A Disease of Magic

It had taken longer than I thought to schedule a meeting with the higher-ups in The Organization. Or perhaps I had expected them to want to see me as soon as possible, assess what the damage was, make sure everything was fine after going MIA for days before quitting my job at Hubert Industries.

I probably just wasn’t that important.

The lack of information let my brain go wild, picking out things to worry about that I didn’t want to be worrying about.

The most unreasonable one, What if they know about my contract with Farley Tech and take me out? had kept my brain occupied for a solid two hours yesterday. Thankfully, that one wasn’t at the forefront of my brain anymore, but only because I’d convinced myself that I would see it coming and teleport myself out of danger. Unlike the situation with Leo, I’d be expecting it, ready, and I’d had significantly more practice since then.

Some, however, were legitimate concerns.

How were they going to react? What was going to change from here on out? Would they kick me out, or let me stay?

Those three questions specifically were actually important, both personally and now professionally with the work I needed to do for Farley Tech. My nail beds were picked to pieces from worrying if I’d still be able to uphold my end of the contract.

A particularly brisk breeze cut through street, yanking on my hair and freezing my cheeks. It brought me back to the present, where I stood standing outside staring up at the building in front of me with a mix of dread and adrenaline.

Alex had been kind enough to arrange this meeting for me, and he even had insisted on coming with me. I was grateful for his help, but he’d been an expert at navigating away from all my prompting questions and statements when I was trying to get any more information from him about the meeting. It was possible he had nothing to share with me. It was also possible he hadn’t picked up on any of my attempts. Maybe I should have just asked him outright.

With five minutes to spare, Alex found me still waiting outside in the cold. I didn’t move to him, still trying to dig my way out of my head and clear my pesky thoughts before we went in and got this party started.

He stepped into my space and grabbed my hand, and only then did I realize my fingers were freezing.

“Sheesh, Callie, how long have you been standing outside like this?”

I shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. Truth was I had no idea; it could have been fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes. Alex moved to stand in front of me, reading correctly that I wasn’t mentally ready to go inside just yet. He grabbed both of my hands and pressed them between his, sending tingling warmth to my frozen digits.

“Worried?”

I met his eyes, and he gave a reassuring smile at whatever look he found on my face.

“It’ll be okay,” he tried assuring me. “They don’t know you like I do. I’ll doubt anything will be suspicious.”

Finally, I made my voice squeak out, “What do you mean?”

He gave me a look that was a mix between pity and patronizing. “You really think I don’t know something else happened that made you disappear like that? Sure, your story is solid, but I know there’s more to what you’ve told me.”

I looked away and down, focusing my eyes on the few leaves that danced across the sidewalk. Autumn had hit hard and fast, faster than I remembered. I shivered in my coat and looked up at the few trees scattered down the road, turning a premature yellow.

He was right. Just because Alex could tell that something else had been going on didn’t necessarily mean that anyone else would. He was my boyfriend, and it was a good sign for our relationship that he’d noticed those types of things. We’d spent plenty of time getting to know each other over the weeks, learning the little peculiars of each other’s mannerisms, habits, things that a stranger or acquaintance wouldn’t be able to pick up on.

Right?

Alex’s warm hand left mine, lightly grasping my chin to turn my face back up to his.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Callie. I know you have good intentions, and there are people out there who would take advantage of that.”

Oh, Alex, you have no idea, I thought, staring up into his blue eyes, wishing I could come clean to him.

Did I feel manipulated into working at Farley Tech? Not exactly. Maneuvered, maybe, but knowingly. It wasn’t what I wanted, obviously, but I went into it with open eyes. Hopefully. Would Alex see it the same way I did? I couldn’t be sure, which meant I couldn’t say anything.

“I’m fine,” I breathed, taking a half step back to break his gentle hold on me. “We should get inside. I didn’t wear the right coat for this.”

He looked at me, eyes searching, but nodded anyways and guided me gently by the elbow inside the warm building. We both remained silent as he led me to the elevators, already knowing where to go.

We ended up back in the same hallway I had my first interview in. Each room we passed was empty, the doors open and lights off. I followed Alex to the end to a larger room and he opened the door without knocking. The walls were a nice shade of peach that lended warmth to the otherwise modern room with sharp angles and clean silhouettes. The conference table in the middle was long, made out of a synthetic white marble, the chairs similar in style and make. Several white cushioned benches with curling armrests on each end sat along the perimeter of the room, interspersed with deep green large-leafed potted plants. A wall of windows behind the head of the conference table looked out at the Hubert Industries campus.

This was nothing like the small meeting room I had previously been in. There was no harsh lighting, no oddly orange-hued table, no ominous black door. If I had to guess, this room was reserved for the highest-ups, who wanted function and style and ambiance.

After a few minutes of standing at the window, staring outside while Alex calmly sat on one of the benches nearby, I was proven right.

Dr. Aaron Goodwin led the way, his comb-over just as obvious as it always had been, carrying a tablet tucked against his side. He was followed by other people, ones who made Alex stiffen to attention. That couldn’t be a good sign.

Alex looked over at me, briefly, as the three men and two women filed in, each taking a predetermined seat at the table. He nodded once, trying to convey that it would all be alright.

I wasn’t convinced.

I gave him a look and head tilt as though to say, if you say so, and settled myself in the chair at the far end of the table, opposite of where Dr. Goodwin sat with the window at his back. Alex took one of the vacant seats adjacent to me, on my right.

“Callie,” he greeted warmly. “I apologize for the formality, but we hope this meeting will be quick so we can send you back on your way.”

“Is everything alright?” I asked. I wanted to roll my eyes at the stupid question, knowing I wouldn’t—

“Not exactly,” Dr. Goodwin answered. The woman to his left, who I recognized as Lola from the Hubert Industries study orientation, cut him a sharp look. He completely ignored her. “To be honest, Callie, we’re dealing with some issues that we’re having trouble solving. Not to say that we won’t.” He chucked, leaning back in his chair. “It will just take some more time.”

“If there’s anything you think I could help with, I am at your disposal,” I answered.

Dr. Goodwin tilted his head slightly to one side, considering me and my offer. “We may take you up on that. But not now.” He waved a hand dismissively before lacing his fingers together and resting them on his stomach. “We’d like to hear from you what happened recently with your sudden absence and resignation. Alex shared the basics, but we’d like the hear the whole story. And I have to say, we were concerned for you. Some of us more than others. We want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I appreciate that,” I said honestly. I took a deep breath and dove in, not letting myself think about the lies, “You know that I have a bio-screen, one of Farley Tech’s devices.” I held up my arm and swiped on the screen, lighting it up for everyone in the room to see. One of the men to Dr. Goodwin’s right leaned forward to get a better look, his straight blond hair falling into his eyes, which he brushed away impatiently.

“As someone with a LaShoul’s diagnosis, I learned about the clinical trial and applied. I had no trouble with it, but there was an update or something that messed with it. It was probably a false alarm, but they were worried about it potentially harming me. They want to make sure it doesn’t happen, and offered me job to make it easier for them to keep checking on it. And, I think, to make sure I didn’t try to sue them or slander the bio-screen online.” I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. “Either way, it seemed like it was the best path forward for me, even if the timing wasn’t great. I was happy with my new job at Hubert. But they’re also planning on helping me develop an app, one to help other people with LaShoul’s who don’t have the ability to get a bio-screen.”

“Interesting.” The blond man who was gawking at my bio-screen leaned forward again to make direct eye contact with me. The hair made it difficult. “Did they specify what the potential issue with your screen was?”

“Not exactly.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“Sure. They thought one of the sensors may have been misfiring, leading to a false alarm. Or the update had a problem, didn’t install correctly, something like that. It seemed like mine was the only one affected, but they didn’t say that specifically.”

Blondie nodded. “What have they done to fix it?”

Nothing, because it was all a lie. But I couldn’t say that. Instead, I improvised and said,“A whole-system reset, then a direct update in one of their facilities.”

“Direct update?”

“Yeah, instead of sending it through the internet, they used bluetooth. Seemed to work.”

“Yet they’re still concerned about it?” It was the other woman, not Lola, who asked. Her shirt was a crisp white, not even one visible wrinkle. It was a little intimidating.

“They’re concerned that there’s a slight defect in my screen, and the first update triggered something. It’s working now, but may not continue to.”

“Why don’t they just remove or replace it?”

“Have you heard how these are bonded to the body?” I countered. “A thousand tiny, hooked needles, like velcro, are shoved into the skin. To remove it requires actual surgery, plus healing time before another could be grafted. Scar tissue may prevent another from being possible. It’s not an easy, quick fix.”

“You have two arms; you could use the other for a new one,” blondie pointed out helpfully. Alex cut him a look I couldn’t see from my position.

The woman ignored blondie’s contribution, tapping her fingers on the table. She narrowed her eyes, not liking my answer. “Why put yourself at risk?”

“Well, it’s a very low risk. And if it helps them figure this out, it could then go on to help other people who get screens or already have them. We know the connection between abilities and LaShoul’s. But what if there’s a way for people to get treatment, to save lives, without them developing an ability?”

“You can’t know that will happen,” blondie disagreed, and the woman opened her mouth to probably say something derisive.

“Let’s get back to the major issue here,” Dr. Goodwin interjected, giving the blondie and the woman meaningful looks. They backed off, the woman clearly unhappy to do so. She was decidedly not convinced of my innocence.

“Unfortunately, Callie,” Dr. Goodwin said with a grim tone. “We cannot trust you anymore.”