4 Friends and Enemies

My first night in Mother's house was a little… weird.

First of all, I had my own master bedroom, with a giant bed that could fit five of me comfortably. Nancy was in the room next to me, on my other side was Ayla, and on her other side was Alex. Mother wouldn't allow us to see inside his room, but from the doors leading into it, I assumed it was the size and grandeur of a royal summer home.

For dinner, we ate pizza. No five-star chef working in his kitchen, no maids running through the enormous house, just Mother and a telephone to order food. I would get lonely in a big house like that with no one but the goldfish to talk to.

The entire house smelled of that sweet cigarette smoke, and there were tracks in the carpeting from his wheelchair. I found, in the strangest places, boxes of macaroons, and wondered how much fun it would be if they all vanished.

I woke up stiff, and it wasn't because the bed was uncomfortable. I wake up stiff whenever I'm in a bed other than my own. I think it's because I try not to move.

In fact, I was laying so stiffly in that enormous bed, sunken deeply into the overly squishy mattress, that it was impossible to move. Unfortunately, Ayla thought I was dead, and ran around my room screaming.

I snapped up into sitting position. "What the hell are you doing in my room!?" I cried.

Ayla ceased her screaming and smiled at me, relieved. "Oh, good, you're not dead. Whew. For a second there I was really worried."

I gaped at her. "Ayla," I said slowly. "It's Sunday. People sleep in, on Sunday. There's no need to wake up. On Sunday."

"Why are," she said. "You talking. Like this?"

I sighed. "Never mind. Why did you wake me up?"

"I wanted someone to make breakfast with," she said. "We're making cinnamon rolls."

I bit my lip. "Um, Ayla, I'm not the best person to cook with," I told her. "I mean, I was trying to bake cookies the other day and I, um, kinda blew up the kitchen."

Her expression became one of awe. "Oh my god how?"

"Dad brought a bomb home, and I thought it was a timer, so I set it for twenty minutes to bake the cookies, and it went off," I explained.

"That is SO cool!" Ayla cried. "From what I hear, you drive your parents crazy!" She said it like it was something to be proud of. "Like on the tape, your mom said you short-circuited the whole neighborhood."

"Only one block," I corrected her.

"Same thing," she said dismissively. "But you're a natural born troublemaker! And me and Alex? We're just wannabes compared to you."

A brilliant plan formed in my mind. "I've got an idea," I stated. "I'm a troublemaker, and you guys are trained agents, right?"

"Right," Ayla confirmed.

"Instead of hating each other, like you guys stealing my stuff and me making your lives miserable," (which, now that I think about it, I could have done very easily) "we can teach each other."

Ayla's expression changed from confused to amazed. "That's a great idea!" she cried. "Alex and I can teach you how to be a spy, and you can teach us how to wreak havoc like no other! Girl, you're a genius," she said with a grin. "You're going to be a natural at this."

And so, my very first friendship began to bloom. Starting with cinnamon rolls.

"Watch," Ayla commanded. She took the cinnamon roll dough and was trying to flatten it. "When you make pizza, you do this." She picked it up, hung it on her fist, and flicked it.

The dough went spinning into the air. I watched as it grew longer, fall back down, and land on Ayla's fist. "That's so cool," I said enviously.

She handed it to me. "Now you try," she said.

Nervous, I placed the dough on my fist and copied her motions. I flicked my wrist and the dough went up in the air. "I did it!" I exclaimed.

Unfortunately, Mother chose that exact moment to wheel into the kitchen. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" he cried.

In this momentary distraction, the dough came back down and landed on my head. My vision was obscured by the thick dough. "Eek!" I screamed. "It's in my hair! Get it off get it off get it off!"

Ayla was laughing at me, Mother was swearing at us, and I was clawing at our sticky creation in a mad attempt to get it off. I could feel it pulling my hair away from my scalp. "Help!" I yelled.

Hands started pulling the dough away in pieces. When my eyes were uncovered, I saw Nancy and Ayla, both giggling, tearing the dough away from my face. "How did you do that?" Nancy asked, a smile etched on her face.

I stuck my tongue out and wound up eating dough. "Yuck," I said. "Dough doesn't taste very good by itself."

"So much for cinnamon rolls," Ayla laughed. "Shall we try waffles?"

"What?" Mother cried. "You'll do no more in my kitchen, that's for sure! Out, out! Go find a movie to watch or something!"

We paraded into the other room, Ayla and Nancy still picking stuff out of my hair. "Mother doesn't seem to be in a very good mood," Ayla said.

Nancy didn't look at her, concentrating intently on some stubborn dough. "Don't do anything that will hurt him," she warned her.

I felt a smile playing on my lips. "I've got some ideas," I said.

"You're on their side now?" Nancy questioned, bewildered. "How did that happen?"

Ayla beamed proudly. "It's the three of us now. We're an unstoppable force, like a hurricane, turning anything that gets in our way upside down and inside out."

Nancy shot her a glare, and Ayla shrunk away in fright. "If you three do anything troublesome, I swear, Emery, I'm telling your parents."

I spun around, whacking her in the face with dough-laden hair. "You wouldn't!" I wailed.

"Watch me," she said.

If my parents found out I did something to their boss, I would be skinned alive.

Ayla just shrugged. "Wait until he pisses you off, Nancy. Then you won't mind our shenanigans so much."

"I'll look forward to it," Nancy snapped. She looked down at me. "Sorry, honey, but you're going to have to shower. There's no way I can get that all out."

I ran a hand through my clumpy hair and shrugged. "Okay." I trumped off to my room, my mind whirring.

So if I decided to skip school, blow up a kitchen, steal macaroons, or any other sort of thing classified as trouble, my parents would know about it and I would be screwed. Unless I got Nancy on my side.

Was I that devious? Was I capable of dragging a perfectly good person over to the dark side? "Only if I can get her cookies," I said hopelessly. "Without blowing something up."

I closed the door to my room behind me and went to the shower. Briefly I wondered if the dough would clog up the drain, but then I realized I didn't care. Tomorrow I would have to go to school, endure the boring lectures of my physics teacher, and fail my English course. The only thing I really understood was math, believe it or not. And I'm sure if I used it more often in every day life, I wouldn't have all the problems I did.

Like how I could have calculated how long that freaking dough would have been in the air and saved myself from a head full of sticky uncooked bread. Or simply used the clock to bake the cookies instead of a bomb and prevented the destruction of half the house.

After my shower and mental put downs, I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Very rarely did I dress to impress.

"Emery!" Ayla called. The door knob turned, although I was certain I'd locked it, and she burst into the room. She had my cell phone in her hand. "Your dad wants to talk to you. Oh, and I took this before we made our agreement," she explained as she handed the phone to me. "Sorry."

I raised the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"I told you the twins were sly," Dad said. "Is your mother there?"

I pulled the phone away to stare at it confusion. "Why would she be here? I thought she was with you."

He paused. "It would seem Emma is AWOL at the moment. I thought she went back to London."

"No, Dad. Mom's not here," I said with certainty. Since when did Dad use the term AWOL?

"Oh." In that one word, there was panic, fear, and betrayal. And in the next sentence, it was all gone. "Then she must be here still. I'll look around. Goodbye, darling." And Dad hung up.

I pressed the end button. Mom was missing. Not good.

***

John Steed placed the phone back on the receiver. He had woken up that morning in the stiff hotel bed to find the other side of it empty. Assuming Emma had gone down for breakfast, he dressed and went to join her.

When his wife wasn't there, he wondered if he had somehow missed her on his way down. So he went back up the stairs to find their room empty, their bags still packed up on the floor and the bed still unmade. Steed paced the room for a moment, contemplating.

Suddenly he remembered that Emma had been worried about Emery. He picked up the phone and called the house, but no one answered. He called Emma's phone, but it was off. He called Emery's phone, and according to her Emma was certainly not in London.

Had Emma finally gotten tired of him and walked out? No, she would have confronted him about it or at least left a note. It wasn't like her to disappear without a trace.

Well, if he thought about all the missions they had done in the past, it was very much like Emma to disappear without a trace, but only if she had been-

"Kidnapped," he whispered. No, no, it couldn't be! It was the first day into the mission, there was no way their presence was already known. The only people they had spoken to were the airport stewardess, the cab driver, the hotel receptionist, and the man who had come to their door.

Although anyone could have seen them.

Steed stumbled onto the bed, fear enveloping him. He needed help, desperately. And there was only one person who could help him in a time like this.

He hoped he still had the address.

***

Emma blinked awake, feeling strangely drowsy. Her vision was blurry, and she yawned widely. "John?" she mumbled. "Stop hogging the blankets. It's terribly cold."

"Emma Peel. Amazing."

Her eyes snapped open completely. She tried to sit up, but she was bound to the table she was laying on. The voice was certainly not Steed's, not the in the least. "Who's there?"

"You don't know me," said the man, who she now saw on the other side of a glass wall, "but I certainly know you."

Emma gasped, nervous. "Where am I?" she questioned.

"To think," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "that you married John Steed. Of all people, it was him. And you have a little girl, yes?"

She stiffened and didn't reply.

"Emery Lynn Steed," said the man. "A beautiful name, and no doubt a beautiful young lady. She must mean very much to you and Steed."

Emma tried to figure out what she was wearing. It appeared to be a gown, not something she owned. They had taken everything she had been wearing, even her wedding ring. "Where's John?" she said in a strangled voice.

"Oh, he'll be here, no doubt about that." The man walked out from behind the glass and into the room with her. "He always shows up when his partner's in danger." He paused and smiled at her. "Though you're much more than that to him, aren't you?"

The man was tall, taller than Steed. He had a smirk on his face, and he smelled of disinfectant. "Who are you?" she asked again.

"My name is David Keel," he replied, "though the name is nothing to you. I've been watching your husband for quite some time now, though not as carefully as I initially thought. To think, he got married and had a daughter without my noticing!" He shook his head, displeased. "Naturally, those men have been replaced with much more observant ones."

Emma looked around the room, searching for an escape, another face, anything. Keel sat down on the table and began rubbing her exposed calf. Emma wanted to kick him desperately.

"But I know all about you and Emery now, don't you worry about that," Keel continued. "In fact, I'm watching her right now."

She stiffened. Emery was in danger.

His hand moved up to the crook of her knee, irritating her. If he went any higher… "As soon as Steed comes," he said nonchalantly, "I'm going to kill her."

"You won't touch my daughter," she spat.

He was tickling the back of her thigh now, making it itch. He smiled at her. "Oh no, I wouldn't dream of hurting a beautiful woman like yourself. I'm just after Steed." Now he was under the dress she wore, rubbing just under her bottom. "I have a score to settle with him. And I'm going to make it as painful as possible."

Had she not been restrained, Dr. David Keel would be a bloody heap on the floor by now. But the leather straps were tight and unmoving. "Get your filthy hands away from me," she said through gritted teeth.

"Imagine if Steed were to walk in right now, and see what I was doing to you," he laughed. "Oh, wouldn't he be angry!"

Something started ringing, and Keel removed his hand to go and investigate. Emma fought against the straps that held her down. She, her husband, and her baby were in danger. She had to free herself, protect them. Hot tears welled in her eyes and blinded her. Her breaths came in terrified gasps. She could handle her own death: not theirs.

"My good friend!" she heard Keel say from the other room. "It's been so many years, Steed."

Emma froze, and to her horror she heard her husband's voice. "Too long, Keel. Much too long. I know it's improper to simply drop in like this, but I have a favor to ask you, and you were the only person I knew who lived in New York."

"Anything, anytime, Steed!" Keel said jovially. "Here, let me get you a drink."

"Thank you," Steed replied. "I really could use one now."

"Brandy?" guessed Keel.

"Whatever you have is fine with me."

She heard the chinking of glasses, and a cork being pulled off a bottle. "You seem distraught, my friend," he observed. "No witty greeting today, eh?"

"It's what I need your help with," Steed told him. He paused, and she assumed he was taking a drink. "My wife. She's disappeared."

Emma struggled even harder. I'm right here, John! she wailed inwardly. Like old times, I'm right here, waiting to be saved!

"Really?" asked Keel. "That's a shame. I can see why you need a drink. You need help finding her, I assume?"

Emma was surprised to hear Steed stuttering, as if he were… drunk? "Y-yes, Keel, she's… she's simply van… van… gone!" It sounded as if something got knocked over. "S-sorry about that. What kind… kind… of drink is this?"

"A fascinating little creation of my own," Keel said, and Emma detected an evil smile on his lips. "One sip, and the drinker is completely incompetent, or, in common terms, drunk."

She pictured Steed stumbling now, fighting to keep his balance, the way he did the few times she had seen him in such a state. Another moment, and he would pass out.

Emma started screaming then. "JOHN!" she cried. "RUN! RUN JOHN, GET OUT OF HERE!"

"Emma!" he slurred, and she heard his unconscious body hit the floor.