“I like King’s End.” My heart thumps, though whether from fear or joy, I can’t say. Part of me has always fantasized about becoming a full-fledged field agent, like my mother; of traveling the world, like she did back then and Mort does now. Part of me has always known King’s End is where I belong, that I can’t leave, even if I want to. Sometimes, that feels like a prison.
Other times? Having a place in this world is its own kind of gift.
He tilts his head, his gaze scanning the cozy alcove and then the view of the river. “I like it, too, but there’s a wide world out there, Agent Little.” He turns back to the phone. “I want to take a few days to draft the final report. I’ll send you a copy for any comments before submitting it to the Enclave.”
“I’d expect no less, Agent Darnelle. I look forward to reading it. I must go now. Love you, Pansy-Girl.”
Adele cuts the connection before either of us can respond. The sunlight dazzles my eyes. The scents of breakfast—bacon, maple syrup, hot buttered toast—filter past, reminding me that all I’ve eaten today is a single chocolate chip.
I’m breathless, maybe even lightheaded. Carrie intuitively senses I need another cup of coffee, switches out the carafe, and pours a fresh cup without even asking. I send her a grateful smile. She merely raises an eyebrow in Agent Darnelle’s direction.
Do something about that.
Yes, I probably should do something—like getting him to leave King’s End immediately.
“Well, Agent Little?”
Oh, he’s loving that, that slight stress on the word agent. I wonder if he does that after every examination.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You did the work. I was merely the scorekeeper.”
“Will you be leaving today?”
“It’s early enough. I should be able to fly standby back to Seattle.”
The Enclave’s main headquarters is near Seattle, and many of the old families live in the area around Puget Sound. The headquarters is also close to Joint Base Lewis-McChord, where in the summer, the Enclave leases long-forgotten stretches of land for Academy training. If you’re thinking these might be the most inhospitable stretches of land, you’d be right.
And yes, the military is fine with this since, during the summer, we mend all the fissures that pop up on base and in the region. The Enclave might not be a government agency, but that doesn’t mean the government is completely unaware of us.
Agent Darnelle starts to gather his things but raises a hand when I do the same.
“Stay. Finish your breakfast. My treat. Besides, you’ll need the fuel for patrolling.”
Then the man winks at me—an honest-to-goodness, sexier-than-it-has-a-right-to-be wink.
Without another word, he leaves me with my coffee, my scone, and any number of Carrie’s disappointed looks.
The party is Mort’s idea.
Then again, most parties are.
But it’s why my two best friends are displayed, larger than life, on the flat-screen TV. It’s why I’m clutching a champagne flute in one hand and my umbrella in the other and dancing to a playlist Jack has pulled together. It’s why I’m letting myself touch the edges of joy, something I haven’t felt in ages.
On the screen, Jack is nursing a gin and tonic, a large gin and tonic, but still just the one. It’s Monday evening, and we all have to work tomorrow. Although, by the way Mort’s pouring amber liquid from a cut crystal decanter, you’d never know it.
I’m drinking sparkling pink grape juice. The Sight and alcohol don’t mix. But after yesterday’s exam and the battle in the housing development? The nattering is there in the back of my mind. All I have to do is reach for it, and the Sight will come rushing in. If I’m careless—and let’s face it, alcohol makes everyone careless—I could trigger an all-out attack.
Which is not something I need when I’m here on my own.
Tonight, though? I’m not worried about the Sight. I passed my examination with flying colors. I’m not even worried about what that means. Am I no longer unremarkable Pansy Little? I don’t care. For once, I want to be remarkable, consequences be damned.
Besides, Agent Darnelle never even hinted about the Sight, which most people do if they suspect you possess it. Everyone wants to know their future.
Take it from me: you don’t.
So I’m celebrating. I’m in the room opposite the front parlor, the room my mother always called the office, but it’s more like a den with a desk and bookshelves, a computer, and a television. All of that is shrouded in the multiple strings of glowing pink fairy lights I’ve strung across the ceiling. Between their twinkle and the bubbles from the sparkling grape juice, I’m completely giddy.
