Fox Forever (16 page)

“Hello,” Ian calls.

The little girl looks up and smiles. “Mommy, they’re here!”

The woman glances nervously at me and then back to her daughter. I hold my breath hoping the entire exchange goes unnoticed. It seems to, only because this whole environment is so foreign to everyone else that it’s all strange. It’s a lot to take in at once. Ian approaches the woman and we follow and soon others come outside to see these odd strangers who have entered their neighborhood. By now, they can see we’re not part of the Security Force. Several mothers with small children on their hips and clinging to their clothing talk with us. One of them is Xavier’s wife. She must have gotten my message and spread the word. Until the child ran out, they probably planned to avoid us entirely. She purposely dodges my gaze. But the conversations are easy, smoother than expected and lasting five, ten, fifteen minutes, both sides appearing to be intrigued by the other.

Raine hangs back, avoiding any conversation at all. She only watches as more people emerge from the dilapidated buildings. She watches Vina and Cece from a distance as they talk with two women and an older man, watches as the children play games around their feet. She’s silent, examining their faces, and then seems to breathe again when no one looks anything like her. She stares at one thin woman who chats with Ian, tired lines fanning out from the corners of the woman’s eyes and her hair graying prematurely. A sleepy toddler rests on her shoulder, patting her mother’s back with tiny dimpled fingers.

I step closer to Raine, away from the others. “Not what you expected, is it?” I whisper.

“We should go,” she says.

“What are you afraid of, Raine?”

She shakes her head, refusing to answer. I know what she’s afraid of and right now it isn’t her father. “They aren’t animals, Raine. They never were.”

We hear Ian thanking them for their time and the others saying their good-byes and they all turn to leave. A small girl runs a few steps toward us and waves at Raine. The girl stands there waiting with a shy expectant smile. Raine hesitantly lifts her hand and waves back. The girl giggles and then looks straight at me saying, “Bye, Locke!” before she runs away.

Raine turns to me, confused. “I didn’t hear you tell her your name.”

“Yes, I did,” I answer, with a reply that comes a beat too fast. “When we first got here.”

“Oh.”

I hear the doubt in her voice. Even now, I know she’s retracing our steps through the courtyard, knowing she was distracted, but always aware of where I was and who I spoke to. Raine doesn’t miss much. I’m wondering if I should try to explain further, but too much explanation can backfire, and right now I’m a ten on the trust meter. I decide to ride that and let her chalk it up to distraction.

Shane sees us whispering and marches over from his safe encampment with the Menace. “We’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here, Raine.” He reaches for her hand, but I step in his way.

“We’ll catch up with you,” I tell him.

He tries to step around me. “I don’t think—”

I block him again. “That’s your problem, Shane. You don’t think.
Back off.
”

He steps back, his shocked expression quickly changing to a glare. He looks at Raine, who gives him no ground, and then looks back at me. “So … that’s how it is. Let me warn you, you’re making a big,
big
mistake.”

“Probably so,” I answer.

He stomps off, heading toward the alley.

Raine shakes her head and sighs. “Oh, Locke, I could have handled him on my own. I have for three years now.”

“I don’t doubt that. But there’s safety in numbers too. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to have someone who cares about you covering your back.”

“He’s hardly a threat. Just an annoyance.”

“Maybe,” I say, but I’m not so sure. Especially since the Secretary seems to think he’s a good match for Raine, and the Secretary is used to getting what he wants.

When we reach the alley she pauses and gazes back over her shoulder into the courtyard, looking at what I don’t know. The Non-pacts have all gone back inside. I watch the breeze lift loose tendrils of hair at her neck, her lashes casting a shadow beneath her eyes; I watch the tenderness of Raine, trampled beneath years of obsessive control, all the wasted years that even eighty billion duros can never buy back, and I think about how much Miesha would have loved Raine the way she deserved to be loved. If only she had had the chance.

Tossed

“And this?”

Raine and I lie on the grass looking up at the stars. It’s a sweltering night in Boston. Probably one of the last before the season changes, before leaves begin sprinkling the sidewalks and winds bring on weather that my mother said made for hearty stock like us. Hearty. If she only knew.

“That’s the pit of a chocolate peach.”

Raine’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Why are you saving
that
?”

“Just a reminder. A friend gave it to me, telling me to savor it. Savor everything.” I roll over and kiss her shoulder, her neck, and finally her mouth. “See? It works.”

“Hmm,” she says, licking her lips. “I guess I need to get myself one of these.” She wraps her hands behind my neck and pulls my face down to meet hers again, our lips barely touching, our breaths mingling, smiling, then laughing, so close our noses bump. “Okay, enough of that.” She playfully pushes me away. “Next!”

She reaches into my pack, and blindly rummages through it with her fingers to pull out the next surprise. When she first asked me what I carried in my pack, I shrugged, trying to avoid the question, but she pressed, and then I found I wanted to share with her. There’s so little I can tell her about the real me.

She pulls out the Swiss knife. Her father’s knife. “Something of substance—at last! Tell me about this.”

“It’s a Swiss knife. You’ve never seen one?”

“No.”

“You need to get out more. They’ve been around for a million years at least. They’re more than knives really. They’re emergency tools.”

She pulls out a few of the tools and blades and examines them. “Even a toothpick? Really? Have you ever used it?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t. The only thing I’ve used so far is the large blade.”

“That seems like a waste.”

“I’ll get around to them all eventually. I haven’t had it very long.”

“Where’d you get it?”

I roll back over and look up at the sky.
From your mother. She gave it to me. Your mother who doesn’t even know you’re alive.
But I stick to the Network story. “My dad.”

She reaches into the pack again, pulling out protein cakes, energy water, phone tabs that I explain away as freebies, the black government-issue coat still in its small cylinder that I explain as a mere practicality, and the small stuffed blue elephant that I tell her was a gift from a little girl I used to know named Kayla, probably the truest thing I’ve said that night.

She leans up on one elbow, looking into my eyes. “Who are you, Locke Jenkins? You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known. You are—” Her eyes glisten and she smiles like she’s trying to erase the emotion behind them. “Don’t you dare make me cry. But, I think—” She swallows. “I—” She leans down and lays her cheek against mine. I feel the deep breaths of her chest and the shuddering of air as she lets it out. She pushes away and grins, the potential flood of tears gone. “Next.”

She rummages into the deepest corners of my pack and pulls out the last item. “And what in the world is this?” she asks, holding up the frosted green glass.

“That’s the best piece of all. It’s the eye of Liberty.” I tell her the story that Lily told me, that the Statue of Liberty once had beautiful green eyes but they were lost at sea and after all these years of being tossed on the sands, this small piece of green glass is all that’s left. But there’s another eye of Liberty out there somewhere waiting to be found on a sandy beach.

She rolls to her back, a dreamy smile on her face. “That’s probably the wildest history lesson I’ve ever heard.”

“True. Promise.”

She reaches over and threads her fingers through mine. “Then let’s find the other eye of Liberty together. Promise me.”

I squeeze her hand. “It could take a lifetime of combing beaches to find it.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

Match Point

“Good evening, Locke. Again, I admire your punctuality.” The Secretary glances at the time. “Early even.”

I step out of the elevator. “Hello, Secretary Branson. Nice to see you again.” I look around. Dorian, who greeted me last time, is nowhere in sight, and no one else is either. Not Raine, Hap, none of the A Group, not even LeGru. It’s oddly silent, like the entire house has been cleared out. I don’t have a good feeling about this, but there’s nothing about the Secretary that makes me feel good.

“I was wondering if I might talk with you in my office before the others arrive.” He waves his hand toward the hallway. “And of course, you remember where it is. I’ll let you lead.”

Our gazes lock. It’s an abrupt and interesting greeting—one clearly orchestrated and meant to intimidate. I glance around again. There’s nothing I can do but walk down the hallway—and watch my back like I never have before. The stairway down seems narrower, longer, and darker than before. We reach his office door and he pushes it open, waving me to a chair opposite his desk.

“Drink?” he asks.

“I don’t drink, sir.”

“Of course you don’t. At least not in front of me, right?” I smile at his thin joke as I’m obliged to. He pours himself a small glass of something from a crystal decanter on a narrow table just inside the door. I take in the room. If nothing else, this unexpected meeting gives me a chance to gather more information that might be useful. I’m able to see things I couldn’t see through the small crack in the door the last time I was here. There are four windows. The plans only showed two for the room on this side of the building. The office must have been expanded and reconfigured, which explains the new hallway leading to it. It’s now long enough to encompass the recessed window that’s on the west side of the building.

“An interesting day you had last Friday with Raine and the others down at the wharf,” he says. He holds his glass up to the light like he’s judging the quality of its color. “Time is short so I’ll get right to the point. I think it’s quite understandable that you would be attracted to Raine.”

I open my mouth to object but he holds his hand up to stop me. He smiles. “Let me finish.”

I lean back in my chair and wait.

“Raine
is
beautiful. Even as a father I can see that. And quite accomplished.”

“I’m aware of that.”

His smile fades. “Are you?”

He doesn’t want an answer so I don’t give him one. I know this is all as orchestrated as his greeting at the elevator. I let it play out. He walks over to a silver sword with an elaborate filigreed handle that’s displayed on the wall behind his desk. He runs his finger along the length of the blade.

“A beautiful sword,” I say.

“A smallsword to be exact, circa eighteenth-century France. Less than a pound, swift and precise. The perfect thrusting weapon, especially for wealthy noblemen of the day.”

He turns to look at me. “Are you familiar with fencing, Locke?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so. It’s a beautiful sport with a long and elegant history. More of an art really, much like watching a ballet, and it takes just as many years to master. It’s the most refined form of deadly combat.” He takes a sip of his drink and then pauses, taking a good long look at me. “Raine’s been fencing since she was five. She’s breathtaking to watch. Did you know she’s taken first place in the Foil event at the National Fencing Championships two years in a row now?”

“No, sir.”

He raises his brows in mock surprise. “I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about Raine.” He walks over to my side of the desk so he’s towering over me, and casually leans against it. “Just as there is so much I don’t know about you.”

“My life’s an open book,” I tell him. “Anything you want to know, it’s out there.”

“And yet, the Virtual Collective’s records on you are so incomplete. Curious, isn’t it?”

Curious my ass. He’s been digging. “That’s a surprise,” I answer. “I thought they had everything. But most of my records are from foreign countries—that’s where I grew up. Maybe some are delayed or lost.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a possibility. I’m sure it will be corrected soon enough though. As Secretary of Security I can speed these things along.”

“That’s good to know.”

“But in the meantime, I do know about Shane, and I think he’s a wiser choice for Raine. Your wake-up call to him at the wharf last week is appreciated—he needed it—but no more will be necessary, not if you want to remain in the A Group. Do I make myself clear, Locke?”

I know all the things I want to say, as opposed to all the things I should say.

“Locke?”

Shane didn’t tell him where the wake-up call actually took place—probably to keep his own image untarnished. I stand so now I’m the one towering over the Secretary. I look at him, forcing the anger out of my eyes, forcing the hatred from my face, forcing the disgust from my voice, especially forcing away how much I want to wipe the smugness from his face. I focus on the goal and not my immediate satisfaction. I mold every blink, pause, pore, and facet of my expression to be that of a seventeen-year-old boy who is appropriately intimidated and eager to please. “Yes, sir. Very clear.”

He nods his approval and dismisses me to go upstairs because surely the others have arrived by now and I must be eager to begin our meeting. When I reach his office door, he calls out to me one more time.
“Merci de prendre le temps de venir me voir, Locke. Je sais combien le temps est précieux.”

I turn and look at him, waiting an extra beat or two, just long enough to make him sit forward in anticipation, before I answer.
“Personne ne sait mieux que moi combien le temps est précieux, monsieur.”
And then I add in German for good measure,
“Sie ist etwas, was nie verschwendet werden sollte.”