Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) (30 page)

He knows. Mr. Phillips knows.

“Cass, are you back?” Mom called from the kitchen, where she was probably scrubbing grout with a toothbrush.

“Yes,” I squeaked and pounded my palm into my forehead. I had to calm down.
Keep it together. Keep it together.

“That didn’t take you long.” Mom poked her head out of the kitchen, while drying her hands on a dishcloth.

I gave her a wide grin that made my cheeks feel ready to shatter.

She looked at me oddly. “Are you all right?”

I cleared my throat and nodded, slumping against the door in an attempt to look casual. Her expression told me that I hadn’t succeeded.

She sighed, as if giving up on trying to figure out her peculiar daughter. “Your brothers are stripping the sheets off their beds. Why don’t you do the same? I wrote out a chores list. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Okeydokey,” I lamely responded, and jetted up the stairs.

I had my bed stripped in seconds flat, dropped the sheets off in the laundry room, and then got right on the chores list, engaging in them with enthusiasm, all in an attempt to ward off worry and paralyzing fear.

Mr. Phillips knows. He knows!

When I couldn’t numb my mind any longer, I turned on the stereo and sang along to whatever song blasted through the speakers—rock, pop, hip-hop, jazz, country, polka—it didn’t matter. Anything to keep my mind off what was going on across the street.

Mr. Phillips might be dialing the Pentagon right now.
Oh, why didn’t I blink? If I would have blinked, he might not have figured out that I’m a freak.
“OOOOOOH, BABY, BABY—”

“My ears are
bleeding
!” Nate shouted over the vacuum.

I sang louder.

After finishing my chores and the ones my brothers hadn’t gotten to yet, out of desperation I assigned myself to reorganizing the pantry. Shutting the accordion door to the pantry closet, I pulled neatly stacked cans off the shelves and decided to order them by expiration date. Amidst this brainless task, I allowed my mind to reflect and plot. Just when I had concluded that fleeing to South America to live in the jungle was probably the best solution, Nate opened the pantry door.

He looked at me sitting in the dark amongst the cans and rolled his eyes. Then he held the phone handset out to me.

“Phone, psycho,” he said with his usual tact.

Who is it?
I mouthed.

Emery, duh,
he mouthed back.

What does he want?

Nate grinned impishly. “She wants to know what you want,” he told Emery.

I
so
wanted to chuck a can at his head.

“He wants to
talk
,” Nate reported, satisfied with himself. “So get off your butt and go.”

I did, pegging Nate in the arm on my way.
Jerk.

I marched out of the house mad as a hornet, planning to give the Phillipses a piece of my mind.

“Who do they think they are?” I muttered between my teeth as I stomped across the street. “They
ruined
my life!”

My boiling-hot temper had simmered down to stewing dread by the time I reluctantly climbed their front steps. I took two deep, shuddering breaths before knocking. Emery opened the door, his expression inscrutable. I began to pivot on my heels. No way was I doing this.

“If you run, I’ll hunt you down,” he said, securing my wrist. “The worst is over, trust me.”

Emery pulled me into the house. I stumbled over the threshold and turned to the living room, where I smelled Mr. Phillips and Serena. She sat on the sofa, staring down at her hands. Mr. Phillips relaxed in the recliner, as if he had just finished a big meal.

“Cassidy,” he greeted me as Emery locked the door.

I lifted my chin defiantly, pushing back the hair that had fallen over my face when Emery had yanked me inside.

A grin tugged at Mr. Phillips’s mouth, as if insolence amused him. “Please take a seat.” He motioned to the sofa.

To show that I wasn’t afraid of him or whatever he planned to do to me, I marched to the sofa, plunked down next to Serena—who still hadn’t looked up—and crossed my arms, glaring at him boldly. Emery sat next to me. The three of us lined up on the sofa made me think of elementary school kids who had been naughty, sitting in front of the big, bad principal’s desk.

I won’t let him cow me. I won’t!

“Serena and Emery have apprised me of the situation,” Mr. Phillips said, looking me in the eye. “First, I want to assure you that you and your family are safe.”

His words extinguished the fire in my belly. That wasn’t what I had expected him to say—at all.

“And I will do everything in my power to protect you and your secret—”

“You’re not going to report me?” I choked out.

Serena gave my knee a reassuring pat.

“You don’t appear to be a national threat,” Mr. Phillips replied with a slight smile, “so I don’t see how you are any of the United States government’s concern. I’m still upholding my oath to protect the Constitution against all
enemies
foreign and domestic.”

“I can vouch for her.” Emery made the Boy Scouts’ hand gesture.

Serena clucked her tongue with disapproval.

Mr. Phillips grinned at his son. “Smart aleck.”

Normally, I would have punched Emery’s arm for joking about a serious situation such as this. But I was too overcome with relief to do much more than blubber at that particular moment.

“It’s all right, dear,” Serena cooed as she gave Emery a significant look. “Well, don’t just sit there. Get her a tissue. You should have anticipated this.”

“My bad,” Emery agreed, getting up.

He’s in rare form
, I thought as Emery fetched a box of Kleenex. But I understood why. His dad was safe and the man Emery had always believed him to be.

“He’s just happy,” I said, using my coat sleeve to mop up some tears.

Serena patted my knee again. “We know, dear.”

Mr. Phillips looked on silently. His expression revealed nothing, though his thoughts were probably along these lines:
Is this really the fearsome mummy that pulled me out of the cargo hold and tossed me into the bay?
Or does my doctor have me on some mighty strong painkillers, and I’m dreaming this?

“I’m glad you’re okay, Mr. Phillips,” I snuffled.

Emery handed me the box of tissues and took his seat again.

I grabbed a handful and blew my nose in as ladylike a way as possible. “I was super worried about you,” I added to Mr. Phillips. “I’m sorry I just left you at that house like that, but I’m sure you understand—”

A look crossed his face, as if he hadn’t completely believed everything Serena and Emery had shared until that very second. He raked his hand through his hair as I continued my apology.

“And I’m sorry for any injury I might have caused when getting you off the ship. I get a little crazy when I’m like that, and I’m sorry for chucking you into the water—”

Mr. Phillips raised a hand for me to stop talking. “You have nothing to apologize for. You saved my life. Thank you.” He looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. I think it was more likely he couldn’t believe the situation, and I couldn’t blame him.

“No problem.” I blew my nose again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner, but I had trouble of my own.” I looked at Emery. “Did you tell him about Silver Tooth?”

“Raul Diaz,” Emery explained to his dad, which answered my question.

“I call him Silver Tooth because I didn’t know his name when he tried to murder Ben, so I named him after his capped tooth,” I explained. “Did you tell him about that, too?” I asked Emery.

Emery appeared on the verge of laughter.

“Not yet,” his dad answered for him. Mr. Phillips’s expression had become calm and friendly again. I noted it was similar to the expression that Emery wore when concealing what he really felt. “I look forward to hearing more.”

“I look forward to telling you. Anyway, like I was saying—” I paused, losing my train of thought. What had I been saying?

“As I told you, Gavin,” Serena said, taking over for me in her clinical tone, “Cassidy is extraordinary. Her abilities are unprecedented—”

“Until now,” I pointed out, thinking of something halfway intelligent to contribute. “King is making mutants. Oh, I forgot to tell you in the car—he has the towel with my blood. But he says his scientists, or whoever, haven’t figured out the
properties
of the blood, or something like that. What exactly did he say, Mr. Phillips?” I looked at him, catching alarm on his face.

Diligently, he composed his expression and became calm and friendly once again. “That’s what I remember as well,” he confirmed. “Serena and Emery, would you mind letting Cassidy and I have a few moments alone?”

The two regarded him with suspicion, but obliged, rising to their feet. My heart galloped as they left me. I felt exposed, as if I had suddenly lost an article of warm clothing.

“Cassidy, may I sit?” Mr. Phillips asked, gesturing to the sofa.

I nodded, heat pouring into my cheeks. The blush had crawled down my neck by the time he carefully lowered his achy body onto the sofa next to me.

“Ow.” He gently rubbed his side. “I’ve had my share of broken ribs, but I don’t remember them being quite so uncomfortable. I must be getting old.”

“No, it just hurts. I’ve had broken ribs, too—well, for about thirty seconds, when I jumped off a car and hit a tree. Only thirty seconds, you know, because of the healing thing. Did they tell you about that?”

“Yes, they did.” He regarded me thoughtfully. “Do you know where they are right now?”

“In the lab,” I said, and then amended, “Wait! I listened to them go down the hall, but I should double-check.” Mr. Phillips didn’t breathe as I concentrated, listening. “Yes, they’re in the lab,” I confirmed.

“How do you know?”

“I can hear them talking.”

Mr. Phillips didn’t try to conceal his astonishment.

“But,” I whispered, “Emery could’ve bugged the room.”

“That’s my department,” he replied with a grin. “The house is clean. Emery and I make our daily secret bug sweeps.” He winked at me, and I cracked a smile.

What a strange family this is
.

His expression sobered. “I hadn’t realized you’d overheard Arthur King. Ridiculous on my part, considering your hearing.”

“Yes, I heard everything,” I confirmed, blushing again. I knew what he was getting at. Now that I’d had time to digest everything that King and Mr. Phillips had said, it was evident that there had been a love triangle many years ago. That was the reason for Serena’s emotional conflict about King surviving the explosion. There was a time when she’d loved him.

“So I see.” He smiled thinly, gesturing to my pink cheeks. “I know I don’t have the right to ask this, but please don’t share what you’ve overheard with Emery—”

“Because King did something to him.” This was also a conclusion I had come to. King had experimented on Emery when he was young. “What did he do to Emery? And why?”

Mr. Phillips’s face darkened. “Has Emery said anything to you?” he asked, watching me carefully.

“No. Does he know King tampered with him?”

Mr. Phillips winced at the word
tampered
and looked as if he regretted broaching the subject.

When he didn’t respond, I rushed on, surmising, “You don’t know if he knows, and how could you? Emery isn’t exactly an open book. But nothing gets past him, believe me. Why did King experiment on him?”

“You know Emery well, or as well as anyone can know him.”

His voice still sounded deceptively calm, belying the glint of rage I could see burning in his eyes. I knew I was treading on forbidden ground, but I wanted the truth. I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“True, Emery is a need-to-know-basis kind of guy. That’s in the blood. And you’re right—he doesn’t miss a thing, unless that thing involves him. Emery’s intelligence is beyond what I can comprehend, but he has proven, time and time again, that he shares a common human weakness—the inability to see oneself with clarity.”

I didn’t agree with Mr. Phillips, but held my tongue. “Doesn’t Emery have a right to know?”

“In due time, when I feel he can handle it.”

“Handle what?”

His eyes bored into mine. “If you care about Emery as deeply as I believe you do, you will trust me and not repeat what you overheard.”

“You want me to lie to him?”

“I want you to withhold information until I feel he is ready to hear it.”

Foreboding crept through me like a thief in the night—a perfect metaphor, since I was essentially in the dark. Nevertheless, I relented.

“Okay, I won’t say anything. What’s another secret, anyway?”

Mr. Phillips studied me for a long moment.
Determining my sincerity
, I assumed.

“Thank you, Cassidy,” he said when the analysis concluded. “Would you mind calling Serena and Emery up?”

“Sure, Mr. Phillips.” I started to stand.

He touched my forearm. “Gavin. Please call me Gavin.”

I nodded, but didn’t test it out. I wasn’t comfortable calling him by his first name just yet.

Emotions slammed through me as I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Swinging the basement door open, I called, “Mr. Phillips wants you.” To my irritation, my voice cracked.

As Serena and Emery came up the stairs, I turned the doorknob back and forth, willing the emotional storm raging within me not to show. I didn’t want to keep a secret from Emery that involved him. Why had I promised not to say anything?

“I understand how you feel, dear,” Serena commiserated. Squaring her slight shoulders, she headed for the living room. Apparently my poker face was a failure.

Emery appeared behind her, scrutinizing me. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I lied.
But what’s new?

“I’m sorry, Cassidy,” Emery said, though I wasn’t sure what for. “Let’s get in there before World War III breaks out.”

In the living room, Serena sat in the chair Mr. Phillips had vacated, her arms and legs crossed, her foot flicking with irritation. They stared one another down, each trying to bend the other to their will.