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.
Chapter 54
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.
Chapter 55
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.
Chapter 56
Emma's Story
Lucas was a gentleman.
He kept his promise to his dad and had me home well before midnight. Not to mention, he didn’t drink, smoke, or do any drugs. Not that I saw, anyway.
The house was fully lit when he turned his beefed-up truck into the driveway. We could see the glow from the television through the open windows.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I said when Lucas shut off the engine. “I had fun.”
“Yeah, me too. My dad waited up.” He nodded toward the house.
“Looks like it. So you guys don’t have a great relationship, huh?”
“Not really. Let’s just say, I’ve given him reason not to trust me.” He got out of the truck, while I struggled with the door. Lucas noticed my troubles and opened it for me. I mumbled a thank you, and he continued. “I got busted. He kicked me out. Case was dropped, but we haven’t spoken since. Well, until today, that is.”
“That was you?” I asked after I climbed out of the oversized cab.
“He told you?” he snapped. “Figures.”
“Uh-uh, no. I just heard a friend of Drew’s got busted. It was before I moved here.”
Lucas headed toward the side entrance of the house, and I followed.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume it was you,” I continued.
He only grunted an acknowledgement in response.
Chester was barking before we reached the porch. He greeted me with a wagging tail and nudge to my hand. He planted his large body in front of me, blocking my movement and Lucas’ ability to even step inside.
Weird dog, I thought, must be the new house. I grabbed his collar and tugged with no reaction. I pulled harder and tried to shift his body up and over, just enough to get him to move aside. Mosquitos swarmed around the exterior light and filtered in, while Chester played guard dog until he finally conceded. I heard a low rumble in his throat when Lucas was inside with the door shut.
I yanked on Chester’s collar, scolding him at the same time.
“Your dog hates me, doesn’t he?” Lucas asked.
“He’s like that with everyone.”
“Not with me,” Neal’s voice piped in, as he and Aunt Barb joined us at the door. His smile beamed from ear to ear. The normal pleasantries of “Did we have fun?” filled the air along with “Wow, you’re home early,” which I knew was directed at Lucas more than me. Aunt Barb’s gentle hug meant she was happy I was fitting in.
Minutes later, with Lucas and Neal gone, I said goodnight to my aunt and headed off to bed feeling content.
I can do this, I thought. I could move on.
Chapter 57
Ben's Story
Benjamin! Get a grip! Molly’s voice pierced into my thoughts and kept me conscious.
I focused on my surroundings like I was taught back in training. It had been decades since I used tracking for any mission on earth. The large oak shielded my human body from open exposure to others. Its thick trunk split low like two seedlings grew side by side, intertwining their lives together.
It was a portal to my world, an escape route in the fold of the tree that only authorized immortals could travel. Humans that attempted to cross would find they left their human bodies behind. It would be an earthly death for them, with an unhappy ending, since entrance to my world without approval never ended well.
Victor could not use our portals without detection, and he knew that. While I could sneak back into the maze of tunnels within my world to move quickly and effortlessly from one area to the next, Victor had to rely upon speed and human technology for travel.
I noted the whereabouts of each distinct odor, each lingering spirit and sensation I felt. I was surrounded. Pungent, sour smells loitered at six positions around me, evenly spaced to perfection. This was not a random act. It was not the actions of a person or animal from this human world.
This was a hybrid army.
I forced myself through the mental barrier of the weakest one—the one with the least offensive odor. Hybrid bar
riers were not difficult for experienced immortals to break. Getting past the smell of their decaying spirit took willpower. Ignoring their personal story posed a greater challenge, especially since my focus had been in aiding humans.
The weakest hybrid scent was from the smallest mortal in the group. He was an older man that was originally unwilling to give in to death. Fear overtook him when diagnosed with cancer years earlier. He prayed for a miracle, for a second chance at life, to correct all the wrongdoings he had done during his seventy-one years on earth. He was frail and weak when Victor converted him. Most importantly, he was grateful. He expected to make amends with his loved ones, but he didn’t understand what he was giving up in return.
Free will.
He stood firm at my two o’clock, ready to attack when the order was given, though his spirit was filled with misery. I felt his remorse for the human actions of simple misjudgment. He could have spent more time with his family. He could have focused less on frivolous things that wedged them apart. Swirling feelings of regret filled him. They were locked beneath the controlling power of his creator. He was a puppet forced along at the hand of evil. He wanted freedom. He wanted death.
All I had to do was remove Victor’s tether, and the hybrid would be released. For now, his soul was still alive. It wouldn’t be long before it decayed completely, and he could no longer be saved. The old man’s remorse was enough to get him authorized and into rehabilitation. In time, his soul would heal and he would be well again, able to reunite with those on the other side.
The tether to Victor was thin and aged. The man was converted years earlier, not just recently. The old man’s weakness meant Victor felt safe to loosen his hold and add more soldiers to his army. The hybrid wasn’t strong enough to be a threat, Victor told him, which pushed the old man deeper into despair.
Feelings of worthlessness ruined spirits, even if they weren’t human any longer.
I could severe the connection to Victor, if only I could get him within my grasp. I trained for this. I rehearsed the process in simulation exercises hundreds of times, at The Farm. Except, no field agent implemented it on earth.
There was never a reason to.
Distant voices interrupted my eavesdropped thoughts on the old man. The hybrids were suddenly on alert. The sound was a half mile away, in the direction of the abandoned farmhouse at the corner of highway M and Summit Road.