The Reckoning (Darkest Powers 3)

“Hard to prepare when you don’t know anyone’s coming,” Simon said. “Is this going to be okay? You staying here with us? I know you’ve got work…”

“Which I’ve been doing from home for two years now. Finally built up the seniority to start telecommuting, thank God. The daily trips into New York were killing me. I go once a week now for meetings. ”

Simon turned to me. “Andrew’s an editor. Books. ” He glanced at Andrew. “Chloe’s a screenwriter. ”

I blushed and stammered that obviously I wasn’t a real screenwriter, just a wannabe; but Andrew said he’d love to hear about what I was working on, answer any questions about writing. He even sounded like he meant it, unlike most adults, who just say things like that to humor you.

“Right now, she’s working on a comic with me,” Simon said. “A graphic journal of our adventures. Just for fun. ”

“Very cool. I take it you’re doing the art? Your dad told me you’re-”

The doorbell rang.

“And that would be breakfast,” Andrew said. “Chloe? I know Tori’s probably exhausted, but she should be here for the meeting. ”

“I’ll go wake her up. ”

So the mysterious resistance group was here. It didn’t look like much: three people plus Andrew.

There was Margaret, who looked like a lot of the women my dad worked with-a corporate business type, tall with graying brown hair cut short. She was a necromancer.

Gwen wasn’t much taller than me and barely looked out of college. As for supernatural type, with her short blond hair, turned-up nose, and sharp chin, I started wondering if there was such a thing as a pixie, but she said she was a witch, like Tori.

The third newcomer was Russell, a bald grandfatherly guy who was a shaman paramedic, in case we needed medical attention after our ordeal. With Andrew and Margaret, he was one of the group’s founding members and had also once worked for the Edison Group.

Andrew said there were another half-dozen members in the New York City area, and twenty or so more across the country. Under the circumstances, though, it didn’t seem safe to have them all trooping up here to meet us. So they’d sent the ones who could help us the most-a necromancer and a witch. Derek was out of luck. There weren’t any werewolves in the group, not surprising given that there were maybe a couple dozen in the country, compared to hundreds of necromancers and spell-casters.

The supernaturals who joined the Edison Group weren’t evil. Most were like my aunt, who offered her services as a doctor because she wanted to help people like her brother, a necromancer who’d either committed suicide or been driven off a roof by ghosts when he was still in college.

The Edison Group believed that the answer was genetic manipulation-tweak our DNA to minimize side effects and improve our control over our powers. Things started going wrong back when we were little, and three of the werewolf subjects attacked a nurse. They were “eliminated. ” Killed, by the same people who swore they were trying to help supernaturals. That’s when Simon’s dad and others, like Andrew, left.

But leaving wasn’t enough for some. Concerned about what they’d seen, they’d monitored the Edison Group, making sure they didn’t pose a threat to other supernaturals. Now we were bringing news of exactly what they’d feared most. For many of us, the genetic modification had backfired, producing kids with uncontrollable powers-witches who could cast without incantations and necromancers who could raise the dead by accident.

When those failures hadn’t proved as easy to control as the Edison Group had hoped, they’d done the same thing they’d done to the werewolf boys. Killed them.

Now, we’d come to Andrew’s group for help. We were in mortal danger and we’d left behind another subject, Rachelle, and my aunt Lauren, who were in even greater danger. We were asking this group to rescue them and end the threat against us. Were they up to it? We had no idea.

Gwen had brought the breakfast: donuts, coffee, and chocolate milk, which I’m sure she thought would be the perfect treat for teenagers. It would have been…if we hadn’t been living on junk food for three days and if one of us wasn’t diabetic.

Simon picked out a donut and a half-pint carton of chocolate milk, joking about having the excuse to eat stuff that was normally off his diet. It was Derek who complained. Andrew apologized for forgetting to warn the others about Simon and promised more nutritious food for our next meal.

Everyone was really nice and sympathetic, and maybe I was just being paranoid-Derek rubbing off on me-but behind those smiles and kind eyes, there seemed to be a touch of unease, like they couldn’t stop thinking about our messed-up powers. Like they couldn’t help but think that we were all ticking time bombs.

I wasn’t the only one who felt uncomfortable. When we moved to the living room, Derek staked out a corner and retreated there. Simon barely said a word. Tori, who normally wanted nothing to do with us, stuck so close to me that I thought she was trying to swipe my donut.

Us versus them. The genetically modified freaks versus the normal supernaturals.

Simon and I did most of the talking. That was weird for me, the kid who always sat in the back of a group, hoping she wasn’t called on to speak because she might start stuttering. But the burden of proof lay with me and what I’d seen: the ghosts of the other kids and the files on Dr. Davidoff’s computer.

As we explained, I saw sympathy in their eyes but doubt, too. They believed that the experiment had gone wrong for some subjects-that was exactly the kind of thing they’d feared when they quit. They also believed us about Lyle House, the “group home” where the Edison Group had kept us. When the experiment screwed up, naturally the Edison Group would try to cover their tracks.

But the rest of it? Hunting us down when we escaped? Shooting at us, first with tranquilizer darts, then real bullets? Locking us up in the laboratory? Killing three kids who’d failed rehabilitation?

That sounded like something from a movie. No, strike that. As an aspiring blockbuster screenwriter/director, if I’d heard this pitch, I’d have dismissed it as too outrageous.

I could tell that Andrew believed us. Gwen did, too. I could see it from the horror in her face. But Gwen was the youngest, and her opinion didn’t seem to count for much. Russell and Margaret couldn’t hide their skepticism, and I knew convincing them to help us wasn’t going to be as easy as we’d hoped.

Finally, I blurted, “Rachelle and my aunt are in danger. They could be killed any day now, if they haven’t already been. ”

“Your aunt is a valuable member of the team,” Margaret said, her severe face unreadable. “They won’t kill her. Nor does your friend seem in imminent danger. She’s happy and compliant. That’s all they’ll ask for now. ”

“But if she finds out the truth, she won’t be nearly so compliant-”

Russell cut in. “Your aunt and your friend made their choices, Chloe. As harsh as that seems. They both betrayed you. I didn’t think you’d be so eager to rescue them. ”

“My aunt-”

“Helped you escape, I know. But you wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for your friend’s betrayal. ”

Rae had told Dr. Davidoff about our escape plans, so they’d been ready when we tried to make a run for it. She’d believed their lies about wanting to help us and thought I’d been brainwashed by the boys.

“She made a mistake. Are you saying we should let her die for it?” My voice was rising. I swallowed, trying to stay calm, reasonable. “Whatever she did, she thought it was the right thing at the time, and I won’t abandon her now. ”

I glanced at the others. Simon agreed quickly and vehemently. Derek mumbled a gruff “Yeah, she screwed up, but stupidity isn’t a capital crime. ”