to get them into impossible places. And out again. Usually.
“Monsieur Bovine.”
Dressed in his standard drab browns, the beefy man with a drooping mouth blinked at her from his desk. He smiled warmly. “Jaq.”
Nobody called her Jacqueline. Or, for that matter, Mademoiselle Robinson. “Remember those beans you told me about?”
His eyes lit up and he shot up from his chair, which skittered back with a loud screech. Around the desk faster than his bulk should allow, Bovine strode toward one of the cabinet-lined walls. Without a pause to read the label, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a box with reverence. “These pretties are my latest. Nobody believes in their use—the cretins can’t dream big enough. Like magic, these beauties are.”
With a flip of his wrist, he gripped her hand, turned it palm up and carefully shook out the contents of the box. The cold little stones shone brightly in the dark room, a room as murky as they all seemed to be here at Mother. It was as if the secrecy of the agency forbid them to install good lighting.
She closed her fingers and the pale green sparkle winked out. “They’re alive?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Bovine’s eyebrows arched. “Machines aren’t the only technology I dabble in.”
“No, of course not. If what you say is true…” She put up a hand before Bovine could interrupt. “I believe you. These are just what I need.”
“Your latest requisition order is for listening devices and a few mags of ammo, Jaq. Your standard op. Why would you need my magic beans?”
“I have higher aspirations than a few measly smugglers.”
He raised a brow and paused a second, but she stood mute before he frowned.
“Take these, too.” He held out a pair of dice, and her disgustingly traitorous heart flipped in her chest. Bovine didn’t notice her internal turmoil. “I made these for Harper English, but he didn’t want to trade out his lucky dice with these. Wish he’d taken them on his mission.” He gave her a hard look. “Just match up the fives, press together, and it’ll transform into a stiletto.”
With shaking hands, she palmed them and shoved them in her pocket as if they burned to the touch.
“Don’t get yourself in trouble, Sprite.”
Besides her sister, Bovine was the only one to show concern for her. Once upon a time, there’d been another , but Harper English was gone.
Jaq came from the streets. A homeless teen with a five-year-old sister had nowhere to go except Mother. The agency had approached her—they recruited youth on the streets from time to time—trained her, and housed the two sisters, and all Jaq had to do was become an agent, then take assignments to keep watch on the megacorps. Bovine had been young then and took to her like an older brother. Harp hadn’t looked at her like family. Not at all, but that was past. She blinked fast to clear the blurring sting in her vision.
“Don’t worry. I always avoid trouble.” Not even a flicker of a grin over her statement. She gripped the beans tightly and resisted the urge to hug Bovine goodbye. She’d be seeing him soon enough. But just in case—“Hey, remember the special frequency walkie you wanted to give me to keep in touch with you?”
“You finally came to your senses.” Bovine returned to his desk and rummaged around until he held out a small clip-on device similar to the ones she’d used on previous ops. “Here. It’ll connect to me in voice, video and positioning all at once. Though you’ll only have audio.”
“Got it.” She slapped it to the underside of her jacket collar. “Later.”
Bovine nodded, lines radiating from his soft brown eyes crinkling in concern. Grabbing a few evidence bags from the counter and shoving them in her jacket, she gave him a thumbs-up as she backed toward the door.
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you? You’re not leaving here yet. Tell me what you’re up to. Now.”
He didn’t yell, or even speak sternly,
“Monsieur Bovine.”
Dressed in his standard drab browns, the beefy man with a drooping mouth blinked at her from his desk. He smiled warmly. “Jaq.”
Nobody called her Jacqueline. Or, for that matter, Mademoiselle Robinson. “Remember those beans you told me about?”
His eyes lit up and he shot up from his chair, which skittered back with a loud screech. Around the desk faster than his bulk should allow, Bovine strode toward one of the cabinet-lined walls. Without a pause to read the label, he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a box with reverence. “These pretties are my latest. Nobody believes in their use—the cretins can’t dream big enough. Like magic, these beauties are.”
With a flip of his wrist, he gripped her hand, turned it palm up and carefully shook out the contents of the box. The cold little stones shone brightly in the dark room, a room as murky as they all seemed to be here at Mother. It was as if the secrecy of the agency forbid them to install good lighting.
She closed her fingers and the pale green sparkle winked out. “They’re alive?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Bovine’s eyebrows arched. “Machines aren’t the only technology I dabble in.”
“No, of course not. If what you say is true…” She put up a hand before Bovine could interrupt. “I believe you. These are just what I need.”
“Your latest requisition order is for listening devices and a few mags of ammo, Jaq. Your standard op. Why would you need my magic beans?”
“I have higher aspirations than a few measly smugglers.”
He raised a brow and paused a second, but she stood mute before he frowned.
“Take these, too.” He held out a pair of dice, and her disgustingly traitorous heart flipped in her chest. Bovine didn’t notice her internal turmoil. “I made these for Harper English, but he didn’t want to trade out his lucky dice with these. Wish he’d taken them on his mission.” He gave her a hard look. “Just match up the fives, press together, and it’ll transform into a stiletto.”
With shaking hands, she palmed them and shoved them in her pocket as if they burned to the touch.
“Don’t get yourself in trouble, Sprite.”
Besides her sister, Bovine was the only one to show concern for her. Once upon a time, there’d been another , but Harper English was gone.
Jaq came from the streets. A homeless teen with a five-year-old sister had nowhere to go except Mother. The agency had approached her—they recruited youth on the streets from time to time—trained her, and housed the two sisters, and all Jaq had to do was become an agent, then take assignments to keep watch on the megacorps. Bovine had been young then and took to her like an older brother. Harp hadn’t looked at her like family. Not at all, but that was past. She blinked fast to clear the blurring sting in her vision.
“Don’t worry. I always avoid trouble.” Not even a flicker of a grin over her statement. She gripped the beans tightly and resisted the urge to hug Bovine goodbye. She’d be seeing him soon enough. But just in case—“Hey, remember the special frequency walkie you wanted to give me to keep in touch with you?”
“You finally came to your senses.” Bovine returned to his desk and rummaged around until he held out a small clip-on device similar to the ones she’d used on previous ops. “Here. It’ll connect to me in voice, video and positioning all at once. Though you’ll only have audio.”
“Got it.” She slapped it to the underside of her jacket collar. “Later.”
Bovine nodded, lines radiating from his soft brown eyes crinkling in concern. Grabbing a few evidence bags from the counter and shoving them in her jacket, she gave him a thumbs-up as she backed toward the door.
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you? You’re not leaving here yet. Tell me what you’re up to. Now.”
He didn’t yell, or even speak sternly,
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