“Has anyone questioned Checkmate’s disappearance?”
“People have been disappearing for almost a year, Kaye,” Zane replies. “One or two a month at first, but the group you were in had more than thirty. Did you notice?”
I had, but not right away. As he said, it began slowly, the reports of missing people in New Malcolm. Like in all major cities people disappear all the time. It seemed random at first. Different ages, races, socio-economic backgrounds, religions, and sexual orientations. Nothing connected any one person to the next. They were just gone.
NMPD wasn’t worried.
Adults can come and go as they please, Police Chief Carrigan had said.We can look, but without evidence—a threat, a confession, a body—there’s nothing else we can do.
As days became weeks, then months, it became impossible to ignore. No one was coming back, and worse, no one was looking for them. So I did, and I saw all the things they wanted to keep hidden.
And then I became one of the missing too.
Mayor Vanall’s office could easily double as a film set forThe Godfather. It’s got a classic kind of art deco feel to it, with dark, rich colors, leather upholstery, and the musky-sweet smell of tobacco and whiskey in the air. The mahogany of the desk and matching chairs is soaked with it, the patina of the leather darker and more luxurious for it.
My attention goes first to the wall lined with filing cabinets, the passage hidden there. The assassin could be waiting just beyond the wall.The structure appears solid. Immovable. Yet, as I reach my fingers to one of the metal corners, the whole unit sways.
Flinching, I move away. How could I not have realized what was happening sooner? Almost one hundred people gone in half a year or less, and I did nothing.Nothing.
On the wall behind Vanall’s desk, in a heavy gilt frame almost as big as I am, is the answer to our prayers. New Malcolm celebrated its bicentennial four years ago with fanfare and gusto. Parades and parties that lasted through night and bled into day, and enough ceremonies and handshaking to fill a politician’s campaign coffers for two terms.
The cherry on top wasthis.A gift from the New Malcolm Historical Society: a detailed map of the city’s growth, from the original city proper and the earthquake that buried it all, to the new infrastructure built on top, complete with utility grids and access points, color coded by phase of construction.
I smash through the glass, expecting to feel the cold bite of glass embedding into my knuckles, but it never comes. Shards rain down onto the antique runner but the material appears unscathed, perfectly encased in a smooth sheath of protection.
“This suit is amazing,” I admit, reverence lowering my tone.
“George is a genius. If anyone else knew she created this kind of tech, she would be funded for any project for life, but she hasn’t told a soul. She knew if people saw Charade decked out head-to-toe in her invention, they would trace it back to me. To our family.”
“Someday the world will celebrate her work,” I promise.
“I wish it were that easy, Kaye.”
He’s right. Things will never be easy for George, a Black woman in science. There will always be people who want to stand in her way or steal her work, to make it impossible for her brilliance to be acknowledged. Some may even want to harm her for it, for the ill-conceived notion that her excellence somehow threatens their mediocrity. If those nameless, faceless men were here now, I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t incinerate them.
The crisp paper crumples in my fist.
Somewhere below, a soft sound rides the wind. Ignoring it, I fold and store the map in my pocket and take one final lookat Vanall’s office. There are other treasures hidden within these walls, I can feel it deep in the marrow of my bones, and there’s no one here to stop me. How long would it take me to search the nooks and crannies of these cabinets and drawers? An hour or two? More?
Zane’s voice filters to me as if he were the proverbial angel on my shoulder. “You aren’t alone anymore.”
“Vanall?” Maybe I should stay. What I wouldn’t give to see the look on his face—opening his door, smug and safe in his domain, only to find something else lying in wait. Someone he thought was dead. My rage blaze, heat building in my palms.
“And company. I count,” I hold my breath as he pauses, tallying. “Thirty CCP officers in full gear.”
“They know we’re here.”
Suddenly, I’m back in that dark place, smoke in my hair as I watch everything I worked so hard for burn. The infinite sting of cattle prods eating into my skin. Swallowed by that hopeless cell as the screams of my allies fill my ears, as they auction their deaths to the wealthy and amoral.
My heartbeat fills my ears, drowning me, down, down, down.
“Breathe, Kaye. Breathe.” Zane’s voice reaches into the void, steadying me. He breathes with me, counting. “In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.”
And it works. My pulse no longer thunders in my ears, and slowly I reclaim control.
I know what I need to do. “I have a plan, but it could be just as dangerous.”
The murmur in the distance has gone, replaced by the thunder of footsteps. Close. Too close.
