The Next Chronicle (Book 1): Next (13 page)

Kit wanted to argue, but she realized he was right. The last thing she wanted was to be sidelined while the man who killed Towney and an entire family was brought to justice.

“
Fine,” she said, and limped toward the elevator.

There was a bag of chicken sandwiches waiting when Kit made it back to her office with a note from Nunez stuck to it. Next to the bag sat a bottle scrawled with the words 'Trust Me,' which contained a single pill. The back of the note explained that the pill required a lot of protein to work, and she should take it before eating the food and go to sleep soon after.

“
What the hell,” Kit said, downing the pill. Despite having already had lunch, she was profoundly hungry and made short work of the sandwiches. Superior healing abilities came with high metabolic demands. On the plus side, her physiology meant that even a five-thousand calorie diet left her svelte.

She ate while sitting on the couch, and didn't even feel all that tired. Which was why, seven hours later, she jumped when a woman's voice woke her up.

“Jesus, it looks like someone murdered a Zaxby's in here.”

Kit swore when the person flipped on the light. “Ugh, what's going on?” she asked groggily.

Peep stood at the door with a smile on her face. “I'm your date,” she said, tossing a bag at Kit. “Get dressed and I'll take you to the bar we're meeting at.”

Kit grumbled and sat up, pawing at the bag. “There better not be a dress in here,” she warned.

Peep chuckled. “Uncle Rowdy was pretty clear you aren't a dress sort of person,” she said. “I guessed at your size, but I think you'll like it.”

To her surprise, Kit did like the outfit. The shirt was a sleeveless pale yellow affair with a swooping neck, paired with loose black pants in a shimmery material. She had to run up to her quarters to find shoes. Halfway up the stairs she realized the pain in her limbs was nearly gone. Only some stiffness remained.

“I'm gonna buy that man dinner,” she muttered to herself.

They were almost through the door when Kit stopped, remembering something. She darted back to her desk to remove a small jewelry box from the top drawer. Kit opened it and pulled her ID ring out, slipping it onto her right index finger. It was a beautiful piece of work, the inner band white gold set against traditional gold on the outside. The helix itself was an inlay made with Black Hills gold, which was made to look like both a DNA molecule as well as leaves. The reddish hue of the helix stood out against the pale background.

“I thought you never wore that thing,” Peep said.

Kit stared at the ring. “I don't, usually. I sort of feel like I owe it to Towney, you know? He didn't hide what he was.”

Peep smiled. “Good. You shouldn't be ashamed, Kit.”

Kit sensed the conversation heading in uncomfortably, touchy-feely directions. “I need much booze in my system to have this talk,” she said.

Peep laughed. “That, I can manage.”

The bar turned out to be an underground place. Not in the hipster, 'I'm sure you've never heard of it' sort of underground, but physically located in the basement of a building. Peep led Kit down the steps and through the door, over which hung a wooden sign with the image of a slender black dragon carved into it.

“Welcome to Drake's,” Peep said.

The low ceilings were festooned with strings of Christmas lights. The ceiling itself was made up of the floor joists of the first floor, the lights tucked between them to create off trenches of illumination from end to end. The result was to make the bar look like a speakeasy built in the basement of someone's house. Wooden pillars dotted the room, which was filled with heavy tables that looked hand-made. The bar itself spanned the entire far wall of the place, and lacked the expected neon signs and wide mirror. Candles burned in sconces, the jukebox played Celtic punk music, and in a corner three men played poker. One of them wore a bowler hat tilted down over his face.

Kit instantly fell in love with Drake's.

“
There they are,” Peep said, hauling Kit across the huge room.

A huge group of people milled about near the far left wall. The relative dimness made it hard to make out faces, and the bar was crowded, but as they approached Kit put their number around thirty. A sizable chunk of their field agents. She knew most of them, but had not spent any time with them socially. The urge to run welled up in her.

Peep seemed to sense it, putting a hand on Kit's elbow. “It'll be fine once we get you drunk,” she said.

“
I don't drink very often,” Kit protested. “Not much at all since I got my powers. I don't even know if I can
get
drunk.”

The other woman pulled out a roll of bills and gave the money a little wave. “Let's find out, then.”

Archer appeared from the crowd, deftly taking possession of Kit as Peep wandered toward the bar. “Glad you made it,” he said, shouting slightly to be heard over the soulful wail of Flogging Molly. “Nunez wasn't sure if you'd wake up.”

Alarmed, Kit stopped. “What, like, ever?” she asked.

Archer grinned. “Nah, he just said the nanomachines in that pill would knock you out while they worked.”

“
Wait,” Kit said. “Are you telling me I ate a bunch of tiny robots?”

“
Yes!” Archer said, laughing maniacally. “And I fucking
love
that we can have this conversation! I mean, all bad parts aside, we're living in a world where mad science is completely a thing.”

He laughed again and continued to pull her toward the group, wobbling slightly as he did so.

“Drunk much?” she said.

Archer winked. “I've been here for two hours. I'm pleasantly pickled.”

Kit was greeted by the group, though she was disappointed to note Deakins was not among them. Since the facility had to have a minimum crew of agents ready to go at any time, someone had to be in charge. Still, it was odd and pleasant to see the staff greet her with sloppy grins and tipped glasses.

Kit was content to sit quietly as the others chatted. Archer took a seat next to her, idly shouting jokes and insults at his subordinates between deep pulls on his beer. The staff gave back as good as they got.

Peep returned a few minutes later with two bottles, which she placed reverently in the middle of Kit's table. Red plastic cups appeared as if by magic, and a hush rippled through the gathered friends and coworkers.

“
How in the world did you get those?” asked Ben Carlton, standing near enough for Kit to hear him over the din.

Archer grinned. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned. “We're together tonight for one reason and one reason only. We're here for Gil Towney!” A round of approving laughter swept the group. Archer put his hands up for quiet.

“We're not here to mourn the man,” Archer said. “That's what the funeral is for. Tonight we're going to have fun. We're going to tell some stories. We're going to remind ourselves that no matter how much we get on each other's nerves, we're family. At the end of the day I have your back, and you have mine.” Archer opened one of the bottles and held it up. “This is Pappy Van Winkle's 20 year reserve. It is without a doubt the best whiskey on the planet.”

He poured a finger of fine bourbon in a cup and handed it to Kit. “I can't think of a better way to celebrate a man as good as Towney than drinking a couple grand worth of the world's best in his name.”

There was another round of laughter and cheers, though Kit was not alone in needing to blink away sudden tears. When everyone had their cups, Archer raised his in the air. He looked at Kit expectantly.

“
To Gil Towney,” she said, raising her own. “
Baruch dayan emet.
”

They all drank to that.

Kit woke up in stages, and none of them were fun.

First came the awareness that she was alive, a state of being barely preferable to the alternative. A deep, resonant headache bloomed into existence alongside consciousness. Her throat had the telltale burn of a night spent paying tribute to the porcelain gods, and even with her eyes closed the room lurched in new and exciting directions.

“
What a terrible fucking way to start the day,” Kit mumbled.

Then she opened her eyes and revised the opinion. Last night, it appeared, had taken a
turn
.

The cell was familiar. It should be; she was inside one of the minimum security compartments in the facility. The faint hum of the electromagnetic array built into the walls was unmistakable. In deference to her pounding headache and the rolling nausea dancing in her middle, Kit sat up slowly.

Being vertical didn't do much for her mood. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “What happened last night?”

She remembered drinking the first round of Pappy. That much was crystal clear. Then Peep challenged her to shots of some kind. They were purple. At some point Kit began ordering her own drinks, then recalled Ben coming over and talking with her for a long time. Had she giggled at him? Surely not. Kit was a member of Helix. She annihilated terrorist cells in the dead of night, shrugging off bullets as she did so. She did not giggle.

So she told herself.

Kit spent another few minutes trying to figure out what happened next, but after Ben joined the table things got fuzzy. The last image in her head was getting up to fetch a round of drinks, then nothing. Whatever had happened had landed her in here.

The door to her cell opened. Archer stood silhouetted in it.

Kit squinted at the harsh light spilling in from the hall, putting a hand in front of her face. “What happened?” she asked quickly.

Archer paused. “You don't remember?”

“
Obviously not,” Kit snapped.

“
It was bad,” Archer said in a somber voice. “I called a lawyer friend of mine, but I won't lie to you, Kit. You're probably going to do some time over this.”

Heart hammering, she looked up at him.

Archer grinned.

With a sobbing laugh, Kit launched herself at him, slapping him across the shoulders. “You asshole! You had me thinking I killed someone!”

“Hey, careful now, I brought you coffee! You're going to spill it.”

Kit perked up. “Coffee? Yes, please. You didn't put any of that crazy shit in it you like so much, did you?”

Archer handed over a cup. “Nope. I know you prefer your Starbucks like you prefer your men. Tall and black.”

Kit almost choked on her first sip. “What?”

Archer gave her a consoling pat on the back. “I think poor Ben was worried you were going to drag him back to your cave last night. Especially after you whispered in his ear and slapped his ass.”

“
You're kidding,” Kit said, mortified.

Archer's eyes twinkled. “Oh, no. I'm dead serious. You were all over him. He didn't seem to mind, in case you were wondering. But he said he couldn't take advantage of you.”

Kit shook her head, definitely not wanting to have this conversation with Archer. “So how did I end up in a cell?”

“
Ah, yes,” Archer said. “Some dick at the bar saw your ring when you went to get drinks. Gave you a bunch of crap about it. Apparently he wasn't thrilled to discover you were a Next, at which point you made some comments about his genitals or lack thereof, and pointed out you were there to celebrate the life of a Next who was ten times the man he was.”

Archer took a long dramatic pause and sipped his coffee. “Which was when he punched you. We all saw it happen. You laughed at him, which pissed the guy off even more, so he hit you again.”

With caffeine beginning to put her systems back online, she smiled. “So you figured you'd haul me somewhere safe until I sobered up?”

Archer shrugged. “You broke his hand before we could get to you, but yeah. We brought you home after that.”

Kit flinched. “That's going to bite me in the ass.”

Archer shook his head. “Nah, he hit you first, and in front of a ton of witnesses. You could press charges if you want.”

“No, thanks,” Kit said. “I have enough on my plate.”

Archer slapped her knee and stood. “As for that, let's head up to the office. I have some good news for you.”

By the time they reached Kit's office, she was feeling alive again. The lights were already on when they entered, revealing Ray Elliot asleep on her couch. The coffee table next to him was littered with empty trays from the facility cafeteria. There were only a few smears left on them, nary a crumb to be seen.

“Wow,” she said. “Even for a food coma, that's a little extreme.”

Archer chuckled. “He's not actually sleeping. He's looking for our killer. Once he started eating, he didn't stop. Said he had to fill the old battery to try this out. Apparently it takes a lot out of him.”

“How long has he been at it?” Kit asked.

Archer checked his watch. “About an hour. I did some paperwork after he started, then went and woke you up.”

Kit was about to take a seat and begin checking police dispatches when Ray's eyes snapped open. He sat up with a groan, brushing his shaggy black hair away from his painfully thin face. “Well, that was informative,” he said.

Hope rose in Kit's chest. “Did you find him?” she asked.

Blowing out a breath and searching through the trays for a scrap of food, Ray nodded. “Yeah, I found him. But he also found me, so I couldn't get close.”

Archer cocked his head. “What do you mean, he found you? Aren't you just sort of floating around when you do this, like a ghost?”

Ray nodded. “Yeah. I don't know exactly how it works, but I think I'm sending my mind out along the energy of the Surge. That's why I see everything in shades of green. Sort of like that movie with Keanu Reeves in it, the one where he sees computer code?”

“
The Matrix,” Kit supplied.

“
Yeah,” Ray said. “When I'm looking at Next that way, they vary in brightness. I think they're brighter the more powerful they are. I found our guy on the west side of town, not that far from where he attacked you. He was too bright to look at, like the sun. I was floating maybe a hundred feet in the air trying to make him out inside all that light when he saw me.”

“
How do you know he saw you?” Kit asked.

Ray's eyes grew distant. “I couldn't see him inside the bubble of light he was giving off, but the whole thing shifted when I got close, like it was turning toward me. Then I was hit by something. I know you said he was telekinetic, but I wasn't really there. I think he can manipulate the
Surge itself. He slapped me away like a home run. Which means not only can this guy sense the Next the same way I can, he can screw with their—our—power source.”

Kit opened her mouth to say something, then had a thought. She ran around her desk and fired up her computer. “Comeoncomeoncomeon,” she said at top speed as she waited.

Archer slipped around the desk as well. “What is it?” he asked.

“
Had an idea,” she replied as she typed in her password. “Looking to see if there's anything on the radar for the west side.”

“
What, are you guys plugged into the police department or something?” Ray asked.

“
The OSA field offices and detainment facilities—and we're both, by the way—all receive a feed of every piece of data entered by state and local police. We also get feeds from the DEA, the ATF, and a bunch of other agencies and sources, including news organizations. One of the ladies in our lab created a computer program to sift through all of it and bring up items that fit our parameters. That way we don't always have to wait for someone to contact us with information.”

Ray scratched his chin absently. “Is that legal?”

“Oh, yeah,” Archer replied. “The McDonnell Bill became the McDonnell Act, which gave the DSA and the OSA pretty extreme powers, including court-ordered access to pretty much anything we want, so long as it involves policing the Next.”

Ray frowned, but before he could reply to that, Kit thumped a fist to her desk.

“Got it!” she exclaimed. “Right on the edge of the county. A house was reported burglarized, flagged as suspicious by the officer on scene, possibly superhuman involvement.”

“
What's his reasoning for that?” Archer asked.

Kit smiled grimly. “The front door was ripped to pieces. Just like our man did at the Maggard house. It's thin, but it's something.”

Archer grabbed the phone from the desk and called downstairs to get a team ready. After Towney's death, there was a unit on standby for emergencies, a measure Robinson insisted on and no one disagreed with. He moved across the room to grab Kit's coat for her. As they readied themselves to leave, Ray stood up. This caught Archer's attention.

“
Oh, right,” the big man said. “There's a bathroom just down the hall. The only people coming to the second floor already know you're awake, so you don't worry about being seen. If you need more to eat, just tell Nicki, and she'll order you as much as you want. We have a big menu here.”

Archer turned to leave, but Ray grabbed his arm.

To Kit's eyes, the world stopped for that second. Archer, like most people, wore a mask throughout his day. Kit had seen it drop away before, changing from affable to something darker instantly. There wasn't any question why his eyes suddenly blazed, cold fury radiating from every pore. The man hanging onto his wrist was responsible for the death of nearly every person in Archer's family.

For his part, Ray looked determined, though his own expression carried hints of pity and regret.

As soon as it came, the moment was gone. The mask slid back down and became the face of a patient man once again. But Kit had seen it. Ray had as well.

“
I want to come with you,” Ray said. His tone of voice was without even the first note of pleading in it. Nor was it demanding.

“
No,” Archer said flatly. “Aside from the fact you're a day removed from a coma and weak as a kitten, you're famous. Everyone on the planet knows your name and face. Do you want to start a riot?”

Ray's eyes flashed, something unknown passing between the two men. “I'm fifty pounds lighter, ten years older, my hair is long and I have a beard,” Ray said. “Let me borrow some sunglasses and clothes that aren't prison issue, and I can pass for a completely different person.” Ray set his jaw. “I
am
going, Mr. Archer.”

Again something passed between the men, something Kit couldn't understand even though she could see the shift in their body language.

“Fine,” Archer said tersely. “But if you cost us time and we miss catching this asshole because of it, I'm putting you in a cell.”

“
Fair enough,” Ray replied. “I want to help you. I think I can search for him without leaving my body if we're close enough.”

Some of the tension melted away, though both men still looked like dogs about to snap.

“Well, now that you've both put your dicks away, we can get to work,” Kit said.

Ray and Archer gave her incredulous looks, which Kit gracefully ignored. She picked up the phone and pressed the intercom. “Nicki,” she said. “Please page—” she glanced at Ray, sizing him up, “—agents Hellard, Blanton, and Fowler. See if they have spare clothes here, and if they do, tell them to hustle up to my office with them.” Kit nearly hung up the phone before another idea popped into her head. “Oh, and Nicki? Also have Sophie come up here as fast as possible.”

The wait was short, a fact Kit was thankful for considering the air of discomfort in the room. Hellard appeared at a dead sprint a few minutes later carrying his spare suit and a pair of socks. Kit hadn't thought about shoes, but Blanton showed up a minute later. His spare pair were slightly large, but fit well enough.

Sophie came through the door as the other agents left. Even shorter than Kit, she was also slight of build. “What's up?” she asked as she came to a stop.

Kit pointed at Ray. “We need to take him out in public,” she explained. “I was wondering if you could make it harder for people to recognize him.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows. “How fast are we talking?”

“We need to be gone ten minutes ago,” Archer said.

“
Ah,” Sophie said. She peered at Ray, scanning his face with the practiced eye of an expert horse trader. “Well, he already barely looks like himself,” she noted. “He's really skinny, which is going to make it harder on him.” She glanced at Archer, who shrugged. “I guess that's not really a concern.”

“
Excuse me,” Ray interjected. “What are we talking about, here?”

Sophie stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers. “She's asking me to do this to your face.”

There was a faint cracking sound from Ray's hand. He yelped, pulling the hand away and stepping back from Sophie. “What the hell?”