The only thing worse than breaking down crying like a softhearted child was doing it in front of other people. But if there was ever a time to surrender to your feelings, it probably was after surviving an unasked-for gunfight with a homicidal robot.
“I can’t believe he got away,” I said between sobs as Matt bandaged my forehead under the kitchen fluorescents.
He stood back to assess his work. “I can’t believe you finally listened to your mom.”
I wiped my nose on my hoodie. “That’s what’s noteworthy here?”
“I take wins where I find them.” Matt smoothed the third Band-Aid, fighting a frown.
Yes, I’d messed up, not trusting Mom to deal with Athleisure. But in my defense, I’d been trying to work with her—while also doing my own thing on the side. I guess I’d failed spectacularly at both.
The craziest part was this was like one humongous misunderstanding. Garrett had chanced across Ko Prime in an alley and I happened to get his torn-out tracker. Then I made the mistake of turning it on one time, and Otokotronics pounced, thinking I must know something about the stupid Talisman—until Athleisure took them out with a surprise roadblock and a couple well-placed bullets. He must’ve been tailing them for a while and realized if Otokotronics captured us, it had to be about the Talisman.
Argh! I choked back the scream rising in my throat. I’d really been doing a bang-up job of finding the Talisman and keeping Mom safe. Things would’ve been different if we had a bot, but Otokotronics had locked theirs down, and Athleisure could apparently track game systems now.
Sinking onto a stool at the kitchen bar, I cradled my head in my hands. Laramee sure was taking his sweet time getting here. “It’s just a matter of time until Athleisure comes back for us.” And what about Stanton? It was like they knew each other—like the cop was letting him get away.
“You’re right,” Matt said, sweeping the Band-Aid wrappers into the trash. “We have our health and an interdimensional railgun. Things are like super hopeless.”
Despite everything, I felt myself mirroring Matt’s creeping smile. “Might as well lie down under a bush and let the earth reclaim us.”
Matt snorted. “Might as well.”
After nearly getting killed by Athleisure, we needed protection, and we needed it now. It just wasn’t clear Mom’s ex-union buddies could provide it. Agent Summers, on the other hand, had offered FBI resources to protect us. All I had to do was get her the Talisman—assuming I could even find her. That would save Mom from extradition too.
“You think your Mom and Stanton can track him down?” Matt plunked onto the stool beside me. “Like, where would Athleisure go?”
I flung up a hand. “Sunglass Hut? Fuck if I know.” Something about him was just … off. The way he changed moods at the drop of a hat. Or didn’t even see Matt in the laundry room. I should’ve made sure he was dead when I had the chance—like he’d done with Dia. That splattering sound in the van kept playing in my head. I closed my eyes, willing it away.
My phone vibrated. If Mom was texting me … But it wasn’t her. It was the nonsense texter with the 395 number.
395: scanlan
Goosebumps ran along my arms. “Shit. It’s that prick texting me again. He knows my name.” I padded into the living room, texting him back.
me: for real who is this?
395: I’m thirsty
I settled into the futon. What was with this guy?
me: what do you want?
395: down by the bay where the watermelons grow
395: back to my home I dare not go
395: for if I do my mother will say
395: did you ever see a house brown as a mouse
395: down by the bay
I succumbed to a full-body shiver.
“What is it?” Matt stuck a finger through the blinds to scowl at the outside world.
“When I was little, we rented a house with wood siding in Bayside. I think he’s … talking about it.” It was one of those hazy childhood memories, unclear where reality ended and Mom’s stories began. “Didn’t Laramee say Ko Prime was killed in Bayside? Maybe this texter knows.”
Matt thrust his head back. “You think this guy is trying to threaten you?”
I pulled my hoodie close, my fingers flying across the screen.
me: is this a threat?
395: no more mouse house
“He’s talking nonsense.”
“How would the texting dude know where you lived when you were a kid?”
I let out a shuddering sigh. “No idea.” Finding out where Ko Prime unloaded the Talisman was still our best move. But maybe we could take a shortcut. If this texter was sending clues about my house in Bayside, maybe he knew about the girl who’d died there.
me: you know anything about a girl who came through a dumpster, ended up in bayside?
395: yes
My stomach bottomed out. Could the texting asshole really have known about Ko Prime all along?
me: do you know where she went after the warehouse?
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395: here
Holy crap! Why hadn’t I asked him ages ago?
me: where???
395: did you ever see a house brown as a mouse
My old house in Bayside? Why would she go there?
me: did you see her there??
Dot dot dot. Then nothing.
If he’d seen something at my old house in Bayside, anything …
me: tell me!
Silence. Not even dots. He could be playing me. It could all be a trap. But if there was a chance this guy had really seen her there, we had to check it out. Very carefully. I just didn’t know what I was hoping to find. Maybe someone who’d seen her poking around the house.
Except Laramee was MIA, and all I’d accomplished with Mom is putting her in danger. That helpless feeling when Athleisure had her at gunpoint? Never again. No, we needed the FBI's protection. “Ko Prime was up to something in Bayside before she died. Likely with the Talisman. And with Otokotronics coming tomorrow …”
He caught my meaning, his brow a rocky outcrop. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this, Ko.”
I wouldn’t blame him if he was losing his nerve. But … “Weren’t you just the one giving me the pep talk in the laundry room?”
“It’s not about that. I’m talking about … me enabling you.” He finally met my eyes with a sad puppy dog look. “I already went through this once with my sister. Like, I want to help you. I really do. But not if it means sneaking around and making things worse. Or putting you in harm’s way.”
My fingertips pressed the bandages on my forehead until my eyes watered. “I don’t know where you’ve been the past couple days, Matt, but we’re already in harm’s way!” Where was this coming from? I mean, yeah, Matt had been helping me with my own secret investigation. So he wasn’t comfortable with it. Fine. I wasn’t comfortable with it. But I’d just spilled everything to Mom. That was over. “I can write my mom a note. I just don’t want to distract her now.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I do. And I appreciate your help. Really. I’d be totally lost without you. I need you to help us stay alive. We’re both in this now, and we make decisions together from now on. Okay?” I meant it. I couldn’t do this alone.
His eyes flashed wide before narrowing. “How do I know you're for real?”
“Because I saw what happens when we fight. And I totally share the blame in bringing down Athleisure on us. We have to do this as a team.”
His shoulders softened. “Promise?”
“Promise. We can get into this more later, okay? Assuming there is a later. So are you coming with me to Bayside?”
There was a sad twinkle in his eyes. “I always wanted to see what kinda rough upbringing resulted in … whatever’s wrong with you.” He fished in his pocket for his keys. “May wanna freshen up though. You look like a raccoon that just got dumped.”
I stuck out my tongue, pushing to my feet. “Well you look like a stupid … dumb potato.”
He grinned. “Good one. Really clever. I like that.”
My groan—and his smirk—made things feel almost normal, just for a second.
By the time we’d made it across town, snagged parking in Bayside, and hurried past a palm-ringed Trader Joe’s, my tooth was throbbing in time with my heartbeat. The clouds had given up, grudgingly rolling back for pale sky stretching to the forest of masts on the waterfront.
I stopped in my tracks at a stack of apartments atop a glittering Thai restaurant. An office park was sprawled across the street, glass buildings with bay views. A helicopter perched atop the nearest. “It’s gone.”
Matt looked up from his sandals. “What is?”
“My house from when I was a kid.” It was like a part of my childhood had vanished. “I guess Bayside got super gentrified the last few years.” Or maybe that memory wasn’t even from this world.
He surveyed the cars lining the street. “That asshole texting you said no more brown house, right? You think he was telling you your house was gone? Some sorta oblique clue?”
A pale-faced man, jagged hair and a blanket around his shoulders, crouched in a storefront beside the office building with the chopper, his curious gaze trained on us.
Even in bougie Bayside, I had to remind myself we needed to be careful. I fingered the Iriguchi in my cutoffs before sliding out my phone. Matt leaned in to shoulder surf as I texted the 395 number.
me: why did you send us to this building?
me: what the hell is here?
395: I is
A chill prickled my skin. I stepped back, sizing up the building, yawning glass the color of sky. Who lurked in there? I was getting serious non-native speaker vibes.
me: so, what? can we come in to talk?
395: ok
This really could be a trap. But with Athleisure gunning for us and the other world’s FBI after Mom, I didn’t have the luxury of turning down legitimate leads. We had the hand cannon, just in case. I geared myself up for a debate with Matt about whether it was safe to go in. Whether we needed my mother’s prior written approval. “Matt, what do you think—”
“Yeah, no, I’m with you.” His eyes burned bright. “Only if there’s anything fishy, we leave.”
I nodded. The whole situation was fishy. But apparently this joint decision-making thing had its benefits.
We crossed the street into a sloping plaza, eucalyptus and cottonwood in concrete planters. There was a glass door in the building—secured by a keypad, card reader, and two cameras angled from the second floor. A whole lot of security for a random office building.
A chipper older woman’s voice blared from the keypad, backed by thin static. “Can I help you?”
I hadn’t even pressed a button. “We’re, uh, here to meet someone.”
“Does this someone have a name?”
“Er …” I took a shot in the dark. “This is about the Talisman.”
A heavy pause. When the woman spoke again, her chipper tone had vanished. “One moment, please.” The static cut out.
“Maybe the texting asshole was just yanking our chain,” Matt whispered.
“Seems like a pretty long walk for a joke.”
The static droned in again. “I’ll need each of you to step in front of the camera. Policy for admittance.”
Matt and I exchanged a look. He ducked to the keypad, an amber light pulsing across his face. A satisfied tone chimed, and Recorded flashed on the display in cool green.
I stepped to the embedded camera, glass shading a hidden lens. A light shone in my eyes and an impatient beep-beep blared. The display pulsed Invalid in sullen red.
What the hell?
Matt shrugged. “Try it again?”
I leaned closer to the display. Beep-beep. Same thing. My bandages were probably throwing it off. Stupid technology. Just like the wonky fingerprint reader on my phone. “It’s not working.”
“The scanner can be temperamental,” the woman said. “Happened to the gentleman before you too. I’ll buzz you in.”
The keypad gave a robotic honk and a promising click. I shot Matt another look and swung the door open. Inside, the lobby had an airy grandeur—clean lines, tile and glass, faint citrus. Mid-century modern chairs were scattered around low tables, a chrome art piece dangling above. They had to be printing money to pay for this much real estate dedicated to walking between the doors and the elevators.
Doe eyes behind cherry-red glasses looked up—a woman in her sixties, security company uniform, rounded features and olive skin behind a counter. Presumably the disembodied voice from the keypad.
I pulled out my phone, firing off a text to our mysterious asshole. Was I finally about to meet this guy, or was it all a ruse?
me: we’re in the lobby
me: where are you?
“We’ll need you to sign in,” the woman at the counter said with an apologetic shrug. “Policy.”
Matt started toward the counter, his shoulders squared.
“It’s okay, Patricia,” another woman’s voice said. “I can take it from here.” The speaker, a pantsuited woman, strode toward us from the elevators. Brown skin, curvy figure, and a dazzling smile that reached her eyes.
Agent Summers of the FBI.