their newfound powers. All of them had been young—too young to have known they were Meta before the Great Power Loss, and now too old not to be held accountable for their stupid actions. All of them had been turned over to the local authorities, despite Teresa’s protests. And all of them had disappeared.
Official court documentation existed for all thirteen (Marco checked), in which they pled guilty to their crimes and were sentenced to serve time at an undisclosed government facility “designed to contain their unique physiology.” So far, we hadn’t found clue one as to where or how those young people were being contained, and those missing thirteen weighed heavily on Teresa’s conscience.
She continued to play nice with law enforcement and to assist in Meta-related crimes, but she wouldn’t turn Landon over to the Pennsylvania State Police until she’d had a chance to talk to him first. Withholding information on his identity was a dangerous game, and I just hoped it didn’t come back to bite our collective asses in a big way.
“Well, as much as I enjoy your company, Saturday is my day off and Caleb is waiting for me at home,” Simon said.
“Yeah, sorry, I think we’re done here,” Ethan said. I knew he felt guilty about dragging Simon into the tower so we could have our little interview, but I didn’t. Simon was the prisoner liaison. Sometimes it was a 24/7 gig.
Ethan and I headed back to HQ, where we gave Teresa a rundown of our conversation with Thatcher, as well as our theories on who had taken him and why.
“Fucking Overseer and his goddamn Recombinants,” Teresa said with an uncharacteristic snarl in her voice. She banged her fist on the top of the conference table, jarring her mug of tea and making me jump.
What the hell was up with that woman?
“They do seem intent on screwing with us,” Ethan said gently. Always the peacemaker, even though neither one of us was sure why peace was needed.
“They’re doing more than screwing with us,” she snapped back. “Stealing the DNA of our parents is one thing, but stealing kids? That’s a completely different level of disgusting.”
“Maybe we should run this by Dr. Kinsey? He’d heard rumors of the cloning project years ago, so he could have some insight.”
“Maybe. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
“What’s wrong with right now?” I asked. It was barely suppertime.
She blinked at me, then glanced at the clock on the far wall. Her eyebrows arched. “Oh. I guess now’s good, then. Call him down.”
Ethan did the honors, and we hung around until Dr. Kinsey showed up. The man always reminded me more of a college professor than a scientist. But despite everything, he’d been a loyal ally to us, and he fiercely loved both of his sons (even though his sons were only half his, and one was a murderer, but who’s keeping score, right?). After we explained everything we’d learned and guessed, he stared at us with a familiar expression of shock and outrage.
“This is the first I’ve heard of anything like it,” Kinsey said. His voice was deep and sandpaper-rough, but still somehow comforting. He’d been a huge help to me while I was healing from my burns, and his voice had carried me through many a painful period of time.
“We still haven’t identified the female suspect,” Teresa said, “but there’s also a chance she and Landon aren’t the only victims of this sort. With so many dead on both sides during the last few years of the War, there’s no easy way to track down which Metas did or didn’t leave children behind.”
“You mean which Banes,” I said.
She gave me a cross look. “You know exactly what I meant.”
I didn’t answer.
“The FBI might have that information,” Ethan said.
“Like they’re going to share it if they do?” I retorted. “For all we know, the FBI is running this whole Recombinant thing. Who knows which part of the alphabet soup is involved?”
“Renee’s correct,” Kinsey said. “If the FBI has that information in its records, it would be difficult to access. Even Agent McNally might have trouble getting it.”
Teresa heaved a sigh—she’d been thinking along those lines already. Rita McNally had worked with our Meta predecessors, the Rangers, decades ago, and in the nine months since our powers came back had been a useful and loyal ally. An FBI agent for more than twenty-five years, she occasionally used her contacts and influence to assist our investigations, but Teresa didn’t like calling in favors more often than necessary. Meta- related topics had every government agency in the country on pins and needles, and no one wanted to make serious waves until after the election in November.
“Asking for it will send up red flags,” Teresa said. “The people behind this will know we’re looking into Landon, if they don’t already.”
“Simon said his contact in Georgia was discreet,” Ethan said.
“
“So until we figure out who the female accomplice is, we’re at a standstill.”
“Looks like.” She glanced across the table at Kinsey. “I don’t suppose I need to ask for your discretion? Only a handful of us are in on the details of this investigation.”
“I’ll keep it to myself,” Kinsey said.
“Thank you.”
Considering themselves dismissed, Kinsey and Ethan left. Teresa fiddled with her mug. I watched her silently for about five seconds before my impatience won out.
“Tell me what’s bothering you before I start making wrong guesses,” I said. “You know how insane my wrong guesses can be, because of my overactive imagination, so let’s just save some time, okay?”
She stared at her tea, not even reacting, which scared me on a hitherto unreached level.
“Seriously, T, are you and Gage fighting or something?”
“Not exactly.”
Two very unhelpful words. “Does Gage have some kind of irrational, jealous bug up his ass about Sebastian?”
Something in her expression twitched, so I knew I’d hit close to home. I circled the conference table and perched on top of it, crowding in. “Talk to me, sweetie. We can always talk about anything, right?”
“I can’t, Renee, not about this.”
Oh, that hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t give up. “Are you cheating on Gage with Sebastian?”
“What?” Her purple eyes widened in bewilderment. “Fuck, no! What the hell kind of question is that?”
“Is Gage cheating on you?”
“No!”
I cocked my head to the side. “I told you I’d start making shit up if you didn’t talk to me.”
She dropped her forehead into her palm and suddenly looked very, very tired. More tired than any twenty- five-year-old should. “Can you let it go for a few days, please? Please?”
“I’d way rather untangle whatever’s got you tied up in knots.”
“I know, and that’s why I love you. But can you back off for a little while until I figure it out?”
“Sometimes talking it out helps.”
“Not this time.”
Great. I hated mysteries and I hated being locked out of my friend’s head when something important was tumbling around inside. She’d talk about it when she was ready, but that didn’t stop a thousand scenarios from racing through my mind, each one worse than the last. As she left the War Room with her tea, the worst of the worst hit me upside the head like a two-by-four.
Back in January, she’d learned that her body wasn’t made to handle the incredible energy that her orb powers generated. This buildup of excess energy inside her system—explained to us like a dirty filter in an air conditioner clogging up clean air—had caused a few near-fatal blowouts. She’d learned to expel the energy on her own so it didn’t build up like that again, but what if something was going wrong?
What if, like she’d feared so many months ago, her powers were once again killing her? Teresa was our beating heart. We couldn’t lose her and survive.
