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She hated carrying a laptop, so he used the phone straightaway, engaging the voice scrambler. “Tan, I have a job for you.”
“I’m on vacation.” It was a halfhearted protest, and they both knew it.
“Maybe I should call someone else. It’s bound to be dangerous.”
“Now I’m interested.”
He’d known she would be. “We have a possible recruit trapped in Ecuador.”
“What’s his X?”
In his opinion, Tanager had read too many X-men comics in her youth. “Uncertain. If he has an ability, he managed to keep it out of the Foundation records.”
“So he could easily be a zero.”
That was what they called failure to evolve, the term used by the lab geeks to describe all the corpses their experiments left behind and all the human detritus that wound up with tumors, lesions, and shattering mental illness. Zeros. Rage boiled through him.
“I think it’s a risk we should take, in case he’s viable. But if you don’t think you can handle it—”
“No, I can,” Tanager said. “Did you get my tickets?”
“You’re going first class to Quito, but you’ll be on your own from there. There’s nothing I can hack that far off the grid.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll find and warn him. Am I recruiting?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. Do so if you think it’s safe and he’ll be valuable.”
“I live to thwart the Foundation. Over and out.”
He knew she did, and that was only a small portion of Tanager’s problems.
SEVEN
Getting the generator running didn’t take long. Silas dreaded going back inside because sooner or later, she was going to ask. She’d seen what he could do, so there was no way she’d accept silence on the subject. He could put it off long enough to shower, but there would be a reckoning.
The agony in his right arm had dulled to a low throb. Apart from general human empathy and not wanting to cause harm, the resonant pain he suffered in using his ability offered strong deterrent. He could count the times he’d done so on one hand. And no matter the torment or provocation, he’d never shown the Foundation what he could do. Eventually, his handlers had stamped his file with a big red FAIL and put him to work. That was the only accomplishment he could take pride in for the last five years.
And now, now his secret was out.
“Bathroom’s free,” she called.
But when he passed the sitting room, he saw she wasn’t dressed. Well, not exactly. She’d fashioned a makeshift toga from a bed-sheet. He tried not to stare, but she had amazing skin, all smooth and golden, and it didn’t look like she had any paler strips. Which meant—
No way. You can’t start picturing that. She’s already half a step from being terrified.
“You washed your clothes?”
She nodded. “There’s a line out back, I’d guess for wet beach things.”
He couldn’t believe she was so casual with him, after what she’d seen. But when he studied her more closely, he glimpsed tension in the line of her shoulders and a hint of fear in how she clutched the white fabric. Like he might use his mind to tear it off her.
And no wonder, he thought bitterly. It’s too bad it doesn’t because that might have a useful application. But his so-called gift didn’t work that way. He had dominion over the human body—over skin and bone—and the blood in between. It was the grimmest, darkest thing imaginable, and he had to control it. Fortunately, he’d learned to leash his anger long before this curse manifested . . . because he’d come into his full growth young.
Silas went on to the bathroom, gliding past the mirror without glancing at it. He hated his reflection, even now, because he still saw the empty-eyed monster he had pretended to be. In the middle of the night, he sometimes wondered if that wasn’t the truest version of himself.
Fortunately, the previous renter had left some shampoo behind, and he found a sliver of bar soap in the dish in the shower. It was a small stall, commensurate with the rest of the bungalow, and he felt pretty trapped the whole time. But God, it was good to be clean. Afterward, he scrubbed his clothes and then went looking for his own sheet. There were spares in the hall closet. This arrangement filled him with misgivings—it was surely a bad idea to sit around with her, nearly naked—until their clothes dried, but neither of them had a change. Sometimes you just did what you could in the circumstances and hoped for the best.
By the time he finished hanging his shorts and T-shirt, she had a meal ready: tortilla soup and crumbled crackers. Since they hadn’t eaten since the mouthful of crab the night before, it smelled divine. They devoured the food in silence, and then she sat back in her chair, regarding him with a determined expression.
