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“Heather, these men need to talk to you,” Mrs. Delgado went on. “I have no idea what it's about, but it would be a good idea to just answer their questions as best you can.”

Mrs. Delgado sounded scared. Heather was sure of it. Being blind gave you a built-in lie detector. And an emotion detector, too. And Delgado was terrified—there was no question about it.

“You can leave now,” a male voice said.

It was a cold voice, and Heather didn't recognize it. She felt the air move as Mrs. Delgado got up; she heard footsteps on floorboards and carpet as the superintendent hurried past Heather, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly and then moving toward the door and pulling it shut.

Click.
That was the door latch. Heather was alone, with the strangers.

“Hello?” she said again. “Who's there?”

“Heather,” the strange male voice said again, “My name is James Rowan. The other person you're hearing is Peter Morrow.”

“Okay,” Heather said dubiously.

“You're a very pretty young lady,” Rowan said. It sounded strange to Heather. Because she never thought about how people looked anymore. It was utterly irrelevant.

“Why don't you have a seat,” the other man said. “We just have a few questions and we'll be out of your hair.”

“Who are you?” Heather said. Her heart was beating so fast, she could hear it clicking in her ears. She was absolutely terrified, she realized.

“You don't need to worry about that,” Rowan said. He was closer to the window, and the breeze was blowing his cologne across Heather's face. Old Spice, she realized. Who the hell wore Old Spice, anyway? “You might say we're investigators.”

“You mean police?” Heather remembered how frightened Mrs. Delgado had sounded and realized that these men must have shown her a badge of some kind. Or a gun.

“Don't be afraid,” Morrow said. It was like he'd read her mind. “We're not cops. We're employees of a
government agency. We're really just bureaucrats. We're certainly not dangerous.”

He's lying,
Heather realized.
They're dangerous as hell.

“We'd like to talk to you about your affliction. Your blindness,” Rowan explained needlessly.

“I know what ‘affliction' means.”

“Now, there's no need to be difficult,” Morrow said. Heather could tell from his voice that he was smiling. “Are you going to have an attitude? It will just make this take longer and be more unpleasant for you.”

“N-No.”

“You were made blind by an injected drug?” Rowan asked.

What?
Heather was confused.
Why are they asking about that? How do they even know about that?

“I don't really know what it was,” Heather said truthfully. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

“Did you go blind all at once, or did it happen in stages?”

“It was the last stage,” Heather said.

“Was the first stage fearlessness?” Rowan asked. He seemed particularly eager to hear her answer. “Were you fearless? No fear at all?”

“Yes.”

Heather remembered it vividly. That strange, exhilarating sensation—that unreal, dreamlike disconnection of having no fear. And then later . . . the
burning pain, the fever . . . the fear of not understanding.

And then blackness.

“Heather,” Morrow went on, “did you undergo any kind of examination or blood test during that first stage?”

“No.”

“You answered awfully quickly,” Rowan said. “It's been a long time since the events we're discussing. Are you
sure?
Absolutely
sure
there was no blood test? Even by a paramedic or an emergency-room nurse?”

“Nothing like that,” Heather insisted. “It just happened so
quickly.
There was no time for that.”

Rowan sighed in frustration. Heather heard it clearly.

“And Gaia Moore?” Morrow asked suddenly. “Did she receive the same injection?”

“I don't understand,” Heather said. She heard the fear in her voice and tried to suppress it. “You
caught
him, didn't you? The man who did this to me? Oliver Moore? You caught him. Why don't you ask
him
all these questions?”

“Because we're asking you,” Morrow said.

“Answer the question, Heather,” Rowan went on. “And you'd better be sure you're answering truthfully.”

Heather was so frightened that she could barely speak. But at the same time, she was irritated. She'd been following the conversation very closely. It was
amazing how well you could pay attention to things when you weren't distracted by appearances, facial expressions, colors.

And these men weren't being truthful. Heather had no idea what the lie was, but there was a lie in there somehow. Their voices gave it away.

“I don't know,” Heather insisted. “I don't know what they did to her. He'd been making her life hell for months.”

Rowan was standing up. The sound filled Heather with relief.
The interview is over,
she thought.
Thank God—they're leaving.

But she was wrong.

Rowan came right over to stand in front of her. The smell of Old Spice was overpowering. Heather could hear him breathing.

And then she felt the man's hand on her shoulder.

“Please stop,” Heather whispered. “Please leave me alone.”

“We'll go,” Rowan said, “if you swear to us that you've told us the truth. And that there's
nothing
you've left out. About the injection, Ms. Moore, any of it.”

“I swear,” Heather whispered. She was crying—she couldn't help it. “I swear. Please leave me alone. Please.”

“One more thing,” Rowan said. He pushed his hand downward on her shoulder. “Don't tell
anybody
about us. That superintendent, your teachers, anyone. If you do, we'll find out. And we'll come back. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

And then suddenly they were gone. She felt the hand lift from her shoulder. Then she heard the door opening and closing and the footsteps, and she was alone in her room with the cloying smell of Old Spice lingering in the air.

And now, three hours later, Heather sat in the lounge, trembling. She hadn't said a word to anyone. She'd taken a shower, and put on clean pajamas, and eaten dinner, and now she was sitting quietly in the lounge.

I've got to tell someone,
Heather thought.

It was exactly what they had told her not to do.

But she had to. She had to at least ask someone for advice. Maybe not help, but advice. It wasn't like they were going to spy on her. And she had to figure out what to do next.

Not somebody at the school. That was a bad idea. She needed to talk to someone she really knew—someone she could trust.

And more importantly, she had to warn Gaia.

I've got to tell someone. I've got to ask someone what to do. But who?

And suddenly Heather made up her mind. She knew exactly who to call.

FIELD REPORT: INTERVIEW WITH SUBJECT A-3-B

Rowan, J., and Morrow, P, reporting

Interview was conducted at 6:20
P.M
. EST. The subject, Heather Gannis (see attached file 31), appeared to be cooperating and answering questions truthfully. The subject's blindness called for innovative interrogation/intimidation techniques.

As with Oliver Moore (see Field Report A-2-A), the interview proved somewhat inconclusive. However, certain clear conclusions may be drawn. The test subject appeared to have a detailed memory of the events in question regarding BLUEBELL, our code name for the genetic serum administered in the sequence of events under scrutiny.

The lack of alkaloid agents has been tentatively confirmed, as has the absence of sensory side effects concurrent with injection.

School Superintendent Marisa Delgado was easily persuaded to hand over all of Heather Gannis's medical records, which revealed the drug's effects quite clearly. The blindness is a side effect of the antigen-reagent properties of the serum. No further information may be garnered from Heather Gannis.

The investigation must proceed to its main subject, who, it has been revealed, is in the process of being contacted. Rowan and Morrow shall proceed as ordered; a subsequent field report will be submitted thereafter through the usual channels.

END

Old Gaia would have checked out this scene and turned right back around in a heartbeat.

Like Bullets

“JAKE! JAKE!”

It was a girl's voice calling out to him, but Jake couldn't see her face in the crowd. He saw Gaia first as he stepped out of the school lobby. She saw him, too, and smiled—but she wasn't the one calling to him. It was the girl next to her—the girl in the long white leather coat. She called his name again, waving. Jake finally realized that it was that girl he'd seen on his way out of Starbucks. Liz.

The last buzzer was still echoing through the lobby behind Jake. School was over, and now he was surrounded by a stream of dozens of students with book bags, yelling back and forth to each other and hollering on their cell phones as they flooded out of the school building.

“Jake!” Liz yelled again. Her flawless white teeth gleamed as she smiled at him. The afternoon sunlight lit up the gold strands of her hair.

Jake moved through the flood of kids and made his way over to Gaia and Liz. He gave Gaia a kiss and tipped his chin at Liz.

“Are you coming to my party?” Liz asked immediately.

“Party?” Jake asked. “What party? When is it?”

“It's right now.” Liz grinned.

“Liz and Chris booked a suite over at the Mercer Hotel,” Gaia explained.

Jake knew where that was—a fancy building a few blocks west—but he'd never been inside the place.

“I think they pretty much invited . . . everybody,” Gaia went on. “How many, Liz?”

Gaia sounded like she was trying to seem disinterested. But Jake knew better. It was obvious—Gaia was intrigued despite herself. He had to hand it to Gaia's friend Liz. She just made it look so easy. She was one of those people who you just liked in a matter of seconds, and you instantly stopped caring about the fact that her wristwatch cost more than most cars.

“Dozens,” Liz said, shrugging. “Okay, yes, everyone,” she admitted sheepishly. “It's already started—Chris is over there now. I stayed behind to gather the stragglers. Like
you
Jake.”

Liz poked Jake in the chest as she said his name. It was completely innocent and friendly, and he didn't mind at all.

Neither did Gaia. It was obvious, looking at her. Gaia seemed to trust Liz completely after only a day. Which made Jake even more impressed with the immaculately dressed newcomer. If she could win Gaia over that fast, then Liz had to be “good people.” Gaia didn't waste her time with people she didn't like. It was one of the things Jake liked about her.

“Ready to go, Jake?” Gaia asked.

“Sure,” Jake said honestly. “A party at three in the afternoon: Why not? Let's go.”

“Come on, you two,” Liz said impatiently. She grabbed the couple's hands and pulled them forcibly down the street away from the school. “Let's get over there. I just have to buy some beer on the way.”

It was a quarter to four when the three of them got to the Mercer Hotel. The tall, graceful building loomed over them, shining in the afternoon sun.

Jake had to admit that the hotel idea was brilliant. He would never have mustered the audacity to try that kind of thing himself. He didn't have the money, either. He wasn't familiar with the Mercer Hotel, but one look at the brass signs and the row of car service limousines lined up in front told him that the place wasn't cheap.

Liz and Jake were both carrying bags from the Korean deli around the corner. Each bag had two six-packs of Stella Artois beer—Liz had insisted on the best the deli had, even if it was something like four dollars a bottle. Jake had tried to pay, but Liz was much quicker, slapping down a fifty-dollar bill before he'd even gotten his hand near his wallet.

“I'm not drinking,” Jake told Gaia as they moved through the hotel's revolving doors. The lobby was big and dark and air-conditioned. “I've got a sparring session at the gym in about an hour.”

“Okay,” Gaia said.

“Just so you know,” Jake went on. Liz was leading them toward the banks of elevators; they had to sprint
to keep up. “In case you wanted to get me drunk and take advantage of me.”

“I stand warned,” Gaia replied, cracking a slight smile.

“Come on, lovebirds,” Liz called out over her shoulder, as her perfectly manicured index finger stabbed at the elevator button. “I do believe it's party time.”

The Princely Aura

COMING THROUGH THE DOOR INTO
the hotel suite, Gaia could tell the party was already going full blast. She could hear techno and hip-hop music coming from different directions and an endless cacophony of loud voices. The crowd was right in front of them, packed into the suite's living room, with kids filling the couches and chairs, and opened cans of beer littering the glass coffee table, where a half-circle of kids were loudly playing quarters. Gaia could see doors into other rooms, with more kids moving through them. The suite was huge.

Old Gaia would have checked out this scene and turned right back around in a heartbeat. But this was new Gaia. And so she took a deep breath and tried to immerse herself in the crowd.

But the first face she saw was not making this new commitment to social behavior any easier.

Tannie Deegan. Of course.

“You're
totally
right!” Tannie was squealing. “Oh my God, Chris. You're, like, totally
exactly
right. . . . ”