“Expedite this with discretion, and I may see my way to expediting your current paperwork problem with the High Council.”
Paperwork problem. That was an interesting euphemism for breaking a binding contract. Henry gave a terse nod.
“Good luck, my boy.”
In the empty corridors of the house, Henry swore he heard the echo of: You’ll need it.
He turned his back on the retreating footfalls and the warning in Botten’s words. Before he could climb the stairs once again, his phone pinged. A reminder to check in for his flight flashed across the screen, one scheduled for tomorrow morning.
Damn. It was all he could do not to toss his phone down the stairway. Instead, he pulled up the records on Apprentice Agent Pansy Little and considered what he’d written five years ago. Almost as quickly, he shut everything down, shoved his phone into his pocket, and headed for Ophelia’s room.
The air felt thicker now, close and cloying. The nurse looked dour, but then they always did. He suspected the private agency her father hired specialized in dour-faced nurses, as if that would somehow complement the seriousness of the situation. The aide had anxious eyes but smiled at him. His mother, however, had frayed half a box of tissues in his absence.
“They’re sending me out again.” No sense sugar-coating it. Even so, he flinched at his mother’s expression.
“You just got back. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Where are they sending you?”
“Somewhere in Minnesota.”
His mother shook her head as if that was all it took to stop the Enclave from doing anything. “I don’t like it.”
“You didn’t like the Sahara, either.” He raised his hands. “But here I am.”
“This feels different.”
“You said that about North Africa. I doubt I’ll encounter any sandstorms in Minnesota. Besides, I’m only performing an examination.”
His mother nodded, hardly mollified, and reached for another handful of tissues. Henry headed for Ophelia.
Sometimes, he could detect her presence, like earlier. Other times, she was remote, cut off from everything, the space around her bed emptier, colder. No doubt the others felt it, too. It would explain all the dour expressions.
He tucked the blanket closer around her. Ophelia had been here earlier, and Henry hoped she could still detect his presence. He knelt by her side, took her hand once more.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Chapter 4
Pansy
King’s End, Minnesota
Friday, April 28 (three months prior)
My mother was forever making lists. Fun lists on pink paper, wish lists on green. Books to read in black ink on creamy stationery. Television shows to avoid on the backs of receipts. But there was one list that eclipsed them all, this one on yellow legal pad.
This particular list remains attached to the refrigerator with a set of whimsical magnets from The King’s Larder. Over the years, my mother added to it, crossed items out, and rewrote it completely. This is how it stood the last time she was able to venture into the kitchen:
Never go into the housing development after dark.
Never go to the silo alone.
Never go to the covered bridge, period.
If the Enclave makes an offer, remember they always require something in return.
