Agents of the Glass (23 page)

“It's pronounced
Sinjin.
It's a British thing. Not that he's remotely British. From the little we've gathered about him, he appears to be from the Midwest. Ohio, maybe. The name St. John, we think, is a pun, just him having a little fun at our expense—St. John, Syngian.”

Andy's eyebrows arched. “You mean he knows about…all this? All of you? All of
us
?”

“He knows we're watching,” Mrs. Cardigan answered. “Just like we know they're watching us. Unfortunately, ninety-nine percent of what we learn is garbage, information that, on purpose, just
happens
to slip out. Naturally, we do the same to them. That's how it's been for a long, long time.”

“But thanks to you, we finally have some hard information right from the horse's mouth,” said Karina, reaching over to pat Andy on the shoulder. “These guys told me about your little adventure on the sixty-sixth floor. Nice work. Of course, I'm not exactly thrilled that I'm their target.”

“Couldn't you just…cancel the concert?” Andy asked. After a moment of silence in which everyone looked at one another, he added, “I mean, if you
know
something bad is going to happen.”

“We considered that,” said Mrs. Cardigan. “However, the concert represents a unique opportunity, a controlled environment. For once, they have no idea that we know they're planning something. If we stop now, that window closes, maybe forever.”

Karina continued: “A couple of weeks ago, I met with Dr. Everly and others from Wellbourne, along with NTRP's Deanna Decameron. NTRP is especially eager to use the concert to show off what they're calling a new education tool. They won't say much about it except that it involves holograms and that it is going to change video presentations forever.”

“As you can imagine, we're quite skeptical about their commitment to education,” said Mrs. Cardigan. “It's very likely that this machine of theirs has something to do with what's going on inside the NTRP tower, but until we see it in action, there's not much we can do about it.”

“The risk,” Silas explained, “is that we don't know
enough.
We know the when and the where—it's Friday in Wellbourne's auditorium—but we don't know what they're planning or how they're going to do it. It's possible that we won't be able to prevent the attack. That is the real risk. The Agents, however, have unanimously agreed that it is worth taking.”

“And that's why you're here tonight, Andy,” said Mrs. Cardigan. “There are only a few days until the concert. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual. If there's a way to be close to Winter, do it, even if you don't want to. Take advantage of the fact that she trusts you. Believe me, if the situation were reversed, if she knew who
you
were, she would attach herself to you at the hip.”

“I'm going to set up an interview at the school,” Karina said. “And we'll make sure that you and Winter get the assignment. Keep doing what you've been doing and you'll be fine, Andy. You're a natural at this stuff. When I was your age, there was no way I could have done what you're doing.”

“I couldn't agree more,” added Mrs. Cardigan. “And remember, we're here to help you. If anything is bothering you or if something doesn't feel quite right or if you just need someone to talk to, call us or send us a text—doesn't matter what time it is or how unimportant you think it might be. Okay?”

Andy nodded. “I will. I don't want to, you know, let you guys—and Brother Lucian—down.”

Mrs. Cardigan took his shoulders in her hands. “You won't.”

Maybe it was Mrs. Cardigan, who has a habit of bringing out the best in people, or maybe it was Karina, who shot him the smile that a million teenage boys would have killed for. Then again, maybe it was the image of Winter's
lumen lucidus
that had been burned onto his retinas. Whatever it was, at that moment, everyone in that room saw the look in his eyes and knew—
knew
that Andy was truly one of them.

In St. John de Spere's penthouse on the other side of town, another meeting was taking place. After a vegan dinner prepared by his private chef, de Spere passed his guests a box of chocolates from a famous London department store.

“I have it on the highest authority that these are the Queen's favorites,” he said, nibbling at one with a candied violet on top.

“The Queen must not have any taste buds,” said Winter, shuddering. “It tastes like
soap.
”

Fontaine Neale laughed aloud. “That's because they're made from flowers. An acquired taste, perhaps. Your father shares your opinion of them.”

“Ah, speaking of your dearly beloved,” said de Spere, “where is the great man tonight? Handing out millions to orphans in Cambodia? Building a hospital in Zimbabwe? One never knows with him. So much money, so little time to give it away.”

Fontaine rolled her eyes at the mention of her husband. “Who knows? Yesterday, he called from some hellhole in Africa. He rambled on for a while about a civil war, and there was something about land mines—isn't there always? I tuned him out after a while. He's so
predictable.
”

“Hey, that's my
father
you're mocking,” said Winter, not bothering to hide her wicked grin. “You won't be laughing when he wins the Nobel Peace Prize.”

“Oh,
please,
” said Fontaine. “As if he isn't insufferable enough already.”

“Don't complain too much,” said de Spere. “Since I brought you two together, your standard of living has been elevated several notches. Of course, now that Winter has come of age and her powers are exceeding even our wildest dreams—thanks in part to him, don't forget—perhaps it is time to bring him over to our side. That event at the Halestrom was supposed to have taken care of this unhealthy appetite for helping people.” He chose another chocolate, this one topped with a rose petal, and turned his gaze to Eugene Ickes, his hipster henchman.

“There were circumstances beyond my control,” said Ickes. “No one knew that a volcano in Iceland would cause his flight to be delayed. It's not a problem. We can take care of him whenever we want. Will he be at the concert?”

“No, he's not due back until a few days afterward,” said Fontaine.

“It doesn't matter,” said de Spere. “A minor concern in the grand scheme of things. We need to focus on the job at hand. Karina Jellyby will be a modern-day Pied Piper, leading two hundred and fifty lambs to the slaughter, and the beautiful thing is, she won't even know she's doing it. Eugene here is in charge of setting up my equipment before the concert.”

“What about the loose end from the Halestrom Conference?” Fontaine asked.

St. John de Spere sighed. “Ah. Ilene Porter. I can't explain why she wasn't affected. I've tested the equipment over and over, and it all checks out. She was sitting between two of the others. I'm more concerned with that nosy reporter from the school—Jensen Huntley. Somehow, she found her and is asking questions.”

“Is it going to be a problem?” asked Fontaine.

“No, ma'am,” said Ickes. “I have the situation under control.”

I've been wearing wool socks for years, in case you're wondering. And as I write this, a pair is being knit for you, too. I hope you like blue. What am I saying? Of course you do—it's your favorite color.

Jensen stood in front of Wellbourne's impressive bronze doors, her arms crossed, scowling at everyone who attempted to be friendly to her and stubbornly ignoring the raindrops that spattered the pavement at her feet. When she spotted Andy hurrying to cross the street against the light, she stiffened, pressing herself against one of the Ionic columns that framed the front doors, ready to pounce. With his hands deep in his pockets and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head, he bounded up the steps two at a time, eager to get out of the rain. Poor Andy. He didn't know that he was running headlong into Tropical Storm Jensen.

She threw out an arm, clotheslining him and all but knocking him off his feet.

He backed away, shaking his head and holding his throat where she'd caught him. “What the…What is
wrong
with you?”

“Why didn't you answer my text?”

“What are you…What text?”

“Don't play dumb. The one I sent you last night.”

Andy pulled out his phone and pulled up his recent text messages. “I didn't get…I checked before I went to bed. Oh, here it is. I swear, I didn't see it.”

“Right.”

“Wait. You sent this at one o'clock in the morning.”

“So?”

“I went to sleep at ten-thirty. I'm not like you, Jensen. I actually need sleep. What does this mean, anyway? ‘I found her'—found who?”

“I don't know if I want to tell you now. God, you're such a
baby.
I didn't realize you had a
bedtime.
”

“It's not my bedtime. It's when I choose to go to bed. I can't help it if I actually want to do good in school.”

“Well,”
said Jensen, cracking a smile.

“Well, what? What's so funny?”

“You. Mr. All Holier-Than-Thou. I think you meant to say that you want to do
well
in school.”

Andy stood there a second, openmouthed. “It's like you're
trying
to get me to not like you. Guess what? It's working. You're like Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Oh, lighten up. I texted you because I trust you, Sandy. I
found
her.”

From the look on his face, it was obvious Andy didn't know who “her” was.

“The lady from the article? Ilene Porter? Remember? The Halestrom Conference? Geez. It's true; being in love does make you stupid.”

“I'm not—”

“Right. Anyway, she checked in to a hotel down in the Village, and she has a lunch reservation in their restaurant for tomorrow at one-thirty—don't ask how I know. So, right after school, we are going to boogie on down there. Just you and me. I figure that if we get there by three, she'll still be there. Do you
know
how huge this is? Well, that is, it
will be
if we can talk her into an interview.” Jensen pinched his cheek. “But how could she resist this bee-yoo-tee-ful face?”

Andy brushed her hand off and backed away from Jensen in preparation for the second wave. “I can't.”

“You can't…what?”

“Go with you. Tomorrow. After school.”

“Why not?”

“I'm, uh, doing an interview here…in the studio…with Winter. Now, before you explode, Ms. Albemarle asked me.”

Jensen's scowl returned. “Who are you interviewing?”

“It's kind of a secret, so you can't tell anybody.” He looked over Jensen's shoulders, then behind him, to make sure no one was listening. “Karina Jellyby.”

Jensen, her face turning eggplant purple, squeezed her eyes shut and spit out the name through gritted teeth: “Karina Jellyby. A celebrity interview. And here I was, thinking you were serious about journalism. You're just like the rest of them.”

Without another word, she turned her back on him and walked away.

Their paths crossed twice more that day in the Wellbourne halls. Andy tried to get her attention, but Jensen continued on her way, her eyes never meeting his. As he stood there looking like a lost puppy for the second time, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey,” said Winter.

“Oh. Hi.”

Winter motioned down the hall with her chin. “What's wrong with Jensen?”

“It's a long story.”

She took him by the arm, walking him down the hall. “So, have you thought any more about letting me interview you? I'm sorry if I came on kind of strong in the park that day, but it is
such
a good story.”

Though he had no intention of doing the interview, Andy decided it would be best if he kept her hope alive. “I'm thinking about it.”

“You are? That's great! I'm making progress. You've gone from no way to maybe. I promise not to bug you about it every day, but promise me that you'll let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

“Okay. I don't think I will, but…I promise.”

“So—did you hear the other news? The Karina Jellyby concert is going to be
here at Wellbourne
! How awesome is that?”

Andy smiled and pretended to be impressed by the news, even though he had known about it for over a week.

“And Karina has asked to do an exclusive interview with
me.
I guess Deanna Decameron told her all about me, so she had her publicist get in touch with Ms. Albemarle over the weekend and set the whole thing up. And now the really good news. Well, I think it's good, anyway. You might disagree. Ms. A. wants us to work together. Isn't that amazing?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You don't exactly seem thrilled. I thought you were a fan.”

“I was. I am.”

“You'd just rather not work with me.” Winter stuck her bottom lip out, pretending to be sad. “Come on. I promise to behave myself. Cross my heart. I won't even mention that other story—at least until we finish this one.”

“What other story?”

“You know—
your
story.”

“Oh. Right. So, if I agree to do this, will I get to meet Karina?”

“Of course! Come on, let's get started right now. I have a million ideas. For the intro segment, we're going to pull together some old videos from when she was a student here. She was in all the musicals, I've heard. She was Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
and Éponine in
Les Misérables.
I already checked with Mr. Brookings in the library, and he's pulling them for me…us. And then we need to come up with a million questions. Maybe two million. We'd better get to work.”

“I thought you didn't like her music.”

“Who told you
that
? I
love
it.”

“The first day I met you, when I said I was listening to her, you were like, ‘She's okay.' ”

“I must have been trying to impress you,” she said, touching him lightly on the arm and flashing a dazzling smile. “You know, like Jensen and those other cool, hip kids who only listen to bands nobody's ever heard of. And as soon as you
have
heard of them, they suddenly don't like them anymore because they ‘sold out' by making music that somebody actually wants to listen to.”

Andy didn't respond. The fact is, Winter's description of Jensen's listening habits was spot on.