“Do you have a plan to stop it?”
Jensen nods. “Mayor Steel gave us full access to the city. We’ve developed a task force to look into unusual crimes. These are members of a select and highly trained team. If anyone can get rid of the scourge that is plaguing the city, it’s them.”
Quinn glances uneasily at Astrid, but she keeps her focus on the TV as the camera pans wider and the black uniformed men and women come into view. They stand behind Jensen like his own army.
“This task force will be on the lookout for any abnormal behavior. Perform drug raids. Track petty criminals and vandals. No one is off limits.”
“Agent Jensen, why are you taking such a harsh stance?”
He reaches for the camera and pushes it to the side, past his army and toward the utter destruction of the Harbor Line. “People were injured and killed out here last night. At least two died from burns. One from being trampled. We’re moving to a zero-tolerance environment. Crescent City will not be held hostage by whoever is flooding our city with this kind of danger.”
“Last question,” the reporter says. “Do you have any suspects?”
“Yes. And we’re watching them whether they know it or not. We’ll get them off the streets. I promise that.”
Jensen walks off camera and the reporter continues. Quinn reaches over and turns down the volume.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Owen says. “I bet I know who’s on the top of that list.”
“I guess Pixie Dust is one way to explain the weird stuff going on around here,” Draco says. “And you know this guy.”
“Yes, he was my mentor’s best friend.”
“And his task force?”
She holds his eye and confesses. “I trained them.”
*
The estate looks different during the day. The house still looks like a castle but not quite as magical. The topiaries need a trim and no one turned on the fairy lights.
The driver opens the door for her and Draco waits at the top step. He’s dressed casually, in a pair of dark blue jeans and a light blue button-down that brings out the color in his eyes. Astrid wore a sweater that has a hood and pockets, skinny jeans and boots. It’s weird seeing one another dressed ’normal,’ but it’s all part of the fa?ade they’ve agreed to wear until the heat dies down.
“Thank you for coming.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“It sounded important.”
They enter Demetria’s home. She’s still locked up in the sanatorium—a high end one located on a country estate. The facility looks more like a resort hotel.
“Have you been out to see her?” she asks. The house looks exactly the same. Draco is living here, managing Demetria’s affairs, but it’s definitely still her home. Astrid has never seen his living quarters—or anything personalized. He’s still a bit of a mystery. Which is why Quinn made her wear a recording device in the pendant on her necklace.
“I’ve been going twice a week.”
“How is she?”
He leads her down a long hallway, away from the dining room they used in their last visit. At a wooden doorway, he stops. “She’s not living in reality right now. Which may be a good thing. She’s happy, at least.”
He opens the door to an office. A large mahogany desk sits in the middle of the room, and the wall to the right is made of windows that look down the hill to the city. It’s the most masculine room in the house—totally unlike the rest of Demetria’s princess fantasy that there’s no mistake this is Draco’s private room. Pictures of foreign countries hang on the walls along with images of him as a teenager, several with a beautiful older woman.
“Is that Emma?” She walks over and touches the frame. White-capped mountains provide a glorious background.
“Yes, that was in the Swiss Alps. She spoke in Geneva at the University.”
The picture tugs at her—something about the woman’s eyes. Her face. “I never asked. What was her specialty?”
“She was a geneticist, with a focus on mutated genes.”
Astrid pauses, her fingers still on the frame. She waits. Listens. Nothing about Draco changes but he’s the master of his emotions, body and mind. She does hear a small click, followed by the hum of electricity. When she turns, he’s standing before a computer screen built into the wall.
“I have to show you something,” he says, holding a remote. The screen is still black, reflecting back his silhouette. “But before I do, please understand I am on your side. We’re allies. Family, almost.”
Astrid’s world starts to tilt and she struggles to breathe. She manages to ask, “What are you talking about Draco?”
“I wasn’t the first survivor Demetria found. There was another. Someone smarter than all of us but not…exactly functional. He’s lived here since his mentor died—safe. Protected.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I am. Demetria wasn’t the only one that made it out of that explosion alive but damaged.”
“Who, Draco. Who are you talking about?”
He presses a button on the remote and the screen comes to life. It takes a minute for her to understand what she’s seeing. It’s a small room. A desk is surrounded by posters and small boxes. Toys and trinkets. It’s familiar. She’s seen it before. A man sits at the desk, head down, typing on the computer. Astrid’s hand moves to her mouth, she doesn’t need to see his face.
“Casper.”
He looks up like he’s heard her, but it’s obvious that he hasn’t when he focuses back on the screen. He’s the real-life version of his avatar, down to the T-shirt he’s wearing with a ghost on the front.
“He’s here?” she asks. Here. With Demetria. Their enemy.
“I don’t understand. He’s working for Demetria?”
“No. He worked with Atticus. Atticus, and whoever Demetria’s mentor was, set this up.”
“Demetria’s mentor?” Of course, she had a mentor. Where are they now? Who are they?
“The mentor was gone before I got here,” he says. “And trust me, it’s not a topic you want to bring up with Demetria. It sets off a particular trigger. I think it may be part of what has made her so unbalanced.”
Astrid looks at the screen. “Draco, this is crazy.”
“One of Demetria’s staff takes care of him. They’ve had no interaction and he works on Elite projects all the time.”
“Can I see him?” she asks.
“Soon. He’s not fully aware of his situation, we’re going to have to ease him back into society—back with us.”
“Where has he been? Why has he been offline?”
“I used to think he was just in there playing games—messing around with his programs. But he’s not. Demetria installed a full workshop for him when he arrived. This is how he and Atticus developed your suits—where the tools and equipment comes from.”
“He designs it in there?”
“Designs and creates. He’s a genius, Astrid. The quirky kind. He does better on his own with a wall between him and reality.”
“Sort of like me and my mask.”
He smiles. “Yes, a little like that.”
“When can I see him?”
“Soon. I think we can ease into it.”
Which means she’ll be spending time here. With Draco.
“I have to ask you something else.”
“Sure.”
“Is Demetria your lover?”
The corners of his eyes wrinkle. “No.”
“Never.”
“No, Astrid. That’s not what our relationship is about, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she lives like a ten-year old.”
“Point taken.”
He doesn’t ask why she said it, but he’s not dumb. None of them are. It’s what makes all of this so hard to navigate.
She looks between the screen and the man next to her, unsure of everything unfolding. “How do I know you’re telling the truth about everything?”
He offers his hand, palm up. He wants her to read him, but she’s done it before and didn’t get any of this. Then again, she certainly wasn’t looking.
Slowly she walks toward him and peels off her glove. Draco’s eyes follow her. They’re clear—genuine. She doesn’t get the slightest scent of corruption off of him. He’s better than her—better than all of them, and it terrifies the hell out of her.