“Same old story,” I said, swallowing hard again. “Why are you telling me this? What do you want me to do?”
“Even when you find your mother,” Old Man Winter spoke, his quiet voice devastating for some reason, “at some point you will have to decide what to do with your own life, how you wish to spend it. You are nearly a woman grown, and you need to find—”
“A job?” I licked my lips.
“A path. A career. Maybe even...a purpose,” Ariadne said. “Something you can do that you can believe in, that will challenge you, that won’t leave you hating your life and questioning why you’re even doing what you’re doing.” She laughed, a low, quiet laugh that had no real mirth behind it. “Unless you’d like to get to age forty and wake up to wonder where your life went.”
“Forty is a long ways off for me.” I looked at my boots. Most eighteen-year-old girls wear shoes; I’m in boots. Most girls my age wear dresses sometimes, go to school, look forward to prom and graduation. I’m stuck in outfits that cover me head to toe, I’ve been home every day, week, and year for over a decade, and all I have to look forward to is finding my missing mother so...what? I can go back to living like that?
“It’ll be here before you know it.” Ariadne snapped her fingers in front of her face. “It goes fast. And the question you’ll be left with is if you just got by or if you actually made a difference.” She slid the stack of files away from me. “We don’t expect you to make a decision right now.” She pulled out a lone piece of paper and placed it in front of me. “Working for us as a meta will have its rewards—more money per year than most eighteen-year-olds make, along with other benefits—”
“I’m not super concerned with a 401(k) right now.” I glanced at the sheet. Money meant almost nothing to me, largely because I’d never had any opportunity to use it. I truly didn’t know the value of a dollar, nor what it bought. “What do you want me to do? What would happen if I said yes?”
“You would enter training with M-Squad and agent trainers, learn how agents operate, field procedure, all that. After some basics, you’d be assigned a more experienced partner and learn how to be a ‘retriever’—someone who tracks down rogue or awakening metas and brings them back to the Directorate either through peaceful means, or, if necessary—”
“Cracking skulls?” I glanced at the compensation sheet and wondered if $100,000 per year was a lot or a little for a girl just starting out.
“You never seemed like you had a problem with physical violence before.” Ariadne was unrelenting. “Like, say, when you battered Zack and Kurt, or when you went looking for a fight with Wolfe—”
“I don’t.” I looked up from the sheet to her. “I don’t have a problem breaking the teeth out of anyone who does the things that you’ve showed me in the files.” I felt my jaw clench as a little surge of pleasure from Wolfe ran through me at the thought of inflicting pain on others. “But I don’t know that I want to be a retriever for a living, always chasing down some fugitive meta who might kill me if I screw up. And I don’t know that I could...” I struggled with the words. “I mean, killing Wolfe was an accident. I don’t know if I could...do that...to someone else. “
“It rarely comes to that, “ she said. “And retriever’s not necessarily the end of the line. You could move up, join M-Squad, move to another branch, work into one of our training positions to teach and guide the metas here at the Minneapolis branch—”
“Because that’s the place for me, guiding the next generation.”
“—or you could move into administration.” She shrugged. “There are a lot of places you could go. We’re a big operation. You could see the world, help us expand overseas if you wanted. You’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’re doing some good.”
“I hear you say it,” I picked up the compensation sheet between my thumb and forefinger, “but how do I really know it’s true?”
“Trust is a two-way street,“ she said, standing. “It won’t happen overnight, but if you’re out chasing these people down and you see what they do, you’ll eventually come to realize that we’re the good guys. We don’t expect a decision right now.”
“You have a great deal to think about,” Old Man Winter said. “You stand at the edge of the rest of your life. The decisions you make now affect everything from here on. Gone are the times when simple and inconsequential matters governed your life. It is now the time for you to choose who you want to be, what you want to stand for, and what you want your life to reflect.” He walked around the desk, buttoning his suit coat as he walked to the door and opened it for me. “So few people get to truly steer their course the way you have the chance to now. And the question before you is—will you strive to be normal and live an ordinary life? Or will you do what no one else can do—and be more?”
Chapter 13
I carried the compensation sheet with me, crumpled in my fist, when I left the meeting. I had read through it, though I confess I was in a haze as I left them. One item stuck out, though—a $10,000 bonus to be paid when I signed on for the training program. I still didn’t have a great concept of how much that would buy me, nor what I would do with it. The sheet indicated I could continue to stay on the campus free of charge with all meals provided.
The meeting had taken longer than I expected and I’d skipped breakfast. I had a lot on my mind—after all, the question of how Gavrikov got out of his box was a pretty good one, and I hoped my theory was wrong. We hadn’t discussed Full Metal Jackass in much detail; not that there was much to discuss. Why did I doubt he was the sort to just give up and go home after one encounter that went awry?
Probably because he dressed himself like a submarine and paraded himself into town in hopes of capturing me. You doesn’t dress like that unless you’re a hopelessly delusional loser who will continue to swing for the fences long past the time you should have returned to the dugout.
I entered the cafeteria at half past eleven. It was crowded already. I made my way through the line, again ignoring the animosity of the workers as I gathered my food. I was picking my way over to the far wall, prepared to eat by myself (again) when I caught sight of Zack, sitting with his back to me. I took one step toward him and halted. He was at a table for four and it was filled. Kurt Hannegan sat next to him and Scott Byerly and Kat Forrest sat opposite.
I began to slink back toward the window when Kat waved at me, her big eyes and a wide smile visible even from across the cafeteria. An inward feeling of desperation enveloped me as she tried to wave me over. I sighed and closed my eyes, and when I opened them, Zack was also gesturing for me to join them. He got up and pulled another chair over. With greatest reluctance, I made my way across the room and endured the enthusiastic greetings of Kat and Zack and the muted one from Scott. Hannegan ignored me, I ignored him, and we were both the happier for it.
“Scott has something he wants to tell you,” Zack said as I sat down. I could feel my motions reduced to a severe stiffness, as though all my joints were locked together and it was only through acts of absolute will I could bend them to seat myself. I looked at Scott, who was at my left, and had his head bowed.
“I wanted to apologize,” the young man said, his face angled toward the table. Kat and Zack watched him while Hannegan continued to shovel a burrito into his face. “I didn’t really know you when I wrote that note and it was wrong and inappropriate.” He managed to look up and I got the impression that he was rather like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry.”
“All right,” Zack said. “Now we can put all that unpleasantness behind us.” He looked at me, the satisfaction disappearing from his face. “Right?”
I thought about arguing, but what was the point? Byerly couldn’t have hated me any more than I had hated myself when he’d written it. “Sure,” I said. “Bygones and forgetting and all that.” I picked up the burrito from my plate. The smell of beans, rice and chicken wafted up to me, tempered with the tang of the salsa and guacamole.
“What did you talk with Old Man Winter and Ariadne about?” Zack asked just as I was taking my first bite.
I finished chewing before I answered. “How did you know about that?”
“I went to see Ariadne this morning and the secretary told me she was in a meeting with the two of you and couldn’t be disturbed.” He took a sip of the water sitting in front of him.
“History of metas, remember?” The burrito was slippery in my gloves and Byerly was giving me a funny look as the salsa dribbled down the leather and onto my sleeve. I dropped the burrito and wiped at it with a napkin.
“Uh huh.” He chewed as he answered, kind of skeptical. Hannegan still hadn’t looked at me and Kat hadn’t taken her eyes off me yet. I wanted to knock her chair over with her still in it. Or maybe Wolfe did. No, it was probably me. “You guys talk about anything else?”
I remembered the compensation sheet, tucked away in my coat pocket. “Yeah,” I said. “A couple things.”
“They offered you a job, didn’t they?” This came from Hannegan, who had stopped eating and was frozen with a taco halfway to his mouth.
“Yeah.” I felt myself flush. “So?”
“Doing what?” Scott Byerly did a flush of his own, his ruddy complexion suddenly redder.
“As an agent?” Zack was looking at me in wonderment. “A retriever?” He looked down at my side and my eyes followed him a moment later. His hand was already in motion and he snatched the compensation sheet from where it was dangling out of my pocket. I didn’t try to stop him, and he stared at it, eyes narrowed as he focused, Hannegan leaning over his shoulder. “Wait, this isn’t an organizational chart...this is...this is...whoa.” Zack’s jaw dropped and he looked at Hannegan in near-astonishment. “I don’t get paid that much. Do you?”
“Hell, no,” Kurt said, scowling. “And I’m near the top of the pay scale!”
“But at the bottom of their estimation, apparently,” I said and ripped the paper out of Zack’s hands.
There was an eerie quiet around the table that lasted almost five seconds before Scott Byerly spoke. “Can I see that?”
I let out a small noise of exasperation and thrust it at him. “Sure. Why not?”
Kat Forrest looked over his shoulder as he looked down the page. “Wow,” she said. “They must think you’re really powerful to offer you so much.”
“I’d offer you more to leave,” Hannegan said under his breath.
“This is...” Byerly blinked a few times in rapid succession and then handed the page back to me. “A very nice offer. I wish I’d gotten one.” I saw his jaw tighten as he said it.
“The day will come, my friend,” Zack said. “Probably soon, in fact—” A low buzzing filled the air and he reached down, pulling out his cell phone and studying the screen. He looked to Kurt. “Ariadne wants to see us.”
Kurt paused in eating, his mouth full. “Now?” Flecks of half-chewed food rained onto the table and I looked away.
“When was the last time she made an appointment to see the low-paid help?” Zack stood and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “Yes, now.” He looked back at the three of us still seated. “You guys take it easy.” Hannegan followed him out, a taco clenched in his chubby fists.
“Congratulations on your offer,” Kat said, her eyes shining. “That’s really amazing. Not too many metas get asked to go through the training program. You should be proud.”
“Why?” I took a bite of my burrito and then wiped my glove on a napkin. “I didn’t do anything except be born a meta.”
“Well, you killed that psychopath.” Her smile glittered like a spotlight shining directly in my eyes, annoying me.
“Yeah, you did,” Byerly said, then leaned closer. “How did you do that, by the way?”
I felt still, as though a great slab of ice had frozen everything inside me. “I told you—I’m death.”
“What does that mean?” He leaned even closer, almost whispering. “You’re an efficient killer? You’re super strong?”
I felt an ugly thread tug at me inside, felt Wolfe doing something, though I couldn’t tell what. I ignored him. “It’s none of your business.”
“Are you a human time bomb? Like the guy that blew up the science labs?” Byerly kept pressing, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, he was so close—too close. “Can you throw energy or maybe—”
“What I can do—” I started to scoot my chair away from him but he landed his hand on my arm, stopping me. “If you really want to see, just keep your hand where it is. If you don’t, move it.”
“Maybe I want to know.” His eyes were focused, boring in on me and I saw something else in them, an intensity.
“Scott, let her go—” Kat’s plea went ignored.
My glove was already off. Wolfe had moved my hand without me even knowing it and it was on Scott’s cheek. He started to recoil, but I anchored my thumb and forefinger, gripping him on the neck. Not hard enough to choke him, but enough to let him know I had a good hold on him. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger, and he brought a hand around, maybe instinctively, to hit me. I knocked it aside and jerked him to his feet.
I saw the anger vanish, replaced with creases in his forehead from the first stirrings of pain. “Ouch,” he breathed, consternation knitting his brows together. “Ow...oh...” He sucked in a sharp breath and grunted. After another second he let out a squeal that drew even more attention from those around us and then he let out an earsplitting, agonized scream that started a scramble for the cafeteria door, people falling over each other to get the hell out of there.
“Put him down!” Kat was on her feet, shouting at me. I strained, trying to regain control of my hand, but Wolfe was in charge, holding the rest of me still. I lifted Scott Byerly off his feet and he shuddered in the air, convulsing, his eyes rolling back in his head. I looked on, horrified, unable to stop it.
I felt a blow land on the back of my head and I flew forward, releasing my grasp on Byerly. I plowed through three tables, heard some things break that sounded like it could have been me or the furniture, I wasn’t sure which. I came to rest twenty feet away from where I had started, a medley of other peoples’ lunches smeared on my clothes. Kat was already at Scott’s side and Clyde Clary stood not far away, his lips twisted in an amused smile. “Clyde,” I said, using my sleeve to mop some blood from the back of my head where he’d hit me.