Tricks for Free (InCryptid #7)

This car wasn’t just about being expensive or being easier than the cheaper alternatives: it was about making sure people knew the owner had money, enough to burn it on all-leather interiors and the latest bells and whistles. There was even a bottle of water in the holder between the seats, cold enough for beads of moisture to be forming on the outside.

“You’re late,” said the driver gruffly.

“It’s eight-thirty,” I said. “My lessons don’t begin until nine.”

“Which means being there at nine,” he said. “You should have come out three minutes ago. Buckle your seatbelt.”

I fastened my seatbelt—that’s never been the kind of instruction I needed to receive twice—but I was still surprised when he rammed his foot down on the gas and sent us racing out of the apartment complex, heading for the nearest highway at a speed that seemed designed to attract the attention of the local police and make us even later. That was, until he reached under the dashboard and produced a blue bubble light, which he set in front of the steering wheel. It flashed rhythmically, and the traffic melted away in front of us.

“You’re a cop?” I asked warily.

“Lowryland Security,” he replied.

“Huh,” I said.

We weren’t on Park property. It was questionable whether we were even on Lowry property. They owned a disturbing amount of the land around here, including pieces that no one would expect, neighborhoods filled with single-family homes, strip malls, even supposedly public parks. No one associated those places with Lowry, but look deep enough and the trails of ownership were clear. That didn’t give Park Security any authority there.

The flashing blue light was setting my teeth on edge. I tried to focus on it, and found that I couldn’t; my eyes skittered away from the moment of the flash. Something about it wasn’t right.

But it sure did make the drive easier. We pulled up to the backlot gates with eight minutes to spare, and my driver even stopped the car when we reached the PR building. I reached for the handle. The door was locked.

I was considering whether or not to get worried when the door opened from the outside, revealing my driver. “We’re here,” he said.

“Great.” I unfastened my belt and slid out. The man was close to seven feet tall, and built like a wide receiver from the NFL. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re incredibly tall?”

He didn’t even crack a smile. “Get inside,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and turned, walking away as quickly as my little feet would carry me. The man wasn’t as unsettling as his little blue light, but something about him made me think that lingering in his presence wouldn’t be a good idea.

The air-conditioning inside the PR building was turned up even higher than it had been in the car. Emily was waiting for me in the lobby. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of my yoga pants and tank top, and asked, “Don’t you own any real clothing?”

“I’m a minimum wage Park employee,” I said. “If I can’t get it for a discount at the company store, I don’t own it.”

“We’re going to have to fix that,” she said, and sniffed, like the mere sight of synthetic fibers offended her. “Come on. You don’t want to be late.” She spun on one perfectly shaped heel and stalked down the hall toward the elevator, leaving me to hurry after her.

At least it didn’t look like we were taking the magical stairway to absolutely nowhere this morning. “I’m getting that idea,” I said, once I had managed to catch up. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen today?”

“You’re going to earn our faith in you.” Emily stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the button. It lit up. She pressed it three more times anyway, doing an impatient little jig with her knees. “We don’t get much new blood around here.”

“Bad reputation?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. We offer a health plan. We have the best reputation of any cabal this side of the Mississippi River—and did you see that bullshit the LA folks pulled on live television last year? Right now, I think we’re the best regarded cabal in the country.”

“Then why?”

“Because there isn’t much new blood to get.” For the first time, the muscles around Emily’s eyes relaxed, her gaze softening, becoming less predatory and more wistful. “You don’t know how much you’ve missed.”

The elevator doors opened with a ding before I could say anything, and the moment passed: Emily’s mask of cool disdain snapped right back into place as she waved imperiously for me to get into the tiny, featureless box. The urge to balk was high. There’s a word for people who follow strangers into places with no clear escape route, and it’s not “survivor.”

But there was fire in my fingers and inertia at my heels: I didn’t want to run again, or try starting over in a place where luck might not be on my side. And luck had been on my side since choosing to come to Lowryland. How else could I explain just happening to stumble across my old high school cheer captain—or even having the Melody West ID in my go bag, when I was supposed to have buried her years ago? The cabal was big and scary and unknown. They were also offering to help me get myself under control before someone got seriously hurt. My lucky streak hadn’t failed me yet.

It was going to. Lucky streaks always do. For the moment, I needed to let my bets ride, and roll the dice again.

Emily smirked as I joined her in the elevator. That seemed to be her default expression. “Timid, new girl?”

“You know, you should be played by Natalie Dormer in the movie,” I replied flatly. “You have the right mix of mean and murderous.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. She pressed a button. The doors slid shut. “Let’s go over the rules for today.”

“Since you haven’t told me what they are, can you really expect me to go over them?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “I hate new girls,” she said. “You always think you’re so clever, and you’re so very wrong. Rule one: do as you’re told. Colin knows what he’s doing and you don’t, so if he’s giving you an instruction, he has a good reason. You can ask questions—in fact, asking questions is rule two—but you need to listen.”

“Got it,” I said.

“No, you don’t, but I believe you’ll try, and that’s honestly more than some of us are expecting from you. Rule three is going to be harder. You need to remember that you are a guest here, in our space and in Lowryland, and comport yourself accordingly.”

“Got it. Use my manners.”

“Lady of the Underpass preserve me,” muttered Emily. The elevator doors opened, revealing a large, empty room that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a suburban dojo or dance studio. One wall was mirrored; another was clear glass, showing what felt like all of Florida from a seemingly impossible height. I was suddenly very glad never to have suffered from vertigo.

Once again, Emily placed her hand between my shoulders and shoved, pushing me out of the elevator and into the wide, empty room.

“Have fun,” she said. The elevator doors closed on her smirking face, and she was gone.

The room seemed even larger without the safety of the elevator behind me. I took a few hesitant steps forward, wishing I had a knife, or better yet, twenty knives, or better yet, twenty knives and a brick of C-4. Plastic explosives are a strange and dangerous security blanket, but they tend to make whatever’s scaring me go away quickly, so I’m in favor.