Page 37 of The Pansy Paradox
“I’ll summarize your overall performance, lay out what I’ll include in the formal report that I’ll send to the Enclave, and answer any questions the two of you may have.”
“You can’t just give me your report now?”
“I haven’t scored it yet.”
This I don’t believe. He knows what my score will be. And really, either way, it’s going to be a sleepless night of what ifs. Unless this is a trick to activate the Sight. Wispy tendrils of thought suggest it is, so I immediately vow not to do so.
“Besides, I’m very much looking forward to meeting your mother,” he says. “In fact, I want to thank her personally for her work on handling desert Screamers.”
“Desert Screamers.” I’ve been reduced to parroting his words, which is just as well, since I don’t trust my own.
“I employed several of her methods on my last mission. No doubt they saved my life.” He folds the dishtowel and hangs it on the rung next to the sink, adjusting the edges precisely. “Her tenure in the Middle East is fascinating reading.”
“I’ve heard the stories,” I manage, barely.
“I envy you. She was legendary in the field. It almost seems a shame…” His gaze takes in the kitchen in all its blue and white coziness. A subtle blush touches his cheekbones. He clears his throat. “Anyway, tomorrow, at nine. Will that work?”
Without recourse, I nod. “I’ll show you out?”
It emerges as a question because my thoughts are in such a whirl that I’m not certain I can do even that. But Agent Darnelle heads down the hallway and toward the front door. I follow, a hand on the wall like it’s the only solid, sure thing in my life right now.
When we reach the threshold, I have enough presence of mind to remember his suit coat and pull it from the closet.
“I mended the tear.” I hold it up for his inspection.
“Oh. Well. Good.” He looks at me as if I’m five and have offered up a mud pie destined to ruin his Sunday best. “Thank you.”
Then it hits me. His jacket is special issue, like his shirt, and possibly that ridiculous hat, which would explain a lot. Except I’m fairly certain that nothing explains the hat. The suit coat’s weave is smooth beneath my fingers, and I exhale regret along with a sigh.
“I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”
He gives his head a vigorous shake. “No, no. Not at all. I’m sure it can be patched.”
His expression says it can’t.
“I’m sorry.” While I’m certain to be even sorrier tomorrow morning, I do regret this.
“Don’t be. How were you to know?” He takes his jacket, turning it in his hands. “It’s still in prototype. Same material as our umbrellas, only wearable.”
In the closet, I have gear made from that material, only not wearable. It’s one thing to stroll King’s End with a pink, polka-dot umbrella, quite another to do so in something that resembles a HAZMAT suit. How the Enclave made something practical and so elegantly tailored, I have no idea.
Agent Darnelle plucks his umbrella from the stand. A bit of push-pull ensues until he mutters, “It’s time to leave.”
See? I knew I wasn’t the only agent who talks to their umbrella.
Mine slumps to one side, despondent once again.
He’s at his rental sedan when Adele emerges from her house with Prince decked out in his tiny reflective harness and leash. She comes to stand with me on the porch, a reassuring arm around my shoulder. Prince spins in circles and then prances on his hind legs until I pick him up.
From behind the wheel, Agent Darnelle gives a nod that includes not only Adele and me but Prince as well. I make Prince wave a tiny paw, and I’m rewarded with the barest of stealth smiles.
It isn’t until the tail lights flicker at the stop sign two blocks away that Adele speaks.
“I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to see for myself.”
“All the photos on Hey Neighbor kind of blurry?”
Adele manages a small laugh. “Very. He looks so much like Harry. It’s uncanny.”
