Page 41 of Strange Lights

Gemma and Wolff exchange a look. They knew, then. Or had their suspicions.

“Well,” Calvin says, voice remote, “at least you finally admitted it.”

“I wasn’t exactly proud of it. I was young.” I wasn’t that young. “I’m trying to make up for it.”

Calvin nods, but I feel the strain, the bit of distance he puts back between us.

“We had our suspicions,” Gemma confirms while Wolff glares at me.

“I kept it from you because I thought the less you knew, the better,” I try to explain to Calvin. “I thought it wouldn’t matter, that it was for the best.”

He doesn’t answer me directly, instead says, “Tell me about the rest of the Kingsleys. Why is this Meredith, the youngest sister, the one who’s going to inherit the family business? Why not the eldest? And what about this middle sister?”

I suck in a sharp breath as Gemma turns her computer toward us once more. She shows us another photo. A hooded figure swathed in black, face obscured. A full black mesh, silver accents, helmet-like. The lack of features lends the figure a cold, emotionless quality. It’s the same mask I stared at two nights ago in a field, the same mask worn by the person who turned the Gauntlet, that weapon, on us.

“That’s who took Eldi,” Calvin says sharply.

“It could have been anyone under there,” I reply.

“Well, if it was the eldest sister, Eldi is in real trouble,” Wolff says.

“The eldest Kingsley sister is known for her creativity,” Gemma says. “She’s their inventor. She’s the one who modified and set loose the lycanthropy virus.”

“And that weapon,” Calvin says, “that Gauntlet, the one she used on us⁠—”

“Her proudest achievement to date, I believe,” I say bitterly through numb lips. A memory, the Gauntlet flashing silver and swirling darkness, an echo of competing screams rings in my ears. Pain ripping through my head.

“You see her while you’re trying to rescue Eldi, and you might as well give up,” Wolff says, tapping the photo.

“If she’s the worst of the three, the eldest, why isn’t she the one to inherit her mother’s agency?” Calvin asks.

“No idea,” Gemma says. “It makes no sense. She’s usually sequestered away somewhere doing who knows what. Only reappears to terrorize people from time to time.”

I’ve listened very closely over the years; it’s of particular interest to me what Adele Kingsley’s eldest is rumored to be up to.

“Maybe there’s some internal grudge, sibling rivalry, infighting,” Wolff says.

“If there was a falling-out, you wouldn’t have heard about it,” I say. “Adele would never admit to disloyalty among her ranks. That’s a Kingsley trait, after all⁠—wear a mask and pretend everything is fine.” I don’t like the way the three of them share a look. As if I were something to be cautious of now. But I can’t blame them.

“And the third sister?” Calvin asks.

“The middle sister is the family screwup, from all reports,” I say. “Works as a regular agent. Adele tries to keep her off the radar. Any stories I heard about her were rumors of incompetence or making trouble for trouble’s sake for Adele. Irritation, shame, not sure what Adele feels for her, but I don’t think it’s love. And I think her daughter returns the sentiment.”

“Either way, the middle daughter’s name and face aren’t known either. Agency 51 is serious about secrecy,” Gemma says. “Also, there’s no father involved with the daughters. I don’t know how Adele had the kids. There are rumors of genetic engineering, child stealing, stuff like that. No idea if any of the sisters are genetically related to each other or Adele. Some of the wilder theories are that they were nonhuman creatures rather than human children.”

I feel suddenly hot all over, and a wave of nausea rolls over me. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten the waffles so fast. “People really think they aren’t even human? What do they think they are, then?”

Gemma shrugs. “Aliens, zombies. There are whispers about necromancy and dark magic. Sometimes bodies go into Agency 51, and they don’t come back out. Sometimes they come out . . . damaged. It’s all kept pretty quiet. Scarce credible information exists to suggest the sisters are anything but human. Maybe fearmongering, making them seem like monsters. They don’t do themselves any favors with the masks and the secrecy.”

“So these sisters could be anyone, really?” Calvin says.

“Pretty much. Identities stay obscured inside the building,” Gemma says. “Coworkers don’t even know what each other’s faces look like, even though they all live out there in the compound.”

“And therein lies the problem,” Wolff says. “Who can you trust when there could be incognito agents or even Kingsley sisters themselves among you? So agents keep their heads down and stay trapped once they’re hooked. Adele leverages loyalty by stoking discord.”

“Trust is overrated,” I say, “and lucky for us, it’s easier to infiltrate somewhere disguises are the norm.”

“Are you sure there’s no one inside who could help, a janitor, a repair technician, anyone?” Calvin asks.