Authors: Michelle Gagnon
The corners of her mouth tweaked and she said, “Like, Teddy?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like that.”
“That’s so cute!” She punched his arm playfully. “I love that, like you’re a teddy bear! I’m
so
calling you Teddy from now on.”
With his slight build, it was unlikely he’d be mistaken for a teddy bear; certainly, no one had ever accused him of being cuddly. But as far as he was concerned, Daisy could call him pretty much anything she wanted.
They stood there for another minute, the silence between them suddenly awkward. Teo didn’t know where to focus—no matter what he tried, his eyes kept coming back to her lips.
Then, without warning, those lips were suddenly pressing against his. Teo’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he’d been focusing so intently that he’d moved in unconsciously, or if she’d started it. The kiss felt strange at first, almost too rough. But after a few seconds she tilted her head slightly to one side, and suddenly it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be standing outside a filthy roadside bathroom, making out with a girl with bright blue hair.
A car horn sounded, startling them. They broke apart. Daisy’s lips were slightly parted, and she was breathing hard. Her cheeks had flushed bright red. Teo’s whole body was humming in a way he’d never experienced, like kissing her had thrown some sort of switch.
“Um, we should probably go,” Daisy said when the horn blared again.
“Yeah, I guess . . . um, yeah.” His brain was still thrumming so loudly he was barely capable of coherent speech.
As Teo followed her back around the corner, his mind did some sort of reboot, and with it came a flood of worries. He’d never kissed a girl before, not really, just pecks on the lips when he was a kid. And this . . . Well, it hadn’t been anything like that. What did he say to her now? How was he supposed to act?
The onslaught of thoughts made him feel slightly nauseous.
Footsteps behind them; he turned to find Taylor trailing a few feet back. She was wearing a pair of Vans, a tight pink T-shirt, and jean shorts, all donated from the other girls—who were smaller than her, so the clothes clung tightly to her frame.
Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing
, Teo caught himself thinking. He flushed again.
“Hey, Taylor,” Daisy said, noticing her. “You get to use the bathroom?”
“Yeah, I’m just coming from there.” The girl smiled breezily at them. “Nasty, wasn’t it?”
Teo frowned. “What, just now?”
“Yeah. Why?” Taylor tossed her hair. “Are you the bathroom police or something?”
Daisy laughed, which threw him. He stared at the ground, feeling like an idiot.
“Ugh, I cannot wait to get to Santa Cruz,” Taylor continued, making a face. “The van sucks, right?”
Teo wanted to say that considering she’d been strapped to a table the night before, the van was pretty comfy by comparison. But he simply nodded and said, “Yeah, it’s pretty crowded.”
“I hope we get some real food there, too.” Taylor fell in stride beside them. They rounded the corner to the front of the station, where the van idled in front of the mini mart. “I hate junk food.”
Teo couldn’t help himself—his eyebrows shot up. You lived on junk food as a street kid; candy bars were cheap and easy to steal and had enough fat and calories to get you through the day. No one who had spent any time on the streets dissed junk food; it was their staple, the main thing keeping them alive.
“I don’t know, I’d kill for some Cheetos and a Coke,” Daisy said.
“Well, they probably have those inside,” Taylor said. “Enjoy. I’m going to try to find a spot where I don’t have to lie on anyone.”
“Good luck with that,” Daisy said breezily.
Teo watched Taylor slide open the van door and pick her way gracefully through the forms huddled in back. “Huh,” he said hesitantly. “That was seriously weird, right?”
“Weird how?” Daisy asked.
“Well, I mean . . . she couldn’t have been in the bathroom. We would’ve seen her, right?”
Daisy shrugged. “So what?”
She was looking at him like he was some kind of paranoid freak. Hurriedly, he said, “Yeah, you’re right. No big deal.”
Another long blare of the horn. Daisy rose up on her toes, pecked him on the lips, then winked and said, “Race you!”
She tore off, her combat boots chewing up the pavement between them and the van. Teo recovered and followed, watching her blue ponytail bounce against her back as she ran.
Peter was finding it difficult to breathe. The words on the screen seemed to pulse with malevolent intent. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if Mason was actually standing behind him.
How did he know about the break-ins?
Peter cursed himself. He must’ve triggered some sort of backup system. He should’ve known that Mason was too smart to be cavalier about home security.
Still, he didn’t dare touch his keyboard. It was silly, but he could picture Mason’s hand reaching straight through the screen and wrapping around his throat, like something out of a horror movie.
More words appeared.
I KNOW YOU’RE THERE, PETER. DO YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WITH COMPUTER SKILLS?
That gave him a start. There was no way Mason could have installed a Trojan horse on his laptop—it was never out of his sight. Peter even left it perched on the bathroom counter when he showered.
So what the hell?
GETTING BORED HERE, PETER. THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO CHAT.
Peter drew a deep breath, then lowered shaky hands to the keyboard and typed,
It’s creepy for guys your age to chat with teenage boys online
.
False bravado, but Mason didn’t have to know that he scared the crap out of him.
OH, BUT WE’RE OLD FRIENDS, PETER. I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW SORRY I WAS TO HEAR THAT YOU HAVEN’T BEEN BEHAVING YOURSELF
.
“Old friends my ass,” Peter muttered, feeling a flare of rage as he pictured Amanda’s gaunt frame.
GO TO HELL
, he typed back.
WE’RE ALREADY IN HELL, PETER. WE MIGHT AS WELL HELP EACH OTHER SURVIVE IT.
Peter hesitated, momentarily dumbfounded. What kind of game was Mason playing? He finally wrote,
I’d never help you
.
YOU ALREADY HAVE
, Mason wrote,
BY TAPPING INTO THOSE SERVERS. OF COURSE, THERE’S NOTHING VALUABLE THERE
.
Peter’s jaw nearly dropped. How could Mason know about
that
? Had he been followed this entire time? And if so, had he inadvertently put Noa in danger?
More words materialized on-screen:
DON’T WORRY, PETER. YOUR SECRET IS SAFE WITH ME
.
Peter considered claiming that he had no idea what Mason was talking about, but that seemed futile. It felt like the ground was dissolving beneath him, swallowing him up.
What do you want?
I TOLD YOU, PETER. THERE’S A WAY WE CAN HELP EACH OTHER
.
This had to be a trick. There was no way Mason would come to him for help; he had a seemingly limitless supply of goons at his disposal. But, Peter reasoned, there was no harm in finding out what he wanted, right?
How?
After a beat, Mason wrote,
I WANT YOU TO HACK INTO SOMETHING FOR ME
.
Peter snorted. Pretty rich coming from the guy who’d stolen his iPhone and laptop months ago to keep him from hacking. Ironic didn’t even begin to describe it.
Really
, he typed.
Trying to get out of paying taxes? Or did you get kicked out of the Evil Villains forum, and you want to see what they’re saying about you?
The worst part was that Peter could picture Mason smirking as he read that; and when the response came, he could practically hear the words being spoken in that oily voice.
SUCH A COMEDIAN, PETER. SHAME THAT YOU DIDN’T CHOOSE TO PURSUE THAT TALENT INSTEAD
.
“Yeah, right,” Peter muttered. “I bet you’re really bummed about that.”
More words were already streaming on-screen.
I WANT YOU TO HACK INTO THE PROJECT PERSEPHONE FILES. I KNOW WHERE THE SERVER IS LOCATED
.
Peter sucked in a breath. What was going on here? His heart racing, he typed,
I got those files months ago, jerkwad.
YOU’RE MISTAKEN, PETER. THERE ARE MORE FILES THAN YOU EVER SAW
.
Peter cracked his knuckles, trying to ignore the shiver that was running up and down his spine. It felt like the temperature in his room had dropped at least ten degrees. He finally wrote,
What makes you think I’d get messed up with all that again?
Rather than text, a jpeg link appeared on-screen. With a twinge of dread, Peter clicked on it, expecting to see a creepy shot of Amanda in her dorm room, or heading to class.
When an image of Noa materialized, it struck him dumb. For a second, his heart clenched with terror; had Mason captured her again?
No
, he realized, examining it more closely. This was an older shot of Noa. The leaves on the trees behind her were red and yellow, obviously autumn foliage in New England. It must’ve been taken back when they were stalking her, preparing to kidnap her for their nasty experiments.
That ticked him off again.
WHY ARE YOU SHOWING ME THIS?!
he typed.
BECAUSE IF YOU DON’T HELP ME GET THOSE FILES, PETER, MISS TORSON IS GOING TO DIE
.
N
oa got out of the van and stretched her arms high above her head. She’d driven the last leg of the trip, a four-hour stint, and her whole body felt sore and cramped. The rear doors opened and everyone spilled out, clearly relieved to escape the close quarters.
It had taken fourteen hours to drive from Phoenix to Santa Cruz. They’d made good time, all things considered. They were arriving a little past seven p.m. The sun had already set, and as she stood in front of the Forsythes’ palatial compound, Noa could hear the distant sound of waves lapping at the shore. Fields and orchards stretched away from her, leading to cliffs that plummeted down to the Pacific. Lights glowed out of every window on the ground floor, warm and inviting.
The Forsythes’ place was a sprawling complex, with barns, sheds, and guesthouses strewn across fifty acres. The main house had six bedrooms on two levels; most were part of the original farmhouse. The Forsythes had remodeled, but retained the stone walls and original rough lumber ceilings. Noa knew that the place was probably worth a fortune, but you’d never guess the Forsythes had money. They dressed like aging hippies: tie-dye shirts, jeans, and what she considered to be an excessive amount of hemp.
The couple had never told her where their money came from, and Noa had never asked. Zeke had explained that they were both trained doctors who ended up working in biotech. Apparently they’d patented something that earned them a fortune, allowing them to retire in their early fifties. He’d never been clear on why they were so motivated to fight Project Persephone; but after meeting them, Noa figured they were the type who threw themselves wholeheartedly into a cause. They’d just happened to settle on this one.
The front door of the main house popped open, framing Monica Forsythe. She was drying her hands on a dishtowel, her face crinkled in a wide smile. Noa lifted a hand to wave, hoping that their arrival wasn’t poorly timed. She’d tried calling to give them a heads-up, using a burner phone bought at the gas station. But they’d changed numbers again. Which wasn’t surprising. With everything they’d learned about Pike & Dolan, the Forsythes suffered from a healthy dose of paranoia, which Noa could certainly appreciate. Knowing how careful they were made this the one place on the planet where she was almost able to relax.
As Noa walked across their gravel driveway toward the main house, the tension eased from her body. Even though she had spent less than a month here in total, it felt more like home than anywhere she’d been in the past eight years. The main house looked like something out of a fairy tale: Vines wound along the outside walls, almost covering the windows. There were high-peaked dormers, and a round tower that used to be a silo. The second story of the tower had been turned into a bathroom with stained-glass windows surrounding an enormous claw-foot tub. Noa could already imagine sinking into it, a damp washcloth over her eyes as she used her toes to send more hot water coursing into the bath. She sighed. The terrible events of the past few days: the dead bodyguard, the debacle at the warehouse, the flight across several states . . . all of that receded.
“It’s so good to see you!” Monica enveloped her in a tight embrace. Normally, Noa shied away from physical contact, but that wasn’t really an option with Monica Forsythe. And for some reason, it never bothered her. She leaned her head against the shorter woman’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and dish soap and lavender.
“Really happy to be here,” Noa said, smiling back.
“Well, we’re thrilled to have you home, safe and sound.” She patted Noa’s cheek as if she was an elderly aunt and Noa was ten years old.
Monica reached for Zeke next, but her eyes were already scanning the group; Noa could see her doing a mental head count. “Is everyone okay?”
“We lost Turk.”
“Lost?” Monica’s eyebrows shot up with alarm.
“Not like that, he’s okay. At least, he was the last time we saw him, but . . . it’s a long story.” The thought of Turk brought exhaustion rushing back in.
“Oh, dear.” Monica examined her closely. “You look like you’re about to keel over, Noa. When was the last time you slept?”
It was a good question—Noa tried to remember. She hadn’t had one of her “real” sleeps in a few days. And she needed those; if she didn’t recharge at some point, she turned into the walking dead. She’d been staving off fatigue with mass amounts of caffeine, but she could feel the repercussions; her whole body seemed to be growing heavier and heavier. If she stayed upright much longer, it felt like she might start literally sinking into the ground.
Aside from Zeke and Peter, the Forsythes were the only ones who knew about Noa’s “condition.” Thanks to their science and medical backgrounds, they’d been trying to find a way to alleviate her symptoms and get her back to normal.
If such a thing is even possible
, Noa thought darkly.
“We’ve got a patient for you,” Zeke said. He’d slung his army duffel over one shoulder, and was still studiously avoiding Noa’s eyes.
“I can see that.” Monica pulled on her glasses, her expression somber as she watched Remo and Danny carefully carry the girl from the van toward the house. “How bad?”
“She’s been out cold since we got her last night,” Noa said.
Monica’s lips pursed. “That could just be from the medication. Remo, please take her to the back bedroom. I’ll examine her immediately.”
As they shuffled off toward the house with the girl, Monica’s eyes flicked over Taylor and Matt. She walked forward, beaming as she said, “Well, hello.”
“This is Taylor and Matt,” Zeke explained. “We found them last night, too.”
They rarely shared the exact details of their raids with the Forsythes. It was something they’d agreed upon on the outset; the less they knew, the safer they’d be if anything ever happened.
“Hi,” Taylor said brightly. “Love your place.”
“Why, thank you.” Monica smiled.
Matt half hid shyly behind Taylor. Monica bent down and winked at him. “You know, I just took a pie out of the oven. It would be terribly naughty to have a piece before dinner, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Matt hesitated, then squeaked, “Pie?”
“Apple pie. I hope that’s all right,” Monica said.
He nodded gravely, and she extended a hand. He took it and allowed her to lead him into the house. “Taylor, why don’t you help me get Matt settled, then I’ll check on your friend.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor said brightly.
Noa saw Monica’s eyebrows shoot up at that. Not many of the kids they brought here started out with “ma’am.” Half of them basically ended up calling her Mom, which was understandable. Noa had never heard an unkind word come out of the woman’s mouth. Monica Forsythe’s warmth, empathy, and overt goodness had a way of bringing around the most resentful and withdrawn kids.
She and Zeke watched Monica hustle Matt and Taylor into the house.
“It’s good to be back, huh?” she asked tentatively.
Zeke merely grunted in response. Without looking at her, he stomped after them.
Noa glowered at his retreating back. She’d be happy to clear the air, and discuss the whole gun thing like rational human beings. But if Zeke insisted on sulking, that was his choice. Maybe Monica could talk some sense into him. The older woman liked guns even less than she did.
Exhausted though she was, Noa decided to walk down to the water. It would be total chaos for the next half hour as everyone got settled. Zeke would be assigning everyone to bedrooms in the main house and outlying buildings, Monica would be setting out food and examining her newest patient, the house would be buzzing with noise and activity. . . . The thought of it made Noa shudder.
The chance for a few minutes to herself sounded like heaven. Ignoring the heaviness in her limbs, Noa ambled past the house and down the narrow sandy path that led to the water. The solar lights surrounding it gleamed faintly, illuminating swaying sea grass on either side, fields that the Forsythes had allowed to go wild. A slight breeze teased Noa’s hair, which had grown long; she’d borrow some scissors to cut it while she was here. Spend a few days resting up. Eat as much as she could whenever she was hungry. Among her many talents, Monica was a terrific cook. Despite the short notice, she’d probably set out a spread that would put Martha Stewart to shame.
The path meandered past spindly trees bent nearly double from the wind, their long branches pointed accusingly inland. Noa wound through them, then came to a stop. She was at the top of a cliff, where the grassy slope ended in a sheer rocky precipice. Down below was a narrow strip of sand, a tiny private beach hidden on both sides by jagged rocks. It was only accessible by a set of wooden stairs carefully painted to match the dark gray rock face they rode down. The Forsythes had constructed them that way to guard against surfers who might try to sneak in and ride the point break. Not that they minded sharing, they explained, but once they’d gotten involved in the movement, they couldn’t risk strangers roaming the property. Noa eyed the stairs, debating whether she had the energy to make it down to the water in the dark. She’d love to take off her shoes and feel her feet sink into the sand as waves rushed over her ankles. But even if she could get down, the thought of climbing back up was daunting.
Instead Noa plunked down on the grass, crossed her hands over her knees, and stared out at the water. It must be low tide; waves whispered faintly against the shore. Out at sea, the lights of fishing boats and sunset cruises bobbed up and down as they headed back to port. It was a rare clear night; the past few times she’d been here, the property had been shrouded by fog. Tonight she could see the stars plainly. She picked out the few constellations she knew: Orion, the Big Dipper. . . . She had a dim memory of her father pointing them out when she was a kid. They’d been lying in a field a lot like this one, but on the opposite side of the country, in Vermont. She’d nestled against the crook of his shoulder, her eyes drooping as he traced invisible lines across the night sky with his fingertips. . . .
The next thing she knew, there were hands on her shoulders. Reflexively, Noa rolled away, struggling into a fighting stance. It was dark and cold, and she felt disoriented. Consequently, it took a second to register that the shadowy figure facing her was Roy Forsythe. His hands glowed in the moonlight as he held them out reassuringly. “Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Roy,” Noa said with relief. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Did you decide that a bed would just be too darn comfortable?”
“No, I just . . . I needed a minute alone. I must have fallen asleep.” Noa tried to shake away the cobwebs. That was the biggest problem—ever since the surgery, even though she needed far less sleep, when she finally drifted off it was incredibly hard to snap out of; Zeke had nicknamed it her “Noa coma.” Even now, her eyelids threatened to close. “What time is it?”
“Late,” Roy declared. “Past ten. Monica was ready to mount a full search party, but I figured I’d check here first. Noticed that it seems to be your spot.”
“Yeah,” Noa said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s nice here.”
They stood in silence for a minute. The waves had picked up while she slept, and the tide had inundated the small beach, each wave chomping fresh bites out of the sand. Standing here, it was almost possible to pretend that all the ugliness in the outside world didn’t exist.
“Let’s get you to the house,” Roy finally said. “I don’t want to have to worry about you rolling off the cliff in the middle of the night.”
Noa smiled weakly and fell in step behind him, carefully picking her way back to the path. The solar lights were dimmer now; Monica always grumbled about how they barely held a few hours’ worth of charge, but Roy refused to install anything that would drain more power from their generator. They lived almost completely off the grid, thanks to solar panels and a small windmill perched precariously farther along the cliff top. Noa had a lot of respect for that—she knew a thing or two about living off the grid.
“So. Any changes?” Roy asked as they made their way back to the house.
“Not really,” Noa said. “The sleeping and eating are pretty much the same.”
“But no new symptoms?” he pressed.
Noa shrugged, forgetting he wouldn’t be able to see that in the dark. “My eyes are getting worse, bright light really hurts now. But other than that, no. I haven’t tried to climb any buildings lately, so maybe my spider powers kicked in and I just don’t know it.”
He chuckled at that. They walked in companionable silence back to the house. Noa knew from past experience that unless she chose to bring it up again, this was the last they would discuss it.
When she and Zeke had first arrived months ago, she’d told the Forsythes the whole story. How she’d woken up on a table with an incision in her chest, how Peter’s doctor friend had taken an X-ray that proved she’d been given an extra thymus. How for some reason, that had resulted in a variety of weird symptoms, from healing superfast to the eating and sleeping thing. She’d appreciated the way that Monica and Roy had just listened, their faces filled with sympathy, backing off from questions when it was clear they made her uncomfortable.
At the end of her first week, Roy had offered to perform some tests. He made it clear that neither of them wanted to put Noa through any more suffering, but there was a chance that with their expertise, they might be able to glean some answers. By then, Noa trusted them more than anyone she’d met in years, with the exception of Peter and Zeke. She’d given them blood samples, and DNA scrapings from the inside of her cheek. They didn’t have anything as advanced as an X-ray machine on their property, but they’d done an ultrasound.
In the end, they hadn’t been able to draw any more conclusions than Cody had. But they’d promised to keep working on it.
Noa wondered if any of that work had produced anything. It had been months now; on the last visit, she’d been too afraid to ask.
Roy suddenly spoke up. “Monica mentioned that you and Zeke had some sort of fight.”