The cold air through the Subaru window wasn’t enough to wake her up from the evil, waking dream. She was alone as always, and there was danger as always, but this time the whole world had rejected her. Or would.
A murder suspect.
The chill March wind carried spray off the road that chilled her skin, the scent of car fumes, and the ubiquitous sodden-earth scent that came off Lake Washington as she sped towards Redmond were almost cloying. The Gift became a static hum as she sped across the bridge. The clouds hung low and pregnant above the hills, the green forests sullen and forbidding.
The spray on her leather steering wheel got to be too much and she rolled the window up.
What could she have done other than protest her innocence? Telling Detective Bryson the truth wasn’t an option. She could just see it: Yes I work for a secret organization that was formed when a few USGS staffers realized they had the ability to rewrite the landscape with their maps. Last night I simply unmade the wall and pulled Simon loose. Right. He’d have her in the loony bin so fast her head would swim more than it already did.
So she’d tried, “Recording the crime scene”, but that didn’t fly because there was no arch left in the concrete wall behind Simon.
Shaken, she’d been released with the news that the only reason she was allowed to go was because they hadn’t been able to figure out exactly how she’d killed him and because Gleason’s spiriting her out of the parking garage had meant they hadn’t gathered evidence off her person. Bryson confiscated her jacket, though. She wasn’t sure what information they’d get from it.
She took the exit off I-520 and rolled up into the trees to the AGS, pulled into a parking spot as far from the door as possible, because she needed to pull herself together before Gleason.
Then again, how much worse could the day get?
The wind soughed through the tall fir and cedar that perfumed the hilltop, and stray strands of cloud filtered down through the trees. The sound of highway traffic still hissed through the forest, the lonely sound of leaving. She shivered. A sudden gust of rain pushed her toward the door with the daunting realization that yes, the day could go downhill, even from here.
The cool recycled air didn’t help as she shook the raindrops off her hair and brushed them from her sweater. Gleason might be waiting, but she needed to see Landon, so she turned the other way down the hall and pushed inside to the comforting moist warmth of his workroom.
“Landon?”
“Here, Pigeon.”
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light as she followed his voice and the sounds of his movements through the labyrinth of tables and found him seated cross-legged on the floor before the confusing antique painting he’d said was called the Azoth.
“You just caught me finishing my meditations.” He stood up and barely reached Vallon’s chin, his slight form swathed in a researcher’s white coat. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Want some tea? I left a pot steeping. You seen Gleason yet?”
“No. I haven’t seen Gleason and I can’t afford to take tea, but I needed your opinion on something.” She looked around, trying to find something to focus on, because pinpointing on one thing, one reading, helped the rest of the world go away. “I just came from my interview with the police.”
“Uh huh.” Landon seated himself on a stool, primly smoothing his lab coat over his knobby knees. “How was it?”
“I don’t know. Not good, I guess. That damned detective is going to try to pin this on me.”
“Sit and tell me.”
She perched on the edge of a chair, the shivers from the hallway still running through her. Afterburn, she supposed. It left the adrenaline surging. She clenched fists to stop her hands from shaking.
“Dammit, I feel so damned vulnerable I could scream. The afterburn….”
Landon caught her wrist to feel her pulse. Eyes widened. “You’ve got a good case. Good thing they didn’t ask for a polygraph. So what have they got?”
“A witness who saw me over the body. Police officers who saw me doing something they’ve interpreted as beating Simon.”
A look of interest. “What did they see, Vallon?”
The fact he used her name registered on her, but she just looked at her hands. “Something—I don’t know where I got the idea except maybe from the flame in all of us—in everything. Like little mini examples of the power we use from the earth. It was—well I’d just made the change to free Simon and I still had all this connection to power so when his flame wasn’t there I… I tried to replace it.” She raised her gaze to his, saw the shock there.
“Try that again, Pigeon? You did what?”
“I tried to restart Simon—bring him back by replacing his flame. Sort of like—I don’t know -.”
“Like doctors use paddles to shock a heart into beating? Interesting.” He shook his head, considering and stood. “So what happened?”
“Exactly nothing. His body convulsed all over the place, but I was stopped before it did any good—if it would ever have done any good.” She shook her head against the guilt. “If I’d been faster. Stronger. If I’d called a closer agent.”
“There’s not too many agents who’d have done what you did, Pigeon.” Landon looked like he might try to comfort her, but was discreet enough not to touch her with the afterburn still raging. “So the cops saw.”
“They saw. And they think I was in a rage and beating him because his body was crushed. They think they’ve really got the goods because they confiscated the drawing I did to get Simon out of the wall.” She managed a determined smile because being weak wasn’t how she wanted anyone to think of her. “Apparently I’m a cold-blooded bitch who took the time to sketch my victim. So—you think they have enough to charge me?”
“And they have motive, too.” Landon drummed his fingertips over his lips. “Your ill-chosen relationship. And with each passing day more people become aware of the parking garage and the murder, so it becomes more a part of the world.” He shook his head. “Gleason should have done what I suggested last night and just got rid of the whole situation. It’s probably too late, now.”
He looked at his watch. “Pigeon, Gleason’s been pacing his office waiting for you since he got in this morning. I dare say making him wait much longer is just going to make things worse.”
“I thought you said he liked me.”
“He does. If he didn’t he’d have seen you locked up last night. But this isn’t the time to push your luck. Better go. Maybe I can come up with some way out of this.”
She stood to go. “Or I can.”
“Don’t you be doing anything rash, now, Pigeon. This is going to take a lot of care.”
“And when have I ever done anything rash?” She started through the collection of tables and shelves, not waiting for an answer, because, really, what could Landon do anyway? Everything was messed up and it was going to be a miracle if she came out this one at all, let alone still as an Agent. But she knew he’d try. Landon did that.
At the door she stopped and turned back to him. “Landon?”
He’d already turned back to his table. “Yes?”
“Thanks. Your help means a lot.”
That turned him around, a startled look in his pale gaze. “Vallon, what’s gotten into you? What’s the matter?”
She shook her head because she was too strong to want to cry on his shoulder. She’d last done that when her father died.
“I just wanted you to know. I guess Simon’s death brought it home to me—how we live and die alone, scurrying around on this earth all busy in our day-to-day, and never really get the chance to touch someone deeper.”
“Vallon, you’re not alone. I’m here. We’re all here. Tell you what: come talk to me after you see Gleason.”
She didn’t voice her doubt because she knew he was trying to help. Instead she nodded thanks and went out the door to face her boss.
The war room was quieter today, the buzz of activity confined to a few desks as mos
t of the operatives were out in the field or sleeping off afterburn, either with another agent, a spouse, or in the agency brothel. Otherwise Agents were encouraged to sleep it off, something that could take a few days of complete rest. Or Agents were free to deal with the afterburn through extracurricular activities. And given what had happened with Simon, that was going to be Vallon’s choice.
Above the war room’s map pit ‘the desk’ swung across the American topography in a graceful swoop. Elsewhere across the country smaller, regional, installations would be doing the same over their assigned territory.
Red-headed Matt Harper, who’d been one year ahead of her in the Academy, filled the day shift chair and looked up at her briefly. He didn’t even nod, but Janet Hunt gave a brief, encouraging smile from across the room. Always the mother - not.
Fighting back her qualms, Vallon hunched through the desks and across the room towards Gleason’s closed door. As usual, Moore appeared out of nowhere and eased Vallon aside so Moore could announce her. How the E.A. materialized at the right times was something Vallon had yet to be able to fathom. It was as though she just folded into existence when needed.
Moore waved Vallon into the office with barely a shift of her perfectly arched brows and closed the door behind her. The office was eerily silent. Chief Gleason sat behind his desk reading papers and ignoring her presence.
Vallon’s uncharacteristic nervousness turned quickly to indignation when he left her standing by the door.
“Agent Drake reporting as requested, Sir.” She stepped forward smartly until her shadow fell across his pages.
Slow enough ice could melt, he raised his gaze to her. Then he checked his watch.
“A bit late in the day to report, isn’t it, Agent?”
“I finished my interview with Seattle PD and came directly here, Sir. The interview went long.”
He motioned toward the chair and then opened a thick file on his desk. Vallon caught a glimpse of her agency ID photo and her stomach contracted into a small, tight knot. If he were reviewing her personnel file, this couldn’t be good.
“I had a discussion with Detective Bryson this morning.”
Vallon nodded.
“It seems there’s considerable evidence against you in the case of Agent Lamrey’s death.”
“Evidence we both know he misread because he doesn’t know all the facts.”
“Has he? I’ve been reviewing your work file, Agent. Difficulty following orders. Unsanctioned changes. Failure to report another student’s behavior. Quite an illustrious history right back to your time in the Academy.”
“Now wait a minute. I thought Academy files were closed.”
He just held her with a pair of radar eyes and her indignation grew.
“You said work file,” she continued. “Yes, I’ll admit to using common sense to determine my actions instead of blindly following orders. I’ll also admit to making slight changes to undo the consequences of wild changes. I mean, should I have left bare fields after we got rid of a suburb? No, I put the lake that used to exist back in place, and the creeks and gullies that fed it. But going back to school days is a bit much, don’t you think?”
Gleason’s glare hardened. “You left out the border, Drake. Care to comment on that little debacle?”
Vallon bit back her epithet.
“I think I’ve explained it enough times, but yes. After Agent Comfry erroneously shifted the border two miles farther north than it should have been, I corrected it. Unfortunately a few American Gifted noticed and claimed the Canadians were attacking.”
“And led to militia attacks by Americans onto Canadian soil. There was nearly a war, for god’s sake.”
Her gaze locked on his. “Sir, I’m sorry that happened, but it wasn’t our land.”
Gleason glanced at her file. “Your school records show a consistent pattern of insubordination. Who can say whether you’d step even further over the line to use your gifts for murder?”
“But you know that’s not true.”
“Do I? Such an escalation is not atypical of antisocial personality types.”
“I’m not antisocial. It happened as I said.” And if he wanted to see antisocial he should hear what she would have preferred to say.
“Perhaps your pattern of behavior should have been picked up on before you were recruited.”
“Is that my problem?” It came out even though she was treading on shaky ground.
“It is now. The only reason I haven’t fired your ass is because of your father.”
“My father.” The last thing she needed was a reminder of him. Which was probably why Gleason brought him up. Real professional, poking her with that stick.
“He was an exemplary Agent right through his career. I know. I worked with him. The fact he met his unfortunate demise is an example of the wild chance that rules all our lives. Those chances can’t be made worse by unthinking action on the part of our Agents.”
“My father has nothing to do with me. I’m not him. In any way, shape, or form.” She managed to keep her voice clear, cold and professional. Typical Dad: even from the grave he was screwing her over.
“That’s eminently clear. What’s also eminently clear is that though your father was a good Agent, he seriously lacked in parenting skills.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise, but she still had to defend him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? You haven’t read your file.” A thin smile that might have carried a hint of kindness, but still soured her stomach. “Now given you don’t seem to want to set your own boundaries of behavior, and given there is a risk Detective Bryson might be right in his suspicions even if he is wrong in the methods you’ve used, I see it as my duty to provide you your first lesson on personal limits.
“You are hereby suspended from all field work. You will be on the night desk for the next thirty shifts at least, and at that time I will reevaluate your performance and determine whether other lessons are required.”
“I frigging have boundaries.” She kept her voice low, fighting anger at the unfairness of his evaluation.
“Obviously not anything appropriate to your job.”
“But no one does thirty night shifts….” The strain of the job was known to send Agents to the psych ward after one shift.
“You will.”
Arguing with him was like arguing with Mount Rainier. He’d do what he was going to——as bad as Detective Bryson——and suddenly his attitude made sense.
“This isn’t just about the police case, is it? You want to fire me, but someone’s not letting you do that. You’ve been saddled with me and you’re trying to use this bullshit case even though you know it’s not true. You’re fucking screwing with me because you want me to quit!” She stood up, fierce with indignation.
Gleason looked up at her. “Agent, I suggest you sit down until I’m finished.”
“You know what? We are finished. I’ll take your thirty days on the desk, as unreasonable as that is. You can’t get rid of me and you’re going to have to look at me for thirty days straight. Get used to it.”
She spun on her heel and marched out of his office, for once confronting Moore so she looked surprised. Around the war room everyone had turned in her direction so she and Gleason must have been louder than she thought.
She ignored them and stalked across the room to the door, spine straight and chin up. She strode down the hall to Landon’s room and slammed inside. Empty.
She left again and stalked out into pouring rain and circled around the building to the small apartment block that stood amongst trees behind the main AGS building. Gleason lived in one side of the duplex. The other side had a small apartment downstairs for Agent-partners dealing with afterburn, while the upstairs held Landon Snow’s residence.
The rain soaked her as she clattered up the stairs swearing at Gleason, and at Landon Snow’s ignorance of their boss.
“You have absolutely no conc
ept!” She blurted when he answered her pounding on his door.
“Pigeon?” He glanced beyond her, before ushering her in.
“Gleason hates me. I don’t care what you say. He just put me on thirty days’ desk duty as if he’s actually hoping I’ll have a breakdown and quit.” She stormed into Landon’s living room with its spare Swedish furniture of chrome and glass and leather. Plopped down on the couch. “How the hell am I going to do that and stay sane?”
Landon followed her into the room and looked out into the grove of trees beyond the large plate-glass window. A small smile. “Some would say your status is already at issue.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You can fault me for a lot, Pigeon, but not dishonesty.”
Elbows on knees, she kneaded the ache in her forehead. “What am I going to do, Landon? Thirty days. Heck, one shift and I’m ready to run screaming at the confinement and afterburn.” The thing was, when working the chair you were using the Gift constantly to monitor all the shifts and changes occurring across the map. It took far more Gift than simply dealing with an accidental change.
With his cowlicked hair Landon looked like an albino rook. “You’re going to have lunch with me. Come on.”
He led her into the back of the apartment that gave onto the parking lot, the rain sheeting across the pavement like a pool of uneasy water.
“Terrific. The cops have my jacket.”
Landon went to the fridge and pulled out a crisper of fresh vegetables and a package of tofu and began chopping.
“So you get wet. Could be worse. They could have held you. And the jacket isn’t going to prove anything given you admit to working on Lamrey when you found him.”
That was one little ray of hope. She took the knife from him while he rummaged through the cupboard for a small, well-used wok that he placed on the natural gas stove. Soon oil started to sizzle and pop and he threw in chopped onion and garlic and stirred down the sizzle. The room filled with the scent.
The act of chopping carrots and broccoli without chopping off a finger helped her channel her mad and steady the afterburn. “Sometimes I swear I don’t want this job.”
Landon glanced at her. Smiled as he used the metal paddle to stir the carrots she added. “Bullshit. You were made for this job and you know it.”
“I’m not so sure anymore. Gleason was just reminding me of all the shit I’ve caused. The AGS doesn’t need that. I’m not so sure I need the AGS, either.”
“And where would you go?”
“No idea.” Then she thought a moment. It was true. Since her father’s death the AGS and its Academy were as much like a family as she had.
“Okay,” she sighed. “So I’m staying in the AGS—if I’m not in jail. I just….” She wasn’t going to reveal how she really felt.
“Pigeon, right now you strike me as adrift.” Landon glanced up at her as she dumped the chopped broccoli and celery and mushrooms into the pan. “You’re being pulled along and there’s all these islands around you and you don’t know how to reach out to any of them. Me, for example. I’m here for you. Really.”
It was so unusual for Landon to make personal observations about her she considered what he’d said—and rejected it. “I have friends, Landon. I do. Just last night Fi Murdoch came to see me.”
There was a pause in Landon’s stirring. “Fi Murdoch? Your friend from the Academy?”
She nodded.
“Well, powers-that-be. How is she? How long has it been?”
Vallon suddenly didn’t want to tell him all about the events of last evening.
“A while. Good to see her again, though.” She cleaned up the remains of the vegetables and scooped them into the garbage disposal and tried to think of a way to open the subject she really wanted to talk about.
“Landon, last night I told Gleason that I thought someone had purposely caused that change. He didn’t believe me, but I really think I’m right.”
Landon’s face remained impassive, but she caught the light of interest in his eyes. “What? You think Fi was responsible?”
“No. No way. I was always better than Fi when it came to the Gift. No, it has more to do with when I tried to free Simon.” She told him the details of the parking garage and of the sense of something intentionally fighting her change. “What do you think? Could there be something to it. I mean, there are three dead agents.”
He busied himself pouring vegetables onto plates and then setting the table, before neatly folding himself into a chair.
“An interesting theory, Vallon. Very interesting. The possibility of there being other Gifted out there is something I’ve wondered about for years.” He picked up his chopsticks—beautiful blue and gold enamel ones she thought were probably antique. “I wonder why we don’t see more people spontaneously recognizing their capacity for change? Seems strange to me, when change is around us all the time.”
“What are you saying?” Vallon brought a piece of broccoli to her mouth. Chewed. “Good.” She nodded.
“It just seems odd to me. Why did the Gift suddenly manifest itself in the 60s, and not just here, but all over the world? We know the Russians have it and have been experimenting with it for a while. The changes in the Aral Sea are the direct result of poor use of the Gift—overnight setting diversion channels in place for irrigation destroyed an entire ecosystem and economy. The Chinese have been playing with it, too—changes in the Yangtze River gorge to facilitate the building of the Three Gorges Dam, the other major projects in western China where suddenly an oasis that has only ever been able to support a few thousand people can suddenly support a million. Even the Indians have shown signs of it. The suddenly fertile Rajasthan wheat basket where desert produces food for millions. The only problem with it is they’ve brought the aquifers to the surface to do it and the aquifers aren’t going to last forever. And those are just the projects we know of.” He shook his head. “Fools, all of them.”
Vallon wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. “Are you saying more people cause changes, but they hide it from us?”
“I’m saying those governments who are aware of the Gift have been fostering its development. Most have been short-sighted in its use and it’s going to bring about ecological crises at some point. At least here the AGS has maintained a proper focus on preservation—not change. But who knows how many people know they can change and have hidden their talent. Not every country has a voluntary agency like the AGS.”
Vallon silently picked at the meal, her mind whirling at what Landon had said. She’d known other countries were probably aware of the Gift, but not that they used it so openly—or that people with the Gift might be conscripted—no, forced—into service.
“So I should be counting my blessings.”
“Exactly.”
“So the Gift is everywhere, then. Like it is here.”
“That’s the million dollar question, now isn’t it, Pigeon? In my opinion—and it is not shared by everyone—the Gift didn’t just suddenly spring into being across the globe. I think the Gift’s appearance is more like the spread of a religion like Buddhism—it has its stronghold in some places, and from there it bleeds out into the rest of the world. I keep hoping we’ll eventually stumble upon ground zero and be able to find teachers like the Buddhists do in Tibet and Japan and so on.”
Vallon opened her mouth to tell him about the person she’d seen last night, but Landon carried on.
“Sometimes I wonder if we even recognize the changes around us. We know a lot and see a lot, but if we had more power would we recognize more changes?”
He must have mistaken her expression for confusion, because he set down his chopsticks and leaned forward and his voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “I’ve been theorizing on this for years, but I’ve had no one to discuss it with—until now. What if the level of your gift allows you to be more aware of changes? We already see that to some degree. You have a tremendous gift and so Gleason likes to keep you on the d
esk.”
“My luck.” She groused, even though if it weren’t for the afterburn she’d enjoy it. There was something exhilarating about being responsible for connecting to such a wide swath of land.
“But what if there were people with a whole other level of gifts? If they made changes, would we recognize them?” He grabbed her hand. “Think of it like worms and human beings. We both interact on our world, but do the worms even know we exist? Do they notice when we shift a garden plot or dig a foundation?”
“We aren’t exactly worms, Landon.”
“No, but non-Gifted aren’t aware of changes Gifted make. Somehow when the change occurs, for most of the human population, the whole world shifts to accommodate that change - including their memories. Only those with a certain level of the Gift notice.”
He was getting warmed up to his subject now, excitement making his pink eyes gleam red. “Think about all the theories about intelligent life in the universe, pigeon. In an infinite universe, there’re infinite possibilities. There’s undoubtedly going to be terrestrial life developing on other planets. Given we already know the Gift runs in a bell curve across the population, there should be others more gifted than us.”
“But we noticed this change.”
“And maybe they wanted us to. Like people from another planet.”
The concept left her grappling for solidity. She didn’t like the queasy feeling she got when the image of the dark man and the strangeness of his disappearance filled her head. Surely the world didn’t have so many layers. Vallon shivered. “I swear someone just walked over my grave.”
At that Landon grinned, exposing his small neat teeth. “I feel that way a lot.”
“So you’re talking about—what’s the term—like fractalization, right? The same pattern continues down and down or up and up, through all existence.”
“Layer upon layer,” he intoned and she almost shivered at the reverence in his voice.
“So I could be right—there might have been someone blocking me even if Gleason doesn’t want to believe me.”
Landon placed his hands on his hips. “Silly girl. Haven’t I been telling you to believe in yourself for years?”
“You have, and I do. Unfortunately there aren’t a lot of other people who believe the same way. Gleason just wants me to be another of his minions.” Shook her head.
“And who’s been watching too many old grade B movies?”
She grinned and suddenly things felt normal. Landon had done that for her—except for the afterburn still singeing her veins. “I guess things have gotten a little out of control today. I needed your reminder. Thanks.”
She pushed back from the table and helped Landon clear the dishes and clean up, then checked her watch. “I guess I should go. I want to see if I can find Fi before I have to start my shift.”
“I thought you said she’d come to you?” A quirk of brow.
“She did, but she took off. I’m hoping to link up again. For old time’s sake.” Why she didn’t mention Fi’s warning, she didn’t understand. Maybe it was the dream, or maybe it was the man she’d seen last night. Maybe she didn’t want to destroy Landon’s impression of her, or maybe it was that she wanted proof of the dark man’s existence; and Fi had seemed to know of him. Or that she had a whole lot of other trouble to deal with in the cops. Whatever it was, she was holding her cards close to her chest and doing things her way just as she’d always done.
At the door she paused, considering the pouring rain.
“I’ve got an extra Gore-tex jacket I can loan you.”
She looked back at Landon. Eagerness in his gaze.
Almost too eager, and for an instant Vallon almost didn’t trust. Part of the jumpiness and paranoia that came with leaving afterburn too long unresolved. She was going to have to find a way to relieve herself—and soon.
“Nah. Like you said. It’s only water.” She tossed him a grin and ducked into the rain, clattering down the stairs and jogging to her car before he could try to coax her.
By the time she was inside the Subaru she was soaked, and all the steel in her spine had disappeared. She slumped against the headrest for a moment. Her heart was knocking on her ribs so hard she thought her chest might explode. She gripped the steering wheel and twisted her fingers against the plastic.
What the heck was going on? Landon hadn’t done or said anything—except that what she suspected might be true. That should give her relief that she wasn’t crazy—not make her distrust him.
She keyed the car on, and gunned the engine as she backed out. Thirty days of afterburn to look forward to, and she was already falling apart. Terrific. She really needed a man when Landon was starting to look good.
In the rearview she saw Gleason exit the AGS building and head towards her and the adrenaline surged again. Had he been waiting for her? He’d probably reconsidered and wanted her to take her things and get the hell out of the AGS.
Like she was going to stick around for that. She’d damn well make him have to work to fire her. “Tit for tat, old man.”
The car’s engine roared as she headed down the line of cars for the street, and blasted past Gleason drilling him with back wash in the process.
“Take that, for yelling at me so loud every other agent heard,” she crowed.
Then, still laughing at the look on his face, she was on the street and down the hill and heading towards the city and the intersection of Broadway and Denny.
If the police and Gleason were certain she’d killed Lamrey it meant there was a good chance no one was working to examine other ways the murder could have gone down. She needed to investigate, because no one else was going to clear her name.