Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (52 page)

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.

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.