Aftermath (20 page)

Ben's Story

“What are you doing here?” I snapped at Claire in a low tone.

“I called you…”

“Shhh.”

I called you, but you didn’t answer me. What was I supposed to do?
Claire spoke in thought.

Sorry. I was shielded. I was in pursuit… still am,
I answered, realizing how stupid that was of me, not letting a rookie through my barrier. Would Molly have reached out to me? The mention of her name in thought brought a quick response from her, and I knew she was okay. I should have known. Her screeching voice would surely pierce any barrier I had in place, if she really needed me.
What did you need, Claire?

She mumbled a thought about Emma, and my heart raced.
What do you mean—she’s at Trent’s house with Lucas?
I asked.
Then why are you here?

Because, I… ah…

Claire, I can’t leave. I’m on the trail of something… a hybrid and something else… an immortal, I think.

Victor?

I don’t know for sure. Not yet. But I can’t leave right now,
I answered.
You need to handle this,
I added.

Her thoughts turned to Molly, who joined the mental conversation.

Absolutely not. I won’t let Molly take this assignment, either,
I interjected their discussion. I thought it might be a trap, but I shielded them both from my concern.

What then?
Claire asked.

You need to handle this. I don’t trust Lucas. You know that. That’s why you were on call tonight. You need to be there.

How am I supposed to get invited to Trent’s?
Claire asked. I sensed a twinge of panic in her tone.

Molly began to think a snide comment, but I cut her off.
Claire, you’re immortal. You have the ability to compel humans.

But we were taught never to use that power,
she answered.
There would be consequences.

Unless it’s the only justifiable course of action, or your director authorizes it. Either way, it’s acceptable in this situation,
I answered, continuing to ignore Molly’s negative thoughts. With Victor back in the picture, she had less patience for rookies than ever before.

Claire was silent. She knew Molly was displeased. Not that they didn’t get along, just that Claire understood her rank in comparison to Molly’s. In other words, Claire was streetwise and knew when to keep quiet.

After a deep, cleansing breath, I released my shield and allowed Molly back into the conversation. Then, I calmly asked,
How did you find out what Emma was doing tonight? Did you propel to her house?

No, I haven’t solo propelled.

You haven’t? Ever?
Molly’s question was almost a shriek.

Only in training… at The Farm.

Simulation exercises,
I responded.

Yes.

Molly mumbled something I ignored.

Okay, Claire. So how did you know that Emma went to Trent’s house?
I asked calmly, though anger brewed within me. I couldn’t believe the agency would graduate rookies without the basic field experience of propelling. A simple field trip would suffice to a rural area. The desert would work! I shook my head in disgust.

She texted me.

What exactly do you mean, she texted you?
Molly asked.

Well, I texted her first. Then she replied that she and Lucas were going to a party at Trent’s. She said it would be small… to watch the Wisconsin game on television.

And when I didn’t answer your calls, you used the portals to find me, here,
I said.

She said yes in a hushed thought.

Well, Claire, if you’re not experienced in propelling, now’s not the time to test your skills,
Molly said.
You need to use your human talents to find your way there.

What does that mean?

It means you need to flirt your way into an invitation to the party,
I answered.

Emma's Story

Stephanie was drunk.

I didn’t pay attention to what she drank during the football game, but by the time it was over, I realized she had problems and not just with alcohol. Lucas ignored Stephanie even though she tried to cozy up to him on the couch. It seemed to be a challenge to her, like it was a game of playing hard to get.

The Badgers won in a play the guys called a Hail Mary. Cheers erupted after Wisconsin scored with forty-two seconds left. TJ and Lucas jumped to their feet, spilling a bowl of popcorn on the floor. Trent knocked over his beer, and Drew gave Claire a sloppy hug. Even Stephanie smiled, though it was brief.

Drew left at halftime to pick up Claire. The Badgers were winning, and he seemed in a good mood. Lucas said it was because Drew placed a bet on the game, but when they returned and we were losing, Drew still had a grin on his face. I guessed it was because Claire called him.

Trent poured shots of peppermint schnapps to celebrate our win. He placed three glasses on the table in front of Hannah, Claire, and me. Even though Hannah claimed to be hungover, she quickly reached for hers. Claire gave us her bright smile as the three of us clinked glasses and slammed the clear, minty liquid. It tasted like mouthwash, strong and refreshing. For some reason, I was more comfortable drinking at Trent’s than I was at Drew’s party. I wasn’t sure if it was the smaller crowd, or the lack of drunken people pushing alcohol every time I turned around.

Maybe it was because it wasn’t my first time.

When Trent held up the schnapps bottle in the family room, Stephanie grabbed it out of his hand. Claire nudged me when Stephanie chugged from the bottle. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her shirt and handed it back. TJ shook his head in disgust, and Lucas rolled his eyes.

I couldn’t help but watch Lucas to see if he’d keep his promise and not drink. To my amazement, he did. Stephanie was visibly irritated and the more I watched her, the more I saw how trashed she was. When she stood, she swayed. Her eyes tipped back, and her gestures were overdramatic.

Lucas caught me watching her and shook his head. I looked away quickly, holding back a grin. When I glanced in his direction again, he smiled.

When Trent suggested a game of poker, Claire, Hannah, and I vacated the table and took seats on the couch across the room. As I settled into the open spot beside Stephanie, she sighed. It was deep and obvious. I didn’t know if it was because of her intoxicated state or me. Either way, she got up within a few minutes and whispered something in Lucas’ ear.

He shook his head in reply and picked up the cards Trent dealt him.

Without another word, Stephanie stormed off and up the stairs. The guys didn’t seem to notice the vibration when she slammed the front door.

I gave Claire a look. She shrugged. Hannah spoke up, “It’s not you, Emma. Stephanie’s been out of control for months. Ever since Lucas broke up with her this summer, she’s been begging him to take her back.”

“Why? I mean, she’s a really pretty girl. I’m sure she could find another boyfriend.” Claire said what I was thinking.

“Yeah, I know,” Hannah answered. “TJ told her that, too. But for some reason, she won’t let go of him.”

“Why’d they break up?” Claire asked.

“Well, I heard Lucas cheated on her. Some girl in Riverside. You know he lives there with his mom, right?” When Claire nodded, Hannah continued. “TJ found out and threatened to tell Steph, so Lucas broke up with her.”

“Oh, wow,” I mumbled.

“That poor girl. She’s better off without him,” Claire said.

“Yup,” Hannah agreed. “Consider yourself warned, Emma.”

“Huh? I’m not—”

“Emma came here with Lucas,” Hannah told Claire, cutting me off. The smirk on her face reminded me of when we were little and she used to tattle to her mom. Now I remembered why TJ and I excluded her.

“Yeah, but your aunt’s dating Lucas’ dad, right?” Claire asked me. I nodded, but I didn’t get a chance to respond before she continued. “So that doesn’t mean you’re seeing Lucas. Right?”

“Lucas and I are just friends,” I said firmly.

A look of disappointment crossed Hannah’s face, but she shrugged it off quickly and moved onto another topic. “So, Claire, where’s your brother tonight?”

“Um, I’m not sure. At home, probably.” Claire took a drink of her soda and looked down. She fidgeted with the metal tab on the top of the can.

“I totally thought he’d be here,” Hannah continued.

“He doesn’t tell me much,” Claire said. Her usual, bubbly expression was suddenly lost.

“You guys get along okay, don’t you?” Hannah badgered.

“Um, yeah. He just bugs me. That’s all.” When she looked up again, her brilliant smiled returned.

He doesn’t bug me
, I thought.

Ben's Story

Summit Road had three farmhouses along it.

The Kensington farm was the furthest east and had the least potent scent, but the most variety. Claire visited me there. In the 1930s, it was the largest farm in the county. The family had four sons and three daughters, though most didn’t finish high school because of chores. A few did, but I never kept in touch while I was alive, and I didn’t bother to follow up after I died.

Standing on their property, I extracted the memories of life on these grounds from my time to now. Most of the Kensington kids from my generation moved away, except the one that died in the war, and the eldest son that stayed with the farm. He worked the acreage and prospered, passing it along to his only child, a son, who, at eighty-two years old, still lived there.

The farm was no longer active, except for a few fields he rented out. The vast land had been divided years before when Kensington sold a parcel of uneven terrain along the river to a developer who added a road and built homes.

Kensington was a widow, had been for a decade. He turned in early each evening, just after dark, and rose with the sun. Instant coffee was his morning drink that he preferred bold and black. Mondays, he did wash. Tuesdays, he paid bills. Each Wednesday, he drove into Riverside for breakfast at Priscilla’s, a stop at the post office, and grocery shopping at the Park ‘N Save mega center along the interstate. Each Sunday, he went to mass at Holy Name Catholic Church followed usually, but not always, by a visit from his daughter.

He followed a strict routine, with more days alone than with company. It made his homestead a perfect meeting place for the workings of Victor Nicklas, I realized as I made my way to the second farm on Summit.

Across from the entrance to the new subdivision stood a red barn with white-trimmed windows and stone footings. It was clean and well maintained, far different from the run-down building that stood in its place when I grew up here.

I bent down, grabbed a handful of soil, and concentrated on its history. The business was newly successful. The third generation farmer was in his mid-forties. He rented Kensington’s land and grew corn and beans he sold to canning companies. Demand exceeded his supply.

Visions of staff working the fields surfaced. Equipment hummed in the barn. An outbuilding housed a few dozen Holstein cows. Grunts, moos, and snorts echoed in my mind. With the flurry of year-round activities, I was doubtful that Victor could hide his crew here or hold undetected meetings.

In other words, it was a dead end.

Dried granules of earth spilled from my stained palm, returning to the ground where they belonged. I stood up, wiped my hands on my jeans, and backtracked to the Kensington farm.

I picked up the hybrid scent in the barn and followed it closely, as it wound through uncultivated land in a zigzag pattern to the back of the property on the river.

The trail ended.

The river was their pathway of transportation. Since the water constantly moved, the fragrance dispersed and distributed in different directions to throw off any trackers. This was not the action of an inexperienced immortal. This had to be Victor.

I moved along the water’s edge. The presence of an immortal was evident high in the air, at the tops of the tall trees. I positioned my body near a portal in the woods and propelled myself to the upper branch, no longer under the canopy coverage the dense trees created. The air was cooler here, as the wind picked up. The energy from the immortal passed, swirled, and led me mentally west.

I followed the presence to the bridge on highway M. Bittersweet apple mixed with cotton candy in a nauseating depth of foul perfume. There was a concentration of odors running under the bridge, the width of the river. I propelled around the abutment, hovering under the girder. This was their meeting point. A place of distribution. Hybrids came from all directions to this spot. Where they came from, I couldn’t tell.

The immortal energy was stronger here too, but it was not alone. Another, unfamiliar scent lingered in the air. I sensed its potency on highway M. It mingled with the immortal spirit on the bridge, as if the two beings met in the middle of the road.

Southbound highway M led to downtown Riverside. A likely hiding place, but with more buildings and homes to search.

To the north, nine hundred and thirty-three feet to be precise, highway M intersected with Summit Road. Beyond that there were no cross streets for miles. Square fields with crops of corn lined the straight path that led into the next county. As I stretched my mind to reach the open road, the presence I sensed on the bridge disappeared. It seemed to end at the abandoned farmhouse on the corner.

It was the last farm on Summit. Back in the 1930s, it was active. Today, a condemned sign was needed. The weathered barn was missing most walls and almost its entire roof. A smaller building beside it had already fallen upon its foundation. The gray, rotten boards piled in crisscross patterns atop one another. Trees, bushes, and weeds grew wild, covering the once-traveled gravel path. Windows were broken and stairs were atilt on the old porch that once welcomed visitors. An old tractor rested in its grave, rusted and covered in dirt and dust, with tall grasses hiding its engine.

The presence was heavy, but a rustling startled me. It came from two directions at once.

I broke the mental propel and stood back in the woods near the river, beside the large oak tree. The smell of cotton candy swept past me with a gentle breeze. The immediate sour aftertaste, so pungent in its depth, took my breath away. The odor was close, closer to my human body than ever before. It was potent and strong, eye watering and dangerous.

I was not alone. I could sense a hybrid was with me, or maybe more.

Like the scent of a skunk’s spray in your face, I was intoxicated in its presence and felt myself falling into unconsciousness.