The Elementalist

2. The Social Worker Who Was Not-3

In short, whatever aerocraft Apexia had in store for Voi was destined to be worthy. Her eyes glossed over at the thought.

It all sounded so glamorous when she looked at it this way—like one of the sensational adventures of Agent Sullivan and Kyra Feruupa in the spicy Rogue Spy novels. The fantastical notion caused Voi to laugh in a delirious fashion. Immediately, she covered her mouth then paused to listen, checking to see if her neighbors were aware. However, no perceptible sounds came from the surrounding tenements, only that of her own jubilant and, admittedly, absurd musings.

“But Miss Feruupa and Agent Sullivan never flew in an aeroplane…” No, Voi wouldn’t be the spy who spied on foot or even by airship, as the aero corps did during the Rapine War. Instead, she would spy in the glory of an open-cockpit aeroplane.

Why, such a feat hadn’t been executed since the war, over ten years since the Haran threat rose to prominence out of Darmoil!

Voi smiled brightly, but it wasn’t long before she returned to her senses; clearly, this was too good to be true. And what if it was a scam? She shook her head, telling herself, “This isn’t a game, Voi. You should think this through.”

Disheartened, she went into the kitchen and gazed at the clock on the wall. Her friends would be waiting for her at the airfield, and it was high time she took her urche again. But now that Mr. Callahan had come into her life with talk of conspiracies and cures… she wasn’t entirely sure that she ought to.

Voi looked at the ceiling, thinking of her flying gear laid neatly across the bed. She had a customer today, just the one, booked for an aerial tour of the city at ten o’clock.

It was 9:47.

Voi rushed upstairs, seeking out the table where Mr. Callahan had left her urche pills. Alone in her cockpit, she felt it was safer to experiment with skipping the d**g. While traveling with a passenger under her wing, however, she couldn’t take the risk. Conflicted, Voi reluctantly grabbed the bottle then twisted off the cap. She peered inside then scoffed at the pills before pouring one into her jittery palm.

She stared at it, wondering about Mr. Callahan’s veracity. Could he actually cure her emelesia? Could he really save her from the mental asylum? Even if he could, Voi was still restricted by her current obligations. She had her touring company AeroTaxi, which she shared with her friends—“Voi and the boys,” they would say, because her name rhymed—and also her position at the local museum, at which she was making very little progress.

Disappointing as it was, Voi decided that her highly implausible fantasies would have to wait. She tossed her head back and popped one of the urche pills into her mouth, cringing as she forced it down without fluids. It was better she thought this thing all the way through.

Rationally. Lucidly.

After all, things were rarely what they seemed.

* * *

Agent Callahan got into the car, glancing over at his new partner.

Agent Ryan was a shorter, stockier man in his mid-thirties, only Callahan’s senior by a couple of years. He was learning the ropes, learning how this whole ‘monitoring an elementalist’ thing worked. He’d transferred from law enforcement after seeing something he shouldn’t have. Lucky for him, the League thought it’d be easier to give him clearance and training as one of their watchdogs instead of talking him out of what he thought he’d seen or ‘making’ him forget.

He did good work, this Ryan. Always on the case.

“So,” said Ryan, wiggling excitedly. “You think she’s gonna take the offer?”

Callahan was quiet at first. He began with a drawn-out sigh. “Well, look at it this way: she’s got a reputation to protect—at least in her mind she does.” He gripped the wheel then rapped his fingers thoughtfully, looking out the window for oncoming traffic. “Appearances are important to her. That’s why she lives in a posh neighborhood she can barely afford. Instead of finding herself a job that pays beyond the bills, she sticks to s**t posts that only look good on paper, pretending her life’s a peach.

“One day, as she sees it, people will forget her past, and the business will start to take off. One day, they’ll let an emelesiac run an art museum.”

He glanced at Agent Ryan. “See, that’s the problem: she’s good at self-denial, but she can’t seem to convince anyone else she’s the person she thinks she is. People don’t take her seriously or notice her much. The League can use that to its advantage.” He shifted up a gear and picked up speed. “She lives in a fantasy world. Every day at one-thirty before she goes to work, she stops at that upscale café down the street and orders a fancy imported sage tea with exactly three bags.” He held up a matching number of fingers.

“What the hell does she do that for?” asked Agent Ryan.

“The sage is supposed to help alleviate the jitters, but it doesn’t work. Still, she keeps feeding herself the lie… Heck, it beats the truth of the asylum—and when you can’t swallow the truth, then what good is reality to you?”

“Um…”

“That was rhetorical.”

“Yeah, I knew that.”

“Anyway, I think the fantasy is a coping mechanism. It gets her through the day. So yeah, I think she’ll take the offer. The cure’s a lie she can believe in, plus she sees glamour in spying. Besides, she’s too proud to accept the asylum or the procedure. I mean sure, she’ll balk at my offer because she’s a quasi-upscale whiz kid, and the whole suppression thing sounds beyond ridiculous… but she’s also curious about the occult, academically, so that won’t last very long.”

“Well, s**t, Callahan,” said Ryan, “did you manage to chart her monthly cycle, too, while you were at it?”

Callahan gave him an incredulous look.

“Remind me not to go rogue while you’re still active. I heard how many Haran operatives you hunted down and exposed to the council’s light—and that was only a part-time job next to your correspondence stint.”

“That was a while ago.” But was this any different? Callahan wasn’t so sure. I’m doing her a favor. Still, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Well,” said Ryan, “I’m sold as far as Miss Román is concerned. It’s not every day you come across someone with her affinity, right? And besides, the other candidate seems like he’s already missing a few screws, if you know what I mean…” He laughed.

“Uh-huh.” It wasn’t like Callahan needed a novice’s approval anyway. “Listen, I’ll need you to follow her when she finishes her shift at the museum tonight.”

“Sure thing, boss! What’s the objective?”

“Observe and report—at least until she figures out the whole correspondent thing.” Agent Callahan pulled to a stop at a red light then closed his eyes, momentarily focusing on the aviatrix’s aetheric signature. Damn woman was back to popping pills again.

He couldn’t blame her, but still. He shook his head.

“And that’s where I come in.”

The mentalist opened his eyes at the sound of his partner’s voice—just in time to see the light turn green off to his right. He drove ahead. “She’s emotional right now, Ryan, so don’t go overboard. A little nudge in the right direction should do the trick.”

Agent Ryan squinted at him. “You got this all figured out, don’t you? Like you’ve done this once or twice before.”

“Yeah… you could say that.” Callahan wasn’t entirely proud of his past, but his skills and intuition had kept him alive. Kept him out the asylum, too. Or worse.

“So how many of your recruits were as good-lookin’ as this doll?”

Callahan stared ahead blankly for a moment, not entirely expecting the question. “What, you mean a woman?”

“That’s usually what the term ‘doll’ means when a man is talkin’ looks,” said Ryan.

“Well, actually… she’s only the second female adept that I’ve worked with long-term.” When Callahan passed him an odd look, he added, “I prefer to work with men.”

“How come?”

“Kyra.”

Ryan snorted. “Yup, that’ll do it.” After a moment, he slid his partner a skeptical look. “No offense, Callahan, but are you sure you’re ready to take on another female adept?”

Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I? Agent Callahan cast Ryan a long gaze, recognizing a kind of heavy wariness between them. Having nothing else to say, he turned his attention back to the road.