Sailors? What?
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I pressed.
Another pause. I could almost see Gordon debating whether to say more.
“Clara, please.”
“Just this.” She spoke quickly, as if wishing to dispel a bad taste. “In most legends and myths of the ancient world, Cetus is associated with wickedness and ferocity. Some believe his sign represents pure evil. Unrelenting depravity and corruption.”
Her words jarred me. What kind of monster were we dealing with?
Click.
“Hello?”
The line was dead. Surprised, I hit redial. The call went straight to voicemail.
She hung up. Without getting paid.
Why would Gordon do that?
Flopping back against my pillows, I replayed the conversation in my mind.
She’d been hesitant to speak. So unlike her friendly demeanor when we’d first entered Fairy Dust. Upon reflection, Gordon’s reticence seemed more than annoyance at the late hour.
Why did I get the sense she’d been frightened?
A gong sounded on my computer.
“Finally!”
I leaped for my desk, startling Cooper from the bed.
Entering the Virals chat room, I found all three boys present.
Uh-oh.
They’d met there ahead of time, before alerting me. To discuss me.
“I’m fine.” Wanting to nip any sympathy in the bud. “What I’d like is to focus on this case. No emotion. No distraction. We need to help Ella, now, in any way we can. And the Gable twins. Will you help me?”
For a moment, none of them spoke. Prepared speeches seemed poised on their tongues.
“Okay,” Hi said simply.
“I can do that,” Shelton promised.
“Anything you need.” Ben’s voice crackled with anger. “Let’s get this bastard.”
“Then listen up.” I gave a quick summary of what I’d learned.
When I’d finished, Hi piped up. “I also learned something that might help.”
“Please.” Nodding encouragingly. “Anything.”
“I know where Ella was snatched from.” Hi rubbed his left shoulder. “After I accidentally tripped those officers inside the Francis house—”
“Thank you for that.”
“No problem. Anyway, the police took me out on the lawn. They were probably all so terrified of me, they couldn’t concentrate. Who can blame them?”
I made get-on-with-it gestures into my webcam.
Hi’s voice grew serious. “The cop assigned to babysit me was a talker, said that Ella was last seen at her job the night before. She took a break, went outside, and didn’t come back. Never got home.”
A surge of adrenaline. This was useful information. Ella waitressed two evenings a week at a pizza joint called the Flying Tomato.
“Great job, Hi. That’s our next move. We’ll turn that place upside down.”
“Tonight?” Shelton asked. Though this time, his voice carried no reservations.
I considered it. Wanted to agree. But police would be swarming that restaurant right now. Plus, there was no way I’d get past Kit and Whitney in the next few hours.
“No. But let’s go early tomorrow morning, before they open. Agreed?”
Shelton nodded.
“You got it,” said Hi.
“In.” Ben jiggled his keys. “I’ll be there first thing.”
I logged off and lay down on my bed. Coop jumped up beside me. As I tussled his scratchy chin, some of the weight lifted from my shoulders.
For the first time since waking, I felt a measure of control.
Lying there in the dark, the panic began to recede. Transform. Become something else.
Anger.
A slow-boiling rage filled me inside, head to toe.
I captured the feeling. Harnessed it. Enslaved it to my purpose.
Someone out there had attacked my friend. Stolen her. Put her life in danger.
That person is going to pay.
Coop’s head rose from his paws.
He regarded me with lidded eyes, then gave a low, dangerous growl.
“That’s right, boy.” Stroking his head. “That’s damn right.”
Saturday
The Flying Tomato was closed and shuttered.
No police tape. No squad cars keeping watch. Whatever the police might’ve discovered the night before, they hadn’t sealed the premises.
The restaurant was on Tradd Street, two short blocks from the Francis home. Ben pulled into a public lot around the corner on King. We walked the last fifty yards, not wanting to advertise our presence.
The sign was garish—a giant ripe tomato, wearing white sunglasses and sneakers, flying off a half pike. A funky, hipster hangout. I knew Ella loved working there.
She’d taken the job against her parents’ advice. Getting out of the house, meeting new people, and making a little money had appealed to Ella’s sense of independence.
She made minimum wage, plus tips. Ella got plenty of those.
Ella thought a girl should work, even in high school. I totally agreed, and had harbored secret hopes of joining the Flying Tomato staff once old enough to drive.
That dream was out the window now.
The pizza parlor was a white one-story structure with red shutters. A long front porch ran its length, set with tables for eating outside. We entered a gravel lot adjacent to the building. At eight o’clock on a Saturday morning, there were no cars present.
“Ready?” Ben fought to keep the eagerness from his voice.
I nodded. “Light ’em up.”
For once, I didn’t argue the point. We’d flare, and leave no stone unturned.
When it came to Ella’s safety, I wasn’t holding back.
SNAP.
A crackling sensation, followed by a blast of scorching heat.
Sweat erupted from my pores. I held my face in my hands, trying not to scream as every hair on my body stood at attention.
“Too much!” Shelton moaned, rubbing his temples.
Beside me I saw Hi wobble, then collapse. Yellow light strobed from his eyes.
Something is wrong.
The inferno inside me continued to build. My arms shook. I couldn’t feel my legs. Staggering like a drunk, I fought to control my breathing.
I saw Ben wheel and swing his fists, as if fighting an invisible foe. His eyes flickered between golden and brown.
He stumbled. Then, hand on his knees, Ben vomited on the ground.
Pressure built inside my skull. I felt like a balloon inflated well past the point of safety.
Desperate, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the flare to level. Instead, the pain amplified.
In my subconscious, the flaming cords that connected us thrummed out of control. Their forms were disjointed, indistinct. Unbound, they flailed and twanged wildly.
An atonal warble filled my ears. I could barely track the lines, much less control them.
This isn’t right. We have to let go!
I don’t know if I sent the message, or if the boys simply arrived at the same conclusion.
“Screw this,” Hi gasped. “I’m shutting down.”
“True that!” Shelton howled.
Both stiffened. Convulsions racked their bodies, but, moments later, they released twin sighs of relief.
SNUP.
My own flare died.
I sagged, nearly crumpling in relief. The agony receded.
When my head cleared, I heard Shelton screaming at Ben. “Release it, Blue!”
“No.” Ben spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m in charge . . . not some . . . dog DNA . . .”
He shuddered, falling against the side of building.
br /> I ran to his side. “Ben, stop it! You have to let go!”
Ben’s face swung to me, eyes slitted. His jaw and back were rigid. A vein pulsed in his neck as he grimaced, panting, on the verge of passing out.
“Ben, please.” I took his hand, voice suddenly calm. “You need to stop. We’ll figure this out together. I promise.”
Ben looked away. For several heartbeats he continued to fight. Then his hand squeezed mine as his body went slack.
He staggered, nearly dropped. Shelton and I caught him, then eased him to the gravel.
For a full minute we sat in a clump, catching our breath, no one speaking.
Finally, “I don’t know what that was.”
“That’s never happened before,” Hi wheezed. “It’s like my flare was attacking me.”
“Oh, man.” Shelton was shirt-cleaning his glasses with jerky motions. “We got problems, ya’ll. I knew our powers were getting wilder, but that was a whole ’nother level.”
Ben rose, brushed dirt from his jeans. “Let’s try again.”
“Are you crazy?” Hi struggled to his feet. “No thanks, pal. One barbequing was enough for me.”
“Ben, be reasonable.” I tried not to scold. “Whatever just happened, it was serious. Maybe even deadly. We have to consider this carefully.”
Ben seemed about to argue, but turned away. His shoulders rose and fell.
“Fine.” His back to us. “For now.”
We dusted ourselves off. A quick scan of the neighborhood confirmed we were still alone. Which was fortunate—our group seizure would’ve been tough to explain.
“We’ll do this old-school,” Hi said. “Using only the power of our massive brains.”
Shelton chuckled. “A throwback.”
I smiled, trying to mask my anxiety.
What the hell just happened?
Every fear I’d harbored about the nature of our mutations came roaring to the surface.
Was our short circuit merely an aberration? Some odd quirk, never to return?
Or was it the beginning of the end? Was my body rejecting the canine DNA?
Or worse, was the new genetic material . . . taking over?
We don’t have time for this now.
My mind returned to the task. Ella was missing. Our flare problems would have to wait.
“Shelton, please open this restaurant.” Striding for the door. “There’s no time to waste.”
• • •
“I’m out of ideas.” Hi was leaning against a red-brick oven. “And no leftover pizza anywhere in here? Unreal.”
We stood inside the cramped kitchen. For the last thirty minutes we’d turned the place upside down, examining every square foot of the restaurant. Dining room. Kitchen. Pantry. Storeroom. Office. Even the two bathrooms. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
“We should bounce,” Shelton urged. “Somebody might show up to make spaghetti sauce any minute.”
Both boys glanced at me.
I punched my leg in frustration. I hated quitting, but they were right. This was serving no purpose.
“We didn’t check the Dumpster,” Ben said from across a counter. “Or anything out back.”
“The cop said Ella went outside,” Hi added. “Maybe she was snatched behind the building?”
I snapped a nod. “Shelton, lock up behind us.”
Slipping out the back door, we found ourselves in an alcove paved with concrete. A large Dumpster was hard against the building. Beyond it were three rolling recycling bins and a pair of rusty folding chairs. A wooden fence enclosed three sides. The fourth was open to the gravel lot where we’d had our flare meltdown.
Hi pointed to the chairs. “Cigarette station. I don’t suppose Ella is a smoker?”
“The Lady Griffins soccer captain?” I scoffed. “Not likely.”
Hi began lifting bin lids while Ben rooted in the Dumpster. Without a better plan, I began a slow circuit of the enclosure. Looking for what, I had no idea. A tightness was building in my chest—that crushing feeling of helplessness, creeping back in.
“Hey, Tor.” Shelton was kneeling beside the chairs. “What’s this look like to you?”
I was hurrying to his side when we heard the screech of tires on loose stone.
Hi dropped into his battle crouch. “Oh crap!”
Ben stepped away from the Dumpster. Shelton and I moved to his side.
All eyes watched the corner of the building.
Nowhere to run. If someone came back here, we’d have some explaining to do.
Footsteps on pebbles. Approaching.
A familiar face rounded the corner. The last person I expected to see.
“What?” The only words I could manage.
“You’re in a position to question?”
Chance wore tan shorts and a gray polo. I couldn’t recall seeing him so casual before.
“You shouldn’t be here, Claybourne.” Ben’s voice was menacing. “Leave.”
Chance barely glanced at him. “I don’t take orders from you. I assume you’ve stopped by for a breakfast calzone?”
I stepped in front of Ben. “Why are you here, Chance? Did you follow us?”
For a moment, Chance’s gaze roved the group. Finally, “Yes.”
My breath caught. “Why?”
“I heard about Ella on the news.” His tone softened a degree. “I’m sorry, Tory. I know you two had become friends.”
Tears threatened. I fought them back, surprised at how close to the surface my emotions lurked.
“We thought maybe we could help.” I left it at that.
“Help how?” Chance pressed. “What can you offer that the police can’t?”
“Mind your own business,” Ben said darkly. “For once.”
“No.” Chance gave a quick headshake. “No, I think we’re past that.”
I could feel the tension rising. Shelton hid behind my shoulder. Hi was acting nonchalant, but his tapping foot gave him away. And Ben . . .
“I know what you were doing at the aquarium.” Chance either didn’t sense the danger, or didn’t care. “You were snooping in Marcus Karsten’s old files.”
Ben tensed. The charge in the air became palpable.
Then, like a lightning strike, the odd sensation returned. For one blinding instant, I felt lines of connection blasting from my mind and looping around the others. Ben. Hi. Shelton. Even Chance. Then my mind twitched and the feeling completely evaporated.
What was that!?
“I don’t know how you tracked them down,” Chance continued, oblivious. “Or what led you to the aquarium. Questions for another day.” His voice hardened. “But there were other files on that server you had no business viewing.”
I struggled to regain my bearings. “I don’t know what—”
“Save it, Tory.” Chance’s pupils dilated. “You copied my B-Series files. You know it, and I know it. I want them back. Every last megabyte.”
Suddenly, I saw it. Beneath the cool exterior, Chance was furious.
And scared. Maybe even terrified.
No more lies.
“No.” I was pleased my voice didn’t quaver. “Those files involve Karsten’s secret work. We have an interest in that.”
His cheek twitched. “The files are encrypted. You’ll never get in.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Chance’s gaze bored into me. I met him, stare for stare. As best I could.
“I could go to the police,” he said softly. “Breaking and entering. Wire fraud. Tampering with Candela property. I have you on tape, red-handed. One phone call and you’re done.”
Bluff.
“You won’t do that.” Spoken just as calmly. “You don’t want the cops to know about the B-Series, either. Those files are your dirty
little secret, aren’t they? Like father, like son.”
I saw the punch land.
Chance’s eyes betrayed him. My guess was dead-on.
“I can destroy you.” The heat rose in Chance’s voice. “You’re nothing in this city. I’m rich. Powerful. Respected. Cross me, and you’ll pay dearly. Your parents, too.”
That was the line. Chance crossed it.
Ben charged forward and shoved him to the ground.
Chance tumbled backward, taken totally by surprise. Ben stood over him, chest heaving. Lifting Chance by his shirt, Ben cocked his other fist.
I raced forward and grabbed Ben’s elbow. His head whipped to me, nostrils flaring.
“No.” Holding his gaze. “That’s not what we do.”
Ben snorted. “Whatever.” But he dropped Chance and walked away.
Chance roared to his feet. “Try that again, boy!”
Ben spun, a smile splitting his face. “Gladly.”
“Stop it!” I placed myself between them, one arm outstretched toward each.
Ben had surprised Chance, but he was the smaller of the two. This could get ugly, fast.
Shelton and Hi moved to Ben’s flanks, began whispering in his ears.
My hand touched Chance’s chest. “Be the bigger man,” I said softly.
Livid eyes met mine. Then rolled.
“Once.” Swatting my hand from his chest. “This one time, Tory. For old time’s sake.”
“You’re lucky, Benjamin.” Chance nodded toward me. “You have a guardian angel.”
“Another time,” Ben promised. “We’ll see who’s lucky.”
Chance turned my way. “You’re upset about Ella, and not thinking clearly. We’ll revisit this issue later. But those files are mine, and I want them back. That isn’t a request.”
Without another word, he strode from the alcove. I trailed him around the building—to make sure he actually left—and watched Chance climb into a car.
“Well, well.”
The other Virals approached behind me.