“What’s wrong with it?” asked Drake, looking around. “It’s got all the office stuff I need.”

The bodyguard gestured with the mug. “Like the window?”

Drake shrugged as he looked out onto the enthralling view of the staff parking lot. There were few cars present, and a chalked hopscotch grid was visible across three separate parking spaces. The majority of the staff at Hurst Academy had little need for a vehicle. More than one of them, in fact, could fly.

“Had worse views,” he said. He sat heavily onto the reinforced stool that took up space behind a battered desk. “Plus, It’s not like I spend much time in an office anyway. Ever see the hole they assigned me over at Justice?”

“Just saying you oughta see mine,” she teased, licking her lips. “I’ve got enough room to turn around.”

“That’s because your office is supposed to double as an interrogation room.”

“Not now it won’t.”

“Why? What did you do? If you put up those boy-band posters in there...”

She laughed aloud; planted her left buttock on the corner of his desk and turned her head slightly to look at him. “Naw. I had those shipped to your quarters. Should be permanently glued to the walls by now.”

Drake grinned and let smoke drift from between his teeth. “Great. The fire department gets so happy when they come to see me.”

“Bring ‘em,” she urged with a licentious grin. “Pretty sure I ain’t the only one who likes to see the firemen, but I’ll consider ‘em a gift from you.”

“Figures. One day my room’s gonna catch on fire and you’ll think I did it to bring you some pretty boys in turnout gear.”

“So you aren’t gonna do it? Geez, Drake, you’re such a tease.”

“Always have been,” he shot back.

“Not gonna go there.”

“Probably wise.”

“Garver’s got things set up pretty good here,” Sala reported, a touch of admiration in her voice as she mentioned the Security Director. “Considering he was a pretty lame hand at cage fighting, I figured him for half-assing this place. Man, was I wrong.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Nice setup. Even the teachers don’t know half the stuff he’s got going. Surveillance systems, tactical plans, evacuation and defense patterns, it’s actually pretty well thought out. He claims to have a database of the known abilities of staff and upperclassmen to aid in defense of the school should it prove necessary. He’s got some military background, I’d bet.”

“Must have Emerged late to beat the Accords,” Drake mused.

“Not all of us hit the air boosted, buddy.”

“Yeah, I know. Only the good-looking ones.”

“You know it. Us homely folks can only hope to be so cool that one day we get a closet to work out of.”

“So you’re gonna start in on the office again, then?”

She took another slow drink from her mug, then grimaced. “I swear, Drake, look around! You couldn’t even get a computer in here?”

“Didn’t want one,” he said. He tapped a yellow legal pad with the tip of a talon. “That’s my computer.”

“You’re supposed to be a teacher here, you know. What’s your course called? ‘Intro to Stone Age Technology’?”

“I’ve got a laptop in my room if I need it,” he said, waving her off.

“That’s a relief,” she said with an audible sigh.

“Yup. I use it for a doorstop.”

“I find out that’s true, you’ll be using it for a suppository.”

“Hmmm,” Drake mused. He grabbed a pencil and wrote on the legal pad in large block letters: MOVE THE LAPTOP BEFORE SALA SEES IT.

“That should remind me.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Aw, come on. I got the coffemaker,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the shining metal contraption on the shelf behind his desk. “Twenty cups in two minutes. It’s like heaven on earth, right here in my office.”

“I just... I don’t know,” she said, pursing her lips. “I thought maybe you’d be embracing technology a little more.”

“I got nothing against technology,” he protested. “I just don’t use a computer much. Figured it’d save the place a little money if they didn’t have to get me one.”

“I met Kevin Hurst, Drake,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s got most of the financial backing wrapped up here. Guy’s got more money than God.”

A knock on the door interrupted them and cut off Drake’s intended retort. The pair turned to see a young boy in a Jersey Devil fan club t-shirt standing in the doorway, one hand still raised to knock and the other clutching a small backpack. He looked at them with an mix of awe and confusion.

“Come on in,” Drake invited, beckoning to the youth. Sala chuckled again.

“Not sure we can fit him in,” she teased.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” the boy whispered, lowering his gaze. “If you’re busy I can come back or -“

“No, we ain’t busy,” Drake assured him. “What’s going on?”

The youth swallowed deeply before speaking, and his voice was as timid as it had been a moment before. “Mister Salvatore told me to look for you, sir.”

“Me?”

“What’d he do?” Sala asked at the same time.

“I’m doing a report on camping in the woods and he said I needed to talk to you because you know more about the woods than anyone else here.”

“C’mon,” Drake prompted, gesturing toward a chair. “It’s okay.”

“Despite all the teeth, he rarely bites anyone,” Sala added.

The boy slipped into the office, eyes still downcast. He lowered himself into the offered chair and looked at the pair of adults with no small measure of trepidation apparent in his expression. He smoothed back his brown hair and swallowed once, then reached into the backpack and removed a small notebook computer. It powered up almost silently and the youth tapped at the keys for a moment.

“So, uh, what’s your name there, kid?” Drake asked.

“Lionel,” the boy said, still fiddling with his computer. “Lionel Jarvis. My friends call me LJ.”

“So what kinda questions you got?”

“I have a list,” Lionel explained, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the tiny flatscreen. “It’s just playing hard to get right now.”

“Gonna go out on a limb,” Drake said with a wink at Sala. “Never been camping at all?”

“No, sir,” Lionel admitted. A sudden intake of breath led to a spreading grin and he looked up. “Got it!” he announced.

“That’s a relief,” Sala said. “I was beginning to wonder if it would open at all.”

“Worst case, we call in that guy from the computer lab, that, uhhh,” Drake said, rubbing his fingers together as he tried to remember the name. The sound filled the air; a sharp grinding sound like a metal file scraping concrete.

“Kim Leong,” Lionel supplied, smiling at the fact that he was able to help yet wincing at the unpleasant noise from Drake’s hand. “He’s a computer wiz!”

“Wiz is right,” Drake said with a nod that was matched by Sala. Both of them were privy to the fact that Kim Leong was not only exceptionally gifted when it came to computers, but was in fact able to join his consciousness with the electronic patterns of the machines and alter or subvert them at will. At Kim’s request, that information had been held from his classmates for fear that they might inundate him with requests to change their grades or find answers to tests.

“Kid’s real good,” Drake continued in response to the puzzled look on Lionel’s face. “So go on there, LJ. Hit me with it.”

“Okay. First. How do you know where to go camping at?”

Drake thought for a moment, a slight grin peeling back the edge of one lip. “I usually just stopped when I got tired of flying or running or fighting or hunting or whatever. Kinda made the decision easy. Now, for people-type folks without scales and wings and fire of their own, there’s some places you should and shouldn’t go.”

Sala slipped out after about ten minutes of listening to Drake detailing tricks and tips for a successful camp outing. For his part, Drake continued for over an hour, his voice and Lionel’s tapping computer keys often the only sounds in the tiny office. There was an occasional dialogue between the two, and Drake was happy to see that the youth had lost some of his sense of wonder and fear that had been evident when he arrived. Eventually, Lionel had enough material to begin his report. After packing away his computer, he stood to leave. Drake caught him at the door.

“Hey, LJ. How many kids you think never been in the woods?”

“Well, most of them, probably. A lot of us are what you might call ‘city kids’, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, um, you let me know how that report comes out, okay?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Drake.”

Drake grinned toothily at the back of the youth, then turned back into his office and took his seat behind the desk. He poured himself another cup of coffee and licked his lips, chuckling quietly to himself as he turned ideas over in his head. He scribbled a few notes and thoughts on his pad as he drank his way through two pots. Stretching out his left hand, he picked up the telephone and hit a button. Three rings later and a deep, rich voice answered.

“Salvatore.”

“Angelo, Drake.”

“What’s up?”

“First off—not to sound like some gushing fanboy, but just to let you know - a year ago, if anyone had told me I would be just calling you up, let alone having you on a speed dial, and then calling you by name and having a general conversation, I’d have laughed in their face. Sort of the whole ‘out of my league’ thing, you know? Anyway, I was talking to some kid in here, guy named LJ?”

“Yeah,” Angelo said, chuckling quietly at Drake’s self-effacing praise. “I sent him to you for a report he’s doing.”

“Right. Nice kid, but a little shy. So I’m talking to LJ and he says that most of the kids here have never been in the woods. Most of them are from the city.”

“Probably the majority, yes.”

“So how old do you suppose a kid ought to be before he or she goes camping?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few moments.

“Like six, maybe? Eight?” Drake pressed.

“That depends. Are you considering what it sounds like you are?”

“What’s it sound like to you?”

“It sounds like you’re planning on setting up a camping trip. One for which you are woefully unprepared.”

“Hey, if I was prepared for everything, what fun would life be?”

“Look, Drake. You just got here. Give it a little time before you go suggesting things that are bound to upset the system.”

“C’mon, man. Kids? The woods? Campfires? Fun? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“I get what you’re trying here, Drake, but that would need to go through Hurst and the security staff. It’s not something you could just throw together on the spur of the moment. And if you were stupid enough to try to do just that, you could kiss your position here good-bye. You wanna help these kids? Then play nice. Suggest the outing to Hurst. Hell, I’ll even go with you when you do and back your play.”

Drake exhaled slowly, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m just... I wanna help out, but I see these kids and the things they never got to do, and I want -“

“We all want that,” Angelo told him, his voice losing the tone of authority it had carried only seconds before. “It’s part of why we’re here; why we help out. The fact is we can’t give them everything.”

“No, but we can give them something.”

“Absolutely. That’s why I said I’d go with you to talk to Hurst. An outing is a good idea, Drake, but we’ve got to play by his rules.”

“You know what they say about rules...” Drake teased.

“Yes. Obey them or leave,” declared a powerful voice from the doorway. Drake spun to see the shining metallic form of Lucille Wilshire standing framed in the portal.

“Damn. Gotta go, pal,” Drake said into the phone. Without waiting for Angelo to acknowledge him, he disconnected the call. He smiled dazzlingly toward the gleaming woman.

“Surely you do not intend to cause difficulties here, Agent Drake?” she asked.

“Not at all. Please, come in,” he said, gesturing toward the chair. She took a step into the office but remained standing. “I was actually thinking of approaching Director Hurst with an idea for teaching some hands-on nature observation. Well, in truth, I had the idea and Angelo advised me it might be best to ask Hurst about it. Coffee?” he asked, hoisting the half-full pot in the air and jiggling it meaningfully.

“No, thank -“ she began, then cocked her head to the side slightly. “Actually, yes, I believe I will have a cup. Thank you.”

“You, uh, take sugar, or cream, or any of the other little things I don’t have here?” Drake asked, managing at least to locate a ceramic mug that was clean. He filled it and extended it to Wilshire.

“No, thank you. Black will be fine,” she said, accepting the mug and seating herself in the chair he had offered. “I must say, Agent Drake, that I have been pleasantly surprised at the changes evident in both you and Christopher.”

Drake smiled, watching as she took an experimental sip of the ebony brew. Her features shifted, eyebrows arching upward at the first taste.

“Too strong?” he asked.

“Rather more than I was expecting, but not so much as you might think,” she said. “I had a Turkish roommate while studying for my Masters. Her coffee was stronger than this, and more than once it helped me survive my late-night study sessions.”

“I’ll tell you what’s neat from my side,” Drake said. “Watching you lift that cup up. I’ve never seen a face steam over before.”

She chuckled quietly. “You’re very forward, aren’t you?” she asked. “I do not mean forward in a manner that is in any way improper. It is just that you speak what is on your mind.”

“Well, now, let me say I’m sorry if that was something you didn’t wanna hear,” he urged, waving a hand as if to surrender. “I just don’t see a whole lotta point in all the doublespeak and hidden meanings kinda crap.”

“As I said, I am not offended. I was merely making an observation. You are, perhaps, not as violent and abrasive as once I thought.”

“Oh, no. I am. As bad as you thought and then some. I’m just making an effort to be more...let’s call it approachable, while I am here.”

“I see,” she said, taking another drink from the mug.

“Look, Lucille, I know I’m not the nicest guy on the block. I’m not even the nicest guy on a cell block. I am what I am, and what I am has seen me through some really shitty times. Monster, too. I didn’t grow up civilized and friendly. I deal with nasty folks with bad attitudes and I fit in with the worst of them better than I do with my co-workers. It’s a hell of an arrangement. Thing is, though, I’m trying. I’m trying to be nicer, especially to folks like you. Folks that stuck out their neck for me and my brother when they didn’t have to. So, yeah, I may be abrasive and downright sickening at times, ‘cause, well, that’s just me, but in the long run I’ll get better.”

Wilshire remained silent for a time following the declaration. Highlights reflected from her lips as she finally smiled. “I look forward to observing your progress.”

“Ah. That’s good, ‘cause, you know, that don’t make me feel like some kinda experiment or anything.”

“It has nothing to do with that.”

Drake waved off her comment. “I get that,” he said. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Mister Salvatore has explained to me the difficulty you had recently with some sort of mental aberration that required you to be friendly. Has it truly been eradicated, Agent Drake?” she asked. Had he not half-expected it from the jovial tone, he might have missed the liquid sliding effect of her winking.

“You like the old me better? Sweet. Less effort on my part.”

“No, no, no,” she said, waving her arms to ward off the threat. “You keep trying, and we shall see how you fare.”

He tossed back the contents of his coffee mug and refilled it. “I owe you,” he said in a flat tone.

“There is no debt, Agent Drake. I did what I did not for your sake but for the sake of your brother. Christopher deserves more of an education than some government stooge would provide between cigarette breaks and soap operas.”

“You helped Monster, then, and for that, I owe you.”

Wilshire shook her head again, denying the presence of any debt between the two. “We can address that later. For now, let us hold to ourselves,” she urged, stalling the oath for a while.

“Good enough,” he replied, sitting on his stool once more. “I’ve got a couple of questions that you might be able to help with.”

“Such as?”

“How is it we keep from getting flooded with kids here? There’s more of them here than I would have guessed, and yet there ain’t all that many.”

She winced at his abuse of the language. “I do so wish you would abstain from use of the word ain’t, Agent Drake.There are very few words that truly make me queasy, and that is indeed one of them.”

“Sorry. I’m a country boy at heart, and we’ve got our own way of talking.”

“In answer to your question, Hurst Academy is not a household name by any means. Even to those with whom a passing familiarity exists, it is regarded as simply another in a long line of private educational facilities. Those that need to know we exist oftentimes are sought out and told. We have a team of researchers that provides information on potential students. Certain members of the staff then initiate contact with the family, or occasionally, directly with the candidate. It is not a method that is conducive to the accumulation of a massive student body.”

“Huh,” Drake grunted. “That sounds like a whole mess of no fun right there.”

“Sometimes, we find that our ‘fun’ is in providing for our students.”

Drake did not miss the tone of disapproval in her voice. His teeth flashed as he grinned. “You’re gonna have to lighten up with me around,” he said. “You’ll find that my fun comes from a strict program of placing myself into horrible situations and laughing at death. Well, that and tripping people with my tail.”

A soft ringing tone came from an overhead speaker. As it did, Drake felt the cell phone on his hip vibrate. He pressed a button to activate it, noting that Wilshire was doing the same thing with her own telephone. The smart phone devices were identical; Hurst Academy issued them to every employee. A text message crawled across the tiny screen.

STAFF ALERT—MISSING STUDENT—MONTGOMERY REYNOLDS / 10 YOA / CAUCASIAN MALE / HUMANOID / LIGHT BROWN HAIR / 4’00 / 65 / LSW YELLOW SHIRT WITH PICTURE, BROWN CORDUROY PANTS / LS AREA GYMNASIUM EXTERIOR / DELAY 15 MIN

“Somehow I feel like I should have been expecting that,” he said. Wilshire was standing and returning his mug to him. He set it beside his next to the coffee maker.

“I have to go,” she told him. “I help watch over the classes while those with abilities suited to searching take that responsibility.”

“This happen a lot?” he asked, following the shining woman from his office as he closed the door behind him.

“It is rare, but it does occur.”

“Well, I reckon I’ll get some air, see if I can spot him from up high.”

“An excellent idea. Mister Garver will coordinate from the Security Chief’s office. Advise him if you find anything.”

“Thanks. See ya,” he said, stepping away from the hurried woman. He left the building through a side door marked ‘For Emergencies Only’ - seems like one to me, was his thought - and launched himself into the sky with a few running steps. He could already see staff members fanning out across the grounds, checking behind bushes, decorative fountains, and anything else large enough to conceal a sixty-five pound boy. It was a large list of items. There was only one other employee airborne, and Drake waved absently in Angelo’s direction before returning his eyes to the ground in search of a yellow shirt. Moments later, the suit-clad hero was flying alongside Drake.

“What do you think?” Angelo asked without looking at Drake. His eyes, too, were scanning the ground beneath them.

“I think there’s a lot of folks wasting their time looking around the gym,” Drake said. “It’s been fifteen minutes since he was near there. Kid could be in China now, fast as kids are.”

“Yeah. I’ve got someone looking into his personnel files to see what his favorite places are.”

“They got a PA system here?”

“Yeah, and they’re using it. It only sounds inside the buildings. It’s for general announcements and such.”

Drake shook his head. “Maybe next we could see about putting a few speakers outside.”

Angelo laughed and banked left away from Drake. “Good luck,” he called.

“Ain’t gonna be luck finding this kid,” Drake muttered to himself. He looked around for the tallest point on the campus and winged his way toward what turned out to be a tower built onto the main school building. It held an old-style bell, though even a cursory examination showed that the rope had been removed and the bell itself essentially frozen in place with the aid of a welder. Cosmetics mattered little to Drake at this point, however. He flew in hard, flaring hs wings as he swept around the tower to reduce his speed. Dropping to a crouching position, he used the talons on his feet and hands to anchor himself on the ede of the structure. He paused, slowly exhaling and then drawing in a long slow breath.

Years before, Drake had made a name for himself when he ignored the presence of a building-wide intercom system, choosing instead to alert all present within the building with simply a shout. He drew on that experience now, as he let his newly-expanded lungs empty themselves, his voice echoing from the surrounding buildings.

“Montgomery Reynolds!” he shouted. The call rattled the bones in his chest, and he felt the vibration down through his toes. He huffed out the tiny amount of air in his lungs and sucked them full once more, repeating the call, and then again. Regaining his breath, he detached from the tower and spread his wings, letting his altitude start him into a glide. He pumped his wings a couple of times, then worked his head back and forth as he scanned the ground.

“They’ll never pay for a set of speakers if you show ‘em you can do that for free,” Angelo called as he passed overhead. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that. How long have you worked for the government?”

Drake laughed aloud. “That’s typical,” he called back. “Nobody tells the new guy he’s gonna screw himself over ‘til it’s too late!”

Angelo swooped upward, turning to look down at Drake from what was a standing position in midair. He shrugged widely, a feigned expression of innocence gracing his tired features. “It must have slipped my mind,” he joked. He rolled over on his back and continued flying, the move as smooth as a swimmer changing direction in the water. Drake grinned to himself, easily able to appreciate the grace of such a maneuver. It had taken him a long time to get the hang of flight, and even longer to learn some of the tricks that now made up his repertoire. He could only imagine what it must have been like for someone without wings.

He craned his neck around, looking for any sign that someone had reacted to his calls. Seeing no one in yellow, he angled his body and flew toward the main road that led to the Academy. He had very rarely taken part in any form of missing persons search, but Drake had trailed many an escapee and fugitive. He knew that, for some reason, even those who were being actively pursued had a tendency to follow the routes of least resistance. He hoped that the missing child would be the same, and simply walk through the massive arch that framed the roadway. The cell phone at his waist vibrated with a buzzing sound and he swept it up, slowing his flight and pumping his wings to hold him as steady as his bulk would allow. Another text message filled the screen.

STAFF ALERT - MISSING STUDENT REYNOLDS LOCATED / CANCEL ALERT

“That was quick,” Drake noted, holstering the phone and dropping from the sky. He used his wings to slow his descent, touching down with a thud. Angelo dropped down beside him, though his landing made practically no sound at all.

“Who found him?” the retired hero wondered.

“Wasn’t me,” Drake said, shrugging expansively. He held up empty hands to illustrate his point. Before he could lower them his cell buzzed again. He looked at Angelo, who was not reaching for his own phone. Drake slipped it from its holster and looked at the message, wondering if anyone at Hurst Academy actually spoke any more or if they communicated entirely through text messages.

DRAKE - REPORT TO INFIRMARY

“Why me?” he asked, displaying the message to Angelo.

“Don’t know,” he said with a shrug of his own. “I’ll go with you. Reply, though, so they know you’re clear.”

“Okay,” Drake said, tapping at the keys. “Won’t my showing up at the infirmary let them know I was clear?’

“They’d like a response on these messages,” Angelo said. The two of them set off at a rapid pace for the school infirmary. “It’s Whiplash’s idea.”

“I like the keeping in touch thing, but radios woulda been easier.”

“The students can’t hear what’s going out over the phones.”

“So how do I know which messages to acknowledge and which not to?”

“If they’re addressed directly to you, it’s polite to say you got it.”

“Ah,” drake noted as they passed through the doors of the main building. His claws beat a rapid tattoo on the floor and shortly thereafter they arrived at the infirmary. Sala was standing near the doorway, entering some kind of information into her phone. She looked up as Drake and Angelo approached, winking and smiling at them and then jerking her head toward the door. As they stepped past her and inside the infirmary, the smell of disinfectant hit with a forceful presence, making Drake’s nose wrinkle up. He fought to keep from sneezing.

“Drake,” called Whiplash, beckoning with one big-knuckled ebony hand. The security chief was standing beside a child that Drake guessed from his appearance was Montgomery Reynolds. The ten-year-old looked terrified, and the tracks of tears were visible on his face. A nurse was attending to him, and a pair of other staff members were conferring quietly, but standing close enough to the child to reassure him that all was going to be made right.

“Whatta you got?” Drake asked, his voice automatically dropping to a whisper.

“Kid says he saw something. I figured, what with your background and all, you might know what was up, or at least give us something to go on. Maybe ID a suspect for us.”

“Why? What’d he see?”

Whiplash extended a small notepad, on which Montgomery Reynolds had scribbled a picture. Even as crudely rendered as it was, Drake could see what the child had tried to draw. A face cast in shadow was the image, with pointed ears, short, sharp horns that jutted from the forehead, and a jagged set of teeth. Whiplash’s voice was hushed as he spoke.

“He says he saw the Devil.”