Wind-Scarred (The Will of the Elements, Book 1) (8 page)

“
I've seen some of the footage,” Doe interjected, her voice
very serious, almost pained, “it was horrible. The normal people,
the ones who didn't have any special powers... they were
slaughtered in the fighting. They weren't part of the dispute. They
never had a chance.”

“
That,” Mr. Blair continued, fierce pride in his eyes, “marked
the beginning of our organization. We asked ourselves who could
stand up for the have-nots of the world, the ones who lived on the
outside with the monsters who had defeated us, the ones who could
not stand up for themselves? And the answer was obvious.” He placed
a hand on agent Doe's shoulder. “We could do it. We would do it. We
are the shield of the helpless. We are the sword of the righteous.
We are the world's great equalizer. When elementalists abuse their
powers, we are the ones who stand up for the wronged, the ones who
avenge the victims.”

“
And you want me to join?” Ezra asked, awed by the passion and
pride of the two people sitting in front of him.

Mr. Blair bowed slightly. “It is my pleasure
to invite you.”

Ezra swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“All right,” he said, voice sounding much more stable then he felt,
“I'm in.”

“
Pay up,” Agent Doe said, hand extended up and behind her. A
smile was forming on Mr. Blair's face as he handed over the
sunglasses. She put them on and leaned back in her chair. The
glasses looked ridiculous on her. She looked smug.

The smile continued to grow until it covered
Mr. Blair's face, transforming it from something unimpressive to
something extraordinary. “Welcome, Ezra James Hawkins, to the Guild
of Sundry.”

“
The Guild of Sundry?! Those... those clowns?! You're telling
me that you're... that they're... that
we're
...,” Ezra sputtered and nearly
fell out of his chair.

Agent Doe gaze him a shocked look and Mr.
Blair burst into a deep belly laugh, reaching a hand out in front
of Doe and gesturing with his fingers. She tore off the glasses and
slammed them into his hand, glaring at Ezra.

“
I
can't believe it! You really didn't figure it out? After everything
you saw? The base? The freaking
gliders
?! Ugh, this is so typical.”
She threw her hands up in disgust, then crossed her arms, looking
away from Ezra. “I'll get you back for this, Ezzy.”

Mr. Blair's laughter died down slowly, as he
wiped a few tears from his eyes. “That aspect of what we do, what
you know as the Guild of Sundry, was actually founded because of
your family. Before your grandfather developed traversable portals,
your great grandfather had managed to create stable,
non-traversable wormholes. Unfortunately, there were some rather
bizarre unanticipated side effects for reality. Sections of
Sanctuary would loop in time, slow down or even freeze. It caused
completely understandable panic.”

“
Wait, I've heard of that,” Ezra said, “but... but that was
just a Guild of Sundry prank. I heard that there were teams of
performers all over the city, acting normally, freezing for a
minute, then continuing as if nothing happened. Or acting out the
same sequence of events over and over. There are videos of it on
the net! You're telling me that it was all...”

Ezra stopped talking as the pieces started
coming together in his head. GoS on the doors in the secret base.
Guild of Sundry. The man in the base he had fled saying something
about a mission. Gliders out everywhere, covering up what he was
doing, making it all part of the event. Just like they had for his
great grandfather. “You cover it up. The things that would frighten
people, that would make them ask questions that could lead to
answers you don't want to share. The Guild of Sundry. And no-one
looks past it, because they think it's all just an elaborate
prank.”

“
And you couldn't have figured this out
two minutes ago
?” Agent Doe shot him
an exasperated glance.

“
Unfortunately, I'm afraid we've run out of time here. There's
a skiff waiting outside to take you home. Miss Doe, please escort
Mr. Hawkins and see to it that he has an appropriate cover story.
We'll contact you soon, Ezra.” Mr. Blair deftly removed the card
from the table and wiped its memory.

Ezra was still caught up in thought. He
wracked his brain for other Guild of Sundry events, trying to tie
them to potential cover-ups. The Day of Pants-less Shuttles...
maybe something that made people forgetful? The University Statue
Caper... had someone animated statues? The Great Waffle Switch...
a... um... huh. He looked up to find Mr. Blair gone and Agent Doe
waiting for him at the door, smiling a knowing smile.

“
The Great Waffle Switch?” she asked. Ezra blinked and nodded
his head. The girl shrugged. “I don't think anyone's figured that
one out. Come on, we should get you home.”

They walked back through the DOLT office and
collected Ezra's gear. Ezra was still trying to work through
everything he had heard that night. Outside, the Founder's Day gala
had finally come to end. Streets were mostly clear, and the
dizzying kaleidoscope of color that painted the town was beginning
to fade. A closed skiff was parked in front of the building. They
got in, it hovered to life and began the short trip to the Hawkins
estate.

“
Ezra,” Doe said, looking directly at him, “I'm going to help
you with your cover story, but it will be up to you to make sure
that it sticks. You're going to have to deal with the people in
your life who might notice something is off or ask difficult
questions.”

“
Okay
, I think I can manage something
Agent Doe... look, do you have a real name? Something I can call
you?” He thought the question might somehow be inappropriate. How
were you supposed to ask secret agent for her name?

She smiled back at him. “I'm afraid it
really is Doe. I come from a long line of Doe's, all the way back
to a man at Founding who apparently didn't want to give his real
name. A proud family with a long-standing grunt tradition.”

Ezra winced. Grunt, or more formally, GRNT,
stood for General Research Non-inheriting Technician. They were the
people who never got a breakthrough, the nuts and bolts of
Sanctuary. Assistants, maintenance workers, or service technicians,
the kind of people who went to school to learn rather than being
taught at home by parents or siblings. And certainly not the sort
of people a Legacy heir should be overly friendly with. How was he
going to work her into any plausible cover story? Kirsten O'Donnell
would never find this acceptable, and the woman had a tendency to
pierce even his most carefully laid deceptions.

“
I'm afraid you still have me at a disadvantage,” he said,
making small-talk while he furiously thought up and dismissed idea
after idea. “A first name maybe? Something a little... less
formal?”

“
Most people typically call me Doe, but to friends I'm Gal. I
think we can be friends, even though I'm still immensely
disappointed in you.”

“
Gal?” he said sceptically.

She paused as she took out a tube of cherry
red lipstick and gave him a level look. “Short for Galois. My
parents wanted a boy. And a mathematician. I figured since I'd
already failed at the first, I shouldn't even bother trying for the
second. Hence the Guild.”

Ezra made every effort not to laugh. Her
name wasn't her fault. Also, she probably still had that taser
somewhere. “Gal, then. It's a pretty name.”

She rolled her eyes and began applying the
lipstick. He grimaced as he dismissed another plan involving a
prolonged stay with local grunts to rekindle his passion for
research. Gal really wasn't being very helpful with this whole
cover story thing. Ezra was about to say something when they came
to a stop. He looked out the window in a panic as the Hawkins
estate loomed above them. He wasn't ready, he hadn't thought of
anything yet, he needed more time!

Ezra turned despairing eyes back to Gal just
as she reached over, grabbed his head firmly with both hands, and
gave him a big, wet kiss on the left cheek. She then reached past,
opened the door, and pushed him out. He stumbled but didn't fall.
She grinned at him through the open door. “Good luck, Ezzy.” Gal
winked at him. “I know you'll do me proud.”

She began to close the door but he caught it
halfway. She looked up at him quizzically. “I just have one more
question,” he said. “Why the phone booth?”

Her grin returned, even wider and more
dazzling than before. “I thought that would be obvious. Where else
would you go to become a hero?”

Ezra stared after the departing skiff. Do
her proud? What was she talking about? He was... ah! His cover
story! He didn't have anything! Stupid pretty girl. Stupid kissing.
He had to think of something, and he had to think of it fast.

He was standing there stupidly when he heard
someone clear their throat behind him. Ezra turned around slowly,
heart sinking. His secretary was not three feet away, arms crossed
stiffly in front of her, toe tapping the ground, radiating
fury.

“
Oh, uh, Kirsten. I-I mean Miss O'Donnell. You'll never believe
what happened-”

She closed the space between them, hand
darting out to grasp his chin. She turned his head sharply to the
right, her eyes narrowing. Ezra imagined he could feel her anger
scorching the side of his face.

“
Ah,” she said quietly, “I see.” She sniffed with disdain.
“I'll have to call the Crawfords and reschedule for later in the
day. I suggest you get some rest.” With that she released him, hand
absently brushing her skirt. “Will that be all, Mr. Hawkins?”
Without waiting for a response, Kirsten spun and walked briskly
back through the open door of the house.

Shaken, he followed, and caught a glimpse of
his reflection in a window. Turning his face to the right, he saw
the impression of Gal's lips on his cheek in dark red lipstick. He
thought he should probably be mortified or embarrassed by this, but
maybe with everything else that had happened tonight, he could
afford to put that off until the morning. Shaking his head in
wonder, he went inside, up to his room, closed the door and
promptly fell asleep. He did not bother to find the bed first.

==

Ezra woke up with the sun
in his eyes and a hard lump digging into his stomach. He rolled
over on the floor. The floor? Yes, he was on the floor. And the
lump... that was his camera. Why had he fallen asleep on his camera
in the middle of the floor? Abruptly the events of the previous
night rushed back to him and he leaped up. Or tried too. His legs
hadn't quite gotten the message that he was going to be using them
yet and had instead decided to complain about a night spent
running, hiding, and carrying a girl around. Oh, and being
electrocuted. They seemed to be opposed to that too. Rubbing bleary
eyes, Ezra called up a time display. That's why the sun was glaring
through his window. It was two thirty.
Two
thirty
.

He was late for his date with Liza Crawford.
His head resumed its position on the floor with a thump. This would
be it, the last straw. Kirsten would be up here any minute, meat
cleaver in hand, ready to lecture him on the importance of being
neat, organized and punctual as she chopped him into little pieces.
To better hide the body, of course.

He raced to the shower, scrubbing and
rinsing then toweling dry in a whirlwind of frantic activity. Teeth
and hair were simultaneously brushed while he rifled through the
clothing that littered the room, trying to find something clean and
appropriate. His pants were halfway up, a shirt clutched between
his toes for inspection, when two polite knocks at the door
proceeded his secretary into the room. She, of course, looked prim
and proper, microcosm of data terminals floating at her
fingertips.

Glancing him over, Kirsten appearing
entirely unperturbed by his current state of disarray. “Good,
you're awake.” Her eyes went to an interface and she began ticking
off items on a list. “I've rescheduled your appointment with Miss
Crawford to four this afternoon, and the cook has been informed
that you are not to be given anything to eat until you return
tonight. We wouldn't want to spoil your early dinner, after all.
I've taken the liberty of dispatching an inspector to estimate the
extent of the damages sustained by the Conservatorium last night.
Also, several port stations have called to ask if they may resume
standard operation. May I assume that you are finished with
them?”

Ezra pulled his toothbrush from his mouth,
cleared his throat and said, “Ah, um, yes, Miss O'Donnell. It
should now be safe for them to resume operation.”

“
Very good, sir,” Kirsten continued smoothly. “The cleaning
grunts have requested that you unlock your lab so that they may
dust inside. We will be leaving for the University Plaza park to
meet Miss Crawford in one hour, so please pick out something...”
she looked down at the shirt still clutched by his toes and sniffed
in disapproval, “acceptable for your rendezvous with the lady.” Her
eyes flashed with emerald fire, belying her polite tone. “Will that
be all, Mr. Hawkins?”

Ezra nodded meekly as she spun, straightened
the workspace containment field on his desk, and swept out of the
room. He looked down at his shirt. He looked up at the door. Then,
groaning, he began looking for something 'acceptable' to wear.