“You’re going to have to finesse this one,” Jack interrupts.
I sigh and reach for more tea. “Great.”
“But Rose is there, right?” Mort asks.
Teacup halfway to my lips, I freeze. I hold absolutely still. I’m not sure I even breathe for a few moments. Then I drop my gaze as if I’m letting the steam bathe my face. But the truth is, I can’t look either of my friends in the eye.
“Just have her give him that disappointed-mom stare,” Mort adds. “You know, with that little head shake as the chaser. Always works on me.”
Granted, Mort has gathered far more of those than I ever have.
“So, what am I going to have to do?” I’m desperate, again, to change the subject, and I’m hoping they’ll let me.
“Standard Academy stuff,” Jack says. “Obstacle courses, fissure repair, couple of Screamer battles, only all on your home turf. Really, sweet pea, you could have passed it your first year out.”
“Like you guys did.”
Jack shrugs. Yes, he passed, and so did Mort, the moment the post-graduation moratorium was over. “I know Rose hates the Enclave, but you’d think she’d want this out of the way, so it wasn’t hanging over your head these past five years.”
“She had her reasons.”
What I don’t say is this: For the last five years, since I graduated from the Academy, I’ve been the acting field agent in King’s End. I came home that summer after graduation to find my mother broken and King’s End under an all-out Screamer onslaught. Both Jack and Mortimer have been so busy traveling, building their careers within the Enclave, that neither has returned to King’s End in that time.
A strange, hollow feeling shoots through me at the thought. The last time all three of us were together was a twenty-first birthday celebration in Minneapolis a few years back. A long weekend when my mother felt strong enough to patrol, and Adele promised to call if there was an emergency.
I blink, my eyes damp. For a moment, I consider disconnecting the call. Instead, I ask, “Is there a test for the Sight?” I’m hoping I left that nonsense behind when I left the Academy.
On the screen, Jack glances toward Mort, who then lifts his gaze toward the ornate ceiling.
“A few years back, Professor Botten changed the examination to weave in more tests,” Mort says. He exhales as if the next words hurt him. “He said we were missing agents with that sort of potential. So, it isn’t just one test, it’s all of them.”
I swear, softly. Both Jack and Mort know about my ability. The Enclave does not.
That first summer, before I left for the Academy, my mother sat me down over a pot of tea. She explained how the Enclave tests for the Sight and how the skill is both rare and highly prized. How agents with the Sight live short, terrible lives.
“They’ll make promises,” she said. “Don’t believe them. Never believe the Enclave. All they will do is hone you into a weapon. When you are of no use, they will abandon you.” She refilled my teacup, her expression sharpening even as her eyes grew tender. “What you must do, my sweetest of flowers, is appear unremarkable. That is your armor.”
I’ve done everything to go unnoticed, right up to not scheduling the official field agent examination for as long as allowed. It’s not ideal for career advancement. But, so what? I’m not going anywhere but King’s End. However, this is the final year. Even if I could log into the system as my mother and request an extension, it wouldn’t work. I would have to give up my post in King’s End; I would have to turn in my umbrella. And that’s something I simply can’t do.
“It’s how they caught Sandeep,” Jack says now.
“Sandeep has the Sight?” I ask. Sandeep Patel was on our team at the Academy. If he had the Sight, he hid it well.
“Yeah,” Mort adds, “earthquakes. He’s pretty good at it, too, so he’s heading up a geological team in Italy, lucky bastard.”
Says the man currently plucking buttery escargot from shells with a tiny fork. I meet Jack’s gaze and we both roll our eyes.
“You know,” Jack says, and now his voice has gone all conspiratorial. “We could take a look at what Darnelle said about you five years ago.”
“We can?” I ask.
“Well,” Jack amends, “I can. I have access as part of my work.”
“You are diabolical,” Mort says. “I approve.”
“Seriously?” I still can’t believe this. “They let you?”
“No way around it. We have to know who’s bringing in the data. Each agent is different, how they fight, their umbrella, years of experience, even how they view other agents. There are too many variables to analyze things blindly.”
