Dangerous (21 page)

send with me, but I wouldn’t have taken from their meager

funds anyhow. I had a plan to appease my elephant’s appetite:

sushi.

I dove under, clocked a large fish over its head, and floated

on my back while eating the soft white meat. Better than chick-

en bones.

All night I swam on my back, kicking and staring at a flaw-

less starry sky. I felt
between
. My parents behind, Wilder ahead.

I wondered, in a poem kind of way, if I existed at all.

Day two I was swimming deep, feeling weightless and

strange, when I was knocked hard in the side. Silver against

black water, a dorsal fin sharp as a blade, it circled and came

back. Adrenaline flared in my heart. Shark! Big, toothy, scary

shark!

Then I remembered who I was. And I ate it.

I coursed through days three and four. The movement of

my muscles felt like humming, the kick of my legs a song. I dove

Dangerous

under whenever I saw a boat and then again just for the joy of it,

zooming deep, spiraling, arching, leaving a wake of bubbles to

boil away. I was no longer a static thing.

Sometimes I went on land to call my parents and drink

fresh water, napping under the sun. On the fifth day I dragged

myself ashore for good. My clothes were destroyed by salt and

the speed of my swim. Hiding in tall marsh grasses, I tore off

the rags and put on fresh clothes from my waterproof packet.

I phoned Wilder. The swim had been like grabbing a nap

in the midst of a chaotic day. Now my heart returned to playing

washboard on my ribs.

He answered. “That felt like five very long days.”

“Sped right by for me.”

“Humph. Where are you?”

I checked Fido’s GPS. “Near Atlantic City.”

“Great. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“An hour? Wait, where are
you
?”

“Philadelphia, baby. You’re right on my doorstep.”

I shivered, unsure if it was coincidence or if our tokens

could have called to each other across hundreds of miles.

It was January in New Jersey and every cell of my skin

seemed to harden against the cold. I ran out of the marsh grass-

es onto a road and found a gas station, washing my hair in the

sink with the goopy pink hand soap.

It took me the rest of the hour to jog to the crossroads he’d

named. Following the pull on my chest, I found him in a beat-

up gray car with the engine running. I slid into the passenger

seat, and without glancing at me, he pulled out.

I felt so right just being near him. My heart seemed to hum

happily—or was it my nanites? I leaned back against the seat

171

Shannon Hale

and sighed without meaning to.

He was wearing sunglasses, jeans, and an orange sweater

vest with no shirt under it. I laughed.

“Nice sweater vest,” I said.

“What, this old thing?”

I patted my hair, hoping there was no obvious sign that I’d

been in the ocean for days. I didn’t want any trail leading back

to my parents. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve got a place—”

“Tell me it’s a secret lair. I’ve always wanted to hang out in

a secret lair.”

“Of course it’s a secret lair.”

“Yes!” I glanced at his bare arms and then quickly away.

“So, where are you getting your money?”

“I’m not working for him, Maisie. I promise.”

I nodded.

“It’s ridiculously easy to get a credit card under another

name, now that I’ve figured out how.”

“Seems a tad unethical.”

“Better than assassinating people.”

His posture was stiff, left arm resting on the driver’s-side

door, his body angled away from me. I told myself the emotional

content of his emails had played no part in my decision to come

here. Mi-sun and Jacques needed me, and working with Wilder

was logical. I hadn’t expected him to revert to his pre-Beanstalk,

pick-up-line, over-the-top self. And I didn’t want him to.

I told myself lots of things.

He pulled into a drive-through before I could ask, ordering

everything on the menu. I went straight for a fish burger. The

cooked variety was a whole new experience.

172

Dangerous

“Where’d you get this?” I asked, touching his woven leather

wristband he never seemed to take off.

“From one of those gumball-type machines,” he said.

“Years ago at some pokey zoo my mom gave me two quarters for

the machine and this was the prize. It’s cheap, don’t know why

I keep it.”

“Does your mom know about all this?” I asked, realizing I

knew nothing about her.

“Doubtful. She’s been missing for three years.”

He said it so casually, I choked on a tater tot.

“Missing?”

“GT said she moved back to Russia and was too busy run-

ning her charity stuff to call me.” He twisted the wristband. “Ap-

parently I needed billions of nanorobots enhancing my brain

before I could figure out the most obvious truth. GT knocked

off his wife. Maybe she asked for a divorce. He would never al-

low that.”

“Wilder, that’s . . .” I couldn’t think of any adjective strong

enough for what that was.

“That’s the wacky Wilder clan!” he said. “Imagine the real-

ity TV possibilities. I didn’t figure it out until I got to using my

thinker brain on something other than the fireteam—so, after

you left. GT and I have parted ways forever. You know that car

accident we stumbled on when we were playing seek-the-think-

er? That’s was Dad’s work. He caused it so he could observe the

fireteam in action.”

“And now he’s turning Mi-sun into an assassin.”

“And Jacques. Their weapons are undetectable. They can

get in anywhere. And have.”

I was feeling ill, and it wasn’t the second cheeseburger.

173

Shannon Hale

“How many people have they killed?”

“Twelve that I know of.”

“Oh poor Mi-sun!”

Wilder nodded.

I leaned back. His presence was like coming into an air-

conditioned house on a sweltering day. His pull eclipsed worry

for my parents, for Mi-sun and Jacques, for anything.

We were in a neighborhood cut in half by railroad tracks

and celebrated by graffiti artists. Wilder parked in a little garage

with a pull-down door and led me up some wooden stairs. He

unlocked an apartment door.

“How long have you been living here?”

“A couple months.”

White-washed walls losing their wash, bare bulbs dangling,

carpet rubbed bare in spots like a mangy dog’s coat. And what

exactly leaked from the apartment upstairs to leave those brown

stains on the ceiling? There was a mattress on the floor, loose

blankets, a computer, a little fridge and hot plate, and some

bags of food.

He watched me take in the place.

“I’ve been lonely,” he said.

“I can see that.”

“Dad won’t look for me here.” Wilder turned his back, took

off the sweater vest, and put on a gray sweatshirt and a navy

sailor coat. So he’d worn the vest just to make me laugh. “He

thinks I’m like him and would never choose to live in squalor.

Besides, it’s cheap. I’d rather not steal more than I have to.”

A tablet in a keyboard attachment sat poised a cardboard

box. We knelt on the floor, and he showed me the files he’d

been keeping, tracking Jacques’s movements, his father’s, likely

174

Dangerous

places to find them next.

“What about Mi-sun?”

“She’s been off-radar for a bit, but Jacques never leaves

Dad’s side.”

“Maybe we should combine forces with Howell,” I said.

“Someone tried to gas me and my parents in our house, but it’s

seeming likely that it was GT.”

“I don’t know what Howell’s plan is in all this, but I have no

doubt she’s shady.”

He showed me patents Howell had recently filed for an

energy source powered by titanium dioxide nanotubes, an im-

proved defibrillator, parts for a robotic exoskeleton—things I

had invented with the techno token. I was about to get seriously

annoyed, until I yawned.

“You should sleep.”

“It’s still day,” I said, though the afternoon was yellowing

around the edges like old paper. Those days of swimming had

depleted me.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding toward the mattress without

looking away from his computer. “I’ve got work to do.”

I pulled a blanket over my face to block out the light that

slithered in through the ratty blinds and dreamed I could fly.

175

C h a p t e r 2 7

I roused to hunger, morning light, and the clicking of the

keyboard.

“If we’re going to find Jacques, we’ve got to get moving,”

Wilder said without looking up from his tablet.

The space beside me on the mattress was warm. I glanced

around: no sofa, no second bed.

“Did you sleep next to me?” I asked.

The keyboard clicking paused. “Sorry. I’ve been lonely,” he

said again, without looking up.

I took a shower and didn’t want to put back on my slightly

briny clothes, so I borrowed a pair of Wilder’s jeans, rolled up

the cuffs, and belted the waist. I wore a sweatshirt that hung

past my hips.

When I came out of the bathroom, Wilder smiled at me.

His expression caught my breath. We didn’t talk about it.

Philadelphia was locked up in a bitter cold that January,

high noon rarely peeking above negative ten degrees Celsius.

No one was out, except Wilder and me. We put on coats and

hats just so we wouldn’t draw notice.

“Didn’t realize it till winter hit,” he said, “but I’m pretty

indifferent to cold.”

“These
improvements
aren’t random.”

“So, what task requires five people with brute strength,

techno know-how, spontaneous armor, and long-distance shoot-

ing, who can withstand the cold generally and oxygen depriva-

tion for up to twenty minutes?”

Dangerous

I shook my head.

“Yeah, I don’t know either. But given the tokens’ likely ori-

gin from beyond our solar system, it must have to do with . . .

with . . .”

“Aliens?” I knew why he hesitated. I felt ridiculous even

saying it.

“I assume our purpose is noble,” he said, “but what if we

are
the advance guard of alien invaders, and at their signal, we’ll start rampaging—”

“You think we’re wasp-stung caterpillars?” I said, explaining

about the zombified bugs enslaved to watch over wasp larvae.

“No, that doesn’t feel right.”

“Wilder, I don’t think there is any mission. Most likely that

asteroid with its alien time capsule had been wandering the uni-

verse for millions of years before randomly drifting past earth.”

“I know that’s the most logical conclusion, but I . . . I feel

like we . . . like the fireteam has a real and imminent purpose,

and if I wake up slowly enough I’ll remember the dream that

tells me what it is or if I turn the right way I’ll see it or . . .” He

shook his head.

We were sitting on a rooftop across from a building where

Wilder thought Jacques and GT might be working. So far no

sign. Below us, wind chased loose snow low across the asphalt,

writhing and swimming like horizontal candle smoke.

“I
can
break through walls, you know,” I said. “We don’t

need a key to get inside.”

“I won’t risk going into any place my father has claimed as

home turf. We wait till they’re in the open. This is why I need

you, Danger Girl. I can find Jacques, but I can’t force him to

come with me.”

177

Shannon Hale

My breath came out in a cloud. “So what is his weakness?”

“Food, just like you. If I wanted to stop you, I’d stick you in

a Maisie-proof box with no food, and when I let you out you’d

be too weak to fight. Not that I would ever do that.”

“Of course not. You’re a gentleman.”

“If you force Jacques to keep creating new armor, he’ll

weaken.”

“And once he’s defenseless . . .”

“Carry him back to the car. I’ll meet you there. We’ll take

him to the apartment—”

“Lair.”

“Right, lair. If I can just get Jacques away from GT, I know I

can convince him to rejoin the team. Jacques could give enough

evidence even a crooked FBI agent would have to convict Dad.”

“So,” I said, “he mentioned you’d done things, gotten

kicked out of schools . . .”

“Yeah,” he said.

I looked down to avoid his gaze, inspecting my fingernails.

I understood why Ruth had been obsessed about keeping her

nails painted. The brute token grew them so thick they had a

yellowish tint. I’d started keeping mine painted in Florida. This

week they were coral pink.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Car theft, dealing prescription drugs, vandalism, fighting.

Mostly to impress my dad.”

“Yeah, that kind of stuff dazzles my dad too,” I said.

Wilder smiled. “Dad worked his way from grocery store

bagger to the top. The corporate mogul part was a lot of work,

but the megalomaniac part came naturally. He put me in ex-

pensive private schools but wouldn’t buy me clothes. Anything