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Outside the car, the guy rubbed his hands together, breath misting in front of him. “Geez, could we maybe get a mission somewhere tropical next?”
She smirked at him. “Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “You know the drill.”
“Never get tired of this either.”
As soon as he took her hand, she turned them both invisible.
Six and Sam trudged across frozen mud as they moved away from the highway, eventually crossing into Mr. Cook’s fields. Five minutes later and the little house Taylor had grown up in came into view, along with the barn. They had it on good authority that the barn was empty of animals. Mr. Cook had sold off his horses and pigs to make ends meet that winter.
“I have to say it,” Sam declared. “This is a far cry from saving the world.”
Six snorted. “No shit. But Nine says it’ll help him with their Foundation problem. The guy’s cool with it. He knows it’s coming. Anything irreplaceable he was supposed to have gotten out of the house.”
Sam shook his invisible head. “Just dark days, Six. One day you’re defeating a hostile alien race bent on world domination and the next you’re wrecking some poor schmuck’s house. Shit. Do they even get tornadoes in winter?”
Six raised her free hand, and the sky over Mr. Cook’s barn began to darken.
“They do now.”
Chapter Eight
KOPANO OKEKE
SUITE 440
THE HUMAN GARDE ACADEMY—POINT REYES, CALIFORNIA
“WHAT ABOUT THIS?” KOPANO ASKED.
Kopano emerged from his room wearing one of the outfits that his dad had picked out for him back in Lagos, when they’d been flush with cash after Kopano first developed his telekinesis. During those days, when he was working security for his father’s shady delivery service, his dad had told him he needed to look more stylish. So from the Udo Okeke small-time-criminal fashion collection came a black silk shirt tucked into pleated gray pants, the buttons of the shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a sense of Kopano’s muscles.
Kopano spun in a 360 and spread out his arms.
“Looks good, right?” he asked hopefully. “Very cool.”
Nigel, spread out on the couch in their suite’s common room, let loose with a deflating cackle.
“I hate to break this to you, mate, but you look like the bouncer at the world’s douchiest nightclub in that getup. Or, at best, like a bloody gangster.”
Kopano stroked his chin. “You don’t mean that as a compliment.”
“No!”
Kopano frowned. He phased through his clothes except for his boxer shorts and let the outfit crumple to the ground, then kicked it into a pile with the other rejects.
“You’re putting too much thought into this, brother,” Nigel said.
“It has to be right!” Kopano replied. “My father once told me, um . . . well, it doesn’t make much sense in English. And it’s kinda vulgar. But basically, the male peacock—”
“Your dad picked out those clothes for you?” Nigel interrupted. When Kopano nodded glumly at him, he went on. “Then I think we can toss his ideas in the bin along with any other silk shirts ya might got lying about.”
Kopano had gotten that advice once before. On his last day in Nigeria before taking off for the Academy, his mom had told him to leave all his father’s “wisdom” in Africa. His dad was, in fact, an unrepentant hustler whose frequent swings of fortune always kept Kopano and his two brothers on the verge of poverty. His mom made things work. Or, as she would say, God provided. That was the thing about Kopano’s mother—she was very religious. Kopano suspected that she harbored beliefs similar to those of the Harvesters—that her own son and his new friends were tainted by the devil. He knew that she prayed for his Legacies to be “cured.” She told him so in her infrequent letters.
“Don’t know why you want my advice on this anyway,” Nigel grumbled as he poked a finger through one of the many moth-eaten holes in his thrift-store Black Flag tank top. “I’m not exactly the foremost authority on how to dress to impress a bird, eh?”
Still thinking about his parents, Kopano replied, “Wisdom can come from unlikely sources, my friend.” He clapped his hands and grinned. “You have great style. I always thought so, back when I first saw you in that vision. It was like—this dude here, he is out of a movie. No one can be that cool.”
Nigel smirked. “What kinda movie?”
“You know, one of those British ones where everyone is a robber and talks fast and shoots each other.”
“Yeah,” Nigel replied, nodding. “Yeah, cool. I’ll take it. But maybe you should stop thinking about movies and appearances and all that and just try to look normal. Taylor seems like she appreciates normal.”
Kopano snapped his fingers. “See? What did I tell you? Good advice.”
Kopano stepped through the wall and back into his room, once again rummaging through his closet. He pulled on a worn pair of blue jeans and a green waffle-knit sweater. It’s what he would’ve worn if this was any other day and not Christmas Eve when he had something special planned. It seemed low effort but . . .
“Not bad,” Nigel said when Kopano returned to the common room. “At least you look like yourself. And like you aren’t trying to impress anybody.”
“But I am trying to impress her,” Kopano replied.
Nigel closed his eyes and massaged his eyelids. “Oi, but you don’t want her to know you’re trying to impress her.”
Kopano flopped down in a chair across from Nigel. “You know, if you’d just asked Ran for me—”
“Told you, I’m not into the wingman thing,” Nigel replied. “I ask Ran to ask Taylor if she’d be interested if Kopano came courting, next thing, we’re in one of those boring Jane Austen novels, eh? No. Not for me. I’m staying neutral in all this.”
Kopano squinted at his friend. Back in Lagos, any one of Kopano’s boys would’ve been happy to talk him up to a girl he liked. It was expected. Of course, Nigel was much, much different from his friends back home. This wasn’t the first time Nigel had mentioned “remaining neutral.” Kopano still didn’t understand what exactly he meant. Who did Nigel have to stay neutral for? It’s not like Kopano was in some kind of war.
Before Kopano could say anything more, the door to Caleb’s room opened and he came out with a duffel bag tossed over one shoulder. He nodded to them both and set the bag down with a sigh. Caleb had been much more social since they’d all run off together and nearly gotten killed. Kopano had also noticed a sharp decline in the amount of behind-closed-doors conversations Caleb had with his various duplicates. Despite the newfound friendliness, Caleb always seemed to get quiet when Kopano would bring up his crush on Taylor. Kopano had heard that some Americans could be kind of prudish. He chalked it up to that.
And anyway, it struck Kopano that Caleb had a lot on his mind the last few weeks. He was, after all, one of the few students who was allowed to visit home for the holidays, even if just for a couple of days. The Fugitive Six were all still on probation for their escape from campus, so it must have been true what everyone said about Caleb—his uncle, the retired general who helped save the world, got him preferential treatment.
“Guess it’s time for me to go,” Caleb said with a forlorn look down at his bag.
“Are you excited?” Kopano asked with raised eyebrows, even though it was obvious Caleb was far from it. “When’s the last time you saw your family?”
Caleb thought about it. “After the invasion, I guess, but before the Academy opened.” He glanced at Nigel. “Back when they had us basically quarantined.”
“Fun times, those,” Nigel said dryly.
“Such a long time!” Kopano replied. “You must miss them.”
Caleb thought that over for a second. “Actually, I’d kinda gotten used to them not being around. Easier to . . . I don’t know. Not think about them?”
“Shit, my parentals haven’t even sent me a holiday card,” Nigel said. “And that’s the way I pr
efer it.”
“Are they bad people?” Kopano asked Caleb. He knew enough about Nigel’s parents from the stories he told about them shuffling him off to boarding school and forgetting about him, but Caleb hardly talked about his family. The only thing Kopano really knew was that they were all in the military and very strict.
“No,” Caleb answered quickly. “No, they’re fine. They’re just . . .” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
