Shadow Train (7 page)

“And what's that?” Maggie asked.

“Middleburg's darkest destiny,” Chin replied.

* * *

Nass had been lying on the floor of the windowless interrogation room for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. This time when he woke up, however, something was different. There was warm air blowing on his face, and he could hear voices. They sounded like they were echoing to him from far away, but he could hear them clearly. It only took him a moment to determine that the two voices belonged to Agent Hackett and Detective Zalewski.

“Listen,” Z was saying. “These kids are full of crap. You saw their statements. They read like the freakin'
Lord of the Rings.
”

“Thank you, detective, but I'll decide that for myself,” Hackett replied, his voice icy calm.

“These kids are scum, agent. The dregs of Middleburg. We're talking broken homes, alcoholic parents, flunkin' out of school, getting into fights. They'd say Martians landed in Hilltop Haven if they thought it would get them off the hook for something. Their stories are nonsense.”

“Are they? What if I were to tell you that the National Ocean and Atmospheric Administration satellites registered a massive energy disturbance in this region at the exact time these kids are claiming their friend disappeared in an explosion? Would you still say they are all liars, detective?”

“Well, okay, sure,” Z stammered. “We noted some trees had been knocked down in the area. You'll see that in the reports. Probably some stupid teenager's cherry bomb or something. What does this have to do with your case, anyway? I thought you said this was a manhunt.”

Hackett's voice lowered in volume, so that Nass had to inch toward the source of the sound in order to hear him.

“Detective, I'm sure you've heard in the movies where a spy says, ‘I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you'? Well, I'll tell you this, but it's absolutely classified. So if you repeat it to anyone . . .”

“Understood,” Z interrupted gruffly. “I just want to be in the loop so I can cooperate with you, Agent Hackett, that's all.”

There was a pause and then Hackett continued. “The guy we're looking for is a Chinese secret agent, specializing in advanced energy generation and weapons system technology. He works completely off the grid, and his men are insanely loyal. According to our reports, they operate almost like a cult. Now as lovely as Middleburg is, I don't think Feng Xu and his agents are here looking to take a five-star Kansas vacation.”

“So what are they after?” Z asked. “It's not like we have any advanced energy generation equipment or weapons systems in Middleburg—do we?”

“That's what I intend to find out, detective. One thing all these kids' stories have in common is some treasure—a ring—that exploded, releasing so much energy that it was detected from space. Whatever it was, it sounds like it vaporized this Raphael Kain kid. And before this ring surfaced, Chinese agents were combing the town looking for it. I think you can connect the dots.”

“So . . . what? You stopped the demolition in the Flats because you think the ring is still hidden there someplace?”

“My mission isn't to find the ring,” Hackett said. “The witnesses all say it was destroyed in the blast, anyway. All I care about is capturing Feng Xu. He's clearly here because he's after something. Maybe it's some technology associated with the ring, maybe something else. Whatever it is, I won't allow one scrap of evidence to be destroyed until I've got him. That means nothing gets bulldozed, nothing gets renovated, and no one leaves town. I've already got more men en route, and we're setting up checkpoints on all roads in and out of Middleburg.”

“What about the Flats kid?” Z asked.

“I'll worry about him. Your job is now PR. As the investigation unfolds, residents are going to call with questions. Your job is to BS them until they stop asking. Got it?”

“Whatever you say, Wade. I'm a team player.”

Nass heard a groan of chairs scraping across the floor, as if both men had stood up from a table. A second later, he heard the door open, and Agent Hackett entered and flipped on the lights.

Nass looked over and saw where the voices had been coming from: there was a hot-air vent in the floor right next to the spot where he'd passed out. The voices must have traveled to him through the heating duct. He was glad he'd heard the conversation, but he still wasn't sure what to make of it—or what it would mean for him now.

Hackett sat down in the room's only chair once again and calmly flipped through a file as Nass sat up and squinted at him, his vision adjusting to the sudden glare.

“What time is it?” he asked.

Hackett ignored the question. “The statements of several witnesses mention a glowing ring of some kind that was seen on the night that Raphael Kain disappeared.”

“Yeah, there was a ring,” Nass confirmed.

“And where is it now?”

“It disappeared. In the explosion.”

“Where there any remains? Any pieces of it left lying around?”

The knowing
flared once again, an overwhelming feeling that urged Nass to keep silent. He could tell the truth about everything else, but something told him that telling this guy about the ring shards would be a bad idea.

He shrugged. “My friends and I walked all over those tracks while we were looking for Raphael. Maybe it vaporized.”

“Or maybe those Obies picked up whatever was left of it?”

“Maybe,” Nass said. “After the explosion I never saw the Obies again.”

Hackett's shrewd gaze lingered on Nass for a long moment before he spoke again. “You remember that picture I showed you?” he said finally. “I expect you to let me know if you see that man or any of his minions again. I know you and your pals are out running the streets all the time. Keep me posted, all right?”

He handed Nass a plain white business card. It had his name printed on it,
Agent Wade Hackett,
and a phone number—nothing else.

“You help me out, I can be your best friend. If not, not. You feel me, Ignacio? Do we understand each other?”

“Yep. Got it,” Nass said, unable to restrain his irritation any longer. “Can I go now, please? I have a date. It is Valentine's Day, you know.”

Hackett chuckled, glancing at his watch. “Not anymore, it isn't,” he said.

* * *

Dalton sat on the edge of her bed, staring at a picture of herself and Nass from the Middleburg High School annual play. It was slightly warped from the spots where her tears had hit it, but it was dry now. She had finished crying a long time ago.

She heard her grandmother's gentle knock at the door and looked up.

“Just wanted to say goodnight, sweetie,” Lily Rose said, peering around the edge of the doorframe. She moved to walk away, and then paused. “Don't you worry, sugar. Nass is a good boy. If he stood you up, I expect he had a good reason.”

Dalton forced a sad smile. “He always does,” she said.

She knew exactly what her grandmother was saying: be kind, be patient, forgive and forget. But those were just words. Actions were what mattered. Nass had blown her off for Clarisse at the homecoming dance, and now he'd stood her up on Valentine's Day. Of course she wanted to be forgiving, as her grandma always urged her to be. But she also knew that she deserved a guy she didn't have to forgive all the time. And she was afraid she'd have to accept the heartbreaking fact that Nass wasn't that guy.

Her grandmother's sigh seemed to contain enough sympathy to match the pathos Dalton was feeling—and then some.

“Goodnight, little girl of mine. See you in the morning shine,” she said.

“'Night, Grandma,” Dalton said. And with a heavy heart, she reached over and turned out the light.

Chapter 4

By the time Nass reached the door
of his family's apartment building early Friday morning, the faint, pale glow of dawn was illuminating the eastern horizon.

Great,
he thought. His mother was an early riser, and their apartment was tiny. There was no way he could sneak in unnoticed. And missing curfew on Valentine's Day (especially since it was a week night) would probably give him an even steeper penalty than usual—maybe even a speech about responsibility, unplanned pregnancy, and traditional Catholic values. Explaining that he'd spent the night at the police station would result in another round of lectures. And that was nothing compared to the punishment he would receive soon, when he got to Middleburg High and got hold of Dalton. Nass braced for the onslaught to come as he stepped through the door and found his mother seated at the kitchen table, head bowed, and gazing pensively down into her coffee cup. Softly, he closed the door behind him and she looked up, her eyes wild with worry and red, as if she'd been crying.

He sighed. This wasn't going to easy; he might as well just be direct. “Don't get mad,” he began. “I can explain where I was . . .”

But she stood and rushed eagerly to him. “Oh, 'Nacio! I heard, honey. How is he?” She seemed gravely concerned.

Nass was confused. “How is who?”

“'Nacio, this is no time for jokes. Myka's mother said he's in critical condition!”

Instantly, Nass's mind leaped to Raphael. Had they found him while Nass was at the police station? Was he hurt? Sick? Two feelings struck him at the same time—excitement that his friend and leader might be back and dread at what his mother had said:
he's in critical condition.

She was still talking. “Is it true? She said they added a critical-care unit to the little hospital at Benton and they're going to keep him there until he stabilizes. You're such a good friend for spending the whole night with him. Was everyone else there, too?”

Nass felt numb. His mind wheeled wildly as he tried to process what had happened. “I need the car. I need to go there,” he said.

“You want to go back to the hospital?” she said. “Oh, dear God—it must be really bad! Of course—go,
mijo
. Go!”

Nass grabbed the keys off the hook by the door.

“Tell his family we're praying for them. And drive carefully!” But Nass barely heard her words as he raced out the door and down the steps.

* * *

Friday morning, Aimee gazed out the car window at the gray wintery streets of downtown Middleburg as Orias went through his almost daily ritual of convincing her that she had to go back to school.

“Your father wants you there at least four days a week
from now on,
” he scolded her sweetly as they drove along Main Street toward Middleburg High.

She turned and made a little face at him. “Why?” she asked. “I can't learn anything there that you can't teach me. Anyway, I'm keeping up—turning everything in on time.”

“He has laid down the law, it seems,” Orias told her. “I think he's concerned about your reputation.”

“If he only knew. I'm safer with you than in a convent.”

“He does know. He's worried about what other people think. And he wants you to spend some time at home this weekend.”

“Again—why?” she asked.

“He said he has something important to talk to you about—and Monday, he's having a big dinner party that we're both invited to. He said he's going to make some kind of big announcement.”

Aimee groaned. “I can hardly wait,” she said, her tone touched with sarcasm.

Orias pulled his Maserati into the student lot and put it in park. “You should probably get a ride with Rick after school and check in at home,” he said.

“No, pick me up, please. Don't leave me with my brother—he's getting creepier by the minute,” she said. “Or I can just slip.”

“We've talked about that, Aimee” he reminded her. “Someone could see you. I'll pick you up.”

“Won't you be busy with the contractors over at Elixir?”

“Never too busy for you.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “See you later then. But give your dad a call and let him know, okay? You'll have to see him sometime.”

Aimee took a deep breath, as if preparing herself to face an enemy, and got out of the car. Watching her head for the auditorium's side entrance, Orias hoped she would look back—but he knew she wouldn't. He wondered if she forgot him as soon as he was out of sight.

That didn't matter, as long as she forgot Raphael Kain.

He didn't know how much longer he could dose her with the tea. Oberon, his father, had told him once that drinking too much of it over an extended period of time could drive a human insane.

Orias uttered a low curse, annoyed. He should have let her go by now—sent her back to her father or gotten rid of her in some other way. Once the crystal ring exploded and lost its glorious power, she was of no more use to him.

But, he had told himself, since she had been the one destined to retrieve the ring, perhaps she could help in his bid to permanently take over his father's holdings and assume control of the Dark Territory. Aimee Banfield was part of it—part of the whole tapestry. The Big Picture. She still had an important part to play in it all—and once he figured out what it was he would be able to make a new plan to take his father's holdings, and his power, for good and forever.

Anyway, he would have found it almost impossible to get through the aftermath of the explosion without her. He had been so enraged and so devastated at losing the ring that he'd wanted to destroy Middleburg and everything else in his path. If the explosion hadn't drained his strength, he would have gone on a monstrous rampage. But Aimee had been amazing—unaffected by the blast and so solicitous, so genuinely concerned about him. She had gone home with him, put him to bed, and cared for him for three days and nights, until he started coming around.

That's when she'd started staying with him, insisting that he needed her, but even when he got better, she avoided going back to the Banfield house. That should have bothered Orias. If it were anyone else, their constant presence would have felt like an awful invasion of privacy, but with Aimee it was different. Everything was different.

The truth was that even once he got over the effects of the blast and was able to think more clearly, he still liked having her in his life. He wanted her for as long as he could have her.

And Orias Morrow was accustomed to getting everything he wanted.

* * *

In her continuing efforts to avoid Rick, Maggie had arrived at school as the first bell rang, just in time to make it to first-period study hall, which was held in the auditorium. Dalton, who sat next to her, already had her history book open.

Some things had changed—besides class schedules—since Maggie had raised her voice at the homecoming dance and destroyed the gymnasium. She and Dalton now had a few classes together and the icy situation between them had thawed considerably since Maggie had insisted on helping the Flatliners search for Raphael. The thing they had most in common, and probably what they liked best about each other, was that neither of them hesitated for one second to say what she thought.

Maggie hardly ever saw her old friends anymore, including the other cheerleaders, Lisa Marie and Bobbi Jean, and it wasn't only that she no longer had that much in common with them. Spending time with them would have meant hanging out with the jocks—and that would have meant seeing Rick. She was about to ask Dalton about one of their homework assignments when she saw Aimee coming in. She nodded in Aimee's direction.

“He dropped her off again this morning,” she said when Dalton looked up and followed her gaze.

“Orias?” Dalton asked.

Maggie nodded. “I saw them as I came in. Kissing.” After a moment she added, “Does she ever mention Raphael?” She almost dreaded to hear the answer.

“No.” Dalton shook her head. “And if I mention him, she acts like she doesn't know who I'm talking about—most of the time.”

“Really?” In spite of trying not to allow it, Maggie's hopes rose just a little. It wasn't clear to Maggie exactly what Orias was doing in Middleburg, but she was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea for Aimee to be practically living with him. She still felt guilty that she hadn't tried to help Aimee that day in the auditorium, when Orias had taken Aimee's hand and filled her aura with his strange energy—but she couldn't help being glad that Aimee showed every sign of having gotten over Raphael.

“You really like him, don't you?” asked Dalton. For the first time, Maggie heard real sympathy in her voice.

Maggie gave a little shrug. “Everybody likes Raphael,” she replied.

Dalton reacted to Maggie's noncommittal response with one of her trademark “yeah right” looks. That was another reason their friendship had blossomed over the last few months: nothing got past Dalton.

But now, Maggie fell silent as Aimee took the seat next to her.

“What about you, Aimee?” Dalton said. “You
used
to like him, right?”

The second bell saved Aimee from answering right away. “Who?” she asked when the clanging stopped. She took off her coat, threw it over the back of the chair in front of her, and balanced her notebook and purse on her lap. She had neither books nor backpack.

“Raphael,” Dalton said, and when Aimee just looked blank and remained silent, she added, “Raphael Kain, Flatliner bad boy that you hung out with all during the play?”

“Oh—him,” Aimee said. “He's okay, I guess.”

Mr. Brighton, their study hall teacher as well as their drama instructor, didn't verbally call the roll; he sent an attendance roster around for everyone to sign. And he wasn't strict about the no-talking rule, as long as it related to homework and didn't get too rowdy. The three girls signed the attendance sheet and passed it on. Maggie turned her history book to the same page Dalton had open.

“Aimee . . . what's wrong with you?” Dalton whispered. “You know you and Raphael had a major thing. During the play you guys were—”

Aimee interrupted again, as if she didn't want to be reminded. “Right—the play,” she said. “Yeah, I guess. But then the play was over and whatever I thought I felt for—for that boy—that was over too.”

Dalton frowned and Maggie could tell she wasn't buying it. “But you went to the homecoming dance with him,” Dalton argued.

Aimee's brow furrowed slightly as if she was trying to remember. “I guess . . . I did,” she said vaguely. “I don't know why. My dad says I was just going through my rebellious stage. Anyway, then I met Orias,” she finished, as if that explained everything.

None of them noticed Mr. Brighton approaching. “Okay, girls,” he said softly, glancing down at the open books. “Are we talking American history, or the history of who likes who at Middleburg High? Aimee, do you need to borrow a book from someone?”

She looked at him, her expression dreamy. “Yes, thanks,” she said pleasantly. “I must have forgotten mine.”

* * *

It was time for Friday morning classes to start, but Nass wasn't at school; he was driving, on his way to Benton. As he drove, he looked at his cell phone for perhaps the fifth time, and then reminded himself that it was dead. Agent Hackett had taken it from him when he locked him in the police station, and when he got it back, the battery was spent. He wished desperately that it was working so he could call and check in with Beet, the only other Flatliner with a cell phone, but he didn't have a car charger. He'd just have to wait until he got to Benton to find out what was going on.

When he finally arrived the sun was up. Its bright, clear golden rays soared through the trees, streaking across a pale blue sky. It looked to Nass like the banner proclaiming the arrival of an early spring, but the beauty around him made the sickening worry and exhaustion he felt even worse.

When Nass had first moved to Middleburg, Benton had been the location of the nearest walk-in clinic and a pretty lame one at that. With the recent opening of the Benton Regional Medical Center, however, the town now boasted a full-fledged hospital, complete with an ER, an intensive-care unit, and an outpatient surgery wing—at least according to the sign. The place even smelled new, Nass noticed as the automatic doors slid open, ushering him inside. But he didn't take more than a second to look at the décor of the place. He was already hurrying up to an information desk when he caught sight of Beet pacing in a pastel-colored waiting area with furniture covered in a thick, plastic floral motif. He glanced around and saw that the rest of the Flatliners were there, too, all of them sitting silently together with downcast eyes.

And then he saw Emory's family sitting in the corner. His sister, Haylee, was wearing a fancy dress and crying quietly while her mother cradled her in her arms. His father just stared at the far wall, looking completely rigid and empty, like a wooden carving of himself instead of a real person. Myka sat a little ways away from everyone else with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed.