Evil Genius (22 page)

"Well, well, well," Cadel murmured. His voice seemed very loud in the silence, but Com didn't even twitch an ear.

Then Cadel's cell phone rang.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Mrs. Piggott demanded, as soon as Cadel had uttered his name. "Do you realize what time it is?"

"Uh ..." Cadel checked his watch. "Ten thirty?"

"Where are you?"

"At the institute. I told you. I had to do something—"

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes," Cadel replied. He didn't feel the need to explain that he had eaten only an old packet of pretzels that he had found in the bottom of his backpack.

"Well, I want you to come home, please. At once. You can call a cab, and I'll pay for it when you get home."

"Okay, but—"

"
NOW,
Cadel!"

There was no point arguing. It
was
very late. With a sigh, Cadel abandoned his detective work and packed up. He didn't bother saying good night to Com. He simply headed for the elevators and caught one down to the ground floor.

When its steel doors parted in front of him, he was surprised to see a black-clad figure waiting by the
UP
button. The figure was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black pants, a black vest, black gloves, and a black balaclava. All the same, Cadel could tell it was one of the twins. They both had very distinctive eyes—and bosoms.

"Niobe?" he said. (Or was it Jemima?)

She brushed past him without a word. Was she unable to hear him, perhaps? Because of the balaclava? Cadel didn't like the look of that padded vest. It was covered with bulging pockets—the kind of pockets you could hide things in. Switchblades. Hand grenades. Things like that.

Of course, she wouldn't have been able to get a hand grenade past the security scanners; but still, there were other things you could use to create a big bang. Cadel knew that perfectly well.

"Are you all right?" he asked. The doors, however, were already closing. Cadel's view was blocked. His gaze shifted to the indicator panel above his head, where the elevator's destination would be displayed as a glowing yellow number.

First floor. Was she heading for the dormitories?

Cadel wondered if he should mention this sighting to anyone. In other parts of the world, you always notified the authorities if you saw someone wearing a black balaclava. At the institute, however, it wasn't
that
out of the ordinary. Many people wore balaclavas and bulletproof vests as fashion statements. Niobe wasn't necessarily on her way to blow her twin's head off.

With a sigh, Cadel decided that he'd better do something. Just in case. Once he had left the building, and before he called a cab, he would contact the emergency number supplied to each Axis student for occasions just like this. He would leave the building first, though. No use standing around like a moron, waiting to be blown up.

Though Cadel had not studied explosives, he knew enough to get well out of the way when there were people in black balaclavas around.

"A most unfortunate incident," Thaddeus remarked the following afternoon. "Difficult to handle, in all kinds of ways."

Cadel said nothing. The news wasn't good. Apparently, Niobe had been skulking around the campus in a black balaclava for a very good reason. She had been attempting to track down her twin, who had in turn been trying to steal some kind of deadly toxin from the microbiology labs.

Both had been caught—but not before Niobe had smashed a computer monitor over Jemima's head, fracturing her skull.

"Arrangements had to be made," Thaddeus confessed. "Jemima couldn't be found on the premises in that condition."

"Is she—is she all right?" asked Cadel, who had taken a seat on Thaddeus's maroon couch.

"Not at all. She's in a coma."

"Oh."

"Her sister has disappeared," Thaddeus continued. "It's very worrying. Luther's trying to track her down."

Staring out the window, Cadel said flatly, "Will she be all right?"

"Oh, I shouldn't think so." As Cadel turned to look at him, Thaddeus lifted an eyebrow. "Think about it, Cadel. She's effectively killed her other half. That's going to cripple her psychologically."

"No, I mean—will she be
all right?
You know. If Luther finds her." Cadel's urgent gaze had a curious effect on Thaddeus. For the first time ever, Cadel saw him glance sideways, as if trying to avoid Cadel's regard. He even scratched his nose.

"I believe we can trust Luther to do the right thing," he said smoothly. "I've left the matter to him. He'll weigh the risks and make a sound decision. He's not one to resort to drastic measures unless it's absolutely necessary. Remember, we have something to pin on Niobe now, if we choose. It's good leverage."

Cadel swallowed.

"The twins," Thaddeus added, "were my mistake. They were far more psychologically fragile than I anticipated. I'm afraid the blame rests squarely with me." His bright black eyes were like nail guns, pinning Cadel to his seat. "I can only hope this hasn't caused you to lose faith in my judgment."

"No," Cadel replied.

"They were particular friends of yours? The twins? I wasn't aware of it."

"No. They weren't."

Nevertheless, Cadel was troubled by their fate. Though he didn't want to think about it, unfortunate images kept popping into his mind. And when the new semester began a few days later, he found that he couldn't avoid talking about Gemini. Gazo, for one, kept worrying away at the subject like a child picking at a scab.

"They musta gone mad," he said gloomily. "I dunno why. Can you go mad handling poisons?"

"I'm not sure," Cadel muttered. They were standing by the door of lecture-room one, waiting for Alias. They had never seen Alias before but knew that he was supposed to be teaching them the art of disguise. Luther's case-studies lectures were now finished; Alias would be taking over his time slots.

Cadel wished that Alias would arrive and put a stop to all this discussion about the twins.

"Doris," said Gazo, "could you give yourself brain damage, mucking around wiv poisons?"

Doris smirked. "Those two
already
had brain damage," she retorted, adding, "Three down, five to go." Cadel didn't like the way she said this. It was almost as if she was taking credit for what had happened.

"I saw Ni that night," Abraham suddenly remarked. His voice was hoarse, and he was a dreadful color. Furthermore, his hair seemed to be falling out. Cadel could see white patches of scalp all over his head, showing through the thick, black curls. "She was sneaking around like a cat. At first I thought she was—well, somebody else." Abraham paused for a moment. "You get a few people sneaking around in the labs at night."

"Like who?" Gazo wanted to know. But Abraham simply made an impatient gesture. He had become very moody, Cadel thought. Even Terry had noted it in one of the daily computer reports that Cadel had logged into:
Subject demonstrating abrupt mood swings, hair loss, vision impairment, nausea.

Whenever Cadel penetrated Terry's firewall, he did so reluctantly, with a sense of distaste. If he hadn't felt the need to build up a thorough database on the institute's faculty members, he wouldn't have bothered delving into Terry's secrets. They were all pretty revolting, and Cadel had a weak stomach.

"Should you be up?" he asked Abraham. "You don't look well."

Even Doris exhibited surprise at this remark. Abraham was obviously startled. No one openly expressed concern about other people's health at the institute. No one except Cadel, that is.

"I'm fine," said Abraham.

"Your lips are blue."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"I don't know why you want to be a vampire," said Doris, in her sneering, whining fashion. "Do you realize, if you become a vampire, you won't be able to eat any decent food anymore?"

"Yeah—and you won't be able to go out," added Gazo. "I mean, not even in a suit like mine. You'll be stuck inside all day."

It was Cadel who first noticed Luther walking down the corridor toward them. Surely, he thought, Luther wasn't heading
their
way? Was Alias sick, or delayed? Cadel's frown alerted his classmates, who turned to look, one by one. By the time Luther joined them, the little group had fallen silent.

Like Abraham, Luther was wearing sunglasses—together with fingerless gloves and a scarf wrapped around his neck. He coughed into his woolly fist before addressing them.

"Okay," he croaked. "Everybody inside."

"It's locked," Gazo pointed out.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

Luther kept sniffing and wiping his nose as he slowly unlocked the door to lecture-room one. Nobody asked him what he was doing there. Most of those present had cause to be wary of Luther. Even Doris preferred not to speak before being spoken to.

They followed Luther into the room, which seemed very large for such a small class. Luther dragged a wooden chair from behind the door to a central spot in front of the lectern, and collapsed into it. He set down a paper carry-bag.

"Right," he rasped, when everyone was sitting quietly. "Let's talk about disguise."

Then he took off his glasses and grinned.

A murmur of shock rippled around the room. The man in the chair was not Luther. He didn't have Luther's eyes or smile. His teeth were better than Luther's. His face wasn't as narrow, or as rigid.

"Fooled ya!" he crowed. "Lesson one, my friends. I'm Alias. You don't need to know my
real
name."

Gazo laughed. When the others turned to look at him, he shrank back into his seat.

"What did I do, exactly?" Alias continued. "I put on a gray wig and a pair of shades, is all. That's right. No makeup, no prosthetics, no false teeth, no lifts in my shoes. Take a good look at me. I'm nowhere near Dr. Lasco's build. All I needed was the slouch and the shuffle—it was a pushover. Why? Because you weren't expecting anything different." He leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. "Now, I'm not saying you can all do this," he added, his gaze traveling from Kunio to Doris, before finally coming to rest on Cadel. "I've got the kind of range you can only pull off when you're a bit on the average side. This little guy here"—he winked at Cadel—"well, this little guy would have his work cut out for him, trying to pull off a Luther Lasco. That doesn't mean, however, that he can't be somebody else. Transformation isn't as hard as you might think, if you've got the right attitude. Not to mention a basic grounding from yours truly."

Gazo raised his hand. But before he could speak, Abraham suddenly toppled onto the floor.

He had fainted.

"I'll be looking at makeup, of course," Alias went on, just as if nothing had happened. "Makeup and wigs can do a lot for anyone. So can clothes, obviously, and padding—"

"Er ... Mr. Alias, sir?" Gazo's hand was still in the air. "Um, I fink Abraham's sick."

"Don't interrupt, Mr. Kovacs."

"But shouldn't we take 'im to First Aid?"

"He'll be all right," said Alias dismissively, then began to talk about the Alexander technique of posture awareness.

He was right, as it happened. Soon Abraham began to stir. After about five minutes he sat up.

"Glad you could join us, Mr. Coggins," said Alias. "So what I'm saying is this. Whether you're making yourself visible or invisible, the thing about a disguise is that half the time you can hide behind just one prominent feature. A big nose. An awful tie. Even a giant pimple. People will be so busy noticing whatever it is that they won't pay much attention to the rest of you."

Abraham managed to return to his seat, but only just. He looked very ill. In fact, he looked so ill that he was distracting, and Alias finally told him to get out. ("I don't want you throwing up in here, Mr. Coggins.") Everyone watched in silence as Abraham shuffled out of the room—everyone except Cadel. He sat staring at the floor until he heard the sound of a door slam.

When the class finished, he and Gazo went to look for Abraham's car, which they found in the lot.

"So he's still on campus," Cadel observed.

"I don't fink he goes anywhere else much," said Gazo. "Not anymore. That car's here most of the time. Even at night."

They both stared at the beat-up old Ford. "Well, I have to go," Cadel said at last, abruptly. "I've got work to do."

"Could he be in First Aid? Should we have a look?"

"I told you. I'm busy."

"Have you got a class?"

"I'm busy!" Cadel snapped. In fact, he was planning to spend the rest of the afternoon in Flardware Heaven. All at once he couldn't cope with his classmates anymore. First the twins, now Abraham. He wanted to block them out of his mind. He wanted to concentrate on his
work.
(His work was the important thing.) "I'll see you later."

He started to walk away, heading back toward the seminary building. Gazo called after him, straining through his transmission filter.

"Cadel!" he cried. "Wait! Our homework for Alias—how we afta show up in disguise? For his next class?"

"What about it?"

"Well, do you know what your disguise will be?"

"No."

"What am
I
gonna do? How can I do anyfink in me bloody suit?"

"Wear a mustache," Cadel replied, before ducking through the seminary doors. Once he'd passed the scanners, he made his way up to Hardware Heaven—hurriedly, as a mouse might run to its hole. He wanted to hide. He wanted to escape. As long as he was in Hardware Heaven, he could forget about the rest of the institute, which was getting on his nerves.

But when he reached his computer and sat down, he discovered that the keyboard was speckled with drops of a thick, dark, tacky substance.

Looking up, he saw that it had leaked through the ceiling. From the labs on the next floor.

It was blood, of course. He recognized it instantly.

Cadel stood in the Piggotts' bathroom that night, looking at himself in the mirror.

His hair was plastered down with Vaseline and darkened with comb-through "party color." He had padded his waist with scarves and shoved gobs of Tack 'n' Stick behind his ears, to make them stick out more. He had even applied fake tan, having stolen a bottle from Mrs. Piggott's cosmetics drawer.