“We knew the risks when we got into this,” said Ostler. “Even you, civilian or not. If they want to make this a war, we have the tools, the experience, and the weapons to fight it.”
“Our first step needs to be Mary Gardner,” said Trujillo. “If there’s more than one Withered working together, we have to assume she’s a part of it. If we take her out as fast as we can, we remove one enemy soldier before they have a chance to hit us. That could throw their whole plan into disarray and buy us the time we need to track down this Meshara.”
“We’re not ready to move on Mary,” I said. “I haven’t figured out her weakness yet.”
“She passed the speed-bump test,” said Nathan, “so we know it’s going to be tricky.”
“Maybe the speed-bump test is part of our problem,” said Diana. “If the Withered talk to each other at all, and this suggests that they do, then the fact that each one of them’s been in a major, unexplained car accident recently can’t help but look like a clue.”
“So we don’t speed bump Meshara,” I said. “Make them think we don’t know about him yet.”
“All that does is deny us information,” said Nathan. “Even if it denies them information, too, it’s still a wash at best, and a needless precaution if Brooke has communicated with him in any way. Dammit!” He smacked the table with his hands, like he’d just remembered something terrible. “She’s thinks she’s one of them! For all we know she’s been talking to him all along!”
“She wouldn’t do that,” I said, though I knew it was a hollow assurance. We could never be sure what Brooke would do. I shook my head. “All we have to do is the same thing we always do: get to know them, make a plan, and strike. And we’ve already made good progress, despite barely knowing about this guy for three hours. We know he’s hunting us, we know he’s using a patient as a cover, and we know he can’t shape shift the way some of the others can.”
“How do we know that?” asked Ostler.
“Because Brooke recognized him,” I said, “after what she claimed to be a hundred years. If he could shape shift in that time, he would have. So unless the receptionist throws Kelly some insane curveball down there, we’ve got a good head start on figuring out what he does, and how, and how to stop him.” Ostler’s phone rang. “Speak of the devil.”
Ostler set her phone in the middle of the table. “Ms. Ishida, you’re on speaker.”
“His name is Elijah Sexton,” said Kelly. “The receptionist knew him immediately. He visits a man named Merrill Evans—an Alzheimer’s patient, just like John guessed.”
“Nice one!” Nathan held up his hand for a high five, but I ignored him.
“Now get ready for the weird part,” said Kelly. “He’s been visiting here ever since Merrill Evans checked in. That was almost twenty years ago.” She sighed. “Either that’s a really deep cover story, or we don’t have any idea what’s really going on here.”
3
“I don’t want you in my house,” I said.
“That’s not your call,” said Potash.
We were going back to my apartment; Potash was driving. That was a frustration of its own: I was seventeen and I could drive just fine, but they never let me. I had my own car, but whenever I was with the rest of the team—which was always—I had to let one of them drive. I was a child to them. Worse, though, Potash had a duffel bag in the back seat, full of what he claimed to be the sum of his material possessions. I felt my throat starting to constrict, imagining the invasion of my living space. I couldn’t do it.
“It’s my house,” I said, “of course it’s my call. Why do you think I live by myself—because I love people so much? It’s part of my deal with Ostler: Kelly and Diana share a place; you and Nathan and Trujillo share a place; I live alone. This isn’t up for discussion.”
“You’re right,” said Potash, still looking at the road. “It isn’t.” Now that Meshara and who knew how many others were hunting for us, no one on the team was allowed to be alone, even at home.
“Have you considered that I’m a dangerous psychopath?” I asked. “Sleeping in the same apartment as me could be severely hazardous to your health and well-being.”
Potash glanced at me, a silent, emotionless look that expressed precisely how little danger a scrawny teenager posed to a special forces soldier. “Have you considered that that’s exactly why they chose me to be the one to join you?”
“Even if I’m not a danger to you,” I said, “what about other people? How many guns do you have in that duffel bag? Is it a 50 percent ratio of clothes to weapons, or somehow more than that? I have a very strict no-weapons policy in my house—”
“All the more reason you shouldn’t be alone.”
“—and I do that to avoid temptations. I’m trying very hard not to become a serial murderer and the last thing I need is a bunch of guns and knives all over my house.”