He meets them all with a boyish grin on his face, his movements graceful. He’s like a principal dancer or an Olympic fencer, each movement precise, gorgeous, and deadly.
At last, a few of the smarter ones (assuming Screamers have that sort of intelligence; no one knows for certain) stream toward the showcase home, only to find the fissure closed. They head toward the cemetery and the woods, and from there, who knows.
In any case, they aren’t coming back. Not for a while, at least.
Agent Darnelle turns to me, that grin still in place. “Well, that was invigorating.”
“I took off my goggles.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. There isn’t time—and I’m in no shape—to take the exam again.
He tips his head back and laughs, and the gesture is a match for that boyish grin. “And I’m glad you did. May I see your work?”
I gesture toward the showcase home, and he follows me. He takes a knee next to the egress window and inspects the repair.
“Nicely done, Agent Little.” He runs his fingers along the seam. “Excellent work. Do you mind if I reinforce it?”
“Not at all.” It’s what my mother and I used to do before she became too weak to patrol. This repair will hold much longer with his reinforcement, maybe even for an entire week.
“I wonder how far it runs,” he says, fingers knitting an intricate pattern on top of my own. “I can only extend my reach so far beneath the foundation.”
“I know,” I say. “I wonder, too.”
It’s not quite sunset, but the shadows stretch across the main road, and I loathe having to walk through them on my way out. We can’t linger, and of course, I can’t actually explain why. The few times I’ve stayed close to twilight, I’ve regretted it. The absence of the Screamers was odd enough. It was the air: soft, seductive, and strangling, like promises laced with poison. My mother never explained why the housing development is like this, but I have no issue following this particular rule.
“Were you hit, Agent Darnelle?”
I most certainly was. The small of my back aches. Pain is building at the base of my skull. Also? My thoughts are starting to fog, and I could sleep for days. “I have tea back at the house.”
“I do have a field kit.” From a cargo pocket, he pulls out a case and unzips it to reveal a series of what looks like epi-pens.
“Those are good,” I concede. We used them at the Academy, after all. “But I have a recipe tailor-made for the Screamers of King’s End. It works wonders.”
He pauses, his gaze going to the epi-pens before traversing the housing development. My umbrella shivers with anticipation. His umbrella is knocking into his leg somewhat insistently.
“All right, Agent Little,” he says at last. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
I realize my mistake the moment Agent Darnelle pulls the rental sedan into my driveway. Up and down the street, curtains flutter in living room windows. When we step from the car, I detect a flash, as if someone has just snapped a cell phone picture, which they most certainly have.
There is little subtlety to this neighborhood watch. I’ll have to concoct a story later. Right now, I need tea. Despite his bravado, so does Agent Darnelle.
Inside, we drop our umbrellas into the stand. Instantly, they snuggle next to each other. Agent Darnelle casts them a look as if he doesn’t quite approve of this arrangement. But he follows me into the kitchen without separating them.
I offer him a chair before ducking into the pantry for supplies and a first aid kit. I pull one tonic and then another from the rack, giving each a sniff. The sharp, heady aroma of herbs, of oils, of spices, clears my head. I’ll have enough presence of mind to brew some tea.
My legs wobble, and I really could curl up on the floor and take a nap. In fact, there’s a blanket and pillow on a lower shelf for those days when I need to do just that. Today, though, I need to make tea. While Agent Darnelle has certainly been hit this hard before, he’s never experienced the Screamers of King’s End.
They’re their own special variety.
When I emerge from the pantry, tonics and tinctures in hand, Agent Darnelle glances up from his contemplation of the kitchen table.
“You’re back.”
“I just—” Hands full, I nod toward the pantry in explanation. If he’s starting to talk nonsense, then he was hit even harder than I thought, which means I need to brew that tea NOW.
“No,” he says, his voice tired but amused. “I meant your back.” He leans forward and touches his lower back. “First, I want to apologize. I should’ve been more on guard.”
I give my head a quick shake. “That’s just King’s End.” Truly, I’ve been hit a lot worse than today. Even chastised, the Screamers definitely would work overtime to disrupt my examination.
“Are they always so aggressive? Seems odd, considering this area’s rating.”
