FOURTEEN
I read it for the tenth time, still not fully understanding what I was seeing, but knowing everything had changed, knowing we hadn't even brushed the tip of the iceberg with any of this, knowing that this was so much bigger than the FBI. That they were not the true enemy. That we were naïve for ever thinking it could be that simple.
Fang yanked the clipping out of my hand. The kids craned their necks, trying to see what fresh hell we'd just stumbled into. Iggy sensed the dramatic change in the atmosphere and perked up.
I had tunnel vision.
"What just happened?" Iggy asked.
I meant to answer him, I swear I did, but I couldn't stop gawking at Laura Goodchurch. Laura Goodchurch, who evidently was actually Laura ter Borcht, the mother of one Gideon ter Borcht.
The hairs on my neck stood up, and my wings pulsed painfully against my back, waiting for me to decide whether I'd fight or fly this time.
"But your name is Goodchurch," I rasped stupidly instead, trying to unscramble the omelet my thoughts had become. How's that for quick wit and razor-sharp reflexes?
Ms. Goodchurch snorted darkly. "Of course it is. You think any of us wanted to keep that bastard's name? After what he did?"
Fang's eyes were glowing; I could tell his mind was whirring. "And what did he do?"
"Oh, please," she said, totally calling his bluff. "You kids already know."
"Hello?" Iggy waved his hands comically over his head. "Anybody? Blind guy could use some contextual clues, here!"
"There's a birth announcement here. Gideon Goodchurch is her and Roland ter Borcht's son," Nudge breathed.
There was a beat, and then Iggy shoved his chair away from the table.
"Well, guess we're friggin' outta here then!"
"Wait," I said at the exact same time as both Ms. Goodchurch and Fang.
"Wait?"
"Iggy, can you please stop running from the eighty-pound grandma and give her a second to explain herself?" I added hotly.
"Are you not listening?" he thundered. I had a nervous flashback to the last time he'd totally lost his shit (AKA: yesterday) and knew that unless this situation miraculously turned around in the next sixty seconds, I might lose him again.
"Iggy, please don't go," Nudge murmured, and that was enough to soften him; he sat back down, although this time indignant and significantly more guarded. I shot Nudge a look of wordless gratitude.
Ms. Goodchurch adjusted her glasses and took a deep breath.
"Gideon worked for years to get Vector off the ground, to make it what he wanted. The intention was to facilitate financial relief for people in need—but through the private sector. It was the first business of its kind. He was so proud. I was so proud."
She closed her eyes, and we all watched as her mind went elsewhere. She dove into what was essentially an abridged version of her life story: marriage, a dog, and four children in less than six years after meeting ter Borcht during his abroad semester at school. By the time she realized he was a complete psychopath, she was too afraid to leave without a solid excuse.
"Then Roland lost his medical license. There were rumors in the scientific community that he was experimenting on humans. I never knew, of course, but I'd already wanted to leave him for years, so I didn't need much in the way of details. Me and my children never spoke to him again. Silas, though..." she said, shaking her head.
My hands clenched into fists just at the mention of his name, remembering the way his brittle windpipe had disintegrated under my hands.
By the look on Fang's face, he hadn't forgotten, either. "Silas wasn't your kid," he said.
She shook her head. "No, but he'd been a part of our family from the day he met Gideon in grammar school. He didn't have much of a family of his own. His father came back from Vietnam, but he brought the war with him. He clung to Roland like a father. We assumed he'd cut ties with him as well, after what he'd done. We were very, very wrong."
If Fang's expression got any tighter, his jawbone would tear right through his skin. Ms. Goodchurch narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say anything.
"I've cooperated with every investigation, testified in every trial. I hate him, too. He's a monster who deserves to suffer. I've done my part to see to that, and Leonardo here can attest to it."
"This is true," Leo said, nodding. "A lot of that case information has since been sealed, though."
"I saw to that," Ms. Goodchurch said proudly. "To protect Gideon. To protect all of my children."
I tried to backtrack through this intricately woven clusterfuck, my heart hammering away in my chest, threatening to pop and spatter blood all over the walls.
"We did research on ter Borcht," I said weakly. "At the library at Anne's school."
"Yeah," Gazzy said, nodding. "Didn't he get sent to, like, Austria in 2002?"
Ms. Goodchurch flipped through her notebook again and produced the exact article I was referencing.
Ter Borcht, Roland. Geneticist. Medical license revoked, 2001. Imprisoned for unauthorized criminal genetic experiments on humans, 2002. A controversial figure in the field of genetic research, ter Borcht was for many years considered a genius, and the leading researcher in human genetics. However, in 2002, after being found guilty of criminal human experiments, ter Borcht was declared insane. He is currently incarcerated in the Dangerous-Incurable wing of a rehabilitation facility in the Netherlands.
Fang skimmed it briefly before handing it to Nudge, who quickly read it off to Iggy before he threw another hissy fit.
"I'm not sure how involved Silas and Roland's partnership was when Roland was first sent away," Ms. Goodchurch admitted. "Gideon was actually running the company, at that point, but I'm sure they were conspiring."
"So, wait," Angel said carefully. She'd been quiet on the far end of our line of chairs, but I knew she was working her own freakishly intelligent mind over the minutiae, trying to put together the bigger picture. "Are we the 'criminal human experiments?'"
Ms. Goodchurch looked nervously at Leo, who smiled gently.
"Confidential, remember?"
"Are you kidding me? We're asking who made us!" Iggy yelled.
Leo eyed him steadily. "'Confidential.'"
"He used air quotes that time," Gazzy whispered.
"Okay," Iggy growled. "So let's say ter Borcht maybe made us, but Gideon the Good made Vector, and we ended up owned by Vector, and then Scythe ended up stealing Vector, but Scythe said he didn't know about us until someone told him. How did we get from ter Borcht to Vector?"
"Jeb," Fang and Angel said at the same time.
His name went through me like a hot knife through butter. No, I thought. No, no, no.
Leo glanced at me, looking troubled. "Jeb Batchelder, in his own words, 'acquired' Max, Fang, and Iggy after Roland ter Borcht's fallout. The details of this are hazy even to me, as most of that case has been sealed as well, but he's the one who brought you to Vector's attention by way of the School, a lab under their umbrella."
"So instead of going to the cops, or saving us, or doing anything humane after they deported ter Borcht, Jeb just packed us up and whisked us off to the highest bidder? Sorry, nana, but that doesn't exactly make your son seem like Mother Teresa."
"You don't understand. Gideon was so thrilled to have you," Ms. Goodchurch said earnestly. I cringed.
"He didn't have us," Gazzy said, annoyed.
"No, no, of course," she corrected. "What I mean to say is—he was honored to be able to give you a better life than Roland had given you. When he learned about you, he felt an obligation to correct his father's wrongs. When Jeb came to him, he couldn't say no. He had such big dreams for you—normal lives, big support systems—he and his employees were your biggest cheerleaders." She pointed at her leather bound notebook. "He's got bookshelves of notebooks just like these detailing his time with you."
"Why don't I remember this?" Fang asked severely.
"You three were still babies. Just infants, really."
"Infants?" I managed in a voice so tiny I almost didn't believe it was mine. Next to me, Fang shifted in his chair.
"What about us, then?" Nudge said shakily, gesturing to Gazzy and Angel. "We wouldn't have even existed."
"You would've come along after Gideon was ousted by Silas," Leo said.
At this, the younger kids positively wilted. I'd never seen any of them on the cusp of an existential crisis before, but this certainly was it. I added debrief with the kids to my to-do list. Unfortunately, don't lose your fucking mind was currently item numero uno, and it was proving to be nearly impossible to check off.
Iggy, smoking with rage, was still a few steps behind. "I don't like all this confidential bullshit. How are we supposed to know what's true and what's not?"
"The dots connect," said Fang. "Jeb worked for ter Borcht. Ter Borcht made the three of us. When he got shipped away, Jeb brought the three of us to Gideon. Scythe took over. Sometime after then, Nudge was born."
"Nudge was created," Nudge corrected miserably.
"We don't know that," I said to her softly.
"The dates all line up," Angel said. "Which means either Jeb or Scythe is responsible for us three."
We all turned to Leo expectantly, whose face was tight.
"'Confidential.'"
"He used air quotes again," Gazzy said under his breath to Iggy. Iggy groaned.
"How the hell—"
"Money goes far in this line of work, especially if you've got a lot of it to give. Scythe had access to all of Gideon's assets and was able to use them to pay off who ever he wanted to get what ever he wanted. He also had an enormous amount of power in terms of blackmail. Most of the Massachusetts state government was working under him for that very reason, many of whom still refuse to talk even after his death."
"Okay, all of this said," said Gazzy, waving his arms, "why does this make Max end up on a Wanted poster?"
Leo, who'd done nothing but smile reassuringly and nod since we'd walked in the fucking door, did so again.
"Well, that goes back to Fang's question from before Laura got here. About the 'he' we need your help with." He took a deep breath, and while I'd like to hope it wasn't solely for dramatic effect, I couldn't be sure. "It's Roland ter Borcht. We think he's ready to retaliate."
"Retaliate?" I blurted. "Retaliate against who?"
"Didn't we just cover the fact that he's in a loony bin somewhere?" Iggy huffed, rubbing his forehead.
Laura snorted. "Not a chance. Maybe at first, yes. But once Silas took over for Gideon, he sent him a nice big check and tucked him away somewhere safe, I'm certain of it."
"But this retaliation," Fang prodded, looking inquisitive. "Isn't against us?"
"We have reason to believe that he thinks the FBI is responsible for what happened to Silas and all of Vector, and that none of this, realistically, concerns you."
I looked at Fang, who was still just as skeptical as I was. His mouth was set in a thin line and his eyes were harsh.
"Why?"
"We've gotten... correspondence that implies that he's not happy with the United States as a country, to put it lightly. But nothing specifically that's mentioned you."
"Oh, well if he didn't mention us, then we must be safe," Iggy said sarcastically.
"As far as we know, the only people that care that you exist is the Bureau, and to be honest, we don't actually care that much," Leo said with a sheepish look. "You've done a good enough job at avoiding us so far. In the event that you don't want to work with us in any way, you could walk out that door right now and probably never see us again."
I rolled my eyes. Yeah, and unicorns were real.
"Don't get me wrong. We do want a relationship with you. A rapport. You don't have to run from us forever," Leo continued.
Yeah, Leo. The thing is—It's not you, it's me.
"But that's a conversation for another time," he added quickly after seeing my face. "Right now, our biggest concern is ter Borcht. Like I said—we're not here to force you or imprison you. There's no precedent for this situation, so we're kind of—no pun intended—winging it."
Gazzy made a sound of profound disgust. Iggy sighed heavily and drew his hands to his temples, rubbing them in irritation. Angel giggled.
"So just to confirm: you're saying that we don't have to help you," Fang said carefully.
Ms. Goodchurch frowned deeply, but Leo nodded. "It would be incredibly helpful to have you on our side, but this is an invitation, not an order."
"And if we were to help you," I said slowly, "it would be to find ter Borcht and shut down whatever sort of evil operation he may or may not have going on overseas?"
"And find my son," Ms. Goodchurch added.
Leo cast her a sideways glance and paused for a moment before nodding.
"You understand the scope of this far more than we do, no matter what any other agent might tell you about the number of case files we have. We think if you were to approach him, he'd be less likely to become violent. I'm not going to bullshit you: there's a chance there are other recombinant life forms with him without any way of knowing how many or how dangerous. There's a chance he does want you guys. This is not going to be a walk in the park, and I certainly can't offer guarantees."
"This just in," Gazzy said in a perfect imitation of a news anchor, holding one hand over his ear as if listening to an earpiece, "Roland ter Borcht is a raging psycho, the FBI can't offer guarantees, and water is wet."
Fang looked at me. There was an argument brewing in his eyes. I frowned.
"We need to talk about this. As a group."
"Understandable." Leo stood, smoothed his suit out, and motioned toward the door. "There's a conference room down the hall that you can—"
"Alone," Fang said darkly.
"Absolutely," Leo said, nodding again.
He wasn't getting it. "As in not here."
"Oh." Leo looked at us stupidly. After a moment, he said, "Oh. Of course."
He reached back for his desk and handed me a business card with a cheesy photo of him on it and his title, phone number, and email.
"And before we do anything," I added, narrowing my eyes. "What do you know about Valencia Martinez?"
At this, his face broke into a true smile.
"That absolutely nothing anyone does or says will get her to give up the people she loves," he said.
"And her daughter—" Iggy started, but Leo cut him off.
"Safe at home. My team asked their questions, but when we could get nothing out of them, we sent them back home. In one piece."
I tried to hide my surprise, but evidently didn't do a great job.
"We're not like the other bad guys you're used to, Max," Leo said softly. He paused, seemed to think for a minute, and leaned in to add quietly, "We even let her daughter keep her fake ID."
My head was spinning; an incredible amount of information had just been laid out for us. I surveyed my flock, all of whom looked tired and overwhelmed. I sighed and stood, reaching my hand out to shake. The rest of the flock followed suit.
"We'll be in touch," I said, and we started filing out of the room.
"Wait!" Laura Goodchurch cried. When I turned, her petite form was hobbling my way, holding out the plate she'd walked in with what felt like a lifetime ago. "Don't forget your brownies, kids."
"So you're telling me," Nudge said slowly from the ratty couch, looking ready to punch something, "that I got rid of my cell phone, dropped out of high school, and ruined my entire life for no reason?"
"Oh, boo-hoo!" Iggy hollered through a mouthful of brownie. "At least you didn't have to liquidate all your assets!"
"Uh, hello? Excuse me? I did not ask for this low-budget performance of Les Mis. Can we keep the soliloquies to a dull roar, please?" I gritted my teeth at the oncoming headache.
"No reason, Max!" Nudge shrieked.
We were back at the hotel, and every single one of us was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Don't misunderstand: we've been through a lot of shit. But the fact that we'd just had an amicable conversation with a member of the federal government about the lunatic(s) who created us and the potential threat they posed to the country as a whole? And add in the fact that an innocent man I thought had sacrificed his life to save mine was actually alive and being held captive somewhere and thought that my arrival was the answer?
I mean, maybe all that's happened to some of you. But we were first-timers.
At any rate, six ruminating, dog-tired, life-beaten bird kids in a small space always added up to the same thing: unnecessary roughness.
And here you crazy humans were, thinking that was just a football penalty!
"Okay, we are not doing this." I rounded on Nudge, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "There was no way for me to know the FBI would be on our side. Everything I do, every decision I make, is to protect us. So I'm sorry, Nudge, that you can't scroll on your Instagram feed right now, but I will go to sleep content with the fact that I kept you alive for another day."
There was a long silence during which Nudge's murderous rage softened to understanding, though she was too full of teenage angst to admit it. Instead, she pouted and crossed her arms.
"Kept me alive from big bad wimpy agent Leonardo Zanetti," she grumbled.
Iggy was leaning back in one of the trendy-in-the-90s-high-back-bar-chairs, balanced on the hind two legs. "So realistically, we can go back home, go back on our merry way, and never worry about any of this again?"
"Well, we can," Angel said, chucking a balled up t-shirt at his head from where she was re-organizing her pack. "You're a celebrity now."
Gazzy was cross-legged on the rug, looking pensive.
"But don't they need our help?" he asked.
"Well, that was my next question. We should consider it as an option," I began, but that's as far as I was able to get.
"Consider it as an option?" Fang said, looking genuinely surprised.
"Yes, consider it as an option. It is…" I struggled for an adjective that was equal parts optimistic and pessimistic, but instead just settled on, "…an option."
"No."
I stared evenly at Fang, trying to pry my way into his brain, understand exactly what he was thinking. Silently begging him to not turn this into an argument, because I had no idea what I wanted or what was best.
"That's it? Just 'no?'"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's unnecessary," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "They want our help? Too bad. We have lives to go back to."
"Helping people is what we do, Fang," I pressed. "It's our thing."
"What? That's the stupidest rationale you've ever had."
"I think it's brilliant. Bulletproof, really," Iggy said sarcastically.
Okay. So it wasn't bulletproof. And it's not like I'd dedicated my life to solving world hunger or fighting global warming or even volunteering my time at homeless shelters or anything, but I was a helper. I helped people. Especially innocent people, like Gideon Goodchurch.
FBI or no FBI, I felt obligated to help him. Crushing ter Borcht like a walnut shell would just be an added bonus.
"I don't think it's crazy," said Nudge, somehow siding with me despite the fact that she might never Tweet again. "He seems trustworthy."
"Seems," said Gazzy. "He could be an axe murderer, for all we know."
"He works for the FBI, Gazzy, he's not an axe murderer," Nudge said impatiently.
Iggy was shaking his head. "Aside from that, what the hell do we owe them? They want our help? Where was our help? Oh, poor FBI, scared of some whacko scientist? Get in line! Psh." He threw a cashew in the air, catching it in his mouth with precision. "Pound sand, DiCaprio."
I put my hands on my hips, appraising them all individually. "You guys are telling me you're gonna pass up an opportunity to be a hero? To kick some bad-guy ass? To tell Roland ter Borcht to pound sand?"
"Is that what it's all about for you, Max?" Fang's rage was controlled, but piercing. "Being a hero?"
"Of course not," I said, hurt. "It would also be saving an innocent man and bringing him back to his grieving mother. And putting an end to the guy who started it. I feel responsible, somehow. Don't you?"
Iggy's face changed from one of stubbornness to something more pensive. Gazzy looked determined. Nudge and Angel turned to each other.
Fang rose to his full six-foot-two, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No," he said. "I don't."
And with that, he turned and stalked through the door into our room, slamming it shut behind him.
Nobody dared speak after that. My stomach churned and I took a deep breath, pushing that small disaster off to deal with later.
"Angel," I said cautiously. "Were you getting any… vibes off of him?"
I was asking her if she'd read his mind. Everyone in the room knew it. She looked upset at the question, maybe even a little embarrassed, and I felt like an asshole for even asking.
"No," she said quietly. "Still can't."
"What about your intuition?" Iggy tried. "You can read people like a book, know their tells."
She shrugged. "I mean, he's definitely not lying. I don't think we have to worry about him. It's the rest of the FBI that I'm worried about. Just because he's a good guy doesn't mean they all are."
"Okay, okay. Tough guy act aside, you're right, Max," Iggy said finally. I bit back the sassy comment I wanted to make at that proclamation. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanna go back to real life, but I also want this to be over. Like, kick-ter-Borcht-in-the-nuts over."
"As long as he's out there, there's always a chance we're still just running his maze," Nudge agreed. "And poor Gideon."
"But Fang doesn't wanna help," Angel said. "We can't do it without Fang. We can't split up." A pause. "… Can we?"
The small speech I'd made the day before played through my mind. You know, the one where I'd emphatically told them all that I wouldn't make anyone do anything they didn't want to. That I couldn't expect anything from them anymore. That we all had our own lives to live.
It was all well and good at the time, sure. But at the time, it wasn't Fang disagreeing with me.
"Let me handle that part, sweetie."
"Well, I'm in," Iggy said, brushing his fingers off on his jeans. "Fuck it, why not."
"In," said Nudge. When I looked at her with surprise, she rolled her eyes. "Just because I want my cell phone back doesn't mean I've abandoned all my morals, Max."
"I'm in," Gazzy said.
I looked at Angel, my littlest flock member, the girl who had every single reason under the sun to want nothing to do with this. She smiled her hundred-watt smile, dimples and all, and gave me a brave nod.
The kids went to bed not long after that. I still wasn't sure if I was ready to act mature enough to have a rational conversation with Fang, so I poked my head into Iggy and Gazzy's bathroom, where Iggy was brushing his teeth. I tapped the back of his hand twice.
"Don't have to do that anymore," he said through a mouthful of Colgate. "I'm Daredevil, remember?"
"Oh?" I said, cocking an eyebrow. "Did you develop a mind-reading sense that I didn't know about?"
"No. But you're wearing your shoes and your coat, you're brooding, and you still haven't talked to Fang." He spit into the sink and started rinsing his toothbrush. "Doesn't take echolocation to figure out that you're going to get some air."
My lips twitched. "Just gonna make a quick call."
"Who? An ambulance for Fang, so they can get a jump start on resuscitating him after you kick his ass for dissenting?"
"No, you clown. Dr. Martinez, to let her know we're okay, now that someone totally blew our cover."
"You gonna talk to Ella?"
"Maybe. I don't plan on talking long. I'm still not convinced no one's tapping the phone lines."
Now Iggy rolled his eyes. "We're in DC, Max. All the phone lines are tapped."
"I'll be back in ten, fifteen tops," I called over my shoulder as I left. "Don't worry, I'll read her some Pablo Neruda for you. Maybe play a couple lines from 'Wonderwall.'"
I stalked out of the room, but not before Iggy yelled, "Bite me!"
I made my way down the stairs and through the lobby, where the television showed one of the late-night Jimmys monologuing about the one-man two-winged freak show that he suspected the White House had planted to distract the general public from the inevitable meltdown of our democracy. I snickered as I pushed through the door, making a mental note to play this clip at top volume on a loop for Iggy whenever we lived in a reality where it mattered again.
I found a little sort of courtyard behind the hotel, perched on a bench, and dialed the number from memory. Dr. Martinez picked up breathlessly on the second ring.
"Hello?"
In my head, I'd planned on saying something clever, like, Hi, I'm calling about your car's extended warranty!, but when I heard her voice, my stone-cold reserve turned to soup.
"Hi," I said brokenly. I was fine—I really was. I just needed to not think about, you know, anything. Maybe ever again.
So when Dr. Martinez said, "Oh, Max," like she thought she might never hear my voice again, I totally lost it.
"We're okay," I managed, but that was all I could squeak out.
For a full five minutes, I simply cried. And cried. And cried. Dr. Martinez sat and listened dutifully, saying nothing. Once or twice I thought I heard a sniffle on her end, but it could've just been the pitiful auditory hallucinations of the little girl deep inside me who wanted nothing more than a mother.
"I don't even know why I'm crying," I admitted with a choked laugh. "Everything is fine, really."
"I hope this isn't one of those instances where your opinion of fine and the actual definition of fine are two very different types of fine," she said.
"Usually is," I admitted.
I gave her the most succinct summary of the last few days that I could without blabbing for an hour.
"I think I know why you're crying, at least," she said when I was finished.
"Because I'm clinically insane?"
"Of course not," she chastised. "All of that is a lot in just a few days."
"You're telling me," I said. God, I felt a thousand times better after hearing her voice.
"We've been waiting to hear from you. I was so worried, Max," she said earnestly. "Then when we ever saw Iggy on the news, I didn't know what to think."
"That would make two of us." I sighed deeply, looking up at the sky above me. Dark, but clear. Too much light pollution to see the stars like we would at home, but I could still pick out a couple. I held on to them feebly, wishing myself back to our house, our peace, our normalcy.
"What do you think we should do? I feel so… lost," I admitted in barely a whisper. I couldn't believe I was even saying it; I don't think I would've said it to even Fang. "I haven't had to lead since…"
"Oh, please," she scoffed. "You don't need to be leading them into battle to be leading them."
"That's true. If you asked Nudge, I'm sure she'd tell you I'm leading her to an inevitable social suicide."
She laughed. "As for what I think you should do, it depends. Are you asking me as a strong, independent woman? Or are you asking me as a mother?"
"Trick question," I said. "You're both."
A smile colored her words. "That is very true. But the mom in me—the pure mom in me—wants you safe, wants you home. She knows nothing else matters besides that."
I swallowed thickly at this, imagining for the umpteenth time that I lived in a reality where she was actually my mother.
"And the strong, independent woman?"
"She wants you to find this ter Borcht maniac and tell him to—what did Iggy say?"
"Pound sand," I said matter-of-factly.
"Yes! Exactly."
We laughed together for a minute. The gravity of the day shifted right then in that courtyard on the phone with Dr. Martinez.
"The strong, independent woman and the mom can agree on a couple of things, though."
"What?"
"For one, that you need to do whatever's right for you and for your family. I can't tell you what that is. The FBI can't tell you what that is. Only the six of you know what that is."
"I know," I said quietly, but all I could think about was the fact that the six of us might not agree.
"For two," she added in a conspirational whisper, "Iggy had better back off that journalist, or else Ella's gonna head up there and make a scene."
A/N: I know these chapters are a lot of filler; bear with me. I've been rehashing these middle chapters (the last one, this one, and the next two) for weeks, trying to edit and condense as much as I can, but I'm just not in a great groove these days.
The action is coming, I promise.
Thank you, M. G, my lone reviewer for chapter thirteen. I apologize that this one is just as slow, if not slower than the last, but I hope it all pays off.