I can fix this, Sadie thought. “They—” She had no idea. “One of them is an old ferry boat in an empty lot. The lot has a high wall around it so you can’t see it from the street. Another was an old camper, completely overgrown by bushes so it looks like a bush itself.” She felt the clammy attention of predators waiting to strike. “And there was an abandoned house with a big tree in the yard, on a block of other abandoned houses, with a secret door through the fireplace.”
Johann read from his tablet: “A ferry behind a tall fence, a camper concealed in a bush, and a vacant house with a tree. Is that right, Miss Ames?”
“I’m afraid so.” What was she supposed to say? Her mouth filled with the bitter taste of coffee grounds. A bead of sweat rolled down her back. “There’s one other place. It’s where he was when I first entered Syncopy. They call it the Castle, and it seems to be a sort of social club for Chapsters. All of Ford’s brother’s friends go there.” She added. “I think some of them might be gangsters.”
“We already know about that place,” Curtis said dismissively, with a glance at Johann. “The old University Club.”
Johann put his tablet down. “Right.”
“I think we have enough,” Curtis said.
“Are you sure?” Sadie asked. “His brother’s friends seem to be involved in something criminal. We saw them beating someone up because he didn’t have money for—”
“We?” Miranda asked, cutting her off.
“That is, For—I mean, Subject Nine did,” Sadie stuttered.
The table was a sea of hostile faces. Curtis gave her what she assumed was meant to be an encouraging smile and said, “You can go, Sadie. We’ll be in touch.”
CHAPTER 12
Subbasement fourteen, going up,” the pleasant female voice of the elevator said Sunday morning.
We’ll be in touch. Even now, almost twenty-four hours later, the words echoed unpleasantly in Sadie’s head. She gripped the rail against the back wall to keep from shaking.
“Subbasement twelve, going up.”
She’d spent the afternoon after her debriefing in her room in Mind Corps guest quarters, wallowing in self-recrimination and doubt. She’d gone to dinner, picked at a plate of meatballs she didn’t remember asking for, and had been slinking back to her room when Catrina stopped her in the hall.
“I heard about this afternoon,” Catrina said, aiming right for Sadie’s most tender part. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I feel partially responsible. I warned Curtis this would happen.”
Sadie felt a flash of confusion mixed with anger. “You warned him? About what?”
Catrina’s voice stayed flat and emotionless. “That you’re too soft. Too gullible.” Catrina’s eyes were cool hard stones, appraising and unreadable. “You think you know your Subject. You believe what you see. But you have no idea of the deception he’s capable of. You have to be ruthless if you want to do good, and you don’t have that in you.”
Sadie felt like her entire perspective, all her perceptions, were completely off. Soft? My problem is that I’m too cold, too analytical, her mind protested. “Wouldn’t being ruthless yield just as compromised results as being too trusting?” she shot back.
Catrina gave her a tiny smile. “I’ve made you defensive. I’m sorry.” Nothing in her tone backed that up. “When you’re feeling rational again, you’ll see that I’m right.” Her eyes shifted and Curtis appeared then, walking in their direction. She gave him a brusque nod. “Curtis.”
He was equally cool back. “Catrina. You two look like you’re discussing weighty matters.”
“Tradecraft,” Catrina told him. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it.” She said to Sadie, “It was a pleasure talking to you,” and disappeared across the hall, through the door marked BRICOLAGE.
“Subbasement ten, going up.”
“What do they do in there?” Sadie had asked Curtis, nodding toward Catrina’s retreating back. She was desperate to do anything other than talk about the debriefing. “I’ve been wondering since the first day of orientation.”
Curtis had raised an eyebrow at her evasion but played along, saying matter-of-factly, “They work on the targeted use of archetypes and myths to channel behavior. The idea of the boogeyman, for example, which begins as a tool of parental control to frighten children but assumes mythic powers as members of a community hide their misdeeds under his name. An old idea but an effective one that plays on the way minds link thought, memory, and emotion to create meaning.”
“Fascinating,” Sadie said, hoping he’d go on.
Curtis laughed. “Maybe, but that’s all the deflection you get. Are you going to tell me what just happened with Catrina, or should I guess?”
Sadie hesitated for a moment then blurted, “She said I wasn’t ruthless enough. That I’m too soft.”
Curtis looked bemused. “Did she?” He shook his head and dug his hands into his pockets. “I wouldn’t listen to Catrina. I think you’re perfect.”
Sadie’s stomach fluttered. “I thought you and she were”—she swallowed, looking for an adult way to put it—“intimate.” And failing miserably, she congratulated herself.
“How did you—?” Curtis started to ask but changed his mind, saying evasively, “We were.” For the first time since she’d known him, Curtis seemed less than confident.
Which made Sadie feel bold. “What happened?”
His eyes settled on her face now in a way different than they had before. They moved lazily from her lips to her chin, and back to her eyes. “Let’s say someone else got in the way.”
Sadie’s heart was racing. Was he really saying what he seemed to be? Despite her performance at the debriefing? Could that mean that maybe she hadn’t destroyed her chances after all? He seemed to be drawing closer to her, his eyes on her lips now, close enough so that she could feel the warmth of his chest and smell the soft citrus scent of his cologne, about to lean in and kiss her with his delicious—
But she hadn’t gotten to find out what delicious flavor his lips were because a guy had come out of the Bricolage office just then and said, “We’re waiting for you to begin.”
And also of course because she had a boyfriend.
“Subbasement six, going up.”
She’d slept fitfully until the call from the Committee had woken her that morning. “We have decided not to extend your Syncopy. Thank you for your service.” Two sentences, no explanation. Pack your bag. It was over. Done.
“Don’t take it personally,” Curtis advised as he walked her to the elevator. “We’ll see each other soon.”
“Subbasement five, going up.”
And now here she was, heading home after less than a week. At least you won’t ever have to taste Meatballz, she tried to console herself.
She choked on a sob.
For the first time in her life, Sadie was a failure. It had always been there, lurking in the corners of her mind, an alert, preening bird of prey waiting to sweep down and sink its claws into her at the slightest sign of vulnerability. She’d felt the beat of its wings on the back of her neck during debates, the caress of a feather against her cheek late at night when a thesis statement eluded her, heard its mocking call during exams, but so far she had always beaten it back. Knowing it was there, watching with unblinking eyes, kept her on her toes, kept her humble, alert. Now it was right on her, talons digging in, staring into her eyes. And it hurt.
Maybe Catrina had been right. Maybe she was too soft, too—