“Geez, touchy much?” Jeremy shakes out his arm and stalks over to the whiteboard. He grabs the red marker and scrolls in huge letters, Has anyone checked the house for BUGS?
It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in, but when it does, my stomach twists. Draven and I were in the house for a good ten minutes, talking and strategizing, trying to figure out what had happened to my mother and my house. The idea that those douche nozzles might have overheard our conversation—my private fears—triggers a whole new set of emotions.
I shake my head, as does Draven.
Jeremy just rolls his eyes, like we’re too stupid to live.
Wait here, he scrawls.
Then he strides into the house.
Draven, Dante, Rebel, and I stand frozen in the garage, staring at one another. Then we scramble after him.
I’ve seen Jeremy at work before, but usually that involves drinking chocolate milk by the gallon and eating sour gummies while he sits at his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. I’ve never seen him walk around a house, eyes closed and arms extended, like some kind of witch doctor with a divining rod. Technopaths are so weird.
Even weirder is the eerie quiet that follows in his wake. A Jeremy who isn’t spouting off how secondary radiation from listening devices causes cancer in cockroaches, who thinks this situation is as serious as we do, is terrifying.
We trail him through the house, Draven behind me, followed by Rebel and Dante, who bring up the rear. I can feel the tension emanating from the villains, their distrust growing by the second. And this time, I don’t blame them. This is bizarre, even for Jeremy.
Except we’ve barely made it into the kitchen before Jeremy is squatting to get a look at the underside of the counter. A moment later, he holds up a miniscule black bug.
Oh God. I try not to freak out, but it’s hard. This wasn’t a simple breakin. Yeah, I’ve known this had something to do with the superheroes and what’s going on at ESH—but this confirms a whole new level of intent, a new level of danger.
As we walk through the rest of the house, Jeremy finds bugs in the family room, my mom’s office, my room, and the bathroom. Ewww. I feel utterly violated.
These bugs have been here for longer than a few hours. The one in the family room was under a decent layer of dust. Whoever planted them has been listening to us for a while. Who knows how long?
This isn’t just about Deacon. This isn’t just about my stealing Mom’s badge or her work at the lab. What are they listening for? What do they think they heard?
Panic turns the room dark and shadowy around me. I stop, closing my eyes and bracing my hands on my knees as I try to force oxygen into my lungs.
Someone rests a gentle hand on my lower back, their thumb rubbing over the bare skin between the bottom of my tank top and the top of my jeans in a soothing motion. I shiver from the skin-to-skin contact, and I turn, surprised to find Draven staring down at me.
His face is blank, but his eyes are turbulent as he watches me. He doesn’t say a word, but then he doesn’t need to. The comfort he’s offering comes through loud and clear.
I want to melt into him, into his touch, into the reassurance that rolls off him in waves. But sinking into Draven is not an instinct I can give in to right now. Or ever. So I jerk away. Yank my shirt down to meet the waistband of my jeans. Then turn to follow Jeremy out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.
Back in the kitchen, Jeremy dumps the handful of bugs into the microwave and presses start before wheeling around to face me.
“Geez, Kenna, what the hell did you do to the superheroes?” he hisses, his eyes wide and haunted. “Your place is trashed! And those bugs? Serious business. Definitely not your typical Internet-ordered surveillance devices. Those babies are top secret, state-of-the-art bugs that can pick up conversations a hundred yards away. They could hear anything and everything that went on in your house.”
Behind him, the bugs start to snap and pop like gunfire in the microwave.
“I’ve been saying it for years,” he continues, ignoring the mini-explosions. “The heroes are in bed with the government and breaking every law in the League and in the Constitution. For what? To turn us into mindless zombies who do whatever they command. I wouldn’t be surprised if those bugs came equipped with a mind-control signal.”
“Really, Jeremy? Again with the mind control?”
The microwave lets out one final blast before the end timer beeps.
Jeremy squints at me. “You’re not being controlled right now, are you?”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Of course not!”
He rubs his arm as he glances over my head with suspicion. “How do you know? The Kenna I know would never willingly work with villains.”
He whispers the last, as if it’s a bad word.