Although if Owen hurts her in any way, there will be hell to pay.
But that’s the thing, he considers, watching all the screens come to life. He doesn’t think he will hurt her. And the closer they are with one another—with real bonds—the more they can trust each other. They’re not playing games here. What they’re doing in the suits and out in the city is dangerous, and they’ve got to be fully invested.
“Casper,” he says, pressing the intercom button. “You there?”
There’s no reply. Quinn uploads the camera footage from his interaction with Demetria on the street. He’s waited all day to check it out. It takes a minute to upload and just as it becomes available, static bounces through the speakers. Casper’s slightly tinny voice follows, and his avatar pops up in the corner of the screen.
“Hey dude. I’m here. What’s up?”
“I made contact with Wendy today,” he says, using her codename.
“Outside the building? Like we planned?”
“Yes, I recorded it. Want to see?” Quinn doesn’t wait for a reply, instead just presses the play button. This computer is linked up for visuals with Casper’s. The film is a little rough in the parts where he’s walking and moving, but Demetria is clear on the screen.
“Did she just call you a Lost Boy? Like Peter Pan?”
“Yeah.” Quinn mentions the psych evaluation. “I’m not sure how much of the time she’s living in reality.”
“What was that ‘time to come home’ thing?”
“No clue.”
Casper rewinds the video and plays it again. “What the hell was going on with that fairy at the end?”
“A test, maybe? She can’t work her abilities on me unless she’s using Pixie Dust. Maybe she wanted to see if I would react?”
“Huh, I wonder what would have happened if it had worked? Turned you into a big, hulking unicorn?”
“Shut up.”
“Bite me.”
Quinn leans back in the chair and the springs creak under his weight. “I’ve been wondering what’s up with all the mystery? The cartoon avatar. Going totally MIA and then resurfacing.”
Casper’s avatar shrugs. “I don’t like Big Brother. Or Big Brother’s sister WIND-E, or any of the other snoops out there, especially those assholes at Project 12. I mean, these people tracked us as kids, dude. Shoved us in a group home and experimented on us.” The anger in his voice is tangible. “I don’t know why you’re not more paranoid. They killed your mentor. Mine, too. I’ve been on the run ever since.”
None of this rant is a surprise, Casper has proven his paranoia over the short time Quinn has known him. And he’s right, they have reason to be afraid. The attempt on Owen and Astrid today were proof of that.
“I don’t want to hide,” he finally replies. “Or run. I just want to help people.”
Casper scoffs. “You and the princess. You’re going to get yourselves killed, or worse.”
“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” he laughs. “Anyway, what could be worse than death?”
“If you have to ask,” Casper says, “you don’t want to know.”
His phone beeps, alerting him to a push notification. It flashes across the computer screen. Casper says, “Fire on Fifth and Sycamore.”
“That’s on the Harbor Line.”
A map pulls up on the screen. A red dot indicates the location; it’s only a few blocks away. Looks like a small, abandoned warehouse. “There could be squatters in there. Or maybe the arsonist is onsite.”
“Suit up,” Casper tells him. “I’ll contact Astrid and Owen.”
Quinn looks at the avatar on the screen. He knows Casper can see him, wondering if he can see the dread on his face. “You’ll be out there with us tonight?”
“Yeah. I’ll take lead.”
“Good, we need you out there. Astrid can’t have another night like the last one and frankly, neither can I.”
Chapter Fifteen
Astrid
“North side, clear.”
“South, same,” Owen adds.
Smoke billows from the warehouse and Astrid waits for Quinn to give the clear on the east side of the building. On first sight the building looks in trouble, but the closer she gets the more it seems like a lot of smoke and little fire. Has anyone called 911?
She hears the undeniable pop of streetlamps.
“Charger?” she says into her com. “Casper, I need visuals on Charger.”
“I’m trying,” he says. “Shit. You’ve got visitors. Both of you, and they’ve got their hands on Charger.”
“Where? How?” she asks, darting to the front of the building. The street is empty. Glass cracks under her feet and she looks up. Shattered light bulbs. Footsteps move behind her, one set light and quick on the ground, another dragged. Two heartbeats, one rapid. The smoke messes with her sense of smell and her eyes water. She spins, hand on her cuff, and finds Quinn captured by a man in a mask—a gun pressed to his skull.
“Try anything, my shooter on the roof will take you out and both of your friends,” the man in the mask says.
She slowly holds her hands up. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“My boss wants to speak to you.” He jerks his head at the building. “Inside.”
“He’s not lying about the shooters,” Casper says in her ear. “Run at your own risk.”
Astrid has no plans on running.
“Sure,” she says, “I’m eager to meet your boss.”
With the guns trained on her back and Quinn still held by the masked man, she enters the building. The inside isn’t damaged by fire. It’s clear this was some kind of trick to get them to show up. Owen is already standing in the middle of the room, his green and black hood tugged off, although his mask is still on. Do these people know their identities? Who they are beyond their masks?
The thought is chilling.
Three lights hang over the middle of the room and a long table sits in the center. Three chairs are on one side. One on the other. The single chair is occupied by a man Astrid has never seen before. He’s middle-aged and balding at the hairline. A thin scar slashes across his eyebrow. He has an associate standing next to him. Dark hair and stocky. His skin is pale. He stares at her with interest, but when the man in the chair speaks, his eyes move to him.
“Look at that, it’s the Super Friends.” He smiles as they get closer. Quinn is pushed toward the chairs, his hands still tied behind his back. Do they know what he can do? What she can do?
If he knows, the man in the chair doesn’t seem to care.
“Sit, let’s talk. I’ve been eager to meet you.”
Astrid takes the middle seat.
“I can’t say the same, considering I don’t know who the hell you are.” She counts six more heartbeats in the dark part of the warehouse and she’s fully aware of the weapons still trained on her and her teammates.
“My name is Brutus Kincade. I own Metamorphosis.”
“You’re the one trying to buy up all the Harbor Line property,” Quinn says. “Including the ones damaged by fire.”
Kincade smiles. “You’ve heard of me, then.”
“Only because you’re dismantling the Swamp to turn it into a hipster’s paradise,” Owen adds.
“What can I say? I like money. I like clean, beautiful properties. I like my city productive and rising economically.” He seems absolutely sincere in his words.
“So you think the Swamp needs to be demolished?”
“’Rejuvenated’ is the word I like to use.”
This guy is a pig. Astrid leans back in her seat and casually crosses her legs. “What do you want us for?”
“I try to keep abreast of the happenings in Crescent City. Crime, beautification, business opportunities. The Pixie Dust trade was on my radar. I had plans on eradicating it by working with Mayor Steed. But suddenly it’s off the streets and no longer an issue.”
“The police took down the ringleader,” Owen says.
Kincade looks him up and down. “True. That was a disturbing event over at the university, but it’s odd that there’s not a drop left on the streets.”