We’re a couple of blocks from my father’s house on Water Street, one of the older areas of town that used to be right on the river, and my mind won’t stop tripping, spinning over the events of the past couple of days—mostly the ones that have taken place inside my own head.
The others haven’t said anything about not helping to track down the people behind this virus. They haven’t said much of anything at all, though, since we left the graveyard. And even if it influences them one way or the other, I can’t stay silent about what I’ve seen any longer. I might not have been Savannah’s biggest fan but the idea that this thing is going to kill her—and all those other people I passed on the street today—brought this mission much closer to home, and my friends need all the facts.
“We’ve got to help them if we can,” I say, not breaking stride. No one else does, either, and I know we’re all wiped from the long day. “I touched a bunch of people on the street today to see…what I could see. Half of them die from this computer virus.”
I stop walking when I realize I’m half a block ahead of everyone else, turning around to find almost comical surprise on their slack faces. I’ve been so worried about what I’ve seen, about my dad, about my involvement in Jude’s death and what we’re going to do about the Olders and Flicker, that the fact that I made the decision to see people’s deaths today didn’t even register as an event.
My Cavies’ faces say that it definitely is one.
Haint crosses her arms, a strange expression of excitement on her dark features. “You were able to see how they died just by brushing up against them on the street? That’s amazing!”
“I mean, it’s not disappearing or melting locks, but it’s a definite increase in ability.”
“It’s great, Gypsy.” Mole’s look of pride warms me from top to toes. “It’s brave of you, to take that on knowing you can’t fix them.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re all super pumped for you,” Pollyanna interrupts. “But you’re saying this virus is not only going to get into the United States but become so big that half the people you touched on a random afternoon are going to be affected? That’s crazy.”
Athena shakes his head. “Not so crazy. The chatter gets louder every day. It’s bad, which is why I agree about helping. It’s going to happen to people we know—maybe our parents, maybe us. None of us have abilities that could save us from this kind of neurological attack.”
“Can we talk about this inside?” Goose asks, teeth chattering. “It’s interesting and all, but I think we were pretty much in agreement to hear out the CIA before we even came to town. Even if we didn’t think we’d be signing up for a covert operation quite so soon.”
My stomach settles as we start toward the house again, and my heart rate slows to a normal rhythm. We’ve made a decision—at least about this—and I know it’s the right one. I think about how I touched those people and how it got a little bit easier every time. And that Mole might be wrong about not being able to save them.
If we catch the people behind this before the virus spreads further, then maybe I can change how they die.
It’s the biggest revelation I’ve had in seventeen years, but before I can find the words to make it a real thing in the world, we trudge through my father’s back door and tumble into the kitchen to find that we’re not alone.
Madeline and Geoff are sitting at the kitchen table.
I stop so quickly that Pollyanna stumbles into my back, then Goose into hers, until we all trip forward in a tangled mass. The sight quirks a smile at the edge of Geoff’s mouth but Madeline watches us, stoic.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask once we’re upright and sorted. “Is Flicker okay? Did something happen?”
“Flicker’s doing much better,” Madeline offers. “Her vitals are strong and she’s no longer comatose, though I am keeping her sedated while we start administering the GRH-18, just in case.”
“She’s asleep upstairs,” Geoff adds.
“How did you get inside?” Haint wonders, glancing around. I follow her gaze, sweeping the place for broken windows or smashed doors or anything else that’s going to cause my dad more trouble.
“I used the spare key under the stone tortoise on the porch.” Madeline doesn’t meet my gaze. We all wait, and I, for one, don’t think we should have to ask the obvious question. I didn’t even know there was a spare key there. She sighs when it becomes clear we’re not going to disperse and let it go. “My Cavy name is Crystal. As in crystal ball.”
It sinks in, and dread pools in my stomach. “You can see the future?”
“Yes and no. I can see the current trajectory of the present. It’s always subject to change.” Her almost-purple eyes meet mine. “You’re not the first one of us to feel helpless among the more obviously powerful, Gypsy. But we have our uses.”
The word uses falls off her lips like poison. I wonder if the reason has anything to do with why she’s so keen on leaving Saint Stephen’s and the Olders behind for good. What they used her for there.
It’s late and every bone in my body feels like it’s got a million holes in it. The day has been exhausting, from talking to Dane to running into Savannah to using my gift on purpose, and nothing sounds better than collapsing in bed. We’ll go again tomorrow. Meet with the CIA and get our assignments so that we can prepare as best as we can, and then do what we can to keep my visions from coming true. And while I might not be able to have a life with my dad and Maya and Jude, I can help make sure they’re safe in front of their computers every day. And that’s something.
“I’m going to check on Flicker,” Pollyanna says softly, heading for the stairs.
I break eye contact with Madeline, not ready to confront someone so much like me. “I’ll come, too.”
Flicker’s asleep under the thick covers in one of the guest rooms down the hall from the one that used to be mine. She doesn’t open her eyes when we gather around her bed. It’s clear from the peach tinge to her cheeks and the flutter of her almost invisible lashes that something is different, though. Better.
Just seeing her outside the tank and free of wires and electrodes uncurls some of the anxiety wound in my chest. If we can get her to a place where she’s awake and not spontaneously teleporting, it will be magical.
“I don’t mean to be the whiner, but I’m bushed.” Goose yawns and Athena catches it. “How do you want to do sleeping arrangements, Gypsy?”
“There’s room for one other person with me.” I point a finger at Mole before he can open his mouth. “Another girl person.”
“You’re so sexist.” His response comes with a smile, but it’s as exhausted as the rest of us look.
“There’s another guest room, so two can fit in there. The couch in the family room pulls out, and I guess someone could sleep in my dad’s bed. We’ll just make sure to put everything back together before we leave.”
We shuffle out of Flicker’s room to the bathrooms and around the second floor. Haint ends up in my room with me, and her breathing evens out within seconds of hitting the pillow. After the cold, uncomfortable cots at Saint Stephen’s and the equally awkward arrangements at the shelter last night, the fresh sheets and mattress feel like heaven.
My eyelids are heavy, but before I let them flop closed I pick up the burner phone my father left and key in a text to Dane’s official CIA phone number.
We’re not friends. I don’t need him. The reminder, issued to myself, wipes away my guilt at not using the secret number on the back.
The text is simple and to the point. Two words that could change our lives forever.
We’re in.
Flicker was still asleep when we left this morning. Geoff’s along for the trip to meet the CIA and Madeline insisted on coming, too, even though that means leaving Flicker alone. The still-mysterious Older promises everything will be fine, and since she can apparently see the future, there’s no point in arguing.
The sun blinds me as the building down by the docks comes into view. The rays glint off cargo ships and smother dilapidated warehouses and steel outbuildings in an egg-yolk glow.
“Well, it’s nice to know some things never change,” Geoff mutters as we wander into the parking lot of the CIA warehouse. “They didn’t even bother cleaning up.”
The cluttered space is a garish reminder of what happened the last time we were here, right down to the overturned Dumpster. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten a notice from the city, but then again, they are the CIA.
“I don’t know. I think it looks better this way.” Mole squints. “It’s like a sign that says The Cavies Were Here.”
We all smile, and Goose snorts, sending some of the tension whipping through the air floating off over the bay. The door that we used to enter the building unseen a few weeks ago opens voluntarily this time, and the female agent from last night attempts a smile. It looks more genuine than any expression Dane put on in the graveyard.
“Hi. I’m Agent Bishop.” She reaches out for my hand, which is odd because I’m not in front, and her shiny, dark ponytail falls over her forearm. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Norah.”
“Oh, um. Hi.” I avoid her hand, and her face twists a little, confusion in her green eyes, maybe at my lack of enthusiasm. It can’t be the fact that I didn’t touch her or she must not have heard anything about me.
“Do you prefer Gypsy?” she tries.
I shake my head, find a smile of my own. “Whichever.”
She nods, then introduces herself to the rest of the Cavies, as though we’ve all been invited for breakfast instead of business. Her eyebrows rise as she waits for someone to introduce Madeline, who finally does it herself. It’s not as though the CIA can’t figure out who she is on their own. They have known about every single Cavy for fifty-plus years.
Madeline doesn’t elaborate on what she can do or what Cavy generation she’s from, why she’s here with us or anything else. I’m still unsure why she’s here, but if she’s hoping to take part in the Russian-computer-virus operation she’s going to have to disclose her ability, at the very least. Right now she kind of comes off as our chaperone, and I think again that Chameleon might have planted her for just that reason.
Once the oddball introductions are done, Agent Bishop opens the door wider and gestures us inside.
The ground floor is still just a series of empty rooms with a few desks jumbled with papers and rows and rows of filing cabinets. If memory serves, there’s a series of laboratories upstairs filled with medical equipment and enough drugs to wipe out a houseful of Ebola monkeys.
She doesn’t take us up there, though, instead leading us into the large room where they held us hostage for a brief time back in December. It’s been rearranged into a circle of chairs, a dry-erase board, and a television screen. Dane and the other agents sit in metal folding chairs on either side of the board, and Agent Marlow paces beside the television. I wonder why he didn’t come to the graveyard if he’s still involved?
Agent Bishop nods to him and then takes a seat with the other junior agents.
“Children, it’s good to see you again.”
A twitch finds my eye at the word children, along with the dripping superiority in his voice. I bet he doesn’t know that we’re all taking drugs that allow our abilities to work on him now. He wouldn’t be talking to us like we’re stupid or harmless if he had the proper fear of Mole lighting him on fire.
Reaper is Lethal, too, but she’s manipulating blood in people’s veins for the government now. Not that we ever asked her, or would ask her, to do such a thing for us.
“Please, take a seat.” He eyes Madeline. “It’s good to see you, Crystal.”
She presses her lips in a thin line and doesn’t respond. I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse that they’re not only acquainted, but that she apparently hates him, too. I might agree that we should help the poor people getting their brains mashed like potatoes on Thanksgiving, but there’s not one single part of me that wants to help that man so much as pick up a penny.
The eight of us sit, waiting to hear what Agent Jackhole is going to say next.
“I’m told you were briefed on the computer virus, which we’re calling Gloworm. Since yesterday, cases have been identified in six countries, including the US. This thing is nasty, and since the whole goddamn world has their noses buried in computer screens 24-7, it’s going to spread fast.” He grabs a dry-erase marker and pulls off the cap like he’d rather it were someone’s head. And nods to Agent Bishop, who flips on an overhead projector. Images of the victims—bloody noses and lips, sticky yellow matter dripping from their noses and ears—display on one of the blank walls. She flips through them and I try to hold down my breakfast as Marlow continues. “Comic book idiots have been waiting for the zombie apocalypse for years. This is worse.”
“They’ve also believed in superheroes for years,” Madeline mutters under her breath. “And we’ve been right under their noses the whole time, too.”
I jerk my head up, but her eyes are on the ground. We’re about the farthest thing from superheroes. The only thing we have in common with the movie characters I read about on the internet during my brief stint of freedom is genetic mutation. And the fact that the world doesn’t understand us. There’s the important distinction that we have no idea what we’re doing.
The squeak of the felt-marker tip on the whiteboard draws my attention. Marlow scribbles, filling up the space with red scratches as fast as his hands will write.
“Is this seriously the best technology available to the CIA? No cool electronic boards that you can touch and swipe and move around in thin air? Lame.” Polly doesn’t smile, even though she’s kidding. I think. “No, but really. I mean, if I sign up to be a spy or whatever, I want cooler stuff.”
I catch Dane smiling, but he quickly hides it away. He’s got his serious-government-agent face on, and so does the third agent, but Agent Bishop looks bemused by Polly’s patter.
That won’t last.
“Okay, so we’ll send in three teams. The first one—Haint, Pollyanna, and Agent Bishop—will infiltrate the lab where we’ve traced the original computer signal that sent out the virus. Team number two—Athena, Mole, and Goose—will work together to figure out who might be bankrolling the operation and the extent of their involvement. Agent Warren will accompany you. Those of you left who would like to participate will join Agent Lee in researching commonalities between the people who have been affected, in an attempt to learn why they were targeted, and conducting interviews, if necessary.”
My name, along with Geoff’s, is on the sad list of leftovers. I’m not sure why he’s stuck with me, since he does have a pretty cool talent for being able to make random objects fly, but maybe it’s not necessary in this circumstance. Or they don’t trust him, since he’s new to consciousness and all. Their file on him has to be pretty thin.
“But we’re all going overseas, right?” Athena verifies.
“Well, it wouldn’t be strictly necessary for team two to be on the ground there, but we think it’s best to keep everyone together.”
“We’re all going.” Mole’s tone leaves no room for argument. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together.”
“It won’t just be the seven of you, of course. You’ll be joined by other Assets who have assisted us in the past. People like you.”
“People like us? You mean freaks.” Geoff’s face is red, from his hairline to his ruddy cheeks. It appears that his reaction to being relegated to the worthless list is anger.
Mine is embarrassment, but then again, it’s normal. I have a reaction to being pushed to the side waiting on standby.
Marlow doesn’t dignify the statement with an answer. We all know it’s true, anyway. He’s never left any doubt about what he thinks of us, and that our use extends only as far as our willingness to assist the government. “There are four other Cavies who will be joining your teams, all endowed with talents useful to this operation.”
“What do we do once we figure out how the virus is made and who’s behind it?” My antenna is up. It doesn’t sound like much of this really needs to be done while in Russia, and if they have other Cavies who they already work with, why do they need us?
“You’ll report back to your agents, who will report to their superiors, and so on, until we’re advised how to proceed.”
“So we won’t have to kill anyone,” Mole clarifies, trying to hide the relief in his sightless eyes.
Mole’s had to kill animals before while testing and improving his talent, and every time the Philosopher and the others forced him to do it, it stole a little piece of the fabric that binds him together. They tried to harden him for years but it never took.
“We’re not anticipating that, no.” Marlow crosses his beefy arms over his chest. “Of course, you’ll be in an explosive situation. As with all our agents, you’ll have to make split-second decisions on the ground.”
“Are you going to give us firearms training? Self-defense? Anything?” It’s Geoff, supporting Mole with his chin jutted out. Like he’s daring someone to punch it.
“I think you’re more than capable of defending yourself, young man. As is Mole.”
“But not all of us. We don’t all have mutations with defensive capabilities.” Goose isn’t ready to accept that answer, even though Mole clammed up the moment it was suggested he’d be on his own to defend his life.
Or maybe one of ours.
“They’ve taken that into consideration, morons. Don’t act like you don’t see it.” Polly stabs a finger toward the lists of names on the board, making Geoff recoil as though she’s kicked him between the legs.
We’ve all treated him with kid gloves since he woke up from his lifelong coma, I realize. It couldn’t last forever, but the stricken expression on his face makes me want to give him a hug.
Polly rolls her eyes. “Geoff’s supposed to take care of Gypsy. I sweet-talk someone into blowing their own brains out if they’re threatening Haint, and Mole’s available to torch anyone who gets too close to one of the twins.”
“Not to mention whatever the Olders’ talents might be,” Haint mutters.
I can tell the unknown of the added Cavies bothers her as much as it does me. Probably more so, given that she’s on one of the more dangerous arms of this mission. I want to open my mouth and ask for more training in combat or weapons but there’s no point. We’re leaving tomorrow and I should be safe enough with Geoff.
Marlow raises his eyebrows, gaze sweeping the circle as he waits for additional objections. No one makes any. The agents have been silent the whole time, but then again, they probably knew the plan before they stepped into the room. Nothing on Dane’s face reminds me of the guy who sat with me in the graveyard, now. That guy wasn’t in a hurry. He had no agenda. He let Norah be Norah in her own time and on her own terms.
He understood me, somehow, without me having to speak.
This Dane is doing a remarkable impression of a drone in a suit and tie, taking orders from other suit and ties, and if he’s just playing along, just doing his job, he’s excellent at it. It makes me ache but helps reinforce what I tried to convince myself of last night—that we’re not friends.
“Wonderful.” Marlow’s gaze clings to Madeline, and it occurs to me that she wasn’t offered a position in this whole showdown or whatever it turns out to be, unless she’s included in the leftover category with Geoff and me. He narrows his eyes. “Is there anything you’d like to share with us before we dismiss, Crystal?”
“No.”
“No, there isn’t anything to share, or there’s nothing you’d like to share?”
“It’s not that easy,” she admits, head slumping toward her shoulders. “I can’t do it unless I’m touching at least two of the people involved in a single outcome. And I’m not performing for you jackasses like a trained monkey.”
“You could have told us whether it would be a good idea to come here in the first place,” Polly grumbles, then purses her lips in disgust, as though it’s all of a sudden Madeline’s job to tell us how to run our lives.
“Calm down,” I tell her. “It’s not like we asked.”
“I believe you all can sort out this petty nonsense on your own time.” Marlow’s gaze roves to me. “Now, Miss Gypsy. It’s been brought to my attention that you and your friends might have some demands of your own. And some information to make the idea of giving into them more palatable?”
My mouth goes dry, and I slide an accusatory stare to Dane, who looks back at me without the slightest trace of guilt even though the conversation in the graveyard had supposedly been between us. Since he blabbed, we’ve lost the element of surprise.
I change tactics at the last minute, go with the bits of information Dane has no idea I’ve gathered in the past twenty-four hours. “I’ve seen the virus hurt people. I know what it looks like and sounds like, and when the program is over, there’s a message on the screen.”
Agent Marlow tries to act like he’s not surprised, but the manic sparkle in his beady gaze promises otherwise. “What does it say?”
“Come and get us.”