Sleight (15 page)

“The associate I contacted locally couldn’t help me. He recommended another practitioner, coincidentally someone with whom I already have a...relationship. It is a stroke of luck. I had need for reaching out to this other regardless. The initial assessment is positive.”

“And you can trust these people because...?”

He stared back at me with a blank expression. “They’re Naturals.”

I couldn’t help but be amazed. “How many other Naturals are there in Seattle?”

He spread his hands. “I really couldn’t say, but I’m thinking that your real question is how many do I know personally.”

“Yeah, that.”

“So, the answer is a few. We don’t keep a database for what should be obvious reasons. Our communities tend to operate like cells. Individuals in one small group know one or two individuals in another group. No one knows all of the groups in any given city, although there are ways to make contact.”

My mind reeled. How could Mr. Goodturn have thought it was right to keep all of this from me?

Kenwoode raised a hand, basically shutting down an emotional response.

“Harald was probably trying to be careful with how much he told you. It’s easy to overwhelm someone who is just realizing who and what they are, let alone revealing the bigger picture prematurely.”

I clenched my hands into fists and scowled at him. As much sense as that made it also made me feel like I was being treated like a child. “He should have told me.” I said tersely.

“Benjamin, is that line of thinking really productive? Didn’t Harald, by your own witness, provide for you in several ways? He thought he was protecting you.”

“Yeah, and look what it got him!” I spat.

Dropping his eyes for a moment, he collected himself and then spoke carefully, “Water under the bridge my young friend. If you are going to get caught up in all of the complexities of your relationship with Harald, and me, then we’re not going to be successful in our effort to neutralize Sonja. Nor will we be successful in ferreting out the Shade organization.”

He had a point. I didn’t have the luxury of indulging my wounded pride.

“Okay,” I mumbled.

“With the help of my other contact I was able to complete my research into your friend, Justine. It is potentially very good news.”

I thought I could use some good news right about now. “Yeah? What’s that?”

He stretched his arms out and re-crossed his legs. “Her ability is very similar to Sonja’s. The fact that she was able to break off her influence, out of concern for you, means that it isn’t the wild attribute that turned Sonja into a rogue. It is a pure and untainted version of the attribute, and that may be our good fortune.”

“How?” I asked, confused as to how a knack that I had been told was purely destructive could be helpful.

“The ability that she possesses is rare and of a more refined nature than others I’ve met that have it. Harald’s attributes are similar in that respect. Yours are capable of more dramatic physical effects but less delicate. With proper coaching she can become an accomplished healer.” His whole attitude changed while he was describing Justine’s knack. He was excited.

His explanation left an unanswered question. “Where would Justine get this coaching? From who?”

“The colleague I mentioned is the only Natural I know that has this rare difference. It would be that person who could open Miss Winters’ difference.”

That all sounded pretty encouraging. Breno’s anxiety attack seemed to have abated. Justine’s knack, while initially scary might prove to be a blessing. And the biggest win was getting what seemed like some seriously experienced help nailing Sonja and her crew. So why did I feel anxious?

I mentally switched gears back to our strategy for tracking her down. “What are we going to do next to set up Dell and Tank and get information on where Sonja is hiding?”

Uncrossing his legs Mr. Kenwoode got slowly to his feet. He placed a hand at the small of his back and stretched. Watching him I wondered how his old bones were going to hold up to any kind of secret mission.

“You need to return to your apartment. I’ve cobbled together a plan for making them believe Mr. Giacomo has returned to his as well. An associate of mine will follow the lead you gave me for Sonja’s possible whereabouts. I’ll set up an a counter measure for your stalkers and you...will promise to confer with me before working off script. Agreed?”

On the one hand it felt great to have someone share the load, on the other I bristled at being told what to do. Ultimately I had to accept the fact that he was better informed than I was on basically every issue we were confronting.

“When would this guy, your colleague, be able to start helping Justine?” I asked.

Walking stiffly to my door he paused as he opened it, “Oh, straight away. As soon as Miss Winters has assuaged her parents’ concern we can begin.”

I was surprised. I’d thought this person he was referring to was far away. “Is your friend right here in Seattle?”

He stepped into the hall and turned back to me. “Associate, definitely not a friend, although we know each other well. No, not a Seattle resident.”

“Well how is he getting here then?”

“I sent a ticket.” He checked his watch. “In point of fact I’m headed to the airport right now. We’ll be back in a few hours. And it’s ‘she’ not ‘he’ Benjamin. My associate is a woman.”

My mother had all sorts of quaint country-ish sayings that she would offer. To quote her I would have to say that Kenwoode certainly didn’t let the grass grow under his feet. He was putting things together fast.

After Kenwoode left I sat there for a minute and tried to collect my thoughts. Our conversation had simplified a lot of my worries.

Pulling on a hoodie and slipping on a pair of shoes I went down the hall to check in on Mr. Goodturn and Breno. Mr. G was unchanged, and Breno wasn’t in his room so I headed to the kitchen. I found him there stuffing toaster waffles into his mouth. Syrup drips and crumbs competed for space on the table in front of him.

“Better clean that up before you leave or Mr. Kenwoode will skin you.” I laughed.

His eyes bulged and he bobbed his head furiously.

“I’m going out. I don’t think you should leave the apartment. Okay?”

More head bobbing followed by another impressive mouthful of waffle.

Smiling and shaking my head I left and made my way back downstairs to the pawn shop.

I fought off more feelings of guilt as I walked through the shop and out onto the street. I had no intention of opening it to the public over the weekend and that would mean being closed for almost a full week. It was hard to imagine any day in the coming week where I could open it because of my return to school. Kenwoode and I would have to decide how to handle it, hire someone or post a sign that the shop was temporarily closed. I was pretty sure where
that
discussion would lead.

When I got out to the street I turned toward my building and saw Breno opening the door to the apartment lobby and walking inside. I’d just seen him upstairs and he hadn’t been in the elevator with me. The only other exits or entrances to the building housing the pawnshop and Mr. G’s suite was a set of stairs that was rarely used and the fire escape which had to be accessed from the roof or an alley window.

Curious as to how he’d beaten me to the sidewalk I ran to catch up. When I got to the lobby entrance I could see him fumbling with his keys at his apartment door.

“Breno! Wait up!” I called as I hurried down the short hall.

Instead of turning toward me, he turned away, leaving me with a view of his back while he tried to open the door.

He was trying to avoid me. The hair on my neck prickled.

“Breno, wait up. How did you get down here so fast?” I asked as he opened the door and darted quickly inside.

I got to the door just as he was trying to slam it shut.

Sticking my foot in between the door and the frame I said, “Hey, what the—” Which was as far as I got before I got a good look at his face and realized it wasn’t Breno.

Heavy brows in a big angry face drew down into a scowl, as two strong hands shot out and pulled me into the apartment.

PANICKED I DUG under my hoodie for my stunner as the big goon who had dragged me into the apartment pushed me against the door and held me there. I tried to use my knack to get free but he easily deflected my hands and pulled the stun gun away from me. Gripping it in one huge hand he frowned at it.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll let you use this on me,” he growled.

I tried to jam my knee into his crotch but he deftly turned his body and my knee glanced off his heavily muscled thigh.

“Stop. Calm down. Preston sent me!” he said sharply.

“Who’s Preston?” I wheezed, as his forearm pressed hard against my throat, my feet barely touching the floor.

His mouth twisted in irritation and another emotion that confused me. Surprise? Confusion? It felt like I was sensing my own emotions instead of his. “Kenwoode. Preston Kenwoode. Now stop struggling and I’ll let you go. I hope no one saw us in the hall.”

Confused and trying to understand what was happening I let my arms drop and tried to relax. He took his hands off me and stepped back, holding my stun gun in front of him. He gave me a quick up and down glance.

“He said he’d brief you. I’m guessing he didn’t,” he said.

“Who?” I rasped, rubbing my throat gingerly.

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Preston. I’m pretending to be the guy who lives in this apartment.” He looked down at the stun gun in his hand. “I give this back, you gonna try and use it on me?”

There only seemed to be one right answer to that. “No.”

“See that you don’t, or I’ll use it on you.”

He extended his hand and I grabbed it from him, returning it to its holster. He was the same six foot and an inch or two as Breno, more muscular, but with his hair was mussed up to look like Breno’s. His clothes, which had at first glance looked very similar to Breno’s, were newer, cleaner and less tattered. His jaw was square and he had a high forehead like Breno but the resemblance stopped there. Wide set brown eyes and a well-shaped nose topped a strong mouth and chin. He was probably popular with the ladies when he wasn’t busy roughing up teenaged boys.

“You’re working for Kenwoode?”

Smirking, he took a step back but didn’t turn his back to me, as he casually looked around the interior of the apartment. “Sort of. I owe him. He needed someone to hang out so that it looks like the guy that lives here is still in residence.”

The way he scanned the apartment made it clear that he was appraising it strategically. He nodded to himself and then chucked his chin at me.

“Here’s the deal kid: I’ll be here for a few days. My main purpose is window dressing and to back the two of you if necessary, but I’m taking my cues from Preston. Stay out of my way and when we do cross paths behave as though I’m your dimwitted friend. Do that and everything should work out fine.”

“Breno isn’t dimwitted, he’s challenged. And you’re
just
pretending to be him? You’re not part of the plan Ken...Preston is putting together?”

Shrugging, he raised his eyebrows. “Depends on Preston. Number one: take your friend’s place. Number two: back the two of you. Number three: take out some rogue bitch if possible. After that it’s all up for discussion. Between me and Preston.” He gave me another once over.

“Are you here early? Kenwoode and I were just talking about all of this an hour ago.”

“Nah, he called me yesterday. Preston’s always ahead of the curve when he’s decided to get involved. He says you’re sharp, so don’t go proving him wrong.”

Nice. Another grownup more than happy to underestimate me, and treat me like a child. Then again, he had given my gun back.

“Uh, I’m Benny.” I offered my hand.

Taking my hand, giving it a single shake and then dropping it, he replied, “Brock.”

“Are you...how did you meet Mr....Preston?” Old habits are hard to break.

The smirk returned. “No details. We’ve worked together before, I owe him a favor and that’s all you need to know.”

I could feel the muscles in my jaw tighten. I didn’t like being kept in the dark. Kenwoode had glossed over some details this morning which I had taken to mean that he was still formulating a plan. Brock’s arrival meant that the formulating part was already old news.

“What kind of skills do you have?” I asked, trying to figure out if he was a Natural.

He bristled. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. My skillset is enough for the job. This isn’t an interview kid. I’m already vetted, so you need to get on with your day and leave me to set up in here so that it looks like this Breno guy is back home.”

Not helpful, and I certainly got the vibe that I was being asked to leave. I put my hand on the door knob. “Fine. Well, nice meeting you, sort of.”

He gave me the chin chuck again. “Sure.”

I walked into the hall and closed the door behind me. It was seriously frustrating me that Kenwoode,
Preston
, had put all of this is motion and clued Brock into much of what was going on.
And
not told me about it. He’d probably contacted this guy after I’d told him about finding Breno down at the waterfront. The help was great but I was chapped about watching someone else make all of the decisions. Can’t have it both ways I guess.

I stood there for a moment trying to remember what I had been planning to do. Getting grabbed and yanked into an apartment and thoroughly manhandled had thrown me off my game.

Shakily walking up to my apartment I figured my own personal stuff didn’t require too much attention. Homework was pretty much all done but there were a few things I could organize. No fun getting called out for sloppy work on my first day back.

When I walked into my kitchen my stomach growled, running on its own agenda as usual, so I nuked a breakfast burrito. I was watching the seconds count down on the microwave display when someone knocked on my door. Reluctantly I trudged over to the door and peered through the peephole and scratched my head in confusion.

The guy at my door was someone I’d never seen before. Not high school age, but not much older. Maybe nineteen or twenty. Straight black hair that fell to his shoulders, black raincoat, baggy black pants and a black shirt. No Goth makeup despite the monochromatic garb. In a typical month I might get one person at my door, other than Maddy or Mr. G. Because there was a key swipe on the front door people had to be buzzed in by someone or follow a tenant in. It was starting to feel like the Port of Seattle.

I pulled my stun gun and cracked open the door. “Who are you looking for?”

Flashing a huge grin he asked, “You Benny?”

My scalp tingled. My knack sense picked up a relatively normal and unworried emotional current running through him. There was something else though, a strong buzz. I adjusted the grip on my stunner.

“Yeah. Who’re you?”

Still smiling he bounced in place. “Sawyer. Sawyer Nance. Kenwoode sent me.”

That would make two strangers in less than thirty minutes on my home turf that Kenwoode had sent along without warning me in advance. I fought the urge to snap at him. It wasn’t his fault that Kenwoode was leaving me way outside the loop. The double standard of not going off ‘half-cocked’, but rolling with unexpected allies grated on my nerves.

“Uh huh. And how would I know that?” I asked.

His smile faltered but didn’t disappear. Then it brightened. He raised an index finger and winked at me. Twitching his finger once, a small blue and white electric spark crackled in and out of existence about an inch above his flexing digit.

Holy crap.