled it three times.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mallory said. “Just meet with us and then make your decision. I think you’d be a good fit.”

I cleared my throat. Her proposition sounded interesting, but I doubted it was as great as she was making it out to be.

She continued without waiting for an answer. “Tomorrow night at midnight. I’ll text directions for where to meet beforehand.”

“Midnight?”

“That’s when we meet,” she said. “Are you interested or not?”

“Tomorrow night is a school night.”

“Yeah, so what? So was last night.”

She had a point. Chances were pretty good I’d be up and wandering around anyway. “What kind of group meets in the middle of the night?” I asked.

“Come and find out, if you’re interested. And if you have the nerve.”

“Okay,” I said finally.

“Okay what?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.” Then Mallory laughed again, a really great laugh, like she’d won an argument. She was certain I’d show up, that much was sure. As for me, I still hadn’t decided.

CHAPTER NINE

I hated to admit it, but Mallory Nassif had gotten to me. Inviting me to join some secret group, but not giving me the details, was, I’m sure, supposed to make me insanely curious, and it worked. The next day, I found myself thinking about what she’d said. What if this was some type of dark cult? Would there be blood oaths or black robes? What if her group did things that were illegal? Or maybe she was messing with me and there was no group. It could all be a big practical joke. My mind whirred with all the possibilities, making me distracted during class.

“Mr. Becker, would you like to join our discussion?” Ms. Birnbaum asked. It was one of those smart-ass questions teachers use that I really hate. Along with: Would you care to let the rest of us in on the joke? and Are we interrupting your sleep? Teachers think they’re being clever, but the truth is, it’s just annoying. If students could answer the way they wanted to they’d say, No I don’t want to join the class discussion because frankly, it sucks. And if I wanted to let you all in on the joke, I would have done it already. Finally, yes, you are interrupting my sleep. Could you keep it down?

Maybe I was just in a mood. Lack of sleep will do that to you.

I looked for Mallory between classes and spotted her a few times, walking down the halls. I saw her at lunch too. She was always with at least one other girl, so I couldn’t talk to her. I’ve noticed that girls always travel in packs if they have a choice. Today, like every other day, Mallory’s hair was pulled back in her usual ponytail. I heard her burst out laughing at one point and it made me smile. Her laughter was explosive and happy-sounding. No one could duplicate that noise if they tried.

I finally caught her eye at the end of the day. I was getting something out of my locker when she walked past with Amelia Schuster. Amelia was talking a mile a minute and gesturing wildly, and Mallory was nodding like she totally agreed with everything she said. As they approached I reached out to get Mallory’s attention, but she shook her head like, not here. Funny how I was able to read so much into that one gesture. I would have felt like she was giving me the brush-off if not for what she did next. She winked at me, and then grinned. It was fast, over in a split second. I was the only one who saw it, which made it kind of cool.

I started almost obsessively checking my phone for the directions to the meeting place once I got home. I got a few other texts, but nothing from Mallory. I went from thinking I wasn’t going to meet her secret group at the secret place, to being afraid she wasn’t going to follow through. What if my reluctance kept me out of the group? Wouldn’t that be a hell of a thing?

Dinner with my folks that evening consisted of meatloaf and a salad. I poured a lot of ketchup on the meatloaf to offset the dryness, and when I looked up I caught my parents exchanging an amused look. “Meatloaf not to your liking, Russ?” my dad asked.

“Nope, it’s fine,” I said.

My mom changed the subject. “Did I tell you Frank is spending the weekend here?”

Inwardly I groaned. This was very bad news. Frank was my sister Carly’s son. My nephew. His full name was Frank Shrapnel Becker, if you can believe it. My sister wanted to give him a tough guy name. This was during her biker chick phase. The phase passed, but the poor kid was saddled with the name Frank Shrapnel forever. Unbelievable. Comparatively speaking, my middle name “David,” which was kind of boring, was preferable.

Frank spent so much time at our house it was like we shared custody. He was really cute when he was little. Back then my mom did most of the caretaking. Now that he was ten, he’d latched onto me, following me around the house talking nonstop and asking a million questions. Sometimes it was cool. The kid was pretty good at video games and sometimes I was up for that. Lately not so much.

“No, you didn’t tell me that,” I said. “What’s the story?”

“What do you mean, what’s the story?”

“Why is he coming over?”

My mom gave me a slight frown. “He’s our grandson. Does there have to be a reason?”

“Carly is going to some enlightenment workshop,” my dad said. “Her new boyfriend is some new age guru.”

I took a sip of my milk. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to be entertaining him. I have a lot of plans for the weekend.” Or at least I would have plans, now that I knew.

“Don’t be that way, Russ,” Mom said. “He adores you. All he wants is a little attention. Is that asking too much?”

“His mother should be the one paying attention,” I said. “She can’t wait to get rid of him.”

My mom looked like I’d slapped her, and I immediately regretted saying it. Carly was a crappy mother, but it wasn’t my parents’ fault. They’d set a good example. She just chose not to follow it.

“Regardless,” Dad said. “Frank shouldn’t be punished for her lack of maternal instincts. Mom and I are going to take him to a movie and to the mall, but we can’t keep him occupied the whole time. We’d like your help.”

“We really do appreciate it,” Mom added. I believed her. They did appreciate my help. It was my flaky sister who expected everything and appreciated nothing. When Frank was a baby, she dumped him at our house every chance she could. It got to be less as the years went on, but he still spent a fair share of his time here.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll hang out with the kid.”

After dinner I cleared the table for my mom, then went upstairs for the night. I checked my phone constantly. Just after eight, when I’d almost given up hope, I was rewarded with a text from Mallory. She said: “Important meet-up at midnight behind the ball bearing factory. 276 Industry Drive. See you there.”

Now that I got the message, I started to have funny feelings about the whole thing. The thing that bothered me was the location. I knew Industry Drive. It was part of my route. I had no idea there was a ball bearing factory there. You learn something new every day. If she was some kind of psycho who belonged to a gang or something, her group could jump me and do who knows what. Not saying that would happen, but it did cross my mind. What kind of group meets in the industrial park at midnight during the week? It was weird. Not interesting-weird—bizarre-weird.

I thought about my life. I had my friends, school, homework, my family. And this summer I would get my driver’s license and a job. I had a lot going on. I didn’t need Mallory and her secret club. Not to mention I was tired and needed to get caught up on my sleep. And I actually felt like I could sleep tonight, which was rare.

Forget it. I wasn’t going to go.

At ten o’clock I shut everything down, washed up, and climbed between the sheets. I closed my eyes and regulated my breathing the way Dr. Anton taught me. In, out. In, out. An hour later I was still concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, but now I was frustrated. I couldn’t sleep and I really wanted to sleep. Damn, I was tired. Why wouldn’t my body cooperate?

The house creaked and outside I heard street noises: a car driving past and the slamming of a car door. Someone was either coming or going. Curious, I got out of bed and went to the window. I separated the slats of the blinds and looked down to see my neighbor arriving home with bags of groceries. Nothing interesting there.

I turned to go back to bed, but realized that I was now wide awake. More than wide awake, really. Hyper-awake. I looked at the clock: eleven forty. I did some mental arithmetic and calculated that if I got dressed and moved quickly, I could still make it to the ball bearing factory by midnight.

CHAPTER TEN

It was completely quiet except for the slapping of my shoes against the pavement. When I took a shortcut through an empty field near the industrial park, I slowed my pace. The streetlights were further apart than in the residential section, and I couldn’t see very well. I stopped at one point and opened my phone to check the time. Good, I still had a few minutes. I would make it.

When I got to the other side of the field, I cut over to the street. Industry Drive. All the streets here had the same theme going. Manufacturing Street, Production Avenue, Assembly Circle. Whoever came up with these names probably thought they were pretty clever.

I was more visible than I wanted to be, but I had to walk along the curb in order to spot the addresses on the buildings. Some of them didn’t have numbers at all, at least not that I could see. Finally I came to the right place: 276 Industry Drive. Metal Castings Inc. the sign said. The parking lot was half full, and lights were on inside. People working the night shift.

I went past the parking lot to the other side of the building and eased my way toward the back. Behind the building was another parking area, but this one lacked cars. Stacks of metal rods randomly dotted the lot. A few dumpsters were lined up to one side. A lone light post illuminated the lot, but it didn’t give much light. The asphalt pavement was cracked and buckled. When a slight breeze kicked up, I got a whiff of hot metal and grease. If the odor was that strong outside, I could only imagine how the workers smelled after working in the building for eight hours.

This empty lot didn’t look like the kind of place a secret society would meet. I stood and listened for a few minutes, but I didn’t hear any footsteps or voices. Where were they? That’s when it hit me—Mallory had gotten me good. I’d actually gone to the back of a factory at midnight looking for a top-secret organization. What kind of idiot would do that? I looked at my phone: 12:04.

I imagined her having a good laugh at my expense. It really wasn’t all that great of a practical joke. I felt like an idiot for having fallen for it. Stupid Mallory with her great laugh and intriguing invitation.

I checked my phone one more time. Nothing. I weighed my options—walk around a little more, maybe even do my usual route, or just go home? Home, I decided. I stuck the phone in my pocket and walked to the front of the building.

When I turned the corner, I walked right into Mallory, and I mean right into her—we collided face-to-face, and she sort of bounced off of me, but not before I stepped on her foot. “Hey,” she said, like I’d hurt her. “Where are you running off to, Becker?”

“Home,” I said indignantly. “I was here at the right time and you weren’t, so I was going home.”

She stood so close to me I had to look down to see her face. “You sure are impatient. It’s been what, all of three minutes?”

“I just don’t appreciate being jerked around, Mallory Nassif.” I stretched her name out for emphasis: Na-seeeef.

She held a finger up to her lips and then spoke quietly. “We’ve been here the whole time. In back behind the dumpsters. We kept waiting for you to come back, but you kept clinging to the side of the building like a big baby.”

“I looked,” I said. “And I didn’t hear anything. I wasn’t going to go scouting around behind some dumpsters.”

“You have to be bolder than that if you want to be part of our group,” Mallory whispered. “Come on.” She grabbed my sleeve and pulled me along. “I want you to meet the others.” She turned on a small flashlight and led me to the back. Her grip was firm and deliberate. We stepped around piles of industrial junk, metal rods and bins of small parts I hadn’t noticed from my hiding spot. She maneuvered around them like she’d done this before many times.

As we approached, two other kids stepped out from behind the dumpsters. A small girl wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up, her face barely visible, and a tall, skinny guy with glasses. The guy had a knit cap set back on head, so that only a little of his white-blond hair stuck out. I didn’t recognize either of them. Mallory led me to them and finally released her grip on my arm. This was Mallory’s secret society? Not to be mean, but I wasn’t seeing much here.

Mallory pointed. “Russ, this is Nadia and Jameson.” The girl kept her head down but gave a little wave. “Jameson, Nadia, this is Russ.” Jameson nodded an acknowledgement, real serious-like. Mallory turned to me. “I told them all about you.”

“But you didn’t tell me anything about them,” I said. They were not an impressive group at all. Nadia kept looking down at her shoes, and Jameson, shifting from side to side, looked a little uncomfortable too. With one finger he pushed his glasses up and then stared at me, like I was the odd one.

“What do you want to know?” Mallory asked.

“Everything,” I said.

“We have to hide,” Nadia said, her face still aimed at the ground. “Someone is coming.”

I turned, but didn’t see anything and was about to say as much, but the other three were already in motion.

“Come on,” Jameson hissed to me, and I found myself ducking behind the dumpsters with the rest of them.

“What are we doing?” I asked Nadia, who was crouched beside me. She didn’t answer. I turned to Mallory, but she shook her head and put her fingers to her lips. The crazy girl had lured me here for some kind of wacked-out grade school game. I usually was pretty good about reading people, but I’d really messed up this time. Somehow she’d pulled me into this weirdness, she and her strange friends.

And then, we did hear someone coming. I heard the shuffle of footsteps as someone approached the dumpster, then the creak of the cover being lifted and the sound of a bag of trash being thrown in.

Were we going to jump out and scare them? Eavesdrop? What was going on? I looked at the other three, who were frozen in place.

When it was completely quiet, I turned to Mallory and said, “What the hell was that about?”

She shrugged. “We don’t want to get caught out at night.”

Well, duh. I tried again. “So why the ball bearing factory? What’s the significance?”

“No significance. It was chosen randomly as a place to meet,” Mallory said. “We like to switch it up.” She turned to Nadia. “Are you ready?” In response, Nadia’s hood bobbed up and down.

Then Nadia stepped toward me, her arm outstretched like she wanted to shake hands, but when I went to grab it, she withdrew abruptly and looked at Mallory in alarm. “What?” I asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Don’t move,” Mallory said. “Keep your arms at your side and stand still.”

Nadia stepped forward again. Without touching me, she ran her hand up and down my sides, and then front and back, like they do with those handheld security scanners at the airport. What was this all about? I gave Mallory a befuddled look, hoping she’d clue me in, but all three of them looked super serious, like this was a real thing. Just when I thought it was over, Nadia reached up and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Look at me,” she said. I found myself looking down at her hooded face. Even though her face was shadowed, the intense way she stared gave me the creepiest feeling. I felt exposed and ashamed, like she’d walked in on me dancing naked in my bedroom. Not that I dance naked in my bedroom. Okay, I have, but it was only the one time and no one had walked in on me. Still, I had some context.

Finally Nadia let go of me and said, “He checks out okay.”

“What the hell was that all about?” I asked.

Mallory, clearly the leader of this group, said, “Nadia has a talent for sizing people up. We weren’t about to confide in you until we knew you were okay. Too dangerous.”

“Really,” I said, folding my arms. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but I knew I did sound that way, at least a little. I couldn’t help it. This was starting to remind me of the secret clubs third graders invent. Pretty soon they’d be showing me their clubhouse and their secret handshake. “So how exactly was she sizing me up?”

“That’s part of a bigger story.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m all ears, so feel free to fill me in anytime now.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I had to wait to find out. Jameson suddenly announced he was hungry and Mallory said they’d fill me in at the all-night diner on Highway 63. Rosie’s Diner had been there since my parents were kids (back then it was Melvin’s Diner), and I’d been there a million times, mostly after our high school football games. I knew the place was open all night, but it had never occurred to me to go there during my walks. Wouldn’t a teenager in a diner after midnight arouse suspicion? That was my thought anyway, but Jameson, Nadia, and Mallory didn’t seem concerned about it. They walked in the door like the regulars they apparently were. The place was empty, except for one old man sitting at the counter. I recognized him from around town. He looked like a bum, disheveled in flannel shirt and worn work pants, shuffling around like he was feeble-minded. Sometimes I saw him at the library, dozing in a chair by the magazines. When we saw him out in public, my mom always greeted him and they exchanged pleasantries, but she was like that with everyone. I’d never looked closely at the old guy, but Mallory greeted him warmly, placing a hand on his back and saying, “Hey, Gordy, what’s up?”

He swiveled in his chair to answer. “The sky, the stars, the moon.” He chortled more than was warranted, and Mallory laughed too. I got the impression it was a standard joke between them.

The owner, Rosie, who was also the waitress, motioned us over to what she said was their usual booth. I slid in first and was glad when Mallory sat next to me.

“You added a new person to your group,” Rosie said, bringing menus. “You’re not a trio anymore.”

“He’s on probation,” Mallory said, giving my arm a poke. “We’re still testing him out.”

Rosie laughed. “If he’s a good tipper, I say you keep him.”

Oh, shoot, the mention of tipping reminded me that I had no money with me at all. Mallory’s group knew their order without even looking at the menu. Without exception, they all ordered breakfast by giving her a number.

“Okay, so I’ve got two number fours, and a number six for the tall gentleman by the window,” Rosie said, jotting the order down on a pad. She looked up. “The usual drinks?” They nodded.

She turned her attention to me. I handed her the menu and said, “I’m not really hungry. I’ll just have a glass of water, thanks.”

Mallory spoke up. “He’ll have a number four like me. And an orange juice. My treat.”

“Hey,” I said, “you don’t have to do that.” Was my face red? It felt red.

She shrugged. “It’s the least I can do since you made the trip out here.” The waitress jotted down my order and walked away before I could cancel it. I guess I was having the number four, whatever that was.

“You don’t have to pay for my food,” I said.

Mallory said, “Call it payback.”

“For what?”

“For saving Nelly Smith’s life,” Nadia piped up, her head aimed at the table.

I turned to Mallory. “You told them?”

“I didn’t have to. They were with me that night. They saw you running away.” She took a sip of her ice water. “But I would have told them, if they didn’t already know. We don’t have any secrets in this group.”

“What exactly is this group?” I asked. Jameson was busy stacking the jelly packets so they were perfectly symmetrical, and Nadia still had her hood up. Mallory was the only one who seemed to have it together as far as I could tell.

Jameson gave me a steely-eyed look over his glasses. “We’re geniuses with superpowers.”

I couldn’t help myself—I laughed. He’d said it with a completely straight face, but I couldn’t imagine he was serious. I looked from Nadia to Jameson to Mallory. They didn’t look like geniuses with superpowers.

Jameson looked disgusted. He said to Mallory, “I told you this was a bad idea. I can tell already that he’s not going to work out.”

Rosie came with our drinks. It was orange juice all around, except for Jameson, who had coffee. Nadia pulled the wrapper off her straw and twisted it around her finger. After the waitress walked away, I said, “I’m sorry for laughing, but come on. You’re joking right?”

“It’s no joke,” Mallory said, lowering her voice.

“You’re all geniuses?”

Nadia’s head bobbed up and down under her hood. Jameson glared at me.

“That’s how we met,” Mallory said. “At a group for accelerated homeschoolers doing college-level work.”

Now I was confused. “But you’re not homeschooled.”

“Not this year,” Mallory said. “But I was before. The only reason I’m going to school now is that I wanted to see what I was missing. Going to dances, having a locker, doing labs in science class. The usual high school stuff. I wanted to play field hockey and complain about the cafeteria food. Plus, my folks thought it would be good for me socially.”

“And has it been good for you?” I asked, and then added, “Socially, I mean.”

Before she had a chance to answer, Jameson spoke up. “Mallory won’t tell you this herself, but she’s brilliant. A day at your high school for her would be like you spending time with kindergartners.” His tone wasn’t hostile, exactly, but it wasn’t friendly either. I could tell he wanted me to know the pecking order. A guy thing.

“Okay, I get it, you’re all smarter than me,” I said. “You can feel superior if you want.”

“It’s not that we’re smarter exactly,” Mallory said. “It’s just with academics—”

“No, he’s right,” Jameson said, interrupting. “We’re smarter. You don’t have to apologize for it, Mallory. It’s okay to say it. Russ here probably has other things he’s good at.”

“I know I’m pretty average. I don’t have a problem with that,” I said. “I get good grades, but I spend a lot of time studying.” Jameson nodded like he agreed with me. What a jerk. I changed the subject. “So what kind of superpowers are we talking about?”

“So how did you know to help Nelly Smith?” Mallory asked, ignoring my question. “Why were you out at night to begin with?” She squeezed my arm in a way that made me want to cooperate. We could get back to the superpower question later.

“I have trouble sleeping,” I said, “The only thing that seems to help is walking at night.”

Nadia looked at me with surprise. Mallory had a triumphant look on her face, and I saw her catch Jameson’s eye, but his expression didn’t change.

“Why do you have trouble sleeping?” Mallory asked.

“I don’t know why. I just can’t.”

“What made you think to go for a walk? It’s kind of a weird thing to do.”

I thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I just sort of felt compelled to go outside. The house seemed confining. I had to get out. And then, after it helped, I kept doing it.”

Rosie came with a tray then and set the food in front of us with crisp efficiency. Man, the cook here was fast. “Be careful, the plates are hot,” she said, and pulled a bottle of Tabasco sauce out of her pocket, which she set in front of Nadia. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, we’re good,” Jameson said, speaking for the group. “Thanks.”

Everyone turned their attention to the food. The salt shaker was passed around, and Nadia coated her fried eggs with enough Tabasco to burn the stomach lining of a cow. Everyone picked up their forks and began eating. I followed their lead and dug into my hash browns. I was hungrier than I’d thought.

“So Russ,” Mallory said. “You have trouble sleeping and then you go walking. That’s it, basically?” She took a sip of orange juice while she waited for me to answer.

“I guess. It’s the only thing that helps.”

“Does anyone else know you go out at night?” Jameson asked.

“No. I go out and I’m back before my folks even know the difference.”

“And you always follow the same route.” This from Mallory. She said it as a statement, not a question.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Not on purpose,” Jameson said. “But we can’t seem to avoid you. Everywhere we went, there you were.” He smirked at Nadia, who grinned in response.

“There aren’t too many people out at night,” Mallory said. “So when we started to see you lurking in the shadows it got our attention. We only followed you to make sure you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“You were following me?” Creepy. How could I not have known that?

“Only at first,” Jameson said. “We figured out pretty quickly that you were harmless.” He emptied a sugar packet into his coffee and swirled it around, his spoon clinking loudly. I guess they never covered stirring without hitting the side of the coffee cup in genius school.

“So,” Mallory said cheerily, “want to join our group?”

“Um, no,” I said. “Why would I?”

Nadia turned to Mallory. “You forgot to tell him what we’re all about.”

“It got lost in the interrogation,” I said, taking a sip of orange juice.

“Okay, short answer,” Mallory said. “There’s some kind of weird astronomical phenomenon happening. Those exposed to it seem to become affected in some way.”

A light bulb went on in my head as I realized what she was talking about. The lights in the sky. So I wasn’t the only one who’d experienced it. “You saw it too, then, the other night? The lights that came down out of the sky and landed in a spiral?”

The three of them exchanged a look that I couldn’t quite decipher. Mallory sucked in a deep breath. “No, not this time.”

“It’s happened before?” I asked.

Mallory nodded. “We saw it about a year ago. It came in streaks and then landed in a perfect Fibonacci spiral on the ground. We studied it until it burned out, but none of us could figure out what it was. Later on, we all started to experience different things. Unusual things.”

Nadia said, “It put some kind of spell on us. It was intoxicating.”

“How did you know I saw the same thing?” Now they had my complete attention.

“Because you sketched it in Specter’s class,” Mallory said. “You drew it exactly the way we saw it. And then Specter started asking about it. I put two and two together.”

“Tell him about what happened afterward,” Jameson said in a forced voice. “After we saw it.”

“This was last year. A few days after we saw the ‘lights’ as you call them, we went back to the site to collect evidence. We’d been so mesmerized by what we saw that it didn’t occur to us to pick up some of the pieces, so we went back.” Mallory spoke in hushed tones. “And this is when it gets really weird. It was all gone.”

“Gone?”

“Not there anymore,” Jameson said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

“I know what gone means,” I said. “I just don’t understand. How could all the pieces be gone? There were like thousands of them. Maybe they blended in with the rest of the dirt?”

“No, they were gone. Someone had come and scraped the field clean,” Jameson said, and then regretfully added, “I should have picked up samples when we first saw them. I missed my chance.”

Nadia patted his arm, but he didn’t seem to appreciate her attempt to console him.

“No one is blaming you, Jameson,” Mallory said. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just,” she said, leaning toward me, “that we wanted to analyze the pieces. Their properties don’t correlate with what we know about energy and matter. They retain light and low-level heat, but they aren’t hot per se. Sometimes the light intensifies after it’s gone out, like those trick birthday candles that relight. It seems to permanently affect those who come into contact with it, but not consistently. Each of us had a different side effect, for lack of a different word.”

“I’d give my right arm to be able to study a chunk of that stuff,” Jameson said.

“Whatever it is, the properties of energy don’t seem to apply,” Nadia said, shrugging. “And the effects on human beings seem randomly generated.”

“Just one little piece, that’s all I’d need,” Jameson said.

My food sat on my plate. I set down my fork. I was done. “So now you all have superpowers?”

“I like to call them enhanced abilities,” Mallory said, her fingers making quotes around the last two words.

Jameson smirked. “I just called them superpowers for your benefit, Russell.”

“You don’t need to dumb down your vocabulary on my account,” I said. “Even if you use big words, trust me, I’ll be able to follow along.”

Rosie came back with a pot of coffee and topped up Jameson’s cup. While she was there, the group was silent.

“So what are these enhanced abilities?” I asked, once the waitress walked away. I gave each of them the once-over, trying to figure it out for myself, but came up short. Mallory looked like a typical pretty high school girl. Jameson, with his pasty white skin and lanky build, resembled an albino giraffe with glasses. And Nadia, well, since she lurked behind her hood the whole time, I wasn’t sure what to make of her. From her spiky bangs and big dark eyes, she could have been an anime character. None of them would ever be mistaken for a superhero. There was a long pause, and when no one answered I said, “Am I supposed to guess?”

I saw Nadia look at Jameson, and even though they didn’t speak, there was something going on there. Their eyes flickered slightly and their facial expressions gave them away. I looked at Mallory to see if she’d fill me in, but she was looking intently at the other two. It was so quiet that when Nadia spoke, it was almost startling.

“Show him, Jameson,” she said.

Jameson grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment. He rubbed his hands together. “So, Russ, how well do you know your science?”

I shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I’m getting an A in the class.”

“Good for you!” Jameson said, in a clearly condescending way.

“Of course I’m in the dummy class, something called Science Samplers,” I said. “Hey wait a minute.” I pointed to Mallory. “If you’re a genius, what are you doing in my class?”

She looked sheepish. “I tested out of all the math classes the school offered. I’m taking Specter’s class as an elective.”

“Oh.”

“And what was the deal with your faked seizure?”

“I had to do something. You were just about to tell Mr. Specter about the lights.”

“Eyes over here, Russ,” Jameson said, waving a hand and snapping his fingers. “Let’s get back on track.”

Nadia said, “Just show him what you can do.” Her dark eyes shone bright and she fidgeted slightly with anticipation. “It’s very impressive,” she said to me.

“I want to explain a little something first,” Jameson said. “This might be a little advanced for you, Russ, but try to keep up. It has to do with energy. For the sake of simplification, let’s say there are two basic types of energy: kinetic and potential. Potential energy is stored energy. If I lift up a jelly packet I exert energy that will become kinetic energy when the packet is dropped.” He held one up at eye level and released it so that it fell to the table.

“Oh for God’s sake, just demonstrate what you can do,” Mallory said.

Jameson held up a hand. “Patience, Mallory, he’s getting this, I can tell.” He turned to me. “Kinetic energy, on the other hand, is the energy of motion. The faster the body moves, the more kinetic energy is produced. If I put this same jelly packet on a slide at a playground and it hurtles its way down to the bottom, the potential energy is converted into kinetic energy. Still with me, Russ?”

I nodded.

“Thus, the greater the mass and speed of an object the more kinetic energy there will be.”

“I hope there’s a point to all of this,” I said, glancing up at the clock on the opposite wall. I was out much later than usual, and it was making me nervous.

“Oh there’s a point all right.”

I looked back down at the table to see the jelly packet, moving on its own, sliding in circles in front of Jameson, seemingly directed by the subtle movements on his pointer finger. He wagged his finger back and forth and around and round, and the jelly packet, half a foot away, followed along. “Jump, little jelly, jump,” Jameson said gleefully, and it did just that, leaping up and down off the tabletop like a bouncy ball. He reached out and snatched it in midair.

I felt my mouth drop open. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s not kinetic or potential energy,” he said, still directing the jelly. “It’s a completely new kind. I call it Jameson energy.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mallory nudged me like, See I told you this was big, and an expression of pure delight crossed her face. Nadia, too, looked charmed as she gave him a silent clap, clap, clap of applause. I hoped I didn’t look as dumfounded as I felt.

Jameson handed me the jelly packet and numbly I took it. There was nothing extraordinary about it, no strings, nothing attached, no heat emanating from it. It was like all the others, a minute plastic container covered with a peel-off top decorated with a bunch of purple grapes. The only difference between this one and the other jelly packets was its ability to do gymnastics. “Being exposed to the lights one night, a year ago, gave you the ability to move objects without touching them?” I said.

Jameson grinned, showing all his teeth. “I told you he’d get it, Mallory. Such a smart boy.” He took off his glasses and polished them with the front of his shirt.

“Okay, enough with the sarcasm,” Mallory said. The waitress came to top up the coffee and Mallory waved her away. “Just the check please.”

“How is this possible?” I set the jelly packet down. Part of me couldn’t even fathom what I’d seen. It was a trick, it had to be. Magicians and illusionists had been pulling off stunts more mind-blowing than this for centuries. If someone could saw a girl in half or make an elephant disappear, making a small object move couldn’t be that difficult.

Mallory leaned toward me and said softly, “After being exposed to the energy fragments each of us discovered we’d picked up an ability, and all of us have something different.” She put a reassuring hand on my arm. “I know it can be kind of freaky if you aren’t expecting it.”

“So what’s your superpower?” I asked.

“Me? I guess you’d call it mind control.”

“Mind control? Like ‘these aren’t the droids you’re looking for’?” I said, quoting Obi-Wan from Star Wars.

“Something like that. I’m still figuring it out. We’re all still figuring it out.” Mallory looked at the others and they nodded. “None of us knew the lights had affected us until odd stuff started happening. I didn’t know I could do mind control. At first it just seemed like everyone was agreeing with me about everything, and I was so confused. Now I can actually feel it coursing through my body and I can kind of control it.”

“Why would you want to control it?” I asked. How awesome would it be to have everyone agree with you all the time?

Mallory shook her head. “When I first realized I could do it, I did it all the time. I mean, it was really cool to get my way with everything, but it took a weird turn. Now I’m careful. When I exert control over people, it seems to pull energy from them. It makes them tired, and they get headaches and muscle and joint pain. It made my mother so sick, she was in bed for two days.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed what I was hearing, but if she was acting, her performance was perfect. I didn’t want to believe that this pretty girl was lying to me, but it all seemed too incredible. “Can you show me how it works?”

“I will, I promise,” she said. “But not tonight.”

“And your power?” I said, looking at Nadia. “What did you get?’

“I can read people. I can see their thoughts, tell if they’re lying, see what they’ve done in the past. When I look in their eyes, I know them. I can see the essence of their soul.” Nadia looked down at her hands as she spoke, so all I saw was the top of her hoodie.

“Interesting,” I said. And it was interesting. Interesting that two out of three of the powers were things no one else could actually see, while Jameson’s was basically a parlor trick. I wasn’t a genius, but I wasn’t a fool either. And I wasn’t about to be the butt of a practical joke. Mrs. Becker didn’t raise a fool (unless you counted my sister, Carly, but that was a different story).

“And you brought back a dead person,” Nadia said. “So it’s pretty easy to figure out what your superpower is.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “That wasn’t me. I mean, I was there, but I didn’t bring her back from the dead.”

“Did she have a pulse?” Jameson asked.

“Not that I could find. But,” and here I held a hand up for emphasis, “that doesn’t mean she was dead. Her pulse was probably too faint for me to detect. I was pretty rattled. A trained professional probably could have found a pulse.”

“So you’re saying she wasn’t completely dead, just a little bit dead.”

“No, I—” The way Jameson twisted my words was starting to get me mad. “She wasn’t dead at all, so I couldn’t have brought her back to life.”

“But you did bring her back to life,” Nadia said.

“Whatever.” I didn’t want to argue about it, but I knew I was right. I’m a fairly observant guy when it comes to new things going on in my own life. I noticed right away when I started getting armpit hair. I sure wouldn’t miss suddenly getting a superpower.

The waitress brought the bill, and everyone scrambled out of the booth. I followed, still trying to process what I’d just been told. At the register, Mallory paid for everyone. Nadia and Jameson didn’t even look in their pockets or try to pay.

“Thanks for the food,” I said as we left the diner, the door slamming shut behind us. “It’s been great.”

Mallory said. “Thanks for the food? It’s been great? That’s all you have to say after we told you this huge secret involving superpowers?”

“You don’t even have any questions?” This from Nadia, who trailed behind us. She hadn’t pulled her hood down the entire time we were in the diner, and now she was completely hidden behind it.

“Only a million of them.” It was true, I could have talked about it all night, but it was later than the time I normally got home, and that made me worried. I’d never been caught being out at night before, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t this time. Just my luck I’d get in the house at the same moment my mom was getting up to go to the bathroom. Why someone couldn’t go a whole night without peeing was beyond me, but I often heard the downstairs toilet flushing at night, and I always knew it was her. She blamed it on menopause. Actually, she blamed a lot of things on menopause. “I have to get home,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “We can talk later, right?”

Mallory nodded. “I’ll explain it all to you after school. Just remember that what we’ve told you is strictly confidential. Only the four of us know this.”

“Wait. So you’ve known about this for a year, and none of you have told anyone else?” We’d been crossing the parking lot, but now I stopped to face them. “Why not?”

Nadia’s head was down. Her voice floated out from under her hood. “In comic books they never tell.”

“Well, yeah…” It was true, but this wasn’t a comic book, and I wasn’t Peter Parker. Telling someone in authority seemed like a good way to go.

“The main reason we decided not to tell anyone is that we think it might be dangerous at this point,” Mallory said. “You need to trust me on this. Don’t tell anyone, or Google anything about this, or text anyone. That can all be traced. We have to do this old school and talk face-to-face. Someone else knows about this, and they’re trying to find us. We’re still trying to figure out who knows and what they want. When we do, we might go public. For now, we’re keeping it to ourselves.”

“How do you know that someone knows and is trying to find you?”

“Mr. Specter knew, for one,” she said, ticking off on her fingers. “And the fact that it’s not in the news or online. There are other things too. Someone is hunting for us. I’ll tell you more next time.” She looked up at the night sky. It was a clear night and above us the stars shone brightly. “Just be careful, Russ. I think if we stick together we can figure this thing out.”

“What do you mean someone is hunting for us?”

“Maybe hunting is the wrong word. Trying to get us to come forward is more like it. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

“For now, just keep your mouth shut, if that’s possible,” Jameson said, pointing a finger at me. “Try not to screw things up.”

“I can keep a secret,” I said, matching his rude tone.

“I hope so,” Jameson said, pushing his glasses up with one long, pointed finger. “Mallory vouched for you. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I said. The guy clearly had a serious problem with me and I wasn’t sure why, but I wasn’t going to take his abuse even if he was a friend of Mallory’s.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We said good night and parted ways. I started to head for home, but somewhere along the way, a thought nagged at me that I needed to go back to the abandoned train station and check out the field where I’d seen the lights. Mallory’s group said they’d gone back a few days after their sighting and the fragments were gone, all gone. I had no idea how that could be. It would take one person forever to pick up the individual pieces. Even a crew of people couldn’t possibly get them all. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of fragments. There had to be some proof left behind. If I recovered a piece I would definitely one-up that smug bastard Jameson, who thought he was better than me. Okay, maybe he was smarter. So what? That didn’t mean I had nothing to contribute. What had he said? I’d give my right arm to be able to study a chunk of that stuff. I didn’t want his right arm, or any part of him at all, but I’d love to see the look on his face if I had a piece of something he wanted.

I made my way toward the field as quickly as possible. When I was nearly to the train station, I saw the lights off in the distance. Not the kind of lights I’d seen falling from the sky earlier in the week. These were man-made lights, accompanied by the buzzing of some kind of electrical equipment. I walked up a small hill and darted behind the boarded-up train station building before peeking around the corner.

The field had been marked off like a crime scene. Each corner was staked and connected by yellow tape. Bright lights on tripods illuminated the space where the light spiral had been just a few nights ago. Two armed guards stood on either side of the field, each of them carrying a gun in a shoulder holster. Their guns weren’t as long as rifles, but they were bigger than handguns. From this distance it was hard to identify them exactly. I didn’t recognize their uniforms either. Not the police or any military that I was aware of. What could this be all about? They were guarding rocks?

Inside the taped area, at least a dozen men walked slowly while waving a device like a metal detector over the ground. They wore white jumpsuits that zipped up the front. Their hands sported oversized white gloves like Mickey Mouse. No one spoke, but the device made an odd, high-pitched EMF noise I found maddening. Back and forth the men walked in slow, careful steps, their gaze on the ground. They were looking for the pieces of stone that had fallen from the sky, I was sure of it. The event had happened two nights ago. Maybe they’d picked up most of it already and now were checking to make sure they got it all?

As I watched, one of the devices went off, making an annoying beeping noise like an old-fashioned alarm clock. The worker turned off the alarm, tucked the device under his arm, and bent at the waist to pick something up. I couldn’t see what it was, but he was able to hold it in the palm of his hand, so it wasn’t big. He walked over to a man who stood just outside the perimeter.

I hadn’t noticed that man before. He was dressed differently from the others—no white suit for him, so clearly he wasn’t one of the workers. I only saw his back, but he was trim and tall, and dressed in dark clothing. He had the authoritative stance of someone in charge. He was overseeing this operation, was my take on it. The worker showed the boss whatever it was he’d picked up, and when he got a nod of approval, plunked it into what looked like a cylindrical container the size of a garbage can. The two exchanged a few words, and the next thing I knew, the worker was headed my way, the detector tucked under his arm.

Oh man, he was coming right at me. This couldn’t be good. If I was spotted I was so screwed. If I started running now, I thought it would attract attention. I froze and shrank back against the building. Involuntarily, I raised my hand to my mouth, willing myself silent. On my side of the building it was fairly dark. Maybe I would be okay.

And then I had another thought. What if the boss man had noticed me lurking and sent him to grab me? What had Mallory said about getting found out? That it would be dangerous. That was the word she used. Dangerous, as in life-threatening. I didn’t even want to know what those armed guards would do to a trespasser.

I heard the worker rustling through the tall grass, getting closer and closer. My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid it would give me away. But no one else could hear that, could they?

In the distance I still heard the buzzing and the movement of the other men, but it was the one walking toward me I worried about. Closer, closer, closer. He cleared his throat in a threatening way. Just when I thought I should make a run for it, the worker stopped walking. I was in the back of the building and he was around the adjacent side, so close I was willing to bet I could reach my arm around the corner and touch him. Near enough he could jump out and grab me.

But neither of those things happened, because the next thing I heard was the sound of a zipper and the unmistakable sound (and smell) of pee hitting the side of the building. The guy wasn’t coming to find me; he just needed to take a whiz. I looked up at the starry sky and thanked God. What a relief. I exhaled silently and gave my heart permission to slow down.

As soon as the guy was done I vowed to head straight home to the safety of my bedroom. And never leave again. I wasn’t made for this much stress. I waited while the guy peed, and peed, and peed some more. Man, he really had to go. I leaned my head back against the building and let myself relax, just a little bit. In a minute I’d hear him walk back to the work site and then I’d be safe.

I heard the stream taper off, and a zipper being yanked up. And then a click and the EMF humming like he’d turned the detector back on. A few seconds later, his detector made the raucous beeping sound it had made earlier in the field. Startled, I jumped. Over the noise, I heard him say, “What the hell?” to himself, and then he shouted back to the others, “I’ve got something here.”

I didn’t wait around to see what happened next. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, which suddenly didn’t seem fast enough. I heard the guy yell, “Hey!” and knew I’d been spotted.

There was a small incline behind the building and I was out in the open. Not great, but that’s the way it was. I didn’t have time to think about it much anyway. I was on fast-forward, my legs fueled by adrenaline and fear.

I’d have more places to hide once I got to the houses of Old Edgewood, the neighborhood where Nelly Smith (now in the hospital) resided. But that was three blocks away. Behind me I heard the pounding feet and a voice calling out for me to stop, but there was distance between us, and besides, I was younger and faster.

When I reached the road, I made a rookie move and looked behind me. I told myself it was just a quick glance to assess the situation, but it turned out to be a big mistake. Two men were coming after me. The worker who’d stopped to pee was the closest of the two, the detector dangling from his hand; periodically it would beep, which was weird, since we weren’t anywhere near the field with the fragments. The other guy was one of the armed guards, a burly man whose large shoulders and overall build made him resemble the Hulk. Despite their advanced ages, they were speedy, and my pause to look helped them to gain on me.

I’d been on the track team in middle school, but I heard how competitive things got in high school and didn’t even bother joining my freshman year. A good decision, I’d thought at the time, since I’m really not much of an athlete. Since middle school, I’ve played baseball with the local rec team over the summer and disc golf and basketball with my friends just for fun, but that was the extent of it. None of it had prepared me for this night.

“Halt!” one of the men shouted behind me.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Halt. Stop or I’ll shoot. Unreal. Like in a movie, or a dream. It occurred to me then that maybe I was in the middle of an extremely vivid nightmare, one of those where all your senses are engaged right down to the bite of the night air and the frantic realization your life was in danger. The situation was bizarre enough to be a nightmare, but it felt too real. I was out of breath, panting, but still my legs kept pumping, almost on their own. Fear is a powerful motivator.

I felt something hit the base of my neck. The sensation was followed by a sharp sting and a burning sensation, but I didn’t have time to think about it. The pain, and the fact that I was close to Old Edgewood, gave me a surge of strength. In a minute I’d no longer be out in the open, but close to houses and trees and fences. Places to hide.

Despite the burning on my back, I just kept moving. When I got to the edge of the residential section, I leapt over the curb. I had a stitch in my side like I used to get as a kid when I ran with my mouth open. I’d been sweating so hard my T-shirt was glued to my body. My sweatshirt suddenly felt overly warm, but the dark color also gave me some protection. I ran in between the houses and made a dash for the thick shrubbery that divided two properties. The pounding of the men’s footsteps seemed to be getting further away, but I didn’t let up. I gulped in air and crouched down between two rows of bushes. Although there were streetlights there, I was a ways back from the road and almost invisible in the shrubbery. As an added bonus, I could push through to the neighboring yard if I needed to.

I kept low to the ground and listened. My hands rested on the ground and I got a whiff of my own perspiration mixed with the smell of dewy grass. Even though I’d dodged them, the men weren’t giving up. Their voices drifted from the street, talking about me.

“Where did he go?”

“We couldn’t have lost him.”

The sound of a car approaching made me hopeful. Maybe it would make them wary and they’d retreat. With any luck, it would be a cop and my worries would be over. A guy in a white suit accompanied by a dude carrying a gun would have some explaining to do.

The car stopped, its brakes squealing slightly, and I held my breath, listening intently. Instead of a cop asking what they were doing out and about in the middle of the night, I heard the sound of multiple car doors opening and the footsteps of the passengers leaping out. Then men’s voices, all talking at once.

“Quick, before we lose him!”

“Which way did he go?”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Men, spread out and comb the area. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

This was starting to sound like an FBI manhunt. For trespassing? I was in so much trouble. Would I be better off running or staying put? I couldn’t decide. When I’d been running I didn’t have much time to think or feel—I was too busy fleeing. Now I felt a tidal wave of terror come over me. Panicked, I peered out of my hiding place, trying to decide what to do. Think, think, think. I watched as four men in white dispersed, all of them holding their buzzing detectors in front of them. The armed guard conferred with the man in the dark clothing, the one I’d thought was the boss of the operation.

A front door creaked open and an old woman dressed in a green bathrobe stepped out onto the porch. “What’s going on out here?” Her tone was sharp. No one I’d want to mess with.

“No need to get alarmed, ma’am. Just a civil defense drill,” the boss said.

She shook a finger at him. “A civil defense drill? In the middle of the night? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’m calling the police!”

“Please, ma’am.” The man’s voice got louder as he approached. “Let me show you some identification. That should ease your mind.” He walked briskly up the walkway and onto the porch.

“Get off my property! I don’t want to see any—”

Silence. I held my breath, wondering what he’d done to make her stop mid-sentence, but when I peeked out, all I could see was the two of them standing side-by-side, his hand on her arm. He spoke so softly I could just hear him. “Just go inside and go back to sleep. Forget you ever saw us.”

She looked around, confused. “Go back to bed?”

“Yes, that’s right. You’ll sleep soundly, and when you wake up you won’t remember any of this.”

“All right then,” she said, turning and going back into the house.

The boss walked back to the car, and he and the armed guard got in and drove away. As I watched the taillights go off in the distance, I felt relief wash over me. I wiped my sweat-slicked hands on the front of my jeans and blinked back tears.

Only then did I stop to think about the throbbing on the back of my neck. I reached up to rub the spot and found it sticky and wet. When I pulled my fingers away and looked, I realized that what I’d thought was sweat plastering my shirt to my body was actually blood. I had no idea how this had happened. The men who’d been chasing me hadn’t even come close. But something clearly had made contact with my neck, causing the stinging sensation. And that something had broken the skin.

I didn’t have time to think about it. I had to go at least a mile before I got home, and I needed to do it without getting caught. I looked up and down the street before crawling out of my hiding place. Lights were on in a few of the houses, and the streetlamps lit up the road, but the trees, mature and abundant in this part of town, would help me hide along the way.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I’d gone through Old Edgewood so many times before that I knew all the good hiding places. I darted between parked cars and behind hedges. Crouched behind garages and moved stealthily between trees. The men in white had their detectors on, so I knew I’d hear them if they were close. Meanwhile, I could be absolutely silent. I tried not to think about the man with the gun. Maybe he and the boss had left for good.

I came to Knitting-Lady’s house. Looking through her front window, I noticed she was up to her usual routine. Seeing her working at her knitting made my world seem normal again. For a moment I could fool myself into thinking I wasn’t being hunted by men in white suits and a man with a gun. Hunted? Wasn’t that the word Mallory had used? And here I’d thought she was being overly dramatic.

Leaning against a tree trunk in front of Knitting-Lady’s house, I allowed myself the luxury of a few moments’ rest. I watched as she yanked at a skein of pale pink yarn, then resumed her work, fingers effortlessly manipulating the yarn into something that would (I guessed) eventually be a scarf. Observing her going through the motions was soothing; I let my brain whir with all that had happened. Even though I’d essentially been spying over at the train station, I hadn’t seen anything of interest. Why should the men even care that I’d been there? And why spread out and search with their detectors on? I thought about how weird it was that the old lady had changed her mind about calling the police. She almost sounded drugged. Maybe the boss man had hypnotized her? Or maybe it was mind control, like Mallory talked about. None of it made sense. I looked at my cell phone and groaned when I saw it was half past three. My alarm would go off in three hours.

Reluctantly I left Knitting-Lady’s yard and continued carefully toward home: through the industrial park and past the strip mall, until I was finally in New Edgewood at last. My side of town lacked the foliage, but the houses were closer together. I was familiar with every barking dog, every motion-sensor light, and every residence that contained a fellow insomniac who might be looking out the window. I avoided all of it. I didn’t see any further signs of the men who’d been chasing me, and I decided they must have given up. The worst was over.

When I got to the back door of my house, I felt a surge of happiness so enormous it trumped Christmas morning. It was bigger than the feeling I got hitting my first winning home run. Home had never looked so good, and I could easily imagine a life where I would never leave it, and would stay cocooned safely inside for the rest of my days. I opened the screen door and turned the knob slowly to keep the noise down. Once inside, with the door shut behind me, I wiped my feet on the mat and, after considering how dirty they were, leaned over to take off my shoes.

From my parents’ room came a shuffling noise and then the squeak of a door opening. I froze. If my mother was headed to the bathroom, she might not even come this way. Turns out, she wasn’t going to the bathroom.

“Russ?” Once she’d called my name I knew there was no getting out of this. “Russ, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The good news was that since Mom hadn’t ventured out of her room she couldn’t see me. If I was lucky, she would stay where she was and I could bluff my way through this.

“Oh thank God, I thought someone had broken into the house.”

“Nope, just me.”

“What are you doing up, honey?” she asked, her voice floating through the darkness. “Trouble sleeping?” Even without seeing her, I could picture her forehead furrowed in concern.

“No, I just woke up hungry, so I had a snack.” I thought fast. She’d certainly heard the outside door open and close. I needed an explanation. “Then I noticed the garbage was full, so I took it out.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

“Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, Russ. Get some sleep.”

“I will.”

She retreated back into the room. When the door clicked shut, I went into the kitchen to check the garbage. It was almost empty, just as I’d thought it would be. Earlier, after dinner, I’d taken it out without even being asked. Luckily, my mom hadn’t remembered my kind gesture. Menopause was turning out to be my friend.

I headed up the stairs and straight to the bathroom to check out my wound. I looked in the mirror and it was like seeing someone else. My hair stuck up funny, and there were dark circles under my eyes. The right side of my sweatshirt was dark with blood, and there were streaks of it on my right cheek. I must have touched my face with my bloody hand. My hands were streaked with dried blood as well, but I’d wiped most of it onto my clothes. I pulled at the neckline of the sweatshirt to get a better look, and the motion made me wince. Oh man, did that hurt! I ignored the pain and took off all my clothes, one piece at a time, and piled them in the corner, careful not to let the bloody part touch the floor. My parents rarely came up here, but I wasn’t taking any chances that my clothes would stain the rug or vinyl flooring.

I twisted around in front of the mirror, trying to get a look at the source of the pain on the back of my neck. Could I have snagged my shoulder on something attached to the train station building and not realized it until later? The wound was circular, like I’d been poked with a large skewer, and it was still bleeding, though not quite as badly. I placed my hand over it to see if I could stop the flow, and my fingers got oddly warm. Pressing on the wound felt comforting and lessened the pain. I kept the pressure on, my fingers getting warmer and warmer, like they had a fever of their own. Beneath my touch, there was a sudden movement, like something jerking free. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my dad pulled a sliver out of my palm. A pinch, a pull, and before I could even say ouch, he’d gotten it out. But no one was doing this, it was just happening on its own. Something was rising out of the wound at the base of my neck; I could feel it making its way to the surface.

And then it was right under my fingertips, a small, bloody lump. I stared at it for a second before turning on the faucet and rinsing it off.

It was a bullet.

I blinked a few times, trying to readjust my eyes. A bullet. I’d gotten shot and not even realized it. They were trying to kill me. If this was a crime show I’d know what caliber this was and could trace it back to its origins. But this wasn’t a crime show, and I knew nothing about guns or bullets besides what I’d learned through games. And getting shot at in real life wasn’t exciting—it was terrifying.

Shaken up and shivering, I stepped into the shower. A risk because my mother had a knack for hearing running water, even when she was asleep. Later she would certainly ask why I’d taken a shower so early, but there was no getting around it. I needed to clean off the blood and get a good look at the wound.

I knew I’d promised Mallory and her two sidekicks that I’d keep this a secret, but the situation was starting to feel bigger than anything I could handle alone. A bullet wound needed medical attention, and there would be no way to explain how it happened except to tell the truth. And maybe the truth was what was needed. Tell the police, let them handle it. A bunch of high school kids were no match for men with guns.

When I got out of the shower, I felt a lot better. I wrapped a towel around my middle and went back to the mirror to check out the wound, but I didn’t see it from that angle. I twisted around, thinking I was looking at the wrong shoulder, but I still couldn’t locate it. Finally, I got a hand mirror and checked out my entire back side, from the base of my neck to the bottom of my spine. The skin was unbroken. There was no indication that I’d ever had an injury, much less gotten shot. I looked down at the blood-soaked pile of clothes for confirmation that I wasn’t losing my mind. I reached down and touched the sweatshirt, and when I looked at my fingers they were tinged with red.

And there on the counter next to the sink was the bullet, right where I’d left it.

Fresh blood and a bullet. But no wound. This was crazy.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was cold in my room, so I pulled on sweatpants and a clean T-shirt before sliding into bed. I was certain I wouldn’t sleep, sure it would be impossible with everything that had happened. So it was a pretty big shock when the music went off and I jolted awake. I reflexively hit the snooze button and opened my eyes a crack, trying to sort through the realities of the night.

Staggering out of bed, I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. After I’d pressed a towel to my face, I noticed the bullet next to the soap dish and toothpaste. Nothing says “shot at by a guy with a gun” like the existence of a bullet. Glancing downward I saw my bloody clothing, still in a haphazard pile on the floor. So last night had really happened then. I looked at my face in the mirror, bloodshot eyes with dark half-moons underneath, and I knew there was no way I’d be walking the halls of my high school today pretending it was just a normal day. I trudged down the stairs to tell my mother I was taking a sick day.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, turning away from eggs in a frying pan. She set her spatula down to place a hand on my forehead. “No fever, but you do look terrible.” Her worried eyes met mine. “Is it your stomach?”

“My stomach, my head, you name it.” All true. Then I added, “I think I’m coming down with the flu.” Not true.

“Maybe your snack in the middle of the night wasn’t such a good idea?”

“No, Mom, I don’t think that was it.”

She looked so concerned, I felt guilty. “Okay then,” she said. “Go back to bed and I’ll call in for you. Unless you want to try eating something first?”

“No, I think I just need rest.”

She nodded. “Oh, I almost forgot. Carly is dropping Frank off right after school. I’ll leave a note on the table saying you’re sleeping so he doesn’t bother you.”

“You know he’s still going to come up to my room, don’t you?” I said, shaking my head. There were no boundaries in my nephew’s world. Carly didn’t raise him right, that was why.

“Be nice, Russ.” Mom sighed. “Frank is family.”

Like I needed to be reminded of that. As I headed back upstairs, I heard my dad come into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

I paused to hear Mom’s response. She said, “Russ is sick. He’s staying home today.”

Dad chuckled sympathetically. “There’s some bug going around the office—headache, stomach problems, achiness. It comes out of nowhere and hangs on for a day or two.”

“That must be it,” Mom said. “That’s what he has.”

The power of a good reputation. They never doubted me for a moment. If Carly had pulled the same thing in high school, they would have assumed she was hung over or else faking it so she could spend the day with her loser friends. It almost wasn’t fair. I headed up to my room and plopped into bed, ready to sleep like a pharaoh in a tomb—alone and for a long, long time.

I woke up a few times during the morning when I heard my phone ping with text messages.

From Justin: Dude, u pulling a Ferris?

Mick: Get your sorry self down here. If the rest of us have to suffer through a Friday, so do you.

Mallory: Are you OK?

And then not too much later, I heard from all of them again.

Mick: Don’t make me come get you.

Justin: You better be doing something awesome.

Mallory: Now I’m worried. Please let me know you’re OK.

I was too tired to do much more than text back “I’m OK” to Mallory. The others would have to wait.

I got up around one to eat some soup and a sandwich, then checked the local news online, but there was nothing about an excavation near the old train station, or anything about men in white suits running rampant through the streets of Old Edgewood, with buzzing detectors in hand. Remembering what Mallory had said, I didn’t Google anything on the subject. That can all be traced. I didn’t believe her then, but I believed her now. Whatever I’d seen last night was dangerous, and I wasn’t looking for trouble. My room was my cocoon, and I didn’t want to be found. Let other people figure out what was going on. I wasn’t brave enough to risk my life getting involved.

I wasn’t even a little bit brave. I wanted my old life back, the one where I studied for tests and diligently went to school, not doing anything that would make me stand out from the crowd. The worst things I did involved TPing houses with my friends, thinking endlessly about sex, and taking a drag off something that was not a cigarette at Melissa Reinhardt’s pool party last summer. Even those minor infractions would have shocked my parents, who were convinced I was the world’s best son. Which was fine by me.

I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes again, but this time I fell into a dream. It was nighttime, nearly pitch black, and I was running from the men with the detectors. There were no houses in sight, just an endless stretch of open field. Panting, exhausted, I kept going, but it was no use, they were closing in on me. My legs were heavy and I couldn’t get any traction. The white-suited men were right behind me now, the buzzing from their devices like bees swarming behind my head. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. One of the men grabbed my arm and I tried to pull away, but he had a tight grip. I knew I only had moments left to live. “No,” I said, “please no.” I couldn’t see his face, but he was shaking my arm and saying, “Russ, Russ, wake up!”

It took all I had, but I swam to the surface and pulled myself out of my sleep. When I opened my eyes, I was back in my bed with Mallory’s face right above me. “Russ, it was just a dream. You were dreaming.” She put her hand on my forehead, the way my mother had earlier that morning, but I liked the feel of Mallory’s hand a whole lot better. This felt as unreal as the past few minutes, like the chasing had been a dream within a dream.

“Mallory?” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “What are you doing here?” Yep, she was here all right, sitting on the edge of my bed. Only a sheet, a blanket, and a comforter separated my body from hers.

Her dark eyes narrowed in concern. “When you weren’t in school, I worried. I thought maybe we freaked you out last night, or else something had happened to you.”

“Who let you in the house?” I glanced at my alarm clock. It was just after two. School wouldn’t even be out yet. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

She shrugged. “I stopped at the health room and said I had cramps. I told them all I had left was study hall, so they let me go early. And then I came here, and when no one answered my knock, I came in the back door. It wasn’t locked.”

“Wait. You just came into my house?” Such nerve. I never could have done that. I didn’t know if I should admire her or what.

“I was really worried.”

“Oh.” Wow, what a rush I was getting from the fact that this beautiful girl was worried about me. It was almost worth getting shot at.

“You really should lock your doors,” she said, stating the obvious.

“When I came in last night, I must have forgotten.”

“So you’re really just home sick?”

“Not quite,” I said. “Something happened last night after I left you guys.” I ran my fingers over my head, wondering how my hair looked.

“I had a feeling something was up,” she said.

“Wait here,” I said. She scooted back and I slid out from under the covers, glad I was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt instead of any of my usual nighttime choices. I went into the bathroom to get the bullet and snuck a look at myself in the mirror while I was there. Not too bad, considering.

When I got back to my room, I saw she had moved off the bed and over to my desk chair. Walking in and spotting her there, hair pulled away from her face (which highlighted her chiseled cheekbones), chin lifted, and hands folded in her lap, she looked like a girl way out of my league. A few days earlier, after she’d fallen out of her chair in science class, I’d come home and looked up the name Nassif, and discovered it was Egyptian. Right now I could easily believe she was of Egyptian nobility, a descendent of Cleopatra. Hard to imagine that someone like Mallory was in my bedroom because she’d been worried about me. This was the kind of scenario my friend Mick always talked about. If he could see me now.

I placed the bullet on the desk in front of her. “I got a little gift last night, over by the train station.”

She picked it up and examined it, then looked up at me questioningly. “A bullet?”

I sat on the end of the bed, and she swiveled in the chair to face me. I started at the beginning. “Last night, after we left the diner, I just had to go back to the field where I saw the lights.” I told the whole story, every detail. I felt a little like I was rambling, but she leaned forward and took in every word, fascinated.

When I was done, Mallory sat back with her arms folded. “So I was right then,” she said, in a satisfied way.

“You knew all this?”

“No, I didn’t know anything about the field or the men trying to kill you. I’m talking about your superpower. You can heal people.” When I didn’t say anything, she added. “First Nelly Smith, and now yourself.”

“You think I made the wound go away? That I touched it and just like that—poof—all better?”

“Of course. Do you think bullets rise up out of people on their own? And why didn’t getting shot kill you in the first place? It hit your neck, for crying out loud. You should be dead or paralyzed!” Her eyes shone with excitement. “And that’s why Nelly Smith came back. When you went to feel her pulse, you resuscitated her.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” If that were true, wouldn’t I know? I didn’t feel any special healing energy coursing through me, I just put my fingers over the wound.

“What’s healing, but cells regenerating?” she said. “And that requires energy. We all picked up energy from the light source, and each of us utilizes it differently. Jameson can move objects; I can affect people’s thinking—”

“Mind control,” I said.

“More or less. And Nadia can read people and see their pasts. She’s scary good at it, actually. She sees right through the veneer and into their deepest places. It’s hard for her to do, actually, because she usually doesn’t like to be so close to people.”

“You know what? You need to tell me everything you know,” I said. “I want to know what you saw and how you figured out you got these so-called ‘abilities’ and how you know we’re being hunted. You didn’t seem all that shocked that someone was trying to kill me. I feel like I walked into the middle of a movie. Time to fill me in.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mallory got up and sat right next to me on the bed. Having her so close made my heart race, but the move, I quickly figured out, wasn’t for intimacy, but comfort. That and also because she wanted to keep our conversation confidential. She leaned against my headboard, her legs extended, and began. For the next hour, it all spilled out. Her hands fluttered like birds while she spoke, and her voice rose and fell with the storytelling. If I hadn’t known what she was saying was true, I’d have thought it was something from a graphic novel, it was that farfetched.

“I met Nadia and Jameson through my homeschooling group,” she said. “The group has these socials once a month. The three of us are the only ones at the high school level around here, and all of us were in the accelerated college-level program, so we had that in common too.”

Here we go again, I thought. All of you are smart, while me? Not so much. But maybe she didn’t mean it that way. It was entirely possible I was being overly sensitive.

“Nadia’s parents never let her leave the house unless a family member is with her. And I mean never ever. I thought my parents were strict, but they’re nothing in comparison. Her mother is so overprotective it’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even let Nadia have her own phone, so we always have to call the house and ask for Nadia. They screen her calls, believe it or not. Luckily they let Jameson and I get through, but we still have to go through some small talk before they hand the phone over to Nadia.”

“Why are they that way?” I asked.

“Because Nadia was attacked on a city bus three years ago. She doesn’t like to talk about it, so don’t ask,” she added, as if I would. “Anyway, the three of us started calling each other, first to talk about schoolwork and then just to hang out.”

They started going out at night, Mallory said, when all of them discovered, at around the same time, that all of them had trouble sleeping. They were restless; it was like they were compelled to go outside, like their houses were suddenly confining. So they met up outside and walked. For Nadia, it was sweet freedom after being caged by her mother’s worry.

The first time they went out, it was going to be a onetime thing, or so they thought. But when they didn’t get caught, there was no reason to stop. “At night, it’s like the world is ours,” Mallory said, getting a faraway look. “Everything has a different feel at night. It was like we stumbled onto some secret place.” Coincidentally, they all wanted to go out on the same nights. All three got that restless urge at the same time.

“And we were drawn to go to certain places,” she said. “We didn’t think much of it. We sort of just went with it.”

“And the diner?” I asked.

She nodded. “One day we got hungry and decided to risk it. We told the waitress, Rosie, that we were college students and she seemed cool with it. Now we go all the time. No one else is ever there at that time of night, except sometimes that old guy, Gordy, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“And how long did you do this walking around before you saw the lights?”

“About two months, I think?” Mallory said. “We were on the other end of town when we saw them in the sky, and by the time we got to the field, they were there on the ground in a perfect Fibonacci spiral. We walked through it and were just awed. I mean, none of us had ever seen anything like it. I’m not sure anyone else has either. We were so dumbstruck we didn’t even think to collect samples, something Jameson still hasn’t gotten over.” She wrinkled her nose. “When we went back to the field during the day, it had been bulldozed. The whole surface had been scraped and carted away, by someone, we don’t know who. It took a long while for the grass to grow back, but it did.”

“So who did it?”

“We never found out. The property around the old train station is owned by the city. I made some calls to the city office using a disposable cell phone, but no one would tell us anything. Every person I talked to said they didn’t know what I was talking about. They sure were curious about me though. The receptionist put us through to the mayor, and he wanted to know who I was and why I was asking. He demanded to know, in fact. I finally hung up on him.”

Then, she said, it got even weirder. They saw signs posted around town offering rewards for anyone who could supply information about a meteor event, and they listed the date that the lights had appeared in the sky. “Of course it wasn’t a meteor event, but they had to call it something.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed. “I remember those signs. They were on the bulletin board at the supermarket, right?” My friend Justin had made jokes about making up a story to collect the money.

She nodded. “And the post office and a lot of other places too. But the odd thing is that the media didn’t cover the event, and no one else seemed to have seen the lights either.” Nadia was paranoid right from the start, Mallory said. She was the one who told them they shouldn’t talk about it, or use their real phones, or look online for information. “I thought she was being a little extreme,” Mallory said, shifting her position so her legs were tucked under her. “But we soon found out she was right about everything. I used the computers at the library to do searches and signed in with the name ‘Marsina Follys,’ which is, as I’m sure you already figured out, an anagram of my actual name, Mallory Nassif.”

I tried to look as smart as she thought I was. “Of course.”

“My searches came up with nothing. I just couldn’t believe it. I was at the computer for an hour putting in every search term I could think of, but there was no record of it ever happening. If I hadn’t had Nadia and Jameson with me I would have thought I’d been hallucinating. A week later, Jameson was at the library studying, and two men in suits came in, looking very official. He noticed them right away. He overheard them say they were from the FBI and they wanted to speak to whoever is in charge of Internet use at the library. The head librarian—you know Mrs. Wick? She came out and was all flustered. They wanted to see the signup sheet and wanted to know what the protocol was for using the computers. They inspected the sheet and compared them to something they had, and then one of them says they need to have the contact information for Marsina Follys. Jameson said the hair on the back of his neck stood up when he heard this. Mrs. Wick looked up Marsina Follys on the library computer behind the counter, and of course there’s no record of anyone by that name in the system. One of the men actually pushed her aside to see for himself, and then they reamed her out for not checking IDs. Jameson said she looked ready to pass out, poor thing.”

“And that’s why you think it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, it gets better.” Mallory was enjoying telling this story. It was as if she’d been dying to share it with someone for ages and finally could. She began counting down on her fingers. “So far we have a strange astronomical event no one seems to know about. Then the field is cleared of evidence and signs go up looking for witnesses. And then the FBI,” and here she put finger quotes around the word, “is looking for whoever was searching for information about this whole thing. At this point, our minds are blown by the implications here. Jameson starts reading everything he can about astronomy, and Nadia researches FBI procedure to see if the library incident was done by the books. We thought we were onto something, but little did we know it was just the beginning. A few days after Mrs. Wick was visited by the suits, the three of us went out night walking again. We stopped for something to eat at the diner, and when Jameson went to reach for a salt shaker, it skidded across the table right to him.” She laughed. “You should have seen the look on his face. It wasn’t long after that when Nadia discovered she can tell if people are telling the truth or not and gets a sense of who they are and what they’re all about. If she touches them and looks in their eyes, she can see their past, or at least bits of it. She says it’s as clear as watching a movie, but it comes all at once, not in regular time.”

“And you found out you can do mind control,” I said, filling in the rest.

“Yes.” She smiled right at me, and I found it impossible not to look at her big, dark eyes.

I felt myself leaning toward her in fact, wanting to—wait! I straightened up. “Are you doing it right now?”

“No!” She reached over and slapped me playfully on the arm. “I wouldn’t do that to you, at least not without asking you first, like if you want a demonstration.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I want a demonstration, at least not on me,” I said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. I thought about the hypnosis guy on the Discovery Channel who made people do ridiculous things, like profess their love to complete strangers or dance to imaginary music. I was capable of humiliating myself on my own. I didn’t need any help, thanks.

“How fascinating that you can heal people,” she said. “Imagine what you could do with that.”

“I don’t think that’s what it was,” I said. “I’m still figuring it out, but there has to be another answer.”

As if not hearing me, she continued the discussion, going in a different direction entirely. I’ve noticed that girls do this a lot. My dad will be talking about something in the news and my mom will interrupt him to ask if the car is due for an oil change. At least Mallory stayed on the subject somewhat. “We’ve done some brainstorming to try to determine who’s behind the library visit. If it’s not the government, it might be some corporation trying to develop the power from the stones.”

The government or an evil corporation, both major movie clichés. “Maybe the light particles were sent by aliens,” I joked.

“That had occurred to us,” she said. “We really can’t rule anything out at this point. But more likely, it’s a natural phenomenon that hasn’t occurred before. Or at least it hasn’t been reported. Scientists are always discovering new things. That’s the joy of science. As our body of evidence grows, the truths of science change along with it. It’s more fluid than most people think.”

“So why don’t you go to the authorities with this information?” I asked. “Or tell your parents?”

“Don’t even think of telling anyone,” she said. “I mean it. We’ve got good reasons not to go public with this.”

“But doesn’t it make sense to inform—”

I was interrupted by noises downstairs: the sound of the front door opening and closing, and the usual sounds of Frank and Carly arriving. Carly calling out, “Hello, anybody here?” followed by her yelling at Frank to take off his shoes and put his backpack in the front hall closet.

I groaned. “Oh no.”

“What is it?”

“My sister is dropping off my nephew. He’s staying with us for the weekend.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, in a way that indicated she’d never met Frank Shrapnel. “How old is he?”

“He’s ten,” I said. “It’s just—” But it was too late to explain because now Frank was clomping up the stairs. His timing had always been bad, but today was the absolute worst.

“Frank, come back here!” Carly called after him, and then just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, I heard her footsteps clattering behind his.

The door flew open revealing Frank, his shaggy hair all askew, his eyes bright with excitement, “Hey, Russ, guess what?” And then he saw Mallory and he transitioned from overeager-Frank to shy-Frank. “Hi,” he said.

She waved back “Hello there.”

Carly’s face popped through the doorframe. “I tried to stop him, Russ! Really I did. Oh, hello…” She spotted Mallory perched on my bed, and you could read the shock on her face. Nobody expects much from old Russ, that’s for sure. An instant later, a smug smile formed on her lips, like she totally had something on me. “What have we here?” she asked. I could have killed her for acting like this was a big deal.

“Mallory, this is my sister Carly and my nephew Frank,” I said, gesturing.

Mallory got up and crossed the room to where Carly stood, and politely extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mallory Nassif, a friend of Russ’s,” she said. “I brought his homework over for him.”

Carly shook her hand and looked over at me. “You were home sick today?”

“You would have known that if you’d read Mom’s note on the kitchen table.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She ran her fingers through her hair and checked out the room, as if maybe there was more to see. Carly was nearly grown when I was born, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at her. She was thirty but appeared much younger, and since she kept up with the kind of music, games, movies, and clothes that were current, she felt like we were peers, but we weren’t, and even though I knew she wanted us to be friends, it was never going to happen.

It wasn’t always like that. When I was little, she used to take me to the park and out for ice cream. She read books to me and we played hide-and-seek. I loved Carly then. But one day, when I was four, she just took off and we didn’t see or hear from her for over a year. My mother told me that every day for weeks I’d sit on our front stoop waiting for her to return. My memories are fuzzy, but I remember looking down the street wishing she’d come back to me. By the time she did, more than twelve months later and pregnant with Frank, I didn’t trust her anymore.

So much about Carly was unstable. After barely graduating from high school, she’d had one loser job after another. Cell phones were another matter. She was always losing them or changing her phone number. Men came and went in her life. The identity of Frank’s father was this big mystery. Carly never named him. My guess was that Frank was the product of a drunken one-night stand and she didn’t catch the guy’s name.

Carly had a busy social life and men loved her. I’m not sure why. One after another, it was like they had lined up, waiting for their turn. Her pattern was that she’d begin dating a guy, and we’d hear her talk about him nonstop. She’d say that this one was different; he was more caring, more enlightened, more responsible, blah, blah, blah. She’d start bringing him around and we’d be subjected to him at Thanksgiving and family birthdays. Just when I got used to a guy, she’d dump him. Any number of them would have married her, but she wasn’t going for it. My mom thought she was searching for something and not finding it. My dad said he was glad she was supporting herself and not living with us. I was beyond caring. “So you brought Russ his homework and then the two of you were just hanging out here, in Russ’s bedroom, talking?” She grinned and I wanted to tell her off, but I knew enough to ignore her. She loved to tease me and thought it was big fun. Not so fun on my end.

“We were just wrapping things up,” Mallory said. “Russ, if you’re feeling better tomorrow night give me a call and we can go out for wings.”

“Sounds good,” I said, following her out the door to the stairs. I pushed past Frank and Carly, who still lingered in the doorway like they had nothing better to do than intrude on my personal life.

When Mallory and I got to the front door, she stopped and turned to me, whispering, “Seriously, don’t breathe a word of any of this. There’s more. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” I got a warm little shiver from the feel of her lips so close to my ear.

“Tell me now,” I whispered back.

She laughed. “No way, I need more time to get it all out.”

“Are we really going out for wings?” I asked.

She pulled back and shrugged. “Might as well. We have to eat, right? I’ll pick you up at six?”

“Six is fine,” I said, holding the door open for her. I watched her walk down the driveway to a silver car parked across the street. She stopped to fish car keys out of her purse and beeped the door open. When she pulled away from the curb, she glanced back and gave me a wave, which I returned. A bunch of sophomores at my school already had their driver’s licenses, but I was young for my grade and wouldn’t turn sixteen until June. Watching her speed down the street, I couldn’t wait for my turn at the wheel. I was tired of walking and having my mom drive me everywhere.

I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked to turn and see Carly standing right behind me, but I was. Frank had already commandeered the PS3 up in my room; I could hear the sounds of a game above me. You always knew when Frank was over: the kid couldn’t keep quiet for anything. But my sister was another matter. She was a sneaky thing—quiet as a cat. Probably from years of practice as a teenager sneaking out of the house late at night and taking the family car without permission. I waited for her to make some snarky comment, but all she did was put her hand on my forehead. “Oh yeah,” she said, her face scrunched in concern. “I can see why you stayed home today. You’ve definitely got it.”

“Got what?”

“The looove disease.” Carly’s face lit up and she thrust a fist in the air, pleased with herself.

“Okay, enough already.” For once though, I wasn’t all that annoyed with her.

“And she drives too!” Carly punched me lightly on the arm. “An older woman, Russ! You dog, you!” She could barely contain her excitement.

“She’s just a friend.” I tried to hold back a smile without much luck.

“A friend? Just a friend, and she whispers in your ear like that?”

“A good friend.”

“Just a good friend?”

I grinned. “A very good friend.”

“That’s how it starts,” she said, twirling around with her arms stretched high. “Next thing you know, you’ll have moved to the next level and then—watch out! Fireworks! Trust me on this. I know these things.”

“Yes, because you’re the expert when it comes to relationships.” I meant it as a joke, but it came out wrong. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew it was the wrong thing to say. Her face fell, like a balloon deflating, and she stopped dancing. She’d been happy and we were getting along for once, and just like that, the mood shifted. I’d ruined the moment.

“That wasn’t nice, Russ,” she said. “In fact, it was kind of cruel.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know I’m not good at relationships. I try, but I’m just not.” Her voice was raw. She looked on the verge of tears. And suddenly I felt a kind of tenderness toward her I hadn’t felt since I was four years old. Carly must have felt something too, because she reached up and ruffled my hair the way she did when I was a kid. I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t. She smiled, just a little. “When I was your age, I found true love, and it hasn’t happened since. I keep looking for it, but nothing compares. I guess I should be glad I had it once, even if it was over far too soon.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Carly exhaled and didn’t speak for so long I didn’t think she was going to answer. Finally she said, “He died.”

“Oh.” Talk about shocked. I wasn’t expecting that answer. I wanted to know more, but the finality in her voice told me this was all I was going to get. “I’m really sorry, Carly.”

She gave me a rueful pat. “Real love doesn’t come around all that often. If you find it with this girl, hold on to it. And don’t let anyone tell you you’re too young.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My mother was impressed with how quickly I recovered after spending a day at home sick. “The resilience of youth,” she said to my dad across the table at dinnertime. She thought I had the flu and couldn’t believe my appetite. If she knew how quickly I’d bounced back from being shot, she’d have been really impressed. I’d just taken a second helping of lasagna and salad. Next to me, Frank waited for his turn to take more. The kid copied everything I did.

“I slept most of the day,” I said, sliding the salad bowl over to my nephew.

“Sleep,” Dad said, nodding approvingly. “That’s just what your body needs when you’re sick.”

“Russ had a girl over when my mom and I got here.” Frank poked at the salad with the tongs, oblivious to how much I wished he would just, for once in his life, shut up.

“A girl?” My parents exchanged puzzled looks.

I played it cool. “Mallory Nassif from my science class dropped off my homework on her way home. We’re working on a project together.”

“Oh, how nice,” Mom said. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned someone named Mallory before.”

“You’ll probably get to meet her tomorrow night,” I said, oh so casually. “A bunch of us are going out for wings, and I think she’s driving.” A slight edit with the addition of “a bunch of us.” Necessary to keep the questions at bay.

“She’s really hot,” Frank said, even though he was still chewing. With every word he revealed the mushed-up lasagna in his mouth. Gross.

“We don’t objectify women in this house,” my mom admonished Frank. “I’m sure Mallory has a lot of wonderful qualities besides being attractive.”

“She’s a genius,” I said. “Like an actual genius.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” my dad said solemnly, and then to my surprise, the subject changed and they started talking about their plans for the weekend. I, Russ Becker, had a hot genius girl in my house when no one else was home, and neither of my parents were even all that curious. The advantage of a good reputation was also a disadvantage. No one thought I was capable of doing anything wrong.

***

I spent Friday night playing video games with Frank. I didn’t have a reason not to. Since I hadn’t gone to school, I had no homework, and leaving the house in the evening after being home sick wouldn’t have gone over well with my mom. Sometimes, as they say, it’s best to choose your battles. Besides, I was going out with Mallory on Saturday night. I had a lot to look forward to.

We drank bottles of Sprecher root beer while we played, and I was careful to set the caps aside in case Frank wanted to take them home. He collected everything: stones, bottle caps, coins. Mom thought it was his attempt to have permanency and order in his life. I thought the kid just liked junk.

Frank had his own room at our house: Carly’s old bedroom, cleaned out and repainted long ago. Unfortunately, it was on the second floor, right next to mine, so every time he stayed over, he encroached on my privacy. From the outside our home looked a lot like a first grader’s drawing of a house: a square base topped with a triangular roof, black shutters on either side of symmetrically-spaced windows, and a brick chimney off to one side. My folks called it a Milwaukee bungalow, which just meant it was like a lot of houses in our neighborhood. The upstairs was made up of two bedrooms and a bathroom. Small, but all mine when Frank wasn’t around.

Not that I should complain. For a ten-year-old, Frank wasn’t too bad, just a little too eager to please. To make me happy, he always used to let me win when we played games, even when I figured out what he was doing and told him to stop it. I fixed that problem by playing games with co-op. He totally loved that. We were “war buddies”—that was his term, anyway. The whole evening he was yelling things like, “Don’t worry, Russ, I’ve got your back.” My mom peeked in a few times, and once I saw her mouth, Thank you, Russ, like she knew playing with Frank was a huge favor for me.

The next day, after lunch, my parents told Frank to get his jacket because they were taking him to the mall to buy new shoes. Afterward they were going to a movie at the multiplex. Frank invited me along, begged, in fact. “Come on, Russ, it’ll be fun!” Like that would work.

I told him I had too much homework and pointed up the stairs. “I wish I could, but I’m going to be spending all afternoon on a paper,” I said. “You can tell me all about the movie when you get back. If you like it, I probably will too.” That made him happy, I could tell. The kid was high maintenance, but easy to please. Carly really needed to spend more time with Frank. Either that or she should have given him a brother close in age. It made me feel lucky that I had my parents around all the time. Frank got shortchanged in the family department with no dad, an absentee mom, and no siblings. At least he had grandparents who loved him. And he had me too, of course. I did what I could.

I watched from my bedroom window as Dad backed the car down to the street, and then, a second later, as the car pulled forward into the driveway again. Frank got out and came tearing up to the house, his arms and legs flailing, like he had no control over them. I heard the front door being flung open, and I headed to the top of the stairs. I yelled down, “What did you forget?”

He didn’t answer, but came up the stairs holding my old Nikes, which he thrust at me. “Your shoes were all muddy and Grandma had me clean them for you. They were on the front porch drying out and Grandpa said I better bring ’em in, in case you want to go somewhere.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, taking them from him. I never bothered cleaning them because I only used them for my nighttime walks, but my mother didn’t know that. I turned them over and saw that the underside was spotless. Mom must have had Frank scrub the grooves with a brush. “Good job.” His face lit up at the praise, which was kind of sweet and pathetic at the same time.

“I had to really work at it,” he said. “I took a butter knife to pry the mud and all the gravel out. Grandma said I did a better job than you probably would have done.”

“Well done,” I said.

Outside, a loud honk. Dad got impatient at times.

“I gotta go,” Frank said, and off he went, bounding down the stairs two at a time and swinging off the banister at the bottom. He yelled up, “See you later, Russ!”

“Later, dude.” I went back into my room where I spent the next five hours counting down to my (fingers crossed) date with Mallory. I’d never been on a date before, unless you counted the homecoming dance freshman year when I’d been matched up with Justin’s girlfriend’s friend, a quiet girl named Katy who went to a different school. We went with eight other couples, and Katy seemed more interested in the group dynamic than in talking to me. There were a few awkward dances and, at the end of the evening, one brief, very disappointing kiss. The next day, my mom, always nosy, wanted to know if I was going to see Katy again. When I shrugged, she said, “No chemistry, huh?” which pretty much said it all. And then my mother sighed and said, “In high school, the one you like never likes you.” I’m sure she had a story and a life lesson there from her high school days, but I didn’t ask.

With Mallory I wasn’t sure if there was chemistry on her end, but I was feeling it on mine. I wondered if it counted as a date if only one person knew it was a date. I decided it would, as long as I paid for the meal, which is what I intended to do.

Mick texted. He was at Justin’s and they were bored, as usual. The day before, I’d told them I had to stay home because Frank was over and I’d just taken a sick day. This recent text asked what I was doing tonight. I told him I was going out for wings with Mallory Nassif, and got the kind of response I’ve come to expect from him.

Mick: No way.

Me: Way.

Mick: You’re lying. Stop. Lying. Now.

Me: She’s picking me up at 6:00.

Mick: Unbelievable. Has she lost her mind?

Me: At 6:00 she will be at my house to pick me up. For wings!

Then Justin, not content to let Mick have all the fun, starting texting me too.

Justin: What’s this I hear? Mallory Nassif is on drugs and will go out with just about anyone?

Mick: Dude, turns out you’re not the only one. Mallory’s picking me up at 5:00!

Me: Stop already.

Mick: And we’re skipping the wings and going straight to bed. Heh.

Me: You guys are losers.

A few days ago we would have gone back and forth like this forever and I would have thought it was hilarious. Now they irritated me. I didn’t like the joking about Mallory, but that wasn’t all of it. They just seemed juvenile. I told them I had to go and ignored the next few texts that came in. Eventually they gave up and my phone grew quiet.

At six sharp, I was looking out my bedroom window when I saw Mallory’s car pull into my driveway. At the same time, my phone rang. It was her. “I’ll be right out,” I said, and bounded happily down the stairs, much like Frank Shrapnel had a few hours earlier. I was glad my parents weren’t home. Much easier without them lurking around, wanting to know everything.

My mood plummeted when I got outside and saw Jameson sitting up front in the passenger seat. My spot. Judging from the expression on his face, he wasn’t all that thrilled to see me either. I got in behind and said (to the back of his head), “Hey, Jameson, glad you could join us.”

Mallory made that wonderful melodic laugh of hers, but Jameson didn’t react at all. The guy was a statue; he didn’t even move his head. When Mallory glanced back, I pointed to Jameson and said, “You’d think a guy named after whiskey would be the life of the party, but apparently not.”

She said, “Before we go, I want to do a little experiment, if you don’t mind, Russ.”

Jameson turned around now and both of them were looking at me a little too intently for my comfort level. “Okay, what do you have in mind?”

Mallory held up her right hand and wiggled her fingers. “I cut myself picking up pieces of a glass that broke in the dishwasher.” Sure enough, her pointer finger was covered with a bandage. “I was hoping you could fix it.” She peeled the bandage off and thrust her hand toward me; the top part of her finger had a small, jagged cut edged in dried blood.

“Fix it?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Jameson said. “You know what she wants. Touch her hand and make it go away.”

“I told you that I don’t—”

“Please?” Mallory asked sweetly. “For me? Just try.”

“Okay.” I had no idea how a person healed someone, but I could try to fake my way through it. I shook my hands, like a pianist before a big concert, and then leaned forward to take her hand in mine. I sandwiched her fingers between my two palms and closed my eyes, willing the cells in her skin to regenerate. Heal, I thought. Heal. There was a lot at stake and I wanted to come through, even if it were only to win Mallory’s admiration and be part of the group. I held her hand for a minute or more, but no matter how hard I tried, I didn’t feel healing powers coursing through my body. Truthfully, I felt nothing, except completely ridiculous, especially when I opened my eyes and saw both of them staring at me. “I was concentrating,” I explained. I took my hands away and Mallory inspected her finger. Without even seeing it, I knew the results.

“It didn’t work,” she said, clearly disappointed.

“What a surprise,” Jameson said, every word tinged with sarcasm.

“Look, I never said I could heal people. You were the ones who came up with that conclusion.”

“Maybe you just need time,” Mallory said. “Maybe with practice…”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Jameson, again with the sarcasm.

“Or maybe it works a different way,” she said. “Like you have to be standing a certain way or have a certain mindset. We can try again later. Let’s just wait and see.”

As if we had a choice. She sighed and turned the key, revving the engine. As we drove off down the road, I said, “Are we picking up Nadia?”

“Nadia never goes out,” Jameson said, no expression in his voice.

I said, “That’s not entirely true. I saw her out just the other night.”

Mallory said, “Her mother never lets her out of her sight. Nadia sneaks out for our night walks. We all do.”

“Well I knew that.” It was coming back to me now. “Didn’t you say that Nadia was attacked on a bus a few years ago? And that’s why her mother is so overprotective and never lets her go anywhere?”

“Well, if you knew that why did you ask?” Jameson somehow managed to sound patronizing and bored at the same time. For a pencil-necked geek, he sure had a lot of confidence.

“Boys, boys,” Mallory said. “Can’t we all get along?” She turned down a side road that led to the outskirts of town. Something about it felt wrong.

“Where are we going?” I had a sudden sick feeling that I knew exactly where we were going, and I didn’t like the idea at all.

“I thought that first we’d go past the field and see if there’s any sign of the activity you saw the other night.”

Jameson said, “Mallory told me about the claimed events. I’d like to take a look and see for myself.”

It took me a second to process his insinuation that I was lying. “They weren’t just claims,” I said. “Everything I told Mallory was true. I saw a crew of men with detectors combing the field. Two armed guards were there and a guy who looked like he was supervising. When they saw me they chased me and shot at me. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the bullet.”

“That won’t be necessary. I believe you have a bullet.”

Complete silence. What he was implying, of course, was that I made up the whole story and was using some random bullet as proof. Mallory didn’t come to my defense, and she had seemed to believe me Friday afternoon. “Going to the field is not a good idea,” I said. “What if they’re there and they recognize me?”

“The field is really far from the road,” Mallory said. “They won’t even be able to see our faces from that distance. We’ll just swing by.”

The last time I swung by the field someone had tried to kill me. I definitely had a bad feeling about this.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When we got to the field, it couldn’t have looked more deserted and less menacing. Of course, I told myself, everything looks safer in the light of day.

“The guys with the guns must have gone home,” Jameson said to no one in particular, but I got it—he was needling me.

“I guess that trying to kill me tired them out,” I said.

Mallory slowed the car to a stop. “I want to get a closer look.” Before I could stop her, she was out of the car and walking up the incline toward the train station building. Jameson got out as well, leaving me in the back seat by myself. Fear kept me there for a moment, but peer pressure is a powerful thing and a second later I was right on his heels.

“I thought you were afraid,” Jameson said, not turning around. “Or was it terrified?”

I wanted to make a smart-mouthed comment, but I’d decided a while earlier that I was better than that. Let Jameson be petty and superior and possessive of Mallory. All of those things made him look small and insecure. I would rise above his condescension. “I’m not afraid for me,” I said. “I know I can outrun and outsmart them. You, on the other hand, might need some protection.”

He muttered something under his breath and kept going. Ahead of us, Mallory had reached the site and stopped. She stared at the ground intently, and when we approached, she said, “Amazing.”

“What is it?”

“There’s nothing,” she said. “No signs that there were light fragments. No signs that anyone has been walking here. Didn’t you say this area was staked out?” She looked up at me.

I nodded. “Like a crime scene. There were stakes in each corner connected by yellow tape. The men were walking inside of it.”

She had a puzzled look on her face. “It doesn’t look like anything’s been disturbed.”

“The grass has been trampled,” I pointed out.

“It’s spring. Everything looks like that after the snow melts,” Jameson said.

I hated to admit it, but he was right.

“The last time the lights fell from the sky somebody actually scraped the top layer of the field and took it away.” Mallory crouched down and touched the dirt. “I wonder why they did it differently this time.”

“Probably because you made those phone calls asking about it,” I said. “They decided not to draw so much attention to the field this time around.”

“That’s probably it,” Jameson said, and he gave me a look that reminded me a little bit of admiration. “And if so, that means that the guys who shot at Russ are either from the government or someone who’s got them in their pocket.”

“Or they’re aliens,” I said, joking.

Mallory stood up and wiped her hands together to brush off the dirt. “No, we pretty much ruled out aliens, remember?”

“Maybe you did, but I’m still mulling it over,” I said. “You know what they say—the truth is out there.”

We wandered around a bit, pacing our way around the field, but nothing indicated that a big event had happened there just two days earlier. The unused train tracks were built on wood ties that were now crumbling, weeds growing in between the rails. The building, off in the distance, was the same. Just an old boarded-up structure with peeling paint and a cracked slab of concrete on either side of it. It was hard to believe I’d been afraid to come back here.

“Hey, Russ, want to see something cool?” Jameson asked after we’d inspected nearly every inch of the ground. Without waiting for a reply, he took his phone out of his pocket and held it loosely in his palm. As I watched, it levitated and zoomed around my head and zipped back to Jameson, who let it hover for a moment before he reached out to snatch it in midair.

“That is cool.” I wasn’t quite as flabbergasted as I’d been with the jelly packet, but I had to admit that Jameson could do something incredible. I was still doubtful that I would ever be able to heal people. (And even if I had healed myself before, could I do it again? Maybe Mallory was right and the circumstances had to be just right.)

“Show-off.” Mallory poked Jameson’s arm.

“That’s nothing,” he said. “I’ve been practicing with weights every day. I can move things farther and heavier than I ever could before, and my powers seem to get stronger with practice.”

“A renewable energy,” Mallory said thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that with me, too. I haven’t really been practicing though. It seems immoral somehow to make people do things without their consent.”

“I could get past that,” Jameson said.

I had a sudden thought. “So if you can move things with your mind, what makes you think you can’t do other things too? Maybe you can also do mind control like Mallory and read people like Nadia. Have you even tried to do other things? Hey, maybe you can fly or turn invisible.”

Jameson scowled. “It’s been a year. If we had other abilities, they would have manifested themselves by now.” He was back to the old Jameson, the one who knew better than me. Apparently our truce had been short-lived.

Heading back to the car, I held my hand out for Mallory as we approached the incline. It wasn’t much of a drop, but she still took my hand for support, and I felt a surge of victory over poor Jameson, who, walking ahead of us, didn’t even notice. “At my house yesterday we were interrupted right when you were going to tell me why we can’t talk to the authorities,” I said.

She squeezed my hand as we made our way over the last small bump and then let go when the ground leveled off. “Other kids before us have had this happen, and when they tried to tell, they disappeared or were killed.”

I stopped. “You know this for a fact?”

Her face turned grave. “Fairly certain. Over the past thirty-five years a disproportionate number of teenagers from this area have suddenly died or disappeared, many of them after reporting seeing strange things in the sky. Some of their families also disappeared—just moved out of the area without a forwarding address. Like they were…relocated or something.”

“How do you know this?”

“I spent hundreds of hours at the library looking at old copies of the local newspaper and the high school newspaper.” She gave me a smile. “They actually used to print up little newspapers and sell them at the school. Isn’t that cute?”

I was still stuck on the idea of missing teenagers. “Like how many are we talking about who died or disappeared?”

“Over the last thirty-five years there were maybe a dozen? I can show you a list if you want.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like to see that,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her, because I did, but sometimes seeing something on a page helps my mind to make sense of things. And I needed to make sense of this.

“And here’s another strange thing,” Mallory said. “No one else seems to have observed the lights except for teenagers. Instead, on the dates the kids see the events, there are next-day reports of adults having had trouble staying awake that night—falling asleep at the wheel, dozing on the job, that kind of thing—which leads me to believe the light particles energize and draw some people, notably some teenagers, while having the opposite effect on adults. Some of the teenagers mentioned feeling compelled to go outside at night long before the lights appeared.”

“Just like us.”

Mallory nodded. “Exactly.”

“Why would that be?”

She shrugged. “It would be hard to say without more information. I can only make conclusions based on the information at hand.”

Because we’d paused to talk, Jameson had reached the car ahead of us, and now I saw that he appeared to be leaning over someone who was actually inside the car. Jameson’s back was to us, and he was blocking our view, but I could see that the back door was open and he was hovering over a man who was slumped in the back seat in what had been my spot.

Jameson turned around and gestured frantically. “You guys, come quick! Hurry!” Mallory broke into a run, and I was right behind her. Judging from Jameson’s wide eyes and the way he bellowed, I knew it was something major. Still, when Mallory pushed Jameson aside, it took me a moment to register that it was Gordy, the old guy from the diner, who was lying across the back seat of the car.

“What happened?” I asked.

Mallory said, “Where’d he come from?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” For once Jameson didn’t look smug and sure. “I got to the car and there he was, just laying there. I think he’s dead.”

“Not dead yet.” Gordy’s voice came out soft and raspy. His whole body shuddered.

Mallory leaned in, giving me a view of her backside. “What happened, Gordy? Did someone do something to you?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer, she whispered reassurances to him, telling him everything would be okay from now on. When she straightened up she went into take-charge mode—first handing Jameson the keys and telling him to get a blanket out of the trunk. I was next. “Help me move him,” she ordered, and just like that I was pressed into service, following her instructions to pull Gordy further into the car so that his dangling legs were inside and we could close the car door. When Jameson came back with a green plaid blanket she folded it up and handed it to me. “Lift him up and cushion his head with it.” She took the keys from Jameson and got into the front seat, barking orders as she went.

“Let’s move.”

“Hang in there, Gordy. We’re going for help.”

“Jameson, call the hospital and tell them we’re on our way to the ER.”

“Shouldn’t we call 911?” Jameson asked.

“No!” Mallory yelled. “Just do what I tell you to do.”

I was on the side of the car opposite the curb, trying to lift Gordy’s head onto the folded-up blanket. The length of his body took up the entire back seat, begging the question: “Where am I going to sit?”

Mallory turned around and frowned. “Put his head on your lap, of course. Come on, Russ, get serious. We have an emergency here.”

As if I weren’t being serious. I sat on the edge of the seat and cautiously lifted his head as I slid in. When I shut the back door, his eyes fluttered. For the split second they were open, they locked on mine and he smiled briefly. “Hold tight, sir, we’re going to the hospital,” I said. He nodded slightly.

Jameson called Mercy Hospital to let them know we would be arriving to the ER soon. Listening to his end of the conversation, it was clear that not having all the answers rattled him. He couldn’t tell the hospital Gordy’s last name, his age, or even what was wrong with him. At one point they must have questioned the validity of the call because he said, “No, I’m not joking.”

Mercy Hospital was in the city, a half hour away, but Mallory managed to get there in twenty minutes. She paused at red lights, looked both ways, and went through; she passed people in no-passing zones; she went eighty-five on the highway. Jameson said, “Jeez!” when she passed a semi on the two-lane highway and we found ourselves heading straight toward another car. Luckily, she was able to maneuver back into our lane with split-second timing. “If there’s a cop around we’re in trouble,” Jameson added.

“I hope there is a cop around,” she said. “We’ve got a dying man in the back seat who needs medical attention.”

“Well, if we had called 911…” Jameson said.

Mallory gave him a sharp look and frowned. “And bring attention to us being at the field? Are you out of your mind?”

I sat in the back, not making stupid comments like some people, just taking it all in. I held my breath during the most harrowing turns, but otherwise, I didn’t let myself get rattled at all. For the most part, I kept my gaze on Gordy. It would have been hard not to, considering he was right there, his head on the blanket on my lap. His wrinkled, dirty hands were pulled up to his whiskered chin. His mouth was slack, revealing two missing teeth. The teeth he still had were ragged and yellowed, probably from cigarettes. An acrid stink of smoke wafted off of him, reminding me of the overflowing ashtray in my great-aunt Trudy’s car. I also got a whiff of the smell of burning rubber.

Gordy grunted occasionally like he was in pain, and I uttered things like, “Hang in there, sir,” and “We’ll be there soon.” I’m not sure it helped, but it was the best I could do.

When we finally arrived at the entrance of the emergency room, I cracked open a window to air out the car. That burning odor was really getting to me.

Mallory threw the car into park, and she and Jameson ran inside to get help.

“We’re here now, at the hospital,” I said to Gordy, running a hand over his arm in a tentative show of compassion. I’d been wary of touching him, because I was afraid of hurting him and also because it’s weird to be in such close contact with a complete stranger. Uncomfortably intimate. I was glad trained medical professionals would take over from here. I looked out the car window for signs that help was coming.

“Son?”

Startled, I looked down. “Yes?”

The old man’s eyes were wide open now and he looked alert. I watched as he swallowed; his tongue flicked out over his cracked lips, as if to wet them, but it didn’t seem to help. “I tried so hard to get you back. So, so hard…”

“Are you talking to me?”

“I’m sorry I failed. So sorry.”

“Mr. Gordy? Sir…I’m afraid I don’t understand. What are you sorry for?”

Now his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to focus. “No, not you.” Gordy exhaled and turned his head, mumbling. “I got confused. I meant the other one.”

“What other one?”

“You look like him.”

“Who?”

“My son.”

His son? He was clearly delusional. Any son he had would have been at least fifty. I wouldn’t be arriving at that age for a long, long time. “Do you want me to call your son?” I asked. “And let him know you’re at the hospital?”

Gordy’s forehead furrowed in thought. “No, not my son. My grandson. I’m so confused…” His eyes rolled as if he had no control over them. “But you can’t call him. He’s locked up—a prisoner. They have him.” His hand flapped over the side of his pants. “Take it out of my pocket. You’ll need it.”

I wasn’t following him at all. “Maybe if you tell me where he’s a prisoner, I could contact him for you?”

“There’s no time.” His fingers trembled as he motioned to his pocket. “Get it out of my pocket.”

I looked at the hospital, wondering what was taking them so long. Why did they have to leave me here with this mixed-up old man? “Maybe you should just hang on to it for now,” I said. “When you’re better, you’ll need it.” I patted his arm in what I hoped was a comforting way, but he shook off my touch.

“Take it,” he said, this time his voice louder. “It will help you.” His breathing was labored now. “He’s still out there.”

Oh, jeez. How could I not do what he asked, even if it didn’t make sense? It was obviously important to him. Too bad it involved sticking my hand in his pants. There’s sort of an unspoken rule that a guy never puts his hand in another guy’s pocket. It’s bad enough when I spot a dude making suspicious motions in his own pocket, much less me maneuvering in someone else’s. I did a quick check out the window to make sure no one would see and think I was either robbing Gordy or making some perv move, and then I stuck my fingers in his pocket but felt nothing. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing in your pocket.”

“Not that one.” He grunted and grabbed my hand, forcing it to the seam alongside his thigh. “It’s hidden, so they wouldn’t find it.”

I patted where he indicated and felt something below the surface of the cloth. I could see the stitching where the fabric came together. I couldn’t see a pocket, and yet… I leaned over to inspect it, and then pulled at the seam. It came apart with the ripping sound of Velcro. The old man was right; he did have a hidden pocket.

I pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it in front of his face. “Is this what you want me to have?” It was thick, like it was wrapped around something. The whole wad was held together with a rubber band.

Gordy nodded and closed his eyes. A thin string of spittle formed on his lower lip, grossing me out a little bit. I wasn’t cut out for dealing with sick people. He croaked out a few words. “Always carry it with you.”

“Sure, I will,” I said, patting his arm. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Don’t tell anybody,” he said. “You must keep it a secret.” This last line came out in a wheeze. He was having trouble getting the words out. “You must find him.”

“I promise.”

I had started to unfold the paper when I noticed movement outside the car—Mallory and Jameson (finally!) rushing through the opening of the glass doors. Behind them, two men in scrubs pushed a gurney as big as a twin bed. “Here we go,” I said to no one in particular. I slid out from under Gordy, making sure not to jolt his head as I left the car, then stuck the folded up wad of paper into my jeans pocket. The hospital attendants quickly went to work, wheeling him through the double doors with the three of us trailing behind.

The woman at the reception desk stopped Mallory by holding up a clipboard and saying they needed information about the patient. Jameson stayed glued to her side, but I kept going right behind Gordy and the two men. Someone buzzed us through a set of doors, and they picked up the pace until we were nearly running. Other people joined us as we moved down a corridor, a man and a woman, both wearing white jackets, their collars looped by stethoscopes. Doctors, I assumed.

After they wheeled the bed into a room shaped like a large curtained cubicle, the men in scrubs stepped away. The woman, who seemed to be a doctor, leaned over Gordy and clasped his arm. “Sir, you’re at Mercy Hospital. Can you tell me if you’re in any pain?” Gordy moaned, but didn’t answer. She looked at me. “What’s his name?”

“Gordy.”

“Gordy,” she said, this time more loudly. “We want to help you, but first we need some information.” Other people had gathered behind us, and she rattled off commands for an EKG and blood to be drawn. “Have you taken any medication today, sir?”

“No.” Forcing the word out clearly took great effort.

She put the buds of her stethoscope in her ears and leaned over to listen to his heart. “Erratic heartbeat. Let’s get moving with that EKG!”

Like a well-designed machine, the team sprang to action, one woman attaching a blood pressure cuff, another clipping what looked like a clothespin to his finger. A third unbuttoned Gordy’s shirt, then unpeeled adhesive backings off electrodes and fastened them to his chest. I walked around to the foot of the bed to get out of their way.

“Did he fall?”

I was studying the bottom of Gordy’s shoes and didn’t realize the doctor was talking to me until she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Was he injured? Did he fall? Did he complain of pain?”

“He was shocked.” I pointed to the soles of his feet. Each one had a quarter-sized hole rimmed in charred black. Electricity had surged through his body and out his feet, melting a hole in his shoes. “With electricity. Shocked.”

She came over to look where I was pointing. “Are you sure?”

I gulped and nodded.

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and it was the truth. I didn’t know how it happened, but I knew in my heart that he’d been shocked and I sensed it was on purpose. Even in the car I had somehow known this, but it took the scorched holes in his shoes to confirm it. Someone had done this to him.

But why?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

They hustled me out of the room so quickly I couldn’t even look back. A heavyset young woman escorted me to a waiting area, which wasn’t much more than a few padded chairs in a corner. “Someone will come and let you know how your grandfather is doing,” she said. I didn’t contradict her on the grandfather thing; it was easier that way. I sat down, unsure what to do next now that I was apart from the others. After seeing the blackened holes in the soles of Gordy’s shoes, I wasn’t about to look at what he’d given me out in public. I decided to wait a few minutes before I texted Mallory to see what she thought we should do next.

The TV suspended in the corner was on mute, which was just as well. They never had the right channels on in waiting rooms. Down the hall, I heard the sounds of controlled  chaos: the squeaky wheels of carts being moved quickly, voices volleying back and forth, the electric beeps of machines monitoring vitals and keeping people alive. The ER had a slightly antiseptic odor, but above it I still smelled the smoke that had emanated from Gordy. It was in my nostrils now; I couldn’t get away from it.

How excruciating would it be to have electricity surge through your body strong enough to shoot holes through the bottoms of your shoes? It had to have been horrible. He was a tough old geezer, still conscious and talking, even if he was confused. Soon enough we could ask him what had happened. Another piece of a puzzle that needed to be solved. I never asked to be part of this, but I was in too deep to turn back now.

I leaned my head back against the wall. What a night. What a week. Until recently, all I worried about was getting a good night’s sleep and making it through sophomore year. Next summer I’d be sixteen, and that meant driving and a job and money. Now I had other things on my mind. Why would someone shoot at me? Who would electrocute an old man? And less important, but still puzzling—why would Mallory bring Jameson along on what was supposed to be our evening? I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands, suddenly tired.

I closed my eyes, but wasn’t sleeping. Not even close. I still heard all the hospital noises. My eyelids couldn’t quite shut out the fluorescent lights. Suddenly, I found that if I concentrated I could feel the electricity all around me, like being in the middle of a hot tub and knowing where the jets are located by feel. I felt it in every one of the millions of cells of my body, and I also felt it outside of my body too, as it coursed through the building. It was absolutely, mind-blowingly amazing. Like discovering I had picked up an extra sense somewhere along the way. Even with my eyes closed, I could visualize the electricity in the walls, the way it flowed through wires to outlets and then poured from the outlets into electrical cords, activating machines and powering lights. Somehow, crazy as it sounds, I understood that the electricity and I were one and the same. I almost had a handle on how that could be when I heard my name being called. “Russ!” I looked up to see Mallory and Jameson jogging down the hall toward me.

I stood up to meet them halfway. “Can you feel it?” I asked when we were close. I held out my hands and whispered, “It just happened suddenly. I can source the electricity. I’m not sure how, but I can just feel it all around me.”

Jameson said, “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” He sounded irritated.

“My phone didn’t go off.”

“We have to leave right away,” Mallory said.

I looked down the hall to where I’d left Gordy. “Can’t we wait to see how he does?”

“We should have left already,” she hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me down the hallway. Jameson walked behind us, like he was her backup.

We passed the cubicle where the staff still hovered over Gordy. I paused. “Shouldn’t we—”

Both of them said, “No!” in slightly hushed tones, and I let it go.

Mallory steered me down a hallway I hadn’t seen before. I was sure she was turned around, so I said, pointing, “I think the way out is that way.”

She didn’t even pause, but just said, “We’re using another way out.”

When we got to the end of the corridor, Jameson hit a button to open the door. The sign said, “Caution, Door Swings Toward You,” so we stood back, and when the door began opening, Mallory, still pulling me along, wasted no time, but slid through the opening, followed by Jameson, who was so close behind us he actually stepped on my heel as we exited the hospital on the side of the building.

“What’s going on?” I asked as we made our way through row after row of parked vehicles. “Where’s the car?”

“I moved it over here,” Mallory said, not slowing down at all. When we got to her vehicle, she unlocked the doors with a beep and slid into the front seat. Jameson and I quickly got into our respective spots, and she was zooming out of the lot before I even had the chance to put my seat belt on.

“Good grief, was that close,” she said as we turned onto the road and sped away. I glanced back and saw the hospital getting smaller through the rear window. “I just about had a heart attack when I saw those men come in. I was afraid they were going to see us.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“What men?” I asked, but my words were drowned out by Jameson, who had his hands raised in the air like he was on a roller coaster. “That was wild!” he yelled, stretching the word “wild” so it went on and on. “I can’t believe we did that! I can’t believe how you messed with that nurse’s mind. And did you see how I made that cart tip over? We rule!” He paused to punch Mallory’s shoulder. “Woo-hoo! I’ve never had a feeling like that before. That was awesome.”

Mallory gave him a sideways glance. “Awesome, but very scary.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Jameson turned completely around to tell me the story and narrated using his hands for emphasis. I’d never seen the guy so hyped before. It was like someone reanimated a corpse. The way he told the story involved telling me every detail, complimenting himself on his quick thinking and his use of telekinesis as a distraction.

I could have told the story in about three sentences, but he went on for fifteen minutes. According to Jameson, this is how it went: After I left them in the reception area, Mallory pretended to fill out the form to make the nurse happy. She didn’t give them our names, and she didn’t know anything about Gordy, so she filled in some nonsense and used mind control to make the nurse think the form was complete and that he was completely insured.

“You should have seen it!” Jameson crowed. “Mallory is like, ‘The form has all the information you need,’” and the woman is like, “Oh good, he’s got complete coverage.”

“Then I went out and moved the car so it wasn’t blocking the entrance,” Mallory added.

And after that, Jameson said, two men came in—the same two men Jameson had seen at the library. “We were sitting in the waiting area at the time,” Mallory said. “Texting you. Or trying to text you.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Sure enough, they’d texted me, but my phone was on silent.

Jameson said, “The two men were dressed the same way as when I saw them at the library. Dark suits, black shoes, ties, like businessmen. They walked right up to the desk and asked about a patient who had just been brought into the ER, Gordon Hofstetter. One of them said Mr. Hofstetter was his father.” He made a dismissive noise. “Like anyone was going to believe that.”

“You should have seen the look on Jameson’s face when he saw those two guys,” Mallory said. “I thought he was going to curl up in a ball and start whimpering.”

“That’s not true,” he said, giving her a steely-eyed look. “Why would you say that?” He turned back to me. “The woman at the desk asked them to wait while she went and checked, and then to distract them, I knocked over a cart full of supplies.” He tapped his forehead. “Using only the power of my mind, Russ.”

Mallory interjected the next part. “So I took advantage of the commotion to follow the nurse into the examining area. When I caught up to her, I did my mind magic and told her that a middle-aged woman named Marge Schaeffer had brought Gordy to the hospital. I even gave her a description.”

“And this worked?” I asked incredulously.

Mallory’s head bobbed up and down. “She would have testified in a court of law. Tomorrow she’s going to have a headache.”

When the nurse came back, she told the men that Marge Schaeffer had brought Mr. Hofstetter in and described her exactly as Mallory had specified. And when a bunch of guys came into the hospital carrying a buddy who’d been beaten in a bar fight, it was enough of a distraction that Jameson and Mallory were able to follow another staff member through the double doors to come and find me.

“So that’s why we went out the side door?” I asked. “To avoid the men in the suits?”

“Of course,” Jameson said, smug as usual.

“And why are we dancing around these guys again?” I leaned forward to address my question to Mallory. I’d had enough of Jameson. “Why not just ask them what the story is? For all we know, they’re the good guys.”

The car screeched over to the side of the road so fast I thought my head would snap off. Mallory threw the car into park, put on the four-way flashers, and twisted around to face me. “Russell Becker, I hope you’re joking.” Her voice was raised and her face contorted in anger.

Jameson said, “I had my doubts about this guy from the beginning. I told you that. I say you wipe him out.”

I held up a hand to block Jameson’s face out of my view and kept it there. “It’s hard to believe you’re both geniuses because you’re acting like idiots. I’m not saying we tell anyone about the light particles or the field, or your powers. But what’s wrong with saying we found an old man who needed medical help? How are we going to get more information if we just skulk around dodging people?”

Mallory shook her head. “Are you not the same guy who was freaked out just yesterday because you’d been chased and shot at the night before? Do I really have to explain to you how dangerous it would be to voluntarily come forward?”

“But isn’t it even more dangerous keeping it just to ourselves?”

Jameson batted at my hand. I lowered it and gave him a smile before continuing. “Look at it this way. If something happens to us, wouldn’t you want our families to have some information about what’s going on? Maybe, if the other kids had gone to the media, the ones you say were killed or disappeared, they’d have been protected by the authorities. Maybe they would have stayed safe.”

Jameson dramatically lowered his head in his hands and wailed. “Mallory, I can’t believe you vouched for this guy. A chimp has more sense.”

“Mallory?” I wanted to hear her reaction and not his; right now, I’d have said she looked conflicted.

“So what exactly are you proposing?” she asked. “Who do we tell—our parents, the police, the FBI? And what exactly do we tell them? The whole truth or only part of it? Are you prepared for the repercussions? Have you even thought about the possible repercussions? Because we have. We’ve worked out every possible scenario, and believe me, none of them are good.” When I didn’t say anything, she said, “I’ll tell you what, Russ. You go ahead and tell anyone anything you want. Nobody is going to stop you.”

Jameson said, “I would stop him and—”

“But here’s the thing,” she said, waving Jameson’s words away. “None of us is going to back you up either. If you say we’re involved, we’ll say you’re crazy and we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ll be on your own, pal,” Jameson said. “We’re not backing you up. We’ll say you’re crazy.”

“Yeah, I think I got that since Mallory said the exact same thing a second ago.”

Mallory said, “Look, we’ve all been through a lot recently. Russ, would it be possible for you to think about this for the next few days before you do anything?”

A few days? What could possibly happen in the next few days? Sure, I could wait. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You better keep it to yourself,” Jameson said. “Do you know how much trouble Nadia would be in if her mother found out she’d been going out at night?”

That would be the least of our troubles. “I already agreed not to say anything. Just yet,” I added.

“Well I’m glad that’s settled.” Mallory started up the engine and fiddled with the radio, finally settling on an old Nirvana song. Something about a mulatto and an albino and a mosquito. The lyrics made absolutely no sense, but hearing a familiar song pulled me back into my everyday world and made me feel better. After flicking on the turn signal, Mallory did a cursory back-and-forth glance at the road before pulling off the shoulder, and then we were back on our way. We didn’t go far before she said, “I hope you guys don’t mind if I cut the evening short. I have a bad headache and I want to go home.”

“No wings?” Jameson sounded disappointed. “But I’m starting to really get hungry.”

“Maybe another time.” She met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Okay with you, Russ?”

“Of course.” The thought of going out for wings with Jameson there spoiled the whole date night concept. “Whatever you want, Mallory.”

We dropped Jameson off first. Turned out he lived in a biggish house in the wealthy end of town. Rich Edgewood. No surprise there. I had him pegged as a privileged sort of guy. We drove up the circular drive and under an overhang, the kind you see in front of hotels. White pillars flanked either side, and a stone lion sat to the left of the enormous door. “Well, here you are,” Mallory said, her voice full of false cheer. “The end of another wonderful Saturday night.”

He had his hand on the door, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to leave. “Thanks for driving, Mallory. When I get my license, we can go in my dad’s Corvette.” He leaned forward like he wanted to kiss her or something, but she just looked straight ahead.

“That would be great,” she said, and then to me, “Russ, why don’t you get in front?”

I scrambled out of the car, and Jameson was forced to get out. He stood on the porch and waved as we drove away. I glanced back and said, “I thought he’d never leave.”

Mallory laughed, and suddenly all was right with the world. “He’s not too bad. A little insecure so sometimes he acts superior, but overall he’s okay.”

“A little insecure and acting superior doesn’t sound okay to me.”

“He’s the only one of us who’s a true genius,” she said. “Nadia and I are in accelerated classes and we both do exceptionally well, but Jameson is way beyond either of us. He actually has an IQ of like 186 or something. Of course, the IQ test as a measurement of intelligence is a matter of debate.”

“Of course.”

“Still, he’s undeniably gifted academically.”

“Sure. Yeah, I can see it.” I tapped my fingers on the dashboard. “But he can be kind of a whiny baby at times.” She smiled but didn’t contradict me. Neither of us spoke for a time, Mallory because she was driving, and me because I was starting to pick up on electricity again. I felt it coming from the engine compartment through the radio. At its source, which I knew to be the battery, the car electricity felt different than what I’d experienced at the hospital, and different yet from the power lines I sensed as we drove past. So odd, being able to pick up on electricity; it was like being able to see in the dark. I wondered at the fact that electricity is all around us, yet people go through their days oblivious to its presence.

Mallory turned off the radio and my eyes opened. “What’s on your mind, Russ?” she said softly. “The look on your face is freaking me out a little.”

“I’m concentrating,” I explained. “On the electricity. I can feel it now. It started in the hospital. I was aware of it surging and pulsing all around me. I can sense it even when I close my eyes, and if I really quiet my mind, it’s like it speaks to me. I know where it’s coming from and how strong it is. You know what I’m talking about. You guys have had this happen, right?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“But you can sense it?” I gestured to the electrical poles that dotted the roadside. “Outside it hums like music through the wires.” I patted the dashboard. “And I can feel how it powers the radio. So amazing.”

“So this sensing thing is happening to you right now?”

“Well, yes. It’s not like something that happens now and again. It’s there all the time. It just is.”

“Hmmm…” She turned into my subdivision. “The light particles do appear to affect everyone differently, based on what I’ve seen with the three of us. And what you experienced on your night was in all probability different than what we experienced, so it would make sense that you were affected differently as well.”

“When I was out in the field, and the particles fell all around me, I felt—”

“Wait a minute!” For the second time that night Mallory suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road. This time a little more smoothly. “The particles fell all around you? You stood inside the spiral while the light fragments came down around you?”

“It was mostly done falling by the time I got there,” I said. “But while I was in the middle of the spiral, more did come down, yeah.”

“And it didn’t burn you?”

“No, the pieces glowed, but they were warm, not hot.”

“Huh.” With one hand she smoothed the wheel to the left and continued the drive to my house. “I wonder what that means…”

“I don’t know.”

We drove on. I noticed that the sun had dropped in the sky while we were at the hospital. The headlights of the car lit the road ahead of us, and I felt the way the electricity reached from the battery to the headlamps to make that happen. How had I gone a lifetime not even noticing this?

Finally, Mallory pulled into my driveway. It seemed like a day had passed since she’d first picked me up, but it had been only a few hours. “Well, this it, I guess,” she said.

I unclasped my seat belt before extending my right hand. “Thanks for a nice evening and for driving.”

“No problem.”

I thrust my hand closer. “Take my hand, Mallory.”

“What?”

I ignored her puzzled expression. “It’s a social custom. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Shaking hands? Put it there.”

Still bemused, Mallory gave me her hand. I sandwiched it between mine and focused all my thoughts and energy on our touch. We were two separate people linked by skin and bone and blood and energy. Especially energy. The energy from me hummed right at the point of contact. From the look on her face I could tell she felt it too. Her head tilted toward me and her eyes lit up with amazement. “Whoa,” she whispered.

And then, it felt done. Abruptly, I let go and her hand dropped. I said, “Thanks again, Mallory. See you at school.”

I was halfway to my front door when she rolled down her window. “Russ?”

“Yes?”

She waved her hand out the car window. “The cut on my finger is gone.”

I nodded. I knew it would be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Later that night, when I was almost asleep, it occurred to me that maybe I could use my powers to heal Gordy. I sat up in bed, turned on my nightstand lamp, and rubbed my eyes. If Jameson and Mallory hadn’t been so eager to leave the hospital, I might have thought of it while I was still there. Now it was after midnight and I had no way to get to the hospital. For my own peace of mind, I looked up the number to Mercy Hospital and called the front desk to inquire about Gordon Hofstetter.

The woman who answered the phone asked me to spell his last name.

I gave it my best guess. “I think it’s spelled H-O-F-S-T-E-T-T-E-R. First name, Gordon. He came into the ER earlier this evening.” I was careful to speak quietly, knowing that Frank was asleep on the other side of the wall. Nothing worse than a hyped-up ten-year-old awake after midnight.

I heard the sounds of a keyboard clicking before she came back on the line and said, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a patient by that name.”

“Does that mean he was released?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out that information. Hospital policy.” She did sound a little sorry, anyway.

I hung up feeling better. Best-case scenario—Gordy had been stabilized and released. They didn’t keep anyone at the hospital anymore if they didn’t have to. Last I saw, the old guy was doing pretty well. Considering he’d been electrocuted.

Thinking about Gordy nudged something in my brain. When I remembered what I’d forgotten, I almost smacked my forehead with my palm like they do in the movies. I still had his wad of paper in my jeans pocket. Or at least I thought I did. Oh man, I hoped it hadn’t fallen out at some point.

I got up and crossed the room to where my clothes were on the floor in a crumpled heap. It only took a second to check my pocket. Relieved, I found the folded paper still there.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I took off the rubber band and unfolded the paper to find it was wrapped around a silver medallion. As large as a belt buckle, it was octagonal in shape and had what looked like a clear gemstone in the center. I held it up to the light and found that it looked more like glass than crystal—old glass, the kind with ripples in it. Around the glass, a spiral pattern was etched. The same kind of spiral I’d seen in the field.

I set the medallion down and turned my attention to the paper, but it was blank except for some light scribbles. Just something to wrap the medallion in? No, there were some numbers and some shapes, so light I could barely see them. I set it aside for now.

I folded the medallion back in the paper and tucked it under my keyboard on my desk. It would be safe enough there. I’d figure it out tomorrow.

I turned out the light and settled back under the covers, happy that it was Saturday night, because that meant I had another day before the school week started up again. I’d had an unbelievable week, but I wanted a break from thinking about it. Maybe things would die down and life would get back on track.

Sunday was usually my time to do homework and relax, except for the weekends Frank stayed over, and then the day had a whole new meaning, as I was reminded the very next morning. “We’re going to the comic book store!” he said, bouncing around the kitchen. It was nearly noon, and he’d been up for ages while I tried to sleep in. For at least two hours I’d overheard Frank pleading with my mom to let him wake me up, while she held firm, saying he should let me sleep. I appreciated it. She would be justly rewarded when Mother’s Day rolled around. “Comic book store, comic book store!” The kid was like Tigger on steroids.

I spooned more Lucky Charms into my mouth and regarded him with amusement. The school had him tested for ADD and it had been ruled out, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. “We aren’t going for a while,” I told him, “so you might as well find something to do for the next hour.”

“Not a whole hour,” he wailed. “Why can’t we leave when you’re done with your cereal?”

“Sorry, Frank. I’m not doing anything until I take a shower.”

An hour later, Dad gave us each twenty dollars and dropped us off at the entrance to the strip mall. “A little something for my two favorite guys,” he said, pulling out his wallet and ceremonially handing us each a crumpled bill. I almost turned down the money. It’s a little embarrassing at my age, but then I thought, Hey, twenty dollars! For nothing. And Dad seemed so happy to be handing it out I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, tucking it into my pocket.

“You’re welcome, son.”

The strip mall parking lot was known for being crowded; cars often had to pull over or back up to let other cars through. It was a poor design, according to my dad, and he said the lanes were oddly configured. This was his excuse for dropping us off at the entrance instead of driving us right up to the door. Truthfully, I preferred it that way. If anyone from my high school was there I’d rather they not see my dad driving me like I was a sixth grader. Walking wasn’t that much cooler, but it was better anyway.

Ahead of us on the sidewalk, three boys about Frank’s age were running in circles trying to push each other into the parking lot, in front of oncoming cars. Compared to them, Frank looked like a rocket scientist. I was just about to make a comment, when Frank said, “Russ, can I ask you a question?”

“I think you already did.”

He continued without acknowledging my cleverness. “Why doesn’t my dad love me?”

“What?” My legs stopped mid-stride and he stopped walking too. “Who told you that?”

Frank’s head drooped and his lower lip quivered. Jeez, the kid was practically crying. It was hard to believe that only ten minutes earlier he’d been jumping-out-of-his-skin excited about comic books. Talk about a mood switch.

“Was it your mom? Did she say that?” I asked, anger rising from my chest.

“No.” He shook his head and toed a crack in the sidewalk.

“Who then?”

“No one ever talks about him,” Frank said. “What’s his name? What’s he like?” He looked up and I could see his eyes had filled with tears.

“I don’t know. I never met him. Neither have Grandma or Grandpa.”

A woman with a stroller approached and expertly maneuvered over the curb and around us. When I turned my attention back to Frank, I saw that he was waiting for me to say more. I leaned over to look him in the eye. “Here’s the thing, Frank, I don’t know anything about your dad. Your mom is the only one who would be able to tell you anything about him. I honestly don’t know if he loves you or if he doesn’t love you. But I’ll tell you one thing, if he doesn’t, it’s his loss.” I rested my hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Because you’re just about the greatest kid I know.”

“Really?” He looked at me with those needy puppy dog eyes, and I felt a surge of anger at his father for putting him through this.

“Yeah, really. If you want to know the truth, I feel sorry for the guy. He’s got this really cool son and he’s missing out. Meanwhile, I’m lucky because I get to hang out with you on the weekends.”

“Mom said you think I’m annoying. She told me not to bother you so much.”

Oh Carly, I thought, why would you say that to him? I punched him on the arm. “Okay, you can be a little bit annoying at times, but I can deal with it. We’re war buddies, right?”

He wiped his eyes with his knuckles. “Don’t tell anyone we talked about this, okay, Russ?”

“Talked about what?” I said, and then gestured for him to keep walking. “Come on. It’s Sunday afternoon. Let’s go hang at the comic book store.”

Power House Comics had been around since before I was born. Comic books took up most of the store, but the place also carried trading cards, posters, and collectibles like superhero figures. As generous as my dad had been, twenty dollars wouldn’t go far, but if Frank came up short I was willing to kick in some of my own money.

A jangling bell signaled our entrance. The place was fairly busy for a Sunday, but no one looked up. A dozen customers, mostly teenagers, flipped through classic comic books in freestanding fixtures, looking for that one rare find. Those comics were sealed in plastic so they’d retain their value, while the newer ones were displayed in revolving racks. Frank went right to the racks. Comic books weren’t an investment for him; he just liked to read them. Buying new, he’d get more for his twenty dollars.

Some kind of crazy techno music filled the place, and two teenage girls swayed to the music in front of a glass case displaying action figures. Girls often came into the store, hoping to catch the eyes of the guys, but it rarely worked. Generally speaking, comic book aficionados are serious customers and a little on the shy side. Not a good combination for picking up chicks.

I wandered around a little bit, killing time while Frank decided what to spend his money on. We’d be here at least an hour or two, and then I knew he’d expect we’d walk down to the frozen custard shop afterward where he’d have a cone and I’d have a root beer float. In a way, I reflected, my dad and I were Frank’s only male influences, if you didn’t count Carly’s revolving-door boyfriends, and I didn’t. I decided to be nicer to the kid from now on.

I leaned against a glass counter and pretended to study the contents, very old comic books dating from the 1960s. I put my hands flat on the counter and, closing my eyes, paid attention to the electricity in the store. I sensed the flow into the fluorescent lights overhead and the cash register at the main counter behind me. The electricity didn’t always come in one continuous stream. Like water flowing through the tap, there were variances. I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with this new awareness. I didn’t know if it was connected to the way I’d healed Mallory’s finger or not. Probably not, I decided. It felt like two separate things.

“Can I help you?”

Jolted out of my thoughts, I glanced up to see a familiar face. “Mr. Specter?”

He grinned. “Mr. Becker. Imagine seeing one of my favorite students here at Power House Comics.” Mr. Specter looked just as he had in science class earlier in the week: same glasses, white shirt, and sweater vest. It was him, no doubt about it, but I still had trouble believing what I was seeing. Looped around his neck was a plastic-covered tag with his name, Samuel Specter, topped by the store logo.

“You work here?”

“Yes, I do. Sometimes.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief he’d produced from his vest pocket. “The owner is a good friend of mine. I fill in when he’s shorthanded.”

I had trouble wrapping my brain around this. I mean, I knew teachers didn’t make a lot of money, but I’d never seen one working in a store before. “Do you like comic books?”

“I have a certain fondness for the genre,” he said, putting his glasses on and carefully folding the handkerchief into a neat triangle before tucking it back into his pocket. “In my opinion, comic books are an incredible art form like no other. And of course, like many readers, I have a special regard for the superhero concept.”

“Oh.”

He pointed to the comics in the case below. “I love reading about ordinary men who acquire superpowers through extraordinary means, and who then grapple with everything that comes along with it—defeating villains, moral dilemmas, secrets from family and friends, alter egos. There’s no end of possibilities, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess so.” Was I imagining things, or was he staring me down? What did he know, if anything? I glanced back to see Frank talking to the three boys we’d seen on the sidewalk outside. The smart ones who were trying to push each other in front of oncoming cars. Frank had a comic book clutched to his chest, and one of the others, an obnoxious-looking boy wearing a backwards baseball cap, was trying to take it away from him. “Excuse me,” I said to Mr. Specter. “I have to check on my nephew.”

I hurried over to Frank’s side and caught the other boys making taunting noises, but I couldn’t make out the words. “What’s going on here?” I demanded. The three looked to be a little older than Frank, and all of them were full of undeserved swagger. The ringleader, Backwards Cap Boy, had “bully” written all over his face. I can tell you right now that under the same circumstances, at their age, I would have backed away from a bigger teenager, but not these three. They had balls of steel.

“We’re just talking to Frank,” Backwards Cap said. “Right, Frankie?” The other two kids, one with a weasel-face and one who looked not too bright, stood alongside their leader, grinning like they thought the whole thing was funny.

Frank didn’t say anything, but held the comic book to his front, his forehead aimed at the carpet. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re done now,” I said to them and grabbed Frank’s arm, pulling him over to the other side of the store. In low tones I asked, “What were those punks doing? You can tell me.”

He glanced their way and I thought I saw fear in his eyes. “It’s okay, Russ. They were just playing around.”

“It didn’t look like playing around to me.”

“I don’t mind them, really.”

I considered for a moment, and let it drop. “Well, okay, if you say so, but I’m sticking to your side from now on.” We spent the next hour looking through racks of comic books. I told Frank I’d make up the difference if he went over his twenty-buck limit, and he reacted like Christmas came early. I watched Mr. Specter as he worked behind the register, making small talk, ringing up sales, giving change. He did a good impression of a store clerk and he never looked my way, so why did I feel like he was spying on me? At the same time I also kept an eye on the three punks. Such little scumbags, so full of themselves. I was relieved when they left the store. They didn’t buy anything, of course.

When it was time to check out, Frank, feeling shy, tried to get me to handle the transaction, but I told him he had to take care of it himself. Mr. Specter greeted us when we walked up to the counter. “So you’re Russ’s nephew?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” Frank set his comics down.

“Mr. Specter is my science teacher,” I said, although why I bothered to explain I didn’t know. Frank didn’t seem to care.

“I taught Carly Becker too, way back when,” Mr. Specter said. “Is she a relation of yours?”

“She’s my mom!” Frank said, suddenly interested.

“I didn’t know you had my sister as a student,” I said. Most of my teachers were Carly’s age. It never occurred to me that she and I would have had a teacher in common. I’d heard enough about her high school years that I could only imagine his opinion of her.

“Oh yes, indeed, she was a memorable student.” He picked up a comic book and scanned it, then worked his way through Frank’s pile. “A freethinker.”

That’s one way to put it, I thought.

“Did my mom get good grades in your class?” Frank asked. Inwardly I winced, since I was sure of the answer.

“It was a long time ago, and I don’t remember what grade she earned,” Mr. Specter said. “I do remember some spirited discussions in that class. She and the Hofstetter boy were quite the pair. They always had something to say.”

The name Hofstetter hit me right between the eyes. How many could there be in Edgewood? There had to be a connection. “The Hofstetter boy—is he related to Gordon Hofstetter?”

Mr. Specter nodded. “Was related. His grandson. A sad, sad story. The boy died in a car accident his junior year. Gordon never got over it.” He looked at Frank. “That will be twenty-two dollars and sixty-eight cents, young man.”

I had to know more. “Do you know Gordon Hofstetter?”

Frank fished around in his pocket for his money, and not finding it, started emptying his pocket, one thing at a time. Bottle caps, gum wrappers, loose change. The kid carried around more junk than anyone I knew. Mr. Specter didn’t get impatient; he just smiled and answered my question. “Gordon and I were once good friends, but we’ve drifted apart. He’s had a lot of troubles, poor soul.”

“Alcohol?”

“That came later. Gordon had a sad life. His wife died giving birth to their only child. He raised that child, a boy, by himself. It was hard. And then years later, his only grandchild, David, died in a horrible accident. David was a good kid. He’d just gotten his driver’s license and must have been driving too fast. They’re not sure what happened, but his car went down the embankment on Highway 12 and exploded. The firefighters came to the scene too late to do anything but contain the fire.”

“How terrible.” I tried to look sympathetic, but I didn’t really feel that way, maybe because I didn’t know the family. Instead, I was fascinated by the thought that maybe this David Hofstetter was the true love my sister had mentioned. Her words echoed in my mind: When I was your age, I found true love, and it hasn’t happened since. I keep looking for it, but nothing compares. And then: He died. My parents had to know about this. How was it that no one ever mentioned it to me?

Mr. Specter absentmindedly fingered one of Frank’s bottle caps. “Gordon never got over it. And after that, David’s parents moved away to California and Gordon felt abandoned and alone. It’s no wonder he turned to the bottle to drown his sorrows.”

“Found it,” Frank said, triumphantly holding his twenty in the air for a second before handing it over. I got out my wallet and gave Mr. Specter a five-dollar bill to cover the balance.

The cash drawer opened with an old-fashioned ding, and Mr. Specter made change, which Frank was going to take until I cleared my throat and moved his hand aside. I was putting the singles in my wallet and Frank was scooping his junk off the counter when Mr. Specter said, “What’s this?”

I glanced up to see him pick something up from the counter. He peered intently at it over the top of his glasses.

“That’s a stone from my collection,” Frank said.

“He collects everything,” I explained. “The kid has buckets filled with stuff.”

“I’m sort of a collector myself,” Mr. Specter said. “Would you consider selling this to me?”

Frank said, “Maybe.”

“I’ll give you twenty dollars for it.”

Frank’s eyes got big. “Twenty dollars? Sure thing!”

Mr. Specter moved quickly, putting the stone in his pocket and opening the cash register drawer. “I’ll tell you what, young man, I’ll even give you a brand-new twenty.” He handed Frank a crisp bill, and the kid bounced forward on the balls of his feet to reach over the counter to take it.

This whole exchange confused me. None of the junk in Frank’s pocket was worth even one dollar, much less twenty. Mr. Specter must have seen the other kids picking on Frank and decided to do something nice to make up for it. It was a kind gesture, but a little weird. “You don’t need to do that,” I said to Mr. Specter. “That’s a lot of money for a stone.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure to do business with a budding geologist.”

Frank admired the money, a smile on his face. “Whoa! This has turned out to be an awesome day. First Grandpa gives me twenty dollars, and now I got this one.”

“I’m happy it worked out for both of us,” Mr. Specter said.

“But—” I started to object, but another customer stood behind us, waiting to check out, and Mr. Specter motioned for him to come forward.

“See you in school tomorrow, Mr. Becker,” he said, dismissing us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As Frank and I walked out of the store, the kid was still talking about what a good day he was having and how great it was to hang out with Uncle Russ. Not exactly a thank-you, but I took it that way anyhow. If it weren’t for me, he’d have been back at the house watching TV all afternoon.

We headed down the sidewalk toward the frozen custard shop, and when we got there, I saw the place was half filled and that the three punks were sitting up front by the display case, underneath a sign that said: TODAY’S FLAVOR: MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP.

“Hey, Frank, how’s it going?” Weasel-Face said in this really smart-mouth way. If he’d been my size, I would have been tempted to call him out. I’ll give Frank credit though, he ignored him and kept his gaze on the glass cooler full of the different tubs of frozen custard.

“I don’t know why you look, you always wind up getting the same thing,” I said.

Sure enough, five minutes later we were at a table, me with my root beer float and Frank with his double dip chocolate waffle cone. We sat at a table as far away from the three boys as possible, but I kept my eye on them. I know most kids that age are obnoxious, but these three idiots took it to a new level. Backwards-Cap was the definite leader, and the other two followed everything he did. When he laughed (this annoying, donkey-like bray), the other two did too. When people went up to the counter to order, he’d repeat what they said in a mocking way. I wanted to smack the kid. When Backwards-Cap stuck his foot out to trip an old lady with a cane (she saw it and walked around), I was ready to get up and say something, but Frank, reading the intention on my face, said, “Let it go, Russ, just let it go.”

“What are their names?” I asked.

He regarded me suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?’

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a big scene or report them or anything. I just want to know.” When he didn’t answer I leaned forward, my voice low. “The one who doesn’t know how to wear a baseball cap, what’s his name?” He looked nervously in their direction. “Frank Shrapnel,” I said, poking the table with mock impatience. “I believe I asked you a question.” He grinned. Frank loved it when I used his middle name.

“That’s Kyle,” he said. “I don’t know the other kids. They’re all a year ahead of me.”

Kyle. In old books and movies, bullies had names like Sluggo or Scut Farkus. Kyle wasn’t a threatening-sounding name at all. “So what’s Kyle’s last name?”

“You’re not going to call his house or anything?” He looked over at the three punks, a worried look on his face.

“No, I swear this is just between us. It won’t go any farther.”

“It’s Bischmann. Kyle Bischmann.”

“And he gives you grief about not having a dad.”

Frank nodded and put his cone up to his mouth to lick away a drip.

Kyle Bischmann. What kind of insensitive dirtbag torments someone about their missing father? I watched Kyle across the room, laughing his stupid braying laugh, and suddenly I found myself madder than I’ve ever been in my life. At my side, my curled fists pulsed with spasms of barely-contained energy. I seriously wanted to kill the kid. Pictures filled my head—flashes of me pounding on Kyle Bischmann and his moron friends. Another picture came to me too, and this one was even worse: me shooting lightning bolts from my palms into their chests and watching them recoil in pain as their flesh sizzled. I felt my muscles strain like I was lifting weights at the gym. “Look,” I said to Frank, my voice a deep growl I barely recognized, “if Bischboy every does anything to you, anything at all, you let me know and I’ll take care of him for you.”

Frank’s eyes got wide with delight and he laughed. “Bischboy! That’s really funny, Russ. I’m going to tell everyone at school that you said that.”

And just like that, I snapped out of it and my anger faded. Kyle turned from a monster who had to be destroyed to a stupid eleven-year-old kid who thought he was hot stuff. I shuddered, thinking how close I’d come to getting up and walloping him across the face. How would that have looked? I outweighed Kyle by fifty pounds. If I’d lost control and hit him unprovoked, who would be the bully then? I probably would have gotten hauled off to jail.

I shook my head. “He’s just a jerk,” I said to Frank. “He’s got nothing on you.”

“He comes to my class for math,” Frank said. “He got held back in a few subjects.” We sat for a few minutes without talking. When the frozen custard in his cone was nearly gone, he started nibbling on the edges of his waffle cone. “This is really good.”

Kyle and his cohorts made a point to walk right past us as they left the place. “Bye, Frankie,” Kyle said.

Frank didn’t even look up. “Bye, Kyle. See you in math.”

Kyle looked a little startled, but he didn’t say anything back, just kept going.

At that moment, I saw Frank with a new admiration. You think you know someone and then you see another side of them and you realize there’s more there than you gave them credit for. “You are one cool little dude,” I said, and his cheeks flushed pink at the praise. He wasn’t such a bad kid. I’d have to start pointing out his positive traits more often.

We were finishing up when I said, making small talk, “What are you going to do with that twenty dollars you got from Mr. Specter?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe give it to my mom. She comes up short a lot.”

I’d heard that expression from Carly more than once. She borrowed money from my folks all the time and that was always her excuse. “I’m coming up short this month.” My mom wasn’t all that sympathetic, but my dad was a sucker for her sad stories. She never asked me for money, which was good because I wouldn’t have given her any. “You shouldn’t have to give your mom money,” I said. “Parents give kids money, not the other way around. Grown-ups are supposed to be the responsible ones.”

“Yeah, I know. She just has problems.” Frank sighed and I saw how her problems sometimes became his problems and how that weighed heavily on him. No wonder he liked coming to our house where he could just be a kid. “Besides, it’s just extra money for a stone I got from the mud on your shoes, and Grandma already paid me two dollars for cleaning the shoes.”

Wait a minute—I reached over and grabbed his arm. “Let me get this straight. You got that stone out of the bottom of my shoe?” His words triggered something, and my head reeled with the sequence of events that must have occurred for this to have happened. I saw it in a collage of images: me walking at night in a damp field among (apparently) magic light particles; Frank cleaning the bottom of my shoes the next day; him (I now knew) removing a stone from bottom of said shoe and keeping it, and finally, Mr. Specter buying that same stone from Frank. As I was figuring this out, Frank had a worried look on his face like he was afraid that answering my question would get him in trouble. I tried again. “So you’re saying that the stone Mr. Specter bought from you came from my shoe?”

His head bobbed up and down. “Grandma told me to clean ’em. They were all crusty and gross with mud, and she said she’d give me two dollars if I could get the bottoms spotless. I had to pry a lot of junk out with a butter knife, and then I washed ’em in the sink in the basement. It took me like forever. But I found a cool stone wedged in there, and she said I could keep it for my collection.” His eyes widened. “You’re hurting my arm, Russ.”

“Sorry.” I released my grip. “What did the stone look like?”

“I don’t know.” His shoulders came up and he raised his palms. “Like a stone?”

“Describe it.”

“Russ, Grandma said I could keep it.” He rubbed his arm.

“I know, Frank, I’m not mad that you took it. I just need to know what it looked like. Think.”

“It was sort of round-ish.”

“How big?”

“You saw it on the counter.”

“I wasn’t paying attention. I was busy talking to Mr. Specter. About how big was it, Frank?”

His forehead scrunched in thought. “Maybe the size of a nickel?”

Okay, now we were getting somewhere. “What else?” I asked.

He looked down at the table, concentrating. “It had these sparkles in it.”

“Like fool’s gold?” I said.

“You mean pyrite?”

“Yes,” I said. I couldn’t believe he knew the actual word. “Like pyrite.”

“No, it didn’t have gold on it. The sparkles were inside of it.”

“Inside of it?”

He nodded. “It kind of glowed sometimes. Like there was a little, teeny-tiny flashlight inside of it.”

I couldn’t help myself. I slapped my palm against the tabletop. “You had a stone that glowed all by itself and you didn’t think to mention it to anyone?”

“It only glowed sometimes,” he said, defensively. “And not really that much. You could barely see it unless it was completely dark.” As if that made a difference.

I buried my head in my hands. How had this happened? I couldn’t believe we just handed the stone over to Mr. Specter. And how would he have known what it was? Had it started to glow on the counter and I didn’t notice? I could just imagine Jameson’s reaction when I shared this story. He already thought I was mentally challenged. This would confirm it. I got up suddenly, my chair scraping against the flooring. “Come on, Frank. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?’

“To get that stone back.”

I headed down the sidewalk at a fast clip, dodging an old couple and darting around a teenage girl who carried a crying toddler on her hip. Frank was on my heels, jogging along, just barely keeping up. “Wait, Russ!” he called out. “What are you talking about? I can’t get it back. I already sold it to the guy.”

“He took advantage of a kid,” I said, not slowing. “We need to get it back.”

The door to Power House Comics jangled as I went through, but I didn’t even stop to hold it open for Frank. The kid was ten. He knew how doors worked. I went straight to the front counter where we’d just checked out less than an hour before. No one was at the register, but I wasn’t going anywhere until we got this thing worked out. Behind the counter, a drape covered a doorway leading to the back room. I said, loudly, “Excuse me, could I get some help?” It was exactly the kind of thing my dad did sometimes. When he did it, I wanted to sink into the carpeting from embarrassment. Right now Frank, standing next to me with the bag of comic books under his arm, looked like he wanted to sink into the carpeting himself.

“Let’s just go, Russ,” he said, still trying to make everything okay. “I don’t mind that he took advantage of me.”

I shushed him. “Let me handle this.”

A dark-haired man with excessively long sideburns came through the curtain. He was about forty or so, with a beer gut covered by a large T-shirt with the Flash logo across the front. His name tag identified him as Kevin Adams, owner of Power House Comics. I’d seen him in here many times before, but didn’t really know him. “Sorry about that,” he said, brushing his hands together. “What can I help you gentlemen with?”

“I’d like to talk to Mr. Specter,” I said, my hand resting on Frank’s fidgety arm.

“You just missed him,” he said, a bit too cheerfully as far as I was concerned. “Finished working and headed out about ten minutes ago.”

“Do you know where he went?” I glanced down at my nephew, who seemed relieved that there wouldn’t be a showdown after all.

Kevin Adams shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say he went home. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, that’s okay,” I said.

As we walked out of the store, Frank said, “Well, I guess that’s it then. I’ll just keep the money.”

“You can keep the money,” I said, “but this isn’t over. I’ll see Mr. Specter in school tomorrow and I’ll talk to him then.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mondays tend to be long anyway, since they start off the school week, but this one was the worst. I had science class last hour, and since I’d decided to talk to Mr. Specter afterward, the whole day felt like a countdown. At lunch I saw Mallory across the cafeteria, but I couldn’t catch her eye. I hadn’t yet filled her in on the stone issue, since I no longer trusted phones or computers. Without them, communication was limited to notes and face-to-face contact, which really sucked. Now I knew how people felt during the Dark Ages. I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to her until science class or after school.

At lunchtime I sat with Mick, Justin and his girlfriend, and a few of her friends. The number of kids at our table had grown over time (freshman year it had just been the three of us), but I didn’t feel like I really knew any of the new ones all that well. Mostly I listened, which served me well today, because I had a lot on my mind.

The day before, after I’d called my dad to pick us up from the strip mall, Frank and I had waited outside of the custard shop. He leaned against the side of the building and cracked open one of his new comic books, eager to get started. I knew the feeling of having a brand-new story and wanting to get at it right away. I also was glad not to have to talk anymore, so I didn’t take it personally.

While I lingered on the sidewalk, I happened to glance into the frozen custard shop and saw that the closest table to the window was occupied by an uptight-looking middle-aged woman sitting across from what looked like a teenager in a sweatshirt with the hood up. The woman didn’t look happy. She had a scowl on her face, and from the way she jabbed her finger toward her kid, she was pissed about something. I watched the whole thing out of the corner of my eye, feeling sorry for whoever was on the receiving end of the verbal abuse. If that were me, I’d hide under my hoodie too.

When the woman got up from the table, the teenager finally raised her head, and when I caught a glimpse of her face, I saw, with a shock, that it was Nadia. She recognized me at the same moment, and a look of understanding passed between us. The angry woman, I realized, had to be the mother who never let her out of her sight.

Nadia nodded and then slowly raised a hand and pressed it to the window, first her palm and then her outstretched fingers. From my side I could tell exactly where the flesh made contact with the glass. Like handprints made in kindergarten, the impression showed the surface of her hand in perfect clarity. I saw the bands dividing each knuckle and the swoop of a lifeline across her palm. Without even thinking, I put my hand on the other side and we connected through the glass, my hand covering her much smaller one. It was a show of solidarity, a sign we had a secret between us.

Nadia smiled, the first time I’d ever seen her do so. At the same moment, she lifted her chin and pushed her hood back slightly. It was then I noticed the scarring on one side of her face, the skin rippled like fried bacon. The damaged skin covered part of her forehead and all of her cheek to the top of her chin. The scars were deeper in color than the rest of her face, making them stand out even more. Something terrible had happened to her, and she wanted me to see. I nodded to let her know I understood, and I did. It was if she’d spoken through the glass. This is who I am. This is why I stay hidden. I didn’t think she showed her face to too many people. I knew I should feel honored that she’d let me into her world, and I was, of course, but it also made me want to know more. Nadia had been attacked on a city bus, Mallory had said. Whatever had happened had left its mark.

I watched as a tear slowly dripped down her good cheek. She blinked twice before wiping it away with her free hand. And then, in an instant, Nadia dropped her hand from the window and the hood went forward as well, covering everything. Her mother returned with two sundaes, and they sat silently and began to eat them. Nadia never looked in my direction again. When Dad pulled up and Frank and I got in the car, I glanced back to see her still working on her sundae, her head down, the plastic spoon moving back and forth from the cup to her mouth. What normally would be something fun—going out for a treat—felt sad and socially limited. Who wants to go on an outing with your mom when you’re in high school? Especially a mother who criticizes you in public. Nadia’s life was the worst.

When we got home from the strip mall, Carly was already there, waiting to pick up Frank. My dad had said she was at an enlightenment workshop with her new boyfriend, but she didn’t look enlightened to me. If anything, she looked a little tired and was showing her age more than usual. “Hey there, Russ, how goes it?” She ruffled Frank’s hair. “I hope the kid didn’t give you any trouble.”

“Never,” I said. “Frank is always great to hang out with.”

Frank beamed. It took so little to make him happy.

Carly said, “I’m glad he’s well behaved at his grandparent’s house. Sometimes he’s kind of mouthy to his mother.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I said.

They packed up Frank’s backpack and were out the door before I had a chance to swear him to secrecy about the exchange with Mr. Specter in the comic book store. But then I realized, if he hadn’t told anyone he’d had a stone that glowed on its own prior to this, chances were good it wouldn’t come up again. Frank had a tendency to prattle on about absolutely nothing. He’d tell me every single detail of an episode of Scooby-Doo, but forget to convey Carly’s instructions about medication he was supposed to be taking while he was at our house for the weekend. It was probably safe to assume the subject of the glowing stone would never come up. At least I hoped so.

I was remembering all of this while I was chewing on my cafeteria pizza the next day in school when Justin interrupted my thoughts. “What do you think, Russ?”

“About what?”

Everyone at the table laughed. “I told you he was in another place,” Justin said, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand, and I realized that they must have been watching me while I was lost in thought.

“I have a lot on my mind lately,” I said, which was the absolute truth. They resumed talking, and I did my level best to pay attention, even adding a few comments here and there to prove I was present, but between my thoughts and the abundance of electricity in the cafeteria, it wasn’t easy. I never knew how much current flowed into the space behind the counter. Lights and coolers and microwaves and ovens. The school kitchen sucked massive amounts of electricity. If I tried, I could shut out my awareness of it in the same way I could ignore annoying background noise, but it took a little effort.

One of the lunch ladies, Mrs. Whitehouse, came by our table and stopped to tell Justin he’d dropped a napkin on the floor. Mrs. Whitehouse operated under the assumption she had a rapport with the kids, which, believe me, she did not. It was sad to watch. When you went through the line, she’d sometimes randomly bellow out, “Who’s in the house?” and then cup a hand around her ear and wait for someone to call out, “Mrs. Whitehouse is in the house!” There were always a few girls nice enough to humor her. I never joined in and neither did any of my friends, even though she reportedly gave extra servings to students who played along. After everyone finished getting their food, she usually came out from behind the counter to visit tables. She joked about how growing kids should eat their vegetables and took informal surveys about the food as if we’d be getting more options in the future, but that never happened.

Today, Mrs. Whitehouse showed interest in our group, asking if kids still read the Twilight books (she was outspokenly in favor of team Edward). I watched as she chatted with Mick about books made into movies, and I wished she would go away. None of the other school employees felt compelled to pal around with the kids. She thought she was a teenager, from the way she acted. Truthfully, it was hard to gauge her age. Her hair was dark with no gray, and she didn’t have any wrinkles, but there was something that made her seem dated. Maybe it was her shape. She wasn’t really fat, but she was proportioned funny with a noticeably large midsection and drumstick legs. Carly remembered her from her high school days, so she’d been working here since before I was born, which gave me something to go on. Mrs. Whitehouse had been wearing that hair net for a really long time.

When the bell rang (also powered by electricity), Mrs. Whitehouse shuffled off and Lindsey, one of the girls from my table, made a point to come up to me and say, “Whatever you’re going through, Russ, I understand. If you need someone to listen, I’m here for you.” She was a cute girl and seemed nice enough. Mick, always putting his own womanizing spin on things, referred to her as “doable.” Lindsey patted my arm in a reassuring way and leaned forward so that I could see down the front of her scoop-necked shirt. Normally that would have totally made me lose my mind with lust, and that would have led to complete social-awkwardness, but I could see Mallory across the cafeteria and Lindsey held (almost) no appeal for me. “Thanks,” I said. “Good to know.”

Two hours later I slid into my spot in science class, so jazzed up I felt like I might jump out of my skin. Sometime during this hour, I needed to tell Mallory about the stone—how I had it and lost it without even realizing I had it in the first place. And when the hour was over, I would have to confront Mr. Specter about the stone and tell him I needed it back. I wasn’t good at standing up to adults. I’d seen other kids argue with teachers, usually about grades, and also usually without success. I’d never felt that strongly about a grade, probably because I did pretty well. Before today, I couldn’t imagine challenging a teacher about anything. Now I had no choice.

Mallory walked in with another girl just as the bell rang, leaving me unable to talk to her before class. I heard her laugh and it annoyed me a little bit. How could she laugh while I was in crisis mode?

“We need to talk,” I whispered as she took her seat in front of me.

She looked startled, but nodded. “After school.”

For fifty minutes, I was so preoccupied with what was to come, I barely heard a word Mr. Specter said. I was glad he didn’t call on me during the class discussion. Maybe he sensed I had a storm cloud hovering overhead, ready to burst. Mallory, too, was quieter than usual.

I kept thinking about the powers Mallory, Jameson, and Nadia had, and my own discovery too that I could heal Mallory’s cut. If I could do that and take a bullet out of the back of my neck too, what else could I do? I imagined walking through a hospital and putting my hands on patients in an effort to heal them. Would it work? And if it did, and the word got out, what then? Would people line up in front of my house begging for my help? I imagined a crowd pulling at me, every one of them with a heartbreaking story, all of them wanting my full attention and my ability to heal. How could I not do it? But if I could do it, the news would spread and more and more and more people would come. And soon there would be thousands and the numbers would grow. It was a scary thought.

After playing out this scenario in my head, I knew I didn’t want it. Not because I didn’t want to help, but because I had the sense my ability wasn’t supposed to be used randomly. None of our powers were intended to be used randomly. There was, I sensed, a purpose. I just didn’t know what that purpose could be.

When the bell rang and everyone else gathered up their things, I went up to the front of the room. Mr. Specter had opened his briefcase on his desk and he was riffling through the contents. I stood and waited.

“Yes, Mr. Becker?” He hadn’t looked up at all, yet somehow he knew I was there.

“The stone you bought from my nephew at the comic book store yesterday?”

“Yes?” Now he looked up and glanced at me over his glasses.

“It has some significance for me. I’d like to buy it back from you.”

“Okay.” He shuffled a stack of paper and attached a top sheet with a paperclip.

“That’s okay?”

“Fine with me,” he said.

That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Why would I mind?” He sounded almost bored. “It’s a stone. If it has some significance for you, certainly you should have it.”

I exhaled in relief. Out in the hallway, kids let out pent-up energy—lockers slammed, voices yelled back and forth, music blasted. “I have the twenty dollars with me,” I said, pulling the bill out of my pocket and looking at him expectantly.

“Surely you don’t think I brought a stone with me to school?”

I stared blankly. Stupidly, for some reason, I had thought he’d have it with him. “Oh, I guess not. Well, if you bring it tomorrow…”

“I’d rather not conduct business at school, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Specter said. “It might have the look of impropriety. If you’d like to stop by my house this evening around seven, we could do the exchange then. You know where I live?”

“Yeah.” Everyone knew where he lived. He owned a red brick house; his backyard abutted the high school football field. You could see his entire roof from the bleachers. Some kids once got into trouble for throwing tennis balls over the fence during a football game. Several of the balls made it into his rain gutters, which caused overflow problems during the next storm. Or so I heard.

He snapped his briefcase shut. “Is there anything else, Mr. Becker?” he asked, pleasantly enough.

“No, that would be it.”

“To make it sound like an acceptable outing, perhaps you can tell your parents you need an hour at my house to watch a special science demonstration for extra credit. Sound good?”

When I nodded mutely, Mr. Specter said, “Well then, I’ll see you tonight around seven.”

He walked briskly out of the room while I stood there wondering how he knew I’d been wondering what excuse to give my parents. Maybe just a lucky guess.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Don’t argue with me, Russ. I’m coming and that’s all there is to it,” Mallory said, as she drove me home from school. I’d gratefully accepted her offer of a ride home after science class ended that day. It beat taking the bus or walking, that’s for sure. I’d hoped people would notice us together in the parking lot but no such luck. None of my friends were around, and everyone else was busy with their own thing. High-schoolers can be so self-involved.

I’d just explained about the stone, and that I was going to Mr. Specter’s that evening, when Mallory announced she was going with me. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but secretly I welcomed it. For one, I’d be going somewhere with Mallory (and not Jameson this time), and for another, she could drive, which eliminated parental involvement. And lastly, the whole thing kind of weirded me out. It would be nice to have someone else along. Safety in numbers.

I used Mr. Specter’s lie and told my folks I was going to his house to see a science demonstration. “It’ll take about an hour,” I said, and they nodded agreeably despite the fact that the whole concept was absurd. What teacher requires kids to go to his house ever, much less on a school night for extra credit? Why a Monday? What kind of demonstration? But true to form, neither of them asked. I was already getting an A in science. Presumably with a little extra credit I could bump it up to a more acceptable A+.

Maybe part of their easy acceptance came with the knowledge they didn’t have to drive me. When I told them Mallory Nassif was picking me up, they didn’t question that either. Again, I’m just too good of a kid to ever do anything wrong in their eyes. Lying to them now made me feel terrible, but it couldn’t be avoided.

So now Mallory and I were headed to Specter’s house, with Jameson nowhere in sight. I didn’t miss that guy at all. Maybe I’d suggest we stop at Starbucks afterward and I could worm my way into her heart over a chai latte or whatever it is she liked to drink. Stopping somewhere for ice cream was another thought. The truth of it was, I didn’t care what we did, I just liked being with her. Something about her made me want to be as near to her as possible.

Maybe Carly was right and I did have the love disease. Lately I thought about Mallory all the time. I found myself replaying our conversations in my head over and over again when I was alone in my room. I’d memorized every expression on her face, the way she frowned slightly when she was deep in thought, the way she burst out laughing when something funny caught her off guard, the look of concern she had when people were injured, like when we’d found Gordy. Making her laugh was the best, like winning a prize. I found myself making funny little comments on a regular basis, trying to amuse her. I was a rat pulling levers, hoping a food pellet would come my way. It was craziness, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

Guys my age get stereotyped as being all about sex all the time. “Hormones are raging,” is what my health teacher, Ms. Hadley, was fond of saying. Some of that is true, but the hormone thing isn’t just a teenager thing. I don’t think I’m any moodier than, say, my mom, who admits to having emotional swings and wicked hot flashes (she calls them power surges, as if that makes it better). And I probably don’t think about sex any more than the average guy in his thirties. The thing they never talk about is that besides thinking about sex, guys my age also think about other things: the way it would feel to wrap my arms around her, how I like to picture myself protecting her from harm, what it would be like to press my forehead against hers and look right into her big dark eyes. I see movies with couples making out and I mentally insert myself with Mallory. I wonder sometimes—what would she do if I suddenly kissed her? These are the kinds of things I’d never tell my friends, or anyone else for that matter, but it’s all true.

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if I was in love with Mallory Nassif, but I knew I wanted her to love me. I craved having her by my side, hearing the sound of her voice, having her full attention. I wanted to feel her body pressed against me and her lips against my ear. If she loved me, I wouldn’t need anything else.

As a passenger in her car, it was easy to watch her without seeming too obvious. I liked watching her fiddle with the radio, and I got a rush when she looked to me for approval when she got to a certain song. I always agreed with her choice. Whatever Mallory wanted worked for me.

“Nadia said she saw you yesterday,” Mallory said, breaking the silence between us. She paused at a stop sign before turning left.

“Yeah, at the custard shop. After the whole thing happened at the comic book store. She was with her mother. We didn’t talk.” We were only a block away from our destination and would be at Mr. Specter’s in about two minutes. If I was going to ask, I’d have to make it quick. “How did her face get scarred like that?”

“You saw it?” Mallory asked incredulously.

“Just for a second. She pulled her hood back.”

“On purpose?”

“I guess so. It seemed like she wanted to show me.”

Mallory shook her head. “Unbelievable. When Jameson asked about her face, she wouldn’t talk to him for a week. Why would she show you, someone she barely knows?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Hmmm. So odd.” Mallory exhaled loudly. “Nadia is sort of a puzzle to me. She doesn’t open up much. I knew her about a year before she even talked about it.”

I tried again. “What happened? Was she burned?”

“In a way.” She tapped at the steering wheel with her fingers, as if debating whether to elaborate.

“If you don’t want to tell me…”

“No, I can tell you,” Mallory said finally. “This is what happened. She was riding the bus, going to visit a friend, when some crazy man came on board carrying an open container full of this liquid. He started raving about our imperialistic society, and he wouldn’t sit down, and he wouldn’t pay the fare. When the bus driver told him to get out, he flung the liquid up in the air. It turned out to be battery acid. Nadia got hit in the face. The driver got splashed pretty badly too. A couple of other passengers tackled the guy and they called the police. It was awful.”

“Battery acid?” How horrific. It was like something from a movie. “I don’t remember hearing about this,” I said. “Was it in the news?” We were pulling up in front of Mr. Specter’s now. On the opposite side of the street the curb was lined with cars. Someone had company over.

“It happened in Illinois. They moved here two years ago.”

“And that’s why her mother never lets her out of her sight.”

“It’s worse than that,” Mallory said. “Nadia could get plastic surgery and it would make her face look a million times better, but her mother won’t let her do it.”

“Too expensive?”

“No, it’s not the money. In fact, insurance would cover it. Her mother won’t let her fix her face as punishment. It’s because Nadia didn’t have her parents’ permission to be on the bus that day.”

I let the words sink in. “But that’s cruel,” I said, shocked. “She has to be deformed forever because she did something wrong once?” I couldn’t imagine my own parents ever acting that unreasonably, no matter what I did. I complained about them sometimes, but I knew that overall they wanted me to be happy and do well. We were all on the same team for the most part.

“The woman is certifiably insane and just a horrible person,” Mallory said. “Nadia can’t wait until she turns eighteen because then she can arrange to have the surgery herself. But in the meantime…”

“She’s stuck,” I said, finishing for her. And then, almost to myself, “Wow, that’s a lot of years of suffering.” And the most important years too. Being disfigured anytime was horrible, but having it happen when you’re a teenager was worse yet.

Mallory turned the key and the engine went silent. “Let’s get this over with,” she said. “I’m eager to see this glowing stone.”

We walked up the pathway leading to the front porch with me in the lead, since the pavement was too narrow for two people side by side. Besides, as Mallory had said, this meeting was sort of my thing. “You do the talking,” she said, giving my back a nudge. Her fingertips trailed down my spine, giving me the shivers. “I’m just tagging along.”

The front door opened before I could even knock. As we stepped onto the concrete stoop, Mr. Specter pushed open the screen door to greet us. “Good evening, Mr. Becker,” he said. “Oh good, you brought Miss Nassif along with you. Perfect.” He nodded at Mallory. “Please, come in.”

I’d never been inside Mr. Specter’s house and I didn’t know anyone who had, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Judging from the front entryway and living room, he believed in keeping things orderly. I’d heard he lived alone, so this was all his doing: the gray mat just inside the door where we wiped our feet, the coat rack and umbrella stand in the corner. In the living room beyond, I saw a couch and two chairs arranged around a coffee table, two end tables, and a lamp. There was no TV or anything else. Furniture displays at stores looked homier. “I don’t spend much time up here,” he said, as if reading my mind. “My den is where you’ll find evidence of life. I spend most of my time there.” He beckoned with one long finger. “Follow me.”

Like faithful dogs, Mallory and I quietly trailed him past the living room and through the kitchen. When he opened a door leading to the basement stairs, I said, “The stone is down there?”

He said, “Of course,” and proceeded confidently down the stairs, clearly not doubting we’d follow him. I had an uneasy feeling about this.

I stepped back to see if Mallory was feeling it too, but her face didn’t show any concern. She took my movement for good manners, as if I were saying—Ladies first!

“Thank you, Russ.”

I paused at the top, uncertain, but when she was halfway down I came to my senses and followed. This was Mr. Specter, after all. The science teacher at my high school. It’s not like he’d have a dungeon in his basement, knock us unconscious, and lock us up. I’d told my parents I was going to be here and Mallory’s car was parked in front. If I didn’t come home, this is where my parents would come looking. Still. Why not have the stone upstairs? He had known I was coming to get it since this afternoon.

My nose wrinkled as I got a whiff of something, and at the same time Mallory said, puzzled, “I smell popcorn!” At the landing at the bottom, I smelled it too. Fresh buttered popcorn. Making the turn, I saw that Mr. Specter’s basement had been converted to actual living space—no cement block walls and iron support beams here. Instead, the walls had been covered with drywall, the ceiling tiled, the floor carpeted. Bookshelves on either side of a closed door lined the wall opposite the stairwell. A horseshoe-shaped sectional sofa with a coffee table in the middle took up a good portion of the room.

And sitting on that sofa were my psychiatrist, Dr. Anton; Mrs. Whitehouse, the lunch lady; Kevin Adams, the owner of Power House Comics; and Rosie, the waitress from the diner—all of them munching on popcorn and drinking tall glasses of what looked like lemonade. When Mallory and I walked into the room, they stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to us.

“Speak of the devil,” said Mrs. Whitehouse. “Or should I say devils?” She popped a kernel of popcorn in her mouth and laughed an insidious cackle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mallory backed up a step and said, “Sorry for interrupting.”

“You aren’t interrupting, Miss Nassif,” Mr. Specter said. “Please take a seat. We’d like to talk to you.”

“Just a minute,” I said, taking hold of Mallory’s arm. “What’s this all about?”

“A book club?” Mallory asked, her voice tentative.

“It’s not a book club,” I said. “They’re here because of us.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dr. Anton said, his head tipped to one side in a show of empathy. “This isn’t anything you need to worry about. We just want to talk to you. Just a friendly chat.” Somehow it didn’t feel like a friendly chat. All of them stood up now, and I did a mental tally—there were five of them and two of us, but we were closer to the exit and we were younger. Maybe if we ran…

Mallory leaned against me. For the first time, I saw a look of alarm cross her face. All along she’d been saying someone was looking for us. She’d used the word “hunted,” but even after I’d been shot and despite spotting the men in business suits at the hospital, I sensed it hadn’t felt truly menacing to her until now. Is it paranoia if people really are out to get you?

“I think we need to go,” Mallory said. “My mom is expecting me back soon.”

“This was never about getting the stone back, was it?” I asked Mr. Specter accusingly. “You had this planned all along.”

“Really, Mr. Becker,” he said. “What an imagination. We only first talked about it after school. I couldn’t have planned this too far in advance, could I now?”

Rosie got up off the couch, her face crinkled in motherly concern. “You’re scaring these young people, Sam. Stop it.” She came up to Mallory. “We just want to talk to you, honey. That’s it. We want to help you, if we can. You’ll be free to go anytime.” She turned and waved an arm at the group. “Look at us. Do any of these people look like they mean you harm?” I surveyed the group and saw her logic. None of them looked capable of doing anything nefarious. Still, you never know. I’d watched enough movies to know the ones you least expected always turned out to be the villains.

“We’re just going to be talking?” Mallory said.

“I promise you, honey, it’s just talk. We want to give you some information. Nothing painful.” Her manner was reassuring; her tone was soothing. “All we ask is that you keep everything we say here confidential.”

“It can’t leave this basement,” Mr. Specter said.

“We’re listening,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Really.”

“Please, sit down,” Rosie said, gently pulling on Mallory’s elbow and leading her over to one end of the sectional. I shrugged and sat down too, resting one arm protectively behind Mallory on the back of the sofa. “You’ll see,” Rosie said. “This is gonna be painless.” She smiled in a friendly way.

“So what’s the deal?” I asked. “You all know each other?”

Mr. Specter cleared his throat. “Yes, we’ve all known each other since high school.”

Mallory leaned forward, her interest piqued. “You went to high school together?”

“Yes, indeed. Well, except for Arthur.” Mr. Specter waved at Dr. Anton. “He went to the boy’s prep, St. Mark’s Academy. It’s not there anymore.”

“Which is a pity,” Dr. Anton said. “It was a good school. But poorly run. If it weren’t for some very avoidable financial troubles it would still be around.”

“We all met when we were walking around at night,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Just like you and your friends.” As much as I didn’t like Mrs. Whitehouse, I was glad someone was getting to the point.

Mallory turned to me, her eyes wide. Rosie pushed the bowl of popcorn in front of us, and Mallory took a few kernels before asking, “Did you see the lights too?”

“We all saw them,” Mr. Specter said, and the group nodded in confirmation. “We met right there on the field. Before then, none of us knew the others had been out night walking too.”

“It was incredible,” Kevin Adams said. “I can still see those particles glowing in an enormous spiral on the field. Right away I knew we were experiencing something most people only dream of.” His eyes shone and I could imagine a teenage version of him. His younger self would be slimmer, and his Elvis hair and sideburns would look less out of place, I thought, on a younger, hipster-type. I tried to imagine the five people in the room—the lunch lady, comic book store owner, teacher, psychiatrist, and waitress—as teenagers so long ago, standing in the field marveling over a cosmic occurrence.

“And then, the changes began,” Rosie said. “We began to experience unusual things. You know what I’m talking about?” Mallory nodded and Rosie continued. “I myself noticed I could read minds. I won’t lie; it freaked me out a little bit. I got used to it, though.” She chuckled. “And I found out that what people say is very different from what they’re thinking.” Rosie reached for the pitcher on the coffee table, filled two plastic cups with lemonade, and handed them to Mallory and me. Even when she wasn’t working at the diner she still couldn’t resist giving people food and drink.

Mrs. Whitehouse raised her hand and said, “My turn.” Her voice got louder. “I discovered almost right away that I could heat things up just by touching them. My hand never changed temperature, but if I focused, whatever I touched got hotter and hotter. It was a big help when I got the job in the lunchroom right after high school.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, which made me realize exactly what looked off about her. Without her hair net, her head looked oddly bare.

There was a pause, and Mallory said, “What about the rest of you?”

Kevin Adams said, “Mine didn’t come for weeks, and at first I thought I’d been left out. And then, one day, I could see through things like I had X-ray vision. I went to Vegas in my early twenties and cleaned up at the card table. Eventually the casino owners figured something was up. They thought I was cheating and kicked me out, but by then I had made a small fortune. I used my winnings to buy the comic book store.”

“What about you, Dr. Anton?” I asked. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if he could read minds too, and if so, if he’d done it while I was his patient. That would have been a terrible intrusion.

“Mine was a little boring, I’m afraid,” he said, stroking his goatee. “I realized at some point that I could charge things. Electrical things. Old batteries and the like. It came in handy on occasion, but it wasn’t terribly useful.”

“Dr. Anton is being modest,” Mr. Specter said. “He was a human conductor of electricity, a marvel of science. It was truly amazing to see.”

“He was,” I said, suddenly realizing they’d all spoken in past tense. “So, not anymore?”

“No,” Mr. Specter said, shaking his head. “The abilities don’t last indefinitely.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and scanned the room, looking at the others. “When was the last time any of you were able to use your gifts? Or even were able to feel them?”

There was a collective murmur among the group. No one seemed able to pinpoint exactly when it had happened. “It just faded away,” Dr. Anton said.

“By the time I turned forty it was all over,” Rosie said. “It just got to be less and less and then it was gone.”

Kevin Adams said, “I lost my X-ray vision about the same time I lost the ability to run a mile without stopping. Now I’m huffing and puffing after a block or so. Don’t get any older if you don’t have to, kids.”

The other adults laughed. “Too many donuts, Kev,” said Mrs. Whitehouse, patting her own considerable stomach. “I told you they’d slow ya down.”

Mr. Specter said, “Let’s not get off track here. There are things Mallory and Russ need to know before they leave this room.” He fixed his eyes on me. “This is what we’ve learned over the past few decades, Russ. It seems that every sixteen years or so the light particles come, sometimes two years in a row and always near the field at the train station. At least that’s the case locally. The particles fall in other places in the world on a different time schedule, but just for our purposes we’ll talk about Edgewood.”

Dr. Anton said, “Certain types of people seem compelled to come into contact with the particles. They have trouble sleeping for months leading up to the event. Their homes start to feel claustrophobic. For inexplicable reasons they feel the urge to walk at night.”

“Certain types of people?” I said.

“Sophomores in high school,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, firmly.

“Just sophomores?” I asked, exchanging a look with Mallory.

“So far.” Mr. Specter got up and started pacing as he spoke. I recognized it as something he did in class. “We think it has something to do with cell growth of the individual at a specific age—sixteen years old, plus or minus six months or so.”

“And all of these individuals are exceptionally smart,” Dr. Anton said.

“Exceptionally smart?” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“I know I don’t seem smart,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, her face turning red, “but actually—”

“I don’t think he was referring to you,” Mr. Specter said, overriding her. “Were you, Mr. Becker?”

“No, sorry if you thought that.” I hadn’t been talking about her, but I could see where the mix-up occurred. “I meant me. I’m not exceptionally smart.”

“Every one of the teenagers affected has had exceptional intellectual abilities, including you, Russ,” Dr. Anton said. “Remember the tests I had you do when your parents first brought you in?”

I remembered. I’d filled out pages and pages of Scantron forms, all the while wondering what they had to do with having trouble falling asleep. “Yeah?”

“You scored quite high,” Dr. Anton said. “Nearly genius level. I suspect that if you’d been less sleep-deprived you’d have done even better.”

“So why do I have to work so hard to get good grades?”

“Because high school is boring,” Rosie said. “Good lord, it’s amazing you children learn anything the way schools are set up. No offense,” she said, smiling up at Mr. Specter.

“None taken,” he said.

“We know it’s happened before to other kids,” Mallory said. “And that some of them disappeared or died. Why?”

Mr. Specter took off his glasses and wiped them on the front of his shirt. The room got noticeably quieter and everyone’s gaze was aimed at the floor. I wondered if maybe this was news to them, if maybe Mallory had stumbled upon a pattern they hadn’t noticed.

“You weren’t aware of this?” I said.

“No, we all know about it,” Rosie said, her voice quavering. “We lost some good people that way.” Her voice broke the spell of silence. The rest of them lifted their heads and nodded thoughtfully.

“So why did it happen?” Mallory set down her glass of lemonade and searched their faces. “Where did all those kids go? Why did some of them die?”

“I’ll take this one, Sam, if you don’t mind,” Dr. Anton said. “It’s because of the Associates. There’s an organization, they call themselves the Associates. They run pretty much everything.”

“Everything where?” I asked.

“Everything everywhere,” Dr. Anton said. “Everything in the world of any consequence is controlled by the Associates.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Everything in the world?” Mallory said. “What do you mean? I’ve never heard of them.”

“Everything might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “They don’t do business in every single country.”

“Just the ones they care about,” Mr. Specter said. He perched on the end of the couch opposite us. “They don’t, for instance, seem to care much about Canada, which is a big mistake on their part.”

“Don’t underestimate the Canadians, I always say. They seem all nice and polite and apologetic, but when it comes right down to it, they’re survivors.” Rosie stood up with the pitcher. “Does anyone need a top-up on their lemonade?”

Mallory held out her cup. “So what does this have to do with us?”

“The Associates have always been around,” Mr. Specter said. “They were the ones who orchestrated the presidential assassination of 1865. They wreaked havoc with the financial world in the twenties and started the Great Depression. They’ve been behind every military action—”

“Sam, that’s enough,” Rosie said firmly. “You’re scaring them.” She sat down and put the pitcher on the table. She spoke directly to us. “In a nutshell—the Associates like to cause problems, because people are easier to manipulate when they’re hungry and desperate and panic-stricken. And the Associates are all about power and money. Greed. It’s an old story.”

“How can this be?” Mallory said. “Wouldn’t people know?”

“Most people don’t know,” said Kevin Adams. “And the ones who try to tell are discredited or killed. Those of us who do know—and there are hundreds of us—have to proceed very cautiously. We have a whole network of people working behind the scenes doing whatever we can to offset their evil. One of the ways we try to get the word out is through disguised mass media.”

“Disguised mass media?” I’d never heard that term before and couldn’t even imagine what it meant. If something was disguised, wouldn’t that mean hidden? How could it be mass media then?

“Through comic books!” Mallory said, her eyes lighting up.

Kevin pointed a finger at her. “Bingo, little lady. She’s a smart one,” he added, looking at Mr. Specter. “Comic books have more truth than people know. Movies too. We’re trying to get people used to certain concepts, so that if news of the Associates and what they’re doing becomes public, it won’t be a complete shock. We’re seeing progress too, now that comic books and graphic novels are becoming more mainstream.”

“I think we need to get back to the main reason for this meeting,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, brushing her hands together to wipe off popcorn salt. “We need to warn these kids about the recruiters.”

“Ah yes, the recruiters,” Mr. Specter said. “If it becomes known to the Associates that you have supernatural powers, you will be recruited to work for them. We need to avoid that at all costs.”

“That won’t happen,” Mallory said firmly. “My parents would never allow it. They want my high school experience to be a priority.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the Associates don’t take no for an answer,” Mr. Specter said. “It wouldn’t be optional.”

“Oh.”

I’d gotten good at reading Mallory’s face. All those hours of staring at her had paid off. I saw that she understood what he was saying, and that she also got that he’d indirectly answered the question about the kids who’d died or disappeared. Those were the kids who’d said no to the recruiters.

“How would they find out about us?” I asked. “And what can we do to avoid them?”

“Keep a low profile,” Rosie said. “Walking around at night out in the open is probably not a good idea, no matter how good the eggs are at the diner.” She smiled kindly, and I found myself smiling back, despite the seriousness of the discussion.

“Don’t show anyone your powers,” Kevin Adams said. “I know it’s tempting, but keep it to yourself. They have eyes everywhere.”

Mrs. Whitehouse jumped in. “Act normal at school and with your other friends. Don’t give anyone any reason to be suspicious.”

“Remember,” Dr. Anton said, “we’re here for you. You aren’t alone in this.”

“We’d like to talk to the other two young people as well, if you can arrange that,” Mr. Specter said. “Nadia and Jameson?”

“How do you know—?” I started to ask, but was interrupted by Mallory.

“That’s out of the question,” she said. “Both of them are homeschooled, and Nadia isn’t allowed anywhere without a family member. And Jameson, well, he can be difficult at times. I’m not sure I can get him to come.”

Mr. Specter sighed. “Ask anyway. We can always try another avenue if they won’t come willingly. Jameson’s father plays golf at the country club where Dr. Anton is a member. We may be able to arrange a different kind of meeting.”

“How is it that you know so much about us?” I asked.

“We had a rough idea of when to expect the light particles,” Kevin Adams said. “And we’ve been watching all the kids in Edgewood for months. We have the advantage over the Associates that way. They come sniffing around after the lights appear. By then, we’d hoped we’d be able to warn the kids who were affected.”

“Now that we’ve filled you in,” Mr. Specter said, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, “we’d like to make you an offer we think you’ll find very interesting.”

“Still listening,” I said.

“We’d like the two of you and Nadia and Jameson to join our group,” said Dr. Anton.

“Join the five of you?” Mallory’s index finger swooped in an arc from person to person like she was counting. “In doing what?”

“It’s not just the five of us,” Kevin Adams said. “Remember me mentioning that there’s hundreds of us quietly opposing the Associates? We’re just one small faction of a bigger group called the Praetorian Guard.”

“The Praetorian Guard?” I said it slowly, pronouncing each syllable.

“Exactly,” Kevin said. “That’s the name of our organization. Sometimes P.G. for short.”

“How’d you come up with that?” Mallory asked.

“The name ‘The Justice League’ was already taken,” Kevin said, chuckling. None of his friends joined in with laughter, so I was guessing it was an old joke. “But seriously, the Praetorian Guard has been around for a very long time. We haven’t been able to defeat the Associates yet, but not for lack of trying. Our organization began when groups around the world realized we were all fighting a common enemy. We banded together, all of us combining our strengths and uniting against the Associates.” His tone got serious, and he fixed his eyes on Mallory and me. “You are being called to join an organization that is making the world a better place. With your powers and our know-how, we have a real shot at destroying the Associates. So what do you think?”

“I don’t have a lot of free time this semester. What exactly would you want us to do?” Mallory said, asking the very thing I’d been wondering myself.

“Well, it depends on your powers,” Dr. Anton said. “We would test each of you to determine—”

A loud noise upstairs startled all of us and caused the doctor to stop mid-sentence. Someone was pounding on the door, ringing the doorbell, and yelling something undistinguishable all at the same time. It sounded like a woman’s voice, and she was furious.

“What in the world?” Rosie said.

“I’ll get rid of whoever that is,” Mr. Specter said, standing. “Probably a student prank.” He crossed the basement but stopped before going up the stairs. “None of you move a muscle,” he said, finger pointing. “Everyone stay right here.”

His footsteps on the stairs were nearly drowned out by the noises at his front door. The ringing, banging, and yelling had escalated. She wasn’t going to be easily turned away, whoever it was.

“Where was I?” Dr. Anton asked us, stroking his goatee.

“You said you’d test us?” Mallory offered, but it was no use. The distractions upstairs were too great, especially now that we heard Mr. Specter’s raised voice in response to the woman’s yelling. Everyone in the room looked up in alarm as we heard frantic movement on the floorboards above our heads. The woman was calling out something and now I could make out the words: “Russ! Where are you, Russ?”

My jaw dropped in shock. “It’s my sister,” I said to Mallory.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Carly clomped down the basement stairs, Mr. Specter on her heels. In the stairwell I heard her yell, “You people have a lot of nerve. If you think I’m going to let this happen again…” And then she turned the corner at the bottom landing and was in the room with us. I stood up and so did everyone else.

“Carly?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Russ, thank God,” she said, walking over to me. “You didn’t agree to anything, did you?”

“We were just talking,” Mallory said.

“Talking. That’s how it starts,” Carly said. From her tone, I knew she was gearing up for a big blow-up. I’d seen it before. “You people are pathetic,” she said to the group, her voice shaking in anger. “Sixteen years later and you’re still meeting here with your popcorn and lemonade. Still playing at saving the world.”

“Now, Carly,” Rosie said, but she might as well have been a speck of dust for all the notice my sister took.

Carly crossed the room and jabbed a finger toward Dr. Anton. “I’m the most disappointed in you. You’re supposed to be helping kids and instead you’re exploiting them. Haven’t you heard of doctor-patient confidentiality? If I’d known at the time that my parents had Russ seeing you, I would have put a stop to it right away.”

“Please, Carly,” Dr. Anton said, in the reassuring manner that I remembered quite well from my time as his patient.

“Don’t ‘please Carly’ me, I’ve heard it all before. You better watch it. My family could sue you for violating Russ’s rights and you’d lose your license. How would you like that?”

“You don’t need to get so worked up. I’ve done nothing to violate Russ’s rights.”

Carly waved a dismissive arm, as if to brush him away, and turned her attention to Kevin Adams. “And you! Reading comic books all day has done a number on your brain. You can play at superheroes all day if you want, but when you start involving my family—”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute there,” he said, holding up both hands.

“Please have a seat, Carly,” Mr. Specter said. He tried to guide her by her elbow, but she angrily shook him off.

“I’m not finished yet. The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves,” Carly said, looking directly at Mr. Specter and Mrs. Whitehouse. “Working in a high school and using your position of authority to wrangle students into your stupid game. How unethical is that?”

Mr. Specter looked rattled, but he kept his voice calm. “I’m not sure what you think is happening here, but I assure you—”

“Keep your nice talk for someone else,” Carly said. “I know what you’re all about, and as far as I’m concerned it’s your fault Gordon Hofstetter is dead. If you hadn’t encouraged him with your spy games he’d still be alive. I say enough already. Do what you want, but don’t involve my family. This ends now.” She beckoned. “Come on, Russ, we’re leaving.”

I don’t usually do everything Carly tells me to, just the opposite, in fact, but her mention of Gordon Hofstetter’s death kept me from questioning her. Two nights ago we’d taken him to the hospital. I’d held the old man in my arms and told him everything was going to be okay. He was in bad shape, but alive. And now he was dead? And this group of people was somehow connected?

Carly said, “You too, Mallory. We’re not leaving without you.” Mallory hesitated for only a moment, and then, seeing I was leaving, she came too. I guessed she didn’t want to be there without me.

Carly rested a hand on my shoulder. A little awkward since she’s shorter than me. Normally, I would have pulled away, but my brain was spinning from everything we’d heard that evening and I wasn’t feeling like myself anymore. She couldn’t resist one last retort. “Leave these kids alone, or you’ll be answering to me.”

We trudged up the stairs in silence. None of them tried to follow us, as I thought they might. Carly led us to the front door and didn’t speak until we were outside. “Do you have everything you came with?” she asked.

We both said yes, and then I asked, “How did you know I was here?”

“Frank told me about selling the stone to Mr. Specter. I went over to the house to talk to you, and Mom said you were here. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.” She pulled at my sleeve. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

As we fast-walked down the driveway to the cars parked at the curb, Mallory asked my sister, “You knew Mr. Hofstetter?”

“Yes,” Carly said, not stopping. “I knew him. I was in love with his grandson David. He’s dead too. It happened sixteen years ago, but I remember like it was yesterday.” Her voice was bitter. “They said David died in a car accident, but I knew it wasn’t an accident. Gordon knew it too, and he’s been watching and waiting for the lights to come back. Just recently he’s been digging around, making phone calls and asking questions. He told me he was onto something, and I begged him to stop. I told him it was dangerous. Sure enough they zapped him just to shut him up. I have a friend who works at the hospital and she said the cause of death was listed as heart failure. Another complete cover-up. I guess it doesn’t matter. In the end they got him too.”

“Who?” Mallory asked. “Who got him?”

Carly said, “The Associates, of course. Didn’t those idiots clue you in?”

“How is it you know all this?” I asked. It was a warm evening; the outside air had a hint of humidity, especially noticeable after having been in a basement.

Carly paused to get her car keys out of her purse. When she finally spoke, she didn’t answer my question. “Associating with these people is dangerous,” she said, gesturing to the house with a tilt of her head. “If someone was watching, you could be killed. Believe me, I know. Avoid them at all costs.”

“But I have to see Mr. Specter at school,” I said.

“And Mrs. Whitehouse too,” Mallory said. “There’s no getting around eating in the cafeteria.”

Carly said, “That’s different. I mean, don’t see them outside of your normal routine. Like tonight.” When we got to curb, she looked up and down the street and exhaled in relief when she saw it was quiet. “Mallory, I’m going to follow you home. Go straight home and walk right into the house. And this is important: never use your phone or computer to talk to anyone about this. It can be traced.”

“We figured out that much. We’ve been careful,” Mallory said, fishing through her own purse and pulling out a key ring. I realized at that second I was being robbed of the rest of the night with Mallory. My imagined stop at Starbucks wasn’t going to happen. It seemed I couldn’t get ahead in this relationship no matter what, but I guess that was the least of my worries at this point.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” I said, but my words were swallowed up by Carly repeating her instructions. “Go straight home and lock the door behind you. Don’t talk about this to anyone.”

“She heard you the first time.” I leaned against the car, thinking that Carly had a lot of explaining to do. “We’re not mentally challenged.”

“I know that,” Carly said. “Get in the car.”

Carly drove an ancient, beat-up Honda she called “old reliable.” It got great gas mileage and gave a smooth ride, but the seats were worn and the dashboard dusty. Still, if someone wanted to play a cassette tape, this would be the car to have. Empty Diet Coke bottles on the floor in the back scuttled from side to side with every turn. It drove me crazy, but Carly didn’t seem to notice.

Mallory pulled away from the curb, and Carly and I kept pace right behind her, only a car length between us. “So,” Carly said. “I take it you and Mallory have both been in contact with the light particles?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve each developed supernatural powers?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” she said glumly. “Which ones?”

“Mallory can do mind control,” I said, “and it seems that I can heal people.”

“Really.” Carly tapped on the steering wheel, and her forehead scrunched in thought. She reached over to turn on the radio, then seemed to think better of it and returned her hand to the wheel.

“I can also sense electricity,” I said. “I can tell where it’s coming from and how strong it is.” That wasn’t all though. I thought about how best to describe it. “Sometimes it feels like the electricity and I are one and the same.”

“That’s a new one. Are there any others?”

“Any other powers? Not that I know of.”

“No, I meant any other kids.”

“Oh, yeah. There’s Jameson. He can move objects with his mind. And Nadia. She can read people and see their past events. It’s like she can see into people’s—”

“You don’t need to explain. I know what it means,” Carly said.

“How do you know about all this?” I asked. “Did you see the lights when you were in high school?”

“No,” she said. “Not me. I was home that night, sleeping. But David Hofstetter, my boyfriend at the time, he’d been restless for months. He was out that night and saw it. Told me all about it the next day. He said it was like the universe had chosen him to experience something magical.” Carly snorted. “Some magic.” She continued, her voice dull. “There were four other kids there when David saw the lights. A few years later they were all gone. Either dead or they’d joined forces with the Associates.”

“Do Mom and Dad know about this?”

Carly turned to me, her eyebrows raised in alarm. “No! And you better not say anything to them either. Tell. No. One. Talking is a death sentence. You need to warn those other kids too. My advice? Don’t use your powers, don’t talk about it, go about your normal business. Live a regular teenage life. The Associates will eventually lose interest and go somewhere else.”

It was a lot to digest. We drove in silence, me thinking and Carly concentrating on keeping Mallory’s car in sight. At stop signs Mallory would lift a hand, and I always waved back, even though it made me look like a goof.

“How is it you know about Mr. Specter and his group?” I asked.

“Those people,” Carly said, spitting out the words. “Can you believe that all five of them stayed in Edgewood and got jobs that centered around teenagers just so they could see which kids would become affected? They never got over the glory years when they were the ones with the powers. They’ll coast on that forever.”

She still didn’t answer my question. I tried wording it differently. “How do you know all this?”

“They approached David and offered him the same deal they were going to give you. And you know how that turned out for him.” Carly sighed. “He was so excited about joining forces with them. He wanted to make a difference. Save the world.”

“Saving the world is an admirable goal,” I said, trying to put a positive slant on it. “What exactly was he going to do for them?”

Carly said, “They have some headquarters in the basement of Rosie’s Diner, and they have a whole computer setup where they share information with the rest of the Praetorian Guard groups all over the world. Supposedly he was going on some secret mission. They were going to arrange it and it was a big deal.” She dismissively flapped a hand in the air to show what she thought of that. “Then he died and I think those five were more disappointed about the mission being cancelled than anything else. Not too much happens in Edgewood. I think they’ve been itching for their share of the excitement for the past sixteen years.”

“I didn’t know Rosie’s Diner had a basement.”

“It’s a secret basement.” The sarcasm on the word “secret” was hard-hitting. “It’s all very high-tech and confidential.”

“Confidential? But you know about it.”

“David told me everything. I don’t think they counted on that happening.”

So much for telling a teenager to keep a secret, I thought. Mr. Specter’s bunch had to hate the idea that Carly knew so much about their organization.

“Where exactly does she live?” Carly asked when Mallory turned away from the residential section to loop around the industrial park. I knew what she was doing—going the long way so we’d pass the old train station and the field. I felt like I wanted to see it too, for some reason. Even now, with the light fragments gone, it was pulling us back.

“Old Edgewood,” I said. “She must be taking the long way around.”

Carly frowned, irritated. “Is your friend brain-damaged? I thought I was being pretty clear when I said to go straight home.”

“She’s not brain damaged,” I said, irate. “If anything she’s super smart. This is just a slight detour. Big deal. It adds all of three minutes. What could happen?”

The words were no sooner past my lips than Mallory slammed on the brakes to avoid a car that had pulled out in front of her. We skidded to a halt too, just stopping as the front end of our car made contact with Mallory’s back bumper. Carly swore loudly, using the profanity my mother hated most (taking the Lord’s name in vain), and I made a grab for the dashboard, as if that would help.

The car that caused our near accident had completely stopped, blocking our way. Mallory tapped on her horn, but Carly wasn’t nearly as polite. She leaned on the horn and rolled down her window. “Move it!” she yelled, sticking her head out the window.

When I saw two men, both dressed in dark suits, get out of the car and approach Mallory’s side of the car, I realized they weren’t going to be leaving any time soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I frantically unbuckled my seat belt and was halfway out the door as Carly said, “Russ, do not get out of this car. I’m telling you…” But I didn’t hear much beyond that because I’d already left the car and was running around it to get to Mallory.

I moved as fast as I could, adrenaline coursing through my veins. There wasn’t a clear thought in my head as to what I was going to do next. All I knew was that I needed to get to Mallory. Both men were by the driver’s side now. They’d somehow gotten the door open; one of them was trying to pull her out. She struggled back, but wasn’t saying a word. With no other sound besides the music from Mallory’s radio, the whole scene felt surreal, like watching a movie.

One of the men had a good grip on Mallory’s arms now and was pulling her out of the car head first. In a moment she’d be jerked out.

I didn’t see any weapons or anything else. Just two guys in suits, one holding the door, the other yanking on Mallory. Both looked to be in their early thirties. They had an identical generic look: tall, medium build, short hair.

“Hey!” I called out as I got closer. “Stop it!” In a second I was alongside them, but they didn’t pay any attention to me. “Hey,” I yelled again, and this time I put my hands on the arms of Mallory’s attacker, determined to pull him off of her.

In the background I heard Carly screaming for me to come back to the car. When it became clear I wasn’t coming back, she changed tactics. “I’m calling the police,” she yelled, getting out of the car, but not moving any closer. “The cops will be here in two minutes.” This was for the benefit of the men, who didn’t seem at all worried. “Two minutes! I’m warning you.”

“Let go of her,” I yelled, lunging toward Mallory’s attacker. I grabbed hold of his arms and pulled, but he had biceps like steel. I was a weakling compared to him, but I couldn’t give up because now I caught sight of Mallory’s face. She looked stunned and afraid. Seeing me she found her voice. “Please, let me go! Please.” Hearing her plead was heartbreaking.

The man holding the door shoved me aside like I was a little kid, and I fell backwards onto the ground where I wound up looking up at the sky. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs. My head hit so hard that my vision was affected—seeing stars is how they show it in comic books, and that wasn’t too far from the truth. I pushed myself up off the asphalt and staggered to my feet unsteadily, like a drunk. Blinking, I saw that the one man had Mallory out of the car, and that she’d reacted by pulling her legs up to become dead weight. She screamed. No words, just the raw shrieks of someone completely terrified. The other guy grabbed hold of her legs, and the two carried her toward their car, which I now noticed had the trunk popped open.

I ran in front of them and physically blocked them. Mallory’s eyes locked on mine as she kicked and flailed. I knew I was her last hope. “Put her down,” I said.

They paused briefly before the taller of the two, the one holding Mallory’s legs, pulled something out of his pocket and pointed it at me. The device in his hand looked like a toy gun—black plastic with yellow stripes on the side. A taser. An instant later, I felt a surge of electricity shoot into my chest.

The blast knocked me to my knees, and then I keeled over onto the pavement. I felt the voltage radiate from the point of impact, and for a second I thought my heart would stop. An intense pain made every muscle in my body contract. Every nerve ending screamed in agony.

Mallory screamed, “Russ!”

And then, something happened. Instead of the voltage defeating me, it expanded in my body and I turned it around and took control of it. The guy had no idea what he’d set off. I was the master of electricity, and he’d just given me more. Not only that, but he’d really pissed me off.

Like an acrobat, I leaped up. Purely on instinct, I blasted him back, electricity shooting out of my palm into his chest. I threw what looked like a splash of lightning, and I did it with a vengeance. Until that moment I didn’t know I was capable of doing such a thing, but once I did it, it felt like my birthright. The man fell to his knees and clutched his front. In the process, he dropped the taser, which skidded several feet away from him. And then he screamed a truly horrible scream that echoed off the buildings of the industrial park. No one was around to hear it, except us.

The second guy released Mallory, and she dropped to the ground. “Tim?” he said. Seeing his buddy convulsing in pain, his attention shifted to me. He took a step toward me, his face contorted in anger. He pulled something out of his pocket; I didn’t wait to see what it was, but let out another jolt of electricity. This time, not as much. Like sticking my thumb over the garden hose to hamper the flow of water, I found I could control the amount of electricity discharged from my hands.

Flailing, he staggered back, and then he dropped to his knees. The handgun he’d pulled out of his pocket clattered to the ground. Like his partner, he wound up doubled over on the road, shrieking from the shock.

Mallory managed to get up, and she took a step back as if they might suddenly regain the ability to grab her again. She gave me a look of wide-eyed wonder. “How did you do that?” she asked.

Carly came rushing up and gaped as she saw the men writhing in pain on the road. “Oh man,” she said after a moment. “That’s something I haven’t seen in a really long time.”

I looked at my palms expecting to see a change, but my hands were the same as they’d always been. The skin was intact, not red or injured or any different than before.

Mallory asked, “What happened exactly?”

Carly said, “Russ just shot lightning bolts out of his hands and electrocuted two of the Associates.”

Mallory’s mouth dropped open. “How?” The question was directed at me, but my sister answered instead.

“His body generates electricity and he expels it through his hands. I’ve seen it done before,” Carly said. “David could do it. The Associates desperately wanted him for that reason.”

I stared at the men down on the ground, writhing in pain. They’d been stunned, and I was stunned in a different way. I’d jolted them reflexively, wanting to save Mallory from being abducted, and it had worked. But seeing them in so much pain, and knowing I had caused it, made me feel terrible, after the fact. This wasn’t a comic book. These were real people—adult men with mothers and fathers, and maybe wives and children.

All my life, I’d never looked for a fight. It just wasn’t my personality. And this? This was so far removed from who I was. Or who I had been, anyway.

While I stared numbly at them moaning and clutching themselves, Mallory and Carly debated what to do next. Mallory, still shaking, suggested we back up our cars and leave the men there, then drive home using another route. “Circle back and take the main roads,” she said. Carly agreed, and added we should call 911 anonymously and have an ambulance sent to this location. They discussed taking the taser and gun with us, and decided against it.

Listening to them, I knew their plan sucked. You don’t leave injured men behind, even if they are the enemy. And in their present state, these guys could talk. We’d never be safe then. Somehow, some way, the Associates would be back and they’d try to get us again, especially now that they knew what I could do. No, we needed to finish this.

Carly had her phone out and was just about to call when I said, “Don’t even. There’s a change of plan. We’re doing this my way.”

I thought Carly was going to override me like she’s done nearly my entire life, but seeing me shoot electricity out of my palms apparently gave her a new respect for old Russ. “What did you have in mind?” she said.

“I want to try something,” I said. “Using both my and Mallory’s powers, I think we can make this whole problem go away.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

After I explained my idea, Mallory and Carly looked impressed. “That could actually work,” Carly said.

“But I’d have to touch them,” Mallory said, looking down at the men fearfully. They were quieter now, moaning quietly, their bodies still wracked with pain. “I don’t really want to touch them.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I won’t let them hurt you. If they try anything else, I’m ready for them.” I curled my hands into fists, certain I could summon electric charges again if I needed to. It was a reassuring thought. Now I knew how weight-lifting guys felt when they flexed their muscles: prepared, capable, strong. Powerful. No wonder they acted so confidently.

“I think if you’re going to do this you should do it quickly.” Carly glanced nervously down the road. “Before someone else comes along and we have to explain what happened.”

“Are you ready?” I asked Mallory. She still looked worried, but she nodded. “We can do this,” I said to her. “Together.”

We both bent down over the first man, the one who’d tasered me, and I rolled him onto his back. Kneeling down and putting my hands on his chest, I tried to remember what I’d done when I’d healed Mallory’s cut. I knew I’d had a certain mindset, an emotion I’d tried to infuse from my hands to hers. Positive, loving energy. Easy to do with Mallory, but with this guy? Not so much. It might even be impossible, but I had to try.

I held my hands firmly against him and focused all my thoughts and energy on the connection between us. We were two separate people linked now by skin and bone and blood and energy. Especially energy. Just like with Mallory, the energy from me hummed right at the point of contact and spread into his body until I could feel his cells beginning to recover from the very injury I’d inflicted. The man’s face grew less tense as I lifted away the pain. I raised my chin to Mallory to indicate it was her turn. Still hovering over us, Carly held the phone, ready to call 911 if this whole thing backfired.

Mallory reluctantly placed her hands next to mine on the man’s chest. His eyes fluttered open at her touch, which seemed to unnerve her.

“Go ahead,” I said. “It’s going to be fine.” She swallowed and then began just as he was reaching awareness. Somehow Mallory and I managed to be perfectly in sync. It reminded me of practicing CPR as a team, although in this case we were giving healing and false memory instead of life.

She leaned over and spoke directly to him. “Listen carefully. This is the truth. You and your partner investigated all the kids in Edgewood and found that none of them came into contact with the light particles on the field. You’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary. You’ve concluded without a doubt that none of the teenagers in this town were affected by the light particles.”

The other man, sprawled a few feet away, lifted his head and said, “Don’t listen to them, Tim. Be strong.” He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

Carly nudged him with her foot. “Mind your own business.”

“Don’t forget about the other part,” I said to Mallory. I felt my hands getting warmer as I delivered healing power. In my mind’s eye, I saw the damage I’d inflicted and I also sensed his body repairing itself with my energy.

“Oh yeah.” Mallory shifted closer. “No matter what anyone tells you, you will be firm in your belief that nothing of importance happened in Edgewood. The person who was chased by your colleagues on Thursday night was just randomly walking by. He saw nothing.”

“Good.” I gave her an approving look.

Then she added a little something of her own. “Repeat what I just told you.”

The other man moaned and said, “No, Tim, no.” We ignored him.

Tim said, “Nothing happened in Edgewood. No teenagers came into contact with the light particles. We saw no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. The man who came by the field on Thursday night was a random passerby and is of no consequence.”

“Perfect,” Mallory said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How sure?” she asked.

“I would stake my life on it.”

My part in this was over. Just like the sensation I had when Mallory’s cut was healed, I felt done. I held up my hands. “Finished,” I said.

Mallory kept her palms pressed against the guy’s chest. “I want you to get up and stand next to your car. When your partner comes to the car, I want you both to get in and drive away. If you recall stopping, you’ll remember that one of you had to get out to pee. If you feel sick tomorrow, you’ll think you both picked up a flu bug. Leave Edgewood as soon as possible. You understand me, Tim?”

“Yes, I understand.” And just like that, he rose up, brushed the dirt off his suit, and walked over to the waiting car. He was a human robot and Mallory was the one doing the programming.

We watched him until Carly said, “Come on, come on. Let’s get going!”

We both crouched over the other man and placed our hands over his chest. Since I hadn’t blasted him quite as hard, he was more aware and in less pain than the other guy. “Not going to listen,” he said in a soft voice when Mallory started her speech, but within a few minutes, he too was agreeing with everything she said. I concentrated on sending healing energy through my hands while she told him our version of reality, complete with their stop to pee and the flu bug they both might pick up the next day. “Do you understand?” she asked.

“Yes, I understand,” he said.

“Repeat it back to me.”

And he did. I looked up at Carly like—Can you believe this? But she looked less awed than me, probably because she’d had sixteen years to get used to the idea of teenagers with superpowers.

“One more thing,” Mallory said. “I need to know who the top person is in your organization. I want a name.”

I gave her an appreciative look. She truly was a genius.

“I can’t say,” he said.

“You need to tell me.” Her voice was firm.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know who’s in charge?” I asked. “Or you don’t want to tell?” Mallory and I exchanged puzzled looks. Why wasn’t her mind control working?

The man didn’t answer me. It seemed that only Mallory could ask the questions and get a response. She repeated what I’d said. “You don’t know who’s in charge?”

“No one knows, except those at the top.” He talked like someone who was half-asleep. “We call him the commander.”

“Who do you report to then?” Mallory asked.

“My division leader—Miller.”

“What’s Miller’s full name?”

“Just Miller. I don’t know any more than that.”

Just a last name, and a pretty generic one at that. Mallory’s eyes met mine and she shrugged. “Okay then,” she said, and proceeded to reiterate the rest of the story. From the way she stressed how they were going to feel sick the next day, I got the feeling she was pretty sure this mind control was going to give them a kind of next day hangover. “Do you understand?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay then, get up and join your friend.” Mallory’s voice was kindly, like she was instructing a six-year-old.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” Carly said. “This is taking too long.”

The man didn’t hurry up, but walked at a steady clip. We got back into our cars and watched as the men climbed into their car, put their seat belts on, and drove away.

“Do you think it will work?” I asked Carly.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said. “It seemed to.”

We followed Mallory the rest of the way home in silence, not even listening to the radio. After Mallory’s car was safely inside a closed garage door, Carly drove me home. “Are you coming in?” I asked as we pulled into the driveway.

“No, I have to get back,” she said. “Frank is at the neighbor’s. I said I’d only be gone a short time, and I hate to make him wait.”

“Okay.” Maybe she was a better mom than I gave her credit for. I started to get out of the car and then thought of something. “Carly?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for watching out for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. You know I love you, right, Russ?”

That last sentence took me by surprise, mostly because we were not a family who professed our love for each other. My dad always said the Beckers were from proud German stock. We were hard workers, on time, reliable. We’d do anything for each other, but we weren’t huggers or kissers or people who gushed. Maybe though, we should be.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. I realized that I hadn’t quite known how she felt about me until that moment. Carly had always been a peripheral person in my life. Always there, but not really there. Flitting in and out of the house, lurking on the edges. We shared parents, but she felt like a young aunt or a much older cousin, not a sister. “But thanks for saying it anyway.”

“You’re welcome.” And then in true Carly fashion she had to throw in some lingo, just to show me she was up to date. “You know I’ve got your back, Russ. That’s how I roll.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t know anyone my age who talked like that unless they were being ironic.

CHAPTER THIRTY

I slipped into the house and past my parents, who were, as usual, in front of the television, although they didn’t seem to be watching it. Mom flipped through a magazine, while Dad had his head tilted back and eyes closed. I knew if I mentioned this later he’d claim he was resting. He never admitted to falling asleep in the recliner. As I went by, I said, “I’m back. Good night,” and I headed upstairs before my mother asked any questions and I’d have to lie about the fictional science demonstration at Mr. Specter’s house.

I’d just plunked myself on my bed and turned on my laptop when I heard my mother’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Inwardly I groaned. She never came up unless I was in trouble or she wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk. I hadn’t done anything wrong that I knew of—my grades were good, I’d completed my chores like a good son, and I’d cleaned up the mess in my bathroom, and thrown away the bloody clothes. No, I couldn’t be in any trouble. This had to be a talk. Not really what I needed right now.

She came up the stairs so slowly it pained me to listen. Mom relied on the railing a lot, and I heard her grab the bar, pull, and step all the way to the top. When she opened the door it was no surprise, but I played along and looked up as if it was. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “What’s up?”

“You ran off so quickly that I didn’t get a chance to talk to you,” she said. Oh no. I was right. We were having a talk.

“What about?”

“Can I sit down?” she asked, motioning to my desk chair.

I could hardly say no, seeing as how she owned the place. “Sure.”

She sat and looked at me intently. “I’m worried about Carly.”

Whew. So this wasn’t about me. I thought carefully about what to say. If I’ve learned anything about dealing with parents it’s that you can get yourself in a lot of trouble talking too much, so my rule was to say as little as possible. “I just saw Carly. She stopped in at Mr. Specter’s to give me a ride home and she seemed fine.” Mom didn’t look convinced, so I added, “I don’t think you need to worry about her.”

“While you were gone she came flying in here, and then she became all upset when she found out about you going to Mr. Specter’s house. She accused Dad and me of being terrible parents, of not thinking things through.” Her eyes looked sad and she got a worried vertical crease in the middle of her forehead.

Time for some damage control. I said, “I don’t know what she’s talking about. You guys aren’t terrible. I think you’re great. I couldn’t ask for better parents.”

Mom looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Carly seemed to think that it was suspicious that Mr. Specter would have students over to his house. Frankly, I didn’t think anything of it, but after she said that, I did think it was unusual. Mr. Specter, he didn’t ask you to do anything you were uncomfortable with, did he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with all the talk of adults taking advantage of kids these days…”

“Oh my God, Mom, that’s so sick. Do you really think someone could take advantage of me that way? I’m not six.”

She looked relieved. Mission accomplished. “Of course not. That’s what I thought. Carly just made it sound so sinister.”

“Mr. Specter’s a good guy. A little unconventional, as teachers go, but solid.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Carly also seemed upset about something else. Maybe she mentioned a Mr. Hofstetter who died recently?”

“Yeah, she mentioned him. A really old guy, right?”

Mom nodded. “You’ve probably seen him around town. Nice man. He’s been all alone for years now.”

“Carly said she knew his grandson.”

“She told you about David?” Mom looked startled.

“Just his name and that she knew him in high school. She said he died in a car accident.” I hesitated, about to say that I knew they’d been dating, then remembered my philosophy about saying as little as possible and let it go.

“And that’s all she said?”

“Sure. What else is there?”

“Nothing. I just wondered.” She stared down at the floor like she was thinking, and didn’t say anything for what seemed like the longest time.

“I wouldn’t worry about Carly,” I finally said. “She was probably just in a mood. You know how she gets.”

“I know.” Mom patted the arm of my chair and then stood. “Okay then, I’m glad we touched base.”

“Me too, Mom. Stop by anytime. It’s always a pleasure.”

“Smart aleck,” Mom said, but I could tell she was amused. She paused at the door. “One more thing. Dad and I are going to Mr. Hofstetter’s funeral tomorrow night and we’d like you to come with us.”

“How come?”

“Do you have other plans?”

“Well, no…” Couldn’t she see how weird this was? Why would she ask me to go to the funeral of someone I didn’t know?

“I’d really appreciate it.” She stood in the doorway like she had all night and wouldn’t be moving until I said yes. “Please, Russ. The poor man had very little family.”

And that’s my problem? But the look on her face was persuasive. “Okay,” I said. “If it’s important to you, of course I’ll go.”

“Carly is going too.”

“And Frank?”

Mom said, “No, not Frank. Why would he go?”

More importantly, why would any of us go? But I didn’t question it. “I don’t know. I just wondered. Never mind.”

“Good night, son,” she said. “I love you.”

As she clomped down the stairs I reflected on the fact that for the second time this evening a family member had told me they loved me. Suddenly people felt the need to say how much they cherished me. Very weird.

All this talk of Gordon Hofstetter’s funeral reminded me of the medallion he’d given me. I got up off the bed and pulled it out from under my keyboard, then unfolded the paper to get a closer look. I turned on the desk light. If my dad were here, he’d say something corny like, “Time to shed a little light on the subject,” and then he’d chuckle like he thought it was hilarious. Both of my parents were really easily amused. With the light on I could see more clearly though. Like a coin from the Civil War era, the medallion just looked old. The spiral design, I thought, had to be connected to the pattern the light fragments made on the field. Mr. Specter’s group had told us that this had happened in other parts of the world too, and many times in the past. Maybe this medallion had historical significance, an artifact from another era. I was tempted to look online and see if I could find another medallion like it, but I knew that was a bad idea.

I was less certain about the paper. The scribbles on it were so light they were hard to read. Someone had sketched some shapes over most of the paper, and along one edge were a series of numbers that meant nothing to me. Some kind of code, maybe? Then again, the paper might be nothing but an old sheet of paper he’d grabbed to wrap the medallion in.

In the car at the hospital Gordon Hofstetter had said someone (his son?) was being held prisoner, but his thinking seemed to be muddled, probably because the poor guy had just been electrocuted. For all I knew he was thinking of a movie or TV show. He’d also said I should carry this medallion and paper with me always. He himself kept it in a secret pocket, so he obviously thought it had some value. I got out my wallet and stuck the wad behind the plastic covered compartment where most people put their driver’s license. It was a safe enough place; I almost always carried my wallet with me, and no one ever looked in it but me.

I read a few chapters from my psychology textbook before turning in for the night. I used to think psychology was my most interesting class, but now that I had the ability to blast people with electricity and heal injuries, the scientific study of the human mind and behaviors seemed downright mundane. Reading did make me tired though, which was what I was going for. After getting ready for bed, I shut off the light and climbed under the covers, ready to get some sleep. I thought back to all my nights of insomnia. Preparation, apparently, for the night I needed to be up to see the light particles fall from the sky. I’d been drawn to the field. It was my destiny to be there on the one night that changed everything.

I thought about Dr. Anton and the fact that he was a child psychiatrist with a specialty in sleep disorders. He’d deliberately gone into a field that would help him identify night walkers like me. And Kevin Adams, owner of a store geared to kids. He probably waited for kids to come in asking about cosmic events in comic books. Mr. Specter and Mrs. Whitehouse at school—watching the sophomores to see if they showed signs of exposure—and Rosie, staying open all night, her diner a beacon for those who couldn’t sleep.

Could they be trusted? Carly didn’t think so, but I was a pretty good judge of people and I thought they were okay. A bunch of grown-up nerds playing at saving the world? Yes. But well intended, I thought.

I was almost asleep when I heard it. A female voice, undulating like a shimmer in my mind. Russ?

If it had been a real voice, one spoken aloud, I would have sat up and turned on my bedside lamp, but it wasn’t a real voice. It was a thought, or a memory, or a figment of my imagination.

Russ? Can you hear me?

I stared at the ceiling, which was softly illuminated by the light of my clock radio, and wondered if I was losing my mind.

It’s me, Nadia.

“Nadia?”

She laughed, and it reminded me of Tinkerbell in a production of Peter Pan my mother had dragged me to when I was a kid. A delighted, pleased-with-herself laugh. Her voice came through again: I just figured out I could do this!

I smiled. “How?”

I was in bed wishing I wasn’t trapped in the house all the time and the next thing I knew I was rising out of my bed and over the house and then I came here. It was like flying, Russ! I can’t believe I can do this. I’m free!

“So is your body still asleep back home?”

I don’t know. I guess.

She seemed unconcerned about her physical self back at home. What if something happened and she couldn’t get back? “Aren’t you worried about being out of your body? Like this might be dangerous?”

I still feel linked to my body, like I’m somehow tethered to it. I know I can go back anytime I want.

“So you’re not worried at all?”

I felt the equivalent of a shrug on her part, and then she said, I don’t feel worried. I feel euphoric, like someone opened the door to my cage.

I tried again: “But don’t you feel like getting all these abilities is confusing and overwhelming and scary?”

No, I love it. Love it. Now I can tolerate the hell that is my life.

“Well, be careful.”

You don’t have to speak out loud. I can pick up on your thoughts.

Okay. Be careful.

What could go wrong? I’m going to go see Mallory next. The sound of her voice in my thoughts had a different quality than her real world voice. Happy. She sounded happy.

Okay.

Should I tell her you said hi?

No, that’s not necessary.

Because you like her, right?

Of course I like Mallory. I like all of you. Which was a little white lie, since I wasn’t all that crazy about Jameson. I didn’t exactly hate him or anything, but I wouldn’t miss him if he were gone. I wondered how much of my thoughts Nadia could read. Like right now, could she tell I was wondering how much she could read, or could she only pick up on the messages I wanted to give her?

She said: All the guys like Mallory. She’s the obvious choice.

She’s very likeable.

She told me you can shoot lightning bolts out of your palms. And that you’re getting good at healing.

Working on it, yeah.

You need to be careful with that. It makes you stand out.

I’m always careful, Nadia. You do the same.

Good night then.

Good night.

The air in the room felt different after she left. The sparkle was gone. As I dozed off I thought about everything that had happened in the last week. Nadia didn’t find any of it confusing or overwhelming or scary, but I sure did. What could possibly happen from here?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I was pretty preoccupied in school the next day, thinking about everything that had happened in the last eight days. Part of me wondered if I’d imagined having Nadia visit the night before, but no—it seemed real enough. The next morning I remembered the correct term for this type of out-of-body experience: astral projection. Not knowing had been bugging the crap out of me, but I didn’t dare look it up online. Not being able to Google things was really setting me back.

By now I was used to feeling electricity all around me in the same way I was used to breathing. I generally don’t notice air unless something about it changes a lot, and that’s an apt comparison. Being able to direct the electricity was another thing, and I couldn’t resist trying it out from time to time, just because. In English class I sat all the way in the back in the last row by the window. While my teacher, Ms. Lawson, droned on about something or other, I combated boredom by passing electricity back and forth between my hands. I kept it very low level so that it was barely perceptible, except to me. I’d been so zoned out that I didn’t realize we were about to watch a video clip, and when Ms. Lawson turned out the lights, I was so startled that the electricity between my hands sparked, lighting up the area over my desk. I stopped right then, of course, but the damage had been done.

“Russ Becker!” Ms. Lawson turned the lights back on. “What is it you have there?” My stomach dropped as she marched over to me; every kid in the room turned to stare.

I stammered, “No-no-nothing,” which made me look really guilty.

“Cell phone use is not allowed during school hours,” she said, repeating something we’d all heard a million times. Now she stood over me, giving me an unflattering view of the inside of her nostrils.

“I know, ma’am,” I said. “I don’t have mine with me.”

“Then what was that light I saw?”

“Static electricity,” I said. “The soles of these shoes are a problem that way.”

It was pretty lame, but since my desktop was completely clear, except for a notebook and pen, and I wouldn’t have had time to hide anything, she let it go at that. I made a pact with myself to be more careful in the future. It didn’t take much to arouse suspicions.

At my last class at the end of the day, I slid into my seat in Mr. Specter’s class, eager to talk to Mallory, but she was busy speaking to a girl in the seat in front of her. I gave her ponytail a gentle yank, and when she finally turned around, I said, “I got a visit from Nadia last night.”

“Me too,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Wasn’t that bizarre? I couldn’t believe it. Kind of creepy, but she seemed pretty happy about it.”

“She said she felt free.”

“I guess if one of us was going to develop that particular talent, I’m glad it was her.”

And then class began and our time ran out. Not that there was much to discuss besides the wow factor of having a friend who could do astral projection. I was getting to the point that nothing much surprised me anymore.

When class was over, Mr. Specter called out, “Mr. Becker, could I talk to you for a moment?”

What could I do? I nodded and watched as Mallory picked up her books, preparing to leave. I’d hoped to talk to her, but this was the last class of the day and she’d soon be gone. Our discussion would have to wait.

I gathered up my stuff and went to the front of the room where Mr. Specter stood waiting next to his desk. I’d always liked him as a teacher. He had passion and was entertaining. Plus, his class was an easy A for me. Last night had changed things. I still liked him as a teacher, but I didn’t entirely trust him. “Yes?”

Other students lingered in the back of the room. They weren’t paying any attention to us, but he lowered his voice anyway. “I wanted to touch base with you about the subject of last night.”

He paused for so long that I finally said, “I’m listening.”

“I know your sister is biased against me and my colleagues,” he said. “But I want you to know that our offer of help still stands. We’d love to serve as mentors to you and your friends. We can help ensure your safety.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mr. Specter looked at me over his glasses. “It sounds like you’re dismissing me.”

“No, just weighing my options,” I said, glancing back. Mallory had already left the room. “There’s a lot to think about. You understand, I’m sure.”

He sighed. “Yes, I understand more than you know. Well, if you change your mind, I’m available any time of the day or night. Feel free to call or come over.” He went behind his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a business card. “Keep this with you at all times. You never know when you’ll need it.”

This was the second time someone told me to carry something with me always—first Gordy’s medallion and now this card. I took it from his hand and stuck it in my pocket. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

***

Almost five hours later I walked into the funeral parlor wearing my best and only suit, the one that had been hanging in my closet under a plastic sleeve since the homecoming dance the year before. We arrived early, a bad habit in my family. My parents walked on either side of me, like guards escorting a prisoner. It felt like that too.

“How long do we have to stay?” I asked out of the side of my mouth. My mother gave me a sharp look which indicated we’d be staying as long as necessary, and that she’d be deciding what constituted necessary.

Once inside the entryway, we were greeted by a guy who seemed to be the funeral home butler. He ushered us through a doorway on our left. While my parents signed the guest book, I surveyed the nearly empty room. The place was fancy, with heavy velvet drapes and fussy-looking furniture. Floral wallpaper covered the walls; the pictures were framed landscapes topped with their own spotlights. On the far end of the room, rows of folding chairs faced an open casket surrounded by flowers. The air smelled like floral-scented fabric softener. Up front, my sister Carly stood talking to the only other people in the room, an older couple.

When Carly saw us walk in, her face dropped in disapproval and her mouth set in irritation. I’ve seen that look before—the storm before the even bigger storm. She rushed over to confront my mother. “What is Russ doing here?”

“You look very nice, Carly,” my mother said in a level tone. And Carly did look nice. For her it was a conservative look—knee-length black skirt and frilly gray button-down top with some kind of clunky silver necklace. She wore such high heels she was nearly my height.

“Take him home,” she hissed. “He shouldn’t be here.”

I was about to say I didn’t even want to be here, when I saw, coming up behind Carly, the couple she’d been talking to up front by the coffin. The woman led the way. “Good evening,” she said softly, extending her hand toward my parents. “I’m Marian Hofstetter.”

Carly switched from irritated to charming and introduced our parents to the Hofstetters. (It turned out that Marian’s husband was John Hofstetter, Gordy’s son.) Both sets of parents remembered each other from when Carly had been dating the Hofstetters’ son, so many years before, but no one spoke David’s name. The four adults did the usual exchange. My parents: Our condolences on your loss, and the Hofstetters: Thank you for coming. I saw a pained look on Carly’s face. Perhaps she was thinking that if David hadn’t died, they’d be married by now with a bunch of kids, and this couple would be her in-laws. Maybe she thought that would be a better version of her life and that she’d be happier. If only. Of course, we wouldn’t have Frank Shrapnel then, which was hard to conceptualize. What would holidays be like without that kid?

“And who is this?” Mrs. Hofstetter said, and I realized she was repeating herself but I hadn’t heard the question the first time because I’d been lost in thought.

“This is our son, Russ,” my dad said, gripping my shoulders and steering me closer, which was incredibly weird, not to mention rude.

“Hi,” I said, sticking out my hand.

But she didn’t take my hand, just gave me such an uncomfortably piercing look I was tempted to look away. Then she did something really odd. She placed her hands on either side of my face and said, “Russ? That’s your name?” Mrs. Hofstetter stared as if I were under a microscope. Between my family’s behavior and this, I wasn’t sure what to think.

When I nodded, she pulled her hands away. I said, “My name is actually Russell, but no one calls me anything but Russ.”

“It’s a lovely name,” she said, looking at her husband, who wasn’t doing anything but standing there. “I guess I’m just surprised because I didn’t know Carly had a brother.” There was an accusatory note in her voice I couldn’t quite understand.

“It wasn’t a secret,” Carly pointed out.

But Mrs. Hofstetter’s attention was on me and me alone. “How old are you, Russ?”

“Fifteen.” It sounded young, even to me. “I’ll be sixteen this summer.”

“I see,” she said, and then I heard the hushed voices of other people entering the room, which seemed to break the spell.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said to both of them.

“Thank you,” Mr. Hofstetter said.

I sensed someone behind me and felt a tap on my shoulder. To my surprise, it was Mallory. I gave her a big smile until I noticed Jameson lurking like a snake right behind her. “This is my good friend Mallory Nassif,” I said. “Mallory, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hofstetter. Gordon Hofstetter was Mr. Hofstetter’s father.” I purposely left Jameson out. He could maneuver his own introduction.

Mallory was good with the social graces. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s death,” she said, her head tilting sympathetically to one side. “I saw him often at the diner in town and enjoyed talking to him. He was a very sweet man.”

During all of this, Carly looked uncomfortable, like she wished we all would just go away. Probably, I surmised, it was because she knew the Hofstetters and we were intruders. Well, too bad. I might not have known Gordon Hofstetter for as long as she had, but I was with him the night he died. Maybe I didn’t even want to be at the funeral, but I was entitled to attend.

People drifted in behind us, and Mr. Hofstetter thanked us for coming and said, “If you’ll excuse us, I think we have a few other people we need to talk to.” His wife reluctantly followed him to the front of the room.

After I’d introduced Mallory and Jameson to my parents, and we’d done the walk up to the front to pay our respects (Gordy, with his slicked-back hair and a dark brown suit and tie, did not look like himself at all), my folks said it was time to take a seat for the service.

I’d wanted to sit with Mallory, but my mom was clear that we were there as a family. “You can see your friends anytime,” she said, directing me with a firm hold on the back of my arm.

We sat up front, Dad on one side of me, Carly on the other. My dad, who normally never showed any interest in my social life, felt compelled to whisper (loudly), “That Mallory is awfully cute.” He nudged me repeatedly with his elbow until I gave him a head bob of acknowledgment. Parents.

Next to me, Carly swiveled in her seat; she seemed to be taking inventory of the crowd. “Oh great,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

I followed her nod to see that the place was nearly full. Scanning the faces, I locked in on the ones Carly had noticed: Mr. Specter, Kevin Adams, Mrs. Whitehouse, and Rosie. The only notable absence of the five was Dr. Anton. “What are they doing here?” I whispered to my sister.

She shrugged. “Paying their respects, I guess.”

“But not Dr. Anton?”

“Maybe he had something better to do.”

When the service started, a minister stepped up to the podium and asked us to join him in praying for Mr. Hofstetter. I checked the time on my phone and looked back to see if I could catch Mallory’s eye, but unlike me, she was praying. I did, however, catch Jameson’s eye. The dweeb’s arm extended over the back of Mallory’s chair, and he had a smug look on his face. Well, let him have his fun. Sneaking an arm behind her hardly counted as anything.

When the minister stepped away, John Hofstetter took his place at the podium, thanking us for being there to honor the memory of his father. He talked about Gordon Hofstetter’s forty-year career with the electric company and his devotion as a father, husband, and grandfather. I felt a flush of shame at how I’d thought of him as just an old guy. I’d been judgmental, something I hate in other people. I wondered, is it hypocritical to judge people for being judgmental? I thought it probably was.

My attention jerked back to the present when I saw Carly noticeably tensing. Her hands clutched her purse, and I noticed her mouth tighten.

Mr. Hofstetter was saying, “Many of you remember my son, David. He would be thirty-two if he’d lived, but unfortunately he died in a car accident when he was sixteen. My father never got over David’s death. He was our only child and his only grandchild. My wife and I found it too hard to live here with all the reminders of our son, which is why we moved out of state. We encouraged Dad to come with us, but he was firm in wanting to stay in Edgewood. He couldn’t accept David’s death as an accident, and for years he pressed the police to investigate further. I want to thank everyone here who was kind to my father in his last years, especially Carly Becker, who checked in on him from time to time and performed many other kindnesses.”

My parents and I looked at Carly in amazement. It was like she’d been living a double life: outwardly a self-absorbed, too-cool-for-school young mom, but secretly acting as Mother Teresa bringing comfort to the elderly. Her face gave nothing away; she just listened. Mr. Hofstetter talked on about Edgewood as a community of neighbors who cared about each other, and the crowd nodded in agreement. Personally, I’d never given Gordon Hofstetter much notice until he was dying in my arms. Some neighbor I was, I thought with shame.

When Mr. Hofstetter finished, the minister came back to address the crowd. “You know,” he said, “I was just reflecting on how fitting it is that we’re celebrating Gordon Hofstetter’s life the week prior to Easter Sunday, which is when Christians celebrate the resurrection of our Lord. It is a beautiful reminder that death is not final and that the soul lives on forever. May Gordon’s eternal soul rest in peace. Amen.” Several people in the crowd murmured “Amen,” in response.

The only reason I knew the holiday was coming up was because there was no school on Friday and I had off the following week. The vacation from school was far more important to me than church or dying eggs or chocolate bunnies. Frank always came over to decorate eggs with us, and even though I had to be dragged to the table to participate, I had to admit, when I dipped my eggs into the colored vinegar solution, that there was some fun in this family tradition. I drew the line at hunting for eggs in the backyard, though, and let Frank have that all to himself.

My mind wandered to what the minister had said, that “the soul lives on forever.” It reminded me of Nadia’s nighttime visit to my room. Was the glimmering wisp hovering around my ceiling her soul, or just some part of her conscious mind doing some roaming? And did it even matter?

As we got up to leave, Mrs. Hofstetter sliced through the crowd to seek out Carly. “I want to thank you again,” she said, pulling my sister into an awkward embrace, “for everything you did for my father-in-law.”

Carly looked sheepish. “I didn’t do all that much.”

“Oh, but you did. We relied on your reports, and all those times you drove him to the doctor! I’m not sure how he’d have managed otherwise. Well, we’re grateful, is all.” She turned to my parents. “You have a fine daughter. You must be very proud of her.”

“Of course,” Dad said. He spoke for both of them since Mom was stunned speechless.

“We’re cleaning out Gordon’s apartment the rest of the week,” Mrs. Hofstetter said to Carly. “I know he had some of David’s things. If there’s something you’d like, you’re welcome to it. Just stop by.”

“Maybe I will,” Carly said. “Maybe I will.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

By the next day I’d decided our ploy had worked—Mallory’s mind control had taken hold, the two guys had reported back to their superiors that there was nothing of interest in Edgewood, and all was right with the world. There weren’t going to be any Associates sniffing around for teenagers with superpowers and trying to recruit us. We were free. Just four kids who could do incredible things. As long as we didn’t get too bold and make ourselves known, we could live our lives as usual.

That’s the conclusion Nadia and I’d come to anyway, on Wednesday during one of our nighttime talks in my bedroom. I’d found myself looking forward to hearing from her around the same time every evening. She entered my room like a heat shimmer. I’d sprawl out on my bed with the lights off, and we’d talk until one of us got tired and then, reluctantly, we’d call it quits and I’d drift off to sleep.

Tell me again, she said.

Nadia loved hearing the story of Mallory’s botched abduction. How I stopped the bad guys by shooting electricity out of my palms and how Mallory reprogrammed their brains. I admit to ratcheting up the story to make myself sound slightly more heroic, but that’s what stories are for, right? I answered: Don’t you get sick of hearing about it?

No, I love imaging it. I wish I could have been there. I could sense the wistfulness behind her words.

Maybe your mom will ease up soon and we’ll get to do something together.

Not likely.

I changed the subject. Does Mallory tell the story about the two guys the same way I do?

I don’t know. I never asked her.

How come?

A long pause. I don’t talk to Mallory like this anymore. She says it creeps her out when I astral project to her. Does it creep you out, Russ?

No, I like it.

Yeah, I like it too. It’s sort of the high point of my day.

I asked, What about Jameson? Do you ever visit him?

That tool? Are you kidding? Although…

What?

In my mind I heard her giggle. One time I projected into his house. He didn’t know I was there and he was in front of the mirror…

Yes?

Totally flexing his biceps and admiring himself.

That didn’t sound too bad. I said, I was expecting you to say something far worse than that.

Like what?

Oh no, I’m not going there. Some things a guy doesn’t say to a girl.

Awww, you are a true gentleman, Russ Becker.

I try.

You know what’s kind of weird? Nadia asked.

What?

Not everyone can see me when I astral project. It’s like I can make myself known to some people, but if I don’t want to be seen it’s like I’m invisible.

How does that work?

I couldn’t tell you. It just is.

We talked for a while longer, and then I could feel myself starting to doze. I yawned. I hate to kick you out, Nadia, but I have to get up early tomorrow.

Yeah, me too. Good night, Russ.

Good night.

But Nadia didn’t leave. I still felt her energy hovering above me as I drifted off. An immense wave of peace washed over me and I slept more deeply than I had in a long time.

The next day in school, I still carried the relief of being home free. After nearly two weeks of stress, life was back to normal. Mallory and I were on friendly speaking terms, but our relationship had never ignited the way I’d hoped. Before the school day was over, I planned to ask if she had plans for the weekend. Maybe we could go out for those wings after all. And without Jameson this time. I didn’t care if he was a genius who could move things with his mind. Nadia was right—he was a complete tool.

In Mr. Specter’s class that day the topic was physics, and he had us doing an experiment involving Slinkys. Having toys in class made every guy in the room regress to about age six, and the metallic shush-shush noise of Slinkys filled the air.

Mr. Specter sorted us into groups of four, with every group getting a sheet of instructions. I’d zoned out during the explanation portion of the class, but with three others in my group, one of them Mallory, I would be fine.

Mallory said, “Okay, Russ, you read the directions. Brad can do the drop, and Crystal and I will take care of measuring and recording.”

Yeah, Mallory’s a little bossy, but no one else was taking charge and she gave me the easiest chore, so I was okay with it. I started reading off the sheet when the intercom in the room made the high-pitched squeal that precedes messages from the office. The disembodied voice of an office lady boomed out. “Mr. Specter?”

“Yes?” he said.

We all looked up at the speaker as if there would be something to see. “Could you send Russ Becker down to the office? Tell him to bring all his things. He’s leaving for the day.”

Mr. Specter gave me a look and raised one eyebrow. “Is this a disciplinary issue?”

“No.”

He tried again. “I’d hate to have him leave in the middle of class. Can’t it wait?”

The speaker clicked back on. “His sister is here. There’s a family emergency and he needs to go home.”

“Very well then,” Mr. Specter said. “He’ll be down in a minute.”

I shoved my notebook into my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. A family emergency? I wondered if something was wrong with one of my parents. A car accident? A heart attack? I couldn’t even imagine. I’d seen both of them at breakfast and everything was fine.

Mallory said, “I hope everything’s okay.”

“Me too.”

Mr. Specter said, “Everyone carry on. I’ll be back in a minute.” Then he followed me out into the hallway, where he rested a hand on my shoulder. “Russ, do you know what this is about? Why your sister is here?”

“No,” I said. “Everything was okay when I left home this morning.”

He leaned in so close I could smell his coffee breath. “It might not be anything, but if it’s related to what we’ve discussed before, you need to let me know immediately.”

I bristled. He might be my science teacher, but I didn’t have to report to him about my personal life. “I know what to do,” I said. I meant it one way, but it was taken another.

“I knew I could count on you.” Mr. Specter released his hold on me, and I headed down the hall to where Carly waited in the office.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I spotted Carly through the double glass doors while I was still out in the hall. Wearing designer jeans with the bedazzled back pockets, she almost looked like a student, one of those girls who spend a lot of money on clothes trying to get noticed. She paced in front of the reception counter, one hand up to her forehead like she had a headache. When I walked in, she lowered her hand and I saw the strained look on her face, like she was just barely managing to hold it together. I rushed up to her. “Carly, what happened?”

“I signed you out, let’s get going,” she said, her car keys hanging off the crook of her finger.

From behind her computer, Mrs. Bomberg, the lady who handled attendance, called out, “I’m sorry to hear about your aunt, Russ. I’ll be praying for her.”

“Thank you,” Carly said, steering me toward the door.

“What is she talking about?” We were in the hallway now, heading for the door that led to the parking lot. I thought I was keeping my voice down, but it echoed in the open area. “Which aunt?”

“Keep going, just keep going,” she said, propelling me out the door. Once we were on the front sidewalk she stopped and burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, scaring the hell out of me. I’d seen my sister put on displays of drama before, but I’d never seen her like this.

“Carly, what is it?” I asked frantically, wanting to know but also dreading finding out. All I could think was that someone was dead.

She gulped and when she answered, the words took effort. “It’s Frank,” she said. “They’ve got Frank.” She hugged me and buried her face in my shoulder. “Oh, Russ.”

“Who has Frank?”

“The Associates. They took him and they won’t give him back unless you go and meet with them.”

“So there’s no sick aunt?”

“No, no, no. I just made that up to get you out of there.” Carly pulled back to rummage through her purse for a tissue. “Russ, what are we going to do?” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“I don’t know.” I put my arm around her shoulder and glanced back at the row of windows which fronted the building. We were visible from any number of classrooms. “Let’s talk in the car.”

She led me through the parking lot, babbling as she went. “I’ve been completely freaking out. They left this horrible voice mail and I knew right away it was the Associates. I’ll let you listen to it.”

“Okay.”

“They said if we go to the police they’ll kill him.” She paused before the word “kill” like it was too awful to even say.

“That’s not going to happen. We’ll handle this. I’ll meet with them and we’ll get him back. Everything is going to be fine.” I had no idea where I’d gotten this smooth confidence. I wasn’t just saying the words, I meant them. It seemed that along with acquiring electricity I’d gotten a boost of certainty in myself.

My reassurances calmed her. By the time we got to the car, her sobbing had subsided somewhat. I was a true sister whisperer.

When we settled into the car, Carly put on her seat belt and locked the doors right away, as if that would make us safe. Then she stuck the key in the ignition and got her phone out of her purse. “I’ve listened to the message six times already,” she said. “It makes me sick. Do you know how scared Frank must be? He doesn’t even sleep unless I leave the hall light on.”

I knew this was true from his overnights at my house. He said he kept the nightlight on in case he had to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, but we all knew he didn’t like the dark. Although, to cut the kid a break, our house did make weird noises sometimes, especially when it was windy out. When I was his age, it freaked me out too.

She wiped her eyes and pressed some buttons to retrieve the message, then held it out so we could both hear it. The man who left the message used a voice changer: the words came out thick and deep. “We have your son, Frank Shrapnel Becker. To get him back, send Russ Becker to the downtown Greyhound bus station in Milwaukee today by five thirty. There will be instructions at the ticket counter. Do not contact the police. Do not tell anyone. Your son’s life depends on it.” And then Frank’s voice, sounding amazingly calm, “Hi, Mom. Can you send Russ to come get me so I can come home?” A click, and it was over.

They didn’t specifically say they wanted to meet with me, or that they’d kill Frank, but I guess both things were implied. “Are you sure this isn’t faked?” I said. “Frank’s not at school or a friend’s house?”

She sniffed. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Frank stayed home from school today. I called in sick to stay home with him, and I ran to Walgreens for cough syrup—I swear I was there and back in like fifteen minutes, okay a half hour at the very most—and when I returned he was gone. Just gone. I couldn’t believe it. There was a note on the counter saying to check my phone messages. That’s when I heard this.” She still had the phone in her hand. “I knew it was the Associates who took him. I couldn’t call the police, so I came right over to pick you up. Oh, Russ, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to the Greyhound station in Milwaukee,” I said, looking at the time on her phone and doing a mental calculation. “And we better hurry. We’ll be cutting it close.”

She started up the car and gestured toward the glove compartment. “Get out the GPS. I can get us to Milwaukee, but I’m not sure which exit we need to use.”

I got the address off my phone and programmed it into her GPS, wondering all the while if the Associates had tapped into my phone and were following our movement even now. I imagined some guy in an office whose job was viewing my life as it played out on a computer screen: monitoring all the stupid texts I got from friends, knowing what I looked up on Wikipedia, seeing my grades when I checked my student page on the school’s online site. I knew it was possible for them to do that and so much more. If they got into Carly’s apartment and took Frank without the neighbors hearing and calling the police, what else could they do? Maybe my bedroom or even my whole house was bugged and they knew everything I ever said and did in the privacy of my home. But, I thought with some satisfaction, they didn’t know what I talked about with Nadia during her nighttime visits. No one could get inside our heads.

After we’d been driving on the interstate for half an hour or so, Carly said, “I just had a thought. You’re going to be expected at home. What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“We’ll tell them I’m staying overnight at your house to help Frank with homework.”

“But there’s no school tomorrow. It’s Good Friday—the beginning of spring break. How’s that going to work?”

I thought for a minute. “I think I got something,” I said, pulling out my cell and dialing home. After the beep, I said, “Hi, Mom, this is Russ. I’m with Carly. Frank had a big science project for school that he didn’t do. His teacher said if he dropped it off at her house tomorrow he could still get full credit for it. The kid is having a breakdown, so I said I’d help out. We’re going to be working on it until late, so I’m just going to stay overnight at their place. Carly said she’d drive me home tomorrow.”

I held the phone under Carly’s chin. Quick as always, she improvised. “Frank is practically having a breakdown over this. Thanks for letting Russ help out. He’s a real lifesaver. Right after we drop off Frank’s project tomorrow morning I’ll bring Russ home. Love you!” After I ended the call, she glanced my way. “Aren’t you the sly little liar? I didn’t know you had it in you.” I wasn’t sure if she was being disapproving or admiring. A little of both, I guess.

“I don’t normally lie to them,” I said, defending myself. “But in an emergency…”

“Yeah, I know,” Carly said. “Russ, can you do me a favor and get me a piece of gum? There’s some in the glove compartment.”

Since she quit smoking a few years earlier, Carly had become gum dependent whenever she was stressed. At first she used the kind with nicotine; eventually she worked her way to regular sugarless. I dug around until among the fast food napkins and broken sunglasses until I found a pack, then handed it to her.

Carly popped a piece into her mouth and then held it out to me. “Want a piece?”

“No thanks. I’m trying to cut back.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The Greyhound station wasn’t what I expected at all. In books, bus station buildings are short, nondescript cubes with seedy interiors consisting of hard plastic chairs, dirty restrooms, and scuffed linoleum. The Milwaukee Intermodal Station was a shining glass structure—the front of the building was made up almost entirely of windows divided by narrow metal strips. It was beautiful, in a way. I said, “This isn’t what I expected at all.”

“It’s pretty new,” Carly said. “A bus and train station combined.”

Across the street was a parking lot with a sign that said “$6 All Day.” After we pulled into a space and I paid the attendant, we made our way across the intersection to the building. Carly walked purposefully and fast, as if that would get Frank back to us more quickly, like maybe we’d get to the station and find him inside waiting for us at the ticket counter, and we’d all go home and everything would be okay again.

Inside it was airy and open. Full-sized trees in planters divided up rows of seats. We’d entered the Amtrak end of the building. The place was crowded with people coming and going and waiting. Mothers with small children, businessmen and women, people with suitcases like they were on a leg of a long-distance trip. A man pushing a cleaning cart came by, and Carly grabbed his sleeve. “We need to be at the Greyhound counter.” The urgency in her voice suggested we were late, but in fact, we were well ahead of our five thirty deadline.

The man looked startled, but he had a kindly face. “Pardon?” he asked.

She softened her question. “We’re looking for the Greyhound counter. Can you direct us, sir?”

He pushed back his baseball cap and pointed down to the other end. “The Greyhound ticket office is at the west end of the building. Just keep going. Can’t miss it.”

Carly took off running, and I went after her, turning back for just an instant to yell, “Thanks,” to the maintenance man. “Carly, wait!” I called out. I had longer legs than she did, but she was still quick, past the All Aboard Café, darting around individuals, pushing through clusters of people, passing rows of seated customers who looked up as we went by.

When we got to the counter there was a short line. Carly skidded to a halt and leaned over to catch her breath. She had her hands on her knees and was bent at the waist.

Clearly her office job had not prepared her for this.

“Are you okay?” I asked. A clock on the far wall indicated we had plenty of time.

She straightened up. “No, I’m not okay, Russ. I’m going out of my mind here. They have Frank. They have my baby and I—”

I shushed her; people were looking. I spoke under my breath. “It’s okay, Carly. I told you, we’ll get him back.”

She took in a big gulp of air and lowered her voice. “I keep thinking about how scared he must be.”

“I know, but we have to be on top of this. Falling apart isn’t going to help Frank.” The words coming out of my mouth sounded like something a character in a movie would say, but they had a calming effect on Carly.

“Okay, okay. We’ll get through this.” She said it like she was trying to convince herself.

“We’re already getting through this,” I said.

When I got to the front of the line, I told the older gentleman behind the counter, “I’m Russ Becker.”

I was about to explain when he said, “Oh yes, Mr. Becker, we’ve been expecting you.” When he looked down to open a drawer, I got a view of the thin strands of hair artfully arranged over the top of his head. While he was hunting through the drawer, Carly took her sugarless gum out of her mouth and purposely stuck it to the underside of the counter. Her small way of showing her contempt for this whole situation. The pink gob marred the perfect white underside of the counter, but luckily no one else noticed it. A microsecond later the clerk pulled out a sealed envelope, which he handed over the counter to me. “I see you’re one of our VIP passengers,” he said. “Please let the staff know if you require anything at all during your trip. Your happiness is a priority for us.”

“Thank you,” I said, stepping away from the counter.

“What the hell was that about?” Carly hissed when we’d moved out of earshot. “You’re a VIP passenger? Your happiness is a priority for us? It’s a Greyhound bus. They’re mocking us, Russ.”

“Maybe so,” I said, tearing into the envelope. “But we can’t get distracted by any of that.” I pulled out a ticket; it looked a lot like a concert ticket, scan code and all. I read the destination aloud. “Apparently, I’m going to Chicago. Leaving at six fifteen.” I peered inside the open envelope. It was empty. “No note or anything.”

“Why don’t you ask Baldy what’s going on?” Carly said, looking back at the service counter. “Maybe he knows where Frank is.” From the look on her face I could tell she was going to start something.

I grabbed her arm. For the first time I wished I had Mallory’s gift of mind control. I’d have loved to be able to force her to release her anger. “Don’t. Make. A. Scene.” I said it in a low key-way, but I think I made the point. Miraculously, she calmed down, which was a good thing. I had the feeling we had to play by their rules. They’d said no police. Screaming at the clerk at the Greyhound station wasn’t quite the same thing as calling the authorities, but it still wasn’t good. “I’m going to get on the bus and go where they want me to go, and I’m going to get Frank and bring him home. Be cool.”

She started crying again, but at least this time she did it silently. She sniffed and said, “I have a very bad feeling about this. You’re going to get on that bus and I’ll never see either of you again.”

“That’s not going to happen.” In fact, I knew it could happen, but one of us had to be rational and calm here and it was turning out to be me. “You’ve seen what I can do. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, Russ, you have no idea.” She wiped her eyes. “They can do things you can’t even imagine.”

“Hey, I once got shot and pulled the bullet out of my neck and was completely healed half an hour later. Don’t worry, I’m fairly indestructible.”

“That’s what David thought. And he’s gone. And now they have Frank.”

Across the way, a businessman holding a briefcase stared in our direction. When I made eye contact, he shifted his attention to his phone. Behind him, a short chubby woman wearing a Green Bay Packers jersey leaned against a wall and chewed on a granola bar. She too seemed to be watching us. All around us people swirled and moved and talked on phones and glanced our way. Any one of them could be with the Associates. They couldn’t all be wearing dark suits. That would be way too obvious. “Try to keep it together,” I said. “I know it’s hard, but we can’t lose our cool. If they’re watching, we want them to think this doesn’t faze us. We don’t want to show our hand.”

She sniffed. “When did you get so old and wise?”

“About two weeks ago,” I said. “I was out walking late at night and I saw these lights up in the sky…”

“Say no more,” Carly said, giving me a slight smile, even though her eyes still glinted with tears. “I think I’ve heard this story before.”

“Here’s the plan,” I said. “I’ll get on the bus just like I’m supposed to, and you head for home and wait for me to call.”

“Go home? I don’t think so.”

“Carly, someone has to be at your place. What if Mom and Dad stop over and no one’s there?”

“And what if they do stop over and you and Frank aren’t there? What am I supposed to say?”

“Make some excuse. You could tell them we went out to buy supplies for the project. You’ll think of something. You’re good like that.”

Carly hesitated; I could tell she was thinking it over. She shook her head. “I don’t think I can just sit on the couch and not know—”

“And what if we piss these people off by having you come along? They only want me.” I held up the envelope. “There’s only one ticket. Mine. I promise I’ll call you every step of the way.” I was making some good arguments, but I had to keep talking for a few more minutes until I saw her opening up to the idea. Even so, she only agreed after I suggested Frank might already be home. “Who knows,” I said, “this whole thing might be a decoy. Maybe he’s already back at your place.”

“He’d call my phone,” Carly said. “He knows to call me, no matter what. He’d call. I know he would,” she added firmly.

“Unless he’s sick or exhausted or scared or they told him not to. I know it’s a long shot, but I really think one of us needs to be at your apartment, in case he shows up. And it can’t be me.” My logic was convoluted, but it worked. She caved in.

“You’ll call and keep me updated?”

“I said I would, didn’t I? Just ask Mom and Dad. They’ll tell you I’m reliable.” I noted the time on my phone. “I hate to be this way, but I have a bus to catch. Go home, and try not to worry.”

“Like that’s going to happen.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed so tightly I could have walked away with her still hanging off my front.

I knew what she was thinking. “Jeez, Carly, it’s not like you’ll never see me again.”

“David said the same thing. I never did see him again.”

“It’ll be okay.” I patted the top of her head.

She let go and looked me square in the eye. “They want you to join them, you know. That’s what this is all about. They’re going to recruit you and if you refuse…”

The sentence hung there, unfinished. “Let’s not worry about that just yet,” I said. “Let’s get Frank back first.”

After we said our good-byes, I watched as she walked back through the terminal. Her head was down and her shoulders hunched, which gave her a defeated look. Not like Carly at all.

My sister had always seemed larger than life to me, not only because she’d always been my big sister, but also because she was what my father called “a presence.” She laughed a little too loudly and had opinions about everything. Unlike me, who hated conflict, Carly had no trouble telling people what she thought, especially when she thought they were wrong. She once picked Frank up from a weekend at our house with a black eye—some girl at a bar thought Carly had been flirting with her boyfriend. True to form, Carly hadn’t backed down and she had the shiner to prove it.

I had underestimated her though. She cared about Frank more than I’d realized, and she had helped Gordon Hofstetter. I tried to imagine her driving him to doctor’s appointments in her dirty car, the empty soda bottles skittering from side to side when she made her drastic sudden turns. She was kinder than I’d thought, but she was still a mess, and not the greatest driver either.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

One of the disadvantages of being one of the first ones on the bus and sitting by a window seat is that you have no control over who sits next to you. I found this out the hard way when a woman my mother’s age hoisted her abundant mass into the seat right next to mine. There were clear divisions between the seats, not that it made a difference. Her body spilled over into my half. I pulled my arm over, but it didn’t help.

The woman settled in like she was there for the long haul. She pulled a Kit Kat bar out of her purse, broke off a section, and offered it to me. When I said no thanks, she responded, rather offended, “My hands are clean, if that’s the problem.”

I wanted to tell her that my mind was consumed with getting to my kidnapped nephew and wondering if I’d live to see tomorrow. The germs on her hands didn’t scare me. But all I could come up with was a little white lie. “Sorry, chocolate allergy.”

“Oh, you poor thing. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t eat chocolate.” She prattled on about candy and sweets and her daily diet. She only stopped talking when the driver spoke over the loudspeaker, welcoming us and giving us a rundown on all the stops between Milwaukee and Chicago. After he finished speaking, my seatmate started up again with her annoying chatter. I looked out the window, hoping she’d get the hint.

The driver honked before backing up, then eased forward out of the lot. As it turned onto St. Paul Avenue I caught sight of a figure running breathlessly alongside the bus. Carly. She held a ticket in the air with one hand and banged on the side of the bus with the other as she went. She was so close I was afraid she’d get caught under the wheels and be killed. “Wait!” I yelled, standing in place. I pushed my way out to the aisle. “Stop the bus!”

Other passengers saw Carly now too, and they called out to the driver.

“Hey! There’s another passenger.”

“Stop the bus!”

“Let her on!”

The bus jolted to a stop and the door swung open with a whoosh. After Carly climbed the steps and handed her ticket to the driver, he said, “That was a close one. You almost didn’t make it, little lady.”

“I know. Thanks for stopping,” she said. A smattering of applause came from the other passengers, but she didn’t smile.

As she walked toward me, I said, “Oh, Carly, what have you done?”

“I got in the car to drive home, but I just couldn’t do it, Russ. I’m sorry.”

The bus was moving now. There was no turning back. I jabbed a thumb toward the back. “Let’s sit down.”

Toward the back we found two aisle seats, one in front of the other. Before I could say anything, Carly handed a sheet of paper back to me. I unfolded it and saw, in her scribbled handwriting: Don’t say anything. I think there might be some of them on the bus. She must have written this ahead of time. Maybe when she was in line at the ticket counter? How did her mind work? It was a mystery to me.

And so, because we didn’t know who might be listening, we traveled in silence, the thrumming of the bus providing a soothing backdrop for the passengers who buried themselves in their own world—reading, listening to iPods, staring out the window. Only a few people talked, thankfully, and none of them to us. I looked around, but if there were any Associates on board, I couldn’t pick them out. Carly coming along was a big mistake. I knew that and yet I understood. I couldn’t have gone home either. The not knowing would have killed me, and it had to be even worse for her. Frank was my slightly annoying, sometimes endearing nephew. For Carly, Frank was her one and only child.

We were heading south, about an hour into the drive, when a plume of dark smoke on the road ahead got everyone’s attention. The bus slowed to a crawl before coming to a complete stop. Around us, every lane of the expressway was stopped, making the interstate look like a long, narrow parking lot. Passengers unbuckled their seat belts to get a better view. Those riding closest to the front yelled commentary to those of us in back. “There’s an overturned semi,” one guy called out. “And it’s smoking up a storm.”

Worried voices began speculating. Why would it be smoking? “I hope it doesn’t explode,” said the lady with the Kit Kat bar. “If that happens we’re all goners.”

The bus driver got on the PA system to tell everyone to stay calm. He was going to be in touch with his superiors at Greyhound and we’d be back on course in no time.

As Carly and I exchanged worried looks, my phone went off. The number on the display read “Private.” I showed it to Carly, who said, “Answer it.”

“Hello?”

The voice, thick, deep, and distorted, was the same as the message on Carly’s cell. “Get off the bus. Walk to the top of the exit ramp and wait.” Almost a growl. I started to ask for more information, but a sharp click indicated the call was over. I motioned to Carly. “This is our stop. We’re getting off.” Unquestioningly, she followed me down the aisle.

When we got to the front, I told the driver, “We need to get off here.”

He regarded me with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, we need to get out.”

He threw his arms up like I can’t believe this guy, and chuckled. “That’s rich. Sorry, son. Not going to happen.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “We really need to get off the bus. It’s an emergency.”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t think you’re getting it. I would never let a passenger out in the middle of the expressway. Company policy. There are liability issues.”

Carly pushed ahead of me. “I need to go outside. I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up.” She leaned over him and made a face like she was going to yak right on him.

Reflexively, he shoved her aside with an outstretched arm. “Lady, there’s a bathroom in back. Throw up there.”

“Get your hands off me!” Carly said.

“You need to take your seat.” His face was turning red. And then, under his breath, “I really don’t need this right now.”

She turned to me and, through clenched teeth, said, “Zap him, Russ.”

Earlier she’d told me never to use my powers in front of other people. Now she wanted me to shoot electricity in front of a busload of people. That was Carly for you. Impulsive, my mom always said. Carly just didn’t always think things through.

I shook my head. I had a better idea. I put my hand on the bus driver’s shoulder, and just like I’d infused healing energy on previous occasions, I now tried to use mind control. I’d never done this before, but something told me I could. “Sir, you need to open the door right now.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, but his body relaxed. I felt his shoulder loosen, and I knew something was happening.

I said, “Listen carefully. I’m telling you that you need to open the door for us.”

His eyes became vacant as my thoughts became his thoughts. “I need to open the door right now?” he asked.

“Yes, please. And then, after we’re through, close the door behind us and resume doing whatever it is you’d usually do under the circumstances.”

And just like that, he reached for the button and the door swung opened. “Thank you for riding with Greyhound. Have a pleasant day,” he said, nearly robotically.

Carly and I rushed down the stairs. Behind us on the bus I heard a woman yell, “Hey, how come they get to go?” Then the door swung shut and we were out in the middle of the interstate.

“We really didn’t need the theatrics, Carly,” I said, pulling her sleeve.

“Where are we going now?”

I gestured beyond the accident scene. “To the top of the exit ramp, just like the man said.”

The entire roadway was at a standstill. We wove our way around idling vehicles, inhaling exhaust and getting stares from the occupants of the stopped cars. When we approached the overturned semi, we veered to the far right shoulder. I didn’t see a fire or any human beings, but smoke surrounded us and I could feel the heat. “Is this a real accident, do you think?” Carly asked. “Or was it staged for us?”

“I don’t know.” We plunged through the smoke and came out the other side, coughing and choking. “It’s real smoke, anyway,” I said.

Carly pulled a water bottle out of her purse and took a swig. When she handed the bottle to me, I took a swallow as well and then splashed a handful on my face to ease my stinging eyes. We continued on to the exit ramp, one hundred yards past the accident site. Climbing the hill alongside the ramp, we made our way up. At the top was a quiet two-lane country highway. And parked by the other side of the highway was a white cargo van.

“I think that’s our ride,” I said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I expected two men in suits to leap out and toss us bodily into the back of the van, but that didn’t happen.

When we approached, two women wearing jeans, T-shirts, and sunglasses ambled out of the van and greeted us with smiles. They were Associates, I assumed. Both had dark hair, were slim, and were, I’d even say, on the attractive side, although too old for me. They could have been friends of Carly’s, which I think, in retrospect, was the point. They were trying not to intimidate me. “Russ Becker?” one said, but I think the question was only a formality. I definitely got the impression they recognized me.

We crossed the highway. “That’s me. I’m Russ Becker.”

“You were supposed to come alone,” the second one said, lowering her shades to give Carly a long stare. She sounded disapproving, but not angry.

“Actually, the message didn’t specifically say to come alone,” I said. “We can play it back for you if you want.”

Carly said, “You have my son. Where is he?” Her voice had a harsh, ragged edge to it, and even though I understood what she was going through I winced, afraid she was going to screw this thing up and we’d never ever get to Frank.

“Frank is fine. He’s not upset at all. He’s waiting for you.” This from the first one. With their sunglasses on they looked unnervingly alike, but I now thought of this one as the “nice” one. Whether or not either of them was nice remained to be seen. Probably not, since they were part of an organization which kidnapped little boys and killed teenagers.

“You’re going to take us to him?” I asked, and when the first one nodded, I added, “Well, then let’s go.”

One of the women got in to drive, while the other motioned for us to follow her around to the back of the van. She opened the door to reveal an area with two bucket seats. There was a wall at the far end, making this space completely separate from the driver and passenger compartment up front. “It’s a short drive,” she said. “I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”

Carly glared at her before climbing in; I followed her in. “How long will it take?” I asked, but she slammed the doors shut and didn’t answer.

I noticed the lack of windows in the back and the fact that the door we’d just entered couldn’t be opened from the inside. Track lighting on the floor gave us enough illumination to see each other. The rest of the space around us was bare, as far as I could tell.

“They didn’t pat us down for weapons,” I said. “That’s good.”

“You’re the weapon,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “They can’t take that away.”

“And they didn’t make a big deal out of you coming along.” I was trying to look on the bright side.

“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “It was like they sort of expected it. They put up the pretense of being irritated that you didn’t come alone, and then you pointed out that the message didn’t specifically say that, and they let it drop.”

“Do you think we’re being watched and listened to right now?”

“Yes,” Carly said. “I think they know everything. Everything we say and do. There’s no getting around it.” She spoke to the emptiness of the van. “Frank is a good boy. If you’ve hurt him, I hope you all rot in hell.” She got a Kleenex out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes.

When the van started moving, we put on our seat belts, riding in silence for the next few minutes. Carly looked grim and exhausted. I wasn’t sure if it was the ordeal or the lighting, but she’d never looked worse. “What if they don’t take us to Frank?” she said, in a low voice. “What if he’s not even…”

Her voice cracked with emotion. She couldn’t finish the sentence, so I did. “He’s not dead, Carly. We’re going to get him and take him home. He’ll be sleeping in his own bed tonight.”

“What if they want you to stay? Like, as a trade for Frank?”

“Then I’ll stay.”

“No, Russ, you can’t do that.” The expression on her face was one of horror. “You have no idea what you’re saying. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“I’m starting to get a clue.”

She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t even imagine a way this can end well.”

I said, “Carly, don’t borrow trouble. There’s no point in worrying about anything just yet.”

The van went over a bump and made a turn, then started accelerating. If I had to guess, I’d say we were back on the expressway now. The quiet was unnerving. I never realized how much I relied on music to fill the driving void until I didn’t have it.

“How is it you were you able to do that to the bus driver?” Carly asked. “Getting him to change his mind like that.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. I mean, I just suddenly felt like I could get inside his brain and get him to do what I wanted. I was pretty sure I could do it, actually. It felt like—you know how it is when you get a growth spurt and without even trying you suddenly realize you can now reach the top shelf in the pantry closet, the one where Dad keeps the candy bars?”

“Yeah. I mean no. I never got that tall; I still can’t reach that shelf.”

I grinned. “Okay, bad comparison.”

“I understand what you’re saying. But why are you suddenly getting all these extra abilities? I thought each person just got one.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure there are actual rules that come with this.”

We were quiet for a time, staring at the place where there would be windows, if there were any. Like being in a paddy wagon, I thought. Not that I’d ever been in one, I just knew about it from the movies.

Carly said, “So Dad keeps candy bars on the top shelf?”

I nodded. “Yeah. He’s got a stash. I found it in seventh grade.”

She twisted her hands in worry. “I wonder what Mom and Dad are doing right now.”

I didn’t know for sure, but I could imagine them finishing up dinner, then rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, exchanging small talk about the weather and the annoyances of their work day. My mom would be saying how nice it was that I was staying at Carly’s to help Frank with his project for school. For years she’d yearned for Carly and I to become closer. How ironic that this is what it took.

My phone went off, startling me. I’d felt cut off from the world, completely forgetting both of us still had our phones. Carly’s eyebrows rose questioningly as I answered. “Hello?”

“Russ?” I hadn’t recognized the number, but I knew the voice even though it was slightly different from the version I heard inside my mind during our evening talks.

“Nadia!” Despite the fact that we were in the middle of the most depressing drive of my life, I couldn’t help myself—I was happy to hear from her. It was like unexpectedly running into a friend while visiting another country.

She got right to the point. “Mallory told me you left school early. Is everything okay?”

I hesitated, remembering Carly’s opinion that we were being watched. “Just a minute.” I made a pretense of covering the phone and said to Carly, “Hey, Carly, it’s my friend Nadia.” I went back to the phone. “Yep, everything’s fine. I’m just hanging out with my sister.”

Nadia was perceptive. She knew I didn’t normally hang out with Carly, and she understood that I couldn’t tell her what was actually going on. “Oh great,” she said, playing along. “I was a little concerned, but it sounds like everything’s fine.”

“Yep, all good.”

Nadia said, “Okay, well I hate to cut this short, but I have a ton of homework to do. Talk to you later.”

“Take it easy,” I said, signing off. And then to Carly, “She had homework to do.”

To Carly’s credit, she didn’t question the phone call any further, although she did look puzzled. “Maybe I should call Mom and Dad,” she said.

“No, you’ll just make them suspicious. If they haven’t called us, everything’s okay. Let it go.”

A minute or so later, Nadia was in my head. I heard her say: What in the hell is happening to you? I felt her energy all around us, but Carly didn’t seem to notice it. I got the impression Nadia was a radio frequency only I could hear.

How did you find me? I asked, incredulous. It was all the more amazing considering we were on the move in an unmarked van, and I didn’t even know where we were.

Nadia sounded gleeful. I used my Russ tracker!

Seriously?

Seriously, no. I have no idea how I found you. I just thought about you and here I am. What’s going on?

I filled her in on everything that had happened from the time I left Mr. Specter’s class until now. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like a lifetime.

When I finished, Nadia said, What do you think they want?

I don’t know. We’ll find out, I guess.

Do you want me to stick around?

She had to ask? Just having her around made everything better. I would have wrapped myself in her energy if I could have. Smiling, I said, Yes, if you can.

You’re in luck. I’m grounded until I’m eighteen, so it turns out I’ve got plenty of time and nowhere else to go. Count me in. I’m along for the ride.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I could tell when the van had left the expressway and switched to side streets, and from there I noted a slowdown that meant we were approaching our final destination. I’d heard of people trapped in trunks of cars who figured out where they were going based on the sound of the road and by keeping track of turns, but I hadn’t really been paying attention. Frankly, I had no idea where we were or how far we’d come. Neither Carly nor I had thought to look at the time when we left the bus, so I couldn’t use that as a guide either. Eight hundred hours of watching crime shows on TV and I still came up with nothing. Worst hostage ever.

When the van jolted to a stop, Carly’s eyes got wide. “We’re here,” she said.

I knew it was either the end of everything or just the beginning.

Through it all, I sensed Nadia’s reassuring presence. At least, if they killed us, I thought, she could bear witness.

Muffled voices came from outside the van, and I sensed that our lady drivers were joined by others—men from the sound of it. The back doors to the van swung open, and both Carly and I blinked from the sudden light. The van was inside what looked like a big warehouse. Again, shades of the movies. These guys might be menacing, but they weren’t all that original. A half dozen people clustered around the opened doors: the two women who drove us, and four men dressed more formally in button-down shirts and dark pants, not a tie in the bunch, but they still resembled the men in the suits we’d encountered driving Mallory home. All six looked to be about Carly’s age. And all of them stared at me like I was the most interesting specimen in the zoo.

“Mr. Becker?” one of the men said.

“Yes?” I said.

“I think we’ve covered this,” Carly snapped. “He’s Russ Becker. I’m Carly Becker. You’re the Associates, and you have my son Frank. We want him back.” As always, Carly was not about to pave the way with diplomacy. She was never one to do things the easy way.

“Thank you for coming,” the same guy said, completely ignoring my sister’s angry outburst. “We appreciate it.”

Carly started to say something else, but I held up my hand to quiet her. “We did what you asked,” I said. “And now I hope you’ll live up to your end of the deal and release my nephew. He’s just a kid, and it was morally reprehensible to involve him in any of this.” I had no idea where the phrase “morally reprehensible” came from but it fit. “Let’s get this over with,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt and climbing out of the van. None of them tried to stop me, in fact, they moved back to give me space. When Carly climbed down, one of the men offered her his hand, but she angrily shook it off. My sister was nothing if not consistent.

“Right this way,” one of the men said, leading us toward the far end of the warehouse and leaving the rest of the group behind. “I’m Tom, by the way,” he said, as if we were on a tour and he was the guide.

Carly and I followed, barely keeping up with his quick steps. “Where are you taking us?” she asked, but he didn’t answer her question. Instead, Tom turned to me. “Just between us, we were all very excited to hear you were coming today. Everyone wants to meet you, or at least get a look at you.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re Russ Becker,” Tom said. “A second gen. Someone like you only comes along every hundred years or so.”

“What do you mean—a second gen?” Carly asked, but again, he didn’t answer. It was like she wasn’t even there. I knew it had to be pissing her off, but to her credit, she kept her cool.

In the back far wall, near the corner, were several doors. Tom opened one and ushered us into a large room that looked like a doctor’s waiting room, complete with upholstered chairs, magazines, and a receptionist’s desk occupied by a dark-haired older woman. Judging by the photos on the shelf behind her chair, she had several children and grandchildren, many of whom played soccer. To the right of her desk was another closed door. “Welcome,” she said, all smiles. She waved a manicured hand in our direction.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Shirley,” Tom said. “Don’t you usually leave by five?”

“Usually,” she said, “But I stuck around tonight to meet Russ Becker.” She got up from her seat and approached me, hand extended. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

“Suck-up,” Tom said, teasing.

I shook her hand and shot a glance at Carly. What was going on? “I came to get my nephew, Frank,” I said.

“Of course,” she said, returning to her desk. “Miss Becker, can I get you something to drink? You’ll be waiting here.”

“And Mr. Becker, you’ll be coming with me, please,” Tom said to me, gesturing with his chin. “Can you buzz us through, Shirley?”

“Wait a minute,” Carly said. “We came together and we’re staying together. We’re not splitting up.” She took a step closer to me, to show unity, I guess.

Tom and Shirley exchanged the kind of look parents use when toddlers are being unreasonable. “I’m afraid this isn’t negotiable,” he said.

“I know what you people are capable of,” Carly said. “And I know we have a better chance of leaving here in one piece if we stay together.”

“Oh, honey,” Shirley said, and her voice had the same tone my mother’s had when she’d learned I was being picked on in grade school.

But Carly was not going to be placated. “How do I even know my son is alive? Except for one voice mail hours ago, I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Your son is fine,” Shirley said, but her words didn’t help. Carly started demanding they bring Frank out, right this minute or she was going to expose all of them for the murderers they were. Shirley tried to calm her, while Tom went off in the corner of the room to make a phone call. I stood frozen, not knowing what to do. I watched my sister having a meltdown and Shirley acting like a kindly den mother, all the while feeling like I should be taking some action.

And then I heard Nadia’s voice coming through clearly and calmly. With all the commotion, I hadn’t even noticed the absence of her energy. It’s all right, Russ. I’ve seen Frank. He’s fine.

I came to attention. Are you sure?

They’ve got him in back watching cartoons. He looks a little bored, but he’s fine.

How do you know for sure that it’s Frank? I wanted to believe her, but it occurred to me that it could be someone else’s kid.

He answered to that name when they gave him the root beer, and besides, he kind of looks like you. Who else could it be?

I took charge of the situation, interrupting Carly’s ranting by waving a hand in front of her mouth. She stopped carrying on to glare at me, but at least she stopped. I took my hand away. “Carly, really, it’s okay. Just wait here for me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Tom led me into an adjoining room, which was suspiciously empty except for a metal folding chair positioned under a ceiling light fixture. The floor was bare concrete and the walls and ceiling were painted a stark white. He watched my face to get a reaction. “So what do you think?”

“No windows, two doors,” I said, more of an observation than anything else. The second door was opposite the one we’d entered. “Are you going to be bringing Frank in?”

“I wish it were that easy,” he said, sounding sincere. “But it’s not up to me.”

“Who is it up to?”

“My orders came from the top. The commander has specified that you’re to take a series of tests. Once you’ve completed all the tests, you and your nephew will be reunited, and after a brief interview, you’ll be allowed to go home.”

I didn’t like this at all. “What kind of tests are we talking about?”

“Different sorts of tests. We’ll be assessing your abilities, which we know are considerable. This is how it will work,” he said, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands. “This particular room is the first in a series of rooms. Each room you enter after this one will have three doors. Your job is to get through the rooms using the correct doors in a timely manner. In fact,” he said, pulling a device out of his pocket, “you will be timed.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re giving you an hour to complete the course, but I don’t think it’ll take you that long. In the office pool I put in for thirty-two minutes.”

“Wait a minute—people are betting on me?” I said, practically sputtering.

“Just a few of us.” He waved a hand like this was inconsequential. “And we’re all really pulling for you. So do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand at all.” I felt panic rise in my throat. Dr. Anton said my test scores indicated I was highly intelligent, but I wasn’t grasping what this was all about. “Tell me again.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and gave instructions like a quarterback in the huddle spelling out a play. “Series of rooms. Each room after this one will have three doors. You need to get past the obstacles in each room and pick the right door to move on to the next. The door will be locked until you’ve taken care of the obstacles. Think of it as a maze with challenges. If you get past the obstacles and choose the correct doors all along, when you’ve reached the last room, the tests will be over, and you’ll be reunited with Frank.”

“What if I pick the wrong door, or can’t get past the obstacles?”

“Oh, that would be very bad,” Tim said. “Really bad for you and your loved ones.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “But let’s not think like that. Positive thoughts. Okay?”

“What if I refuse to play this sick game of yours?”

Tim’s face dropped. “That’s not an option. If you want to go home you have to take the tests.”

We’d reached an impasse that only I could break. I thought about my options and I came up with this: I could participate in their tests, or (the inference was) Carly, Frank, and I would die.

Finally I said, “Okay. When do I start?”

“Oh it’s already started in a way. I’m going to be leaving the room. Once you hear the door click shut, it will officially begin. I wish you the very best of luck.” He extended a hand. When I started to reach for it, I heard Nadia’s voice: No! Don’t touch his hand, or you’ll get electrocuted. This is the first test.

I jerked back. “No thanks.” How ingrained are the social niceties that I felt compelled to thank someone about to shoot voltage into my body? “I have enough electricity in me right now. I’ll take a pass.”

“Very good!” Tim said approvingly. He pointed to the door we’d entered. “You may proceed.”

“I don’t think so,” I shot back. “I’ll be going through the other door.”

He laughed. “I didn’t think you’d fall for that, but I had to try.”

After Tim retreated to the reception area, I was able to touch base with my new guardian angel, Nadia. Thank you.

No problem. I’ve got your back, Russ.

When Carly used that expression it made me cringe, but Nadia’s use of it was reassuring. It meant I wasn’t alone. I said, I know. I appreciate it.

They’re watching you. They have cameras built into the light fixtures and the woodwork around the doors.

Do they know you’re here with me?

I’m not technically there, Russ. In reality, I’m lying on my bed at home.

You know what I mean.

No, no one knows I’m talking to you. It’s just between us.

I turned to the door and waved to show I knew I was being observed. I pictured a bunch of Associates huddled around a TV screen, watching like I was part of a reality show. What kind of sick losers got off on watching this kind of thing? I headed to the door on the opposite wall, tentatively touching the knob.

Take the chair with you.

Without hesitation, I went back and collected the chair. Folded, it fit nicely under my arm. I opened the door and walked through it into another room very much like the first. Empty, lit only by an overhead light fixture.

I shut the door behind me and the light suddenly went out, putting me in complete darkness. The dark had depths of darkness; my lack of spatial awareness made me dizzy and I felt the room spin around me like the time I was eight and I snuck a wine cooler. I stood there for seconds or maybe minutes, losing my sense of time while trying to get my bearings. The nothing that was happening made me nervous that I’d be caught off guard when something finally did happen. Nadia?

I’m here, Russ.

Do you have any idea what’s happening next?

Listen carefully. They’re going to let several large attack dogs into the room in a few minutes. They’re vicious and snarling and ready to bite.

Ready to bite me?

Of course, who else? Here’s what you need to do. Take off your shirt.

Take off my shirt? Why?

When that guy touched you he put some kind of meat odor on your shirt to attract the dogs. Take it off and drape it over the chair.

I don’t smell anything on me.

You’re not a dog.

I opened the chair and pulled my T-shirt over my head, then laid it across the chair back. Now what?

Run like hell!

You’re very funny, Nadia.

Okay, you’ll need to stand next to the door.

I fumbled my way across the room until I found two doors on the opposite wall. Man, it’s dark.

If only there was some way for you to produce light… Even in my head, her sarcastic tone came through.

Oh yeah. I concentrated on the space between my hands until I generated sparks that flew back and forth between them. Now I could see well enough to get an awareness of the room. I looked up at the light fixture and said, “Let there be light.” I was juggling the equivalent of a small fireball back and forth between my hands. Looking straight at it was blinding, so I kept my eyes above the glow. I was standing between the two doors.

I could hear the pack of dogs on the other side, and they were, as Nadia warned, snarling and growling. I’ve always avoided angry canines with sharp teeth, mostly by not breaking into junkyards at night, but there was no avoiding them this time. The dogs lunged at the other side of the door. I heard the scratch of their nails against the wood and the sound of the door banging in its frame. When they were released into the room it would be the hounds of hell against Russ Becker, high school sophomore. I wasn’t sure my electricity would help this time around. I could shoot straight, when I had one target at a time and the target wasn’t moving. What were the chances that would happen?

Even though I’d been expecting it, when the door flew open and the dogs burst in, it startled me. I dropped the fireball of sparks, which fizzled to nothingness and left me back in the dark. I’d seen enough though. The dogs were big, with boxy snouts and strong flanks, and there were three of them, identical like triplets. They lunged into the room, past where I stood and right for the shirt draped over the top of the metal folding chair. The impact to the chair sent it careening across the room and it clattered as it hit the opposite wall.

Seizing the opportunity to get away, I grabbed the knob of the other door, the one that hadn’t contained the dogs, thinking it was the obvious choice. I couldn’t turn the knob, and when I pulled, it didn’t budge. Frantic, I tried the other door, but that one too was locked. Why?

I yelled, “I overcame the obstacle. Open the door!”

The overhead lights came on and the dogs took a sudden interest in me. Their ears raised, they turned toward me, teeth bared and growling. I’d gone through a morbid period in middle school during which I’d pictured my death a million different ways. But getting eaten by dogs hadn’t been one of them.

“Nice doggies,” I said, backing into the corner. The triplets had slowed and were approaching me slowly, like they’d been trained to take their time. I looked around the room, but there was nowhere to run to, no place to hide, nothing I could use as a weapon. Panic crept up like bile in my throat.

And then I remembered what Carly had said when we were being transported in the van. You’re the weapon.

True that.

I recovered from my fear, and I held my hands out over their heads, palms down, and directed energy toward them. I spoke authoritatively. “Sit.” The dogs stopped moving and growling, but didn’t follow my command. One tilted his head to the side as if considering it, which I took as a promising sign.

I tried again. “Sit.” And amazingly they all lowered their haunches and sat. I tried to remember common dog commands and came up with: “Stay,” and then, “Down.” The three dogs lowered their bodies to a resting position. “Good dogs!” I noticed then that one of them had my T-shirt in his mouth. I went over and rested a hand on his head. “Drop it.”

When he released the shirt, I took it and put my arms through the sleeves, which caused a comment from Nadia: Gross.

Girls got grossed out so easily, I thought as I pulled it over my head. Dog drool didn’t bother me. I couldn’t even dwell on something that insignificant. I needed to focus on the next challenge.

I chose a door, opened it, and walked through.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

On the other side was a slightly larger room with one major improvement—actual windows looking out to a parking lot and a highway beyond. Music blared from speakers I couldn’t see. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was peppy, happy music, a contrast to the inner turmoil swirling around in my stomach.

Two beefy-looking guys about my age stood on the opposite side of the room, each of them in front of a door. The first thing I noticed about them was that they were built like football players. The second thing—they wore track suits. Not even kidding. Besides the presence of these two actual human beings, the place was empty. I was guessing these two guys were my obstacles.

“Hey, fellas,” I said. “I’m kind of working my way through here. Can you direct me to my next destination?”

No sense of humor, these guys. They didn’t say a word, and their faces didn’t give anything away, but they crossed their arms in front of them.

A little help here, Nadia? I didn’t sense her presence anymore. For whatever reason, she was gone, and I was on my own.

I looked at the guys’ faces. One looked a little younger than the other. He had bad skin, but a good head of wavy hair. The other teenager, the one guarding the door on the left, had a tattoo on his neck. A wicked-looking snake. The kind of tattoo you see on guys being released from prison (or on their way in). Both of these guys outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, and each of them had a look on their face like they couldn’t wait to pound me into ground beef.

When Snake Boy finally said something, it wasn’t to me. “So this is the guy who’s supposed to be the one? I’m not seeing it.”

His friend smirked. “We could use him to power a flashlight, maybe.” He pronounced the word like “meb-be,” making him sound like a hick.

Clearly these Neanderthals were eager for a fight to break out. I knew that once I made a move to get past them I’d be starting something, so I had to choose my door ahead of time. I took a half-step toward Snake Boy’s door and neither one of the guys flinched. I stepped back and did the same for the other door, the one guarded by the younger looking kid. Both of them tensed, as if getting ready to stop me. It was a very slight, involuntary twitch, but it was there, clear as day. They really didn’t want me anywhere near the door on the right.

I made a mental X on that door. In my mind it became mine and these guys were keeping it from me. I took a deep breath and stood up as straight as I could. “Hey, caveman,” I said, gesturing to Wavy Hair. “Move aside.”

And then he said, and I would swear to this in court, “Make me.”

I think I mentioned before that I was never one for fighting. I avoided conflict and kept out of trouble, if I could. In middle school, my usual response to someone blocking my way into a room and saying “Make me,” was to walk away and use the bathroom on the other end of the building. I didn’t think I was a fighter, but I was finding out that when life was on the line I could bring it.

I shot a bolt of electricity at his feet, making him jump back against the door. He looked startled, but his friend, Snake Boy, whooped and yelled, “We got ourselves a live one!”

A wisp of smoke came off of Wavy Hair’s left foot. My zap had come a little too close for comfort. He frantically pulled off his shoe and threw it at me. “Those were new,” he said, irate.

“Sorry,” I said, and charged right toward them. They hadn’t made a move yet, and I had the idea that I could throw a few more zaps their way and be through the door in no time. If I hurried, Tim might win the pool yet.

Here’s something to keep in mind for future reference: don’t underestimate people just because they talk like hicks or have questionable tattoos. These guys had more going on than I gave them credit for. They tag-teamed me by rushing forward and knocking me to the concrete floor, then jumping on top of me like they were television wrestlers. Wavy Hair pinned me down and struck me in the face with the side of his fist over and over again until I felt the crack of my nose breaking and a resulting river of blood gush out of my nose. Some of the blood trickled down the back of my throat and I could taste it, making me want to puke. These two goons didn’t have the electrical power or range that I had, but for their strategy they didn’t need them. Once they had me trapped beneath them, Snake Boy shocked me repeatedly at close range. I was too busy trying to defend myself to utilize my offensive skills. They weren’t as powerful, but there were two of them and they were beating me up old school.

“Hey!” I struggled to get up, but they kept pushing me back. I wondered at the venom in their eyes. They didn’t even know me. Why would they hate me?

Snake Boy’s hands were on my chest thrusting electrical charges repeatedly into my torso; his buddy was squeezing my head so hard my eyes hurt. “Admit defeat,” said Wavy Hair, in the same tone he’d used when he’d said, “Make me.” This was war, grade-school style. “Say it. Say we’ve won.”

I choked out one word: “Never.”

Every time I managed to get myself up on one elbow, I got pushed down again. It looked like I couldn’t win at this game. I stretched my arm toward the door, longing to be there. Voices swirled around me—memories of everything I’d heard that day.

Carly saying: You’re the weapon.

Tim, our tour guide, leading us like an overeager puppy, saying: You’re Russ Becker. A second gen. Someone like you only comes along every hundred years or so.

Shirley, at the reception desk who said: I stuck around tonight to meet Russ Becker. And shaking my hand like it was an honor. Like I was somebody special.

And finally I remembered Frank’s message on Carly’s phone: Can you send Russ to come get me so I can come home?

Frank was waiting to go home. What I was currently doing, getting the crap beaten out of me, clearly wasn’t working. I needed a new strategy.

I sucked in my breath, stopped using my muscles to resist, and thought about the electricity instead. I’d been carrying around my own share, and they were giving me more. Just like when the Associates were trying to abduct Mallory, I summoned all of the electricity together, and like a surge of adrenaline, it gave me a boost of superhuman energy.

I don’t remember getting up. It happened fast. One second I was pinned to the floor by Snake Boy, the next I was on my feet, a force to be reckoned with. The abrupt movement knocked Snake Boy and Wavy Hair off balance.

As soon as I reached the door, they were on their feet and after me. I turned the knob and was almost through, with both of them on my heels. Using his full weight, Wavy Hair slammed the door against me, holding me pinned halfway through. His buddy came up and zapped my shoulder, making me wince only slightly. I was so close, so close. I was two-thirds of the way into the next room, but that didn’t matter. If I couldn’t get away from these guys, I’d never reach the next challenge.

I heard Snake Boy’s voice taunting me. “What you gonna do now?” The door pressed against my chest, holding me in a vise grip. Someone was now yanking on my arm, and it felt like it was just about to come out of its socket.

I didn’t hold back, but shot a violent shaft of electricity out of the arm being yanked. I’d never released so much electricity before: it created a deafening boom and a blinding flash of light. The bolt lacked direction, but I knew it made contact because both of the guys let go and the door swung open. I heard an ear-shattering scream of pain coming from one of the guys, and when I looked back into the room, I saw Wavy Hair on the floor, legs thrashing, his head shaking like he was having a seizure.

Snake Boy, who stood over him, gave me a horrified look. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.

I shut the door behind me.

CHAPTER FORTY

I found myself in a doctor’s office waiting room, complete with a scattering of people sitting and reading magazines and a motherly-looking receptionist behind the counter. One woman sighed and glanced at the time on her phone, while a young mother jostled a crying baby on her lap. An elderly man was checking in at the front; the receptionist handed him a clipboard and was giving him instructions on how to fill out the forms.

Call me puzzled. I had no idea what to do. My body was on high alert watching for ninjas or sharpshooters, but none jumped out. In fact, no one even looked up when I walked into the room. I wondered if being in a doctor’s office had something to do with the fact that I was injured. Even without a mirror, I knew I was a mess. Blood stained the front of my T-shirt, the side of my face felt swollen, and I could have sworn I’d broken a few ribs. Every breath brought stabbing pain.

I walked up to the front, past the old man who had just walked away with the clipboard. I stood nervously at the counter. The receptionist looked up and said, “Yes? Do you have an appointment?”

An appointment? She had to be kidding. I played along. “I’m not sure,” I said. “My name is Russ Becker.”

Her face lit up. “Oh yes, Mr. Becker. The doctor is expecting you. Please take a seat. We’ll be calling you shortly.”

I sat down next to the woman with the baby, which seemed like a fairly safe decision. The baby screamed, his face bright red and his eyes filled with tears. His mother, talking over his crying, said, “He’s usually such a good boy, but he’s teething and he’s in a lot of pain.”

“Poor thing,” I said, letting my guard down a little bit. I was fairly sure no one was going to try to kill me when I was next to a baby. The next thing I did, completely on instinct, was to hold out a finger. The baby looked at it with wide eyes and grabbed hold. “He’s got a good grip.” I made a funny face at him and he stopped crying to regard me curiously.

“He likes you,” she said.

The baby appeared fascinated by me. He seemed to have forgotten that he’d been busy crying, and stared, unblinking, directly at my face.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Terry,” she said. And then she turned her attention back to the baby and spoke in the way people do to small children and animals. “He’s a good little man. Yes, he is.”

“Hi, Terry.” I felt my finger getting warmer and the connection between the baby and me growing. His mother was right, his gums were hurting badly. Those molars were killer. But the longer he held my finger, the more the pain subsided, and within a minute or so he felt fine. I sensed the shift in his mood from crabby to happy. And when he got all the way to happy, he was really happy—Disneyland style. “Poor little guy,” I said to his mother. “It’s no fun being in pain.”

“Mr. Becker?” the receptionist called out.

I pulled my finger from little Terry’s grasp and went up to the front.

“The doctor will see you now.”

A petite woman in a white jacket, a stethoscope around her neck, came out into the waiting area to greet me. She was young, early thirties at the most, and had dark hair and straight white teeth. The embroidery above her pocket identified her as Dr. Poore. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand.

Oh, Nadia, where are you? I got nothing in response. Since Dr. Poore didn’t look too menacing, I took a chance and shook her hand.

“I won’t keep you long,” she said, “because I know you’re trying to get through the challenges, but I do have a patient I’d like you to see.” She beckoned with one finger and led me down a hallway.

“You know about the challenges?” I was talking to the back of her head, while also trying to stay aware of my surroundings. I still wasn’t entirely convinced that I wasn’t going to be ambushed.

“Well, of course.”

“So is this an actual doctor’s office?”

“For now.”

“But will it be one tomorrow and next week?”

She stopped before a doorway and said, “Well, no, just for today as a scene setting for part of the test.”

“So you’re not a doctor then?”

“No, I’m a doctor, an MD. I work for the organization that’s testing you.”

“The Associates.”

Her lips pressed firmly together. “I can’t divulge the particulars. My role in this is to see you through this particular challenge.” She put a hand on her hip like, Do you want to continue or not?

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’m with you.”

She continued down the hall and turned into what proved to be an exam room. A red-haired teenage girl in a hospital gown sat on the exam table, her legs dangling down over the edge. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, backing out of the room.

“Don’t be silly,” Dr. Poore said, pulling me back in by the front of my stained shirt. “Clarice is why you’re here.”

“What happened to you?” Clarice asked, forehead furrowed. “I’ve got cancer and I look better than you do.”

“I had a disagreement with some friends.”

“Looks like they won.”

“Actually—”

Dr. Poore interrupted. “We want you to try your healing powers on Clarice.”

So they knew about the healing powers. Carly was right. I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll give it a go.”

“She has been diagnosed recently with stage—”

“Don’t.” Now it was my turn to interrupt. I raised my palm and explained. “I don’t need to know.” Part of me didn’t want to hear this cute girl’s sad story, and part of me knew I could figure it out on my own. Clarice still had a head of thick red hair and she didn’t look sick. But I knew that looks could be deceiving.

I held out my hands and Clarice rested her hands in mine.

“You don’t need to touch the affected areas?” Dr. Poore hovered to one side and craned her neck to watch.

“No.” Remembering what Nadia had said, I looked toward the door. “Are all of you getting this?”

Clarice smirked.

Feeling my hands get warmer, I knew something was happening. I concentrated, trying to send energy where it was needed most. I knew what it felt like when I’d healed my own bullet wound, and when I’d healed Mallory’s cut finger and when I’d infused healing currents in the two Associates who’d tried to abduct her. In each case, I’d instinctively felt where the damage had been, and my energy had been pulled right to that area. With Clarice the energy was searching, but not finding anything.

After a few minutes, I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t figure it out.”

“What can’t you figure out?” Clarice asked. “I have cancer. Cure it.”

I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t feel like anything is wrong with you.” I pulled my hands away and a knot in my stomach twisted. I’d gotten through three challenges, only to fail this one. “Maybe I could try with another patient?”

“No, thanks for trying. I think we’ll just pass you on to the next level,” Dr. Poore said, pressing her hand against my back to guide me out of the room.

As we walked back, I turned to Clarice and said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“S’okay,” she said, sounding bored. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dr. Poore walked me down the hall, away from the reception area. At the end of the hallway was a closed door, and adjacent to that, on my right, was another. “One of these will take you out of this office and on to your next and final challenge,” she said.

I looked at the closed doors and hesitated. They looked identical and yet one would lead me to doom while the other meant life and liberation. Nadia, are you there?

No reply.

Dr. Poore leaned in sympathetically and said, “Sometimes, when I’m lost, it helps me to think about where I’ve been.”

Good for you, I wanted to say, and then I realized she’d given me a hint. Where I’d been. Think, Russ, think. I looked back down the hallway and realized it ran parallel to the waiting room. If I took the door on the right, it would lead me back behind the receptionist’s desk, clearly not where I needed to be. The door at the end of the hall, that would be the right one.

I turned to shake Dr. Poore’s hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” I said, and I really meant it. Besides the baby, Terry, she was the only one in the place who seemed like a real human being.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Talk about a shock. As confusing as it had been to walk into a doctor’s waiting room, this was even more mind-boggling. I opened the door to find myself in what looked like a public place, a large, open sunny area filled with people coming and going. It took a second to get my bearings, but then I realized I knew this place. It was the Milwaukee Intermodal Station, where Carly and I had purchased the ticket to get on the bus.

Had the van circled back on the expressway and returned to Milwaukee without us realizing it? That’s what must have happened, and yet I was sure there wouldn’t have been enough time for them to do that. Of course, Carly and I had completely lost our sense of time and distance being in the dark in the back of the van.

I stood against a wall, unsure how to proceed from here. If I went out to the parking lot, would Carly and Frank be waiting in the car? Was I supposed to be doing something, and if so, what exactly? A voice over a loudspeaker announced a departure, and people came and went. It was a little busier than I remembered it being before.

Déjà vu all over again, as the saying goes. And yet.

Something wasn’t right. I looked at the slant of light coming through the window and remembered it coming in at the same angle when I’d picked up my tickets. Time had passed. Why hadn’t the sun moved?

I made my way through the crowd to the one place I was familiar with—the Greyhound ticket counter. The same bald-headed man was working. I went up and rested my elbows on the counter. When he looked up, I sensed recognition on his part. He smiled. “Mr. Becker! How nice to see you again. Did you enjoy your ride with us yesterday?”

“Yesterday? No, I saw you just a few hours ago.”

“I hate to correct you, sir, but I last saw you yesterday.” He sounded assured, but I sensed something underneath that confident tone. A quiver of deceit. He was lying.

I said, “I didn’t see you yesterday. That was earlier today. And it wasn’t here, but at the Milwaukee Intermodal Station.”

“Sir, this is the Milwaukee Intermodal Station.”

I said, “No, it looks a lot like it, I’ll give you that, but it’s not. It can’t be.”

He turned to his coworker. “Gary, what’s the name of this building?”

Gary, who was handing change over the counter to a customer, looked confused. “The Milwaukee Intermodal Station? Sometimes people just call it the Amtrak station or the bus station.”

“You see?” Baldy said, as if Gary’s testimony proved his point.

“The clocks are wrong too,” I said. “I left here at six fifteen, and at least two hours have passed since then.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but you’re mistaken. The six fifteen bus hasn’t even left yet today.”

“You’re the one who’s mistaken.” Because, I realized as I looked around, I couldn’t be in the Milwaukee Intermodal Station. And I wasn’t back in Milwaukee. They’d recreated it somehow. What they’d done here was close, but not close enough. I looked around, wondering what it would have taken to recreate a massive glass structure like this. A lot. Was it all for me? And why? “I know what time it really is and that I’m nowhere near the Intermodal Station. It’s a nice recreation, though.” I looked around. “You’ve gotten most of the details right. But not all of them. That tree for instance,” I said, pointing to one of the potted trees in the center, “is shaped slightly different than it was before.”

Baldy shook his head. “I don’t want to upset you because I can tell you’re confused. But I last saw you yesterday when I gave you the envelope with the ticket for the six fifteen bus. I went home last night, had a good night’s sleep, and now I’m back here at my place at the counter today.”

“And I don’t want to upset you,” I said, hitting the ball back over the net, “but I saw you at the Milwaukee Intermodal Station a few hours ago, and now we’re here at this place that’s supposed to look just like it.”

“Say that’s true,” he said slowly. “Say you left just a few hours ago and your bus ride took you to a place just like this but located somewhere else. How would I have gotten there? I mean, you left, didn’t you? And I was still working. I wouldn’t have had time to leave there and arrive somewhere else already.”

I hesitated. It was all getting muddled in my brain. How would he have gotten ahead of the bus and van? Maybe if he’d driven really fast… But so much would have had to work perfectly for that to happen.

“They rotate the trees periodically,” he said. “To make sure they all get the same amount of light.”

That almost made sense.

“Have you had a head injury recently?” he asked kindly. “People have been known to lose track of time due to brain trauma.”

I’d been so sure that I wasn’t back at the station, but maybe I’d been knocked unconscious, and they’d transported me back to Milwaukee without my knowledge. I guessed it was possible.

“You look like you’ve been through a horrible ordeal,” Baldy said, gesturing toward my blood-splattered shirt. “Why don’t you sit down over there and I’ll have someone bring you a cup of water. We can arrange a ride home for you, if you want.” His voice had a lulling effect on me and I found myself, against my better judgment, wanting to sit down and have someone take care of me. And really, all I wanted to do was go home and have everything back the way it was.

I glanced at the place he pointed to and imagined sinking into the seat and having someone bring me a cold drink of water. Maybe they could direct me to the restroom, where I could splash some water on my face before my trip home. For just a few minutes it would be nice to put my head back and rest my eyes. I braced myself against the counter, vacillating. I wanted this to be over in the worst way. It would have been easy to give in, but then I remembered something: Carly’s gum. In an act of defiance she’d stuck it under the counter when I’d picked up the ticket.

I took a step back to look underneath. I clearly remembered seeing her two fingers press a pink glob of gum to the white underside of the counter. But it wasn’t there now. No gum, and no sign there ever had been. Not only that, but the underside of the counter was dark gray, not white. This place came close, but it wasn’t exactly the same. I was sure of it now. I straightened up and looked him square in the eye.

“Look,” I said. “If the challenge was for me to see through this charade, it’s over. I don’t, for one instant, believe I’m in the Milwaukee Intermodal Station. Earlier today, I saw you, or a man who looked exactly like you, in the station in Milwaukee, but that’s not where we are now. That tree is different,” I said and pointed, “and this counter is different.” I knocked on it for emphasis. “And the sun should be lower in the sky by now. You can make any changes you want and say what you want, but I know what I know. I’m not in the Milwaukee Intermodal Station. You can’t mess with my head this way.”

He stared at me unblinking. “Is that your final answer?”

“Damn straight it is.”

“Well done, Mr. Becker,” he said, nodding approvingly.

Over the loudspeaker, a loud tone chimed. As if on cue, everyone in the terminal stopped what they were doing. The maintenance man set down his mop, the people sitting in chairs closed their magazines and laptops, and the people walking through stopped in their tracks.

And then, spontaneously, every person in the terminal began clapping. A slow clap. Each and every one of them clapping and walking toward me. The employees and the travelers, along with a crowd of others who materialized seemingly out of nowhere. They gravitated in my direction, all the while cheering like they’d witnessed a winning touchdown at Lambeau Field. And all of the attention was aimed at me.

Tim appeared at my side and pulled my arm up in the air. Around me people were high-fiving and talking excitedly. When the crowd finally settled down, Tim released my arm to announce, “Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds,” which set them off again. I caught bits and pieces:

“Unbelievable!”

“Can you even imagine everything we’ll be able to do now that we have this guy?”

“So that’s what a second gen is like!”

Tim turned to me. “Your powers are most impressive. Is there anything I can get for you—something to drink, some fresh clothes?”

I said, “I want my nephew.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Frank Shrapnel sat on a couch in front of a TV, barely looking up when I walked through the door. The room consisted solely of a couch, a television, and a side table covered by an assortment of salty snacks and a half mug of root beer with a bendy straw in it. “Hey, buddy,” I said, something that normally would have made him light up with happiness, but this time the only reaction was the brief flick of his eyes darting my way.

I knelt down in front of him. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Okay,” he said noncommittally. There was no expression on his face, no smile of recognition. All of his usual energy was gone, just a shell of a boy left behind.

I choked back my outrage to confront Tim. “What have you done to him?”

“What do you mean?” Tim said, innocently. “He’s right there in front of you, fine and happy. Look him over. You won’t find a mark on him. And I think if you’ll ask him, he’ll tell you he had a good time visiting us here at the testing center. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“I had a good time at the testing center with Russ,” he said, his eyes still on the screen.

“You used mind control on him?” I said, incredulous.

“Would you have preferred he be frightened and hysterical?”

I got right in Tim’s face. “I would have preferred that he be safe at home where he belongs.”

“Please calm down.”

“Calm down? I don’t think so. You people are monsters. First you abduct Frank and then you mess with his mind. He’s just a kid.” I wished I could scoop Frank up and carry him out, the way I used to when he was little.

“No need to overreact,” Tim said. “He’s fine. He’ll go home and have happy memories of his visit at the video game testing station with Uncle Russ.”

“He thinks he’s at a video game testing station?”

Tim nodded. “He’s sure of it. In his mind the two of you have been testing video games for a big company. He won’t be sure of the name of the company. We left that ambiguous, but he’ll certainly remember the fun he had and how special it made him feel to spend an evening with Uncle Russ.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Not kidding at all. Years from now, he’ll still be talking about it, and what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that is that it’s not real,” I said. “It never happened.”

“As far as he’ll be concerned it happened. Really, how do you know that all of your memories are factual? We create the reality we want to believe. One child thinks they have the meanest parents in the world. His brother thinks they’re strict but fair. Which one is right? Is the second one downplaying it or is the first one a whiner? So much of life depends on your perspective.”

“It has nothing to do with perspective,” I pointed out. “What we’re talking about is—”

At that very moment, Carly rushed into the room, interrupting the debate. “Frank!” she cried, joining him on the couch and crushing him into a hug. Normally he would have wriggled out of her grasp, but now, docile as a teddy bear, he accepted it. Like me, she soon realized this was not the Frank we knew. She looked up, outraged. “What’s wrong with him?” she demanded.

“They used mind control on him,” I said bitterly. “They implanted false memories. He’s going to think he and I spent the evening at a video game testing station.”

Frank gave Carly a blank look. “Russ and I have been testing new games. It was really cool.” His voice had a prerecorded quality to it.

Carly said, “Snap out of it, Frank. Look at me, look at me right now.” She took him by the shoulders and gave a little shake. Even though he stared straight at her, nothing registered. His enlarged pupils gave him the odd look of one who was hypnotized.

“There’s no point in doing that,” Tim said. “It will wear off soon enough, probably by the time you get home, in fact.”

But Carly wasn’t listening. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Frank, answer me. Do you know where you are?”

“At the video game testing station,” Frank said, each word as monotone as the next. “Russ and I played some really cool new games. I can’t wait until they’re available for preorder.”

“Oh, Frank.” Her eyes filled up with tears. She turned to me. “Do something, Russ.”

Tim said, “He’s fine, just fine.”

“He’s under some kind of spell. Where are you, Frank?” she asked, tracing the side of his face with her fingertips. “I never should have left you alone. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Frank said, his gaze back now on the TV screen. “Russ and I had fun.”

Carly took his hand between hers and curved her body protectively around Frank. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice sounding much younger, as if she were a child instead of an adult woman.

I wanted to go home, too, but going now would mean leaving things unfinished. I didn’t want to live my life looking over my shoulder, wondering when the Associates would be coming for me. Because they would be coming for me. Getting through these challenges wasn’t the end of it, I knew. It was just the beginning, and I needed to know more. “Just hang in there, Carly,” I said, and to Tim: “I don’t want to go until I talk to whoever’s in charge.”

“You’re in luck,” Tim said. “He wants to talk to you too.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

We encountered locked doors along the way. Tim leaned over and had his eyeball scanned, which gave us access to the corridor leading to our destination. The actual room required a punch code and a reading of his handprint before we were allowed entry. A woman’s voice said, “Access is granted,” and then double doors slid open to each side, revealing what looked like a war room. Or at least what I knew of war rooms from the movies. Several people worked behind computers set up on a boomerang-shaped counter. One man stood off to the side, his arms folded. All of them wore business-type clothing—dress shirts and dark pants.

They didn’t notice us entering the room because their attention was on a large screen covering the far wall. On either side of the main screen were two smaller screens. The configuration reminded me of mirrors in the changing rooms at Kohl’s department stores. I hated trying on clothes in stores, but if my mother was with me she always insisted. The worst thing about it was coming out to stand for inspection while she assessed shoulder fit and took a mortifyingly long time determining whether or not there was enough extra growing length in the pants. Not my favorite form of humiliation. This view was equally embarrassing because the images on the screen were of me battling Snake Boy and Wavy Hair. Or maybe battling wasn’t quite accurate. In this particular clip, Snake Boy and Wavy Hair were giving me a pounding like I was meat that needed tenderizing.

Standing at the back of the room, I winced with each blow, remembering how it felt at the time. Since then, I’d healed considerably, which was good. By the time I got home there would be nothing I’d have to explain to my parents.

During the incident with the two thugs, Snake Boy and Wavy Hair, there was a moment when I’d realized I could summon my strength using the electrical energy inside of me, and that exact moment was visible on the video. My face changed expression, and I leaped off the ground in an almost superhuman way. The Associates in the room made approving noises at this part, and the man standing off to one side said, “Go back about five seconds and replay that frame by frame.” And frame by frame, they studied and discussed the angle of my body from prone to upright and the speed at which I’d jumped.

I’d known of course, that I had been watched, but seeing this footage and knowing it was being analyzed was another thing entirely. These people had no boundaries. I was a monkey in the zoo being put through an obstacle course to get a banana, the banana being Frank.

The next scene they viewed and discussed involved the two goons attempting to abduct Mallory the night we’d driven home from Mr. Specter’s house. One of the two men apparently had a hidden camera on his person because they had a record of all of it: me hitting them with lightning bolts, and then healing them, and Mallory using mind control to persuade them that the kids in Edgewood hadn’t been affected by the light particles. So much for that. And I’d thought it was such a good idea at the time.

I glanced over at Tim to see if he’d interrupt and let them know we were there, but he stood quietly and shook his head when I made a gesture asking if we should step forward.

Finally, I’d had enough. “Excuse me,” I called out. “Who’s in charge here?” Tim looked horrified that I’d interrupted, but I didn’t care. I figured that if they were going to kill me, they’d have done it already.

***

Five minutes later, the room had been cleared; the only ones left were me and the man in charge, the one who’d been standing with his arms folded. I’d been granted a private interview.

“So, we finally meet,” he said with a warm smile as if we’d been introduced at a social function. He could have been any one of the men Carly dated and brought to the house to meet the family. He had the pleasantries down, anyway. His appearance, though, was better than most of her boyfriends. He was clean cut, with good teeth, a wrinkle-free shirt, and pressed pants. A young executive, probably an overachiever in his school days. I’d seen his type before. He was much older than me, but I wasn’t intimidated.

“Yeah, I’m thinking we haven’t officially met since I don’t know your name,” I said. He sat in a chair and indicated I should do the same, but instead I leaned my butt back against the countertop holding the computers. My psychology teacher told us that towering above someone establishes dominancy. The whole alpha male thing. I wasn’t sure about that, but at least I didn’t look afraid, which is what I was going for. She also said that the correct thing to say when you don’t know what to say is, “Really.” The things you learn in school.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he said, standing to clasp my hand. “The name’s Miller.”

“Are you the commander I keep hearing about?”

“Me, the commander?” He chuckled. “No, I’m the division leader. No one gets to just meet the commander. He wouldn’t be here today for something like this.” He sat back in his chair, clearly amused.

“So the commander is the Wizard of Oz of your organization?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know—‘nobody sees the wizard, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,’ that kind of thing?” He didn’t seem to get the reference, so I let it go and went on. “Never mind. I have a few questions for you.”

“Certainly. Ask away.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?” he asked.

Okay, this was seriously frustrating. I said, “Look, I don’t want to play games. I just want answers. Why was I put through these challenges? Clearly you know that I’m not the only one who was exposed to the light particles.”

Miller said, “No, you’re not the only one who was exposed. Let me show you something.” He sat at a computer terminal and clicked on a few things on the keyboard. On the large screen in the front of the room popped up a still photo of Jameson along with a list of stats—his name, age, address, and at the top: Power: Telekinesis, Low. “You know him?” he said, pointing.

A rhetorical question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes.”

“But you don’t like him.” A statement.

“He’s okay,” I said.

“Here’s one you know, and you like her a whole lot better than the first guy.” Miller clicked and up came a screenshot of Mallory alongside a listing of her information. “Mallory Nassif, a very talented young lady. Not as talented as you, but then, nobody is.” He glanced to get my reaction, but when I didn’t comment, he continued. “And finally, the fourth Edgewood teen.” The screen image showed Nadia in her usual dark jeans, her upper half embedded in her hoodie. Only her small hands and the tip of her nose were visible in the photo. Her stats were also listed along with her power. “All three have what we call low to medium powers. Jameson is the least impressive of the bunch. I can’t tell you the number of people on the planet who can do what he does. Most of them work as magicians until their powers start to fail them in their thirties. Yes, your friends’ abilities are marginal. You, on the other hand, have something very unusual.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“So if you already know so much about me, why bring me here? Why the big subterfuge with kidnapping my nephew and sending messages with a voice changer? What was the point of putting us through this whole ordeal?”

“To see how you’d react under pressure,” he said. “To test how you conduct yourself. You’re very brave and you think quickly. Those are things we didn’t know until we put you through the obstacles. You’ve exceeded our expectations every step of the way.”

“But I didn’t cure Clarice’s cancer.”

“Clarice didn’t have cancer. That was the test. The baby, on the other hand, had been screaming nonstop for three days. Damn molars.” Miller shook his head and sort of tsked-tsked. “The baby was the only one in the room in pain. You gravitated right to him and immediately fixed the problem.”

“Really.”

There was a long silence; Miller broke it. “You, Mr. Becker, not only have powers in the high range, but you have multiple abilities and you seem to be accruing more and more as time goes on.”

“And that’s because I’m a second gen?”

“Yes!” he said. “That’s been our theory. Can you confirm that?”

“I have no idea what that means. I’ve just been hearing it all day.”

“Oh.” Miller’s face fell in disappointment. “Well, that means that you’d be the second generation to acquire these powers. We have a theory, not yet proven, that DNA can store, if not the actual abilities, the memory of the abilities. And the resulting offspring, if exposed to the particles, builds from there. It would certainly account for you.”

“Are you saying that one of my parents had powers? Because I hate to contradict you, but I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.” I thought of my dad snoozing in his recliner and my mom, bone-weary after a day at work. If they’d ever gone through a period where their life had been exceptional, you couldn’t tell it by me.

“It’s a theory,” Miller said firmly. “And if anyone has the answer it would be Carly.”

“Carly? My sister, Carly?”

He nodded. “Our information doesn’t go back far enough, but we know she knows. You’d need to ask her.”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Believe me, we’ve tried. She won’t talk to us.”

A sick feeling came over me, and all at once things made sense. Carly had been dealing with this for the past sixteen years and my parents and I never knew. All the times she’d been incommunicado or flaked out on us and missed family gatherings, she’d probably had a good reason. Maybe she’d been protecting us by not saying anything. It was like the planet shifted and revealed itself to me. I’d been thinking trash about my sister, when really she was a hero.

“You might be thinking, Russ, that our tactics are extreme,” Miller said. “And I would agree that on the surface, it looks that way. But if you knew more about our organization, I think you’d understand.” He turned back to the computer and started an actual PowerPoint slideshow. Despite myself, I listened and watched. The first screenshot was a map of the world covered in dots. “We’re international and have headquarters in all the major cities. The official group name is the Associates, although you won’t find us listed that way anywhere. Instead, our members are present in government and business, anywhere structure and stability are needed.”

He clicked to the next image—an old painting of a serious man, the kind you see in museums. “We’ve been around for centuries. Our founder, Matthew Bradford, was one of the first to be exposed to the light particles, as you call them. He recruited others with powers with the idea that collectively they could make a difference. And they did.”

“Eventually,” Miller said, clicking to an image of the light particles on a field, not my field though, “the group figured out that these fragments fell periodically in various spots around the country. They also realized that the people coming into contact with them were teenagers, all of whom had insomnia and felt compelled to walk outdoors prior to and on the night of the event.” He turned to me. “What was it like, Russ? Was it as incredible as they say?” His voice had a wistful tone.

“Incredible, yes,” I said. “There’s really no way to describe it. And nothing in the world comes close, at least not that I know of.”

He sighed. “That’s what I hear.” We both stared at the photo of the light particles configured in a perfect spiral on the field. The photo had captured the shape and glow, but it lacked the glittering magic of the real thing. A picture couldn’t possibly convey the feeling the lights gave off—like the first day of summer vacation times a thousand. Miller moved forward in the PowerPoint, and we found ourselves looking at a timeline. “Although some of the initial groups were found out and condemned, the Salem witch trials being an example, those in our organization became good at covering their tracks. Using our talents, we’ve made improvements in the quality of life for Americans and others around the planet.”

“What kinds of improvements?”

“Thousands of improvements, mostly of the preventative kind. How do you think the United States became a supreme power with so much material wealth? Just between us, there have been Hitler types who have tried to seize power and who would have taken over, if not for us. While the citizens of our country sleep, we’re quietly working behind the scenes to do everything we can to keep the economy from collapsing and to keep order in our cities.”

It was a hyped-up sales pitch, but I didn’t challenge him. Instead I asked, “So not everyone in the Associates has powers?”

“That’s right. In fact, most of us don’t,” he said. “Some of us are scientists or politicians or handle the day-to-day operations. The ones with the powers, they’re sort of the James Bonds of our group. Well regarded and vital to our cause.”

“You send people on missions.”

“That and more. The Associates with powers are well provided for. When you join our organization, you’ll never have to worry about anything again. We can arrange anything for a young guy such as yourself. We make things happen.”

“What kind of things?”

“Anything you want. You want to graduate from high school early? We can arrange that. You want to own a certain car, maybe something sporty that will get the right kind of attention from girls? Amazingly, you’ll win one in a contest you don’t even remember entering. You want to go to Harvard? We can arrange a full scholarship and make sure you’re on the honor roll every semester until graduation. And the best part, my friend? You don’t have to do any of the course work if you don’t want to. In the meantime, of course, you’ll be working for us, here and there as time allows, and when you graduate, we’ll offer you a lucrative position working for any company in any city you’re interested in.”

“But I won’t really be working for them because it will be a cover. I’ll actually be working for you.”

“Bingo,” he said, pleased I was getting it. “You’ll be paid well, of course. Very well. And the benefits are endless. Best of all, my friend, you’ll know you’re making the world a better place. We would love to have someone with your talents on board. So,” he said, standing up, so that now he towered over me, “what would you say to that?”

“I’d say I’m not your friend.” I hadn’t planned on blurting it out in such a mean voice, it just came out that way.

A thin smile spread across his face, like he’d been expecting this reaction. “Fair enough.” He shrugged. “We’ll check back with you later this summer. I have a feeling you’ll be changing your mind.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

By the time they returned us to the parking lot across the street from the real Milwaukee Intermodal Station, Carly, Frank, and I were exhausted. Frank, in fact, fell asleep in the van during the drive back. We were in a different van this time around, but again, we were in a windowless back area. Our driver seemed to loop around endlessly, but there was no way to know if he did that on purpose or if we were on a direct route that just happened to be circuitous. You could have paid me a million dollars and I couldn’t have retraced our drive back to the building where I’d gone through the obstacle course.

Carly and I didn’t talk in the van. Both of us were emotionally spent, and we also knew the Associates were watching and listening. I’d gotten past it being creepy. It just was the way things were.

When we arrived at the lot in Milwaukee, the back doors of the van popped open. We climbed out disoriented, me half-carrying Frank, who moved sluggishly as if drugged. Carly got her spark back and angrily slammed the van doors to make a statement, but I don’t think it made an impression. The driver of the van didn’t get out or speak to us, just waited until we were in Carly’s car and then sped off, tires squealing.

After I got Frank situated in the back seat, Carly arranged his feet and buckled him in like he was a small child. With his eyes closed and his hair in his face, he looked young and innocent. I was glad he wouldn’t remember getting forcibly kidnapped from his home, but there was no erasing the fact that he’d been a victim.

Once we’d returned to their apartment and Frank had been settled into bed, Carly opened a bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass. “I’d offer you one, but I feel badly enough that I’ve exposed you to all of this. I’m not going to be the one to start you drinking too,” she said, sinking into a chair and setting the bottle on the end table. She had both hands around the glass like it was a lifeline. “Help yourself to a Coke. They’re in the fridge.”

“No thanks.” I was on the couch, appropriate since it was going to be my bed soon if we were going to perpetuate the lie I had told my parents—that I was sleeping overnight because I was staying to help Frank with a science project. Carly had discovered that Mom had left voice mail saying it was fine that I’d be at her place for the night. In fact, my parents were taking advantage of my absence by driving up to Door County for an impromptu overnight at their favorite bed-and-breakfast. So much for them being worried about me. I said, “I don’t know why you’d say you exposed me to this. I was the one who went out walking and saw the lights. You had nothing to do with it.”

“I should have paid attention,” she said. “If I had known Mom and Dad were taking you to Dr. Anton for sleep problems, I could have prevented everything.”

“But you didn’t know. No point in beating yourself up over it.”

“Easy to say. I still feel guilty.” She took a big sip, polishing off the glass, and then poured herself some more.

“So you’ve known about the Associates for sixteen years and managed to keep it a secret?”

“Yeah. I’d like to forget and just live my life like a normal person, but I can’t. They’re always keeping an eye on me. I don’t know enough that they want me dead, but I still make them nervous. They don’t like loose ends.” She looked into the red liquid and swirled the glass. “And now I have to get another cell phone. That sucks.”

A realization dawned on me. “Is that why you keep getting new phones and different numbers?” My parents could never get over how often Carly changed numbers. She always had an excuse—a problem with the phone carrier, a stalker boyfriend, a better phone plan. None of her reasons were convincing.

“Duh. Why else would I switch phone numbers all the time?”

“I don’t know.”

She sighed. “I used to move all the time too, until I got tired of it. Now I just do periodic sweeps of the apartment looking for bugs. I’m sure I miss some, but it sure feels like a victory when I find one. Then I squash it like a real bug and flush it down the toilet.”

“And all your boyfriends…?”

“The best of them have turned out to be undercover Associates,” Carly said. “Believe me, that’s a definite deal-breaker. I don’t trust men anymore.” She paused and added, “Except Dad.”

The time seemed right for me to ask her something I’d wondered for hours. “Carly, what’s a ‘second gen’? The Associates kept calling me that.”

“Oh that,” she said. “They think you’re the second generation to have these powers and that’s why you’re so good.”

“But I’m not, am I? I mean, Mom and Dad never had this happen, did they?”

“I think it’s safe to say Mom and Dad never had superpowers. They don’t know anything about this, and I hope they never do.”

“You never were tempted to go to the police?” I asked. “Ever?”

Carly scoffed. “And tell them what? That my high school boyfriend was exposed to a bunch of falling stars and could shoot lightning bolts out of his hands, but then was murdered by a powerful secret organization because he turned down the opportunity to join them? They’d think I was crazy.”

“I could show them what I can do, and then they’d have to believe.”

“Yeah, go ahead and do that. Then we’d all be dead.”

“Seriously. We’d all be dead? Everyone?”

“Everyone involved. Anyone who witnessed anything.”

Carly could be so dramatic at times. I tried again. “I can’t believe they’d kill a whole police station. What if we call a press conference and there are hundreds of people there to witness it?”

“Oh, Russ.” She shook her head sadly. “Have you ever read in the news where a whole community is killed in a flash flood or a tornado or a wildfire?” She met my eyes. “And then you think, ‘Oh those poor people. What a terrible random thing to happen. Mother Nature can be so cruel.’”

“Those things aren’t random?”

She exhaled loudly. “Those are the kind of things the Associates do on a regular basis. You have no idea how much power we’re talking about.”

“So now what?”

“One day at a time. That’s all we can do is live life one day at a time. If there’s a better way of dealing with this, I haven’t figured it out.”

“What if I talk to Mr. Specter—”

“No!” She sat up suddenly, the wine in her glass lurching from side to side. “Leave it be, Russ. Just let it go.”

“But I can’t let it go. That Miller guy said they’d be checking in with me later in the summer.”

“And they will. Put them off as long as you can, would be my advice. Try to get through high school and college at least. And when you join them, see if you can work in some capacity where you don’t have to kill people.”

“So you’re telling me to just give up?”

“Don’t think of it as giving up. Think of it as surviving. If you don’t let this go, you’ll wind up like poor Gordon Hofstetter with an apartment filled with maps and lined notebooks full of illegible scribbles. He made himself crazy over this and wound up electrocuted.”

“How do you know what he had in his apartment?”

“I stopped over when David’s parents were cleaning it out,” she said. “They gave me some photos of David and some other things. And when they weren’t looking, I found this and I just took it.” She had a gleam in her eyes as she pulled a chain out from under her T-shirt. An old key dangled off the end of it. “You know what this is for?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“It opens the door to the old train station building. David had the key, and we used to meet there. It was like our own clubhouse. We used to go there to make out. Among other things.” Now she had a grin on her face and the old Carly was back.

I knew it had been boarded up for decades. I could only imagine what it looked like inside. “Weren’t there like mice and bugs and stuff?”

“Not that I noticed,” she said cheerfully. “We had a blanket. And of course, I had other things on my mind at the time.”

“How did David get the key in the first place?”

“His great-grandfather, Gordon’s father, was the train station master a million years ago. The key stayed in the family.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing.” She slipped it back inside her shirt. “I just like having it.”

After polishing off her glass of wine, Carly got me a pillow, some blankets, and a spare toothbrush and left me to work it out. Sleeping on a couch is not the same as a mattress, but hers, at least, was fairly long, and I was dead tired. I knew I wouldn’t be awake much longer.

I sank into the pillow and pulled the covers up to my chin. It was then I was aware of Nadia’s presence in the room. Her voice cut through the silence in the room. Even in my head it seemed loud.

Oh, Russ, thank God you’re okay.

I could feel her relief. Until a second ago, I sensed, she wasn’t sure if I was alive or dead. I played it cool. Of course I’m okay. You know me, I’m indestructible.

I’ve been worried sick.

Where’d you go, Nadia? You were with me and then you were gone.

I know, I know. I’m sorry. My mom thought I was napping and she shook me until I was pulled back. I wasn’t able to be alone until just now.

I got a flash of her mother, an image in my mind. I saw her angry face, her hands like claws coming after her daughter. And I felt Nadia’s fear. I said, I’m sorry she treats you like that.

She didn’t question what I said. I guess both of us were getting used to being inside each other’s head. Instead she just told me: Some days I think I won’t be able to stand another minute in this house.

Hang in there.

I’m trying.

Nadia, I’m sorry, but I’m seriously falling asleep right now. I had a really tiring day.

Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I’d thought I was through with sneaking out of the house, but just after midnight on the following night I found myself creeping down the stairs, putting on my shoes, and slipping out the back door. It felt good to be out on my own in the dark. The night air was fresh and the slight breeze felt good against my skin. All familiar, but I wasn’t going to be following my usual route tonight. Instead, I headed straight to Mr. Specter’s house.

He wasn’t expecting me, but when I got there, the lights were on in his living room and over his front porch, which made me feel better about my late-night visit. He did say to come over any time of the day or night, but still. I rang the doorbell and stepped back so I could easily be seen through the peep hole. After a slight pause, I heard fumbling on the other side of the door: a deadbolt being released, the clinking of a chain fastener sliding to one side, and finally, the turn of the knob.

Even though it was twelve thirty at night, a big smile crossed his face as he stood in the open doorway. “Mr. Becker. What a nice surprise.” He held the door open for me, and as I walked through he said, “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I need your help,” I said.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I think it’s best if we talk downstairs,” Mr. Specter said, leading me through the house to the basement door. When he saw me hesitate, he said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ambush you. I’m home alone, and I’m quite sure you could overpower an old man like me if you wanted to.”

He was right about that. I followed him down, and when we got to the U-shaped couch I saw that it was true—we were alone. He turned on the overhead lights and switched on a floor lamp that stood behind the couch, giving us some more light. “I wanted to talk down here,” he said, “because this room is secure. I’ve spent a lot of time and money making sure it’s impervious to any electronic listening devices or any of that other spy nonsense the Associates use.”

“I could use a room like this in my house,” I said.

“We could use a world like this,” Mr. Specter said, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the front of his shirt.

“Were you expecting me?” I asked.

“No.”

“But you’re awake and dressed,” I pointed out. “And you didn’t seem shocked to see me here so late.”

He put his glasses back on. “I’m a night owl by nature and an insomniac on occasion. You’ll often find me awake at this hour, alone in my thoughts. I also like to read late at night. The world doesn’t intrude like it does during the day.”

I nodded, knowing what he meant.

“Am I right in guessing that you’ve had something significant happen lately?” he said, gesturing for me to take a seat.

I sat on the opposite end of the horseshoe couch—close enough to see him, but not close enough to be awkward. Before I got here, I wondered how much I was going to tell him, but as it turned out, there was no way to tell the story unless I revealed everything. “The Associates abducted my nephew Frank,” I began, and then it all came spilling out. I told him about Carly’s cell phone message and how we rushed to the Greyhound counter. How the bus was stopped by an overturned semi, and Carly and I received instructions to get out, and how we wound up getting picked up by a cargo van and taken to a mystery location. “And once I got there, Carly had to stay in a waiting room with a secretary, and they sent me through these obstacles. They said I had to do it if we wanted Frank back.”

Mr. Specter leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What kind of obstacles?”

I told him about Tim wanting to shake my hand, and how I refused, and then I detailed all the tests: the dogs, the two thugs who tried to beat me up, the doctor’s office, and the mock Milwaukee Intermodal Station. The only thing I neglected to tell him was how Nadia was along for part of it. “The Associates timed me during this whole thing, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I believe it,” he said gravely. “How’d you do?”

“Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds.”

“Impressive.”

“They thought so. They practically had a parade.”

“Hmmm.” He looked off to one side. “Now that they know all you can do, they’ll certainly want you to join them.”

“They already asked and they made me an offer.”

“Which was?”

“Anything I wanted, basically.”

“Most people would find that hard to turn down. What did you tell them?” He peered at me over his glasses.

“I said no thanks.”

His face lit with admiration. “Good for you, Russ!”

I realized then that he’d used my first name for the first time ever. For some reason, I felt like I’d made a breakthrough. “They weren’t happy about it.”

“Well no, they wouldn’t be.”

The room became noticeably silent now that my story was over. Both of us knew that this wasn’t the end of it. The Associates weren’t going to take no for an answer. They’d just given me some time to come around to their way of thinking.

Mr. Specter said, “How is your nephew?”

“Just about back to normal except for a bad headache the next morning,” I said. “He woke me up by jumping on top of me.”

“It sounds like he won’t have any long-term damage.”

“He really thinks we spent hours testing video games. He remembers specific things I said to him, and he can describe the games. They really got into his head.”

“That’s a shame.” Mr. Specter spoke in a sympathetic tone. And then, he abruptly switched the subject: “You said you needed my help?”

“Oh yes!” I practically smacked my forehead with the realization of the real reason I’d come here tonight. “It’s about Gordy—I mean Mr. Hofstetter.”

“What about him?”

I stood up and reached into my pocket, pulled out the folded piece of paper, and spread it out on the coffee table in front of me. “Before he died, he gave me this.” I smoothed out the edges so it would lie flat. “He said his grandson was imprisoned and I needed to find him.”

Mr. Specter got up and sat next to me to get a closer look. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

“No, I haven’t shown it to anyone else.” True that. I hadn’t shown it to anyone, but I’d told Nadia about it during our nighttime visits.

He stared intently at the page. “Would you mind if I made a copy of it?”

“No.”

Holding the paper between two fingers, he got up from the couch and disappeared through a door into the other part of the basement. A minute later, I heard the whirring of a copy machine. When he emerged from the room he had a stack of papers in one hand and a pencil and magnifying glass in the other. Taking his place, he said, “I made a few extra copies so we can write on them.”

I twisted around to look at the open doorway. “That’s not your laundry room?”

“No, my laundry room is upstairs. That room is my top secret home office,” he said, amused. “I keep it locked up when I’m not home so it’s Associate proof.”

“Good thinking,” I said.

He shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. I had a cleaning lady once who seemed a little fishy. You never know.” He set the papers down, the copies next to the original, then picked up a pencil and began going over the faint lines with sure, even strokes. Interlocking geometric shapes took form. Once done, he concentrated on the number combinations I’d been unable to decipher. After he’d darkened them, they had a familiar look. “These numbers, you know what they are?”

“Some kind of code was my guess.” I was a little embarrassed. Here I was supposed to be exceptionally smart and yet I wasn’t coming up with much of anything at all.

“In a way,” he said. “I believe each set indicates a specific geographic coordinate.”

“Latitude and longitude,” I said, finally realizing the truth.

“Very good.” He tapped the geometric shapes with the end of the pencil. “And my guess is that this is a map and that once we go to the specific coordinates, we’ll know more. Tell me, Mr. Becker, what are your plans for this summer?”

“I’m going to take my driver’s test and look for a job,” I said. The driving and the job went hand in hand. I’d need money for gas and all the things I could do once I’d be driving. Dating for one.

“Do you think your parents would allow you to take an all-expense-paid class trip to Peru?”

“Peru? Oh, I don’t know…”

“I think it would be best,” he mused, “to take some other students along as well, so it doesn’t look too suspicious. Miss Nassif, for sure. What about those other two? Do you think they’d be on board?”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “I’m not getting this. Why do you want to go to Peru?”

“To save Mr. Hofstetter’s grandson, of course.”

“But he died in a car accident.”

“Or so we’ve been led to believe,” Mr. Specter said.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

On the walk home I mulled over everything Mr. Specter had said. His group, the Praetorian Guard, had long believed, for reasons he didn’t want to get into, that the Associates maintained a significant headquarters in Peru. They’d never been able to prove it, or even find the precise location for that matter, but he thought the map and the various latitude and longitude coordinates would point us in the right direction.

“Okay,” I said, “I get that. But why do you need to bring some high school kids along? Wouldn’t it be easier just to have some people from the Praetorian Guard go investigate for themselves? It seems like we’d make the trip more complicated.”

“You’re thinking of yourself as a high school student,” Mr. Specter said, “when you should be thinking of yourself as someone with superpowers. I could bring a hundred people along and we couldn’t match what the four of you can do. Not only that, but because you’re young, people tend to discount you. Traveling as a school group, we can fly under the radar, so to speak.”

What he said made sense. I told him I’d think about it, reclaimed Mr. Hofstetter’s original paper, and said I had to get going or my parents might notice I was gone, which wasn’t entirely true. Things were getting so messed up I really just wanted to go home and wrap my brain around everything that had happened. And I wanted to do that in the privacy of my own room. I realized on the walk home that not only hadn’t I told him about Nadia’s astral projection, but I’d also neglected to tell him about the medallion Gordy had given to me. I still had it in my wallet and took it out from time to time. I liked the weight of it in my hand and the way the light came through the clear disc in the center. I felt like Indiana Jones examining an ancient artifact. Something about the medallion made me want to keep it to myself.

By the time I arrived in my neighborhood, the air had changed from dry to moist and the slight breeze had kicked into high gear. I’d heard the forecast for thunderstorms, but thought it would be happening later. It would be good to be inside when the rain came.

With relief, I reached my yard. The crabapple tree along the rear lot line had long since shed its blossoms. They’d fallen like snow around the base of the tree and then disappeared, but I thought I got a whiff of their floral scent as I worked my way to the back door. I was almost to the porch when I noticed a shadowy figure lurking along the dark edges of the lot. My breath caught in my chest, and I was just about to shoot electricity in that direction, when I heard, “Russ?”

It was Nadia. She stepped out from the shadows, and I could see quite clearly she was alone. As usual, she wore blue jeans and a dark hoodie that obscured most of her face.

“Nadia!” I rushed to give her a hug. A few days ago that would have been weird, but it wasn’t now, not after what we’d been through. “What are you doing here?”

She pointed up to the second floor of the house. “You weren’t in your room when I tried to see you, and I thought something terrible must have happened.”

I heard terror in her voice. I imagined her projecting into my room and seeing the empty room, and her thinking I’d been taken by the Associates, maybe for good this time. “Oh no, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I stepped back and put my hands on either side of her head, and she buried her face in my chest. Her little body silently heaved, and I realized she was crying. “Honestly, I’m okay. I just went to have a talk with Mr. Specter. I told you about him, right? Really, I’m fine.”

“I know.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m just so relieved.”

Waves of anguish and relief and love rolled off of her, an odd, poignant mixture of emotion. I didn’t have much experience consoling girls, but I took a stab at it, making the soothing noise people made in movies. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

She pulled away and wiped at her eyes with her fingertips, a little embarrassed. “I know I’m overreacting.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to know someone would care if I disappeared.”

The wind whipped up, making the branches in the trees sway and sigh. In the sky behind Nadia’s head a bolt of lightning cut the sky in half; for a second the entire yard was lit as brightly as if it were the middle of the day. “Whoa,” she said, turning to see. “Impressive.”

When she looked back at me, her hood had slipped slightly. On a whim I reached over and lowered it to her shoulders. I’d only seen her spiky bangs, so I didn’t realize her dark brown hair was shoulder length. Without the hood, it was easier to see all of her face, including the part that had been damaged, but her scars didn’t bother me. I only saw Nadia, my friend. I searched her face and saw her eyes still fresh with tears, her lips quivering. She made a move to put the hood back up. “Don’t,” I said, stopping her hand. “I like seeing you.”

“I hate it,” she said. “I hate looking so ugly.”

“But you’re not ugly.” I put my hands on either side of her face and looked deep into her eyes. I felt the connection between us, the warmth of her skin and the pulsing of energy, drawing us closer. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Nadia shook her head. “Not beautiful.” She trembled and looked up at me with complete trust, her fate in my hands.

I said, “You are. You just don’t know it yet.” I leaned over so that our noses touched and said, “What are you doing this summer?”

END OF BOOK ONE

WANDERLUST

Karen McQuestion

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright ©2013 by Karen McQuestion.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 978-1482387537

ISBN-10: 1482387532

Cover design: Damon @ www.damonza.com

For my sister Kay

The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms timidly, and struggles to the light amid the thorns.

―George Santayana

CHAPTER ONE

Nadia

Waiting in the shadows felt like a kind of slow death. All the while I hoped and prayed he’d come home soon. The moon shone overhead and a slight breeze kept me cool. As usual, I wore my black sweatshirt with the hood up. I never showed my face if I could help it.

Every night since I’d discovered I could astral project, I’d visited Russ in his bedroom, something my mother would have considered inappropriate if she had known, even though it was pretty innocent since my body stayed behind. That particular evening started off as it normally did. Around ten thirty, I’d said good night to my parents, stopping to give them each a kiss on the cheek, as was required.

“Go right to sleep, Nadia.” My mother didn’t even look up from her knitting. “When I come up I don’t want to see your light on.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good night, hon,” Dad said, absentmindedly cleaning his glasses on the front of his shirt. He was a mild-mannered man, as much a prisoner of my mother’s moods as I was.

I went up the stairs to my room, eager to get started, but I had to wait until my parents were asleep, having learned from experience that my mother could check on me anytime, disrupting the process and yanking me back into my body. It seemed like it took them forever to get ready to settle down for the night. Very late, I heard their snores across the hall and knew it was safe. I eagerly closed my eyes and willed my spirit to rise up and travel to Russ’s house. Even though I’d done it multiple times, I wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, any more than I could explain how text messages travel between phones. It didn’t matter. Projecting freed me from my life and took me to Russ Becker. That’s all I cared about.

My spirit soared below clouds and over rooftops, instinctively taking me where I wanted to go. I entered his room like a ghost. No mass, no form, no body, just my essence. Able to see and hear, not just noises, but thoughts as well. Our friend Mallory thought it was creepy and made me promise not to astral project to her anymore, but Russ liked my visits. The two of us had a connection like I’d never experienced. Lately, our meetings were my only reason for living.

Except he wasn’t in his room when I arrived. His bed was empty and the lights were off. Puzzled, I passed through the walls and searched the rest of the house. The upstairs bathroom and the guest bedroom (occasionally occupied by his ten-year-old nephew Frank) were also vacant. Downstairs Russ’s parents slept soundly, his mother with one arm slung over her husband’s back. Even in sleep they looked happier than my own parents. The rest of the house was quiet, except for the ticking of the kitchen clock. Where could he be?

I had a sudden thought that maybe there was no Russ. If he wasn’t alive, there’d be no way to connect us. Maybe I’d traveled to his room more out of habit than anything else.

Just one day earlier, a secret organization called the Associates had abducted Russ’s nephew Frank and made Russ go through a series of tests before they’d release him. The Associates now knew that the four of us—Mallory, Russ, and Jameson and I—all had superpowers. Russ was the most powerful out of all of us, and therefore the most valuable to them, but he wasn’t being particularly cooperative to their organization. What if they’d killed him?

The idea made me sick.

Finally, I couldn’t take the anxiety anymore. My spirit returned home, back to my hideous body. Quietly, I got out of bed and dressed, then crept down the hall past the room where my parents slept and down the stairs. I didn’t put my shoes on until I was outside on the back porch, and then I waited a few minutes to see if anyone woke up, but the house remained dark. It took me thirty minutes or so to walk to Russ’s neighborhood. My heart pounded with every step. I’d snuck out of the house many times before, but it had always been to meet up with Mallory and our other friend, Jameson. Going alone made me feel exposed.

I waited in Russ’s backyard for what seemed like an hour or more. Above the back door a light fixture cast a small amount of light. I stayed fairly close to the side of the house, beneath the low-hanging branch of a tree. I clutched at the limb for support, not knowing how long I’d hang out there before giving up and going home. A slight breeze stirred and I got a whiff of crab apple blossoms from the rear of the backyard. The air became heavy like when a storm was brewing. Such an ominous feeling.

Just when I’d almost given up, I heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps. I stepped back into the shadows and looked in the direction of the noise. Coming around the corner of the house was a good-sized guy—six feet or so with broad shoulders. It was him. I stepped out from my hiding spot. “Russ?”

He hesitated for only a second before registering the fact that it was me. “Nadia!” From the sound of his voice he was glad to see me. He rushed over and pulled me into a hug, resting his chin on my head. I could have stayed wrapped in the security of his arms forever, but it lasted only seconds. When he pulled back, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

I pointed up to the second floor. “You weren’t in your room when I tried to see you, and I thought something terrible must have happened.” I couldn’t keep the fear out of my voice.

“Oh no, I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” he said, reassuringly.

He put his hands on either side of my head, and I found myself trembling and getting choked up. Guys hate it when girls cry, but I couldn’t help it. “I didn’t know where you were,” I said, resting my forehead against him.

“Honestly, I’m okay. I just went to have a talk with Mr. Specter. I told you about him, right? Really, I’m fine.”

“I know.” My words came out muffled. “I’m just so relieved.” Mr. Specter was Russ’s science teacher. He knew all about us and our powers, having experienced the same thing in his younger days. I’d never met him, but Russ told me all about him, about his unconventional teaching methods, ever present sweater vest, and how he offered to help us embrace our new supernatural skills. Even knowing Russ had been somewhere safe, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d almost lost him.

He tried to console me by making those shushing noises people use with babies. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“I know I’m overreacting.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to know someone would care if I disappeared.”

Care? I would die.

The wind whipped up, shaking the branches in the trees. Behind me a flash of lightning lit up the entire yard, and for a second it was bright as day. “Whoa,” I said, turning. I wiped at my eyes. “Impressive.”

When I looked back, we were in semidarkness again. Russ reached over and lowered my hood, exposing the burn scars that covered half of my face. I’d spent years hiding my disfigurement, either by staying inside or keeping my hood up. I couldn’t stand the looks on people’s faces when they saw me—the stares of pity and horror. Thankfully I was homeschooled. Whenever I had to go out in public, I ducked behind my hood. In winter, I added a scarf. There was never a moment when I felt normal. I was always aware of the scars and the work it took to blend in with regular people. Not getting noticed took a lot of effort. Being a monster was exhausting.

Russ looked straight at me and wasn’t disgusted. With our bodies so close I could read his emotions and tap into his thoughts. I could tell he accepted me more than I accepted myself. I reached to put the hood back up. “Don’t,” he said, stopping my hand. “I like seeing you.”

“I hate it.” My stomach churned. “I hate looking so ugly.”

“But you’re not ugly.” He put his hands on either side of my face and stared deep into my eyes. “I think you’re beautiful.” I got a flash of what he saw when he looked at me. My eyes, piercing and intent. The way I smiled, which he thought was sweet and shy. My petite size. But most of all, he saw who I really was. His friend and confidant, someone he didn’t need to impress. Russ could be himself with me, and I with him.

I shook my head. “Not beautiful.”

“You are. You just don’t know it.” He leaned over so that our noses met, taking my breath away. “So, what are you doing this summer?”

“This summer? Let me think. I have so much planned… Oh wait. No, just the usual.” I didn’t need to explain. Russ knew all about my life. The usual for me was taking college-level classes online, and waiting to be eighteen, something that wouldn’t happen for nearly two years. My mother kept a tight lid on my life. I never left the house without one of my parents accompanying me.

This had been the case since I snuck out of the house four years before and took the bus to visit a friend without permission. On the city bus, a deranged man got on right before my stop. He was carrying an open bucket filled with some kind of liquid. When the bus driver told him he couldn’t take it on the bus, he started ranting about our imperialistic society. He couldn’t be reasoned with and he wouldn’t stop yelling. When the bus driver told him to get out, he flung the liquid up in the air. It turned out to be battery acid. I got hit in the face, and the driver got splashed too.

The pain was excruciating. I’d been burned before like everyone has—you touch a pot on the stove or whatever—but this was nothing like that. Agony, sheer agony. I wanted the paramedics to put me out of my misery. I would have welcomed death. Seeing my face later was another kind of hell. Even after it healed it was hideous. Half of my face was covered in angry red splotches and crisscrossed with raised lines as thick as earthworms. I cried every time I caught sight of my reflection. My mother made the decision that I wouldn’t have plastic surgery. She thought it would teach me a lesson about disobeying my parents. Her favorite expression became, “Teenagers—they never listen.”

So this summer would be the usual for me. More family time coupled with academic studies. I’d fill the hours with drudgery and obligations, but the nighttime belonged to me. After everyone in my house was asleep, my spirit would drift into Russ’s bedroom. At least no one could take that away.

Russ ran a finger from my forehead down my nose and tapped my chin. “How would you like to go to Peru?”

“I’d love that,” I said. “Sure, sign me up. But could we stop in Paris on the way?”

“No, I’m completely serious.” He grinned. “Remember me telling you about the paper Gordon Hofstetter gave me the night he died? How he said his grandson was being held prisoner and I needed to go find him? Well, Mr. Specter thinks the markings are a map and the numbers are latitude and longitude. And guess where they lead to?”

“Peru?”

“Exactly.” His grin got wider. “Mr. Specter said he can arrange a trip to South America, call it an all-expense-paid class trip and the four of us can go and check it out. He said with our superpowers, we’ll be invaluable for the investigation. Plus, we’re the perfect cover. A bunch of high school students on a class trip. Who would ever suspect us of anything?”

“Except I’m not in your class. I don’t even go to your school,” I pointed out. “And I’m not allowed to leave my house without a chaperone.”

“Eh, details.” Russ waved a hand to indicate it was nothing. He’d never dealt with my mother, that much was clear. “This is still in the planning stage, but we’ll get it all sorted out. When I know more, I’ll fill you in.”

It didn’t matter what he found out, I knew I wouldn’t be going on any trip, especially out of the country. And even if my mother allowed it, how could I go looking the way I did? I had a face that would traumatize small children on two different continents. Wouldn’t that be great?

As we stood together, I picked up on what was going through Russ’s mind. As much as he valued our friendship, it was the idea of traveling with Mallory that thrilled him. Knowing this crushed me, even though she was the obvious choice, of course, with her pretty face and flirty ways. A deformed girl could never compete. The fourth one in our little group, Jameson, barely registered on his meter. The two of them had some kind of pissing match going on, but now that Russ could shoot bolts of electricity out of his palms, heal people, and exert mind control, the fact that Jameson could move objects with his mind didn’t seem all that impressive and Russ felt like he came out on top.

Personally, I wouldn’t be that quick to discount Jameson. Yes, he looked like a nerdy kid with glasses. And he definitely lacked people skills. It would be easy to dismiss him, to think he wasn’t a threat, but I’d used my powers to do a read on his character more than once and there was something intense underneath the surface, something dark and brooding I couldn’t quite get a handle on. It would be a mistake to underestimate him.

“So you and Mallory and Jameson would go to Peru this summer with your science teacher?” I tried to make it sound like regular conversation, but it was hard to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“It’s not for sure yet,” Russ said. I could tell he was dialing it down for my benefit. “And if your mom won’t let you go, you can always astral project to me at night. It’ll be like you’re there.”

Suddenly our nighttime visits seemed like a consolation prize. If they all went to Peru without me, Mallory would be with Russ on the plane and at the hotel and everywhere else. Anything could happen. The experience would bring them closer, because really, how could it not? Meanwhile, I’d be stuck in my house writing papers and doing homework online, relegated to getting quick updates in the evenings. As cool as it was to have the freedom to travel anywhere in a moment’s time, astral projecting had its limits, namely that it lacked the sensory experiences of touch, smell, and taste. I’d be a ghost, while Mallory, with her infectious laugh and flawless skin, would be right there.

But still, Russ had said I was beautiful and I could tell he meant it. And I don’t think he’d ever said that to Mallory.

I think you’re beautiful. And when I protested, he’d said, You are. You just don’t know it. I could still feel the touch of his nose against mine. Not as intimate as, say, kissing, but still very personal. I mean, how many people would you do that to in a lifetime? I knew that in the upcoming weeks and months I’d replay his words and that moment in my mind over and over again, an infinite loop. Those words and that brief touch seemed like more than I deserved, even as I wanted more.

Down the block, we heard a screen door open and the scrabbling sounds of a dog being let out into a neighboring yard. It was still dark, but the interruption reminded us we weren’t where we were supposed to be. Russ glanced in that direction and said, “I better get inside before my parents wake up. Will you be okay going home? Or do you want me to walk you?”

Every bit of me wanted him to walk me home, but I sensed he only asked to be polite. I said, “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Russ sounded relieved.

I nodded. “It’s not too far. I’ll be there in no time.”

“Astral project to me when you get home,” he said. “So I don’t worry.”

“I will.”

CHAPTER TWO

Nadia

When I got home, I crept up the stairs. I was relieved to hear my parents snoring behind their closed door. Further down the hall, the blinds in the guest bedroom were open, allowing me to see the sleeping form of my mother’s cat, Barry, from the open doorway. Barry was a gray tabby. He was also a mean, fat cat, the kind that hissed when you tried to pick him up. My mother was the only person he cared about in the world. He adored her and she fussed over him like he was an only child.

Curled up at the foot of the bed, Barry lifted his head as I snuck past the open doorway, but he didn’t move or make a noise. I’d shown myself to him while I was astral projecting once and it had seriously freaked him out. Ever since then he’d regarded me warily.

After I climbed into bed, I settled back and closed my eyes and willed myself to go to Russ. No matter how many times I did it, it still seemed like magic, the way my essence knew to rise out of my body and travel to him. I was aware of the distance—the houses, the trees, the roads—but time didn’t work the way it normally did. One moment I was home, and the next I was there. The in-between part was of no consequence. I fast-forwarded over all of it.

When I arrived in Russ’s bedroom, he wasn’t up worrying about me after all. Actually, he was already asleep. That was fine though. I liked watching him sleep. Even with the light off I could see him perfectly, right down to the way his lips moved slightly when he exhaled. The covers were pulled up to his chin, and he looked content. If I were actually in his room I’d have been tempted to sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his hair, so it was good that I wasn’t actually there. That might have creeped him out if he woke up in the meantime. Russ? I tried to reach him. Russ, can you hear me? He shifted slightly, making me think that, on some level, he heard. I got home safely. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? He muttered something in his sleep. I thought I heard my name, but maybe not. Hard to tell. It would have to do, though. It was getting late and I needed to get back. Good night, I said, and in a moment I was underneath the covers of my own bed.

In the morning, I was back to my usual routine. Without a traditional school schedule all my days ran together, but on the weekends, my mother permitted me to sleep in for an extra hour and a half; since today was Saturday, I’d set my alarm allowing for the difference. When it went off, I struggled out of sleep and went right for the shower. For a teenage girl, my mornings were relatively quick; no makeup to apply, and since no one besides my parents ever saw my hair, I didn’t do too much to it. I tried to dry off and comb my hair without looking in the mirror because seeing my scars still upset me, even now. My one eyelid wasn’t quite right, and the whole left side of my face was ugly. Sometimes I turned out the bathroom light, covered the worst of it with my hands and peered cautiously at my reflection, trying to imagine how I’d have looked if I hadn’t been burned that day on the bus. I know this sounds conceited, but I think I might have turned out to be pretty.

After getting dressed, I joined my father at the breakfast table. He took thin sips of coffee while he read the news. Behind him, my mother stood at the stove cooking eggs and bacon.

“Morning, Nadia,” my father said, giving me a small smile. In our house, we were silent partners.

“You slept well?” Mom asked.

For a moment, I thought maybe she’d noticed I’d snuck out of the house. It was hard to tell because almost everything she said sounded accusatory to me. “Yes, I did. Thank you.” I went to the stove, and she lifted an egg and two pieces of bacon out of the pan and plopped them onto a plate, then handed it to me.

“Very good,” she said, nodding approvingly as if I’d done well on a test.

Within a few minutes all three of us were at the table, eating our usual Saturday morning meal, me with my orange juice and them with their strong coffee. I added Tabasco sauce to my eggs, a habit I’d acquired after getting burned. The cat slinked in and lapped at his water dish, then jumped into Mom’s lap for a neck massage.

Everything was as usual, until my mother said, “What happened to your face?”

I looked up from my plate to see she was talking to me. Call me confused. Did she somehow forget the events of the past four years? I looked to my dad, who appeared to be just as puzzled. “I got burned from battery acid?”

“I know that,” she said sharply. “But something is different.” She lifted her hand from the cat and pointed. “Your scars have changed.”

My hand flew to my cheek. It felt the same. “Changed how?”

“They look better.” She squinted and turned her head to one side.

My father smiled. “Have you been using that ointment I gave you?”

He’d given me a tube of some cream that was so thick and stinky that I’d only applied it once. I knew it wouldn’t help, so I didn’t bother with it after that, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Here and there,” I said.

“Well, keep using it,” he said. “It’s definitely helping.”

“See, I told you plastic surgery wasn’t necessary,” Mom said.

After I finished eating and loaded the dishwasher, I went to the bathroom and cautiously looked in the mirror. My forehead still had the dark splotches and the one protruding ridge above my eye, and the lid was still messed up, but my cheek was different. In places the surface had smoothed and the skin tone had evened out. Like it was healing. But that wasn’t possible. I put a hand up to feel and realized that the improved part matched up with my fingers. And then I knew. Not my fingers. Russ’s fingers. He’d placed his hands on either side of my face and said I was beautiful. And something from inside him had transferred to me and made my scars soften and fade. My face was nowhere near back to normal, but I did see an improvement. My fingers covered the place where Russ had rested his hands and when I pulled them back, I smiled at myself for the first time in the longest time.

Unconstrained joy bubbled up inside me. I knew Russ had healing powers because we’d talked about it during my visits, but all of the times he’d healed someone or eased their pain, it had been a fresh injury. I never thought he could help me because my scars were so old. They seemed permanent, unchangeable. But maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, he could fix me. I told myself not to get my hopes up, but it was too late for that. My hopes were up. I suddenly imagined going out in public without my hooded sweatshirt. I could be like everyone else, making eye contact and small talk without worrying people would be disgusted by the sight of me. I could have a regular social life, get married, and have children someday. I didn’t want much out of life. I just wanted what everyone else had. And now it was, just maybe, possible.

I considered calling Russ right away, but this didn’t seem like a daytime conversation. When I astral projected to him tonight, I would tell him the news and ask if he’d heal my face. If we did it in stages, my parents would think it was the ointment. And if it happened more quickly than that, they’d think it was a miracle. I actually didn’t care what they thought. I just wanted to be normal again.

CHAPTER THREE

Nadia

That night, at midnight, when I finally rested my head on my pillow, instead of thinking take me to Russ’s house, I thought, take me to Russ. But I wasn’t transported to his bedroom as usual. Instead I found myself pulled into a car—Mallory’s car, the silver car her parents gave her for her sixteenth birthday. She sat behind the wheel, staring straight ahead, while Russ, next to her in the passenger seat, leaned in her direction. The car was parked in front of Russ’s house. “Mallory,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Oh Russ.” Mallory sighed heavily. “I just don’t know.”

In the past I found it necessary to make myself known in order for Russ to see me, but I held back this time and kept myself hidden, watching the scene from the backseat, and trying to piece together what was happening. It was wrong of me to spy on them, I knew. I also knew that I wouldn’t like it if they did the same to me, but I couldn’t leave and I couldn’t look away.

Russ leaned in closer. “You don’t have to decide anything now. Just think about it.”

“Okay.” Her voice was flat.

“Whatever you decide is fine. We’ll still be friends either way.”

She raised her eyebrows and turned to him. “Really? Because that hasn’t been my experience. Usually if a guy says he has feelings for a girl and she doesn’t feel the same, they can’t be friends. He’ll always be secretly hoping she changes her mind and then he’ll be pissy if she goes out with someone else, but he won’t say anything, he’ll just cut the other guy down and try to sabotage the relationship.”

“I wouldn’t be like that.”

She tapped on the steering wheel. “Good night, Russ.”

“I’m not sure why you’re pissed,” he said. “You’re the one who kissed me at the theater.”

“Well you gave me that look,” she said, flustered. “And the movie got me kind of choked up with emotion. Let’s just say, I got caught up in the moment. The kiss was a reflex. That doesn’t mean we’re going out now.”

“Okay. Let’s just go back to the way things were then. I promise I won’t get pissy.” He extended a hand. “Friends?”

Mallory gave him a reluctant smile. “Okay. Friends.”

They shook hands and then Russ clasped her hand in both of his. “You know I’m always here for you, Mallory.”

She shook her head and laughed, and I felt a sudden hatred for her, my one friend in the whole world. Mallory was effortlessly beautiful, smart, and confident. Her skin was naturally the color of a great tan; her dark eyes were fringed with unbelievably long lashes. Mallory’s parents doted on her, other kids our age flocked to her, everything was easy for her, but I’d never resented her for that. She couldn’t help being who she was anymore than I could help being me. Fate had played a bad trick on me—that wasn’t her fault. But now, she had gone out to a movie with Russ, knowing he and I had gotten closer, and kissed him, something I’d only dreamed of doing, and then rejected him afterward as if it were a game. And here he was, practically drooling over her, saying they could just be friends when it was obvious he was completely crazy in love with her. I felt sick.

“Honest, I’d do anything for you,” Russ said, his expression full of eagerness and yearning.

“I know, Russ. I appreciate it.”

“So—tomorrow night at Mr. Specter’s house? You can make it?”

“I’ll be there. Jameson will too. Do you know what this meeting is all about?”

“We’ll find out when we get there, I guess,” Russ said.

Mallory said, “Does Nadia know about this thing at Specter’s?”

“Not yet. I doubt she can go but we should still include her. If she doesn’t astral project to me tonight, I could email her.”

“No, don’t do that.” Mallory looked alarmed. “Sometimes her mother reads her email.”

“Really? Wow, that’s even worse than I thought,” Russ said. “She has no privacy at all.”

“I can tell her if you want. I’ll stop by her house, or call her on her parents’ phone.”

“I don’t know how she gets by without a cell phone.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either. I’d die if it was me,” Mallory said. “Her mother is so mean. Poor Nadia. The things she has to put up with. That woman is a complete bitch. It’s like it’s her full time job to make Nadia’s life hell.”

“Poor Nadia,” Russ said in agreement.

I didn’t like them talking about me and my mother. I complained about my mom all the time, but that was for me to do, not them.

“And how can you stand for her to project to you every night?” Mallory continued. “Doesn’t it creep you out?” She reached up and pulled the elastic off her ponytail, then shook her hair out. Even with the crimp from the elastic, it fell beautifully around her shoulders, a dark frame for her bright eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and perfect skin. She ran a hand over her head to smooth it out and then tucked a strand behind her ear. It all looked effortless, but her movements had a flirty quality.

Russ said. “No, I don’t mind. The poor kid doesn’t have much and I know this is important to her.” He reached over and stroked her hair hesitantly, like he was afraid she’d pull away but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch her.

“Good night, Russ,” Mallory said, laughing, but her words had a finality about them this time.

Russ grinned. “Good night, Mallory. See you tomorrow night.”

When he left the car, Mallory waited until he went into the house before pulling away from the curb. I wished myself into Russ’s bedroom and waited for him to come up the stairs. Inwardly I was seething. They’d been talking about me like I was the loser friend, the one you only hang out with because you feel sorry for them. I wasn’t a Mallory, I knew that, but I wasn’t nothing either. I’d thought I was important to Russ. It hurt to find out that what I thought of as a personal connection was just him being nice.

Astral projecting to Russ and getting inside his heart and mind had been such an intimate experience for me that I thought of it as spiritual sex. Not that I’d had the real thing yet, so I couldn’t say for sure, but the emotional connection of the two of us together, nothing between us, everything exposed, was a lot like I imagined sex to be. Better in some ways, because there was no room for pretense. At least not for me.

The night before he’d said I was beautiful and it felt like he meant it, but it was clearly a lie. And an obvious one. No one looking like me would have believed a guy thought they were beautiful, but I had desperately wanted to believe it. Pathetic.

I’d intended to ask him about the evening—how did they wind up going to a movie together—was it his idea or hers? What movie did they see? Did he think it was a date at the start? I wondered if he’d tell me the truth. I had all of these questions in mind, but when he came into the room I didn’t have the guts to show myself. He was whistling, for one thing, which was unlike him. Unlike anyone our age, actually. He was whistling some tune I didn’t recognize and he looked really pleased with himself. I suddenly felt guilty for lurking in the shadows and spying on him. And so I left, silently and quickly. And that night, I lay miserably in bed, thinking I could astral project anywhere I wanted to, but for the moment there was nowhere I really wanted to go.

The next day, Mallory called me on my parents’ landline. “Happy Easter!” she said. I walked into the next room to get out of my mom’s hearing range. Normally she’d follow me just to make a point, but this time she let it go because she approved of Mallory.

In the background, behind Mallory’s voice, I heard a lot of commotion—what sounded like a roomful of people talking and laughing. Visiting relatives, she explained. And then she said, “Is this a secure line?” When I said yes, she said, “Here’s the thing—our science teacher, Mr. Specter, is having a meeting on Tuesday night at midnight at his house. He wants all of us there. Are you in?”

“Of course.”

“Really?” Mallory said, sounding surprised. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble…”

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay, well I can give you directions—”

“I can find it,” I said. Russ had talked about Mr. Specter’s house before. I knew where it was.

“When you get there, just go in the back door and down the basement stairs.”

“Got it.”

“Good. I’ll see you then. I hate to cut this short, but my little cousin wants me to play Jenga with her. I promised.” Sure enough, in the background I heard a small child whining Mallory’s name.

“Go,” I said. “Play Jenga. We’ll talk later.”

After I hung up, my mother asked, “What did she want?” As if you could only talk on the phone if there was a pressing need.

“To wish me a happy Easter.”

“That girl is so thoughtful.”

My mother had taken to Mallory from the first time we’d met her at a get-together organized by the homeschooling organization. I hadn’t wanted to go, but my parents insisted, saying it would be good for me to “socialize,” as if I were a puppy going to the dog park. This was about two years ago, right after we’d moved here from Illinois.

The social was held in a church basement, in a hall decorated with sagging crepe paper and half-filled white balloons, remnants from a previous event. A crooked banner above the door read, “Happy 40th Anniversary, Betty and Steve!” I sat on a folding chair off to one side and sipped orange soda from a plastic cup. My mother sat next to me, making inane commentary. “There’s an older boy about your age,” she’d said, pointing to a kid who didn’t even look close to my age. He was just big.

And then nudging me, she said, “Maybe you should go and introduce yourself to that man. He seems to be in charge.” I tried to ignore her. Not easy.

Most of the kids there were younger than me, and I had no interest in scaring them with my face. I also had no interest in doing any of the activities set up as icebreakers; there was a ring toss and face painting and an enormous chess board with inflatable pieces the size of small children. All of it was so cheesy and incredibly stupid that I was itching to leave as soon as we arrived. When Mallory walked in with Jameson, I was too busy inspecting the floor to notice them. Luckily, Mom doesn’t miss much. She said (way too loudly), “Those two look like they’re in high school.” Once I glanced up, it was impossible to look away.

Mallory was like a celebrity in the local homeschooling world. Kids of all ages came running and she knew all of them by name, returning hugs, giving out high-fives, handing out compliments. Her smile lit up the place. She was beautiful, but not in a flashy way. But once you noticed her, that was it. That day Jameson followed her like he was attached to her right elbow. Mallory’s own personal lanky bodyguard.

Once Mallory was done working the room, she came our way and introduced herself to my mother and me. Impeccable manners, is what my mother told my father later. “You should have seen how everyone flocked to this girl,” she’d said. “Nadia could learn from her.” As if being a people-magnet was a learned skill instead of a God-given gift.

After that, Mallory, Jameson, and I became friends. Since we were all in the accelerated program, we had some of the same courses. Occasionally they came over to my house to visit so we could meet in person. My mother approved of Mallory and she was fine with Jameson, which was saying a lot. One night, very late, the three of us were online and none of us could sleep. Coincidentally, all of us felt strangely confined being inside, so when Jameson suggested we sneak out and meet outside, I didn’t hesitate. I knew I’d catch hell if my mother found out, but she didn’t. Not that night, and not any of the nights after that.

It became an ongoing thing. We found ourselves walking the same route, ending up by the abandoned train station on the edge of town. After a while, we began to cap off the night by going to Rosie’s Diner (open twenty-four hours!) for a middle-of-the-night breakfast. We got to be regulars there. We told Rosie we were college students, coming in after a late night of studying. No one ever questioned our story. I came to look forward to those nights since it was the closest thing I had to a social life. We went out like this for months, drawn out two or three nights a week by some unseen force. And despite my worries, my parents never woke up, not once.

And then it happened. One night, we were several blocks from the train station when the night sky filled with what looked like shooting stars. It was as impressive as fireworks, and impossible to miss. We exchanged incredulous glances and then broke into a run, making our way to the field behind the train station building where we saw that the light particles had fallen onto the field in a swirling pattern.

“A perfect Fibonacci spiral,” Jameson had said.

I walked the whole thing, starting on the outside of the spiral and going inward like Dorothy following the yellow brick road. The fragments of whatever it was (a meteor? something manmade?) sparkled and shimmered and gave off an energy that lifted my spirits and energized me. I leaned over and stroked them with my fingertips. They glowed with warmth, but weren’t hot.

“Don’t touch them,” Jameson called out sharply from across the field. “They might be radioactive.”

He and Mallory stayed off to the side, circling around the particles rather than walking through them. I was the only one who’d entered; clearly he’d thought I was an idiot for being so reckless.

When the particles stopped glowing, we reluctantly headed for home, still not sure what we’d seen. In the morning, there was nothing in the news about this event, and when we went back to the field, it had been scraped clean. That next morning, Mallory said we should keep this to ourselves and not even do online searches. She just had a feeling, I guess, and it turned out she was right. She did some digging in the local news archives and discovered that this had also happened about sixteen years before, and that the kids who reported seeing it disappeared or died. Around the same time, someone put up posters in local businesses, offering a reward to anyone who’d witnessed a strange astronomical event. There were other things too—men posing as FBI agents showing up around town asking questions. We didn’t know what they wanted, but we were pretty sure it wasn’t good.

And then, the next year, Mallory stopped home schooling and started attending the local high school. She wanted the authentic high school experience—going to dances and games, complaining about lunchroom food, decorating the inside of her locker. Jameson was irritated. He grumbled, “Why she’d want to lower herself to that level, I’ll never know.” But I understood. I wanted all that stuff too.

It was in her science class, almost a year after we’d witnessed the event that she noticed Russ Becker, the boy who sat behind her doodling in his notebook. She watched as he started with a spiral and then sketched the field and the train station before adding a drawing of himself, arms raised triumphantly in the air. That’s how she knew he’d seen it too. Within a short period of time, we’d sworn him to secrecy and added him to our little group.

Since Mallory already had dorky Jameson falling all over her, I mentally claimed Russ for myself. I knew we were unlikely to form a relationship, but when I started to astral project, I felt pulled to go to him, and he was receptive to my visits. Or at least that’s how it seemed. We talked nearly every night. I’d opened up to him—really bared my soul and he’d done the same. I think everyone wants someone just for themselves. A soul mate. That’s how I thought of us. But I guess when it comes right down to it, the reality is that the pretty girl is the desirable one, the one guys want their friends to see them with. And that’s just the way it is.

I decided I wouldn’t visit Russ every night or maybe ever again, unless he mentioned it. I didn’t want to be that annoying person who keeps showing up, clueless that they’re not wanted. But I would go to Mr. Specter’s house at midnight on Tuesday. I wanted to hear what this field trip to Peru was all about, even if I didn’t have any chance of going along.

I still wanted Russ to heal me. I desperately wanted Russ to heal me, but the timing had to be right. Maybe when the others noticed how much my scars had improved, I’d bring it up then.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nadia

Sneaking out of the house just before midnight on Tuesday felt as familiar as brushing my teeth, but a lot more exciting. After not astral projecting for two days, I was going crazy being confined. I was more than ready to leave the walls of home behind me and get out in the world.

I hesitated for a moment when I got to Mr. Specter’s backyard. Mallory had said to go in the back door and down the stairs to the basement, which I was willing to do, except the house appeared strangely quiet and I wondered if I was in the right place. I watched the door for a few minutes and when I saw Rosie, the owner of the local diner, walk around from the front and go inside, I figured it was okay. She was part of this, according to Russ.

From the top of the basement stairs I heard Mallory’s laugh, which was reassuring. I wasn’t the first to arrive. I also got a whiff of buttered popcorn and heard the murmur of adult voices. I stopped at the bottom, intimidated by the number of people milling around, drinks in hand, like they were at a cocktail party. I recognized Kevin Adams, who ran the local comic book store, and Rosie. Without her waitress uniform, she looked strangely unlike herself. The other three had to be Russ and Mallory’s science teacher, Mr. Specter (wearing a sweater vest, just as I’d always heard him described); along with the high school lunch lady, Mrs. Whitehouse (Russ had said she was the most annoying woman on the planet); and lastly Dr. Anton, a psychiatrist Russ had seen for his sleeping disorder. All five of them, I knew from talking to Russ, had experienced seeing the lights when they were teenagers, and had acquired superpowers of their own. Now in their late forties, their powers had faded and gone.

Mallory was talking to Dr. Anton, but she stopped when she saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Nadia,” she exclaimed, her arms spread wide. I let her pull me into an embrace and didn’t object when she pulled me over to meet the adults. Except for the lack of windows, this space gave no sign of being a basement. The walls were plastered white and the floor was covered with a plush beige carpet. We stood next to a seating area, a large U-shaped sectional sofa, and coffee table, with end tables on either side. Nothing out of the ordinary, if you didn’t count the fact that this was a secret midnight meeting of people who’d experienced miracles. Mallory made the introductions and I did my best to respond with the right words.

Social events are hard for me because I’m expected to look people in the eye. Difficult to do while still keeping my face under cover. I managed okay, though, greeting each one in turn. When it came time to meet Dr. Anton, he extended a hand. I paused for a moment but then went along with it. He didn’t shake it, but gave it a gentle squeeze, like he was comforting me. “Very nice to meet you, Nadia. Mallory has said good things about you.” His words were positive but the feeling I got wasn’t. One of my abilities, besides being able to astral project, was being able to read people. I got insights into their characters and knew when they were telling the truth. He was being truthful, he was glad to meet me, but there was something else there, some underlying negative twinge. I was just on the verge of reading what it was, but before I could really tell anything, he let go of my hand it and it was gone. Dr. Anton looked the part of a child psychiatrist: nice smile, goatee, and snappy bow tie, but I sensed something tortured beneath his professional exterior.

Before I had time to think about it, Russ and Jameson had arrived. Russ knew everyone, but Jameson didn’t so we went through another tedious round of introductions while Rosie poured glasses of lemonade and urged us to make ourselves comfortable on Mr. Specter’s large curved couch.

After the rest of us had been seated, Mr. Specter began. “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. I know it’s not easy to meet so late at night.”

“I don’t mind,” Kevin Adams said. “The darkness is my friend.” It was like something a character in a comic book would say, fitting since he owned Power House Comics and looked a little comic-bookish himself with his Elvis pompadour and superhero t-shirts. The rest of the adults chuckled.

I snuck a glance at Russ. I was the last one on the end of the couch, right next to him, but his gaze was on Mallory who sat opposite us. She didn’t seem aware of his attention at all. Typical, I guess. Love can be so one-sided.

Kevin added, “I can’t wait for the night time. I have my best thoughts after dark.” Russ had told me that Kevin Adam’s supernatural gift had been the ability to see right through things—X-ray vision. He’d used his talents to gamble his way to a small fortune, then came back to our hometown, Edgewood, to start his own business. Gambling seemed like a stupid use of an incredible ability to me. But people are going to do what they’re going to do. Logic and reason don’t seem to play into it all that much.

Mr. Specter directed his next bit to me and Jameson. “I’m not sure how much Russ and Mallory have told you two, so I’ll start from the beginning. The five of us—” he gestured to the other grown-ups, “were once in your shoes. We saw the same kind of astronomical event you four did, and afterward found that we’d acquired powers. We came to find out that unknown to the rest of the world, there are two secret organizations trying to wield control over those who have the powers. One of them, the Associates, is dangerous. Their desire for power, control, and money has no bounds. They’re ruthless and heartless and will stop at nothing to get what they want.” He paused for dramatic effect. I snuck a look at Jameson, who had a bored expression on his face. “Many of the problems in this world were caused by the Associates.”

Kevin Adams said, “Any time you hear about a riot or a war or a coup, you can betcha the Associates are behind it.” He grinned before taking a swig of lemonade.

“Don’t let this scare you, kids,” Rosie said, with motherly concern. “Most people in this world are generally good. The ones who are doing wrong are motivated by fear and anger and insecurity. That’s the important thing to remember.” Her talent had been reading people’s minds. I wondered about that. How much fear and anger and insecurity had she listened to over the years? Sometimes I got tired of hearing people’s voices. Hearing their thoughts was probably intriguing at first, but I was willing to bet it got old fast.

Mr. Specter continued. “I’m glad to be able to tell you that the Associates are not going unchecked. We’re part of the other group, the Praetorian Guard, sometimes known as the Guard. For many generations, the Guard has been keeping close tabs on the Associates, and counteracting their plans, when possible. We’re a smaller organization, but we have right on our side.”

“So what is it that you do?” Jameson leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. His white-blond hair stuck out from an oversized knit hat. In the indoor lighting, his pale skin looked almost luminous. Mallory had once asked if I’d thought he was good-looking. At the time I’d said no, but if we had the same discussion again I’d probably answer differently. I could see it now. With his coloring and fine features, he reminded me of a statue—an alabaster angel without the wings. He could be cold as a statue too, but maybe that wasn’t entirely his fault. His height and intelligence defined him. Feeling superior to others was all he had.

“Pardon me?” Mr. Specter pushed his glasses up his nose.

“You keep close tabs. You counteract their plans, when possible. But specifically, what have you done to keep this so-called evil organization in check?”

“Well...” Mr. Specter cleared his throat. As a high school science teacher, I’d have thought he was used to being challenged, but Jameson’s question seemed to have thrown him.

The room was silent until Mrs. Whitehouse said firmly, “Lots. We’ve done lots.” Of the five, she was the least impressive. She had a pillowy body, slouchy posture, pastel-colored clothing, and shoulder-length hair that looked like she cut it herself. The queen of frump. Still she spoke with authority. “Most of it we can’t tell you about, because it’s top secret, but the five of us have given up a lot in our lives to be part of this organization. We’re devoted to it and not because we want the glory, believe me. There is no glory. It’s just the right thing to do.”

Her words had a finality that didn’t make a bit of difference to Jameson, who was adversarial by nature. “Nice words, but a little short on real information. Personally, I like my answers less vague,” he said. “I’m assuming that you’re asking us to join the Praetorian Guard? You’re going to need a more convincing case to get me on your side.”

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Specter said soothingly. “Rest assured, no one is expecting anyone to blindly follow our lead. I think you’re getting a little ahead of things, though. If you just let me finish my explanation, we’ll take questions afterward.”

Jameson sat back, satisfied. Unlike me, he wasn’t afraid of conflict. I wasn’t going to just go along with the Guard either, but I didn’t see the point in antagonizing them. I was getting good readings off these people. They seemed sincere, and their lemonade was good. Plus, it looked like this would be my major social event for the month. I wanted it to be pleasant.

“Can I jump in here, Sam?” Dr. Anton asked, and when Mr. Specter nodded, he rose from the couch. Standing next to Mr. Specter, he addressed the rest of us. “I think we need to backtrack and explain a little more about the actual phenomenon. The light particles, as we call them, can’t be explained by modern science. They fall in a spiral pattern, they reoccur about every sixteen years, sometimes two years in a row, and they return to the same spot time after time. The individuals drawn to this spot are sixteen-years-old—give or take half a year—who’ve suffered from insomnia for months prior and feel compelled to walk outside. The adults in the surrounding communities feel more lethargic during this time, ensuring that they’re never awake to witness the event.”

“I can vouch for that one,” Rosie said. “I was living on Red Bull to get through my night shifts at the diner. Once or twice when the place was empty, I found myself dozing off in a booth.”

Russ raised his hand. “Why is it that the witnesses are always the same age, do you think?”

Dr. Anton shrugged. “There’ve been any number of theories. The most likely, in my opinion, is that there’s something specific to that age that causes individuals to have insomnia and gives them the urge to visit the site. It might be hormones or something else in the growth cycle. It’s hard to quantify without study.”

“And why us?” Mallory asked. “There are lots of kids in Edgewood within that age range. Why the four of us?”

“Because you’re special,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “The chosen ones.” Her tone was the kind used with small children. I’d heard that her teenage supernatural power was being able to heat things up with a touch. Kind of a sad sort of superpower. Good for warming up a cup of soup maybe, but not much else.

Dr. Anton spoke up. “We never know who is going to be chosen. When the time comes, we watch and observe to see which teenagers show signs of exposure. It’s an inexact approach, but it’s the best we can do.”

“Which brings me to the next topic,” Mr. Specter said, pushing his glasses up with one long finger. “The generation between yours and ours consisted of five young people, one of whom was David Hofstetter. All of you met his grandfather, Mr. Gordon Hofstetter, who just passed away recently.”

“He didn’t just pass away,” Russ said, his face grim. “He was killed. Electrocuted.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Whitehouse said, nodding. “Murdered by the Associates.”

Mr. Specter and Dr. Anton exchanged a look that made me think they weren’t all that crazy about Mrs. Whitehouse either. I felt a rush of sympathy for her, wondering if she was the equivalent of the nerdy kid you find in nearly every circle of friends. The one you can’t quite shake. I hadn’t been to an actual school in more than four years, but I still remembered how the social scene worked. I just didn’t know it carried over into adulthood.

Mr. Specter said, “That’s a fair assumption. All five of them—they’d now be in their early thirties—are missing or presumed dead, including David Hofstetter. David’s grandfather, Gordon Hofstetter, was convinced his grandson did not die in a car accident as was commonly believed. For the last sixteen years, he’s been determined to find out what really happened. We believe he got too close to the truth.”

“Why would they electrocute the old guy?” Jameson asked. This time he sounded more curious than snarky. “If the Associates are so powerful, why not make it look like a heart attack or an accident? Something less likely to attract attention?”

Mr. Specter exhaled loudly. “Good question. Maybe to serve as a cautionary tale for others?” Rosie got up to hand him a glass of lemonade, but he shook his head. “And it should serve as a cautionary tale for all of us. These are serious people. You don’t want to publicly cross them. That was Mr. Hofstetter’s downfall. He was making phone calls to the FBI and writing letters to his congressman and I’m not sure what else. All of us tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t hear it.”

“May he rest in peace,” Rosie said, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“Amen to that,” said Mrs. Whitehouse.

“Which brings us to the reason I asked you all here tonight,” Mr. Specter said. “We have reason to suspect that Mr. Hofstetter was on to something, that maybe his grandson is indeed alive after all. And we think that the answer lies in Peru.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Nadia

“Peru?” Mallory asked. I was pleased to see the look of surprise on her face because it meant Russ hadn’t confided in her the way he did with me. “Peru like in South America?”

“What other Peru is there?” Jameson said, folding his arms.

Mrs. Whitehouse chimed in. “Actually, there are a lot of places called Peru. There’s a city in Indiana and one in Ohio—”

“To clarify,” Mr. Specter said, interrupting, “I’m talking about the country in South America. We believe the answer to what happened to David Hofstetter lies in Peru. Either he’s still alive or there’s other information we need to know. I’ve conferred with others in the Praetorian Guard and they’ve agreed to fund a trip to Peru, under the guise of a high school group class trip. I’d like to have all four of you come along, and at least two adults, preferably three.” He scanned the room to get our reaction. Judging from the expressions on everyone’s faces it seemed that Russ and I were the only ones not hearing this for the first time.

“What exactly would we do there?” Rosie asked.

Mr. Specter pulled a wad of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, then held it up. “This is a hand drawn map with the latitude and longitude coordinates for three different locations, all of them in Peru. Gordon Hofstetter was convinced that this piece of paper had evidence of his grandson’s existence. I think we owe it to him to find out.”

Dr. Anton took the sheet of paper from him, and examined it, then handed it to Mrs. Whitehouse, who glanced at it and passed it on. As it made its way around the couch, I wondered why Mr. Specter didn’t mention that he’d gotten the map from Russ. He also neglected to tell the group that Russ’s sister Carly had been going out with David Hofstetter at the time of the car accident. Carly and David were in love, Russ had told me. These things seemed significant, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell. I looked at Russ; his face gave nothing away, but we were sitting so close we nearly touched and I was feeling the waves of excitement that rolled off his body. He was looking forward to this trip to Peru.

Mr. Specter clasped his hands together. “For the younger generation, you should know that you’ll be traveling under the guise of an all-expense-paid class trip to somewhere in the United States. Your parents will receive notification that you’ve been chosen out of thousands of high school students, and that this is an honor that will look good on college applications. We’ll leave a week after school lets out.”

Jameson held up a finger. “If we go does it mean we’re obligated to join the Praetorian Guard?”

“Absolutely not. You can consider this a trial run and decide afterward how you feel about the Guard. No one is pressuring you to join,” Mr. Specter assured him.

Jameson sat back, satisfied. “How are you going to reconcile the fact that Nadia and I are homeschooled? My parents are going to wonder how you came across our information.”

“You were nominated by the homeschooling association. We were impressed by your test scores.”

Jameson nodded. “Okay. If you can make it happen, count me in.” He said it in an offhand way, like he was agreeing to share an order of fries.

“I’ll go,” Mallory said. “For sure.”

“I can make it.” Russ spoke quietly, but firmly.

“Nadia?” Mr. Specter directed this to me, and I squirmed knowing that even though my hood blocked my view of most everyone in the room, they could all see me.

“My mother would never agree to it,” I said, swallowing a bitter lump.

Mr. Specter said, “Maybe if we explain what an honor—”

“It doesn’t matter. She would never agree. I can’t go.” Russ reached over and rubbed my shoulder to make me feel better, but it made things a thousand times worse. I tried to blink back tears, but they came anyway, welling up in my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. I tried to unobtrusively wipe them away, but there was no escaping it. Everyone could see that I’d dissolved into a crying mess.

“My mom was strict too,” Rosie said, clucking sympathetically. “Her eyes were always on me. When I was your age, I wasn’t allowed to go much of anywhere.” She thought she understood, but she had no idea.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to rule the trip out, Nadia,” Kevin Adams said. “The Praetorian Guard has experience with convincing people to do things they might not be open to otherwise,”

“The Praetorian Guard has never spoken to my mother,” I said. Russ kept his hand on my shoulder, holding me steady. They had no idea how neurotic one woman could be. My mother wouldn’t even open the door to Girl Scouts if they weren’t wearing their uniforms. Phone callers didn’t get far before she hung up. She shredded junk mail if it looked suspicious.

“We’ll think of something,” Mr. Specter said, but I sensed he was saying it to placate me. “How about the rest of you? Who’s interested in going?”

“You can count me in,” said Mrs. Whitehouse. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Not me.” Rosie shook her head. “I’m afraid I’d have no one to run the diner in my absence, so I’ll have to take a pass.” She spoke like a mother of triplets asked to babysit a few more kids. Not going to happen.

“That applies to me as well,” Dr. Anton said. “I can’t be away from the office that long.”

“No way! You two are unbelievable,” Kevin Adams said. “You’d miss out on a chance to go to South America because of work? Please. Just do what I’m going to do, put a sign on the door that says ‘on vacation’ and close up shop. No one is that indispensable.”

“My patients might care to differ,” Dr. Anton said. “I have a few particularly difficult cases right now. Believe me when I say I can’t afford to go anywhere right now. Lives depend on it.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Alrighty then, I stand corrected. Or maybe I should say I sit corrected.” He laughed at his own joke, but no one else joined in.

On my end of the couch, the mood was pretty serious. I managed to choke back my tears, but I was still seriously depressed. I’d known what this meeting was all about before I even got here. I walked through the door knowing full well that I wouldn’t be able to go to Peru, and I thought I was okay with it. But I wasn’t. If I were Rosie or Dr. Anton, I would have figured out a way to go. If all that stood between me and this trip were a few patients on the edge, I would have assigned them to another doctor for two weeks. If I owned the diner, it would go dark. The customers would figure it out and get their coffee, eggs, and hash browns somewhere else. These were small obstacles. Given those circumstances, I’d make it work somehow because this was, I sensed, going to be the trip of a lifetime.

The trip of a lifetime for everyone else, but not for me.

CHAPTER SIX

Nadia

Mr. Specter promised to have more details about the trip at the next meeting. All of us lingered for a few minutes, finishing off our lemonade, the women gathering up their purses. Russ still had his hand on my shoulder, but he was looking at Mallory. Because we were touching, I could feel the emotion he was sending her way. Yearning pulsed out of him as he waited for a chance to talk to her. He couldn’t help himself.

I wiggled out from underneath his grasp and he turned as if suddenly remembering I was there. “Are you going to be okay?” His tone was kind.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I have to get going.” I stood up and made a pretense of straightening out my sweatshirt, buying myself time, time that I hoped he’d use to offer to go with me. But he didn’t.

“Okay, then. See you later, Nadia.” He got up and went over to where Mallory stood talking to Mr. Specter, no doubt hashing out details of the trip.

I walked out of the room and bounded up the stairs, willing myself not to cry. I hated being such a pathetic, walking disaster. I heard Rosie say, “Good-night, Nadia,” but I didn’t answer. For once I just wanted to be home, in my own bed.

I was halfway down the block, when I heard a guy’s voice call out, “Hey Nadia, wait up!”

I knew it wasn’t Russ, so I wasn’t disappointed when I turned to find Jameson rushing up from behind me. His long legs covered the space between us in a matter of seconds. “Let me walk you home.” His knit cap was pulled down over his ears even though it was a warm night.

“You don’t have to, really. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you’ll be fine. I just thought we could talk.”

I shrugged. “Okay.” This was a new one. Jameson was either quiet or spouting off information like an annoying know-it-all. It seemed important to him that people knew he was the smartest one in the room. Since I liked to keep a low profile, letting him have the spotlight was fine with me. I started walking toward home, keeping an eye out for headlights in the distance. If any cars approached, I was ready to dodge out of sight. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I want to get your take on this evening. Did you pick up anything?”

“Like what?” I stepped over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Anything unusual about the people at the meeting?”

I considered the question and said, “Nothing too unusual.”

“So you didn’t notice anything?”

“No.” Now I was getting annoyed. “What is it I was supposed to be looking for?”

“It’s just...” Jameson paused as if trying to find the right words. “I was hoping you were using your powers to check them out. Frankly, I don’t trust them.”

He seemed to want a reaction, but I didn’t have one to give. All I knew was I was being left out of the Peru adventure. Besides, I was tired and I had to go to the bathroom. “Okay.”

“So you think they’re trustworthy?” He asked.

“I guess so.”

“Well, I don’t trust them at all,” he said firmly. “And for the record, I think Mallory and Russ are idiots. Their science teacher says ‘we’re the Praetorian Guard, we’re the good guys. We need you to help us go against the bad guys,’ and the two of them are like, okay, where do we sign up?” He said this last part in a goofy-sounding voice. “Nothing is that simple. How do we know that what they’re telling us is true? They could say anything, right?”

“Right.” Having to walk with Jameson forced me to go faster than I usually would. His legs were so long, I had to quicken my pace.

“Out of the four of us, you and I are the smartest. Agree?”

I glanced up at him. He had an all-knowing look on his face, but there was something else. He desperately wanted me on his side. “Sure.” I shrugged. Why not? I wasn’t the prettiest or tallest or coolest. I might as well lay claim to being the smartest.

“So you’re with me on this? You’ll investigate the Praetorian Guard?”

I stopped walking. “Investigate what, exactly? And how? I’m not going on the trip, I can tell you that right now. While the rest of you are meandering around South America, I’ll be solving equations and writing papers.”

“I’d hardly say we’ll be meandering around South America,” he said. “It’s just one country.” Off in the distance, headlights shined as a car approached. Jameson pulled at my sleeve and led me off the sidewalk into a thicket of bushes. We crouched down to make ourselves invisible from the street. He whispered, “Even if you’re not on the trip you can astral project, right? And spy on them from home?”

He had his arm around my back now, which made me uncomfortable. I asked, “How do you know about my astral projecting?”

“I just know,” he said, answering without really answering. “And I know Mallory doesn’t like it when you visit her that way, but Lover Boy Russ strings you along.”

I stood up and shook him off. The car had passed and the street was quiet now. A little too quiet. I wished I were home already. “What’s your point here, Jameson? Are you trying to make me feel bad?” I walked fast and furiously ahead of him, but he had those damn long legs and he was at my side in an instant.

“If anyone should feel bad, it should be me,” he said. “Why did you tell them and not me? And why didn’t you astral project to me? I thought we got along, Nadia. I thought we were friends.”

I didn’t say anything, just kept walking. It was true that I hadn’t told him about astral projecting, but not because I didn’t want him to know, really. He just had this snarky way of putting down other people’s accomplishments and I didn’t want to hear it. He could make objects move with his mind but I could travel anywhere invisibly, which was the coolest thing ever. Jameson would make it sound stupid though. I knew that much.

He didn’t know this, but I actually had once astral projected to him. I hadn’t made myself known though, so he wasn’t aware of my presence. This happened right after I’d discovered I could leave my body and travel anywhere I wanted to. Late one evening, I floated out of my bedroom, and traveled across town to his house. Jameson and his family lived in the rich section of town. I’d seen the exterior of his house when I did a search of his address online, but I’d never been inside. The outside reminded me of Scarlett O’Hara’s place in Gone with the Wind. White pillars stood on either side of a massive front door. Stone lions graced either side of the porch. The lawn was impeccable; the bushes sculpted. I’d expected the inside to match the outside, but instead I found his house to be cluttered and messy. And loud. Even though it was eleven o’clock at night, Jameson’s three younger brothers were still awake. One who looked to be about twelve was working on a science project on the kitchen table, some kind of contraption made out of pulleys and springs. The other two, close in age, but much younger (maybe six and seven?), chased each other around and around in a dizzying circle. They screamed and yelled and skidded on the polished hardwood floors. Meanwhile, Jameson’s mother, wine glass in hand, yelled at them to knock it off and go to bed already. It was chaotic.

All three of Jameson’s brothers looked exactly like him: pale skin, white-blond hair, tall and lanky. In a movie, they could have played Jameson at different ages. I froze looking at them, trying to reconcile this household with Jameson’s cool, intelligent demeanor. The kitchen sink was piled with dirty dishes; socks and other articles of clothing were draped over the furniture. Toys were strewn everywhere. My mother never would have stood for such mess and commotion. For once I appreciated the peacefulness of my own house. As the two younger boys came around again, their stocking feet sliding on the turns, Jameson’s mother put her wine glass down and swatted them as they went by. “I’ve had it,” she screamed, her face contorting in anger. “I mean it! That’s enough.” The boys didn’t even look her way.

Finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I went upstairs and searched until I found Jameson in his bathroom, flexing his muscles in front of the mirror. He wore boxer briefs and nothing else. His arms and chest were more muscular than I would have guessed, like he lifted weights. I watched as he mouthed words I couldn’t make out and admired his own reflection. When he pulled the elastic on his waistband and stuck his hand down to cup a bulge I hadn’t noticed at first, I knew enough to go. Some things you just don’t want to see because they will be embedded in your brain forever. I never visited Jameson again.

Jameson tried again. “Aren’t we friends, Nadia?”

“Sure, we’re friends.” I just wanted to shake him off now, to walk home and go to bed. He was trying to manipulate me into doing something I didn’t want to do. I didn’t want to spy on the Praetorian Guard. I didn’t even care about the Praetorian Guard, or The Associates for that matter. I didn’t have enough emotion to worry about the world. I only had enough emotion to worry about me and my needs. Simple needs, really. All I wanted was to talk to Russ in private and see if he’d cure my scars. And then I wanted to go on the trip to Peru and spend time alone with him. If only my face wasn’t so messed up, and I didn’t have to worry about how I came off, I knew I’d be a different person. I could be the true me. I’d lose the awkwardness and be able to say what I felt, instead of holding back. I could imagine Russ losing interest in Mallory and falling madly in love with me, the real me. We would become as connected physically as we were spiritually. I longed to feel his lips on mine and his hands running over my—

Jameson grabbed my shoulders and stopped me in my tracks. “So why didn’t you tell me about it then? Why was I the only one who didn’t know you could astral project? Why tell Mallory and Russ but not me?”

He made me feel like a kid who was in trouble. “I don’t know,” I said, exhaling heavily. “I wasn’t trying to exclude you. It’s just that sometimes you can be….” The words hung in the air, the silence looming.

“Be what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, just say it. What can I be?”

“You can be kind of a jerk, Jameson.” The words shot out of my mouth. “You’re mean, that’s what you are. A mean person. You make fun of me in your clever way. It’s all sort of underhanded, but it’s always there. I just didn’t want to deal with your snarky comments.”

His face fell. “I’m not mean. Why would you say I’m mean?”

What? “You don’t think your comments are kind of cutting and mean-spirited?”

“Not really. I know I kid around sometimes…”

“Okay, have it your way. You’re not mean. I just want to go home, Jameson, could you let me go?” I pulled away and turned.

“No, no, I want to know what you’re talking about. When have I been mean to you?”

I got the sense he didn’t have a clue. Was it really possible he’d been going through life being a know-it-all snide jerk and he had no idea? I whirled around. “Okay, you want to know. I’ll give you an example. What is it that you call me sometimes?”

“Nadia?”

I gave him a steely look. “Guess again. What do you call me when you think I can’t hear you?”

“The Grim Reaper?”

“Right. The Grim Reaper. Real nice, Jameson. And you think we’re friends. Do you think I want to walk around with my hood up and my face hidden? Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through for the past four years? My life has been hell. It’s bad enough that strangers make comments. I don’t need to hear it from people I know.”

Regret flashed across his face. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not just that,” I said. “It’s everything. You can never resist making some smart-ass remark, and it comes off as mean.”

“I joke around a lot. I didn’t know you were so sensitive. Now I know and I’ll keep it in check when you’re around.”

Unbelievable. “Yeah, I’m the problem. I’m overly sensitive,” I said sarcastically. I lifted a hand dismissively and thrust it in his direction. “Good-night, Jameson. I’m going home now.” I fast-walked down the sidewalk, determined to be done with this evening.

Jameson knew enough not to follow, but he called out softly from behind me. “Good-night, Nadia. Think about the spying thing and get back to me.”

“Yeah, right,” I said under my breath. “Never going to happen.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nadia

Days passed in one long miserable string. I astral projected to Russ less and less, telling him that my mother was getting suspicious, and he willingly accepted that excuse. Maybe he was relieved he wouldn’t have me coming around bothering him every night. So many times I was on the verge of asking him if he’d be willing to try to fix my face, but every single time, he’d bring up Mallory right at that moment, squashing the opportunity.

“Does Mallory ever talk about me?” he asked, more than once. I barely spoke to Mallory myself. She was busy, always busy. Busy with her other friends, busy with her after-school activities, and assorted social events. I couldn’t blame her. That would be my life too, given the chance.

“No, she never talks about you,” I told him. Finally, after about the third time, I said, “Why do you ask?”

Russ hesitated. “It’s just...” He closed his eyes and I could feel him trying to decide if he wanted to share this with me. “It’s just that we went out one time. Not a date, really. More as friends. We went to a movie, and then it got kind of weird between us. I hope she doesn’t think less of me.”

I knew what this was all about. The kiss in the movie theater, the incident they discussed in the car. I said, “She hasn’t mentioned anything about that, so I’m sure you guys are fine.” I could tell he was relieved to hear they were fine. He was also glad I didn’t ask for more details.

He said, “You’re a good friend, Nadia. A really good friend.” And that’s when I knew that the categories had shifted. Mallory had once been his dream girl, unattainable, like a movie star to be admired from afar. I, on the other hand, had a different place for him. He’d had feelings for me, sure, but no attraction. I’d thought (hoped?) that eventually I could shift things in my direction but now I knew it was too late. The kiss had promoted Mallory to another level. Now he harbored a secret desire that someday she’d be his girlfriend. He actually thought he had a shot at it. Meanwhile, I was now firmly in friend territory and that wasn’t going to change even if my face improved. As far as Russ was concerned, I was no more likely a candidate for a romantic relationship than his buddies Mick and Justin. We were pals. I was a good friend. A really good friend. My fate was sealed.

“Thanks, Russ. I try,” I said, and changed the subject so I didn’t have to keep hearing Mallory’s name.

During all these visits, Russ kept me updated on the trip to Peru. They’d locked in dates, gotten their flight information, and Mr. Specter had shown them their fake-identity passports. They’d be traveling under different names so as not to arouse the suspicion of the Associates. While they were gone, Mr. Specter’s group, the Praetorian Guard, would take over their phones and computers from an offsite location, and keep up the normal level of usage so anyone monitoring it would think they were still home. It all smacked of spy movies, and I wished I could be part of it. To Russ’s credit, he didn’t play it up too much. In fact, he didn’t offer most of the information. I found out by asking. I think he felt bad that I was being left behind, the way any good friend would be.

A few weeks later, I was up in my room translating a passage from French when the doorbell rang. Odd, for my house. We never got drop-in guests. I got up and went to my window to look down. I couldn’t see who was at the door, but there was a gray four-door car parked at the curb. If it was someone taking a survey or selling something, they’d be leaving soon; my mother would see to that.

Downstairs I heard my mother’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. Then the screen door opened and shut, followed by the sounds of voices. My mother was letting someone into the house. I listened hard. It was two someones. A man and a woman. I heard their voices. The man said my name and my mother said something about how she was willing to listen, but that’s all she could promise. I went down the stairs to see what was going on and at the same time, my mother called, “Nadia! Nadia!”

“I’m right here,” I said, turning at the landing.

She smiled, her lips tight, and said briskly, “We have visitors.”

I pulled my hood up and followed her into the living room, where I saw Mallory and Mr. Specter, sitting on the couch, both of them perched nervously on the edge of their cushions. My mother had not been welcoming, was my guess. Mallory’s face lit up when she saw me. “Hey Nadia.”

“Hi,” I looked from her to Mr. Specter to my mother, unsure of what to do next.

“Well don’t just stand there.” My mother’s voice often sounded harsh when she was nervous, and strangers in the house made her nervous. “Sit down, Nadia!”

I sat in a chair by the window and Mr. Specter stood up to shake my hand as if we’d never met. “I’m Samuel Specter,” he said. “I’m a science teacher at the local high school, the one Mallory attends.” He gestured to Mallory who smiled and nodded. He continued, “I was telling your mother that I’m involved with a national honors program for high school students and that four Edgewood teenagers have been chosen to take an all-expense-paid trip to Miami, Florida to compete in a series of academic decathlons. Participating will look good on university applications, and if your team places or wins, you can receive thousands of dollars to be used for your future education.”

Miami, Florida was our cover? Who came up with that?

Mallory jumped in. “We were chosen, Nadia! Out of thousands of kids considered, you and I are two of the four from this are who were picked. It’s the second week of June and it lasts for ten days. It’s an incredible opportunity.”

Mr. Specter sat down next to Mallory and said, “So what do you think, Nadia? Are you interested?”

“Interested? Absolutely.” I glanced over at my mother whose arms were folded firmly across her chest. I wished my father was home to serve as a buffer. His trip to the hardware store had poor timing.

“Not so fast,” Mom said to me. “Mr. Specter has informed me that parents will not be allowed to go, since the students find their presence distracting.” She addressed Mr. Specter. “This will not work out for us. We have a family rule that Nadia never goes anywhere unaccompanied. Either her father or I are always by her side.”

The woman spoke the truth. Except for sneaking out on my own at night and astral projecting, I hadn’t left the house alone in years.

“I told Mr. Specter how your family did things, but we thought that maybe your parents might make an exception since I’ll be there,” Mallory said. “I will be with Nadia every minute, I promise. I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

“All of the students participating are quality kids,” Mr. Specter said. “And they will be well supervised, believe me. For the four teenagers in our group there will be three adults on hand to oversee their activities, which I think you’ll agree is a nice ratio.”

“The ratio isn’t really the issue,” Mom said. I knew that tone of voice. She’d made up her mind and there would be no convincing her otherwise.

“You know Jameson already,” Mallory said, sweetly. “He’s one of the other kids chosen. And the fourth one is Russ Becker. I know Russ from school and he’s a very nice boy. I can vouch for both of them.”

She came over to where my mother sat and perched on the edge of her chair, then began rubbing her arm, something even I wouldn’t do when my mother was in this antagonistic state. I knew where Mallory was going with this. She was trying to use mind control on my mother to convince her to let me go.

My mother looked up at Mallory and her forehead creased. Not a good sign, usually, but Mallory didn’t let it deter her. “This is a great opportunity for Nadia,” she said, her hand holding onto her elbow. I watched in fascination as Mallory tried to work her magic on my strong-willed mother. So far Mom didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look like she was softening either.

“Whether or not it’s a great opportunity is beside the point,” Mom said. “It’s about making sure things happen the way they’re supposed to. Teenagers—they never listen. They think they know it all and they have poor judgment.”

“I guess I don’t understand what your objection is,” Mallory said. “It’s free, will be well chaperoned, and can potentially enhance Nadia’s future. You want that for her.”

“Mallory, I know you want to include Nadia in all your activities, but you have to understand that this time it isn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because. She’s not like you. Look at her.” Everyone in the room turned in my direction and I squirmed at being scrutinized. I could tell Mr. Specter and Mallory were uncomfortable staring, but they couldn’t help themselves. “Just take a good look,” my mother said, pointing. “She can’t even pull her hood down in our living room. What makes you think she’ll be able to compete in public? I’ve been protecting her for years. I’m not throwing her to the wolves now.”

I stood up and pushed my hood down so it fell to my shoulders. “I want to go. I don’t care if people stare at my face. I’m ready to do this.” I thrust my chin out defiantly.

“This isn’t a conversation I want to have right now,” my mother said, a line I’d heard often in my life. It was a signal she was done talking.

Mallory frowned, and kept trying, her hand now on my mom’s shoulder. “You would like it if Nadia won thousands of dollars in scholarship money. And think about how it would look on her college application if she competed well in a nationwide competition.” Mallory’s voice was soothing, almost hypnotic.

My mother relaxed a bit but didn’t say anything. Her mouth softened and the disapproving furrow in her forehead melted away. Could it be working? I stood nearby, afraid to sit down again because I might break the spell.

Mallory gave my mom’s shoulder a squeeze. I knew from previous knowledge that she had to be touching the person to influence their thinking. “You’d hate to have Nadia miss out on this opportunity. You feel that she’s ready to face the world. You have no doubt that she can take on this challenge and make you proud.”

“Well, I don’t know…” Mom sounded confused, and I got a pang of guilt. As much as I wanted to go on the trip, it seemed wrong to turn people into robots just to get what you wanted.

“Why don’t we leave some information about the competition?” Mr. Specter suggested. He opened the briefcase sitting at his feet and pulled out a folder. I could see it had a label on it with my name.

Mallory nodded in agreement. “We’ll leave the information for you to read. When you read it over, you’ll be even more convinced that this is a good idea for your daughter. You’d hate to see her miss out on the chance to win scholarship money.”

My mother opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, we heard the loud thumping of her cat, Barry, as he came down the stairs. He was so heavy it sounded like someone had rolled a bowling ball off the top landing. When he reached the bottom, he yowled once before tearing into the room and leaping toward my mother, a comet of fur flying through the air like he’d been catapulted. Having a twenty-six pound cat jump into her lap brought Mom back to her senses and out of the Mallory-induced trance. I could tell by the look on her face she was back to her usual self. The self that was unyielding and determined to keep me away from the rest of the world. She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Specter and Mallory, for coming to visit. We appreciate the offer, but Nadia will not be attending, so feel free to use her slot for someone else.”

Mr. Specter held out the folder, the one with my name on it. “Maybe once you read over the information? I’ll leave this here for your perusal and check back with you in a few days.”

“That won’t be necessary.” My mother focused her attention on Barry, who was knocking his head against her hand, his reminder that she needed to rub behind his ears. “Just take it all with you.” She flicked a hand toward the door. “Nadia will be home with me this summer.”

I exchanged a look with Mallory. Her look said I am so, so sorry, and mine said, that’s okay, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t okay, of course. It really, truly sucked.

Mr. Specter left the folder behind anyway, and after they’d gone and the car had pulled away from the curb, I sat down and leafed through the sheets inside. They’d done a good job creating the necessary paperwork for a fake student trip to an academic decathlon. Everything was here: information about the hotel and the event, dress code, rules of conduct, contact information, emergency medical forms. All color-coded, like a real student trip would be. My mother, still fussing over Barry, said, “There’s no point in getting your hopes up, Nadia. You’re not going.” She leaned over to touch her nose to the cat’s, like some woman in a cat food commercial.

“Why not?”

She sighed. “Do we have to keep doing this, Nadia? I said no and that’s final.”

I felt the anger rise in my throat like bile. “You’re being unfair. This trip is free, it’s chaperoned, and it’ll look good on college applications. Give me one good reason why I can’t do this.”

“I don’t have to give you any reason.” She looked straight at me, her face taut with anger. “I’m your mother. I sometimes make unpopular decisions for your own welfare. That’s what good parents do. I don’t expect appreciation, but I do expect some respect, so keep your attitude to yourself, young lady. And stop trying to get your friends to intercede on your behalf. I can tell you right now I am immune to that kind of thing.”

I was about to say something back about how hard it was to respect someone who couldn’t actually be bothered to verbalize a reason, but the last sentence made me stop. Immune to that kind of thing? Did she know what Mallory was trying to do with all the shoulder rubbing and suggestions? It was kind of weird that the mind control didn’t work on her. “Immune to what kind of thing?” I asked cautiously.

“Peer pressure,” she snapped back, her voice unexpectedly loud. “Just because your friends are doing it, doesn’t mean you need to do it. Here’s the thing, Nadia. The two of us are in it for the long haul, whether you like it or not. Your friends will probably not be your friends ten years from now, but I’ll still be your mother, so you might want to give me some consideration for once.”

“I do give you consideration,” I said, blinking back tears. “All I ask is that you give me some consideration too.”

“I don’t expect you to understand anything at this point in your life,” she said. “Because you lack the maturity to handle adult matters. Did you know that the pre-frontal cortex of the brain doesn’t fully develop until the age of twenty-five? That’s the part of the brain that acts as your executive center, which helps make good decisions and manage your impulses.” Her tone was smug. “And that is why teenagers aren’t in charge of the world.”

“Sure, whatever,” I said.

“Very mature, Nadia,” she said sarcastically. “I do believe you’re illustrating my point perfectly.”

“I have to study.” I got up and left the room, taking the folder with me. I knew she would throw it out and I didn’t want that to happen. Mallory had told me that the permission form had been specially treated with two different types of ink that could be remotely activated. Once one of my parents gave permission, the form would fill out with the corresponding handwriting. The theory was that once my mom or dad saw the filled-out page, they’d be even more convinced that it had been their decision all along. Since Mallory’s suggestions didn’t take hold, the form was now worthless. Still, I wanted to keep it. Proof that I’d once had a shot at going.

Halfway up the stairs I heard my mother call out, “I’m glad we had this talk.” Typical. She always had to have the last word.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Russ

Okay, I could admit it. I missed Nadia. I really did. During the day things happened and I’d think, wait until I tell Nadia about this…and then the day ended, and I’d settle into bed and wait for her to astral project to me. I’d be on edge anticipating the warmth of her energy surging into my room and for her to be there, just the two of us, her presence all around me, part of me and yet completely separate. I waited and waited for this to happen but it never did. It was the weirdest thing. I mean, I was with other people all day long and I had friends. And my parents too, not that they’re in the same category. I had no shortage of people to share with, and yet it’s wasn’t the same. None of them understood me like Nadia.

She said she didn’t astral project to me anymore because of her mom, but I thought there was more to it than that. Something was off between us. Maybe it was my fault because I talked about the trip too much, making her feel bad about not going. I couldn’t help it though. I mean, it’s Peru. South America. A third world country. Which was pretty exciting considering I’d never been out of the Midwest.

Not only that, but we might find out what happened to my sister Carly’s high school boyfriend, David Hofstetter. He supposedly died in a car accident when he was sixteen, but now Mr. Specter and I thought he might still be out there somewhere based on what David’s grandfather, Gordy Hofstetter, told me before he died. He said his grandson was locked up, a prisoner. And then he handed me a wad of paper wrapped around a medallion. The paper had a map of Peru, and coordinates indicating three different locations using latitude and longitude. The medallion was silver, as large as a belt buckle, and octagonal in shape. In the center was a clear gemstone. Around the stone, etched into the metal was a spiral pattern. I’d shown the paper to Mr. Specter, but had never told anyone about the medallion. Carry it with you always, Gordy had said on the night he died. And I did.

So now we were heading out to Peru, to visit the three locations on the map. It was going to be a top secret trip, like a spy mission. Our lives depended on keeping it confidential. We were getting fake passports and who knows what other kinds of spy gadgets. Mr. Specter said he’d fill us in on the plane trip over and I guess we’d find out the details then. I did know we’d be flying by private jet, although we had to leave on a commercial flight initially, so our parents don’t get suspicious. It was all very James Bond, without the martinis and hot women.

I couldn’t wait to go.

Sometimes in my room, to pass the time and get ready for the trip, I practiced passing electricity back and forth between my hands, like I was juggling little lightning bolts. I was getting better at controlling it. Everywhere I went, I was aware of electricity. I sensed it pulsing through cords and powering appliances. I felt it behind walls and underground. Other people don’t realize this, but the electricity that comes to our homes and schools doesn’t stop at the outlet plate. I sensed power radiating out of the plug openings, especially in older buildings. Now that I knew about it, it seemed odd that I never noticed it before. I felt like a blind person who’d been given sight.

My other talent, healing people, had been put on hold. Sometimes I heard about someone who had a terrible injury or disease, and I wondered if I could cure them. I’d done it before, but it took some major concentration and I had to really want to help the person. I wasn’t entirely sure I could do it again though. To me, it felt like doing a winning shot from the free throw line at a basketball game. It’s possible, but could I keep doing it over and over again? Maybe on this trip I would find out.

CHAPTER NINE

Nadia

The day of the trip came, and I’d never felt so depressed in my life. Everyone was going to Peru but me.

I still had the trip folder, so I knew what time the flight left. I also knew a van was coming to pick up each person and they were all traveling together to the airport. I wanted to stop thinking about it, to tell myself it didn’t matter, but I was too smart to be fooled. It did matter and I was miserable knowing my friends were leaving without me. I was like the person left on the Titanic watching the last lifeboat being lowered.

To torture myself further, I told my mother I had a headache and was going to lie down and take a nap. I expected her to object—she generally frowned on naps—but my dad was home sick from work that day, so she said to go ahead, that I didn’t look well, and she hoped I wasn’t coming down with whatever he had. She was going to be heading out to the grocery store and doing a few other errands so I was safe for a while. I closed the door to keep the cat out, lowered the blinds, and climbed into bed. I was distracted for a moment by the sounds of the neighbor kids playing outside, enjoying their summer vacation, but before long I was in the zone. Take me to Russ, I thought and in a moment I was there, watching as he double checked the contents of his suitcase alongside his mom. I was off to one side in his room and he glanced in my direction, but I didn’t make my presence known and he didn’t register any acknowledgement.

“Did you remember deodorant?” Russ’s mother asked, reading off a handwritten list. Her own, I guessed.

“Yes.”

“Toothbrush and toothpaste?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Extra underwear?”

“Yes.” Russ put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got it all, Mom. Everything I need. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But my baby is going on a trip without me,” she said, laughing and reaching up to ruffle his hair. “How can I not worry?’

He ducked out of the way. “Please, Mom, stop.” They both laughed.

It was a nice scene but it filled me with such longing, I couldn’t stand seeing it anymore. Wanting to be gone, I wished to see what Mallory was doing and in an instant I was at her house, pulled into the bathroom where she was applying eye liner around her big dark eyes. Her bathroom had a revolving stand with different make-up brushes and tubes of lip gloss and multiple kinds of mascara. Enough make-up for a crew of super models. A zippered case, partially full, sat on the counter in front of her. She leaned over the sink and inspected her work, then touched up one corner of her eye before smiling approvingly. From downstairs I heard her mother call out, “Mallory, they’ll be here in fifteen minutes!”

Mallory opened the door and yelled back, “Be down in a second.” She tucked the eyeliner and a tube of mascara into the case and zipped it shut. In fifteen minutes, the van would be there and they’d be on their way to the airport. I hoped I’d be able to astral project to Peru. I’d never tried leaving the country before.

As Mallory headed down the stairs, I traveled to Jameson’s house, just to see the last piece of the puzzle. Unlike Mallory and Russ, he was in his front entryway ready to leave, along with his three younger brothers; all of them peering out the door, watching for the van. Four skinny blond boys looking through the screen door at the circular drive.

Jameson wore sandals, baggy shorts with lots of pockets, and a button down shirt. It was a different look for him, a little more dressed up than his usual jeans and t-shirt, but it also made him look younger in a way, like he was ready for school picture day. Jameson’s hand rested on the handle of a suitcase parked at his side. As he watched the driveway, his youngest brother said, “Jameson, why do you have to go?” I recognized the kid from the last time I’d astral projected to Jameson’s house. He was one of the two boys who had been chasing around in circles in the living room, infuriating their mother. I hadn’t gotten a clear image of his face then, but I could see it now and he looked really sad.

“I told you, Joey,” Jameson said. “It’s a competition for smart people in Miami. I was picked out of thousands of students to attend.” He reached over and gave his brother a hug. “Don’t worry, I’m not going away forever. I’ll be back.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joey said, burying his face against Jameson.

“I know you don’t.” Jameson wrapped his arms more tightly around his little brother. “But I really have no choice. They wanted the smartest students.” He patted his head. “And someday you’ll get chosen and you’ll get to go. Because we’re the smart ones, right?”

“I don’t care.” Joey’s voice was muffled. “I want you to stay.”

“Dude, you’re messing up the shirt.” Jameson tried joking him out of it, but it wasn’t working. He pulled apart from his brother and then leaned over to look him in the eye. “Hey Joey, it’ll be okay. I’ll only be gone a little more than a week, and then guess what? I’m going to bring you a gift.”

At the mention of a gift, the other brothers perked up. “Me too?” said the one slightly larger than Joey.

“You too.”

“What about me?” The one who looked to be about twelve wasn’t going to be left out.

Jameson addressed the group. “I’m getting gifts for everybody. Just be good. Stay out of mom’s way. Keep the noise down when she’s sleeping and pick up your stuff and you’ll be fine.”

“Can I call you?” Joey asked. “Whenever I want?”

“I told you,” he said, patting his brother’s head, “no cell phones allowed. It would distract me from the competition and I won’t do as well.”

Through the screen door, I noticed a van pull up. Jameson saw it too. “There’s my ride,” he said to his brothers. “I’ve got to go.” He gave each of them a hug, ending with Joey. “If Mom doesn’t wake up in time for dinner, go ahead and heat up a frozen pizza.”

The boys followed him out onto the porch, and watched as Jameson loaded his suitcase into the back of the vehicle and then climbed inside, joining Mr. Specter, Kevin Adams, and Mrs. Whitehouse. From here, I knew they’d go to Mallory’s and finally to pick up Russ before heading for the airport.

I stayed long enough to see the van pull away, the brothers waving wildly and calling out, “Good-bye, Jamie! Good-bye.” Little Joey ran after the van, stopping when he reached the end of the driveway and watching forlornly as it went down the road. Poor kid looked devastated. It made me wonder exactly what went on in that house.

When the boys went back inside, I should have gone home, but I wasn’t ready to just yet. I felt like Joey—I wanted to chase after the van, beg them to come back. Call the trip off. Instead, I came up with a single thought: Take me to Russ.

And just like that, I was back at Russ’s house, this time in the front hall where, like Jameson, Russ now waited with a suitcase and carry-on bag at his side. This front hall was not nearly as nice as Jameson’s. Instead of marble floors, there was scuffed hardwood with a braided rug in front of the door. It had a homey feel. When I arrived, Russ was in the middle of a conversation with a young woman who looked a lot like him. I assumed it was his sister, Carly, who I knew to be much older than us—in her early thirties. Even though she dressed like a teenager—shorts, a tank top, and flip flops—the dark circles under her eyes gave away her age. “I can’t talk you out of this?” she said, twisting her hands.

“Since they’re picking me up in five minutes, I think not,” Russ said. “I told you, I’m going to be fine. You don’t need to worry about me, Carly.” Aha, I was right, it was his sister.

Carly sighed heavily. “I don’t know what you think this is going to accomplish.” Russ started to speak and she held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t say anything.” She looked around to see if anyone was in earshot and then leaned in toward him, speaking so softly that only Russ and I could hear. “David is dead. I know old man Specter thinks you’re going to find him in leg chains in some Peruvian prison, but I can tell you right now that’s not going to happen. As much as I’d like to believe he’s still out there, I know he died in that car accident.”

“But you can’t know that for sure,” Russ said, protesting. “What if by some fluke he’s still alive? And then what if we do find him? What if the love of your life is out there and I can bring him home?” He put his hands on her shoulders; suddenly he looked physically bigger to me, more rugged, like he’d grown from a teenager into a man’s body overnight. I knew Carly thought he was being idealistic, but I was proud to know him.

“This whole trip is too risky. The Praetorian Guard is a joke.” Even whispering, Carly spat out the words with contempt. “They don’t know what they’re doing, Russ. Going against The Associates is stupid. You know there’s a good chance you won’t come back, don’t you? All of you could die in some third world country and we’ll never even know what happened to you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Why would you risk your life for nothing?”

“But what if it’s not nothing?” Russ said. “What if he’s out there, just waiting to be found? How will we ever know unless I go?”

“Because I’m not willing to sacrifice you for this…” She threw up her hands. “…pointless expedition. Why does it have to be you? Let someone else do it.”

“If everyone thought that way, nothing would ever get done.”

“David Hofstetter is gone, Russ.” Carly tapped her heart with her fingertips. “I would know if he’s still alive. I’d feel it. We had a connection like I’ve never had before and never will again. It’s a rare thing when someone inhabits your every waking thought. It’s like you stop being one selfish person and start seeing the world through two people’s eyes. Or when you’re having an awesome day or a terrible day or something funny happens, and even while you’re experiencing it you think that you can’t wait to tell them about it. I can’t really explain it any better than that. Someday maybe you’ll be lucky enough to know what I’m talking about.”

Russ shifted uncomfortably and cast his eyes downward. Something she’d said had struck a chord. He cleared his throat in an awkward way and I realized he was trying not to smile. Carly picked up on it at the same moment.

“Wait a minute,” she said, and now her voice was at regular volume. “Just wait one minute. You’re thinking you already have that kind of connection, aren’t you?”

Russ didn’t answer, but his face gave it away. The corners of his mouth turned upward. A smile. The kind of smile that can’t be helped.

Carly whooped. “Unbelievable! How is it that this happened and I didn’t know?”

“It’s not really the kind of thing I’d tell you about.” Russ stuck his hands in his pocket and made a pretense of looking out the screen door.

“It’s that Mallory girl, isn’t it?” Carly asked. The very thing I myself had wondered.

Russ’s mother chose that moment to come barging in, a dark article of clothing draped over her arm. “Here it is, Russ, fresh from the dryer.” She held it out and I could see it was a navy blue hooded sweatshirt. “I still don’t know why you’re taking all these heavy clothes to Miami. Do you have any idea how hot it gets there?”

Russ rolled the sweatshirt up and tucked it into his carry-on bag. “Mr. Specter said they keep the air conditioning cranked at these things and we should bring lots of layers.”

“Well, he’d know best I’m sure. But make sure you wear the button-down shirts when you compete. You want to make a good impression,” Russ’s mom said, her face lit with excitement. “I’m so proud that you were chosen. What an opportunity! The house will seem empty though.” She looked around sadly.

“I can leave Frank here while he’s gone, if you want,” Carly said. “I’d be willing to do that if it would make things easier for you.” Frank was Carly’s son, Russ’s nephew. I thought he was about ten or so. Russ said that Carly never told them who Frank’s dad was and that maybe she didn’t even know herself. She had a wild past and still was unreliable. She’d never married, probably because she never got over David Hofstetter.

“Yeah, I know what a hardship that would be,” Russ said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Oh, you!” Carly went to poke him in the stomach and he jumped out of the way, but she kept after him and he countered until they were moving like swordsmen fighting a duel. And then their mother was admonishing them to stop goofing around, she had some last minute instructions for Russ. And while all of this was going on, Carly’s son Frank (I knew him by sight—I spotted him with Russ one day when I was out with my mother) came down the stairs and got into the act.

“You can’t go, Russ,” Frank said, grabbing him around the waist and trying to pick him up. “I won’t let you.” Russ pretended to struggle, grinning the whole while.

It was the kind of family scene that never happened at my house, where everyone was so serious and proper and grim. Watching them goof around, I got the yearning I get sometimes, where I wish I could step out of my life and insert myself somewhere else. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m meant for better things and it’s all out there waiting for me. Somewhere else. But where that would be, I don’t know.

Russ’s mother’s voice rose above the sound of the fray, “Okay, that’s enough all of you.”

And then the van pulled into Russ’s driveway and the action stopped like a director had yelled “cut.” Russ hugged everyone and gathered up his bags. He messed up Frank’s hair. “Try not to get into any trouble, kid.”

“I’m going to beat your high scores while you’re gone,” Frank said, practically crowing.

“Ha! You wish.” Russ turned to his mom. “Say good-bye to Dad for me.”

“I will, hon. Have a good time and do your best. We’re proud of you no matter what happens,” she said.

Mr. Specter met Russ out on the driveway and they walked around to the back of the van to stow his luggage. The rest of Russ’s family followed him, Frank peering into the window of the van and waving at Mallory, who waved back.

“We’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Becker,” Mr. Specter said in a reassuring way.

She said, “Just don’t lose him.”

“I haven’t lost a student yet and I’m not going to start now,” Mr. Specter chuckled and Russ’s mom smiled at his lame attempt at humor. Parents were so easily swayed.

Behind them, Carly whispered last minute advice to Russ. She lifted a chain over her head and gave it to him. He looked down, surprised. “The key to the train station?” he asked.

“Take it,” she urged. “If some guy tries to tell you he’s David Hofstetter, ask if he knows what the key is for. David would know for sure. No one else would have a clue.” She gestured to the key. “There’s your proof.”

He lifted the chain over his head. “Thanks, Carly.”

I watched as Russ climbed into the van and greeted everyone inside. Mallory’s pony tail swung when she turned her head to speak to Russ as he took a seat in back. Jameson had nabbed the space right next to her, which was probably a disappointment for Russ, but sadly for me, luck was on his side. This was only the drive to the airport, the start of the trip. Just the beginning of all the time they’d have together.

I didn’t follow along with them in the van. I didn’t want to watch Jameson and Russ vying for attention from the lone girl in the group. It wasn’t really her fault she was so popular with the guys and it wasn’t even a deliberate action on their part. They were drawn to her the way sunflowers turn to face the light. I didn’t blame her or them either. I just didn’t want to see it.

Russ’s mom, sister, and nephew walked back into the house. Frank said, “I stuck a comic book and a note in the pocket of his suitcase when he wasn’t looking. Boy, is he gonna be surprised!”

“That was very nice of you,” Carly said, giving his back a pat. But Frank wasn’t sticking around to listen; he was already running inside and up the stairs to Russ’s room. Probably to work on beating his high scores.

“It’s going to be lonely around here,” Russ’s mother said, sighing.

Carly held the door open. “Again, I’d be happy to leave Frank here if that would ease the loneliness for you.” I watched from the porch as they retreated into the house, and then I thought, I want to go home to my own bed.

And just like that I was in my bed, a blanket up to my chin. Only a short time had passed since I’d left and the same slant of afternoon light came through the blinds. It felt vaguely comforting to be somewhere familiar and safe. I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. It wasn’t like my life had taken a dive. Everything about my life sucked before and it still sucked. In all fairness, it could be worse. I still had the basics: food, clothing, shelter. Hope for the future. Internet access. Cable TV. People in Darfur would love my life. Most importantly I could still astral project to Russ at night. That had to count for something.

Soon enough I dozed. Despite the sun peeking through the blinds, and the daytime sounds coming from outside—the basketball thumping in the driveway across the street, the occasional car passing—I found myself being lulled into drowsiness and finally immersed in a deep, dark sleep.

CHAPTER TEN

Nadia

I was jolted awake when my father rushed into my room, flipped on the overhead light, and urgently called my name. I was in such a sound sleep, it was a shock, believe me. “Nadia, Nadia, wake up.” He sat on the edge of my bed and shook me. I could barely get my eyes open.

I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. Only an hour had passed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. You need to get up and pack, right away. There’s not much time.” Dad went to my closet and threw open the bi-fold doors, revealing a row of hanging clothes and my jumble of shoes and belts and such on the floor below. “I’ll get the suitcase from the storage closet while you get your things together.”

“Where are we going?” I staggered to my feet.

“We’re not going anywhere—it’s just you. Your friend Russ is waiting downstairs. If you don’t hurry you’ll miss your flight.”

“Russ Becker is downstairs?” I was having trouble processing this. It felt too real for a dream, but it couldn’t actually be happening either. My world had tipped on its side and nothing made sense.

“Yes, he’s waiting for you. I have decided to let you go on the trip. Russ was quite persuasive. But you have to hurry. You’ll be cutting it close.”

“Just like that? I’m going?”

He waved a hand in front of my face. “Pay attention Nadia. You must pack. Start gathering your things. Socks, underwear, toiletries. Everything you’ll need.”

He didn’t seem like he’d been coerced or subjected to mind control. I couldn’t figure out why this was happening. “Does Mom know I’m going?”

“I will explain it to her later when she gets home. Now pack. I’ll get the suitcase. It’ll have to be carry-on size, I think.” He left the room abruptly, leaving me to try to make sense of it all. I piled clothes on my bed and grabbed my shoes. I went to the bathroom and scooped up shampoo and deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste along with a few other things. I tried to remember how long the trip was and what I might need. After my mother had declared it was out of the question, I’d suppressed everything I knew about traveling to Peru in June. I knew that in countries south of the equator the seasons were opposite of our own so it would be winter there, but I didn’t think it would be too cold. As I was going over this in my mind, it hit me that I was actually going on a Praetorian Guard secret mission with Russ, Mallory, and Jameson.

Woozy from sleep, I was having trouble believing it. I feared getting to the bottom of the stairs and finding out that my father was fooling me, that we were really taking a family trip to the Wisconsin Dells, a consolation prize for not allowing me to travel with my friends. But my dad wasn’t much for joking around, and it would be a rather sneaky, mean-spirited joke, not like him at all. He was, for the most part, a kind man.

I decided to go with it. I folded my clothes and placed them in stacks on the bed and when my father returned hauling a small suitcase and a bunch of zip lock bags, I set to work putting it all together.

“It’s so full,” Dad said, surveying the open suitcase when I was done. “Too bad. You won’t have much space if you decide to buy anything there. But that’s the way it has to be. Russ said there won’t be enough time to check a bag.”

“I guess.” I tugged at the zipper and pulled it all the way around.

He handed me a wad of money. “Russ said all your expenses will be covered, but it’s always a good idea to carry cash.”

“Thanks.” I folded the bills and put them in my pocket.

“Before you go, I’ll need the folder, the one with all the trip information,” he said. “You still have it?”

I pointed. “It’s on my dresser.”

He rifled through it and pulled out a form that said “Return to Mr. Specter” on the top. Permission for traveling and emergency medical care. “Oh, it’s filled out already,” he said, sounding puzzled.

I glanced over to see that everything was completed except for the line at the bottom. Someone had remotely activated the ink. The once blank form was now filled in with my doctor’s name and my emergency contact information. My aunt Leslie was listed as the one to call in case my parents couldn’t be reached. I wondered who made that decision. “I filled it out,” I said. “Wishful thinking.” I pointed. “You just need to sign it.”

Dad pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and signed the paper with a flourish before handing it to me.

“Thanks.” I stuffed the paper in the suitcase.

He nodded approvingly. “Maybe this is a mistake, letting you go. I don’t know.” I held my breath, worried that I wasn’t going to get to go after all. “It might give you a case of the wanderlust, and then we’ll never get you back.” He reached over to pull me into a tight hug, the kind of hug you give someone you might never see again. “Then I guess this is good-bye.”

“Dad, you’re hurting me,” I said, protesting.

He released me. “I’m sorry. Just so you know, you’re going to be missed around here.” And then his mood shifted and went from sentimental to all business. “Well, it looks like you’re set. Russ said you would call when you got to Miami. Don’t forget.”

“You’re really okay with this?”

He smiled and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door. “Don’t ask any questions. Just go before I regret my decision.”

“You’re not coming downstairs with me?”

He shook his head. “If I watch you go, I might change my mind.”

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw Russ standing by the front door, a big grin on his face. “Ready?” he said.

I nodded. “I’ve never been more ready.”

He picked up the suitcase. “Let’s go.”

Outside on the driveway, a taxi waited. I had a dozen questions, but now was not the time. As the driver and Russ loaded my bags into the trunk, I had a suddenly sense of urgency, a bit of unfinished business. “I’ll be right back,” I said, and dashed back to the house. I opened the front door and stuck my head in. “Dad?” I shouted.

There was a slight shuffling noise coming from the top of the stairs. “Yes, Nadia?”

“Thanks for letting me go. I love you!”

“Oh.” I think he was taken aback. “I love you too. Have a good trip.”

“I will. Good-bye.” Back at the car, Russ held the door open waiting for me to return. I slid into the seat and he got in next to me.

“To the airport,” he said to the driver. “As fast as you can.” The driver, a silver-haired man, nodded. As the taxi backed down the driveway, Russ reached for my hand and raised it in triumph. “Isn’t this great?” His eyes shone bright. “Can you believe I pulled it off?” He let go of my hand.

“How did you do it?” The taxi driver took him at his word; we were speeding through my neighborhood. “What did you say to him?”

“I just told him the truth.”

“What truth?’

“That I didn’t want to go without you. That I needed you there.”

“Really?” I gave him a sideways look, trying to assess if he was teasing me, but every cell in my body told he was telling the truth.

“Along with a few other things.”

“Like what?”

He leaned over and whispered so that the driver wouldn’t hear. “I told him that we needed you on our team if we were going to win the academic decathlon. That we were like the superheroes in comic books, that we each had our own super powers and without your talents we would be lost.” I didn’t say anything, so he continued. “I also said that I understood why they were so overprotective of you and that I would personally guarantee your safety and never leave your side in public. That I’d die before I’d let anything happen to you.”

“You really said that?” Even though I sensed it was all true, I wanted affirmation.

Russ said, “I told him that you felt like you’d been punished for four years for one bad decision. I said that most parents would love to have you as a daughter, that you were hardworking and smart and a good friend.”

“What did he say?” I felt a lump rising in my throat. If I didn’t watch it, I’d be crying soon.

“He wanted to know how I knew you, and I said through Mallory and Jameson. And then I told him what an honor it was to be chosen for the trip, and that we could potentially win money for college, and that seemed to interest him.”

I shook my head. “Incredible.”

“He was really calm the whole time. I could tell he was thinking about it. And then finally he said, ‘I see your point,’ and he told me to wait, that he was going to let you go, but that you’d have to pack and it would take a few minutes.”

“Really.” I couldn’t make sense of this, but I guessed it didn’t really matter. The important thing was that I was going on the trip. I glanced over at the front of the taxi. We were entering the on-ramp for the expressway now. The driver merged aggressively and Russ took a quick glance at his phone.

“Are we going to make it on time?” I asked.

“Looks like it.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes. Russ stared out the window while I ruminated on the wisdom of bringing up the matter of the scars on my face. In the back of a taxi is not where I’d imagined asking, but I sensed that once we were in the group, I might not have many chances to speak to Russ privately. Now seemed like a good time to ask if he would try to heal me. I lowered my hood down to my shoulders and shook out my hair. It was necessary to show him my face, but I immediately felt exposed and vulnerable, the way I imagined it would feel to walk around in my front yard wearing only my underwear. I cleared my throat, more to get myself ready than to get his attention, but the noise jarred Russ to attention. He turned from the window to face me and we both accidentally spoke at the same time.

“Can I ask you something—”

“Before I forget—”

We both laughed. Russ said, “You go first.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t want you to forget whatever it is.”

He nodded and pulled something out of his pocket. “It’s this.” Between his fingertips he held a blue booklet. He urged it into my hands and I took it. It was a passport. “It’s yours, the one the Praetorian Guard made up for you. Lucky thing Mr. Specter brought it along. He showed it to me at the airport and that was when I got the idea to come back for you. I hailed a taxi, and well, you know the rest.”

I opened it up to see my photo—a head and shoulder shot of me in all my scarred glory. I winced at the sight. I tried never to look at myself in bright light and here I was, completely exposed, with my crackled skin and messed-up eyelid prominently displayed. A monster. I knew I had never posed for this photo. How did they get it?

Russ anticipated my question. He leaned in close. “It was done by a team that specializes in forging documents. They took your student photo from when you lived in Illinois, and then aged you.” He hesitated for an instant before plunging ahead. “They apparently used your hospital records to find out how to show your injury.”

“Oh.” To take my mind off my hideousness, I looked at the rest of the passport. They kept my first name, but changed the rest. I was now Nadia Josephine Barlow. It sounded like a family name from the Wild West. The Barlow gang. The rest of the Barlow family would be bank robbers and cattle thieves. I’d be the sister who got burned when a kerosene lamp exploded. While my brothers and cousins were out causing mayhem, I’d stay hidden at home doing housework and slopping the hogs. Nadia Josephine Barlow. That was my new identity. At least I got to keep Nadia.

“What was the thing you were going to say?” Russ asked.

I sat up straight, suddenly cheered at the thought of finally getting to ask. “It’s about my face.” I’d practiced what I’d say to him so many times that it all tumbled out in hurried whispers—how the scars had improved the last time he’d touched my face and how I thought he could do it again if he tried. “So would you?” I asked. “Try it again, I mean?” I looked up at him, searching his face for a reaction. I sensed reluctance on his part that surprised me. Why wouldn’t he want to help? It couldn’t be that he was afraid to try. Anyone who came to my house to convince my parents to let me go on this trip couldn’t be afraid of much.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I’d like to, Nadia, I really would. It’s just—” he gestured to the passport in my hand. “If I heal your scars you won’t match the photo anymore.”

I hadn’t thought of that. How closely did people look at your passport anyway? “Would anyone even notice?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Best not to chance it. We don’t want to attract attention,” he said. “Keeping a low profile is essential, they say. A matter of life and death.”

Disappointment welled up inside me. “But couldn’t we explain it by saying I got my face fixed since the photo was taken? Lots of people change their appearance all the time. They color their hair, gain weight, lose weight…”

Russ shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to put you at risk.”

I blinked back tears and jerked the hood up over my head. My world view narrowed once again.

“It’s not for too much longer,” Russ said in a comforting way. “When the trip is over, I’ll try it then. First thing, once we get back. I promise.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nadia

When we’d arrived at the airport, Russ hurriedly paid the driver and grabbed my bags, and we ran to the terminal. Mr. Specter was outside of the security area, waiting for us with my boarding pass. Apparently while I’d been packing at home, Russ had called and told them I was coming on the trip, and using Praetorian Guard connections, Mr. Specter arranged for a last minute ticket. Someone, a stranger who would never know why, got bumped. A bad day for them, but a good day for me.

We were expedited through security and made it to the terminal just as the other passengers were lining up to board the plane. Mallory’s face lit up when she saw us approach and she broke from the line to give me a hug. “I’m so excited you’re here,” she exclaimed. “When Russ called and said your Dad agreed to let you go I couldn’t believe it. Isn’t this awesome?” Her voice rose in volume until it was almost a squeal. Hard to fake that kind of enthusiasm.

“It’s pretty great,” I said, and in that instant I forgave her for toying with Russ’s affection, for being the girl the guys drooled over, for taking charge and talking for me when she got impatient with my shyness. She was my friend and she was genuinely thrilled that I was here.

When the plane took off, I knew there was no turning back. All of us had been paired up on the plane: Mr. Specter and Kevin Adams had adjacent seats, Mallory next to me, and Russ and Jameson in front of us. The guys shared an armrest, but not much else. Only Mrs. Whitehouse sat separately. She tried to switch with the man who sat directly across the aisle from Mallory, but he’d refused, so she reluctantly went back to her assigned seat about ten rows ahead of the rest of us.

When they gave us the okay to turn on electrical devices, Mallory turned her attention to her iPad while I leafed through the Sky Mall catalog. The vibe I picked up from Mallory was strangely subdued, and the rest of our group seemed quiet too.

After a few minutes she handed the iPad to me, and I realized she’d typed a message.

In Miami we’re switching to a private plane and we’ll get briefed on the flight. I nodded and she took the device back, deleted that sentence and wrote:  I wish you could have seen Russ when Mr. Specter said he brought your passport along just in case.

I took the iPad out of her hands and typed: What did he do?

Mallory: He jumped up like a crazy person, said he was going to your house to try & convince your parents to let you come. I told him there was no way they’d say yes. Kevin said Russ shouldn’t go because he’d miss the flight, but Mr. Specter told him to go ahead and try.

Me: What did Jameson say?

Mallory: That Russ was a complete dumbass and that he was going to mess everything up.

Me: Typical.

Mallory: And when we found out Russ pulled it off, none of us could believe it. I tried mind control on your mom and it didn’t work. What did Russ say to your dad to get him to agree?

I held the iPad, hesitating. For some reason, I didn’t want her to know that Russ had told my dad he didn’t want to go without me and that he’d used a superheroes analogy. The memory of our conversation in the taxi was precious, just between us, and I didn’t want to cheapen it by sharing. Finally, I typed: He personally guaranteed my safety.

That seemed to satisfy her. She nodded and took the iPad back. After that, I occupied myself by looking out the window and thinking deep thoughts. From the ground, clouds looked as substantial as clumps of dryer lint or swirls of cotton candy. Flying through them though, it was obvious that clouds were nothing more than fog in the sky. As ethereal as mist. So many things looked completely different when you got up close.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nadia

We were briefed on the private jet that flew us from Miami to Lima, Peru, but it wasn’t as exciting as I’d anticipated. All of us were given folders with explanations about things like exchanging money and local customs. On this plane, the seats were wider and cushier, and arranged in a circle, like we were in group therapy. Everything smelled fresh, and the space looked new and spacious and clean, the opposite of our crowded commercial flight.

There were no flight attendants; everything was self-serve. In the back of the plane was a kitchen area, a counter with bowls of snack mix and salted peanuts, and a tray of assorted cookies. A small refrigerator held beverages and wrapped sandwiches. There were no assigned seats. We just sat wherever, and since there was no one to tell us to put our seatbelts on, no one did except for Mrs. Whitehouse. We had said hello to the pilot and co-pilot when we boarded, but now the compartment was closed and locked. I didn’t get the impression we’d see them again until the plane landed, although there was a phone right outside the door, so they could be reached in an emergency.

Once the plane was airborne, Mr. Specter got up to talk about Peru. “Who here speaks Spanish?” he asked. “Raise your hand.”

Jameson’s hand shot up and so did Mallory’s. Mrs. Whitehouse raised hers timidly. “I can get by,” she offered.

“How proficient are you?” Mr. Specter said, addressing Jameson.

“I’m fluent,” Jameson said. “And frankly, I find it hard to believe Russ and Nadia haven’t studied Spanish. It’s a valuable and useful language, and growing in use right here in the United States.”

Russ squirmed uncomfortably. Jameson really knew how to get to him. Russ said, “I took German. We have relatives in Stuttgart and we’re going to visit them after I graduate. I wanted to be ready.”

“I’m fluent in Spanish as well,” Mallory said, no hint of showing off, just stating it as fact.

“I speak French and Mandarin Chinese,” I offered. Knowing two foreign languages seemed impressive at home, but they’d be worthless in Peru unless we ran into some French or Chinese people.

“I don’t speak anything but English,” Kevin Adams said, slapping his thigh. “Unless you count Klingon or pig latin. But I make no apologies for my ignorance. English has done the trick for me so far.”

“I’m not asking to put anyone on the defensive,” Mr. Specter said. “I’m just trying to get a handle on our skills. We are going to be accompanied by a guide assigned to us by the Praetorian Guard, a Peruvian gentleman named Alejandro who speaks fluent English as well as Spanish and Quechua, so no one needs to worry about knowing the language since we’ll all be together all the time.”

“Quechua?” Jameson asked.

“The second most common language in Peru,” Russ said, leaning toward Jameson and speaking directly to him. “And the most widely spoken native language. It was the language of the Incas. Today, thirteen percent of the population speaks it, mostly in the Andean regions.”

“Someone’s done their homework,” Mr. Specter said, approvingly.

“Yeah, I can look things up on Wikipedia too,” said Jameson.

Mr. Specter said, “Keep your passports on your person at all times. I can’t stress this enough. Unless you’re sleeping, you should have your passport with you. Keep it somewhere safe. You don’t want to misplace it or have a pickpocket lift it. Got it?”

We all nodded in unison.

“Moving on,” Mr. Specter said. “You will find that the food in Peru is delicious. Potatoes are often served as is seafood, including ceviche, which is a dish typically made from fresh fish marinated in lemon or lime juice. We will also, I believe, have the opportunity to eat cuy, something you all know as guinea pig.”

Mallory wrinkled up her nose. I knew from previous conversations that she’d had a bunny as a kid. A guinea pig seemed like a shorter-eared version of a bunny.

Kevin Adams added, “They call it that because of the noise it makes. Kwee, kwee, kwee.” He chuckled.

“I’m not eating it,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “I’m against eating pets.”

“Ah, but you won’t know,” Kevin said. “They very cleverly hide cuy in other things. Cuy stew. Cuy kabob. Cuy casserole. You’ll have polished off your plate before you realize little Fuzzy isn’t in his cage anymore.”

Mrs. Whitehouse’s mouth dropped open in horror.

“Kevin, please stop.” Mr. Specter peered over his glasses in disapproval, and then looked at us. “He’s been this way since high school. He can’t resist poking the monkey.”

“Hey!” said Mrs. Whitehouse, offended by the monkey reference.

Mr. Specter returned his gaze to the rest of us. “Moving on. Don’t drink anything unless it’s bottled. And that goes double for water. The locals have adapted to the pathogens in the water and can drink it with no problem, but it’s not the same for us. And don’t eat any fruits or vegetables unless they’ve been cooked or peeled. I don’t want anyone getting sick.”

Kevin Adams held up a hand. “Sam, do you mind if I jump in here?’

“No, go ahead.”

“I just want to make sure I have the lowdown on everyone’s powers. As you probably know, when I was your age I had X-ray vision. Whitehouse here could heat things up just by touching them, and Mr. Specter could—”

“—Ancient history,” Mr. Specter said, sharply. “Not pertinent to this trip. Move it along, Kevin. And let’s keep the conversation in the present, shall we?”

Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Okay, then, someone’s a little touchy. Back to business.” He pulled a sheet out of his folder. “For Jameson, I have listed the ability to move objects with his mind, technically known as telekinesis. Correct?” He waited for Jameson to nod before continuing. “For Mallory, mind control. Nadia has empathic skills with the added bonus of being able to tell if people are lying. And for our star Russ, I have down, ‘can shoot electricity out of his hands and heal people.’ Did I get that right? Does anyone have anything to add to that?”

There were shared glances and shrugs, but no one mentioned my astral projecting or the fact that Russ could sense electricity anywhere—behind walls and coming out of outlets. Unspoken, we’d agreed to keep that information to ourselves. It was like the teenagers needed to have something on the adults. I also knew that Russ was starting to have success with mind control. But that was between us, and if he wasn’t going to bring it up, I wasn’t going to.

Finally Mallory said, “I think that covers it.”

Mr. Specter said, “Before I forget, this is very important—under no circumstances are you to use your powers in public, or even in private if there’s a chance it could be detected. This is just a fact-finding mission. We’re not looking for confrontations and we certainly don’t want to attract attention.”

“We know it will be hard for you guys to hold back, but it’s so, so important,” said Mrs. Whitehouse.

“And we need to stick together. Like a pack,” Kevin Adams said. “No mavericks allowed.”

“Remember, there’s safety in numbers.” Mrs. Whitehouse folded her hands in her lap.

Mr. Specter said, “On to the next topic. As I mentioned in the meeting at my house, our primary objective for this trip is to locate David Hofstetter, or in lieu of that, find information relating to him. A document has been uncovered showing a map of Peru and three different locations as designated by numbers referencing latitude and longitude. We believe this map and these locations are somehow connected to David.”

“Where did this document come from?” Mrs. Whitehouse asked.

“It was in the possession of Mr. Gordon Hofstetter at the time of his death.”

The answer didn’t satisfy her. She persisted. “Yeah, I get that he had it, but where did he get it? And how did you wind up with it?”

“Classified information,” Mr. Specter said.

“What, it just fell out of the sky and into your hands?”

“For everyone’s safety, I believe it best not to elaborate.”

“But you get to know?” She was indignant. “Don’t you trust us? How can we operate if we don’t have all the facts?”

Mr. Specter looked exasperated. Russ lifted one finger and spoke up, his voice slicing through the tension. “He got it from me. Mr. Hofstetter gave me the map, right before he died. He said it would lead to his grandson.”

“Again, this is classified,” Mr. Specter said, frowning.

Mrs. Whitehouse scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. What happens on the plane, stays on the plane. No one ever wants to tell me anything.”

Jameson raised his hand. “Can I ask what our strategy is?”

“Strategy?” Mr. Specter pushed his glasses up his nose.

“We’re traveling to three locations, and then what? We just wander around looking for a guy who supposedly died sixteen years ago?”

Kevin Adams cleared his throat. “I’ll take this one, if you don’t mind, Sam.” He addressed Jameson directly. “Our ‘strategy’—,” and here he used finger quotes, “is to go to these locations, known hotspots for the Associates, by the way, and let the dogs loose. That would be all of you. Energy attracts energy. If there’re any of the Associates in the area, they’ll come out of their hidey holes to take a gander, you watch. And they’ll lead us to David Hofstetter, if he’s alive.”

Mr. Specter sighed in exasperation. “And now, I think enough has been said.” He gestured to our folders. “I won’t insult your intelligence by reading the information to you. We have several hours in the air. Make good use of that time and be sure to read the complete packet by the time we land.”

I turned my attention to my folder wanting to get the chore out of the way. It held what looked like standard class trip stuff: cautions about pick pockets, the water, food. The importance of staying with the group, and keeping our cover as students on a class trip.

Along with the standard stuff was a sheet outlining our objective. It showed the missing man, David Hofstetter, as he appeared sixteen years before, the year he was thought to have been killed in a car accident. The page gave his height and weight as just under six feet and 170 pounds. His eyes were green; his hair was brown and just slightly wavy, kind of like Russ’s. Also, like Russ, his power was listed as being able to discharge electricity from his hands. We’d been told that our powers would fade with age. I wondered how much he’d have left at age thirty-two, assuming he was still alive. I studied the picture of David. He was a good-looking boy, but nothing out of the ordinary. Heads would not turn if he walked into the room. Still, I liked the way he looked. In the photo he had a smirky grin, a little lopsided, but charming nonetheless. Kind of a sexy smile, to tell the truth. I tried to imagine him dating Russ’s sister, Carly—the two of them a couple in love.

At the bottom of the page was another photo. This one was age-enhanced to show how David would look today. If he were still alive, according to this picture, his jaw would have more definition, and his eyes would be deeper set, and more intense, but underneath it all, you could still see the teenager that he’d been. He appeared to have grown into his looks in a good way. If he had indeed died in that car accident sixteen years ago, it was a shame. David Hofstetter looked like someone who was going places.

It was hard to keep my mind on my reading, because Jameson started speaking in Spanish to Mallory and soon they were having a lively conversation punctuated with a lot of laughter, something I knew was designed to draw attention. Jameson was doing it to show off and give Russ a hard time. Kevin Adams wasn’t the only one who liked to poke the monkey.

I exchanged a glance at Russ and he jerked his head in Jameson’s direction and grinned like look at that idiot. Honestly, I didn’t care. Let them talk in a language I couldn’t understand. With their shared Spanish, there was always the possibility that Jameson and Mallory would pair up on this trip, and that would suit me fine.

Just when I thought the two of them couldn’t act more annoying, Jameson upped his game. He opened his folder and one by one, had each piece of paper levitate in the air, until all of them floated in a row in front of him. Then, using his finger to direct them, he had them switch position and swirl around in a dizzying fashion. Mallory clapped and the adults looked entranced, but Jameson only cared about getting Russ’s reaction. “Pretty good, huh Russ?” He called out. “I’ve been practicing. You wouldn’t believe everything I can do now.”

“Nice trick,” Russ said, barely giving him a glance. I wasn’t sure how he could be so nonchalant. Personally, I couldn’t take my eyes off the floating papers. Next Jameson had them bending in half, and sailing around in circles like ships chasing one another.

“Oh, but it’s not a trick. It’s Jameson energy, and it’s getting stronger every day.”

“Very impressive!” Mrs. Whitehouse said, pointing excitedly. “I’ve never heard of anyone being able to move more than one object at a time.”

That’s all Jameson needed to keep going. He had the papers fly up to the ceiling and stop flat, as if stuck. We all watched as they remained in place, and then slowly he had them shimmy overhead until they were in a stack floating two feet above Russ.

Russ kept reading, seemingly oblivious to it, while Jameson smirked, clearly impressed with himself. When the papers dropped suddenly, heading straight for Russ, I yelled involuntarily. “Watch out!”

But Russ wasn’t as oblivious as he let on. Before the papers reached his head he’d jumped out of this seat and zapped them, a bolt of electricity coming off his pointer finger. The papers singed mid-air and fluttered down to his empty seat. The adults, who’d been silently watching this whole thing play out, jumped to action. Kevin Adams had a water bottle in hand, and Mr. Specter went to the front to get the fire extinguisher.

“It’s okay,” Russ said, calling after Mr. Specter. “There’s no fire. I made sure it was a controlled response.”

Mrs. Whitehouse tried to brush the charred paper off the seat with a napkin, but the pieces disintegrated into ash at her touch. “Well, I’ll be,” she said.

Russ spoke directly to Jameson. “You’re not the only one who’s been practicing.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nadia

My first view of the country was no view at all. It was just past sundown and all we could see as we landed were the lights of the city. One of the employees of the airport rolled a metal staircase up to the plane’s door so we could exit into the cool and clammy night air. Walking down reminded me of the old newsreels dating back to the 1930s, the ones that showed movie stars and heads of state arriving to waiting crowds on the tarmac. But there was no one there to greet us.

True to his word, Russ stayed by my side. He helped get my suitcase, and hung back from the group to walk with me. Even though we’d traveled by private jet, we still had to stand in line and go through customs. There were multiple lines, all leading up to the separate officials who would approve our entry into the country.

As we waited, Russ leaned over and said, “Are you nervous?”

“No, why would I be nervous?”

“I just thought since you hadn’t been out much for four years that going to South America on the spur of the moment might be kind of a big deal.”

I nodded, my hood bobbing along with my head. “It is. But I’m not nervous.” Despite all the warnings by Mr. Specter, I felt safe enough. We were traveling in a group, some of us spoke fluent Spanish and we were American citizens. Plus, from all outward appearances, we were just a bunch of kids traveling with non-threatening looking grownups. There was nothing about us that was noteworthy. The packet, which I read twice on the plane, was disappointingly dry. Besides the sheet about David Hofstetter, which we’d had to leave on the plane when we disembarked, there was nothing about going on a mission or spying. We weren’t given any gadgets, not even binoculars. And none of our cell phones would work here. It didn’t feel like a dangerous mission, not at all. Really, what could happen?

For me, leaving home after being under my mother’s hawk eyes for so long, this trip felt like an escape from my everyday life. Sweet freedom. And I was ready for anything.

What I did feel was a little dazed. There was so much to take in. Airports are vast to begin with. All around us the sound of Spanish being spoken by so many people made me realize what a disadvantage it was not to speak the language. I regretted not having studied it at all. When my parents were planning my curriculum, they’d ruled it out right away. “Too common,” my mother had said, and I’d agreed. Preschoolers learned Spanish watching Dora the Explorer. It wasn’t for me. I needed something more challenging. Now I wished I’d watched a few episodes of Dora. It couldn’t have hurt. But I would get by somehow. One thing I knew for sure, I’d resort to charades before I’d ask Jameson for help.

We shuffled ahead by inches, our suitcases alongside like loyal dogs. The people at the front of the line waited until they were waved up to the counter. At that point, we would hand over our form (already filled out by the Praetorian Guard) and the customs official would check our passport. I watched as they let Mrs. Whitehouse through, then Mallory, Jameson, and Kevin Adams. Russ stood behind me, a pillar of reassurance, and Mr. Specter brought up the rear.

When it was my turn, the man behind the counter beckoned me forward. I left my spot in front of Russ and pulled my suitcase up to the official, a tired looking old man whose name plate said: Elias Raul Alejandro. He said something I didn’t understand and I slid my passport and paperwork across the counter. Time shifted into slow motion as he looked at my passport for what seemed like way too long. He gestured for me to lower my hood, which I did, and he stared outright. He looked at the passport and back at me, comparing the image with the actual face.

“Nadia Josephine Barlow?” he asked. His pronunciation was terrible. I nodded and he turned back to the passport photo. I was starting to get the sick feeling that he was on to us—that something about my passport flagged it as a forgery and I was now in big, big trouble. Did they put teenagers in jail here? I swallowed and tried to keep my breathing steady.

I looked around. Behind me, Russ and Mr. Specter waited in line, looking concerned. On the other side, the rest of the group stood against a wall, not wanting to proceed until all of us were through. I couldn’t help but notice that the lines on either side were moving right along.

Finally, I had to say something. “Is there a problem?” I pointed to the passport. “Problemo?”

He asked me something, speaking really quickly, and I shook my head. “No español.” I guess I knew more Spanish than I thought. The man twisted his body around and waved wildly to a guy in uniform thirty feet away. “Mario! Mario!” Even though this situation seemed to be getting worse, hearing the name Mario inappropriately reminded me of Mario Kart and I had to suppress the urge to grin. Mario came rushing over and the two men spoke rapidly, looking from me to my passport photo and back again.

Jameson came over, rested his hand on my back and said something in Spanish to the two men. He was, I could tell, saying we were together and offering to serve as my translator, but the two men looked irritated at his presence. Mario scolded him and pointed for him to go away. Jameson said, “Sorry Nadia,” before he reluctantly trudged back to the others.

Over and over again, I heard the two men excitedly use the same phrase ‘An-hill k-ma-da,’ in reference to me and my face. I had no clue what it meant. Some kind of monster? Something about my deformity? A reference to the authenticity of the passport? If only I were closer to them I could have used my powers to sense their emotional state. Mario took a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it, then waited for a response. When a man’s voice squawked back, he pressed his mouth to the device and said more, gesturing at me excitedly as if the guy could see. When their conversation was over, he motioned for me to follow him. “Come with me, please,” he said in heavily accented English. I paused and glanced back at Mr. Specter and Russ, waiting for one of them to save me, but neither one made a move.

Not knowing what to do, I started to follow Mario, but the first man, the one at the counter called me back. “Nadia!”

“Yes?” I retraced my steps.

“Un momento,” he said. With a flourish he stamped my passport and handed it to me. “Enjoy your stay in Peru.” Each word spoken separately, as if he’d memorized the sounds.

I said, “Gracias.”

When Mario and I walked past the others, Mallory spoke up in Spanish, but her words were waved away. Mrs. Whitehouse stepped forward, blocking our path. “Now wait one darn minute,” she said a hand resting on each hip. “I am responsible for this girl and I insist that you tell me what this is all about.” Mario regarded her sternly, then let forth with a blistering spew of Spanish, before pushing her aside. He took my arm and led me briskly along; I turned my head to see everyone in my group receding in the distance, upset expressions on their faces. My captor, Mario, had a firm but gentle grip on my arm. He occasionally glanced down and smiled in a reassuring manner. He was not that much taller than me, and when he smiled he showed all his teeth. His breath smelled of spicy meat. Now that we were touching it was easy for me to get a sense of what he was feeling. Pride. That was it. He was proud to be pulling me the length of the customs area to wherever we were going. I felt a little bit of excitement on his part too. He was proud and excited to have gotten a hold of me. I wasn’t sure how to take this. We halted suddenly outside a closed door. Mario pushed the door open and motioned me inside.

I get a little bit claustrophobic at times. I’m not happy in crowded elevators, or in crowds period. And I like my rooms to have windows. This room wasn’t crowded, in fact. it was empty, but it didn’t have a window, which made me nervous. It was an office consisting of a basic metal desk with a chair behind it, two other chairs for visitors, and a calendar on the far wall stating the month as Junio. One of the chairs had tape across the vinyl seat cushion, and the floor was scuffed linoleum. “Sit please,” Mario said. “I be back.”

When he left and closed the door, I panicked a little bit. I was in the country less than an hour and already they’d taken notice of me. Russ had to be sorry that he’d come and gotten me at the last minute. I’d messed things up in a big way. As I tucked my legs under the chair and waited, I realized that my suitcase had been left behind. Hopefully, one of the others would claim it. Unless it had been confiscated. I grimaced at the thought of officials rifling through my underwear and checking out my deodorant. I didn’t even want to think about it.

The room was getting uncomfortably warm and I could have used a drink of water. I had a horrible, sinking feeling. Wasn’t this what they did when they interrogated people? Turned up the heat?

After what seemed like ten minutes or maybe twenty—I lost track of time—the door burst open. Mario had returned and was joined by two others, a man and a woman. The woman was smartly dressed in business attire and high heels. She sauntered in like she owned the place, and maybe she did, because she took the spot behind the desk and barked orders at the two men in Spanish, speaking so quickly that there was no space between the words. Neither man sat down; both stood facing me.

“You are Nadia?” she said.

“Yes.”

“My name is Ana. Welcome to Peru. I understand you are here on a class trip from Wisconsin.” The words came out smoothly, only a trace of an accent.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Someone who spoke English and seemed non-threatening. “Yes. It’s a class trip. I’m a high school student.”

“Very good. Wisconsin is a lovely place I have heard. I have not been there, but I visited Chicago once, which I understand is very close.”

This small talk was confusing.”I don’t know why I’ve been brought here,” I said. She translated my words to the men in a chiding way and finally she spoke to me again.

“I would like to apologize for taking your time,” she said. “You have made my co-workers curious. I just have a few questions for you and then you can join your friends.”

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“Peru is a country with a rich history,” she said, disregarding my question. “And the people are great storytellers. Some of these stories have been passed down from generation to generation. When I was a little girl, my grandmother kept a symbol on her front door to keep bad spirits away. Do you do anything like that in the United States?”

I thought of four leaf clovers, throwing salt over your shoulder, and not walking under a ladder because it was bad luck. “Superstitions? Yes, I guess so.”

“I am not a believer in the old stories myself, but a lot of people still do,” she said, resting an elbow on the desk and cupping her chin. “Can I ask what happened to your face?”

“My face?” My hand involuntarily flew to my cheek. “I got burned.”

“How did this happen?”

“I was on a bus a few years ago and a crazy man threw a bucket of acid into the air and some of it splashed on me. Even after it healed, it left these scars.”

She listened carefully and translated what I’d said to the two men.

“Tell me, Nadia, can you fly?”

“Fly? Like on a plane?”

“No, like this.” She stood up and held her arms out like kids do when they play airplane.

“Well, no.” I felt flushed and overheated, but I didn’t want to take my hooded sweatshirt off. A bead of sweat dribbled between my shoulder blades. “No one can fly like that. I mean, not without a jet pack, or a parasail or something.” Now I was babbling. Shut up, Nadia, you’re making it worse.

“So you cannot fly,” she said and then, turning to the men, said a few words in Spanish before addressing me again. “And do you bring fire storms with you?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Fire storms. Like, when it rains, but instead of water, there is, what do you call it?” She snapped her fingers. “Sparks? Bits of fire that come down?”

I shook my head slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“And do you know a man who heals the sick and injured?”

“A man who heals the sick and injured? No.” What was this all about? Trick questions?

Mario started speaking persuasively, pointing to my face and gesturing wildly, making his point. Again I heard the words ‘an-hill k-ma-da.”

“What is he saying? What is that—an-hill k-ma-da?” I asked.

“Ángel quemada,” she repeated. “Burned angel. He says his grandmother used to tell him a story of a burned angel. Some say she is the angel of death, while others say she is a savior. She makes the firestorm and always travels with a man who makes the lame walk and the sick well.” She widened her eyes to show how ridiculous the whole thing was. “She appears in the shape of a human girl who can turn herself invisible.”

I let the idea sink in. “And they think I’m the Ángel quemada?” I asked, pointing to myself.

She tapped the desk with a pencil. “It is just a story.”

“But why did they think I was the one in the story?” I asked.

“The angel has half of her face burned,” Ana said. “And one of her eyes is…,” she jiggled her fingers, trying to think of the right word, “… like yours. Like I said, it is just a story. An old legend that makes no sense. There are many of these stories. Who knows where they come from.”

I reached up to touch the eye, my bad one. I’d gotten used to the droopy lid, and the protrusions below the eyebrow that resembled earthworms. At the hospital, they’d said this would be the hardest part to fix when I had plastic surgery. But then my mother had said no to the surgery and the difficulty of fixing my eyelid didn’t seem to matter. “I can’t help how I look,” I said. “I was the victim of a crime. It was horrible what I went through.”

“I am sorry,” she said, shooting angry glances at the two men. “I apologize for having detained you, Nadia. You are free to leave now and join your group. Enjoy your stay in Peru.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nadia

When I walked out of Ana’s office, I was relieved to see the rest of the group in the distance, right where I’d left them, the only difference being that Russ and Mr. Specter apparently made it through customs in my absence. They stood in a cluster, their backs toward me, so I was able to come up from behind, tap Russ on the shoulder and get the kind of reaction everyone wants to get when they think they’re going to be arrested in a third world country, but then aren’t, and can finally join their friends.

“Nadia!” Russ yelled, grabbing me around the waist and swinging me around. The others were equally enthused. When he put me down a few seconds later, I was brought into a circle of hugs and exclamations.

“What happened?”

“I was so worried!”

“They wouldn’t tell us anything. We didn’t know where they took you.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Russ said, relief washing over his face. The truth was that I knew exactly how happy he was to see me, and it was an incredibly mind-blowing amount of happiness.

“What happened?” Jameson asked, and I realized he’d been asking the same thing over and over again, but all the commotion had drowned out his inquiries.

“They wanted to ask me a few questions,” I said. “About my face.”

“What about your face?” Mallory tilted her head in concern.

“How I got burned, stuff like that.” I really didn’t want to go into it. I just wanted to get to the hotel. Later I would tell them about the legend, when the time was right.

“Well, that’s kind of rude,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Your face looks fine. Just a few tiny scars. I barely noticed anything different when I first met you.”

I could feel the lie radiating off her, and I didn’t know what to say. Obviously my face didn’t look fine, since some guy in a foreign country thought I was the burned angel from a legend. I nodded, at least acknowledging that she’d spoken to me.

“I guess all’s well that ends well,” said Mr. Specter with a jovial chuckle. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

We gathered up our suitcases and followed him, weaving through the crowd until we came to the airport exit. I saw the glass doors ahead; to our left was a roped-off area, where a crowd of people waited to claim travelers. They held signs and balloons and flags to stand out from the throng, and several of them waved and called out when they spotted their respective parties. Mr. Specter paused to look for our guide. I spotted him right away.

He looked to be about twenty, although he might have been older. He had soft coal-black hair, and intense dark eyes that almost looked black. His well-worn jeans dragged on the ground, almost obscuring his athletic shoes. Like me, he favored a hoodie, but his was white and unzipped to reveal a brown v-necked t-shirt. This guy was easy on the eyes, I thought. “Are you looking for Alejandro?” I asked Mr. Specter.

“Yes. I hope he’s still here.” Mr. Specter rose up on his tip-toes to get a better look.

“Isn’t that him?” I pointed. “The one holding the sign that says ‘Edgewood’ on it?”

Mr. Specter smacked his forehead. “Of course! Thank you, Nadia. You’re very observant.”

Once we’d claimed Alejandro, he was able to cross over to our side. “You must call me Alex,” he said with a charming smile. His English was excellent. “It is my American name.” As he went from one person to the next, he repeated our names and shook hands, using a different expression as if practicing his language skills.

“Welcome to Peru, Russ.”

“Happy to make your acquaintance, Mallory.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Señora Whitehouse.” This made her giggle like a third-grader.

“Pleased to finally meet face to face, Mr. Specter.”

“Such a pleasure, Jameson.”

“Mr. Adams, I am honored to shake your hand.”

And then there was me. I said, “I’m Nadia,” and held out my hand, but he didn’t take it. Instead, his face took on a stunned expression. He took a step back, and raised his hand to wave. It wasn’t even a good wave, but a lame hand-flapping wave. That’s all I was going to get, apparently. Embarrassed, I dropped my hand and looked down at the floor. I’d made the mistake of thinking I was like everyone else.

“Nice to meet you, Nadia,” he said with some effort. And then, to cover his social faux pas, he said, “We should get going. The driver is waiting.”

We drove to the hotel in a large white van, Alex pointing out buildings and landmarks along the way. I only half listened. In the past ten hours, I’d hopped continents. I’d been in a taxi, a commercial airliner, a private jet, and now a van. It was a lot for one day. I looked out the window trying to fathom that we were in Peru. Tomorrow I would take it all in, I thought. Right now it was overwhelming. The others had weeks to get used to the idea of traveling here, when I’d been pulled out of my bed and whisked away without any notice at all. Not that I was complaining. But I would have learned a little Spanish and read up on the country ahead of time if I had known.

Mallory squeezed my arm. “Isn’t this amazing?” In the dark it was hard to see much besides the traffic and some buildings, but I knew what she meant. Just knowing we were here was amazing.

Our hotel turned out to be an American hotel, one of a large chain geared toward business travelers. Nothing about the lobby said we were in another country, except for the Peruvian staff. Even then, they spoke English as well as most Americans. Kevin Adams said they picked this hotel for the first night because they didn’t want us to have too much culture shock right away.

We checked in and were given key cards. All of our rooms were on the fifth floor. Just like in the plane we were paired up, with Mrs. Whitehouse the odd man out. Our guide, Alex, lived in the city, so he was going home for the night. Once we’d traveled out of the Lima area, he’d be staying in hotels along with the rest of us.

“If you girls need anything, you just let me know. I came prepared,” Mrs. Whitehouse said in the elevator on the way up. “I have extra electrical adaptors in case you fall short. I know how important it is to have your hair dryers and flat irons and such ready when you need it.” She winked at Kevin Adams. “We’re not like you guys. Girls like to keep up with appearances, you know.”

“Thanks, but I think we’re good,” Mallory said.

I happened to be standing behind Mrs. Whitehouse while she made this offer, and the unmistakable whiff of lying emanated off her. I had no idea what she was lying about or why. The woman seemed to just say things that weren’t true on a regular basis.

As we all made our way into our rooms, Mr. Specter jiggled his key card in the lock and called out to the rest of us, “Everyone is in for the night. Stay in your rooms. We’ll meet for breakfast in the hotel restaurant tomorrow morning at eight. If there’s a problem in the meantime, call my room.” He pointed to the room number on the door.

“Okay, good-night,” Mallory said.

“See you in the morning,” Jameson said, running his key card through the slot. He caught my eye and gave me a wink like I was in on some secret, then pulled his suitcase into the room, with Russ trailing behind him.

When we got into the room, dragging our suitcases, Mallory opened the curtains and pulled back the blinds to look down to the street. I lifted my suitcase onto an ottoman to unpack the stuff I’d need for bedtime. “What do you see?” I asked. “Anything good?”

“A man walking a dog. Some people crossing the street.”

“So Peruvian,” I said. “You’d never see that in Wisconsin.”

She left the window and sat back on the bed with a bounce. “Do you care which bed I take?” When I shook my head, she said, “Then this one’s mine.”

“Okay.”

“So tell me, do you think Alex is totally hot?”

I knew it wasn’t a trick question, but I didn’t want to say something that could be quoted back to him later. “Why? Do you think he is?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, as if it were obvious. “How old do you think he is?”

“I don’t know. Maybe twenty?”

“Twenty, hmm… Are they hung up over the whole underage thing here, do you think?”

“Mallory Nassif, what’s on your mind?”

She laughed.”I’m going to make him fall in love with me.” She licked her lips. “Alejandro! What a romantic name. He’s going to be following me around by the end of this trip, totally begging for it.”

“I don’t doubt that, but if you think you’ll get some time alone with him, think again. They’re going to be watching us every minute.”

Mallory laughed. “You’d be surprised what a little mind control can do.”

“Well, I think he’s rude,” I said. “He wouldn’t even shake my hand at the airport.”

She looked pensive. For a second I thought she was going to make an excuse for his bad behavior, but she didn’t. “Okay, new plan. Since he wasn’t nice to you, I’ll make him fall in love with me and then once he’s declared he can’t live without me, I’ll crush his heart like a bug under my heel. Nobody’s mean to my friend.”

“Definitely a good plan,” I said.

We followed Mr. Specter’s instructions and stayed in the room, unpacking a few items and watching TV just to get a taste of South American flavor. Mallory figured out pretty quickly that on most of the cable channels we had the choice of watching American shows in English with Spanish subtitles or dubbed in Spanish with English subtitles.

While she channel flipped, I thought about my mom’s reaction when I’d called home from Miami. I thought she’d be angry, but instead she sounded defeated and upset. “I’m disappointed in you and your father for going against my wishes,” she said quietly. “I wanted to fly out there, just so I’d be close by, but your father talked me out of it. He thinks you are up to this trip and that it will be a good experience. I hope he’s right.” She sighed heavily. “I really hope he’s right. If anything happens to you…”

That’s when I jumped in to reassure her. “Mom, nothing is going to happen. This is an academic decathlon. It’s highly supervised and structured. They’ll keep us busy every minute. What could happen?”

“I don’t know.” And then she said nothing. When she was silent, like that, I knew what she was thinking. Losing control made her afraid and anxious. In her mind, something terrible was bound to happen.

“I’ll call you in a few days,” I said. The sheet Mr. Specter gave the parents said we’d be allowed to call home every three days. More often would distract us from our fictitious competition. “Wish me luck?”

She said, “You don’t need luck. You’re a smart girl. You will do well.” That was as close to a compliment as I was ever going to get. After that, I talked to my father, who was a little more upbeat.

I should have felt guilty that I deceived them into thinking I was in Miami attending an education-related event, but I didn’t. Being in a hotel room in Peru, watching TV with Mallory, just seemed right. I was due for freedom. I saw my opportunity and I took it. There was no turning back. Maybe my dad was right and I would develop a case of wanderlust.

Mallory and I each sat propped up in our respective beds, legs stretched out, our gaze locked onto the screen. We were exhausted but wired at the same time. Periodically one of us said something like, “Next commercial, that’s it. We have to get some sleep,” but the next commercial came along and we’d ride it out without making a move. Seeing American shows dubbed in Spanish was so engrossing we just kept watching. And that’s how it happened that we were awake to hear a light tapping on our door at one-thirty in the morning. Mallory lowered the volume and we both turned our attention to the door. I crossed the room and put my good eye up to the peep hole. It was Russ. After I unlatched the door and opened it, he pushed past me and closed the door behind us. “You guys have to help me,” he said in a loud whisper. “I don’t know what to do. Jameson is completely out of control.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nadia

“What’s going on?” Mallory asked.

“He’s in the bar and won’t come back to the room. He’s completely trashed.”

“Trashed—like drunk?” I said.

“Yeah, drunk. Completely wasted.”

“How did this even happen?” Mallory asked, leaning over to get her shoes. “You were supposed to be in for the night.”

“I know, and that’s how it started out,” Russ said. “But then this guy from the hotel came to our room with complimentary drinks. I was in the bathroom, so Jameson took the tray. By the time I came out, he’d already downed his drink and mine, and then he grabbed the vouchers for free drinks at the bar, and that was it. He was out the door. And I went with him. I mean, I had to because we were told to stick together.”

“You guys have been drinking in the bar?” I asked, incredulously. It was a stupid question; I could smell the liquor on his breath. “They didn’t ask for your I.D.?”

“They did, but we said we left them in the room,” Russ said. “And then Jameson slipped the guy some money. That was all it took.”

I followed Mallory’s lead and put on my shoes, then tucked our key card into my pocket. We left the room as quietly as possible, right behind Russ. When we got to the elevator, he shook his head no and directed us to the stairwell. “Quieter this way,” he whispered, by way of explanation.

When we got down a few floors, we all felt comfortable speaking in our normal voices. “So you ordered drinks to be delivered to your room?” Mallory asked. I’d been confused about the details of his story too.

“No, we didn’t order them. A guy just brought them. He said they were complimentary for new guests. And there were these slips on the tray good for two drinks in the bar.”

“Nobody brought drinks to our room,” I said.

“Maybe because you look younger than us?” Russ said, shrugging. “They probably just do it for adults.”

I had news for him. He and Jameson were taller than Mallory and me, but they didn’t look any older. None of us could pass for more than seventeen at the most, and even that was a reach. Guys could be so full of themselves sometimes.

When we rounded the corner to the first floor and exited the stairwell, I heard Jameson’s voice drifting from the bar area. I’d never heard him talk so loudly or so sloppily. “You think that’s good,” he was saying. “Watch this.”

We walked in to see him seated at the bar, his hand hovering over a deck of cards. With the flick of a wrist, he used telekinesis to flip over one card at a time. The bartender watched with rapt attention. “Very good trick,” he said. “Is impressive.” Ees eem-press-eve.

Jameson caught sight of us coming through the archway, and he threw his hands up in greeting. “My friends are here! Little Nadia, and the lovely Mallory, and my buddy, Russ.” He turned to the bartender and said in a stage whisper, “Russ isn’t really my buddy, but I don’t want him to feel bad.”

Mallory took charge. “Time to get back to the room, Jameson, before you get us all in trouble.”

“Try this.” Jameson swung around and held a drink out to me. It was light green in color and frothy on top, like a glass of beer with a good head. It smelled like limeade. I took a generous sip.

“Nadia!” Mallory said.

“What? I wanted to try it.” I moved the glass in circles to watch the lovely liquid swirl. “What’s it called?”

“That, my friend, is a Pisco Sour, a traditional favorite here in Peru. Some people say it reminds them of a margarita.” He punched Russ in the shoulder. “Old Russell here had never heard of it. I guess they didn’t have anything about it on Wikipedia.”

“It tastes pretty good,” I admitted. Mallory took the glass out of my hands and took a sip of her own before setting it back down in front of Jameson.

“They do go down smooth,” Jameson said, throwing back the rest and then shakily sliding the glass down to where the bartender stood. “Yes they do. They go smooth all the way down.” He pointed to the floor. My eyes followed his gesture, but there was nothing there.

“Time to go, buddy,” Russ said.

“Not just yet,” Jameson said and then swiveled to face the bar. “Señor Bartender, Un trago más, por favor.”

“I am closing up now,” the bartender said, giving us a grateful smile. “It was very nice to meet all of you.”

“The bar is closing,” Mallory said. “Time to go to bed.”

“We’re going to bed? Oh Mallory, I had no idea.” His shrill laughter made my spinal cord vibrate. I realized that I’d never heard him laugh before. Probably a good thing.

“Watch it,” Russ said. “You’re starting to make an ass of yourself.”

“Starting to?” I muttered.

“Thanks for the drinks,” Jameson told the bartender before sliding off his stool onto rubber legs. Russ moved quickly to keep him from falling. Surprisingly, Jameson accepted his help and looped an arm around his neck.

“You are welcome. Ees no problem.” said the bartender, removing the glass. He was wiping the counter when we left.

Jameson swayed as he walked, and Mallory got on the other side to steady him. His head bobbed up and down and he kissed the top of Mallory’s head. “You got nice hair,” he said, loopily. “Did I ever tell you how nice your hair is? It’s pretty and it smells really good...” He paused to pet her, which threw all three off balance, forcing Russ to stop and get a better grip on our drunken friend.

“We can talk about my hair later,” Mallory said to Jameson. “Let’s just concentrate on getting back to the room.”

We decided to take the elevator up to the fourth floor and then switch to the stairs from there to the fifth floor, to avoid the ding of the elevator which could possibly wake up the adults in our group. Getting Jameson up the stairs was another story. Gravity was against us, and he wasn’t helping. I followed in the rear and steadied his back with both hands. If they lost their grip he’d fall on top of me and we’d both be in a very bad way. “How come you’re not drunk?” I asked Russ.

“I stopped after two,” he said. “And I’m bigger than he is so it doesn’t affect me as much.”

“No,” Jameson said, pounding his chest, “I’m bigger.”

“You’re taller,” Russ pointed out, “but I weigh more.”

When we reached our floor, Mallory popped her head around the corner and gave the all clear. We made our way slowly down the hall. When we got to the guys’ room, Mallory helped steady Jameson, while Russ opened the door. Once we made it inside and Russ had flicked on the lights, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Put him on the bed,” Mallory ordered, while Jameson protested that he could take care of himself.

They were lowering him onto the bed and I was following behind when I tripped over something solid and heavy. After I caught my balance, I looked down to see what I’d stumbled over. A rock. A good-sized rock wrapped in paper, all of which was held in place by a large rubber band. I leaned over to pick it up. It was as big as a softball and heavy. “Russ, what’s this?” I held it in both hands.

Russ threw a glance my way. “I don’t know. Where’d you get it?” Meanwhile, Jameson pulled Mallory onto the bed next to him and she was unsuccessfully trying to get out of his grasp.

“It was on the floor right here.” I gestured to the spot. He came over to my side and looked it over, then pulled the sheet of paper off the rock. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen it before.” Russ pulled the paper out from underneath the rubber band. “There’s something written here,” he said, unfolding it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nadia

He read aloud, “Go home, Americans. Leave now or face a horrible death.”

“What?” Mallory said, jumping up to take a look.

Jameson slurred, “Dude, that is so not cool.”

“I didn’t write it,” Russ pointed out. “I’m just reading what it says.”

Mallory and I crowded around to get a look at the note. The paper was basic white printer paper, creased from being wrapped around the rock. The message was handwritten in all capital letters. I got a whiff of Sharpie marker, which made me think it had been written recently. “How awful,” Mallory said. “Who would have done this?”

“The Associates?” A good guess on my part. Mallory’s eyes grew wide.

“Whoever it was came into our room while we were in the bar.” Russ had a pensive expression, like he was working out a problem. “They’d have to have access to a room key to get in. They must have watched to see us leave, so they knew when the coast was clear. Maybe whoever did it has a room on this floor? Or else they work at the hotel.”

“Or they bribed someone who works here,” I said.

Jameson mumbled. “What kind of horrible death? Like are they talking about torture or decapitation or what…?” He made a slicing gesture across his own throat.

“Don’t even talk like that,” Mallory said. “You’re scaring me.” I sensed her fear and I tried to push it away because I didn’t want it. “We have to show this to Mr. Specter right away,” Mallory said, starting to get frantic. “He said we can knock on his door anytime.”

“Wait a minute.” Russ held up a hand. “Let’s think this through for a minute. If we talk to him now, he’ll want to know why we’re all up. And he’ll want to know why we weren’t in the room when the rock showed up.”

“Yeah, but…” Mallory wasn’t convinced.

“And we all smell like liquor,” Russ pointed out.

“And what if he sees Jameson like this?” I added. Jameson was examining the back of his hand and giggling to himself. “That’s going to be a huge problem.”

“So we’re supposed to just let it go? Maybe bring it up over breakfast?” she said. “Oh, by the way, we got a death threat last night? That’s no good.”

“I don’t think we should say anything at all,” Russ said.

“What do you mean?”

“I think we should keep it to ourselves,” he said. “Not tell them at all.”

“Not mention that someone wants to kill us? Are you insane?” Her voice pierced the air, and both Russ and I shushed her at the same time. “Don’t shush me,” she said. “I’m not going to shut up when my life is in danger.”

“I don’t think our lives are in danger,” Russ said. “Look, it’s a piece of paper, wrapped around a rock. With sloppy printing. It doesn’t say anything specifically. I think it’s meant to scare us. We’re being tested.”

Mallory looked up at him with her big dark eyes and put a hand on her hip. “So what is it that you think we should do?”

“I say we kill them.” Jameson’s muffled voice drifted over.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to go home,” Russ said. “And that’s just what’s going to happen if we show this to Mr. Specter and he sees we’re afraid.”

“I’m not going home.” It came out louder than I intended. “I just got out, I can’t go back.” A feeling of panic welled up in my chest. It was like someone opened the door to my cage and then wanted to pull me right back in after a brief taste of freedom.

“None of us wants to leave,” Russ assured me.

“It’s not that I want to leave,” Mallory said. “But I don’t want to die either.”

“You’re not going to die,” Russ said.

Jameson said, “You’re wrong, sir. Everyone dies.” He turned his hand into a gun and made a shooting noise. Ka-pow.

“Not on this trip they don’t,” Russ said and then turned his attention to Mallory. “Look, could you at least give it until morning? I don’t want to wake them up.”

“Well…” Mallory said. “I don’t know.”

“Take the note with you and get a good night’s sleep. In the morning you can decide what to do with it. I’m thinking you might feel different in daylight.” Russ wrapped the note around the rock and secured it with the rubber band. “We’re all tired. Go sleep.”

“Come on, Mallory,” I said. “Let’s go back to our room. We need to sleep.” I hoped Russ was right and she’d change her mind.

Begrudgingly, she took the rock and we headed to the door. When I looked back I noticed Jameson sprawled across the bed, one leg draped awkwardly over the side. I had no idea how Russ was going to get him under the covers, or if he was even going to try.

We slipped out and went back to our room. When the door closed behind me I sighed in relief. Our wakeup call was in five hours. Not nearly enough sleep, but I’d take it.

I was almost asleep when I heard our door open and close, which scared me awake. I sat up, and listened. A solid clunk came from the hallway. When the door reopened a minute later, and I saw it was Mallory, I was both puzzled and relieved. “Where did you go?”

“I couldn’t sleep with that rock in the room,” she said. “So I chucked it in front of Mrs. Whitehouse’s door.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Now it’s out of my hands. Whatever they decide, they decide. I don’t care what Russ thinks, this is something for the chaperones to deal with.” She went into the bathroom. The way she closed the door had the sound of finality about it. Case closed. Whatever happened with the rock and the death threat would be decided by someone else.

From the direction of Mrs. Whitehouse’s room, I heard a door open in the hallway and the grunt of a woman of a certain size leaning over to pick something up. I waited for a reaction, but there was nothing. And then the door closed. I whispered the news to Mallory when she came out of the bathroom, and we both listened for some kind of reaction—a knock, a shriek, a phone call, but when nothing came after the longest time, we eventually fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Nadia

The next morning we all arrived at the hotel restaurant for breakfast at the specified time—eight o’clock. All of us, that is, except for Russ and Jameson. Mallory and I had stopped by their room on our way out and when Russ answered the door we heard the unmistakable sound of Jameson puking in the bathroom. It was loud. Closing the bathroom door hadn’t occurred to him, I guess. Hearing the guttural sounds of someone throwing up, and the splash that came afterward made me wince. Gross.

“We might be a little late,” Russ said, glancing over his shoulder. “My roommate is having a few problems. You better go ahead without us.”

In the elevator, Mallory said, “I don’t like the way this is going. Between the death threat and Jameson getting trashed and puking his guts out, I bet you any money they make us go home.”

The night before both Mallory and I’d agreed that Mrs. Whitehouse’s reaction to finding the rock had probably been quiet hysteria. I wasn’t looking forward to hearing her go on about it when we all met up that morning. I didn’t want to go home, but I had to agree with Mallory. We were off to a very bad start. “You’re probably right,” I said.

Our conversation was cut short when the elevator door opened and a distinguished looking man in an expensive suit boarded. He nodded amiably at us, the only other occupants in the elevator. “Buenos diás.”

I answered automatically. “Buenos diás.”

Mallory elbowed me and whispered. “And you said you didn’t know Spanish.”

I grinned. “I’m quick that way.”

Breakfast was included with the cost of the room, according to our information sheet, so we were expected to show up and eat it. The Praetorian Guard, the mysterious organization that was funding this trip, was firm on some things. Mr. Specter had told us on the plane that those who missed out on breakfast would have to wait for the next meal.

I expected the kind of continental breakfast I’d experienced traveling with my parents when we stayed at hotels in northern Wisconsin. Cereal, fruit, pastries along with coffee and juice, but this was much nicer. Much, much nicer. The buffet on the opposite end of the room was expansive with silver-domed lids and trays of delicacies. Mr. Specter, Mrs. Whitehouse, and Kevin Adams were already sitting at a long table, drinking coffee.

“Buenos diás!” I said, before Mallory could beat me to it. Everyone looked amused. I still kept my hood up, not wanting to gross anyone out over breakfast, but I was starting to feel more comfortable with the group. Maybe eventually I’d be okay with having my hood down if it was just us and it wasn’t meal time.

I took a seat next to Mrs. Whitehouse and she abruptly got up to get more food.

“Nice manners, Whitehouse,” Kevin Adams called after her. And then to us. “Someone’s got a bug up their butt this morning.” I was beginning to really like Kevin. He was a little unpolished, but genuine. With him there was no pretense. The words came out of his mouth unfiltered. You knew where you stood.

“Is she upset about something?” I asked.

Kevin shrugged. “If she is, she’s not talking about it. She’s just grumpy all the way around.”

The waitress came and took our drink orders and told us, in English, to feel free to go up to the buffet at any time. “So where are the boys?” Mr. Specter asked. I made a pretense of straightening out my paper place mat, afraid to meet his eyes. He was a sharp one. I could tell.

“They’ll be down in a minute,” Mallory said with a breezy wave of her hand. “The story I heard is that they overslept.”

“Guys that age, they need their shut eye,” Kevin Adams said. “I used to sleep so deeply, my mother used to wonder if I was drugged. Of course, half the time she was right.” He slapped the table, making the salt and pepper shakers tremble. Mr. Specter shot him a look of disapproval. I tried to suppress a laugh, but a choked giggle still came out. “What?” Kevin asked innocently of Mr. Specter. “You know I’m kidding, right kids?”

When Mrs. Whitehouse came back to the table, she took a seat on the opposite side, leaving the place mat next to me sullied with her coffee drips and used spoon. “We’re friends now, is that it?” Kevin said giving her a playful punch in the arm. She gave him a thin-lipped smile and took a sip from her cup. I wondered when she was going to say something about the rock and the death threat. So far, no one had said a word, and neither of the men showed any signs that anything was amiss.

Mallory and I loaded our plates with eggs, French toast, apple strudel, and some kind of pink sausage that looked undercooked, but tasted delicious. Around us tables started to fill up, some with couples and others with businessmen. Everyone had all the time in the world, from the looks of it.

The voices I heard were a mixture of Spanish and English. I tried to eavesdrop, but unlike restaurants at home, people spoke softly.

We were halfway through our meal when Kevin said, “Maybe I should go and see what’s taking those young’uns.” He laughed at his own silliness. “Russ and Jameson do know where the restaurant is, don’t they?”

“If they don’t, they can ask at the front desk,” Mr. Specter said dryly. “It’s not a secret.”

Mallory nudged me under the table, her foot grazing my ankle. I couldn’t even imagine what was happening up on the fifth floor, but I could guess. Jameson was busy emptying his stomach, and Russ, knowing we were supposed to stay together, didn’t want to leave him. What a disaster.

“I’m sending out a search party,” Kevin said, pushing his chair back. “And I’m not coming back until I find them. Tally ho!”

As I watched him cross the room, I had a thought: this is the beginning of the end. I’d barely begun to live a life outside of my parents’ house and it would be cut short. I would be left saying I once had breakfast in Peru, and that would be the end of my story. Next to me, I felt the same vibe coming from Mallory. Last night she’d been afraid, but Russ was right. Daylight had driven away the fear, and now she wanted to stay as much as I did.

Kevin flashed a smile at the pretty hostess before breezing though the doorway, but before my eyes left that spot he was back again, now accompanied by Russ. It was like a magic trick. He walked through the door alone and turned around and came back with his arm around Russ’s shoulders, like he’d created him. If he’d had a cape, it would have been a Las Vegas performance.

“Look who I found,” Kevin said enthusiastically as they approached the table. “Turns out he was heading this way.” He gave Russ a friendly slap on the back.

“Really,” Mr. Specter said. “And where is your amigo?” His expression said he knew something was up, he just wasn’t sure what it was.

“Jameson was right behind me,” Russ said. “He stopped at the concierge desk to look at some brochures.” He glanced back at the entrance. “He should be here any second.”

Mallory’s toe found my ankle again. This time it hurt. “Did you guys sleep well?” she asked sweetly.

Russ shrugged. “I could have used a few more hours, but it was good enough.” The waitress approached, welcomed him and took his juice order.

“You can go up to the buffet table,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, and I realized these were the first words I’d heard her say since we arrived.

“I’ll wait for Jameson,” he said. All I could think is that he’d be waiting a long, long time. The puking noises I’d heard earlier were the sounds of someone who wasn’t going to want to eat for the rest of the day. And maybe not tomorrow, either.

“Did you sleep well, Mrs. Whitehouse?” Mallory asked.

I felt my body stiffen, wondering if Mallory’s question would give her an opening to mention the death threat, but all Mrs. Whitehouse said was, “As well as anyone else, I guess.”

“Here he is,” Russ said, standing up to wave Jameson over to our table.

Every one of us turned our attention to the last incoming member of our group. Mallory and I were sure Jameson would look like someone who should be hooked up to an IV. His appearance then, came as a shock.

He looked fine, the same as he always did, maybe even better than usual, since he had a little color in his usually very pale cheeks. “Good morning,” he said, pulling up a chair on the end of the table and plunking himself awkwardly down. He never seemed to fit on standard furniture.

“We wondered where you were,” Mr. Specter said, looking at him over the top of his glasses.

“Sorry, I overslept.” Jameson made the best apologetic face I’d ever seen. “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” Mr. Specter said, looking at him over his wire-rimmed glasses. “And I say that not to be dictatorial, but because in order for this trip to run smoothly, everyone has to be accounted for at all times. It’s a safety issue and it’s very serious.”

“I understand, sir. You can count on me from now on.”

He and Russ got up to visit the buffet, and when they came back with their plates heaped full, Mallory and I looked on in amazement. “You’re really going to eat all that?” she asked, gesturing to Jameson’s plate.

“Yeah, I’m starving.” He dug into the scrambled eggs and took a bite. I didn’t know much about hangovers, but this had to be a record fast recovery time.

“I want to take a moment to talk about the rest of our day,” Mr. Specter said. “We’ll be doing a walking tour of Miraflores and end up spending a good amount of time in Parque Kennedy, which is the specified site of our first location.” He was speaking in shorthand because we were in a public place, but all of us knew he was referring to the first of the three locations on the sheet of paper Mr. Hofstetter gave Russ before he died. It was amazing, really, that latitude and longitude could be used so precisely that it could pinpoint something as small as a park.

I couldn’t imagine what we’d find there, but there had to be something significant about the place, or it wouldn’t have been on the map. I thought about how incredible it would be if we found David Hofstetter there sitting on a bench, reading a book or feeding the birds.

“What will we do at the park?” Mallory wondered aloud.

“Keep your ears and eyes open, missy,” Kevin said. “Look for Waldo, or anything else that stands out.”

“If anyone approaches you, use caution, but listen to what they have to say,” Mr. Specter said. “And commit it to memory.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Nadia, we’ll be relying on your empathic abilities to pick up on anyone in distress or anyone who is lying. How close do you have to be to pick up on something like that?”

“Pretty close,” I said. He looked disappointed. “At least a foot or so, but closer is better. If I’m touching someone, I can get a really accurate reading.”

“Well, do what you can,” he said.

“How long will it take to get to Miraflores?” asked Russ.

“We’re in Miraflores, stupid,” Jameson said. Their short reign of friendship appeared to be over.

“I thought we were in Lima.” Russ looked to Mr. Specter for confirmation.

Mr. Specter said, “We landed in Lima, and drove to Miraflores. It’s a suburb of Lima. It’s easy to get them confused.”

“And some people are easily confused.” Jameson took a bite of toast.

Russ said, “Shut up.”

“Is Alex coming with us?” Mallory asked. I’d kind of forgotten about Alex, but she hadn’t.

“Not today,” Kevin said. “Most people in Miraflores speak some English. We’ll be able to walk around by ourselves and find our way pretty easily. When we get on the bus to head out of town tomorrow, Alex will join us then.”

“There’s really nothing that can go wrong in Miraflores,” Mr. Specter said. “You’ll be as safe as you’d be at home.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Nadia

We spent the morning walking, just getting a feel for being in a city in Peru, but the adults were always hanging right over our shoulders, so it was impossible to speak privately amongst ourselves. Mr. Specter, in particular, seemed determined not to give us any breathing room. I constantly found my eyes drawn to Jameson, puzzled by his apparent health and energy. I thought the breakfast food might disagree with him, but he seemed more than fine. In fact, when we stopped for lunch at a restaurant on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean, he ate again with gusto. At one point, I was able to catch Russ’s eye. I gestured to Jameson like what gives? Russ, noticing the proximity of the adults right behind us, mouthed something that indicated he’d explain later.

Our next stop, at a Mercado, an open-air marketplace, made me hopeful I could find out what had happened, but the chaperones herded us around like stray cattle and there weren’t any opportunities to talk. There were no stores at the Mercado, just stall after stall, each one filled to the brim with brightly colored merchandise. Place mats, pottery, jewelry, blankets, carved chess pieces, dolls. Some of the stalls were tiny, not much bigger than an office cubicle. There were no cash registers. Instead, each vendor made change out of a pouch, and when someone made a purchase, they pulled plastic bags out from under their chairs. Some of the women attending the stalls were young, with babies slung across their chests or resting in strollers. I kept waiting to hear a baby cry, but all of them were good, like adorable black-haired dolls.

Mrs. Whitehouse hung out with “us girls,” seeming to take a special interest in Mallory, and asking her opinion about various gem stone earrings and bracelets. As if Mallory were a jewelry expert. Kevin Adams bought an armload of t-shirts a few stalls away, and then he and Jameson tracked us down to show off their purchases. “I’m set for clothing for the next decade!” he joked. At least I think he was joking.

Jameson had a large plastic bag bulging with stuff, but the one thing he wanted to show us was a long leather cord with two leather-covered balls on either end. “Look what I found,” he said, as if we’d be awed by his discovery. He held the cord up over head and let the tennis-ball sized balls swing like a pendulum.

“What is it?” Mallory asked.

“This is what is known as a bola.” He gave it a shake, which made the two balls collide with a loud thwack. “A decorative one, but the vendor told me that if you swung this around and got enough velocity you could kill a guy.” Jameson sounded gleeful. “There are rocks under the leather.”

“So cool,” Kevin said. “I wish I’d spotted it first.”

“You probably won’t be able to take it home,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “No weapons through customs.”

“Oh, I’m going to take it home,” Jameson said with certainty. He held up his bag. “I’m taking it all home.” And he and Kevin Adams wandered off to do more shopping.

Our parents were going to be told that we got these souvenirs in a gift shop in Miami. Mr. Specter assured us they’d go for this without question. “People believe what you tell them,” he said.

Out of everyone in the group, I seemed to have the most trouble finding things to buy. I had a pocket full of Peruvian money—a sol was what they called the unit of currency here. Each of us had gotten a stack of bills on the plane in our information packet. Part of it was that I didn’t want to use up all my cash on our first day, and yet, I wasn’t sure if I’d have the chance to shop again. I browsed, looking at coffee mugs imprinted with llamas and stacks of soft blankets woven from alpaca wool. When Mallory bought a purse-sized backpack and I realized it was only about seven U.S. dollars, I grabbed one for myself in a different color, but after that I was stuck. I wanted to get gifts for my parents, especially my mother, to soften the blow of me leaving without her permission, but everything seemed too bulky or breakable. Finally, I let Mallory talk me into getting a silver bracelet. “Trust me, she’ll love it,” Mallory said as the old woman wrapped the bracelet in white paper and tucked it into a bag.

“Gracias.” I reached to take the change, but the stall owner’s outstretched hand froze in place as she noticed my face. She stared unabashedly, but there was compassion in her eyes. She set the bag down and reached out to touch my scars, running her fingers over my ruined skin. I resisted the inclination to pull away. She said something in Spanish and I looked to Mallory for a translation.

“She wants to know if it hurts,” Mallory said.

“No. Not anymore.”

The woman nodded in understanding. She spoke to Mallory, a long string of words. Somewhere in the rush I heard the phrase ‘Ángel quemada.’ Inwardly I groaned. I knew where this was going.

When the old woman stopped talking, Mallory said, “She said there is a legend—,”

“About a burned angel,” I said.

“You know it?” Mallory was surprised.

I was pleased to have caught her unawares. I couldn’t speak the language but I knew about the Ángel quemada. Score one for Nadia. “Sure, doesn’t everyone know that legend? The angel appears as a human girl with half her face burned. She travels with a man who makes the lame walk and heals sick people. She can fly, and when she does, she becomes invisible.” I tried to remember the rest. “And then something about a fire storm.”

Mallory and the woman exchanged a flurry of words in Spanish and when they paused, Mallory said, “Just what you said. She’s telling me the same story.”

“I heard it at the airport,” I said. “The guys who detained me thought they were really on to something.”

Mallory spoke to the woman again, and they both laughed. The woman patted my face in a grandmotherly fashion. “I explained to her that since the legend is hundreds of years old and you’re only sixteen that there can’t be any connection.”

The woman spoke again, this time to me. She held up one finger, the universal sign to wait, and then rummaged through a box in the corner.

“She has something for you,” Mallory said.

The woman returned with a pottery figure, about four inches high. It was a mustached man in a knit Peruvian hat, his arms full of various items. He looked a lot like the dad, Gomez, from The Addams Family. She jabbered excitedly and held it out to me. Taking it, I made a point to exclaim over it as if I was really pleased to see it. “What am I looking at here?” I asked Mallory out of the side of my mouth.

“She says it’s a Lucky Man,” Mallory said. “See how he’s carrying all that stuff? It’s symbolic: the money, the heart, the bottle of medicine. It stands for wealth, health, and love. If someone gives you a Lucky Man, you’ll have good luck.”

I fingered the small terracotta heart, attached by a string. I wouldn’t turn down any money or good health, but the love was the one that intrigued me the most. “Quantos?” I asked, repeating what I’d heard Mallory say.

“No, no,” said the woman shaking her head adamantly. “No dinero. For you.” Her hand went again to my cheek and her fingertips brushed my scars. She said something to Mallory, who translated, “She said she can tell you are an angel. Keep the Lucky Man close. It will help you in your time of need.”

“Gracias,” I said, a lump in my throat as I tucked the Lucky Man into my new backpack. This was such an odd country. I’d been questioned at the airport, included in a death threat, and now given a gift. In the last thirty-six hours, I’d experienced a greater range of emotions than I would have in a month at home. I could see why people acquired wanderlust. It was a big world, and I’d missed out on so much of it. “Muchas gracias.”

As we left the stall, Mrs. Whitehouse fell into step beside us. I’d lost track of her, but it was clear she’d been just one aisle over, within earshot of our exchange with the old woman. I wondered if she was going to ask what we’d been talking about, but she remained silent.

When we met up with the others, Mr. Specter made an announcement. “We’ll be spending several hours at the park,” he said. “We’ll stop at the hotel first to drop off our purchases. While we’re there, it’s a good idea to take care of your needs. I’m not sure if they have bathrooms in the park, or if there will be a place to buy snacks or water so plan ahead.”

This was starting to feel less like a spy mission and more like a school field trip, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t have been happier.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nadia

To get to Parque Kennedy we walked twenty minutes from our hotel, passing through a neighborhood of businesses—gas stations and travel agencies and banks. We walked by a casino and several restaurants, including a Chili’s, just like back at home. As gringos, we stood out, especially Jameson who was so tall and pale by Peruvian standards. Still, people were friendly, smiling as they walked past us on the sidewalk. One woman who was sweeping the steps of her café tried to wave us in, but Jameson explained that we’d already eaten, so she implored us to come back, “mañana.” I was discovering I knew far more Spanish than I’d realized. Maybe I would add the language to my studies when I got home.

Back home it was June, sunny and warm—at least in the mid-seventies. On this side of the equator, it was cool and overcast, more like fall in Wisconsin. I found that I liked the weather here a lot better. All of us wore jackets, so having the hood of my sweatshirt up didn’t attract attention. And even if someone spotted my face within the shadows of my hood, there was no expression of pity like I’d encountered at home. People’s attitudes seemed to be—things happen, not everyone is perfect.

I felt like I could walk forever. I noticed Russ doing a mental check of my whereabouts, especially when we crossed the atrociously busy streets. The passing cars drove assertively, honking far more than they did at home. They honked, not just as warnings for close calls, but all the time, and seemingly for fun.

I had a feeling we’d get some space and time to ourselves at the park, and while that was true, I still had to wait to have a private conversation with my friends because when we first arrived, the novelty of the park was a huge distraction. The Parque Kennedy was an enormous triangle, an oasis of green in the middle of the city. Each of the three sides was a busy street, but once you were in the park, it was peaceful. On one of the adjacent streets stood a gorgeous church, and on a connecting street was a row of restaurants with outdoor seating. There was a playground for small children and park benches filled with lovers. Leafy trees provided a canopy for the pathway, and well-tended flowerbeds were abundant. In the middle of the whole thing was a large raised circular platform, where a few artists sketched on large pads of paper. Mr. Specter said it was a Rotunda, although it looked more like the foundation of a Rotunda, since it lacked a dome.

And everywhere else in the park, there were cats. Dozens and dozens of cats. A calico lounging under a bench. Cats walking nonchalantly along the path. I spotted a black cat stretched out full length on a tree limb, and several others sleeping in the grass. Others lounged by the fence that surrounded the playground. Cats everywhere. All different colors, shapes, and sizes. All of them seemingly healthy and meandering around like they owned the place. It was as if a tribe of house cats randomly decided go to the park that day. I’d never seen so many cats in one outdoor spot.

We all stared, mouths agape. Jameson was the first to say it: “What’s with all the cats?”

Mallory knelt down to pet a gray striped tabby, an especially fat one. “Oh, aren’t you the cutest thing? Yes, you are.”

“Seriously,” Jameson said, looking to Mr. Specter. “What’s the story with the cats?”

“I don’t know,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I haven’t a clue.” The other adults admitted ignorance as well. Mallory’s fussing over the one cat drew the attention of two others. They came running and soon enough Russ and I had crouched down to pet them. As much as I had a contentious relationship with my mother’s cat, Barry, it was hard to resist these kitties.

“I wouldn’t touch them,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Who knows what diseases they carry?”

“They look healthy enough,” Mallory said. “They’re not feral.”

Jameson said, “I’m going to ask one of the artists to give me the lowdown on the cats.” He took off, hands in his jacket pockets, walking jauntily, completely unlike someone who’d been drinking numerous Pisco Sours the night before.

Mrs. Whitehouse pulled frantically at Mr. Specter’s sleeve. “Are you going to let him go off on his own like that?”

Mr. Specter’s eyes never left Jameson. “It’s okay. I’ve got him covered.”

I stood up to watch Jameson approach one of the guys sketching over on the concrete Rotunda; he talked in a spirited way, gesturing toward the church across the street and giving the park a broad sweep of his hand. When Jameson came back, he was bursting with the news. “The cats belong in the park,” he said. “They live here 24/7. The church takes care of their food and medical care. One funny thing—the guy didn’t know the word for neutering so he said they whack off their sex parts.” Jameson grinned.

“Ouch!” said Kevin Adams.

“But why?” Mallory said, standing up. “Why do they feed them and take care of them?’

Jameson shrugged. “He didn’t know how it got started. But now it’s a thing they do.”

Mr. Specter motioned for all of us to gather around him, like we were in a football huddle. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but we do have a reason for being here today and we should get down to business. We need to break into pairs and just meander around the park. Act like tourists. Take pictures. If you see anyone who looks suspicious, pretend to take pictures of each other and get that person in the background. We’ll send the photo to the Praetorian Guard headquarters when we get home.”

I felt like I should be taking notes.

He continued, “If someone approaches you and makes friendly conversation, be hyper vigilant. There’s a reason Gordon Hofstetter thought this park was connected to his grandson and The Associates. The three of us will always be within range, so if you encounter a problem, just give a shout.”

“I’ve been wondering something,” Jameson said. “Our cell phones don’t work, except as cameras. And we haven’t been given any electronic devices to record or contact each other. I find this mission really lacking. Giving a shout seems like a nineteenth century way of calling for help. Couldn’t the Guard have come up with anything else for us?”

Kevin Adams said, “Good question, young sir! I have to say I wouldn’t mind having a gadget or two myself.”

“That is a good question,” Mr. Specter said. “And the answer is simple. Electronic devices can be traced. Giving a shout out cannot. We’re trying to keep a low profile here. This is a fact finding mission, as I’ve said before. No using your powers under any circumstances.” He wiped his forehead with his hand. “Except for you, Nadia. I’d like you to use yours continuously.”

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Time to pair up.”

“I call Nadia,” Russ said. I knew he was just keeping his promise to my dad, but it still warmed my heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Russ

I picked Nadia because I wanted to be able to stay close to her. I’d promised her dad I’d take care of her, and I wanted to stay true to my word. But there was more to it than that. I missed having her around.

Jameson and Mallory, by default, wound up paired together, something that made him very happy. And the adults, well, I have no idea what arrangement they made. By then Nadia and I were already walking toward the other end of the park.

“Finally!” she said when we were out of earshot. “I’ve been dying to talk to you alone.”

I couldn’t help but grin. She always made me feel special, like no one else in the world besides me even came close to being the right one.

“Yeah,” I said. “A lot has happened. I wanted to talk to you too.”

“About what?” she asked.

“The death threat. What did you guys decide?”

Nadia exhaled. “Oh that. I left it up to Mallory. She tossed the rock in front of Mrs. Whitehouse’s door last night after we left your room. I haven’t heard anymore about it.”

“Mrs. Whitehouse didn’t say anything?” I asked, puzzled.

“Not that I heard, and I know she got it. When Mallory chucked it, it hit the door with a thunk. After Mallory came back into the room, I heard Whitehouse open the door and lean over to pick it up.”

“You heard her lean over?”

Nadia laughed, giddy. “Not exactly. What I heard was the door opening and then this noise.” She bent at the waist, pretending to pick up something from off the ground and then groaned as if it took a big effort. A white cat with a pink nose came out of a nearby bush to brush against her hand. “Hey there, kitty.” She looked up at me. “My Mrs. Whitehouse impression attracts animals.”

“It’s well documented that felines are drawn to the sound of constipation,” I said, making her laugh again. The white cat let her rub behind his ears, and then lost interest and wandered off.

“So how’d Jameson recover so quickly?” she asked, standing up and raising her chin to look right at me. In the sunlight, I noticed how long the lashes were on her good eye. “When we stopped by your room he sounded like he was dying and then fifteen minutes later when you came down to breakfast he was fine. I couldn’t believe the transformation.”

“What do you think happened?” I asked, curious.

She tapped her chin. “I actually do have a theory.”

“Yeah?”

“I think you healed him.”

I felt the corners of my mouth pull up even as I tried not to smile. “Maybe.”

“I knew it! You used your powers to heal him.” Her voice was jubilant at having guessed correctly. “You did that thing with putting your hands on him and sucking all the bad stuff out of him, or making the cells regenerate or whatever it is you do.”

“Something like that.” I didn’t tell her this, but it hadn’t even occurred to me to try to heal him until we were late for breakfast because Jameson was still kneeling over the toilet bowl. I wasn’t sure if I could actually fix him—being hung-over was closer to being poisoned than it was to being sick or injured, but I figured I would at least try. I hated to do a favor for my arch nemesis, but afterwards, knowing that Jameson owed me big time made it all worthwhile.

Nadia grinned. “Ha! I love it when I’m right.” She did a little dance step of happiness. “So was he grateful?”

“Eh.” I held my hand out and gave it a shake. “He was grateful-ish. You know Jameson. He doesn’t like to give other people too much credit.” I shook my head, remembering. It had killed Jameson to have to thank me, and he tried to be so cool, acting like it was no big deal, but his face gave it away. I’d impressed him.

In the elevator afterward he’d said, “Your voodoo might come in handy when I go off to college next year.” And then he started talking about college and keg parties and how if I was nearby, I could be his own personal servant slash hangover-curer.

I’d been confused. “Aren’t you my age?” I asked. “How can you be going to college next year?” And he’d explained that he’d already finished high school and was taking university level courses online. That he could already be attending college except his parents wouldn’t let him because they needed his help at home with homeschooling his younger brothers. But that soon he would be gone, out of there. He was, he informed me, a genius at electronics and tech stuff, and he’d already invented surveillance equipment that surpassed anything that anyone else on the planet had ever done. “If I patented it,” he’d said. “I’d be a millionaire.”

“So patent it,” I’d said.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time,” he said.

“When’s the right time?”

“Yet to be decided, young Russell. I’ll know when I know.”

Sure. “Did you bring it with you? Can I see it?”

“No,” Jameson said. “That would have been way too risky.”

Let’s just say I had my doubts. Anyone can say anything, but that doesn’t make it the truth. And the biggest liars are usually the most confident, so you never can tell. Well, Nadia would have been able to tell if Jameson was lying. That was her specialty. But she wasn’t there at the time.

Right before the elevator opened, Jameson had turned all serious. “You can’t tell anyone about my surveillance invention. Swear to me you won’t tell anyone.” Like we were in grade school. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone and offered to do a blood oath to prove it, but he wasn’t amused.

And then when we got off the elevator he’d lingered at the concierge desk to look at brochures and told me to go on ahead of him. My guess is that he wanted to make an entrance into breakfast by himself, but who knows with that guy. He’s weird.

Nadia interrupted my thoughts. “Well he should be really grateful. All of us would probably be going home if not for you.”

Walking through the park, we approached a young couple nearly reclined on a bench. Teenagers or maybe a little older. They both had glossy black hair and latte-colored skin, and they were as close to having sex in public as I’d ever seen. Lip-locked and limb-entangled, their hands tucked under each other’s shirts, their moans punctuated by heavy breathing. I wanted to look away, but my eyes wouldn’t leave. I wondered how far they would take it. Without realizing it, I’d slowed my pace to gape. I couldn’t believe their lack of inhibition right here, out in the open. What must it be like? I was envious. I wanted to inhabit his body, taste the kisses, feel the flesh.

Nadia couldn’t help but notice them too. “Talk about a public display of affection,” she said, slipping her hand in the crook of my elbow and pulling me along. I’d been trying not to touch Nadia on this trip, even avoiding getting too close to her. I found it unnerving that she could pick up on my emotions and sort through what I said versus what I meant. I don’t lie, usually, but being so exposed was weird. If I pulled away now, she’d definitely know something was going on. I tried to take my mind off what the couple was doing so Nadia wouldn’t sense what I was feeling. So embarrassing. To distract myself I thought of neutral, non-sexual things: my nephew Frank, getting my teeth cleaned at the dentist, my locker combination.

“If I knew Spanish, I’d tell them to get a room,” she said, picking up the conversation again when we were out of earshot.

I glanced back. They were still going at it. In a minute, he’d be on top of her. “I think if we’re looking for members of the Associates, we can rule them out,” I said.

“Not so fast. Maybe she’s an Associate and she’s searching him for weapons. She thought his mouth would be a good starting point,” Nadia said, and just like that, she made me laugh. “I can’t get a good look at them but I don’t think either one fits the updated description of David Hofstetter.”

I had almost forgotten about our reason for coming here. It was the first of the three locations on the map Gordy Hofstetter gave me. We were in search of his grandson David, or barring that, looking for evidence that pointed to him. I scanned the park, but besides the presence of cats and the horny couple, nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just a city park filled with people walking and relaxing, kids playing. In one corner, a maintenance man was watering a bed of flowers. “I don’t see anything suspicious, do you?” I asked.

“No, I’ve got nothing. Let’s sit down for a few minutes.” Nadia gestured to an empty bench. We sat and stretched our legs out in front of us. Off in the distance to our left, I saw Jameson walking around the perimeter of the Rotunda like he was on a tightrope, showing off for Mallory. Nadia followed my gaze.

“What a tool,” I said.

“Yeah, he’s a tool,” she said, “but there’s a lot of insecurity underneath it all. He’s not too bad, really.”

We sat there side by side, making small talk about the cats and the weather. I was so tempted to ask why she stopped astral projecting to me—did I say something wrong? Did she see me do something weird? But I just couldn’t get the words out. What if she did see me do something embarrassing? Did I really want to know?

We were both paying attention to a long-haired white cat, when Mrs. Whitehouse approached, her face red from exertion, her purse half off her shoulder. “You two,” she said, loudly. “Sitting down on the job?” Her voice had an accusatory tone.

“Just for a minute,” I said. And then more quietly, “We’re keeping our eyes open though.”

“Hmmm,” she said, her eyes narrowing into slits. “You keep on watching, then. I need to have a word with Nadia.” She reached down and pulled Nadia up by one arm, jerking her roughly to her feet.

“Hey, easy,” I said, standing up reflexively.

“Stay out of this,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “We need to speak privately. Girl talk.”

“It’s okay, Russ,” Nadia said. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched as Mrs. Whitehouse half dragged her down the path, stopping about thirty feet away. She towered over little Nadia, who looked elf-like with her face hidden in the shadows of her hood.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Nadia

As Mrs. Whitehouse pulled me down the walkway, I saw Russ’s face redden in anger. He took a step in our direction and I held my hand out to stop him. I wanted to hear what she had to say and I didn’t think she’d talk with him around.

She maneuvered us off the path and onto the adjacent grass next to a trash can, before letting go of my arm. “What’s going on?” I asked. Before I’d thought of her as the nerd of the group, annoying but harmless, but the fury on her face made me see she was capable of far more than I’d given her credit for.

She unzipped her purse and pulled out the death threat rock, the paper still attached. “This look familiar?” she asked, pushing it in my face. Before I could answer she said, “What’s the big idea?”

I stared blankly.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know about this,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “I know you put it by my door last night. I heard you out there, scurrying like a little rat in the night. I heard your door close, that’s how I knew it was you.”

“It wasn’t me,” I protested. “Mallory put it by your door. Someone planted it in Russ and Jameson’s room. We found it and didn’t know what to do about it. We figured you’d know.”

“This doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you were trying to do.” She pulled the paper off and tossed the rock into the trash can. It landed with a resounding clunk. “I’m tired of being the brunt of practical jokes. I will not be jerked around, you understand?” She made a show of ripping the paper into bits and dropping them into the garbage.

“It’s not a joke,” I said. “It’s real. It showed up in the guys’ room last night and we didn’t know what to do about it, so Mallory put it by your door.” I could see that my words weren’t getting through. “If you don’t believe me, ask the others. They’ll tell you.” I waved to Russ to come join us. “Russ can back me up.”

“Of course he can,” she said, bitterly. “I’m sure the whole lot of you worked it out when you thought up the idea. Let’s scare the old woman, was that it?”

“No, no, it’s real,” I said. I could see Russ coming our way. In a minute I would have him by my side. He always came off as being sincere. She’d believe him.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said, dropping the rubber band into the trash can. “I just wanted to put you on notice that I won’t be jerked around. Not by you. Not by anyone.” And then she walked off, her arms pumping determinedly, her legs scissoring like she had somewhere important to go.

Russ was at my side in an instant. “What happened?” he asked.

“I’m not really sure,” I said. “But I don’t think we have to worry about being sent home because of the death threat anymore.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Nadia

On the long bus ride the next day, Russ and I found we had plenty of time to talk. Our bus was more like a large van, or a small school bus. Nothing fancy. No cup holders or bathroom in the back. Just a large vehicle on wheels, with not much in the way of shock absorbers judging by the way we bounced every time the bus went over a bump. Our driver was a solid-looking Peruvian man who, we were told, didn’t know much English at all so if we had any questions, they should go through our tour guide, Alex.

Despite the overcast day, the driver wore Aviator sunglasses; he drove with the bored assurance of someone who’d done this many times. Jameson sat alone on the right side of the bus, his ear buds in and eyes closed, which kept him separate from the rest of us. Mallory parked herself up at the front of the bus, right next to Alex, who was giving her a personal guided tour, gesturing and explaining things I couldn’t quite hear. Every now and then he’d turn around and point out a landmark to the rest of us, but in the back, where I sat next to Russ, it was hard to make out the words.

I sensed that Russ was curious about what was going on between Alex and Mallory. And something else. I concentrated on trying to put a name to his feeling. Jealousy. That was it. The idea annoyed me. What was the allure of Mallory that everyone wanted to get closer to her, sit next to her, or in my case be her? She was pretty and nice and smart, but so were a lot of girls. There was something indefinable about her that was appealing and magnetic, and that was true even before she got her power to control minds. She had “it” whatever that was, the same “it” that movie stars had, and since she already had everything else, it really wasn’t fair.

On the bus the adults sat in the middle, each of them taking a seat of their own. Mrs. Whitehouse had seemed grumpy since the incident at the park, and kept to herself. She flipped through magazines and sighed a lot. Kevin Adams looked out the window in wide-eyed wonder, every now and then making a comment like, “Would you look at that!” Mr. Specter had a GPS and seemed to be comparing our route to what was on the screen in front of him.

We drove along the coast, with ocean views to our left. We’d been told we were heading north on the Panamerican highway, heading toward the Ancash region, specifically to the city of Huaraz and beyond. It would be closer to the mountains and cooler there, the temperature dropping down almost to freezing at night. It was a seven to eight hour drive, depending on what we encountered on the road, and we would be stopping for lunch somewhere along the way.

Mr. Specter had given an informal geography lesson at dinner the night before. Peru, we learned, was a country of varied landscapes: mountains, desert, ocean front, and jungle. The Amazon River flowed through the northern part of the country. We would be seeing everything but the Amazon River and the jungle. Personally I didn’t care because I’m not much of an outdoor girl anyway, and I’d seen rivers before. The guys seemed disappointed though. They had visions of an Indiana Jones-type excursion through the jungle. As they talked about hacking through vines and insects the size of birds, I was extra glad we weren’t going.

Tonight we’d be staying at a private home just beyond Huaraz, a house currently occupied by a member of the Praetorian Guard. This house was the approximate site of the map’s second location. “The building was once a convent, the home of a group of Catholic nuns,” Mr. Specter said. “After that it was a school, and then later it was used as a hotel. Currently it’s the home of Oswald Neverman. He was my professor at the university and a mentor to me and now he’s a very dear friend. I have no idea why David Hofstetter had this site listed, but I think it’s best if we don’t mention David’s name at all. And as I stated before, please keep your powers to yourself. “

We were about an hour into our bus ride, when Russ said to me, surreptitiously, “Do you think Whitehouse was the one who planted the death threat?” He sat next to the window on the side looking out over the ocean. Sitting next to him was perfect because I could look at him while I pretended to admire the view.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She didn’t know anything about it until it landed at her door.”

“Are you sure? Because, I’ve been thinking...” He leaned in closer. “Maybe she was so angry because she was the one who did it and then Mallory sent it right back. Like you figured her out.”

“It wasn’t her.” I’d felt Mrs. Whitehouse’s rage at the park when she’d shoved the rock in my face. It wasn’t the emotion of someone whose plan had been foiled. It was the feeling you get when you think someone is mocking you. I knew the difference. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” he said. “You’re the expert.”

When we’d talked among ourselves, we’d discovered that all four of us had been a little freaked out by the death threat initially, and then when nothing happened, our concerns faded. A prank? A test? I wasn’t sure. I think I’d be more worried if the person doing the threatening had done a better job of it. Weren’t you supposed to cut letters out of magazines and paste them together? Or was that just ransom notes? Anyway, the threat looked like something a fifth-grader would do. They’d have to up their game if they really wanted to scare us.

The bus pulled off the main highway and onto a dirt road at lunch time. We traveled past farms and ramshackle houses, driving alongside fields where random clusters of goats and sheep grazed. When the driver stopped, we were in front of a concrete building with two wooden picnic tables in front of it. It looked like a converted gas station. Our guide Alex said, “The driver says this place has the best food for miles around.”

We piled out and sat at the tables while the driver went inside to let them know we had arrived. Without planning it we grouped together by age, the teenagers at one table, the chaperones and Alex at another. The driver came out with a chalkboard menu and showed it to each of us, one at a time. I told Mallory to tell them I’d take whatever she was having. A few minutes later, a teenage girl came out with a tray of bottles of Inca Kola, a soda I’d acquired a liking for back at the hotel. It looked like Mountain Dew and tasted like bubble gum. She set the tray on the table and without a word handed each of us a bottle. When she got to me, she stopped and stared at my face. “Gracias,” I said, taking the bottle. Would this constant scrutiny of my scars never end? I couldn’t wait to see if Russ could heal my face once we got home. I was tired of it.

The girl said something to me in Spanish. I looked to Mallory, who didn’t translate in English, but just answered her directly. Before long they were having a back and forth, and then the bus driver came and pulled the girl back inside.

“Get this,” Mallory said. “She’s the bus driver’s niece. This is their house and her mother is the one cooking our lunch. He didn’t want her talking about it, and that’s why he made her go back inside.”

“But what did she say about me?” I asked.

Mallory shrugged. “Not much. She asked how you were injured and wanted to know if you knew about the legend, and I told her we’d heard it already. She said the angel always chooses who gets to be the hero in the stories.”

“Okay,” I said. “Well, then I choose Russ to be the hero.” I moved my hand in Russ’s direction like it was a magic wand. “Choos-i-cus, hero-cus. And so it has been decided.”

I was just talking silly, but two hours later, when our lives were endangered, Mallory remembered it as if it were a prophecy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Russ

On the bus ride afterward Nadia was even quieter than usual. At lunch, Mallory had filled Jameson and me in on this whole Burned Angel legend after our waitress had brought up the subject. While Mallory explained, Nadia had kept her face down, quietly eating her empanada. I think she was trying not to cry. I felt terrible for her. I knew how sensitive she was about her face. The subject had come up a few times during our late night talks when she’d astral projected to me. She told me that every day since the accident she felt hideous, like the sight of her face made people gag. Once Nadia told me that she understood how the Phantom of the Opera felt, that she wished she could wear a mask and live in her own underground lair. I tried to tell her that she was imagining it much worse than it was. That I didn’t even notice her scars anymore. I knew she didn’t believe me.

And now I wished I could put my hands on each side of her little face right this second and put every bit of energy and emotion I had into healing her. Curing Jameson’s hangover had been a stupid use of my powers. What if I could only do it a certain number of times? Say I had ten total healing uses and then it ran out and I could never do it again. If that were true, I would regret not leaving him puking in the hotel room. He deserved to be sick. A just punishment for a night of stupidity. But Nadia? She didn’t deserve what she got at all. And if I could fix her face, it would be my greatest achievement.

Nadia was looking past me, out the window. I smiled. “Are you okay?”

She said, “Yeah, just tired of being on this bus.”

We rode in silence for a while. Up front Mallory was chatting it up with Alex. Handsome, smooth Alex. He wasn’t as tall as me though, which made me feel slightly superior. I didn’t like the way they were always speaking to each other in Spanish. It was kind of rude to those of us who couldn’t understand what they were saying. Since they both knew English, it seemed a deliberate choice, a way to keep us out. It wasn’t like Mallory to be that way, so I was thinking it was Alex who was doing it intentionally. Frankly, I didn’t trust the guy.

When we’d exited the highway, we’d turned right and headed inland. The further we drove from the ocean, the greener the grass became. The narrow dirt road was barely big enough for two cars coming from either direction to pass each other, but we didn’t come across many vehicles. At one point, we came upon a beat-up pickup truck filled with men standing in the back. It looked like we were going to collide, but the bus pulled onto the shoulder to let them go by. Since then, I’d only spotted a single motorcyclist and the occasional farmer walking alongside mules carrying packs. If not for the electrical wires strung between wooden poles that dotted the length of the road, you could have convinced me we’d gone back in time.

Over on his side of the bus, Jameson was engrossed in playing with his bola, like a kid with a new toy. Now that we were traveling on unpaved back roads, the ride was uneven. The surface was grooved from tire tracks, and rocks as big as human heads lined the edge of the road. Every time the bus went over a bump, Jameson used telekinesis to make the balls of the bola jump in an exaggerated way. We’d been warned about not using our powers when we were out and about, but he didn’t seem to care about that. Jameson turned around to see if I noticed what he was doing and I quickly averted my eyes. We weren’t friends and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being his audience.

Nadia noticed though and she seemed amused, which encouraged him to up his game. He turned to face us, and held the leather cord over his head so the balls dangled in the aisle, then used his powers to get them to move in circles like they were pursuing each other. I waited for one of the adults to notice and tell Jameson to stop but they all seemed oblivious to his showing off. Nadia grinned and Jameson, feeding off the attention like a vulture, had the balls swing up in the air and almost meet before dropping down. I silently wished he’d lose control and one would smack him in the face, but no such luck. Up front, Alex and Mallory were wrapped up in their Spanish conversation. Mrs. Whitehouse had her head back and eyes closed, while Mr. Specter and Kevin Adams looked down at their respective screens. Unbelievable. No one was noticing this blatant disregard for the rules.

Well, two could play at that game. I held my hands up, palms facing each other and created sparks that jumped back and forth between them. Just as I hoped, I snared Nadia’s attention away from Jameson, and man, did he look irritated that I stole his spotlight. The electricity shooting out of my hands glittered like a sparkler, and jumped from my fingertips. I moved my hands around so the effect was like juggling. Higher and higher the sparks flew until they formed a small arc over our heads. I felt the warmth, but it wasn’t hot. Nadia grinned. “You’re a one man light show,” she said.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jameson wrap the cord around his wrist and turn around, disgusted. Yes! Victory was mine. I stopped what I was doing and whispered to Nadia, “I win.”

“What is it with guys having to be the alpha dog?” she asked, shaking her head. “Always competing.”

“Believe me, there’s no competition. There’s me, and then there’s Jameson trying to keep up with me.” This was the new Russ Becker. I’d gained a lot of self-confidence since Mallory had brought the four of us together. Jameson might be the genius homeschooled kid. He was a few inches taller than me, and knew Mallory (and Nadia) longer than I had, but he had nothing on me. It was fun to watch him try though.

When the bus lurched to a halt, I thought we’d stopped at an intersection, but the pause was too long and there was no intersection in sight. All of us looked to the front to see the driver slide out from behind the wheel, and announce something loudly before climbing down the steps to exit the bus. We’d passed through a small village at least twenty minutes before and there was nothing in sight except for farm fields and a small shack just ahead on the left. “What is he doing?” Nadia called to the others in front.

“He says he has to stop to go to the bathroom,” Mallory yelled back.

I rested my head against the glass to look. The driver didn’t look like a guy heading out to take a leak. There were some scrubby-looking bushes off to one side that would have been a perfect spot to unzip and release, but he wasn’t headed in that direction; in fact he wasn’t headed in any direction. He stood statue-like in the middle of the road, his hand a visor over his forehead, his gaze on the horizon. Like he was waiting for something. Weird. And I wasn’t the only one seeing this.

“Maybe he needs peeing lessons,” Kevin joked. “Does anyone want to go out and show him how?”

Before long, we saw what he was waiting for. A tiny gray car sped toward us, kicking up dust as it approached. It stopped right in front of the bus, paused to let our driver climb in, then sped off in the direction we’d just come from.

“What the hell…” Jameson said, standing up to get a better look. But there was nothing to see, just a gray blur driving away at top speed.

“Did he say anything to you? About where he was going?” Mr. Specter asked Alex, who shook his head.

Right as he said this, my eye caught some movement down the road. The door opened in the wooden gray shack standing a few feet off the left hand side of the road. As I watched, three men carrying long barreled guns burst out the side door and began yelling in Spanish. They wore wide-brimmed hats. Bandannas covered the lower part of their faces, like bandits in the Old West.

“All of you stay put,” Mr. Specter said. “I’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. Like he was providing change for a toll, or giving directions to someone who was lost. He trotted down the aisle of the bus and went out the open door, still open from the driver’s departure. Mr. Specter walked up to the three men and began speaking in Spanish, gesturing to the bus and then back to them. They had their weapons pointed right at his chest, but he looked completely unfazed. The guy had nerves of steel.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,” Nadia said quietly next to me. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I said, speaking with more assurance than I felt. She was falling apart. Someone had to be steady.

Alex said, “They probably want money. He’ll pay them and they’ll let us go.”

All of us had gathered on the left side of the bus, our faces up against the window, silent as we watched the drama unfolding outside. One of the men was getting right in Mr. Specter’s face, yelling something loudly in Spanish and then stamping his foot. Mr. Specter shook his head. He looked completely calm and collected right up until the point that one of the men surged forward and hit him in the groin with the butt of his gun. Every guy watching could feel the pain and even Mallory audibly gasped. Mr. Specter fell to his knees on the dirt road, clutching his front. Two of the men came behind him and dropping their weapons, tag teamed him, grabbing him roughly and blindfolding him with a strip of white fabric.

“Hey!” Jameson said, heading out the door, his bola still in hand.

Nadia ran to the back of the bus where I heard her retching. Her nerves had gotten to her stomach. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t help her at that moment. But I could help Mr. Specter and I wasn’t going to let Jameson go out without me. When I got to the front of the bus, I paused to give Alex and Kevin Adams a stern look. “What are you guys waiting for? Come on!”

I scrambled down the steps and around to the front of the bus, following Jameson, who was already walking up to the group of men. The hand gripping the bola trembled at his side, but still I had to give him credit for going right into a bad situation.

The men had pulled Mr. Specter to his feet and were pushing him toward the shack poking his back with the muzzles of their guns. From here I could see that it was no bigger than my aunt’s garden shed. I envisioned a dark interior with one rickety chair positioned directly underneath a bare light bulb. An interrogation chamber.

Jameson was calling out to them, something about dinero, but they weren’t acknowledging his presence, and they weren’t worried about the rest of us either. They were walking away from us, heading to the shack, their guns aimed at Mr. Specter’s back. Jameson’s voice was rising in pitch, getting higher like it did when he was aggravated. “Stop! I’m talking to you,” he screamed, forgetting to speak in Spanish.

I heard the footsteps of the rest of the group coming up behind me. Mallory ran past Jameson and me, and strode right up to one of the masked men. Before we could stop her, she began punching his shoulder like a mad woman. When she didn’t get any reaction at all—he just kept going—she swung her leg forward like gearing up for kickball. Just like that, the guy went down, flat on his face. Mallory had brought down an armed man with a playground maneuver—she tripped him.

After that, everything happened at once. Mallory pulled the gun out of the startled man’s hand. The other two turned around and took in the situation all at once and one of them began shouting instructions in Spanish. Mr. Specter, still blindfolded, yelled, “Leave them alone! They don’t know anything.”

And knowing there was no turning back, we all rushed forward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Russ

Mallory held the gun like it was a dead ferret. I wasn’t sure she knew how to use it, but at least our side had possession. And now the rest of us stood clustered around her in solidarity. One of the men hustled Mr. Specter into the shack, one was on his back on the ground, and the other one turned to face us. “Drop the gun,” he ordered, pointing his gun right at Mallory. His English was perfect and tinged with a bit of an American southern accent. This was unexpected. Gringos in the wilds of Peru.

“No,” Mallory said, raising the gun and aiming it right at them. The one on the ground looked from Mallory to his friend, unsure of what to do next.

“I’ll give you to the count of five to drop the gun, and then I’m shooting you,” he said.

“Maybe,” Mallory said, her finger curling over the trigger. “Or maybe I’ll shoot you on four.”

“This isn’t a game, girl.”

My heart pounded and adrenaline pumped through my veins. I knew I should do something, but I was paralyzed with indecision. All I knew for certain was how glad I was that Nadia was safe on the bus.

“I mean business,” he said. “One!”

We all froze, everyone waiting for someone else to take the lead. I did a quick check of the group and could tell at a glance that the so-called chaperones weren’t going to be any help. Kevin Adam’s face looked completely drained of blood. Mrs. Whitehouse stood with one hand on her hip, her mouth hanging open.

“Two,” he said, in a hard voice. “Drop it now.”

“No,” Mallory said. She wasn’t giving in.

“Let’s be reasonable now. We can work this out,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, but no one paid any attention to her.

“Three.”

Even though Mallory’s hands were shaking, she didn’t move, and the gunman wasn’t backing down. He waved the gun back and forth, like an insane guy, like he might shoot any of us at any time. “You need to drop that gun!” he screamed. His eyes flicked back and forth like he was trying to decide what to do next. Crazed.

“Now, now,” Kevin said, attempting to diffuse the situation. “Let’s all calm down and take a minute here.”

It seemed to me that Mr. Specter’s words: They don’t know anything, was code to us, a way of telling us how to handle the situation. We were supposed to act like normal high school students and normal high school students didn’t shoot electricity out of their palms. I felt my hands itching to release a charge of power. I could take them all down in thirty seconds. But should I?

Alex authoritatively stepped forward and said something in a low voice to Mallory, who handed him the gun and took a step back. In an instant, the guy on the ground jumped up and stood alongside his comrade, making them twins in their dark hats and face bandannas, but now only one held a gun. And then, unbelievably Alex stepped away from our side and lined up next to the other two men, aiming the gun right at us.

“What in the world?” Mrs. Whitehouse said, cementing my initial impression of her as the dim one in the group. Mr. Specter had said only those with superior intelligence witnessed the strange meteor shower and were bestowed powers, but clearly there was at least one exception.

“Alex?” Mallory said, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

The gunman who’d had the standoff with Mallory held up his gun and shot it into the air. The deafening blast echoed and Mrs. Whitehouse screamed like a girl at a haunted Halloween house. “We’re in charge now,” he yelled.

What happened next was pure reflex. I stepped in front of Mallory and shot an arc of lightning above the head of the gunman, knocking the gun out of his hand. At the same time, Jameson sent his bola flying through the air. It wrapped around the chest of the guy, trapping his arms to his side.

And then, before we could get to him, Alex pointed his gun straight at me and fired. I saw it happening, but I couldn’t react quickly enough. The bullet was faster than me. One second I was standing, the next a force like a sledge hammer knocked me to the ground. I felt a throbbing, burning sensation in my shoulder. Flat on my back, I clutched at my shoulder and felt the wetness on my hand before I saw the blood dripping off my fingers. The sky above me swayed and blurred.

“No, you idiot,” yelled the crazy-eyed gunman. “The old guy with the glasses is the target. We weren’t supposed to hurt anyone else.”

Alex stood over me, casting a long shadow. He nudged my arm with the toe of his boot. “Eh. He’ll live. I’m not sorry I did it,” he said. “I didn’t care much for this one. Thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“Well you’re gonna be sorry.” I heard the voice of the other gunman coming like a distant radio station. “That one’s Russ Becker. The second gen.” And then more quietly. “We had specific instructions not to touch him.”

Mallory knelt down over me, fussing. “It’s okay, Russ. You’re gonna be okay.” She looked up at Alex and her voice changed to disgust. “I can’t believe you’re one of them.”

“Believe it,” Alex said. “Remember when I said you shouldn’t trust anyone? You should have listened.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Nadia

When I realized I was going to throw up, I grabbed a plastic bag out of my mini-backpack, and dashed to the back of the bus. It happened to be the same bag my Lucky Man had come in. Maybe he was lucky after all. I hated throwing up. There was really nothing to recommend it. I despised the sensation of your intestines turning inside out, the gagging feeling, the horrible taste. And then, when you think you’re done, you get the aftershocks. When I finished puking, though, my stomach felt much better. I wiped my mouth as best I could, threw the bag down on the floor and made my way back up the aisle to see where everyone had gone.

I crouched down in the front, peering out the windshield to do a quick count. There were three men dressed the way you see bandits outfitted in really cheesy movies—wide brimmed hats and dark-colored cloth tied over the lower part of their faces. One of them was hustling a blind-folded Mr. Specter into the shed, a second one lay flat on his back on the ground and the last one faced Mallory with his gun pointed straight at her. I blinked, trying to process what I noticed next—Mallory was holding a gun too and had it aimed right back at them. The rest of the group stood in a cluster nearby. I heard voices, but didn’t see any movement. Why wasn’t anybody doing anything? We were teenagers with super powers, for crying out loud. Jameson should be using his telekinesis, and Russ should be shooting electricity in their direction. I knew we’d been instructed not to use our powers in public, but jeez, this had to be an exception. Do something!

I crept down the stairs of the bus. No one seemed to notice me coming out the door. I made a quick decision and went around to the back of the bus, then crossed the road. The whole time I was sure I was on the verge of getting shot. It would have been easy to pick me off at such a close range. One bullet to the heart and I’d be dead just like that. Instant Nadia corpse. These thoughts weren’t helping my anxieties. I felt my heart banging in my chest and I swear my breathing was loud enough for everyone in the group to hear even though they were forty feet away, but when I glanced in their direction, they were focused on each other.

I said a silent prayer, pleading that Russ wouldn’t get killed. And Mallory and the rest of them too, but if only one person besides me was going to survive, I’d go with Russ. I could admit that to myself, even if I couldn’t to anyone else. He and I had connected in a way I never had with anyone else. We had a history, and I was hoping (and maybe I was being delusional) that we had some kind of future as well. But if either of us died today, I would never know how it was all going to work out. And that would be a true tragedy.

I crouched down in the ditch by the side of the road, not totally obscured, but less visible. I kept low and crept along as fast as I could toward the shack. I couldn’t help the group, but maybe I could help Mr. Specter.

My stomach, now empty, fluttered with anxiety as I darted over to the shed where I’d seen the armed man take Mr. Specter. When I reached the building and was out of sight of the others, I was able to take a moment to swallow before creeping over to the window on my side of the building. The building was rickety and listed to one side. The window was only an opening, really an open square where there had once been glass. My eyes needed a moment to adjust, but when I could finally make sense of what I saw inside, I spotted Mr. Specter facing me, his arms at his side, the blindfold still covering his eyes. He was being held at gunpoint: the gunman’s back was so close to the window frame, I could have reached in and grabbed his shirt. He and Mr. Specter were speaking in Spanish, hurried, fluidly, in words that I didn’t understand, although clearly the conversation was serious.

I hated feeling so stupid and helpless. If Russ were here, he could zap this guy into unconsciousness. But me, I had super powers that weren’t really powers at all. I stared down on the ground, wishing I had a weapon, but the only thing I saw were rocks and dirt.

Rocks.

A rock could be a weapon. People used to be stoned to death. I moved slowly away from the window and picked up a large rock. I felt the weight in my hand. It was the size of a grapefruit, pitted with a sharp point on one side. A rock this size could do a lot of damage if it hit someone on the back of the head.

I snuck up quietly with the rock in hand and held my breath, wondering if I could do it. I’d have to throw it hard and straight. If it didn’t hit the mark, it would make things worse. Maybe, I thought, I was deluding myself. I was no hero. And I wasn’t in the best shape. Until recently I spent more time in my room staring at a computer than doing anything else.

Vacillating, I did nothing, but waited and watched. The gunman was speaking, but he didn’t sound menacing. Mr. Specter answered in Spanish and then pulled the blindfold off. A look of alarm crossed his face when he saw my face through the window. I gestured to the rock then threw it as hard as I could at the gunman’s back. In the distance, back by the road, I heard a gun being fired followed by a woman’s shrill scream. It coincided with the rock hitting the gunman’s neck. He stumbled forward and the gun went off, hitting Mr. Specter, whose whole body jerked before collapsing in a crumpled heap on the dirt floor.

I dropped the rock, shock and regret coursing through my veins. My hand went to my mouth in horror. By trying to help, I’d as much as killed Mr. Specter. I could have yelled to distract the guy. I could have grabbed the back of his shirt or knocked on the outside of the shed. I could have done any of these things, but I didn’t. I’d made a fatally bad decision. I should have snuck away right then, but because I was in shock, I just stared. The gunman didn’t look back to see what hit him. Instead, he walked over to Mr. Specter’s body and pushed him over with the muzzle of the gun so he was on his back. A second shot rang out from the road and I heard voices exclaiming words I couldn’t make out. I gulped and wondered if two of my friends were now dead.

The gunman was listening too, his head cocked to the side, so that he didn’t see Mr. Specter spring up off the floor and come at him full speed.

I don’t know much about martial arts, but Mr. Specter had some crazy Chuck Norris moves. He kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand, knocked him against the wall, and had him in a headlock before the guy even saw him coming. The guy’s hat flew off in the scuffle, floating gently down to the dirt floor.

And then Mr. Specter looked in my direction. “I hope you were taking notes, Nadia, because this is how it’s done.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Russ

Mallory hovered over me, blocking my shot. She seemed to think I needed comforting, and protection from that traitorous idiot Alex. He said he never liked me. Well, I never liked him either, not even when I thought he was on our side.

I almost set them straight when they said I was a second gen. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this term in reference to me. The Associates believed I had superior powers because I was the second generation in my family to be exposed to the light particles, but that wasn’t true. Neither of my parents were the right age to have been exposed to the every-sixteen-year event, and I had no reason to think that either of them ever had super powers. When I’d had trouble sleeping at night, they assumed my insomnia was stress related, not supernatural. I wasn’t a second gen, but if these guys wanted to think I was, it was nothing to me. In fact, it seemed to give me a certain value in their eyes.

They’d tried to pick up the gun I zapped, but it was smoking and hot. In the confusion of me getting shot, they’d managed to unwrap and confiscate Jameson’s bola. Alex still had the gun aimed right at me, not that I could do much at this point, anyway. So much for the power of telekinesis, or shooting electricity for that matter.

Mallory pressed her palm against my wound, trying to suppress the flow of blood, but frankly, she was just in the way. I could heal myself, I’d done it before, but I needed to have access to the wound.

“Move aside,” I said, trying to get the words out.

“What?” She lowered her ear to my mouth.

“Get away from me.” When she pulled away from me I saw the hurt in her eyes. She took it as rejection. “Please,” I added.

She obediently scooted back a foot or so, holding her hand, dripping with my blood, away from her body. I placed my fingertips over my shoulder and concentrated on healing the flesh. I felt the bullet fragments gravitate to the surface, very slowly. It hurt, but not too badly. Like pulling off an old Band-Aid.

“You gotta be kidding!” the guy with the Southern accent said, looking over to the side of the road.

Coming out of the shack was their friend with his hands raised, followed by Mr. Specter who was aiming a gun at his back. The guy’s hat was gone, and his bandanna was down around his neck. He looked less intimidating now that he’d lost the accessories. My eye caught another figure trailing behind. Nadia. How did she get there? I sat up in alarm, propping myself up on the side that didn’t hurt, and ignoring the stinging in my shoulder.

“Take the shot,” Southern boy said, directing Alex. “While you have a chance.”

“But that’s not the plan. Besides, Mingo’s right in front of him,” Alex said, gesturing to Mr. Specter’s prisoner.

“We’ve gotta get this under control. Do it.” He illustrated with a shooting gesture.

“I can’t. Mingo’s in the way,” Alex said, sounding frantic.

Southern boy gave him a disgusted look. “Now.”

Alex slowly shook his head. “That’s not the plan.”

“Wimp!” Southern boy grabbed the gun out of Alex’s hand and while I watched horrified, he aimed it at the approaching group. Nadia looked so vulnerable and sweet, walking with her hood up and hands in her pockets. Sweet Nadia, hiding from the world, but totally exposed to danger. I didn’t have time to aim carefully, or control what came out of me. A river of electricity, a veritable spark storm flew out of my hand and traveled straight at the gunman.

Alarmed, Mallory moved away from me, and Jameson, seeing what was happening, jumped back as well, but the gunman’s attention was on Nadia, Mingo, and Mr. Specter. My surge hit him at the same moment he pulled the trigger. The gun went off, the electricity hit with a vengeance and both he and Mingo fell to the ground and died at the same moment.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Nadia

A flash of lightning, a deafening boom, and smoke. After that, a lot of hollering and the reverberation of gunshots. The man Mr. Specter had held at gunpoint dropped to the ground. Within seconds I saw blood on his shirt spreading outwards from a gunshot to his heart. After the ringing in my ears ceased, I heard a shrill screaming. This turned out to be Mrs. Whitehouse, not surprisingly.

We left the dead man right where he’d dropped. Mr. Specter pushed me behind him and charged forward, ready to shoot if necessary, although we soon found out it wouldn’t be necessary. The one remaining bandit was unarmed, and had his arms up in the air, as did Alex. The third bandit was face down on the ground still holding a smoking gun. Not too far away, another gun—blackened, burned, and slightly bent—lay on the ground. Wrecked.

I did a mental inventory of the rest of our group. Kevin, Mrs. Whitehouse, Mallory, and Jameson stood in a cluster opposite Alex and the other bandit. Only Russ was on the ground, and he was wounded. He sat in the dirt, legs extended in front of him, his shirt stained dark red with blood. I rushed to his side and knelt down beside him. In my hurry, my hood had slipped down to my shoulders, but I didn’t bother fixing it.

“You got shot?” I said and then could have bit my tongue for stating the obvious. Duh, Nadia. So stupid. But when I rested my hand on his forearm, a surge of emotion came off him; it was so strong it brought tears to my eyes. He was grateful that I was fine, and relieved to have gotten through the ordeal himself. He’d been afraid and now he was embarrassed to have been afraid, even though no one could tell. And the strongest thing I felt was the sensation of being sucked down into a black tidal pool of horror—his horror at having killed another human being. For the first time, I sensed, his abilities brought him shame and revulsion. He wished he could undo it all. Rewind his life and change it so he didn’t go out the night he saw the light particles fall from the sky. He wished he could be a normal teenager again, ignorant of the Associates and the Praetorian Guard, unable to channel electricity and healing. He wanted to wash himself of his abilities. It was too much responsibility. It was overwhelming, in fact. I felt his pain, but I didn’t share his wish. I wouldn’t have undone this experience for anything. It had given me a life.

“Are you okay, son?” Mr. Specter asked.

“It’s not too bad,” Russ said. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll have it fixed in a minute.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on sending energy to the wound. I experienced it secondhand, the way the metal shimmied to the surface leaving behind damaged tissue that didn’t stay damaged for long, because it was healing itself almost instantaneously. I was occupying Russ’s consciousness; I felt his cells divide and multiply. The feeling was indescribable. Nothing short of miraculous.

While Russ concentrated on healing himself, the adults discussed our next plan of action. “What are we supposed to do now?” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Take them prisoner?” Her hands fluttered anxiously. “Or kill them too?”

“Russ didn’t mean to kill anyone,” Mallory said defensively. “He was protecting me.” Mallory had a habit of changing the details of the story even before it had unfolded. And the details that she changed, I noticed, always made her look good. I didn’t contradict her though; I was still immersed in how Russ was regenerating cells through the warmth and power of his hands.

I only half-listened to what was going on with the rest of the group. I did pick up on the fact that Alex was an Associate who’d somehow convinced the Guard he was on their side. “Et tu, Alex?” is what Mr. Specter said and then something about betrayal. Alex was a plant. A pretender. His name probably wasn’t even Alex. And here Mallory thought he was falling in love with her.

From there the discussion shifted to more immediate concerns. While Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse nattered away offering lame suggestions, Mr. Specter took charge, having our two prisoners drag the bodies to the shack so that, as he said, “The animals won’t get to them.” He followed behind them, his gun trained on them all the way. Reality was setting in for all of us, the enormity of the fact that death had been so close it could have claimed any of us, if things had gone differently.

The moment between Russ and me ended when Jameson interrupted, offering him a hand up. Russ opened his eyes and upon seeing Jameson’s outstretched hand, said, “I’ve got this, but thanks.” He struggled to his feet and gave his hand a shake. I saw a bloody lump drop to the ground.

“Is that the bullet?” I asked, leaning over to look.

“Yep.” He nudged it with the tip of his shoe. “Funny. It doesn’t look like much. But it could have killed me if it were any closer to my heart.”

When Mr. Specter walked back from the shack, he was alone. “Does everyone have everything they need? Because if so, we’re heading out.” He pointed to the direction of the bus and led the way.

“What about those two men?” Mrs. Whitehouse asked, trotting along beside him. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“If they’re good at following directions they’ll count to one hundred and then call for someone to pick them up,” Mr. Specter said. “Or who knows, maybe their ride is already on the way. The Associates have eyes everywhere.” He stopped in front of the bus door and ushered us inside. I noticed he still had the gun in his hand, although now he held it loosely at his side.

Kevin Adams corralled Russ, wanting to know more about his powers. “When you zapped that guy it was unbelievable! I mean, I see that kind of thing in comic books all the time, but seeing it in person was wild.” Kevin smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Dude, how does it feel to be able to do that?”

Russ said, “I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to stop him.” He trudged up the steps of the bus like a man full of regret.

Jameson had a hand on Mallory’s back as he followed her up the stairs. With Alex out of the picture he probably thought he had a shot. He did not.

“Still,” Kevin’s voice floated down from inside the bus. “How cool was that?! And it was totally self-defense so don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not like you had a choice.”

I waited for Mrs. Whitehouse to go, so I’d be the last one to board. I had a question that needed to be asked. “Mr. Specter?”

“Yes?”

“I saw that guy shoot you.” I gave him a questioning look.

He grinned. “You’re wondering why I wasn’t wounded?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t get off completely scot-free,” he said. “The bullet didn’t penetrate, but I think the impact cracked a rib. When I breathe I’m in a lot of pain.”

“But how…?”

“Just between you and I,” he leaned in, “all my sweater vests are lined with Kevlar.”

“Really.”

I must have had a puzzled look on my face because he added, “It’s a bullet proof material.”

“I know what Kevlar is,” I said.

“Better safe than sorry, I always say.” He smiled. “We’re burning daylight, Nadia. Time to get on the bus and hit the road.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Russ

Before we left, Mr. Specter used a remote-control-sized device to sweep the bus. He found two bugs, one taped underneath a seat, the other stuck under the dashboard. He showed them to us so we’d know what they looked like for future reference. Each one was a metallic square the size of a quarter, topped with a miniature antenna. After Mr. Specter tossed them out the door, Kevin started up the bus. The plan was for Kevin to drive, while Mr. Specter sat close by, directing him using a handheld GPS.

I sat in the row behind Kevin, and because I wanted to have a seat to myself, I stretched out to fill the space. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or even be near anyone. I’d just murdered a man and I felt lower than I’d ever felt before. That man was someone’s son, maybe someone’s brother or boyfriend. I knew that Kevin was right, that I’d been protecting Nadia and Mr. Specter. That I’d been forced into doing it. I didn’t set out to cause anyone harm. But knowing that didn’t help. I still felt terrible.

Nadia, her hood resting on her shoulders, sat across the aisle from me, behind Mr. Specter. I knew she was watching me, worried, and I knew I should probably tell her that I was fine, but I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have the energy to pretend everything was okay. Behind us I heard Mallory and Jameson talking. When I glanced back I saw their heads tilted together, almost touching. They were looking at something on a screen; I heard music.

I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes. It occurred to me that if the Associates were still after us, I’d be an easy target with my head so visible. But honestly? They could get me anywhere I went. They had access to every type of weapon and every sort of vehicle. If they’d wanted me dead, I’d already be dead and there was nothing I could do about it. It was a terrifying thought. The only thing that made me feel better was that I was worth more to them alive than dead at this point.

Mr. Specter was in serious-mode too. Besides giving Kevin directions, he didn’t say much. We drove in silence for a long time, the daylight softening and fading until Kevin had to switch on the headlights. Finally Kevin asked Mr. Specter, “Are you ever going to tell me what they wanted back there?” Even though he wasn’t talking to me, he now had my full attention. I opened my eyes and sat up to hear the answer.

“What they wanted? They wanted me dead.” Mr. Specter sighed. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Dude, why would they want you dead?” Kevin glanced over, an incredulous look on his face. “You’ve got no powers anymore. You’re a high school teacher from Wisconsin, for crying out loud.”

Mr. Specter took off his glasses and massaged his temples. “Not just a high school teacher. I’ve been doing some side work. Projects I’ve been keeping to myself. I thought it was off their radar, but apparently not. My guess is that they aren’t pleased with what I’ve been doing.”

“So they have a hit out on you? That’s heavy.” Kevin whistled as if impressed. “Jeez, what are you gonna do?”

“Die, of course,” Mr. Specter said. “What other choice do I have?”

I felt a weight drop to the pit of my stomach and I sucked in my breath. He said it so matter-of-factly that he could have been talking about planning a picnic, or making a doctor’s appointment. How could he be so calm?

Kevin tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips. In the rearview mirror, I saw his forehead furrow as he thought about the question. Finally, he said, “That really sucks. I mean it. I’m going to miss you, Sam. I really am. No lie.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Specter stretched his legs out into the aisle. “I hate to have it come to this, but I’ve had a good run. More time than some have had, that’s for sure.”

Nadia gave me a wide-eyed stare. Can you believe this? Neither of us spoke. We were shocked into silence. Kevin and Mr. Specter weren’t talking to us, but they weren’t keeping their voices down either. They had to know we could hear what they were saying.

“How much time do you have left, do you think?” Kevin turned the wheel sharply as the highway veered to the left. The surface of the road was uneven and his driving rough; we’d been jostled periodically ever since he took the wheel.

Mr. Specter polished his glasses on the front of his sweater vest. He shrugged. “They aren’t going to let me get on a plane at the airport, so it will have to be before then. I probably have a few more days at least. I figure I’ll be safe enough at Oswald’s and after that I’ll play it by ear. It’s a shame it’s come to this.”

My heart sank. Mr. Specter was speaking of his death with the detachment of someone talking about a TV show being cancelled. Nadia’s eyes were locked on mine. By now I knew her well enough to know she wanted to say something, blurt out her sympathies, or try to problem-solve the situation. I shook my head to tell her, no, not now, but she either didn’t see me or didn’t agree.

“Mr. Specter,” she said, leaning forward in her seat. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you’re talking about. What do you mean, you have to die? I mean, there has to be some other way out of this. The Praetorian Guard has to be able to do something...” her voice broke up with emotion.

Mr. Specter shook his head. “This is really the only alternative.”

“But...” Nadia’s voice cracked before she could continue.

“Don’t worry, this kind of thing happens all the time,” he said, as if that would be reassuring. “You’ll be briefed on what to tell your parents, so don’t worry about that. There will be a service at the funeral home in Edgewood. I’d appreciate it if you’d go. Know that I’ll be watching.”

Nadia swallowed before she spoke. “Of course.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “This is truly horrible.”

“We have the next few days,” he said soothingly. “Try not to think about it too much. I don’t want it to ruin the trip for you.” He turned back to the GPS and began discussing the next set of directions with Kevin. The road we were on would snake through a village right before reaching Oswald’s place. Passing through the village might be problematic if the Associates were determined to finish him off today, he was saying. “I don’t think that’ll happen, but just in case, keep your eyes open. And don’t stop for anything.”

Nadia looked like she was going to have an emotional collapse. She sniffed like girls do when they’re trying to hold back the tears. I hated to see her in pain. I crossed the aisle to sit next to her. I put my arm around her shoulder and she nestled up against my chest as naturally as if we did this all the time. It felt good.

“I’m such a mess,” she whispered, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and blowing her nose. “I’m one step away from totally losing it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s been a tough day.” I pulled her closer, even though I knew the contact would enable her to feel my emotions. I didn’t care. I just wanted her next to me.

“You think?” She gave a sort of half-laugh through her tears. “Tough doesn’t even begin to cover it. I don’t know if I can handle this.”

“You’re going to be fine,” I said. “Today would be hard on anyone. And you’ve been pretty sheltered until recently.”

“I didn’t say I wanted my old life back,” she said, looking up at me. “But I could do without worrying you’ll get killed.”

“I’m not going to get killed,” I said. “Haven’t you heard? I’m untouchable. They think I’m a second gen.”

“What’s that?”

“A second gen is this thing…” I tried to think about what I’d been told about the concept back when I’d been lured into being tested by the Associates. They’d kidnapped my nephew Frank several weeks before, and wouldn’t release him until I’d completed a series of challenges. Luckily, I was able to get through all of them because Nadia had astral projected to me and helped by giving me clues. When I’d successfully gotten through the challenges, the Associates told me that I was a second gen, and that’s why I was so powerful. “I’ll just tell you the way I heard it. The day they took Frank, one of the Associates told me that the reason I was so powerful is because I’m a second gen, meaning the second generation to acquire powers. Their theory is that DNA can store, if not the actual abilities, the memory of the abilities. So if someone gets powers, like we did, and then we have children and our kids are exposed to the light particles, their powers would be even stronger than ours.”

“So one of your parents saw the meteor shower when they were sixteen, and now since you’ve seen it too, your powers are stronger than they would be otherwise?” She pulled away to look at my face.

“That’s the theory,” I said, “but it’s obviously wrong. My parents aren’t the right ages, and nothing else fits either. They weren’t at all suspicious when I couldn’t sleep. They assumed it was stress. If they’d gone through the same thing at my age, they’d have known.”

“But your sister!” Her voice was high, excited.

“What about my sister?”

“She’s the right age.” Nadia leaned in close, her face tipped up to mine. “What if Carly’s not really your sister? What if she’s your mother? Your true mother?”

“What? No!” I shook my head. “No way.”

“I saw a Lifetime movie where this teenage girl gets pregnant,” Nadia said. “Then the grandparents adopt the baby and raise it as their own child and the kid never knew.”

“My life isn’t a Lifetime movie,” I pointed out. “My parents are my parents. My sister is my sister. I wasn’t adopted.” Behind us I heard Mallory laugh, a lyrical melodic sound. I glanced back to see what was so funny, and saw a playing card hovering in the air in front of her face. Every time she reached for it, it shot upward. More of Jameson’s showing off.

“Sure that’s what you’ve been told. But how do you know for sure?” Nadia asked, pulling me back.

“I just know. They wouldn’t keep something like that from me,” I said firmly. My mother had told me she was over-the-moon excited when she found out there was a new baby on the way, and that they were even more thrilled to have a boy. A son. “Our crown prince,” Mom had said. Carly told me a different story. She said my mother sobbed when she realized she was pregnant—that with Carly already in high school they were ready to be done with child-rearing. That version of events seemed more likely, and for that reason I always tried to stay out of trouble. I figured they had enough grief with my hell-raising sister. But even if they weren’t excited about a new baby initially, they got over it. My dad was my Cub Scout leader, my mom made my Halloween costumes; they took turns being parent chaperones for my grade school field trips. Nothing about them said they felt dumped on or that they resented me.

“So you’ve seen pictures of you with your mom in the hospital?” Nadia asked, prodding. “Or pictures of her pregnant with you?”

“Of course,” I said, wanting to end to the conversation, but the truth was, I couldn’t remember seeing those kinds of photos. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist though. They probably were around somewhere and I just never saw them. My mom hated getting her picture taken and I’m sure she wouldn’t want a camera taking photos right after she’d given birth. I had seen plenty of photos of me as a newborn though: my arrival at home, my mother giving me a bath in one of those pink plastic tubs, my dad carrying me in one of those baby slings. There was no shortage of baby Russ pictures and in none of them did my parents look like grandparents raising an unwanted newborn.

I must have given off an aura of irritation, because even though Nadia and I remained side-by-side, we no longer were touching. The conversation about my sister maybe being my mother had cooled things between us and she shifted her attention to the window, her nose nearly pressed against the glass. The bus rumbled along on narrow dirt roads. It was a behemoth compared to the other vehicles we passed and towered over the people walking alongside the road. When we approached a small village and Kevin gave Mr. Specter a nod, I knew this was the area they’d discussed, the one that might potentially have an Associate ambush. Kevin stepped on the gas pedal and the bus sped, forward, dust kicking up from the tires.

Jameson called out, “It’s about time, let’s move this thing!” Unlike me, Jameson was totally oblivious to the fact that we were speeding through this clump of buildings to avoid assassins.

The strategy worked, or maybe there were no Associates lying in wait, because the bus made it safely through to the other side of the village. After a few minutes, I saw Mr. Specter exhale in relief and turn his attention back to the GPS. “In ten minutes we’ll be at Oswald’s,” he said.

I gave Nadia a nudge. “We’re almost there,” I said. The back of her hood nodded in acknowledgement. Whatever was outside the window was more interesting than me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Nadia

When the bus finally came up to a wrought-iron gate, Kevin Adams hit the brakes so hard I had to grab the seat in front of me to keep from falling out of my seat. “Smooth stop, slick,” Mr. Specter said wryly.

“Yeah well, you didn’t want to drive so you can’t say too much,” Kevin said. After that they talked so quietly I couldn’t catch what they were saying, and then Kevin pushed the button to open the bus door and jogged down the steps to go outside. The sun was setting ahead of us, giving me a fairly good view. Oswald Neverman’s home may have been a convent once, but from here it looked like a prison. The grounds were surrounded by a ten-foot high wall, made up of solid rock. Along the top edge barbed wire was strung between imbedded posts, interspersed with shards of glass. No one was getting in or out, or at least it wasn’t going to be easy. I craned my neck and watched as Kevin pressed some numbers into a keypad next to the gate. When he was done, it slowly swung inward. Pretty high-tech considering we were in the middle of nowhere. Once the gate started moving, Kevin bounded back up the stairs to get behind the wheel.

When the bus got through the opening, I looked back to see the gate close shut behind us. “We’re safe now,” Russ said, which should have made me feel good, but it didn’t. He was humoring me, I thought, like he was reassuring a scared kid.

I was irked because earlier we’d been having a heartfelt conversation and feeling a connection between us, and then Mallory had laughed and the link was broken. Just like that, his focus had shifted. I felt Russ’s attention leave me. He’d been curious about what Mallory was laughing at and when he saw, I felt his jealousy of Jameson. He wished he was sitting with her. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh. My heart dropped. How stupid had I been to think he’d picked me or that he loved me? Feeling other people’s emotions was a complicated process that required sorting and identifying. What felt like love was sometimes affection, or fondness, or simple attraction. Even when it was love, that didn’t mean it was the kind I wanted, which was the soul mate, romantic kind of love. The kind of love you feel when you see someone and know that person was put on this Earth just for you. That you’d do anything for him and he’d do the same for you.

I once saw an ancient couple being interviewed on TV on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. When they asked the secret to a long, happy marriage, the man said, “Every day I do everything I can to make her happy, and every day she does everything she can to make me happy, and then we’re both happy.”

Such a simple concept, so why doesn’t it work that way for everybody? Maybe because life and feelings and other people get in the way. I looked back at Mallory who was rifling through her purse, unaware that she’d burst my balloon of happiness.

We drove up a long dirt-packed road toward Oswald Neverman’s house, which loomed large in the waning light. When we came to a stop, Mr. Specter stood up to address the group. “Bring everything with you,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to have to go back to the bus.”

“Thank God we’ve arrived!” Mrs. Whitehouse said, standing and stretching in an exaggerated way. “I thought we’d never get here.”

We gathered up our bags and suitcases. “You need any help?” Russ asked, and I shook my head no. I was small, but capable of toting my own stuff. I didn’t want to be the girl who pretended to need help just to get the guy involved. Since we were in front, Russ and I were one of the first ones off the bus, right behind Mr. Specter and Kevin.

The bus was parked to the right of the building next to a new-looking silver SUV and an old pickup truck, neither of which I’d noticed when we drove up because I was too busy looking at Professor Neverman’s house. The place was huge, the size of a factory, but charming with a red-tiled roof and stucco exterior. Arched windows were flanked by wooden shutters and covered with decorative metalwork that probably doubled as a security feature. No one was going to crawl in or out of the windows. The front door was enormous and solid-looking, giving the impression it was as impenetrable as a fortress. A large doorknocker, a lion’s head with a circle of metal through its mouth, was the only thing that would get us to the other side. Using the door knocker, Mr. Specter rapped on the door. We waited. There was nothing.

“Nobody home?” Kevin suggested.

“No, he’s definitely here,” Mr. Specter said. “This was all arranged weeks ago.” He grabbed hold of the door knocker and banged a little louder. The sound of metal against metal echoed in the distance.

This time there was a response. A voice hovered above us. A woman speaking Spanish. I looked up, but didn’t see a speaker. It had to be camouflaged somehow.

“We’re the Edgewood group,” Kevin Adams yelled before Mr. Specter could say anything. “Here to visit Professor Neverman.”

“Go away.” The intercom, wherever it was, crackled with static.

Kevin said, “Ma’am, just get Professor Neverman, por favor.”

“How did you get past the gate?” the woman asked, scolding. “No one is allowed in without permission.” The last word was stretched to its fullest. Pare-me-shun.

“Oh for crying out loud.” Mrs. Whitehouse sighed dramatically.

Mr. Specter said something in Spanish, and the woman answered in English. “No one is to see Señor Oswald today. Nobody. Ees not possible. I will open the gate now. You must go or there will be trouble.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mrs. Whitehouse said.”We can’t go! Where would we go?” She fidgeted like a little kid.

Mr. Specter raised a hand to shush her and then said something in rapid-fire Spanish. I caught the word “guard” and then “Samuel Specter,” and “Oswald Neverman” and something that sounded like “promesa.”

There was a long pause. I could almost feel the woman considering his words. Then, her voice squawked back to us. “I will check with Señor Oswald. But he is very sick, so I do not think he will want you here. If he says no, you must go.”

We passed the time by shifting our weight, exchanging worried looks, and jiggling the handles of our suitcases. We were tired, anxious, and wanting a warm, comfortable bed. Waiting for some woman, a disembodied voice, to decide our fate. “Don’t worry, kids,” Mr. Specter said. “If she won’t let us in, I have a Plan B.”

A few minutes later, the door swung open. Behind it was a white-haired man in a bathrobe. Thick-lensed glasses distorted his eyes, which widened with delight at the sight of Mr. Specter. “Sam!” the man said, throwing his arms open. “I apologize for the mix-up. I thought you were coming next week.”

The two men embraced and did that back patting thing guys sometimes do. Mr. Specter kept his hand on Oswald’s shoulder as he introduced us. “Kids, this is Professor Neverman.” We all shook his hand and then the professor ushered us inside.

“Please don’t find fault with Elena,” the professor said. “It was my mistake. The medication muddles my brain. I’m lucky to remember my own name lately.” He chuckled, and ran a hand through his thick white hair, making it stand on end. “Come in everybody. You must be tired and hungry. Sam can show you to your rooms, and then after you drop off your things, we’ll get you something to eat. Bring them to the main kitchen,” he said, directing this at Mr. Specter. “You remember?”

Mr. Specter nodded and led us down a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs, our suitcases bumping one step at a time. Recessed alcoves in the walls showed the outlines of the crucifixes that had once hung there. Periodically on the staircase and in the second floor hallway we’d encounter woven wall hangings depicting Peruvian villages—red tiled roofs, people in native garb, and the mountains in the background.

“I think you’ll like your rooms,” Mr. Specter said, coming to a stop so suddenly that I almost collided with him. “When this place was a hotel they updated everything, expanded each room and made it quite nice. Each room has a small bathroom with a toilet and a sink, but the shower is down at the end.” He pointed to a door labeled W.C. “We’ll have to take turns in the morning for showers. Try to be considerate and keep it brief. No one wants to take a cold shower.”

“Yeah, no hogging the hot water,” Kevin said, punching Jameson’s arm.

“I’m glad I’m an early bird so I’ll be one of the first ones showering tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Whitehouse said in a smug way. “I never was one to loll around in bed. Too much to see and do for that.”

“Can I ask a question, Mr. Specter?” Mallory said, lifting her hand. “What’s wrong with Professor Neverman? He’s sick?”

“He’s fine,” Mr. Specter said, “Just getting over a flu bug. By tomorrow he’ll be good to go, but if not, we’ll let him rest.”

I was standing so close to him that I could see the whiskers on his face. I felt the lie roll off him like a wave against the shore so I knew Oswald Neverman had more than a flu bug. Something was seriously wrong with him. Mr. Specter glanced down at me, and seeming to know what I’d sensed, patted my shoulder. “Nothing to worry about.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Russ

Between Professor Neverman showing up at the door in his bathrobe and the housekeeper Elena saying we should go away, I definitely got the impression we weren’t expected or welcome. But once we got inside, I felt a whole lot better. Neverman’s place was not as luxurious as I’d been expecting. More old castle than quaint bed and breakfast. The walls were stone and seemed almost damp to the touch. Every ten feet or so, wall sconces held thick white candles that were more than decorative—the wicks were blackened and the walls behind them covered with soot.

Nothing about the place said warm and cozy but at least it had indoor plumbing. I saw Mallory make a look of disgust when she heard we would be sharing the shower down the hall. Her face sort of squinched up like she smelled something nasty and she shook her head so that her ponytail whipped from side to side. It’s a girl thing, I guess, this obsessive need for bathroom time for makeup or whatever. I don’t really get it. My mom spends a lot of time in the bathroom doing who knows what and as far as I can tell, she comes out looking exactly the same as she did when she walked in. I know the whole hair routine takes time, but that doesn’t seem to account for all of it. I’m probably better off not knowing.

Unlike at the hotel the previous night, we each got our own room but there were no working locks on the doors. “When it was a hotel there were keys, but now this is a private residence and there’s no need for it,” Mr. Specter said. “You can lock it from the inside when you’re sleeping. Otherwise we’ll have to agree to respect each other’s privacy and agree not to enter anyone else’s room without their permission. I assure you that your possessions are perfectly safe.”

He gave us ten minutes to unpack our stuff and then we met up in the hallway to go down to eat. I was glad to follow the herd. The hallways were confusing and looked a lot alike. Our destination, the dining room, had a large rough-hewn table covered with a table runner and topped by candles, which were halfway burned down, but not lit. When Mr. Specter noticed me staring at them he said, “They use the candles when the electricity is out, which is often.”

The table was set for the seven of us; Professor Neverman was nowhere in sight. After Mr. Specter checked in with Elena, who was busy bustling around in the adjoining kitchen, we all sat down and she came out to deliver our food. The meal was an odd assortment of food artfully arranged on a tray. From the looks of the things, Elena scrounged through the fridge and the pantry closet and threw together anything she could find. Just the way you’d do it if seven people showed up unexpectedly and wanted dinner. There were some hard-boiled eggs and slices of roast chicken, roasted vegetables, French fries, fried plantains and some weird looking olives.

The best thing on the tray, two golden baked empanadas, were scooped up by Kevin before the tray ever made it to our end of the table. When none of the adults were looking, Jameson used his telekinesis to lift one of the empanadas off Kevin’s plate and fly it over to his own. Kevin never noticed, not even when Jameson made a big show of pantomiming how tasty it was, biting into the pastry shell, pointing to the meat and cheese inside, and then rubbing the front of his shirt. His performance was clearly aimed at me. I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice what he was doing, but it was hard. The empanada looked delicious and I could have gone for one. I think it was the only time I ever wished I had his power instead of my own.

Nadia sat on the other side of the table, directly opposite me. I tried to catch her eye a few times, but she had her hood up again, and was concentrating on her food. I was starting to realize the hood was her defense mechanism, Nadia’s shield against the world. When she was feeling overwhelmed or threatened, she retreated into her hood and nothing got through. Just when I thought I’d broken through to the other side and connected with her, she’d pulled away again.

After dinner, we cleared the table and took the dishes into the kitchen, which looked like the kind of kitchen you saw in restaurants in movies. The focal points were a glass-fronted refrigerator with a sliding door, an island with a butcher block top, a six-burner stove, and a sink deep enough to soak a turkey. Elena thanked us and then waved off Mallory’s offer to help with the dishes.

We would be retiring to our rooms, Mr. Specter said, where we could do whatever we wanted. But, he added, there was no television, no Internet access, and a high likelihood the power could go off at any given time, so if it did, we shouldn’t be concerned.

“You have got to be kidding,” Kevin Adams said. “No power?”

“People lived without electrical power for most of history. Pretend you’re time traveling,” Mr. Specter counseled.

“Yeah, sure people lived like that for most of history, but not cause they wanted to,” Kevin grumbled. “Good thing I brought some comic books on the trip. And here I didn’t think I’d have time to read.” He flicked my arm. “You’re lucky you bring your own electricity with you everywhere you go.”

“You really expect us to go to sleep already?” Jameson asked. “It’s going to throw off our internal clocks.”

“You can stay up as late as you want, as long as you stay in your rooms. I know it’s early but today was a big day,” Mr. Specter said. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’d love some down time. Tomorrow we’ll have a group meeting and then you’ll be free to explore the grounds.”

“Mr. Specter?” Mallory raised her hand.

“This isn’t school, Miss Nassif,” he said, amused. “You don’t have to raise your hand.”

“You seem really familiar with this place. Is it because you’ve been here before?”

“Indeed I have. Many times.”

“And Professor Neverman?” she said. “He lives here by himself?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Why?” Mallory’s head tilted to one side, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

“He enjoys the solitude,” Mr. Specter said.

And before we could ask anything else he strode away, leading the way through the maze of hallways and up the stairs to our rooms where we were instructed to stay until morning. Once inside my room, I heard the opening and shutting of doors up and down the hallway and the sounds of the others fumbling with the hook and eye closure that would serve as our locks. I didn’t latch mine just yet. I had the idea that I’d sneak out to Nadia’s room after everyone else had settled down. Once we were alone, I’d ask what was going on with us. A direct approach, that was my plan. If I had the nerve to actually go through with it.

Without a TV, the room seemed incomplete. I had a bed, a dresser, a coat rack, and an upholstered chair. The door leading into the bathroom was narrow and the bathroom itself was the size of an airplane lavatory. I had no trouble imagining my room as a nun’s room. The bathroom was probably once a closet or prayer space or something.

I settled back on the bed, playing with the calculator on my phone. I did some calculations to figure out something that had been bugging me, and when I was satisfied with the numbers, I found myself reaching into my wallet for the medallion Gordon Hofstetter had given me. As big as a driver’s license (which I didn’t have yet—my sixteenth birthday was coming up quick), it was silver and octagonal in shape. A clear gemstone occupied a hole right in the center.

When I held it up, the waviness of the glass diffused the light. I traced my finger over the spiral etched in the metal circling the stone. Since I was in grade school, I’d doodled spirals in the margins of my notebooks when I was daydreaming, something that irked my teachers. Who knew that someday I’d discover a glowing spiral as big as a field, the remnants of light particles that had fallen from the sky? And now, cryptically, the same pattern was on this medallion. I still hadn’t told anyone else about it.

I wiped the medallion with my shirt, put it away, and looked around the room for something else to do. Finally, I pulled out the comic book my nephew Frank had snuck into my suitcase when he and Carly came to the house to see me off. When I’d called home from our hotel in Miraflores, Frank had just happened to be at my house; I could hear him talking in the background while I was trying to concentrate on what my mom was saying. Finally, she handed the phone over to him. He was excited to speak to me and glad to hear that I’d found the comic book and his note in my suitcase. That was the great thing about Frank. He was always energetic and in a good mood, kind of like a happy caffeinated puppy. The only time I ever really saw him depressed was when he asked me why his father didn’t love him. Man, that was heartbreaking. And then he asked me all these other questions about who the guy was and why he never met him. What was I supposed to say? I didn’t even know who his father was and neither did my parents. If Carly knew, she wasn’t saying. The only answer I could give him was that his dad, whoever he was, was missing out big time, because he could be spending time with Frank, who was one awesome kid. Sometimes all you can do is tell the truth.

Flipping through the comic book, I saw more evidence of Frank’s personality. The comic book illustrator had drawn all of the women with huge breasts, and Frank had put Post-it notes with arrows pointing this out on several different pages. No words, just arrows with numerous exclamation marks next to them. Carly was fond of saying her son was a ten-year-old teenager. Most of the time I didn’t see it, but this was a definite sign that she was on to something.

I wondered how my family was right now and if the day’s events—the killing back at the bus—would somehow affect them. What if the Associates knew it was me and retaliated by hurting my parents or Carly and Frank? My hand went up to Carly’s key, still on a chain around my neck. She’d told me not to go on this trip. Maybe she’d been right. If anything happened to my family, I couldn’t live with myself.

To distract myself from my disturbing thoughts, I turned back to the comic book. I was on the last page when I heard a light knock on my door. “It’s open,” I said.

Mr. Specter stuck his head in the room. “Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure.”

He made a point to close the door quietly behind him, then sat down in my chair, resting his hands on his knees. “I wanted to talk to you privately about something important.” He tapped his finger against his leg and then looked around, as if checking to see we were alone.

“Did you want to sweep the room for bugs first?” I asked. I was only half joking.

“No.” He smiled ruefully. “That’s not necessary here.”

“Are you sure? I mean, better safe than sorry, right?”

“No, rest assured it’s secure. Oswald Neverman is nothing if not careful.”

I closed my comic book and tucked it under my leg, suddenly embarrassed to be caught reading it. “Is this about us getting attacked today?”

“Yes, in part.” He gave me an intense look. “I knew we’d have this conversation someday, but I really thought we’d have more time. Today’s events have made me aware that things are moving faster than I anticipated.”

“Oh.” The expression on his face made me uncomfortable, like he was going to give me very bad news. I thought of the worst thing possible: that we wouldn’t be going home, that something terrible had happened to my family. My fists clenched at my side.

He said, “First of all, I need to tell you that you shouldn’t feel bad about what happened today. In fact, you can’t allow yourself to feel bad about it because it will affect your emotions and your thinking, which will create a weakness that the enemy will be quick to exploit. Don’t think of what happened as killing or murder. You were defending yourself and your friends. The men who attacked us knew the risks when they took on the job. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded. I understood, but I still felt like crap. I could picture that man on the ground, dead because of me.

He continued. “If it helps you feel any better, they were adult men with guns, attacking a bus filled with unarmed high school students and their chaperones. No legal system in the world would prosecute for that. We were victims fighting back.”

“Using your reasoning, it was justified because they started it?” I said.

“Something like that.” He exhaled. “I knew you’d get it.”

“But I keep thinking that maybe I could have saved them.” I searched my mind for the right words. “That maybe if I had stayed behind and put my hands on them to heal them, that it would have made a difference.”

“I don’t understand,” Mr. Specter said, puzzled. He scratched his head. “How could you heal dead people?”

I sputtered. “I did it in Edgewood for Nelly Smith. I found her on the floor with no pulse and then I brought her back.”

“Oh no, Russ.” He shook his head. “Very often pulses can’t be detected when people are failing, but believe me, she was still alive or you wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate her.” He said it like he was trying to bring me down gently, and I felt a little embarrassed, like a kid who’s the last in his class to find out the Tooth Fairy is really his parents.

“But I touched her and she was icy cold!” I said.

“Like this?”

He got up and clasped my forearm with icy fingers. I felt my eyes widen. “Man, you have cold hands,” I said.

Mr. Specter grinned. “Poor circulation. I’m always cold. But I’m not dead.” He sat down. “At least not yet.”

“I was so sure I’d saved her…”

“You did save her—the same way paramedics save a patient whose heart has stopped. She was on the brink of death and you pulled her back. That’s an incredible thing, but it’s a long way from resuscitating the dead. No human being can do that. Only God.”

“You believe in God?”

“Of course, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought since you were a science guy, you’d be all analytical and stuff about religion.”

Mr. Specter shrugged. “Well, even science guys need to believe that there’s a reason for all of this. A purpose. It’s a matter of faith.”

“Right.”

“Try not to dwell on what happened today, Russ. It can eat you up and that serves no purpose.”

“It was just hard to see a guy lying there dead and know I was responsible.” I said.

“It was unfortunate, but ultimately you saved lives. Try to think of it in terms of defending your friends.”

“I’ll try.”

“It takes time to come to terms with this kind of thing,” he said. “I know we’re asking a lot of you, and sadly, I’m going to be asking a lot more.”

I waited and when he didn’t say anything I had to ask. “Is my family okay?”

“Your family?” He pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger. “As far as I know they’re fine. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You seem so serious, I thought maybe there was a problem at home.”

“No problem, but I am serious, you’re right about that. I was hoping to shepherd the four of you—Nadia, Jameson, Mallory, and especially you, through this whole process, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen that way. The Guard didn’t do a very good job protecting the previous generation—”

“David Hofstetter’s generation?”

“Yes. Five kids were affected by the light particles, and we lost all five of them. They died or disappeared, every last one. We’ve learned a lot in the last sixteen years, and we’re determined not to have that happen again.”

Behind Mr. Specter’s head I noticed a shimmer in the air, like heat radiating off the pavement on a hot day. A presence. An energy that usually proceeded Nadia’s entrance when she astral projected to me. She was in the room, but when she realized Mr. Specter was there, she’d held back. I was pretty sure he couldn’t tell she was there. I tried to keep my eyes on his face, but it was hard not to acknowledge her. “I see,” I said, keeping my eyes on his face.

“I admit,” he said, “that we’ve gotten off to a bad start here. I have no idea how the Associates knew we were in Peru. We’ve taken every precaution. All I can think is that you’re so valuable to them that they’ve been following your every move.”

“So, it’s my fault?”

“No, not your fault. No one’s fault, really. It just shows how much they want you.”

“My sister said that if they want me, I should join them. That I really have no choice.” I looked at him questioningly. I heard so much about the Associates. They’d infiltrated every powerful organization, every big business, and nearly every government. Their goal was total control. Power and money, at any cost. Some claimed that the Associates caused riots, military coups, and natural disasters. Like playing dominoes, they knocked over the first one and then took control after they all fell down, when there was nothing left to stop them. That they took charge when people were hungry and financially devastated, without homes and jobs.

I didn’t want to be part of that, but how could I say no to them? The only group that opposed them was the Praetorian Guard and Carly thought they were a joke. And I was just one person, a high school student. “Carly said I should work for them and try to get a job where I don’t have to kill people. She said eventually I’d lose my powers and they might let me go back to civilian life.” I’d be forty by then. Old, but not too old to grab some of what regular life had to offer.

“Your sister is right.”

“What?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. I’d been expecting him to say that the Guard could protect me, that he had a plan.

He leaned forward, his chin resting on one fist. “This is going to sound juvenile, but I need to swear you to secrecy. Can you promise not to repeat what I’m about to say to anyone else?”

Coming up over his shoulder I saw Nadia’s energy crowning like a sunrise. She was there, listening, watching. Nothing he said would be completely secret, but that wouldn’t be my fault. The room was not as secure as he’d thought. “I promise,” I said, raising one hand. “I will not repeat whatever you tell me to anyone else, ever.”

“Good.” He nodded approvingly. “I trust you, Russ. You’re young, but there’s something special about you. If I believed in fate, I’d say you weren’t chosen randomly.”

“I’m not a second gen if that’s what you mean,” I said. “Believe me, I’ve done the math and I’ve ruled that out.”

“I’m not suggesting you are. What I am saying is that unfortunately it looks like you’re the Praetorian Guard’s last hope. And I say that not to be overly dramatic or quote Princess Leia—,”

“Except she said only hope.”

“Pardon me?” Mr. Specter looked at me over the top of his wire-rim glasses.

“Princess Leia in Star Wars. What she actually said was, ‘…help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.’”

“So she did.” He chuckled. “And that story turned out well, so maybe that bodes well for us too.”

“You were saying?”

“Oh yes. Back on track.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking as a representative of the Praetorian Guard, I’m asking you to join the Associates, as an undercover operative for our side.”

The silence echoed around us. I said, “You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, I wish I were.”

“But you’re talking about secret double agent, James Bond kind of stuff. Infiltrating an organization and giving secrets to the other side. The kind of thing that can get a person killed.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I know it’s asking a lot, and if there were other options, we’d go in that direction, but we have no choice. We’ve reached a dead end. The Praetorian Guard has the largest numbers we’ve ever had. We have more command centers, and access to more technology, but we can’t touch what they can do, we can only watch it happen. But you, you’re the key to accessing everything. You’ve met with them, and satisfied their requirements. They want you on their side.”

“I didn’t meet with them,” I said. “They kidnapped my nephew and made me pass their stupid tests so I could get him back.” The day Frank was abducted had been horrible. Halfway through the Associates’ challenges I wasn’t completely sure I’d get us out of there alive. And now Mr. Specter wanted me to make this my life? It would be a short-lived life.

“I know it’s a lot to think about,” he said apologetically. “And I wouldn’t put this on you now except we don’t have much time. I’m not going to be around much longer and they want an answer.”

“And who is this they? I only know of you and Kevin, Mrs. Whitehouse, Rosie, and Dr. Anton. I know more about the Associates than I do about the Guard. How can I risk my life when I don’t know anything about your organization?”

“You’ll hear everything, once you make the commitment,” he said. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to believe me. Listen to your gut, Russell. What is it telling you? Who are the good guys here?”

“Maybe there are no good guys,” I said, looking down at my hands. “Just two groups, each with their own agenda.”

Mr. Specter looked pained. “I know this is a lot to process. I’ll check back with you tomorrow and you can tell me what’s on your mind. And of course, if you have any questions, I’ll try to answer them as best I can. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

He got up and stood by the door. “Russ, believe me, I understand how heavy a burden this will be for you, but it’s also an incredible opportunity that few people in the history of mankind will ever get to have. You’re like the guy who gets the ability to go back in time and can go back and kill Hitler. And that’s not overstating it. You have that much power to affect life on this planet for that many people.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“It’s just…” He stopped, his hand on the door knob. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we have information that says the Associates are planning their biggest project yet. They are going to do something so huge, so unimaginable, so horrible that no one will be prepared for something like this. It will literally threaten life as we know it in all the powerhouse countries of the world. If they succeed, it’ll be an apocalypse. They’ll wait until we’re desperate and then the Associates will take charge and it will all be over. One percent of the population will live like kings and the rest of us will be scratching for food like animals and living to serve their needs.”

It sounded, I thought, like something out of a movie. Unimaginable that it could actually happen in real life. I nodded to show I was listening.

He took a tissue out of his back pocket and wiped his forehead. “When you accept the job with the Associates, you’ll have to distant yourself from Mallory, Jameson, and Nadia. You have to make them think you sold out, that you have no morals. They’ll have to believe that you’re with the other side or it won’t work.”

“And if I can’t do that? If I can’t distance myself from them?”

“You have to.” His tone was firm. “It’ll be hard but I know you’ll do the right thing, son. And I want to tell you ahead of time that I’m really proud of you. I wish I could be there to see you set things right.”

He looked like he was about to cry, which made me really uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just nodded. “Well, I’ll think about it.”

“Good-night Russ. Sleep tight.”

“Good-night Mr. Specter. See you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Nadia

I didn’t mean to spy on Mr. Specter and Russ. Okay, I guess at first I was spying on Russ. A little bit. I’d astral projected into his room with every intention of talking to him. But I held off for some reason. First I watched as he punched numbers into the calculator on his phone, and I knew he was checking to see if the dates would work out for Carly to be his birth mother. I’d just done the math myself, so I knew what he’d find—that he was already alive the night her boyfriend witnessed the meteor shower spiral on the field. Which meant he wasn’t a second gen after all, just super powerful and multi-talented for no apparent reason. Being able to heal people, sense electricity, and shoot lightning bolts out of his palms made him stand out, even among other teenagers who’d been exposed to the light particles and acquired powers of their own.

I almost appeared to Russ after that, but I stopped when I saw him pull out his wallet because I was curious to see what he was looking for. I got my answer when he removed a silver disc with a clear marble in the middle. He held it up to the light and ran his finger over the grooves etched around the middle of the thing. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but he treated it with reverence, polishing it with his shirt before putting it away again.

At that point I was about to make my presence known, but when Mr. Specter knocked on the door I held back. Obviously, I wasn’t going to announce myself then. The polite thing to do would have been to go away and try later, but when Mr. Specter said he wanted to talk to him privately, curiosity got the better of me. I always did love knowing secrets, and this turned out to be big. But not good. How could they expect him to ditch his friends, join the other side, and risk his life by reporting back to them? It wasn’t fair.

Now, I wasn’t sure if I should tell Russ that I knew that the Praetorian Guard wanted him to work as an undercover spy for them. If I did tell him, he’d know I was using my astral projecting to snoop around and watch him, which I didn’t want. Maybe I’d keep what I’d seen to myself. I could have secrets too.

When Mr. Specter said good-night I retreated back to my room. I could have projected to Russ then, but I didn’t. The timing didn’t seem right. Mr. Specter had mentioned the possibility of an apocalypse, which made anything I wanted to talk about seem trivial by comparison.

My room here in the convent was tiny but felt secure, even if the hook and eye lock was a bit of a joke, like the latches they had on the latrines at Girl Scout Camp. I liked the lamp next to my bed, some kind of salt crystal the size of my head with a bulb under it. It smelled good and gave off a nice yellow glow—too low to read by, but too bright for a night light. A good light for thinking about the day’s events and what I hoped for the future, both mine and the history of the world.

I was just about to shut out the light and go to sleep when I heard a faint knock at my door. When I opened the door a crack, I saw Russ standing out in the darkened hallway.

“I know it’s late,” he whispered, “but—”

Before he could say anymore, I opened the door and motioned for him to come in. I was in my pajamas—v-necked t-shirt and fleece bottoms; he was still dressed from the day except for his feet, which were bare. He sat on the edge of my bed and I put a finger to my mouth. “We have to be really quiet,” I said, so softly I was nearly mouthing the words.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Russ said, raising one eyebrow.

“After today, nothing surprises me.” I sat down next to him—right next to him. I wasn’t planning on getting so close, but it felt right.

“You look really cute. You shouldn’t cover yourself up all the time.” He gestured to my t-shirt, and I glanced down to see it was far more revealing than I’d realized. When I looked up, his face flushed red and I could feel his rush of embarrassment. It was so adorable, I could have exploded.

There’s something amazing about having a guy you’re crazy about come to your bedroom late at night. A guy who feels shy and sheepish, but even so, he’s getting pulled to you, and he can’t stay away, in fact. I knew he just had an intense conversation with Mr. Specter, and was probably having trouble wrapping his brain around the enormity of the task at hand, so who did he come to see in his time of need? Not Mallory. I repeat, not Mallory. Not Mallory with her perfect body and her flawless skin and her unbelievably thick ponytail, but me. Nadia. Just me.

“Did you want to talk about something?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Russ said, looking relieved. “I was wondering…”

His short pause was turning into a long pause. “Yes?” I prompted.

“I was wondering—are you mad about something?” He’d been looking down at his hands, but now he raised his head to look straight at me. “Because I saw you when you projected into my room a few minutes ago, but you didn’t come forward. You heard me talking to Mr. Specter didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But you just suddenly left. Are we okay?”

I got up on my knees so that our faces aligned, then put my hands on his shoulders. Our foreheads touched. I couldn’t believe I was being so bold, but he didn’t pull away. A ghost of a smile came across his lips. I said, “Yes, we’re okay.”

He nodded slightly. “Good.” And then he pulled me toward him and his lips went to mine. Right then, I experienced a revelation—in an instant I saw that my entire life had led up to this kiss. Everything that happened since I was born had laid the groundwork for me to be here now. I was meant to be in this room with Russ, just the two of us together, his mouth pressed softly against mine. There was none of the awkwardness I’d worried about ahead of time. Our DNA was encoded to do this; he was made for me. I wrapped my arms around him, and he pressed closer, both of us experimenting with all the ways two people can join lips.

He pulled apart for a second, than brushed my hair off my face. “Oh Nadia,” he whispered, and just hearing him speak my name made my heart sing. No one had ever said those syllables in that way, each syllable infused with love.

I smiled and leaned back in to kiss him again, thinking I never wanted this to end, that we could do this for an eternity and it would be time well spent, when there was a rapping at my door. I stiffened and Russ leapt to his feet, a guilty expression on his face.

“Nadia?” Another sharp knock. “Are you okay?” It was Mrs. Whitehouse.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and steady. I wiped the back of my hand against my mouth as if removing evidence.

“Can I come in?”

Frantically, I waved an arm at Russ telling him to get into the bathroom, but he must have had the same idea because he was already on his way. “Okay, just a minute.” I went to the door and jiggled the hook, pretending I was unlatching it. I held the door open about a foot, and I blocked the opening with my body.

She craned her neck trying to see around me. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Just about to go to sleep.” I fingered my top to draw attention to the fact that I was wearing my pajamas.

“I heard noises coming from your room. I thought maybe you were sick.”

“Me? No, I’m not sick.” My heart pounded. If she asked to come in and checked the bathroom, there’d be no hiding Russ. He was six feet tall with broad shoulders, and the bathroom was the size of a linen closet. It wasn’t like he could stand behind the door.

She didn’t move and neither did I. We were having some sort of weird standoff. Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Is something troubling you, Nadia? Would you like to talk?”

“No troubles,” I said lightly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Because I know it must be hard being away from home and your mom and I wanted to let you know I’m totally willing to step into that role if you want some advice or need to vent or something.”

“I appreciate knowing that,” I said. “I mean, I’ll keep that in mind, in case I need some advice. Or to vent about something.”

“I really understand how it is for teenagers today, working in a high school and all. You wouldn’t believe what some of the girls tell me. Boy troubles, arguments with parents, the works. Hoo boy, I’ve heard it all.”

“I’m sure you have. You’re a good listener.” Lamest conversation ever.

“A lot of these kids really look up to me. Even after they graduate, we stay in touch through Facebook and what have you. One girl is taking care of my cats for me right now.”

“I would love to talk more with you tomorrow,” I said, feigning a yawn. “But I just took some Advil PM and I think it’s kicking in now, so I better go to bed.” A look of concern crossed her face. “Are you in pain?”

“Just a headache,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then.” She reached through the opening and patted my shoulder. “I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you. Mallory too,” she added. “But especially you. In case you need someone to confide in.”

“That means a lot to me,” I said and then in a fit of brilliance added, “I hope when this trip is over that we stay in touch. I would really like that.”

She brightened. “I would like that too, Nadia. I think we could be very good friends.”

“Good-night, Mrs. Whitehouse.”

“See you in the morning, dear.”

I closed the door and leaned back against it in relief, listening to her footsteps clomping down the hall. Russ peered around the doorframe before coming out of the bathroom. “You have got to be kidding,” he mouthed, coming up to give me a hug.

“That was close,” I whispered.

“Too close,” he agreed.

“I thought she’d never leave.” I put a finger to my lips and opened the door as quietly as I could, then stuck my head out to look. The hallway was empty. I crooked one finger in the direction of his room. “The coast is clear. You should probably go.” The words contradicted my true feelings; I didn’t want him to leave.

He gave me one last lingering look and came in for a quick brush of his lips against mine, before disappearing through the door and into the darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Russ

When I finally climbed under the covers to go to sleep, I’d hoped that Nadia would astral project to me again so we could prolong the evening, but no such luck. I stared at the ceiling and replayed my visit to her room over and over again—the way she grabbed my shoulders and leaned toward me, giving me the perfect lead in to kiss her. And then when we came together—wow, it was incredible. I tried to imagine what would have happened if Mrs. Whitehouse hadn’t interrupted. Up until that point it had been perfect.

This had been the longest day of my life, but at least it had a happy ending.

I mulled over my conversation with Mr. Specter. Much as I liked the guy, I’d decided he was certifiably insane. Who asks a high school junior to save the world? I mean, really. He wanted me to join the Associates, ditch all my friends, and report back to his group. There was no way that could end up well for me.

Besides, there was nothing in the world that could keep me away from Nadia, now that we’d found each other.

And so, as I melted into sleep, I made a decision. When I spoke to Mr. Specter tomorrow, I would tell him no thanks. They would have to find someone else to slide into the role of super secret double agent. Russ Becker had other plans.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Nadia

When he was kissing me, I didn’t even think about my face, not even once. For the first time, in a long time, I wasn’t self-conscious about my scars at all. And the best part was Russ didn’t seem to notice them either.

So that’s what it feels like, I thought, to be normal and in love. It was somehow exactly as I dreamed it would be and better all at the same time. I could still feel his hand brushing my hair to one side and the sound of his voice saying my name like he’d discovered something wonderful. I could replay the memory in my mind over and over again for the rest of my life and never grow tired of thinking about it.

Astral projecting to him wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying now that I’d actually touched him. Earlier I’d imagined that our spiritual connection had been the ultimate experience two people could have, but I’d been wrong.

I went to the window and pulled the curtain back, just to see what was out there. Without the pollution of city lights, it was easier to see the stars and the moon. My second story window looked down over a courtyard. I could just make out what looked like planting beds along the perimeter and a fountain in the center. Tomorrow I would get to see this up close when Mr. Specter let us explore the house and the grounds. Just as I was about to turn away, I saw movement down below, someone walking quickly across the courtyard holding a flashlight to guide them.

Mr. Specter. He must have crept out of his room very quietly, or I would have heard his door open and close. I watched as the spot of light aimed at the ground traveled across the courtyard. Where was he going at this hour? Weird, especially because he’d made such a big deal out of everyone staying in their room and how he himself needed down time. So typical to get rid of the kids so the adults could do what they wanted. I was having trouble trusting him now that I knew he was asking Russ to distance himself from the rest of us, and put himself in danger for the sake of the Praetorian Guard. His apocalypse story seemed pretty melodramatic to me.

I kept my eyes on the light until I couldn’t see it anymore. Letting the curtain drop, I sat on the bed and hugged my knees. How I’d love to be the so-called fly on the wall and follow him to see where he was going and what he was doing. Wouldn’t that be something? And then I remembered that I had something even better than being a fly. I clicked off my lamp and lay back on the bed, willing myself to relax. It was a form of meditation for me. It took a few minutes, but eventually I was able to loosen my muscles and remove the clutter from my brain. All my energy focused on one thought: Take me to Mr. Specter.

And whoosh, I was taken to a sort of sitting room, listening to a conversation between Professor Neverman, who’d traded in his bathrobe for actual clothing, and Mr. Specter, in his usual attire, a backpack at his feet. They each sat in an upholstered wing chair on either side of a lit fireplace, sipping from tea cups. A lamp on a round table next to the professor provided the only other light. “And what did you tell them was the point of this whole trip?” Professor Neverman asked.

“They think we’re looking for a man named David Hofstetter.”

“But you’re not?” The professor raised his eyebrows.

“No, he’s been dead for years. But it was a good excuse to take Russ Becker away from home base and test him to see how he’d do out in the field. It’s also a good opportunity to influence his friends at the same time,” Mr. Specter said.

“And it’s the last trip for you,” Professor Neverman said, shaking his head.

“All good things must come to an end.”

“But who would have thought it would have ended like this?” Professor Neverman mused, lifting the cup to his lips. “Except for you, of course. Mr. Sees-the-Future.” Mr. Specter said nothing, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. The professor continued, “You knew all along didn’t you? All of this, everything.”

“Well, not everything,” Mr. Specter said, the words carefully spoken. “But a lot of it.”

“So you knew that I would get cancer, that you’d have to commit Praetorian Guard suicide, even that someday there’d be a Russ Becker who’d come along to save the day.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me how the story ends, old friend. I know you were set on keeping it to yourself, but there’s no harm in telling me now. I won’t be here to see it. Or will I? How much time do I have left? You can tell me.”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Mr. Specter looked pained. “A few weeks maybe? At the end it will go quickly.”

“Ahh.” Professor Neverman looked resigned. “Down in a blaze of glory?”

“Not necessarily, but that could be arranged.”

Both of the men chuckled, and then Mr. Specter pulled a flask out of his backpack and got up to top off the professor’s cup. As the amber liquid flowed, it was backlit by the fire. Brandy? Whiskey? I didn’t know, but it sure wasn’t tea.

“And Russ Becker?” Professor Neverman asked.

“He’ll do what needs to be done. I’m a little sketchy on the details, but I am sure of him,” Mr. Specter said. “With a little adjustment, he’ll be on board. Believe me, he’s solid.”

“And what about the others—the two girls and that tall boy?”

Mr. Specter shrugged. “Expendable. I don’t see them as major players.”

“What will happen to them?”

“They won’t be harmed as long as they cooperate. Their memories and attitudes will be, shall we say, ‘adjusted’ to our advantage. Some memories will have to be wiped clean,” he said. “We have some new technology in that area. Surprisingly easy to do now. Not like in the old days.”

“What memories would you want removed?” Professor Neverman asked.

“Anything that interferes with our goal. I sense a little romance starting up with Russ and the one girl. That’s going away, I can tell you that much. We need him unencumbered.”

“And if you can’t wipe their memories? What then?”

Mr. Specter said, “Then I can’t guarantee their safety. There may be some sort of fatal accident. Unfortunate, but we can’t have loose ends jeopardizing our work.” He sighed heavily. “Collateral damage. A necessary evil.”

“And you? Do you have your cyanide pill ready?” Professor Neverman said, sounding concerned.

“The equivalent, yes,” Mr. Specter confirmed. “I carry it with me always. Just in case.”

“And how will that go?”

“I’ll keel over from an apparent heart attack. My body will be cremated, and an urn containing my ashes will be transported back to the States. My affairs are all in order. The Guard will sweep the house and make sure anything incriminating is removed before anyone else can get there. And then, my nephew will inherit all my worldly possessions.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Along with all the crap in my garage. I’ve been meaning to clean it out, but just never got around to it.”

Professor Neverman nodded in understanding. “No one ever really thinks they’re going to die.”

“You always think you have more time,” Mr. Specter agreed. “But with the Associates targeting me, it’s either die or be killed. I’d rather be in charge of my own destiny.” They both sat quietly, sipping their drinks.

“I’ve been thinking,” Professor Neverman said, a few minutes later, “that your power, seeing the future, must have been an incredible burden for you.”

“At times. I didn’t always know exactly what I was seeing. I was able to avert some tragedies, but there was much more that I just didn’t understand until it was too late. The wildfire that killed eight hundred people last year? I saw that, and I knew the Associates were going to be behind it, but I didn’t know precisely where and when it would happen so I could do nothing to prevent it.”

“How awful.” Professor Neverman got up to put another piece of wood on the fire, and jabbed at the pile with a poker, making the flames flare and hiss.

“When I was young, I spent hours anguishing over my shortcomings. Every time something happened and I couldn’t prevent it, I felt personally responsible. When my powers faded and I stopped getting the visions, it was almost a relief. I still have notebooks filled with notes and sketches of the scenes that played out in my head. Trying to make sense of it all has been challenging. I’m a little unclear on the next phase, but I know it’s essential to have Russ on our side.”

They talked for at least an hour more, mostly about old friends and what they were doing now, names that meant nothing to me. If this were a normal social setting, I would have been bored, and found an excuse to leave the room. But there was no way I was leaving as long as they were still talking. I didn’t want to miss anything. I had to be the one girl that Mr. Specter mentioned, the one he said was romantically involved with Russ. I thought back—he must have seen us sitting together on the bus.

What did Mr. Specter mean when he said they’d wipe our memories? And how was it that I missed the fact that seeing the future was the power given to him when he was a teenager? And he was going to have a heart attack and die, and travel home as ashes in an urn? Hearing all this was horrifying and fascinating at the same time. I couldn’t keep this to myself. Should I wake everyone up? I couldn’t imagine how I’d do that without waking up the adults too. No, it would have to be first thing in the morning. Collectively we could figure out what to do. I sure as hell wasn’t having my memory wiped clean, I knew that much. I finally did something worth remembering; I wasn’t going to forget it, ever.

When the flask was empty and the two men had finished the last drop in each of their cups, Professor Neverman yawned and declared he was ready to head for bed. “The medication makes me so tired,” he said. “Even sitting and talking wears me out nowadays. I hate to be the one to cut the evening short—”

“No, that’s fine. We’ve had quite a good visit,” Mr. Specter said, rising and smoothing down the front of his pants. “But before I forget I wanted to show you my latest invention.”

“Oh?”

Mr. Specter set the backpack on the chair and rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out what looked like a thick pair of goggles. He held it out to the professor, letting it dangle from one crooked finger by the attached elastic strap. “This is my biggest success yet. A major breakthrough that took a long time to perfect. You’re one of the first to see it.”

Professor Neverman turned it over to view it from all sides. “Fascinating.” He looked up. “What is it?”

“Remember the View Masters from when we were children?”

“Most definitely. I clearly remember my first. It showed all the wonders of the world. I still recall what a thrill it was to see the Taj Mahal in 3D.”

“Then you’re going to love this. Go ahead, put it on,” Mr. Specter urged.

The professor placed the view finder over his eyes and fumbled the elastic into place on the back of his head. “Not very comfortable,” he said, “and if I’m supposed to see something, I don’t. It’s quite dark in here.”

“That’s fine. Now close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yes, please.” A slight wait. “Are they closed?”

“Yes, they’re closed.” Professor Neverman sounded slightly perturbed. “What is this all about, Sam? It’s not fair of you to toy with me like this.”

Mr. Specter reached back into the backpack and pulled out a remote control. “Just give it a minute, professor.” He aimed and pushed a button. “This is very important so listen carefully. Keep your eyes closed until I say the word.” A pinpoint green light on the side of the goggles suddenly came on. “Now open your eyes, and stare at the screen in front of you. Do you see something now?”

“Oh yes!” Professor Neverman’s voice was filled with wonder. “My, it’s beautiful. My word, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Keep staring. Don’t look away.” Mr. Specter pushed another button on the remote. The professor jerked in his seat and said. “Oh! It’s suddenly gotten very intense. This is incredible.”

“I know it’s intense, but you have to keep looking. Do not close your eyes!”

“I won’t!” The old man’s voice rose in excitement. “I’m still looking.”

“Now, listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” Mr. Specter said. “You will forget everything we discussed tonight pertaining to the Associates and the Praetorian Guard. You will remember this evening as two old friends getting caught up on each other’s lives. We had some laughs, shared some drinks, and reminisced about the good old days. Everything else we discussed will be gone from your memory forever. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the professor said.

“Just for good measure, I will repeat it again.” And Mr. Specter repeated it word for word, ending with, “…and reminisced about the good old days.”

“The good old days,” Professor Neverman said in a faraway voice.

“Everything else will be gone from your memory forever. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Specter said, chuckling and shaking his head in delight. He clicked a button on the remote and the professor slumped back against the chair, as if he’d lost consciousness. Mr. Specter removed the goggles from his friend’s head and then shook his shoulder as if to wake him up. “Oswald. Oswald? Can you hear me?”

Professor Oswald stirred. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to drift off. No reflection on you. It’s the medication.” He yawned. “It makes me so sleepy. Did I miss anything?”

“No, nothing at all. We were about to call it a night anyway.”

The professor pointed to the goggles, still dangling from Mr. Specter’s hand. “What do you have there?” he asked groggily.

“Oh, this?” He looked at it as if just noticing it. “This is my new invention. I call it the Deleo. But it’s not important. I’ll show it to you another time.” He stuffed the Deleo and the remote into his backpack, and pulled out a flashlight. “Can you make it to your bedroom by yourself?”

Professor Neverman harrumphed. “I’m not so bad that I need another man’s help getting to my bed, Sam. Between you and Elena fussing over me all the time, a person would think I was dying. And believe me, I have no intention of letting that happen anytime soon.”

“Of course not, Professor.”

After Professor Neverman had struggled out of the chair and left the room, and Mr. Specter had exited through the courtyard, I wished myself back to my room. Even after I was back I was so hyped up, I had trouble sleeping. Just when I would start to doze, I’d hear odd creaking noises from elsewhere in the building. And to make it worse, my mind stirred with troubling thoughts—how could all of us have misjudged Mr. Specter? He was supposed to be our protector, the one who looked out for us, our guide. Instead, he turned out to be a completely self-serving, evil man. I thought of my mother and all her irrational fears about the dangers of the world. It turned out she was right after all.

Finally, when I was tired of obsessing, I astral projected to Russ who was blissfully sound asleep. He looked so sweet, lying on his side, one arm outside the covers. I tried to mentally nudge him awake, but he was out cold. Finally, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me, I told him everything I’d heard and seen between Professor Neverman and Mr. Specter. “I’m worried, Russ. I’m really worried,” I said at the end. “He’s going to try and wipe out our memories and replace them with other memories. And then he’s going to make you go undercover. I’m afraid I’m going to lose you.” Russ exhaled suddenly, and made a sharp exclamatory kind of noise. It almost seemed like he heard me. “Russ?” I tried. But he just rolled over, and didn’t acknowledge me at all.

I finally went back to my room to try to get some sleep. It had been such a long day.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Russ

Mrs. Whitehouse was firm that Nadia shouldn’t be disturbed the next morning. Just as I was about to knock, she pulled me away from the door. “No, no, no,” she said. “Let her sleep. That little lamb was up late with a terrible headache. I heard her rustling around in there all night long. Leave her be.”

I still had my hand raised. “But—”

She shook her head firmly. “Give her another hour or so. The poor thing has to be exhausted.”

Mallory dug in her purse to find pen and paper, wrote a quick note saying we all went down to breakfast, then slid it under Nadia’s door. Even with the note it felt weird to leave Nadia behind, and not just because I promised her dad I’d watch over her. “What if she can’t figure out how to get to the kitchen?” I said to Mallory, as we all clomped down the stairs. It was entirely possible. The place was a maze.

On the stairs below, Mrs. Whitehouse overheard me. “Don’t be fussing about that,” she said with a slight turn of her head. “Nadia’s a smart girl. She’ll be fine.”

“I know she’s smart,” I said, to no one in particular. That wasn’t really the point.

“I’ll come up myself and get her after we eat,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Goodness gracious, I wish I had a gentleman who was as concerned about my well being.” She clearly directed this at Kevin.

Kevin Adams, rubbing his eyes, said, “Don’t look at me; I can barely take care of myself.” He cleared his throat, a guttural early morning sound, like he was getting warmed up. I had the feeling that he’d rather be sleeping. He had the shadowed look of a man who hadn’t bother to shave.

Mallory pulled Jameson and me aside on the landing, and whispered, “Do you want to hear some gossip?” Her eyes shone with excitement.

“Sure,” Jameson said. I shrugged.

“Kevin told me last night that Mrs. Whitehouse has never been married. Whitehouse has always been her name. One day she just randomly decided to make it Mrs.”

“Interesting,” I said, mainly to be polite. I looked back up the stairs, wishing that Nadia would appear. Her not being with us was just wrong.

“I don’t get it though,” Mallory said. “Why would someone pretend to be married?”

“Maybe she’s pretending to be divorced,” I said.

“Come on, kids. Try and keep up,” Mr. Specter called out, and we jogged down to catch up.

After a delicious breakfast of eggs and sausage, cooked and served by Elena, we were ushered into a nearby room for our briefing. “About Nadia?” I said to Mrs. Whitehouse, after she’d plopped herself onto the most comfortable chair in the room.

“Yes, Russ,” she said, sounding irritated. “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll go check on her.”

But she didn’t move. “I can go get her,” I said, heading to the door.

“Stop right there!” she said. “I said I’d go and I will.”

I paused in the doorway until Mr. Specter calmly said, “Come back, Russ. Let Mrs. Whitehouse go up and get Nadia. You’ll need to hear the presentation.”

“Doesn’t Nadia need to hear the presentation?” I asked.

“We’ll get her caught up later,” he said.

I reluctantly sat down, and just as reluctantly Mrs. Whitehouse left the room.”I need to stop at the bathroom first,” she muttered on the way out. I could imagine her trudging up the stairs, one tread at a time. It would probably take her half an hour to walk what would have taken me five minutes and who knows how long she’d spend in the bathroom. I noticed that she spent an unusual amount of time in the ladies room. I could practically be at Nadia’s room already.

Mr. Specter encouraged us to get comfortable in the sitting area. The rugs on the floor and the paintings both said Peru, but the navy blue upholstery on the two couches and chairs reminded me of a hotel lobby. While we were getting situated he crossed the room, and lifted a large painting from the wall, revealing a flat screen behind it.

“Nice trick,” Kevin said, “Specter the magician! Presto change-o.”

“Let’s try to set an example for the students, shall we?” Mr. Specter was all business. “Some of what you’ll see today we’ve covered already, so I’m going to go over it quickly. When I’m finished, I’ll answer any questions you might have.” He was back in teacher mode, pacing like he did in the classroom. “Afterward, I’d like to meet with each of you in private, one at a time for some testing, if you’re agreeable. An assessment of your powers. Nothing too difficult, I assure you, although it might be temporarily tiring. People generally need about an hour of downtime to recover, but I’m willing to bet the Edgewood gang does better than most.” He chuckled and then used a remote to cue the first image on the screen. “And so we shall begin.”

We got a short rundown on the history of the building we were in—a monastery of nuns, he called it, although it was commonly known as a convent. Built in the 1500s, a new addition was added around the time of the American Revolution. Many of the nuns came from wealthy families who paid dowries when their daughters entered the religious life. We had passed the church associated with this monastery on the drive in, he said, although none of us had noticed it.

Always the good student, Mallory sat attentively, hands folded in her lap, taking it all in. Jameson too was focused on the screen in front of us. Me, I was feeling fidgety, thinking about Nadia. I replayed the scene from last night in my head one more time, pleased to have a secret memory I could bring out anytime I wanted. I could hear her voice too, telling me that we were okay. And something else she’d said too—I struggled to remember what it was. They want to erase our memories. No, that couldn’t be right. Replace our memories? Was I remembering a movie? Something from the Syfy channel?

“Excuse me, Mr. Specter?” Mallory’s voice cut into my thoughts. Jarred, I turned my head to see she’d raised her hand.

He pointed to her with one finger. “Yes, Miss Nassif?”

“Who owns the building now?”

“Who owns it?”

“Yes.” She cocked her head to one side. “Does Professor Neverman own it?”

“No, Professor Neverman is a guest here. The owner listed on the paperwork is a well-known corporation, but that’s just a front. This building and most of the land for miles around is actually owned by the Praetorian Guard, but it has an even more interesting history than I mentioned previously. You should know that at one time, many decades ago, this property was used by the Associates. We purchased it with the idea that they may have left something of interest behind. Nothing of that sort has been found, but now, of course, it’s been listed as a location on David Hofstetter’s coordinates, which led us to revisit the site on this trip.”

The next section of his presentation focused on the history of the Praetorian Guard and the Associates. We saw again how the Guard was established to countermand the diabolical plans of the Associates including but not limited to: government takeovers, military coups, famines, and genocides. The images were disturbing and graphic. People getting gunned down, floods sweeping away houses, children dying from diseases purposely spread by the Associates. It seemed that every known disaster and war had somehow been set in motion by them.

After the scare tactics, we moved on to the next topic. A large age-progressed image of David Hofstetter flashed on the screen. Mr. Specter continued talking about David and how he was presumed to be dead, and my mind drifted again. I could hear Nadia’s voice in my head, crystal clear this time—they want to erase our memories. What did that mean? And when did we have that discussion?

Something else popped into my brain—Nadia saying: it’s called a Deleo. A Deleo? Okay, this was getting really weird. I wished I had Internet access so I could look up the word and see if that was an actual thing. I wondered if I was melding a memory with some late night television, or maybe a comic book. I couldn’t place the conversation or the word.

Mr. Specter’s voice got louder and he was gesturing to the screen—a diagram of the grounds, including a chapel in back, and another building, currently used for storage. “Once I’m done with your individual testing, you are free to explore the grounds. There are no restrictions except for Professor Oswald’s private quarters, which are here.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “You’ll know that you found his residence because his doors will be locked.” Mr. Specter grinned. “Take that as a clue to keep out. Otherwise, you may go anywhere else. You’re on your own for lunch—help yourself to whatever you find in the pantry closet and refrigerator. Dinner will be served at seven. Any questions?”

Mallory lifted a finger. “Will we see Professor Neverman again?”

“I don’t know. I hope so, but he’s a very busy man so I can’t say for sure.”

“Any other questions?”

“I have one.” This from Jameson. “Are you assuming we’ll be joining the Praetorian Guard?” His tone was a little antagonistic.

“I assume nothing,” Mr. Specter said. “I’ll test you and give the results to the Guard. If there’s a need for your kind of talent, you will be contacted and can decide on your own whether or not you’re interested. Regardless, they will do everything in their power to protect you if they have information that you may be in danger. Do you follow?”

Jameson nodded. “Yeah, I follow.”

“I’ve got a question.” Mallory raised her hand. “What’s our third location? Where are we going next?”

“We’re visiting some Incan ruins,” Mr. Specter said.

Mallory’s eyes widened with interest. “Machu Picchu?”

“No, not Machu Picchu. Another one. A lesser-known, smaller site.”

“These Incan ruins were on Gordon Hofstetter’s paper?” Jameson asked.

“Of course,” he said. “And now, if there aren’t any more questions, we’ll start the testing. Who wants to go first?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Nadia

When I heard the sharp rap on my door, I incorporated it into a dream I was having involving bandits with guns and Mr. Specter forcing the Deleo over my face. I’d had a terrible night’s sleep, at first wide awake from worrying about everything I’d heard and experienced, and then fighting off nightmares playing out the worst of my fears.

Another knock. In my dream, soldiers were coming for me. If I just hid under the covers, maybe they wouldn’t see me and would go away…

“Nadia?”

They knew I was here. I froze. If I didn’t make a sound, they might leave and try somewhere else.

“It’s Mrs. Whitehouse. Time to wake up.”

I quickly sat up and noticed the sliver of daylight underneath the bottom edge of the heavy curtain. Rising so suddenly made my head swim, but even through the haze I had some rapid fire thoughts, registering the place, the time, and the person at the door. How did I sleep so late?

“Dear, can you please answer so I know you’re okay?”

I rubbed my eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just waking up.” I raised my arms and twisted to stretch.

“All right.” From the sound of it, Mrs. Whitehouse was leaning against the door jamb and talking right into the crack. “You’re going to want to get ready quickly so you can join the others. I’m afraid you missed breakfast and probably Mr. Specter’s presentation.”

I leaped out of bed and threw open the door. “Everyone is up already?” I couldn’t keep the frantic tone out of my voice. “Why didn’t someone wake me?”

“Russell wanted to, but I told him to let you sleep. I knew you had a rough night—”

“I’ve got to get ready.” I slammed the door in her face. She was still talking, but I didn’t care. I scavenged for some acceptable clothes, dressed, and pulled a comb through my hair. Lastly, I pulled on my hooded sweatshirt, the security blanket of clothing. I almost left then, but reconsidered and went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I tried to go as fast as I could, but it felt like I was walking through water.

My mind raced with what I would tell Russ. Everything, of course, but what would we do about it? If we went along with what Mr. Specter wanted, our lives would be ruined. If we didn’t, we’d most likely be killed. Collateral damage. A necessary evil. Like he was talking about troops in a war zone instead of high school students. And Russ and I, two high school students in love. In love. In spite of the terrible situation I was in, I found it hard not to smile.

When I opened the door, Mrs. Whitehouse was still leaning against the door frame. I brushed past her. “Come on, we need to get going.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Russ

Mallory offered to go first, and so she and Mr. Specter took off down a long corridor to what he called, “a quieter, less distracting location.”

I heard their footsteps echo on the hardwood floor and Mallory’s voice saying, “What’s in the backpack?”

Mr. Specter said, “All kinds of fun gadgets. Just wait and see.”

After they’d left, Kevin Adams picked up the painting and hung it so it covered the screen. He took a step back, to see if it was aligned, but before he could make a move, Jameson pointed with one skinny finger and adjusted it using telekinesis. “Nice!” Kevin said approvingly.

“You really didn’t know there was a screen back there?” I asked, feeling just a little bit smug. I’d known it was there. As soon as I walked into the room I sensed the electricity behind the picture; to me it felt very much like the television in our hotel room.

Kevin grinned. “I don’t know nothin’ from nothing.’ Just along for the ride. Sam Specter is the brains of the operation. Sometimes he asks my opinion about ‘hypothetical situations,’” he said using finger quotes. “But that’s about it. We’re friends, but he’s more into the Guard thing than I am.”

“How come?” I asked.

Kevin shrugged. “I’m kind of a non-conformist. That doesn’t sit well with the higher ups.”

“Yesterday one of the gunmen said that Mr. Specter was the target, the one they wanted,” Jameson asked. “Why would that be?”

Kevin said. “Totally random as far as I know.”

I wanted to ask about Mr. Specter saying he was going to have to die, but before I had the chance, Jameson started bragging about his top secret surveillance invention, and how it would make him a millionaire when he finally patented it. Not too long ago, he’d sworn me to secrecy, and now he was blabbing it to Kevin Adams like it was regular conversation. Jameson’s voice droned on, reminding me of the marathon phone calls my mother had with my aunt, and I found my mind wandering. I could see that Kevin found Jameson’s rambling fascinating, but then again, he hadn’t heard about this fabulous invention already.

Back at the hotel in Miraflores, when we’d taken turns using Mr. Specter’s phone to call home, I’d made a point to listen in on Jameson’s end of the conversation. We were in Kevin and Mr. Specter’s room, so there was no getting completely away from the group, but Jameson tried, walking over to the window and cupping his hand over the bottom of the phone.

At first I heard him talk to his father, or at least I think it was his father. It could have been the head of his platoon the way he kept saying “Yes sir,” and “No sir.” After that he must have spoken to a succession of younger brothers, all of them with names starting with J. He gave them instructions—things to do to keep their mom from having a breakdown. Everything from not arguing with each other to keeping the volume of the TV down low, to putting their cereal bowls in the dishwasher. At one point I overheard him say, “While I’m gone you’re the oldest brother, and I expect you to do everything the way I would do it. Make me proud.” It was kind of weird frankly. Like his mom was unstable and his dad was all military and the kids were their own unit.

Nadia spent a lot of her phone time reassuring her mother that everything was fine, and thanking her dad for letting her come on the trip. She could have been an inmate thanking the governor for a pardon. There was a lot of gratitude going over the telephone line.

When Mallory talked to her parents, I caught her saying, “I miss you too, Dad!” After that, she spent a long time on the phone with her mom getting updates on her friends’ Facebook statuses, and listening to what happened on some trashy reality show they usually watched together. Mallory laughed like every other sentence. She and her mom seemed extra chatty, like best friends who hadn’t talked in months. Seriously, it was hard to get her off the phone. “Love you, Mom!” she trilled at the end.

When it was my turn, the phone at home was passed around starting with my folks, who wished me well on the academic competition, something I’d almost forgotten about. Both of them said they missed me, especially my mom. Frank and Carly happened to be over that evening so I got to speak to my nephew (he hadn’t beaten any of my high scores yet, but thought he would soon) and finally to my sister. Carly whispered into the phone. “Did you find out anything about David?” When I said, “No,” I could tell she was disappointed but it was all I could tell her at the time. Even though I didn’t have any news about her old boyfriend, I would have liked to have told her about the cat park and the attack by masked gunmen, but I was fully aware the adults in the room were listening and that they wouldn’t approve. There was so much more to say, but it would have to wait until I was back.

Listening to Jameson talking to Kevin now, there was no sign of his caring big brother personality. He was just insufferable. He was happiest when he was the center of attention, and he also loved knowing things other people didn’t, so right now he was in his glory. Kevin was properly impressed with this whole surveillance thing. Jameson didn’t give out many details, but insinuated that this was going to be mind blowing, over-the-top big. Someday, he said, we’d look back and remember him talking about it, the way people who worked for Steve Jobs in the early days bragged about being part of Apple right from the start. “But even bigger than that,” Jameson said, spreading his arms wide.

“Like Facebook when the main guys were all college students?” Kevin suggested.

“Yeah, but even bigger than that,” Jameson said. “When my system becomes public knowledge it will be like when TV replaced radio. After a while, no one will remember it being any other way.” He went on and on—worldwide domination, something, something, blah, blah. Able to broadcast anything anywhere. No one on the planet would be out of the range of his device. There’d be nowhere to hide that his invention couldn’t capture your image, your voice, your actions. In bazaars in Marrakesh, in Times Square in New York City, on a cattle ranch in Montana—nowhere was out of reach, and no one was safe. He sounded like a villain in a comic book. A villain who liked to brag a lot. Mwah hah ha!

I retreated into my thoughts, tapping my fingers on the arm of my chair. Like when TV replaced radio. No one will remember it being any other way. His words gave me the nagging feeling I was forgetting something, or at least not remembering something. Whatever it was, it was just out of reach. Like trying to recall a dream hours after waking up. Fragments of words and images slipped out of my grasp.

I was still puzzling over this fifteen minutes later when Mallory came back with Mr. Specter. “How’d it go?” Kevin asked Mallory. “Did he show you the secret handshake?”

Mallory just smiled and shook her head. She looked a little confused actually, as if she should know the secret handshake, but somehow missed that part.

“Your turn, Russ,” Mr. Specter said, beckoning with a crook of his finger. His backpack was looped over one shoulder, like he was a forty-eight year-old college student.

We walked down the hallway, and he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “This should only take ten or fifteen minutes. Just a quick assessment of your powers.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Nadia

Mrs. Whitehouse walked like an arthritic grandma. If I’d known the way, I would have blown past her, but since I was dependent on her to guide me, I had to match her excruciatingly slow pace. “Mr. Becker was most concerned about your well being,” she said. “If you want my opinion, I think he’s a little sweet on you.” She stopped to gauge my reaction and I could have screamed at the delay.

“Russ is a good guy,” I said. “And a good friend.”

“A good friend.” She put her hands on her hips and made a clucking noise with her tongue. “So that’s how you’re playing it, huh?” She resumed walking again, still too slowly as far as I was concerned. “Okay, if you don’t want to confide in me just yet, I understand. But I must say that you seem to be in an awful hurry to join up with him.”

Sometimes it’s best just to say nothing, and I was sensing this was one of these times. But mentally I was going come on, come on, come on, would it kill you to go a little faster? She either didn’t pick up on my thoughts or else didn’t care, because she dawdled along like peoples’ lives weren’t at stake. I was usually shy and even tempered by nature, but I wanted to shove her from behind to get some momentum going. “We’re nearly there,” she said after we’d gotten downstairs and headed down a long hallway, only to discover that we’d made a wrong turn and had to retrace our steps. When I could hear Jameson’s voice off in the distance, I broke ranks and took off running. Mrs. Whitehouse yelled after me, “So who’s the eager beaver now?” I heard her mutter to herself that she knew it, she knew it all along.

I burst into the room where I encountered Jameson leaning against the back of a sofa, having a lively conversation with Kevin. Mallory sat quietly off to one side staring at a framed picture. “Where’s Russ?” I asked of the room in general, but no one answered. “Anyone know where Russ is?” Louder this time. “People? Someone?”

“Mr. Specter took him for testing,” Kevin said.

“Where?” I asked.

Kevin shrugged, and he and Jameson resumed their conversation.

“No one knows where they went?” I said. Unbelievable.

Jameson said, “Mallory just came from there.” He snapped his fingers. “Mallory! Where did you and Mr. Specter go to do the assessment?”

She lifted her head and stared blankly. “I’m not sure,” she said.

Oh man, she had the same dazed look Professor Neverman had after his encounter with the Deleo. He’d already gotten to her. I knelt down in front of her. “Mallory, this is really important. I need to find Russ. Where did you go? Was it a room here in the convent?”

“Yes.” Her forehead scrunched as she tried to remember. “A hallway. We went down a long hallway and then...”

“Then what?”

Her forehead scrunched. She was trying so hard. “We went left.”

“You turned left?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She’d already given it her all. Her answer came in the form of a slight dip of her chin.

I stood up. They went down a long hallway and turned left. Yeah, like that narrowed it down. Mrs. Whitehouse entered the room, huffing from exertion. “Nadia, you really know how to move, girl.”

“I need to find where Mr. Specter took Russ. Can you point me to the room?”

“Oh, I’d love to help you out, but I don’t know. I wasn’t here, you know. I was upstairs getting you.”

I shifted my weight in frustration. “This is ridiculous. Someone has to know where they went.”

Mrs. Whitehouse said, “I think maybe you’re a little cranky from low blood sugar. You eat some breakfast, you’ll feel better. Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen? I’ll make you eggs and toast—”

“Never mind, I’ll find them myself,” I said. She was heading for me, arm extended to guide me to the kitchen, but I pushed past her and went out the door. I’d glanced in her direction for only a second, but it was long enough to see the hurt expression on her face. On one level, I hated to make her feel bad, but on a higher, more important level, I didn’t care at all. Once out of the room, I paused. This place was a labyrinth of twisting hallways and staircases. A person could get lost here even when they had a clue as to where they were going. And I would just be aimless. Walking and hoping.

Mrs. Whitehouse’s voice called after me. “Nadia, if you’d just wait, they’ll be back in a few minutes.”

A few minutes too late, I thought. I tried to think this through. The grounds had more than one building, but Mallory thought that the testing was here, in the convent. Down a long hallway and left. Nothing about stairs, so I could assume they were on this floor. The building was big, and complicated, with a courtyard in the middle, but it wasn’t Buckingham Palace. I had to be able to find them. I made a decision and headed down a hallway. When I’d gone forty feet or so, the hallway zig-zagged ending at a prayer area—two rows of pews facing a statue of the Virgin Mary. Not this way, I decided. When I turned around to go back, I jumped and screamed, startled to see Elena just a few feet behind me.

“Oh man,” I said, clasping my hands to my front in fright. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”

She was a small woman, no taller than me, and I’d nearly walked right into her. She said, “You are looking for the boy and the man, Sam?”

“Yes.”

“This way.” Elena turned and walked briskly. I followed blindly, not knowing if I should trust her, but not finding a reason not to.

“You know where Mr. Specter took Russ?” I asked, catching up so I could walk alongside.

She said, “Russ. He ees the one who looks like a young John F. Kennedy?”

I thought for a second. “Yes.” Sure, I could see a slight resemblance. Not a spitting image, but he did look more like a young JFK than anyone else in our group.

“Si, I know where they are.”

After we retraced my steps, we went down another hallway and then, just as Mallory said, turned to one side. A minute later, Elena put an arm out to stop me, and lifted a finger to point to a closed door.

“They’re in there?” I said. And when she nodded, I added. “Thank you.”

“Ees no problem.” And then off she went, walking quickly as if she didn’t want to be caught outside the room.

I put my hand on the door knob to go in, but it wouldn’t even turn. From inside, I heard Mr. Specter’s voice. I knocked. “Hello, could you open the door?”

“Just a minute,” Mr. Specter’s voice rang out. “We’re just finishing up.”

I knocked again, my knuckles coming down hard against the wood. “Let me in!” I jiggled the knob, but it didn’t move at all. I pressed my weight against the door, but it was solid. Even someone twice my size couldn’t have forced it open.

When the door opened a second later, I almost fell into the room. I stumbled and then recovered, taking in the room at the same time. Small and windowless, it was the size of a walk-in closet and empty except for two padded chairs. The one facing the door held Mr. Specter’s backpack. Russ sat in the other, his back to me. Mr. Specter lit up at the sight of me. “Nadia, your timing is perfect. You can be next.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Russ

Even as Mr. Specter led me to the testing room, one hand on my shoulder, I had a bad feeling, the same nagging feeling I’d had earlier. I could clearly hear Nadia’s voice saying “they want to erase our memories,” but I didn’t remember the conversation. Was she talking about the Associates? Or was it a dream? If only we’d had a chance to speak this morning. I pulled away from Mr. Specter and said, “I have a thought. Why don’t you let Jameson go next? I’d feel better if I could go and check on Nadia. I’m kind of worried about her.”

“But we’re here,” Mr. Specter said, pushing open the door. “It would take more time for you to go back and switch with Jameson than it will just to get this over with. Let’s just see it through, shall we?”

“But…”

Mr. Specter guided me into the room, one hand pressing against the small of my back. “Sit down, Russ. I promise to make this quick. And then you’ll have the rest of the day to do whatever you want.” He pushed in the button to lock the door.

I sat down reluctantly. “Okay, as long as it’s really quick.”

“Of course,” he said, sitting in the chair opposite me. The room was tiny and bare except for two padded chairs and a fluorescent light fixture, which buzzed overhead. Our chairs were so close our knees nearly touched. “First of all,” he said, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a notebook, “I have a few questions for you. Then, I’ll be conducting a test to evaluate the strength of your powers, and then we’ll be finished. Sound easy?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I rested my hands on my knees.

Turned out, the questions were easy. Things like the correct spelling of my name. My home address. Had I ever lived anywhere else prior to my current residence? (Answer: No. ) When he asked me to confirm my date of birth, and I did, his eyes widened and he said, “Why, that’s tomorrow!”

“Yup.” I grinned. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but I’d be turning sixteen during this trip. This had been sad news for my mother, since it would be the first time we’d be apart on my birthday. That didn’t seem like a big deal to me but apparently it was momentous on her end. She consoled herself by saying we’d celebrate after I got back.

“We’ll have to do something special,” Mr. Specter said. “Cake and candles, if possible.” He asked for the exact date that I’d seen the meteor shower in the field and how I first experienced my powers. After I’d answered, he said, “Just one more question. Who else knows about this?”

“The trip?”

“No,” he said dryly. “The fact that you can shoot lightning bolts out of your hands.”

“Well you and Mrs. Whitehouse and Kevin…”

“No,” he said, holding a hand up. “Besides the five of us and Mallory, Jameson, and Nadia, who else have you told?”

“No one.” I tapped my knee, thinking.

“None of your friends at school? Maybe Justin and Mick? I see you three together quite often. You are friends, correct?”

“Yeah, we’re friends, but I haven’t told them. I swear.”

“No one in your family knows, or has a clue?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Oh wait! My sister Carly knows, but I didn’t tell her. She just figured it out because of David.” My hand involuntarily went to the chain around my neck, the one with the key to the old train station given to me by Carly. I’d worn it every day since we’d been on the trip. The key had significance because when Carly was a teenager, she and David Hofstetter used it to get into the closed-up train station so they could spend time alone together and, I was sure, make out, drink beer, and more. Essentially, it was the key to her heart and she had entrusted it to me.

“What about David?”

“The same thing happened to him when they were in high school.” He knew this already, I know he did.

“Ah yes,” he said, jotting down some notes. “Who else has Carly told? Your parents, maybe? Her son? What’s his name again?”

“Frank? Frank doesn’t know anything. Neither do my parents.” I wanted him to know that Carly wasn’t the type to tell; she wasn’t the screw-up everyone thought she was. Until recently, I fell into that category, thinking she was a flake who kept losing her phone and switching jobs every few months. I had no idea she was constantly on the lookout for the enemy, painstakingly checking her apartment for bugs, and monitoring every acquaintance for fear they were undercover Associates. She lived a life of constant scrutiny and fear, all the while appearing to be unstable and skittish. “Carly hasn’t told anyone ever.” I said. “I’m sure of that.”

“Good,” Mr. Specter said, closing the notebook. “And that concludes the question portion of the assessment. I told you it would be easy. Next we’ll test the strength of your powers.” He unzipped a compartment in the backpack and pulled out something resembling safety goggles. He held it out for me to take and I could see that the solid part in front was curved at the top to go over my forehead with a cutout for my nose at the bottom. Attached on either side was a thick stretchy strap designed to hold the thing in place.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This device will measure your power. A sort of meter, if you will. Go ahead and put it on. It won’t hurt.”

I put the thing over my eyes and stretched the strap over the back of my head. Now I was in a world of darkness. “It’s heavy,” I observed.

“Don’t worry, the Deleo won’t be on for very long,” he said.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “The what?” The word Deleo triggered a rush of memory fragments. The conversation with Nadia played out in its entirety. She’d astral projected to me last night, and told me a long story about Mr. Specter and Professor Neverman and the Deleo but I’d been asleep and hadn’t fully heard what she’d said. Until now.

“The device. This will only take a few minutes. Try leaning your head back, that might help.”

“I’m feeling claustrophobic,” I said, reaching up to take it off, but before I could it began whirring and suction-cupped to my face. “Really, I need to take it off.”

“Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.” Mr. Specter’s tone was sharp.

I stood up and tried to pull off the goggles, but this thing, the Deleo, was part of me now, needling around the edges of my brain, and confusing me, so I wasn’t even sure what I was doing anymore.

“Sit down!” Mr. Specter pushed me hard, so that I fell back into the chair. “Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.”

I wanted to pull it off, but within seconds, I’d lost the will to struggle. Resisting seemed like so much work and I was finding it pleasant in the world of the Deleo. I lowered my hands to my side. Nadia’s voice came back to me, telling me that Professor Neverman had said he’d never seen anything like it. And that he made it sound blissful. Beautiful. That didn’t sound so bad.

“Are your eyes closed?” he asked. His voice seemed far away, like a cloud speaking to me.

“Yes, they’re closed.” I kept them shut and tried to think of what else Nadia had said about what had happened with the Deleo, and it all came to me. Along with the words came pictures, moving pictures showing me what had happened the night before. I saw it played out before me as if I had been there—the two men drinking tea, Mr. Specter pulling the Deleo out of the backpack. And now, like someone had turned up the volume, there was sound: Mr. Specter telling the professor to open his eyes and stare at the image, the professor saying how beautiful and intense it was, and Mr. Specter altering his memories.

Voices played in my head.

Mr. Specter: Keep staring. Don’t look away.

The professor: Oh! It’s suddenly gotten very intense. This is incredible.

Mr. Specter saying: I know it’s intense, but you have to keep looking. Do not close your eyes!

I knew all of this came from Nadia. Somehow she’d shown me what she’d witnessed last night. What a smart, wonderful girl. There was probably no one else on the planet who could enter my consciousness and mind meld with me like that. I realized then that I’d let her down. She’d been worried and afraid, and instead of being there for her, I slept. If only she’d knocked on my door to wake me up, we might have had time to work out a plan. Now it was too late. Mr. Specter was going to alter my memories and there was nothing I could do about it. And not just me. He was going to do it to each and every one of us. Those who refused would be dead. Collateral damage, Mr. Specter had said. A necessary evil.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, forcing out the words.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over in a few minutes,” he said. “Now open your eyes, and stare at the image. Tell me what you see.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Nadia

When Mr. Specter said, “Nadia, your timing is perfect. You can be next,” he had the Deleo hanging from his fingertips. At the sight of it, I swear my heart stopped. I saw the back of Russ’s head and when he didn’t turn around to look at me, I knew I’d arrived too late.

And in that split second, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to be next. And I wasn’t going to become anyone’s so-called collateral damage just for refusing. There had to be another way, and I would find it or die trying. “I’d love to go next, but Jameson would kill me,” I said breezily. “He’s dying to be tested. He thinks he’s going to have the high score and be top dog.” I rolled my eyes like I was an adult doing an impression of a teenager.

“But you’re here now; why not just get it over with?” Mr. Specter smiled encouragingly.

“Mrs. Whitehouse sent me down to get Russ. She’s making me eggs and toast and she wants him to eat too. She said he barely touched his breakfast.” These last few words I did an impression of her voice, which made him chuckle. I flapped my arms like she did sometimes—spastic jazz hands.

His smile expanded into a huge grin and I knew I’d pulled it off. That’s the good thing about being truthful most of the time. When you do lie, people don’t expect it. “Well, then off you go,” he said. “Let Jameson know I’m ready for him. Russ?” Mr. Specter pulled on Russ’s sleeve and Russ rose obediently to his feet. Mr. Specter gave him a nudge in my direction. “Follow Nadia and take it easy for a while.” He addressed me. “Russ isn’t going to be himself for an hour or so. The test is tiring. He probably won’t feel like talking, so don’t push it.”

“I don’t really feel like talking either,” I said. “My blood sugar is low. I’ve got to eat soon.” Like he was sleepwalking, Russ wandered past me to wait in the hallway. I stayed right on his heels.

Mr. Specter stood in the doorway. “You know the way?”

I nodded. “I’m excellent with directions.” I tapped on my forehead. “I’ve got it all up here.”

“Very good.”

I took Russ’s arm and led him away from Mr. Specter. I’d been afraid he’d want to walk back with us and get Jameson himself, but I lucked out and he stayed behind. My heart pounded so hard I could have sworn it hit my rib cage with every beat. Even though I was gripped with fear, I tried to act calm, walking, but not running, down the hallway. When I heard Mr. Specter close the door behind us, I exhaled in relief.

“Listen Russ,” I said, putting my hand in his, “we’re going to have to do something drastic.”

“Something drastic?” He looked toward me, his face lacking expression. I realized then that even though we’d been touching I hadn’t picked up on any emotion. At all. He wasn’t happy or sad or in pain or upset. He was just empty. A human void. I wasn’t sure how much he would comprehend, but I talked anyway, keeping my voice very low. “Just follow my lead? No matter what I do, play along, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. It should have made me happy that he was agreeable, but I got the sense he was parroting rather than responding. There was nothing I could do about it. It would have to be good enough for now.

I’d lied to Mr. Specter about being excellent with directions, but the fates must have been looking out for us, because I was able to retrace my path without any false turns. Leading Russ by the arm was as easy as walking an old pony around the ring. Every time I glanced up at his impassive face I fought the urge to cry. Oh, Russ, what did he do to you? But the fact that he was incapacitated was all the more reason for me to stay calm and figure something out quickly. I had to be strong for both of us.

When we got back to the room where the others waited, I was eager to sound the alarm. Mallory still sat off to one side of the room, her arm propped up on the edge of the chair, her head against her hand. Her eyes were closed. She might even have been sleeping. Kevin was crouched down behind the couch, popping up periodically to shoot an imaginary weapon at Jameson, who clutched his chest and fell to the floor. They were, I would guess, reenacting some battle from a comic book or movie. Being away from home seemed to have helped Jameson loosen up. I’d never seen him play around like this in Edgewood.

“Duck, Nadia!” Jameson yelled from the floor. He was sprawled out now, as if getting hit had thrown him back into snow angel position. “He’s going to get you.”

I walked up to him. “Stop goofing around. I have to talk to you. It’s important.”

The urgency in my voice took the playfulness right out of him. He scrambled to his feet, looking sheepish. “What’s going on?”

I had Kevin’s attention too. He dropped his imaginary weapon and waited for my answer. I addressed everyone in the room, even Mallory who hadn’t moved since we walked in. “Listen. Something serious is happening and we need to band together. Mr. Specter isn’t who you think he is. He’s got this gadget called a Deleo. I’m not really clear on how the technology works, but it messes up your thoughts and erases memories. He’s using it to brainwash us under the guise of testing.”

“What?” Kevin asked.

“He’s got this thing called a Deleo, and it—”

“Oh no, you don’t have to say it again. I heard you the first time.” Kevin’s face showed how ridiculous he thought the whole thing was. “Nadia, I can tell you right now that it’s not true.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” I said. “It is true. He straps this thing over your head and says he’s testing your powers, but that’s just a cover. It actually manipulates or wipes out memories. “

“I’m not sure what you saw, but believe me, I’ve known Sam Specter for more than thirty years and he’s a standup guy. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Now Kevin sounded irate.

I turned to Jameson. “Look at Mallory,” I said, pointing. “And Russ. He’s turned them into zombies!” I was shouting now. Mallory raised her head to look, but didn’t seem to register what was going on. “He’s scrambled their brains and he wants to do it to us too. We have to stop him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kevin said, holding up his hands. “Let’s all take a deep breath here. I can guarantee that Sam Specter would never do the kind of thing you’re talking about. Even if there was technology like that. Which there isn’t. Except for the Neuralyzer Tommy Lee Jones used in Men in Black.”

“I remember that!” Jameson said.

“I got a replica of it at the store,” Kevin said.

“Cool! How much?”

“Just under ten bucks. You’d be amazed how many I sell over the holidays.”

“Stop it!” I yelled. “I’m completely serious here. I’ve seen this thing, this Deleo, and I overheard him talking about it. He wants to do this to all four of us, and if we don’t do it, we’re going to wind up dead. Collateral damage. Look!” I brushed my hand against Russ’s cheek. “Look at Russ and Mallory. I’m not making this up.”

“Mallory, are you okay?” Kevin asked, to prove his point.

She nodded. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“How about you, Russ. How are you feeling?”

Russ said, “Tired.” Echoing the last word Mallory said.

“See,” Kevin said. “They’re both tired. Which is exactly what Sam said would happen after the testing.” He came closer and leaned over to look me in the face, so close I could smell his hair gel. “Nadia, you gotta chill. We’re all kinda out of sorts after what happened yesterday. But if we don’t trust each other, what do we got? I’ll tell you what we have. Nothing. We’ve just gotta hang together.”

I stood firm. “I know what I saw.”

Kevin straightened up. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s all go down there right now and talk this through with Sam. We’ll get to the bottom of whatever it is you think you saw.”

“I’ll go next if you want, Nadia,” Jameson said. “I’m not afraid.”

“Don’t do it, Jameson,” I begged. “Please don’t go along with this.”

“You can watch when it’s my turn if it would make you feel better,” he said.

Jameson and Kevin were acting like I was a kid afraid of needles trying to get out of a vaccination shot. Why couldn’t I get through to them?

“Come on, let’s go.” Kevin gestured to the doorway. “We’ll do it together. You can lead the way.”

“I’ll stay right with you,” Jameson offered.

“Oh, Jameson.” I shook my head, my heart filled with frustration. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

Mrs. Whitehouse walked into the room, carrying a steaming plate full of food. “Oh there you are, Nadia. I rustled up some breakfast for you.” She stopped to take in all of us, frozen in place like we were a life-sized diorama. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going to find Sam, that’s what’s going on,” Kevin said. “We need to get this cleared up.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jameson declared. He clapped a hand on my back. “Don’t look so worried, Nadia. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“An explanation for what?” Mrs. Whitehouse called out, after they’d sprinted out of the room.

I took a piece of toast off the plate she’d extended in my direction. Lightly toasted with strawberry jelly. “Thanks for making me breakfast,” I said. “But I won’t have time to eat it.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Russ

People talked and someone fell on the floor and there was a girl eating jelly toast. Me, I was just there. Watching, but not caring. I was an inanimate object being moved by the will of someone else. Portable. Like the shell of a human being.

I’d fought the Deleo as much as I could, but it was powerful. Its tentacles tapped at my thoughts and memories and slithered in wherever it found a weakness. At first I held back the intrusion as best I could, thinking of childhood songs, and reciting the multiplication table in my head.

Twinkle, twinkle little star…

“When we’re finished here, you will do whatever I tell you to do without question,” Mr. Specter said.

The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain…

“You will feel no remorse when it’s necessary to kill people.”

Five times five is twenty-five.

“You will not have an emotional connection to Nadia, Mallory, or Jameson.”

I felt myself slipping and knew I needed to do something more. My efforts weren’t enough. Not nearly enough.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Nadia

I was the worst friend in the world. I left Mallory behind. It wasn’t that I wanted to; it was that I had to. Getting Russ out of the house was all I could manage. I couldn’t have done two of them. Besides, I figured she was safe enough. She’d already had her date with the Deleo. I didn’t think Mr. Specter could do any more to harm her.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Whitehouse said. I didn’t blame her for being mystified. We were all headed in different directions and no one had explained anything to her.

“Forgot something in my room,” I said grabbing a second triangle of toast. I looped my hand around Russ’s arm and maneuvered him out the door. “Be right back!” I said in as normal a voice as possible. All the while, I was jerking on Russ’s arm and thinking we had to go faster. Faster. Faster. My flight instinct had kicked in—in a big way. I sensed that Mr. Specter was not going to back down. Something bad was going to happen, if not now, then later. And I wasn’t going to wait around and see it happen.

“All right then,” Mrs. Whitehouse called out. “I’ll put your plate in the kitchen.”

I finished swallowing my bite of food. “Okay!”

I had a general idea of where the front entrance had been, and when I found it, I was euphoric. Even better, the massive front door easily swung open when I pulled on the handle. “Let’s go,” I said to Russ, who didn’t react at all. It was like talking to my mom’s cat, Barry.

Once outside, I headed toward the bus. My thinking was that if Kevin had left the keys in the ignition, I could drive to the closest town and get help. There had to be a U.S. embassy in Peru that would help us. At the very least I could call home collect. That would go over well, I thought ruefully. After something like this, my mother wouldn’t let me leave her side until I was thirty-two, if then.

“Wait here,” I said to Russ when we reached the side of the bus. He stood there, hands at his side. He wasn’t going anywhere. I pressed on the folding door and miraculously, it opened. “We are in!” I scrambled up the stairs, and sat behind the wheel. No keys. A crumpled candy bar wrapper was on the floor near my feet; some folded bills and change were in the compartment next to the driver’s seat, and on the jutting out part of the dashboard, sat Mr. Specter’s GPS. I scooped up the money and the GPS, and stuck them in the front pocket of my sweatshirt. I did a quick walk through the bus to see if there was anything else, but our group had been tidy and efficient and taken all their stuff inside when we’d first gotten here. Crap.

I jumped down the steps onto the packed dirt. “Russ, we’re going to have to walk. Let’s go.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the front gate. If we could get past the gate, and get a head start, we had a chance. We couldn’t outrun a car, but we could hide.

The driveway was long and we were visible from the house, but hopefully no one was looking. “We’re going to be fine,” I said aloud. “We’re going to get out of here and get help and everything is going to be fine.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” Russ agreed speaking in even tones.

One foot in front of the other, that’s what I concentrated on. Every step was another step away from the house, another step closer to the gate. I thought the gate probably opened from the inside. If not, I’d worry about it when we got there.

Russ was proving to be good in a crisis, considering his brain had been hijacked. He moved at a fast clip right alongside with me, didn’t contradict my instructions, and still looked good. The way to the front gate was longer and more curved than I remembered from our arrival. Of course, we’d been in the bus then. Russ and I were jogging now, hand in hand, me leading the way around the deep ruts in the packed earth. Even as we were fleeing for our lives, I was glad to be doing it with him and no one else. “You know,” I said looking up at his profile, “I really love you, Russ.” I didn’t plan to say it or anything. It just popped out of my mouth. Something about thinking you might die soon makes it important to get it all out.

I thought I saw him smile, and I know I heard him murmur something, but I didn’t quite catch what he said because at the same moment, I heard the sound of a car engine revving.

I looked back and so did Russ, probably because he was copying me. I saw the glint of sunlight on the SUV as it came barreling down the drive directly toward us. “Run!” I yelled. He must have sensed the danger through his mental fog, because he immediately increased his speed to match mine. Our legs pumped almost in unison and my heart and lungs threatened to explode, but I wasn’t stopping.

Looking back, I could see the front grill of the vehicle getting closer. In my heart, I knew it was over. Still, we kept on. When we reached the gate, we skidded to a halt. My breathing was labored and my legs shaky, but there was no time to worry about anything but getting out of there. The gate was made of wrought iron bars too close together to slip through, and the walls on either side were way over our head and topped with barbed wire and shards of glass.

I let go of Russ’s hand and frantically looked for a push pad on this side of the gate, but there wasn’t one. I had a sudden thought. Maybe I could reach the one on the other side? I slipped my arm through the gate and stretched, but my fingertips feel just short. It was too late anyway; the car was nearly here, coming at full speed, the spinning wheels kicking up dust. If we’d had more time we could have run the perimeter of the fence, looking for a weak spot. But I knew we couldn’t run anymore.

The car screeched to a halt about twenty feet away from us. I felt a stab of panic in my chest until the door popped open and I saw that it was Elena behind the wheel, and she was alone. She got out, and motioned for us to get away from the gate.

She glanced back nervously at the house, before trotting toward us, the car keys dangling from her fingertips. “Must go fast.” Another surprise—she held the keys out to me. “You drive?” Out in the daylight, she looked younger, less hunched over and more determined. “You know how?”

I hesitated, confused. “Yes, I drive.” Which was true, sort of. I had my learner’s permit and I’d been out practice driving a few times with my dad, but that had been a few months ago. I thought I could do it, though. It’s not like I’d forgotten any of it, and at least here they drove on the same side of the road as we did back home.

She took a remote control out of her pocket, aimed it at the gate, and pressed a button. The door swung towards us. “Go,” she urged, forcing the keys into my hand. She pointed to the road. “Hurry. Drive fast.” She turned to walk back up the driveway.

I looked down at the keys, processing what had just happened. She was letting us take the car, just us, by ourselves. Relief and joy washed over me. We had to move, and quickly. I ran around to the passenger side. “Russ, get in,” I said, suddenly recharged by the thought that we could really get out of here after all. Russ seemed more with it than he did a few minutes ago. He climbed into the SUV and shut the door on his own.

Once I got the seat adjusted, I started the car, and we breezed through the front gate. I realized then that I didn’t know which direction to go in, so I made a decision and turned opposite of the way we’d arrived. “You know where we’re going, Russ?” I said.

“Where?’

“Far, far away.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Russ

The fog in my head was lifting. I knew who I was, and I knew I was in a car, being driven by Nadia. The fact that it was Nadia at the wheel should have surprised me, but I didn’t have room for surprise because I was busy processing everything around me, which was turning out to be a full time job. Being me was a struggle. I could move and think and react, but actually initiating anything took gargantuan effort. I wanted to communicate, but between thinking of what to say and forcing my lips and tongue to say it there was an impenetrable wall. I couldn’t manage it. I wondered if this is how it felt to be a stroke victim. Everything was muddled and I was so tired. I closed my eyes just to rest for a moment and before long I felt the pull of sleep. Maybe a few minutes of dozing would help…

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Nadia

It took about fifteen minutes for the adrenaline to wear down and a feeling of dread to kick in. What had I done? I was barreling down a country road in Peru in a stolen vehicle, with no idea where I was going. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Russ’s head was drooping and his eyes had closed. His breathing was rhythmical like he’d already fallen asleep. Must be nice. Here I was gripped with panic while he was so relaxed he could nap.

Self-doubt and fear washed over me. I wasn’t made for this. At home I didn’t have enough self-confidence to look a cashier in the eye, and now I thought I could make a run for it and find help in a country where I didn’t speak the language? With Russ out of it, I was essentially alone.

But I couldn’t turn back.

The road went from dirt to gravel, which I took as a good sign. The grass on either side seemed greener, and the landscape was hilly. There were no signs of people, which was fine with me. I kept looking in the rear view mirror, checking to see if we were being followed, but nothing. Maybe no one had noticed the missing SUV, or if they had, went the other direction. Either way, we were fine for now.

I had a theory about Elena, and why she’d helped us. A really good guess. As the housekeeper, she listened to everything that went on in the convent and knew more than she let on. When I’d touched her hand to take the keys, I’d picked up on empathy and concern. I felt she was a mother, with grown children of her own, and that creating an escape is what she’d have wanted for her kids if they were in danger. That mother instinct was stronger than I’d realized.

I wondered if I’d ever see my own parents again. At the thought, despair settled in the pit of my stomach. To keep my mind off it, I gripped the wheel and concentrated on driving.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Russ

When I woke up, I felt almost myself again. I’d been a downed swimmer fighting my way to the surface, and now I’d succeeded in popping up for a lungful of air. I saw the windshield, the dashboard, and Nadia, in that order, and pieced together what had happened. Nadia’s hood was up with only the tip of her nose visible. Ahead of us was more road, and on either side, softly rolling hills. I sat up, rubbed my eyes and said, “Where are we?”

The SUV veered wildly, tires screeching. We got so close to the edge of the road we almost wound up in a ditch. She pulled over to the side and threw the car into park. “Don’t do that!” Her hand went to her heart. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“I was concentrating on driving and I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was sleeping, but I woke up.” I reached over and tugged on her hood. “You really don’t need this, you know. I like it better when I can see you.”

Her eyes searched my face hopefully. “Russ? You sound okay. Are you okay?” The last few words came out slowly, like she was afraid of the answer.

“Now I am. For a while there, I felt like a zombie.” I yawned, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “I was really out of it.”

“I mean, how much do you remember?”

I shrugged. “I remember thinking that making a run for it was a really good idea.”

“What else do you remember?”

“Everything, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Her mouth showed doubt. “So what happened with Mr. Specter when he strapped that thing over your eyes?”

“The Deleo?”

“Yeah.”

I gestured to the road ahead. “Aren’t we supposed to be getting away as fast as we can? We can talk while you drive.”

“In a minute.” Nadia held up a finger. “I just want to know what it is you’re thinking first.”

“I’m not really thinking anything. I’m looking at you.”

“No, I mean, what is it you believe you remember?”

A realization hit me. “You think I’ve been brainwashed!”

“Have you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m still me. Everything’s the same.”

“That’s exactly what someone who was brainwashed would say.” She tapped her fingers on the wheel. “Tell me what happened back there, what you can remember.”

I thought back. “Mr. Specter asked a few questions like how to spell my name, how long I’d lived in my house, that kind of thing. Then we talked about my birthday being tomorrow and he said we’d have cake and candles, blah blah, blah…”

“Your birthday’s tomorrow?”

“Yes, it is. I’ll be sixteen. Tomorrow.”

“I thought you were already sixteen.” She couldn’t hide the shock from her voice.

“Nope, I’m young for my grade, as they say. My mother struggled with that. The preschool teacher advised her to keep me back, but she didn’t.”

“So you’ve been fifteen this whole time?”

I thought she knew that already, but from the look on her face this was a complete surprise. “Yes, fifteen the whole time. Which means,” I raised my eyebrows, “you’re involved with a younger man.” I felt my face widen in a grin. “How scandalous.”

For a second she was motionless, caught off guard, and then when the full meaning of what I’d said sunk in, she lunged toward me, her arms clasped tightly around my neck, tears coming down her face. I heard and felt her sobbing, the heaving of her chest against mine, and breathless gasps accompanied by attempts to talk, which weren’t working out so well. The words were a jumble. “I. Was. Didn’t. Think. So afraid.”

“It’s okay.” I made circular motions on her back. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.” Most of her had crossed the center console of the car and was up against me now. I held onto her for a long time, stroking her hair and making the kinds of shushing noises you make when someone’s upset. “Don’t worry. Everything’s good.”

Her head rested on my shoulder. Finally, her sobs subsided. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “I thought he was going to wipe out your memory of us, and it would all be gone.”

“He tried,” I said. “I’ll give him that, he really tried.”

“But it didn’t work?” She raised her head to look questioningly at me. “Why didn’t it work? It worked on Mallory.”

“Mallory didn’t have any idea what was coming.” Poor Mallory. “I was prepared because you warned me.”

“Oh no,” she said. “I didn’t warn you. I mean, I tried to warn you but—”

“I was sleeping,” I finished her sentence. “On some level, what you said came through but I could only remember part of it. It bothered me all through breakfast. I kept trying to figure out what you’d said. At first, I didn’t realize you’d astral projected to me while I was sleeping. I kept thinking it was a dream or something else.” I shook my head at the memory. “But when Mr. Specter got out the Deleo and it was on my head, I finally figured it all out. I tried to take it off, but once it’s on it sort of locks onto your head and sucks all the will out of you, like the world’s most powerful vacuum cleaner. I lost the ability to do anything. I couldn’t have zapped him, even if I’d wanted to. I was numb.”

“So what did you do? I mean, how did you keep from getting your memories messed with?”

“I just listened to you.” I reached down and wiped the tears from her cheeks. For such a little thing, she had a lot of emotion. “You saved me.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Nadia

I listened as Russ told how my words had sunk into his sleeping brain. “As soon as he called it a Deleo, everything you said came back to me,” he said. “I stood up and tried to take it off, but it was impossible. And then it sucked all my energy. I could feel it fiddling around with my brain.” He shuddered at the thought.

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“I could hear your voice in my head and I saw what Mr. Specter had done with the Deleo to Professor Neverman because you showed me the whole thing. So when he asked me to open my eyes and asked what I saw, I knew not to open my eyes. When he said to stare, I shut them as tight as I could. I answered all his questions the same way the professor did, and when he started trying to implant memories I fought it. First, I tried thinking of other things, nursery rhymes and the multiplication tables, and it helped, but I could tell I was losing ground.” He stopped to stare off in the distance like he was remembering. “I was able to pull away from him mentally, but I could tell I needed to get away emotionally for it to work so I tried to think of the most intense experience I’d ever had. The strongest rush of feeling I’ve ever felt in my entire life.” He looked deep into my eyes, and put his hand against my cheek. “And that was last night when I came into your room and you kissed me.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Russ

With the Deleo pressed against my eyes, and my body immobile in the chair, Mr. Specter thought I was powerless against his suggestions. He wanted me to forget about my friends, to follow his commands without question, to do what the Associates told me to do. I could feel myself getting dragged into his mind control. His ideas were starting to sound more reasonable as time went on, and I was fighting it, but I knew I needed something powerful if I was going to survive with my mind intact. And so I stopped listening to him, and in my mind replayed my evening with Nadia, over and over again. How cute she looked in her pajamas when I showed up unexpected. I pictured her opening the door; I could still see the pleased-beyond-belief expression on her face.

I thought about the smell of her hair, clean and fresh. I remembered sitting on the bed and how she put her finger to her lips and said we had to be quiet. When she knelt on the bed next to me, her weight created a little valley between us on the mattress, making me sink toward her. And then when she leaned in to kiss me, I thought my heart would explode. I swear that I could replay that moment every day for the rest of my life. I’d want to experience everything. Her breath on my face and her lips against mine and me thinking that I never wanted it to end. When it was over I longed for more, but only if I could do it with her. Those feelings were stronger than anything that device could do to me.

I still heard Mr. Specter’s voice in the background. He said, “You aren’t in love with anyone. You have no romantic feelings for anyone at this time, Russ, and won’t unless you are instructed to do so, understand?”

And I’d said the word, “yes,” to placate him, but mentally I was gone, lost in last night’s reality, which was better than any dream.

Mr. Specter said, “You will use your powers to destroy the enemy when instructed by me.”

“Yes,” I said, but I didn’t let the words intrude on my memory of Nadia, her arms wrapped around me, the two of us kissing.

Nadia interrupted my story. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“It did work.” I lifted her chin so that our eyes met. “Because I was thinking of this.” I leaned in and kissed her; and she kissed me back. It was like drinking water after a long drought; we were thirsty for each other.

She put her hands on either side of my face and pulled apart to whisper breathlessly. “I feel like I could do this forever.”

“Me too,” I said, “but…” I turned to look at the road behind us. “Maybe we should start running for our lives?”

“Oh, shoot,” she sat up and put her hand over her mouth. “I kind of forgot for a minute.”

“They’re not going to forget, trust me. Especially when they notice we stole their car.”

She scrambled over the console and put her seatbelt back on, pulled onto the roadway and floored it. I watched as the needle showing our speed jumped up to the top of the dial. She was making up for lost time, I guessed.

While she drove, I did inventory and found two cans of Coke in the console between the seats, and crammed in the glove compartment, a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, the owner’s manual (in Spanish), a pack of gum, and some receipts. I handed the sunglasses to Nadia and she put them on and smiled my way, looking like an adorable bug. “Okay,” I said, ticking off our assets on my fingers. “I have my passport and wallet,” I said.

“Me too!” she said. Mr. Specter’s speech on the plane about keeping your passport with you at all times had obviously made an impression on both of us.

I nodded and peered into my wallet. “I’ve got money and we have a full tank of gas. If we had a GPS, it would be perfect. Then we’d know where we are.”

“Oh man.” Nadia smacked her forehead, before reaching into her pocket. “I totally forgot. I’ve got a GPS.” She pulled it out of her pocket and the cord trailed behind like the long tail of a rat. “It’s Mr. Specter’s. I got it from the bus.”

“Oh Nadia, you are brilliant!” If we weren’t barreling down the highway at this moment I would have kissed her. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I plugged the GPS into the electrical portal on the dashboard. “Mr. Specter entered all three destinations in ahead of time. In theory this thing is already programmed to go to our third location, the place designated by David Hofstetter.”

“But how do we know if it’s the actual third location?” She asked. “I mean, the other two places didn’t seem to have anything to do with David. If Mr. Specter can’t be trusted, then maybe he just picked three locations at random. A cat park—what was that all about? And it was kind of a weird coincidence that his friend Professor Neverman lived in location two.”

“I know,” I said, “but I was the one that got the coordinates from Gordy Hofstetter in the first place and I checked them on my own, independent of Mr. Specter, and came up with the same three areas. The last one is the site of an Incan ruin, just as he said. I looked it up at home.” The GPS came to life, searching for satellites and finally locking onto one. I clicked on the locations that were programmed in, and found the one that correlated with the ruins.

“I heard Mr. Specter tell Professor Neverman that David Hofstetter is dead,” Nadia said. “This might be a waste of time.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But there’s a reason it was marked on the paper. Even if we don’t find him, we might find out something.”

“And if we’re heading there, isn’t there a good chance they’ll be heading that way too?” Nadia asked, worry in her voice. “What if they catch us?”

“They won’t,” I said, “not if we hurry.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Nadia

We’d been driving in the wrong direction. The ruins were twelve hours south of us. We turned the car around. Russ set the GPS on detour mode so we wouldn’t pass the monastery again, and then there was nothing to do but drive.

After about two hours, we stopped to switch places. Russ had never driven before, except for go karts and games, but we were mostly on long stretches of country highway, no other cars in sight, so it wasn’t that tricky. “It’s all in the attitude,” he said, veering around a turn.

“Watch the attitude or you’ll put us in a ditch,” I said, teasing. Despite the worry of being found by Mr. Specter, or that we’d run into more Associates, or get arrested for car theft, this road trip was the most fun I’d ever had in my entire life. I liked being next to him, watching him as he drove, and having the opportunity to talk endlessly with no one else around. The hours went quickly. If I could have frozen time and locked us into that day, I would have. Russ, I decided, had a really nice profile. When the driving got more challenging, like when we were stopped by a herd of goats crossing the road, his forehead scrunched up in concern, like he was doing something really difficult and didn’t want to screw it up. Every now and then he’d turn to me and say, “Are you doing okay?” like I was this fragile hot house orchid that needed to be constantly monitored or I’d wilt.

“Really okay,” was my standard response.

After Russ had been driving for a while, the conversation drifted back to what had happened at the convent. “There are so many things I don’t understand,” Russ said. “Why did Mr. Specter tell us Professor Neverman had a flu bug when he was dying of cancer?”

“Maybe he thought the word cancer would put a damper on things? Spoil the trip?”

“I thought of that too,” he said. “But it still doesn’t make sense. We hardly saw the man and we didn’t know him. I mean, yeah, it’s terrible that he’s dying, but it’s not like we couldn’t handle the truth.”

“Then I don’t know.” I shrugged. This seemed like the least of our worries. I felt bad for Professor Neverman, but the truth of the matter is that people die. All the time. That’s a fact of life. And he was an old guy.

“I was wondering,” Russ said, “if maybe he kept it a secret because he didn’t want me to cure him.”

“Could you have cured him?”

“I’m not sure. I could have tried,” he said.

I was silent for a moment, thinking it through. “So I guess the question is, why would he want Professor Neverman to die?”

“Exactly.” Russ said. “If he didn’t want him cured, then he was fine with him dying.”

“What a sucky friend.”

“You’ve got that right.” Russ’s forehead scrunched again, even though the road was flat and no goats were in sight. “Which reminds me, I hope Mallory and Jameson come out of this okay.”

“Me too.” Hearing their names cast a shadow over the drive. Could I have somehow saved them? I’d acted on panic and instinct and ran, when maybe I should have stayed and fought. But I didn’t have that kind of power, and even though I tried, no one would listen to me. Besides, Mallory had already had her memories altered, and Jameson seemed eager to be the next victim. I’d tried. That was my only consolation.

Russ said, “I still don’t understand why Mr. Specter wanted to alter our memories?”

I ventured a guess. “He had a new toy and wanted to try it out?”

“But there wasn’t any reason to do it to us. We were on his side already.”

“Maybe he’s not on the side we think he is.”

Russ snuck a glance my way. His face told me he was impressed. “Nadia, you are really, really smart.”

“That’s what they say,” I said. “It’s my saving grace, my mother says.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means it’s the one thing I’ve got going for me.”

“Oh. Well, then I have to disagree with your mother. Being smart is only one of many things you’ve got going for you.” And then he gave me a smile I wanted to capture and keep for dreary days.

I could have lived on that compliment and that smile for the rest of the week.

At about the time we both got hungry, we came to a small village, just a stop in the road really. We noticed a scattering of houses as we approached and Russ said, “Civilization. I say we put down our flag and claim it for our own,” which made me laugh. The actual village was made up of a few shops, a church, a vegetable stand, and a gas station. I thought about how malls were so excessive. Right here was everything a person could possibly need.

We filled up the gas tank first, and I pulled out the bills I’d found in the bus. “I’ve got this,” I said to Russ. Our gas was courtesy of Mr. Specter. We got back in and drove a short way to the restaurant. The hand lettered sign above the door said, RESTAURANTE. Again, as much as was needed and no more. Outside the entrance was a chalk board listing the day’s offerings. Half a dozen wooden tables with folding chairs dotted the space between the building and the road. Two men sat, drinking cerveza, and eating sandwiches. When we walked up, they stared.

“Hola,” I said, and they nodded, before going back to their food.

We didn’t want to spend much time there, so we ate quickly, downing our food with Inca Kola. Russ paid this time, making it, I thought, our first date, although I didn’t say as much because that would have sounded cheesy. We were on delicate terrain here. Not boyfriend and girlfriend exactly. I wasn’t sure what this was, really, but the idea of us together filled me with hope and happiness, two things that had been missing from my life for a very long time.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Russ

We took turns with the driving, switching every two hours or so. The first few hours on the road, I worried constantly that we’d get stopped. Our vehicle was fairly new, which seemed to be an oddity in this part of the country, and not only were we young, we were gringos too. In short, we stood out. But no one seemed to care. We occasionally passed pedestrians, usually adults carrying bags slung over their shoulders, sometimes accompanied by small children who lagged behind. Some of these kids were really small. Back home, kids this size would have been in strollers or hanging on to a grownup’s hand; here they walked like the adults. We always slowed way down as we approached and Nadia made a point to wave, a big smile on her face. The kids would wave back, their tiny faces beaming at the unexpected attention.

Nadia was different today. Before, she’d spent a lot of time and trouble to hide her face, but now her hood was down and it was almost like she’d forgotten about her scars. I’d never seen her this happy, which was ironic because we’d never been in this much trouble.

With dusk falling, I turned to Nadia and said, “I think we should stop for a while.”

“Really?” She had the GPS in hand, and referred to it now. “But we’re so close. In a few more hours we’ll be there.”

“I know, but it will be so dark we won’t be able to see much anyway. I think it would be better to get some sleep and then we’ll be fresh in the morning. Besides, our headlights are going to attract attention and we don’t want to stand out in case they’re looking for us.”

“You’re right.” She said, nodding. “So how do you want to do this?”

“We could keep driving until we see a Hilton, or, and here’s another idea, we could just pull over and sleep in the car.”

“You’re kidding about the Hilton, right?”

Yes, I was kidding. We hadn’t passed a hotel in all the hours we were on the road; I doubted one would suddenly appear. And besides, without a credit card, it was unlikely anyone would give us a room. Even in the outlying areas of Peru they liked the VISA card. We were losing our light and I didn’t want to drive when it was completely dark. We drove on, both of us keeping an eye out for a good place to stop, somewhere, I suggested, where the car would be out of sight from the road.

“How about there?” Nadia said, pointing to a falling-down building, the only structure we’d seen for miles. Because of the large doors, it looked like the place had once been a small barn. Now the roof sagged, and it looked abandoned. “We could pull up behind it.”

I veered off the road and maneuvered the SUV behind the building, careful to put enough distance between us so that if the thing collapsed we wouldn’t be crushed.

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to get the vehicle ready for a night’s sleep. Like we’d gone camping a hundred times before, Nadia and I worked together, releasing the rear seat so it laid flat. Conveniently, the owner of the car, who I assumed was Professor Neverman, kept a large blanket folded in the back. We spread it out and sat side-by-side watching the sun go down.

“Just think,” Nadia said. “It goes down every night, but I never think to watch.” She turned to look at me. “It’s so beautiful, all the colors and the light. I don’t know anyone who stops to watch the sunset. Why don’t people make it part of their routine like taking a shower or checking their phone?”

I shrugged. “We’re busy?”

“Not that busy.” She shook her head.

“We just don’t pay attention, I guess.”

When the last sliver of light was gone, she sidled up next to me. Her head resting on my shoulder sent every nerve ending in my body on high alert. My heart raced from the nearness of her: the warmth of her body against mine, and the possibility of everything that could happen. I wanted to recreate what we’d had the other night, before Mrs. Whitehouse interrupted, but I wanted a cue from her first, so that I wouldn’t be this creepy guy taking advantage of the circumstances. I swallowed, and said, “So,” and then realized I had nothing to follow up with, which made the silence afterward incredibly awkward. I slid my arm around her shoulder and when she didn’t pull away, I took that as my cue. “Nadia?”

“Yes?”

In the dark, using her voice as my guide, I leaned over and found her lips. Kissing like this was all new for me, and for her too, I assumed, but we must have been together in another life, soul mates who’d done this thousands of times, because we both knew exactly what to do.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Nadia

I didn’t want to think about anyone else besides Russ, but horrible thoughts intruded on our time together. His arms wrapped around me made me feel safe and loved, but all I could think about was how I’d pulled him out of Professor Neverman’s house leaving Mallory and Jameson behind. Were Mrs. Whitehouse and Kevin Adams in with Mr. Specter? I honestly didn’t know. Mrs. Whitehouse seemed harmless enough, and frankly, not swift enough to be part of an evil plot. And Kevin, well, he was the guy at the family gatherings who told the jokes and teased the little kids. Just a big kid himself. I couldn’t imagine that he would want to wipe out someone’s memories. Of course, who knew? Until recently, Mr. Specter had been Russ’s favorite teacher. Irony, you are not as funny as you think you are.

My thoughts strayed to Edgewood and the people back home. Reluctantly, I pulled away from Russ.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just had a terrible thought.” I said. “What if Mr. Specter informs our parents that we’re missing? My mom will die, and I mean, she might literally die.” As tough as my mother was, she always struck me as being just on the cusp of falling apart. Controlling everything was her way of keeping it together.

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Russ said, not sounding sure at all. “That would make him look bad. Plus, we’re supposed to be in Miami, so really, what could he say?”

“He could say a lot of things.” He could, I realized, say anything he wanted to, and how could we contradict him? Everyone believed adults over kids. It was the way of the world. My eyes welled up; I wiped the moisture away before they could become actual tears.

We were in complete darkness now. Without being able to see Russ, his presence became his touch, his breath on my cheek, and the sound of his voice speaking right to me as he stroked my hair. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you astral project to home and see what your folks are doing? And then after that, you could travel to Professor Neverman’s and see what’s going on with the rest of them?”

Why hadn’t I thought of that? I nodded. “I’ve only done it when I’m by myself, but I can try. Don’t touch me when I’m gone, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Don’t talk to me either. Just be completely quiet or I’ll be distracted and I won’t be able to go.”

“I promise I won’t.”

We pulled apart and I lay down, curling up as tightly as I could. I went through my routine, relaxing my body and willing my conscious self to go elsewhere. All the times I’d done it before, I’d taken it for granted. Now I wasn’t entirely sure I could pull it off. I willed every muscle in my body to loosen, and I thought—take me to my house in Edgewood.

The time difference between Wisconsin and Peru wasn’t that great, so it was late evening there as well. I drifted into the living room, where my parents watched the news on TV. My dad had a book laid face down on the end table next to his chair. I noticed it was a Tom Clancy novel he’d started before I’d left. My mother’s eyes were aimed at the TV screen, but she didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to it. Barry, her cat, was stretched out on her lap, and she was petting him from his head to his tail in long even strokes.

Neither of them looked like they’d just been informed that their only child was missing. If anything, there was an air of boredom in the room. I got closer, wanting to see my mother in more detail. I felt like I’d been away from home for years. As if she knew I was thinking about her, she turned to my dad and said, “I wonder what Nadia is doing right now?”

“Probably celebrating the end of another good day at the academic decathlon.”

“You think her team is winning?” Mom asked.

“Nadia’s on it. Of course they’re winning.” He said it matter-of-factly. “Our daughter is exceptional.”

I knew he loved me, but I never knew he felt that way. Exceptional. I liked the sound of that word. I floated closer, wanted to hear more. Barry opened his eyes to look straight at me, and as I crossed the room his head followed my movement. His brain was the size of a walnut. How could he see me when they couldn’t? He hissed in my direction and my mom said, “What is it, Barry-Boo? What’s wrong?” She spoke it like baby-talk, nuzzling him under the chin.

Like someone who’d been caught sneaking into a room where they didn’t belong, I slowly backed away, and willed myself to leave.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Russ

I knew the exact moment her spirit had left her body because her breathing changed. I was used to being on the receiving end of her astral projecting. It was eerie to be with her when she left. I didn’t like it. Something about it, the way the part of her that made her Nadia was gone, reminded me of death.

I’d promised not to touch her or talk to her, but I hadn’t promised not to look. Putting my palm forward, I rubbed my fingers together and generated enough electricity to illuminate the back of the SUV. Streaks of light danced off my palm, like flashes from a sparkler. Enough to see her clearly.

Nadia lay on her side, her knees tucked up, one arm curled up over her head with her hand against her forehead like she had a headache. Without her essence, she was a statue. Even her breathing was shallow, barely noticeable, like her lungs didn’t need much air when she wasn’t really there. Her hair fell partway across her face, but I could still see the scars across her cheek and around her eye. My hand itched to trace the contours of her jaw line, to smooth her hair back, to try to heal her skin so it was no longer ravaged.

My hand, still holding the light, stayed steady even while I found myself reaching for her face with the other hand. I desperately wanted to touch her, to put every bit of my energy into healing her face. She would be so happy to wake up with her damaged skin fixed. She’d said not to touch her, but I remembered that her mother had to shake her awake to pull her out of an earlier astral projection trip. It seemed like it took a lot to pull her back. A gentle touch wouldn’t do it, I didn’t think.

I shifted closer, so that I could reach her without straining. My hand was just over her cheek when her eyes blinked open. I jerked my hand back and the light fizzled out.

“Russ?” she said. “It’s okay, my parents don’t know anything. They still think we’re at the competition in Miami.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Nadia

I’d caught Russ looking at me while I was gone, but I didn’t say anything to him about it. When I opened my eyes I saw the light and his outstretched hand, and then—bam—it was dark, like he’d been caught doing something illegal. I asked him about it, and he stammered something about checking on me to make sure I was okay. He forgot, apparently, that I am a human lie detector and could tell there was more to it than that. I sensed that there was nothing dark or disturbing in what he was doing, so I let it go. Now that I knew that I could astral project under these circumstances and I’d been assured my parents were fine, I was determined to find out about Mallory and Jameson.

“I’m going to check on the others,” I told Russ and closed my eyes again. I heard him say, “Be careful.” By the time he said it I was far, far away and his voice echoed to me from off in the distance.

I willed myself to travel to Professor Neverman’s house and once I arrived I realized the mistake I’d made. I should have specified a person, not a place. The convent was huge and I’d had trouble finding my way around even during the daylight hours. At night it was creepy and dark. I drifted through the first floor, seeing the kitchen where we’d eaten and the sitting area where Jameson and Kevin had fought their pretend battle. But no sign of any of them or anyone else in fact. I drifted upstairs and visited the bedrooms one by one. All of them were empty, beds neatly made, doors open, curtains drawn. The place was a tomb. I crossed the courtyard and entered the private quarters of Professor Neverman, the exact room where he and Mr. Specter had sipped from tea cups right before Mr. Specter tried out the Deleo on his old friend. Now the professor sat in the same chair as the last time I’d seen him, this time wearing a bathrobe and slippers, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair and looking at the crackling fire in the fireplace. Elena walked into the room, caressed his cheek and kissed the top of his head before saying something lovingly to him in Spanish.

So she wasn’t just the housekeeper. Once again I regretted not having learned Spanish. Jameson was right; it was a very useful language. I watched in fascination as they had an exchange as intimate as any older married couple. If I had to guess, she was trying to tell him it was time to go to bed. And then she stared straight at me and said, “They are not here. Be careful. They are hunting you.”

I stared back in disbelief. First Barry, and now Elena. Clearly I wasn’t invisible to everyone.

Professor Neverman said, “Who is it you are speaking to, dear?” He craned his neck to look in my direction, but I didn’t think he saw me.

“It ees nothing,” Elena said. “Just thinking of something I see on TV.” Behind him she did a quick wave for my benefit, letting me know I shouldn’t waste anymore time there. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.

I nodded to show her I understood and then turned my thoughts elsewhere. Take me to Mallory.

And I was there. In the bus, traveling down a long dark road with the rest of them. Kevin Adams drove, while Mr. Specter played navigator. He held a GPS similar to the one I’d stolen earlier. Odd. He must have brought a backup GPS.

The others sat a few rows back; all of them quiet as if they’d been lulled into a trip coma. Jameson had his arm around Mallory, whose head rested on his shoulder. It didn’t have the look of romance, though. Just fatigue and friendship. Mrs. Whitehouse looked more alert than the two of them, but her mouth was set in a grim line like she wasn’t fond of this particular turn of events.

I crept forward trying to see what was on the screen of Mr. Specter’s GPS, but even close up it wasn’t helpful. Just a map with a line and the same information on the bottom as we had—distance to destination and the time of arrival. “Are you sure this is the right direction?” Kevin asked. “There’s nothing out here. Wouldn’t they be more likely to head for the city if they were looking for an adventure? My gut tells me they wouldn’t go this way. It’s scary.”

“We’re tracking them using the most sophisticated technology on the planet,” Mr. Specter said, irritated. “And you’re telling me how your gut feels.”

“You’re assuming they took the GPS,” Kevin said. “What if someone else took it and we’re following the wrong person?”

“Who else would take it?”

“I dunno. Maybe someone who works at the convent? Like that housekeeper. What was her name?”

“Elena would have no reason to take it. On the other hand, two kids on the run in a foreign country definitely would.”

Kevin said, “Okay, have it your way. I just don’t understand why they’d do this. Russ and Nadia are great kids. Why on earth would they steal a car and just take off like that?”

“We don’t need to understand their motivation, we just need to find them,” Mr. Specter said. “According to this they’ve stopped,” he said, tapping the device. “I bet you dollars to donuts we find them sleeping by the side of the road.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Or maybe not sleeping, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Mr. Specter did not sound amused. “Just pay attention to the road.”

I willed myself back to Russ, and when I returned and opened my eyes I blinked trying to adjust to the dark. “Russ?”

“Yes?” He was only inches away.

“We have to leave right away. They’re tracking us.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Russ

When Nadia came back and told me what she’d heard, it didn’t take us long to figure out what had happened. We wrote down all the information we’d need to get from our current location to the ruins, and then threw the GPS out the window before hitting the road. Nadia was pretty shaken up from everything she’d seen, so I drove while she filled me in on the details.

Both of us were intrigued by the idea of Elena and Professor Neverman as lovers.

“You should have seen them together,” she said. “It was so sweet.”

“He’s dying of cancer,” I said. “It’s nice to know that he’s not going to be alone at the end.”

“Well now you just made the whole thing seem depressing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right.” She sighed. “It’s always better to have someone you love with you when things get tough.”

The stars were brilliant and the sky was bigger than I’d ever seen it. We were out in the middle of nowhere, with no sign of civilization at all. “I feel,” I said, “like we’re the last people on the planet.”

Nadia said, “I was just thinking that!”

I knew that for me, being the last two on the planet would not have been the worst thing in the world.

The road narrowed in parts and sometimes curved randomly, so I had to pay attention. Nadia kept track of our distance to let me know when to turn. We made a good team.

When we were fifteen minutes away, both of us were jittery with anticipation. “This could be nothing,” I said, warning her not to get her hopes up. “Just like the cat park and the convent.”

“Or it could be something,” Nadia said. “You want me to astral project to the ruins and see if I notice anything?”

“Don’t you dare leave,” I snuck a glance in her direction. “We’re doing this together from now on, okay?”

By the dashboard light, I saw her face light up in a grin. “Okay, together it is.”

When the odometer said we’d arrived, the sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon, and the place had the glow of early morning. Back home I’d be smelling coffee brewing and hearing my parents make small talk while they read the newspaper and ate their breakfast. If I weren’t sleeping in, I’d be pouring cereal into a bowl and planning my day. Over the summer, most of my days consisted of hanging out with my friends Justin and Mick, mowing the lawn, or taking a turn watching Frank while Carly was at work. Thinking about my old life was like remembering a movie I’d seen a long time ago. I’d come so far and learned so much since we’d left Edgewood, I might as well be a completely different person. I pulled off the road and we climbed out of the car. From this distance, the ruins, if we were indeed in the right place, looked like an enormous rock pile.

Nadia pulled her hood up over her head. “Is this it, do you think?”

“It has to be.” We walked in the direction of the mound, and as we got closer saw that it was made up of bricks standing upright like books in a bookcase with mortar in between. And then we circled around the thing and found additional structures varying in size, all of them built the same way, connected by walls and tiers of stone staircases. The ruins of a village thousands of years old.

Nadia stopped to take it in. “This is so cool.”

“Come on.” I took her hand. We walked around looking at the individual structures, getting a feel for the layout. When Nadia stopped to examine a wall, I held out a hand to provide some light. The dancing ball of energy sparkling over my outstretched palm impressed Nadia.

Her face lit with admiration. “I’m still amazed at how you do that.”

“Yeah, well you just traveled to another continent and back in like ten minutes, so you’re pretty incredible yourself.”

“Okay, we’re both outstanding,” she said in agreement.

She ran her fingers over the face of the brick and then turned to ask, “Do you know why the bricks are arranged like this?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“I know why,” she said, delighted with herself. “The Incans built it that way so the buildings would withstand earthquakes. Placing the bricks upright gives the walls wiggle room and they’re less likely to collapse.”

“Once again, Nadia, you’re brilliant.” I squeezed her hand in approval.

“Not brilliant. I read about it at home when I was reading up on all things Peruvian. They were pretty clever, those Incans.”

“Considering they had no bulldozers or cranes, this is really something.”

The pathways through the ruins were packed down from the footfalls of countless people over the centuries. No plants grew on the site, if they ever did. It was all bricks and hard earth. As we made our way around the perimeter, Nadia stopped to point to something off in the distance. “Look,” she said, “It’s a village.”

We both stared. Beyond, on slightly higher ground, was what looked like a place where people currently lived. The space around the houses was grassy green and chimney smoke plumed upward from the rooftops. “We can stop there later to get something to eat,” I said.

“And maybe find out how we can make a phone call home.”

“Teléfono Los Estados Unidos,” I said with a flourish. I was proud of having picked up a little Spanish, but when Nadia burst out laughing, I guessed that maybe my pronunciation left a lot to be desired. “What? You don’t like the way I say it?”

“No, it’s perfect,” she said, taking hold of my arms and standing on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “You can do all the talking.”

I pulled her toward me, and leaned over to kiss her. The difference in our heights made it a challenge, but I was up for a challenge, so it wasn’t a problem. The thought crossed my mind that since we weren’t finding much here in the ruins, we really should get back on the road, but having Nadia pressed up against me made me lose my ambition. We kissed and kissed and kissed, everything in space and time spinning around us. We were the focal point of the universe and I was sure no other couple in the history of mankind had ever connected the way we had. The only thing that mattered at that moment was the feeling I got from being so close, her lips against mine, and her soft hands around my neck.

Until I felt something else. Far beneath our feet I became aware of a familiar sensation. A pulsing, throbbing surge. I tried to ignore it, but the distraction was too great. I pulled away, wanting to be sure. I looked down, listening with all my senses.

“What is it?” Nadia asked.

“Electricity,” I said, pointing downward. “And a lot of it.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Nadia

I could have stood in the middle of the ancient ruins with Russ forever, giving up food and drink and contact with the outside world. I would have kissed him until the end of our lives, or the end of time for that matter. Others who came after us would talk about the two skeleton lovers found interlocked in the southern region of Peru. The archeologists of the future who discovered our remains would leave us in an embrace, an enduring sign of young love, linked together for all eternity.

At least that was my mindset until Russ pulled away from me, distracted by something else.

“What is it?” I asked.

His head was cocked to one side, listening, but there was nothing to hear. “Electricity,” he said, his finger aimed at the ground. “And a lot of it.”

I looked around, confused; there was no sign of anything electrical. The twenty-first century hadn’t intruded here at all. “Maybe they put electrical lines underground so they can set the ruins up as a tourist attraction?” I suggested. “Like maybe for lights and a cash register and what not?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m talking about a lot of electricity.” His forehead furrowed as he thought. “Like a power plant. Or a city. A massive amount of electricity.”

Now I knew how color blind people felt, because he was talking about it like it was obvious, while I sensed nothing at all. And then the noise of a large engine warned us of an approaching vehicle. Our heads snapped up at the same time, taking in the sight of a Humvee going over rocky terrain and heading straight for us. The combination of the ancient ruins and this modern-day U.S. military vehicle was visually at odds. “That’s funny,” I said. “I wouldn’t expect to see a Humvee here…”

Bright lights aimed right at us, and a voice bellowed out over a loudspeaker. “Russ Becker! Freeze. You are in our sights! Do not move!”

It wasn’t Mr. Specter’s voice, or Kevin Adams’ either. I had to yell to be heard above the noise. “How do they know your name?”

Russ yelled, “Run!” He grabbed my hand and we took off, zig-zagging through the ruins, up staircases and through doorways and back out again. Behind us the voice coming from the Humvee repeated the words as if it were a recording. Russ made his way deliberately, pausing only once, his head rising like a hunting dog’s and I realized what he was doing: searching for the source of the underground electricity. I wasn’t sure what that would accomplish, but I let him lead the way, all the while praying that we wouldn’t get shot.

“Halt! Russ Becker we need to talk to you.” The man over the loudspeaker sounded even more serious now. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t see any way out of this.

“This way!” Russ yelled, pulling me through a doorway of what had been a house thousands of years ago. This one was taller than some of the others and set into a hill. Now that we were inside I saw that it extended farther than it looked from the outside. Most of the buildings were without roofs, but this one had a slab of rock over part of it. There was no exit, but Russ kept going to the far wall.

“We’ll be trapped in here,” I called out from behind him, but he didn’t seem to be listening.

He pressed his palms against the brick wall at the opposite end, and closed his eyes. Outside I heard the Humvee, still telling us to halt. Any moment men would pile out and they’d find us and that would be the end. I had a sick, sick feeling.

“It’s coming from the other side,” Russ said, referring to the electricity. “Stand back.” He waved me away, and then took a few steps back himself before putting out his palms and hitting the wall with lightning bolts. I’d seen him do this before, but still it was awe-inspiring to see a crackling burst of electricity come out of his hands. The blast was so intense that it left my ears ringing and I saw spots before my eyes. The bricks crumbled to the ground, and dust filled the air. I coughed, and so did Russ. My inclination was to run back out the way we came, but he found my hand and pulled me in the opposite direction, right through the hole he’d created and into the tunnel beyond.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Russ

Going into the tunnel the air was fresh and clean, a welcome thing after the dust from the exploded bricks. Our coughing subsided once we were able to breathe in the good air.

I didn’t feel too bad about destroying the bricks because I could tell it wasn’t the original wall. Whoever had built it had come close, but the bricks didn’t match perfectly. It was a ruse, a cover-up for something, and we were about to find out what that something was.

The tunnel sloped downward, but notches had been carved in the ground so we were able to keep from slipping. I held my hand out and generated a ball of sparks to light the way. As we walked, the sound of the Humvee receded in the distance. I was so busy moving forward that I didn’t notice the look on Nadia’s face until she started slowing down. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t like this,” she said. “I don’t like it at all.” Her voice shook with fear. “Once when I was younger, my family toured a cave when we were on vacation and I totally freaked out and had to leave. I have this claustrophobia thing. I’m really sorry, Russ. I just can’t do it.” Her hand fluttered up by her heart. “Even in regular buildings when there aren’t windows, I sometimes get panicky if the room is too small. Right now, I totally feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.”

I leaned down so I could look her in the eye. “We’re not in a cave. This is a manmade tunnel that leads to somewhere. Somewhere big. Somewhere with lights and equipment. Think of this as a hallway. We just need to get through it. You can do this, Nadia. I know you can.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t help it. It’s an irrational fear, but I can’t control it.” She looked back the way we came like she wanted to take off in that direction.

I directed the light upward. “Look, there are air vents. I’m willing to bet this place is more structurally sound than most buildings above ground.”

“I know you’re trying to help,” she said, her face aimed at the ground. “But it’s not working.”

“Do you want to go back?” I asked gently, twisting around to look. As far as I could see, we only had two choices, and since one of them involved a guy threatening to shoot I was pretty clear on which way we should go.

“No.” She twisted her hands together and looked like she was going to cry. “I know we can’t go back. I just don’t think I can keep going.” Her words were strangulated. “You know what? Why don’t you go ahead, Russ? I don’t want to hold you back. I’ll wait here.”

I lost the light and took hold of her shoulders. “I’m not leaving you, Nadia.”

It was silent for a moment and then her voice rang out clear and strong. “I feel a little better now!” she said, clearly relieved. “Being in the dark helps, I think.”

“Close your eyes,” I said. “I’m going to carry you.”

“You can’t carry me. I’m too heavy.”

She barely had the words out of her mouth when I’d scooped her up into my arms, cradling her in front of me with her head against my chest. “Keep your eyes closed,” I said. “Take a little nap. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” When I heard Nadia giggle, I knew she’d be okay.

“You won’t be able to hold me like this for very long,” she said. “And now you don’t have a hand free to make light.”

“I can hold you like this for a very long time. And I’m not going to drop you, so don’t worry about that.”

“But you don’t have any light,” she repeated.

“I don’t need the light. I only did that so you could see.” I was following the pull of the electricity. I didn’t need a visual to know the way. The electricity was my path, my guide.

With Nadia snuggled up against me, I continued forward, knowing that I was getting closer with every step. We could be heading into a trap, or worse, but I had a good feeling about this. It was better than getting shot at anyway. I walked ahead at a steady clip, leaving the sound of the Humvee behind. Soon someone would be following us in the tunnel, which made getting to our final destination urgent. Really, we should be running, but I couldn’t go that fast and carry Nadia at the same time. And I wouldn’t have left her behind for anything. It was the third and final location on Gordon Hofstetter’s map, and if my hunch was right, I would finally find out what happened to his grandson David. Nadia’s head rested against the key Carly had given me or I would have reached for it for reassurance. I thought of it as my good luck charm. So far it had kept me safe.

Behind us in the tunnel, I heard the faint sound of voices and the squawk of a communicator, some kind of radio. We were being followed. I upped my pace going as fast as I could considering I had a hundred pounds of girl attached to my front.

“Is everything okay?” Nadia’s voice was muffled into my t-shirt. I felt her body stiffen in alarm.

“So far.” I tried to keep my tone light. “In a few minutes we’ll have company, but by then we’ll be on to the next part.” Whatever that was.

She relaxed, and I paused to readjust her weight, giving the top of her head a brush of my lips. Twenty yards later, right after I’d rounded a curve I felt a change. We were at the edge of the source of power. I set Nadia onto her feet. “We’re here.” I held a hand out to see where “here” was and the sparks that danced above my palm illuminated a large steel door with a bar across the middle for access. I pushed against the bar but it didn’t give.

“There’s something here.” Nadia pointed to a steel rectangle on the right hand side of the substantial door frame. She pulled at the piece and it lifted up like the cover on the keypad of my garage door opener back home. Underneath was a display screen with the word “START HERE” in green letters. Beneath that was a large slot, as wide as a playing card, but larger in the middle and tapering off either side, and below that there was a traditional keyboard displaying the letters of the alphabet. Nadia pressed the buttons randomly, but nothing happened. “Maybe you should zap the door?”

I pressed a palm against the surface. “I have a feeling it’s zap-proof.”

“We need some kind of key card,” she said, pointing to the slot. “One with a big lump in the middle.” She looked nervously behind us; the sound of footsteps echoed in the tunnel. Judging from the sound we only had a few minutes.

I dug my wallet out of my back pocket and took out the silver medallion I’d gotten from Mr. Hofstetter. Octagonal in shape, it had a clear gemstone in the middle that bulged from its center. I said, “Or maybe it’s not a card, but something else.” I held up the silver medallion to show her, and then slid it into the slot. A perfect fit. With the medallion inserted, I was rewarded with the sound of tumblers locking into place, an old fashioned touch no doubt added by security specialists with a sense of humor. The display pad changed from “START HERE” to “WHO ARE YOU?” Nadia and I exchanged a look, wondering who should do the honors. Finally, her shoulders rose and she gestured for me to go ahead.

Behind us I heard a man shout, “Russ Becker, halt! We need to talk to you.” Another man called out instructions to the group. “Stay together. Hold your fire.” The yelling was accompanied by the clattering of hard soled boots against rock. So close. Too close.

I inhaled and turned to the keypad. “Here goes nothing.” Carefully, I typed in my name, RUSS BECKER. No sooner had I pressed the last “R” than the display lit up with the word “WELCOME” accompanied by the click of the lock release. The medallion popped out and I stuck it in my pocket. Nadia leaned on the bar and we slid through the door’s opening. As I pushed the door shut, I saw the beams of light from the group of men rounding the corner. We’d just made it. They were too late. And judging from the thickness of the door and the security features, they weren’t getting in.

The other side of the door led to a more conventional sort of hallway, the kind you’d find in an office building. White walls, beige tile, and recessed lighting that made it as bright as day.

Nadia gave me a hug, and I wrapped my arms around her. My pulse quickened suddenly as if my heart had just registered the close call. “I can’t believe you pulled that off, Russ. You knew just what to do. You’re amazing.”

I smiled down at her and shook my head. “It’s not over yet.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Nadia

The first time I set eyes on Russ Becker, I was smitten. Mallory had arranged for him to meet up with us one night, and she had me check him out first, which consisted of me holding my hands a few inches away from his body and assessing if I got good vibes from him. He hadn’t thought much of me at the time; he was all about Mallory back then. But I felt my way deep into his soul and mentally claimed him for my own. My powers let me tap into his essence and at that moment I knew him in a more intimate way than people who’d known him his whole life.

I didn’t let on that this was the case though. I just told Mallory and Jameson that he was okay, a good addition to our group.

After that I was always watching and waiting for my chance to become someone important to him. I didn’t admit this to anyone because it sounded pathetic even to me. But is it so wrong to secretly want someone? Someone you know would be perfect for you?

So I waited, and I got my chance. Lucky for me, Mallory underestimated both of us. She’d discounted me as a worthy adversary, and left Russ dangling while she explored all her other options at school. Her hesitation had given me an opening. And now I was on the adventure of my life. If I were with anyone else I’d be terrified at this moment, a quivering mass of nerves. At home, I was nervous and shy even doing the smallest things. My hands shook when I paid the pizza delivery guy. I didn’t want anyone to see my face so the simplest things overwhelmed me.

With Russ though, it was different. He knew just what to do to calm me down in the tunnel, and I was sure he could handle anything else that happened today. I’d never felt such a range of emotions in such a short period of time. Even when I was afraid, it was invigorating. This, I thought, is what it feels like to be alive and in love.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Russ

Talk about pressure. Nadia had more faith in me than I had in myself. For the moment, though, we were safe. We held hands and made our way down the hallway, which appeared to be deserted. I had entered my name on the punch pad and been let in, so someone knew I was here and it was a safe bet we’d be meeting up with them soon.

“Do you think this is the headquarters of the Associates?” Nadia whispered. By then, we’d passed several closed doors. I’d tried the knobs and they were locked.

“I don’t know.” I remembered that when I’d been tested by the Associates in Wisconsin the office area looked much like this one, but don’t all office buildings sort of look the same?

The hallway came to an end, branching off to a T. On the wall was a sign with arrows pointing in both directions. To the left. It said, “Lobby.” To the right, “Loading dock.”

“Hey,” I said in hushed tones. “Let’s try the lobby.”

This hallway had a friendlier feel with framed prints of floral arrangements every eight feet or so. Nadia walked alongside me with no sign of being alarmed. I flexed my free hand, ready to shoot a lightning bolt if someone with a gun popped out of nowhere threatening to shoot us. My nerves were raw and exposed. Right on edge. Once again, there was a part of me that wished I could rewind my life so that I could have avoided the meteor shower. Without my powers I’d just be a normal teenager, and my biggest worries would revolve around taking my driving test and getting good grades. But then I wouldn’t have met Nadia and wouldn’t be in Peru now. My life was scarier now, but richer than I’d ever imagined. No, there was no way I’d go back, even if it were possible.

We heard the squeaky wheels of the cart before it came tearing out of one of the side doors ahead. The pile of file boxes on top of the push cart were stacked so high they nearly obscured the man behind it. “Watch out. Coming through,” he yelled, whizzing past us. Nadia and I flattened ourselves against a wall, letting him go by.

She looked at me like, what the hell was that all about? Before I could say anything, another cart came out of the same room, this one pushed by a trim blonde woman wearing cat-eye glasses. She struggled to push the overloaded cart. When she approached us, she asked, “Did you see which way he went?” I jabbed my thumb in the opposite direction and she nodded. “The loading dock. Okay, makes sense.”

We continued on down the hall, hearing voices and the whir of a mechanical device off in the distance. When we reached the lobby, we saw a sitting area. A low counter delineated the waiting area from a work space. Behind the counter were rows of desks, but no one was sitting. All of the people working there, a dozen or so men and women, were in motion, as busy as bees in a hive. About half of them worked diligently, almost frantically, feeding paper into a shredder. The ones that weren’t shredding were stacking and sorting through boxes.

When we approached the counter, one of the women feeding the shredder paused and looked up.

“Do you know English?” Nadia asked.

She looked irritated. “What do you need?”

Nadia gave me a quizzical look, and I took over. Leaning against the counter, I said, “We’re here to see David Hofstetter.”

She threw her hands up in the air, like we’d just given her another chore when she already had plenty going on. “Well isn’t that just great,” she said and sighed. “Wait a minute. I’ll call and see if he’s available.”

“Okay,” I said. Nadia gave me a delighted look, each of us in disbelief that David Hofstetter was really here. There had to be some catch. A trap? A different David Hofstetter? There had to be more to it that we just weren’t seeing yet.

“Name?” she asked, picking up the phone.

“Um, David Hofstetter?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes like I was the world’s biggest moron. “Your name?”

“Oh. Russ Becker.”

She punched in some numbers and put the receiver up to her ear.

I waved to get her attention. “Just one more thing?”

“Yes?”

I said, “What is this place?”

She looked puzzled. “It’s our research facility, of course.” Deliberately turning away, she spoke into the phone. I heard her say, “Yes, Russ Becker and some girl. They’re here now.” Her head swiveled toward us. “I’m looking right at him. Believe me, he’s here.” She hung up without saying good-bye, then pointed to a hallway leading off the lobby. “Room 138. Knock on the door and he’ll buzz you in.” She turned and fed another piece of paper into the shredder before we’d even registered what she’d said.

Nadia waved an arm in the air. “One more thing?”

The woman stopped, the paper fluttering in her hands. “Yes?”

“We came in through the tunnel and we were followed by some guys. They didn’t get in, but you might want to watch the entrances.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said dismissively. “This facility has the most advanced security in the world. There are cameras everywhere and no one gets in unless they’re authorized.”

As we walked away, Nadia said, “You heard me try to tell her, right? Do you think I explained it okay?”

“You explained it fine,” I said. “The woman said not to worry about it.”

On the way to Room 138 we passed several other open doors, a few of them leading to research laboratories with counters and glass-fronted storage cabinets, and one of them an office space. In each room people were packing up equipment, taking pictures off walls, stacking boxes. “Looks like moving day at the underground bunker,” Nadia commented, reading my mind.

As the woman had predicted, the door to Room 138 was closed. I raised my fist to knock and hesitated, clearing my throat in preparation. This was going to be momentous. Either I’d be meeting David Hofstetter, the formerly dead love of my sister’s life, the missing link to everything we’d encountered so far, or it was a trap. Going through this door might be the biggest mistake of my life. I wasn’t sure which, but we’d gone too far to go back now. I rapped my knuckles against the wood, and when I heard the buzz, I reached for the knob and opened the door.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Nadia

It was amazing to me that Russ knew exactly what to do. When I’d asked earlier in the car if he was nervous he said yes, but he didn’t seem nervous. When I had my breakdown in the tunnel, he picked me up like I weighed nothing and moved forward like it was all in the plan. Already today, he got us to the ruins, zapped his way into the tunnel, cured my claustrophobia, and knew to ask for David Hofstetter. Not bad for a high school student from Wisconsin on the run in South America.

And then he walked through the doorway of Room 138 like we had an appointment and David Hofstetter would be expecting us. He let go of my hand and stepped in front of me, which made me nervous until I realized the move was for my protection. Both of his hands flexed at his side. He was ready for anything.

But the man standing on the other side of the room didn’t look menacing. He looked a lot like the age-progressed picture we’d been given on the plane, in fact. Not identical, they’d gotten his hair wrong; it was darker and thicker in person, but the lopsided knowing smile, thin nose, and deep-set eyes were the same. He wore a white lab jacket embroidered with the name “Dr. David Hofstetter.” One of his pockets was held together with a safety pin. From the looks of the room, he’d been in the end stages of packing up his lab. “Russ Becker?” He said. “From Edgewood?” His voice was tinged with incredulity.

Russ said, “That’s me.”

Astonishment covered his face. “Did you two come alone? How did you get here?”

“It’s just the two of us,” Russ said. “We were traveling with a group but we left them behind and drove here on our own using a map I got from your grandfather.” He stepped closer to the man. They were eye to eye now, exactly the same height. “You’re the David Hofstetter who knew my sister? The one who supposedly died in a car accident?”

“That would be me.” He took a step back as if we’d hit him with too much information, but in an instant seemed to recover. A grin crossed his face, the same crooked grin as in the photo, almost a smirk. “I can’t believe Carly’s little brother is standing in my lab,” he said gesturing to his work space, a room the size of a classroom.

“Hi, I’m Nadia.” I stepped forward and extended my hand. I wanted to get a read on this guy and I needed to get closer.

As we shook hands, Russ apologized for leaving me out, but I waved away his concerns. I wanted to concentrate on David and see what I could find out about him. So far he’d told us the truth: he was David Hofstetter, Carly’s old boyfriend, the one assumed to be dead by everyone back home. His essence felt genuine to me. He was a good guy. There was nothing dark under the surface, at least not that I could see. Of course, I hadn’t detected anything negative about kindly Mr. Specter, so my meter wasn’t completely foolproof.

“You have questions for me, I’m sure,” David said to Russ. “And I have questions for you, but your timing is terrible. We’re evacuating and it’s down to the wire.” He lifted a box from the side counter to the table and rearranged the contents. “Right now I have,” he stopped to look at the digital clock on the wall, “seventy-two minutes to get everything packed up, compacted, deleted, or shredded, so that’s what I’ll be doing. Take it or leave it; that’s all I can give you.” He sat down in front of a computer monitor, his back to us. “Ask away. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

Russ and I circled around the desk so we could see David’s face. “First of all,” Russ said. “What happened to you sixteen years ago? Carly thought you died in that car accident. You broke her heart, you know.” He sounded angry and hurt on his sister’s behalf, which I thought was the sweetest thing ever.

David’s fingers flew over the keyboard; he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “My heart was broken too. But it was unavoidable.”

“Unavoidable? Like you couldn’t have clued her in? She kept your secret for sixteen years!”

David glanced up. “Then how do you know about it?”

“Well, she told me,” Russ said, flustered. “But only after I saw the light particles too.”

“The light particles? You mean the lux spiral?’

“I guess, if that’s what you call the meteor-shower thingy that lands like a spiral.”

David raised his eyebrows. “None of those Edgewood idiots told you it was a lux spiral?”

“What Edgewood idiots?” Russ asked, exasperated. “Do you mean Mr. Specter and his friends?”

I stepped forward. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us what you know.” I looked him right in the eye, a fairly new thing for me. My hood was down and I realized it had been down most of today. I was literally coming out of my shell, and my worst fears weren’t coming true. The people who saw my face weren’t running in horror. Some didn’t even seem to notice. All this time I’d been so worried that I looked like some kind of monster, when really I just looked like me, a girl with a scarred face.

David nodded and turned back to the computer. “It sounds like you know the start of it. Carly and I would meet at the closed-up train station at night after our parents were asleep. We used that key to get in.” His head jerked in Russ’s direction and we both looked down to see the key dangling from a chain around his neck. “One night, Carly showed up with her baby brother in her arms.”

“Me?” Russ asked, resting his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah, you. Her parents—your parents—had to drive unexpectedly to Fond du Lac that night because one of your grandparents had a stroke. Carly was babysitting, but she didn’t want to stand me up, so she just brought you along. Carried you all the way in the dark with a diaper bag slung over her shoulder.”

“How old was I?”

David shrugged. “Just a baby. Teeny. It was early September. When were you born?”

“Today,” Russ said, realization crossing his face. “Today is my birthday. I’m sixteen today.”

“Happy birthday,” I said, and he gave my shoulders a squeeze.

“So you were about three months then,” David said with a beleaguered sigh. “Carly and I spent our time together in the train station. I’m sad to say there was some making out and weed involved. We were young and stupid and in love. You slept right through it all and we dozed off too. And then, I woke up. It was the vibrations from the spiral lux hitting the ground. I tried to wake Carly, but she was pretty out of it. And then you started crying, so I picked you up and took you outside with me.”

“So Russ saw the light particles as a baby?” I asked.

“He didn’t just see them, he was directly exposed to them. I walked into the middle of the spiral with the baby in my arms. The light was mesmerizing. I couldn’t believe that the pieces were glowing but not hot. Later, I found a piece in the fold of your blanket and another one grasped in your little hand. Carly wasn’t too happy with me after she heard about it. She said you could have put it in your mouth and choked on it.”

It all made sense now. Russ wasn’t a second gen because he was the second generation to have powers; he was a second gen because he’d come into contact with the particles twice, sixteen years apart.

“And then you discovered you had powers…” Russ prompted.

David said, “Five of us discovered we had powers. I’d been exposed to the fall lux, the others had experienced it the year before during the spring lux. Having supernatural powers at that age—” He shook his head and smiled at the memory. “As you know, it’s all fun at first. But then things soured and we couldn’t agree on how to handle it. There was fighting among us. And then one by one, the Associates recruited the others. I held out as long as I could, but I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“So the Associates faked your death and got you to join them too,” Russ said.

“No!” David lifted his hands off the keyboard and looked up, eyes blazing. “I never would have worked for the Associates. Ever! Is that what you think?”

“Isn’t this an Associate research facility?” Russ asked.

David stood up. “I am a senior member of the scientific research division of the Praetorian Guard. This is a PG facility.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Russ

Clearly I’d offended the guy, but honestly, I didn’t know what side he was on. And actually I still didn’t know what to believe. He could have told me anything. I squeezed Nadia’s shoulders and said, “So you’re telling me that you’re with the Praetorian Guard?”

“Of course,” he said adamantly. “I’d never have anything to do with the Associates; they’re power-mongering murderers. The bastards electrocuted my grandfather. You think I’d work for them?”

Nadia stepped forward and ran her hands the length of his body. “He’s telling the truth.”

This was getting more curious the whole time. “So why don’t the members of the Praetorian Guard in Edgewood know where you are?” I asked.

“Only one of the five is smart enough and loyal enough to be trusted with any information at all. Three of them are lovable numskulls playing spy games and one of them is working undercover for the Associates.”

“Mr. Specter,” I said.

“That’s right,” David said, nodding affirmatively. “Sam Specter. Science teacher and traitor. He was my teacher sophomore year. Terrible teacher. Made up the curriculum as he went along. He’s a loose cannon, thinks he’s playing both sides against each other, but everyone is on to him. Sad old guy’s got nothing going for him, but he has delusions that he’s James Bond. And now he’s managed to get hold of the plans for a device we’ve been developing that alters brain waves and memory. God only knows all the havoc that will cause if he ever gets it to work.”

“I think he already has,” Nadia said. “He has this goggle-thing he calls a Deleo. He used it on our friend Mallory to brainwash her. He tried to do it to Russ too, but it didn’t work because he resisted.”

“Great,” he said, sighing. “We can discuss that later. I’ll need to know as much as you can recall about the device.” He turned back to the computer and worked on the keyboard for a moment. Lines of text ran across the screen. “Just so you know, what Mr. Specter calls a Deleo was not intended to mess with people’s brains. It was designed to restore memories to people with dementia and calm people who suffer from anxiety and trauma, particularly those with post-traumatic stress disorder and people suffering from debilitating phobias.” He tapped on a few keys, and the screen cleared, then filled with lines of text again. He continued, “After my faked death, I joined the Guard. They educated me in my chosen field and I’ve been doing research at various locations ever since. I’ve been here for about five years, but our location has been compromised, so we’re evacuating today. This is all top secret, you understand.”

“We understand,” I said. “Believe me, we’re good at keeping secrets.”

David said, “So how is Carly doing? Does she ever talk about me?”

“I never heard her mention you until after I saw the light particles—I mean the lux spiral,” I said, correcting myself. A disappointed look washed over David’s face. Clearly he hoped Carly was still pining for him.

“What kind of research are you working on?” Nadia asked.

“The details are classified, but I can tell you that I’m working on a way for cells in the human body to utilize energy in the same way they do after they’re exposed to the lux spiral. If it works, we’ll see advances in healing and medicine, improvements in how we power cities and vehicles, and new forms of communication not reliant on devices that can break or be shut down. It’s very exciting to be part of all this. It’ll be a whole new age.”

“Yeah, it’s exciting, but to never see your family or friends again?” Nadia said. “That must have sucked.”

“It wasn’t easy, but it was for their own protection. The Associates have been known to kidnap or kill family members of the Praetorian Guard.”

“So you never saw your family again.” Nadia’s mouth turned down in sympathy.

“Not quite,” he said. “I’ve been to Edgewood half a dozen times or so. Incognito. Just to see my old house and a few familiar faces.”

“And no one knew who you were?” I said.

David blinked, his mouth set in a firm line. For a second I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said. “I couldn’t help myself. I told my grandfather the truth. And he kept my secret until the end when his brain started to go. He got so confused he thought I’d been kidnapped or God knows what. I gave him the medallion as a keepsake, hoping if he had something to hold onto it would help him remember. I’m assuming he gave it to you?”

I nodded.

Nadia asked, “What about the first two locations on the map, the cat park and the convent? Why did you have that on the map?”

“What are you talking about?” David asked, puzzled.

I pulled the paper out of my pocket, unfolded it, and presented it to him. “This map of Peru. With the latitude and longitude listings for the cat park, the convent, and the ruins? Your grandfather gave it to me, and said it would help find you.”

David stared at the paper. “I don’t know what this is. I’ve never seen it before.”

“You didn’t give this to your grandfather?” Nadia asked.

He shook his head. “The numbers look like my grandfather’s handwriting.” He looked up at us. “I told him I was in Peru and he wanted to know about it, but I couldn’t disclose where I was working or what I was doing. So I told him about the cat park. And the convent and the ruins. Just making conversation,” he said. “Grandpa must have thought those places were the key to finding me.”

The mention of a key made me remember something. “When we first got here, I put the medallion in the slot, and when I typed in my name it let me in. How did it know to let me in?”

He nodded. “All the names of the kids known to have been exposed to the lux spiral are in our database. If someone high up in the Guard entrusts them with a medallion, it guarantees they’ll be able to find sanctuary in any of the Guard facilities.”

“Did you want your grandfather to give me the medallion?”

“No, that wasn’t my intent.” It almost looked like he was blinking back tears. “He was so confused…”

“You invented the Deleo to help your grandfather,” Nadia said. A statement, not a question. Her head tilted in sympathy.

“Yes, but I was too late.”

A loud squeal came over the loudspeaker above the door. “Sixty minutes and counting. In sixty minutes, the facility will be sealed.”

“Every ten minutes we’re going to hear a message like this,” David said. “It’s crunch time. Anything we can’t finish packing up will be left behind. Luckily all of my data has been transferred already. The rest of this,” he waved around the room, “is personal. Not essential, but I still want it.” He shut down the computer. “So why don’t you tell me your story?” He raised his eyebrows. “The abbreviated version, since we’re pressed for time.”

I couldn’t get past what he’d told us about going back to Edgewood. “So you walked around Edgewood and no one said, ‘Hey, you look a lot like that David Hofstetter guy who died awhile back?’ No one? Not one person?”

He shook his head. “Nope. This was years after my so-called death, of course. My parents didn’t live there anymore, most of my friends had moved away. And I looked different. Glasses, a beard, a baseball cap. I was taller. My voice got deeper. And everyone thought I was dead. If anyone asked, I was prepared to say I was David Hofstetter’s cousin. But no one asked. I did get a few odd looks though.”

“Did you ever see Carly?” I asked.

He smiled and this time it wasn’t a smirk. “She’s the reason I kept going back.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Nadia

The minute David Hofstetter said Carly was the reason he kept coming back to Edgewood I felt it. I was standing right next to the man and I sensed crazy love pulses coming right off him. The pulses felt weirdly fresh and new, especially odd because the guy was in his thirties and he and Carly hadn’t been together since they were teenagers. I was just about to ask him if he’d ever gotten married when a loud alarm sounded and a red light over the doorway flashed on and off. David Hofstetter’s expression told us something serious had happened.

“What is that?” Russ asked over the noise of the alarm.

“Security breach,” David said. “We’re supposed to hold our positions. The place is in lockdown.”

The alarm continued in a steady pattern, three blasts and then three counts of silence. During the silent moments, a woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We are at Level Five. Carry out Level Five protocol.”

“What’s that?” I asked. Normally my voice was small, but my fear managed to amp up the volume.

“Just what I said, we need to stay right here,” David Hofstetter said, gathering up a box and setting it on the counter closest to the door. He turned back to reassure us. “We’re perfectly safe. It may even be a drill.”

“So this has happened before?” Russ asked. The alarm grated on my already raw nerves. Enough already. We got it.

Before David could answer the floor beneath our feet shook. The glass-fronted cabinets rattled, and the desk and chair vibrated and shimmied across the floor. I clutched at Russ, who put his arm around me. “What’s going on?” I yelled.

David said, “Earthquake.” He held up a hand. “Peru is known for earthquakes. Don’t worry; we get tremors all the time. They usually only last—”

The lights and alarm went off and suddenly we were in a world of moving darkness. A fun house of terror for someone like me who hates closed-in places and isn’t crazy about the dark either. A second later, Russ’s handful of light illuminated the whole shaking room. My terror was exacerbated by the thought that we were underground and could be buried under tons of rock and stone. Bile rose up in my throat and my heart raced. My parents will never know what happened to me, I thought.

Seeing the panic on David’s face made it worse. A few seconds ago he’d been the one assuring us that this was routine, but his expression now said otherwise. “We need to go,” he said, grabbing the box he’d just put on the counter.

“I thought we were in lockdown. Level Five,” I said.

“Now!” David opened the door and gestured for us to go through.

The floor pitched like a boat at sea. I took Russ’s free hand and we went into the hallway, David leading the way, talking as he went. “The emergency generator will have the power on in another minute, but we don’t have time to wait.”

“Where are we going?” Russ asked. Other people were in the hallway now too; further down I heard worried voices and saw the flicker of flashlights.

“We have an earthquake-proof room built right in the facility,” David said.

“This way.” A man’s voice yelled in the darkness. I felt him brush past me, his beam of light swaying as he ran.

“What if it’s not an earthquake?” I yelled. The place was rumbling now. Ceiling tiles dropped all around us. Hanging pictures banged against the wall, shattering the glass. Dust swirled around us, making me cough.

We were rounding a turn from one corridor to the next, when we experienced a boom. The impact tore me away from Russ; the noise was deafening. It was the cracking of a sheet of ice the size of a football field; it had the impact of a bomb exploding and the terror of the earth collapsing. Russ’s light went out and the flashlight beams ahead of us dimmed behind the flying debris. My ears ached and rang. I had the sense that the hallway ahead of us didn’t exist anymore, that it had become clogged with rubble and dust.

I staggered to stay upright, clutching at the wall. I pulled my t-shirt over my mouth like they tell you to do to screen out smoke in fires, but it didn’t help. I coughed and choked and couldn’t get a good lungful of air. I leaned against the vibrating wall and found myself sliding down to what used to be the floor. Please, I prayed, I don’t want to die. I thought about all the things I hadn’t done yet, and everything I still wanted to do. It would be so unfair to have my life be over now.

And then Russ’ light came on, a baseball sized globe of sparks levitating off his palm. My eyes adjusted to the light. I saw his outstretched hand and took it. “Come on,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “This way.” And we were off in the opposite direction, David Hofstetter, still clutching his box, behind us.

I wanted to ask where we were going, but I could barely breathe, much less get the words out. The space we were passing through didn’t look like a hallway anymore. We stepped over mounds of rubble, parts of the structure that had shaken loose, some chunks large enough to kill a person if they’d been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Russ’s light showed the dust motes swirling in the air, as thick as a swarm of mosquitoes on a humid summer day.

My head felt clogged, but at least my hearing seemed to be returning. “Where are you going?” David yelled from behind us.

“The loading dock,” Russ shot back.

“No,” David shouted. “I have a better idea.” He guided us from behind with his hand on Russ’s back.

We pushed forward, fueled by fear and adrenaline. When we were close enough to see the loading dock entrance, David stopped in front of a side door, one of those we’d tried and found locked on our way in. He said something to Russ, who pulled out his wallet and gave him the medallion. David slid the medallion into a slot next to the door, and the knob turned and we were through.

The other side of the door led to another corridor, but it was a considerable improvement. The hallway still rumbled, but the shaking wasn’t as severe, and there were no signs of damage. It was quieter too. For the first time since we left David’s lab, I actually felt like we might make it out alive. “Where are we going?” Russ asked, looking ahead. The hallway, absent other doors and artwork on the walls, stretched endlessly before us.

“This leads to the village,” David said. “We have a confidentiality agreement with the people there. They know about our location and help us in various ways. Moving supplies, that kind of thing.”

“You trust them to keep your secret?” Russ said.

“People keep their word here,” David said, walking ahead of us. Without any obstacles we were able to quicken our pace. “And there are significant financial incentives for them to keep hushed too. One of the buildings on the edge of the village belongs to us and this hallway ends there.”

CHAPTER SIXTY

Russ

The corridor ended with a concrete stairwell leading up to yet another locked doorway. David borrowed my medallion again and trotted up the stairs to run it through the slot. “You don’t have one of your own?” I asked.

David grinned and held the medallion in the air between two fingers. “I actually had two of my own, if you must know. This one, which I gave to my grandfather and another one, which is sitting in a desk drawer back at the lab.” He must have been reading my mind because he said, “If I knew we were going to be attacked, I would have kept it in my wallet.”

“I didn’t think it was an earthquake,” Nadia said, her voice low.

He opened the door and stuck his head in to look around, reaching for a light switch just inside the doorway. When the lights went on, and David was satisfied it was safe, he gestured for us to come forward. We stepped into what looked like a large barn containing one thing—a large helicopter. The structure was metal, and too small for the helicopter. The underside of the roof nearly touched the blades. I whistled and said, “Wow, this is amazing.”

Nadia and I circled the thing to get a good look. I’d never ridden in a helicopter, but the ones I’d seen at air shows and on TV looked smaller than this one, and not nearly as impressive. Gun-metal gray, it gleamed like it was new and looked large enough to hold at least a dozen people. The front window was expansive and spotless. I put up a hand to touch it, giving it its first smudge, then wiped it away with my sleeve.

David walked over to an electrical box on the far wall and flipped some switches. The ground beneath us, I noticed, was stable, no more trembling or rumbling, but off in the distance it sounded like a war movie. “This is our ride, kids,” David said, opening the door to the helicopter.

“But how are we going to get it out of this shed?” Nadia wondered, voicing my thoughts exactly.

David held out a hand to help her into the chopper. “Let me worry about that.” We got into the back and fastened our seat belts while he climbed into the pilot’s seat, put on a headset, and checked instruments on the dashboard. When light flooded the room, Nadia and I looked up to see each side of the roof rise upward, like a movable bridge. “Whoa,” she said, her eyes getting wide. “I didn’t see that coming.”

When the roof panels were completely vertical, David started up the engine and the blades whirred above us. I have no idea what the decibel level was, but I can tell you that it was incredibly loud. It sounded like the engine was below our feet, and with the blades overhead, the noise enveloped us. I looked around to see if there were ear plugs or headphones for the passengers, but didn’t see anything.

The chopper rose shakily off the ground and wobbled back and forth. I found myself holding my breath as we lifted up through the opening, hoping we wouldn’t hit the sides on the way out. Nadia squeezed my hand, so she was feeling it too. When we were completely out of the building, we hovered over it for a second, watching as the roof panels lowered back into place. It looked exactly like the rest of the buildings in the village—slightly rusty corrugated metal roof, wood exterior with peeling paint. Nothing from the outside said this house had a military helicopter stored inside. We lingered above the village, attracting the attention of the Peruvian people standing in the street. David saluted, and they waved back, some with open-mouthed wonder, others with concerned expressions. A baby strapped onto his mother’s back had his mouth open in what I assumed was an ear-shattering wail.

We rose higher and now we had a good view of the ruins and Professor Neverman’s car, still by the side of the road. The Humvee was parked on the other side of the ruins and I strained to see if it was occupied, but I couldn’t see anything from this angle. Nadia too was searching and I knew we both were wondering what had happened to all the people who had worked with David. I hoped they were able to make it to the safe room David had mentioned.

An explosion below rocked me out of my thoughts. All of my senses were assaulted. A fireball the size of an apartment building burst out on the ground next to the ruins, accompanied by a roar louder than anything I’d ever heard. Dirt and debris exploded outward from the site of the blast. Looking at the fireball was like looking at the sun. David fought to keep the helicopter steady, while Nadia covered her ears as if she were in pain.

No one could have survived something like that.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Nadia

My heart sank as I thought about the woman working the paper shredder who gave us directions to Room 138 and the blond girl with the cat eye glasses pushing the cart out to the loading dock. They thought it was their last day at this location. They had no clue this would be their last day on earth. I wondered if they had boyfriends, husbands, kids. They certainly had parents, friends, and relatives. I’d covered my ears to block out the noise, but it was also to block out the horror of thinking people were either burning to death or buried alive.

And it could have been us. It so easily could have been us.

The helicopter shook and David veered away from the ruins, rolling us almost on our side. I couldn’t help but look out the window, even though I felt a little queasy. It was then that I spotted a bus—our bus—stopped on the highway leading up to the ruins. Standing in front of it were people. I counted. One. Two. Three of them. I jabbed Russ in the arm and when I got his attention, I frantically pointed down below. I screamed to be heard over the noise. “It’s our bus!”

In a flash, he realized what I was saying and unbuckled his seatbelt to go up to talk to David. I knew a decision had been made when the chopper circled back and dropped down so quickly that I thought I was going to be sick. As we lowered to the road behind the bus, I recognized the three people on the ground as Jameson, Kevin, and Mrs. Whitehouse.

Once on the ground, Russ opened the door and headed toward them. I followed, even as David Hofstetter yelled, “Wait a minute—”

“Nadia!” Jameson yelled, running toward us like we were long lost friends. He lifted me off the ground and swung me around. He set me down, and turned to Russ, “Where the hell were you guys?”

Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse came up behind him. “Where were you?” Kevin shouted, echoing Jameson’s question. “Why did you take off like that? And what’s the deal with the helicopter?”

“It’s a long story,” Russ said. He pointed to the bus. “Where are Mallory and Mr. Specter?”

Kevin cupped his hands around his mouth, “They went to the ruins looking for you.” Russ and I looked toward the ruins, but the only thing visible was a cloud of smoke and smoldering flames. Mrs. Whitehouse wiped a tear from her eye and I had the sudden sinking feeling that we hadn’t completely eluded death after all. I leaned against Russ, who I sensed felt just as terrible as I did, except he handled it differently. He huddled with Kevin and Jameson to get the lowdown on what had happened in our absence. The story was that back at the convent, when they’d discovered we’d gone and taken Professor Neverman’s car, they set out after us, guessing correctly that we’d head to the ruins. Once they arrived at the site, Mr. Specter took the keys and left the three of them in the bus while he and Mallory went to check out the ruins. He would be the advance guard, he said. Mr. Specter said that he’d check it out and then come back for the others. He thought that if Russ and I were in hiding that Mallory calling our names would get us to respond.

Mr. Specter and Mallory had been gone a long time, Kevin said. Maybe an hour? “I was just about to go after them when the whole place blew up.”

I looked at Russ and knew that both of us were sick thinking that Mallory was gone forever. And what a horrible way to die. I wanted to curl up in a fetal position and shut the world out. He felt the same way, but he was able to push the feeling aside.

Russ said, “Get your things off the bus. You’re coming with us.”

It only took a few minutes to transfer the suitcases and other bags from the bus to the helicopter. I was glad to see they’d brought my stuff and Russ’s too. David welcomed everyone aboard. There wasn’t time for pleasantries or explanations, although I did overhear Kevin registering the fact that our pilot was David Hofstetter, the very same David Hofstetter that we’d been in search of. “Get out. You gotta be kidding,” he said incredulously. I noticed that Jameson wasn’t saying much and Mrs. Whitehouse looked as grim as I felt. The copter lifted us into the air and we flew away from the smoke and destruction. It even smelled of death. And Mallory had been there. I didn’t want to think about it. I leaned back and closed my eyes wishing I could be somewhere else. Without planning it, I let my consciousness drift and thought: I wish I knew what happened to Mallory.

I astral projected out of the helicopter and down to the ground, through the drifting haze of smoke close to the ruins. And that’s when I found Mallory’s body in a ditch by the side of the road. I didn’t want to look, but it was impossible not to. She laid on her side, like a doll that had been thrown out a car window. Her front was blackened, but from behind she looked the same as she always had, right down to her ponytail, still pulled taut in its elastic. She must have been facing the explosion at the time it went off. Her face was sooty, but not burned. The lower half of her body had been on fire, though. I could tell because her jeans and part of her sweatshirt were charred and smoking. The blast must have knocked her off her feet; one of her shoes was missing and I could see her glittery red toe polish and the ankle tattoo her parents didn’t know about. I wished I could be with her in person. I would have moved her so that she looked more dignified. I would have wiped the grime off her face. Such a pretty face she had. She shouldn’t be alone in a ditch. I floated down directly in front of her face and out of habit, just like when I astral projected to her at home, I made my presence known. “Oh Mallory,” I said sorrowfully.

Her eyes flipped open, shocking me. “Nadia?” Her voice was a croak. I saw her throat bulge with effort. “Help me, Nadia. Please, help me.” And then she made the most horrendous noise. It was a noise I remembered clearly from my time in the burn unit. Not a wail, not a cry. Something more primal. A noise from the depths of suffering. The sound of excruciating, unrelenting, unbearable pain. Mallory begged me for help, and made that awful, nail-scraping noise and then she lost consciousness again. Her eyes closed and she was gone. A person’s body can only handle so much pain before they have to check out.

I moved away from her, taking note of her exact location, and then I went back. “We’re coming for you, Mallory,” I said. “Just sit tight. We’ll be here soon.” But there was no sign she heard me.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Russ

I sat up front in the helicopter even though I wanted to be in back to comfort Nadia and also to explain what had happened to the others in our group, but David had pulled me aside and warned me not to say too much. And then, maybe to keep me from talking, he had me sit next to him.

“There will be a briefing later,” he yelled as the helicopter left the roadway. He said something about a team effort and confidentiality clause, but I had been there and I knew there was no team. It had been every man for himself. There would be nothing to stop me from telling Kevin Adams what happened later. I didn’t want him to think Nadia and I had just taken off without a good reason.

I found myself sneaking peeks at Nadia. She had her head back and her eyes closed. She was worn out, and who could blame her? What a night. What a day. We’d probably aged ten years in a short time, and I knew I’d never be the same person again.

I still had my eyes on her when she jerked upright, unbuckled her seatbelt and leaped forward. “We have to go back!” she shouted frantically. “Mallory is still alive. We need to get her.”

His hands still on the controller, David said, “Sit down!”

“I’m not going to sit down,” she said, right into his ear, gesturing wildly. “We need to go back. I saw Mallory. She’s burned, but alive.”

David kept his eyes straight ahead. “Assuming that’s true, we can alert one of our team on the ground to follow up. Protocol requires we not return to the scene of an attack.”

“Dammit,” Nadia said, tears in her eyes. And then she let out a string of curse words I’d never heard her use before. “I don’t care about your protocol. My friend is in a ditch and she’s dying. Russ, tell him.”

I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “Go back.”

“No.” His forehead furrowed. “We have no proof there’s anyone left behind. I will not risk the lives of six people for a hunch.”

What a dick. I had no idea what my sister ever saw in him. “It’s not a hunch. If Nadia saw her, she’s there.” I grabbed his shoulder and spoke more forcefully, this time putting mental energy into convincing him. “Go back right now. You want to go back.”

David gave me a look that said you’ve gotta be kidding. “Mind control doesn’t work on me. I have some powers of my own, you know.”

“Yeah well, you might have powers,” I yelled back, “but you’ve got no balls. What kind of man leaves a wounded girl behind?”

He gritted his teeth and didn’t say anything, but my words must have made an impact because the next thing I knew, he circled around and retraced our path.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Whitehouse called out, leaning forward.

“We’re going back to get Mallory,” Nadia answered.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Nadia

Jameson, who knew I could astral project, understood when I said I’d seen Mallory alive by the side of the road. Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse were confused, but accepted it as fact. Once again, it seemed like the adults were less in charge than they thought they were.

The whole time we traveled back to the ruins, I had a frantic feeling in my stomach. Come on, come on, come on. We weren’t going fast enough. Mallory was alone and in pain. We had to find her before one of the Associates did.

When the helicopter touched down near the bus, and Russ had the door open, I jumped up to go with him. David Hofstetter held a hand out to stop me, as if that would work. “You stay here,” he said. “Let Russ go with Kevin.”

But as my mother is fond of saying—teenagers, they never listen. I pushed past him and once I got outside I took off running, with Russ right next to me, matching me step by step. I knew he could outrun me, but he needed me to show him the way. Glancing back, I didn’t see anyone else following us.

When we finally reached Mallory, my heart dropped. She seemed half out of it, and was moaning from the pain, but was still positioned pretty much the way I’d seen her. Astral projecting hadn’t given me the full experience, though. In real life, the scent of burning flesh and fabric polluted my nostrils and made it hard to think of anything else. I gagged and got scary flashbacks from my time in the hospital. I have no idea how the nurses can stand dealing with patients in the burn unit. All those disfigured people in pain, begging for mercy. Sometimes, in my nightmares I lived it all over again. Seeing Mallory brought it all back.

The smell didn’t seem to bother Russ. He crouched down next to her. “Mallory?” He smoothed a hand over her forehead. “Can you hear me?”

“Russ.” The word came out as a forced whisper.

“Can you stand? If I help you, can you get up?” He tried to lift her, but paused when she screamed in pain.

“We’re going to have to carry her,” I said. “Maybe if I—”

“I’ve got her.” Russ scooped her up, and she wailed into his chest and clutched his sweatshirt. He said tenderly, “I know it hurts. We’ll fix it.” He looked to me and said, “Nadia, why don’t you run ahead and see if David will move the chopper closer so I don’t have to carry her so far?”

At that moment, I was overcome with emotion. I was relieved and overjoyed that Mallory was still alive, but sick to see her in such agony. I watched her writhing in pain and I knew what she was experiencing. But along with those feelings, I’m ashamed to admit, came an ugly twinge of jealousy. I felt Russ’s compassion, and concern and—yes, I’ll say it—even his love for Mallory. He looked like he wanted to kiss and console her. Ridiculous, I knew, but I couldn’t help feeling the way I did. Without a word I turned and ran back, fighting tears the whole way.

By the time I got back and explained to David about moving the helicopter closer, Russ was already in sight, carrying Mallory through the smoke like they were part of a movie poster about the apocalypse. And everyone responded like they were in a movie too, like Mallory had come back from the dead. They rushed toward her, thrilled to see her alive and concerned about her injuries. I was able to hear every word because the helicopter was now off, giving us a break from the whirring of the blades and the noise of the engine. When I questioned it, Mrs. Whitehouse said, “David radioed Praetorian Guard headquarters and got permission to land. They said the area was safe.” David. Like they were already old friends.

“How do they know for sure?” I asked. Bad guys could be lurking anywhere.

“It’s their modus operandi. The Associates operate like a thief in the night,” David said, his voice tight. “They strike when no one is looking and leave before anyone can retaliate. Cowards.”

Kevin rushed forward to help with Mallory, and Russ barked out orders, asking if David had a blanket onboard that he could spread on the ground. “Move her inside,” David said, gesturing to the open door of the helicopter. “We’ll get her to a hospital.”

Russ ignored him and had Jameson use his sweatshirt to cushion Mallory’s head on the pavement. She cried out when they set her down, clutching at Russ’s arm like it was a lifeline and she was about to drown.

“There, there,” he said, stroking her head. “This’ll be over soon. Hang in there.” I watched him at work and knew what he was doing. He was going to heal Mallory’s injuries. Russ was going to take away her pain and make her as beautiful and perfect as she was before.

David said, “Time is critical with burns. We need to get her to a medical—”

“Russ is a healer,” Kevin Adams said, nudging him with his elbow. “Let him do his thing.”

“Does anyone have scissors or a knife?” Russ asked, not taking his eyes away from Mallory. David went aboard the chopper and came back with a First Aid kit containing small scissors for cutting gauze and adhesive strips. Russ started to cut a slit from the bottom of her jeans up the front of her leg, but he didn’t get far when her screaming stopped him. We all realized then that it was so much worse than it looked. The charred fabric had burned and melted into her skin. “Someone help me!” she screamed. “Kill me. Make it stop!”

Russ took a deep breath and put his hand lightly over her legs, concentrating with all he had. I could tell by the look on his face that he was pouring his whole self into healing Mallory. Giving it his all. Mallory thrashed around, and Mrs. Whitehouse held her steady. All of us watched intently as if our concern could somehow help. I saw David Hofstetter’s lips moving. If I hadn’t known he was a scientist, I would have guessed he was praying.

We didn’t see her skin healing as much as we saw her body relax as the pain lessened. He ran his hands up one side of her blackened jeans, over her abdomen and back down the other leg, then repeated the pattern over and over again. She stopped screaming after a few minutes, and began to whimper quietly, and then some time after that, even the whimpering stopped. Finally, she just regarded him with large eyes like a child watching something happen to someone else.

I was so concerned with what was going on in front of me that I didn’t notice the group of people walking toward us from down the road, until Jameson stood up and said, “What’s going on here?”

All of us except Russ and Mallory turned our attention to the group of Peruvians headed our way. Men, women, small children—they looked like they came from the village. None of them looked menacing, but still our group became tense. Jameson called out something in Spanish and one of the men in the front yelled something back. I caught the phrase, “Ángel quemada,” and groaned. “Not this again,” I said.

“You know what they’re talking about?” Jameson asked.

I sighed. “Yes, it came up at the airport when I was detained. There’s this legend about the Ángel quemada. She’s an angel that appears as a human girl with half of her face burned. Then there’s something about a firestorm and she can fly when she’s invisible and she travels with a man who can heal the lame.” It all came out in a rush, but the pieces clicked together in my brain as I spoke. I’d been offended at the airport and the Mercado when they’d thought the legend was about me, but the truth of it was—I was the Ángel quemada. Half my face had been burned and I traveled with Russ, who could heal people. And the explosion fit the definition of a firestorm. Did the legend foretell of my existence, or was it all just a coincidence?

The Peruvians edged closer, watching Russ and me with interest. There were about a dozen of them, more if you counted babies and toddlers. The shy smiles on the women’s faces erased my alarm. They didn’t mean any harm; they were just curious. Jameson and one of the men carried on an animated conversation. It was about Russ and me, if their pointing was any indication. I really hated that I couldn’t understand what they were saying. If I ever got home, I was definitely learning Spanish.

“What’s he saying?” I asked, giving in to curiosity.

“A girl from the village saw you flying over Mallory when she was lying in the ditch,” Jameson said. He illustrated with a swoop of his hand. “She knew right away that you were the Ángel quemada. She ran home to tell her mother so they could have Russ cure her little brother.” He pointed to a girl about nine or ten, standing next to a woman holding a baby. I nodded like of course, but part of me wondered how it is she saw me when I was astral projecting. David gave me an incredulous look and I knew I’d be getting questioned about this sometime in the near future.

“Did the explosion wreck anything in their village?” Kevin asked.

Jameson translated the question.

We all understood the answer. “No.”

“That’s good.” Kevin nodded.

A few minutes later, Russ stood up and shook out his hands. “I feel like I’m finished.” Kevin and Jameson helped Mallory to her feet, and the Peruvians murmured in amazement. One teenage boy began to clap and when the others joined in, Mallory managed a weak smile.

“How do you feel?” David asked.

“Tired,” Mallory said. “And thirsty. But mostly tired.”

“Incredible,” David said, giving Russ a sideways glance. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He turned back to Mallory. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, it’s gone. I just feel thirsty.”

“Poor little lamb,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “I’ve got a bottle of water in my bag. Let’s get you settled.” While Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse helped Mallory into the helicopter, Jameson addressed the group. There was a lively back and forth, and finally he said to Russ, “I’ve told them we have to go right away, but they’re most insistent that you heal the baby.”

Russ looked a little dazed actually, like healing Mallory had sucked the life out of him, but he nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The woman stepped forward with the baby in her arms, and pulled the blanket away. The baby’s older sister regarded me with narrowed eyes. Russ went up to them and rested his hands on the sleeping infant’s stomach. “Right here, I think,” he said, focusing his vision on that one spot. “Something is wrong with his digestion and it’s keeping him from growing.”

“Si, si,” the mother said, nodding vigorously after Jameson translated.

“Absolutely amazing,” David said.

Russ closed his eyes, and when he opened them a few minutes later, he exhaled in relief. “Okay, it’s done.”

The mother asked if he had fixed her baby, and when Russ answered, “Si,” tears of happiness flowed down her face.

I can’t tell you how many times I heard the word, “Gracias,” in the next few minutes. Russ was hugged and kissed by most of the women in the group. Some of the men clapped him on the back and shook his hand. All of them wanted to touch the miracle man. The older sister beamed, grinning from ear to ear, now that her baby brother was cured. Down the road we saw another scattering of villagers heading this way and the ones closest to us called out excitedly to the others, telling them what had happened.

“Jameson, Russ, Nadia,” David said, his voice firm. “Everybody get aboard, now, before we have a mob scene.”

As the helicopter rose above the crowd, I watched as the Peruvian villagers raised their hands to say good-bye. I waved back, even though I was pretty sure they couldn’t see me.

When we’d been in the air for about ten minutes, it occurred to me that we’d left something important unfinished. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and thought, take me to Mr. Specter. I felt the familiar sensation of leaving my body, my essence pulled back toward the site of the explosion. A thick cloud of smoke hovered over the ground. Ashes drifted in the air. If I had been there in person, I wouldn’t have been able to breathe. There was no sign of Mr. Specter. Nothing at all. I tried to move through the smoke but something kept me from going beyond that point. I’d never been stopped like that before, but then again, I’d never looked for someone who’d been in an explosion. A feeling of doom came over me and I wanted nothing more than to be back in the safety of my own body. Take me back to the helicopter, I thought. I want to go back.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Russ

David flew us to an airstrip run by the Praetorian Guard and from there we traveled by van to what they called a secure hotel, which basically meant that we had the whole floor of a Marriott, with armed guards standing watch by the elevator and stairwell. We were instructed to keep the windows and blinds closed, for safety reasons.

Mallory was checked over by a doctor. The burn on her legs, he said, was equivalent to that of a bad sunburn. He gave her a tube of salve and said it should be better within a few days. No one mentioned how she got burned, and the doctor didn’t ask.

At the hotel, I was paired up with Jameson again, but this time Mrs. Whitehouse insisted on staying with Nadia and Mallory, so the staff brought another bed to their room. We all cleaned up and then had room service. Kevin came to our room to eat. He’d been assigned a room by himself and was feeling lonely.

“I can’t tell you boys how many times Sam and I talked about this day,” he said, when we were eating our cheeseburgers. “I’ve been involved with the Guard for sixteen years and I always knew one of us might have to take one for the team, but honestly? You don’t believe it’s gonna happen until it does. No, I take that back. I’m still having trouble believing it. I keep thinking there must be some mistake, that Sam will walk through that door and everything will be okay again. He was one cool dude. My best friend.” He pulled a comb out of his back pocket and ran it through his hair. “My best friend,” he repeated sadly.

David had promised we’d have a briefing the next day, and cautioned us against sharing too much information, so I didn’t correct Kevin and tell him that his best friend had really been playing for the other side. It would have broken his heart, anyway, and Kevin seemed like a decent guy. We’d all had a rough day. No need to make it worse.

But Kevin was on a roll now. “What they’ll probably do is say he had a heart attack on the trip and send us back with an urn full of ashes. That’s what they’ll do.” He dipped a French fry in ketchup. “Which sucks because he went down like a warrior and won’t get credit for it.”

It was so, so hard not to say anything. I was glad when he finally left, and I could talk to Jameson alone. I told him my side of the story and he told me what happened after we’d left the convent. He and Kevin had gone to find Mr. Specter right after Nadia had burst in trying to warn them about the Deleo. Jameson had never actually had the Deleo strapped to his head. Kevin had some concerns about using something not approved by the Guard, and Mr. Specter had gotten flustered and defensive.

“I didn’t have time to get the official seal of approval, Kevin,” Mr. Specter had said sarcastically. “But this is a completely safe measuring device. Do you think I would take risks with these kids if that weren’t the case?”

After listening to them arguing for a few minutes, Jameson said he was going to go back and check on Mallory. And that was when he realized that Nadia and I weren’t around. “We looked for you,” Jameson said. “None of us could believe you’d leave without your things. I thought maybe you were just walking around the grounds, but then someone noticed Professor Neverman’s SUV had been jacked. I said no way could it be Russ. He doesn’t have it in him.”

“Thanks,” I said, wryly. “But you’re lucky you didn’t get the Deleo treatment. Nadia was right. It would have messed with your brain.”

“Not my brain,” he said, tapping on his temple. “This thing is indestructible.”

After we’d stacked the plates and pushed the room service cart out into the hallway, I told Jameson I had to talk to someone and I’d be back in a while. He’d figured out how the remote control worked and found some raunchy show with dancing women, so he didn’t mind me leaving at all. When I left, he was sitting back against his headboard, a contented smile on his face.

Ever since I’d gotten back into the helicopter after curing the baby, I’d been waiting for a chance to talk to David Hofstetter alone. When we were airborne, I noticed that David’s box—the one he’d carried out of the facility that now sat at my feet—had gotten jostled and the cover had slid to one side. I leaned forward in my seat to adjust it, and something in the box caught my eye. A framed photo partially covered by some paperwork. I shifted the contents and when I pulled the picture out, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a photo of someone I knew well. Frank Shrapnel Becker, my nephew. He hadn’t been posing for the photo; it appeared to be a candid, maybe taken from a distance. I looked at the picture and then over at David, who was unaware of how fiercely I studied his face.

When I first saw David, I thought he seemed familiar. I assumed it was from viewing Mr. Specter’s age-progressed photo, but I knew now that wasn’t it. He seemed familiar because he and Frank looked so much the same. David was Frank’s dad, I was sure of it.

Carly had never revealed the identity of Frank’s father. We all assumed it was a nameless one-night stand, or someone she didn’t want to have associated with her son due to a criminal record or addiction problem. This kind of scenario had never occurred to me. Carly had seemed pretty convinced that David was dead, so how had this happened?

This wasn’t a subject I wanted to bring up in front of the others, or yell out while he was piloting a helicopter. The time had to be right. And the time was now.

I nodded to the armed guard standing in front of the elevator before knocking on David’s door. When he opened it, he had a smile on his face. “Hey Russ, I was hoping you’d stop by.”

“Are you Frank’s father?” The words just spilled out.

He looked thoughtful. “Come on in. We’ll talk.”

Once inside, he gestured for me to take a seat in an upholstered chair by the window while he sat on the edge of the bed. “So how did you figure it out?”

“You are Frank’s dad then.” I stared at him. “Did you swear Carly to secrecy or what? You know all my relatives think she’s this big slut because she couldn’t come up with his father’s name.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up and making him look even more like Frank. “No, I didn’t swear Carly to secrecy. She doesn’t know.”

I chewed my lip trying to figure this out. “She wasn’t there at the time?”

“No, I—” He held up a hand. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” I didn’t say anything. “I guess not. Okay, I’ll just tell you. It was one of those times when I went back to Edgewood in disguise. I followed her one night. I know it sounds creepy. I just wanted to see her.” He traced the pattern in the bedspread, remembering. “She went to a bar with two of her girlfriends. I sat off to one side and listened to them talk. Carly is just, well, she’s your sister, so you know how she is. She’s great. The best. There’s no one like her.” He looked up and smiled, just a little. “I sent two rounds of drinks to them anonymously, and I didn’t think she knew it came from me, but she must have figured it out because she came over to thank me.”

“And she knew it was you,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “She knew. Or she thought she did, but I was ready with my story about being David Hofstetter’s cousin, and by then she’d had so much to drink she wasn’t entirely sure. Afterward she told me that she only went back to the hotel with me because I reminded her of David.”

“Have you been in touch with her since then?”

“I wanted to, but no.” He shook his head. “It’s not that easy living this life. I can’t think of myself. There is so much more at stake.”

It wasn’t easy for him? I felt a knot in my throat that I had to force down. “There is a ten-year-old boy who thinks his father doesn’t give a rat’s ass about him. Have you ever thought about him?”

“Every day, Russ. Every single day.” He got up and looked out the window, disregarding our safety instructions. “I’ve tried to do what I can. I’ve sent her money anonymously, but she just gives it to charity. I’ve had her apartment monitored for safety purposes, but she finds the bugs and destroys them.”

“That was you?” I stood up, aghast. “She thought the Associates were bugging her place. She’s moved umpteen times and changed phones even more than that to get them off her trail, and it was you? How could you do that to her?”

“What else could I do?” Now it was his turn to get irate.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about trying to be a father?”

His fists curled up by his sides. “I want that more than anything, believe me, and I’m working on it.”

“Well, work a little harder.”

The room was silent for a minute and then he said, “So what’s Frank like?”

“Frank’s about the coolest kid I’ve ever met,” I said. “He likes to collect stuff. He has a lot of nervous energy, but we know it’s not ADD because he’s been tested. Sometimes he drives me nuts following me around and talking non-stop, but he’s so good-natured it’s hard to stay mad at him. He likes comic books and looking at the stars. When my mom has a headache, he can tell by the look on her face and he’ll go get her the bottle of Excedrin. He hates cleaning his room, but he’ll help my dad clean out the garage without complaining. Frank is a great kid. You’re really missing out.”

“I know that.” And then David Hofstetter began to cry. Real tears, the kind that would be embarrassing out in public. He sort of sniffed, but he wasn’t trying to hold back. I went into the bathroom and came back with a box of tissue. He pulled one out of the dispenser and wiped his eyes. “I have a plan,” he said, taking another tissue and blowing his nose. “A plan to retire from the Guard. I’ve already talked to my superior about it, and it’s been approved. Once that happens, I’ll move back to Edgewood and see if Carly will let me be part of Frank’s life.”

“And part of her life?”

“If she’ll have me.” He sat up straight. “Which I very much doubt. Carly is strong-minded and I’ve been gone a long time. Add in the deception and everything else, and I’m thinking it’s a long shot.”

I sat back down. “You’re probably right.”

“Well, you didn’t have to agree with me.”

“Sorry.” I asked, “So when is this retirement going to happen?”

“That would depend on you.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Nadia

After Mallory had showered and been examined by the doctor, she seemed almost back to normal. When we finished eating and had put our trays out in the hallway, Mrs. Whitehouse said she was tired and climbed into bed, pulling a sleep mask over her eyes. Within minutes we heard snoring, interspersed with occasional snorts and whistles.

“Hey Nadia, you want to see something?” Mallory asked in a conspiratorial whisper. She pulled down her pajama bottoms to reveal her bare legs. “What do you think of this?” She pointed to a spot on the inside of her thigh.

“Your burn?” There was no way I was getting any closer to look.

“Not just my burn. Here.” She tapped with one finger. “Part of the burn is darker and it’s in the shape of a heart. Isn’t that something?”

“I guess.”

Mallory pulled the bottoms back up. “It’s like Russ marked me with his sign. You know what?” She leaned in and spoke quietly so Mrs. Whitehouse wouldn’t hear. “I’ve changed my mind about Russ. I didn’t see it before, but he’s really kind of manly. The way he saved me, picking me up and carrying me back. And then healing me when I was in horrible pain. I really felt a strong connection. I think I’m in love with him. Seriously.”

“No,” I said, crossing my arms. “No, I’m telling you right now. Russ is off limits. He’s mine.”

Mallory kept talking as if I hadn’t said a word. “When his hands moved over me I felt this rush like I can’t even describe. It’s like part of him is in me now.”

“Mallory, I know you’re my friend, but if you keep talking I’m going to hit you.” I felt my face flush red with anger. Normally this would mortify me because it made my scars even more noticeable, but I was beyond caring.

“I know you like him,” she said, crossing the room to sit on the bed. “And that’s great. Trust me, I won’t stand in the way of your friendship.”

“It’s not a friendship. I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, ho!” Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “When did this happen, this love of yours?”

“I told him I loved him.” Granted, he’d been in a complete daze and didn’t seem to register what I said, but it still took a lot for me to say it. I thought I should get credit. “You realize, of course, we were together overnight. It was very…intimate.”

She cocked her head to one side. “So you had sex?”

“Well, no.”

“And did he say he loved you back?”

“Not exactly, but I know he feels it too.”

“Oh Nadia, Nadia,” she said in a condescending way. “Guys are like that. It doesn’t always mean much. In fact, most of the time it doesn’t mean anything.” She said it like she was this big expert and I was the naïve, clueless little sister, unwise to the way of men. The insinuation rankled me.

I didn’t want to get into it with her. What Russ and I had was between us. Even though we dropped the subject after that, I knew Mallory and I knew she wasn’t going to let this go. She was determined to make Russ her own. Well, we’d see about that.

Once the lights were out and we’d each climbed into bed, I couldn’t resist pointing out one last thing. I spoke into the darkness. “By the way, Mallory, I’m the reason we turned around and went back for you when you were laying by the side of the road. Me. Russ didn’t have anything to do with it.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Russ

That night in his room, I asked David how his retirement could depend on me. He said he’d have to swear me to secrecy first. “There will be a briefing for the others tomorrow, but what I’m about to tell you now stays between us,” he said. “Do you swear?”

I said, “Yes, I swear.”

“The Associates are planning their biggest disruption yet. If they succeed, they’ll have complete control of everything—the media, the government, technology.”

“Don’t they sort of already?”

“Not like this. I’m talking about widespread, worldwide control. People will suffer and starve, fighting will break out in all the major cities—”

“Dogs and cats living together. Mass hysteria!” I said.

His face turned grave. “This is not a joke. You think life is tough now? Wait until people all around you start dying and there’s nothing you can do about it. Have you seen photos of people starving during famines, of people being gunned down in the streets during military coups, of concentration camp victims? It all could happen again, if we don’t stop them.”

“I’m sorry for joking about it,” I said, hoping I sounded apologetic. Man, he was irate. “Go ahead.”

“We know what they have planned. We just don’t know how to stop them.”

“Why are you telling me this? So I’ll protect Carly and Frank?”

“I’m telling you this because you might be part of the solution. I’ve noticed that you and your friend Nadia have specialized skills that might prove useful to us. You can heal people?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“And also project electrical currents, and use mind control?”

“The mind control is a little iffy,” I said. “I’m better at the other stuff.”

“And Nadia can astral project?” He tapped his chin with his finger, thinking.

“Yes, and she can tell if people are lying. She reads them too. If she’s close by, she can tell what type of people they are.” I still remembered the first night she checked me out, running her hands up and down the length of my body without actually touching me, and then announcing to Mallory and Jameson that I was okay.

“Interesting. Useful talents all, but the astral projecting is the most valuable. Can you tell me, has she been successful every time she’s tried to do it?”

“I guess so.”

“Who knows she can do this?”

I ticked off on my fingers. “Just me, Mallory, Jameson, and now you.”

“So that adults on this trip don’t know?”

I shook my head. “We never told them.”

“Interesting,” he said, tapping his chin. “I’m going to recommend that the two of you be assigned to this next mission, the big one I mentioned.”

“The fate of the world rests on this mission,” I said, half joking.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Are you willing?”

“Sure, why not,” I said. “And after that, then what?”

“If we’re successful I’ll retire to Edgewood,” he said with a grin. “If not, it really won’t make a difference. The whole world will have gone to hell.”

After that, he told me his theory about Mr. Specter. “I think,” he told me, “that this whole trip was about you and him and nothing else.”

“No, that’s not true,” I protested. “We came here looking for you, because of the map—”

He held up a hand to stop me. “That was a ruse. An excuse to get you here. I’ve checked with the head office of the Guard. He wasn’t sanctioned to take this trip. All of it was done of his own volition.”

“But he said the Praetorian Guard arranged for the plane tickets. And they made fake passports for us…” I said, sputtering. “It was all arranged by them.”

“No.” David leaned forward on the bed, shaking his head. “Think about everything you’ve told me, Russ. The death threat on the rock in the hotel, the bandits that held you up by the bus, and everything else. Why did all those things happen?”

I shrugged. “The Associates were after us?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He flashed a grin. “Specter came to Peru intending to fake his death, because once he did that, he could leave his old life and join the Associates. To do that, first he had to convince you there was danger. He planted the death threat with the rock himself. Don’t you think that as the person in charge, he had key cards for all of your rooms?”

“I guess.”

“He had the drinks delivered to your room, hoping you’d go down to the bar, and when you were gone, he put the rock in your room. Possible?”

“Yeah, it’s possible.”

“And then, the incident with the bandits was supposed to make him look like a hero, but also give all of you the idea that he was being targeted, so when he died later, it would look like he was murdered by the Associates.”

“And then we messed up his plan by fighting back?” I felt my stomach drop, thinking of the two dead men. Was it all just a ruse gone bad?

“Maybe. And, I’m guessing that the second part of his plan was to recruit you for the Associates. By himself, he’s not all that valuable to them, but if he could get you to join up, then he’d have some status in the organization. He did ask you to join, right?”

“Well, yeah, but he said I’d be a double agent.”

David raked his fingers through his hair. “That was just to get you on board, to see how agreeable you were to joining up with them. When you seemed reluctant, he knew he’d have to use the Deleo.”

I was confused. “But why wipe out everyone else’s memories if he only wanted me?”

“He wasn’t wiping them out, exactly; he was manipulating them to his advantage. Bringing them over to his side. Nadia, Jameson, and Mallory might be useful in the future, or if not, at least he doesn’t want them getting in the way.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I said slowly. “But coming all the way to Peru seems excessive.”

“It’s hard to fake a death in the United States. Usually the authorities want to see a body. And coming here gave him more control than he’d have back home. With no phone and no command of the language, you were isolated.”

“But how would he get me to join the Associates after he faked his own death? He’d be gone.”

David chuckled. “Dead people come back all the time in this business. Usually with new identities, but sometimes not. He had the Deleo, remember? He thought he could tell you anything and convince you of it.”

“I guess.” I needed time to mull this over. Too much had happened too fast. I didn’t know what to think.

“It’s just a theory,” David said. “The best I could come up with.”

I said, “If what you’re saying is true, then it’s ironic that he was killed during the explosion. Kind of a horrible coincidence.”

“Ironic and horrible,” David agreed. “True that. I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone. But you know, his motivations are anyone’s guess and this is just a theory. If you can come up with something better, I’m all ears.”

But I couldn’t come up with anything better.

He also told me I wasn’t to say anything to Carly about finding him. Lying to my sister wasn’t going to be easy.

At the briefing the next day, we heard how Mr. Specter’s death would be handled. Just as Kevin thought, the story was that he had a heart attack and died in Miami at the academic competition. We would take home his ashes. Jameson raised his hand and asked, “Do we know for sure that he’s dead? I mean, Mallory survived the explosion and we didn’t think that was possible.”

“Good question!” said one of the Guard officials. There were three of them, plus David Hofstetter. They’d said their names, but they also had said they weren’t their real names so I didn’t make a point to remember.

“I think I can take this question,” David said, stepping forward. “Those who were there, and that includes most of us in this room, know how unlikely it is that Samuel Specter survived that blast. Mallory only survived because he sent her back to the bus and thus she was farther from the impact. But we’ll assume nothing and will be investigating the site for evidence of his death or survival. For the time being, he is presumed dead.”

Kevin Adams said, under his breath, “Harsh, man.”

Mallory asked, “Why did they blow up the ruins?”

“The Associates weren’t interested in the ruins,” David said. “It was the research facility beneath it that they wanted to destroy.”

“How did they know it was there?” she asked. We all grew quiet, knowing the answer. It was because of us. We’d led them right there.

David said, “I don’t have a definite answer for you, Mallory. We’re still working on that.”

We then heard how the Praetorian Guard had arranged for all the paperwork: death certificate, etc. as well as the certificates showing that we took first place in the academic competition in Miami. If the world didn’t end it would look good on our college transcripts.

We were each questioned separately. They were especially interested in our powers and how much we knew about the Associates. They were fascinated to hear about my encounter with them when Frank was abducted and the Associates’ invitation to me to join their organization. Apparently Mr. Specter had not filled them in on anything that had happened in Edgewood. Still, they didn’t announce that he was a traitor, so Kevin was left with untarnished memories of his friend.

I wasn’t sure what lasting effects Mallory had after being hooked up to the Deleo. Nothing obvious, anyway. I do know one thing—for the rest of our time in Peru, Mallory couldn’t get enough of me. It was weird how often she’d just show up when I tried to spend time alone with Nadia. She laughed at all my jokes, and told me over and over again how grateful she was that I’d healed her burns, pulling up her t-shirt to show me how well her abdomen was healing. “I owe you,” she said, her big brown eyes brimming with tears. “Seriously, I would do anything for you, Russ.” It doesn’t get much better than that.

When the morning came to leave, we were more than ready to go home. This particular private jet was set up more like a commercial airline, with rows of seats grouped together in pairs. I boarded the plane and Mallory swooped into the seat right next to me. I was about to say I was saving it for Nadia, when Mallory pulled out her iPad and started talking. “You have to see this video. It’s hilarious. You’re going to die laughing, Russ.” She started the clip and linked her hand through the crook of my arm. With the distraction, I somehow missed Nadia coming past. I craned my neck and saw her sitting two rows behind me, but couldn’t catch her eye.

Once we were in the air, I watched more video clips with Mallory and listened to her tell me stories about the girls on her soccer team. After about half an hour, I excused myself and got out of my chair. “You’re coming back, right Russ?” Mallory said, her voice drifting behind me.

Nadia had her head back and her eyes closed. She held a pottery figure I’d never seen before—a mustached Peruvian man carrying a bunch of different stuff—a stack of money, a heart, a tiny bottle. I sat down in the empty seat next to her and placed my hand over her cheek and eye. My touch didn’t wake her. I directed all the energy and love I could muster and directed it to go through my hand into her skin. Her beautiful ruined face would be ruined no more.

Mrs. Whitehouse leaned over across the aisle. “What are you doing there, Russ?” Her voice had an accusatory tone.

I didn’t turn away from what I was doing. But I did answer. “Keeping a promise,” I said.

END OF BOOK TWO

AUTHOR’S NOTE

While I hold the country of Peru in great regard, in the interest of storytelling this novel took liberties with the facts. Many of the specific locations depicted are fictitious, with details from other, similar places layered in to add some authenticity. Myths and legends abound in Peru, but the story of the burned angel was concocted for the purpose of this book.

If you ever visit a Mercado in Peru, I’d encourage you to buy a Lucky Man figure. I was once given one as a gift and it worked—I have had good luck! I’ve since passed it on to someone else to keep the good fortune going. I wish the same for you.

If you’ve enjoyed this novel, I’d love to hear your thoughts in a review. Without readers, a story is a dead thing, just words on a page. Thanks for bringing this one to life. I am grateful.

ABSOLUTION

Karen McQuestion

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright ©2013 by Karen McQuestion. All rights reserved, worldwide.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

ISBN-13: 978-1493591992

ISBN-10: 1493591991

For Michelle Schrubbe

CHAPTER ONE

Nadia

I was glad our flight from Lima, Peru to Miami was more than five hours long because it gave me plenty of time to spend with Russ. The moments we’d had alone on this trip had been filled with real love. I knew that, I felt that, but I wanted more than just a happy memory. What I wanted was a lasting relationship. It was okay with me if it started off as a whirlwind romance, as long as it led to a lifetime of love. I knew that was a lot to ask, but the universe had dealt me a pretty crappy hand for the first sixteen years of my life. The way I looked at it, I was due for a lot of good things to come my way.

I made the mistake of lagging behind the rest of the group, and in those few moments, Mallory had already grabbed Russ and pulled him into a seat next to her. As I passed them in the aisle, she raised her eyebrows the way girls do to show they’ve got something on you. She acted like it was a joke, but I didn’t think it was funny. Russ wasn't even looking in my direction. His eyes were only on her.

I walked by and found a seat a few rows back and dropped my bag at my feet. When we’d left for Peru more than a week earlier, all of us, four students and our three chaperones, had buzzed with excitement. This time around, going in the opposite direction, things were a lot quieter. Except for Mallory's constant talking and the sound of a video clip on her iPad, all was quiet. Once the plane was up in the air, I leaned over to rummage through my bag, searching until I found the plastic bag with the few sleeping pills I’d filched from my mother’s medicine cabinet. There was no way I could stand to listen to Mallory and Russ talk all the way across the ocean. Better to be unconscious. I swallowed one of the pills and followed it with a swig of water. When I didn’t feel the effects after ten minutes or so, I took another one. This time it worked. Everything got pleasantly woozy and even Mallory's nonstop chatter faded into the distance. For now, I let my worry about Mallory stealing Russ slip away, saving it for later.

Going back to my bag, I felt around the bottom, until I found what I was looking for—the Lucky Man I'd been given by one of the vendors in the market. Smaller than a Barbie doll, it was a pottery figure of a mustached man holding an armload of stuff—money, medicine, a heart. All of it symbolic. Getting a Lucky Man as a gift, I was told, brought the recipient luck. Specific luck in the form of money, health, and love. I was okay for money. It was the health and heart that interested me. I stroked it tentatively with one finger and thought about how Russ had assured me he’d heal the scars on my face once we returned. I could still see the earnest look in his eyes, when he spoke the words. First thing, once we get back. I promise.

Would it work, I wondered? Would the damaged skin that covered one side of my face respond to his touch, regenerating skin cells and making my face new? I longed for it to happen just that way. I yearned to be pretty, but if that was asking too much, I would settle for normal. I was sick of being the girl with the messed up face, the one with the disfigurement that scared small children and caused people to talk in hushed tones whenever I went out in public. I was ready to be transformed. It was time.

I fell asleep with the Lucky Man in my hand and the vision of a perfect, unscarred face. If only.

CHAPTER TWO

Russ

I kept glancing back behind us, but I was never able to catch Nadia's eye. Every time I turned around she was bent over looking at something by her feet or staring out the window. And then eventually, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Meanwhile I was stuck listening to Mallory going on and on about the drama between the girls on her soccer team. When I'd had about all I could take, I told her I had something to do and I got up from my seat.

“You’re coming back though, right Russ?” Mallory said, her voice rising in concern.

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure how to answer, because I was consumed with thoughts of getting back to Nadia. When I got to her row, I lingered in the aisle for just a second. Sitting next to the window with her head tipped back and eyes closed, she looked like she didn't want to be disturbed. She held a pottery figure I’d never seen before—a mustached Peruvian man carrying a bunch of different stuff—a stack of money, a heart, a tiny bottle. Something she must have gotten at the Mercado. I'd seen a lot of those kinds of things, some were made into candle holders and stuff like that, but it all looked like junk to me. She obviously didn’t feel the same way because her hands were curled around this pottery man like she was afraid someone would take it away from her. I sat down in the empty seat next to her and looked at her face. There was an almost perfect delineation between the part that had been burned and the rest of her skin. Like a make-up artist had created a scarred mask from jars of colored putty. I knew from our long discussions driving through Peru that she would have loved it if that was all there was to it. If it were make-up, she would have washed it off in an instant. I couldn't remove the damage that way, but I might be able to restore her skin to the way it was before the crazy man on the bus threw the acid up in the air, ruining her face and her life.

I placed my hand over her cheek and eye, just barely making contact. My touch didn’t wake her. I'd done this before, but it felt more important this time. Personal, for me and for her. I concentrated hard, trying to direct energy and love from my hand into her skin. I wanted life to be better for her, and this was a good start. She was going to be so surprised when she woke up.

Mrs. Whitehouse leaned across the aisle. “What are you doing there, Russ?” She was such a pain, always poking her nose where it didn't belong. Now she sounded accusatory, like maybe I was molesting Nadia or something.

I couldn't allow myself to be distracted so I didn't turn away from what I was doing. But I did answer. “Keeping a promise,” I said. I kept at it, my hands hovering over her face in a stroking motion, expecting her to wake up but she was completely out of it. The plane must have hit an air pocket because it moved like a bus going over a bump. In front of me, Jameson said, “Whoa,” in an exaggerated way, and I saw the candy bar he’d bought at the airport jump up over the top of his seat, like it had been knocked out of his hand. Instead of falling back down, though, he used his telekinesis to make it hover over Mallory’s head in a slow circle. When she noticed it and made a grab, he had it move just out of her reach. “Hey!” she said, laughing.

I went back to Nadia, pouring everything I had into her face, especially the part around her eye, which she’d been told would be hard to fix even with plastic surgery. I heard Mrs. Whitehouse turning in her seat to see what I was doing, but my back blocked her view. Up front I noticed Jameson had switched seats so he was next to Mallory now. Good. She wouldn’t ask me to come back.

When I finished, I shook out my hands. It was an odd feeling, knowing I’d done all I could do. Like pouring water out of a pitcher and knowing it was empty without having to check. I was through, and I didn’t have any more to give. Now I was able to really look at Nadia’s face and I was disappointed at what I saw. Her scars looked better, much better in fact, but they weren’t completely gone. The color had faded and the ridge above her eye, the one she thought looked like a protruding earthworm, was flatter against her skin, but it was still there. The line between the damaged and unaffected skin was blurred.

What a letdown. I’d healed bullet wounds and cured a baby who failed to thrive because of a digestive problem. I’d brought a woman back from near death. I’d been so sure I could fix Nadia’s face. I felt like I’d let her down. I’d done as much as I could, but it wasn’t enough.

Using my healing powers always took a lot out of me and I suddenly felt tired. I reclined the seat, and taking my cue from Nadia, put my head back and closed my eyes. After our time in Peru, worrying about being killed by the Associates, it felt good to relax. Unless something happened to the plane, we were safe for now.

CHAPTER THREE

Russ

Four days later, I was one of hundreds of people sitting in my high school auditorium paying tribute to my science teacher, Mr. Specter, who’d died while we were in Peru. He was well liked, so there was a good turnout of students, past and present, and a ton of people from the community too. I overheard people in the crowd talking about him before it started. Everyone seemed to know him and everyone had a story about something he’d taught them or done for them. “Nice guy,” was the phrase I kept hearing. I understood where they were coming from. I used to think Mr. Specter was a nice guy too.

On the other side of the auditorium I saw Mallory walk in with Jameson, but I didn’t see Nadia anywhere. I hadn’t talked to her since we’d been home. At the airport, her mother had come to pick her up. She didn’t make a scene but angrily yanked on Nadia’s arm and dragged her away from our group. Nadia hadn’t even protested. It was like she was being taken prisoner. After that, I waited to see if she’d astral project to me at night the way she used to, but so far, nothing. I didn’t think she’d be allowed to come to this memorial service, but I still looked for her. I hadn’t told her about what I’d done to her face when we were on the plane because I wanted it to be a surprise. Since I hadn’t heard back from her since, I could only imagine that she was disappointed it hadn’t been completely healed.

On the auditorium stage, Kevin Adams, Mrs. Whitehouse, Dr. Anton, and Rosie from Rosie’s Diner sat on chairs on one side of the podium. In the program they were listed as friends of Mr. Specter’s who would be speaking. All four of them were members of the secret organization, the Praetorian Guard. Of the four, two of them—Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse—had been on the trip with us. It was a little surprising to see all of them lined up in public.

I sat with my parents, my sister Carly, and my nephew Frank. I was glad to be on the aisle next to Carly, where my mother couldn’t reach me. Mom had an awkward habit of giving people reassuring pats when she thought they needed emotional support. Earlier at home, when I was getting dressed and having some trouble with my tie, my mother had tried to get me to cry or have a breakdown or something. “It must have been terrible witnessing Mr. Specter’s heart attack like that,” she said.

“Um, yeah.” I looped the fabric back behind the tie and pushed it through the circle and down again just the way I’d been taught. In theory it should have worked, so why did it look so bulgy?

She leaned against the doorframe, watching my face in the mirror. “Sometimes these kinds of things hit you later, when you least expect it. You think you’re fine and then…”

There was a long awkward pause. I looked up. “It hits you later?”

She looked relieved. “Yes, exactly like that. Would you like to start seeing Dr. Anton again? You always liked him.”

“We’ll probably see him at the funeral. Don’t you think?” I pulled the whole thing apart and started over. She meant well, but her talking was a huge distraction.

“Yes, probably.” She spoke in measured tones. “But I meant seeing him in a professional sense. For grief counseling.”

“Doesn’t he specialize in stress-related sleep disorders?” I said, even though I knew the answer. I’d gone to see him for that very problem. Chronic insomnia. It turned out not to be stress-related, but I hadn’t known that at the time.

“Well, it’s not like he couldn’t handle other problems too. And he knows you, which I thought would make things more comfortable.”

“I appreciate it, Mom, but I’m fine, really. People die. I get it.” From the shocked look on her face I knew that I’d taken it too far in the other direction. Now I looked heartless and cruel. She was probably going to Google the definition of ‘sociopath’ the next time she was online. “I mean, it’s a terrible loss, and I have my moments like anyone else.” I scrambled for just the right thing to say. “But it’s not like it would be if something happened to you or Dad. Then I’d be a complete wreck.”

That seemed to do it. “Okay,” she said, seemingly relieved. “Well if you change your mind, let me know. It’s an open offer.”

I nodded. Downstairs I heard the unmistakable sound of Frank and Carly arriving. My sister was fairly quiet, but Frank was a presence. He had this nervous energy that kept him from crossing the room like a normal person. He bounded, he stomped, he jumped. For a ten-year-old kid he consumed a lot of everything: air, space, quiet. When he was around, it was exhausting. But then, after he left, everything seemed dull and boring. No one was like Frank. Now I heard him calling out, “Grandma, Grandma, where are you?”

“I better go see what he wants,” Mom said, reluctantly pulling away. “Don’t take too long. We need to leave in ten minutes.” And then thankfully, she was gone. I heard her pass Carly on the stairs; Carly’s steps energetic and light, my mother trudging downward, their voices exchanging greetings. Carly was telling Mom she wanted to give me money she owed me.

I went back to my tie, wanting to strangle whoever came up with the concept of knotting fabric around your neck for serious social events. “Hey Russell.” Carly leaned in the doorway the same as my mother had. They were more alike than either of them knew. “How’s it going?”

I raised an eyebrow in her direction. “You owe me money?”

“Yeah, you wish.” She laughed. “That was just my excuse for coming up to talk to you alone.”

“Okay.” We’d already talked since I’d returned from South America. I’d given her the lowdown on almost every detail except one: I’d honored my promise to David Hofstetter, her former high school boyfriend and love of her life, and hadn’t revealed that he did not, as commonly believed, die in a car crash sixteen years before. That, in fact, he’d faked his death to shake the Associates and join the Praetorian Guard doing work that would ultimately make the world a better place.

We’d found him in Peru working in a lab, doing what he called valuable scientific research. Valuable and top secret. Carly would have been overjoyed to know he was still alive, but I couldn’t tell her. It killed me to have to lie to her, but David made it sound like it was a matter of life and death. Oh wait, there was another detail I hadn’t told her, something that she should have known, but apparently didn’t, that David, long presumed dead, was actually Frank’s father.

She watched me fighting with the tie and waited, as if I’d say more. When I didn’t, she said, “I just want to get this straight. Two weeks ago you went on a trip to Peru sponsored by the Praetorian Guard thinking you had proof that David was still alive.”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off the mirror.

“It was you, Nadia, Mallory, and Jameson, all pretending to be students going to an academic decathlon in Miami, chaperoned by Kevin Adams, Mrs. Whitehouse, and Mr. Specter.” Carly ticked off on her fingers as she said the names. “You went, you checked it out, you had a good time. Somewhere in there, Nadia became your girlfriend. And then, to top it all off, Mr. Specter dropped dead from a heart attack, and you brought him back in a body bag.”

“Actually, an urn. His body was cremated there.”

Her fingers tapped against the doorframe. “How convenient. So you didn’t see David or learn anything about him while you were there?”

“I think we covered this already, Carly. Why won’t you believe me?” I avoided looking at her. She’d been a huge troublemaker in high school, putting my parents through hell with one thing after another—flunking classes, sneaking out at night, getting drunk, smoking pot, wrecking the car. Out of necessity she’d become good at covering her tracks, while I was just a beginner in this area. She’d see right through me if I wasn’t careful.

She stepped in front of me. "Let me do that." Taking hold of the tie she expertly looped it around and tucked it in, then adjusted the knot and smoothed the front. I tried not to look into her eyes, which was nearly impossible to do. She stood so close that I could smell the gum on her breath. "It’s not that hard, Russ. Keep practicing, you'll get it."

I took a step back. "Yeah, I don't know if I really need to practice. I don't wear a tie that often."

"I'm not talking about the tie. I'm talking about lying. You need some practice." She put one hand on her hip. "You are one terrible liar. Your body shifts awkwardly, your eyes move back and forth. There are kindergartners caught stealing candy bars who tell more convincing stories."

"I don’t know what you mean." I kept my voice steady, but my protest sounded lame even to me. "It all happened just the way I said."

"Just the way they said you should say it happened." Carly practically spat out the word. She had nothing but contempt for the Praetorian Guard. “Don’t listen to them, Russ. They’ve got you brainwashed.”

"I guess I'm not going to convince you," I said, my arms hanging loosely by my side. "We'll have to agree to disagree." I'd gotten that line from my dad. He used it often when arguing with Mom.

Carly jabbed a finger into the center of the tie she'd just so neatly arranged. "I'm going to be watching you, Russ. I know there's more going on than what you’re telling me.”

“If that were true,” I said, considering my words. “I mean, if there’s something I’m not being straight about, it would only be because I’m looking out for you. You know that, right?”

She sighed. “I can look out for myself, Russ. I’ve been doing it since before you were born.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” I hated it when I couldn’t come up with a quick answer. “If there’s something else, I promise I will tell you eventually. Just not now. But as soon as I can. Okay?” I hoped it was okay. I’d already said more than I should have.

“I am going to get it out of you,” Carly said, arms crossed. “I know all your weaknesses, Russ. I’m not giving up on this. By the time I’m done you’re going to crack like an egg.”

From the bottom of the stairs my mom called out, "Come on, you two! We're going to be late."

Carly muttered, "We're not going to be late. She always leaves too early."

She was right, our mother always did leave way too early, but I didn’t mind this time because I was glad for the interruption. I just said, "We'd better get going."

Now all five of us sat in a row in the auditorium, watching the memorial service as a family. Around me came the sounds of sniffling, mostly girls and some of the moms. I heard someone say, "He was so young." Forty-eight-years-old wasn't all that young, but I guess it was young to be dead.

The principal and vice principal both spoke of Mr. Specter's record as a teacher. Behind them, a slide show silently flashed images from the school yearbook: a giant shot of Mr. Specter’s head, like he was Oz the great and powerful, and then photos of him doing science experiments, taking kids on field trips, things like that. In every one he had on his trademark sweater vest and wire-rimmed glasses. His receding hairline made his forehead look extra large. I hadn’t noticed that in real life, but in the photos it was prominent.

No personal pictures and no mention of his family, which was odd. I knew he wasn't married and I assumed there were no kids, but still, you'd think there would be other family members. As if to answer my question, Vice Principal Ehlers solemnly said, "He always said this school was his family." Ms. Ehlers was trim with blond hair and a friendly smile, which fooled the parents, but not the kids who’d had the experience of being called into her office. If you crossed her she could make your life miserable. "And that his students were his kids." She wiped away a tear. "Samuel Specter went over and above in his teaching career. He loved science and he loved getting kids excited about science. No one will be able to replace him."

Next to me Carly made a derisive snort and then quickly coughed to cover it up. My mom fumbled in her purse and handed her a tissue, then patted her arm reassuringly.

When the principal and vice principal were done speaking, Ms. Ehlers said, "I'd like to turn the floor over to some of Mr. Specter's friends, every one of them prominent members of the community. All of them first met here more than thirty years ago as students in this very high school. Each of them has a few words they’d like to share about their good friend and former classmate, Sam Specter.”

She gestured to Kevin Adams, who lumbered up to the podium, hands in his pockets. His jet-black hair was slicked back as usual, but he wore a button-down shirt rather than his usual T-shirt. He cleared his throat nervously before starting. "Most of you know me as the owner of Power House Comics. Over the years Sam helped me out when I needed an extra hand at the store, so you probably already know that we were friends. He was a true friend, the best kind of friend. I met him when I was fifteen, younger than most of you, and at the time I had no idea the impact he'd have on my life. It was an honor to be with him at the end. His death is a loss for me and a loss for the world." He paused and looked around the room. "Don't let people tell you that the friends you make in high school aren't important. In my experience they're the only ones who count." He shuffled a little bit, and started to walk away, then returned and lowered his mouth to the microphone. "Thank you very much."

A few people, unsure, clapped. When Rosie reached the podium, they stopped. I always liked Rosie. She owned the local diner and waitressed there too. She had a motherly persona and remembered everyone who walked through the diner doors. I didn’t get the impression that she and Mr. Specter had been close, but since they’d all had superpowers as teenagers and were part of the Guard, they’d had an uncommon bond that lasted more than thirty years. Secrets drew people together. I’d learned that already.

Rosie was more composed than Kevin. She mentioned his sweater vest, and that she’d been to blame for it becoming a staple of his wardrobe, since she’d given him one for a gift once. He liked it so well that she gave him one for his birthday every year. “He was an intense man,” she said. “But a good friend, the kind who just shows up when you need him most.” She nodded and looked upward as if remembering. “The night my mother died I drove back from the hospital in tears and wound up putting my car in the ditch on Highway 23. It was February, bitter cold, and I was in the middle of nowhere. That was before cell phones,” Rosie said. “I was trying to rock the car back and forth to get it out of the ditch, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t believe my bad luck. On the same night my mother dies, I’m stuck on a country highway, sure I was going to freeze to death. I was getting low on gas too, to make it even worse. It was awful. I closed my eyes and put my head against the steering wheel and prayed. I prayed harder than I ever had before. And what do you think happened then?” She had the crowd in her grip. Hundreds of people were in the room, but it was dead quiet.

Finally one girl’s voice came out from the crowd. “What happened?”

Rosie smiled. “I heard a truck coming from the other direction. It stopped alongside me and I could see it was a tow truck. Sam Specter jumped out of the passenger side and came over to my window. I rolled it down and he said, “I had a feeling you might need some help.”

The crowd murmured in disbelief. Rosie raised her hand, palm outward. “I swear on my mother’s grave that this story is true. Sam Specter was a miracle man. He just had a knack for knowing when a friend needed his help. He was a gift to everyone who knew him, and I am going to miss him more than I can say.”

She walked away from the microphone. This time the crowd didn’t hold back, but erupted in applause. Rosie sat down, ladylike, and didn’t object when Kevin Adams took her hand. I wondered if this was what it was going to be like for me, Mallory, Jameson, and Nadia in thirty years. We were building relationships around secrets. We were special. Blessed with superpowers and cursed with everything that came with those powers. I knew that Sam Specter’s superpower had been seeing the future, so it was a safe guess that he’d known ahead of time that Rosie’s car would break down that night. It wasn’t magic. But for people who didn’t know better, it sure seemed that way.

Dr. Anton strode up to the podium like a man on a mission. He looked exactly like he had when I’d been his patient: snappy bow tie, goatee, impeccably dressed in a pressed shirt and dark suit coat. He introduced himself and talked about how he’d met Sam in study hall their freshman year. They’d hit it off right away due to their love of all things Star Trek. “I don’t think anyone yet has mentioned Sam Specter’s extraordinary mind. He was, in a word, a genius. He could read something once and recite it months later verbatim. He immediately understood complex scientific concepts that someone like me would have trouble grasping, even with much study. Talking to him was a joy. He was never boring and that’s saying a lot.” He looked around the auditorium. “When I heard that Sam died of a heart attack in Miami, I was horrified and saddened, like all of you here today. But I also thought, how fitting that he died while chaperoning a group of students who were competing in an academic decathlon. How like him to be a champion of education until the very end. I was especially heartened, but not surprised, to hear that those students took first place in their division.”

Carly poked me with her elbow and I had all I could do to keep a straight face.

Dr. Anton continued. “His devotion to his students was unparalleled. His life was not in vain, but serves as an inspiration to us all.”

A few students whooped and the rest of the auditorium broke out in loud applause. The clapping continued long after Dr. Anton reached his seat, and only stopped when he held up a hand for silence.

Mrs. Whitehouse was next. Although all four of them were the exact same age, she seemed the oldest of the bunch, walking hunched over in a slow shuffling gait. She’d been our high school lunch lady since forever so we all knew who she was, but she wasn’t well liked by the students. Not to be mean, but she was weird. Talking to her was always awkward because she tried too hard to be friends with the kids. I noticed that the clothing she wore now wasn’t too different from her lunch duty garb—shapeless matching polyester pieces. Navy blue today instead of her usual pastel colors. She grabbed hold of the microphone and lowered her mouth until we heard her lips bump against it. “Can everyone hear me?” she asked and then tapped the microphone repeatedly. When the crowd murmured affirmatively, she continued. “I will keep this short. In my whole life, Sam Specter was the only man who ever treated me decent. I don’t want to betray a confidence, especially now that he’s dead, but I can tell you that Sam and I were closer than we let on.” Mrs. Whitehouse raised her eyebrows waiting for a reaction. When she didn’t get one she said, “We were lovers. He was the light of my life and he felt the same way about me. I will never know love like that again and I can tell you this—” She paused dramatically. “ Without him around, I will never be the same.”

Mrs. Whitehouse trudged back to her seat and the stunned audience didn’t react at all. Applause didn’t seem appropriate. Mrs. Whitehouse had managed to be awkward and weird on a large scale, and somehow tarnish Mr. Specter’s image at the same time. She also managed to take a man’s death and make it all about her. I doubted that they were ever in love, and judging from the looks of the others on the stage, they felt the same, but really what did any of us know? Few people knew that Sam Specter, beloved science teacher and member in good standing, had acquired superpowers as a teenager and was a member of a secret society called the Praetorian Guard. Fewer still knew that he’d actually been a traitor, pretending to be on the side of the Guard while working undercover for the Associates, a group we’d been told wanted to come to power at any cost.

I’d seen the brutality of the Associates firsthand when they’d kidnapped my nephew Frank and forced me to do a series of challenges to get him back. I could still feel the pain of being jolted with electricity by two Associate thugs. We weren’t formally introduced but I’d never forget the leers on their faces as they tortured me. The one with a snake tattooed on his neck was particularly nasty. If those two were the minions, I could imagine what kind of person led the organization.

And Mr. Specter, it turned out, was on their side. Right now the auditorium was filled with people who believed he died of a heart attack, when in fact he was killed in an explosion. Really, what did any of this matter now? Mr. Specter was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

CHAPTER FOUR

Russ

Afterward there was a social in the school cafeteria. Frank made a dive through the crowd and went right for the dessert table. He loaded a plate with cookies and brownies, then cracked open a Mountain Dew before Carly had a chance to stop him. It was a safe bet that he'd be bouncing around for hours after this. And good luck getting him to sleep later. The kid was a human pogo stick.

I took off my tie and stuck it in my pocket. My mom had been wrong. Very few of the guys were wearing button-down shirts and ties. I felt like an overdressed freak until Mallory came through the crowd and ran a hand over my sleeve. She turned back to Jameson who lingered behind her looking uncomfortable. He was wearing a polo shirt buttoned to the top so it looked like it was choking him. "Russ, you look so handsome!" she said. "Doesn't he look handsome, Jameson?"

Jameson grunted something I didn't catch. Meanwhile my mother, who'd planted herself next to me, beamed upon hearing Mallory's compliment. I could almost hear her thinking, I told you so. Mallory's mom made her way to us, and she and my mother greeted each other like old friends. They'd only met at the airport, but they'd bonded over the fact that their kids were academic decathlon winners.

While they talked, I asked Mallory, "Did Nadia come?" I glanced around the room as if saying her name would conjure her up.

"Didn't you hear?" Mallory said conspiratorially.

"No, what?"

Jameson stepped between us. "Nadia is under house arrest. Her mother is furious that her dad let her go on the trip without her permission. She has her under lock and key." He seemed happy to know something I didn't.

Mallory nodded vigorously. "I stopped over and she answered the door and said her mother has added all kinds of restrictions. She can’t do anything anymore. Can’t talk on the phone, can’t go online. Her mother installed alarms on the doors, if you can believe it. They never ever let her be alone. She can’t even sit on the front porch unless her mother is with her. It broke my heart to see her looking so sad."

"Did you see her face?"

"Well, not really." Mallory stopped to think. "She had her hood up, like she does, you know. I could tell she was crying though. We only talked for a minute and then her mother came charging up and basically slammed the door in my face.”

"Wow." I thought Nadia had it bad before, but it sounded like her mother was in prison guard mode. Poor Nadia. I knew her mom would be mad, but I had no idea it would be this bad.

"So you didn't know any of this?" Jameson said.

I hated to give him the upper hand. "No, I haven't heard from Nadia at all. She hasn't projected to me either."

“Doesn’t keeping her locked up like that sound like child abuse?” Mallory said. “I mean, that can’t even be legal.”

“I guess.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Maybe her mom will get over it and loosen up after a while.”

“Maybe,” Mallory said. But she sounded doubtful.

Before this, my biggest worry had been the effects of the trip on Mallory. Mr. Specter had conducted a session with Mallory using his invention, a Deleo, a goggle-like device that strapped to a person’s head and could be used to change memories and essentially brainwash them. This was before we realized he was working for the Associates of course. After Mallory had finished with her turn with the Deleo she came out of the room dazed like a zombie and I had big fears as to what had happened to her mind.

But Jameson and I had spent an afternoon questioning her after we'd returned home and all her memories seemed intact. Her personality hadn't been affected either. She was the same as always—personable, outgoing, smart, and still a total flirt. Maybe the Deleo hadn't worked or maybe it had worked but the effects had worn off. The Deleo had been a new invention, after all, just a prototype. It looked like Mallory had lucked out and it hadn't changed her at all.

So I'd been worried about Mallory getting her memories altered and her brain fried, but she seemed fine. Now my concern shifted to Nadia. How could her own mother treat her that way? Nadia was so good too. It's not like she was the kind of girl who needed constant supervision. All she wanted was a little bit of freedom. And to be like everyone else.

When Nadia and I had been dodging explosions in Peru I was hoping we'd get out of there alive. I’d thought ahead to our return home to Edgewood. Maybe for a while we could be normal teenagers and do regular teenage things—go to a movie, eat fast food together, make out in a car. I looked forward to getting my driver’s license so I could pick her up and we could do anything we wanted. Now it looked like I might not be able to see her at all.

Mallory broke into my thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something, Russ.”

“Yeah?” I said.

She tilted her head to one side. “It’s about Nadia. Something she said on the trip. About you.”

I noticed that girls did this kind of thing a lot. They say things in bits and pieces to catch your interest and then watched for your reaction. Why they can’t just say what’s on their mind, I don’t know. Anyway, I played it cool, just nodded and waited. Jameson looked interested too. He shifted forward to hear what she was going to say. Suddenly the three of us were a tight little triangle in the middle of the crowd.

“Well, it’s just… Nadia is under the impression that the two of you are in love.” She gave a little half-laugh to show how ridiculous the idea was. “I tried to explain to her that you can be super close to someone, and go through a traumatic time together, but it’s not the same as being in love, but she just wouldn’t hear it. She really jumped all over me. I think you’re going to have to talk to her about this, Russ.” She ran a finger up and down my sleeve. “Maybe let her down easy? You’ll have to do it carefully. She’s pretty delicate.”

“She said she’s in love with me?” I asked, pleased. Mallory’s words were bringing back a buried memory. Something Nadia had said to me when my brain was muddled and I’d been really out of it in Peru. It was all coming back into focus now. Nadia and I had been running away from the convent hand in hand, trying to escape from the horror of Mr. Specter’s Deleo. We were almost to the gate when Nadia had said, You know, I really love you Russ. Even though the memory was a little blurry, it rang true, and I knew in my heart it had really happened. The realization hit me in a good way. I felt like a guy who’d dreamt of winning an Olympic medal and then woke in the morning to find it hanging off his headboard. Puzzled to find out it was real, but definitely happy about it.

“Well, yeah, that’s what she thinks,” Mallory said, shaking her head.

But even as Mallory couldn’t wrap her brain around the idea, Jameson caught on. He studied my face for an instant and then crowed, “I think Nadia speaks the truth. These two beautiful young people are in love. Isn’t that right, Russell?” He slapped me on the back so hard he probably left a hand print.

I stumbled forward involuntarily, then when I got my bearings, turned around and gave him a forceful shove. “Stop it,” I said, my voice nearly a growl.

“Dude, take it easy,” Jameson said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “What’s your problem?

“Keep your hands off me or there’s going to be a problem.”

From behind me, I heard my mother’s worried voice. “Boys? Is everything okay?”

I ran a hand through my hair and smoothed the front of my shirt. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”

“Sorry to upset you, Russ,” Jameson said. “Jeez, someone’s a little touchy.”

Mallory took hold of my arm and leaned in close. Her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “So it’s true about you and Nadia? What she said—that’s true?”

A few months ago I would have loved being in this scenario—Mallory up against me, her eyes imploring—but now it didn’t mean a thing. “Yes, it’s true about me and Nadia.”

She let go and her gaze dropped to the floor. “Wow, I didn’t see that one coming. Well, good for you guys. I guess I owe Nadia an apology.” She glanced back up, but this time she looked at Jameson. “I’m really happy for them, aren’t you, Jameson?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “I hope they name their first son after me.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t do that to a kid,” I said.

Jameson opened his mouth to respond, but Mallory suddenly announced we were going to the refreshments table, which turned out to be a good distraction. All three of us grabbed cans of soda—diet for Mallory, not that she needed it.

On either side of the room, easels displayed photos of Mr. Specter. People clustered around taking a look. For the most part, though, the conversations I overheard had nothing to do with Mr. Specter. It was like people had forgotten we were at a memorial service. My friends Justin and Mick saw me across the room, called out and made their way to where we stood, which meant I was forced to introduce them to Jameson. He held out his hand stiffly, and said, "Nice to meet you." Mick smirked before shaking his hand.

It was one of those situations where worlds collided. I could see that Mick and Justin thought Jameson was a pompous jerk and that Jameson thought they were idiots. He looked at me standing next to them like we were the three Stooges. Frankly, neither of them got an accurate first impression. Mick and Justin were good guys. A little immature, but fun to hang out with and loyal like you wouldn’t believe. And yes, Jameson was full of himself, but we had some history now, so it was getting easier to look past his prickly, in-your-face, I’m-smarter-than-you attitude. And if Jameson had actually invented the kind of surveillance system he’d claimed to have designed, then some of this smug genius act was deserved. It was entirely possible that someday all of us would be bragging about how we knew him before he became famous. Of course, he could just be making up crap to impress people too, but time would tell.

“How bizarre about old man Specter dying,” Justin said. He raised a finger and pointed. “And all three of you guys were there.”

I nodded. We’d been briefed on what to say, but I didn’t trust myself with Justin and Mick. They knew me too well. Luckily, being a girl, Mallory was happy to fill in the gaps.

“It was terrible, just terrible,” she began. She told the whole story, just as we’d been instructed, and threw in some embellishments of her own. “As soon as he collapsed, we all just automatically knew what to do. Russ helped Mr. Specter get to a chair and I got him a drink of water. And then Jameson ran to call 911.” Her eyes filled with tears. How could she do that so convincingly? “The ambulance came within twenty minutes. The paramedics did everything they could, but even as they were working on him I could tell they were too late.” She shook her head. “And this is the saddest part. He had just been telling me about a trip to Italy he was planning to take next year. I guess it just goes to show you that you never know how much time you have.”

“Well yeah,” Mick said. “But he was getting up there too. It’s not like he was really young or anything.”

“So what’s the story about him and Mrs. Whitehouse being lovers?” Justin asked. “I was like—whoa! Does Mr. Whitehouse know?”

“That’s the thing,” Mallory said, giving his arm a squeeze and leaning in like she was telling him a secret. “There is no Mr. Whitehouse. Turns out she’s never been married. She just calls herself that.”

“Why?” Mick asked.

“No one knows,” Mallory said.

“She’s just weird,” I said. “I don’t think they were lovers and I don’t think there’s a good reason she goes by Mrs. Whitehouse. She’s just a sad, lonely woman who makes stuff up. A cat woman who reads young adult novels and pretends she’s still young.”

“I guess that answers that,” Justin said, punching me on the shoulder. “You seem to know a lot about Mrs. Whitehouse, Russ. How close did the two of you get on this trip?” And then he and Mick laughed uproariously, like jackals on crack, and high-fived each other. Jameson shook his head and gave me a look that said, your friends are morons. At that moment, I had to agree.

Mallory steered the conversation to more neutral territory: what everyone was doing now that we were on summer vacation, and how great our upcoming junior year was going to be. Justin had recently gotten a job at the popcorn kiosk at the mall and he told Mallory that if she stopped by when he was working the popcorn would be free. “We have all kinds too,” he said. “Cheesy popcorn, caramel corn, and regular.”

“All kinds,” Jameson said dryly. “Three.”

“Wow, that’s great,” Mallory said. “I’ll have to come by and visit you.”

“Bring a friend,” Justin said. “I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she said.

Somehow it came up that Mick and I would each be getting our driver’s license soon. I’d be driving one of my parent’s cars when they weren’t using it, but Mick’s parents were buying him a car just for him to drive. He made it sound like he had a choice, and was going to pick something fast, but I knew his family. Chances were good it would be a used car and probably something practical with good gas mileage. Mallory acted impressed, but I think she would have acted that way no matter what he told her. She was good like that.

We talked until Carly came by to say Frank was hitting his limit, which my mom took as a cue that we should leave. I said good-bye to everyone. Mallory gave me a big hug, which caught me a little off guard, but I definitely was cool with it, especially when I saw the look on Jameson’s face. Mick and Justin noticed too. Not a bad thing at all.

The crowd had dwindled considerably. As we headed out to the parking lot, I saw lots of other people leaving at the same time. Frank, impatient as always, charged ahead to where the car was parked, while my parents, Carly, and I walked behind. “That Mrs. Nassif is so nice, Russ,” my mom said, referring to Mallory’s mom. “I’m glad you’re getting in with a nice group of kids.”

“Unlike me and my high school friends, who were all big losers.” Carly’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “The scum of the earth.”

“That’s not what I meant, Carly,” Mom said, weary like she didn’t want to start up with this again.

“Mallory is nice,” I agreed. I wasn’t thinking about Mallory though. I was thinking about Nadia and how I was going to manage to see her. And I was going to see her. If the Associates couldn’t kill us, a middle-aged woman wasn’t going to keep us apart. Somehow, no matter what, I was going to find my way back to her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Russ

On Saturday afternoon, when I was alone in my room, I tried to reach Nadia by calling her parents’ phone. It rang four times before someone answered. There was a long pause and then her mother’s voice: “Hello?” The word was long and drawn out. She sounded suspicious and on edge, like she was ready to hang up at the slightest sign of trouble.

“Hi,” I said, walking around my bed and looking out the window. “This is Russ Becker. I was one of the students who competed with Nadia at the Miami Academic Decathlon.”

“I know who you are,” she said stiffly.

“I was hoping I could speak with Nadia?”

The response came out in a short burst. “No. Nadia will not be taking phone calls.”

Whoa, she sounded super angry. Enraged even. “Oh.” I had to come up with something quick and Carly’s lie was the first thing that came to mind. “It’s just that she lent me some money on the trip. I wanted to pay her back.”

“How much do you owe her?”

“Twenty dollars?” Shoot. Carly was right. I was a terrible liar.

“You aren’t sure?”

“No. It’s twenty dollars,” I said quickly, putting my palm against the glass. “She gave me a twenty dollar bill and I really want to get it back to her. And thank her, too.” Outside on the street, some neighbor kids were setting up a rail to do skateboarding tricks. It was a gorgeous summer day, breezy and almost hot, but not quite. The kind of weather Wisconsinites wait for all winter long. And here Nadia was trapped inside unable to enjoy it.

I could hear Nadia’s mother breathing, but she didn’t answer.

“So when would be a good time to stop by to give her the money?” I asked. “I could come over now, if that’s convenient.”

“You can leave it in an envelope in our mailbox anytime,” she said.

“Okay, but I was hoping to stop in and talk to Nadia,” I said. “Just for a few minutes. To thank her.”

“I will tell her thank you for you.” There was a click, and then nothing but silence. What a waste. I was no closer to seeing Nadia and because I felt obligated to follow through with my lie, I was going to be out twenty dollars.

I put a twenty dollar bill in an envelope and wrote Nadia’s name on the outside. I thought about writing her a note, but decided against it. Her mother would read it and I was pretty sure she’d never pass it on to Nadia.

It took half an hour to walk to Nadia’s house and once I got there I spent another minute debating what to do. The house itself looked fine, just the way I remembered it. A two-story Colonial, with brick on the bottom, white siding on the top, and black shutters on either side of the windows. A generic suburban home. Nothing menacing about it except that the place was all closed up like the family was on vacation.

I could knock on the door and hope that Nadia would answer, like she had on the day Mallory stopped over. Then I could see her, at least for a minute or two. But my phone call had probably given her mother the heads up that I was coming. Chances were good she’d be the one to open the door and I was not looking forward to talking to her in person. The mailbox at the curb was the standard black metal box mounted atop a pole. It was slightly askew, like a snow plow had bumped it at one point. If I wanted to, I could leave the money there and try to reach Nadia another time, but that would be the coward’s way of doing things. I was here now, I needed to see her, and knocking on the door would be a start anyway. Even if her mother turned me away, Nadia would know I tried.

I was halfway up the concrete walkway when some movement at the second-story window above the front porch caught my eye. A moment before I could have sworn that the blinds at that particular window were down, but now they were raised and I saw Nadia behind the glass. She wasn’t wearing her usual dark-colored sweatshirt with the hood over her head. Instead, she wore a white tank top revealing her narrow shoulders and thin arms. Her hair was tucked behind her ears. From below, I couldn’t see any sign of the scars on her face. To anyone else she would look like a regular teenage girl, nothing about her the least bit outstanding, but I knew better. She was different—special. In my universe she was the sun around which everything revolved. I lifted a hand to wave and she grinned, then pointed.

I shook my head unsure of what she wanted. Nadia walked her fingers across the sill and waved her arm around, again pointing to the corner of the house. Still not understanding, I followed her gesture and when she nodded, I knew I’d gotten it right. After I crossed the lawn to the side of the house I figured it out. Her bedroom had two windows and she had directed me to the one overlooking the side yard. Thick hedges growing along the property line blocked the view from the neighboring house. Presumably, I was now also out of the sight line of people passing by on the street.

I watched as Nadia frantically unlatched and lifted the window and then pressed her face as close to the screen as possible. "You came!" she said, the joy in her voice raining down over me.

"I would have come sooner," I said, apologetically. "I mean, I would have come over or called you, but your mom seemed so pissed off at the airport that I thought I'd give it some time. And then I was waiting for you to project to me and then when you didn't, I wasn't sure what was going on."

"I wanted to, really. I just couldn't. She's with me like almost every second." Nadia glanced back over her shoulder before continuing. "When I go to bed she checks on me every few minutes and I never get into a trance long enough to project. And then eventually I fall asleep. It's so eerie the way she’s always hovering over me. It's like she knows."

“Do you think she does know something?” I asked.

Nadia shook her head. “No, it’s just her being who she is. Crazy. Controlling.” Her voice sounded more sad and frustrated than angry. It was heartbreaking.

"I'm sorry," I said. I was sorry for what she was going through and sorry that we were apart. It was maddening that I could see her and hear her voice, but I couldn't touch her or even look directly into her eyes. And the window screen was one more thing keeping us apart. They never had screens in the movies; people popped their heads out of open windows all the time. "I'm really sorry."

"It’s not your fault," she said, and sighed. "But I can tell you one thing, as soon as I'm eighteen I'm out of here."

She meant it, I could tell. I said, "I'll go with you, Nadia."

"Where?"

"Wherever it is you're going when you’re eighteen. I'll go with you."

"But you'll still be seventeen on my eighteenth birthday. I'll get in trouble for contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” she teased.

"That's only if they catch us. And they'll never catch us." I reached my hands up and shot a very small arc of electricity so it fell just short of the window. It was the closest I could get to touching her even if it was overly theatric. Even in the daylight the stream of sparks were impressive. "I'll blast anyone who tries to come near."

She laughed and gave a few slow claps of approval and for a minute it felt like it had before, when it was just the two of us together driving down a country road in Peru. Like we were the last people left in the entire world. I let the sparks fizzle down to nothing. “It’s not the same without you, Nadia,” I said.

“What’s not the same?” she asked.

“Everything. Life. It feels empty without you.”

From the other side of the hedge I heard a door open, followed by a dog barking, and the splashing of kids jumping into what had to be a large pool. A woman’s voice yelled for someone named Matthew to put on his water wings. So much for being the last two people in the world.

“I know,” Nadia said. “I’ve been feeling really lost too.”

“You missed Mr. Specter’s memorial service. There was a really big crowd. Mrs. Whitehouse was one of the speakers and she announced that they were lovers.”

“Who were lovers?”

“She and Mr. Specter.”

“She said that?” Nadia said, incredulously.

“To everyone there. Hundreds of people.”

“Wow.” She shook her head. “Bizarre. What else did I miss?”

I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. “According to Jameson you and I are in love.”

Her mouth widened into a huge smile. “Really.”

“Really. That’s what he said.”

“And what do you say?”

“Well, you know how much it kills me to agree with Jameson, but—”

I’d lost her attention. She glanced back over her shoulder and returned with a worried look on her face. “Look Russ, I hear my mom coming up the stairs, so we don’t have much time. Just so you know, my parents aren’t letting me go on the next Praetorian Guard trip and I can’t go to the meeting either.”

“What trip? What meeting?”

“I thought you knew. Anyway, you’ll hear about it soon,” she said, waving my question away. She spoke more quickly now. “My mom put alarms on all the outside doors so I can’t sneak out at night anymore. I can’t make phone calls or send emails or write letters. I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk to you or see you again. Maybe not until I turn eighteen. Don’t forget about me, okay?”

“We’ll think of something,” I said. “Maybe if I—”

“No,” she said, “you don’t understand. It’s gotten really bad again. This could go on forever. Last time she was like this it went on for two years.” She wiped at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Just promise that you won’t forget about me.”

“I couldn’t forget about you. How could I forget about you?”

“Promise. You need to promise.”

“Of course,” I said. “I promise. I’ll never forget about you. I couldn’t forget about you.”

“I’ll keep trying to astral project to you,” she said. “That’s all I’ll be able to do for now.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, reminding me of something I’d meant to say.

“Nadia!”

She looked behind her and left the window. I could tell from the noises drifting down that her mother was in the room with her. I heard Nadia’s voice, soft and subdued in contrast with her mother, who sounded furious. I didn’t want this to be the end for us, today or any day. How could her Mom be mad at her when I was the one who’d come to the house? Nadia hadn’t even left her room. “Nadia!” I called out again.

She came back to the window, her mother behind her. Even one story up and from behind a screen I could feel the woman’s wrath. Her face was contorted in anger, making her look gargoylesque. “I have to go, Russ,” Nadia said. I could see that she was fighting to get the words out and even to stay near the window. Her mother had a grip on her and was pulling her back.

“Your face!” I said. “I forgot to tell you that you look really beautiful.”

Nadia put a hand to her cheek and smiled, and that’s all I saw before she was jerked from my sight. Nadia’s mother filled the window, her anger spilling out. “You!” she yelled, pointing a finger. “I thought I told you to stay away.”

“We were just talking, ma’am,” I said.

“Sneaking around so I couldn’t see you.” She hit the screen with the flat of her hand and it rattled in the frame. “I’m giving you to the count of five to get off my property, you hear me?” She was shrieking now, and the world suddenly got quiet. Even the neighbor kids playing in the pool next door seemed to have stopped to listen. “And if I see you here again I’m calling the cops and having you arrested.”

“Mom!” I heard Nadia’s voice behind her. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“I’ll talk to him any way I like!” she said. “This is my house, young lady. And don’t you forget it.” She looked back down at me, and said, “What are you, brain-damaged? I said to go, now go.”

“Yes, ma’am, but could you tell Nadia something for me?”

“No, I will not.”

“Tell her—” Now I was the one raising my voice—yelling actually—for Nadia’s benefit, “—that Jameson got it right this time.”

CHAPTER SIX

Russ

Nadia’s mother never did count to five, but after she’d slammed the window shut, I went anyway. There was no point in staying, especially after she’d threatened to have me arrested. I left with mixed feelings, happy to have connected with Nadia, but sick to know how she was being treated. If I could have switched places with her, I would have. Her mother had to be mentally ill. No normal person acted like that. When I got to the street I glanced up at the window one last time, but the blinds were down again so there was nothing to see. Somewhere in that typical suburban house a teenage girl was being held prisoner, but you’d never know it from the outside. If Mallory was right, and this was considered abuse, it would be hard to prove.

I didn’t feel like going straight home, so I wandered around town after that, taking my old insomnia route through the industrial park, past the strip mall, and ending up at the abandoned train station on the outskirts of town. The field adjacent to the tracks looked unremarkable. I remembered watching the light particles—the lux spiral—falling from the sky into a giant luminous swirl on the ground, and recalled how it felt to walk to the center and be surrounded by glowing, glittering fragments. Now, months later, there was no sign that anything like that had happened. If it weren’t for the fact that I could sense electricity in the walls, shoot lightning bolts out of my palms, and heal people, even I might think I’d imagined it. I kicked at a few pebbles before walking around the boarded up building. This was where my sister Carly and her boyfriend, David Hofstetter, used to meet sixteen years ago to make out and smoke pot. Now it looked ready for the wrecking ball.

After that there wasn’t much more to see. It was nearly dinnertime when I got back to my house. Carly’s car was in the driveway and Frank was sitting on the front porch, a ball and glove at his feet. When he saw me he bounded to his feet and yelled through the door. “He’s here, Grandma! Russ is back!”

That was the first sign something was up. The crepe paper and balloons in the kitchen clued me in even more. Turned out we were belatedly celebrating my birthday with a family dinner, but no one had bothered to tell me.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” my mom said when we were all finally seated around the table. My dad had grilled steaks, while Mom had prepared a salad and rolls. A decorated cake and several wrapped presents sat waiting on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, and then you ruined it by disappearing,” Frank grumbled. “I thought we could play catch while Grandpa was grilling. I wanted to call you, but Mom wouldn’t let me.”

“My birthday was more than a week ago,” I pointed out. “And I didn’t disappear. I had no idea you were doing this.”

“Yes, I’m well aware that your birthday was more than a week ago.” Mom passed the salt to my dad. “I was there for your first one, if you recall. But you were in Miami so we didn’t get a chance to celebrate it.”

“Okay, well thanks.”

The meal was almost ruined when Carly mentioned that she’d lost her job earlier that week. This was a fairly common occurrence for her, but it still upset my mother. “What are you going to do?” Mom asked, worried.

Carly speared a chunk of steak and dipped it into sauce. “What I always do. I’ll get another job. Hopefully a better one. That one sucked. I was just about ready to quit when they eliminated my position. How lucky was that?” She laughed and shook her head. “They saved me the trouble of giving two weeks’ notice.”

My mother’s lips pressed together the way they did when she was about to lay it all out there. “Carly, aren’t you getting a little old to be flitting from job to job? I mean—”

My dad held out his hand to make Mom stop. “I’m quite sure,” he said firmly, “that Carly will be just fine. She’s a big girl and has been supporting herself and Frank for a long time. Let’s just have a nice dinner, okay? Russ’s birthday, remember?”

My mom closed her mouth, but it was clear to me that she still had a lot to say. My dad had been slipping Carly money since Frank was born, and we all knew it. But talking about it wasn’t going to change things.

It was after I’d opened the presents (a lot of gift cards, clothes from Mom, and a stack of comic books from Frank) and we’d eaten cake that the doorbell rang. My mother, who was clearing plates from the table said, “Russ, why don’t you get that?” She and Dad exchanged a sly look that told me they were in on something. I raised my eyebrows questioningly at Carly who shrugged. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t part of it.

My dad diplomatically herded Frank up to my room to play games. Frank bounded up the stairs eager to decimate his grandfather. This was the one area where Frank could come out ahead against my dad. He was so happy to have one-on-one time that he didn’t even seem to realize that he was being banished upstairs to get him out of the way.

One minute later, Mallory, her mother, Jameson and his dad stood in my front entryway as if they'd been invited, which I guess they were. Mallory threw her arms around me and then wished me a happy birthday. "What's going on?" I asked her.

"Haven’t a clue," she whispered. "My mom just said we had to come over to your house." All four parents exchanged pleasantries about the weather as if this were a normal social occasion. My mom directed everyone to sit in the living room and when I asked what was up, she answered with a mysterious, "Just wait. You'll see."

And then it hit me. This was the meeting Nadia had mentioned, the one she wouldn't be able to attend. Something about this said Praetorian Guard to me. Carly had a stricken look on her face, making me think she'd figured out the same thing. She opened her mouth and I knew she was just about to question my mom when the doorbell rang again. "Carly?" Mom said. "Would you lend a hand and get that?"

I could tell Carly's heart wasn't in it, but she did as asked, and when she returned she was accompanied by two men I’d never seen before. Following in their wake was Rosie, everyone's favorite from the local diner. The men in their dark pants, white dress shirts, and diagonal-striped ties were a little overdressed for a teenager’s birthday party, but they were perfectly attired for a Praetorian Guard convention. One of them held onto the handle of a large leather case almost as big as a card table. I held my breath and looked at Carly, whose stony expression told me she was clearly thinking the same thing. “Happy birthday, Russ!” Rosie said with a wide smile. “Sixteen, huh? What a great age. Enjoy it, the years go by fast.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking at the two men expectantly. Everyone in the room was quiet until Jameson stood up and extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Will Patterson,” said the first man, the younger of the two. “Mitch Gilbert,” said the other one. Each one had the good looks of a film actor, but there was nothing distinctive about either of them. If they left the room and I had to describe them I’d have to say one was a white guy and the other one was African American. They were both clean-cut, of average height and build. And that would be it. Nothing stood out.

Jameson was a pro at this, giving his name and then introducing his father. Everybody except Carly joined in the round of introductions and then my mother, unable to contain herself any longer, blurted out, “This is a big surprise for all of you kids. Wait until you hear. You’re going to be so excited.” She gestured for Rosie to sit down, and then joined her on the couch. “Okay guys, take it away.”

Mitch and Will stood across from the rest of us and set to work as if they’d done this dozens of times. The black leather case held a collapsible stand and a screen almost as big as our television. When everything was in place, the two men stood on either side of the screen with self-satisfied smiles on their faces. Their expressions reminded me of the guys who sell the specialty knives in the tent at the State Fair—the knives that can slice through anything. A person could get so caught up in the hype that they’d wind up buying a knife like that and be all the way home before they realized they’d probably never have a need to slice through tin cans.

“First of all,” Mitch said, “we want to thank all of you for gathering here today. We appreciate your time and attention.”

“And happy birthday to Russ, too,” Will added with a nod of his head.

“Yes, happy birthday, Russ! Turning sixteen, that’s awesome. I predict you’re going to have a memorable year,” Mitch said, grinning broadly in my direction. “Now to get down to business. I’d like to start by saying we represent the National High School Student Initiative, one of the most prestigious organizations in the United States. We’ve been in existence for decades honoring top students and giving them very special opportunities, the kind few young people ever get to experience. If you’d bear with us for a few minutes, we’d like to show you a short video.”

Will leaned over and adjusted something on a remote and the room filled with the sounds of a choir singing God Bless America. A second later, the screen displayed an American flag. From there, the video launched into the history of the NHSSI, followed by explanations of the service projects and internships they’d sponsored as well as scholarships they’d funded. We were told that high school students associated with the organization went on to be awarded full-ride scholarships to prominent schools. Names like Harvard and Princeton were mixed in with names of universities located overseas. Former high school students who had benefitted from the organization included senators, esteemed scientists, Supreme Court Justices, famed mathematicians, New York Times bestselling authors, and one Pulitzer Prize Winner.

Various scenes of kids who appeared to be about our age flashed on the screen. All of them were good-looking and self-assured. No lack of confidence here. According to this clip, these teenagers helped to engineer and install water purification systems in Guatemala, tutored disadvantaged kids in Chicago, and assisted researchers doing important work in top secret medical facilities. They learned to program software for NASA, and joined expeditions working to recover sunken ships. In short, there was nothing these kids couldn’t do.

Across the room, my mother leaned forward in her seat, eyes shining with excitement. In contrast, Carly, leaning back with crossed arms, couldn’t have looked less enthused. The look on her face was like she’d just bitten into something nasty.

When the video was over, Mitch switched off the power and turned to face us. “What does this have to do with the three of you?” he asked, flashing a cheesy grin. “Well, I’ll tell you. The kids you saw in the video, the ones who were chosen to take part in these incredible opportunities and then went on to be awarded full-ride scholarships? Soon, the three of you will be joining their ranks.”

I could tell from everybody’s stunned expressions that Mom was the only one who knew this was coming. She leaned forward and beamed at the other parents. “Can you believe it? Aren’t you proud of our kids?”

Mitch continued. “Yes, I’m talking about you, Mallory, Russ, and Jameson. The NHSSI has been very impressed with your test scores, grades, and performance at the Miami academic decathlon. We only select students who test well enough to be considered geniuses, and the three of you are no exception. I extend my personal congratulations to all of you. Being chosen is a great honor and believe me when I say it’s an honor for me to give you this good news. I’m proud to be able to say I know you.”

There was a moment of silence before Mallory said, “What does this mean for us, exactly?”

Mitch rubbed his hands together. "I'm so glad you asked, Mallory! As a member of our organization, you'll be invited to participate in exciting projects geared for your specific talents and strengths. Besides the wonderful experiences you’ll have, you'll also gain valuable contacts. Your mentors will be instrumental in writing recommendations for your college applications and the scholarships you'll be receiving."

"That's it?" Jameson said. “We don’t get a pony or anything?”

Will didn't seem to catch Jameson's sarcasm. "I like to think of it as a chain of success, Jameson. People often think that those who achieve great things get there through hard work and talent, but that's not entirely true. Connections are essential for becoming successful, and we're giving you a chance to connect in a big way."

Mitch said, “We’re excited to tell you, Russ, Mallory, and Jameson, that the three of you have been chosen to spend five days in Washington D.C. as student ambassadors. The program we have set up is very much like the internships that university students participate in. You’ll have access to areas not open to the public and get a real feel for how our federal government is run. I think you’ll find this to be the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“One of the functions you’ll be attending will be the Presidential Black Tie Bash,” Will said. His wide smile easily matched Mitch’s. They were the perfect salesmen to give this pitch.

Mallory’s hand flew over her mouth. “The Presidential Bash?” She couldn’t contain her excitement. “We’ll get to go?”

“So you’ve heard of it?” Mitch teased.

Duh. Everyone knew about the Presidential Black Tie Bash. It was like the Academy Awards of the White House. Only four hundred or so people were invited, which made it large enough to be exciting, but small enough to be exclusive. All the biggest celebrities went, as well as the most important people in government and business, and even though security was tight, the celebrity shows always had footage of the guests coming and going from the event.

“Of course I’ve heard of it!” Mallory said, grinning. “Last year I heard that Kyle Sternhagen got totally drunk and was dancing on top of the bar.” In middle school all the girls watched a cable show starring Kyle Sternhagen and they talked about him all the time. Personally, I never saw it, but I wasn’t the show’s target audience.

Mitch continued. “As usual, the Bash will also be a celebration of the president’s daughter’s birthday. As you may know, Layla will turn nineteen this year.”

Mallory’s eyes lit up and her hand shot up. “Are we going to get to meet Layla?” she asked.

Layla Bernstein was as skinny as a model, and known for her clothes, which were all designer this and one-of-a-kind that. Two years ago, there was some kind of big ruckus about her nose. All of the magazines had before and after photos, saying she’d had a nose job. For weeks, the gossip magazines went on and on about it, printing unofficial statements from “a good friend who would like to remain anonymous,” saying that Layla had hated her nose and the surgery was a birthday present from her parents. The official statement from the White House was that she’d had surgery for a medical condition—a deviated septum.

The clothes and the nose. That’s basically all I knew about Layla Bernstein, although there were girls in my school who knew every detail of the girl’s life. Some thought she was stuck-up, even though she was often photographed visiting kids in hospitals and doing other charity work that involved smiling and accepting bouquets of flowers. Me, I didn’t have an opinion one way or the other. Layla Bernstein’s world might as well be Planet Neptune for all it had to do with me.

“Yes, you will meet Layla,” Will said. “In fact, all three of you will be sitting with her as her personal guests.”

“Isn’t this incredible?” my mother said, looking around the room. “What an opportunity!” Mallory looked like she was ready to pack now, and even Jameson looked impressed.

“So, what do you think?” Mitch asked. “Is everyone on board?”

Jameson's father stood up and crossed his arms. He hadn't said much since arriving at my house, but I saw now that the guy didn't need to say much. He was as tall as Jameson but his shoulders were twice as wide. The man was a presence. "What commitment is required on our end? Will there be some kind of fee involved?"

"No sir," Mitch said. "No financial commitment is required from the families. We'd be honored to have your son involved in our program at no cost to you."

Knowing he didn’t have to pay for it seemed to be enough for Jameson’s dad. He nodded and sat back down.

“So who does pay for all this?” Mrs. Nassif put a protective arm around Mallory’s shoulder. “The money has to come from somewhere.”

“Our programs are completely funded by private donations. Many of our donors are past recipients who simply want to pay it forward.”

“So am I right in assuming the kids would miss out on a week of school?” Mrs. Nassif asked. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“I can assure you they won’t have to make up any work. We have an understanding with your daughter’s school. Both she and Russ will receive A’s for all the assigned work and tests given during their absence. The school agrees with us that this trip will be far more educational than any classroom work ever could be. Sitting at a desk listening to a lecture just can’t compare to real life experience.” Will said this with a knowing smile.

“Remember, your achievements reflect well on your school too,” Mitch added. “They’re happy to help make this happen for you. It’s a point of pride for them.”

“I’m homeschooled,” Jameson observed. “Can I just give myself A’s too?”

“If you’d like,” Mitch said, smiling. These guys really didn’t get Jameson’s sarcasm. “What the heck. Give yourself an A plus if you want. You deserve it.”

“Maybe I’ll make it A plus plus,” Jameson said. “Why not? I deserve it.”

My mom got up off the couch with an excited little leap. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I think this is an excellent opportunity for our kids. I know that I’m very proud of Russ. In my opinion he was always in the top one percent, but it’s nice to hear that other people see it too.”

Through all of this I kept sneaking glances at my sister Carly. When the guys first started talking she just looked wary, and then her expression evolved from wary to outright irritation. Now she looked like an explosion waiting to happen. Her face had that pissed off look that I remembered from her fights with my parents years ago. As a little kid I used to hide in my room at the first signs of trouble. I hadn’t seen her like this in years, but I could tell she was right on the edge of losing it.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, her tone icy. “You match these genius students with the right projects based on their specific talents and strengths, is that right?”

Mitch gave her a forced smile, while Will found something fascinating to look at down by his toes. Mitch said, “That’s correct.”

“So can I assume that since all three of them are going to be taking the same trip—” She pointed at Mallory, Jameson, and me. “—that all of them have the same talents and strengths?”

He cleared his throat. “That’s right.”

“And what would those talents and strengths be?”

My mother said hurriedly, “Carly, I think you’re putting these gentlemen on the spot. There’s no need to be rude.”

“No, it’s okay, Mrs. Becker,” Mitch assured my mother. “We welcome questions.” He took a step closer to Carly. “In this case, all three of these students demonstrated talents for quick thinking, logic skills, and discretion. The last one is imperative for this project because they may be working near classified material and we need to know that they can be trusted not to divulge private information.”

Now Carly was the one moving closer. “So you can trust them, but can we trust you? Can you guarantee their safety? After your five days, will my brother come home exactly the same person he is now?” Everyone in the room felt her anger. To the parents it must have seemed kind of random.

I had almost forgotten Rosie was in the room until she spoke up. “I know where you’re coming from, Carly, I really do. It’s always a concern when loved ones are away, particularly when we’re talking about teenagers. The world can be a scary place. But I promise you, all three of these young people will be surrounded by security at all times. And I myself will be serving as a chaperone for this trip. I give you my personal guarantee that Russ will be safe.”

Carly turned to her, hands on hips. “You’re going to be a chaperone? How did that happen?”

Will stepped forward and held up a hand. “If you’d let us finish our presentation, we can take questions afterward.” He was clearly trying to gain control of the situation. “As it turns out, the subject of chaperones was next on our list. The NHSSI feels strongly about ensuring the safety of our students. To this end, we select members of the community to serve as chaperones. We find that it makes the families feel more secure and the students more comfortable when they have a history with the adult who is accompanying the group. The obvious choice, parents, are never allowed to serve as chaperones because we find that the kids need distance from home to maximize their potential.”

“How many chaperones will be going with the kids?” Mrs. Nassif asked.

“Good question!” Will said brightly. “We have a ratio of one chaperone per student, so there will be three on this trip.”

Carly pointed to Rosie. “So that would be her and who else?”

“Dr. Anton, a very distinguished child psychiatrist who lives and works in this area has agreed to take time away from his very busy schedule to accompany the students on this trip. We’re thrilled to have him on board. I understand that he’s already met some of you.” Will looked right at me when he said this. I dropped my gaze to the floor, uncomfortable. Who wants to be known as the kid who saw the psychiatrist? I mean, I wasn’t crazy or anything, I just used to have trouble sleeping. And as it turned out, that didn’t have anything to do with me. “And we’re still filling the third spot. As soon as we have a candidate, we’ll let you know.”

“I’ll do it.” Carly got the words out before he’d barely finished the sentence.

“Pardon me?”

“I said I’ll do it. Put me down as your third chaperone.”

Will and Mitch exchanged an awkward look. Even without speaking it was clear they were trying to decide who would handle this. Mitch finally took charge. “I think you heard Will mention that we never allow family members to serve as chaperones because—”

“What Will actually said—” Carly’s voice was now loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “—was that parents couldn’t be chaperones, because you find that the kids need distance from home to maximize their potential. I am not Russ’s parent, I don’t live with him, and I don’t think my presence will inhibit him in any way. Also, he’s not going without me. That’s the deal. You want Russ, you’re getting me too.”

“Carly!” Mom said. “What are you saying? It’s not up to you.”

Carly ignored her. “My brother is not going on any of your trips without me, regardless of what my parents say. I go as a chaperone, or no dice.”

The two men exchanged another glance; Mitch shrugged. “It’s not up to us, but I’ll be happy to pass on your request to the committee members who will be making the final decision.”

Carly said, “You do that,” at the same time my mother was sputtering an apology for her daughter’s rudeness. I could tell that she thought Carly was going to screw up my chances to go. The rest of the room just looked uncomfortable.

Finally Rosie spoke up, her gentle voice calm but firm. “I love seeing the family dynamics at work here. Russ, it must feel good to have a sister who loves you so much.”

Carly’s look dared me to say something contradictory. My sister wasn’t one who was easily shocked, but I think I actually did it this time when I stood up and said, “Yeah, it does feel good and I feel the same way about her. And just for the record? I won’t go on the trip unless she’s a chaperone.”

Mitch shrugged and then extended a hand to Carly. “Congratulations, you’re a chaperone.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Russ

You know how during the school year you dream about summer vacation and in your mind, those three months seem like they’ll go on forever, but actually the time whips by before you know it? Well, multiply that speed by ten and you’ll know how fast the rest of the summer went for me.

Now that I was sixteen, I could get a job, something I’d looked forward to since I’d started high school. A job meant an hourly wage. Money. Having more cash would solve a lot of problems, believe me. I filled out applications online and even had an interview at one of the fast food places in the mall food court, but no one hired me, which turned out to be just as well, because getting my driver’s license and going to the Praetorian Guard practice sessions chewed up my time way more than I thought it would.

Of course, my parents didn’t know they were PG practice sessions. They knew them as National High School Student Initiative preparation meetings. They never even questioned why I had to go four nights a week and every Saturday morning for weeks on end.

The first meeting came within days of the presentation at my house. Mallory, Jameson and I went, of course, along with our chaperones: Carly, Rosie, and Dr. Anton. That night, Carly came to pick me up after dinner. After getting Frank situated in front of the TV and making small talk with my parents, the two of us drove to a manufacturing firm in the industrial park on the edge of town. The sign said: Riverside Burial Vault Company. I’d looked them up ahead of time and found out that burial vaults, these large concrete boxes, were required by law in Wisconsin if you wanted to be buried in a cemetery. They lowered the vaults into the ground to hold the coffin. It kept the ground from sinking as the coffin deteriorated. The owner of the factory was a Guard member so it was a safe meeting place.

Carly and I crossed the asphalt parking lot to the building. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said. “You can change your mind at any time.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m not going to change my mind.”

She sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Once inside, we were greeted by Will and Mitch, the guys who’d given the presentation at my house. Apparently, the earlier formalities were only for the benefit of the parents, because now they were dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, and I noticed they also dispensed with the handshakes. Mitch picked up a large plastic container and guided us through an office space where two women sat at computers. “Tiffany and Allison,” he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head. We said hello and continued on until we reached a door that led into a warehouse half-filled with stacks of concrete burial vaults and car stops. Rosie and Dr. Anton were already there. A few minutes after we walked in, Will showed up, followed by Jameson and Mallory.

I’m not someone who usually notices clothes, but a guy would have to be completely blind to miss what Mallory had on—a sheer tank top and short skirt, the kind cheerleaders wear. She gave me a big smile like we had a secret and flipped her ponytail at me. My sister caught all this and nudged me with a sly grin. “Focus, Russ. Don’t get distracted.”

A second later, Rosie made the rounds, giving out hugs and saying she was glad to see us. There was the usual chatter about the weather and what everyone had been doing, but once we had quieted down and lined up, Mitch rested one foot on the plastic container and said, “Okay guys, before we start with the training does anyone have any questions?”

“I have a question,” I said, raising my hand. “It’s about Nadia. Have you tried to get her parents to let her come?”

Mitch shook his head. “At this point in time, it doesn’t look like Nadia will be able to join us. To be honest with you, Russ, we’ve never had a parent turn down one of our opportunities. Nadia’s mother is a tough nut to crack. We’ve offered financial incentives and scholarships, but she won’t even listen, which is making it difficult.”

Mallory crossed her arms. “How about using mind control?” she asked.

“We’re working on getting one of our operatives into the home under some other guise, but so far we’ve been denied access. As I said, she’s one tough lady.”

I said, “How about just taking Nadia by force? There has to be a way to get her out of the house.” When we were in Peru, David Hofstetter had said that Nadia and I would be essential to this mission because of our specialized skills, notably her astral projection. Having someone who could travel anywhere on a moment’s notice and stay absolutely invisible was like having the perfect spy on your side. If this trip was so important, wouldn’t she be invaluable?

There was dead silence for a second before Mitch said, “Believe me, we’re exploring every option. If it can be done, it will. That’s not my job, however. My job is to prepare the three of you, and your job is to listen and learn. I will require your complete attention during these sessions. I can’t stress how important this mission is.”

His partner, Will, said, “Any other questions?’

“I have one,” Carly said. “What exactly is this mission?”

“It’s a trip to Washington D.C. Our objective is to thwart a known threat by the organization known as the Associates.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you said.” Carly waved a hand dismissively. “What I’m asking about are the specifics of the plan. What threat are we talking about and how are they supposed to thwart it?” She put finger quotes around the word thwart.

“That will be covered later.”

“You’re asking each of these kids to put their life on the line, and you can’t tell them what this is about?” Carly’s voice echoed in the cavernous space.

Dr. Anton, who hadn’t said a word up until this point, only nodding when we first walked in, held up a hand. Even though it was summer, he had on a suit coat over a button-down shirt and creased trousers. The bow tie he wore today was polka-dotted, a fun accessory to a serious outfit. “Carly, I understand your reservations, especially in light of what happened to David Hofstetter. I have my concerns as well, but I have an inkling of what this is about, and I can assure you they will be safe. I spoke to someone at the top just last week and this mission involves national security. I was told that there is a major threat to the office of the president.”

Carly’s mouth made a grim line. “And that threat would be?”

Dr. Anton said, “The Praetorian Guard has reason to believe that an assassination attempt will be made at the Presidential Black Tie Bash. The target is most likely the president, but may include her daughter, Layla, as well.”

“So you’re sending these kids right into the middle of something deadly? For crying out loud.” Carly spat out the words. “What’s wrong with the Secret Service? Are they on vacation or something?”

Mitch said, “The Secret Service will be doing their usual exemplary job. We’re not worried about weaponry brought into the Bash; that’s impossible given the safeguards in place. The kinds of things we’re worried about involve superpowers and that’s where these three come in. Any superpowers utilized by the Associates can’t match what these three can do. Having them there is an added security measure. We very much hope that their skills aren’t needed.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Carly said, sighing.

Will said, “Carly, I know you mentioned being unemployed. We wanted to let you know that if you get a job in the interim, we have a substitute available to take your place on the trip. While we think it’s admirable that you want to be with your brother, we don’t want you to miss out on any opportunities.”

Carly’s laugh came out in one quick, explosive burst. “Yeah right.” She gave him a withering look. “Well, I have to tell you that while I think it’s admirable that you’re thinking about me and my opportunities, I will be on this trip so there will be no need for a substitute. Thanks for mentioning it, though. I appreciate your concern.” I knew that Carly had been working for a temp agency—her solution to making some money between now and the end of summer. It was an agency she’d worked for before. This time around she was doing office work for a manufacturing firm that distributed fishing lures and hunting supplies. She hated it, but it was, as she said, better than nothing.

Will nodded. I had the feeling he knew it would go this way.

“Moving on. You will be fully briefed at a later date,” Mitch said hurriedly. “Until then they don’t want to disclose too much for security reasons.”

Before Carly could object again, Will launched into what we’d be doing during these meetings. “We have two goals,” he said. “Number one concerns fine-tuning your powers, and increasing them if possible, and the second involves the logistics of the mission.” Each session at the warehouse would be considered training, he told us. We’d be practicing anything we might encounter on the trip. “This includes protocol for a formal event, ballroom dancing, understanding event security, and using your powers as needed. We want you to be over-prepared, if possible, so that you can handle anything you encounter.”

“We’ll begin by working with your powers,” Mitch said. “Who wants to go first?”

Jameson stepped forward, both hands in his pockets, like he was one cool guy. “No point in saving the best for last. You might as well start with me.”

Mitch reached down, opened the plastic container at his feet, and pulled out a red rubber ball. Will then pulled out an electronic tablet, and started fiddling with the keyboard.

“We're playing dodgeball?” Jameson asked, his voice all snark. He pointed at Will. "And he's keeping score?”

“Not exactly.” Mitch walked toward the pallets stacked with burial vaults on the far side of the room. He stopped thirty feet away from us and set the ball on the concrete floor. He called out, “We want to test the power of your telekinesis, both for distance and force. Do you think you can make the ball roll from where you're currently standing?”

Jameson sighed, the same way he did when he thought someone was being stupid. I'd been the target of that sigh more than once. “Yeah, I think maybe I can.”

"Okay then!" Mitch rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Let's see what you can do.”

Jameson rubbed his palms back and forth, mimicking Mitch, then wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. He held an arm out like he had Harry Potter's wand. “Move that ball!” he yelled.

In the past, I'd seen Jameson make a salt shaker slide across a table, lasso a man with a leather cord, make a cell phone float in the air, and get pieces of paper to levitate in a circle, so I knew he had the power to move objects with his mind. But being tested on it was different. How was he going to do under pressure? The group’s eyes locked on the ball as we all watched for movement. Slowly, very slowly, it inched forward in a jerky, almost imperceptible motion. Mitch's face fell; he was hoping for more. Just then, I glanced Jameson's way and saw a glint in his eye; and that’s when I knew he’d been holding back. A second later the ball picked up speed, barreling toward us as if it had been kicked. Mallory shielded her face when the ball approached, but it stopped right before it hit her, changed direction and headed for the ceiling. It zigzagged up and down and then circled around us, going so fast that the air whistled as it went past.

Mitch's eyes widened in amazement. And then the ball went straight toward him, struck him in the head and knocked him unconscious.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Russ

Mitch’s head hitting the floor made a loud thunk, amplified when the sound echoed off the high ceiling. “Oh my word!” Rosie said. Instinctively, we all rushed forward.

“I can’t believe you hit him that hard,” Mallory said to Jameson, as we stared down at Mitch who lay face up on the floor, his eyes closed.

“I thought he’d duck.” Jameson’s words made him sound uncaring, but judging from the look on his face he was a little shaken up. I don’t think he had as much control over the ball as he wanted us to think.

Dr. Anton knelt next to Mitch and checked his pulse, then searched his head for injuries. “I don’t believe that the ball was the problem. It was hitting the floor that did him in,” he observed dryly. “His breathing is fine.” Mitch’s eyes fluttered and he attempted to sit up. “Easy now,” Dr. Anton said, guiding him back down. “Why don’t you just lie still for a few minutes?”

“I have an idea,” Will said. With all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed that he’d held back and was frantically typing into his keyboard. “Why don’t we have Russ use his powers of healing to bring Mitch back up to speed?”

“Russ?” Dr. Anton said.

I shrugged. “I can try.” I saw Jameson’s smug look and immediately regretted not sounding more confident. Once again, he was going to turn this into a competition. Well, if that’s the way he wanted it. “I mean, of course I can do it.”

I knelt down across from Dr. Anton and let my hands hover over Mitch’s upper body to assess his condition. “The pain and injury are limited to the back of his head. It doesn’t feel serious.”

“Probably just a concussion,” Dr. Anton said thoughtfully.

I held my hands over the top of Mitch’s head and closed my eyes. I had done this before, but usually it was for far more serious injuries and I didn’t have my sister watching. Having her there made it feel weird.

“Man, it hurts,” Mitch said, probably to give me a nudge to hurry up. It had the opposite effect though. Knowing that they were all waiting for me made me nervous. I willed myself to shut the world out and concentrated on pouring all my energy and concern into Mitch’s head. I ignored the sound of Jameson clearing his throat and Will’s tapping on the keyboard. In a few minutes, something inside me shook loose and I knew it was working. Such a relief.

Mitch felt it too because he sighed and said, “I can feel the heat coming off his hands.”

When I’d finished, I opened my eyes and shook my fingers. “That’s it,” I said. I hoped it was enough.

“Mitch?” Will said.

Mitch sat up. He shook off Dr. Anton’s offer of help and got to his feet on his own. “That was remarkable.” He smoothed his hair and adjusted his T-shirt. “Two minutes ago my head hurt like hell, there was ringing in my ears, and I was seeing stars. Now I feel just fine.”

Mallory gave me a slow clap and even Carly smiled. “Not too bad,” Will said, going back to the tablet. “Not bad at all.”

Mallory’s turn was less harrowing, but still impressive. Mitch and Will brought in five different Praetorian Guard volunteers, two men and three women, all of them looking to be in their forties, and had them sit in folding chairs arranged in a straight row. Mallory was instructed to stand behind them, rest her hands on their shoulders and wordlessly exert mind control over them, one at a time. Will showed her the instructions on his tablet as she went to each volunteer. It was eerily silent. Just one teenage girl in a really short skirt, walking behind a row of middle-aged people, resting her hands on their shoulders as she went. Like a weird game of Duck, Duck, Goose without the chase. When she finished with the last one, she nodded to Will, who took over from there.

“Volunteers,” he said. “Do you have something you want to share with us?”

And just like that, all five of them popped out of their chairs and started acting like freaking lunatics. One of the men meowed like a cat, while the second one spun in circles. One woman flapped her arms, another sang the Star Spangled Banner, and the third made growling noises. It was so unexpected and ridiculous that I couldn’t help laughing. And I wasn’t the only one. Rosie and my sister couldn’t help giggling either. “It’s like a Las Vegas hypnosis act,” Carly said, her voice rising to be heard over the singing and growling.

“That’s why I’d never volunteer for those things,” Rosie said, shaking her head.

“Like hypnosis,” Jameson said to me. “Except she didn’t say anything out loud. Way to go Mallory!”

The five continued until Mallory said, “Enough!” She pointed to the chairs. “I want you back in your seats, eyes closed, and quiet.” Like trained German Shepherds, they obeyed immediately, sitting straight-backed in their assigned chairs, eyes shut, completely silent. Will nodded at Mallory, who went down the line, touching each one in turn. “Now open your eyes,” she said.

The five blinked and looked around like they’d fallen asleep on a long bus trip and been jolted awake at their destination. One woman actually stretched and yawned.

“How do you feel?” Mitch asked. In unison they all said they felt great! “Never better,” one man said.

“Excellent,” Mitch said, rubbing his hands together. “Thank you all for volunteering tonight. If you go back to the office, Tiffany will have a questionnaire she’d like you to fill out before you go.”

“Thanks folks!” Will said, as the group made their way to the door. “Much appreciated.”

“Will they remember what they did?” Jameson asked once the door clicked shut.

Will turned to Mallory. “What do you think?”

“No.” She shook her head. “They won’t remember any of it. They think they took part in a new form of meditation. They woke up feeling refreshed and full of energy. I gave them instructions for when they get home. One woman is going to go home and clean her refrigerator, another will call a friend or relative she hasn’t talked to in years.” She started to tick them off on her fingers. “The third woman will decide she needs to redecorate her bedroom. One of the guys is going to start volunteering at a homeless shelter and the other one is going to subscribe to the New York Times.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Carly’s words were a whisper but I was close enough to hear. “Unbelievable.”

Mitch said, “We wanted to vary the post-session suggestions so that some were long term, like the volunteering and the redecorating, and some were immediate, like the refrigerator. We’re going to have them fill out questionnaires every week and see if they followed through on the suggestions.” He gave Mallory an approving look. “Next week we’ll try subjects who are resistant. Once we have that data we’ll know how far we can take this.”

“How will they be resistant?” Carly asked. “Are you gonna drag them in off the street?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Will assured her. “The participants will still be volunteers, but they’ll be told ahead of time that someone is going to try to assert mind control on them, and that they should attempt to resist.”

Mitch came up and put his hand on my shoulder. “If you’re up for it, Russ, next I’d like to have you show us how you expel electricity.”

“I’m up for it,” I said. “Definitely up for it.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jameson giving me one of his looks. He was loving this.

“Great!” Will said, with an excessive amount of enthusiasm. “Don’t start until we give you instructions.” He strode over, picked up the ball, and juggled it back and forth between his hands. “I’m going to throw the ball up in the air, and I’d like to see if you can hit it while it’s in motion. Wait until it’s not anywhere near me, so you don’t accidentally electrocute me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I assured him.

Will laughed. “Well, after what happened to Mitch with the ball…”

“That was Jameson,” I said. “He has control issues.”

“Hey!” Jameson said.

“Okay then,” Will said, taking a few steps back. “Remember to wait until it’s far away from me.”

I nodded. “Got it.” I held my palms out, like Spiderman shooting a web.

Will swung the ball back and whipped it into the air. It sailed up, almost reaching the ceiling, picking up speed as it came down. Somewhere in there, Jameson cleared his throat, but I ignored him. Timing was everything. When the ball was halfway to the floor, I let loose. Electricity shot out of my hands in a blinding blast. I aimed my lightning bolt at the ball, instinctively allowing for the speed of the descent and I hit it straight on. My aim was perfect, but I miscalculated and put out more than was necessary: the stream of electricity obliterated the ball and kept going, hitting the stack of burial vaults behind it. Almost instantly, they crumbled and fell in a violent heap of concrete dust and rubble. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. The spectators had varying reactions, but all of them were amazed.

“Oh my word,” Rosie said, putting her hand over her mouth. “Very impressive.”

Mallory clapped. “Awesome, Russ!”

“Show-off.” Jameson punched my shoulder. He sounded a little proud actually, which surprised me. Man, he was a hard guy to figure out.

“I think we should all retire to the office area until the dust settles,” Mitch said, waving a hand in front of his face. “I hope this doesn’t trigger my asthma.”

Will hoisted the plastic container onto his shoulder and ushered us toward the door. As we walked I heard Dr. Anton say, “Good grief, I haven’t seen anything that impressive since David Hofstetter.”

Carly spoke up, “David could do that without even trying, and look where it got him.” I knew where she was coming from. She thought he’d perished in a fiery car accident, but the truth of what actually happened was almost as bad. David Hofstetter got stuck working in a laboratory for sixteen years while his friends and family assumed he was dead, and while his son was growing up without him. He left a big hole behind. Tragic, really.

But nothing like that was going to happen to me.

CHAPTER NINE

Russ

For weeks on end we continued these sessions, fine-tuning our powers and taking tests, some of which didn't seem relevant to anything at all, but Dr. Anton assured us that everything was important. Some of the tests reminded me of standard IQ tests; others required us to memorize schematics of the building where the Bash would be held. We were also instructed in etiquette, table manners, and ballroom dancing. All of us had to complete questionnaires asking what we’d eaten that day, how we slept the night before, and how energetic we felt on a scale of one to ten. Over and over again they stressed keeping a low profile so that we didn’t cause a panic. “People get trampled when a mob rushes to the exits,” Mitch said. “We don’t want a riot.”

During one of the practice sessions they had me shoot electricity from my palms down into the concrete floor to see what would happen. “Start out slow and easy,” Mitch said. “You can always crank it up later.”

I held my hands out and gave one short blast on each side, but instead of the electricity pushing into the floor, the opposite happened: I was propelled off my feet and forward. “Whoa,” I said, coming down hard. I gave the two instructors an irritated look. “Did you know that would happen?”

Both of them grinned like idiots. “We had an idea it might.”

“It would have been nice to know ahead of time,” I grumbled, thinking how close I’d come to falling on my face. Luckily Jameson was on the other side of the room practicing with a lasso or he’d have given me grief about it.

Mitch said, “Sorry about that. We didn’t want to say anything that might affect the outcome.” Neither he or Will thought this particular talent had a practical outcome, but it didn’t matter to me. Boosting myself in the air by shooting lightning bolts out of my palms was the coolest thing ever. I practiced over and over again until I could rise as high as twenty feet and as far as the length of the warehouse. Mallory applauded when she saw me and even Jameson looked impressed. Only Carly had a worried look on her face.

The testing for my healing abilities was not as exciting. The started me off with some easy cases. Initially, they had me heal a man with cuts on his arm, and fix a dog with a problem hip. Skippy was the dog’s name. He looked like a beagle mix, all ears, long body, and short legs. When he came in his head was down and his tail drooped. By the time I was done, his tail was wagging and he had a smile on his face. A proud moment for me.

Another test involved using my curative powers on mystery substances inside several different Petri dishes. It was hard for me to connect in those cases and I never found out the results.

There were about a dozen patients in all. After a while they stopped telling me the problem and wanted to see if I could figure it out. I think I did pretty well right from the start. The first time they brought in an elderly woman with a mystery ailment. She was seriously old with white hair and skin like aged leather. I scanned her body with my hands, letting them hover from head to toe, and determined that the problem was in her midsection, close to her heart. I did the best I could to infuse my energy into that area. She looked better by the time I was finished but they wouldn’t tell me if it worked.

My favorite training sessions involved the ballroom dance lessons. A tiny woman named (and I’m not making this up) Prima Donna came in lugging an ancient record player and a stack of vinyl albums. Her hair was dyed jet black and she carried a fan which she opened with the snap of her hand. “Like a flamenco dancer,” she said. She was easily seventy years old, but she could dance like nobody’s business. “You’ve heard of the Prima Donna Dance Studio, yes?” Most of her sentences ended with the word yes. She had a slight accent that I couldn’t place. We all reluctantly confessed to not having heard of her dance studio and she was appalled. “For shame,” she scolded. “The Prima Donna Dance Studio very famous. I train all the big names back in the day. Anyway, we begin, yes?” From the start Jameson stood out as the worst in the group. Mallory took to it right away, and I was, Prima Donna said, “somewhat trainable.” But Jameson’s long legs couldn’t stick to the rhythm, not even to save his rapidly drooping ego.

“Tell your smart brain to talk to your legs,” I said. “See if they can work something out.” Mallory and I were paired up for a waltz and having an easy time of it, while Jameson looked like he wanted to dismember me and make my body parts dance using telekinesis.

Prima Donna came half a dozen times in all. After the first three times Mallory and I didn’t need any instruction at all. We just danced. But Jameson never got any better. If anything he got worse, anticipating how Prima Donna would hit him with her fan when he’d make a misstep. I almost felt sorry for him.

Some of the other sessions involved learning facts about the government. In those cases, they gave us handouts to take home and memorize. Jameson was especially insulted when they asked us to memorize a sheet describing how the federal government worked. He looked down at the page and read aloud, “The federal government is made up of three branches: the executive, the judicial, and the legislative.” He looked up, irate. “What is this, third grade?”

“Just read it. I think you’ll find it has a new spin on the topic,” Will said.

As we were leaving that evening, Jameson crumpled up his sheet and tossed it in a wastebasket. When Mitch raised his eyebrows, Jameson tapped his forehead. “Trust me, I’ve got it. It’s all up here.”

Later lessons included topics such as security protocol at our nation’s capital, personal information about the presidential family, and the layout of the banquet hall where the event would be held. Carly sarcastically commented that I would be ready for a life as a politician or a party planner if the whole superhero thing didn't work out.

The tests that measured our powers—how far, fast, and accurately Jameson could move objects, or how much electric current I could generate in one go, seemed to fascinate the Praetorian Guard officials the most. A larger group attended these tests, mostly men in their forties and fifties, armed with devices which measured and recorded our efforts. On those days, Jameson and I got super competitive, spurring each other on to greater heights. Just seeing Jameson’s smug grin made me want to totally bring it, and I think I had the same effect on him.

At some point, Mitch and Will noticed us trying to one up each other, and it bothered them so they set up a different kind of test. “This time,” Mitch said, “we’re going in a different direction.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “You and Jameson are going to be working together.” The exercise, he said, would involve Jameson moving an object through the air, and me obliterating it while it was moving. “Teamwork,” Mitch said. “Like a relay race, Jameson. You want Russ to be able to hit it.”

We started with a large beach ball, and when that proved to be too easy, switched to smaller and faster objects. The day Jameson shot a paperclip at top speed across the warehouse and I zapped it from thirty feet away was a proud day for both of us. Without even thinking about it, I found myself high-fiving Jameson. Somehow, we’d turned a corner. He could still be a jerk, but now we were on the same side.

At the same time we were double-teaming, Mallory was making great strides in mind control. Carly drifted back and forth between Mallory’s testing and mine, and gave me updates on the ride home. “She’s scary good,” Carly said, gripping the steering wheel. She glanced over to see if I was paying attention. “Don’t let her touch you, Russ. I mean it. I wouldn’t let that girl get within five inches of me.”

“It’s not like she’s going to do it to me without me knowing it,” I said. “She’s my friend. Besides, I can do a bit of mind control too, you know.”

“You haven’t seen her lately,” Carly said. “Your mind control is nothing like hers. Now she can implant memories and make people hallucinate. I overheard some of the guys from the Praetorian Guard say they’ve never seen anything like the three of you ever. And your powers seem to be increasing all the time. I’m afraid, Russ. I’m really afraid. After this, they’re not going to let you go.” She lifted a hand and I saw her wipe her eyes. “If you survive this mission, they will want more and more and more. You will never be able to have a normal life.”

We were both quiet for a moment and then I said, “I’m not so sure I want a normal life.”

She shook her head sadly. “Oh Russ, you have no idea.”

About three weeks into our training, Nadia was finally able to get away from her mom long enough to astral project to me. That night, I was already in bed, eyes closed and nearly asleep. I felt her presence and knew she was there. "Nadia?" I whispered. I didn’t need to talk out loud because she could hear my thoughts perfectly, but sometimes I forgot and fell into old habits.

She looked like a beautiful ghost drifting through the window. I watched her float to the foot of my bed, her image the same size as her body in real life but as ethereal as smoke. I knew that when she wanted to, she could enter a room invisibly, but she was also able to show herself at will. And with me, she always did.

Russ? she said cautiously. I sensed a careful happiness coming from her, the kind you have when you don't want to get your hopes up. I didn’t want to answer out loud so I switched to thoughts. My parents were downstairs and probably couldn't hear my voice, but it was better to be careful.

I sat up and asked, What's wrong?

Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…

What?

Glad to see you. I wish I could really talk to you though.

We’re talking now.

I mean in person.

I know. But this is almost better, right?

I felt the equivalent of a sigh from her. She said, It doesn’t matter if it’s better or worse. It’s all I can do right now. Believe me, my mother is tireless in her efforts to make me miserable.

I’m sorry, I said.

I know. She sighed again. I don’t mean to be so negative. I’m happy to finally see you but this is all so virtual. I just wish I could touch you.

I felt her essence sweep through me like a warm breeze. As close to touching as we could manage at the moment.

Really touch you, she added

That made two of us. Before Nadia and I connected in Peru, I had no idea how addictive another person could be. I craved being close to her, smelling her, feeling her hands wander over my skin and through my hair. Day and night, thoughts of her haunted me. I replayed our times together and tried to relive the feeling of our kisses and the press of her body against mine. I said, She can’t keep you trapped in that house forever. We’ll be together again.

Yeah, but when? By the time that happens you’ll have forgotten about me and be with someone else.

That’s not going to happen, I said, sort of insulted. How could she say that? Didn’t she know everything about her was etched onto my soul?

I’ve been told it happens with teenage romances, she said, her tone bitter. My mother has made that very clear to me. More than once.

Well, she doesn’t know us.

I guess you’re right.

I decided to change the subject. So what else is new?

She was quiet for a moment. Nothing, really.

You didn’t notice anything different about your face?

Oh! Yes. I mean, thank you! I didn’t notice at first, and then when I did I couldn’t tell you. I can’t believe I didn’t thank you first thing.

I grinned. Were you surprised?

Confused, and then surprised, and then happy. When did you do it?

On the plane, when you were sleeping.

That’s what I thought! she said.

What did your parents say?

My dad thought it was because I was using this ointment he gave me. My mom, as usual, was highly suspicious. She asked if I'd been worshipping Satan.

She did not. But even as I said it, I knew it was true.

Yes she did. But don’t worry about it. That’s just life at my house. One more thing to add to the list. I'm overjoyed that you fixed my face, and really, really grateful. I can even open my eye all the way now. And I’m letting my bangs grow out. It’s amazing really. The skin looks better all the time. Like it’s regenerating. I never used to look in the mirror, but now I can’t stop and when I do, I think of you and what you’ve done for me. You've changed my life in so many ways, I can't even begin to thank you...

You don't need to thank me.

Of course I do. What you did for me is everything.

That’s just what you do for someone you love. The words were out without a thought, but when I felt her surge of joy fill the room, I was glad I’d broken through my tendency to hold back and just put it out there.

I love you, Russ.

I love you too. The words felt so right, but being apart when we said them was so wrong. We should be in the same room. The novelty of astral projecting had completely worn off. I wanted Nadia, the real Nadia, right next to me. Body and soul. I wanted it all.

My biggest fear, she said, is that you’re going to die on this mission. If that happened, I’d be lost. I wouldn’t want to live without you.

I’m not going to die.

You could. We almost did in Peru.

I promise you, Nadia, no matter what happens, I’ll find my way back to you.

If I could go on the trip we’d be together no matter what happens.

That reminded me: The Praetorian Guard guys who are training us said they’ve been trying to get someone into your house to try mind control on your mom. Are they making any progress?

Ha! They’ve been trying but my mother is formidable. They’ve offered her free carpet cleaning, told her she’s won prizes, and said they’re from social services and that they are there to check on me.

Really? I asked, fascinated. What happened?

My father let them in. My mother wouldn’t even shake their hand. She wouldn’t even go within five feet of them. They pretended to inspect the house, which is spotless, by the way, asked me a bunch of questions and left. My mother told them she’d be contacting her attorney and reporting them for harassment.

Did she?

I don’t know. Maybe. She seems to have an awful lot of free time.

I really wanted you to go with us to Washington D.C.

Yeah, me too, but unless I jump out the window, it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere.

The Praetorian Guard will come up with something, I said. David Hofstetter said your astral projecting would be invaluable. And Mallory’s mind control is getting to be really powerful. Maybe your mom would let her in the house?

Maybe, Nadia said, sounding doubtful.

But the weeks went on and the Guard didn’t come any closer to arranging for Nadia to come on the mission. Her mother had eased up a little so she was able to astral project to me at night, and I kept her filled in on what we were learning. Her days were filled with homework and studying and bad television, so she listened to my descriptions with rapt attention, laughing at my observations of Jameson and speculating, with me, what it all meant.

Why would someone want to kill the president? she asked.

I don’t know, I said. President Bernstein was the first female president in the history of the country, and fairly well-liked by most. There was a very vocal group of dissenters that wanted her gone but it was only two years until her term was up. It seemed like it would be easier to wait than commit murder. Not to mention that the vice president would just take office and he was on the same side, so really, what would that accomplish?

Nadia said, What do they think might happen at the Bash?

I don’t know. They said they’d tell us more when it gets closer. I guess we’d just have to wait to find out.

CHAPTER TEN

Russ

By the end of the summer, all three of us had amped our powers to levels far beyond anything we’d ever envisioned. It was hard not to use it in everyday life. So many times I desperately wanted to put on a light show for my nephew, heal my mother’s headaches, or use a little mind control on Dad to convince him I could put off mowing the lawn for another day, but admirably I held back. Carly would have been really angry with me for one thing, not to mention that showing my powers in public might jeopardize the mission, and the Praetorian Guard in general. I didn’t want to be the stupid teenager who lacked impulse control and couldn’t be trusted.

One Thursday night we arrived at the burial vault factory and knew something was up. It was a few days before we were scheduled to leave and we still didn’t have a clue as to our role on this trip, other than that we were going to attend the Presidential Black Tie Bash. At some point we’d stopped wondering and asking, and just focused on the training.

That night, Carly and I were met at the door by Tiffany, one of the administrative assistants. Instead of directing us to the warehouse, she ushered us into a conference room where we were told to wait. Mallory, Jameson, and Rosie were already there; Mallory said hello as we entered and Rosie smiled, but Jameson was too busy leaning back in his chair with both feet propped up on the polished table to acknowledge our entrance. “What’s this all about?” Carly asked.

“I don’t honestly know,” Tiffany said apologetically. “Some kind of announcement, I believe.” She closed the door behind her and then the five of us were sealed in the windowless space. The conference table was large enough for twenty. The surface was polished light wood, all one color except for a glistening spiral pattern in the center. It reminded me of Dorothy’s yellow brick road or our very own lux spiral. One wall was covered with a white veneered surface, like it served as a screen for video clips or PowerPoint presentations. The two long walls were covered with photos of the founder of the company and his sons and grandsons. Generation after generation, all of whom opted to go into the burial vault business. The plaques were industry awards and commendations for employee safety. In the corner, a triangular bookcase held a decanter and glasses, along with a bowling trophy and a few random books. It looked like a standard business conference room, but I sensed electricity where there should be none. Besides the outlets and light fixtures, there was electricity pulsing out of the picture frames and the bowling trophies. Hidden cameras was my guess.

“Take a seat,” Rosie said, gesturing to the chair next to her with a smile. I’d heard her say the same phrase many times when we’d visited her in the diner. The familiar words were comforting. I sat next to her, but Carly, in a small bit of rebellion walked around to the head of the table and took a high-backed swivel chair clearly intended for whoever would be leading the discussion.

“That’s the chair I wanted,” Jameson shifted his feet to the floor and sat up straight. “But Mallory wouldn’t let me sit there.”

Carly shrugged. “You have to learn to think for yourself, young man. If you keep waiting for approval you’re going to miss out on a lot.”

“I can think for myself,” Jameson said, clearly offended. “I was being polite.”

“Being polite doesn’t get you very far, believe me.” Carly was definitely in a mood. It was like there was something in the air only she could sense and she wasn’t liking the smell of it.

“Not knowing what’s going on can be a little stressful,” Rosie said soothingly. “But I’m sure it’s all going to work out fine.”

“Where’s Dr. Anton?” Mallory said. “He’s usually here by now.” There was a hint of worry in her voice.

Rosie said, “I talked to him this morning and he said he’s going to be here, so don’t you worry about him. Probably just delayed by traffic. As long as we’re waiting though, I might as well take the time to tell you how thrilled we are at how well you all are doing. You’ve worked hard and honed your powers, but that’s just part of it. Dr. Anton and I are also impressed with your maturity and focus. All three of you make us proud. We know we’re putting a lot on your young shoulders, but we trust you’ll get the job done.”

From anyone else that speech would have sounded a little condescending, but Rosie delivered this speech with conviction. I think she really was proud of us and thrilled at our progress and everything else she said. Jameson and Mallory must have felt the same way, because they both said, “Thank you,” at the same time I did.

Mallory grinned. She’d gotten really tan this summer and it made her teeth look extra white. I noticed she’d been wearing a lot of white lately too, probably to show off her darker color. “We’re glad we’ve earned your trust,” she said. “And we’ll do everything we can to get the job done.”

At the end of the table I saw Carly roll her eyes as she mouthed the words ‘suck up’ to me. Luckily, no one else spotted it. It took all I had not to laugh.

A few seconds later, the door opened again and Dr. Anton walked in followed by Mitch and Will, along with a man and woman we’d never seen before. Both of the strangers wore business attire. The woman seemed to be in charge. The four men fell in place along the edge of the room while she strode forward, greeting each of us with an official handshake. She was tall, slender, and edgy-looking with spiky red hair and funky glasses, but her attitude was all business. “I’m Dr. Wentworth,” she said and listened as we each said our name. I sensed she already knew who we were and I also sensed that she and the other man were wired for sound. The devices, hidden underneath their clothing, pulsed in a way that was impossible for me to miss. Now that I could detect electricity I had to remind myself that other people didn’t have that ability. It was the one superpower that I hadn’t brought up during our training sessions. At times like this I appreciated my new awareness and the knowledge that someone somewhere was watching us and listening to our every word. I was careful not to say too much when I knew I could be overheard.

When we were finished with the pleasantries, Dr. Wentworth gestured to her colleague, “My associate, Dr. Habush.” Dr. Habush, a short man with a large briefcase under one arm, nodded mutely. Compared to Dr. Wentworth, he looked twitchy and out of place. Already I noticed he had a nervous habit of running his fingers through his stiff brown hair. The five of them pulled up chairs and sat, with Dr. Wentworth taking the seat at the end of the table opposite Carly. “I want to thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. This is an emergency meeting, as I’m sure you know.”

Carly opened her mouth but before she could speak, Jameson jumped in and said, “We don’t know anything. This was our regularly scheduled practice time and we were told to wait in here. That’s all we know.”

“My apologies,” Dr. Wentworth said, twiddling a pen between her fingers. “I thought you knew you were called here to be prepped.” She gave Dr. Habush an irritated look. “I won’t make any assumptions from now on.” She cleared her throat. "Let's get started. Habush, can you give the preliminary statement?"

Dr. Habush scurried to his feet, his chair squeaking as he rose. "Everything said during this meeting is confidential. There will be no note taking. No recording devices allowed. Please take a moment to turn off your phones." He waited while everyone shut down their phones, then continued. "Anyone who violates the security code and reveals what we discuss here can be prosecuted for crimes against the United States. We will follow up. The safety of every citizen relies upon your discretion."

Like a dark cloud covering the sun, the mood in the room turned somber. I glanced over at Jameson, expecting him to have a smirk on his face, but even he took this seriously.

“Thank you, Dr. Habush.” Dr. Wentworth stood, a cue that she was taking over. “We’d planned on briefing you on the flight to D.C., but something has happened and we feel the need to fill you in ahead of time. The first thing I need to tell you is that the trip has been moved up. You will be leaving a day early.”

“I’m not sure my mom will be okay with that,” Mallory said. “She sort of had it all planned out day by day.” She extended her fingers and frowned.

Dr. Wentworth assured her that parental permission would be their department. “Believe me,” she said dryly, “what your mom has to say on this subject is the least of my worries. You’re going, regardless.”

“Why are we going so soon?” Jameson asked.

Dr. Wentworth said, “As you’re aware, the original mission entailed the three of you attending the annual Presidential Bash in Washington D.C. to provide added protection for the President and her daughter in the event the Associates try to harm either one of them. The Bash is one of the biggest social events of the year. To cancel it is out of the question.”

“Canceling isn’t even an option!” Dr. Habush said. Dr. Wentworth gave him a sharp glance and he took a step back.

She continued. “Once again, the Bash will also be a celebration of the president’s daughter’s birthday. As you may know, Layla will turn nineteen this year.”

Mallory said to no one in particular, “I can’t believe we’re going to meet Layla!”

“Yes, you will meet Layla,” Dr. Wentworth said. “In fact, Russ will be her date and you and Jameson will be going as a couple, posing as good friends of the first daughter. Your presence adds another measure of security for the first family, the kind of security the Secret Service can’t provide.”

Dr. Habush said, “Because so far none of them has been able to zap a lightning bolt from forty feet away.” He chuckled.

Dr. Wentworth ignored him and continued. “The Bash was our original reason for sending you on this trip, but recently, there’s been another complication.” She pointed across the table. “Habush, start the presentation.”

Habush got up to switch off the light. For a split second we were in complete darkness. Before my eyes could adjust, an eerie glow rose up over the center of the table. A second later, a three dimensional image took shape, a movie of President Bernstein working in the Oval Office. There was no sound, but we saw her clearly as she hung up the phone, then spoke to a young man who came into the room to hand her some papers.

“You should know that this was two days ago,” Dr. Wentworth said. “The last day our president was at work.”

“She's on vacation?” Mallory said the words tentatively.

“No. She's in a coma. It hasn't been announced publicly because it would put the country in a panic. Only a few people know. Most of her staff has been told she’s unavailable—too busy for any meetings or calls. The medical staff taking care of her is small and is working in seclusion to ensure the information is contained.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“We’re not entirely sure, but we believe she’s been exposed to something that essentially caused the equivalent of a brain aneurism. We’ve been keeping her on life support.”

Mallory looked at me across the table with shining eyes. “Russ can heal her.”

I had a sick feeling about this. Every time I healed someone it felt like a fluke, something I could never do again. Mallory sounded so positive, but what if I failed? I was willing to try, but I wasn’t sure it would work.

“Maybe,” Dr. Wentworth said. “We’ve been impressed with what we’ve seen, but his healing powers are nowhere near definitive. And of course, if there’s brain damage, it may not be reversible.”

“Russ can do it,” Mallory said, giving me a smile. “I’m sure he can.”

“Moving on,” Dr. Wentworth said and the image switched to Vice President Montalbo as he walked through a crowd of school children shaking hands, and patting the smaller ones on the head.

“Is the vice president going to be taking over?” Rosie asked.

“Not if we can help it,” Dr. Wentworth said. “Our president is firmly on the side of the Praetorian Guard. Vice President Montalbo, on the other hand, was recently discovered to be affiliated with the Associates. As far as we know he is not aware that the president is incapacitated. The vice president is out of town right now but he’ll be back right before the Bash. Under no circumstances can we allow him to take office.”

“The first order of business involves Russ trying to heal the president,” Dr. Habush said. He was starting to remind me of a hyper kid who couldn’t wait for his turn.

“So Russ heals the president and gets to be the Layla’s date and all Mallory and I do is hang out at the Bash?” Jameson asked.

“Hardly,” Dr. Wentworth said, with a sour expression. “Both of you will be entrusted with protecting the president and her daughter. Your powers of telekinesis might make the difference between life and death. And Mallory’s mind control will be used to influence the vice president and others. Believe me, you won’t be just hanging out at the Bash.” She put finger quotes around the last five words.

“Okay, okay.” Jameson leaned back in his chair and put up his hands. “I get it.”

“We’re also counting on all three of you to watch the crowd to determine if there are any Associates present. Anyone who attempts to approach Layla Bernstein without advance clearance should be perceived as a threat. You have our permission to use your powers as you see fit.”

“The same with the president?” Mallory asked. “They can use their powers to protect her?”

Dr. Wentworth nodded. “Assuming the president is there.”

“Oh she’ll be there.” Mallory shot me a knowing look.

“And we can do this in front of four hundred people?” Jameson asked.

She nodded. “Do whatever you need to do to safeguard the presidential family. Don’t worry about witnesses. We’ll do damage control later.” She gave Dr. Habush a sign to move on.

The image in front of us changed to a crowded ballroom. “This is footage from last year’s Black Tie Bash,” Dr. Habush said. The 3D visual showed it as if we were moving through the crowd. “You can see that the dance floor gets packed on occasion. This could be a trouble spot for Layla who can be a bit unpredictable. If she wants to dance, all three of you need to be right there, as close as possible. Human shields.”

“Hear that, Russ. As close as possible,” Jameson said.

“I’ve got it,” I said. Jameson thought he was such a riot.

Dr. Habush took us through the schedule of the evening. Guests would move through a receiving line which would consist of the vice president and his wife, and the first family. “Assuming President Bernstein is well by then,” he said. Afterward, there would be dancing and drinks.

“No alcohol for any of you,” Dr. Wentworth piped in. “You’re on duty.”

“At the end of the evening, a cake will be wheeled out for Layla’s birthday. Everyone will sing and slices of cake will be made available for guests to take home,” Dr. Habush said. “If everyone is safe and sound at that point, the Praetorian Guard will consider it to be a rousing success.”

“Any questions?” Dr. Wentworth said.

Mallory raised her hand. “So are we supposed to bring fancy clothes…?”

“No, they will be provided. You will have an appropriate gown and the guys will wear tuxes. A stylist will be assigned to do your hair and makeup.”

Mallory smiled so wide I swore I could see all her teeth. The fact that formal clothing would be provided was a clear selling point for her. For me, not so much.

I held up my hand. “I’m assuming the Bash will be covered by the media. Won’t they wonder how Layla knows us?”

“Good question,” Dr. Wentworth said with a smile. “She knows you because she met you at the academic decathlon in Miami earlier in the summer.”

“She met us at the academic decathlon?” Jameson said, his brow wrinkled. “But we weren’t actually there.”

“Layla Bernstein was there, though, handing out the awards,” Dr. Wentworth said. “And Mallory is going to convince her that she met the three of you there and all of you hit it off. Think you can do that, Mallory?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“Very good.” Dr. Wentworth went over to the wall outlet and switched on the lights. “You will get more information when you arrive in D.C. Tonight’s briefing was just to give you a general idea of what will be happening. Now if there aren’t any other questions, I believe we are finished.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Russ

I had to see Nadia one more time before we left and it had to be in person because I had a gift I wanted to give her. The night before our flight to Washington D. C., I snuck out of my parents’ house after they’d gone to bed, and headed out to Nadia’s house. Being out at night was like old times back in the days leading up to witnessing the lux spiral.

On the walk over I wished once more that Nadia was coming on the trip with us, not only because I wanted her there, but because I knew she would be an asset to the group. Her presence might make the difference between life and death.

The subject of my life and death was definitely on my mind after finding out my name was on the Associates’ hit list, something I learned after the briefing at the burial vault factory. Dr. Wentworth stopped Carly and me as we headed toward the door, saying she wanted a word with us in private. The rest of the group trooped out, with only Dr. Anton glancing back to notice that we were being held back. He didn’t look the least bit surprised.

“Please,” Dr. Wentworth said, indicating the chairs we’d just been sitting in. “Have a seat.”

My sister and I sat down side by side. “Are we in trouble?” Carly said, with a smirk.

“Possibly,” Dr. Wentworth said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “We’ve known for a while that the Associates now have a new commander and there are a number of changes going on in the organization.”

“Who is this new commander?” Carly asked.

“We don’t know the identity of the commander, but your brother is definitely on his radar.” Dr. Wentworth rested her palms on the table and tented her fingers. “There’s no easy way to say this: I am sorry to tell you that Russ might be a target at the Black Tie Bash.”

“A target?” Carly asked, confused. She didn’t get it, but I did. For a split second I felt a hitch in my chest, like my heart was about to stall. I pushed the fear down, and kept my face steady, the mask of someone completely unconcerned. On the outside I looked cool. Inside I had a ball of anxiety trying to surface. “Really,” I said.

“Yes, apparently they are aware that Russ will be there and they see him as a threat.”

“Are you sure?”

Dr. Wentworth peered at me over her glasses while answering Carly’s question. “Yes, we’re sure. We have a reliable source who’s reported that the new commander was very clear on this.”

“So what does that mean—he’s a target? Like they’re going to take him or kill him?” Carly said.

“They’ll try.”

“They’ll try. That’s all you have to say when a sixteen-year-old boy’s life is on the line?” Her voice was frantic.

I said, “Excuse me. Did you notice that I’m sitting right here?” I knocked on the table. “Right here. It would be nice to be included in the conversation, especially since it’s about me.”

“Not quite,” Dr. Wentworth said, still speaking only to Carly. “We have several options for him.”

“Like what?” she asked. “Whatever it is better keep him safe, or I’m not going for it.”

“He can go on the trip and work with us to heal the president, but skip the Bash, or another option is for him to—”

“He’ll skip the Bash,” Carly said. “No way is he going.”

“Still sitting right here,” I said loudly, my hand raised.

“I’m not going to have my brother’s life jeopardized—”

I pushed back from the table, and stood up. I put one palm out and sent a flash of electricity in the airspace over their heads. The electricity sizzled and crackled, making them duck. Startled by my electrical outburst, the room got quiet. The sparks scattered and died before they hit the table. “If there are any decisions to be made, I’ll be making them,” I said. “I’m the one whose life is at stake, and believe me, I can protect myself.”

When Dr. Wentworth finally spoke, she directed her words right to me. “You have two choices, Russ. You can go on the trip and try to heal the president, but not attend the Bash. That should almost completely eliminate the threat to your life for now. Or, you can go to the Bash to protect Layla and help us smoke out the Associates in the crowd. Our source says the commander is going to be at the Bash. This is the first time in over a hundred years that the PG has been aware that the leader of the Associates will be appearing in public. This new commander is either very bold or very foolish. This is a rare opportunity for us to figure out his identity.”

“I will be attending the Bash,” I said. “Nothing could keep me away.”

“Very good.” Dr. Wentworth nodded her approval.

Carly said, “I don’t like this.”

I said, “You don’t have to like it.”

Her face fell. “Are you sure about this, Russ? Really sure?”

“I’m sure.” I kept my attention on Dr. Wentworth, like it was just the two of us. “Is there some reason you’ve told me about the commander being at the Bash and me being on his hit list but you haven’t told Mallory and Jameson?”

She said, “Yes, there is a reason. We trust you.”

“Oh.” I waited for her to elaborate on this, but she didn’t say another word and the room grew uncomfortably silent. Finally I said, “You know if you’re trying to find out the commander’s identity, you really need to have Nadia there. She can read people like you wouldn’t believe. She picks up on emotions and can tell if people are lying. Give her a little time and I’m sure she could pick him out of the crowd.”

Dr. Wentworth tipped her head slightly, considering what I said. “Why do you assume it’s a him?”

“What?”

“The commander. You said she could pick him out of the crowd. Has it occurred to you that their leader could be a woman?”

I felt myself flush red. I had a bossy sister and a strong-minded mother and I’d always treated girls well. No one could accuse me of being sexist. “Of course I know it could be a woman. I believe you referred to the commander as a male yourself.” I shifted uncomfortably. “So Nadia? You see what I’m saying? She’d be perfect for this.”

She exchanged a glance with Dr. Habush before answering. “I understand exactly what you’re saying, Russ, and believe me when I say we’ve weighed all the pros and cons in this matter. The team leader in charge of Operation Nadia has determined that the only way to get Nadia on this trip would be to come up with an excuse to forcibly remove her from the house. And that would require something like a faked abduction or accusing her parents of abuse. Either case would potentially create media coverage, something that would attract attention.” She shook her head. “We’re trying to minimize our risks here. Even having you three in attendance is risky, but your talents are so valuable we’ve opted to include you in spite of it.”

***

That night, when Nadia astral projected to me, I’d told her what Dr. Wentworth had said. They really called it Operation Nadia? she asked, pleased. Wow!

As usual, I was in bed underneath my cotton sheets during this discussion, as relaxed as a person could be. Nadia was with me, both in my mind and as a presence, hovering, spirit-like alongside me. Sometimes I forgot that she was actually in her own bed on the other side of town. I answered, That’s what she called it—Operation Nadia. I pictured a team sitting around a table, plotting ways to get into Nadia’s house. I could believe they’d never encountered anyone like Nadia’s mother. She was a force.

Nadia must have read my mind, because she said, I think my mom is on to them, because she’s noticed that we’ve suddenly had a rash of people offering different stuff besides the scholarships and academic achievement trips.

Like what?

All kinds of things. One guy offered to demonstrate carpet cleaning, another company wanted to meet with my parents for a free session of financial advising. Then there was something about earning money from home doing something online, and they’d be happy to come over to show you how it’s done. It’s been nonstop. People come to the door, they leave brochures in our mailbox, they call. They’re unbelievably persistent. My mom has been really paranoid. She says that people are trying to get into our house to take over.

But is it really being paranoid, if she’s right? I asked.

I guess not. There was a moment of silence between us and then Nadia said, I don’t really want to talk about her anymore. I want to hear about you and what you’ve been doing.

So even though they swore us to secrecy, I told her everything about the meeting, that we’d be attending the Presidential Bash, that the president was in a coma, that the leader of the Associates would supposedly be at the Bash, and that the vice president was one of the evil Associates. The only thing I left out was the part about me being a target.

The part about the vice president disappointed her. Oh no. I always thought he seemed so nice, she said.

Me too. I remember when they’d won the election. The people of the Philippines were so proud that one of their own had come to power in the United States. Never mind that he was a third generation American, they still claimed him. He was a slight man, with wavy dark hair, and a thoughtful concerned look that made him seem gentle and kind. At least that’s how he came off in the media coverage of his public appearances. It just showed that you never knew about a person.

What else?

Um, I guess at the Bash I’m going to be escorting Layla and Jameson and Mallory are going to be going as a couple.

So you’re going to be her date? she said. I don’t think I like that.

It’s not as if I like her or anything. I don’t even know her. It will probably be totally awkward. Plus, I’m just supposed to be making sure she’s safe.

Nadia sighed. She’s so beautiful.

I don’t think she’s all that beautiful. She’s like gigantically tall.

Some guys like that.

Not me.

Well, don’t fall in love with her.

Not a chance. To deflect her worry I said, I really miss you, Nadia.

I miss you too. It’s killing me that I can’t go with you on the trip. I guess I was lucky to go to Peru, considering how my mom is.

There will be more trips in the future. We’ll travel the world together someday.

I would love that, she said, but someday seems like it will never come.

I know.

I’ll try to astral project to you at night.

I said, Then I’ll have something to look forward to every day.

She sighed, a sigh that spoke volumes. It said that we shouldn’t be apart, that astral projecting wasn’t enough, that she was afraid this trip would cause us to grow apart. I won’t be able to think about anything but you but you’ll be too busy to even think about me.

I told her that wasn’t true, but nothing I said helped her get past her insecurities. And then, thinking I was just making conversation, I made the mistake of mentioning how tan Mallory had gotten this summer. I guess I’d forgotten how girls are when you talk about other girls, or maybe I just thought that Nadia was beyond that. I’d been pretty clear that I wasn’t interested in Mallory, but as she explained, she felt trapped at home, and the thought of Mallory and me bonding over this trip made her insane. And then I’d said something like maybe we wouldn’t even survive the trip, which was not the smartest thing to say. Now she had something new to worry about.

To cheer her up, I told her I was coming to see her the night before we left. She said she’d be at her window at the appointed time.

As I headed to her house that night I thought about my stupid comment about Mallory and hoped my present would help with damage control. It was a serious gift, the kind you wouldn’t give a girl unless you were really crazy about her. I’d chosen it partly because I wanted her to have something to remember me by if I died, although I wasn’t planning on telling her that.

Once I got to her house we’d only be able to talk through her window. With me on the ground and her up above, it wasn’t as good as really being with her, but it was the best we could do for now. It didn’t escape me that we were like a fairy tale couple; she the princess locked in the tower, me the suitor on the ground. Her mother, of course, was the wicked ogre keeping her imprisoned.

As I walked, a breeze picked up. I was going into the wind, so my T-shirt and shorts clung to my front and billowed out in back. The forecast had been for rain and thundershowers. The air was heavy with moisture and I sensed conditions were right for electrical activity. When lightning appeared a few seconds later, it was impressive, a giant zig-zig that cut the sky in two. For an instant it was light as day. I hurried, not because I was worried about the storm, but because I wanted to beat the rain. Seeing Nadia with my clothing soaked and water streaking down my face wasn’t the look I was going for.

When I turned onto her street, I glanced at my phone, glad to see I would make it right on time. The boxed gift was a lump in the pocket of my shorts. I couldn’t wait to see her reaction when she opened it.

Her neighborhood was quiet at this late hour and the tall trees and full bushes provided perfect coverage for me. Hopefully her parents, like mine, were fast asleep. I approached the house from the side, and looked up at the window we’d used the last time. As expected, Nadia’s room was dark. I took a few steps back, pulled a laser pointer out of my pocket, and aimed it upwards. If I calculated correctly, it would land on her ceiling. I swiveled the pointer around and around, creating my own lux spiral show for her benefit.

Within seconds she came and threw open the window, then stuck her head out. In preparation for my coming, she’d taken the screen out so there’d be nothing between us. “Hey Russ,” she said, and my heart literally swelled with happiness. I was still getting used to seeing her without her hooded sweatshirt. Her dark hair fell freely over each shoulder, but she didn’t have it over her face anymore, so I got a full view of her warm eyes and huge smile.

“Nadia.” As satisfying as it was communing via astral projection, this had a different feeling. Less dreamlike, more real. Even though the wind whipped at my clothing and the air felt like rain, I was glad to be here, glad to see her in person. She pushed her upper body out the window and leaned over as far as she could, then reached down. Even standing on tip-toe with my hand outstretched we didn’t connect, but we tried. Both of us felt it. The gap between us was charged with longing.

She whispered loudly. “I’m so glad you came!”

“Me too.” I pulled the rubber-banded box out of my pocket. “I have a gift for you.” Off in the distance, a flash of lightning filled the sky.

“You do?” She clasped her hands together, clearly delighted. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, I did.” I swung my arm back, prepared to toss it in air. “Ready to catch it?”

“Yes.”

I swung back and up it went, falling just out of reach of her outstretched hands.

She swiped the air but didn’t make contact. “Sorry,” Nadia said, giggling.

“That’s okay, it was a practice throw.”

We tried again, but this time my aim was off and it hit the side of the house before floating back down. The problem, I decided, was that it was too light. Plus, my throwing sucked because I was a little nervous. “Maybe if we tied it with a string you could swing it up to me?” she suggested.

“Good thought. Do you have some string?”

“No.”

Both of us were grinning now. This was the most ridiculous thing ever. The thunder rumbling in the distance seemed to mock my failure. But it also gave me an idea. “Can you take the screen off your other window?” I said pointing around the corner to the bedroom window facing the street. The porch roof jutted out just below the window. If I could get on top of it, we’d be close enough to touch. I’d also be visible from the street, but hopefully no one would notice this late at night. There was only a light mist in the air now. If I waited too long it would start raining and I wasn’t looking forward to losing my footing and falling off a wet roof.

“Sure I could take the screen off.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

“I think I can get up there. Just take it off, okay?”

Nadia looked puzzled, but she trusted me and went to work on the other window. I saw her fumbling with the screen and I got ready, putting the box back in my pocket and waiting for the next round of lightning. I’d never told Nadia about my ability to achieve lift-off by shooting electricity at the ground, so she didn’t have a clue as to what I was about to do. Mitch and Will didn’t think this particular ability had any practical applications. Ha! If I could eject myself onto the porch roof and get close to Nadia it would be the most practical, best application ever.

I watched in anticipation as Nadia lifted the screen out of the window and lowered it into her room, then stuck her head out facing me. She lifted her finger to her lips to remind me to be quiet. I saw a flash of lightning close by, and waited for what I really wanted. Thunder. Luck was with me. The next time it thundered it boomed loudly, shaking the earth and providing the perfect cover for the sound of a teenage guy landing on a roof. I released a short burst of electricity out of my palms and rose in the air, overshooting the roof by about three feet, then coming down with a thud. I landed in a crouched position, and struggled to keep from sliding toward the edge. Fortunately the thunder still raged, covering the noise. Below, on the ground, the grass smoked where I’d lifted off. In the morning the scorch marks would make it look like lightning had hit the lawn.

“Whoa!” Nadia’s eyes widened in astonishment. She extended a hand and guided me toward her. My heart pounded at her touch. Our time, I knew, was limited. I wanted to fit in everything I wanted to say and do. Just in case I never saw her again.

I knelt in front of her and put my hands on either side of her face. Our noses met and I took in her smell and her touch. “You’re really here,” she said, and then blushed. “That sounded stupid. What I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” I leaned in and our lips met, Nadia kissing me with such passion, it took my breath away. It was completely right. I was on a roof in the middle of a thunderstorm and there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

Nadia pulled away, but we were still close, I saw tears in her eyes. “This, right here, right now. This is the best moment of my life,” she said.

I swallowed. This was the best moment of my life too, but there was a lump in my throat that kept me from saying so.

“Do you believe in fate?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, I do,” Nadia said. “I believe in it enough for both of us. I think we were fated to see the lux spiral, and get superpowers, and meet. What were the chances that the one person I’d fall crazy madly in love with would be the only person in the world who could heal my face? I mean, really—what were the chances?” She leaned in again and planted a forceful kiss on my mouth, like she was trying to leave an impression. “I’m telling you, it was fate. We’re destined to be together.”

I nodded, and images surged through my brain: every moment I’d spent with Nadia since we’d first met behind a dumpster at the industrial park. My first impression wasn’t good, frankly. Lurking underneath her hood, she seemed like a character in a comic book. I never got a handle on what she was really like until the day I was outside of the frozen custard shop and I saw her at a table next to the window being berated by her mother. When her mom got up from the table, she saw me and put her hand on the glass. Instinctively, I’d placed mine on the other side, over hers. We’d connected that day. After that it was a journey of discovering who she really was, and I liked everything I’d discovered. She was grateful that I’d fixed her face, but she’d done more for me than she’d ever know.

“Destined to be together,” I repeated.

“Like the heavens aligned just for us.” She reached up and touched my cheek, then smiled playfully. “I believe you said something about a gift?”

“Oh yes!” I shifted my balance and reached into my pocket. When I handed her the small white box, I said, “It’s not much but I hope you like it.”

She pulled off the rubber band holding the lid to the bottom and casually dropped it onto the roof. While she lifted the lid, I kept my eyes on her face. I’d bought the ring at a jewelry store in a strip mall at the end of town. When I’d gone into the store I didn’t have a set idea on what to get her. She didn’t seem to wear much jewelry. I knew it couldn’t be flashy or tacky. And I wanted it to be significant to the two of us. Oh, and I had to be able to afford it. A tall order. I stood at the counter for the longest time looking at the charm bracelets, and diamond earrings, and engagement rings. None of it seemed right and I almost left, but just then the saleswoman, a portly lady with a bouffant hairstyle, suggested I might want to look at some of their antique jewelry. “We buy it from estates,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll find just the perfect thing for your lady friend. We have lots of unique pieces.”

I thought about Nadia. “She is unique,” I said.

The saleslady brought out a wooden tray lined with velvet and covered with various rings and bracelets. I spotted it right away and picked it up to examine it. A silver ring made up of interlocking spirals. At the top a clear stone was set in the middle of one of the spirals. “That’s a nice piece,” she said approvingly. “Custom made by a gentleman for his wife when they were first dating more than sixty years ago. The woman who brought it in was their daughter. She said the ring was designed to symbolize their interlocking lives and never-ending love.” The saleswoman tapped on the ring. “See how the spirals are linked together?”

“What about the stone? Is it a diamond?”

“No, Austrian crystal. Not as valuable, but pretty nonetheless.”

The saleslady told me the price and I said I’d take it. I pulled a roll of twenty dollar bills out of my pocket, and peeled off the right amount while she boxed the ring and rang it up. It didn’t occur to me until later that it might not be the right size, but in fact, it wound up fitting Nadia perfectly.

She gasped when she lifted the lid, but I had a feeling she’d have been happy with anything I gave her. “It’s an antique,” I said. “Not an engagement ring or anything,” I added hastily. “I just thought you’d like it.”

“I love it,” Nadia said, slipping it on her finger. “It’s perfect.” She held out her hand to admire it.

“It has the spirals, which I thought was cool.”

“Like the lux spiral.”

“Yes.” I tried to remember what the saleslady said. “And because they symbolize our interlocking lives and our never-ending love.”

It was apparently the right thing to say because Nadia surged forward and gave me a big hug. She was halfway through the window now and I realized it wouldn’t take much more to free her completely. We could both leave right now, right this minute. We could be gone before anyone noticed; it wouldn’t matter to me where we went. Except. Tomorrow I was going to Washington D.C. to cure the president and save the nation. My lips caressed her ear. “Oh, I would love to take you away with me.”

“Then do it,” she said.

Leaving her behind was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Russ

My dad drove Carly and me to the airport the next afternoon. Before we could leave, my mom stopped us at the front door to obsessively shower us with hugs and kisses, as if she thought she’d never see us again. I’d overheard her the night before telling Dad she was worried about the two of us flying together because if the plane went down she’d lose both of her kids. She was good at coming up with pretend reasons to be afraid. If she knew the real truth about the trip she’d have been catatonic with fear. One thing was good though—both my parents totally accepted our change of schedule. They seemed to think that the excuse the Praetorian Guard gave, which was that leaving earlier would allow us additional opportunities, was completely acceptable.

As we gathered up our luggage in the front entryway, my mother was overcome with emotion. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she said, cradling Carly’s face in her hands. My sister allowed it for a moment before gracefully pulling away.

Because I was taller, I was spared the same treatment. When she came in for a hug, I patted her head and said, “Mom, let’s not make this into a big deal. We’ll be back before you know it. Besides, you’ll have Frank to keep you company.”

My nephew Frank had been hopped up all morning. He’d rifled through my things while I packed, tearing apart my shaving kit and other personal items. His nonstop talking made my head hurt. When I heard my mom heading up the stairs with more clean laundry for me, I yelled, “Mom, Frank Shrapnel is annoying me.” Using his middle name always amused me.

“Frank, stop bothering Russ,” she’d called back. Like that would help.

I grinned at the kid. “You heard the woman. Stop bothering me.” It was hard to stay mad at Frank though. He idolized me, copying everything I said and did. Believe me, I didn’t get that kind of admiration very often. Like never. And now that I knew he was David Hofstetter’s son, I found myself studying his face on a regular basis. Once I saw the resemblance, I couldn’t unsee it. It was as obvious as the nose on his face. And it wasn’t just his physical appearance, it was in mannerisms too: the way he walked, how he gestured with his hands when making a point. The narrowing of his eyes when he was deep in thought. He was more David than Carly. How my parents never noticed it, I don’t know. Maybe they weren’t looking for it.

At the airport, Dad pulled up to the baggage claim area, helped us get our bags out of the trunk, and said good-bye. He gave Carly a warm embrace and me a man-hug, then reminded us to call as soon as we arrived. "If you don't, your mother will really worry," he said. "And I will too."

Once the car pulled away Carly took the lead, navigating her rolling luggage around scatterings of people moving too slowly for her taste. Every now and then she'd glance back to see if I was keeping up. With Nadia gone and Carly here, this trip had a different feeling than our trip to Peru. I was more nervous, more stressed. The previous night I'd tossed and turned, dreaming the president was in a coma in a locked room and I couldn't reach her. I woke up with a feeling of failure, and even now, in broad daylight, I was still trying to shake it.

After we'd checked our bags, we met up with the others in the sitting area right outside of security. The other four had arrived before us and were waiting. I was glad to see Dr. Anton in his suit and bow tie, stroking his goatee and talking to Rosie, while Jameson and Mallory lingered nearby. I was grateful that the parents had been instructed that there were to be no prolonged good-byes at the airport, because the students, meaning us, needed to embark without the emotional attachment of our home life pulling us back. Or something like that. Anyway, I didn't miss having my mom make a big fuss in front of the others. As it was, I was the only one bringing a family member, which was weird enough. Hopefully Carly wouldn't make a scene or do anything embarrassing. She could be unpredictable.

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Dr. Anton said, jovially as we approached. “And with plenty of time to spare too.” We’d been told to come two hours early, so we would have extra time in case there were long lines, but at this time of day, the airport wasn’t too busy.

“Next we go through security?” Jameson suggested. He had his arm resting over Mallory’s shoulder. His hand dangled, like this was a casual gesture. I knew better.

“Not just yet,” Rosie said. She had a large purse clutched under one arm. Several magazines peeked out of the outside pocket. “We have to wait for the others. Oh, here they are now!” She waved enthusiastically, her arm making a wide arc over her head. I looked to see Mrs. Whitehouse and Kevin Adams hurrying toward us.

“Are they going with us?” I asked.

“No,” Rosie said. “Just coming to say good-bye.”

Kevin Adams, carrying a large plastic bag, reached us first. Mrs. Whitehouse, right behind him, struggled to keep up. When she got to us, Mrs. Whitehouse insisted on giving everyone a farewell hug. Being pressed against her front was like sinking into an enormous flabby pillow. She kept me in the embrace a few seconds longer than I was comfortable with. As I tried to ease out of it, I saw Carly slip away from the group on the pretense of having to go to the restroom.

After they'd both wished us well, Kevin pulled stacks of comic books out of his bag. "A little going away gift," he said, parceling out a stack to me, Mallory, and Jameson. "Something to read on the plane."

We thanked him and stuffed the comic books into our respective carry-on bags. Mine, like the others, was held together with a strip of paper with my name on it. I wondered if he'd hand selected comics for each of us, or chosen them randomly. I'd have plenty of time to find out later.

Not to be outdone, Mrs. Whitehouse said. “I too have presents for the kids.” She rifled in her purse and handed each of us a polished stone, the type you see in shops selling crystals and miniature pyramids. Each stone had a word engraved on it. We compared. Mine said Peace, Jameson’s said Hope, and Mallory’s said Love. We all said thank you with as much enthusiasm as we could muster.

“Those stones were all blessed with a protective prayer. You must all promise to carry your stone with you every day. Just put it in your bag or pocket, or what have you. It will keep you safe.” Mrs. Whitehouse’s wide face was made wider by a big grin. “Make sure you take them with you to the Bash, okay?”

“Okay,” Mallory said, turning the stone over in her palm. I stuck mine in my pocket for the time being. I appreciated the thought, although I wasn’t buying the whole protection thing.

“I also,” Mrs. Whitehouse said with flourish, “have something extra for Mallory.” She pulled a jeweler’s box out of her purse and held it out. “Sorry boys, this is a girl thing.”

“What is it?” Mallory asked, taking it from her. Even though none of us were crazy about Mrs. Whitehouse, Mallory couldn’t resist the allure of a present.

“Open it and see,” she said gleefully.

“Oh pretty,” Mallory said. She lifted a chain out of the box, and held it up for all of us to see. Dangling off the chain was a white rose with petals edged in gold. “It looks old.”

“It belonged to my grandmother,” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “Carved ivory. I was hoping that you’d do me the honor of wearing it to the Bash.”

Mallory’s mouth dropped open. She hurriedly put the necklace back in the box. “I couldn’t possibly take something that belonged to your grandmother.”

“No, no, no.” Mrs. Whitehouse took a step back and held out a hand. “I insist. Please. I would be honored if you would keep it and wear it.” She smiled in a sweet way. “I don’t have any daughters to pass it on to and it would make me happy to know someone I care about can wear it and enjoy it.”

“Well.” Mallory seemed undecided, but only for a moment. “All right then. Thank you.”

“That’s my girl!” Mrs. Whitehouse put her arm around Mallory and whispered something to her before moving on to me. Before I realized what was going on, Mrs. Whitehouse pulled me off to the side for a little conversation. I tried to pretend I was listening to Dr. Anton and Kevin make small talk about the flight schedule but she saw right through me.

“It just doesn't seem right that poor little Nadia isn't here," she said quietly to me. "I bet you really miss her, Russ.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember how on the last trip you went and got her at the last minute?” She smiled sweetly.

I nodded.

“I bet you'd love to do that again. Go charging out of here and save her. See if you can pull it off again like you did last time.”

I stared right into her eyes, wondering what she was getting at. We'd been told that the lux spiral was only witnessed by teenagers with exceptional intellectual capabilities. In other words, geniuses. Mrs. Whitehouse had once been an Edgewood teen who'd witnessed the lux, and she'd developed superpowers afterward. In theory, in order to qualify, she would have been highly intelligent at the time. I wasn't seeing it now though. How could she possibly think I could get Nadia when so much was on the line? And knowing how much I wanted Nadia there, it was mean to goad me like that. Last time I'd been able to successfully get Nadia's dad to allow her to come. But things were different now. Nadia's mother was on high alert, and more was at stake on this mission. I wasn’t about to jeopardize national security.

She continued. “I bet you’d like to hop into a taxi just like last time and go right to Nadia’s house.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, that’s not an option,” I said. “I’d miss my flight.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I bet you could get back on time.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. I’m not normally rude but she was seriously creeping me out. I said, “Please don’t do that.” I took a step back and walked around to where Mallory and Jameson stood. Her eyes followed me, but luckily she stayed planted.

After Carly came back from the bathroom, Dr. Anton took it as a cue we should be on the move. He had an authoritative but friendly way of wrapping things up with Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you any longer,” he said, grabbing onto the handle of his rolling carry-on. “I’m sure you both have a million things you should be doing.” He said it as if he were being considerate of their time, instead of just blowing them off. I’d have to remember that trick for future reference.

Mrs. Whitehouse got a stricken look on her face. “Kids, don’t forget to carry the stones with you everywhere. They’ve been blessed!” We all nodded before grabbing our bags and following behind Dr. Anton. As we headed away, I could still hear Mrs. Whitehouse complaining to Kevin that she didn’t have enough time to talk to us.

“Man, she’s annoying,” Carly said loudly, and no one in our group contradicted her.

We passed a large metal waste can on the way to the security area. Carly spit out a wad of gum as she went by, and Jameson, walking right behind her, tossed in the stone Mrs. Whitehouse had just given him.

“Jameson!” Mallory said, coming to complete halt. “I can’t believe you threw that out.”

“Why, did you want it?”

“Well, no, I have my own.” Mallory pulled hers out of her pocket and ran a thumb over the letters. “Love. What did yours say again?”

“Hope.” He sighed. “So pointless. I don’t waste my time hoping things work out. I’m a man of action. I either do what I set out to do or I don’t. And I plan on doing it. Besides,” he added, “I don’t believe in new age garbage and stones that have been blessed. Blessed by whom, I ask? And what kind of blessing? No, I’m a little too savvy to just accept what I’ve been told. Especially by an unreliable source like Mrs. Whitehouse.”

Mallory turned to me. “He makes a good point.” She lobbed her stone into the trash and then turned to me. “What do you think, Russ? Want to make it three for three?”

With a shrug I pulled the stone out of my pocket and deposited it in the waste can. Normally I’d feel bad about throwing out a gift, but I wasn’t a fan of Mrs. Whitehouse and it wasn’t a very thoughtful gift. Who needed a stone that said Peace when we were leaving for a trip to guard the president’s daughter? I needed to be on guard and ready in case of attack. Peace was nice in theory, but it wouldn’t help me with what I needed to do.

“I’m not getting rid of the necklace though,” Mallory said. “That’s worth keeping.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Russ

We were picked up at the airport in D.C. by a black stretch limo. Normally a limo stocked with chips and nuts and a full bar would be a reason to indulge, but the seriousness of our trip held everyone back. Mallory helped herself to a diet soda but no one else had anything. The windows were tinted but we could still see out. I watched the city stretch out before us and admired the clean streets and impressive buildings. I’d never been to D.C. before but it had a familiar look, probably from watching the news.

The driver had told us we’d be there in about forty-five minutes. I didn’t ask, but I assumed “there” would be a hotel or government office, so it was a surprise when we entered a parking structure, drove around and around all the way to the fourth floor, and then stopped in the middle of a row of parked cars. When the driver shut off the engine, got out, and opened the trunk, we realized we’d arrived.

“I guess it’s time to get a move on,” Rosie said, gesturing us to the door. Dr. Anton got out first, thanked the driver and made sure everyone had their stuff. Then he said, “I need to collect everyone’s electronics.” We all stared, not connecting the dots. “I mean it,” he said. “I need your cell phones, iPods, Kindles. Anything you have that’s electronic in nature.”

The women rifled through their purses, while the guys pulled their phones out of their pockets. The limo driver held out a cloth bag and one by one, we reached in and added to the pile. We’d been told we couldn’t make any calls while we were gone (and our parents knew not to expect them), but I didn’t know they’d be taking our phones.

“Are we getting them back?” Mallory asked.

“Eventually,” Dr. Anton said all too cheerfully.

After the driver finished gathering up our things, and got back in the limo, Dr. Anton gestured us to follow him across the parking structure.

“Where are we going?” Carly asked Rosie, who only shrugged.

“Just follow the doctor,” she said. “He’s the one in charge on this trip.”

The wheels on my rolling luggage squeaked until we came to a stop in front of a large steel door. Dr. Anton got out some keys, expertly unlocked it, and ushered us through. The next thing I knew we were headed down a short hallway to an elevator.

“Where exactly are we?” Mallory asked as the elevator descended. We dropped lower and lower, exchanging worried glances all the way. We seemed to be in an elevator heading toward the center of the earth.

“You shall see,” Dr. Anton said, a twinkle in his eye.

When the elevator lurched to a halt, I expected to come out somewhere damp and dark. Maybe a concrete bunker or cave or the lower level of the same parking structure. As it turned out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. When we stepped out we were in a space that reminded me of the Mall of America crossed with Grand Central Station. The ceilings were high and arched, the space was light and spacious, and the architecture was modern American with the addition of Roman columns flanking each side.

“Come on,” Dr. Anton said. “If we hurry we can catch the next subway.”

“Holy crap there’s a subway down here?” Carly said.

Mallory stood stock still, just staring. With her chin raised and eyes wide, she had the amazed look of a toddler seeing snow for the first time. People in business attire crisscrossed all around us. A security guard stood watch, his back against a column, while customers waited in line at a coffee stand that also sold baked goods. Two young men manning an information kiosk looked bored. We could have been in almost any public place except for two things that really stood out: no one was talking on a phone and there were no kids around. We were, in fact, the youngest people I’d seen so far.

“What is this place?” I asked, catching up to Dr. Anton. He was walking quickly, making the rest of us scramble to keep up.

“PGDC,” he said. “There’s a whole city beneath the city. And this is it. Everyone you see here is with the Praetorian Guard.”

“No one else knows about this?” I looked around.

“No.”

How could something this big be secret? “But like the FBI must know about this, or the CIA?”

“Only if they’re members of the Guard.”

I saw the subway terminal ahead. A large monitor off to one side listed times and destinations. “But doesn’t anyone question people coming and going and all the electricity being used and everything else?” I asked.

“No,” Dr. Anton said, “no one questions it.” I must have had a worried look on my face because he added, “Don’t worry about it, Russ. There are systems put into place to ensure nothing is disclosed to the public. If anyone gets wind of it and tries to go public with the information, they are discredited or they wind up changing their mind. Entrances to PGDC are periodically changed and they’re always monitored.” Dr. Anton paused to look up at the subway schedule display. “Looks like our timing is going to be perfect.”

Rosie came up behind us and said, “That’s good because I am ready to take a load off. Traveling always wears me out.”

“Have you been to this place before?” Carly asked.

Rosie shook her head. “I’ve been hearing about it for years, but this is my first time.”

When we got to the subway platform, Dr. Anton finally filled us in. “We’ll go to the hotel first and drop off your things. Then dinner and then the briefing room.”

“You don’t want Russ to do his thing right away?” Mallory asked patting my arm.

Dr. Anton said, “We follow the schedule we’re given.” He cast a wary glance at two men who came up alongside us. They were talking to each other and had no interest in us as far as I could tell, but he was still being careful. I remembered Dr. Wentworth saying that only a few people knew that the president was in a coma. Even among other Praetorian Guard members there were still secrets.

The subway ride was comfortable and fast, and before we knew it we’d arrived at the hotel. Since everything was indoors, the space from the subway to the hotel felt like we were walking in a mall or airport. Once inside the lobby, Dr. Anton checked us in and got key cards for our rooms. Just like in Peru, I was rooming with Jameson, but with Nadia gone, Mallory was now doubling up with Carly. As the leaders of our group, Dr. Anton and Rosie had their own rooms.

I was hoping the rooms would be special in some way, full of Praetorian Guard spy gadgetry or photos of PG history throughout the last century, or at least luxurious beyond belief, but our room had the standard hotel layout. Our headboards were bolted to the walls as was the hair dryer in the bathroom. We each had our own dresser. Between the two dressers hung a flat screen TV, and over by the window overlooking a courtyard, sat a desk and chair. I threw my suitcase on the bed closest to the window and said, “I call this one.”

Jameson grinned. “This is mine.” He pointed to his suitcase and used telekinesis to lift it off the floor and onto the bed. “Are you sure that’s where you want your suitcase to be?” He raised one eyebrow and turned his attention to my bed. A second later my suitcase hovered over the bed and started levitating around the room. “Oh look, I’m Russ’s suitcase and I’m confused about where to go. Doh. Doh. Doh. Maybe I should go see if I can heal someone in the bathroom.” I watched as my suitcase turned into the open doorway to the bathroom. “I think your suitcase wants to take a shower, Russ. Better go check on it before it gets all wet.”

I hated Jameson when he got like this. I didn’t think he could turn the water on from the next room, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “You’re an idiot,” I said before going to retrieve my suitcase. When I came out he was still grinning, hands on his hips, like he’d done something clever. I said, “Don’t push me, Jameson. I could send a blast of electricity and fry that smile right off your face.”

“Yes, but you won’t,” he said. “Because then you won’t be the golden boy of this whole trip. The savior of the nation.”

“That’s right,” I said. “And don’t forget it.” My words were more confident than my feelings. Golden boy? Savior of the nation? Who nominated me for that kind of responsibility? Until recently I had trouble remembering to put the lid down on the toilet. Who in their right mind expected a sixteen-year-old guy to fix the problems of a whole country? And how could it be that I was so valuable someone wanted me dead? The whole thing was messed up.

By the time the others knocked on the door and collected us for dinner, I was done with Jameson. The guy had a lot of good qualities, but every time I’d decided he was okay, he made some jerk-move and undid every bit of good will. I couldn’t decide if he was immature, insecure, or just had a flawed personality. Nadia, a much better person than me, said Jameson had a terrible home life and I should cut him a break. Easy for her to say. He wasn’t threatening to give her suitcase a shower.

Dinner was fine dining and included some of the best food I’ve ever had. We never actually ordered; they just brought food. And more food. Soup and salads and rolls. Trays of crab cakes, medallion-sized slices of beef tenderloin, shrimp on skewers. Fish stew in a kettle. Pasta primavera. I kept eating thinking each course was the entrée only to find out that there was still more to come. By the time they brought the dessert tray we were all stuffed. I had a harrowing thought during all of this, remembering that condemned prisoners always got one last outstanding meal. And that led to me thinking about another last meal, the Last Supper from the Bible, the one Jesus shared with his apostles before his crucifixion. And another example: the tradition of fattening up animals before they went to slaughter. I looked around the table at our group of six, all of them satiated and raving about how great the meal had been and all I could think was: this is the beginning of the end and we are totally screwed.

I hoped I was wrong.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Russ

After dinner we were off to a briefing, which was, we were told, was one short subway ride away. I was glad Dr. Anton knew the way, because the rest of us were clueless. I was struck by how perfect everything was. This underground city, PGDC, was like the idealized version of the real world. There was no graffiti here or smog or rude employees. It was the Disney World of the Praetorian Guard. I wondered if this was where the top PG members would hole up if the Associates succeeded in their plan and everything topside went to hell. The rest of us would be fending for ourselves while they waited safely underground.

Finally after we’d walked a few blocks, we arrived at our destination. The briefing room was bigger than your average room, to say the least, closer in size to an auditorium and shaped like a boomerang. Like half of an IMAX theater. The long curved wall ahead of us was a screen with nature images that changed periodically. “A giant screen saver,” Carly observed, taking a seat next to me. “I almost feel like I’m in the Grand Canyon right now.”

“I’d rather be at a fake Grand Canyon than be back at home right now,” Mallory said. She and Jameson had taken seats on the other side of the aisle. “Hey Russ, how do you feel about missing the beginning of junior year?”

The next day was the first day of the school year. I always hated the first day—the getting used to a new schedule, memorizing a new locker combination, getting up early after three months of sleeping in—but still I regretted not being there. If I could have been two of me, I would have played it both ways, living as Russ the average teenage guy and also seeing how it went for Russ, the guy with superpowers. But I didn’t have that option and if something had to go I would choose to let go of the conventional life. I shrugged and said, “I’m okay with it. I’m sure we’ll get caught up when we get back.”

We’d arrived at the briefing area right on time, but still they made us wait. Dr. Anton went to confer with some unseen person in charge, leaving the rest of us behind. Carly assumed they were unorganized, but I knew the real reason for the delay because I sensed the electricity all around us. Cameras and microphones were planted everywhere in the room. I wasn’t sure why, but they were deliberately leaving us unattended and paying attention to everything we said and did. Carly snapped her gum, while Jameson made Mallory’s ponytail rise off her shoulders. In response, Mallory shrieked and grabbed at her hair. Whoever was watching saw all of this. “Stop it, Jameson,” Mallory said, slapping him in a flirtatious way. Knowing we were being watched, I made a point to come off as the mature one in the group. When Rosie, sitting to my left, leaned over and asked if I was nervous, I said, “No, not nervous. Ready.”

“That’s good,” she said giving me a motherly smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to do fine, Russ.”

“Thank you, Rosie,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

By the time Dr. Anton returned, followed by ten other people, Jameson had teased Mallory into a giggling fit so severe she was practically convulsing. During all of this he periodically gave me a superior look that was supposed to make me jealous that they were having fun together while I was stuck in between Rosie and Carly. Little did he know that I felt like they were at the kids’ table while I’d been promoted to sit with the grownups.

“Attention everybody,” Dr. Anton said, “We’re about to begin.”

Mallory coughed back a laugh, while Jameson, feigning innocence, looked straight ahead.

They began with the introductions. We’d already met the red-haired Dr. Wentworth and her mousy assistant, Dr. Habush, as well as Mitch and Will, our mentors from back in Edgewood. The other six, two men and four women, quickly became a blur of names and faces. They ranged in age from late twenties to early fifties, and all of them looked serious and professional. Each of us in the Edgewood group stood one at a time and gave our name, even though I’m sure they already knew everything about each of us. Most likely all of them had viewed the footage from our practice sessions and studied the data that came from those tests.

Again Dr. Wentworth led the presentation. “We’re happy that all three of you have agreed to join this mission. We value your time and talents.” After that she talked about the history of the Praetorian Guard, how they’d been around since the days of the Roman Empire. On the screen behind her flashed images of Roman soldiers. “Although as the guards of the Roman generals, they played a different role back then. Still, our name is synonymous with the word ‘protector.’ We are the protectors of the average citizen, almost like guardian angels in that we watch over them without their knowledge. No credit, no glory, just doing our duty to make the world a better place.”

On the screen flashed a photo of a lux spiral, the fragments shimmering in formation on the ground. I sat straight up to really take a look at it. Since I’d witnessed the Edgewood lux spiral last spring, I hadn’t seen any photos or video footages of it. When I thought about it, it almost seemed like a dream, but here it was exactly as I remembered it. “This is not an actual photo, but a recreation of a lux spiral as it would appear after just having landed on the ground,” Dr. Wentworth said. “We were able to create it via CGI using the descriptions of witnesses. No one has ever actually photographed it. It seems to not occur to people to photograph it.” She shook her head. “We don’t know why. We’ve established that it’s a natural event, and that the fragments are supercharged with energy that is then passed on to those exposed to it in various ways. All of the witnesses have been sixteen years old, give or take six months.”

Jameson raised his hand. “I have a question.”

She pointed. “Yes?”

“Are there others like us on this mission? And if so, will we be working with them?”

“Simply put, there are no others like you. You three have been chosen out of hundreds considered,” Dr. Wentworth said, “You’ll be getting your orders and will work on your specifically assigned tasks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Just stay focused on your assignment.” The image on the screen changed. “Moving on,” she said in a way that conveyed she wasn’t going to take kindly to anymore interruptions.

The next twenty minutes were a recap of what we’d learned in Edgewood: that the president was in a coma, that Vice President Montalbo was with the Associates, and that the Associates had a plan that put Layla and President Bernstein at risk. Dr. Wentworth said, “Having President Bernstein back in office is imperative. If Vice President Montalbo takes power, it won’t be long before the Associates seize control of the government. When a government no longer has the interest of the citizens at heart, all of society suffers. We’ve seen this happen historically many times over, the most memorable being the Nazis in Germany.”

I think she repeated all this to make an impression on us, but I’d gotten the picture clearly the first time around and it was always in the back of my mind. Life as we now knew it? Enjoy it, because it might all be flushed away overnight.

After the formal presentation, we were allowed to ask questions. Jameson said, “But even with Montalbo as president, things couldn’t happen that quickly, could they? We have three branches of the federal government, and the Constitution is set up as a system of checks and balances to help ensure that no one branch becomes too powerful, right?”

Dr. Wentworth said, “The Associates have found a way to circumvent the system of checks and balances. You should have gotten a handout during your practice sessions in Edgewood explaining how they plan to do just that if given the opportunity.”

“Ah, yes,” Jameson said. I could tell by the look on his face that he was remembering the sheet he’d crumpled up and thrown away thinking it was the same old, same old. Meanwhile, I’d taken mine home and read it, so I knew exactly what she was talking about. It doesn’t help to be a genius if you don’t follow directions.

Carly raised her hand and said, “I’ve been monitored by the Associates for the last sixteen years, and I assume they’re watching Russ as well. How do you know they aren’t on to us? I mean, if they’re following along at all, they’ll know we’re here and they’ll be able to figure things out…” Her voice trailed off and she gulped. Carly always came off as tough, but now her more vulnerable side was showing. She was afraid for both of us. “I mean, they actually told Russ they’d be in touch with him at the end of summer, which is right about now.”

Dr. Wentworth got up and stepped into the aisle to get closer. Her voice was low, like she was speaking just to Carly. “You and your brother are as safe here as you would be at home. Maybe more so. We are taking every precaution.”

“But every precaution might not be enough,” Carly said.

“And yet it’s the best we can do,” Dr. Wentworth answered, her voice once again businesslike. “I think that should wrap things up. Make sure you get your rest tonight because tomorrow is a big day. Russ will meet the president. With his help we have high hopes for her recovery. And later, the three of you will meet Layla Bernstein. Mallory will convince her that she’s already met you in Miami. We want all of you to spend time together so that you’re close friends by the evening of the Bash.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Russ

That night I had trouble relaxing. In the bed next to me I listened to the sound of Jameson’s breathing until it got slower and heavier. When it did, I knew he’d dropped off to sleep. How he managed it, I don’t know. We’d been slammed with so much information my head was spinning. After the briefing, Carly and I lingered behind the others because she couldn’t let go of her question. “I don’t understand why you aren’t concerned about my being watched by the Associates.” She had one hand on her hip, a challenging pose.

Dr. Wentworth said, “I didn’t want to get into this in front of the group, but I think you should know that we’ve investigated and there’s no evidence that the Associates have been monitoring your activity at all.”

“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” Carly said, “because I find bugs and cameras in my apartment and tracking devices on my car on a regular basis. Also, I’ve had messages on my cell phone played back, and not by me, I might add. This has been happening to me for years.”

Dr. Wentworth sighed. “I can’t tell you why that is. Someone with a grudge? All I know is that it’s not the Associates.”

“It’s not someone with a grudge!” Now Carly was getting mad. “Whoever is doing this is very sophisticated. I’m telling you, it has to be the Associates.”

“But they’d have no reason to monitor you. You don’t have any superpowers or anything else they want,” Dr. Wentworth pointed out. “You’re of no value to them.”

“But I know things,” Carly said. “I mean, even the fact that I know they exist—wouldn’t that make me a person of interest?”

“Not really,” she said.

“But I could go to the media and tell them everything I know about the Associates if I wanted to!”

“With what proof? And who would believe you?”

“But…” Carly’s argument was growing thin, but she didn’t want to let it go. “But what about the teenagers that disappear or die every sixteen years? Isn’t that suspicious?”

Dr. Wentworth looked bored. “Teenagers die. They run away.” She shrugged. “It happens.” She took a deep breath and said, “For the record, I understand where you’re coming from. It must be very upsetting to know that you’re being spied on. I don’t doubt what you’re saying. But I can tell you that it’s not the Associates. You might want to contact your local police and see if they can help. It might be a former love interest or someone who has something out for you. That’s the most likely scenario.”

I read the anguished expression on Carly’s face and felt a surge of guilt because I knew that David Hofstetter had been the one monitoring her apartment. He told me so in Peru. He said it was his way of making sure she was safe and the only way he had of keeping tabs on Frank, his son. A little creepy and stalkerish if you ask me, but the guy had been locked away in a research lab for sixteen years and was apparently a little out of touch with the definition of appropriate social boundaries.

After that Dr. Wentworth said, “As long as you’re here, Russ, I have a few questions I’ve been meaning to ask you about Mallory.”

“What about Mallory?”

“I’d like to ask you about the time Mallory spent with Mr. Specter in Peru when she was under the influence of the device he called a Deleo.”

“Jameson and I answered questions like this back at home,” I said.

“Humor me,” she said. “Just one more time.” She’d taken a tablet out of her briefcase and was typing as we talked. “I believe you said that Mallory left the group and went with Samuel Specter for some testing.”

“Yes, Mallory went first, and then me.”

“But when it was your turn, you were able to mentally fight off the effects of the Deleo?”

I nodded. I could still recall the way the Deleo, a goggle-type device, suctioned itself to my head once Mr. Specter activated it. He’d said it would measure how strong my superpowers were, but I quickly realized it was a brainwashing device and I fought it with everything I had by blocking his suggestions with something more powerful—my feelings for Nadia. I came out of it dazed, but it didn’t take long for me to recover. I was absolutely certain that none of the ideas he’d tried to implant had taken hold.

“And Mallory?” she asked.

The doctor’s steely gaze made me uncomfortable. I said, “I don’t know. She was in a daze when she came out of the room, but later on she seemed fine. Whatever happened, it wore off, I think.”

“You think?”

I met her stare head on. “As far as I know. I can’t get inside Mallory’s brain. Maybe you need to ask her.”

For a second I thought she was going to do another round of questions, but instead Dr. Wentworth just pursed her lips and said, “Fair enough.”

That night, I was lying in my hotel bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all this, when I saw the first glimmer of energy enter the room. Nadia! At least I hoped it was Nadia. I sat up, but didn’t speak aloud. Nadia? Next to me, Jameson snorted and rolled over, turning to face the wall.

Yes, it’s me!

Her astral projecting entrances always reminded me of Glinda arriving in her bubble in The Wizard of Oz. It didn’t look the same, but I got the same feeling as I did when I was a kid watching the movie. Magic. Pure magic. See? I teased Nadia. And you were so worried about not being able to find me. I pointed to Jameson’s sleeping form. You can see that it’s very exciting around here.

Why are we underground? she asked.

There’s a whole city underneath the city. Praetorian Guard headquarters. PGDC. It’s massive and deep.

It was creepy as hell to get here. I sensed I was going into the ground and then I kept going down, down, down. At first I thought someone had buried you alive.

I filled her in on everything that had happened since the last time we talked. When I asked what was new with her, she responded by telling me her mom had gotten worse.

She’s always been controlling and critical, Nadia said. But lately it’s been over the top. She watches me like a hawk and questions everything I do. Today she got mad because she said my face doesn’t look right.

What does that mean?

I don’t know. You can’t have a regular conversation with her, so I don’t even try. My dad thinks she stopped taking her medication.

Nadia’s energy was invisible but having her next to me was as soothing as a rush of warm air on a cold winter’s day. Still, I wished she were really here so I could comfort her in person. I said, Maybe when this is all over, I could come over and talk to her? Or maybe to your dad? I had good luck with him before. Maybe he’d let us see each other as long as it’s at your house.

Maybe, she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

I do love you, Nadia.

I love you, too, she said. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do this again. If I don’t come back after this, just know that it’s not that I don’t want to—

And then she was gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nadia

I was yanked back into my body with a shocking force. When I got my bearings, I realized I was in bed, with my mother on top of me, the force of her knees digging into my hip bones. The overhead light was on, making a halo effect around her head but she looked anything but angelic. She held my arms in a tight grip. From the stinging on my left cheek it was clear she’d just slapped me. “Let go,” I cried, struggling to get free.

The whites of her eyes ringed enlarged pupils. She said, “What have you done? What have you done?” It was a wail, an accusation, a tormented cry. “Tell me now before it’s too late!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “Mom, stop it. You’re scaring me.”

“I will shake the devil out of you,” she said. “I will not rest until you’re free of his grasp.” Her voice was a deep growl I didn’t recognize.

“Dad!” I yelled, hoping he was within earshot. “Help!” I had never seen Mom this way. Her intense stare gave me the chills. I felt her fingernails gouging into the fleshy part of my upper arms. “Dad!”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “He’s not home.”

“Yes, he is,” I said, gesturing with my head. “He’s right in the doorway. Dad!”

She hesitated and let go just for a moment to look, and that’s all it took. I took advantage of the element of surprise and pushed her off of me. She lost her balance and fell off the bed. I shook off the covers, ran past her and flew down the stairs.

“Liar!” she yelled from behind me. “Lying to your own mother. You’re not my daughter. Nadia would never treat me this way.”

I paused at the front door, but when I saw she’d locked the deadbolt with a key, I gave up without even trying. The odds were good that she’d secured the whole house like that. The only chance I had was to reach my father. I had no idea where he’d be at this time of night, but he wouldn’t have gone far. I ran to the kitchen to use the landline. It was an old-fashioned phone attached to the wall above the counter. A curly cord kept it tethered to the base. The phone was there when we’d moved into the house and my mother saw no reason to update it as long as it still worked. I punched in the number for my dad’s cell phone and listened as it rang. Come on, come on. Pick up the phone, Dad. I pictured him in line at the grocery store or in the car. If that was the case, it was going right to voice mail. He was old school concerning phone etiquette. He’d never answer the phone when he was driving or if he were talking to a cashier. One was unsafe, the other was rude. I heard my mother clumping down the stairs, her breathing heavy. Right now she didn’t even sound like Mom.

The call went to voice mail. Oh no. I clutched the phone and waited for the beep. I spoke frantically. “Dad, it’s me Nadia. I’m at home and…” Stupid. Of course I was home. I was never not home. “Something’s wrong with Mom. She’s acting crazy and I need you here right now. Please…”

She rounded the corner and came at me with both hands, pushing me against the wall. I lost my hold on the phone and it dropped, dangling from the cord. “Leave my daughter now!” she shouted.

“Mom, it’s me, Nadia.” I tried to talk sense to her but there was no reasoning with someone who had no reason.

“You’re not fooling me,” she said with a sneer. “I knew as soon as I came into the room that you went into my daughter’s body. I saw the change with my own eyes. Believe me, I will cast you out!” She put her hands around my neck and squeezed. I reached up and tried to pull her hands away, but she was incredibly strong. I slapped at her head and kicked with one leg, but it only made her madder and she increased the pressure on my windpipe. Her eyes narrowed. She yelled, “Out I say!”

The sound of the garage door opening didn’t distract her, but I got a rush of hope. Hurry Dad, hurry. I croaked the word “help” but it was barely audible. When the door opened and I saw Dad walk in carrying a paper grocery bag, I was on the verge of passing out. I slammed my fist against the wall to get his attention and it worked.

“What’s going on here?” He set the bag down on the counter and rushed over.

“Out I say!” she said, as if he wasn’t even there.

Dad grabbed her arms and pulled her away from me. I staggered back and gasped, pulling in deep gulps of air. She faced him. “Leave me alone!” Again, her voice was deep and angry. And she thought I was possessed. “I need to do this. I need to get Nadia back.”

“Nadia, are you okay?” he asked. I nodded and he looked relieved. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.” Suddenly he looked old and tired to me. “I thought a quick trip to Pick ‘n Save would be okay.” Dad held Mom’s arm while she struggled to get to me. “Honey,” he said to her. “I can help you. Let me get your medication. You’ve had a rough time of it lately.”

“No,” she roared. “I will not be silenced.” She broke free of his grasp and ran to the other side of the island counter, opened the drawer and pulled out a butcher knife. “You’re with them,” she said, pointing the tip of the blade in his direction. “I should have known.”

“Put the knife back,” he said in a careful, measured manner. “I will help you, I promise. Just put down the knife. You know I love you.”

This is how it happens, I thought, breathing heavily. Every time you read about a violent domestic death in the news it starts like this: family members living in the same house, going along with their lives day to day, never knowing that one day one of them will become unhinged and take things a little too far. I saw how easily my family could become one of those families. When she’d had her fingers around my neck, her thumbs digging into my windpipe, I’d felt my airway close and my life slipping away. And now she held the knife like she meant business. If she succeeded, we would be one more family on the police blotter, one more article in the news. And everyone who read it would wonder how in the world could this happen? Why would a mother murder her daughter or her husband? But honestly? It’s not as complex as you’d think. A knife, some rage, a moment of insanity, and it’s all over.

I picked up the phone and pressed the button to hang up, then dialed 911. At the same time, my dad moved cautiously toward her. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “You know I love you. You know Nadia loves you. We only want to help.”

Her eyes darted back and forth from him to me and back again. I could sense the distrust from several feet away. She was certain we were both against her.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator sounded so calm.

“My mother is completely out of control,” I said, my voice coming out raspy. “She tried to choke me and now she’s got a butcher knife.”

“Nadia,” my father said, giving me a sideways glance. “We don’t need to get the police involved. Tell them it’s okay and hang up the phone.”

“Who else is there with you?” From the way the operator spoke you’d have thought we had all the time in the world.

“My father is here,” I said.

“No!” my mother yelled, tearing around the counter and past my father who tried unsuccessfully to hold her back. She held the knife up over her head like we were at the Bates Motel and came right at me.

“Dad!” I cried out as I watched the whole scene in slow motion: my mother surging toward me, my father making a grab for the back of her shirt, and me, standing frozen with the phone against my ear. I saw the knife coming at my neck, dropped the phone and swung my leg out, kicking her in the thigh. The knife nicked the base of my neck right before she doubled over in pain.

“Demon child!” she yelled. My father went to restrain her but somehow she got a second wind. She turned on him then and they grappled for control of the knife.

I picked up the phone and yelled into the receiver. “Please send help. Please!”

The 911 operator rattled off our house number and street name. “Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“We have a car in the neighborhood. The police will be there in a few minutes. Just stay on the phone with me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” I croaked. My father wrested the knife out of Mom’s hand. Relieved, I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor. “I can do that.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Russ

I barely got any sleep because I was so worried about what had happened to Nadia. I didn’t want to think about how I would live in a world without her. No, I decided, she was fine. Something had happened to pull her back into her body and after that she just couldn’t come back. Maybe her mother’s cat Barry had barged in and jumped on her bed. It had happened before so Nadia usually kept her door closed, but it was possible that she forgot this one time.

At least that’s what I told myself. In my heart, I knew she wouldn’t forget.

When morning came, the artificial light from outside of the building mimicked the rising of the sun. Jameson was still just a lump under the covers, but I was wide awake so I raised the blinds and watched the courtyard below come to life. A young couple sat on a bench holding hands while an employee, a man in a beige jumpsuit, swept the walkway behind them. Another employee, a young woman, fussed with flowers in the planters. The flowers couldn’t be real, I thought, not without bees and true sunlight, but they sure looked authentic. It was a typical hotel courtyard scene, the only difference being that this hotel was located deep below the surface of planet Earth. Anything could be happening topside right now and we’d never know it. Everyone I loved could be gone while I stood here watching a man sweep, a woman arrange flowers, and a couple holding hands. I missed Nadia desperately right then. She always knew the right thing to say to make me feel better. All we wanted was to be together. It didn’t seem to be asking too much.

I wondered if she was safe. I wondered if she thought of me as much as I was thinking about her. And I wondered if I should have fought against my good sense and pulled her through the window that night. The two of us could have taken off and gone somewhere, anywhere. Between the two of us we would have figured it all out.

At eight o’clock we all gathered for breakfast in the hotel restaurant and afterward we met in the lobby where we were broken into smaller groups and told our schedule for the day. Jameson and Dr. Anton left to scope out the hall where the Bash would be held, while Rosie and Mallory went off with one of the guard officials to be schooled in how to approach the vice president. As Rosie said, “You can’t practice mind control on someone if you can’t get close to him.”

Mallory was excited about the upcoming Black Tie Bash. Typical girl concerns—what she would wear and how she was going to do her hair. She’d changed her look on this trip, losing the ponytail and letting her hair just fall naturally on her shoulders. I noticed she tucked it behind her ears a lot. When we’d talked about the Bash earlier, she’d asked, “Up or down?” scooping her hair up and piling it on top of her head to give us the full effect.

“Either way is fine,” I said. I used to find Mallory so fascinating, but now her endless talking put me on edge. I was glad when everyone left and Carly and I could sit in peace. I kept thinking about Nadia and what was going on at her house. Once again I hoped the interruption had been something as simple as the cat jumping on her bed. I wanted that to be it.

My thoughts of Nadia were interrupted when Dr. Wentworth came to pick up Carly and me in the hotel lobby after breakfast. “Ready for your big day?” Dr. Wentworth asked. She had a forced smile, the kind that says let’s get on with this.

I nodded. I was keyed up and nervous about meeting the president, even though she would be unconscious. Dr. Wentworth was all business this morning. The three of us walked silently to the station. We’d been told the hospital was a short subway ride from the hotel, giving me just enough time to mentally prepare. On the subway I found myself interlocking my fingers and flexing my hands over and over again, my way of getting ready for a morning of healing. Or maybe I should say, a morning of trying to heal. I said a silent prayer that I’d be able to do it.

Carly sat next to me with the doctor in the row behind us. The seats were red leather edged by a row of brass rivets along the top. The PGDC appeared to be a mix of old style and new architecture. Nothing in this city down below was scuffed or worn or faded. Everything looked new. I ran a finger over the top of the seat in front of us, trying to keep my mind off the enormity of what they were asking me to do. Carly must have sensed my nervousness because she leaned over and said, “Look at us. Two outcasts from Edgewood, Wisconsin off to see the president. Who’d have thought?”

“Outcast? Speak for yourself,” I said.

She leaned back and gave me a hard look. “I stand by my statement. You and I, we’re both outcasts.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I knew kids at school who had trouble making friends and didn’t seem to fit anywhere and even they weren’t outcasts. Just too outside of the mainstream. “I have plenty of friends.”

“You can have plenty of friends, but still know on some level that you’re not the same as them. Inside we all have secret lives. Trust me, you’re an outcast. If your so-called friends at school knew about your superpowers, they’d never treat you the same.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make me an outcast.”

“Okay, have it your way.”

Carly didn’t do it that often, but I hated it when she assumed the wiser older sister role. I had parents to give me advice I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t need it from her too. “Thanks, I will.”

She squeezed my arm. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of you, Russ. You’re doing the right thing even though you know it might not end well.” She had a thoughtful look that made me wonder if this was about more than just me. “Believe me, I’ve seen it not end well.”

“Are you thinking about David Hofstetter?” I asked.

Carly looked down at her shoes, and didn’t say anything. At first I thought she hadn’t heard me, but then she nodded and I saw her eyes were filled with tears.

“Even after all this time, the thought of him still makes you cry?” I said.

“I’m always thinking about him,” she said. “It never stops. Just when I think I’ve got him out of my system I hear a song that reminds me of him, or something he said pops into my brain and it starts all over again. Sixteen years this has been going on. You’d think it would have faded by now. It makes me crazy. Why is it still so painful?” When she locked eyes with me her gaze was steady. “Believe me, I don’t want to feel like this, Russ. I hate feeling like this, but I can’t seem to get past it. I miss him and I’m so angry that he’s gone. There’s no changing the past, but if you can help bring down those lying murderers, the Associates, it might bring me some peace. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come with you on this trip. I want to be there when it happens.”

“But what if it doesn’t happen?” I was already feeling the pressure; now it was escalating, like a ball of stress climbing from my chest to my throat.

“You’re going to do fine,” Carly said firmly. She leaned in and whispered. “There’s something I need to tell you. Once when you were a baby, Mom and Dad were out of town and I was babysitting you, and I took you with me to meet up with David at the old train station late at night. We fell asleep and David woke up when the lux spiral hit. He had you in his arms when he went outside to see what it was. I think that’s why your powers are so great. You’ve been exposed to it twice.”

Carly didn’t know that I’d heard this story from David already. I tried to look surprised, but I guess I didn’t have the right reaction because she felt the need to repeat herself.

“Twice, Russ,” she said, making a peace sign. “The first time as a little baby. Who knows how long the power has been inside you, growing, growing, growing?” She was still whispering but her voice was excited. “It’s probably been in every cell of your body, building this whole time, but lying dormant, just waiting. And then, when you saw the lux spiral this past spring, it activated every bit of it, like someone had flipped a switch. Boom!”

I nodded.

She said, “You’re probably the first person in the history of the world to get exposed to it as an infant and then again as a teenager. I’ve never told this to anyone.”

In the rows ahead of us, people were gathering up their things, preparing to get off at the next stop. “Thanks for telling me that,” I said. “That’s pretty incredible.”

“You must have been three months old that first time, but David said you had a look of awe on your face. Like you’d been touched by something great.”

Something shook loose in my memory and pushed its way forward. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Maybe because I had a piece of it clutched in my fist?” No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I realized my mistake. Carly hadn’t told me that my infant self had gotten hold of a piece as it dropped from the sky. David had been the one who’d given me that piece of information. Confused, Carly did a double take. I watched her face and it didn’t take long for her to realize that I shouldn’t have known that fact.

“Time to go.” I felt a tap on my shoulder and glanced up to see Dr. Wentworth in the aisle looming over me. “Quickly now.”

I was saved, for now. But I knew my sister, and there was no way this was going to fade from her memory. The subway slowed to a stop and we got up to follow the doctor out the door. Not one person pressed forward or grumbled. Instead, every single passenger filed out courteously. I was learning that everyone in PGDC was orderly and polite. This was the world as it should be.

Security at the hospital was crazy intense. We walked hallway after hallway, going through multiple doors and up an elevator. Signs everywhere said: Authorized Personnel Only. Dr. Wentworth had a laminated card that hung from her neck which allowed us access through the first set of doors. After that, she entered numbers into a punch pad in the elevator in addition to using the card. When we exited the elevator we faced another locked door. This time, she lined her eyes up in front of a recognition scanner. A woman’s voice said, “Maxine Wentworth, welcome. Please state today’s password.”

Dr. Wentworth spoke each syllable in a clipped, clear way. “Russ Becker.”

My name was today’s password? Carly caught it too—she grinned and jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow just as the door slid open. Dr. Wentworth strode forward, her heels clicking on the linoleum, and we followed down a long hallway, past a nurses’ station to the president’s room. We walked in without even knocking.

The room was nicer than your average hospital room, much bigger, with the kind of decor you'd see in a luxury hotel, but the bed in the middle was set up exactly the way I'd seen it in countless movies and TV shows. The air had a faint antiseptic smell reminding me of Lysol. In the middle of the room was a large hospital bed, and in the bed, under a thin sheet, lay President Bernstein looking worse than I'd expected, completely pale and tiny in the midst of all the medical equipment. Up close, I saw that her curly, black hair was threaded with silver strands. Unconscious, she didn't look like our leader, the one who inspired confidence with her rousing speeches and assured manner. Wires and tubes snaked from her body to the various monitors measuring her vital functions.

“How is the president doing?” Dr. Wentworth asked the doctor who stood alongside the bed. He hadn’t looked up when we walked in, seemingly engrossed in reading something on a clipboard. He had horn-rimmed glasses and wavy hair slicked back with an abundance of product. I could even see the comb lines over the top of his head. He was shorter than me and wore a blindingly white jacket with a stethoscope slung around his neck, like a kid at Halloween wearing a doctor costume.

“About the same,” he said, sighing, but then he looked up, saw us and smiled a greeting. "But it looks like help has arrived." He extended his hand. "Russ Becker?"

For a second I thought he was saying that his name was Russ Becker, which would have been a really amazing coincidence, but before I could make a comment about it, which would have made me look really stupid, I realized that wasn't the case. "Yes, I'm Russ," I said, reaching out my hand.

“I'm Dr. Karke,” he said. "We've been looking forward to your arrival. I've heard good things about all you can do. I can’t wait to see you in action."

“Thank you,” I said.

Dr. Wentworth introduced Carly to him and they exchanged small talk about our plane ride and how we were enjoying our stay. Dr. Wentworth was telling him that we'd spent our first night at the hotel but that we'd be transferring to a luxury suite tonight, which was news to me, but I wasn't interested in being part of that conversation. Instead, I was drawn to President Bernstein. I found myself walking around the bed, trying to determine where to start. Every cell in my body buzzed with electrical anticipation. I sensed all the electricity in the room keeping her alive, and I instinctively knew it hadn’t been enough to keep her here the whole time. Somehow I knew President Bernstein had crossed over the line from life to death and back again.

“She died already?” I said, interrupting the conversation in the room.

“What did you say?” Dr. Wentworth's head whipped back in my direction.

“The president. She died and you brought her back with the paddles?”

Dr. Karke hesitated, then said, “That's right.”

“I wasn't told that,” Dr. Wentworth said sharply.

Dr. Karke shrugged. “It happened. We acted quickly, did what we had to do, and stabilized the president. The details are in the patient notes.”

I walked to the head of the bed. “More than once?” I looked at Dr. Karke, whose face flushed red. “You had to revive her twice?”

Embarrassed, he didn’t meet my eyes. “Yes, it happened twice.”

Dr. Wentworth looked at me in amazement. “How did you know that?”

I didn’t answer. Not that I didn’t want to, just that I was afraid to break my concentration. Once I locked in to heal someone, that was it. It required everything I had and more. I went to the head of the bed, and stroked the president's hair, something that wasn't necessary to heal her, but something I felt compelled to do. Touching her established a connection between us. It said, I am here. I will help you. From that brief touch I could tell that President Bernstein’s essence was in there, lingering inside her damaged body. I guessed from the concerned look on the two doctors’ faces that they wondered if she was too far gone to save. Dying and being resuscitated twice was a lot for a body to go through.

“Can you help her, Russ?” This from Carly who stood right at my elbow.

I gave a quick nod, before extending my arms over the president’s body. I heard the squeaky wheels of a cart being pushed through the doorway—one of the medical staff making a delivery, I assumed. Both doctors spoke at once.

“Not now!”

“Get out!”

Whoever it was pulled the cart back through the doorway and out into the hall. My palms pulsed with energy as I tried to detect the area that needed healing. I held my hands about six inches above the president’s body, and slowly went from head to toe and back again. The trouble spot, the worst of it, was her head, but that wasn’t where the problem ended. Her entire body had been affected. To me, her organs felt stressed. Every muscle was weak. Her empty stomach churned and her heart strained to pump blood to her extremities. Without these machines and the medicine she’d been given she would already be dead. Part of her spirit yearned to go; but the other part, the warrior part, struggled to stay. I knew all of this, but I wasn’t sure how I knew all this. I just did.

After making an assessment, I concentrated on her head, holding my hands on either side above her ears. I felt a pressure on her left side and intense pain, like a terrible, horrible headache. The pain medication had dulled it, but it was still there underneath. I focused all my energy and emotion on fixing the president. I knew from past experience that I couldn’t let my thoughts muddle the process. Words and ideas didn’t matter to energy. I ignored the fidgeting sounds of the other people in the room. Dr. Karke cleared his throat and shuffled his feet at one point. I heard it, but I didn’t let it break my concentration. My palms moved from her head to her heart and when I felt my energy depleting like a balloon running out of air, I did one last swoop over her arms and legs, before quitting. “I’m done,” I said. I shook my fingers loose and stretched my arms.

“Already?” Dr. Wentworth said, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.

“Yes.”

“But it’s only been fifteen minutes.”

“That’s all I can do for now,” I said, flexing my fingers. “I feel like I’m going to have to do this in stages. The damage is too great to fix all at once.”

The two doctors stared down at the president’s still form. Dr. Wentworth glanced up at the monitors hoping to see some indication that my work had helped, but everything looked the same.

“Could you please try again?” Dr. Karke asked. “We need to have the president fully recovered by the night of the Presidential Bash.”

“I understand that,” I said. “Believe me, I want to see President Bernstein healed as much as anyone.” Maybe more, since everyone was counting on me. “I’m not refusing to do more. I can’t do anymore. I’m depleted. You know how a bucket can only hold so much water and after it’s all poured out, you’re not going to get another drop out of it no matter what you do? That’s how it works for me. I can only do it until I’m done.”

“But would it hurt to try a little longer?” Dr. Karke asked, looking to Dr. Wentworth for back-up. “I told the first gentleman that I’d have good news for him today.” A note of desperation tinged his words. He wrung his hands.

I felt for him, I really did. I just couldn’t help him.

“You heard what my brother said,” Carly said, speaking a little louder than necessary. “His bucket is empty. When he can do more, he will.” She turned to me. “When do you want to come back again, Russ?”

“I don’t know. Maybe tonight?” I said. “By this evening I think she’ll be ready for more.” As I said this, I felt a frequency of awareness in the air and sensed that the president could hear everything being said. I leaned over and said, “President Bernstein? My name is Russ Becker. I’m the one who alleviated the pressure in your head. You get some rest. I’ll be back tonight to do another session. Hang in there, you’re doing really well.” She didn’t respond in any way, but I knew she understood.

“Could you two excuse us?” Dr. Karke said to me and Carly pointing to the door. “We need a few minutes to confer.”

Once we were out in the hallway, I heard him say to Dr. Wentworth, “What the hell was that? I thought you said he could heal her!” Dr. Wentworth shushed him and said something in my defense. I couldn’t quite make it all out, but I caught something about test results and data and allowing more time.

Carly put her hands on her hips and frowned. She said, “I don’t care if he is a doctor, that little man is a complete dick.”

“Cut him a break. He’s not so bad,” I said. “Just disappointed.” I knew the feeling. I was disappointed in myself.

“You are way too nice,” she said.

“Not really.”

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to her purse, unzipping the top and rummaging through the contents. When she located her pack of gum, she popped a piece into her mouth. “I was ready to tell him we were done and going home. Ingrate.”

“Don’t even talk like that, Carly,” I said. “We’re not going home.” A pretty nurse smiled at me as she came past pushing a cart. She hesitated in the president’s doorway, and when Dr. Wentworth called to her, she went in.

“It just makes me mad that they’re second guessing you.” She snapped her gum, a habit that drove my mother nuts.

“That’s his job. He’s just doing what he thinks is best.” I leaned my back against the wall and rested the sole of one foot flamingo-style. “I actually feel sorry for him. Now he has to tell Mr. Bernstein that his wife isn’t miraculously recovered like he promised. That really bites for him.”

“He shouldn’t have promised it.”

“Yeah, he shouldn’t have promised it. But he did.”

Carly leaned in and quietly asked, “Do you think you can fix her? In time for the Bash?”

“Yeah, I think I can.” I thought about how her brain woke up after my energy infusion. President Bernstein wanted to get better, but every part of her body was fatigued and strained. “I’m going to try my best anyway.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Russ

That afternoon I found myself in Layla Bernstein’s bedroom. Most guys my age would think this was a dream come true, but for me, it was just part of the job. After we found out we were going to the White House, the three of us dressed appropriately: Mallory in a flowery dress with a ruffle around the v-neckline and Jameson and I in button-down shirts and khaki pants. When we first arrived, a Secret Service agent directed us into a small sitting room with the kind of furniture preferred by elderly women. The agent assured us Layla would be with us shortly, and then departed, leaving us to wait alone. Mallory and I sat in stiff upholstered chairs, while Jameson took the loveseat across from us. On the cream-colored wall behind him hung an oil painting of a bonneted woman who looked down on him in disapproval.

“Imagine all of the history that took place in this room,” Mallory said, looking around. “First ladies having tea here, and diplomats sipping brandy and hammering out agreements by the light of the fire.” She gestured to the fireplace. “I can picture it.”

“Of course you can picture it. I don’t think they’ve redecorated since Lincoln was in office,” Jameson said, stifling a yawn. “Didn’t you think the rooms would be bigger here?” He leaned back and extended his long legs. “What’s the deal with that? Even the furniture is tiny.”

“I did think it would be bigger," Mallory said. ”Didn't you, Russ?”

I sized up the room and shrugged. "I didn't have any preconceived ideas one way or another."

She and Jameson went on about the size of the furniture, and wondered if the Secret Service would notice if Jameson rearranged the room. "It's probably all wired with explosives." Mallory joked. "If you move something, we’ll get blown to bits."

"None of the furniture is wired," I said. "But I wouldn't try to take that picture off the wall, or an alarm will sound."

Mallory looked startled. "Why do you say that?"

I raised one eyebrow. "If you don't believe me, give it a try.”

She jumped up quickly, to go test my theory I thought, but I was wrong. A second later I knew the real reason she got up off her chair when I spotted Layla Bernstein leaning against the door frame peering in on us, an amused expression on her face. Who knew how long she’d been watching us and listening to everything we’d said? I was glad I hadn’t done anything embarrassing.

“Hello,” Mallory said politely, gesturing to us to rise. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Layla walked in and immediately I saw that she had it—the thing that all the magazines talked about. She had a presence. She strode in as if she was in a perpetual spotlight. Layla was beautiful and slender, with glossy black hair and chiseled cheekbones, but her beauty appeared to be effortless. I doubt this girl ever had a moment in life when she lacked confidence. Next to her Mallory looked ordinary.

Layla sat down on the loveseat next to Jameson, but her eyes were on Mallory. “I was told we met in Miami, but I don’t remember being introduced.”

“It was so hectic at the decathlon,” Jameson said, sitting back down and resting his hands on his knees. “You probably met so many people…”

Layla put her finger to her lips. “Shh. I’m thinking.” She gestured to Mallory. “You have a sort of standard high school girl look. And you,” she turned to Jameson. “Smartest guy at your school? Top nerd. Am I right?”

“Actually I’m homeschooled,” he said. “Doing university-level work. They’re the ones who go to the public school.”

“I saw a million nerd boys in Miami,” Layla continued. “You could have been one of them, for all I know. But you, sweetheart, what’s your name?” She snapped her fingers at me and pointed.

“I’m Russ Becker.”

“Russ Becker.” Coming out of her mouth my name was as smooth and sweet as honey. Her intense scrutiny made me uneasy. “You I’d remember. We’ve never met. I know I’ve never seen you before.”

A woman came in carrying a tray of tall glasses filled with a light brown liquid, a wedge of lemon floating in each glass. “Would anyone care for a cold drink and some cookies?”

Layla stood up. “Send them to my room. We’re going upstairs.” She beckoned to me with one crooked finger. “Cute boy, come with me.” Mallory and Jameson looked unsure as to what to do so they just tagged along behind. Layla took my hand and pulled me through the doorway past two Secret Service agents, both in dark suits with earpieces. They said hello to her but she didn’t answer. She said to me, “We have to go through the Diplomatic Room to get to the private residence. Hopefully there won’t be anyone there. I hate it when I get stuck talking to people.”

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know what to say. Her hand clasping mine was warm and soft, and I couldn’t stop looking at her. She practically glowed with perfection and she smelled like a wonderful mixture of something like roses and cinnamon. It felt all wrong to be noticing these things when I was in love with Nadia, but it’s not like I had a choice.

Layla glanced over her shoulder and frowned as she saw Mallory and Jameson behind us. “We’re not going to lose them, are we?”

“Afraid not,” I said. “The three of us are supposed to stick together.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “Because I’d love to get some alone time with you.”

I felt my face flush red but Layla didn’t seem to notice. Nearly as tall as me, her strides were long and she was making good time. We passed another Secret Service agent talking to a woman wearing business attire. I tried to see if the woman was someone famous, but Layla yanked me along before I could tell.

When we got to the Diplomatic Room she exhaled in relief and looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you.” She turned to me. “Once we’re through here we’re home free. Literally. After this I can finally be myself.” We walked through the room and around a set of brown, room-dividing screens, the kind they use in restaurants to give diners a sense of privacy. We ducked behind the screens to get to the stairs. She was right, going from the public portion of the house to the private part did have a different feeling. Home free, as she said.

We walked up a staircase and down a hallway. “Welcome to my museum bedroom,” Layla said, as we approached a closed door. She opened it and went in first, beckoning for us to follow. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes, sending them skittering across the floor. The room did look like it could be in a museum. Ornate crown molding lined the edges where the walls met the very high ceiling. Opposite her bed was a sitting area set up in front of a fireplace like the one downstairs. An oval gold-framed mirror was mounted over the mantel. Heavy velvet drapes were held back from the windows with a gold cord which ended in tassels.

But there were some personal touches too. The mantel and dresser were topped with dozens of framed photos of Layla with friends, just like you’d see in any other teenaged girl’s room. The fact that most of these friends were famous rock stars and actors was beside the point. And the rug next to the bed was a fake full-sized grizzly bear, which was, I’m guessing, not original to the room.

“So cool,” Mallory said, her voice bubbling with excitement. She examined the celebrity photos above the fireplace. “I can’t believe we’re here, in Layla Bernstein’s bedroom. This is amazing.”

“You’re here all right,” Layla said. “By the way, you don’t need to worry about snipers. The glass in my windows is bulletproof.”

“Has there been a problem with snipers?” I asked.

“Well, no,” she said, “because the glass is bulletproof.” She padded over to the nightstand and picked up the phone, turning to me before dialing. “Did you not hear me tell that girl to bring the drinks up? Where the hell could she be?” She drummed her fingers on the wooden surface. “Yes, this is Layla. Tell the girl to bring the tray with the drinks and cookies up to my room. Really? Okay then.” She hung up and made a face. “She’s on her way.”

“This was so nice of you to invite us up here,” Mallory said.

“Please,” Layla said, indicating the chairs by the fireplace. “Have a seat.” After they’d occupied both places, she grabbed the front of my shirt. “You. You’re coming with me.” Half laughing, she pulled me over to the bed, then climbed up and sat with her legs tucked beneath her. She patted the space next to her and I went along with it, sitting down on the edge with my legs hanging to the floor. She said, “So Ross Becker, what do you think?”

“Russ.”

“What?”

“My name is Russ. Not Ross.”

She laughed. “Okay, if you want to play it that way.”

“It’s not that I want to play it that way. It’s my name.”

“Okay, then. Russ.” Like I was being difficult and she was humoring me. “Let’s start the conversation over and get it right this time. What do you think of my room?”

“It’s nice.”

“Just nice?”

I had the feeling I was being tested and I didn’t know the right answer. I ventured a guess. “Very nice?”

“Do you like my rug?” She indicated the fake grizzly bear rug underneath my feet. It actually looked pretty real, but the plastic beady eyes reminded me of the stuffed animals Carly used to give me when I was little. I never really played with them and eventually my mom donated them to Goodwill.

I shrugged. “It’s cool.”

She leaned in and in a confidential tone said, “Sometimes I like to roll around on it naked.”

“Excuse me?” I heard her, but I wasn’t quite sure I heard her.

“I like to take off all my clothes and roll around on it,” she said with a laugh. “I love the way it feels against my skin. Do you know what I mean?”

Jameson called over from his side of the room. “Are you comfortable there, Russ? Because you look decidedly uncomfortable.” He laughed his Jameson cackle. I could never decide if it was an actual laugh or if he was faking it. Either way, it had an unmistakable mocking tone.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said to both him and Layla.

I was happy when there was a knock on the door and it turned out to be the woman we’d seen earlier carrying the exact same tray of refreshments. Two minutes later we were served iced tea along with cookies that looked like dog biscuits. None of us opted for a cookie, but the tea was pretty good. Before the woman left, she reminded Layla not to drink near her bed, because tea stains were hard to remove. As soon as the door shut behind her, Layla called Jameson and Mallory over to sit with us on the bed. “They won’t give me diet Coke anymore,” Layla said, sighing and taking a sip of her tea. The ice clinked in her glass as she raised it to her lips. “Not since my mom started advocating for a healthy lifestyle. As the first family we have to set a good example.”

“I read about that,” Jameson said. Out of the four of us he seemed the most awkward sitting on the bed. He tried about three different positions before settling on cross-legged, but I don’t think he found it natural. He had the look of a spring about to be unsprung. Any second I expected his limbs to come undone and send him sprawling. “That’s why they won’t serve fish sticks in public schools anymore.”

“In fourth grade I was addicted to fish sticks,” Mallory said. “With French fries and lots of ketchup. Yum. I didn’t even think about calories back then.”

“Imagine how much grease you were consuming,” Jameson said. “And your gall bladder had to deal with all that fat.”

“My gall bladder was cool with it,” Mallory said. “It didn’t mind.”

Layla watched them discuss fish sticks and gall bladders with amusement. She set her glass down on the nightstand, moved closer, and gave my knee a squeeze. “So if you’re thinking you’ll meet my mom, you’re out of luck. She’s working on some big project and even I haven’t seen her for days. You might be introduced to her at the Bash, if you’re lucky, but don’t count on talking to her. She’s going to be super busy.”

“Okay,” I said. I always had trouble talking to someone when there was another discussion happening nearby. Jameson and Mallory had moved on to the topic of tator tot casserole and, like a true Wisconsinite, Mallory was rhapsodizing about melted cheese. Stretchy melted cheese, which was, in her opinion, the very best kind. I had to really pay attention to catch what Layla was saying.

“Okay what?” Layla said.

“Okay, whatever. I don’t really care, Layla. I wasn’t planning on talking to your mother. I’m here to go to the Black Tie Bash with you.”

She tilted her head to one side, giving me a look of careful consideration. “So what’s the story, Russ? Would you care to fill me in?”

“Fill you in on what?”

She gave my knee another squeeze and then started to stroke the inside of my thigh. “Why exactly are we pretending that I met you before?”

“Um.” I gulped and took a quick sip of my drink. “What?”

Mallory’s head whipped around. Amazing the way girls can carry on one conversation but still catch what other people are saying. “Layla, I heard that you have problems with back pain, is that true?”

And just like that, Layla dropped the subject and turned her attention to Mallory’s question. Apparently she was one of those people who jumped at the chance to talk about herself. “I wouldn’t call it pain,” she said, putting a hand to her back. “More like torture. Absolute torture. And when it’s bad, nothing touches the pain. I mean, I can’t get any relief. I’m in total agony. My dad gets it too. I must have inherited my spine problems from him.”

“I’m a certified massage therapist,” Mallory said, flexing her fingers. “I bet I can help.”

“It’s not too bad today—”

But before Layla could really object, Mallory handed her glass to Jameson and scooted over behind Layla. She placed her hands on Layla’s shoulders and began kneading the base of her neck. “Man, you are tense. You must be under a lot of pressure.”

“Tell me about it.” Layla’s head dropped forward and her eyes closed. “That’s really good, but the trouble spot is lower.”

“I’ll get there,” Mallory said, continuing to massage Layla’s shoulders and then sliding her fingers down her back.

I was one hundred percent certain that Mallory was not a certified massage therapist and that it was all a ploy to allow her to get close enough to exert mind control. Mallory had to have heard about the back pain from one of our PG contacts. It wasn’t public knowledge. At least I had never heard about it.

“This is really nice,” Layla said, practically purring like a kitten. Her head drooped and bobbed as Mallory worked on her back.

“I knew I could help,” Mallory said.

While all this was going on I took a good look at Jameson. The massage was getting to him, I could tell. Each of his hands had a tight grip on the iced tea glasses, and it had to be cold, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Jameson!” I said, breaking the spell.

“What?” It was like he came up for air.

“Why don’t you put the glasses down?” I gestured to the coffee table over by the fireplace.

Layla’s eyes were closed now and her chin was against her chest. Her glossy black hair hung down leaving only a sliver of her face in view. She made a small moan of pleasure as Mallory continued working on her back. Instead of answering me, Jameson grinned and let go of the glasses, which hovered in front of him. He swiveled his thumb toward the coffee table and the glasses obediently traveled across the room, coming to rest on the tray in the middle of the table. I held my breath as this happened, but neither of the girls seemed to notice. Without the drinks to hold onto, Jameson was able to stretch his legs.

“Okay then,” Mallory said after a few minutes. She tapped Layla on the shoulder. “I think that should do it.”

Layla opened her eyes and rotated her head. “Wow, that’s amazing. I’ve been to physical therapists, chiropractors, the works. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time. Thank you.” Her gratitude seemed genuine. I could only think that Mallory had implanted the idea that the pain was gone. Whatever she did, it was a good thing.

“You’re welcome.” Mallory smiled.

“It was a lucky day when I met you guys in Miami. I hope we can stay in touch,” Layla said, overcome with emotion.

“Well of course we’ll stay in touch,” Mallory said, her voice indignant. “Why wouldn’t we? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we’re friends,” Layla said. She didn’t have the dopey look that I associated with mind control. Carly was right; Mallory had really fine tuned this talent. She was scary good. “Of course we’re friends. I think you guys understand me better than anyone.”

“We’re here for you,” Jameson said.

“It’s hard being me. The media mobs me. I can’t even go to a concert with friends like normal people. I have to sit backstage and watch.”

“You poor thing,” Mallory said. “It must be rough.”

“It is.”

Jameson said, “So what do you do for fun around here? I think I heard something about a White House bowling alley? We could give that a go.” His self-assured grin made me think that he was planning to get a perfect score. Who needed a ball to knock down pins when you could do it with your mind?

“Oh no,” Layla said, blowing out a puff of air. “Bowling’s not my thing. How about a movie?” She explained that the White House had a movie theater on site, and that they received films before their release date. “I’ll call down and get them to set it up and get the popcorn ready.”

She picked up the phone and said, “I’d like to watch a movie with my friends, please.” I hadn’t heard her say please before. I wondered if that was something Mallory had implanted. “Really? Why not? Oh, that’s disappointing. Well, maybe another time. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and gave us the bad news. “There’s an event I have to attend—a sick kid in a hospital, and I have to leave in an hour to go visit her. It was on my schedule, but somehow it slipped my mind.”

“We can come back another day,” Mallory said, like she was soothing a small child. “We’ll be here for a few more days.”

“Another day,” Layla agreed. “Maybe tomorrow?” She looked around the room like she was seeing it for the first time. “I suppose I should get ready. There are always photographers at these things.” She exhaled loudly. “They expect me to look a certain way. I definitely need to do something with this hair.” She pulled a lock away from her face and looked at it, then let it drop. I thought her hair looked nearly perfect, but from the disgusted look on her face, it needed a lot of work.

“We have to go anyway,” Mallory said, taking the glass from my hand and crossing the room to set it on the tray. I slid off the bed, followed by Jameson, and finally Layla. “I don’t know why they get so weird,” Layla said, smoothing the bed spread. “We didn’t spill a drop.”

Jameson ambled toward the door and Mallory and I followed his lead. “I guess this is good-bye for now,” Mallory said, pausing.

“Wait a minute!” Layla said, striding toward us and for a split second I thought she was on to us, that she’d figured out the mind control and that she knew she’d never met us before today. But what she said next erased my worries. “You don’t think I’d let you leave without a hug, do you?”

She embraced Mallory and then Jameson, thanking each of them for coming to see her and saying how happy she was that we came out for the Bash. When she got to me, the hug lingered and I felt the unmistakable sensation of her knee working its way up between my legs. She whispered in my ear. “We are going to have some fun, Russ Becker. Just you wait and see.” Then she planted a forceful kiss on my startled lips. I didn’t see it coming and I was too shocked to react.

When she pulled back three seconds later, I knew my face had reddened because I felt the warm, embarrassed flush go from my cheeks all the way up to my hairline. I hoped it wasn’t obvious, but of course it was. “Look, Russ is blushing,” Jameson said. He nudged Mallory. “How cute is that?”

“Very cute,” she said.

I couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. We were halfway down the stairs when Mallory said. “You don’t have to thank me Russ, but you can if you want.”

“For what?” I said.

She laughed. “For the little something extra I implanted in Layla. Not only does she remember meeting you in Miami, she now wants you in the worst possible way. More than she ever wanted anything in her entire life.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Russ

To say I was pissed off at Mallory would be an understatement. She knew how I felt about Nadia and she went and did this? What kind of friend does something like that? I stopped midway down the stairs and said, “What did you do that for?”

Her eyes grew wide in surprise. “I thought you'd like it,” she said. "Layla obviously has a thing for you anyway. I just gave her an extra nudge in that direction."

Jameson said, “It’s a gift, Russ. If you don't want it, I'll take it. She's totally hot.”

I gave him a steely-eyed look. Was he serious? “You'd want some girl to want you just because she's been brainwashed to want you?”

“Well, yeah," he said. "A sure thing. What's wrong with that?”

If he didn't see anything wrong with that, there was nothing I could say to convince him otherwise. I said, “You heard him, Mallory. Switch Layla over to him.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can do that. You’re her date and having her get all crazy over Jameson would be really awkward.”

“Guess you’re stuck with her,” Jameson said, slapping me on the back. “Tough to have to take one for the team.”

“Seriously Mallory,” I said. “You have to undo this. We’re supposed to be protecting her at the Bash. How can I do that if she’s hanging all over me?”

Mallory tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know if I can get close enough to her to do it again. Besides, if she’s hanging all over you, we don’t have to worry about her wandering off. If anything, I did you a favor. She’ll be easier to keep track of if she’s attached to you.”

“So you won’t change her back?”

“I’ll think about it.” I knew that ‘I’ll think about it’ was Mallory’s code for ‘not in a million lifetimes.’ I was screwed. Unless I wanted to tell on her to the Praetorian Guard officials I was stuck with a presidential daughter determined to seduce me. A year ago I would have thought this was a good problem to have, but not anymore.

I was too mad to even talk to either of them so I kept going down the stairs and didn’t say a word. When we met with our PG escorts and they said we could have some downtime before dinner, I opted to go back to our room alone, grateful that Jameson and Mallory were leaving to explore PGDC. “You really aren’t going to go with us?” Mallory said puzzled, as if she hadn’t just done this heinous thing. It occurred to me that she actually thought she was doing me a favor and I would enjoy having Layla obsessed with me.

“No, you guys go ahead. I just want to decompress.”

“Suit yourself,” Jameson said, leading Mallory away. With old Russ out of the way, he thought he had a clear path to Mallory’s heart. Good luck with that. He was welcome to it.

Back in the room, I finally had time to hear myself think. As far as the mission went, everything was on track. Mallory had convinced Layla that we'd met before, I had started my healing work on the president, and Jameson hadn't screwed anything up with his show-off moves. Still to come: Mallory working on the vice president and me going back to the hospital to try again with the president. So much to think about.

I settled back on the bed and watched a little TV, first viewing Underworld, a movie I’d seen a million times before, and then the beginning of an old CSI: Las Vegas, before I finally got bored with it and clicked it off. I grabbed my carry-on and rifled through the pockets until I found the packet of comic books Kevin Adams had given me at the airport. I might be sixteen, but I loved comic books as much as I did when I was eight. The great graphics, the action-packed plots, the way I didn't have to strain my brain to follow the story. They were so visual it was easy to see why so many of them were made into movies. Sometimes a guy just needed some fun reading.

I rifled through the stack, looking to see which ones I’d already read and which ones were new to me, when one caught my eye in a big way. It had a large yellow sticky note on it that said, Russ, this is a comic book that Sam and I made when we were a little older than you. He did the story & I did the pictures. I thought you might like it. I put the sticky note on the pillow next to me and I flipped through the pages. It was clearly handmade, but well done. The same size as a typical comic book and about as many pages. The drawings were pretty good too, considering Kevin wasn't a professional artist. I thought of the two of them working together on this project, a young Sam Specter and Kevin Adams, totally getting into this nerd enterprise. They must have had copies made somewhere and then stapled the pages together themselves. Things didn't line up perfectly, so it was a little off. Not too bad though, considering.

The title on the cover said: Superheroes of the Twenty-First Century! Interesting. Especially because it was written during the twentieth century. The twenty-first century must have seemed way off in the distant future to young Sam and Kevin.

I started reading and by the second page, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Seriously, I was hyperventilating and my heart began pounding when it hit me that the comic book story was about us. Four teenagers from a small town gifted with superpowers. Their names were Persuasa, Spark Boy, Secret Weapon Girl, and Mover! (with an exclamation point—it was part of the name, apparently). Kevin’s drawings had been done more than twenty-five years ago, way before the four of us had even been born, and yet there we were in the pages of his homemade comic book. Persuasa had the power of mind control, just like Mallory. Spark Boy could shoot electricity out of his palms. Clearly that was me. Secret Weapon Girl walked around with her face obscured by a hood. Her superpower was forcing people to tell the truth. Not quite like Nadia, but close. And Mover! was Jameson, without a doubt. He was tall and lanky, with white-blond hair. In the story, Mover! had a sort of know-it-all attitude that had Jameson stamped all over him. Mover!’s power was telekinesis, of course.

The similarities were too much to be a coincidence. Puzzled, I flipped through the pages and then read Kevin’s note again.  Russ, this is a comic book that Sam and I made when we were a little older than you. He did the story & I did the pictures. I thought you might like it. And then it hit me. Sam did the story. Sam Specter, who had the power of seeing the future, wrote the story. He knew about us before we even existed and knew what was going to happen. But why make a comic book out of it? Maybe to keep it fresh in his mind? His powers had since faded, in the same way that Kevin and Rosie and Dr. Anton’s powers had also faded. Could it be that he knew that would happen and didn’t want to forget? It would have been more than a quarter of a century ago—a long time and details could easily fade from a person’s memory.

I read through the comic book, paying attention to each word and every illustration. I got chills reading the story. In Superheroes of the Twenty-First Century, the teenage superheroes got called to Washington D.C. by a secret organization that needed their help avoiding a national incident at a charity ball the president will be attending. The biggest problem is that the lady president is in a coma. Spark Boy is called to use his healing electricity to make her well again.

Layla had a role in this story too. Just like in real life, she was the president’s daughter, but in this version her name was Lola. Pretty close. In this version of events, Lola was vain and a real man-eater. In the comic book she wore a low cut gown and had one of those long cigarette holders, like you see in old movies. Very dramatic and elegant. Unlikely to happen in real life, but a nice comic book touch.

Although all four superheroes are invited to the charity ball, Secret Weapon Girl (Nadia) has to stay behind to fight crime in their small hometown. A crazy woman is on the loose in the town of Edgemont, jumping out of hiding after dark, and attacking people with a large butcher knife before retreating and getting away. No one knows her identity, but Secret Weapon Girl is sure she can figure out who she is and bring her to justice. “I will join you as soon as I can!” she cries to her friends, who board their Superhero jet and wave good-bye.

The bad guys, aptly named the Associates, just like in real life, planned to kill the president and Lola at the charity ball. The head of the Associates, Commander Whitlock, arranged to be at the ball, to oversee the actions of all his underlings. The three superheroes are there to protect Lola and watch out for anything underhanded. Spark Boy tells Lola: Do not worry, gorgeous, you are safe with me! I will be at your side all night. And then Lola gratefully grabs him and plants a kiss right on his mouth. Swak! It must have been one great kiss because in the next panel, she swoons. Literally swoons. The room spins for her and stars swirl above her head.

For the second time today I felt a flush of embarrassment realizing that Mr. Specter knew all about this, the whole time. Did he know it would be me? All of sophomore year in his science class did he know that someday I’d be Spark Boy? And if so, why didn’t he destroy the comic book? He was on the Associates’ side, but this comic book was a manual on what they were planning to do and could tell me how to defeat them.

I read on. At the ball, Persuasa uses mind control on the vice president to convince him to switch sides, so he’s no longer aligned with the Associates.

Now the story flipped to the other side. The Associates, who’d caused the coma in the first place, were shocked to see the president arrive at the ball in perfect health. She was supposed to be dead! the commander screams. In a fit of rage, he instructs his minions to create a distraction. He wants the president and the daughter killed at the same time. An explosion is set off and the room fills with smoke. People panic, scream, and run. The commander pulls out a missile the size of a canoe and sends it toward the president. Mover! uses his power to turn the missile around so it bursts through the ceiling and explodes up in the sky like fireworks. Looking closely at the page, I recognized Mover!’s self-confident expression. It was all Jameson, every bit of it.

Persuasa ushers Lola and her parents out a side entrance and they are able to escape. In the confusion, a member of the Associates who has the same power as Spark Boy, goes to electrocute the president. Spark Boy sees him and counteracts his power with a mighty blast. Lightning bolts intersect from each side of the room, but Spark Boy is more powerful and he wins.

Commander Whitlock and the rest of the Associates beat a hasty retreat. In the getaway car, Commander Whitlock pulls off what looks like a latex mask covering his entire head, and reveals that he’s actually a woman. On the last page, she says to her sidekick, a man with a pointed nose, This isn’t over. We’ll be back.

The three superheroes return home, but before they get there, tragedy befalls Secret Weapon Girl. As she’s outside tracking the Edgemont killer, Secret Weapon Girl is confronted by the same Associate who was overpowered by Spark Boy. “Your little boyfriend messed with the wrong guy,” he jeered, before electrocuting her. Spark Boy finds her lifeless body in the town square and rushes to her side, but it’s too late. In the pavement next to her body, are the words, REVENGE IS SWEET. In the panel, Spark Boy is shown cradling her in his arms, wailing. He weeps over her lifeless body and kisses her forehead. I realize it now. You were my one true love. And now you’re lost forever. I stared at this panel for a long time. A wave of emotion came over me, and my eyes filled with tears. I could imagine Spark Boy’s unending sorrow because I knew how I would feel if Nadia died. Thank God her mother never let her leave the house and she was safe at home. Maybe her mom wasn’t so crazy after all.

I shook off my grief reminding myself this wasn’t real. I kept reading. Next, Spark Boy vows revenge on the Associates. They won’t get away with this! he says, his fist raised. I will avenge her death!

And below that: THE END. I turned the page and on the back, printed in large letters, it read: Watch for Superheroes of the Twenty-First Century Part II, Coming Soon!

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nadia

I sat in the waiting room at the hospital for what seemed like a really long time. The visitor center of the psychiatric ward had a different feeling than the rest of the hospital. More security, for one thing. We had to sign in and get buzzed through to get past the entry point. And the other visitors’ faces were grim and no one carried flowers or balloons. I sat on the fake leather couch and paged through magazines. I looked at the wall clock at least a hundred times waiting for my father to come back from talking to the doctors.

My dad referred to what happened as “the incident.” Much nicer than saying “when your mom went crazy and tried to kill you.” When the police arrived in response to my 911 call, the incident became too big for us to take back. My dad couldn’t make it go away by saying it was a minor family dispute, although he tried doing just that. The cops might have been able to ignore my mother’s wild-eyed look, our disheveled kitchen, and the yowling of the cat, but the sight of me holding a dishtowel to my bloody neck was a game changer.

One of the cops called for two ambulances. He actually said, “We’re going to need two buses,” just the way they do on the police shows on TV. After that, they separated the three of us for questioning. My dad gave me a begging look as they led me away and I knew he wanted me to come up with a story that would get Mom off the hook. He was always holding things together. I didn’t want to be the one to get my mom in trouble and break up the family, but it was too late. I’d already told the 911 operator about my mom wielding the knife and the blood gushing out of the side of my neck sort of backed up that version of events. In the end, I couldn’t lie. I told them everything that had happened from the time I’d woken up to find my mother on top of me, determined to get the devil out of me, until they arrived.

At the same time as I was telling them my version, I heard her in the next room frantically trying to convince them that I was possessed by a demon. “That is not my daughter, Nadia! I saw it take over her body. If you were there you’d know I’m telling the truth. Whatever is in there is trying to fool us, but I saw right past it. I was trying to save my daughter, my baby girl!” I hadn’t heard her call me her baby girl in a long time and it made my heart hurt to hear it now. I heard the lady cop talking quietly and trying to get Mom to calm down but that only made her more agitated. “How do you explain her face healing like that?” Mom yelled. “I say it’s the devil’s work!” Another officer was asking my dad to get the vial of my mom’s pills to bring to the hospital to give the doctors.

Listening to my mom, I felt bad. Some of what she was saying was true. She had seen my spirit leave my body and then watched it reenter when I’d returned. And she was right in saying I had been different lately. My father missed a lot of details around the house, but she didn’t miss a thing. The most obvious change, my face, was noticed by both of them, but my dad thought it was due to the ointment he’d given me. Mom saw beyond that. Now that I didn’t look hideous, living in my body became a whole lot easier. I found myself stopping in front of the very mirrors I used to avoid. I no longer felt repugnant and that influenced how I moved and the clothes I wore. I’d retired the hoodie and started wearing the tank tops and tees that before had just been layering pieces. And the biggest change? I was in love with Russ, and that changed everything.

When the paramedics arrived, they set to work evaluating me, putting pressure on my wound, and monitoring my vitals. They checked my blood pressure and took my temperature, both of which were fine. The cut had nearly stopped bleeding by then, but still they had me lie down on the stretcher and wheeled me to the back of the ambulance where they put an oxygen thing in my nose. Once I felt the vehicle start to move, it all went by in a blur.

My dad had decided to drive our car and meet us at the hospital, but not before assuring my mom that he’d bring her purse. I guess she didn’t realize that when you were committed to a mental health ward you couldn’t keep your personal belongings with you.

The whole thing was surreal, like it was happening to someone else’s family. My mother had always been extreme, but never so bad that we couldn’t handle it ourselves. My dad thought of her as moody and quirky. He’d tell me when to leave her alone because she had some things to “work out.” He never told me what her medication was for and I never saw the vial of pills. They kept it hidden somewhere in their bedroom—off-limits for me. My dad always kept her on an even keel. He steered the ship, I followed his lead, and generally everything was okay. But now, my astral projecting had steered us off course and put her over the edge. Her increased insanity and my father’s sorrow all sourced right back to me. My family was a mess and it was my fault.

At the hospital that night I got eight stitches. The doctor who did it frowned as he worked. “I’m afraid this will leave a slight scar. Your folks might want to consult with a plastic surgeon. I can give you a referral if you’d like.”

Just to be polite, I nodded. I took the piece of paper with the referral even knowing I would never visit a plastic surgeon. I didn’t need plastic surgery; I had Russ. If he could heal my burn scars, which were several years old, this incision should be easy for him to fix. I imagined his hands hovering over my neck before finding their way to either side of my face. I loved his touch and the intensity of our eyes meeting right before he leaned in to kiss me. He looked at me like I was a miracle: the sun rising after the end of the world, rain after a long, harsh drought. Looking through his eyes I saw myself the same way.

They sent me home with my father while Mom stayed behind to be evaluated. Once we were in the car in the parking lot, he gripped the wheel and looked up at the lit hospital windows. “I hope they treat her well,” he said with a tired sigh before starting the engine.

That night I fell into a deep sleep. Before I drifted off, I tried to astral project to Russ, but I couldn’t make it work. I couldn’t get my head in the right place and my body wouldn’t relax enough to make it happen. Astral projecting had caused the problem and now I couldn’t even do it. Totally ironic.

The staff in the ER filed paperwork saying my mother was a threat to herself and others, the others being me, I guess. Dad said they were going to keep her for seventy-two hours for observation, but he was going to try to get them to release her sooner. “She doesn’t belong there,” he said, as we drove back the next day. “Last night I heard one of the patients screaming at the top of his lungs that he was going to kill everyone. Hearing that gave me chills. I can only imagine being stuck there and having to listen to it all night. I’m sick that they wouldn’t let her go, but there was nothing I could do about it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “This is such a disaster.”

I didn’t say anything, just kept my eyes on the road ahead. I felt my eyes well up with tears and my nose start to run and I sniffed to hold it all back. Fumbling, I reached into the glove compartment to grab the tissues we usually kept there, but there was nothing but a wad of paper napkins from a fast food place. The napkins were scratchy but I used them anyway.

“Don’t worry, Nadia. We’ll get it sorted out,” he said kindly.

“It’s all my fault,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. I blew my nose and swallowed.

“It’s no one’s fault, honey. Things just happen sometimes. Just when you think you’ve got everything figured out, life throws something else at you. I’ve seen it happen time and time again.”

We went back every day after that, today the doctor wanted to talk to Dad alone, so I was directed to the waiting room, a square area lined on three sides with faux-leather furniture and end tables that were actually shelves attached to the walls. One of the fluorescent lights flickered and I finally got up and turned off one of the light switches so only half the room was lit.

When Dad finally returned to the waiting room, he sat down next to me and didn’t say a word.

“Did you get to see Mom?” I asked.

He nodded, “Briefly, but she can’t come home just yet. She’s taking her medication and no longer says you’re possessed, but they still want to keep her because they’re concerned about your safety. She can come home on Friday. They asked if there was a relative or friend you could stay with for a week or two, but I told them no, we really don’t have anywhere you can go.” He put his arm around my shoulder to console me, not knowing that what he said had given me an idea. I was suddenly filled with hope. He said, “It’s okay, Nadia. I told them I’d assume responsibility for your safety. We’ll be fine. We’ll get through this.”

“I could go away for a while though, if it would help Mom,” I said slowly, being careful not to let my enthusiasm show. “Remember how I was chosen to go to Washington D.C. with the National High School Student Initiative?”

His nose wrinkled as he thought back. “The two men that came over that day?”

“Yes. It wouldn’t cost anything. The whole trip is covered by them and it would look great on my college application. Plus, they give scholarships. Mallory went and she’s there right now. You know Mallory, right? I’m sure I could still join the group. I still have the card they gave me.” Despite wanting to play it cool, all the words came out in a rush. When I was through, I waited for him to say that it would be too complicated to arrange things at the last minute, or that he wanted me home to help with Mom, but he didn’t say either of those things. He just looked at me with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“But isn’t it half over already?”

“That’s okay,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “They said a shortened visit is fine. And I’d make it in time to go to the Black Tie Bash.”

“Wouldn’t that be something? My baby girl at the Presidential Black Tie Bash,” Dad put his arm around my shoulder. He sighed. “Seems like someone in this family should be having fun.”

“So I can go?”

“That might be best for now,” he said finally. “If you can arrange it, I’ll sign the paperwork and do whatever else needs doing. Maybe by the time you get back, things will be better with your mom.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Russ

I shuffled through the rest of the comic books looking for Superheroes of the Twenty-First Century Part II, but it wasn’t there. Presumably Mr. Specter and Kevin never got around to making a sequel or it would have been included in the bunch.

When I heard a key card unlock the hotel door and Mallory and Jameson laughingly entering the room, I glanced up to see them sort of tumbling in, almost tripping over each other and their multiple shopping bags. At that moment, I’d been reading the comic book again for the third time. I was sure Kevin had deliberately given it to me so that I could prevent the outcome of the story and I wanted to have all the details committed to memory.

“Hey Russ,” Mallory said enthusiastically. “Guess what?” She had a large plastic cup in one hand and she took a loud, slurpy sip from the straw.

“He’ll never guess.” Jameson dumped his purchases out onto the bed and they fell in a scattered heap. Clothing, packaged food, books, and an assortment of other items fell onto the bed. “Never in a million years.”

“Let me tell him,” Mallory said, turning to tell me the big news. “Get this—everything in PGDC is free.”

“Free,” I said.

“Absolutely free, as in no money. Nada. The food vendors, the clothing stores, the grocery, none of them even have cash registers. If you want something, it’s completely free. They do have signs asking that you not take advantage of the system, but no one enforces it or anything.”

“Huh. Interesting.” I closed the comic book.

Jameson said, “I got all this stuff and I never even got my wallet out of my pocket. This place is freakin’ awesome. And you missed out, old buddy. Sitting here like a lump while we were out claiming our territory.”

Sitting like a lump? “While you two were out acting like you’re on vacation, I was reading this.” I held the comic book up. Since neither of them looked in my direction, I knew that I hadn’t quite emphasized its importance. “It’s a comic book from Kevin Adams. He and Mr. Specter made it when they were teenagers and it’s about us.”

“What do you mean it’s about us?” Mallory said, putting down her drink and taking the comic book from my hands. She sat on the edge of Jameson’s bed and examined the cover.

“I mean, we’re in it. The characters are us and they’re in Washington D.C. just like we are now.”

“Mr. Specter and Kevin made this?” She flipped through the pages.

“Thirty years ago. Mr. Specter came up with the story. Kevin did the illustrations.”

Jameson sat next to Mallory so they were elbow to elbow. They silently read it together. Mallory took charge turning the pages, waiting until Jameson nudged her before flipping to the next one. I watched their faces and knew exactly when Jameson had spotted Mover!’s entrance on the page because he got a big grin on his face. He’d made the connection that it was supposed to be him.

I was dying inside for them to finish it. I wanted someone else to experience it with so we could discuss it, note the similarities, and strategize. We could talk about what Sam Specter had in mind when he wrote the text, and what Kevin Adams expected us to do with the knowledge. As impatient as I was, it felt like it took them forever to finish, giving me only their facial expressions to go on. When they reached the end, they looked pleased, but neither one said a word.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Jameson gave me an amused grin. “I think that Mover! is one cool dude. The best one in the bunch, clearly.”

“Okay, if you can’t be serious for one minute—”

Jameson held up his hand. “Chill, Russ. I can be serious and still think Mover! is the best character in the story.” He rubbed his forehead. “Pretty trippy that Specter came up with this so long ago. I wonder if he saw the future exactly like this, or if he just got glimpses and filled in the rest of the story with guesswork?”

“Does this worry either of you at all?” I stood up and took the book back. “It doesn’t end well for Nadia.”

“I’m wondering why Kevin gave it just to you and not to me and Jameson.” Mallory sounded slightly irritated at being left out.

“Neither of you got a copy of this?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I know I didn’t.”

“I haven’t even looked at mine yet,” Jameson said, getting up to pull his carry-on out of the closet. He knelt down to unzip the side pouch. Once he’d pulled out the stack of comic books, he didn’t waste any time leafing through them. “Nope, I didn’t get it either. You’d think that if it was a warning, he’d have specifically mentioned it and given us each a copy.”

“Okay,” Mallory said, “Let’s talk this through.” And suddenly I was reminded of the old Mallory, the one I’d first noticed in Science class sophomore year. Pretty and smart. The one with her hand raised because she thought she knew the answer and wasn’t afraid to be wrong. “Mr. Specter wrote the book. Kevin did the illustrations. Is it possible Kevin hasn’t looked at it recently and didn’t realize the similarities between us and the characters?”

“No.” Jameson shook his head. “He has to know. What would you do if a friend died and you came across something like this, a project you worked on together? You’d read it, right? You’d pour yourself a drink and read it in memory of your friend.”

“Unless it’s too painful to read,” Mallory suggested.

“No,” Jameson shot back. “Too painful, that’s a chick thing to say. A guy would read it, right Russ?”

I had to give it to him. When Jameson was right, he was really right. I said, “Kevin would have read it before he gave it to me. Without a doubt.”

“So he read it,” Mallory said. “Without a doubt.” She gave me an amused smile. “Did he give it to you as a warning or just for fun?”

I pulled the sticky note off the pillow. “I thought you might like it,” I read.

“Fairly generic sentiment,” Jameson said. “So that doesn’t help. But let’s assume he did want to issue a warning and to Russ only. Is that because he thinks we’re inconsequential? Weak links? Or, does he think we can’t be trusted?”

“I don’t think Kevin is that deep of a thinker,” Mallory said. “He probably just figured Russ would share it with us.”

Jameson nodded, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. I said, “But how did he know I would even read it? I could have gone the whole time and never even looked at it.”

“He knew you would,” Mallory said. “Because you’re that kind of guy.”

Sadly, she was right. I was the kind of guy who would read the comic book. If I’d thought about it, I would have read it on the flight over. “In the story, the commander turns out to be a woman dressed as a man,” I said. “And the Nadia character dies. Mover! levitates the missile out of the way.” Jameson smiled at the reference. “And there are explosions and bedlam and the villain escapes. It ends badly.”

“I’d say it ends well,” Jameson said. “At the end, the president and the president’s daughter are safe and they figure out the identity of the leader of the Associates. All of our objectives are covered.”

“I’m sure the part where they give Persuasa and Mover! awards for heroism is covered in the next book in the series,” Mallory said. She and Jameson high-fived each other.

“I think you’re missing the point,” I said. “Ideally we don’t want to have to save anyone. Ideally there shouldn’t even be an explosion. We have an opportunity to prevent all this from happening.”

“You’re assuming things will happen the way they do in the story,” Jameson pointed out. “But they couldn’t possibly. For one, Nadia never leaves her house. Secondly, the PG and the Secret Service are anticipating problems, so there’s no way a missile could be smuggled into the Bash.”

“And believe me, I’d never wear a green dress like that,” Mallory said, shuddering at the thought of actually wearing her comic book character’s gown. “It’s the color of cat vomit.”

“I bet you could make it work,” Jameson said to her. “You’d look good in anything.”

“Thanks.”

“So what do we do with this?” I held the comic book up in the air, like I was a 1920s newsboy. “I’m thinking we should give it to one of the Praetorian Guard officials.” I liked the idea of getting the higher ups involved. Let them tighten the rein on security. We had enough to do.

Mallory left Jameson’s side and came to sit next to me. She put her hand on my neck and gave it a squeeze, then worked her fingers over the muscles. I felt my shoulders drop in relief. “This has really got you worried, I can tell.”

“It should have all of us worried,” I said. “If this comic book is right, we’re going to a formal event that’s going to turn deadly. We can’t ignore something like that.”

“I agree,” Mallory said. “I’m meeting with one of the top PG guys tonight. He’s prepping me to meet the vice president. If you want, I can give it to him and let him take it from there.”

I knew she wasn’t an official massage therapist, but she really had a knack for loosening up muscles. The tension melted away. “Yeah, that would be good,” I said. “Make sure you say that Samuel Specter had the power to see the future and that the events in the story really might happen. Tell them they need to beef up security and be extra careful who they let in the door.”

“I will.”

“And tell them to call Nadia and warn her.”

“Yes. Got it.”

“You have to really emphasize it or they’ll think it’s just a kid’s comic book.”

“I will. I Promise.”

For the tiniest, briefest moment, I doubted her, but it went by in a flash. Mallory had promised and her word was good enough for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Russ

After dinner, Mallory and her chaperone Rosie left to go to a briefing about Vice President Montalbo. Presumably, the more she knew about him, the easier it would be to get her hands on him and apply her mind control magic. Mallory had changed clothes and was now wearing a sundress she’d gotten when she and Jameson went shopping that afternoon. She also had a pair of large sunglasses perched atop her head, even though we were hundreds of feet underground without a real sunbeam in sight. As they got up to go, I reminded Mallory about the comic book and she patted the side of her bag. “Don’t worry about it, Russ. I’ve got it right here.”

Jameson’s chore for the evening was to take another dance lesson. Frankly, I gave him credit for trying but I thought it was pretty much hopeless. His long legs were way too spastic to ever keep in time to the music, but another lesson couldn’t hurt. Maybe this new dance teacher wouldn’t hit him with a fan and he’d be able to relax a little. With any luck he’d improve enough not to step on Mallory’s feet the night of the Bash.

As for me and Carly, we were summoned back to the hospital for another healing session with President Bernstein. Dr. Wentworth came to escort us and we followed along just like before. On the subway, she filled us in.

“This evening while you’re out, your things are being moved from the hotel to luxury suites. You’re not going to be sharing rooms anymore. It’s a security measure. Each of you will have your own space from now on. We’re supplying you with formal clothes for the Black Tie Bash. You’ll be fitted and coached on what will be expected of you.”

“Me too?” Carly asked.

“Yes, you'll be getting your own suite too.” Dr. Wentworth said.

“No, I mean what about my formal wear?” Carly asked. "I didn't bring anything appropriate.” She didn't own anything appropriate, is what she meant. How many people have something in their closet they could wear to a Presidential Bash? Prom clothes maybe, but Carly was way too old for prom and she never was the prom type in the first place.

“That won’t be necessary for you.”

“What do you mean it's not necessary? Didn’t you hear me? I said I didn’t bring anything I could wear to a formal event.”

“Which is fine because you won't be attending the Bash.”

“Wait a minute.” Carly said, her voice rising. The other passengers in the subway glanced over to see who was causing a ruckus. “What do you mean I won't be attending the Bash? The deal was that I go wherever Russ goes.”

“No, the deal was that you're lucky to even be here at all. You're a chaperone. Chaperoning the trip. That doesn't give you carte blanche to go anywhere you want and you’re certainly not going to be attending the Bash.”

Carly lowered her voice. “I was under the impression I would be going.”

“Your impression was incorrect.” Dr. Wentworth said. The loudspeaker announced the next stop. “That would be us.” She stood up and walked briskly to the door, motioning to me and Carly to join her.

Carly wasn’t going to leave it at that. “I don’t think you understand. I need to be at the Bash. I can’t let Russ go alone.”

The doors slid open and Dr. Wentworth stepped out full speed ahead. “Come along,” she said without turning around.

“Did you hear me?” Carly said, tapping her on the shoulder. “If I don’t go, Russ doesn’t go.”

This got Dr. Wentworth’s attention. She stopped, and we practically ran into her. “Now you listen to me,” she said curtly. “This isn’t a negotiation and it isn’t personal. Not everyone is going to the Bash. I’m not going, none of the other chaperones are going. This is a Praetorian Guard mission.” She leaned her head in and lowered her voice. “We’re already taking a risk by involving teenagers with superpowers. We don’t need overly emotional family members there to screw things up. And don’t tell me you’re not overly emotional.” She jabbed a finger in Carly’s direction. “Because clearly you are.” The three of us were standing in the middle of a pedestrian path and oncoming walkers had to go around us. We were the clog in the pipe.

Carly folded her arms. “If I don’t go, Russ doesn’t go. And that’s final.”

Dr. Wentworth sighed. “Well let’s put that to the test, shall we?” She turned her attention to me. “Russ, if your sister is not allowed to go to the Bash, do you still want to go?”

“Absolutely. I’m going no matter what.”

Carly glared at me, but Dr. Wentworth looked vindicated. There was no way I could have made both of them happy, so I had to choose for myself.

“Okay, then,” Dr. Wentworth said. “The subject is officially closed.”

Now that the subject was officially closed, Carly didn’t seem to have any more to say but in one small sign of rebellion she snapped her gum every ten yards or so.

At the hospital we followed the same route as earlier in the day, walking hallway after hallway, going through multiple doors and up an elevator. The Authorized Personnel Only signs were everywhere and we ignored all of them since we were apparently authorized. The guard at the first set of doors nodded when they saw Dr. Wentworth’s laminated card. From there she entered numbers into a punch pad in the elevator. When we exited the elevator we faced what I knew would be the last locked door. Once again, she lined her eyes up in front of a recognition scanner. When a woman’s voice said, “Maxine Wentworth, welcome. Please state today’s password,” I knew what the password would be.

“Russ Becker,” Dr. Wentworth said making each syllable clear and distinct. And then we were through.

Having been there once, everything was now familiar. I knew the corridor and could have found the president’s room myself, but I let Dr. Wentworth take the lead. When we arrived at the room Dr. Karke stood alongside President Bernstein’s bed but he wasn’t the only one in attendance. Sitting in a chair on the other side, holding his wife’s hand, was Mr. Bernstein, the first gentleman of the United States. Dr. Karke said, “Oh here they are now,” as if they’d known we were on our way.

Mr. Bernstein stood up to greet us. I’d seen photos of him many times, but never looking like this. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and he had an overall rumpled appearance like he’d slept in his clothing. His hair too, looked like it could use a combing. And his eyes and nose were red as if he had a bad cold or had been crying. When he caught sight of me, his expression turned to one of hope. “You’re the one who’s going to heal my wife?” he asked, clasping my arm.

“I’m going to do my best, sir.”

Dr. Karke regarded me warily. “This is Russ Becker, his sister Carly, and one of my colleagues, Dr. Wentworth. As I told you before, there are no guarantees—”

“No, no, no.” Mr. Bernstein wagged a finger in his direction. “I don’t want to hear it. I refuse to hear it. We must stay positive.”

Mr. Bernstein spoke directly to me, “You, young man, what have you done?” Seeing my puzzled expression he clarified. “When you healed other people. What problems did they have?”

“What he’s done before is really not relevant to this case,” Dr. Karke said. “Medically this is a difficult situation and I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Why not?” Mr. Bernstein said sharply. “All I’ve got right now is hope. Why would you take that away from me?”

Dr. Karke exhaled and looked down at the president’s immobile body, slowly shaking his head. “I’m not taking anything away from you, sir. Just advising you to keep your expectations realistic.”

“Could you please do me a favor?” Mr. Bernstein said. “Could you please take your realistic expectations and leave the room while the boy works on my wife? I don’t want your negative energy anywhere near her.”

The room filled with awkward silence until Dr. Wentworth said, “I’ll be here to cover for you.” Dr. Karke took his clipboard and left, his hard-soled shoes clicking against the linoleum as he went out the door.

“Now I will ask you again, son, what other healing have you done?”

You know how sometimes you meet someone and you like them right away? I mean like within two or three minutes? That is exactly how I felt about Mr. Bernstein. I wasn’t expecting to like him because his daughter was kind of a snob, but I’m guessing that was no reflection on him. He seemed like a good guy, a man who loved his wife, and someone who knew his own mind. I said, “I’ve healed bullet wounds, teething pain, electrocution, skin cuts, an intestinal problem on an infant, and I once revived an elderly woman from near death after a heart attack.” There might have been more, but those were the ones that came to mind.

“Really?” Mr. Bernstein said with enthusiasm. “Very good. A regular miracle worker you are.” He gripped my shoulder. “And now you are going to heal my wife.”

“I’m going to try my best, sir.”

Dr. Wentworth said, “Russ was here earlier and said it might take a few times before we see results.” I could tell she was trying to do the same thing Dr. Karke had done—let him down gently. She had a better way about it though.

Mr. Bernstein nodded. “Of course. I understand. But before you begin, may I ask a favor of all of you?” He waited until we’d all responded affirmatively and then held out both arms. “Would you join me in prayer?”

On the other side of the bed Carly reached over and took his hand, and indicated with a nod of her head that I should take the other. Dr. Wentworth looked a little uncomfortable, but must have decided to go with it. When we were all joined there were two of us on each side of the bed, our arms linked over the president’s body.

Mr. Bernstein prayed for his wife’s recovery, he prayed for the safety of the nation and for world peace. “And last, but certainly not least,” he said, “If it’s your will, please help Russ Becker to do your good work.”

Mr. Bernstein’s eyes were closed and it was quiet for a minute until Carly said, “Amen,” more out of reflex than anything else, I think, because she hadn’t been inside a church in years. Dr. Wentworth repeated, “Amen,” and then we let go of each other’s hands and the praying was done.

Mr. Bernstein said, “Go ahead, Russ. Do what you need to do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Nadia

When we got home from the hospital I dug out the business card PG officials had left behind the day they’d tried to get my mother to listen to their presentation. My mom had thrown the card out, but I’d retrieved it from the trash and hidden it in my sock drawer. No one ever looks underneath the socks, at least not in my house.

The card looked official, embossed and glossy. At the top it said: National High School Student Initiative – Rewarding High School Students for Distinguished Academic Achievement. Underneath was the guy’s name, “Preston Moore,” along with his number and email address. The NHSSI website address was at the very bottom. I flipped over the card and read where someone had written, “We’d love to provide Nadia with the opportunities she deserves—completely funded by the NHSSI of course.”

I don’t think my mom had even glanced at it before she tossed it out, but I’d read it over dozens of time. Read it and wished I could go on the trip and be with Russ. And now I could.

When I ran downstairs to give the card to my dad I found him sitting quietly on the couch, the television remote in one hand like he was considering using it. I handed the card to him and he set the remote down to look. “Very good, Nadia. I’ll call in the morning.”

I plunked myself down on the other end of the couch. “Thanks, Dad.” My mom’s cat, Barry, walked into the room, let out one lonely yowl and then went into the kitchen and did the same thing, then moved on to the next room. Yowl, move, repeat. Calling for my mom.

Dad looked in the direction of the yowling, sighed heavily, rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “What a nightmare this has been.”

“I know.” I knew where he was coming from, but I wanted to say that I thought it was good my mom was getting help, that things had been going downhill for a long time and it was too much for him to keep on top of, but I sensed he wouldn’t agree with me. He liked saving her, being the one to keep things steady. And he loved her too, crazy as that sounded, even to me. She wasn’t always so mean and unbalanced. Sometimes she could be sweet and thoughtful. The problem was that you never knew which side of her was going to pop up until after it came out. And it could switch just as quickly.

He opened his eyes and held the card between two fingers. “You don’t mind going away? I don’t want you to feel like you’re being banished. None of this is your fault, you know.”

“No, I don’t mind,” I said. “You know Mallory? She’ll be there.”

He nodded. “Nice girl, that Mallory.”

“And I have a good shot at getting a scholarship through this organization. That would be good.”

“You deserve a scholarship. You work hard, always studying and learning. I am so very proud of you, Nadia. I know I don’t say it often enough.”

I didn’t remember him ever saying it, but this didn’t seem like the right time to bring that up. As I watched he rested his head in his hands again and began trembling ever so slightly. And then the trembling became shaking. I realized with horror that my father was crying. I had never seen him cry and it was unsettling because he was supposed to be the steady, strong one. If he fell apart, what would happen to me and my mom?

I slid next to him and put my arm over his back. “It’ll be okay, Dad, you’ll see.”

He coughed. “You think so?”

“We’ve been on a downward slide for awhile now. Once Mom is on the right medication and she sees I can leave the house and not have anything catastrophic happen, she can relax and maybe let go a little bit. Who knows, maybe I can even go out with friends or have them over here. We could be like a normal family. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Dad looked at me amazed. “Would you even want to have friends come over?”

“Well sure. Of course.”

“Really?”

“Well yes, you know that.”

“But your mother always told me…never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, keep going. What did she say?”

“I was under the impression that socializing was extremely stressful for you. That you felt safer at home with all the alarms and everything. So nothing could get to you.”

“Oh Dad.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “Have you ever known a girl my age that wanted to hang out with her parents and the cat night after night?”

“I guess not.” His voice was sad. “It’s just after you were attacked on the bus, you seemed to prefer to stay home. Right?”

“That was four years ago, Dad. And since then I’ve been to—” I stopped to think, almost saying ‘Peru’ but catching myself, “Miami and coped just fine.”

“Yes, you did.” He set the business card on the coffee table. “First thing tomorrow we’ll see if the offer still stands. If it does, you will go on this trip. That will give me time to figure out what your mother needs. You’re absolutely sure you don’t mind going?”

“I’m sure.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Russ

I leaned over the president and held my palms over her head, trying to get a reading on what was happening underneath the dark hair, pale skin, and the hard shell of her skull bone. I sensed that beneath the layers, she was more aware than the doctors gave her credit for. She’d heard her husband’s prayer and drawn comfort from it, and even added a prayer of her own. Mentally she’d been able to tabulate who was in the room and where each person was located. There was nothing wrong with her brain, it just wasn’t able to send signals to the rest of her body just yet.

I was hyper aware of my surroundings as well. When I heard Mr. Bernstein say to Carly, “Is there something we should be doing to help?” I sensed the slight shake of her head, as if the movement created a stir of air which then radiated out to me.

I closed my eyes and willed my energy to enter the president. I pulled the love I felt from her husband and directed it toward her, so that the damaged areas were bombarded with positive rays. Mr. Bernstein hadn’t been too far off making Dr. Karke leave the room. There was no time for negativity here.

Normally if you hold your arms out zombie-like, they eventually get tired, but when I was doing the healing work it was another thing altogether. Hard to put into words. I almost felt like I was channeling energy from somewhere else and it was just coming through me. Maybe the lux spiral was the originator and I was the connection. My arms didn’t get tired because they were being held up by energy from outside of my body. The energy radiated off my hands and jumped the gap between me and the president. All of her muscles, tissue, blood vessels, and bones, were waiting to be nourished, and the places that needed it the most absorbed the energy and went to work repairing the damage. I felt a sigh coming from the president. At first I thought it was just a thought in her head, but when Mr. Bernstein gasped, I knew it had been audible.

“It’s working,” he said excitedly. “She’s coming to.”

Dr. Wentworth tried to shush him, but he wouldn’t be quieted. “Hang in there, dear,” Mr. Bernstein said, “we’re coming for you.”

It was funny he phrased it that way because that’s exactly how it seemed to me too—that her essence had fallen into an abyss and needed a hand up. We’re coming for you. Metaphorically she grabbed his words and my energy and it became the rope she needed to claw her way to the surface. It took everything she had, but with great effort, she was able to open her eyes. For a moment, I saw the room as she did. Everything bleary like she was looking through a windshield smeared with Vaseline. When she located her husband, her heart surged with joy.

Mr. Bernstein kept talking to her, holding her hand and weeping with happiness, but I didn’t stop. I moved slowly over the rest of her body, pausing when I sensed there was a need, covering every single damaged inch, until finally my bucket was empty. When I was done I stood up straight and shook out my hands.

“Finished?” Dr. Wentworth asked and when she saw my answer was yes, she pressed a button above the bed. “I need the entire team in here stat.”

Dr. Karke, who must have been right outside the door the entire time, came running in first. Instinctively, Carly and I moved back to make room for the doctors and nurses who rushed in. They exclaimed over the fact that President Bernstein was awake and responsive and began talking medical speak.

“BP one ten over seventy.”

“Pulse is steady and normal!”

“Temperature ninety-nine degrees.”

The staff surrounded her, checking her reflexes, calling out vitals, and generally just examining her like she was an unusual specimen. Her husband had been pushed back, his spot claimed by a white-jacketed woman who was placing a stethoscope on the president’s chest. “Steady heartbeat!” she proclaimed, as if she was adding something of value to the dialogue.

Dr. Karke got out a small flashlight and checked the patient’s pupils, then raised his pointer finger. “Madame President, can you follow the movement of my finger?” He went from side to side. “Very good.”

I knew what a gargantuan effort it took just to open her eyes. I’d felt how she’d heroically struggled to the surface when it would have been so much easier for her to stay submerged. And I instinctively knew that at this moment all this commotion was way too much for her. “Enough!” I said. “She needs to rest.”

Dr. Karke turned his head and frowned at me. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Becker. We’ll take it from here.” Just like that, the guy totally blew me off. I stood there, with my mouth open thinking: you’ve got to be kidding me. They’d had the president for three days and there had been no change in her condition. I had two short sessions with her and she was on the road back to recovery. And he was telling me they’d take it from here?

My back had been against the wall but now I stepped forward and forced my way into the inner circle. “Stop! All of you need to stop right now!” I held my hands over the patient and got a small faint feeling of gratitude, confirming my hunch. “This is too much for her. If you keep going, you’re going to slow down her progress. Her body needs quiet time and rest to repair itself.”

“With all due respect, Russ,” Dr. Karke said, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think—”

“Do what the boy says.” Mr. Bernstein’s voice thundered from behind me. A second later he’d forced his way forward and was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder in solidarity. “My wife needs quiet. I want this circus out of here.”

“Mr. Bernstein, it’s important that we assess your wife—” Dr. Karke spoke hurriedly but he still didn’t get to finish.

“Now,” Mr. Bernstein said. “All of you. Out. I will call if you are needed.”

Everyone froze looking from Dr. Karke to Mr. Bernstein and back again, waiting to see if the doctor would counter. When he threw up his hands in defeat, they filed out of the room one by one, leaving Carly, Mr. Bernstein and myself behind.

Like most of the country, I’d always thought of Mr. Bernstein as the man behind the woman. Having a wife who was so educated, strong-minded, and accomplished, I’d sort of assumed he was a mild-mannered guy, a pushover. But I could see now how wrong that kind of thinking was. His kind of strength didn’t need to be front and center, but it was definitely there, ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice.

“Much better now,” he said, to no one in particular, rubbing his forehead in relief. “I can hear myself think.” His gaze was on his wife who now looked like she was sleeping; he stroked her cheek with one finger. “Will she open her eyes again?”

“Yes,” I said. “It took a lot of effort for her to do it the first time. She just needs time.”

“You’ll be back?” he asked.

“First thing tomorrow,” I promised.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Russ

As Carly and I were leaving the room, Dr. Karke asked if he might have a word with me. “I was hoping to speak with you alone,” he said, looking nervously at Carly. “If you can spare a few minutes. Please?” After being yelled at by Mr. Bernstein, he'd suddenly become super polite.

“Is there a reason I can't be part of this?” Carly said, her eyebrows raised. It cracked me up that she sounded like our mother. My opinion of Carly was changing for the better all the time. She used to seem flaky and unpredictable, changing jobs, apartments, and cell phones, but now I knew that many of her actions were precipitated by a fear of the Associates. I had been guilty of judging her based on that and the way she dressed. The jeans with the bedazzled back pockets and the long hair, both of which made her look like a teenager from behind. Even though she was Frank's mom, I never saw her as a grown-up until recently. It's like she grew up before my eyes. “Is there something you're not telling me?” she probed. “Something you want Russ to do that I wouldn’t like?”

“Nothing like that,” Dr. Karke assured her. “Just a few questions about the president's recovery. It's technically classified since it regards national interest. I was instructed to speak only to Russ about this matter.”

She gave me a hard look, and must have decided his explanation was plausible. “Well, okay, but don't keep him too long.”

Dr. Karke said, “Ten minutes or so. If you go down the hallway and to the left, you'll find a waiting area. We'll come and get you when we're done.”

Carly hoisted her purse over her shoulder and headed that way, giving me one last forlorn look as she went. We weren't allowed cell phones in PGDC and didn't need money, so I had no idea why she carried that purse everywhere she went.

“Right this way, Russ,” Dr. Karke said, heading in the opposite direction. "This won't take long."

We walked toward the elevator, but turned down a side hallway I hadn’t noticed on the way in. The walls were lined with fake windows showing outdoor scenes. The sunshine slanted in, just like you’d see above ground. “Are these images computer generated,” I said pointing, “or are they from cameras somewhere?”

He didn’t pause. “CG,” he said. “The sunlight coming through the windows moves in real time in order to regulate our circadian rhythm. Even though we’re underground, steps have been taken to mimic a natural environment. If you spend too much time in our outdoor area, you can actually get the equivalent of a sunburn. Sometimes they’ll have it set for a breezy day or it will mist or drizzle. After awhile most people forget they’re underground.”

“No kidding.” I kept up with him step by step. “That’s amazing.”

He shot me a sideways glance. “No one told you this?”

“No, we just got into an elevator and went down and they were like, ‘now you’re in PGDC’.”

“Okay, here we are,” he said, opening a windowed door labeled with Dr. Wentworth’s name. Inside the room, a man stood with his back to us, looking at the framed photos on the opposite wall. I sized up the room and saw standard office furniture: mahogany desk, bookcase, and filing cabinet. In one corner, a pedestal held a large luminous globe. Next to the doorway was a tan-colored leather couch, with a bedroom pillow on one end, making me think Dr. Wentworth occasionally slept here.

The man turned around when we walked in and I had an immediate flash of recognition. The last time I’d met this guy he’d been wearing a white lab jacket embroidered with his name, “Dr. David Hofstetter.” He’d lost the lab jacket somewhere along the way, and now wore a dress shirt and suit coat, but otherwise he looked the same—dark hair, thin nose, and deep-set eyes. I imagined my nephew Frank would look a lot like him when he grew up.

“David?” I said in disbelief.

His smile was wide. “Russ!” He came over and pulled me into a bear hug. “Good to see you again. I hear you’ve been doing your magic on the president.”

“Trying my best.”

“Atta boy! I told them you could do it. Didn’t I, Karke?”

Dr. Karke, who’d been standing quietly next to the door said, “Yes, you assuredly did.”

David said, “Thanks for bringing Russ here. I won’t keep him for very long. If you want to come back in ten minutes or so, that should work out fine.”

It was amazing to me how people around here said things without coming right out and saying them. You can get lost now is what David really meant, but he managed to tangle it up in all kinds of nice words so it came off well.

“Very well,” Dr. Karke said, slipping out into the hallway. David reached over and shut the door. I could see through the glass that Karke was walking away from the room, but he was taking his sweet time about it.

“No one told me you would be here,” I said. The last time I’d seen him we were in South America. “You told me there was a big mission coming up, but I didn’t think I’d be meeting the president.”

“Of course we didn’t know about the coma until it happened,” he said leaning against the desk. “But the rest of it is still the same. The Associates are moving in and getting closer. If they manage to overthrow this president and install their man, it will be end times for all of us, Russ. A dictatorship. And those who don’t go along with what they want will be wiped out. Have they explained that to you?”

“I know all that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Sorry. Of course you were briefed. I didn’t mean to be patronizing.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He said, “I wanted to see you before the Bash, so you won’t be surprised to see me there.”

“You’re going to be at the Bash?”

“Yes, in a professional capacity,” he said. “One more person to help keep the first family safe. My powers aren’t what they used to be, but I can still do a pretty good blast if I have to. You want to see?” I nodded and he pointed to the globe in the corner. At first nothing happened but eventually I saw a thin stream of electricity shoot from the end of his finger to the globe. The impact made the globe spin around, first in slow circles, then faster and faster. A high-pitched thrum filled the room until the moment he stopped.

“Pretty good,” I said approvingly.

“I know it’s nothing compared to what you can do. Hell, it’s nothing compared to what I used to be able to do.” He shrugged. “You lose power as you get older, you know.”

“I know. I heard.”

“Still, if I was standing close enough, that amount of electricity could down a man, or at least bring him to his knees. And that’s what you’d need in an emergency. Anyway.”

I sat down on the couch so I was looking up at him. He’d stopped, but it seemed like one of those momentary pauses that didn’t require a reply, so I waited.

“The real reason I wanted to see you is that I wanted to know about Carly and Frank.” The statement just hung there. He’d suddenly become nervous, resting his backside against the desk, which caused Dr. Wentworth’s pencil cup to knock over. Pens and pencils spilled out, several of them rolling off the desk and onto the carpet. Embarrassed, he leaned over and scooped them up.

“Carly and Frank are okay,” I said. I wasn’t going to give him too much. Don’t get me wrong. I liked David Hofstetter a lot. The guy had saved my life in Peru, and he seemed to be honest and have good intentions and all that. But I wasn’t okay with how he’d broken my sister’s heart by faking his own death, reappearing a few years later under the guise of being his own cousin, impregnating Carly and then not being around for Frank’s childhood. Add that to the fact that he’d been spying on them for years because he wanted to see them (which seriously freaked Carly out every time she came across a bug or camera planted in her car or apartment), and there was no way we were going to be really friendly.

“Just okay?” He turned back to face me.

“Okay and doing fine.”

“You didn’t tell Carly you met me?”

“What do you think? You’re the one monitoring her apartment. Did you notice anything different?” Yeah, I knew I sounded like an ass, but it was because I was offended. I’d told him I wouldn’t tell and I didn’t tell. I didn’t say a word to my sister, even though I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do and it killed me to keep the truth from her. And now he doubted me?

“I stopped having her apartment bugged after you told me how much it upset her. Listening to them used to be the high point of my day. It feels empty not to have that anymore. It’s been killing me not to be part of their life.”

He sounded sincere, so how could he be so clueless? Unbelievable. I swallowed to keep my anger in check. I needed to stay level to make my point. “David, I hate to tell you this, but you never were part of their life. Watching and listening to them is not even close. You’re like the guy who watches TV and feels like he’s friends with the characters on the show. You feel like you know them, but it’s all one way. They don’t know you. You’re nothing to them.” I’d been picking up speed as I went. I knew I’d gone too far with that last sentence when he flinched like I hit him.

“Ouch.” He squinted and looked away from me, having acquired a sudden interest in arranging the pencils in a jar.

I don’t have any trouble saying I’m sorry when I really am, but I wasn’t going to say it this time. What I’d said was cruel, maybe, but it was true. Sitting at a monitor watching your son grow up is no substitute for being there. I’d been the one Frank had asked, “Why doesn’t my dad love me?” Try explaining that one to a ten-year-old kid. I knew his pain, and I knew Carly’s pain too. No way was David Hofstetter getting off the hook.

“Okay,” he said finally. “So I screwed up. I can’t go back in time, Russ. There is no rewind. What would you suggest I do?”

“Man up right now,” I said pointing. “Carly is just down the hall. Go talk to her, tell her everything.”

David looked down at his feet. “She will hate me.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess it’s better that she thinks you’re dead.”

“You’re young, Russ. You think things can be fixed, that I can go have a heart-to-heart talk with Carly and that she’ll be mad at first, but then later she’ll forgive me. Then I’ll move back to Edgewood and get a job and slide into Frank’s life and become the dad he deserves to have. He’ll buy me a gift for Father’s Day and Carly and I will get married. We’ll come up with an excuse for my absence to tell other people. We’ll say I survived the car accident but I had amnesia or something. People will think it sounds fishy at first, but over time they’ll accept it. And then maybe Carly and I will have another child, maybe a girl this time. Carly can quit her job and stay home, or go back to school and follow her bliss. And everyone will be happy and everything will be fine.” His mouth turned upward, but his eyes weren’t smiling.

“Yeah, that could happen,” I said. “Why not?”

“Because life doesn’t happen that way, Russ. Sometimes it’s just too late. Too many years and the wounds are just too deep.”

“Still. You could try.”

“And I will. But not today.”

“If not today, then when?” I asked.

“I need to get through this week first. After the Bash I promise I’ll talk to Carly.”

“Are you sure you won’t chicken out?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“If you don’t, I will.” I couldn’t keep lying to my sister. My conscience was killing me, and besides, as Carly had pointed out, I was a terrible liar.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Russ

When Carly and I were finished at the hospital, we were escorted to a different building and shown our new luxury suites. Some mysterious person, or maybe a crew of people, had transported all our stuff from the hotel to our new suites, and it was already set up like we’d been staying there for ages. My toothbrush stood at attention in a cup in the bathroom, and my clothes, which now looked pressed, hung in the closet and were arranged a lot more neatly than if I had done it. Each suite was like an apartment with homey touches like fresh flowers on every flat surface, and food and assorted beverages in the fridge. It felt a little creepy, actually, like I’d crashed someone’s house and they might come back any minute.

My luxury suite was conveniently located down the hall from Jameson and Mallory’s, while Carly and the other chaperones were on the other end of the building. When Carly asked about it, Dr. Wentworth said, “We need to establish some space between now and the Bash. These young people will be involved in a potentially dangerous situation and I don’t want their heads cluttered up with worrying about other people’s expectations.”

Carly had a lot to say on that subject, but she knew enough not to argue. I did hear her muttering to Rosie and Dr. Anton about it as they headed down the hall to check out what Rosie called, “their new digs.”

I’d just started looking around when I heard a loud thumping on my door, accompanied by the sound of a girl’s voice. I opened it to find Jameson and Mallory out in the hallway. Jameson pushed past me and came right in with Mallory on his heels.

Right away I asked the question that had been nagging me. “Did you give the comic book to the Praetorian Guard guy?”

“Of course,” Mallory said. “I told you I’d take care of it, didn’t I? Have I ever let you down before?”

“Did you emphasize how important it was and tell him about how Mr. Specter could see the future?”

“All that and more, so you don’t have to give it another thought.”

“And they said they’d amp up security so none of that would happen?”

“Yes, they’ll amp up security so none of that will happen.” Mallory patted my arm and walked past me, stopping in the center of the room. “Can you believe this place?” She raised her arms above her head and gracefully did an impromptu pirouette. When we’d had our dance lessons with Prima Donna she’d mentioned she’d had ballet lessons as a little girl. I could see her in a tutu at age ten, front and center at a recital. “We’re like celebrities.”

“I won’t lie,” Jameson said, giving me a jab. “I’m not going to miss sharing a room with you, Russ. Your snoring made me crazy.”

I knew I didn’t snore because if I did, my nephew would have mentioned it ages ago. Frank had been sleeping over since he was a little kid and I can’t tell you how many times he’d come into my room to wake me up during thunderstorms or after a bad dream. And believe me, Frank Shrapnel Becker was not a kid to hold back from saying something just to be nice. No. I didn’t snore, or I definitely would have heard about it. Before I got a chance to say as much though, Mallory crossed the room and opened the doors of a large wardrobe. “Did you check out your formal clothes for the Bash? I have four different dresses to pick from, while all your suits look about the same,” Mallory said, stepping back to reveal several tuxedos and white shirts hanging within. “You guys are going to look like James Bond.”

Jameson said, “I’ll be Jameson Bond, his good-looking nephew. Russ can be my manservant.” He snapped his fingers and switched to a British accent. “Russell, I need you to lay out my clothing. And then, mix me a martini, shaken not stirred.”

I peered into the wardrobe and rifled through the hanging suits. “Wow. I didn’t even know that stuff was in there,” I said. “We just got back from the hospital.”

“How’s that going?” Mallory asked, as if just remembering. “Is President Bernstein healed now?”

Even Jameson seemed interested in hearing how the president was doing, so I gave them the lowdown, telling them first about the annoying doctor and my meeting with David Hofstetter afterward.

“David’s going to be at the Bash?” Jameson said. “Doing what?” His tone implied that we had things covered at the Bash and wouldn’t need any extra help.

“He’ll be doing the same thing we are—protecting the president and Layla.”

“Assuming the president is well enough to go,” Jameson said.

“She’ll be there,” I said, with far more confidence than I felt. “Believe me, she’s almost there now.” For someone who wasn’t that great at lying, I managed to really bring it when goaded by Jameson. I sincerely hoped the president would make it to the Bash, for a lot of reasons, but especially because if she wasn’t recovered by then, I’d never hear the end of it from Jameson.

Mallory plunked herself back on my couch, slipped off her sandals, and put her feet up on the coffee table. “So you’re not going to tell your sister that David is here?”

“He said he’d come clean after the Bash. I said if he didn’t tell her then, I would.” I sat down next to her and put my feet up as well. It didn’t seem like the kind of table you were supposed to put your feet on, but then again, we were in a secret city below our nation’s capital. The rules on what was allowed were getting a little fuzzy.

“So how’s he going to protect the president?” Jameson said.

“His superpower is that he can shoot electricity,” I said.

“Like you?” Mallory asked.

“Almost. His powers have faded a lot, but he can still give someone a good jolt if he has to.”

Jameson said, “But can he do this?” He tilted his head in our direction and a second later, the coffee table, the very one our feet rested on, began to rise, forcing our legs up to an uncomfortable angle.

“Stop it, Jameson,” Mallory said in a flirty girl way. “Put it down!” Her laughter contradicted her words and fueled him to keep going. In some ways he was such a kid.

“Put it down,” I said, jumping up off the couch. I pressed down on the coffee table with both hands but I couldn’t move it, no matter how hard I pushed. “Now.”

“Not going to do it. Can’t make me.”

“I’m not in the mood, Jameson. Just put it down.”

“Yeah, I don’t take orders from you.” He made the coffee table shimmy back and forth, which really made Mallory laugh.

He had pushed my patience to its limits, apparently not caring that this was my room. A guy should be able to pull rank in his own space. “That’s enough,” I said. “We get it. Just put it down.”

“Make. Me.” He became an orchestra conductor, his hands directing the coffee table to tilt and spin.

“Last chance, Jameson. Knock. It. Off.” I raised my voice, making the message clear.

“Uh unh,” he said with a shake of his head. The coffee table was halfway to the ceiling now.

I blasted a lightning bolt over his head, and it hit the far wall with a sizzle. The electricity briefly made contact with the top of Jameson’s head and the smell of burnt hair filled the room. The coffee table dropped to the floor with a clatter.

“Becker, you moron!” Jameson shouted. He put a hand up to his head. “You could have killed me!”

“I didn’t even come close to killing you.” It was true that for a split second I’d wanted to kill him, but admirably, I’d held back. “I warned you to stop.”

“Do you know how hot that was?” he said. “And my hair is scorched, thanks to you. How are we going to explain that?”

Mallory got up to look at the top of his head and he bent over obligingly to make it easier for her to look. “Your hair is burnt off all right,” she said, running her fingers through it. “Yuck. Smells terrible.”

“Is my scalp burned?” he asked. “I feel like it’s burned. I bet it’s red and blistering.”

“Your scalp looks just a little pink,” she said. “But you’re definitely going to need a haircut before the Bash. A nice military cut would get rid of all the burned ends.”

“Great. Just great.” Jameson’s mood turned sullen. “Now I’m going to look like a freak at the Bash.”

“No one cares how you look. They don’t care how any of us look,” I pointed out. “They only care about what we can do.” To make my point I held out my hands and began juggling with a ball of sparks. I tossed it from hand to hand so quickly that it blurred like the lights on an amusement park ride at night.

“Nice, Russ,” Mallory said, marveling at the light show. “You could headline in Vegas.”

I let the ball fizzle out and bowed dramatically toward Mallory, who applauded loudly. I said, “Thank you. Thank you very much.” My best Elvis impression. I even curled my lip.

Jameson let out an exasperated sigh. “Good boy, Russ. I can see you’re very proud of yourself, so good for you. But guess what? I have a few surprises up my sleeve too.” He gestured with a flick of his finger. “Mallory, go sit on the couch.”

“Let’s not do this again,” I protested, but my words were ignored.

Mallory went to sit on the couch, her legs tucked underneath. “This okay?” she asked, smoothing her hair.

“Come on, Jameson. That’s enough.” I shouldn’t have blasted him, I saw that now. Instead of stopping him, he’d turned it into a competition.

“Don’t worry about it, Russ. It’s nothing bad. You’re going to like this.” Jameson turned his attention back to Mallory. “Ready?”

Mallory leaned back like a magician’s assistant, ready for the next trick. “I’m ready.”

“Watch this,” Jameson said, holding his palms up and wiggling his fingers. “Couchicus, Upicus!” I couldn’t look at both of them at once, so my eyes had been on Jameson, the one most likely to do something crazy. When I glanced back to the couch, it was already hovering a few inches off the floor. Mallory’s mouth dropped open in delight. The couch with Mallory on it had to weigh a few hundred pounds. I’d never seen Jameson move anything anywhere near that size.

“How are you doing this?” I asked.

Jameson’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the couch. It inched upward until Mallory’s head was almost to the ceiling. She pressed her hand against its surface and Jameson dropped the couch in response. It became a game. He’d raise her up, she’d push against the ceiling and it would go down, and the whole thing would repeat. Mallory said, “Don’t drop me, Jameson!”

“I would never drop you, Miss Mallory,” he said, bringing the couch gently to the floor. “Your safety is my only concern.” Somehow he’d acquired a Southern accent.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” Mallory said, playing along. She leaped off the couch like a kid jumping off a swing. “I’m much obliged.”

He bowed low. “My pleasure, truly.”

I said, “No, seriously, how long have you been able to do this?”

Mallory threw her arms around Jameson’s neck. “Isn’t he good? He’s been practicing on the sly. He moved a refrigerator back home.”

Jameson’s mouth spread into a toothy, satisfied smile. He said to Mallory, “I think I finally impressed our friend Russ. And you know that’s not easy to do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Nadia

I went to my room, shut the door, and lowered the blinds before settling back onto my bed. My mind buzzed with everything that had happened lately: my mom in the hospital and my dad giving me permission to go to Washington D.C. to join the others. I didn’t want to be happy about my mother’s breakdown, but I was a little. She would get the medical attention she needed and I would be released from being confined to my house. My prison door would be swinging wide open very soon. Now all I needed was permission from the Praetorian Guard to meet up with the rest of the group. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility that they’d say no. That would really suck to be able to go but have it be too late. I put it out of my mind, settled back on my pillow to get comfortable, but not to sleep. I was way too hyped up to do that and I needed to talk to Russ.

I let myself sink into the bed and willed myself to enter the zone. The world faded away and I let out a sigh of relief when I felt it working. Not being able to do it before had made me doubt I would ever be able to do it again, but now that I was feeling more relaxed it had to work. It just had to. I thought the words: Take me to Russ Becker.

I soared through the air, across land and time. Minutes and miles meant nothing. The way I traveled couldn’t be measured in increments. I wasn't grounded anymore. I was an angel, a ghost, a thought, a wisp of air. And the sensation? Indescribable freedom.

When I started my descent deep into the earth, I wasn't worried like I’d been the first time it happened. Underneath was where Russ was, so it's where I wanted to be. Once I got to the city beneath the city, my spirit flew like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, but this wasn't Never Never Land and I wasn't lost.

Russ's room was dark but I could make out his form under the covers. He wasn’t in the same place he was the night before. This space looked bigger and he was alone. Better, I thought, not to have anyone else around. No Jameson in sight. I moved closer and his face came into view. His beautiful face. I could look at him all night and for the rest of my life. Unaware of my staring eyes he slept, quietly and deeply. I watched intently as he exhaled in and out. Peaceful breathing, I thought. At one point he smiled and rubbed his hand over his nose like he had an itch.

My ethereal form nestled up against him, waiting for him to sense my presence, but minutes went by and that didn't happen. Instead he slept the sleep of the truly exhausted. Working on the president must have worn him out.

Russ. My thought waves nudged at him. Russ, can you hear me?

He sighed audibly and sounded pleased. I had to think that on some level, he knew I was there. I let my mind meld with his. Russ, it’s me—Nadia. I’m here with you now. Can you hear me? I couldn’t break into his thoughts, but I tapped into his emotional essence and grabbed hold of three things floating around his consciousness. He felt good about what was happening here in PGDC. He knew he was capable of performing what needed to be done on this mission. And he missed me.

I pulled back and looked at the outline of his face in the dim light of the room. If I’d actually been there I would have traced his profile with my finger, starting at the top of his forehead and ending at his strong jaw-line. In Peru, a woman named Elena had said he looked like a young John F. Kennedy. I hadn’t really seen it then, but I saw it now. Not a dead-on resemblance, but a little bit the same. Like JFK, Russ had the air of someone who would someday be very important. The potential for greatness was obvious. Russ, I said. My mother is in the hospital and my dad is letting me come join you. Russ didn’t show any signs of having heard me. Man, he was out of it.

In the end I decided to let him sleep. Soon enough he’d know I was coming, or maybe when he woke up my words would linger, like something he’d heard in a dream.

I wasn’t quite ready to go home just yet. I wandered from room to room looking at the ornate framed pictures and the vases of flowers everywhere. Fancy. More like something a woman would like than a guy. The furniture was fussy and stiff. Nothing you’d flop down on after a hard day’s work, that’s for sure. The oversized bathroom had a shower and a separate, deep tub. A lot of room for just one person. This place was more like a suite or an apartment than a hotel room. Eventually I got bored of checking it out and I went back to Russ’s bedside. Good-bye Russ. I said. I love you. I’m leaving now but I’ll be back later.

I saw his lips move. I didn’t hear a sound, but I felt the words as they came out. I love you, Nadia.

When I left his side I intended to go home, but at the last minute, I had a sudden thought. Mallory. Back home Mallory had said my astral projecting to her had creeped her out, but since she now was in a strange place on a stressful mission, it would be different, I thought. Who wouldn’t want to hear from a friend in a difficult time? Just to stay on the safe side, I decided not to reveal myself until I was sure she was up to having a visitor. If she wasn’t alone or was showering or whatever, I could just slip away and she’d never know the difference.

Take me to Mallory, I thought. Like smoke drifting through an open window, I slipped into Mallory’s suite. The place was dark except for a light shining through a slightly open door. Doors, slightly open or otherwise, never held me back. I slipped into the room and saw Mallory sitting on the floor of the bathroom in front of the toilet. The room was dimly illuminated by the light above the shower. I saw she was only wearing a camisole top and matching underwear, both lacy and dark pink in color. It was a very personal scene and I almost drew back, the equivalent of saying, ‘oops, sorry!’ but I stopped when I noticed what she was doing. Mallory had some kind of pamphlet or notebook in her hand and she was burning the pages one by one. She’d tear off a page, hold it over the toilet, light it with a match, and then let it drop into the water when it was nearly consumed by the flame.

She hummed as she did this little ritual. The song was nothing I knew and I didn’t recognize the look in her eyes either. Mallory was most definitely not herself. She didn’t look tired or scared or angry. Her gaze was vacant, but focused. She’d tear off a page slowly and carefully, set it on fire, then drop it into the water with a flourish. I moved forward and saw that the pages were from a comic book, but it wasn’t one I knew. Once I was closer I could see it wasn’t a traditional comic book. It looked homemade, the kind small presses put out by indie artists. Alternative comics, I thought they were called. Mallory hummed and ripped and set pages on fire and dropped them into the toilet and flushed. She did this over and over again, sitting on the tile floor of a bathroom wearing only her pink underwear. I had no idea what to make of this.

When she was done, she brushed the soot off her front and gave the toilet one final flush, watching in fascination as it swirled downward. Before leaving the room, she washed her hands and stopped to check her face in the mirror. When she brushed her hair and smiled in a satisfied way, she looked like her old self again, my friend, the one who had befriended me at the homeschooler’s social during the time I had no friends at all. I sighed with relief. Mallory wasn’t possessed after all. There had to be a plausible explanation.

I thought I’d wait until she got dressed or into pajamas or whatever and come into view then. Maybe she’d explain about the burning pages, or maybe not. I’d let her bring it up. I went into the bedroom area and waited for her to come.

Before long, she came strolling out of the bathroom, right through me and into the arms of a man who stood in the shadows. I felt a jolt of shock, my own personal horror show moment.

“I did it,” she announced, resting her palms on his chest.

“Good girl.” His voice was a purr of approval. I tried to see his face, but it was hidden in the dark. It wasn’t Jameson, I knew that much. This voice was older and deeper. Familiar too, but I couldn’t place it.

Mallory said, “Every page destroyed.”

“You’ve passed the test of perfect obedience,” he said. “And you know what you need to do next? At the Bash?”

“I know what I must do,” she said.

“And you’ll do it?” His hands slid over her shoulders and from the light coming from the bathroom I saw hairy knuckles and a gold watch.

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t let us down, Mallory, we’re depending on you.”

“You can depend on me, Commander.”

I did a double take. Commander? I realized, with a start, that I only knew of one commander, and that was the head of the Associates. But that couldn’t be right. Why would she be half naked and hanging out with the enemy?

“Good,” the commander said. “Now go get the necklace you were given at the airport.”

Mallory walked out of the room in slow, measured steps and headed toward the bedroom. Again I strained to see the man’s face, but he hadn’t moved an inch and was still hidden in the dark. I followed Mallory into the bedroom and watched as she turned on the bedside lamp before going to unzip a compartment in her suitcase. By the time she looked up, a necklace dangling off her fingertips, I’d decided to confront her.

Hello Mallory. I was right in front of her, but I purposely didn’t become visible. She could hear me, but she couldn’t see me.

I thought she’d jump out of her skin, but she didn’t. Her eyes were dull, her voice nonchalant. “I can’t talk right now Nadia,” she muttered, very quietly. She gestured to the other room with a nod of her head. “I’m doing important work right now. Come back later.”

Mallory, what is going on? She ignored me and kept going. Her deliberate, slow pace reminded me of the way sleep walkers moved in movies. And that’s when it hit me. Mallory had been brainwashed. Someone in the Associates had used mind control on a girl who had incredible mind control powers herself. And as a trusted member of the Praetorian Guard, she could work against the rest of us, giving the other side secrets and using her powers for their side while pretending to be on ours.

Still hiding my presence, I followed her back into the other room. I saw now that it was a sitting area almost exactly like the one in Russ’s suite. “Here it is,” Mallory said, handing over the necklace, a white rose dangling on a chain.

The commander did something to the rose and I heard a click. “When you press on this side and hold it,” he said, “a tiny needle pops out. Like this, see.” Mallory leaned over and watched as he repeated the motion. He asked, “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said robotically.

“And you know what you need to do with it?”

“Yes.”

“Just one quick prick, that’s all it takes.” He turned the necklace around. “When you press on the opposite side a different needle comes out. That is the antidote. You won’t need that. It’s for emergency purposes only. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“After you use the first needle the way we talked about, you’ll need to distance yourself from the necklace. Put it in another lady’s bag or leave it under a napkin or whatever. Just get rid of it.”

“But Mrs. Whitehouse gave it to me.” Mallory’s confusion came to the surface. “She said I could keep it always.”

“I know, I know,” he said, like soothing a small child. “But we’ll get you another one. A much better necklace than this one. I’ll even let you pick it out. Any necklace you want. Would you like that?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Now let’s go over the plan one more time. You know how to use the needle in the necklace?”

“Yes.”

Don’t listen to him, Mallory! I sent a message right to her, but she showed no sign of hearing me.

“Wait until you see the Specteron,” he said proudly. “I’m unveiling it that night. Some say it was impossible, but I’ve managed to improve on Tesla’s design. The particle beam is most impressive. If you want to live, you’ll manage to get behind it. Those in front of it will be getting a not-so-nice surprise. Do you understand?”

“I’ll need to get behind it if I want to live.”

Oh Mallory, how can you be part of this?

“Have you gotten control of Jameson?”

“Yes, I think so.”

No! Jameson is your friend. Do not involve him.

“Good girl!” the man said. “And what about Russ?”

Oh, not Russ. Leave Russ alone, Mallory…

“I keep trying but my mind control doesn’t work on him. It’s like he’s got a shield over his brain,” Mallory said.

“Keep trying. Use your feminine wiles, do a lap dance, just do whatever you need to do to get him up next to you.”

“I’ll try. But...”

“But what?” he asked, his voice stern.

“I don’t think it will work. He won’t let me get too close because he loves Nadia.”

I held my breath thinking that next she’d tell him that she’d just seen me a minute ago, astral projecting to her in the other room. But either she forgot or else her loyalty to me as a friend had survived the brain washing, because she didn’t say anything else.

“Teenage boys are notoriously fickle. Nadia’s not here. You are. Make it work. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she said. “I will make it work.”

“I’m going to leave now. You need to go to bed and when you wake up you’ll forget I was here. You will, however, remember all your instructions and you will carry them out to the letter. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“And Mallory?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t answer the door in your underwear ever again. If it had been anyone but me you could have encountered big trouble.” He leaned out of the shadow then and I got a full view of his face: the high forehead, receding hairline, and glasses. Behind the dark rimmed glasses and beard and mustache, his facial features had a familiar look. I puzzled over this for a split second until he took another step and his button-down shirt and sweater-vest came into view.

The commander was Mr. Specter.

“One last thing, Mallory,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Yes?”

“I need to know Russ Becker’s room number.”

“Two-oh-eight,” she mumbled.

“That was last night, at the hotel.” Mr. Specter sighed and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache. “You’ve moved remember?” And then quietly, almost to himself. “Probably to shake our trail.”

“We moved from the hotel to the luxury suites,” Mallory said, her voice lifeless and flat. “I put the ribbon on my doorknob like I was supposed to.”

“Yes, that’s right. But I need to know where Russ’s room is because I have to speak to him.” He reached down and patted his pants pocket where I saw, to my horror, the bulge of what looked like a gun.

Mallory’s mouth twitched. “I don’t remember the number, but he’s two doors down from here.”

“On the same side of the hallway?”

“Yes.”

“Not the next room, but the one after that?”

“Yes.”

“In which direction, dear?”

When Mallory hesitated he said, “Remember that wonderful session we had in Peru trying out my Deleo?”

“I remember,” Mallory said, nodding.

“It was such a pleasant feeling having the Deleo rays wiggling into your head sending soothing messages to your brain. Remember the beautiful feeling?”

“Oh yes, I remember.” Mallory’s chin lifted heavenward. She closed her eyes and the expression on her face said she was recalling something wonderful.

“What is the number one thing you were told to do?” he pressed.

“Always do whatever Mr. Specter tells me to do,” she said.

“Now I’ll ask you one more time. What direction is Russ’s room?”

Mallory’s arm rose in one swift movement pointing to the left. I almost showed myself then and confronted Mr. Specter, but stopped when I realized I’d be as threatening as a dust mote. There was nothing I could do to stop him, but I wasn’t going to wait for him to hurt Russ either. “That’s my girl!” he said patronizingly, but I was out of the room before he said another word.

Take me to Russ Becker. I was like the wind only better, because the wind couldn’t go through walls. In a second I was next to Russ’s bed, and once again I tried to wake him up. Russ! Russ! Russ! Please, open your eyes. Mr. Specter is on his way to your room with a gun. I pleaded. He didn’t move, not even a muscle. Again, what I wouldn’t have given to have a real body in the room with him at that moment. So frustrating not to be able to reach him.

Panic swelled inside of me. Astral projecting, I could travel hundreds of miles in seconds and move invisibly through walls. I was as big as the world and as small as a microbe. I heard conversations without being detected and could get past locked doors. But I couldn’t stop a man with a gun.

I wished myself into the hallway. Once there, I needed a half a second to get accustomed to the sudden brightness. When I’d adjusted, I realized I’d landed about ten feet behind Mr. Specter who now stood in front of Russ’s door. From behind I watched as he patted the pocket that held the gun.

I struggled to make myself visible to the world. It was easy to do when I was with Russ, but I found it harder to achieve when alone and terror-stricken. I pushed to burst out of my shell of anonymity until I finally felt my shape develop like a Polaroid picture. As I forced myself into view, I noticed Mr. Specter swiping a plastic card key in the slot above Russ’s door knob. Instinctively I screamed out No!! and surged toward him. At that moment I heard a ding and saw a man in a waiter’s uniform pushing a cart through open elevator doors and down the hall. Room service for someone. The linen covered cart held domed plate covers, a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket, and one red rose in a silver bud vase.

The man pushing the cart didn’t notice me or Mr. Specter at first. His head was down as if he were determined to get to his destination. But something made him glance up. Maybe he’d heard my “No,” ringing in his head, or maybe he caught a glimpse of Mr. Specter standing in the hallway. It really doesn’t matter. What matters is that he looked up and saw as I rushed at Mr. Specter. I knew he’d spotted me when his face went from confusion to horror. “Dear God, what is that?” the waiter screamed, picking up one of the covers off the cart and throwing it at me.

It didn’t hit me, of course. I was still at home in my bed with my eyes closed, fingers laced together on top of the covers. Mr. Specter, however, was very much there and the cover came right at him. “Get out of here,” the waiter yelled, clearly terrified.

The metal cover bounced off Mr. Specter’s front but before it even landed on the floor, he turned and ran down the hall. The speed with which he took off made me think he didn’t want to be identified.

Mr. Specter had taken a physical hit, but I was shaken to my metaphysical core. The waiter looked at me like I was something vile, monstrous. It was worse than my mother thinking I was possessed by the devil—this man thought I was the devil. I tried to hold on, I even thought: Take me to Russ, but it was no use. I felt myself fading from sight and being pulled back, back, back to Wisconsin, then Edgewood, and finally under the covers of my very own bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Russ

I woke to a sharp rapping noise. Minutes before, in a dream, it had been the sound of a woodpecker, but as I woke up I realized it was someone knocking on the door to my suite. I struggled out of bed and flung the door open, so sure it was Jameson that the words ‘get lost’ had already taken shape in my mouth, so I was a little taken aback to see Dr. Wentworth there. “Dr. Wentworth.” I rubbed my eyes. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“Obviously,” she said, giving me the once over.

Self-consciously I ran my fingers through my hair. “What time is it?” I looked down at my bare feet, glad to see I had pulled on a T-shirt and pajama pants before going to bed.

“Five-thirty. You need to get dressed and come with me right away. The president has asked to see you!” Her eyes shone and her mouth stretched into a wide smile. I'd never seen her look so enthused.

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s made enormous improvements during the night. The medical team is very pleased with her progress.”

“Let me jump in the shower…”

“We don’t have time for that. Get dressed. We need to go immediately.”

I can’t tell you how much it goes against my way of doing things not to shower right away in the morning. At home there’d have to be a fire to get me to skip it, but since Dr. Wentworth followed me into the suite and plunked herself down in the sitting area, I didn’t have much choice. I ran my hand under the faucet and managed to wet down my hair (which always stuck up funny in the morning), brush my teeth, and throw on some clothes. We were out the door in five minutes.

When I got out to the hallway, I almost walked into a man standing guard by my door. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but something about him said military to me. It might have been the close-cropped hair, flak jacket, and the semi-automatic weapon held at his side. “Hi,” I said. He just nodded.

As we made our way down the hall, I asked Dr. Wentworth, “What’s up with that?”

“We had a slight security breach the other night,” she said. “Nothing to worry about, but we’re covering our bases.”

“A slight security breach?” That didn’t sound good.

“You didn’t hear anything in the hallway last night?” she asked.

“No.” I drew in a sharp breath. Something happened while I was sleeping?

“A minor disruption. We’re not entirely sure what happened. Probably just someone goofing around,” she said, sounding bored. “Come along. We don’t want to keep the president waiting.”

I was starting to know the route, so this time around I kept pace with Dr. Wentworth rather than letting her take the lead. If I’d had her laminated pass and her retinas (for the scanner), I could have made my way to the hospital room by myself.

When we got to the hospital room President Bernstein was sitting up in bed, a tray positioned in front of her. Her husband stood at her side, holding a cup with a straw to her mouth. “That’s enough,” I heard her say, and he pulled it away. Her voice made me smile; it was strong and familiar, exactly the voice of the Commander-in-Chief I’d heard giving presidential speeches. When Mr. Bernstein caught sight of us, he waved us over. “This is the young man I was telling you about,” he said to his wife. “Russ Becker, the miracle maker from Wisconsin.”

I strode over to the bed to shake President Bernstein’s outstretched hand. She clasped it gently while I said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Next to me, Dr. Wentworth beamed up at me like a proud mother.

“The honor is all mine,” she said. “I am very grateful you agreed to travel here for my benefit.”

“Of course,” I said.

“And for the benefit of the country,” Dr. Wentworth added.

On the other side of the room Dr. Karke was talking quietly to one of the nurses. He’d given me a nod when we walked in, but it was a safe bet I wasn’t getting any thanks from him. The president called out, “Doctor? Would you mind if I had a few moments in private with Russ?”

Dr. Karke raised his eyebrows, but he said, “Of course that would be fine.” The nurse took the cue and left first, followed by Dr. Karke. When the president raised her eyebrows at Dr. Wentworth she took off too, although she walked slowly as if hoping it was a mistake and she’d be called back. No one did call her back though. As she went through the doorway her head turned and I caught one last lingering look.

“Now that we got rid of them,” President Bernstein said, holding my hand in hers, “I can say what’s really on my mind.” She squeezed my fingers as if afraid I might bolt out of the room. “I don’t know what it’s like for you to heal someone, but I can tell you how it feels being on the receiving end.” Her eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t move and I couldn’t talk, but I could feel the warmth coming off of your hands and it felt like just what I needed. Even more than that, I could feel the energy and love radiating out of you and pouring into me. It was remarkable.”

I didn’t want to get too full of myself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt a surge of pride just then. I mean, how many people get to pull the president of the United States back from the brink of death? “I’m glad to be able to help,” I said. “It was my honor.”

Mr. Bernstein spoke up. “You should know that you will be the first recipient of the Civilian Medal of Honor for acts of valor above and beyond the call of duty.”

The Medal of Honor? When he said the words, I felt my ribcage seize hold of my heart. The Medal of Honor was a big, big deal—too big for me. I thought about the men and women who gave their lives during battle or performed heroic acts at great cost and suddenly I felt insignificant. I’d done something important, but not because I was brave or willing to sacrifice my life but just because it was the right thing to do. Under the same circumstances anyone would have done it. “That’s not really necessary,” I said sheepishly. “I’m not in the same category as the other Medal of Honor recipients. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Now I don’t want to hear any of that,” Mr. Bernstein said. “You are worthy, believe me. Interestingly enough, the hallmark of a true hero is denying that they’ve done anything heroic. You’re clearly in that category.”

“But the Medal of Honor? I don’t know about that…”

“It’s the Civilian Medal of Honor,” Mr. Bernstein said, holding up one finger. “An important distinction.”

The president briskly said, “It’s not up for discussion, Russ. The decision has been made.”

“Well, if you insist. Thank you.”

“We insist,” Mr. Bernstein said.

“Of course, we can’t literally award you a medal,” she said. “And for security reasons, there won’t be a ceremony. This is more or less an understanding between us.”

“So I can’t take it home with me?” The mental image I’d had of posting it on Facebook instantly vanished.

“Well no. Because you won’t actually be getting a medal. And you can’t tell anyone about it. Officially, it will be like it never happened.”

Seeing my disappointed look, Mr. Bernstein said, “But you’ll know what you did, and so will we. That’s another hallmark of a true hero. They don’t do it for the glory.”

President Bernstein said, “If I could change the topic?”

“Of course.” Her husband and I said the words at the same time. Even sitting in bed wearing a hospital gown, she had an air of authority.

“I understand, Russ, that you will be escorting our daughter to the Presidential Black Tie Bash?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I have been briefed about the threat, and as a mother, I’m very worried, but as the leader of the country, I know the importance of not letting the enemy see our vulnerability. We will not let the Associates see us cower in fear. The Presidential Bash will go on as scheduled. I know I can rely on you and your friends to protect Layla.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “You can count on us.”

Mr. Bernstein said, “My daughter can be a firecracker, Russ. She’s been given special treatment for far too long and it’s gone to her head. Don’t let her intimidate you.”

“I won’t, sir.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I have to warn you that she can be rather bossy. Pushy, at times. It’s not really her fault. It’s a family trait.” He grinned at his wife who smiled back.

“Yes sir.” Clearly the night of the Bash would be full of challenges. I thought about my last encounter with Layla and found myself blushing. To get my mind off the thought of her knee working its way up to my crotch I said, “As long as I’m here, I’d like to do another healing session, if I could.”

“Of course,” President Bernstein said.

“It would help me if you would lie flat,” I said, instructing the president. “And then close your eyes and stay completely still.” As it turned out, Layla Bernstein wasn’t the only one capable of being bossy.

This time around when I had finished, I sensed that the healing energy had completely saturated every inch of her being. I rubbed my hands together and wiggled my fingers. I said, “I’m finished.” President Bernstein opened her eyes and I knew she had completely recovered. Her color was good, her eyes sparkled, and energy pulsated off of her body. Such a difference from a few days ago. “Aren’t you getting kind of tired of lying in that bed?” I asked.

“Funny you should mention it,” she said, sitting up. “I was just thinking that I’ve been away from the office for far too long.” The president swung her legs over the side of the bed, holding her hand out for her husband’s assistance. “If you’ll excuse me, Russ, I think I need to get dressed and get back to work.”

“Of course.” I nodded.

“Thank you, again,” Mr. Bernstein said. “I am very grateful.” Tears came to his eyes.

“No problem,” I said. “Glad to help.”

“We’ll see you at the Bash,” the president said.

“Okay, see you then.” We said our good-byes and I left pretty quickly after that. Seeing me come out the door, Dr. Karke, who lurked in the hallway, rushed back in. As I made my way to the elevator, I heard him say, “President Bernstein, you shouldn’t be out of bed—”

And the president’s voice thundered, “Karke, get out!”

When I heard Karke’s footsteps scrabbling out the door, I had to smile. The president was back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Nadia

I listened in the next room as Dad called the PG official and explained that I could go on the Washington D.C. trip after all. He didn't go into details about his change of mind, for which I was thankful. My mother's attack was on record with both the police department and the hospital, so it wasn't a secret, but I didn't think announcing it to the world was the way to go. When I heard Dad say, “Okay, wait a second while I grab a pen,” I knew for sure things were going my way.

After he hung up, I stuck my head in the doorway. “Well?”

“They still want you.” He grinned. “They gave me a number to call in about half an hour to find out the flight arrangements. You'll leave this afternoon.”

Hearing those words, my heart nearly burst with happiness. I know that sounds dramatic, but it was true. Over and over all I could think was that I'd get to see Russ. I wasn't going to be left out. I was going to be part of this mission. Meeting the president and going to the Bash? That was frosting on the cupcake as far as I was concerned. I didn't care what the mission was, I just wanted to be there because it meant being part of something big with Russ at my side. It could have been a mission reviewing dinner at Denny's for all I cared. The important thing was that I'd be there when it happened.

My suitcase and carry-on were packed by the time Dad made the second call. He was relieved to find out they'd be sending a car for me because his mind was really with Mom at the hospital and taking me to the airport was one less thing to worry about.

When a black limo pulled up in front of our house right after lunchtime, I turned to Dad and said, “I guess this is it.” One of our neighbors, the very nosy Mr. Johnson who had nothing better to do since he retired, came out on his porch to stare. Limousines weren’t a common sight in our neighborhood. Mr. Johnson held his hand over his forehead to get a shaded view.

Dad helped me carry my bags out. “I'm going to miss you, Nadia.” He patted my shoulder and sighed. “But this is for the best, I think. When you get home things will be better.”

“I think so too.”

The limo driver got out and shook Dad's hand, then wordlessly loaded my things into the back. “Take good care of my daughter,” Dad said.

“Yes sir,” came the muffled reply from the back of the vehicle.

“Thanks for letting me go on the trip, Dad,” I said.

He held me by the shoulders before giving me a fierce hug. “They said I won't be able to call you once you’re in D.C. so you’ll be on your own kiddo, but know that I'll be thinking about you. Your mom and I are really proud of you and we love you,” he said, his voice overcome with emotion. “I will miss you.”

“I know. I’ll miss you too. Tell Mom I love her.” It was easy to be generous with words of love when I was getting what I wanted, but there was more to it than that. Since my mom had been hospitalized I realized that I really did love her. All this time I'd resented her and saw her as the enemy, when it suddenly clicked that the part of her I hated wasn't really her at all. The harsh words, the mean decisions—all of that came from the disease of her mind. Her paranoia and fear were holding me prisoner. Underneath it all was still the mother I remembered from when I was a little girl, the one who read me picture books, sang me to sleep, and took me to the park. Our relationship for the last several years was so horrendous I’d almost forgotten that things had once been different. Maybe in the future it could be different too.

After I waved good-bye to my father and we’d pulled away from the curb, I left the problems of home behind me. Being in a limo would normally have been exciting, but the experience didn’t fully resonate because my thoughts were already in Washington D.C. with Russ. At home I didn’t wear the spiral ring he’d given me, because my parents would question it, but now I felt comfortable taking it out of my bag and slipping it onto my finger. I tilted my hand underneath the sunlight coming through the limo window, and smiled at the way the gem stone glistened. Russ’s words about the spirals echoed in my memory: symbolizing our interlocking lives and our never-ending love. Our interlocking lives and never-ending love. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

The plan was that I would be flying from Milwaukee to a second airport, and from there taking a connecting flight. Once I’d landed in D.C., I’d be escorted by a PG official, but in the meantime, I was on my own. My Dad had said that they'd apologized for the flight arrangements. Ideally they'd have given me a nonstop flight, but since it was so last minute this was the best they could do. I didn't care. As long as I made it in time for the Bash, that was the important thing.

The first flight was uneventful. It wasn’t until I got to the second airport that things fell apart. Once I disembarked, I pulled out my boarding pass to see the time difference between flights. Two hours. Plenty of time to find my gate, and once I was there I could grab something to eat. The next flight would be shorter. And then I’d be on my way to Russ.

That was the plan anyway.

When I got off the plane, I found an open seat where I could watch the monitor above the desk to be sure my D.C. flight was still listed as being on time. And it was on time, right until it wasn't.

“Attention passengers of Flight 1709,” a woman's voice said over the loudspeaker. I looked up to see a perky young woman talking into a microphone behind the counter. “Due to extreme weather conditions, all flights have been cancelled. Your luggage can be picked up on carousel four.”

All around me other passengers grumbled and muttered profanities. I think I had my mouth open for about three minutes because I was totally in shock. Weather conditions? How could that be? All of us collectively wondered what in the world she was talking about. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows told us it was gorgeous outside. Sunny with a light breeze. At home the weather had been the same and I’d heard birds chirping while I got a whiff of my neighbor’s freshly mown grass. It was the kind of day where flowers smiled while woodland animals helped a Disney princess dress for the ball. It was definitely not the kind of day where a flight would be cancelled because of extreme weather conditions. Please. Around me people gathered up their things and began to line up at the counter to find out their options. All of us had somewhere we wanted to be and it wasn’t here.

As the line inched forward people relayed information to the others in line saying that the reason for the cancellation had nothing to do with the weather where we were, and everything to do with the weather in the flight path. Dangerous wind currents or some crap like that. If it made us feel any better, we were told that all of the flights in the airport, not just ours, had been cancelled. It didn't make me feel any better.

When I got within earshot of the desk, I heard each person making a case for getting on the next possible flight. One man was going to his brother's wedding, another guy would be seeing his girlfriend for the first time in months, and an elderly woman was taking her little granddaughter to see a doctor, a specialist. The little girl, cute as a button, but obviously thin and sick, with a scarf over her head, had a rare form of cancer. "The doctor fit us in," the grandmother wailed, wiping away tears with a tissue. "He usually has a three month wait for an appointment, but he worked us into his schedule because her case is so serious. We can’t miss our appointment." The airline representatives (now there were two behind the desk) tapped on their keyboards, looking for options. For the grandmother I think they made a special exception because I saw the employee lean over the counter and whisper something the rest of us couldn't hear.

I had a bad feeling that my excuse—a student trip to D.C.—wasn't going to cut it. Bit by bit the line moved forward. Each person dragged their bags or moved them ahead with a shove of their foot. I had my backpack slung over my shoulder. I held it there until my muscles ached and I was forced to put it on the floor.

When it was my turn at the counter, the woman didn’t even look up. Her head was tipped down so far her chin seemed to be pinning down the jaunty red scarf looped around her neck. “Flight 1709?”

“Yes,” I said, putting my boarding pass on the ledge. “I need to get on the next available flight. It’s really important.”

She still didn’t meet my gaze, but her eyes crinkled in amusement. I had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. She tapped at the keyboard, “The next available flight is on Sunday at two o’clock.”

“Sunday at two o’clock?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “No way.”

She looked up. “That’s two o’clock in the afternoon. You’re arrival time will be 3:57.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I said putting both hands flat on the counter and leaning forward. “I can’t fly on Sunday. I have to be in Washington D.C. as soon as possible.”

“Believe me, I do understand,” she said gently. “All of these people have to be there as soon as possible.” She gestured to the line behind me, which snaked back as far as I could see. “But you have to understand that we only have so many flights. We’re working to get everyone to their destinations as soon as possible. If you want, I can refund your money and you can make other arrangements.” Her frustration and weariness rolled off her in waves. I knew she was having a bad day, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t having such a great time myself.

“I don’t want a refund. I want a flight out of here.” Why did other people get what they wanted while I had to struggle for everything? I wanted to cry but I wasn’t going to. For years I’d been Nadia the one who never protested, the girl who just went along with what other people wanted, but today I was pulling out a reserve of strength I didn’t even know I had. Love could do that to a person. “I understand that you have to accommodate everyone but you seem to be able to make exceptions. How come you found a way for that little girl and her grandmother to get to Washington D.C. today?”

She looked up now and I saw that the red scarf around her neck was knotted in the front. She leaned forward and whispered. “Yes, we made an exception for that woman, but it was a matter of life and death.” Her eyebrows narrowed in irritation. “A child’s life.”

“Well I’m legally a child, and my getting to Washington D.C. is a matter of life and death too,” I said. “So I need for you to make an exception for me too.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Russ

The Praetorian Guard decided that I needed to get together one on one with Layla Bernstein one more time and since she had a gap in her schedule this morning and I was already up, Dr. Wentworth said I could go right from the hospital to the White House. “Carly’s going to wonder what happened to me,” I said.

“Don’t worry about Carly.” Dr. Wentworth guided me down the hallway with her hand against my back. “I’ll fill her in later this morning.”

She said it so nonchalantly it was clear she was clueless about how angry Carly would be when she discovered they’d taken me somewhere without her. I wouldn’t want to be Dr. Wentworth during that conversation. At my house, Carly’s wrath was legend.

“I’m not sure why I have to get together with Layla again,” I said. “I mean, we’ve already talked and she thinks we met in Miami.”

“The Guard feels it’s important to cement your relationship.”

"There's really no relationship," I told Dr. Wentworth, as we approached the elevators that would take me topside. "I'm just her date for the evening of the Bash. We did dance lessons back home, so that’s covered, and I know how to make small talk. I really don’t get why we’re doing this.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to do it?”

“Well, of course I’ll do it,” I said. “I just don’t think it’s completely necessary.”

“I know, Russ, and I agree,” she said. "But it's really not up to me. If it makes you feel any better, we all have to do things we don't want to do for the benefit of the greater good.”

“It's not that I don't want to get together with Layla,” I said. "I just don't think it's the best use of my time.” I was tired too, something I hated to admit. I'd just come from doing a healing session at the hospital and it had worn me out. Not that it wasn't worth it to save the president, but it did come at a personal cost.

“I think you can spare a few hours,” she said dryly, pressing the button for the elevator. "You know, a lot of guys your age wouldn't find spending time with Layla to be such a hardship.”

"It's not a hardship. It’s just…”

“What?” The elevator doors opened; she held it with one hand.

“The last time we got together she was really pushy.”

“What do you mean? How so?”

I was starting to regret even mentioning this. “I mean physically pushy.”

“She pushed you? Like an attack?”

“No, the opposite.” How to put this? “She was encroaching on my private space.”

“Like making moves on you?” Dr. Wentworth’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

I nodded. “I think I’m going to have to tell her I have a girlfriend.”

Dr. Wentworth barked out a laugh and patted my arm. “Oh Russ, you’ve totally made my day.”

She was still chuckling as the elevator doors closed and I dreaded the thought that she’d be sharing this story with the rest of the staff. I wished I’d had the chance to explain that it wasn’t that I couldn’t handle Layla’s advances. I could. It’s just that I didn’t need her stuck barnacle-like to my front while I was trying to scope out a banquet hall looking for Associates. Not only that, but I wasn’t attracted to her that way, although I had a feeling that under certain circumstances my body might respond as if I were attracted to her that way, which could be really embarrassing.

I tried thinking about things that were not sex all the way to the White House and even while waiting in the same sitting room that Mallory, Jameson, and I had been in the last time I’d been there. I sat opposite the oil painting of the gray-haired woman in a bonnet, the one who’d stared down disapprovingly at Jameson. She didn’t look like someone who’d ever had sex or took much pleasure in anything, for that matter. Yes, as long as I had the image of that old woman in my mind I’d be in complete control.

When Layla walked in, I was ready to fight off her advances, but I shouldn’t have worried, because from the look on her face, she wasn’t interested in romance. Barely through the door, she skipped a traditional greeting and said, “We need to talk.”

I stood up. “Okay, what about?”

“Not here.” She beckoned with one finger and turned around.

I obediently followed. “Are you planning on telling me where we’re going?” I asked. She was a tall girl who took long strides, and I was right on her heels. She moved at such a fast clip that the purse hanging off her shoulder swung as she walked.

“Breakfast.” She shot this word over her shoulder and kept going.

We went into an empty dining room with yellow walls, a blue and yellow rug, and a large chandelier. Layla said, “This is the Family Dining Room,” and kept going. She pushed through a swinging door and I followed her into a long narrow work area comprised of white walls, cabinets, fluorescent lights, and chrome counters. I felt the electricity in the walls powering industrial sized refrigerators and other appliances. There was a lot of power in this room, and not the presidential kind. Two women dressed in white shirts stopped talking as we walked in. One was folding napkins, the other putting away a rack of glasses. “Good morning, Miss Layla,” they said in unison.

“Good morning,” she said. “My friend and I are going to be eating here for the next hour or so and we’d like some privacy please.” She pointed to a chrome counter fronted by three red vinyl covered stools. The same style as those in Rosie’s Diner back in Edgewood.

“We’ll be out of here in a second,” the woman said, and true to her word, they finished up what they were doing and left almost immediately.

As if on cue, an elevator door opened on the other side and a man in a bow tie, white shirt, black jacket and trousers, came out and placed a tray of food on the counter in front of us. “Good morning.” He nodded to each of us, then raised the covers of the plates revealing omelets and fresh fruit. Besides the food, he’d also brought each of us a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, and a glass of orange juice. The coffee smell was strong, like walking into Starbucks in the morning. “Can I get you anything else, Miss?” he asked cheerily.

“No, this will do fine,” she said, depositing her purse on the counter next to her plate. “Thanks.”

When we were completely alone, Layla said, “You’re probably wondering why we aren’t eating in the dining room.” She spooned some sugar into her coffee and stirred before looking up to meet my eyes.

“Well no, this is rather…” I looked at the open garbage can next to me. On the top of the heap were coffee grounds and orange peels. A nearby counter held an open notebook with a list like someone had been taking inventory of the contents of the refrigerator. “…cozy?”

She laughed. “Nice try. This is the Butler’s Pantry. I wanted to go someplace where we wouldn’t be overheard. This is as good as it gets. We probably have about an hour before they’ll need this space.”

“Okay.” I took a sip of my orange juice. “You were saying we needed to talk.”

“Yes we do, Russ Becker. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

I tried to read her face. Clearly she wasn’t happy with me which was a huge change. The last time I’d seen her she’d looked at me like she’d been waiting her whole life for a caramel sundae and I was a perfect caramel sundae. “Okay. What do you want to know?” Despite my curiosity I was suddenly really hungry. I dug into the omelet, watching as she pulled a book out of her purse.

“Do you know what this is?” she said, showing me a leather bound volume secured by a lock.

“A diary?” I guessed.

“Fourth graders keep diaries,” she said. “This, young man, is a journal. My journal.” She set it on the counter and put a possessive hand over the cover. “I carry it with me at all times and it’s always locked. It’s hack proof, virus proof, and can never be accidentally deleted or forwarded. Old school security. I’ve been keeping it for ages. My grandmother gave it to me. She thought it would be a good idea to document my years in the White House.”

“Nice,” I said.

“When she first gave it to me, I thought I’d never use it,” Layla said. “I was like ‘thanks, Gram,’ and then I stuck it in a drawer. It was there for months. I almost tossed it out, but one day it occurred to me that maybe old Gram was on to something. I mean, maybe someday I’d want to write a memoir or something and it would be good to have a written record to jog my memory. But of course, once you write something down, there’s always the thought that someone else might get hold of it and read it, and God forbid, maybe publish it, so that’s when I decided I’d always carry it with me. I also came up with abbreviations and codes that only I know, so now all of my entries are written in secret code.” Layla spun the dial on the lock back and forth until it clicked open. Removing the lock, she opened the journal and showed me a page. “To most people this looks like the ramblings of a crazy meth addict.”

I took a look and nodded. First of all, her handwriting was terrible, worse than my sister’s even. And once you got past the messy writing, there was more trouble because the text appeared to be a mixture of letters and numbers sprinkled in between actual words. I couldn’t make sense of it. I doubted it was as secure as she thought, but it wasn’t something that could be solved quickly either.

“Good idea, using code,” I said, spearing a melon ball. This breakfast was really hitting the spot.

“One interesting little bonus is that sometimes I catch people in lies.” She closed the journal. “Or worse.” Her tone turned icy. “Sometimes they try to turn me into a lie. And that’s something I won’t stand for.”

I stopped mid-chew. The food in my mouth sat like paste on my tongue as I realized where this was going. She searched my face for a reaction. Trying not to give anything away, I quickly looked down at my plate, but it was too late. She knew I knew something. I swallowed the food and the lump in my throat at the same time. “Really,” I said.

“Yes, really.” Her expression softened just a bit. “Okay, Russ, I’m giving you a chance here to be straight with me. Would you like to explain why I suddenly remember three people I’ve never met before and why I’m haunted by thoughts I’m in love with you when we barely know each other?”

“You’re haunted by thoughts that you’re in love with me?” Despite my best efforts, the corners of my mouth tugged upward.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gave me a thin lipped smile. “But I know it’s not real love. It feels like when I was eleven and I used to obsess about some actor in a movie. An immature crush based on nothing.”

“Oh.” Suddenly the omelet lost its appeal. I set my fork down. “You don’t remember meeting us in Miami?”

“No, I actually have very distinct memories of meeting you in Miami, and yet, I know that it never happened. I know that because—” She opened the journal and flipped through the pages until she found the right spot and began to read. “I wrote this: Delphine has scheduled me to meet with three high school kids she says I met in Miami. Not true. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before and I know I’ve never met Russ Becker.” She looked up at me.

“Who’s Delphine?” I asked, buying time.

“She handles the schedule.” She narrowed her eyes. “Nice try changing the subject.” When I didn’t say anything she continued. “I checked all three of you out on Facebook ahead of time. Mallory and Jameson had a vaguely familiar look. I meet a lot of people and sometimes they all blur together in my mind.” She waved her hand for emphasis. “But you? You have a look I wouldn’t have forgotten. I knew instantly that I’d never laid eyes on you before.”

I scrambled for an explanation. “I don’t update my Facebook page all that much. My profile picture is old.”

“Nice try.” She continued, “I also know I’m not in love with you because I’m involved in a relationship with someone else, a secret, scorching hot love affair, which is why having you constantly in my thoughts is really annoying. I think something happened to me once we were all up in my bedroom. Something that affected my brain and inserted memories I didn’t have before.”

“What do you think happened?” I asked cautiously. The door from the dining room swung open, but I didn’t turn to look. Someone started coming in, spotted us, and backed out again.

“I believe I was brainwashed, but I’m a little unclear on how it was done,” Layla said, taking another sip of her coffee. “I know I wasn’t drugged because we all had the iced tea. The same thing with the air. Anything I could have breathed in would have affected everybody in the room. I think it’s more likely there was some kind of hypnosis, but I think I would have remembered something like that.” She leaned toward me and spoke quietly but firmly. “I feel like I’m going insane. I need you to tell me the truth here, Russ. Can you do that? Are you man enough to come clean?”

I wished she’d stop staring at me—it was making me feel guilty. “I can’t tell you everything,” I said reluctantly. “But I can tell you that you’re not going insane.”

“That’s a start. Keep going.”

I shook my head. “I can’t say anymore than that. It’s a national security issue.”

“National security requires that I lust after you?”

I felt the familiar flush of my face turning bright red. “Well, no.”

“So then it’s not a national security issue.” She folded her arms. “You can’t have it both ways, Russ. It’s either a matter of national security or it’s not.”

I leaned in. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Please.” She exhaled audibly. “All I do is keep secrets.”

“Mallory, Jameson and I are attending the Bash as added protection for you and your mother. They thought it would seem more natural for us to be there if you’d met us before. Like inviting friends to come.”

“Who is this they?” She put the words in finger quotes.

“I can’t say.”

“Why would my mother and I need added protection when we have the Secret Service?”

I shook my head. “That I can’t tell you.”

“Well then, why would they choose high school kids from Wisconsin to protect us? Seems kind of lame. No offense.”

“None taken.” I thought for a second. “Let’s just say we have some specific talents that not too many people have.”

“Specific talents?” She raised one eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Like martial arts training?”

“No. I mean, yeah, something like that, only different.” Every time I opened my mouth I dug myself in deeper.

Layla tapped her fingers on the counter for a minute, deep in thought. When realization dawned, her mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Aha! Now it all makes sense,” she said, snapping her fingers and jabbing a finger toward my chin. “You’re one of them.”

Now I was the one with a question. “One of what?”

“One of those kids, those meteorite kids.” Her eyes gleamed. “I’ve been hearing about you for years. When my mother was with the NSA I used to listen at doors. Sometimes I’d pretend to fall asleep on her couch in the office. You wouldn’t believe what I heard.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Or come to think of it, maybe you would.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “I think we should just forget this whole conversation. We’ll have a nice time at the Bash and that will be the end of it. Hopefully your boyfriend won’t find out and beat the snot out of me.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said.

“You mentioned a secret relationship?” I tried to think of the phrase she used. “Scorching hot?” I prompted.

“All true. But it’s not a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

She laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, Wisconsin.”

“I’m not.” I rearranged my expression to convey a look of nonchalance. “I mean, it’s cool.”

Layla put her hand up to my cheek and leaned in. “Our next order of business,” she said, and paused. To me the pause seemed deliberate.

“Yes?” I said.

“Will be to undo the brainwashing before I go insane.” She sat back and started to tick off on her fingers. “I need to get you and your incredible body out of my head. I also need—,”

I felt my cheeks flush crimson. “My incredible body?”

She leaned toward me and whispered. “That’s one of the thoughts I keep having. Over and over again I find myself thinking, ‘I bet he has an incredible body. I’d love to see him with his clothes off. I want to run my hands over his incredible body.’ Trust me, between that and knowing we hadn’t met before, I knew something wasn’t right.”

I looked away, embarrassed. “I can’t believe Mallory did that. I’m sorry.”

“So it was Mallory who did it,” Layla said with a satisfied expression. “I thought as much. One of the other thoughts I keep having is that I trust her implicitly. Without question. ‘Blind obedience to Mallory’ is the phrase that keeps popping into my head. I need to get that erased too.”

“Blind obedience to Mallory?” I said. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

I shook my head, confused. “Why would she do that?” If Mallory thought that was funny, it wasn’t.

“I don’t know.” She held her palms up. “Why do people do what they do? I just need you to fix it. Can you do that for me?”

I wanted to help, but I sure wasn’t positive I could make it work. “I can try.”

“Or do you need Mallory to reverse the curse?”

I pushed my stool back and stood up next to Layla. “Let’s see what I can do.”

It was true I couldn’t touch what Mallory could do in the mind control department, but still, I thought I could help Layla. I got up and stood behind her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. She relaxed at my touch, and I concentrated on transmitting energy.

Unlike Mallory, I needed to speak aloud. I leaned in, purposely keeping my voice low so only Layla would hear me. “Layla Bernstein, you are not in love with me, Russ Becker. You no longer feel any attraction to me. You will not have obsessive thoughts about me.” I hesitated, letting it sink in. “You feel no blind obedience to Mallory. You have free will and will use your own judgment. These troubling obsessive thoughts are gone now. You no longer have the memories of meeting us in Miami. You know that you just met us for the first time the other day.” Layla’s head dropped forward. I wasn’t sure if she’d relaxed fully on purpose or if this proved my words had sunk in. Just to be safe, I slowly repeated everything again. When I felt like I was depleted, I shook out my hands, and said, “Okay, that’s the best I can do.”

Layla lifted her head, turned to me, and blinked. “You’re done?”

“Yes, that’s all I’ve got. How do you feel? Did it work?”

“I no longer have the urge to grab your crotch, so that’s an improvement.”

What does a person say to that? “Well that’s good.”

Her forehead scrunched as she thought. “The feelings I had for you are gone, I think. I remember having memories of meeting you in Miami, but now they don’t feel real. It seems more like a movie I saw a long time ago or something I heard about once. I’m pretty sure that what you did worked.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Let’s test it, shall we?” She stood up and pushed her stool aside, and then grabbed my face with both hands. Before I could even process what she was doing, her mouth was pressed hard against mine. Layla Bernstein was gorgeous and her lips were warm and soft, but all I could think of was how much better it was to kiss Nadia. When she pulled back, her mouth made a sort of smacking noise.

“So?” I said. “What do you think?

Layla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nope,” she said. “I’ve got nothing. My feelings for you are officially gone.”

We shared a smile. “Good,” I said. “If you wouldn’t mention this to Mallory, I’d appreciate it.” The fact that Mallory had implanted the words ‘blind obedience to Mallory’ confused me. That hadn’t been part of the training.

Layla shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on talking much to Mallory. After what happened, I don’t want her anywhere near me.”

I didn’t stay too much longer after that. Right after we finished our meal, the staff needed the space to prepare lunch and so we slipped out to talk in a sitting area for a bit. After about half an hour, Layla’s personal assistant came to remind her that she had to leave shortly to speak at a fundraiser for a children’s charity. “Russ, this is Chloe. Chloe, Russ,” she said, introducing me to her assistant. Chloe was slim and tall like Layla, with cocoa brown skin and hair pulled back into a French braid. If she hadn’t been wearing office attire—navy pants and a white button-down shirt with a clunky gold necklace—she could have passed for a college freshman. “Russ is my date for the Bash tomorrow night.” The two of them exchanged an amused glance and burst out laughing.

“Something funny?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Layla said, grinning.

But I got a hint of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Later on, when I was back at the hotel resting before our final briefing, I figured it out. The something I couldn’t put my finger on was a silent vibration between Chloe and Layla, something, I guessed, that was scorching hot. I wondered if I was right, but I wasn’t going to ask.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Nadia

The woman behind the airline counter said, “Legally a child? How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“And you’re by yourself?”

I nodded.

“Okay, that changes things,” she said, tapping into her keyboard. She must not have liked what she saw because she picked up the phone and the next thing I heard was her saying, “I’ve got an unaccompanied minor here. She needs to be on the next flight to IAD.” She listened and frowned. “Okay,” she said. “Yes, will do.” She gave me a small smile. “Today’s your lucky day. We’re working to get you situated. My supervisor is checking with other airlines. Please take a seat and I’ll call your name when I hear what’s been arranged.”

Interesting that when I said it was a matter of life and death no one even blinked, but the fact that I was a minor got some attention. “Thank you,” I said, gathering up my boarding pass.

“Can you call your parents and whoever is picking you up at Dulles?” she asked. “Or do we have to do that?”

“No, I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Great! We’re kind of shorthanded.” She smiled apologetically.

To get to the seating area I had to walk along the queue of passengers. All of these people were tired and worried and not able to go where they wanted to go. I was getting better at shutting out the emotions of people around me, but right now it was overwhelming. Feelings of frustration, sadness, and worry poured off of them. They were all screwed and they knew it.

I settled back in my seat and watched for a good long while. As unhappy as people looked while they were in line, they were even more unhappy when they were done talking to the airline officials. Each one trudged away from the counter, pulled out their cell phones and gave someone on the other end the bad news. No one was getting what they wanted. I watched for an hour or so, and despite the bright lights and the nonstop sounds of people talking, I found it hard to keep my eyes open. Finally I gave in to it, closing my eyes, letting myself drift and thinking: Take me to Russ.

Just like that I felt my spirit leave the bustle of the airport terminal and I traveled through time and space, all of it going by like I’d fast forwarded over the boring parts. Before I knew it, I was standing behind Russ, but he wasn’t alone so I didn’t show myself. I seemed to be in a very bright narrow space filled with metal counters and serving dishes—a restaurant kitchen maybe? Russ stood in front of Layla Bernstein, who was sitting at a counter with two half-eaten plates of food in front of her.

I wished he were alone so I could tell him I was on my way, that Mallory had gone over to the dark side, and that Mr. Specter was still alive and had a sinister plan for the Bash. Instead, all I could do was wait and hope that Layla would have to go to the bathroom or have some other reason to leave the room. I listened, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Pretty sure?” Russ said to Layla in a flirtatious way.

“Let’s test it, shall we?” She stood up and pushed her stool aside, and then grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him close. Layla was the same height as Russ, and (I feel sick saying this) absolutely beautiful. Her black hair gleamed like in a shampoo commercial, her skin lacked visible pores, and worst of all her mouth was on top of my boyfriend’s and he wasn’t pulling away. My heart stopped and then it broke into a thousand pieces. Heartbroken. A real word and a real thing. How could Russ do this to me? He’d given me a ring and said he loved me and I’d thought his word was his promise. I thought he felt the same way about me as I felt about him, but I never would have betrayed him like this. Watching them kiss was excruciatingly painful, but I couldn’t make myself look away.

When they finally pulled apart, she took a second to look into his eyes, connecting with him the way I always did. “So?” he said. “What do you think?”

I strained to hear her answer, when with a violent shake, I was yanked out of the scene and back into my own body. A nanosecond later I was in my seat at the airport, my head spinning from the suddenness of it.

“Nadia?” I opened my eyes to see the woman from the airline counter standing above me, her hand squeezing my shoulder. “Nadia? Honey, are you okay?”

“Yes?” I rubbed my eyes. Even under normal circumstances being jolted out of an astral projection felt a little like waking up in the back seat of the car after sleeping through a road trip. Add that to the shock of seeing the love of my life kissing another girl and I wasn’t in a good place emotionally. I tried to pull it together. I mean, maybe there was a good reason for that kiss? Honestly though, I couldn’t even imagine what that would be. “I mean, yeah, I’m fine.”

She chuckled, a bit indulgently. “You had me worried for a minute. I’ve never seen anyone who was so out of it sitting upright like that.”

“No, I’m okay.” My eyes began to fill with tears and I wiped them away. “Just dozed off for a second.”

“Well I have some news for you,” she said. “It’s not the best news, but it’s not the worst either. We got you on a flight for tomorrow afternoon.” She held up a hand and spoke hurriedly, like she was expecting me to protest. “It was the absolute best we could do, and believe me, they tried everything.”

“Is there a train or a bus? Some other way I can get to D.C.?” I looked around and saw that the crowd had thinned, but there were still a fair number of people in line, while others hunched over laptops and tablets, trying to make other arrangements to get to their final destination.

“I’m sorry, but no.” She shook her head and I saw that her once jaunty scarf looked a little droopy. “I have a voucher for you to stay at the airport hotel and then all you need to do is come back tomorrow. This is not normal procedure for an unaccompanied minor, but we’re short staffed and—”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s what I told my supervisor,” she said. “I told her that you seem very capable. Now remember, your bags will be on carousel four. And the hotel is right here inside the airport, on the far end. Follow the signs.”

“Carousel four. Airport hotel. I’ve got it.” I took the voucher and new boarding pass from her hand. “Thanks.”

“There’s a number on there,” she said, pointing to the folder holding the pass. “Any problems, day or night, just call.”

“Okay.”

“And you did call your parents? And the person who’s picking you up?” She asked, craning her neck to see the desk.

“I’ve taken care of everything,” I said. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Good girl!” she said, flouncing away. “Good luck to you and safe travels!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Russ

After Layla gave me a good-bye hug, I wandered out through the Family Dining Room. Before I could even wonder what to do next, I was approached by a Secret Service agent. He could have come direct from a movie set—clean cut, dark suit, one of those ear things. “Russ Becker?” he said, without even a trace of a smile. For a second I wondered if I was in some kind of trouble.

“Yes?”

“Your car is waiting.”

The driver knew where to go and I returned to PGDC in time to hear that there was big news. “Two major announcements,” Mitch said in a gathering in a conference room. “The first thing is that it looks like your friend Nadia has gotten permission from her father to join us.”

My lips involuntarily stretched into a wide smile and I felt my heart float upward like a bobber in a stream. Nadia. It seemed like forever since we last saw each other at her window and I’d given her the spiral ring. Having her with me made everything better. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the comic book and the image of her dead on the ground. But that had been at home. Maybe she’d be safer here with me?

All eyes were on me. Mallory clapped, Jameson whooped, and even Carly looked pleased for me. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Jameson said, running a hand over his newly shorn head. He looked better with short hair. I think I did him a favor scorching the top of his head. “I’ll have two dates for the Bash and one of them will be your girlfriend.”

I ignored him. “When? When will she get here?”

Mitch said, “Her flight comes in later this afternoon, so she will be at the luxury suites by the time you get back from what is big news number two—your visit with Vice President Montalbo!” The Praetorian Guard officials buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Dr. Wentworth clasped her hands together. “This is huge,” she said, her eyes widening. “We were afraid you wouldn’t see Vice President Montalbo until the night of the Bash and that might have been too late.”

The news of Nadia was overshadowed by the preparation for our upcoming White House visit. We spent an hour in the conference room being told how to dress and practicing the protocol for a meeting with the vice president. Mitch and Dr. Wentworth were running the show, but our lovely Edgewood chaperones, Dr. Anton, Rosie, and Carly were there as well, all of them with advice for us. Dr. Anton asked Jameson and me to push the conference table aside to give us space for some role playing. Of course I wound up doing it the old school way while he did it with his arms folded using the power of telekinesis. “Show off,” I grumbled.

“Nah, just lazy,” he said, for once not trying to prove anything. “Plus I can use the practice.”

“Firm handshake, good eye contact!” Will exclaimed with enthusiasm during our rehearsal. “Try not to talk too much, but feel free to ask a few polite questions about neutral topics. Ask him about Tipper. He loves to talk about his dog.”

Mitch said, “Jameson, make sure you keep your hands out of your pockets! Remember, good posture is important, but keep it natural.” Not clear on the concept, Jameson slouched less with his hands hanging awkwardly on either side.

Mallory seemed worried. “So I’ll do it during the picture taking?” she asked. We’d been over this half a dozen times but she seemed to need constant confirmation.

“That will probably be your best opportunity to touch him for any length of time,” Mitch said, nodding. “A handshake will be too quick.”

“What if I don’t have enough time?” she said, her voice tinged with worry.

“Improvise,” Will said with all the vigor of a drama teacher. “I know you’ll figure something out.”

Mallory fiddled with the ends of her hair. “Okay,”

“Just get the job done,” Will said. “You need to stop him from teaming up with the Associates. Implant the phrases we suggested and we have a good shot.”

Vice President Montalbo, we’d been told, had an enormous ego and Mallory was instructed to use that to our advantage. The idea she’d be implanting was that the Associates were going to use him and then discard him, whereas with the help of the Praetorian Guard, he had a good chance of becoming the presidential candidate and ultimately getting voted into office during the next election. That would be a real achievement, and he would ultimately have the power, prestige and admiration he craved. Of course, the Praetorian Guard had no plans to actually have him become a presidential candidate, but he wouldn’t know that.

Hopefully Mallory wouldn’t go off script like she did with Layla. I still didn’t think it was funny.

“Remember to just use word associations if you’re pressed for time,” Dr. Anton said. “Praetorian Guard equates to honor, prestige, and power. The Associates equals corruption, and disrespect. He’s got a huge thing about being disrespected. That word is heavy for him.”

Mallory nodded, the enormity of the task seeming to weigh on her. Rosie put an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t think about it too much Mallory, or you’ll make yourself crazy. You’re a smart, capable girl. Believe me, you can do this.” Rosie and her particular brand of motherly love had a calming effect on Mallory, who exhaled in relief. Rosie continued, “It all starts with a handshake and ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vice President.’ Just start there and do it the way we practiced and you’ll do fine.”

All the way to the vice president’s office at the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, and even while sitting in the waiting area, I noticed Mallory practicing as she periodically mouthed the words, ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vice President” over and over again. “You’re going to do great,” I said, squeezing her hand in the waiting room, but she didn’t look reassured.

Mallory leaned in close and quietly said, “Russ, can I ask you a question?”

I resisted the urge to say, ‘you already have,’ (something my dad always said and thought was absolutely hilarious), and just answered, “Sure.” Next to us Jameson was amusing himself by juggling wrapped peppermints he’d taken from a dish next to him. He’d started with three and had worked his way up to six. His juggling was less impressive when you knew that he wasn’t actually juggling at all.

Mallory dropped her voice to a whisper, “Russ, when we were in Peru and Mr. Specter had that Deleo strapped to your head, how did you manage to fight it off?”

I was sure we’d had this discussion before, but I didn’t mind telling her again. “I figured that if he was trying to change my feelings and thoughts, I’d block them with my own feelings and thoughts.” With some quick thinking at the time, I’d called to mind the strongest weapon I had in my arsenal of emotions, the way I felt about Nadia.

“So you just thought things?” She said, raising her eyebrows significantly.

I nodded. “I built a wall out of what I knew to be true and I blocked what he was trying to add. It’s like ignoring people who are talking too loudly on the bus. It takes a lot of effort, but you can do it.”

Relief washed over her face. “You built a wall out of what you knew to be true and blocked what he was trying to add. And that worked.”

“Yes, it worked,” I said. “I filled the space with truth and love and then there was no room left for lies and deception.” Man, was I poetic! I had half a mind to write that down.

“No room left for lies and deception.” Mallory said, almost to herself, letting out a slow breath.

When the vice president’s assistant told us he was ready to see us, Jameson dropped the candy back into the dish and we trooped into his office.

“Come in, come in,” Vice President Montalbo greeted us from his desk with a wide smile. His dark hair was smoothed back, not a strand out of place. He got up and met us halfway, his arm extended. He was shorter than me, which surprised me. He always looked so tall standing next to President Bernstein. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting all of you.”

He had a slick handshake, one I’d never experienced before. While he was grasping your hand, he pulled you toward him. For the guys, he then placed his other hand briefly over yours. For Mallory, he pulled her in giving her sort of a half hug. It’s not as creepy as it sounds because it was quick and accompanied by smooth compliments. Mallory got, “Now who’s this lovely young lady?” and Jameson was “statesmanlike with a strong handshake,” while I was told I had “the presence of a leader.” The thing with phony compliments is that even when you know you’re getting them, it’s still okay. Vice President Montalbo was shoveling it hip deep and we were all standing in it, straight and proud.

I noticed Mallory said the words, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vice President,” just as Rosie had coached her. I looked at Mallory’s face as Montalbo held her in a half-hug and it was scrunched in concentration, so I could only think she was using the brief moment of contact for her mind control.

After the greeting, Vice President Montalbo said, “I’m pleased I was able to meet you today, but unfortunately I only have a few minutes before my next meeting. Did you have any questions or concerns before our photo session?” He leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed.

We exchanged uneasy glances, all of us momentarily caught off guard and speechless.

Jameson stepped forward, his arm extended. “Would you like a peppermint?” In his palm was one of the candies he’d filched from the waiting area.

“How kind of you,” the vice president said, taking it from his outstretched palm. “Thank you.” He tucked it into his pocket.

Jameson’s offer of stolen candy jarred us out of our shyness. Mallory sidled up to Montalbo asking, “Do you have any pictures of Tipper? I just love dogs!” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, which looked kind of weird, but he didn’t seem to mind. Turned out that he had an 8x10 of his dog, Tipper, right on his desk. He picked it up and Mallory fussed over the image. Not to be left out, Jameson went around to his other side and admired Tipper too. I’d seen my share of dogs in my lifetime, but I pretended to care while the vice president answered Mallory’s questions about Tipper’s age and health. We all listened to cute stories about the dog and nodded and smiled as he spoke.

Nothing about the vice president struck me as being out of the ordinary. How could this nice man who told boring stories about his dog be secretly aligned with an organization determined to overthrow the government? Hard to imagine. If only there was some way to get him to reveal the man within.

The vice president set the photo on the desk behind him and said, “I’m afraid I’ve been talking too much,” he said.

“Oh no,” Mallory assured him, her arms still linked in his. “We love your stories.”

“If you have any questions about national policy or about the White House, I’d be glad to answer them,” he said, smiling down at her.

“I have a question.” I stepped forward, my hand half raised. “Is it hard to always be second string?”

He frowned. “Second string?”

“Second in command. Understudy to President Bernstein. Whatever. You know what I mean.” I smiled.

“I would hardly say I’m the understudy to President Bernstein,” he said. “The vice presidential office serves a much bigger role than most people realize. I travel quite a bit serving as the country’s representative, I speak on behalf of the president when she’s otherwise occupied, I’m Presiding Officer of the Senate, and the Chairman of the Board for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.” His chest puffed out with pride.

“I see,” I said, “but still, you don’t have much power, do you?”

An expression crossed his face like a storm cloud covering the sun. I’d clearly struck a nerve. The room got quiet and Mallory shot me a look that said I had gone too far. I wished Nadia was here. She’d have been able to sense what was going on below the surface. Was he just irritated that I was being a smart-ass kid or did he have a real problem with his lack of power? If I had to guess, it was the latter. I was starting to believe he was one of the Associates.

“I don’t think Russ means it the way it sounds,” Mallory said, glaring in my direction. “He’s not usually so rude.”

Vice President Montalbo said, “No, he’s right. I don’t have much power.” He pulled his arm away from Mallory, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Not much power at all. At least not right now.”

He picked up the phone and asked his assistant, Kimberly, to come in to take a group photo. We lined up as instructed and she took several photos. Afterward, she told us they’d be mailed to the address she’d been given.

As we walked out of the room, Mallory spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Nice job insulting the vice president, Russ.”

I shrugged. “I just wanted to know how he felt about being number two.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Nadia

At the hotel, I dropped my bags at my feet, put my voucher on the counter and said, “The airline made a reservation for me. I'm checking in.”

The two young women behind the counter (they didn’t look any older than me) stopped talking and gave me a look that said they didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Excuse me?” one of them said, adjusting a headband attached to a hair piece. The hair above the headband was straight and brown, a stark contrast to the reddish brown curls cascading below.

“I’m checking in,” I said. “My flight was cancelled.”

“Everyone’s flight was cancelled,” she said, acknowledging me. As her head was bent over my paperwork, she popped in a breath mint. I held back from asking for one even though I desperately wanted to. My mouth felt so gross. “I don’t know about this. I thought we were completely booked.”

I had a bad feeling, not just from what I was picking up from these two women, both of whom radiated apathy and laziness, but also from what she was saying. The flights had been cancelled hours ago. It did seem likely that the hotel was full. “The woman at the airline said they’d reserved a room for me.”

“They say a lot of things,” she said with a snort. “Just let me look.” She typed on the keyboard, the other girl looking over her shoulder.

“Maybe they…” The onlooker whispered something I couldn’t hear.

“No, because that guest still occupies the room,” the other one answered. “Hmmm.” She tapped her fingers on the counter, deep in thought. They both stared at the screen until finally the one who seemed to be in charge said, “The airline did call about a room, and it does look like someone at the 800 number booked it, but the reservation is for a room that’s already occupied.”

My stomach sunk. “How can that be if it’s my room?”

“The guest who was expected to check out extended their stay.”

“Can they do that?” I asked, aghast.

She shrugged. “They did.”

“Can’t you honor my reservation? Ask the person to leave?”

“No, we can’t really do that. Sorry.” Both of them looked like they wished I would go away. Well I had news for them. I had nowhere to go.

I was so tired. All I wanted was to wash the airport dust off my body and sink into a soft bed, where I would astral project to Russ and confront him about that kiss with Layla Bernstein and then get some sleep, in that order. I needed a room and I wanted it now. “Can I speak to a manager?”

The one with the fake hair said, “I am the manager.”

My stomach sunk. “You need to find me a room. Please. Don’t you have anything?”

She shook her head. “All booked up. After all the flights were cancelled, we got swamped. It’s been crazy.”

“I’m an unaccompanied minor.” I didn’t want to pull this one out, but it had worked with the airline, so I figured it was worth a shot.

Her eyebrows arched upwards, echoing the line of the headband. “Is that true? Because if it is, the airline should have made arrangements for someone to accompany you. Would you like me to call someone in authority?”

Someone in authority? Meaning the airport authorities or the police? I wondered, but I wasn’t going to ask. I sensed she didn’t really want to pursue it. Lazy. “No it’s not true,” I said. “Just forget it.”

“Okay then.” She gave me a knowing smile. We both knew I’d just lied, but she didn’t care enough to make good on her threat. Or maybe she was cutting me a break. Either way, I was in the clear.

I picked up my bags. They’d gained about fifty pounds since I set them down. Every muscle in my body ached. I would have given up five years of my life for a comfortable bed and a firm pillow, that’s how tired I was.

Her expression softened. “If you want, you can sit in the lobby,” she said, pointing. “Normally we only allow it for guests, but I’ll make an exception for you.” I must have looked unsure because she added, “Unless you have somewhere else to go?”

I nodded wearily. “No, I’ll just stay here for now. Thanks.” The lobby furniture looked more comfortable than the chairs in the airport. It would have to do. I pulled my suitcase over to a chair and sat down, defeated. I found myself touching the cut on my neck and running a finger over the stitches. It bothered me. I couldn’t wait until the stitches were out and the cut healed.

Another airport refugee, a middle-aged man, sat in a chair opposite me. He was slouched in his seat, head back, mouth open. Breathing through his nose in loud, raspy bursts. Great. Just great. We’d be lobby roommates for the night. I opened my phone to call my PG contact. I’d already decided not to call my dad. He had enough to worry about. The Praetorian Guard was a different matter. I needed them to pick me up at the airport if I was ever going to get to Russ. I waited while it rang three times and when it went to voice mail I said, “Hello, this is Nadia. My flight has been cancelled and I won’t be there until tomorrow.” I explained about the weather and that they’d rebooked my flight, gave my new flight number and the time I’d be arriving. I hoped they’d still have someone there to pick me up. It just occurred to me that I had no idea where to go once I got to Washington D.C.

My night in the hotel lobby stretched on endlessly. I couldn’t get comfortable, for one thing, but it wasn’t like I would have been able to sleep anyway. All kinds of totally bizarre fears filled my head. I worried that if I dozed off someone would take my stuff, or molest me in my sleep, or that I might drool or snore. I sat and watched as the seconds turned into minutes, taking so long that time seemed to be moving in slow motion. Finally, after hours had gone by, I decided to risk astral projecting to Russ again. I closed my eyes, ignored the noises around me, and let myself sink into a trance. When I felt ready, I thought the now familiar words: Take me to Russ.

Immediately I was in his darkened hotel suite, next to the bed. He’d left the bathroom light on and the door was slightly open, wide enough so that I could see his head and one arm above the covers. Underneath, the rest of his body created a hilly terrain of blanket.

Russ! I said. Wake up! It took all my energy, and it still wasn’t enough. Except for the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he didn’t move at all. Russ! This is an emergency. Wake up now. I wanted to shake him and wake him, but physically I was less than a puff of air. If I couldn’t tap into his thoughts, I had nothing. Russ! He shifted and pulled the covers tighter. I took this as progress. Russ, can you hear me?

And then, victory. He mumbled, “Nadia?”

Yes! Yes! It’s me, Nadia. Wake up, Russ.

His eyes were still closed. The words he spoke next came out haltingly. “Is this a dream?”

No, it’s not a dream. I’m really here. Open your eyes!

One eye opened just a little bit. “I can’t see you at all.”

Good grief. I’d forgotten to show myself. I made an effort to make myself clearly visible, but in the half minute it took, he’d closed his eye again. No!  Don’t fall back asleep, Russ! Listen to me, you can’t trust Mallory or Jameson. Watch out for them, okay? They’re in league with the Associates. Technically I wasn’t sure if Jameson was in league with the Associates, but if he was under Mallory’s spell it was pretty much the same thing. I continued.  Mr. Specter is not dead! You hear me? I’ve seen him with Mallory. They’ve got something planned for the Bash. There’s a needle in Mallory’s necklace. I don’t know what it does, but I can tell you it’s not good. Try to get the necklace away from her. There’s going to be trouble. Be careful.

He didn’t show any sign of having heard me.

Russ? Did you hear what I said? For a split second I was tempted to channel my mother and ask him to repeat things back to me so I knew without a doubt that he’d heard me. I always resented the way mom did that when I was a kid—so patronizing, but I could see the value now.

Russ scrunched his forehead and said, “Trouble. Be careful.” He’d gotten the gist of what I’d said, but I wasn’t completely sure how much was just being repeated and how much had actually penetrated his skull. I tried again. Russ! This is very important. Do not trust Mallory or Jameson. Keep Mallory from going near the president with that necklace. Mr. Specter is the commander and she’s following his orders. Do you understand?

I watched for signs he’d heard me but was getting nothing. His breathing was slow and regular now, like he’d lapsed back into sleep. A restful, happy sleep judging from the slight smile on his face. You had to be kidding me. Russ! This time I screamed his name in my head, but it didn’t matter. Still no movement. I kept trying, though, repeating my message again and again, each time pounding on every word. His lack of response was infuriating.

I stayed for a few minutes, frustrated and emotionally spent from trying to get through. I was on the verge of anger, and then felt guilty for being mad about something he couldn’t help. If only he would wake up. I had to know he understood and I wanted to know why he kissed Layla Bernstein. I was sure there was an explanation that made sense and I wanted to hear it and believe it.

I tried, and then I tried again, and kept talking over and over again, but nothing worked. After deciding I’d done as much as I could, I gave up and said, Good-bye Russ. I love you. See you at the Bash.

I paused then, wondering if there was someone else I could go to for help. It had to be someone connected to the Praetorian Guard, so that eliminated most of the world. Mentally I checked off the possibilities. Mallory and Jameson: no. Mr. Specter, definitely not. I considered Rosie and Dr. Anton, but besides my visits to Rosie’s Diner, I didn’t feel like I knew them all that well. It was so hard to know who to trust. Mrs. Whitehouse? Absolutely, positively no. She was so awkward and patronizing I didn’t even want to talk to her in real life, must less go to her for help.

My last choice, Kevin Adams, struck me as the best possibility. We’d spent time with him in Peru, so I felt like I knew him. He also seemed truly devastated by Mr. Specter’s death. Certainly he had no idea that it was faked and that Mr. Specter was a double agent working for the Associates. Kevin was a good-natured, unassuming guy. Down to earth. Likeable. Happy hanging out in his comic book store. Simple in his view of the world. Someone like that would want to help, even if the enemy was his old friend, Sam Specter. Maybe especially since it was Sam Specter. Kevin was probably going to feel angry and betrayed when he found out. Yes, Kevin was the one to go to. He could reach out to his Praetorian Guard contacts and warn them for me.

I hovered over Russ one last second and then took the plunge. Take me to Kevin Adams.

I’d been worried that I’d catch Kevin sleeping, so it was nice to see him sitting up and wide awake, sipping from a tall glass of what looked like dark beer. As I watched, he smacked his lips appreciatively. I almost made myself visible, but caught myself when I noticed he wasn't at home. And he wasn't alone either.

He was sitting at a round table, across from Mrs. Whitehouse, who didn't look quite like herself. And judging from the slight thrumming sound, the curvature of the beige walls, and the squarish shaded windows, they were on a plane. No, a jet. A private jet, judging by the spacious design and lack of rows of seats. So very curious. I moved closer, careful not to let them know I was there.

Mrs. Whitehouse nervously drummed her fingers on the tabletop while Kevin Adam took a long pull on his glass of beer. “This is good. A really good tasty brewski,” he said, setting the glass down on a cardboard coaster. “I should see if I can get this brand at home.”

“Hmm.” Even without words, she managed to show disapproval.

“I'm going to get a refill on this,” he said, reaching over to press a button above the table. Mrs. Whitehouse slapped his hand to get him to stop, but it was too late. “I'd like another beer, please,” he said.

Mrs. Whitehouse lowered her head to talk directly into the speaker. “Cancel that. There will be no more beer.”

“Yes ma’am,” came a man’s voice through the speaker.

“Who died and made you boss?” Kevin asked. He ran a hand over his Elvis-styled hair, and gazed forlornly into the bottom of the glass.

Mrs. Whitehouse barked out a laugh. “Funny you should mention it. Commander Specter died and made me boss, that’s who. Second in command, that’s what I’m going to be.”

“Yeah, well it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Oh, it will,” she said, with complete confidence. “You wait and see. Sam promised. He saw it in one of his visions.”

If I’d actually been there, my mouth would have hung open in disbelief. Kevin Adams and Mrs. Whitehouse were in league with Mr. Specter? Easygoing, lovable Kevin and nerdy, annoying Mrs. Whitehouse were aligned with the Associates? No! Couldn’t be. I heard it but found it hard to believe.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, not convinced. “That and a buck fifty will get you a cup of java.” He ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “But what I’d really like is another glass of beer.”

“Show some discipline, would you?” Mrs. Whitehouse said. “That’s the key. How do you think I lost so much weight? And ten years I’ve kept it off.” She put a hand on one hip and I realized then that this was why she looked so different. She was thin, for her. I’d seen her in Peru earlier in the summer and she must have been fifty pounds heavier then. How had she lost so much weight so quickly? Her face too, looked different. It was like she’d wiped off stage make-up with wrinkles and age spots, and revealed a softer, younger version of herself.

“Taking off the fat suit helped too.”

She nodded. “That thing was hot. Wearing it behind the cafeteria line was torture. I was broiling inside that thing. Glad I’m not doing that anymore.”

“What was the point of that? You were a lunch room lady, not an international spy.”

“Even lunch room ladies have identities. And I knew that eventually I’d be changing mine. Having a different look to begin with will make the transition much easier. Sam suggested it, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time. Back when my last name was Whitman—”

“Oh, here we go,” Kevin muttered.

She continued on. “Whitman was just such a boring name. The only time anyone ever asked about it was when they wanted to know if my family was related to Walt Whitman. You know Walt Whitman, the poet?”

“Not personally, no.” He lifted the window shade and looked out into the darkness.

“We weren’t related to Walt Whitman, but I always said we were. Even as a child I knew I was born for better things. And then when we were teenagers and Sam said he saw me in a vision of the future and saw both of us in power in Washington D.C., it came to me.” She snapped her fingers. “My name would be Mrs. Whitehouse. A sort of inside joke. Sam loved it when I told him my idea. I remember getting it legally changed and the man at the courthouse asking if I was sure this was what I wanted. I was about twenty then, and skinny as a twig. They probably thought it was a whim, but believe me, it wasn’t.”

“Why not Miss Whitehouse?” Kevin asked, suddenly interested. “Why Missus?”

“Mrs. Whitehouse sounds better and it’s easier to say,” she said. “Try saying it both ways and you’ll see.” She flapped her hands at him. “Go ahead. Try it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I knew that someday Sam would be in power and I’d be right by his side, like the first lady, only better. I’ve been preparing to be Mrs. Whitehouse for almost thirty years.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. When I’d seen her last, her hair had been dowdy and shapeless. Since then she’d gotten a sleek new cut and color. It almost looked chic.

“You seem very confident that this is going to work,” Kevin said.

“Of course it will work,” she exclaimed. “Everything we’ve worked for all these years has led to this. Do you think I wanted to be a lunchroom lady for the last twenty-five years? Criminy. Those high school kids are idiots and I walked around and made friends with them every single lunch hour. Every single lunch day. I chatted them up and earned their trust. Did the whole dimwitted lunch lady act so no one would be suspicious. And I did this for years. Years! Just waiting and watching to see when the Edgewood four would show up. The ones with all the power. The ones Sam predicted would come. And then we found them, one by one.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Mallory, Russ, Jameson, and Nadia.” She stared at a spot beyond Kevin, like envisioning all of us standing behind him. “Slippery little devils, what with two of them being homeschooled. That’s what threw me off. I was looking for four of them in the cafeteria. Rosie had her suspicions when they started coming into the diner, but Sam was the one who confirmed they were the ones. He had it all figured out.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Kevin muttered. “You think the sun rises and sets by that guy, don’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you. He’s a regular human being just like the rest of us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Adams,” she said, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Sam Specter isn’t like the rest of us. He was born for greatness. He’s going to change the world.”

“I kind of like the world the way it is.”

“That’s because you lack vision,” she said, sniffing. “I’ve been lucky enough to hear Sam’s plans, and believe me, they are inspiring.”

“I’ve heard them too,” Kevin said, clearly not impressed.

“Sam says the reason most governments can’t get anything done is that there are too many people muddying the waters. Ruling by committee never works. The laws that finally do get passed are diluted, the rules get bent, and there are too many changes implemented to make any kind of difference. Ultimately no one benefits from all the wishy-washiness. Having one all-powerful leader would be ideal, except that citizens resent not having a say in things. But what if,” she said, and here her eyes gleamed with excitement, “you could have a government with the appearance of a democracy, but which has just a few people making all the decisions behind the scenes? Wouldn’t that be better for everyone concerned?”

“I’ve heard all this,” Kevin said abruptly. “I know the plan and in theory it sounds great. I even used to agree with Sam. Seriously, I used to sit in his basement drinking beer and listening to all the crap you’re spouting now and I totally thought he was on to something. Yeah, I’ll admit it made sense to me. Why not seize control? Why not take power? The government’s pretty messed up and Sam’s a damn genius with a gazillion ideas for making things better. So a few people have to die.” He blew a raspberry. “Tough blow, but ultimately the entire world will come out ahead. Sam called those deaths collateral damage. People die. Too bad, so sad. Move on and prosper, just like he said.”

“So what’s your problem, then?” She leaned back, crossing her arms.

Kevin poked a finger on the table top. “My problem is that Sam never said the plan included joining up with the Associates. We both know those people are ruthless, power mongers lacking in human decency.”

“And the Praetorian Guard are all angels? Please, Kevin.” Mrs. Whitehouse exhaled loudly. “The good guys and bad guys concept is completely outdated. Everyone is corrupt. At least the Associates get things done.”

“Yeah, by murdering people.”

She let out a cynical chuckle. “People die. That’s a fact of life. Most of the time there’s not even a good reason. At least this time there’s a benefit that comes out of it.”

“But see here, that’s the problem,” Kevin said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I know these kids and I don’t see a benefit to them getting murdered. Russ, Mallory, and Jameson—they aren’t just nothing. They have names and families and futures. I like them. I don’t want to see them die.”

She sighed. “You always were a soft touch. Why you even wanted to come on this trip, I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either. I guess I just couldn’t stay at home and let things happen without me.”

“You know the kids have to die, don’t you? Sam saw the vision clearly. They’re the only thing standing in our way. Once they’re gone, the path is clear, that’s the way he saw it.”

Kevin shook his head slowly, and then reached over and pushed the button. “I’m gonna be needing another beer.” His voice was defiant.

The same man’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “You have approval for a beer?”

Mrs. Whitehouse said, “It’s okay. You can bring him his beer.” She tilted her head and gave him a withering look. “You’re not holding up very well, are you, Kevin?” He said nothing so she continued. “If it makes you feel any better, you won’t see them die.” She lifted up the shade to look at her reflection in the window, then tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ll be there. Luckily I’m not as squeamish as you are.”

“You can really watch three kids die?” Kevin said. “And what about Rosie and Anton? They don’t have a clue what’s going on and they could wind up getting killed too. You don’t feel bad about that? That’s pretty cold, even for you.”

“Rosie and Anton? Those two always felt they were better than me.”

“No they didn’t.”

She slapped her hand on the table. “Believe me they did, and they still do. Pompous fools, that’s what they are.”

“So you’re okay with having someone you’ve known since high school getting killed? You don’t feel even a little bit guilty about that?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll feel guilty about it afterward, but I’ve made my decision and I can live with it. And I can’t reverse it even if I wanted to. The die has been cast. Before those kids even got on the plane they were goners.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The inspirational stones I gave them at the airport?” She grinned. “Not so inspirational, as it turns out. Peace, love, and hope? Kaboom!”

Kevin’s face turned ashen. “Oh, no.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Whitehouse said gleefully. “They’re actually powerful explosives timed to detonate during the Bash. Since the stones will be in their pockets, they’ll be killed instantly. That means no pain, if it makes you feel any better,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “Yep, Sam has it all planned. About a third of the Secret Service at the Bash are Associate plants, so they’re on our side. The smoke that’s created will supply the diversion needed to allow us to kill the president. Getting rid of the daughter is just a little extra Sam dreamed up since she’s so well liked. The country will be so preoccupied by these events that the vice president will easily slide into power and make half a dozen major changes before they even know what hit them.” She slapped the table. “It’s gonna be a revolution.”

Kevin said, “But why do the kids have to die? No one said anything about that to me.”

“We kept you in the dark on purpose.” She gave him a mean smile. “Because Sam saw that you’d turn traitor. You haven’t been part of the equation for a very long time.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Russ

When they told me Nadia wouldn’t arrive in time for the Bash, I felt sick. There was some story about a weather delay and her flight being cancelled, which supposedly left her stranded. The whole thing sounded ridiculous to me. Couldn’t someone go and get her?

But no. Mitch said that the voice mail she left only gave her new flight information. They didn’t know where she would be spending the night, and when they called back, she didn’t pick up.

“Can’t you track her phone and find her location?” I asked.

“Someone’s been watching too many crime shows,” Will quipped with a grin. “It’s not that easy, Russ. Believe me, we’ve thought of everything.” He told me that Nadia would be arriving sometime after the Bash started. A PG contact would pick her up from the airport and rush her to the event where someone would be waiting with her evening dress and accessories. “It will be close. Hopefully her plane won’t be delayed or she’ll miss the whole thing.”

And then in a condescending tone (which I totally hate), Mitch said, “Don’t worry about a thing, Russ. You’ll be able to see Nadia as soon as she gets here.”

From their flippant attitudes, I don’t think they understood how valuable Nadia could be to the mission. Her sense of who was telling the truth was the ultimate bad guy filter. Just because she couldn’t shoot electricity out of her palms or make someone think they were in love with me didn’t make her talents any less important. A superpower doesn’t have to be flashy to make a difference.

Will turned serious. “Don’t let the fact that Nadia’s not here be a distraction,” he said. “You’ll need to focus completely and you won’t be able to do that if you’re watching the door waiting for her to show up.”

“I know,” I said, a little insulted. We’d covered this many times. I wasn’t a hyperactive kid that was going to let my attention wander. I knew this was important and I was going to give it my all.

After a short briefing where they reminded us yet again how important this mission was, we were sent to our rooms to get ready for the evening. Each of us had an assistant who would be helping us get dressed in our formal attire. We already knew the sequence of events: a meet and greet with the president, followed by dancing and drinks in the ballroom and ending with Layla’s birthday cake being wheeled out and the guests singing “Happy Birthday.” If the evening ended with no security issues and the presidential family safe and sound, it would be considered a success.

I tried to get rid of my sister, but she wasn’t having any of it. “I think I can manage on my own,” I said as she followed me back to my room.

“If I can’t come to the Bash, I can at least help you get ready,” Carly said, not getting the hint. She hoisted herself up on my bed, like it was her room instead of mine. Once she’d adjusted the pillows as a backrest, she settled back, hugging her purse to her front. “Did I tell you that I get to watch the Bash on a monitor right outside the ballroom? Dr. Anton, Rosie, and I get to hang out in the control room with the security guys and see the whole thing. They promised me that if there’s any trouble they’ll get you out of there right away.”

I got the tuxes out of my closet and started to lay them side by side on the end of the bed. They all looked remarkably similar. Different sizes, maybe? Hopefully when the assistant guy got here he’d know what I was supposed to wear. “You sound like you’re not so worried anymore,” I said.

“Oh I’m still worried,” she said. “I just know it won’t help to talk about it. We’re both too far into this to go back now.”

She was right. We’d reached the point of no return and that was a scary thought. If I was being completely honest, the possibility that I might die tonight was on my mind. I didn’t want to die. Not now, not ever. No one does, at least not usually, but it would be especially bad for me at this point since I hadn’t even started to live yet. If I died now I would die without ever having had sex, without ever having my own car or house or having traveled to all the places I wanted to see. I’d never know what my kids would have looked like and what kind of man I would have turned out to be. I wouldn’t know what I could have accomplished given more time. My story would end abruptly. It’s like reading a book that’s just starting to get interesting, turning the page and bam, there’s no more there. An abrupt, unsatisfying ending.

Like anyone else, I had big dreams. Dying as a junior in high school wasn’t one of them. But if I did die, there was one thing I didn’t want left unsaid. “Carly?”

She’d been rifling through her purse, looking for gum no doubt, but the urgency of my voice made her look up. “Yeah Russ?”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you. There’s something I wanted to tell you before, but I just couldn’t. It’s about David.”

Carly’s eyes narrowed and her gaze cut right into me. “Tell me now.”

There was no way to say it but to just say it. “We found him in Peru.”

“Alive?” Her voice quavered. I’d known Carly as long as I’d known myself and rarely had I seen through the cracks of her tough girl façade, but here it was—Carly about to burst into tears from the joy of finding out the love of her life was still alive.

“Yeah, he’s alive. He’s been working for the Praetorian Guard doing scientific research. They’re making some amazing world-changing discoveries, he said.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, it’s true.”

“You actually saw him and talked to him?”

“Yes.”

“That asshole!” She spit the words out. “All this time he let me think he was dead and he’s just fine?”

“He wanted to tell you, he really did—”

“Don’t you defend him, Russ.” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no excuse for this. For years I’ve been grieving for him while he’s been off tra-la-la doing research? That’s so lame. Really lame. My life has been on hold while David Hofstetter gets to go on and do whatever the hell he wants to do? How nice for him. I suppose he’s got a wife and six kids too.”

“No wife,” I said. “Only one kid.”

Carly swung her legs over the side of the bed and hopped off. Without saying another word, she disappeared into my bathroom where I heard her blowing her nose. When she came out, she had a wad of tissues in her hand and makeup smudged around her eyes. “I don’t even know what to say,” she said, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. Her head drooped and she rested her chin on her hands. She’d gone from euphoric to angry to defeated in about three minutes.

I rested my hand on her back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. He made me promise. He said I’d put you in danger if you knew.”

“Oh Russ, don’t you know you can tell me anything?” Carly lifted her chin and sorrowfully shook her head. She exhaled loudly, exasperation coming through. “So you’ve known for two months then.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I came close to telling you a few times.”

“I knew you were lying about something.” She lowered her nose into the lump of tissue and blew hard.

“I did lie to you. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I wish you had told me right away, but after sixteen years of not knowing I guess that little bit of time wouldn’t have made that much of a difference.”

Whew. At least she wasn’t mad at me. “I wanted to tell you.”

“So you said.” She wadded the tissue into a ball. “So how does he look? Did he ask about me?”

I tried to think. “He doesn’t look too much different. Just older, I guess. And he did ask about you. You were pretty much the whole topic of conversation.”

“Like what did he say?”

I was starting to regret telling her. This whole thing felt familiar. My mom had this habit of wanting a play-by-play description of things. If I came back from dinner at someone’s house, my mom wanted to know what they had and who cooked it and how many siblings were home and what the parents did for a living. Was their house nice? Bigger than ours? I had to tell the whole thing in order and she wanted details. My dad called it “the interrogation.” I noticed that Carly did the same thing to Frank. The women in my family wanted to hear every bit of our experiences away from them like they were going to recreate it with puppets for YouTube or something. “I know you want the details,” I said. “But can I give them to you after the Bash? I’m supposed to be getting ready.”

Carly started to say something, but her words were interrupted by a knock on my door. I went over and opened it to find a young woman, carrying what looked like a plastic tool box. She was dressed like my sister in T-shirt and jeans, but over the tee she wore a jacket with a scarf looped loosely around her neck. Her sleek black hair was held back by a plaid headband. “I’m Tasha, your assistant,” she said, pushing past me and coming into the room.

“You’re my assistant?” I said, taken aback.

She smiled. “In a word—yes.”

Carly got up and gave a little wave. “I’m Carly. The sister.” Tasha gave her a nod before setting her case on the bed and flipping it open. Just like a tackle box it had multiple tiered compartments, but instead of fishing lures it held what looked like cosmetics.

“I thought I’d get a guy helper,” I said. “Since I’m going to be getting dressed and everything.”

Tasha blew a loud puff of air through vibrating lips. “No need to be shy, sir. I’ve seen it all. Now strip down to your skivvies, so we can get started.”

“Not with her here,” I said, pointing to Carly.

“You give me news like you just did and then want me to leave?” Carly said.

“Please?” I asked gesturing for her to go. “I promise we’ll talk after I’m dressed.”

“I’ll go in the other room,” Carly said. “But that’s all. I still want to hear more about that thing we were talking about.” She pulled her purse over her shoulder and loped out out, clearly not in any hurry at all.

I was wrong about the tuxes. They were all the same size—my size. The difference, Tasha said, was in the cut and the designer. She stood back and sized me up, her fist resting against her mouth. “You have the perfect body for a tux,” she said finally. “Tall, trim build, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Perfect.” She went back to the bed and pulled at a hanger. “I’m thinking we’ll go with the Armani. It’s a classic. Timeless. Try it on, with—” she grabbed a white shirt, “this shirt. We’ll worry about everything else after we see the fit.”

Despite her assurance that it would be fine for me to strip down in front of her, I decided to change in the bathroom. When I came out, Tasha clapped her hands in delight. “Just as I thought,” she said. “So handsome. Come see.” She took hold of my sleeve and pulled me over to the mirror.

Whoa. Seeing my reflection, I saw myself as others would, and I had to admit, I liked how I looked in a tux. “Do I get to keep this?” I asked, turning to see myself from all sides.

“Do you get to keep a thousand dollar tux?” She laughed. “Short answer: no.”

“Can I look?” Carly yelled from the next room. Without waiting for a response, suddenly she was there, reminding me of Frank, who had the knack of showing up at inopportune times. “You clean up nice, Russ,” she said, nodding approvingly.

After that, Tasha and Carly tag teamed me, supervising the putting on of socks and shoes, artfully inserting the cuff links, slicking my hair down with some kind of product, and painfully tweezing half a dozen of the eyebrow hairs they called strays. When they were done fussing over me, both women stood back to assess their work. “Magnificent,” Tasha said.

“Not too shabby,” Carly agreed.

Tasha put her supplies back in her case and snapped the lid shut. “Just hang the rest of the formal wear in the closet,” she said. “Someone will come by to pick them up.”

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

“In a word,” she said. “No.” Hesitating halfway through the doorway, she glanced at her watch. “We made good time. You have five minutes until you’re supposed to meet everyone down in the lobby. Have fun at the Bash.” And then the door clicked shut and she was gone.

Carly couldn’t wait even one more minute. “Tell me everything David said.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Nadia

It wasn't until the plane was up in the air and the pilot had greeted us over the loudspeaker that I let myself believe I would actually get to Washington D.C. The lack of sleep hadn't hit me yet—I was running on adrenaline, crazy with worry that my friends and the love of my life were going to get murdered before the day was done. I spent all day in the airport pacing and eating. For breakfast I bought a blueberry muffin and iced coffee from a kiosk, and lunch was a burger. Neither meal was satisfying. When I realized my phone was dead I wandered around looking for an open electrical outlet, but didn’t have any success. Hopefully the PG contact I called had gotten my message and someone would be at the airport to pick me up.

My seat on the airplane was near the window, so I could watch the runway recede from sight as the jet lifted off. I loved flying, loved the split second moment when the plane lost contact with the pavement and began to rise. Besides our trip to Peru, I hadn't flown since I was a little girl. If my mother's goal was to keep me home for the rest of my life, my goal was the exact opposite. I wanted to travel the world, go everywhere and see everything. I wanted to hike the Grand Canyon, and see the Hoover Dam. Stand in Times Square on New Year's Eve when the ball dropped, tour vineyards in Napa Valley, touch the Great Wall of China, see the pyramids in Egypt, and feast my eyes on the great paintings of Italy.

I wanted to stand in Anne Frank’s Secret Annex, and ride a trolley car in San Francisco. Scale Mount Everest and visit the Skydeck of the Sears Tower in Chicago, just like Ferris Bueller did. I wanted to do all those things and a thousand more. And I wanted to do it with Russ. But first we had to get through tonight.

I looked at the ring Russ had given me, twisting my hand so it caught the light from the window. Every time I thought about what he'd said about the spirals symbolizing our interlocking lives and never-ending love, I was so overwhelmed with happiness I wanted to cry.

The ring was so perfect. The spirals circling it were delicate but distinct, and the gem stone on top looked enough like a diamond that at a glance it could have been an engagement ring. How could he have given me a ring like this and still kissed Layla Bernstein? There had to be an explanation.

A round-faced older woman sitting next to me said, "What a gorgeous ring. Was it a gift?"

I flushed red, but managed to nod.

“Your boyfriend?” She leaned toward me, uncomfortably close.

“Yes. I'm going to be seeing him tonight.”

“Well, he has excellent taste in jewelry, I must say.”

For a split second I wondered if I'd said more than I should. What if she was one of the Associates, planted to spy on me? But after the next ten minutes of listening to her talk about her children and grandchildren (complete with photos on her phone), I was pretty sure that wasn't the case. Finally I said, “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes and rest.” She looked a little hurt, so I added, “I was up all night. I didn’t sleep at all.”

Her expression softened. “Oh, of course dear.” She sat back and began leafing through a magazine she’d taken from the seat pocket.

With my eyes closed, I was able to shut out the world. After a night spent guarding my luggage, it felt good to finally be able to relax. I calculated the time of my arrival against the start of the Bash and knew I would be touching down right before the Bash began. I could tell the driver what I knew about the inspirational stones and they could call ahead and take them before Russ, Mallory, and James even walked into the event. I wasn't exactly sure what the plan was involving the needle in the necklace, but if the explosions didn’t happen, maybe that would throw off the plan and save them from harm.

At least I hoped so. But what if no one met me at the airport? And what if I couldn't find an outlet to charge my phone? Even if I did find an outlet, what if I got voice mail again? The thought of all of this hinging on me made me sick with fear.

I decided to try one more time. Take me to Russ. And whoosh, I was rushed to his room, where I witnessed him standing statue-like in a tux and shiny shoes, while his sister Carly and another woman fussed over him, pulling on his sleeves, and brushing off his shoulders. “I think something should be done with his eyebrows,” Carly said.

“My thoughts exactly,” said the other woman.

Russ grimaced. “Oh please, tell me you’re kidding.”

There was no way I was going to be able to get his full attention for very long. Reluctantly I left his side and returned back to my seat in the plane. How frustrating to be so close but not be able to communicate with him.

If only there was someone else I could go to who could give the Praetorian Guard advance warning. Someone I could confide in who would give my message to the right people. Again I went through the list. Rosie and Dr. Anton were possibilities. Both of them seemed solid but I didn’t know either one very well. Could I rely on them when lives were at stake? Trying to figure out who to trust was making my head hurt.

Finally, inspiration hit and I knew exactly who I could trust. I took a deep breath and thought: Take me to Layla Bernstein.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Russ

Carly pestered me about David all the way down the hallway. “You can’t just leave me hanging, Russ. You have to tell me what you know.”

I’d made a big mistake in telling her when I did. With only an hour to go before the big event, I needed some downtime to recharge and concentrate—I didn’t want to get sidetracked with Carly drama. I could tell she wasn’t going to give up though, so when we got into the elevator, I said, “Carly, I’ve got like no time here. I’ll give you until we get to the lobby. What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

I shook my head. Her idea of everything included detailed descriptions of the room and the expressions on David’s face. I didn’t have time for everything. “I’ll tell you what I remember.” I reached over and pressed the button for the lobby. The doors slid shut. “Basically, the Praetorian Guard helped him to fake his death in a car accident to save him from the Associates. He’s some kind of scientist now, doing research for them in a lab. The research facility where we found him was pretty cool. It was underground.” I decided to skip over the part where the facility was blown up while we were there, forcing us to escape through underground passages, just narrowly avoiding getting killed.

“I don’t care about any of that,” she said. “Tell me what he said about me.”

“He still loves you, if that’s what you want to know.”

Her look of impatience softened. Clearly I’d said the right thing. She said, “He actually said that?”

“Pretty much. He’s been keeping up with you and your life, and I sensed he had a lot of regret about leaving you behind.”

Her smile dropped. “Keeping up, how?”

“He used to come back to Edgewood in disguise to visit his grandfather, and he heard about you that way.”

Carly gripped the railing and looked down at the floor. “Gordy sometimes said he saw David, but I thought it was the dementia. He was so confused about so many things. I can’t believe he would visit his grandfather and not me. I could have kept a secret, you know.”

“I know.”

“Maybe…” She lifted her head and I could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Maybe he didn’t come to see me because it would have been too hard to leave me again.”

“I think that’s probably it,” I said. The elevator doors opened and I motioned for her to walk ahead of me. I hoped she would be satisfied until tomorrow. If David kept his word, he would see her then. Let him explain everything to her. I didn’t want to be in the middle.

Carly and I walked to the lobby where the rest of our group waited. I couldn’t wait to meet up with them so my conversation with my sister could officially be over.

“Just a minute!” Carly whirled around and blocked my path. Even though she was shorter than me, she could still be intimidating. “You said he had a kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Boy or girl?” She put a hand on one hip. Her stance said, I’m not going anywhere until I get answers.

“A boy.”

“Is David still in a relationship with the mother?”

“Not really.”

Her lips came together, and a thinking look came over her face. Just when I thought she might be done, she said, “How did it come up that he had a son? Did you see the kid?”

“He had a photo in his lab and I asked about it.”

“What does the boy look like? What’s his name?”

She was edging into the danger zone. There was no good way to put her off and I sure didn’t want to answer. “Can we talk about this after the Bash?” I craned my neck to look at the group. Jameson gave me a quizzical look, wondering what was holding us up.

“No, we can’t talk about this after the Bash,” she said, drawing out the words to show me she was in no hurry at all. “We’re talking about it now.”

“What was the question again?” I could see Jameson gesturing for us to hurry. Standing in his tux he looked less like a praying mantis and more like a super skinny penguin.

“What’s his son’s name?” Carly asked.

I took a deep breath before answering and looked her right in the eyes. “His name is Frank.”

“Oh.” I saw a wave of confusion cross her face. “The same as my Frank?”

“Carly, his son is your Frank.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Nadia

Leaving my body in seat 26D, I astral projected through time and space, finding myself in a bathroom not too much bigger than mine at home, but definitely nicer. My view of Layla Bernstein was from behind. She was fully dressed in a gorgeous silver ball gown. Her hair was swept up with little tendrils framing her face. Teardrop earrings and a matching necklace completed the ensemble. I saw all of this in the mirror, the same view she had as she leaned over the counter, putting on her makeup. If I had looked half as good as she did, I would be overjoyed, but Layla had a scowl on her face. She expertly lined her eyes with liquid eyeliner, then stood back and assessed her handiwork, not looking pleased at all. She sort of shrugged as if to say, this is as good as it gets, then moved on to applying mascara.

I'd only astral projected to a few people, but I knew there were times when it wasn't a good idea to show myself. When someone was holding something close to their eyeball was one of them. I waited until she was done, mentally rehearsing what I was going to say in the meantime. I imagined that she'd scream and maybe run out of the room. If not that, she might become paralyzed with fear, which would be horrible but at least she'd be in one spot which would give me a chance to explain. I hoped she wouldn't faint or become hysterical. I didn't want to scare her, I just needed to talk to her. If I could have texted I would have, but astral projecting was all I had.

When she was done with the mascara and eye shadow she looked a little happier. Apparently the eyes had shaped up fairly well. She'd achieved the smoky nighttime eye that every girl practices at some point in time. She was my boyfriend’s date for the evening and she looked like a goddess.

As she paused to double check the whole look, I took the opportunity to come into view. I was behind her, and off to one side. I saw my reflection in the mirror as I made my energy visible. First I was just a shimmer, a mirage, and then the form of my body took shape. When I was finished, I was transparent but it was clearly me, a girl-shaped form complete with the impression of facial features, and hair. The clothes were less defined but still there. A memory of the clothes I wore on the plane.

I came into view and watched Layla as she noticed the flickering image in the mirror. She turned to see and I expected a horror movie screen, but she surprised me. Puzzled at first, her expression turned to delight. I tried to make contact.

Layla Bernstein?

“Are you talking to me?” She pointed to herself with a long-handled makeup brush, the kind women used to apply blush or bronzer. I'd thought she looked perfect but apparently she had more to do.

Yes, I need to talk to you.

“Are you a ghost?” The grin on her face told me she wasn't afraid of ghosts.

No, I'm a real person. My name is Nadia.

From outside the bathroom door, a female voice, said, “Layla, did you call me?”

Layla didn't even turn her head. “No, I wasn't talking to you, Chloe. I'm speaking to a spirit.”

Chloe giggled. “Oh okay, as long as you’re all right.”

I'm not a spirit. I'm alive. I said. I'm astral projecting to you from somewhere else. I’m a friend of Russ Becker’s. That didn’t sound quite right so I amended it. I’m his girlfriend, Nadia.

“Fascinating!” She reached forward and put her hand closer until it was through me. It didn’t feel like a physical touch, but I picked up on her essence. She was trustworthy. “So you’re one of those meteorite kids too?”

I wasn’t sure how much she knew, but there wasn’t time to get into it. I can astral project, I said. I need to send a message to Russ.

“I’m going to be seeing him tonight,” Layla said, as if this was a major coincidence. “I’d be glad to give him your message.”

A rap on the bathroom door, and then Chloe said, “Layla, are you on the phone?”

“No, I’m talking to this girl who astral projected to me.” She turned to me and said, “Is it okay if I let her see? Chloe would be cool with it, trust me.”

No, no, no! I said. You can’t tell anyone besides Russ that you saw me. Seriously, you have to promise.

Layla said, “No dice. I tell Chloe everything. I’d trust her with my life. She is my life.” She set down the makeup brush and folded her arms, a definite sign that this wasn’t negotiable.

Okay, so I couldn’t call the shots here. I let it go and continued on. Okay, well do you know anything about the Praetorian Guard? When she shook her head, I knew I had to give her the condensed version. Just tell Russ that the inspirational stones Mrs. Whitehouse gave them at the airport are actually explosives set to go off during the Bash. Tell him not to trust Mallory or Jameson. Mallory’s necklace is dangerous. Russ needs to get it from her. I told her there was a plan to kill her and her mother, which I thought might freak her out, but she didn’t seem all that concerned. Mr. Specter invented something called a Specteron. It shoots some kind of dangerous particle beam. When I started relaying the conversation between Mrs. Whitehouse and Kevin Adams, she seemed to lose interest.

“That’s a lot for me to remember,” Layla said. “You do know all the guests will be screened like they do at the airport? And the Secret Service will be there too. It’s totally safe.”

It’s not safe. These people are ruthless, I said. Be very careful and tell Russ to be careful too.

“I will,” she said. “Don’t worry I’ll take good care of your boyfriend.”

Yeah, about that…

She laughed and said, “Don’t worry, I have no interest in Russ. He’s not my type.”

We talked a little while longer. Layla asked me what powers Russ had and I found myself telling her everything. I’m not sure why. Usually I can keep a secret, but she seemed trustworthy enough and I even sensed she might prove to be helpful. “Really?” Her eyes widened. “He can shoot electricity and heal people?”

Yes, but you have to keep this to yourself. Even as I said it, I saw her eyes dart to the door and I knew she was going to be telling Chloe. Well, too late now.

Layla said, “I knew he could undo brainwashing, but I never would have guessed everything else. Fascinating.”

I told her not to go anywhere alone with Mallory, and she said, “Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it.” Then she said, “You’re lucky you caught me alone. Usually I have people for these events, but the last time the makeup artist made my eyes look so weird I decided to do it myself this time around.”

Her world was so unlike mine, that even if we met in real life we probably wouldn’t be friends. Still, I liked her well enough. When Chloe knocked again, saying it was almost time to go, I said, I better get back. My physical body is on an airplane and my flight should be landing soon. I will be at the Bash, but I won’t get there until after it starts.

“Will I know you when I see you?” Layla asked. “Do you look the same in person?”

I don’t know. How do I look to you?

She cocked her head to one side. “Petite. Pretty. Dark hair.”

That’s me, I said. I could have cried from happiness. For years I’d thought of myself as monstrous, but I guess that wasn’t me anymore.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at the Bash then,” she said, a cheerful note in her voice.

When I got back to the plane, I opened my eyes to see the matronly woman next to me regarding me with wide eyes. Her face was so close to mine I could smell her coffee breath. “Well, look who’s back,” she said with a smile. “I was getting worried. You looked like you were dead to the world.”

I feigned a yawn. “Just a power nap. Did I miss anything?” I moved my head from side to side to loosen up my neck muscles.

The woman said, “The pilot just announced we’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Right on schedule.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Russ

The news that Frank was David’s son rendered Carly speechless, and for a split second I regretted laying such a load on her. But only for a split second. After all, she’d been there for the conception, so in theory this shouldn’t have been news at all.

“We have to join the others,” I said, taking her arm and steering her forward.

“But...” she said, confused. “Frank is David’s son? How can that be?”

I shrugged. “The way I understand it, you didn’t know it was David that night because you were drunk and he told you he was his own cousin. Then you went with him to his hotel. Nine months later Frank was born.”

We were only ten feet from the group when she stopped walking, a stricken look on her face. “How could I not have known?” she whispered.

I’d been impatient with her because I was anxious about the upcoming night, but when I heard how upset she sounded, everything else melted away and my heart took over.

“It’s okay,” I said, giving her a hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were lied to. Plus you’d had too much to drink.”

We stood there for a second, until Dr. Anton said, “Everything okay there, Russ?” His forehead furrowed in concern.

Carly pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I’m fine,” she called out over her shoulder. “Just wishing Russ luck.” And then she leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Be really careful tonight. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Okay then,” Dr. Anton said, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we get this show on the road?”

The five of us followed him like ducklings. Tonight Mallory looked even better than usual in a long shimmery blue dress with her hair mostly pulled up except for a few pieces that curled around her face. Besides the fact that her eyes had all this dark stuff on the lids, she looked pretty spectacular. Jameson, on the other hand, was a different story. He didn’t wear the tux well, in my opinion. He tugged on the sleeves like they bugged him, reminding me of a kid who couldn’t wait to change back to his normal clothes. I think I pulled off the whole look much better. Carly, Rosie, and Dr. Anton were wearing their usual clothes, of course, so standing alongside them we looked like kids going to the prom. I almost expected someone to ask us to line up so they could take pictures.

Leaving PGDC and entering the world topside was an adjustment. Even the air felt different—not as fresh and clean and with a gustier breeze. Getting into the limo in the parking structure I got a whiff of exhaust fumes and realized this was something you’d never smell in the world below. Was PGDC a microcosm of goodness, or an artificial elitist society? I honestly didn’t know, but the air smelled better anyway.

When we arrived at the building where the Black Tie Bash would be held we were escorted to a back room to wait for our final briefing. A table off to one side held a pitcher of water and bottles of soft drinks, along with an ice bucket and some glasses, but nobody wanted anything. We milled around for a little bit before taking a seat on one of the leather couches. We’d all been pretty quiet up until then, but now our nerves came out. Mallory kept fiddling with her necklace, a carved white rose on a chain, and began talking about who might be at the Bash. “Last year all the actors who won Academy Awards were invited. Wouldn’t that be fabulous if it happened again?”

“Really fabulous,” Jameson said, cracking his knuckles one at a time. Even though he answered, he wasn’t looking at her. I wasn’t an empath like Nadia but it was apparent he was nervous. He reached over the arm of the couch and raised his palm upwards, lifting the lamp on the end table with his telekinesis. Just to prove he could do it. He was like a nervous ballplayer tossing a few balls to warm up.

“You’ll see a lot of famous people,” Dr. Anton said, “but don’t let that be a distraction. I wish you could just relax and enjoy the evening, but unfortunately that’s not why you’re here.” He rubbed his goatee thoughtfully, a gesture I’d seen many times before when I was his patient.

“What do you think is going to happen tonight?” I asked him.

He raised his eyebrows. “Well Russ, there’s no way to know for sure…”

“I realize that. But I value your opinion. How do you think this is going to go?”

Dr. Anton cleared his throat. “In all honesty? I think this is going to go badly. If it were up to me they’d cancel the Bash.”

Jameson released his hold on the levitating lamp, which clattered down onto the table. Carly looked like the breath had been knocked out of her. “Why do you say that?” she asked. “Do you know something?”

“I don’t know anything for sure,” he said, holding up a hand to indicate time out. “And I’m not trying to alarm anyone. I just know what the Associates are capable of.”

Again, I didn’t have Nadia’s gift for reading people, but I suspected he knew so much more than he was telling.

“Well maybe they should cancel the Bash,” Carly said. “Or not send them in. They’re high school students for crying out loud.” Her voice was ragged with emotion.

Rosie reached over and patted her arm. “Carly, it’s all gonna be fine, trust me. Yes, they’re high school students, but they also have incredible capabilities and the security at the Bash is rock solid. There’s nothing to worry about.” If you could bottle Rosie’s reassurances they could sell it to every worried person in America. Her words had a calming effect, at least on Carly, who seemed to have backed away from hysteria and now only looked worried.

“Besides, it’s too late now,” Jameson said. “I’m wearing the tux.” He stood up and put his arms out, welcoming the world to the Jameson show.

“I’d say the tux is wearing you,” I said.

A second later, Mitch and Will came walking into the room, all smiles. “Good evening, Russ, Mallory, and Jameson,” Mitch said, giving us a slight bow. “And of course, a good evening to your esteemed chaperones.”

Will said, “We just want to go over a few things before you join the procession. First of all, kudos go to both Russ and Mallory for fulfilling your objectives. Because of Russ’s incredible healing sessions, the president is back to work and feeling one hundred percent better.” He paused as if there might be applause. When there wasn’t he kept going. “And Mallory’s visit with the vice president went well, I hear, so excellent work there, Mallory.”

Mitch said. “As you know, our main objective for you this evening is to protect the president and her daughter Layla. Two things to remember—watch for anything or anybody who is acting suspiciously and report them to the Secret Service. An agent will be near you at all times. Secondly, stick together. If Layla has to go to the bathroom, someone needs to go with her, most likely you, Mallory, and one of the boys. She should never be alone for a minute, got it?”

“Got it,” Mallory said, beaming, while Jameson and I nodded to show we understood. We’d been through this so many times before that it was practically tattooed on my brain. I could only guess that they thought we were teenage screw-ups who were going to forget all our training once we walked through the door.

“Eyes and ears open, the whole time,” Will said. “Practice your observational skills and scan the room continuously. Don’t let your guard down. Anything is possible.”

“We’re on it,” Jameson said. He unbuttoned his jacket, then seemed to reconsider and buttoned it again.

“Glad to hear it,” Mitch said. “Are we ready to head out then?” He looked to Will, who nodded in approval.

Mallory slipped her hand into the crook of Jameson’s elbow. “Let’s do this thing.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Nadia

At the baggage claim area, a young man held a sign with my name on it. I let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to see you!” I said rushing up to him. “I was afraid no one would be here.”

He smiled, his teeth so straight and white they almost looked fake. “Not to worry. I wouldn’t have left you stranded. You’ve been on the schedule since last night.”

When my suitcase came around on the conveyer, he grabbed it out of my hands, insisting that he’d take care of everything. I followed him out of the airport and to the car parked outside, not surprised when I saw a waiting limo. I slid into the back seat, and was greeted by the driver, an older man with a fringe of white hair. He didn’t turn his head all the way around, so I only got a partial view of his face. It occurred to me that I was being awfully trusting, but it also occurred to me that I had to be. My Praetorian Guard contact, Preston Moore, was the only one who knew when I was arriving. But were these guys with the PG, or were they a hired car service?

The young man, after putting my suitcase in the trunk, got in the passenger seat up front. “Do you have your seat belt on?” he called back to me. When I said yes, he said something to the driver and we took off, tires screeching. Once we exited the airport, our pace increased and my stomach lurched. The driver put a flashing red light on the dashboard and we sliced through traffic, forcing lines of cars to move aside for us and going over medians when intersections were too crowded. I guess I didn’t have to tell them I was in a hurry to get to the Bash.

When the driver pulled off the street, we passed a crowd, all of them excitedly waving at the limo as if they thought I might be someone important. A guard stopped the car and the driver rolled down the window, showed him some paperwork, and we proceeded into a u-shaped driveway and stopped under an overhang. I realized then we’d arrived at a fine hotel. The younger man hopped out and opened the door for me.

“Are we here?” I asked, but he’d already gone back to get my suitcase out of the trunk.

I climbed out, feeling unsteady like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster. The entryway of the building was brightly lit with red carpeting and velvet ropes leading up to the main door. An hour or so earlier celebrities had walked the red carpet and the place had swarmed with paparazzi. Now the place had been cleared out and there was only one bored valet standing at a wooden podium.

“Have a good evening, miss.” The younger man dropped my suitcase next to me and jumped back into the limo before I could even respond. The limo pulled away and I was left standing alone in front of the building.

“Nadia?” A young woman with curly dark hair and cocoa-colored skin approached me.

“Yes?”

“Come along, we don’t have much time.”

“Is this where the Bash is?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the handle of my suitcase and led the way. I trailed after, trying to figure out what was going on. I wanted to ask questions, but keeping up with her took everything I had. We passed security at several points and she showed them her badge. When we reached a door further into the building, we were stopped by a guard sitting in front of a full body scanner like at the airport. She turned to me and said, “Is there anything in your bags that you might need in the next three hours? Medication, an inhaler, anything like that?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“We’re going to leave them here for now,” she said. Now that we were closer, I spotted an earpiece with an attached spiral cord that dangled behind her ear and threaded into her clothing. The whole thing was nearly camouflaged by her thick curly hair. Her badge, now two feet in front of my nose, listed her name as Nedra Babish.

“I need to get a message to the security people,” I said. “It’s really important.”

Nedra titled her head to the security guard, as if to tell me not to say anymore in front of him. She guided me toward the scanner. “Let’s wait until we get through, shall we?”

I went inside the booth and held my arms up like I was surrendering. When the guard gave me the okay, it was Nedra’s turn. Once through, she hurried down the hallway, until we reached a bank of elevators. I followed her inside, and she pushed a button for the third floor. When the doors closed and the elevator shimmied upwards, she said. “You were saying?”

We were close enough for me to pick up her vibe, and I sensed she was on our side. I opened my mouth and it all spilled out, every detail. I told her that Jameson, Mallory, and Russ would be carrying stones that were going to explode and that Mrs. Whitehouse was going to be attending the Bash in disguise. “Russ’s old science teacher, Mr. Specter, invented something called a Specteron and it shoots some kind of dangerous particle beam and it sounds like it’s going to be at the Bash. And Mallory is still under the mind control of Mr. Specter from when he had her brainwashed by this device he invented—the Deleo.” Even to me, the things I was saying sounded like crazy ramblings, but Nedra listened carefully. When we arrived on our floor, we left the elevator but I kept talking. When I was done, she spoke into a piece on her wrist, repeating everything I’d said. Once she was done, she looked to me. “Anything else?”

I racked my brain, thinking. “I think that’s it,” I said finally.

She signed off with whoever was at the other end, and said to me, “They all went through security and emptied their pockets, and none of them had the stones you talked about, so no worries there, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, relieved.

“Now let’s get you in hair and makeup and into your gown so you can join the event.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Russ

After we went through security, Dr. Anton hurried us into the banquet hall. I was glad for his sense of urgency because it enabled me to give a quick goodbye to Carly. Given enough time there would be awkward hugs and anguished goodbyes; unnecessary signs of Carly grieving the loss of me before I’d even shown signs of dying.

The first part of the Bash involved an official procession where all the guests lined up to meet the president, her husband, Layla, the Vice President, and Mrs. Montalbo. All of them looked glamorous, the men in tuxes, the women in long dresses. Evening gowns, I guess they’re called. Layla looked incredible, taller than usual and elegant in a dress that left one shoulder bare. Her mom’s dress was navy blue and basic-looking, but she had some pretty sparkly earrings that caught the light when she moved her head.

We were instructed to file past like we were in a receiving line at a wedding. An aide would announce our names and we were to exchange greetings for no more than ten seconds and then move on. Ten seconds, seriously, that’s what we were told. With close to four hundred guests, this part of the evening could take nearly an hour. The three of us were scheduled to go first, so that we could step to the side afterward both to guard the presidential family and also to observe the other guests as they went through the line.

Jameson, pulling Mallory by the hand, pushed past me so he could be the first to go through. I let him, because why not? I had nothing to prove. They were announced to the president and vice president, and then to Layla, who told her parents, “I’ve already met Mallory and Jameson. They’re friends of Russ, my date.” I hoped Jameson caught that.

Mallory said, “Happy birthday, Layla!”

“It’s really tomorrow, but thanks.”

I went next, and the president said she was very glad to meet me as if I hadn’t held my hands over her at the hospital and infused her body with healing energy.

I said, “You’re looking well tonight, President Bernstein.”

“Thank you, Mr. Becker,” she said with a wink. “I’ve never felt better.”

Mr. Bernstein grasped my hand and said, “Take good care of our little girl, Russ. Make sure she behaves.”

I said, “Of course, sir.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vice President Montalbo take Mallory’s hand and lean in to whisper in her ear. Meanwhile, Jameson was saying something funny to Mrs. Montalbo, causing her to laugh. When I got to Layla, she shook my hand and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Here’s the man of the hour,” she said. And then more quietly, “I got a visit from your girlfriend asking me to give you a message.”

“Nadia?” Stunned doesn’t begin to touch my reaction. Shocked is more like it. I lowered my voice. “She astral projected to you?”

“Yes.” And then so quietly I barely heard the words. “She had some concerns about this evening. I already told the Secret Service. I’ll fill you in after I’m done here.”

“Can you tell me now?” The hall was getting noisy as guests entered and mingled. It looked like not everybody was choosing to get in line, or maybe they were just waiting.

She tilted her head to indicate the encroaching line. In another five seconds, I’d be in the direct path of the man next to me. I vaguely recognized him as the lead singer of a rock band Carly had loved in high school. “Later,” Layla whispered.

It killed me to walk away without hearing more, but rock and roll guy was extending his hand to Layla saying, “It’s awesome to meet you.”

Vice President and Mrs. Montalbo greeted me and said it was nice to meet me. There was no sign that he remembered me as the young man who’d insulted him in his office just recently. So that was good.

I took my place along the wall next to Mallory and Jameson. Across the room, servers offered guests glasses of champagne, while others walked around with trays of hors d'oeuvres. The line leading up to the president snaked around the side of the room, and Secret Service agents were everywhere, not even trying to blend in. Mallory nudged me and said, “Can you believe we’re here? Isn’t this wild?”

“Yeah, pretty crazy.” I kept my eyes ahead, looking for suspicious behavior, but also looking for a woman disguised as a man. I’d had trouble sleeping the night before so I’d mentally gone over the plot of the comic book Mr. Specter and Kevin Adams had written. Superheroes of the Twenty-First Century! Most of the action in the story had taken place in a banquet hall, much like this one. And from there, the similarities kept coming. Just like Spark Boy, I had healed a lady president who’d been in a coma and like Persuasa, Mallory had used mind control on a vice president who’d previously crossed over to the Associate side. Those two things alone made me think I needed to pay attention to the story. Interesting that back when the story was written the idea of a lady president was pretty farfetched and here we were more than twenty years later, with a woman president and it was no big deal.

The rest of the story hadn’t played out yet. We were at a ball, although it wasn’t a charity ball, but that was a minor point. If the evening followed the comic book, the commander of the Associates, a woman, would be here disguised as a man. An explosion would go off, causing the room to fill with smoke. And then, pandemonium as the crowd panics trying to escape. What happened after that? I thought about the next panel in the comic book. One of the Associates aims a shot of electricity at the president which is intercepted by Spark Boy who stops it with a bolt of lightning of his own. Jameson had his own heroic role in this when his character, Mover!, propels the missile away from the president and shoots it out of the ceiling.

The rest of the story was the most troubling to me because it involved Nadia’s death, something that made me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. But of course that would never happen. Nadia was on her way here, not Edgewood. The scenario didn’t fit, so it couldn’t possibly happen.

So the comic book wasn’t completely accurate, but it still held clues, I thought. But what if, even as a teenager, Mr. Specter anticipated crossing over to the other side, and through the comic book he purposely tried to steer us wrong? That would take a lot of anticipation and planning. It seemed unlikely, but then again, everything that had happened since the night I saw the lux spiral seemed unlikely.

Mallory and Jameson had been talking quietly to each other this whole time, pointing out celebrities and debating if anyone would stop them from having a glass of champagne. They caught me listening to their conversation and I shook my head in disapproval. Jameson said, “Russ is a killjoy.”

“Not a killjoy,” I said, turning my attention back to the line. “Just a superhero of the twenty-first century.”

“Whatever,” he said.

I watched the line approach the first family, and when the aide announced, “Dr. David Hofstetter,” I did a double take because I’d forgotten he was going to be here. I thought of Carly watching this event on a monitor in an adjoining room and wondered if she’d recognize him. Who knew? Maybe she had audio and even heard them say his name. I tried to catch his eye. Not to talk to him or anything, just to let him know we were there, but he didn’t look in our direction. David was too busy talking to the president and Mr. Bernstein. From their familiar greeting it seemed that they’d met before. As he went through the line I noticed that his exchange with Vice President and Mrs. Montalbo was clipped and brief. I didn’t think they had met before.

When a server came by with a tray of soft drinks, I shook my head, but Jameson and Mallory each took a glass. My stomach growled but I turned down hors d'oeuvres too, even though they looked delicious. Next to me, my friends ate and drank and talked like we were at a party where nothing terrible could happen, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that in the upcoming hours this lovely social event could turn into tragedy. I remembered Dr. Anton’s answer when I asked him how he thought things would go: I think this is going to go badly. If it were up to me they’d cancel the Bash. I didn’t think he’d try to scare us unnecessarily. That’s just how he felt.

I flexed my hands by my side, ready to shoot out the electricity coursing through my body on a moment’s notice. I was on edge, but I had to be.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Nadia

Nedra took me to a room that held three barber chairs and two small makeup stations complete with vanity mirrors and more trays of cosmetics than you’d find at Macy’s display counter. An older woman who’d been sitting in one of the chairs, jumped up when we walked in. Her eyes narrowed while she looked me up and down and she didn’t look happy with what she saw. When Nedra introduced us (Maisy this is Nadia, Nadia this is Maisy), and we shook hands, I sensed that somehow without even knowing her, I’d become a disappointment. Maisy shook her head sternly, “I have no idea if I have a dress that will fit her.”

Nedra said, “Surely you must have something.”

“I have a lot of somethings, but this Bash is for grown-ups. I have nothing that will fit an eighth grader.” She gestured to a rolling rack filled with dresses and scowled.

“She’s tiny but certainly you have dresses in a size two?” Nedra turned to me. “Is that your size, Nadia?”

“Maybe,” I said, not really certain. The clothes my mother ordered for me were women’s small. My jeans were purchased by waist size and length. I wasn’t used to getting clothes by size, but I was pretty sure size two was for models.

Maisy said, “The size isn’t the problem. It’s the length that’s going to kill us. Not only that but her shoulders are way too narrow.”

Nedra strode decisively over to the rack and started pulling dresses. “Strip down, Nadia,” she said. “I’m going to need you to try these on.”

“Can’t I go to the Bash like this?” Even as I asked I knew the answer was no. Showing up at the Black Tie Bash in jeans and T-shirt under any circumstances was never a possibility.

Nedra dumped an armful onto the chair. “Start with these.”

Maisy said, “Even if we find a dress, there’s the problem of her hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I kicked off my shoes, and unzipped my jeans and stepped out of them.

“It looks like a three-year-old cut your bangs.”

“I’m letting them grow out,” I said, pulling off my T-shirt. To minimize the amount of time spent in my underwear in front of two strangers, I took a yellow dress off the pile, pulled it over my head, and let it shimmy over my hips. The excess fabric at the bottom pooled around my feet like I was standing in a spotlight.

“Maybe with high heels?” Nedra said doubtfully.

“Not even with stilts.” Maisy stood with her arms folded. I had the feeling she’d be on a break right now if not for me. “By the way, Nadia, you need to lose the bra. All the gowns have built in cups.”

I tried on dress after dress, all of them too long. When I pulled the last one over my head, I was so flustered that at first I tried to put my head through the opening for my arm. Lost inside a sea of red chiffon, it was Nedra’s voice that saved me. “Let me help you.” I felt her hands guide my arms toward the sleeves and pull the fabric around my head until everything came out of the right opening. Part of the cloth was still over my head even as the rest of the dress fell to the floor. “It has a hood?” I asked.

Nedra flipped it back. “No, it has a low back which drapes at the bottom.” She looked at Maisy. “I think this is perfect for her.”

Maisy begrudgingly agreed. “But only because the dress is supposed to fall mid-calf. On her it’s all the way to the floor.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nedra said. “It’s perfect.” She led me to a full-length mirror, where I saw the image of someone who could have been me, if I were beautiful. For an instant the crisis faded and time paused while I gaped at myself in the dress. I pinched the chiffon fabric and pulled it up, then watched as it floated down.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” I said, turning to see the view from the back.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” she said. “The only problem is that the dress will be too short with high heels. I’ll find you some flats. Size five?”

“Six please.” She took off into an adjoining room, leaving me to stare at the dark-haired girl in the mirror who looked almost perfect to me.

Maisy came up behind me and said, “While Nedra’s hunting for shoes, let’s do your hair and makeup.” She steered me into a chair and stepped back to appraise my face. “Your skin is nearly perfect, so there’s not much to do there.”

“Oh no, my skin is awful,” I said, lifting a hand to the side that had been burned. “The worst.”

“From where I’m standing it looks great.” She shrugged. “If you normally have breakouts, you don’t have them today. Since you’re in a hurry, we can skip the foundation and make do with some lipstick and a touch of bronzer and, I have to tell you, I do a really great dramatic eye. I usually do Layla Bernstein’s makeup so you’re in good hands.” She took a long handled brush and dipped it into some powder and began sweeping it over my cheeks. She stepped back to survey her work.

Oh man, this was going on for way too long. I needed to get out of here pronto. “You know I don’t usually wear much make-up and I’m going to miss the whole Bash if we don’t hurry. I want to skip the rest.”

“Skip it!” she exclaimed, clearly dismayed. “You can’t skip it.”

Nedra came rushing in, holding a pair of black and red flats. “Not a great match, but good enough.”

I stood up and slid my feet into the shoes. “The dress covers them anyway,” I said.

“It won’t cover them when you’re dancing,” Maisy said, her voice grumpy. She grabbed a comb off one of the vanity tables and ran it roughly over my head, then pulled my hair up in the back and pinned it quickly in place.

Nedra took my hand. “That’s enough, Maisy. I have to get Nadia to the Bash.”

“Geez, what’s with you two? You’re like Cinderella rushing to go to the ball.”

Cinderella actually rushed to get away from the ball, but I wasn’t going to correct her. We said our good-byes and Nedra led me out the door. We were halfway down the hall, when we heard the clatter of Maisy’s feet coming up behind us. “Wait!” she yelled. I turned to see her brandishing something curved and shiny. A red gem-studded headband. She skidded to a stop right behind us, and taking a comb from her pocket, quickly brushed my bangs to one side, the placed the headband on my head. “There,” she said. “You needed that.”

A wave of professional pride rolled off her. It bothered her that I’d left her with uneven bangs. “Thanks,” I said.

As we continued down the hallway Nedra said, “I must say it does add just the right touch.” Off in the distance I heard music playing from the Bash hall. I’d missed the meet and greet, but it wasn’t as late as I’d thought. And at least I wasn’t hearing explosions.

Nedra took me right to a set of double doors blocked by a heavy-set guard. She flashed her security badge and he stepped aside. “This is where I leave you,” she said bowing slightly. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Nadia.”

“Did anyone tell Russ I’m here?”

She pushed the door open and ushered me through. “You can tell him yourself.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Russ

After the last of the crowd came through the receiving line, a man strode up to a podium in the front of the room, and spoke into a microphone. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I give you the president of the United States!"

A hush fell over the crowd and President Bernstein stepped forward. She adjusted the microphone and with a smile said, "Welcome everyone, to the third annual Presidential Black Tie Bash!” She waited for the applause, which came thundering. When it died down, she said, "I am proud to see assembled here some of our brightest and best citizens. Whether you’re an entertainer, a scientist, a diplomat, a politician or what have you, please know that you play an important role in making America a great country. This evening is a thank you for your talents and support. As a nation we still have our challenges, but just for tonight, please set those concerns aside and enjoy our hospitality. Very soon the band will begin and dancing will commence. In the meantime, we'll keep the champagne flowing. If anyone imbibes too much and needs a ride home at the end of the evening, please let us know." A few people in the crowd laughed and a smattering of applause came from somewhere in back.

I felt a hand on my arm and glanced over to see Layla standing next to me. “Hey there,” she whispered. “Now I can relax. The worst is over.” I hoped she was right, but the night was young. A lot could happen.

The president wrapped things up by saying, “And now, let the fun begin.” She had a joyful look on her face, such a contrast to the hospital scene of a few days ago. When she’d said the part about the evening being a thank-you for your talents, I felt like she was talking right to me. But maybe everyone in the room felt that way.

The president stepped away from the podium, and the noise level in the room rose as people resumed talking and drinking. I heard the clinking of glasses and more laughter, a sign the champagne had begun to kick in. People milled around and several guests approached the president and her husband to talk. I watched worriedly, but didn’t notice anything that looked threatening. On the other side of the room, a young woman I recognized as an actor from the Syfy channel had Vice President Montalbo’s attention. She chattered away gesturing wildly with her hands, while he listened, amused. Next to me, Mallory and Jameson were watching too.

The staff began setting up table and chairs around the perimeter of the dance floor. Each circular table was covered with a linen table cloth and topped with a candle. On the raised platform on the far end of the room, the band was setting up their equipment. Someone, somewhere, lowered the lights to give the evening some ambiance, and my heart fell as I realized this would make it even harder to check out the guests. I clenched my fists again, ready to strike if I had to.

“Lighten up, Russ,” Layla said, giving my arm a squeeze. “You look like you want to kill someone.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to kill anyone,” I said. “But I’m ready to do what I have to.” Now that I had her next to me, I was able to say it. “Tell me about Nadia.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my, that was amazing! One second I’m alone in the bathroom, the next she’s right there like she beamed up from the Enterprise. She’s really super cute, by the way. At first I thought she was a ghost—”

“But what did she say?”

Layla laughed. “Someone’s impatient! If you’ll give me a minute I’ll get there.”

There was no stopping her; she was determined to tell the story her own way. I listened politely while she told me the whole thing, complete with her reactions and how Chloe kept knocking on the door because she couldn’t figure out who Layla was talking to. Nadia had told her there was a plan to kill her and her mother, which didn’t seem to alarm Layla in the least. “It’s a big country,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “There’s always some crazy who wants the president and her family dead. We get threats all the time.” She had trouble remembering it all. “And something about a Specteron. You know what that is?”

“No.”

“Well she seemed all worried about the safety here. I assured her the Secret Service has it all locked up tight. That’s sort of what they do.” She waved her hand. “I told her I had no interest in you, which I think made her feel better.”

When she finished, I felt the need to recap. “So she said the inspirational stones Mrs. Whitehouse gave us contained explosives?” Layla nodded. Good thing we threw the stones away at the airport. Somewhere a landfill full of garbage would be exploding. I continued, “And she said I shouldn’t trust Mallory or Jameson?” I glanced in their direction but nothing in their faces said they had traitorous intentions.

“Yes, young man, that’s pretty much what she said. I told her not to worry. The security at this thing is crazy, but she was all concerned about you. It was pretty adorable.”

“Did she say anything else?”

Her pursed lips moved from side to side as she thought. “There was something else, but I’m having trouble remembering.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh!” she said. “I know what it was. She was on a flight here at the time, and it sounds like she’s going to make it to the Bash. She’ll be late though.”

“What time? Did she say?”

Layla shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. But remember that you’re my date so I’m not giving you up once she gets here. She can have you for the rest of your life, but tonight you’re mine.” She linked her fingers through mine and said, “Time to dance!” The band had started with a slow song and some guy at the mike was doing his best Frank Sinatra impersonation.

The next thing I knew, I was being dragged to the middle of the empty dance floor. Mallory and Jameson, following the instructions that we all stick together, were right behind us. We were the only ones out there. When we got to the center of the floor, Layla very theatrically curtseyed to me. This hadn’t come up in our dance training, but I played along and bowed. On the sidelines, the crowd’s attention shifted to us, and when Layla and I finally came together and began dancing, applause broke out. It was mortifying to know that every pair of eyes in the room looked our way. Luckily for me, my worst dancing beat Jameson’s best dance moves any day of the week, so by comparison I was doing pretty well.

Layla’s pressed her body tightly against mine and breathed into my ear. “You’re probably wondering why I wanted to be the first on the dance floor.”

“Yeah, I did wonder. Isn’t the president supposed to dance first?”

“Technically yes, but trust me, my mom doesn’t care,” Layla said, shifting her head in the direction of her mother, who watched us with a pleased expression. “She’s just happy to see me touching a man.”

“So I qualify as a man?” I felt my lips tug upward into a grin.

“More or less. But to get back to my point…”

“Yes?”

“If we’re looking for infiltrators, this provides us with an excellent opportunity to scope out the crowd. They’re stationary but we’re moving. Look at the faces,” she urged. “Are there any in particular that are looking at me in a strange way? Calculating, maybe? Or impatient, like they’re waiting for their moment?”

As we swayed and twirled I kept my gaze on the rest of the guests. Dressed in tuxes and ball gowns, they all looked vaguely alike. We might as well have been at a costume party. “I’m not seeing anything odd.”

“Keep looking,” she said, “because I noticed a few suspicious looking people and I want your opinion.”

Next to us, Jameson valiantly tried to keep in rhythm. With each step I saw his lips move. I swear he was counting to himself. When we first got on the dance floor Mallory had laughed at his jerky moves, but if he stepped on her toes one more time, she’d be losing her patience real fast.

Layla took over, pulling me around to give me the right view. “That guy right there,” she said with a tilt of her head. “See him? The one with the dark hair? Kind of good looking? He’s been staring at us in a really creepy way. I swear I can feel his eyeballs boring into me right now.”

I grinned. The creepy guy whose eyeballs were boring right into Layla was David Hofstetter. “Trust me, he’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I know him. He’s a friend of my sister’s, that’s why he’s staring.”

She exhaled audibly. “Okay, if you’re vouching for him, that’s good enough for me. Okay, now I want you to check out two other men.”

“Where?”

“Don’t look around like that. It’s too obvious,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s those two near the bar. When they went through the line they were announced as being father and son, but they don’t look at all alike. The father is small and puny, and the son is massive like he’s a wrestler or body builder. They don’t fit.”

I craned my neck to see. Sure enough, a gray-haired older gentleman with a mustache and goatee and glasses stood a head shorter than the guy who was supposed to be the son. The son, who didn’t look much older than me, had broad shoulders and a military haircut. It wasn’t that unusual for a father and son to look different. But the younger guy had a familiar look. Where had I seen him before? “Who are they?” I asked.

She shrugged. “The line moved so quickly I didn’t catch their names.”

“I’ve seen the son before, I think. I don’t know the father.”

“Maybe they’ve been in the news? Most of the people here are well known in their field. I just thought there was something not quite right about them.”

“No, not from the news…” I strained my mind trying to figure out where I’d seen this young guy. Another place, another time, a different context. And I had the feeling that something about him was different. Like watching a movie and trying to figure out where you’ve seen an actor before. The idea that I’d met him nagged at me, but I couldn’t pull up the specifics. I shook my head. “I can’t place him.”

When we got off the dance floor, Layla went to point the two out to one of the Secret Service agents, who nodded and said they’d keep watch. I stood back to give them space to talk. Jameson and Mallory, who’d followed us, watched curiously as Layla gave the agents the update. “What’s up?” Jameson asked.

“Layla’s just checking in with them.”

“Anything we should know about?” Jameson said.

He sounded so sincere that I almost told them, but no, Nadia had said not to trust them. I shrugged and said, “Nothing so far.”

Jameson took a step in that direction, trying to hear what Layla was saying. Mallory took this opportunity to sidle up to me. “Can you do me a favor, Russ?” Without waiting for me to answer, she grabbed my hand, pressed something into my palm and closed my fingers over it. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered into my ears. “Keep this for me and don’t give it back to me even if I ask for it. Can you do that for me?” I opened my hand to see an ivory rose on a chain—the necklace she’d gotten from Mrs. Whitehouse.

“Sure I can do that, but why—”

Mallory put a finger over my lips and shook her head. “No matter what I say, don’t give it to me. Promise?”

“Well, sure but—” I said, stopping when I saw the terrified look on her face.

“You have to promise me, Russ.” She stared up at me with big eyes.

“I promise.” I slipped the necklace into the inside pocket of my suit coat.

A second later, Layla returned, with Jameson right behind her, and said, “Okay, that’s set.” The four of us came together in a four leaf clover configuration. Anyone watching would think we were planning something.

“What was that all about?” Jameson asked, tipping his head in the direction of the agents.

“Just talking about my birthday,” she said nonchalantly. “People have been bringing gifts. I never keep them and now I have to write thank you notes.”

The air in the room seemed different to me now—more charged with electricity, more menacing. I saw the president and Mr. Bernstein making small talk with guests, every one of them a potential Associate. How quickly the room changed before my eyes. Was I getting paranoid, and if so, was that a bad thing? I opened and closed my hands, assuring myself that I had energy on hand and that at a moment’s notice I could shoot a bolt of electricity across the room, an idea that reassured me and terrified me at the same time.

As we walked away I felt a hand grip my shoulder. Startled, I wheeled around to get loose and reflexively I let out a zap of electricity. Just a small one, a flash of silver between my hand and the guy’s chest, but even that little bit was too much, because a nanosecond later I realized it was David Hofstetter and I’d nailed him a good one. The impact caused him to stagger and drop to his knees. “Dammit, Russ,” he said, clutching his chest.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Nadia

I walked through the double doors into the Bash and was transported into another world. Somehow I’d thought the event would be like a wedding reception or a prom (both of which I’d only seen in movies and on TV), but this room, these people, surpassed anything I could have imagined. Ornate pillars, like Roman columns lined the long sides of the hall. Overhead, semi-sheer fabric draped in between crystal chandeliers supplying soft lighting, making the place look dreamy. Floor-to-ceiling curtains were held back by gold cords which were looped around the fabric multiple times ending in tassels as big as my fist. The men in tuxes and the women in their elegant gowns floated across the dance floor. I’d been sent back to one of Gatsby’s parties. It would be so easy to get lost in this piece of heaven and forget why I was here.

My first objective though was to find Russ. I’d thought it would be easy, that all I’d have to do was look across the room and I’d spot him, but I was short and couldn’t see past those standing in front of me. I looked for an empty chair, thinking I could get up on one, but every single one in sight was occupied. I weaved my way through the crowd, searching as I went. A waiter stopped to ask if I wanted a glass of champagne. I started to say no, then reconsidered and took a glass. “Thanks.” I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I took that first sip. The golden liquid went down smoothly. As I walked around, glass in hand, I recognized almost everybody. Actors, politicians, scientists, they all had a familiar look, which added to the feeling that I’d dreamed this whole thing. When I was done with the champagne, I set the empty glass on the edge of a deserted table and kept walking.

“Hey sweetheart, don’t you look beautiful.” I looked up to see a guy blocking my path and crazily enough it was Kyle Sternhagen, an actor I’d loved in a TV series years ago. When I was eleven and he played the teenage son on the show, I’d dreamed that someday we would meet and fall in love and get married. Seriously, Kyle and that show were the only things that got me through being eleven and that was before my face was damaged. I hadn’t seen him in any shows or movies since, and believe me, I watched for him, wanting another dose of my screen crush. I’d heard he was producing environmental documentaries, and I even watched one on Netflix, but there was no sign of him on the screen except in the credits at the end. As a young girl, I’d longed for him, and like a miracle, here he was saying I looked beautiful. My eleven-year-old self would have jumped with glee. His timing sucked. “Lady in red,” he said, “won’t you dance with me?”

“Oh I’d love to, but I can’t. Maybe another time.”

“Another time?” He threw his hands up in mock horror. “Am I being rejected?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just I’m looking for a friend.” I gazed past him, searching for Russ. I’d settle for Mallory, Jameson, or Layla, since they were all supposed to be together.

“I could be your friend.” Kyle grinned and he leaned so close I could smell the liquor on his breath.

I should have turned my back to him and kept going, but I tried one more time to be nice. “I’m really sorry. Normally, I’d love to—”

He grabbed my wrist and grinned flirtatiously. “Just one dance. Then, if you still want to look for your friend, we’ll do it together.” He grabbed my hand, and I was caught in the current, moving behind him through the crowd and onto the dance floor. Before I knew it, I was pressed up against him, and we were swaying in time to the music. On TV he’d looked so tall, but in real life not so much. Russ was at least three or four inches taller than him. Russ!  I twisted to see if I could spot him, and Kyle whispered in my ear. “One dance, that’s all I ask. And who knows, maybe your friend will spot you.”

My tendency to be nice kicked in and I thought, oh the hell with it. I hadn’t had much luck searching through the crowd. Maybe Kyle was right and one of my friends might just see me on the dance floor. In my red gown I did stand out.

When the music stopped, I stepped back and Kyle and I clapped politely. “I have to go now,” I said, gesturing randomly to the crowd. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Wait,” he said.

But I didn’t wait. I’d already given him too much time. I rushed away, Kyle on my heels. I pushed through the crowd saying, “Excuse me, excuse me!” as I went.

Behind me Kyle called out, “But I didn’t get your number!”

In all my eleven-year-old dreaming I’d never once had a scenario where I tried to ditch Kyle Sternhagen. I went around clusters of people drinking champagne and talking. Behind one pillar, a distinguished-looking older man kissed a younger blond woman who looked young enough to be his daughter. But I couldn’t let myself get distracted. I pushed forward, zig-zagging my way to the other end of the room.

“Lady in red!”

I made the mistake of glancing back and wound up plowing right into a guy holding a champagne glass. I looked back in time to see the liquid come flying out of his glass drenching his neck and the front of his tux. “Oh no!” I said, stopping. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t look much older than me, but he was big. Like steroid big. Like he could bench press a cow. He grunted and said, “Don’t worry about it,” but his annoyed look contradicted his words. A large wet stain marked the front of his shirt and tie. Champagne dripped off his chin and ran down his neck. He brushed at the front of the tux with his hand as if that would help.

“Here,” I grabbed a napkin off a nearby table and started to wipe the champagne dripping down his neck but he stepped back before I’d barely started.

“Stop it!” he yelled, clapping a hand over his neck and letting go of the champagne glass, which shattered as it hit the floor. As he walked angrily away, a shorter man with a gray beard and glasses came up from behind and asked, “What happened?” The guy with the champagne-stained shirt grumbled a response, but I couldn’t hear what it was because I was overwhelmed by the hateful feelings I’d picked up when my hand had connected with his skin seconds earlier. The sensation had been brief but powerful. This guy was pure evil. The kind of person who accelerated when he saw a puppy in the middle of the road. Or thought nothing of killing a president and helping to take over a government if it meant he came out on top. He was, I could tell, one of the Associates, which meant that the older man with him was in league with them too. I looked down at the napkin in my hand. Besides being wet, it had a smudge of something that looked like a dark beige cream. Something on his skin had been covered up with thick make-up.

I got a sudden image, remembering when Russ told me about a test the Associates had put him through. He’d passed through a series of rooms, each one with its own challenge. In one room, he went up against two young guys who shared his talent for shooting electricity, and one of them, he’d told me, had a snake tattooed on his neck. On the very same side of the neck that this guy had covered with makeup. If it was the same person, that would explain his reaction.

I was jarred out of my thoughts by a pair of arms wrapped around me in a tight bear hug. “Lady in red, I have found you!” Kyle said, breathing hard.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Russ

After seeing David Hofstetter drop to his knees, I thought I’d triggered a heart attack in the man. When he said, “Dammit Russ,” I was actually relieved that he swore at me, because if he could speak that forcefully, he was probably going to be okay.

“David! Are you okay?” I asked. Around us people stopped talking to see what the deal was with the guy kneeling on the floor.

He shook his head like a dog after a bath. “Oh man, you’ve got some zap there, son.”

I extended my hand and helped him up.

David rose and brushed off his knees, then spoke to the curious onlookers. “I’m fine, really. Nothing to see here. As you were.” They took him at his word and turned away, resuming their drinking and conversation. Given how much champagne was being served it was understandable that the crowd was so mellow.

Jameson and Mallory said their hellos to David, and I introduced Layla to him. After the usual pleasantries, he said, “If you folks don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Russ alone for a minute.”

Mallory and Jameson took a few steps back, but Layla pulled me so close that her body melded against mine. “I’m sorry, but Russ was instructed to be with me at all times.”

David gave her a winning smile. “This will only take a second. It’s personal.” He had that pleading puppy dog look that made me think this was about Carly.

She returned his smile. “You can say anything in front of me, isn’t that right, Russ?”

Oh, I did hate being in the middle. This reminded me of the time my parents got into a heated argument. When my mom left the room, my dad had said, “Is it me, or is she being completely irrational?” That’s when I made a really big mistake. I agreed with him and she overheard me. Now whenever things get testy, Mom sniffs and says, “I guess I’m being irrational.” I’d learned my lesson. I didn’t want to be in the middle and I resented him for putting me there. Layla’s safety trumped everything else this evening. I said, “David, is this about my sister? Because if it is, it’ll have to wait.”

He hesitated, “Well, it’s just that…”

“Oh no, it is about Carly.”

“Do you have any idea how she’ll react when she finds out I’m still alive?” He said all the words in a rush.

Layla shot me a puzzled look, but I didn’t want to get into a lengthy explanation. I took her arm and said, “We’ll talk about this later.”

Layla said, “Oh Russ, show some mercy and talk to the man.”

The only way to say it was to just tell him the truth. “David, I couldn’t keep lying to Carly. I already told her that you’re still alive. Oh, and I told her you were Frank’s dad too.”

He had a stricken look on his face. “How did she react?”

I liked David, I really did, but I loved my sister and my nephew a whole lot more. “How do you think she reacted? She was mad and when she got over being mad, she was crushed. All those years.” I shook my head. “You know you broke her heart.” My words made an impact. He looked suitably punished. I asked, “Anything else you want to know?”

When he didn’t respond, I said, “I guess that’s it then.” We started to walk away, but he recovered and followed us, grabbing my arm. “Just one more thing. Please, just listen. This will only take a few seconds.”

I’d gone this far, how could I not listen to just one more thing? Besides, I was starting to feel sorry for him. “Sure thing, David. What is it?”

He had hold of my sleeve and he leaned in to speak near my ear. “If I die before I get to see Carly would you tell her something for me?” I nodded and he continued. “Tell her that I know I made a big mistake. That if I could do it over again, I would have stayed, no matter what. Tell her that I know now that love should always come first. Can you tell her that for me?”

A little dramatic, I thought, but he was heading in the right direction. I said, “Sure, I could tell her that, but I won’t need to. You’re going to see her soon, David.”

“I hope so.” When he pulled away I thought I saw the glint of tears in his eyes. He exhaled and said, “Now I need to go back to work.”

As he walked away, Layla said, “If you think you won’t have to explain what that was all about, you’re dead wrong.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Nadia

I felt Kyle’s arms around my shoulders but I didn’t pull away. “Help me out a minute, will you?” I asked sweetly. “I need to look for my friend, but I can’t see over the crowd.”

“Tell me what she looks like and I’ll find her,” he said eagerly, letting go and putting one hand visor-like over his forehead.

“Nope, I have a better idea. Do this and give me a boost.” I demonstrated what I wanted, interlocking my fingers to make a stirrup.

He was just drunk enough to go for it. I stepped into the curve of his fingers and pulled up on his shoulders until I was suspended above the crowd. From his leering grin I could tell that he liked having me pressed against him. I scanned the room, looking from end to end. The dance floor looked less crowded from this angle, and the band members more lively, especially the bandleader who energetically raised and lowered his arms to set the beat.

“Do you see her?” he asked. Where he got the idea my friend was a girl, I didn’t know but I didn’t correct him.

“Not yet. Still looking.”

And then I saw her—Mallory on the other side of the crowd, with her hand tucked into Jameson's elbow. They were both looking intently at something with very serious expressions on their faces. I didn’t see Russ or Layla, but they could have been one of the several people nearby facing away from me. "Mallory," I yelled, waving my arm from side to side. "Mallory!"

"You see her?" Kyle asked, his eyes turned up to meet mine. He sounded glad for me.

"Yes." Between the band and the singing, it was noisy. I tried again, this time shouting. "Mallory!" Her head snapped upward and in my direction. I could have sworn she saw me. It was just for a moment though, and then just as quickly she looked away. Was it a trick of my imagination or was she ignoring me? Either way, at least I finally had a handle on where they were.

I watched as Mallory spoke to Jameson and a realization hit me in a good way. She wasn’t wearing a necklace, so someone must have taken it from her. Which was good because I’d forgotten to mention it to Nedra before she’d ushered me into the room to try on gowns. It seemed like an important detail to forget and the only excuse I had was that the pressure and lack of sleep was getting to me.

Just as I was about to tell Kyle to put me down, I noticed a commotion about twenty feet away. I didn’t see the man fall, but he obviously had. I could only see his protruding legs—black pants and shiny shoe—and the backs of the other people clustered around him. A guy broke out of the circle and screamed, “Someone call 911! My father’s had a heart attack!” The crowd gave him space and he shouted again. “We need a doctor.” And then he happened to see me suspended above the crowd and his eyes locked with mine. I knew then that it was the guy I bumped into, the one who’d had champagne dashed across the front of his tux. Unlike Mallory, there was no doubt in my mind. He’d seen me and the contempt in his eyes said we weren’t friends. A second later he went back to being a concerned son, yelling for help for his father. The anguish in his voice played well to the people around him, some of whom consoled him while others rushed to get help.

I saw the bearded old man more clearly now. He lay on his back, his face pale and his glasses askew. Was that how someone who had a heart attack looked? I didn’t know.

Kyle interrupted my thoughts. “You’re getting heavy.”

I glanced down to see the vein is his forehead prominently protruding. “Just hang on.” The heart attack commotion seemed to only be occupying a small back corner of the Bash. In front, the band played on and couples twirled around the dance floor, oblivious to the crisis. The crowd parted as a medical team came through with a rolling gurney. A man, escorted by a Secret Service agent, led the way holding a large medical bag and two guys in scrubs. A doctor with paramedics? The doctor set the bag down and started barking orders to the other guys. The ring of onlookers stepped back, giving them space. I appeared to be the only one in the room that thought this whole scenario was fishy.

“Okay, you can let me down.”

Kyle cooperated, lowering me gently and taking hold of my waist to steady me until my feet were on the floor. “There you go,” he said with a crooked smile.

“Thanks,” I said, and I took off, heading in the direction where I’d seen Mallory and Jameson. “Wait!” Kyle called after me, but I was through being nice. He’d have to find some other girl to pick up.

I hadn’t gotten far when the band stopped playing and the lights brightened. The singer said, “Ladies and gentleman, I give you the President of the United States of America.”

The band began playing “Hail to the Chief” and the crowd cheered loudly. President Bernstein walked up the stage steps and over to the microphone. She smiled and held up her hand to silence the crowd.

After the president called her daughter onto the stage, I got my first Bash view of Russ as he traipsed obediently behind her. I cupped my mouth and yelled, “Russ!” but my voice couldn’t be heard above the crowd applauding at the sight of the first daughter bounding up the stairs onto the stage. When she said, “My date this evening is the fabulous Russ Becker. Isn’t he handsome? Give it up for Russ!” I felt my gut clench and I wasn’t sure if it was from jealousy or worry.

All I knew was that I had to warn Russ. I didn’t have any power but the power of knowledge. He’d know what to do.

If I could have, I’d have run to the stage, but there was this small matter of four hundred people blocking my way. I pushed through the crowd, slipping through gaps, and moving around couples. As fast as I tried to go, I still only went at the pace of a lazy river raft—agonizingly slow. A few people objected as I shoved my way around them. “Excuse me!” one man said loudly. I had no time to answer or I would have said, I’m sorry I bumped your elbow but I’m frantically trying to save the president’s life. My apologies. Jerkwad.

Thinking I might not get there in time made me crazy with worry. Think, Nadia, think. I decided I’d have a clearer path if I moved along the edge of the room, so I veered to the far left side. I was impatient with these people. These beautiful, privileged people. They stood in their tuxes and gorgeous gowns with drinks in hand, oblivious to the danger lurking among them, watching the stage in front, blocking my way. I wanted to yell, to tell them there was an emergency and they should exit the room, but between the applause, the band, and their chattering, I didn’t think I’d get heard.

I was moving faster now, keeping my gaze straight ahead and getting more aggressive. When two people standing too close together blocked my path, I used my hands to part them like treading water. I stopped worrying about accidentally stepping on the hem of a dress, or bumping someone’s glass; I just went. I left startled people in my wake, and at one point I heard a woman’s voice behind me say, “Someone’s in a big hurry,” and I thought: you got that right.

I was making good headway when I came to two men standing shoulder to shoulder. I said, “Excuse me,” and gave each one’s arm a push then squeezed through the opening and bumped—bam—right into the back of a white-jacketed man. Shocked, I realized I’d happened upon the very scene I wanted to warn Russ about, the Associates posing as father and son. And from the feelings I’d picked up from touching the back of this man’s jacket, he was one of them too. I gasped. “Pardon me,” I said and took a step back. But the doctor turned and saw me before I could slip away. His eyes narrowed and a sick smile spread across his face. He grabbed my arm forcefully. “Nadia,” he said. “What a surprise.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Russ

With only about an hour left to the evening, I was starting to feel like we might be in the clear, but I wasn’t going to let my guard down yet. Layla and her parents had finished receiving guests without any problems, and since then we’d danced, mingled, and had refreshments. A stream of people came up to talk to Layla over the course of the evening and she always introduced them and I shook hands like a good date. Some of the ladies made comments about how cute we were as a couple. Most of them were middle-aged, and except for the actors and singers whose names I already knew, I had trouble keeping track of them. I kept looking for the scenario that had played out in Kevin Adams’ homemade comic book, but so far there was nothing. I was also looking for Nadia. Every time I saw someone shyly lurking in the shadows, I thought it might be her, but it never was. It seemed like she wasn’t going to get here in time after all. Thank God. She’d be safe.

One more hour and this would be over. One more hour.

When Layla’s mother went up on the stage and the band played “Hail to the Chief,” I felt my attention go into overdrive. Yes, there were two Secret Service agents located discretely on either side of her, but still she was vulnerable. I knew how quickly someone could get struck down. A bullet flies faster than a hiccup, a lightning bolt crosses the room like a sneeze. One second a person can be standing there just fine, planning what they’re going to do the next day. A moment later there is no next day. Someone’s death is always a loss, but if the president were killed it would be a national tragedy. No, a worldwide tragedy. I held my breath as she held up her hand to stop the applause.

“This is where she announces it’s my birthday,” Layla whispered, holding my arm fiercely. “And then I’ll have to cut the cake and pose for pictures.” Under her breath she made a noise that reminded me of a car crash. “If I were a good girl I’d be up there already.” She shot me a rebellious grin.

Layla told me she liked the occasional perks of being the president’s daughter—the backstage concert passes, traveling, getting to visit movie sets. But she hated not having any privacy and having to keep up a fake public persona. And she was not looking forward to sharing her birthday with four hundred people even if it was just for fifteen minutes.

The president spoke. “As many of you know, my daughter Layla will be celebrating her nineteenth birthday tomorrow.” Polite applause filled the ballroom. Off in the distance, a drunken male yelled, “Happy birthday, Layla! You rock! Woo hoo!”

Layla leaned over and whispered in my ear. “That’s Kyle Sternhagen. Every year he gets totally wasted.”

When the clapping and laughter subsided, the president said, “Layla? Will you come up and join your father and me on stage?” She lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she searched for her daughter. “Where are you, dear?”

Layla cooperatively raised a hand and called out, “Right here, Mom.” She took my arm and pulled me along with her and we headed to the stage. Mr. Bernstein had already joined his wife and they’d linked arms like Ferris Bueller’s parents standing over his bed. Off to one side, Vice President Montalbo and his wife held hands and smiled.

The crowd parted as we walked forward. I tried to avoid stepping on her dress while simultaneously staying alert to those around us in case I had to fend off an attack. Layla, who had her paparazzi smile on, greeted people along the way. Mallory and Jameson followed behind us; I could hear Mallory’s excited whispering to Jameson. During our training we’d gone over the night’s schedule dozens of times. I knew that Layla’s cutting of the cake was only symbolic. In the back kitchen were trays full of wrapped cake that would be positioned by the exits for the guests to take home. Layla would take the first slice, taste the frosting, and declare it delicious. The crowd would sing “Happy Birthday,” and then the band would play one last song (“Come Fly With Me” was the usual choice, since it was Layla’s favorite). Afterward the first family would thank everyone for coming and depart through a secret door located behind the stage. And then the lights would be raised, and the band would pack up their equipment. If the guests didn’t get the hint by the time the staff began cleaning up, they would politely be told the building had to be vacated for security reasons.

Layla bounded up the stairs at a remarkably fast clip, given her high heels. I tried to stay behind, but she wouldn’t let go of my hand. When we got to the center of the stage, she held my hand up like pronouncing me the winner, then spoke into the microphone, “My date this evening is the fabulous Russ Becker. Isn’t he handsome? Give it up for Russ!” As the applause thundered, a warm flush crept over my cheeks. In a few seconds, my reddened face would be evident to everyone there. There was no stopping a blush once it started.

Out of the corner of my mouth, I said, “Thanks, Layla.”

“You didn’t think you were going to get off easy, did you?” she said, smirking.

Embarrassed, I surveyed the room. From this angle I saw the entire banquet hall, the rows and rows of people standing in front of the stage like concert-goers waiting for the opening chords of their favorite song. But behind them, way in back and off to one side, was something more alarming, something that just looked wrong. A group of men clustered around a gurney. I squinted, trying to figure out what was happening. The patient lying on the gurney was the gray-bearded father of the muscle-bound boy, the same pair who caught Layla’s attention earlier. A man in a white jacket (a doctor?) was talking to a dark-haired woman in red. It was hard to see what was going on. Why were they just hanging out here? Wouldn’t someone sick or injured get rushed to the hospital?

A server wheeled a cart holding a large tiered chocolate cake onto the stage, and President Bernstein said, “Please join me in singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Layla.” The band leader raised his baton and the room filled with music and the sound of voices singing the familiar tune.

Layla still had her arm linked through mine, but I shook it loose and took a step forward to get a better view of the back of the room.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Nadia

The doctor pulled me closer. I tried getting away, my feet scrabbling on the smooth floor, but his firm grip meant I was not going to be going anywhere soon. I was close enough to see every detail: the dark wavy hair and mustache, large plastic rimmed glasses, and the bulbous nose, which I knew to be fake, as were the hair and mustache. He had a stethoscope draped over his neck like a pet python. The white jacket had the name Dr. Michael Mitchard embroidered over the pocket, but I knew this man and he wasn’t Dr. Michael Mitchard. “Mr. Specter,” I said breathlessly. “Don’t do this.”

“Oh ho!” he said, close to my ear. “Aren’t you turning out to be quite the little pistol?”

“Let me go,” I said, thinking quickly. “I didn’t see anything. You know I don’t have any powers that can hurt you.”

Both of the Secret Service agents standing on either side of the gurney turned to look at me. Young guys with a clean cut look and nearly identical suits. They could have been brothers. “Help me,” I pleaded. “He won’t let me go.”

Mr. Specter waved at them to turn around and they did, showing me without a doubt where their allegiance fell. His hold on my arm was even tighter now. “I can’t let you go. You’re a liability, Nadia. I underestimated you before, but it’s not going to happen again.”

I glanced up at the stage. One of the servers had wheeled out a cart holding what looked like a chocolate wedding cake, and Layla was giving an impassioned speech about everything that had happened in her life since her last birthday. All eyes were on Layla. No one seemed to notice the girl in the red dress being held against her will. To buy time, I said, “What do you mean you underestimated me?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said. “According to my visions, you should be in the morgue back in Edgewood.”

“Why would I be in the morgue?” My heart thumped in my chest.

“That’s usually what happens to someone whose throat gets slashed by a butcher knife,” Mr. Specter said almost cheerfully. He reached out and touched the stitches on my neck and I flinched. “Somehow you’ve managed to disturb the future space-time continuum. Why didn’t your mother get that knife in a little deeper?”

“I kicked her.”

“And why would you do that?”

I stared at him dumbfounded. “Because I wanted to live.”

“But you didn’t before. Hmm…” And almost to himself he said, “I wonder why that’s changed?”

On stage, the president asked the audience if they’d join her in singing “Happy Birthday” to her daughter, Layla. In a moment, the noise level in the room was going to build an acoustic wall. If I was going to yell for help, it had to be now.

“Let go of me!” I shouted. My yelling got the attention of the gray bearded man on the gurney. He started to sit up and his fake son pushed him back down, but not before I saw the older man’s eyes. I knew those eyes, but I didn’t have the luxury of figuring out where I’d seen him before. I kept screaming. “Someone help me!” And then, thinking I might be able to get Russ’s attention, I screamed, “Russ, be careful. It’s Mr. Specter—,” Too late, I felt a needle jab the side of my neck and immediately I lost control of my limbs. It was as if every muscle had instantly become paralyzed. My vision became fuzzy but I felt Mr. Specter catch me right before I collapsed onto the floor.

“She just had a bit too much to drink,” he said to those standing around us.

I felt my consciousness fading away. It was happening fast, so fast that if I couldn’t do it quickly, it wasn’t going to happen at all. Take me out of my body.

And just like that I was hovering over my body, watching as Mr. Specter held me in his arms. It was the way people describe near death experiences, their spirit floating above their dead body. But I wasn’t dead. At least not yet. And best yet? I could see them but they couldn’t see me.

I needed to act quickly, and yet I couldn’t help but pause and look at myself for a second. Good grief, I was small. I knew I was shorter than almost everyone else, but really, I had no idea. No wonder Russ had been able to carry me so effortlessly in Peru. And here I’d worried that I was too heavy.

The second thing that hit me was that I was actually beautiful. It didn’t hurt that I wore a gorgeous red gown and that my hair was twisted into a sophisticated up-do held in place by a gem-studded headband. Nice accessories and all, but it was my face that was surprising. Even without much makeup my skin was flawless, and I had such nice features—long dark lashes, cute nose, high cheekbones. They’d been there all the time, but I never knew it. I’d been too busy keeping my hood up to hide my hideous skin. I never knew I could look so good. I’d thought if my scars were fixed I would look average and looking average would have been fine with me. I prayed to be average, in fact. I wanted to blend in and be like everyone else, but this girl’s face was beyond that. She was gorgeous. If it wasn’t me, I would want it to be.

Layla Bernstein might have four hundred people singing “Happy Birthday” to her. She was rich and beautiful and tall and famous, but I no longer envied her. I was exactly who I needed to be. If I got out of this night alive, I would never complain again.

The crowd was getting boisterous now, singing with gusto and raising their glasses to toast Layla. I could hear Kyle Sternhagen over the rest of the voices, making up extra lyrics to the song and adding “cha, cha, cha,” during the pauses. He was drunk, but at least he’d have made a suitable witness. I shouldn’t have been so quick to ditch him. Now I had no one looking out for me.

And then I saw my savior. A real Secret Service agent strode purposefully onto the scene. The look on his face said he knew something was off. “What’s going on here?” he asked, indicating my limp body.

“She just had a little too much to drink,” Mr. Specter said, playing the part of Dr. Mitchard. “Tomorrow she’ll pay a price, but otherwise she’ll be fine.”

The agent’s eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you transporting the heart attack patient to the hospital?”

“I’ve determined it was a panic attack. The patient is stabilized and waiting for a family member to come pick him up.”

“I’m going to need to check on this,” he said, shaking his head.

Inwardly I cheered, but before I could make it an all-out celebration one of the fake agents stepped forward. “No need to do that. I’ve got it covered.”

My savior said, “And who might you be?” His voice was indignant. Yes! Their cover was blown and soon a whole squad of Secret Service agents would swoop in and arrest the five of them. An old man accompanied by his so-called son, a fake doctor, and two imitation Secret Service agents. Who in their right mind thought this idea would work?

The fake agent leaned in close and rested his hand on my savior’s arm. He said, “Everything here is fine. You’re going to walk away now and feel satisfied that you’ve investigated the situation. If anyone asks, you will assure them that the doctor and his crew were sanctioned by the White House. Do you understand?”

My heart sank as I recognized he was using Mallory’s brand of mind control. Would it work?

The agent blinked like he’d suddenly awakened from a long nap. “Yes, I understand.”

“Now go and check out the guy who’s escorting Layla Bernstein. He seems suspicious. You need to take him out of the room for questioning.”

My savior obediently wandered off and didn’t even look back. The plane had gone over the island and didn’t see me waving for help. He was gone.

On stage the band played an intro and then launched right into “Happy Birthday.” The crowd sang along, some of them lifting their glasses to toast Layla.

Even so, I stayed with my body, so I heard the old man on the gurney lift his oxygen mask and say, “Smooth. Now what are you going to do with her?” No one around them could hear his voice, which sounded incredibly feminine. I veered closer and looked beyond the fake beard and mustache, and the matching hair piece. The tux no doubt covered a body girdle hiding this person’s true female form. Or maybe there was some kind of padding rounding it all out. I wasn’t sure of the details, but I was certain of one thing. Underneath all the deception lurked someone I knew.

Mrs. Whitehouse.

Mr. Specter nodded to one of the Secret Service agents. “Take her, will you?” He handed my body off as easily as if I were a life-sized Raggedy Ann.

“What do you want me to do with her?”

“Do whatever you want,” he said. “Just get her out of sight. And whatever you do, make sure it’s permanent.”

The young guy Russ had called Snake Boy grinned so wide I could see the gold tooth in the back of his mouth. “Let me take her,” he said. “I got me a few ideas what to do with her.” Oh man, I had a sick, sick feeling about this.

Mr. Specter frowned at Snake Boy. “You’re not going anywhere.” He gestured to the wheeled base of the gurney. “I’ll need you in case the Specteron doesn’t work.” I could see now that the base was a metal box with tubes coming out of it, one of which was attached to the oxygen mask covering the patient’s face. Mr. Specter nudged the box with his foot, where Mrs. Whitehouse, in character as the old man, still lay. She slapped at his hand. “Careful there. Don’t set it off while I’m on top of it.”

“I designed this thing myself,” Mr. Specter said, absentmindedly tugging on the stethoscope.” Believe me, it won’t go off until I activate it. And that’s not happening until the official goodnight. And believe me, it will be an official goodnight. Or should I call it the last and final goodnight?” He tilted his head toward the stage where the president stood with her husband and daughter. Russ was no longer next to Layla. I rose and scanned the room only to see him moving frantically through the crowd, a tuxedoed salmon trying to swim against the current.

I watched the faux Secret Service agent carry my body out of the hall through swinging doors. My head, still covered in the glimmering headband, drooped over his arm and my legs dangled loosely. I wanted to take action, but I was conflicted. Should I stay and see what Mr. Specter was up to, or follow my own body? Or maybe something else entirely.

I decided. Take me to Russ Becker.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Russ

I stood on the stage trying to see what was going on in the back of the room. My breath caught in my chest when the dark-haired woman turned around and I realized it was Nadia and that the doctor had her by the arm. Nadia twisted around and yelled my name, and my heart burst into a million pieces. She needed me and I wasn’t there.

She screamed something I couldn’t make out and the doctor put his hand up to her neck. Whatever he did caused her to wilt like he'd killed her. Swiftly, he scooped her up before she hit the floor and held her in his arms like a sleeping child.

Adrenaline bursting and heart pounding, I leaped down the stairs. I couldn't get to Nadia fast enough; the ocean of people made it impossible to make any headway. I pushed through the guests. The ones who noticed me, and that seemed to be all of them, looked puzzled.

“The boy's running scared,” one man joked.

Three more steps and I heard a woman call out, “What's the matter? Can't handle Layla?”

Layla. Oh no. When I dashed off the stage, I’d only had one person in mind. Nadia. During training they’d repeatedly stressed the importance of never leaving Layla unprotected and I’d done just that without a second’s thought. I’d done the worst thing a bodyguard could do—I’d left my post.

I looked back to see that Jameson had already taken my place by Layla’s side. He saw me looking at him, noticed my hesitation, and motioned for me to just go. His gesture said that he had this and I should do what I had to do. I weighed the situation for about a nanosecond. I wasn’t sure I could trust him, but it came down to this: I had to. Nothing was more important than Nadia.

I kept going in the direction where I’d last seen Nadia fall limp into the doctor’s arms. The image of him hurting her made me burn with anger. With each step I took, the electricity in my body welled up inside of me, building and building, until finally it was so strong, I had to clench my muscles to keep it from spilling out. If I didn’t watch it, I’d wind up frying that man alive. I needed to hang on to some semblance of control or I was going to blow up this whole building.

I charged onward with my gaze straight ahead. I kept my words to a minimum. “Move.” Startled, most people stepped aside and the ones who didn’t were shoved.

“Stop right there.”

I glanced up to see a Secret Service agent standing in my path. He’d arrived so suddenly we nearly collided. I pointed to myself. Me? And he nodded, all serious and said, “Don’t take another step. You need to come with me for questioning.”

I didn’t get it. All of the agents had been informed that I was Layla’s date, and I’d already passed through security. Why would the Secret Service want to question me?

There was only one explanation. He had to be an imposter planted by the Associates. When he roughly grabbed my elbow, I shook it off and when he reached for something inside his suit coat, I reacted by giving him a jolt of electricity. I tried to keep it small, something less than being tased, but I overshot by a lot. I wasn’t touching him at the time, so the charge arced through the air and into his mid-section. Everyone around us who saw the blast stepped back, alarmed. He dropped to his knees and rocked back and forth, trying to contain the pain. I took advantage of the situation and kept moving. The group “Happy Birthday” sing-along had just wrapped up and the applause drowned out the guests cries of alarm. “Someone help this man,” a woman screamed.

“Him. He’s the one who did this,” another woman cried out and even though my back was to her, I knew she was pointing in my direction. I definitely looked like the bad guy here, but I didn’t have time to explain. For now my only hope was to get lost in the crowd before the panic spread.

From the front of the room, I heard the singer take to the microphone again. “That was a wonderful rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ And now, if you’ll indulge us, the band would like to perform another special piece for Layla’s birthday.” The band launched into a song I recognized as the Beatles classic birthday song. Luck was with me because the band was so loud it drowned out the outcry behind me.

Twenty feet away from where I’d zapped the agent, I saw the air start to shimmer right in front of my face. Because I knew what would happen next I stopped. Just as I expected, the shimmer took on color and then form. And then it became a perfect holographic image of Nadia. From the startled exclamations of those around me they could see it too, but I couldn’t worry about them right now. The joy I felt came out in one word. Nadia!

Russ, I don’t have much time, so listen carefully.

I shut out the world and concentrated on her, and her alone. Yes?

Mr. Specter is here dressed up as a doctor and Mrs. Whitehouse is posing as an old guy who had a heart attack. They’re with the Associates and the others with them are Associates too. Some of them look like Secret Service agents.

I know, I encountered one already. He wanted me to go with him for questioning.

That one actually was a Secret Service agent. She shook her head. Never mind that now. The gurney the patient is lying on is a weapon Mr. Specter invented. He said he improved on Tesla’s design. I’m not quite sure how it works but it shoots some kind of deadly particle beam. It’s going to go off when the president says good night. You have to leave right now. Right now!

But what happened to you? Where did they take you?

She said, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I need to know you’re safe so just leave the building and get as far away as possible. I love you but I have to go!

But what about everybody else? I thought about the president’s family and Mallory and Jameson, all of them unaware of what was about to happen. I thought of Kyle Sternhagen singing drunkenly off key, and all the scientists and artists and everyone else who was present in this room. All the great minds of our day were together in one place. All of them were about to die, and I was going to be a coward and go? That wasn’t right.

She shook her head. You’re the only one I’m worried about. Be safe. I love you. Her image quivered for a few seconds. Leave right now. Promise me!

And then she faded from sight.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Nadia

It killed me to have to pull away from Russ, but I had a bad feeling about what was happening to my body. I concentrated hard and put out a request: take me to Nadia. It felt weird to refer to myself in the third person, but it must have been the right thing to do because it worked.

I found myself following the Secret Service imposter as he carried me down a long fluorescent-lit back hallway. My body was completely limp; my head jiggled slightly with each step and my legs swung like pendulums. One of my arms was pressed against his chest, the other, the one wearing the ring Russ had given me, hung loosely in front. Seeing the ring from this angle reminded me of the night I’d received it, and what Russ had said about the continuous spiral pattern—it symbolizes our interlocking lives and our never-ending love. Oh, why did I let him go? We should have run away together that night. I could have so easily crawled through that window. It didn’t matter where we went after that. We would have figured something out. At least we’d now be safe and together instead of in this impossible situation.

The man carrying my body spoke quietly under his breath. At first I thought he was talking to himself until I figured out what he was saying. “It’s a shame what I have to do to you, pretty girl,” he said, looking down at my face. “Such a shame.”

He turned a corner and came upon a portly man pushing a mop around the tile floor. When he straightened up, it was easier to see his janitor’s blue shirt with the oval name patch that said, “Dean.”

“Wet floor. Be careful,” Dean said leaning on the mop like it was holding him up.

I feared the imposter agent might kill Dean, but instead the guy said, “Will do, thanks.”

“What’s with her?” Dean asked, motioning with his head. Up close I saw that he had a day’s worth of dark whiskers covering his lower face and the top half of his neck.

“This little lady had a bit too much to drink.”

“Ah.” Dean gave him an understanding nod. “Good champagne is wasted on those that can’t handle their liquor. Me, I could drink all night and never feel a thing.”

“I hear you brother.” The agent maneuvered around Dean and kept going. “Have a nice night.”

“Yeah, you too.” Dean sighed and went back to his work.

The agent continued to a service elevator at the end of the hallway. Getting in, he pushed the button for the lowest level and hummed along with the music. A sense of panic overwhelmed me. I’d been too much of a spectator, tagging along with my body, but not doing anything to protect myself. But really what could I do? In this state I couldn’t turn on a light switch, much less fend off an attacker. If I were lucky, Russ, my hero, had listened to me and was on his way out of the building. I was on my own.

But. And there was a but and it was a big one. I could show myself to someone else and get them to help me. Who wouldn’t want to save an unconscious girl from who knows what kind of horrible thing?

The closest person, proximity wise, was Dean, the janitor. He didn’t look particularly muscular, but he was big and he’d have the element of surprise on his side. Yes, he would do.

Take me to Dean.

He was right where we’d left him, still mopping, still sighing. I concentrated on making myself seen, and gave him a mental nudge to lift his head so he could see me. His eyes widened in surprise as I became visible. I said, Dean, you have to help! The girl you saw being carried—

I stopped mid-sentence because Dean had started visibly shaking and then it got worse. His face grew white and a wet spot formed around his crotch, spread down his leg and ended in a puddle on the floor between his shoes.

I tried to reassure him. It’s okay. I’m a real person. I’m just astral—

But he didn’t stick around to hear the rest. Instead, he turned and ran, screaming with the high-pitched wail of a little girl. No one would ever believe him, but I suspected he’d be telling this story for the rest of his life.

Take me back to Nadia.

We were in a cleaning supply closet. Shelves on one side held various bottles and jars of cleaning solutions. Leaning against the opposite wall was a jumble of brooms and mops, next to a bucket on wheels. And in the middle of all this there I was, flat on my back on the floor with the fake Secret Service agent kneeling next to me studying my face.

I materialized faster than I ever had before. I willed my astral projected self to fill the closet with my presence. What do you think you’re doing? Get away from me!

This man did not react in fear like Dean the janitor, but he did look puzzled. “What are you?” he asked.

I couldn’t resist. I’m your worst nightmare.

He put his hands over his ears, like he was trying to shut out my voice in his head, but I had news for him. Wasn’t going to work.

Covering your ears won’t help.

Lowering his hands, he said, “I wasn’t doing anything to her.” He stuck out his chin defiantly. “Nothing at all. Just go away.” Pointing to the door, “Be gone. Leave me alone.”

And that’s when it hit me. He had no idea that the girl on the floor was me. Russ had recognized my likeness when I’d astral projected, and so had Mallory and Jameson, but they knew it was me from the start. This guy didn’t have a clue, which gave me a huge advantage. I’m not going anywhere, I said. You need to leave this girl and go or you’ll be sorry.

He shrugged. “No can do,” he said. “I’ve got my orders.” He shook off his suit coat and pulled something out of the inside pocket, then fastidiously folded the jacket in two and set it on a nearby shelf. Now I could see that the object in his hand was a knife. He took off the sheath and admired the knife, looking at himself in the reflection of the silver blade.

I was afraid of him. Why wasn’t he afraid of me? Stop. I made my voice as powerful as I knew how. Stop right this minute.

“Or what?” he said, bored. He ran his finger over the blade’s jagged edge.

I scrambled to come up with an answer, but I had nothing.

“I thought as much,” he said, and then as if, giving himself a pep talk, chanted, “The hallucinations never last. The voices aren’t real. The hallucinations never last. The voices aren’t real.” He took the knife and held it over my neck, like he had a rump roast in front of him and he was deciding where to cut. The stitches from my encounter with my mother’s knife stood out on my exposed neck. I could still remember the horror of the blade slicing into my skin and the feeling of blood flowing down my front.

I’m not a hallucination. I said, frantically. I’m a ghost.

Now I had his attention. The knife still in his hand, he looked straight at me. “Like a dead person?”

Yes, I’m dead. One of your relatives has sent a message. She says, I thought for a moment, that she is disappointed in you. She wants you to change your ways.

His face fell. “Nonny?”

Yes. She says it’s not too late. That you’re a good boy and you know better. Nonny says you should let go of the past. Terrible things happened to you when you were a little boy, but it wasn’t your fault and that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. The words poured out of me without any thought on my part. Where was all this coming from?

He whispered, “She always said I was a good boy.”

You can still be good and make her proud. Nonny says to put the knife away and leave the girl alone. And from now on, live a good life. Something else popped into my head. She also says you should go to a doctor and get help for the hallucinations.

He stood up and pointed with the knife. “I should just leave her here like this?”

Yes. Just go. Leave the building as fast as you can and from now on choose to do the right thing. Make Nonny proud.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Russ

Nadia had said, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I need to know you’re safe so just leave the building and get as far away as possible. I love you but I have to go! And: Leave right now. Promise me! But I hadn’t promised and I knew I couldn’t just run out of the room and leave everyone else behind.

I hesitated, feeling pulled in three directions. Part of me (most of me) wanted to find Nadia. Another part felt like I should go back and protect Layla. But the third part, reaching Mr. Specter and disengaging his machine, had the biggest pull and it was, I knew, the reason I was here.

The band played on, but I knew when the song was over, the president was going to thank everyone for coming and say good-night. According to Nadia, that was when the weapon would be activated. I needed to get to the back of the room and pushing through the crowd took too much time. I had to change my strategy.

“Back off,” I yelled. “I need some space.” I moved in a circle with my arms outstretched, letting off sparks as I turned. The people around me responded the way I thought they would.

“Ouch!”

“Ow!”

“What was that?”

“Stop it!”

Those who got shocked instinctively moved away from the pain. After I’d done a full revolution, a circle had cleared around me. Just what I was aiming for. Palms down, I let out an enormous blast, giving the impression of lightning coming off of both hands. The impact pushed me upward and forward. Once I was over the crowd, I realized I was going to fall short of my goal. If the room were empty I could have done another blast and given myself more liftoff, but there were too many people beneath me and someone was bound to be in the way. Killing innocent bystanders was never an option. I grabbed at the draped fabric that decorated the ceiling thinking I’d swing down like in the movies, but it wasn’t securely attached and when I fell, it came down with me. The only thing it did was slow my fall, but not by much. Below, spectators screamed as I landed in a crouch and scrambled to keep my balance.

A path had cleared between me and my destination. The patient, Mrs. Whitehouse as a man with a gray beard, stood next to the gurney while the doctor, Mr. Specter, regarded me with amusement. On either side of them stood several young men, including the guy posing as the older man’s son. Mr. Specter looked ridiculous in his fake hairpiece, mustache, and glasses. He looked straight at me and over the sound of the music yelled, “You’re late, Mr. Becker.” The same words he’d use when I used to arrive to his sophomore science class after the bell had rung.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the imposter son walked angrily toward me with palms extended. Zaps of electricity shot out of him and pelted me in the chest. It took my breath away. The guy outweighed me by a lot and his rage was intimidating, but his methods were all wrong. I was Russ Becker. At home that meant I was a second child in a middle class family in a small town in Wisconsin. But in a situation like this, it meant I had the upper hand. I’d been called a second gen, but that wasn’t technically correct. I wasn’t the second generation to experience the lux spiral, but I had been exposed to particles from the lux spiral once as a baby and again when I was fifteen. Every cell in my body had been infused with something special since I was a few months old. And shooting electricity at me was like handing me weapons.

“Woo hoo, how do you like that?” the guy crowed. Between the familiar look and the distinctive voice, I knew who I was dealing with. When the Associates had abducted Frank, they’d made me go through a series of tests before they would release him, and this guy was part of one of those tests. At the time I’d dubbed him Snake Boy because he had a python tattooed on the side of his neck. I’d defeated him and his friend, Wavy Hair, the day of the test, and I could do it again.

“I like it fine, thanks.” I sent his electricity right back at him, which took him off guard. He fell to the floor writhing from the impact. The air crackled from the current and onlookers scrambled for the exits.

Now I was the one walking with a vengeance, ready for the next attacker, an Associate dressed as a Secret Service agent. I realized as he got closer that I’d met him before too. Tonight his hair was slicked down, and he’d cleaned up pretty well in the suit and white shirt, but I would have known Wavy Hair anywhere. One of my worst memories was of him and his buddy knocking me down and repeatedly zapping me with electricity whenever I tried to get up. “Remember me?” I shouted, sparks flying off my hands.

“Meb-be I do.” Wavy Hair laughed. “I remember how easy it were to pin you down. Me and my buddy almost had you crying like a little girl.”

He threw a lightning bolt toward me and I instinctively ducked. Straightening up, I returned the favor, shooting electricity back at him. He wheeled around, deflecting my shot with one of his own. This was proving to be harder than I thought. From the floor, Snake Boy, screamed something unintelligible. It sounded like he was cheering his friend on.

I recoiled, ready to go again, when something above me whooshed through the air skimming the top of my head. Before I could even react, I saw that it was a thick rope with a tassel heading straight for Wavy Hair. In a matter of seconds, the rope wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side and whipping around him with such force that he fell to the floor.

In the front of the room the band wound down awkwardly as they finally realized something was wrong. One final squawk of a trumpet and the music had silenced. A man yelled, “Everyone take cover!” Panic ensued—men in their tuxedos shielded their dates, everyone scrambling to get out of the room or at least away from me. I glanced up to see that one of the curtains was no longer being held back by its tasseled rope. Jameson cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled from the stage, “You’re welcome.”

Looking back I saw Mr. Specter flip the top off the gurney and pull out what looked like the nozzle from a gas pump. An enormous roar filled the air as he aimed the nozzle toward the front of the room. A stream of glittering bits moved slowly and deliberately through the air. Was it electricity or a liquid or something else completely? Like glittering confetti, the individual pieces revolved around each other within the deadly particle beam. I’d never seen anything like it. The beam was heading toward the stage where Secret Service agents were escorting the president and her family off the stage.

A collage of words went through my mind all at once.

Nadia telling me I needed to leave and adding, You’re the only one I’m worried about. Be safe. I love you.

Mr. Bernstein introducing me as Russ Becker, the miracle maker from Wisconsin.

Carly saying, I’m proud of you, Russ. You’re doing the right thing even though you know it might not end well.

And President Bernstein: I know I can rely on you.

I knew what I had to do.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Nadia

When Nonny’s grown-up boy left the supply closet, I listened to his footsteps as he walked down the hall. When he broke into a run, I knew he was going to follow the instructions to leave the building as quickly as possible. I didn’t think he’d come back, which meant my body was safe enough for now.

Take me to Russ.

I’d hoped to find him in front of the building, or in a cab driving fast and far away, but instead I went to the ballroom where it was complete pandemonium. My heart sank. The elegant soiree was now a disaster scene. Frightened guests yelled and carried on as they pushed to get out. Secret Service agents tried to slow down the stampede to the doors. Russ stood in a clearing as if he were in a bubble. A few feet from him a man was lying on the floor with a thick rope wrapped around his midsection. His feet kicked weakly like a bug who’d been sprayed with insecticide. Behind Russ, another guy was curled in a fetal position on the floor, smoke rising off of him. On the stage in front, the first family was exiting out a door in the back shielded on all sides by protective agents.

And Mr. Specter, still in his Dr. Mitchard disguise, had activated his death ray beam and aimed it at the front of the room. The beam didn’t shoot out quickly like in science fiction movies. Instead it moved languidly, sparkling and rotating as it went. It was a beautiful but determined beam, created to search for life then snuff it out. There was no way to get away from it once you were in its path. In a minute, everyone in the front of the room would be obliterated.

Run, Russ! Go. Now!

Russ made no sign of having heard me. Instead, he ejected himself in the air the same way he’d propelled himself onto my roof the night he’d given me the ring. He pushed off the floor using electrical currents from both hands and rose right in the path of the beam. When he met it, he blocked it with his own body. With his arms outstretched, it held him suspended in midair.

Oh, Russ, no…

The death ray’s beam reflecting off his body created a light so brilliant I could barely make out the expression on his face. I don’t know how long he hung there as a human barricade keeping the beam from going any farther. Even as painful as it was to watch, I couldn’t keep my eyes away. Seeing someone you love suffering is the cruelest thing there is. I would have traded places with him like it was nothing, had him safe in another room, while I absorbed all of the Associates’ evil, even if it ended my life. But I didn’t have that choice.

Everyone in the room was fleeing away from this spectacle, except for three people running toward it. Mallory, Jameson, and David Hofstetter. David took the lead, holding his arm out to indicate the others should stay back. When they got closer, Mallory gestured to the Associate Jameson had hogtied and cried out, “That one is getting loose.” Sure enough, he’d managed to unravel the curtain tieback and was struggling to his feet. David pointed and let loose an electrical charge, small compared to what Russ could do, but enough to subdue the man.

Mr. Specter wrestled with the nozzle trying to direct it away from Russ, but the energy was drawn to Russ now like a flame to fuel. Russ twitched from side to side and I flinched. I’d once been burned with battery acid and thought that was the worst pain a person could ever experience, but this had to be ten times worse. How much more could he take?

David walked right up to Mr. Specter and blasted a lightning bolt at his feet to make a point. “Turn it off right now,” he shouted, “or I swear I’ll fry you alive.”

Mr. Specter didn’t even turn his head to look; he was still struggling with the nozzle.

I made myself known in front of him—faster than I’d ever materialized before. There was no way he couldn’t see me. Judging from David, Mallory, and Jameson’s expressions, each of them could see me too. I screamed in my head. You have to shut it down. You’re killing him.

Mr. Specter yelled, “I can’t turn it off. It won’t let me.” I wasn’t sure if he was responding to me or David, but I heard the desperation in his voice and knew he told the truth. The machine was out of control. There was no stopping it now or ever. I willed my astral projected self to rise up closer to Russ. Even with the bright light I could make out the grimace on his face. It was the look of someone in agony. I didn’t want to say good-bye.

I’m here with you, Russ. I love you. I didn’t think he heard me so I tried again, keeping in mind that this might be the last opportunity I’d have to tell him how I felt. I want to thank you. You’ve changed me in every way. Your love has made me stronger.

I felt a flicker of something in return. An unspoken message, the way lovers smile at each other across a room.

At that moment, the glare intensified, getting brighter and brighter.

And then, the tide turned.

The room reverberated with a high pitched thrumming sound. The glow coming off of Russ’s body spiked, until it was like looking at the sun. And then, a deafening blast filled the room as the ray bounced off Russ and reversed straight toward Mr. Specter and the death ray machine. The impact caused an explosion that shattered the chandeliers. Thick black vapor poured from the spot where Mr. Specter had stood only a moment ago.

Only seconds before the hall had been filled with the sounds of voices crying out, and people running to get to the exits. Now it was as still as death itself.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Russ

Spasms of pain wracked my body as the beam held me trapped high above the floor. Worse yet was the psychological torture. The death ray was more than just energy; it was a collection of every negative emotion ever felt by anyone anywhere. I experienced the pain of prisoners of war, the agony of abused children, the loss of a thousand loved ones’ deaths. All of the world’s collective sorrows. Mired in it, it was hard to imagine why anyone would want to live at all. Life was all so dire and pointless. Nothing good could ever come from being a human being. We were born, we suffered, and then we died.

The word excruciating was invented to describe the physical and emotional pain I felt when suspended by the death ray. Nothing made sense anymore. What was the point of all this again? I didn’t have a clue.

It seemed to go on and on. I could have been up there for minutes or hours. I wondered why I thought it was a good idea to leap up and stop the beam. It started as a selfless gesture. I wanted to keep the death ray from harming anyone else, but as I felt it filling every cell in my body, I knew this wasn’t a real solution. There would be a saturation point and when that happened, I wouldn’t be able to hold it back anymore. Then all of my suffering would be for nothing. It felt like a million burning fishhooks were poking and twisting every inch of my body. I writhed in pain and prayed for it to end. If it was a death ray, why wasn’t I dead already?

When I felt Nadia’s presence, it was a comfort. I was glad she would go on living long after I was gone. So much of her life had been terrible; she deserved better things to come. But even hearing her say she loved me didn’t lessen the anguish. The torment was endless and infinite. I blinked back tears. If I gave in to it, that was the end. I wanted it to be over, but I didn’t want my life to end this way.

To offset the pain, I concentrated on Nadia. Her voice rang in my head, the words crystal clear. Your love has made me stronger. Nadia had survived so much in her life—the excruciating pain of getting burned by battery acid, the horror of having a scarred face, the isolation of her home life. Whatever happened, she just handled it. I wasn’t sure my love had made her stronger. She’d been strong to begin with. If anything, it seemed to me that she’d made me a better person. Or maybe we just brought out the best in each other.

Without even thinking about it, I drew up my strength, and made my body into a shield. A shield that deflected the death ray, sending it back to the machine and its creator.

The explosion was ear-splitting and so violent it made the building shake, but there was no ball of fire, like when a bomb goes off. The chandeliers burst and I heard the clatter of glass slivers as they fell to the floor. The death ray machine exploded and became a dark cloud that covered everything and then dissipated, leaving only wreckage. Without the beam to hold me up I dropped fast. My stomach lurched the same way it did riding a roller coaster. I knew if I landed the wrong way, that would be it for me. I’d braced for a crash landing knowing I would hit hard, so it was a shock to feel myself being caught and lowered gently to the floor. I bent my knees and tried to catch my breath. I was shaky, but alive.

The emergency lights came on almost instantaneously and through the eye-sting of smoke, I saw confusion. A billow of dust blanketed the room. Everyone who’d been standing behind the machine had been struck down. The fabric draping the ceiling was sooty and tattered, and tables and chairs had been knocked over or propelled across the room. Once the dust cleared I saw that the few remaining guests clustered close to the exits, looked shell shocked. Off to one side, a woman whined like a dog in distress.

Behind where the death ray had been, bodies littered the floor. A Secret Service agent lay completely still on the floor behind where the machine had been, his leg bent at an awkward angle. Behind him, Mr. Specter was sprawled on the floor face down with a blanket of soot covering his white jacket and blood pooling around his head. Judging from the amount of blood loss, he had to be dead. He’d started all this, and I’d only been defending everyone else here, but there was still a part of me that wanted to walk away guilt-free. Playing games where opponents died didn’t really affect me. In real life, though, it’s a horror that can’t be described. I knew I would never get these images out of my head. They would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Jameson rushed up to me. “We need to stop them,” he said, his voice high-pitched and frantic.

“Stop who?” I looked down to see that Mallory was now kneeling next to David Hofstetter, pressing a cloth napkin to the front of his bloody shirt. “Are you okay?” I asked, and David grunted something positive in response.

“I’ve got him,” Mallory said, concentrating on putting pressure on the wound. “You guys just do what you need to do.”

Jameson snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Focus, Russ. We need to catch Mrs. Whitehouse and that other guy. The fake son.”

“Where’s Nadia?” I asked, wheeling around.

Jameson grabbed my arm. “You can find Nadia later. We need to go now.” Conflicted, I followed him. I wanted an inventory of all the people I cared about—Nadia, Carly, Layla and her parents, Dr. Anton and Rosie. I wanted to know where they were and that they were safe and unharmed. But we were running now, past the stunned guests, who were helping each other to their feet and attending to minor wounds. We left the ballroom, and Jameson glanced back at me. “I’m not sure which way they went, but it’s a safe bet they left the building. The two of them ran out while you were up in the air doing your dramatic, save-the-world scene.”

Trust Jameson to come up with a comment like that. “I could have died, you know,” I said.

“Yes, but you didn’t, did you?” He gestured to an exit sign. “I think taking the stairs is a safe bet.” He tried the knob, but the door was locked. I motioned for him to step aside, and gave it a blast, blowing it open.

“At least one of us has skills,” I said as we went through. We charged down the stairs, down and around from floor to floor, grabbing the railing at each turn.

“Yeah, well you would have fallen on your ass a few minutes ago if not for me.”

“That was you?” I thought of my drop from the ceiling and the sensation that a giant pair of arms had caught me on the way down. It didn’t feel like Jameson, but I didn’t have any other explanation so he had to be speaking the truth. I owed my life to Jameson. What a revelation.

“All me,” he said. “So if you’re talking about skills, give me some credit.”

“Thanks, Jameson.”

“You’re welcome, pal.”

We got to the first floor and burst out of the stairwell. Jameson said, “They’d have to drive out of here. I say we try the back parking lot where the employees park.”

“We need to check the front where the valet is,” I said. “They’d be in front. Definitely in front.”

“Don’t you think that would be too obvious?” Jameson said.

“That’s why they’d do it,” I said, leading the way. There wasn’t time to get into it, but my hunch was based on more than that. You’d have to be completely arrogant to show up at the Presidential Black Tie Bash in disguise wheeling in a weapon of annihilation and think you could get away with it. And that’s exactly the kind of person who would come and go using the front door with the rest of the guests.

We made our way across the lobby and through the doors that led outside. The front circular walk was crowded with guests waiting for their cars. I overheard one woman say, “I’m surprised the police aren’t here taking statements.” As we pushed through the crowd, conversations buzzed around us. Judging from what I overheard, everyone here had gotten out before the explosion. They were all clear that something had happened, they just couldn’t get a handle on what it was. Was it a light show gone wrong, a terrorist attack, an electrical malfunction? When we reached the valet, I asked, “Did you see a short old man with a beard? He was with a young guy, his son?”

Jameson stepped next to me and joined in. “The son is like his size,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder, “but super muscular. Like, even the guy’s neck is big.”

The valet, a young guy with a blond buzz cut shrugged. “Yeah, I saw ‘em. They drove up in a Bentley.” He raised his eyebrows. “Nice ride.”

“Can you tell us where the car is parked?” Jameson asked.

“It’s not parked anywhere; it’s right there.” Turning around, we followed his outstretched arm and saw a silver Bentley speed past and accelerate down the drive toward the road. “Their chauffeur just picked them up.”

Without a word, Jameson and I took off running after the car. Two people rode in the backseat, but it was impossible to see much more than that. The u-shaped drive had a median filled with flowering bushes surrounded by decorative stone. Jameson tried to stop the car by telekinetically winging some of the stones at it while I made a feeble attempt to shoot electricity at the rear wheels, but the fact of the matter was that we were too far out of range.

As we settled back on the curb in defeat, both of us panting breathlessly, Jameson picked at a piece of grass and said, “So close. Man, that was frustrating.”

“At least we tried.”

He said, “Why didn’t you catapult yourself at them?”

“I couldn’t do it. Tapped out.” I leaned back and stretched my legs. Off in the distance I heard the wail of an ambulance. “Maybe we’ll get another chance.”

“Yeah I’m sure you’ll be seeing Mrs. Whitehouse in the lunch line when you go back to school,” Jameson said. “You can take her down while she’s spooning out macaroni and cheese.”

“The lunch program doesn’t serve macaroni and cheese,” I said, but I got his point. Chances were good we wouldn’t be seeing Mrs. Whitehouse ever again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Nadia

The death ray aimed at Russ’s chest reversed direction and a second later the machine exploded. I left Russ’s side to give Jameson a frantic message. Catch him! I said. There was only a fraction of a second, but I have to give Jameson credit—he totally came through, cushioning Russ’s fall right before he would have hit the floor.

Russ looked dazed, but okay. Jameson and Mallory got through it too, but David Hofstetter must have been standing too close to the machine, because he’d gotten hit and knocked to the floor. Mallory grabbed a napkin off the floor and knelt down to apply pressure to the wound. As much as I wanted to stick around, I had to see where Mrs. Whitehouse went.

I’d noticed her earlier, still in disguise, slipping out of the ballroom, along with her sham son. This had happened about the same time Russ had thrown himself onto the death ray. While he was risking his life to undo their dirty work, they’d scurried away like rats leaving a sinking ship. So much for loyalty to Mr. Specter. He was the bad guy in all this, but still I felt for him. Having friends betray you was the worst.

But now I had to see where Mrs. Whitehouse and her cohort went. If they had something else planned and were coming back, I wanted to be able to warn Russ and the others.

Take me to Mrs. Whitehouse.

The two were exiting an elevator and heading toward the front door of the building and I followed right along. The son, a bulky young guy with his neck tattoo now starting to show, had a cell phone to his ear. “Right now. Yes, this minute.” There was a pause while he listened to the person on the other end and then he answered. “Aborted. We’ll explain later.” He ended the call and stuck the phone in his pocket. “He said he’s sitting there and he’ll pull the car around.”

Mrs. Whitehouse didn’t say a word. She stopped and looked back at the elevator with teary eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” His eyes shifted from her to the front door and back again. “The deal was if it didn’t go as planned, I was out of there. And it didn’t go as planned. In a few minutes this place is going to be overrun with uniforms and I’m not gonna be here when that happens.”

“But what if Sam’s injured and I’m not there to take care of him?” She asked, her voice plaintive.

“Look.” The guy lowered his face to hers and spoke in a harsh whisper. “One of two things happened. He’s either okay and he’ll meet up with us later, or he’s dead and it won’t help for you to get caught.”

At the word dead her lip started quivering, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care. She gulped as if trying to pull back tears.

He continued, “Now march to the door, and get your act together. I swear I’ll leave you behind. I swear, I will walk right out that door,” he pointed, “and I will not look back. I am not getting pinched because you can’t deal. Now move.”

She trudged behind him with the enthusiasm of a teenager forced to go on a family outing. Through the swinging glass doors they went and outside where the valet stood at his post. Other patrons were exiting now, all of them buzzing about the odd way the evening had ended. “I bet we read all about it tomorrow,” a silver-haired lady in a mink shawl said. “It’s probably some kind of preview for a show or movie.”

Her portly companion nodded. “A magic act, no doubt.”

While she waited, Mrs. Whitehouse stroked her fake beard, and muttered under her breath. “Come on, come on.” She craned her neck. “How long does it take to pull a car around?”

“Just relax, Dad. He’ll be here as soon as he can.”

They waited a few more minutes, Mrs. Whitehouse sadly stroking her beard and looking like she was on the edge of losing it, while Snake Boy stood stock still, cool as can be. Behind them, people poured out of the building, chattering away about the spectacle. The new arrivals had seen more and the fear in their voices was evident. They wondered why the authorities weren’t there. “Who’s in charge here?” one man said. “I’d like to talk to someone in authority.”

“How much longer?” Mrs. Whitehouse asked, her eyes wide. “Maybe we should start walking.”

“Cool it. Look, that’s him.”

A large silver vehicle with an impressive front end and distinctive prism headlights circled the drive and pulled up in front of them. The driver, who wore a classic chauffeur’s cap, didn’t get out to open the door for them. Instead, Mrs. Whitehouse yanked it open and slid into the back, followed by her fake son. I went along for the ride.

“What the hell happened in there?” I recognized Kevin Adam’s voice before the chauffeur even turned around. Usually Kevin had a middle-aged cool thing going for him, but he didn’t have it now, and he’d aged about ten years since the last time I’d seen him. His eyes were hangdog tired. His mouth turned down in a disapproving line.

“Just drive,” Snake Boy said. “We’ll have time to talk later.”

As the car sped down the drive, Mrs. Whitehouse noticed something out the back window. “Faster,” she cried. “Before they catch up.”

Snake Boy and I turned to see Jameson and Russ running behind the car, their arms pumping with every stride. Snake Boy turned and glared. “Unbelievable.”

I mentally cheered them on, even as I saw they weren’t keeping pace with the car. Russ flung a small lightning bolt in our direction but it fell short. With a tilt of his head, Jameson lifted some pebbles from a planting bed and tossed them after us. They hit the window, but not too forcefully. Ping. Ping. Ping.

“What was that?” Mrs. Whitehouse turned around, her eyes wide. She’d pulled the beard and mustache off and bits of adhesive stuck to her chin.

Snake Boy scoffed. “It’s nothing. Just keep going.”

The Bentley turned out of the drive and onto the roadway, losing Russ and Jameson who watched helplessly from behind. They’d stopped running. Russ dropped his hands to his side in defeat while Jameson palmed his forehead. Kevin floored it and Russ and Jameson got smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see them at all. A few miles out, Kevin took off the chauffeur’s hat and ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain his Elvis pompadour. Tears streaked down Mrs. Whitehouse’s face. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” she cried. “Sam and I should be out celebrating right now.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. “We were going to make a difference. A lot of people talk about it, but we were actually going to do it. We can change the world, is what he always said. The two of us were going to change the world for the better. And not for the glory,” she said. “But because someone needed to take charge. Someone smart, someone looking out for the collective. We’ve planned this for years. We spent ages gaining allies on the inside, anticipating problems, practicing every scenario. And for what?” Her voice was bitter. “For nothing.”

“What exactly happened?” Kevin asked. “Where’s Sam?”

“We had to leave him behind,” Snake Boy said. “Don’t worry about it, just keep driving.”

Mrs. Whitehouse said. “I’ll tell you what happened. That damn Russ Becker intercepted the beam so it never reached the target. By all rights it should have killed him but since he was just out there running after the car like a dog, I guess it didn’t.”

“If he’s still alive maybe Sam’s okay,” Kevin said hopefully. “Then we can all go back to Edgewood and forget this nonsense. Just live a normal life.”

“I’m not forgetting anything,” Mrs. Whitehouse said, resting her forehead against the window. “No way, no how. I’m remembering every bit of this for the rest of my life.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Russ

Jameson and I only rested for a few minutes before we got up from the curb, brushed ourselves off and headed back. When we got up to where the Bash was held, we found the doors closed, locked, and guarded by beefy security officers. “We need to get into the hall,” Jameson said to the guy standing in front of the door we’d used just twenty minutes before.

“This whole area is off limits.” The guy folded his arms and I saw that his biceps were the size of Jameson’s head.

“Is there someone you can check with?” I asked. “Because I think they’ll make an exception for us.”

“No exceptions.”

“You must have a list. I think you’ll find our names on it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You two are somehow special?”

I ignored his sarcasm. “I’m Russ Becker. Maybe you’ve heard of me? I was Layla Bernstein’s date?”

“Layla’s gone home and I think you should too. Run along now. Playtime’s over.”

Jameson and I exchanged a questioning look. Should we try to get past this guy, wait it out, or what? Before we could decide, the door swung open and Dr. Anton stuck his head out. “Russ? Jameson? Oh good, you’re back.” He spoke to the guard. “They’re okay. Let them pass.”

Jameson gave the guy a smug grin as we walked by but I didn’t bother. “Is the president and her family safe?” I asked.

Dr. Anton nodded. “And the vice president and his wife too. You did it, Russ. Because of you, we’ve avoided an international incident.” He led us further into the room. “Come this way. We were watching on the monitor but by the time we came in you two were gone. We’ve been looking for you.” We stepped over debris, including broken glass, soot, and assorted pieces of metal. On the opposite side, paramedics ratcheted a stretcher up so it could be wheeled out of the room. My sister stood nearby wringing her hands. When Carly saw me, she yelled, “Russ, get over here.”

I hurried to her side. The paramedics had pulled a sheet over the body. I knew what was underneath. “David?” I asked.

Carly bit her lip and nodded. “You’ve got to help him, Russ.” She blocked a wheel with her foot so they couldn’t move it. “Give my brother a chance. He can fix him.”

The two paramedics exchanged a look and then one of them said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, ma’am, but he’s gone.” He did sound sorry. He sounded very sorry.

She ignored him and pulled me closer. “You can do this.” Her voice was ragged. “You have to do this.”

Dr. Anton spoke to the paramedics. “Hey guys, could we just have a few minutes here to pay our last respects?”

The one who had spoken shrugged. “Sure, okay. We’ll take five.”

Before they’d even walked out of hearing range, Carly had uncovered David’s face. His eyes were closed and there was a small cut on his forehead, but otherwise he appeared to be fine. “I was just talking to him a few minutes ago. There shouldn’t be oxygen deprivation damage or anything yet. Do your thing, Russ.”

My heart sank. I had healed people on the brink of death, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t raise someone who was already gone. I wasn’t God. I was only a high school junior with superpowers. I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw Rosie standing next to me. “Just try,” she urged. “Even if it doesn’t work, your sister will know that you tried your best.”

“Don’t just try,” Carly said angrily. “Do it.”

I held my palms over David and willed the energy to go from my hands to him. I wished that his cells would draw from my energy and jumpstart his heart. I envisioned Carly, Frank, and David as a family and tried pouring the love Frank and Carly would have for David into his still body. I kept wishing and thinking and hoping. Energy. Love. Life. I took the words and channeled them through my hands to David’s body.

I glanced up at Carly, took note of her tear-stained face, and tried again. Energy. Love. Life. I knew how to do this.

But none of it worked. David was gone, only a shell remained. I looked up to see Carly wringing her hands. I shook my head. “I’m really sorry, Carly. I’m not getting anything.”

“Try harder then,” Carly said, and when I shook my head no, her face contorted in anger and she lashed out at me, hitting me over and over again, the flat of her hand against my back. It didn’t really hurt, but still I flinched. She cried, “Do it! Do it! Just do it!”

Finally Dr. Anton said, “That’s enough,” and pulled her away. “Russ can’t do it, Carly. If he could, he would.” She shook him off and collapsed into the fetal position on the floor, rocking back and forth and wailing. When Rosie tried to place a consoling hand on her shoulder she pushed it away.

“I’m so sorry,” I said helplessly. “I can’t do anything. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

She looked up, her eyes smudged with makeup. “He was alive a few minutes ago. Where were you then, Russ?” she asked, venom in her voice. “What was so all-fire important that you couldn’t be here for me? The one time I needed you and you were gone.”

Her words shook me. She was right, I’d let her down, and now David was dead.

Almost like she’d heard my thoughts, Rosie put a comforting hand on my arm. “It’s not your fault, Russ. You’re only one person, you can’t be in more than one place at a time.”

“I would have stayed,” I said, “but he didn’t look that bad off.” Even to me it sounded lame. “And Mallory said to go.”

The quiet threatened to devour me. I glanced around the room. “Where is Mallory?”

Rosie said, “Mallory is working downstairs right now. They stopped all the folks who witnessed the explosion and she’s using her talent to convince them it was just an act, part of tonight’s entertainment.”

“Is someone watching Mallory to make sure she’s doing the right thing?” The fact that Mallory ran toward the death beam and tried to stop Mr. Specter made me believe she was on our side. Still, Nadia had said she couldn’t be trusted.

Rosie nodded. “The necessary safeguards are in place.”

“What about all the people who left before the explosion?” Jameson said. “There were a lot of them outside talking about it.”

Carly let out a heartbreaking wail. If I could have, I’d have traded places with David. How could I tell my nephew that his dad died because of me?

Dr. Anton said, “The White House will release an official statement along the lines that the whole thing was an act, a preview of a movie going into production next year. Some of the guests have minor cuts or ripped clothing. That will be attributed to a mechanical malfunction. They’ll be given gifts to compensate.”

“No guests were killed?” Jameson asked.

“None.” Dr. Anton smiled. “Luckily the deaths have been limited to those working for the Associates as well as three Secret Service agents. Brave men who gave their lives for their country.”

“You three did well. I’m proud to know you,” Rosie said.

I said, “Does anyone know where Nadia is?”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Nadia

Poor Russ. I’d witnessed the meltdown Carly had after Russ was unable to bring David back. Even though Russ had already put his own life on the line and saved the country, and maybe even the world, from harm, I could tell he still felt like a failure. When he’d said, “Does anyone know where Nadia is?” his voice sounded so sad, I could have cried for him. And then, of course, I was overjoyed because it meant that he was worried about me and wanted to be with me.

I whispered, Russ, I’m in the building still unconscious. I told him I was in a closet in the basement and that I’d guide him. I thought it would be a simple matter. He’d find me, I’d slip back into my body, and we’d be reunited.

Ten minutes later in the supply closet, I watched as Russ cradled me in his arms. He stroked my cheek with one finger, looked up at the astral projected version of me and said, “You’re so cold.” He turned to look at Dr. Anton, who stood behind me. Jameson, too, had followed him down, and all three of them looked worried.

I started to say I was fine, but I was interrupted by Dr. Anton who knelt down to check on me. He pressed two fingers to my wrist, frowned and then checked my neck. “Her pulse is really faint,” he said.

Russ said, “But the fact that you are getting a pulse means she’s okay, right?”

It’s probably because I’m projecting, I said, referring to my faint heartbeat. I’d discovered that although Dr. Anton and Jameson could make out my form, I could only talk to one person at a time. Only Russ could hear me.

“She says it’s because she’s astral projecting.”

If the idea that I could astral project was news to Dr. Anton, he wasn’t showing it.

Jameson smacked a fist into his hand, like a catcher punching his glove. “So tell her to get back in there already.”

“Wait!” Dr. Anton said. “Ask Nadia what they did to her. What’s the last thing she remembers?”

A needle to my neck. One quick prick and I felt myself slipping away.

Russ repeated my words, and Dr. Anton nodded. He looked up at me and said, “Nadia, I know it’s scary, but you need to slip back in. We’ll do whatever we can to try and counteract the damage done by the injection. It may take some time, but we’ll have the best minds in the country working on your case. You’re in good hands.”

Until he said the word damage, I hadn’t been afraid at all. I’d assumed the effects of the injection were temporary, something to keep me quiet and out of the way. The thought that I might be permanently damaged never occurred to me. It didn’t take much to go from there to thinking I might die. My mind reeled and in seconds I’d imagined my own funeral, my parents sobbing inconsolably, and Russ grieving for a short while before going on and living his life without me. In the future he’d have new girlfriends or a wife, and I would be just a bittersweet memory.

“Don’t worry, Nadia,” Russ said aloud. “I can heal you.”

He sounded so positive that the whole funeral scene faded from my mind. Of course I wasn’t going to die. I was sixteen. I had so much more to do.

“Go ahead,” he urged, looking from me to my body. “It’ll be okay.”

Like diving into a pool, I just did it. I added my ethereal form to my human body. It would be okay. Russ said so.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Russ

Dr. Anton called the paramedics who arrived a few minutes after Nadia slid into her body. I’d expected a change once she went back—that her face would regain its color or her heartbeat would grow stronger—but nothing happened. She was exactly the same. I put my hands over her body and directed my energy into her cells. I added every positive emotion I had, love being foremost, and willed it with every ounce of my being. But just like with David Hofstetter, I failed. “Why isn’t it working?” I asked.

Dr. Anton rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s not a matter of healing her,” he said. “Because she’s not sick or injured. I suspect that she was given something akin to a paralytic drug. Until we figure it out and give her the antidote, nothing is going to change.”

It was so frustrating. I could feel Nadia’s energy, but I couldn’t connect. The realization washed over me that maybe I’d never be able to find her, that maybe the Associates had paralyzed her permanently, and Nadia was now trapped in some lower depths I’d never be able to reach. I brushed my lips against her cheek and whispered, “Hang in there, Nadia. I love you.”

And then the paramedics took over, checking her vitals, moving her onto a rolling stretcher, putting an oxygen mask over her mouth. The three of us moved along with them as they maneuvered down the hall and into the elevator. On the ride up my eyes never left Nadia. Even under the harsh light there was no sign that she’d once had scars covering one side of her face. Now she was perfect inside and out. Thoughts ran through my head. Please let Nadia be well. Please, please, please. Bring her back to me.

When the elevator opened on the main floor, Mallory stood, blocking our way. Her face registered surprise. “I was just coming down to find you,” she said.

One of the paramedics said, “Miss, could you please step aside?”

Mallory ignored him. “Was Nadia injected with something?” she asked.

Dr. Anton and I simultaneously said, “Yes.”

“Then I know how to fix her.” She stepped inside the elevator.

Dr. Anton spoke to the paramedics. “Could you just give us a minute?” He held the door open, and made a motion for them to leave. Both of them left without questioning him. I was starting to understand that Dr. Anton was kind of a big deal around here. He pushed the button to close the door, giving us privacy.

Mallory held a hand out. “Russ, I need the necklace I gave you earlier.” When I didn’t react, she added, “The one in your pocket?”

“You said not to give it back to you no matter what.”

“I meant during the Bash. It’s okay now.”

Dr. Anton said, “Go ahead. Give it to her.”

I reached into the inside pocket of my suit coat, pulled out the rose necklace and handed it to her. She examined it for a moment, then turned it around. “It has two parts,” she said. “When I press on here,” she said, pointing, “a needle pops out that can be used to disable someone. If you do the same thing on the other side, another needle pops out that dispenses medication to counteract the first one.” Mallory pushed on the top of the rose and a short needle popped out at the base of the rose. “And then you do this.” She put the needle against the base of Nadia’s neck.

Jameson, Dr. Anton, and I all reacted at once.

“Wait!”

“Stop!”

“Just a minute!”

But she was too fast for us. By the time I’d grabbed her hand, she’d already plunged the needle into Nadia’s skin. My heart sank. We had no idea what she’d just injected into Nadia. What if it was more of the same and the added dose killed her?

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “We don’t know what was in that.” I was so angry I couldn’t stand to look at Mallory, so instead I looked down at Nadia, still and sweet, defenseless against the world.

“I told you what was in it,” Mallory said, her eyes wide and innocent. “Why would I do it otherwise?”

“If you gave her the right thing, why didn’t it work?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it takes time.”

Dr. Anton said, “It would have been better if we could have analyzed the medication before it was administered.” He beckoned to Mallory with one curved finger. “If you’d close that up and give it to me, I’d appreciate it.” Once she handed it over, he said, “PG officials will want to know how this came into your possession.”

Mallory said, “I understand.”

Nadia’s neck had a tiny puncture mark from where Mallory had poked the needle. I ran my finger over her collar bone while Dr. Anton opened the door and motioned for the paramedics to return. I kept pace with them as they wheeled her out of the elevator and down the hall to the front of the building. I kept my gaze on Nadia the whole time, so I was the first to notice when her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” I said, smiling down at her. “Welcome back.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Russ

The Bash had taken a lot out of all of us, so when we finally got on the plane we were more than ready to go home. I was the middle man this time around, in the center seat with Nadia by the window and my sister Carly on the aisle. Once we were in the air, I let out a sigh of relief. We’d all made it safe and sound.

The day before we’d been questioned by some Praetorian Guard officials in a conference room in PGDC. Our old friend Dr. Wentworth was there along with Mitch and Will, but I got the impression that wasn’t the full extent of it. They were the ones interviewing us, but others elsewhere were watching us via remote viewing. I could sense a surplus of electricity in the room—microphones, cameras, and cables.

Mallory got the brunt of their questions. I got the idea they weren’t entirely convinced that Mallory wasn’t an Associate spy, but when Nadia backed up her story by telling them what she saw in Mallory’s room that night—Mr. Specter controlling her through the Deleo, they softened. “I was instructed to inject Layla Bernstein,” Mallory said. “She’d collapse and the distraction would give them an opening to bring the doctor in with the wheeled gurney with the Specteron…”

“The Specteron?” Mitch asked.

“That’s what he called it. It was his invention. A death ray machine.”

“Go ahead,” Dr. Wentworth urged.

“Well, that’s about it. I was supposed to inject Layla but I didn’t.”

“Instead you gave the necklace to Russ?” Mitch said, prompting her.

“Yes.”

“And why would you do that?” he asked.

“So that I wouldn’t give in and follow Mr. Specter’s orders.”

“I see,” Dr. Wentworth said, looking over her glasses. “But I think the real question is, why didn’t you follow Mr. Specter’s orders? What kept you from complying?”

Mallory pointed to Nadia and me. “It was them. Nadia astral projected to me and told me not to listen to him. And Russ told me how he fought the Deleo the last time so I knew it could be done.”

“I see,” Dr. Wentworth said, but she didn’t look like she understood at all. “And the vice president—what message did you give him?”

Mallory said, “His loyalties are with the current administration and the Praetorian Guard, of course.”

I raised my hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Did you guys know that Mr. Specter was still alive and that he was the new commander?”

“I’m sorry, Russ, but that’s classified information,” Dr. Wentworth said. I took that as a no.

In the end they had all of us write out everything that had happened from the minute we’d left Edgewood until the time we were called into the conference room. When we’d signed our statements we were free to go.

After we’d packed up and left PGDC, taking the elevator to the parking structure, Nadia said, “Now I know how Dorothy felt after she had to leave Oz to go home to Kansas.” And now we were on the plane, where she rested her head against my shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her breathing slow and relaxed. She’d refused to go to the hospital the previous night, but the doctor had checked her over and given her the okay.

“Is she sleeping?” Carly asked, leaning over.

“Yeah, I think she’s pretty tired.”

“I think we’re all really tired,” Carly said.

It was the most she’d spoken to me since I’d failed to bring David back. I saw my opening. “You know Carly, David must have had a feeling that he was going to die. He told me that if he didn’t get a chance to talk to you that I should tell you that he realized he made a big mistake and that if he had to do it over again he would have stayed with you, no matter what.” There was one more thing, too. What was it? Oh yeah. “He also said that he figured out later that love should always come first.”

She sighed. “Thanks Russ, but I know all that. We had a chance to talk for a few minutes before he died. He said he was sorry and that I was the only woman he ever loved. His life insurance policy has me and Frank as beneficiaries, can you believe that?”

“That’s something anyway.”

Carly shook her head. “Whatever it is, it’s not enough. Money can’t replace a person. And where do I go from here? It’s like I’ve been waiting years for something to happen, and now I know it’s never going to happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Russ. I shouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t your fault. Damn Associates.”

“Well the good news,” I said, “is that Dr. Anton thinks they’ll leave me alone now. He said that with the new leadership their focus will shift and that the Praetorian Guard has the upper hand now.”

“I hope he’s right.” She adjusted her seat to recline. “But I tend to think they’re like cockroaches. Just when you think you got ‘em all, they pop up again.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Nadia

“Nadia,” my mother called up the stairs. “Your young man is here.”

“Coming,” I yelled back. I did one last check. My hair was pinned up, with curly wisps framing my face. My glittery red headband added a nice touch and held everything in place. I double-checked the zipper on the back of my dress, slipped my feet into a pair of red bejeweled shoes, and admired myself in the mirror. I spoke to my reflection, “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

When I came down the stairs, I saw from the look on Russ’s face that he recognized the dress. I didn’t think I was supposed to take my evening gown home with me, but no one asked for it back, so I just tucked it into my suitcase. In the days that followed, sometimes I had to take it out and look at it just to convince myself that it had all been real.

Russ whistled and said, “Wow. You look beautiful.”

I curtseyed and said, “Thank you, sir.”

“You mind your manners with my daughter,” Mom said. She’d been taking her medication and was a lot more reasonable, but no matter how many pills she took, she was never going to be my dream mother.

“Yes, ma’am, I will. I promise.”

“And have her home by eleven.”

“Certainly.”

My dad said, “Oh I think they can stay out later than eleven…”

I saw the look on my mother’s face and knew not to push it. “No, Dad, it’s okay. If Mom wants me back by eleven, I’ll make a point to be home by then.”

“If I find out you weren’t at the Homecoming Dance you’ll be in big trouble,” Mom warned, a scowl on her face.

How ridiculous. All she had to do was look at us. We were teenagers in formal wear; if we didn’t go to the dance where else would we go?

“I’ll show you pictures,” I said. And then, before she could come up with anything else, I hurried Russ out the front door. My mother watched through the front window as Russ held the car door open for me. I waved and she let the curtain drop. It wasn’t until we turned at the end of my street that I felt completely free. I caught Russ sneaking glances my way and he looked pretty pleased. “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“I was thinking,” he said, “that I can’t believe your mom let you go to the dance with me.”

“Well, as long as you mind your manners…”

“I think her definition of manners and mine are completely different.” He laughed and then his face got serious. “You know, Nadia, you’ve saved my life a few times now. I don’t know how I can ever pay you back.”

I reached over and put my hand against his mouth and he kissed it, giving me a shiver of pleasure. I said, “You already have.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

National best-selling author Karen McQuestion writes books for adults, kids, and teens. Her novels regularly place in the top 100 Kindle books, and each successive novel has added to her ever-growing fan base, making her one of the preeminent Amazon Publishing authors. McQuestion lives in Wisconsin with her family and is always working on her next novel. www.karenmcquestion.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to Kay Bratt, Kay Ehlers, Geri Erickson, Alice L. Kent, Tiffany Lovering, Greg McQuestion, Charlie McQuestion, Maria McQuestion, and Jack McQuestion. Your insights and suggestions have been invaluable and I am grateful.

A personal note from Karen…

If you’ve enjoyed this novel, I’d love to hear your thoughts in a review. Without readers, a story is a dead thing, just words on a page, so thanks for bringing this one to life! I don’t have the words to say how much I appreciate readers like you.

And one other thing: although I’ve toured the White House and done research, I obviously have no inside knowledge of the Secret Service or security protocol concerning the president. I tried to make the novel as accurate as possible, but there may be errors, and for that I apologize. Hopefully readers can overlook any inaccuracies and still find the story entertaining. If it bothers you too much, try to pretend Absolution is fictional, and that people don’t actually have superpowers and that there isn’t an underground city under Washington D.C.

Contents

Title page

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

CHAPTER SIXTY

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

AUTHOR’S NOTE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

ABOUT THE AUTHOR