Accused (Ganzfield) (10 page)

Williamson frowned at the two of us.
She might be able to develop the ability. She should try.

These are federal agents, Jon. If anything happens—if they come after us—we’ll need to incapacitate, not kill.

Agreed.
Most of the federal officers were good people who were following orders. They thought they were making things better—they were working to make things better. And the majority of them followed the rules, like Special Agent Forbes had back at the airport. We’d had people come after us before—trying to harm us or exploit our abilities—and we’d usually redirected them to other paths rather than killing them. An old Beatles song misplayed through my head:
All you need is charm! Charm is all you need
.

Oh, wait. I’d killed both Dr. Vivisection and Michael at Eden Imaging. And hey, since I hadn’t been charged with their murders at the trial or hearing or whatever that was, I still could be someday.

Trevor inhaled sharply and invisible arms drew around me.
Over my dead body.

I met Williamson’s gaze.
I’ll train Ann
.
But only to knock out, okay? Not to kill.
With Isaiah dead, I was currently the only person who could kill telepathically. I didn’t see much benefit to increasing that number.

Williamson nodded.
Fine.

What have the sparks been up to since I’ve been gone? Are they still training?

They’re up to speed.
Williamson glinted with a green tinge of pride.
They’ve also been handling the bulk of the patrols.

Can they take down a helicopter without crashing it?

Williamson smiled.
Actually, yes.

I grinned back.
Okay, then. Excellent. Carry on.
Like he needed my permission.

I focused on Zack for a moment.
Hey, have you tried charming the Feds to leave?

“Twice.” His face tightened with disgust. “Someone keeps ordering in replacements. We need to charm the guy at the top if we want to get rid of them that way.”

Seth? Do we know who that is?
I asked.

“Maddie, we’ve already considered these things,” Ann told me gently.

Well, I haven’t. Help me get up to speed here.

They just think of him as “the General,”
Seth told me.

Really? No name?

I think it’s intentional, on his part. Not having a name makes it harder for us to track him down and send a charm in to talk to him.

The General knows about charms?
Little yellow flashes of surprise buzzed around me like fireflies on crack. Had that information even been in Isaiah’s files?

Yeah. It looks like he knows a lot about charms… and about minders.
Seth’s words hit us all grimly.
He’s keeping crucial intel out of the guards’ heads. He’s probably worried about minders picking their brains or charms interrogating them.

Crap. How? How could he know?

You didn’t tell them?

I stiffened at the assumption.
NO! I didn’t tell them anything!

“Interesting.” Williamson’s voice remained calm, as though this was an academic exercise and we weren’t discussing what I may or may not have revealed under torture.
I wonder if it’s from someone who was involved in Star Gate. Seth? Do any of them know what the General looks like?

Not that I’ve seen.

Need me to float a few questions in their minds?
I asked.
See if someone knows anything more about him?

“Ann? Why don’t you go back with Seth and see if you can pull anything more about this ‘General’ from the agents at the gate.”

I felt sidelined… and useless. I popped up a shield so my pouty reaction wouldn’t be noticed.

Jon’s worried about you, you know.
Trevor chafed his thumb across the back of my hand.
Let him take it easy on you for the next few days, okay? He already talked to me about not putting us on guard duty for a little while. You just got back and… and you’ve been through a lot.

My lips twitched as I met his eyes.
How dare you be reasonable? How am I supposed to argue with you when you do that?

The meeting broke up around us. I suddenly found my mom at my side again.

“Honey? Do you have a few minutes?”

Sure, Mom.

Trevor and I walked back with her to Blake House. My mom kept looking at Trevor then back at me.
Oh, crap.
I shielded our thoughts from her. She wanted to have me spell out exactly what Trevor and I were to each other and how our special connection worked. We’d been able to get by with her assumptions up until now, but she’d been a clinical psychologist. She knew how posttraumatic stress worked and she recognized a miracle cure when she saw one.

Trevor shrugged.
So? Tell her.

It’s none of her business.

Maddie, she’s your mom. You can share personal stuff with her.

It’s ours. It’s our private, intimate stuff! Do you really want my mother to know things like that about you and me?

I think if she knows the basics, she’ll be more likely to give us her blessing when I ask her.

Whoa.
I raised my eyebrows.
Really? You’re going to ask her for her blessing?
This whole getting-married-thing just got a whole lot more real. Wow. I had no problem with getting married and all, but… did we have to tell my mother?

Trevor’s lips twitched.
We’re going to do things right.

Beyond the main buildings, a huge structure dwarfed the sparks’ cluster of little houses down by the lake. The metal-sided building looked large enough to house an indoor football stadium. It was even larger than the rambling old farmhouse that served as Ganzfield’s main building.
What the heck is that?

Drew’s Fireball arena.
Trevor grinned.
At least, that’s how he looks at it. The Feds are using planes to take surveillance photos of us, so Jon had them move all the fire training and other flashy stuff indoors.

Seriously? Frikkin’ spy planes? We were that important to them? Holy crap.
It looks like a larger version of the building we had at Allexor.

That’s where the idea came from.

We followed my mom up to her room. She’d made it homey over the past few months. An embarrassing number of pictures of me adorned the walls. She pulled out a plate of freshly baked cookies in an effort to fatten up her too-thin daughter. Apparently, Dorothy had finally allowed my mother to enter her kitchen fiefdom. Come to think of it, that would explain those amazing brownies from last night.

We took seats on the second bed in the room. A red spread and copious pillows made a partially-successful attempt to transform it into a couch.

You really think I should tell her about us?

She’s your mom. It’s okay.

I took a cookie to buy time, and then stopped thinking as the chocolate ganache frosting set off fireworks in my taste buds.

Best. Cookie. Ever.

I closed my eyes and made yummy noises.

“Nina,” Trevor grinned at my mom like someone leading the guest of honor into a surprise party, “put a hand on Maddie’s arm. You’ve got to feel this.”

My mom sat on my other side and followed along through her touch. Green energy swirled through her as she half-laughed, half-cried at my reaction. She’d always expressed love through food, but I don’t think she’d ever felt her baking so fully appreciated before. I didn’t care that I’d become the center of attention in the room. I took another bite, simply reveling in the sensation.
This is what love tastes like.

“You helped her.” My mom looked at Trevor. “You made her happy again. After what I felt—” she choked up.
After what I felt from her in that courtroom, I didn’t know if she’d ever be happy again.

“That’s what we do for each other.” Trevor nodded. “That’s part of the special connection we have. Maddie’s done the same thing for me.”

My mom looked at us—really looked at us. I felt the tugs within her as she wrestled her maternal protectiveness and suburban assumptions into submission.
No, Maddie isn’t going to have a normal life. She isn’t even going to go to college next fall. My daughter’s probably never going to study for a regular career and then get married and have kids and live in the suburbs and go to soccer games.
She’d wanted all of those things for me because it’d been what she’d wanted for her own life. That’s just what people did, if they were lucky enough to have the chance.
But she’s happy. And she’s happy because of Trevor.

Ganzfield had its problems, but I fit in here—much more than I had in New Jersey when I’d been living the life she’d tried to give me. In the end, happiness was what she wanted most for me. Recognizing that in my mom gave me a warm, amber-colored glow.

Mom. Trevor’s… well… he’s my
… It was awkward to put such private stuff into words, especially to my mother.
He’s not just my boyfriend. Our… special connection… it’s more than that. Trevor’s my soulmate. We… we make each other whole.

She nodded. “I can see that.” She laughed suddenly, and then gave a long, loud sigh. “So, it’s not a crush. This is the real deal for you two.”
She’s so young, though!

I laughed at that.
I really don’t feel that young, Mom. It’s been a heck of a year.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Trevor added.

“You don’t need me anymore.” My mom’s eyes glistened.

I gave her a hug.
But I still love you, Mom.

“I love you too, honey.” She looked at Trevor with mock sternness. “You’re going to take good care of my daughter, aren’t you?”

“For the rest of our lives.” Trevor’s face was serious, but I felt little twists of anxiety flutter within him.

“Really? When’s the wedding?” My mom was joking.

“As soon as possible. I… I wanted to ask you for your blessing.”

My mom’s head seemed to explode a little bit when she realized Trevor wasn’t joking.

It’s a good thing, Mom. A GOOD thing. Remember the part about wanting me to be happy?
I watched her with wide eyes. Shoot. Things had been going so well, but we may’ve just given her too much to process.

Let me think about it.
She didn’t trust her voice.
I’m still—

OH, HELL!

A sudden burst of terror and an incoherent shout from down the hall cut her off. We were out the door in seconds, running to Rachel’s room.

She was using a pillow to smother the flames in the middle of her bed. Trevor ducked back out and grabbed the closest fire extinguisher from the hall. With so many sparks here, Ganzfield was well stocked with them. However, since most sparks thought out their own fires more efficiently, the extinguishers’ primary function was decorative reassurance for the non-sparks.

Trevor sprayed down the bedding and Rachel was now in possession of a limp, charred, soggy mess that had once been a comforter.

Oh, crap. It’s ruined!
Rachel did a double take as she recognized me. “Maddie!” She looked plumper, with a very noticeable baby bump. I did a quick mental calculation and realized she was about seven months along. I gave her a hug and the physical contact intensified the exhaustion, aches, and anxiety I felt from her.
Maddie looks terrible!
She smiled, deciding to play it cool. “So, how was prison?”

Awful. How’s pregnancy?

“Ugh. Pretty much the same as prison,” she deadpanned.

I cracked up. She wasn’t really kidding, though—she felt miserable. I’d missed her.
What happened here?
I indicated the remains of the fire.

“No clue. I was sitting here reading and suddenly the bed was on fire… again.” She seemed strangely resigned to things going up in flames—perhaps that was because she’d been in love with a spark for so long.

Again?

“Third time this week, but the others were just smoky hotspots.”

“Are you okay?” My mom hovered and simmered with concern. She’d been able to vent some mothering energy on Rachel while I’d been gone. Rachel had had so much to deal with she’d actually appreciated the extra care.

“I think so.” She looked down at herself. “Nothing’s singed.” Her dove-colored maternity pants and white babydoll top had traces of smoke on them, but she hadn’t been burned.

Were there any sparks nearby? I felt out with my mind. It was early Tuesday afternoon so the classrooms downstairs were holding traditional lessons in English and Geometry and the like. I flicked across the many minds below us. No one seemed to have set the fire, although several of the sparks had sensed it start and get put out.

My jaw clenched. Would someone try to hurt Rachel? Had it been an accident? Who could be so out of control of their ability? Did someone have a crush on her or something? Flare-ups sometimes happened with sparks when they experienced strong emotions. It gave new meaning to “having the hots for someone.” Were other people suddenly having things burst into flame around them?
What’s happening here? I’m away for a few months and everything gets messed up. This is why I shouldn’t try to take vacations.

“Maybe we should take you down to the infirmary, anyway.” My mom held out a directing arm to Rachel, like a tour guide.

She shook her head. “Really. I’m okay, Nina.”

Humor her,
I told her.
She’s needs to mother someone and I’m not cooperating. 

My mom hung up the phone. “Heather’s on her way. I’m going back upstairs to tidy things up a bit.”

Rachel sat on the exam table downstairs while we waited.

Heather McFee’s still at Ganzfield?
I’d assumed she would have gone back to her regular life after Isaiah’s death.