Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Latent Abilities


I parked out front and jogged up to the door to Mom’s house. It buzzed open. I entered, inhaling the familiar smell of the place where I’d grown up. It calmed my nerves a little. “Connor?”

“Out back!” he called.

We had a decent-sized yard that, like virtually every other yard in the area, couldn’t keep grass alive. Connor was out on the wide deck that Mom had had built as a consolation prize. I slid open the door and stepped out. “So, what the hell is so imp—”

The rest of that sentence died in my throat, because Connor was sitting in the ancient tri-fold lounge chair between two coiled-up dragons. Not just any dragons, either. My Condors.

“Hey man, glad you could stop by,” Connor said, with a casual air.

My mouth worked, but I couldn’t seem to formulate a proper sentence.

Connor grinned. He was clearly enjoying this. “So, what’s new?”

“Where did they come from?”

“You tell me, bro. They just showed up.”

“What?”

“Dropped into the yard like a couple of dive-bombers. Nearly wet myself, if I’m being honest.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Maybe an hour back,” he said.

“You only called me twenty minutes ago!”

He shrugged. “They seem like they know what they’re doing. I assumed you were going to show up after. When you didn’t, I thought I’d give you the heads-up.”

There were so many questions. How had they found him? Why had they come? I shook my head before I went down the rabbit-hole searching for answers. First things first. “I need something from my car. Nobody fricking move!” I said, addressing Connor and the dragons both. They blinked at me and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, but I ran anyway. Some jack-wang had double-parked by my car, so I threw open the passenger side door, grabbed the biopsy tube, and hustled back inside.

Connor feigned surprise. “Oh, you’re back? I was just chilling here with these dragons.”

“Yes, yes, you’re super cool.” I held up the tube. “Know what this is?”

He squinted. “Isn’t that your Swedish-made p—”

“Shut up. It’s your future. A biopsy pen.”

“I’ve had enough biopsies for two lifetimes, thanks,” Connor said flatly.

“It’s not for you. It’s for them.” I pointed. “These are the flying dragons I designed, you dummy! With your mutation in them.”

Connor’s mouth fell open, and for the first time in recorded history, he had nothing to say.

“I have no idea how they found you, but I doubt it was an accident.” I watched the dragons as I said this. They stared back with those too-knowing eyes.

“Did Redwood send you?”

The dragons snorted and shook their heads.

“Redwood?” Connor grabbed my arm. “Wait, Simon Redwood? Is he—”

“Alive, yes. He saved my ass today.”

“I knew it!” He pumped a fist.

“Keep it to yourself.” I looked at the dragons. “You came on your own.”

They did not disagree.

I exhaled slowly. “Oh my God.”

“This is unreal,” Connor said.

“And it’s your lucky day. Because we’re going to prove once and for all that your mutation is pathogenic.”

Connor laughed. “You think you’re going to give one of them a biopsy? Dream on.”

The dragon on the right uncoiled itself and approached me. I’m not sure what I expected to happen. But it knelt in front of me in open invitation.

I looked at Connor. “You were saying?” I crouched down and ran my fingers along the dragon’s thigh. The thicker the muscle, the easier this would go.

“What do you call this model, anyway?” Connor asked.

“The Condor.”

“Aw, you named it after me?”

“I named it after the bird.”

“Sure, sure.”

I rolled my eyes. Then I met the dragon’s. “Are you ready?”

It gave me the unblinking stare that seemed to mean yes, so I jabbed down on the plunger. The Condor stiffened momentarily. Then the tube sealed itself, the sample tucked neatly inside.

“All done.” I inspected the leg. There was a tiny red pinprick of blood where the needle had gone in, but that was all. I rested my hand on the dragon’s leg. “Thank you.”

Meanwhile, Connor had moved over and managed to take a selfie with the other Condor.

“Dude!” I said.

“Mom’s always saying she wants more pictures of us.”

“Don’t post that anywhere.”

“Don’t worry.”

I stood up and examined the biopsy tube. “I have to get this into a freezer.” I looked at the dragons. “You two should get back to the desert.”

The nearest dragon crooned at me with unmistakable attitude.

Connor laughed. “I think he just called you a dummy.”

Both dragons stood and unfurled their wings. They leaped off the deck and flew across the yard, gaining speed, before gliding up into the sky between the next row of houses.

Connor stared off at the direction they’d gone. “I’m going to remember this day. This was the best possible day.”

I clutched the tube against my chest. “Can’t argue with that. Keep your phone on.”

I left him on the deck and left by the front. On the way to my car, I shot Summer a quick text that things were fine and I was on my way back. When I went to get into my Tesla, the double-parker was still blocking me in. It was a black SUV, and the engine was running. Probably some moron on his phone. I moved to the passenger window so I could politely tell whoever it was to get out of my goddamn way. The window was already open and staring at me through it was Robert Greaves.


Some primal instinct made me freeze, as if Greaves were a T-rex that could only spot movement.

“Get in,” Greaves said.

I looked around. The street was deserted, other than us. I could run, of course, but he already knew where my car and my mom’s house was.

“No need to panic, Mr. Parker. I just want to talk.”

Dr. Parker, I thought, but managed not to say. I lifted the handle and climbed in. The tinted windows cloaked the interior in dimness, but not so much that I couldn’t pick out the wood paneling and fine leather. It smelled brand new. I pulled the door nearly shut behind me but kept it from latching.

Greaves looked mildly amused. “You’re a cautious one, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.”

He peered past me at the house. “That’s your parents’ place, huh?”

“My mom’s.” I cleared my throat, aware of how nervous it sounded. “She’s due back any minute now.”

“Do wine tours offer door-to-door service now? That’s news to me.”

I clamped my mouth shut before another obvious lie snuck out. Greaves was too smart to be so easily fooled.

“How’s your brother doing?”

“Great,” I said, because in one sense it was true.

“I had a younger brother, too. Did you know that?”

I looked at him to try to get a read on his face, but it might as well have been invisible. “I did not.”

“Michael. Two years younger. He died when I was eight.”

I’m sorry to hear that would be the polite and expected thing to say, but I refused to give it to him.

“We lived in a house a lot like yours. Had an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Benkert. She never said no to an animal in need, so the shelter persuaded her to foster a couple of terriers.”

I wondered where this was going but didn’t ask. The longer he babbled on, the more likely people were to notice us here, and the safer I’d be.

“You probably don’t know this, but terrier was a loaded word in the animal rescue business. They’d call a dog a terrier mix when trying to find it a home. Ninety percent of the time, that meant something else.”

“Pit bull,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s right. I forgot I was talking to the guy who cracked domestication. Well, the dogs they pushed on Mrs. Benkert were obviously pit bulls. My brother and I didn’t know. One day we wandered into her yard, and they came out of nowhere.” He pushed up the sleeves of the black shirt he always wore. Scars from animal bites decorated them like tattoos. “A hundred and eight stitches. And I was the lucky one. My brother didn’t make it.” He tugged his sleeves back down.

“That . . . really sucks,” I said, fighting the sense of empathy before it became any stronger.

“Yes, it does. And I think it might help you understand why I have no interest in allowing dogs to return to this world.”

“That’s not your decision to make, though, is it?”

“You’re absolutely right. At the moment, it’s yours.” He picked up a sheet of paper from the dashboard in front of him. It had the Build-A-Dragon letterhead. “I’ve got two letters here. This one is the notice of your termination and forfeiture of your stock options. There’s also an affadavit on trespassing and destruction of property that will be forwarded to the local police.”

Yikes.

“I think you might prefer this letter,” Greaves said, lifting the second sheet from the dash. “This is your promotion to senior designer, with authorization to develop several new prototypes. There’s also a considerable budget to support your independent research projects.” He paused and looked at me. “Up to and including human therapeutics.”

Human therapeutics. That meant gene therapy, or customized small molecules. Maybe even a trial, and I could pick the patients. Connor would be at the top of that list.

“There’s also a memorandum in which I recommend you for a seat on the company’s board of directors, in the newly created position of employee advocate.”

“Is that a voting membership?” I asked.

He chuckled. “It wasn’t, but it can be.”

I nodded but didn’t say more. My head was spinning.

Greaves stacked the two papers on top of one another and handed them both to me. “I want you to come in Monday morning, and bring whichever of these letters you want me to sign.”

I got out of the car, clutching both letters in my hand, and watched the dark SUV drive away.



Back | Next
Framed