Ten minutes later, she dropped me off curbside and, after a brief wave, I was on my own. I headed to the office, picked up my schedule, and blended in with other students walking the halls.
When I rounded the corner, I saw Hannah standing at an open locker. She smiled and waved.
“My mom told me you were starting today. Where’s your first class?” she asked.
“Room 132. Calculus with Mr. Vieth.”
“He’s good. You’ll like him. He’s the soccer coach, you know.”
“Oh… that’s why his name sounds familiar.”
“Um, yeah,” she said, reaching for my schedule. “What other classes do you have?” Before I could answer, she scanned my list and pointed out subjects we had in common. “Looks like I’ll see you second hour.”
“Okay.”
With that, she headed to class, and I located my locker. It was down from Hannah’s and just outside Mr. Vieth’s room. Huh. Very convenient, I thought.
The bell rang, as I walked through the door.
Mr. Vieth was friendly. I guessed he recognized me from the soccer field the week before, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he handed me a textbook and directed me to an open seat, then continued writing problems on the board. I was grateful he didn’t make me stand in the front of class and introduce myself.
I settled into the chair and opened the book to the page number he listed.
It was then that I saw Ben. He walked in late, heading toward an open desk two rows over from mine.
“Welcome, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Vieth stated loudly. “Good of you to join us today.”
Ben sat down without a word, and I held my breath.
The classroom buzzed with conversation, but Ben sat still staring forward and Mr. Vieth continued writing examples I guessed we’d discuss, eventually. Ben was more attractive than I remembered. He was taller than Matt was, and broader. Most importantly, when I looked at Ben, I felt a tingle that I never experienced with Matt.
You’re being ridiculous, I thought.
Ben didn’t know that I even existed. Well, not really, anyway.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye. When Mr. Vieth called the class to attention, I only partially listened. I couldn’t get Ben out of my mind. I wondered if the brunette I saw was his girlfriend and if we’d get a chance to talk again.
Then, suddenly, Ben looked at me.
Busted. My cheeks burned, and I quickly looked away.
“We have a new student in class today,” Mr. Vieth said.
Oh shit.
“Emma Bennett just transferred from Chicago,” he said, motioning in my direction. “Please make her feel welcome.”
“Whew!” someone whistled from the back of the room.
“Okay, now. Let’s open our books to page thirty-two, please,” Mr. Vieth continued.
I looked toward Ben and saw a slight grin on his face, though he never looked away from Mr. Vieth. Ben seemed focused on the teacher and the examples he was covering. As I turned to look away, I thought I saw his beautiful brown eyes turn in my direction.
He couldn’t possibly be looking at me, could he?
Chapter 37
Ben's Story
Her rosy cheeks gave it away.
I didn’t have to read Emma’s thoughts to know Coach Vieth had embarrassed her. Hearing her heart pound rapidly when she noticed me was gratifying. Emma had Spanish second period and art fourth hour, both with Claire. She had history and gym class with Molly, and literature, physics, and study hall with me. And lunch with all of us.
I knew her schedule well. Then again, I set it up. Emma took tough classes and got good grades back in Highland Park. Convincing the school administrator in Westport to put her in classes with undercover agents was simple. Of course, I didn’t ask him to do this—I compelled him.
Best of all, there would be no consequence for this compulsion since it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. In other words, I didn’t over-exaggerate Emma’s abilities to earn it on her own. I simply helped expedite the thought process.
I tuned into Claire’s thoughts, as I took my seat in art history. It was an easy class, not only because I was an immortal and knew everything already or could find it, but because I lived during most of the periods on the syllabus, starting with the Renaissance period. Of course, my favorite artist was Renoir from the Impressionist period.
It was the first time I met Elizabeth.
Claire took her seat in the middle of the classroom in Spanish. With her thoughts in my head, I was able to get a view of the room, students, and Mrs. Garcia. After the bell rang, both the Spanish teacher and art history teacher, Mrs. Benoit, called the class to attention.
Sometimes, it was difficult monitoring two conversations and locations at once.
I saw Emma in Claire’s thoughts. She sat one row over and two seats forward from Claire. Mrs. Garcia introduced her before she began the day’s lecture.
Molly interrupted my thoughts with her own. So much for you talking to Emma in calc first hour. Though I noticed her interest in you.
I nodded, but I kept my thoughts silent as Mrs. Benoit started a slide presentation with her lecture.
Ben, she’s finally here. When are you going to make a move?
Mrs. Benoit was covering the 1300s and the Italian Renaissance.
Mrs. Garcia asked the class questions in Spanish.
It’s her first day. Let it go. My tone was firm.
Fine. I get it. But don’t complain to me when things don’t work out for you. Molly’s thoughts rang in my head. I needed to give Emma time to settle in. Then, well, then I’d see if I fit into her life.
For now, she was just a human that had no idea who I was, and I intended to keep it that way.
Chapter 38
Emma's Story
Spanish class seemed easier than in Highland Park.
With a backlog of homework, Mrs. Garcia suggested I stop by her room after school to discuss making up the assignments. I guessed I knew starting over wouldn’t be easy.
When I reached my locker, I was lost in thought and fumbled with my lock. I tried the combination three times before it finally opened. The light brown-haired girl at the locker beside me didn’t say a word, but she knew I was having trouble. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye while I struggled. I was grateful she didn’t make a snide comment. I had enough embarrassment with both teachers announcing me as the new kid that morning already, and I still had six more classes left.
“Hey,” the girl beside me said after I opened my locker. “You’re the new girl in Spanish.”
“Guilty,” I said, grabbing a new notebook for US history class.
“I could tell.” She laughed.
I nodded. “It’s my first day.”
“I’m Claire Parker,” she said, extending her hand. Her smile was big and bright, and I immediately felt comfortable.
“Emma Bennett,” I said and shook her hand.
“It’s good to meet someone else that’s new,” she said enthusiastically.
I tipped my head to the side. “You’re new, too?”
“Yeah. Well, I’ve been here since the start of summer,” she added. Claire proceeded to tell me she transferred after school let out in June, so she was new to the high school. When the warning bell rang, she quickly asked, “What class do you have next?”
“US history.”
“Upstairs?”
“Yeah.”
“We better hurry. I have government, and I think history is in the classroom next door.”
I shut my locker door and rushed to class, arriving just as the bell rang. I noticed Stunt Boy from Lake Bell in the back row when I handed the teacher my schedule. Mr. Dunn studied the sheet the office gave me, then finally looked up and told me to take a seat. The only open desk was toward the back of class in front of the blond boy I recognized. I sat down, as the teacher started to address the students.
“
Hey, you’re the crazy Jet Ski girl, aren’t you?” Stunt Boy asked.
I chuckled at the absurdity of his words and shook my head. “I thought you were the crazy driver,” I whispered, facing forward.
He tapped my shoulder with his pen, “No, I’m pretty sure you took flight.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered how much fun I had that afternoon.
I tried to pay attention, but Mr. Dunn’s low-toned voice and the boring subject let my mind wander. Funny, but Dad loved history. When he wasn’t watching ESPN, he was browsing the History Channel. I suddenly missed him. The realization of where I was and what I was missing back in Highland Park flooded my thoughts.
I shook my head to avoid tearing up and let my mind wander to Ben. I wondered what class he had and whether I’d have him in more periods. When the teacher turned his back to write on the white board, the boy behind me tapped on my shoulder again. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emma,” I answered, hoping no one else could hear me. “And yours?”
“Lucas.”
Mr. Dunn continued his soft-talking, monotone lecture. I wanted to ask Lucas if the teacher was always so boring, but I was afraid I’d get caught, so I quietly took notes.
Class dragged on. Lucas didn’t say anything else during the lecture, and he hurried out after the bell rang. I was convinced I would be late but finally found my way to art class. I felt like a fish swimming upstream, fighting my way amongst the students in the crowded hall.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Claire and Hannah when I walked in, and quickly made plans to meet them for lunch.
Lucas came late and passed my table. He smiled and said, “Hey, Emma.”
He wasn’t my type, but I started to feel like I was making friends.
Chapter 39
Ben's Story
Emma’s emotions rode a rollercoaster her first day at school.
She laughed, chewed on her lower lip, and even teared up when recalling her dad, but she made it through the day without even texting her friends from Highland Park. Claire made sure she had someone to sit with at lunch, though I noticed Emma didn’t eat. Reading her thoughts, I realized she hated the salad she ordered. I couldn’t blame her. It was a wilted mess.
After school, she joined Claire at the track for a quick run, and then headed to a soccer meeting. When Claire got home later than evening, she thanked me for letting her join our undercover team.
“Emma is so nice. I really like her,” she said. “I think we’ll be great friends.”
Reading Emma’s mind, I knew she felt the same way.
***
The next two days flew by. Emma worked diligently to get caught up on missed assignments. She studied for hours while her aunt adjusted to their new house. Neal stopped by after Emma’s first day, but not the next. I knew he wanted to spend more time with them, but gave in to Barb’s request to slow things down. “For Emma’s sake,” Barb told him, and even though he respected and understood that, he still wanted more.
I could relate.
***
It was Friday, first-hour calculus, my first class of the day with Emma.
Jorgenson’s voice reached into my thoughts. It was his way of calling me, of making contact from our world to the human world. But as Coach Vieth called upon Emma to solve an equation, I found myself listening to her response and forgetting about Jorgenson until Molly reminded me after art history, hours later.
“Jorgenson said you haven’t returned his call,” Molly whispered. We walked into the crowd of kids in the hallway.
“I didn’t get a chance yet.”
“You forgot. Admit it.” Molly’s tone was sharp.
I shrugged. Okay, so I did.
He wants to make sure you saw the bulletin, she explained.
I didn’t.
The bulletin on the RA. Her thought had a tone of irritation.
Yeah, so? A rogue agent isn’t likely to be off-grid more than twenty-four hours… if that.
She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and remained silent.
I’m not worried about it. Even if the agent’s here in Wisconsin—and frankly, if you’re gonna go rogue, you need to pick a city like Chicago or New York. No one in their right mind would pick some small town in Wisconsin. I waved at a guy on the soccer team whose name escaped me and then continued. But, if they did, so what?
Molly raised her eyebrows, though I didn’t give her an opportunity to speak. We both know agents are tethered to their handlers and have been for years. I mean, how far can they really go without being detected?
I didn’t understand the big deal. I’d call Jorgenson in due time. I was undercover. I had things to do besides hand holding his whimsical questions.
“Are you done yet?” She smiled at me coyly.
“Yes,” I answered, defeated.
“Something eating at you?”
“No.”
Well, whatever. This is our job, Benjamin. And Jorgenson said the commander has called a meeting this afternoon.
I cut her off. Because of a rogue agent? Are you kidding? Agents go off the grid all the time. There was a bulletin last week in Houston. The agent turned up an hour later. Jorgenson’s crying wolf, and he’s got you wrapped up in it now. I shook my head, disgusted. “I’ve got soccer practice. I can’t make it to a meeting this afternoon. You can brief me on it later, if it’s really important. Or I’ll talk to Jorgenson at our scheduled check-in later tonight.”
She stopped beside her locker and shot me a death look.
Look. Besides us, there are only a handful of agents that can shield their handlers for extended periods of time. She opened her locker and tilted her head at me. Okay, maybe not even a handful of agents with our experience. So how dangerous can this rogue agent be? Every agent is monitored. There are Trackers in every community… have been for over a century. We’re not talking about Victor Nicklas.
As I thought the words, the color drained from Molly’s face.
“We are talking about Victor?” I said in a hushed voice. Victor was a highly advanced agent that ran several divisions centuries ago. He was known to have a temper and rumored to have been at odds with the commanding rank. He went rogue in 1842. Trackers were not in place at the time and handlers were not tethered as they are now. Teams spent years recreating Victor’s meetings throughout Europe. They followed up on leads that went from cold to frigid faster than water could turn to ice in winter.
Molly nodded.
Why would Jorgenson notify us? I asked, confused.
Victor is rumored to be in Wisconsin.
Okay, so send a tracking team. I mean, how do they even know Victor’s in Wisconsin? And wouldn’t a larger city be easier for him to hide?
A hybrid was admitted to a Chicago-area psych ward yesterday.”
Wait. What? A hybrid? The presence of a hybrid was like humans encountering dinosaur artifacts. Well, perhaps not exactly. Though hybrids were rare. Removal of a human’s soul simply for the ability to control them as an extension of us was prohibited centuries ago.
She nodded. He was initially in a drug-induced coma, and hospital staff thought he was an addict.
It didn’t make sense. The Bureau banned creation of hybrids when they realized agents abused them. Back then, agents were spread pretty thin. Too many assignments and not enough staff lead to the development and use—or abuse—of hybrids. Humans on their deathbeds were given a second chance at life. For the exchange of their soul, they were returned to a state of health. Only to learn they were controlled by their maker, the immortal that converted them. At the time, souls were only held for weeks or months, at most.
When I didn’t respond, Molly continued. Once he came down from his high, he began chanting Victor’s name, saying he turned him into a hybrid. A sleeper notified the office, and a recon agent was dispatched.
When was this?
Yesterday.
It was deemed immoral after so
me agents abused their powers by not returning the held souls in a timely manner, allowing these humans to transition into our world.
Where was this?
The guy was found in a back alley behind a dumpster in Chicago… outside some bar. People walked past him for hours before some guy stopped and called paramedics. Molly explained. The recon agent extracted the meeting places between the hybrid and Victor. Most were in Wisconsin.
This changed things.
“They met in old barns, country spots, mostly,” she said in a low voice. There weren’t any witnesses, I guess. That, or he killed them. The hybrid had faint memories of conversations indicating additional hybrids, but no hard facts.
“Okay, so I understand he could be around here and obviously, we need to be on the lookout. But, seriously, why would Victor come here?” I whispered, and then smiled at a classmate that walked past.
She looked down. “Jorgenson wants us on the case.”
Why? There are other agents the commander can assign.
She lifted her shield, and I saw images of Victor with a dark-haired woman.
“Molly? What are you telling me?”
New pictures in her head zoomed in on a young, beautiful woman I guessed to be Molly, taken in the late 1800s in London. As I watched, the video replayed Molly walking down a narrow street. It was late at night and very dark. While she wasn’t able to see the shadow of the man lurking in the alley, I did. Molly was caught off guard, beaten, and strangled. Her body was mutilated and organs removed, the remains discarded as if useless.
“Molly, why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked away. I lifted her chin, forcing her to look at me. I didn’t know you were murdered.
“I couldn’t tell you. Or anyone for that matter.”
Was it Jack the Ripper?
“It was Victor,” she whispered, nodding.
“Victor was Jack the Ripper?”
“Shhh!” she scolded. “Yes.”
I waited for her to continue, as a cluster of students passed us.
“Victor and I go way back,” she said. Her dark eyes were full of pain. Even though we couldn’t feel physical pain the same way humans did, we remembered it and felt the emotional trauma of others, or from our own past.
“You don’t have to tell me right now, if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head and continued. The first time I met him, we married in 1782. I was young. He was fifteen years my senior. Ben, I loved him with my whole heart. I had no idea he was immortal.