Super Girls (Cape High Book 13) (22 page)

“It’s the ghost,” Kaden says behind me. His voice is soft, which makes it even creepier.

“Everyone out,” Flame says. “We’re sleeping by the bonfire tonight.”

It says a lot when I’m the first one grabbing her sleeping bag and heading out into the night.

I stop and look at the RV, wondering if it’s too childish to call my dad in the middle of the night so he can check it for bogeymen. I’m seriously tempted, regardless. Sure, he’d have to come across half the country, and would probably get in trouble with the Halls again, but it might be worth it. The only thing that stops me, even as my hand reaches for my earbud, is my dad, himself. He would NEVER let me live this down, I think a bit dryly. I’d be hearing cracks about checking under my bed for the rest of my life. I still remember that moment when we first met, practically, where he held out his hands and asked me if “Daddy needs to help?” in such a sarcastic way. Nope, not calling him.

“I am NOT letting some stupid ghost ruin this mission,” I say, my hands clenching at my sides. “We’re going to get rid of it, one way or another.”

“How?” Vinny asks.

“Well… we’ll start by a ghost catching device,” I decide. “I’m going to need some parts,” I decide, heading for the abandoned structure. Hopefully they brought the pieces I would need like Century said they had—otherwise this is going to be a very long night.

***

Nico jerks slightly as he sees one of his screens blink. He starts tapping on the air, as if writing on a keyboard, going through the same schematics that his daughter is checking. “Huh,” he says, frowning when he finds nothing. The screen comes on again, showing his daughter touching the circuits. He listens in—and then sees the switch go off. The last thing he hears is his daughter screaming.

He gets to his feet and heads for the door. Before his hand settles on the doorknob, he stops himself. This is his daughter’s first mission—also, racing across the country would easily bring attention to her that he doesn’t particularly want at the moment. He scowls, his mind racing, and turns back to his computers. This requires a less hands-on sort of approach--one that starts with waking Century up, he thinks with evil satisfaction as he waves a hand. A bit to his surprise, Century already has his personal computer on. The older man gives him a disgruntled look when he takes over the screen. “Now, son,” he says, “this is my HOME computer.”

“I realize that,” Nico says.

“Then you should realize that it’s not polite to hack into a HOME computer.”

“Really, Century, when will you learn that I don’t do polite, especially when one of my kids is in a dangerous situation?” he asks, his expression going hard. “If it were my son, I might yell at you—but this is my daughter,” he says. “What, exactly, did you send my little girl into? Your life might be dependent on this answer, so I suggest you be succinct.”

Century hesitates, a troubled expression crossing his face before he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Well… it’s like this—”

***

The only sounds around are the steady breathing of people sleeping at the campsite, and the clanking noise of metal bumping against metal. It’s the second that draws Rochester. He slips through the night, blending in as easily as he breathes. His clunky combat boots are back at his own camp, along with his socks. He’s going barefoot for this job—which makes him extremely glad it’s a corn field and not a cow field, he thinks dryly. His feet are tough enough to walk on anything, but he doesn't have any desire to step on a cow patty. With each step he picks up on small details, what animal last passed through, the last rain, the last snow. Most importantly, WHO had walked this land last, and where they are now. All of the land in the field is connected, after all.

Not that he needs that information to find the girl, he realizes with a hint of amusement. He can hear every movement she makes. She’s not trying to be quiet. He glances back at the camp, just checking to be sure no one’s guarding her, and then jumps on top of the half-built wall between him and her, crouching there like an owl. There, he thinks, standing in the half built building wearing blue and pink striped pajamas and strange white half gloves. She’s so intent on the machine she’s building that she doesn’t even notice.

It looks like a small torture device, he decides, or one of those old… sarcophagus, his mind supplies. The ones the Pharaohs are buried in. It’s metal—a dark, shiny gunmetal, and she’s welding one of the sides together with—is that her FINGER? She’s got a helmet on, with the mask pulled down, but she’s creating the spark with her finger, so… seriously, what’s the point? He’s a bit stumped by that one. He reaches down, touching the wall on the off chance that something has happened since the last time he touched it. Nothing. A breeze, a random cat peeing on it, a bird or two taking a moment to land before flying off. As long as nothing happens, he thinks, the ghost is perfectly content to leave it alone.

For now.

But that’s the thing, he thinks, standing and walking silently along the wall. Why haunt a building that’s brand new? Oh, he doesn’t doubt that there are ghosts—those three years of living in New Orleans have been enough to make him a believer—well, in a way. What he truly believes is that certain people invest SO much emotion—most often bad—into a place, that it lingers long after they’re gone. The amount is so great that even norms pick up on it and it affects the world around it. And since Rochester is primed to pick up on emotions lingering to begin with, he had thought it’d be the perfect job for training his kid on.

Except the ghost DOESN’T leave the emotional traces, he thinks irritably. Things just move, or a freezing cold breeze passes by, or whatever. And the old lady is intent on proving that the place is haunted—except according to Century, nobody said anything about ghosts before he bought the land. It’s like a huge chunk of the story is missing—and if the girl’s machine can help, he thinks, he might be able to figure it out. He goes still as the girl stops abruptly and digs one hand into her pocket. She pulls out a handful of tiny parts and tosses them into the air, where they float above her head. This is his chance, he thinks, running silently over the wall. His hand shoots out, grabbing one of the screws—just in time for her to look up and see him.

“What the—” she says, jerking back. “How did I not hear you?” she demands. “What are you doing with my screw?”

“’Ello,” he says a bit lamely, still stretched out with his fist in the air.

“Give me my screw back,” she demands, storming up to the wall and holding out a demanding hand. “You almost gave me a heart attack—and why didn’t you TELL us you were a super?” she adds as he slowly lets the screw drop into her hand. It’s already given him a decent amount of information, actually. He just needs to let his mind sort it out. He blinks as she pulls her cell phone out and shoots a green light at him.

“Hey!” he says, “what the hell was that?”

“You spy on me, I spy on you,” she says rudely, turning away from him and looking at her screen. “Oh… you’re a psychic type—” she stops, turning cynical green eyes on him. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” she says, even more rudely.

“What does that phone tell you?” he demands, hopping off of the wall. Before he gets close, she pulls a small light bulb out of her pocket and shakes it at him in a threatening manner.

“Don’t make me use this,” she tells him.

“A light bulb.”

“That’s right—you won’t like what I can do with a light bulb.” Confusion makes him go still, so satisfied, she goes back to looking at her phone. “Huh,” she says. “I’ve seen Mastermental’s scans, you know, so I know you’re not a telepath, or a telekinetic. What are you?” she asks him.

“I ain’t tellin’,” Rochester says stubbornly. “And I still ain’t sure what you’re gonna do with a light bulb,” he adds.

“Why does your son speak better than you do?” she asks.

“I made sure he got the schoolin’ I didn’t—well… I tried,” Rochester admits, guilt hitting him.

“Is he coming into his powers?” she asks, looking honestly concerned. It throws him off guard. “It’s always hard for capes with a lot of promise—I would think a psychic type would have it pretty bad, wouldn’t he?”

He schools his face in a bland expression, not saying one way or the other. She completely ignores him, digging a card out of her pocket and holding it out. “My group—well, other than Flame—we come from Cape High,” she says. “My dad’s the principal. We might be able to arrange something for your son. Or, if we can get rid of this ghost problem, we can see about him getting into this one.”

“This one?” he asks.

“This,” she says, motioning all around her, “is going to be Cape High South. I’m here to put in the computer system.”

He stares at her, almost falling over with shock. “THAT’S what this is?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “But it’s sort of at a standstill now, isn’t it?” she says with a sigh. “I bet the ghost ran off the norm construction workers, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” He scowls, looking around. This, he realizes, this is exactly what he’d not even dared to dream about. “So… in this school, him freakin’ out if he sees somethin’ ain’t gonna get the world’s notice?” he asks after a long moment.

“No, it shouldn’t,” she says. “It might get his teacher’s notice, but that’s sort of the point of school, right? How do you mean ‘sees something’?” she asks.

“I need t’get into the old lady’s house,” he says. “Can you an’ your team give me a hand?”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I haven’t had the chance t’see what she knows,” he says simply.

***

I’m not sure if he’s creepy or not. I mean, I want to trust him for some reason—he obviously cares about his son, but at the same time—”How old are you?” I ask curiously, glancing over my shoulder at him.

He blinks, and a frown crosses his face as he starts tapping on his fingers—then asks me, “What year is it?”

I tell him.

“Well… think that makes me, what, close to forty?” he offers, looking thoughtful. “Somewhere around there. I ain’t paid attention to that in years.”

“You’re seriously the same age as my DAD?” I say, shocked. Dad looks older than this guy—but it might be because of their build, that and the white in Dad’s bangs. “You look barely older than I am!”

“It’s the baby face,” Rochester says with a hint of disgust. “I always did look like a kid.”

“And the piercings, and the ratty looking jeans,” I point out, “and going around barefoot doesn’t help much either.”

“Y’wanna make fun of me more, or wake up your team?” Rochester drawls.

“We’re already awake,” Vinny says, his hair lighting up. We’re surrounded. Wow, Dad’s creeping classes have really paid off, haven’t they? I barely heard them coming. Then again, I wasn’t listening for it. One of the first things I did when I learned to control my powers was train myself to IGNORE sounds. There is such a thing as hearing too much. But maybe I’ve gotten a bit too good at it.

“Step away from Zoe,” Kaden says.

“It’s okay, guys,” I say, holding up my phone. “He’s one of us.”

“If you’re saying that just because he’s a cape, well that means Shadowman’s one of us, too,” Vinny says all too calmly. “You might be Nico’s daughter, Zoe, and we’re not going to make light of that, but you’re still on MY team. It’s a pain in the neck, but I’m the one responsible for making sure you don’t get caught up in something dangerous.”

“I trust him,” I say. “At least for now,” I add when Rochester opens his mouth. I shoot him a sharp look when he dares to give me an injured look. “He’s a psychic,” I add, waving the phone at them.

“Psychometric,” Rochester says, sighing.

“Um… He’s crazy and obsessed with foreign measurements?” Kaden offers.

“Psychometry—I can pick stuff up by touchin’ things,” Rochester explains.

“Well, yeah, you usually have to touch things to pick them up,” Kaden says, looking at him as if he were a moron. Vinny turns away slightly, but I think he’s laughing if his shoulders' shaking is an indicator.

Rochester just stares at him. There’s an awkward silence for the count of five before he turns and looks at me. “I need t’get inside the old lady’s house. Maybe she knows somethin’ about the ghost that she don’t remember.”

“We were supposed to do this in a day,” Vinny says. “We can’t do it if we’re busy trying to keep someone busy so you can rob them.”

“Not rob, just touch a few things,” Rochester says. “An’ I could do it if it were only the old bat—it’s the cats that are the real problem.”

“So what are we supposed to do about the cats?” Vinny asks.

Rochester looks at me. “Just how big inside is that ghost trapper thing of yours?” he asks.

I stare at him. “You want to capture ALL of the cats and put them in a metal box.”

“Makes sense t’me,” he says cheerfully.

“Schrödinger’s cat,” Vinny says, “in a mass quantity. That’s just twisted.”

“Schro-dinger’s what?” Kaden asks.

“It’s an old question—if you put a cat in a box is it alive or dead?”

“You can tell, 'cause the box would be moving, right?”

“Well there’s a thing of poison involved, I think—but regardless, that’s absolutely animal abuse, especially if there aren’t holes in the box. Are there holes?” Vinny asks me.