Chương 31: Bk 1 Ch 28: Duplicity

I see Elliot again Sunday evening. He seems like he's managing mostly okay, but he's still a little overwhelmed. The vast majority of his life was spent being told what to do; suddenly having to make every choice for himself is a lot to handle no matter how much he's improved in the last few months. At least ABRA does seem to be legitimately doing its job now and providing him with plenty of support.

He tells me his new therapist is actually pretty good, helping him figure out how to prioritize which decisions he really needs to deal with himself and which he can shuffle off to someone else. His old therapist has apparently been suspended without pay pending the results of the investigation. As for his parents, they've already been shipped up to Salem to be held while awaiting trial, denied bail due to the flight risk.

I'm not exactly ABRA's biggest fan, but watching them give Elliot's parents the steamroller treatment still warms my heart a little. I'm even more amused when Elliot tells me about his meeting with Mr. Fletcher, who was less than pleased with Elliot's contract being nullified. Unfortunately for him, the meeting took place at the ABRA office downtown as part of the ongoing investigation, which meant he hadn't had any grounds to prevent Chimera from attending.

When he'd started yelling, she'd turned into a manticore and roared right in his face, then nonchalantly apologized for having something stuck in her throat. He hadn't protested much after that. So far, it seems like me and Anja have thankfully managed to avoid any of ABRA's attention falling on us, but we are going to have to step carefully around Elliot for a while, especially in costume. I feel better about that now that I know Emily's there for him when I'm not.

There's a part of me that wants to use him as an excuse to see Emily more often, but that wouldn't be fair to her or to Alex, so I regretfully bury it. For now, Elliot will going up to Portland next week for testing and staying for several days, so I'll be keeping my distance for the next little bit anyway. Alex manages to arrange for Chimera to come give a talk at West the very next week, Thursday after school.

It's not the first time she's visited, she showed up at one of the regular ABRA assemblies back in January and managed to make it slightly less boring than usual, but it was clear they were keeping her on as tight a leash as they could. I have to admit, I'm curious to see more of her. I can't help but wonder if she's actually happy in ABRA, what she really wants and if she's getting it.

I'm certainly not going to try and bring her over to my side, my friendship with Elliot is already plenty of risk in that regard, but coming to even a tenuous understanding with a white mask could potentially be extremely useful. At the end of the day, the official leadership of ABRA only has as much power as the white masks let them have. At first, she's incredibly excited, but on Wednesday, something's clearly bothering her. When I ask her if there was a problem, she shakes her head.

"No, it's- It's something else. I…" She takes a deep breath.

"I got a letter yesterday. I got accepted into Berkeley."

"Oh! Congratulations," I say, trying to decide how I feel about that.

"That was your first choice, right?"

"My first choice of schools I actually had a chance of getting into, yeah," she agrees.

"But now… I dunno. Part of me feels crazy for even hesitating. But another part of me feels crazy for considering leaving at all." I chew on that for a few seconds.

"When do you have to make a decision by?"

"The end of the month." She hesitates for a moment.

"They'll let me take a gap year and hold my acceptance as long as I make a deposit, that's sort of what I'm thinking about doing right now. But… Well, I dunno if staying for another year would make eventually leaving any easier." I sigh.

"... I mean, I don't want you to leave, obviously. But… I also don't want you to give up on your dreams."

"I know. I'm just… not quite sure what my dreams are, anymore."

"You'll figure it out," I say, stepping forwards to give her a hug.

"Whatever you decide, I promise I'll be okay with it, as long as it's what you really want to do." We leave it there for now. As expected, there's so much interest in Chimera's visit, the usual classroom clearly isn't gonna be nearly big enough. Alex manages to get the theater room for the day instead, which is still packed. Honestly, even if she did remember me, there's no way she'd ever be able to spot me in all this. Alex takes the stage along with Mr. Grayson and some ABRA guy in a suit.

She taps the microphone a couple of times, and everyone quiets down.

"Hey, thank you all so much for coming and showing your support," she begins.

"I'm Alex, the president of the GSA, and this is Mr. Grayson, the club's sponsor. I'm not gonna talk your ear off, but for anyone who doesn't know, the GSA meets Mondays at lunch, in room 218. We're here to support anyone on the LGBT spectrum with anything you need help with, even your homework, but everyone's always welcome regardless of orientation. We also have movie nights on the last Friday of every month, that's next week on the 30th.

Now, with that out of the way, everyone put your hands together for Chimera!" Everyone applauds and cheers loudly, getting even louder when a 20-foot emerald snake slithers out onto the stage, its head decorated with a crest of rainbow feathers. It coils up in the center of the stage, raising its neck several feet into the air for a few seconds, then dissolves into green light and reforms into Chimera. She waves a few times, then steps forwards to take the mic from Alex, who retreats to the side of the stage.

"Hey, guys! How's everyone doing today?" More cheering, dying down as she raises her hand.

"Can all the LGBT kids make some noise for me?" This time, the cheers are a lot more scattered, maybe twenty voices total, although we do our best to be loud.

"Awesome! Now, can all the kids who just showed up to see the white mask make some noise for me?" The cheers are even more scattered, along with some nervous laughter.

"I mean it! Lemme hear you!" They cheers return with a little more enthusiasm.

"That's better. I wanna start by saying that I appreciate all of you being here, no matter why you came. It really wasn't that long ago when no school would've agreed to hold an event like this, no matter who was giving the talk. When even in the places where being openly gay wasn't actually banned, we couldn't expect any help from anyone in a position of power, or any kind of real mainstream acceptance. The fact that you're all here cheering now is real progress, and it means a lot."

She once again waits a few seconds for everyone to quiet.

"We've made a lot of progress, and it's worth celebrating. But we've still got a long way to go, too, cause a lot of that recent progress is still ultimately based on fear. The Child Harm and Abuse Prevention Act of 1995 banned discrimination based on sexual orientation in schools at the federal level, and drew a much harder line against any kind of abuse based on sexual orientation than any previous law. But that law wasn't motivated by a concern for the welfare of LGBT people in general.

It was motivated by a concern for the number of LGBT kids who showed up to school one day and started throwing lightning bolts or fireballs at everyone who'd bullied them, and unfortunately often at random bystanders as well."

"We're lucky to have benefited from the laws ABRA has pushed for to protect all kids, but the truth is, LGBT kids and adults are still only tolerated at best by the government. There's a whole lot fewer protections in place for adults, especially in the workplace, and every attempt to legalize same-sex marriage at the state or federal level has met with failure. And that's not going to change until public opinion changes. But the good news is, in just a few short years, all of you will be the public.

All of you will have the right to vote. And the fact that you're all here now gives me a lot of hope that you'll choose to vote to give the same rights to your LGBT friends that everyone else enjoys. That one day, the thought of discriminating against someone for who they like to kiss will sound just as absurd as discriminating against someone for being left-handed." It's a good speech, polished enough to make it clear that she's given it plenty of times before, but still with real passion in it.

She keeps going for another ten minutes or so, touching on some other subjects like stereotypes and why some gay people deliberately choose to embrace them, but wrapping things up before anyone can start getting bored. Then she opens things up to questions, reassuring everyone that they can ask about whatever they want. Alex asks the first question, to try and set the tone.

"Do you think you could tell everyone how you first figured out you're a lesbian?"

"Sure!" says Chimera brightly.

"It's actually kind of an embarrassing story. I was in, uh, 7th grade? Yeah, 7th grade. This boy I kind of knew from one of my classes came up and asked me real nervously if I wanted to go to the school dance with him. And, like, there wasn't anything at all wrong with him, he seemed like a nice kid as far as I know. But I was so surprised when he asked me, I just blurted out my instinctive reaction, which was, 'Ew!'" She pauses to wait for the laughter to die down.

"I immediately felt awful and I tried to apologize, but, you know, the damage was kind of already done. So my friends kept teasing me about it, and asking me if all these other boys would get an ew from me as well, and the answer was pretty much always yes, even if I didn't say it. At some point I started joking that I wished I could just date girls instead, cause girls are so much cuter than boys.

Eventually one of my friends just outright asked me if I was a lesbian, and I didn't even know what the word meant at the time, but once she explained it, it just sort of clicked." Next up is some freshman boy who nervously shuffles up to the microphone.

"Um… Do you have a favorite magical?"

"Of course, it's Dynamic and Snowflake!" she answers.

"My team are my best friends, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But if I don't count them, I think the magical pretty much all of us on strike teams look up to the most is Sparkle Princess. She's really the one who sets the standard the rest of us try and live up to." A couple of questions later, Alex's friend Nina gets the microphone.

"Have you ever faced any discrimination from within ABRA itself? If so, how was it handled?"

"Well, I can't really get into specifics with the internal operations of ABRA," says Chimera.

"But I will say this. Is ABRA perfect? No. There are certainly people in the agency who aren't real happy about me being openly gay. But by and large, no one makes it very far in ABRA without being extremely committed to their job, and their job first and foremost is to keep registered magicals happy. They've tolerated much worse than a little bit of rug munching in the name of that goal." Everyone laughs, and I catch the ABRA guy in the corner massaging his forehead.

"So no, I rarely face any outspoken discrimination or bigotry from ABRA itself. Quiet disapproval, yes, and that's something I'd like to see change. But I think the best way to make that change happen is to keep doing my own job as best I can, while refusing to make any apologies for who I am." She keeps answering questions for a few more minutes. Most of them are fairly banal, with a few interesting or funny ones sprinkled in. Several, she gently chides for getting a little too personal.

Then, as another kid is taking the microphone, the ABRA guy abruptly comes up and starts urgently whispering in her ear. She holds up her hand, speaking to him quietly for a few seconds. Then she turns back to the crowd and says, "Sorry everyone, looks like something's come up, so we're gonna have to cut things a little short. Thanks again for being here!" Then she and the ABRA guy turn and hurry off stage. Loud murmuring breaks out in the wake of her abrupt departure.

I frown for a moment, then lean over to Cassie.

"We need to find out what's going down, if it has anything to do with us. You've got your phone?"

"Uh huh," she confirms.

"Right. Call Sarge first, and then Jess. Tell 'em to spread the word for everyone to keep their eyes open, and maybe get ready for trouble."

"Got it." She rises and hurries out of the theater. Meanwhile, I head up to the front to talk to Alex.

"Hey, any idea what's going on?" I ask.

"No," she says, shaking her head and looking worried.

"I couldn't hear anything. You think it could be trouble?"

"Not sure," I say.

"I should probably go check some things out, though."

"Yeah, alright. I can handle everything here." I leave as well, digging my cellphone out of my backpack and turning it on once I'm in private. I'm somewhat relieved to see there aren't any missed calls, which hopefully means whatever's happening isn't any kind of immediate emergency. Still, I drive a little ways up the hill to one of the hiking trails around the edge of town, finding a quiet spot to wait so I'll be able to transform right away if I need to.

My phone does ring after a few minutes, but it's just Sarge letting me know about the situation, not aware that I was already there myself. I tell him to check back in after he hears from everyone and confirms nothing's obviously wrong. He does after a couple of hours, leaving me somewhat reassured but still worried. Usually, anything worth urgently recalling a white mask for is extremely obvious, but no one's reported seeing Chimera flying around anywhere at all.

In the end, I don't find out what happened until the next day, a couple of members happening to see it on the morning news. Thankfully, it had absolutely nothing to do with us, involving a wandering black mask who goes by Harlequin. Most black masks who don't immediately get themselves killed or arrested tend to join or start gangs, but a handful prefer a more adventurous lifestyle.

In particular, some like to play up the classic bumbling supervillain angle, robbing banks with big dollar sign bags and that sort of thing. Few of them last very long; ABRA takes a very dim view of anything that could endanger civilians, no matter how harmlessly they try to portray themselves. Case in point, Harlequin is some sort of telepath who can temporarily compel people to act like characters in a story. I hadn't previously heard of her, but surprisingly, Anja has, and is actually a bit of a covert fan.

She's apparently made several appearances across the country over the last couple of years, acting out brief scenes with the aid of whatever bystanders happen to be nearby; all her performances inevitably end with her walking away with something valuable. Her appearance yesterday was down in Ashland, a little town famous mostly for its annual Shakespeare Festival, and she'd decided to put on an ad-hoc performance of The Comedy of Errors.

Unfortunately for her, no matter how careful she's been to never kill or injure anyone, ABRA wasn't impressed. Her performance was interrupted by a specialized anti-telepath strike team which had likely been tracking her for some time. According to the news, they'd arrested her without much trouble, and with no need for assistance from Chimera. Anja is a little bummed to hear it, and I encourage her to rant a bit about ABRA for being killjoys.

She still doesn't like to think of herself as a black mask, even though she certainly qualifies by now just by virtue of still being unregistered. Aside from that, I laugh the entire thing off and assume that's the last I'll hear about it. I'm proven wrong a couple of days later, when Alex pulls me aside after school.

"Something a little weird happened today," she says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Apparently the administration asked Mr. Grayson to keep an eye out for potential members of the Sun Eaters in the GSA specifically?"

"What?" I demand. That's a lot more than a little weird.

"No, it's- I should've said it differently, I don't think it's actually that big a deal. So, they called him in for a meeting the other day, and said the police are pretty sure at least one member of the Sun Eaters was at Chimera's talk."

"Oh," I say, relaxing slightly.

"That's dumb, there were like twenty times as many kids there than've ever showed up to any of our normal meetings."

"Yeah, he told 'em the same thing, gave 'em a bit of an earful. They kind of apologized, but still asked him to keep an eye out just in case. Don't worry, I'm sure he won't say anything even if he's maybe a little suspicious of like Cassie or something, he's not a snitch. I just thought it was weird that the cops were focused on that in the first place."

"That is a little weird, yeah," I agree, frowning. Sure, I put the Sun Eaters on high alert after her abrupt departure just in case, but none of us actually did anything, and the whole thing didn't end up having anything to do with us anyway. So why would the cops- "Ah, shit," I say as understanding clicks.

"We've got an informant in the gang."

"An informant? You mean, like, an undercover cop?"

"Yeah, something like that. That's how they know we had someone at the talk, cause we knew something was going down right away, but not what was going down. But the only way they could know that is if someone told them I ordered everyone to get ready for trouble."

"Shit," agrees Alex.

"What're you gonna do?"

"Not sure yet. Haven't had to deal with this problem before. I'll talk to Mr. Sterling, ask for some advice." I'd been hoping to avoid picking up any informants for a while longer, but I'd known it was a possibility when I started actively recruiting. The good news is, the way I've structured the gang should minimize the damage they can do. Currently, I've got four different "ranks" below me which are slowly becoming more formalized.

At the top are my lieutenants, each managing a cell of between four and a dozen members. Half a step above the regular members are my enforcers, spread between the various cells but also reporting to Sarge. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Below the regular members are the associates like Alex, who now make up more than half the gang's membership.

Just like each member reports to a single lieutenant, each associate reports to a single full member. Most of them don't move much product themselves, instead directing potential customers towards the member above them. More importantly, they're a network of eyes and ears, both for parties and other opportunities to do business, and for potential threats.

I've also started clamping down on unsanctioned crime in my territory now that my monopoly on the drug trade is more or less complete; the other month, for example, I had a couple of serial petty thieves the cops couldn't be bothered to catch beaten and evicted from my part of town. The separation between cells isn't nearly perfect, but it's good enough that no associate should be able to compromise more than a handful of full members.

Few associates have met me at all; unlike the early days of the gang, there's no need to prove my existence to anyone. Still, this isn't something I can afford to let fester. I've been careful to make sure I (and only I) have a full list of everyone in the gang, so hopefully it won't take too long to track the source of the leak down. I meet Mr. Sterling at one of our new safehouses around seven, a little run-down house in the same neighborhood where Cassie lives, currently empty.

He shows up in jeans and a plaid shirt to avoid drawing attention, which has me doing a bit of a double-take. Still, his manners are just as professional as ever.

"You're not necessarily dealing with an informant, although it is the most likely possibility," he tells me.

"Certainly the police will assume by now that you have informants of your own in their ranks, and will be taking steps accordingly. They may have managed to tap one or more of your member's phones without it leaking, or some similar kind of surveillance. Or, unlikely but still worth ruling out, they may have managed to flip one of your older members. You should start by trying to determine what sort of leak you're dealing with."

"How do I figure that out without figuring out who's leaking, though?" I ask, frowning.

"The easiest to confirm or rule out will likely be a wiretap. Even if the officers in charge of the investigation have managed to conceal the warrant from the department at large, actually executing it would still require the cooperation of the local cell utility. If no new taps have been placed since the last time your people switched phones, you can be sure that isn't the issue."

"Right, that makes sense," I say, nodding. I know via Officer Maloney that they cops did in fact tap some of our phones a couple of months previous. I dealt with that by having the entire gang get new prepaid cellphones, an irritating hassle, but necessary.

"What if it is an actual informant? Should I try and narrow things down by giving different information to each cell?"

"Unfortunately, that tactic is only effective if you can determine whether or not the police actually acted on a given piece of information. Consider that you only discovered the current leak due a series of coincidences, such as your partner being the head of the club which came to the police's interest. They've almost certainly investigated other avenues based on whatever source they have without you ever becoming aware of it.

Of course, an urgent enough piece of information can force them to act, but when they realize the information was false, they'll then be aware that you're conducting a rat hunt and adjust accordingly."

"The first thing to understand is that informants are very rarely actual undercover officers," he continues.

"For one thing, it's considered too dangerous, but magical gangs also tend to skew young, especially newer ones. A natural consequence of the oldest magicals being in their early to mid twenties. That makes it difficult for an officer in even their thirties to blend in effectively. Instead, they like to offer plea bargains to minor criminals, not current members, but those who are likely to be associated with current members. Possession is by far the most common crime used.

They like to cast a wide net, often setting dozens of potential informants loose, not expecting results from more than a few. The ones who succeed in making contact with the gang are pressured to become more closely involved using their plea bargain, ideally to actually join. Once they're in deep enough, revealing their status as an informant can be used as an even greater threat to keep them in line."

"So I should be looking for any new members who've been arrested recently, then?"

"Precisely. The actual plea bargain will almost certainly be privileged information, but there will likely still be a record of the arrest itself. I would recommend investigating that avenue second. If that still fails to pan out, then you'll have to consider the possibility that the informant is not a new member, which would make things… significantly more complicated. But I doubt that will be the case. Gang members never flip without a good reason, fear or revenge, usually.

It's far more common in gangs already fallen on hard times, and the Sun Eater's fortunes are currently on the rise." I nod. It's not impossible, but I really can't see any of the people who went through the war with Surf 'n Turf with me suddenly deciding to turn on me now, especially without any of their friends noticing something was wrong.

"Assuming there is an informant, what do you suggest I do with them once I track them down?"

"There's essentially three options. First, you can leave them in place and feed them false information, or attempt to outright turn them into double agents. I wouldn't recommend that at this stage. Currently, even very basic information like the identity of members will be valuable to the police, and that sort of thing will be difficult to conceal. Second, you can deal with them quietly.

That solves the immediately problem, but does nothing to prevent further attempts at infiltration, because the police lose nothing except the opportunity. So, the third option is to dissuade potential informants directly, by making a public example."

"Isn't that a little risky with Chimera in town?" I ask.

"She specifically told me she doesn't want to see any more murders."

"It's an escalation, yes. But ABRA's primary concern is preventing the gang war from flaring back up. Disposing of an informant is a purely internal matter. Keep in mind that Chimera alone isn't nearly enough to enforce the threat she made. She can stop an ongoing fight, but she's no more capable of actually tracking you down than the average police officer. That would require a significantly larger commitment from ABRA, and their resources are perpetually stretched thin. Consider Umbra, for example.

She was responsible for more than two dozen murders in total, mostly civilians, and it still took the better part of four years for ABRA to finally find the time to deal with her. Even if things aren't nearly as hectic as they were immediately after the passage of the Registration Act, they would much rather not commit those resources if they don't absolutely need to."

"Well, no need to make a decision until I actually find the source of the leak," I say after a moment.

"For now, I assume the best thing to do is just carry on as normal, to avoid tipping the informant off that we're onto them?"

"Precisely," he agrees.

"I should be able to find who you need to speak to regarding the phones by tomorrow. I assume you'll want to handle that personally?"

"Yes." It actually ends up taking a few days for me to make contact. As promised, Mr. Sterling delivers the address of the company's local office the day after our meeting along with the name of the local manager, but no other details. After a bit of thought, I decide to have Sarge stake the place out personally. It's risky trusting anyone in the gang right now, but I don't want to ask Cassie to skip school for it.

I may not trust Sarge quite as much, but if he were the informant, I can't imagine the cops would be messing around with clubs at West. He's suitably outraged by my suspicion that we've got a leak, and promises to keep things quiet. After a couple of days, Sarge succeeds in IDing the manager, a man named Mr. Kaufman, and tailing him home. Apparently he's got a wife and children, which makes things a bit awkward; I can't just confront him at night since he won't be alone.

Fortunately, the office itself seems pretty quiet. There's only a handful of employees, and most of them are technicians who are only there sporadically. I head over to have a look myself Friday morning, real early. The building is conveniently close by, in the industrial section of west Franklin. It's two stories, the bottom floor mostly occupied by a big garage for their service vans, with the offices above. I let myself in through a window on the second floor.

Everything's dark and closed up, but the layout is pretty simple. There's one larger room with a couple of cubicles, an office that looks like a records room filled with filing cabinets, another office converted into a break room with a table and a minifridge, and the manager's office. I investigate the records room first, but I have no idea where to even start looking, and it quickly becomes clear that I won't be able to find anything myself. Similarly, the files I glance through in Mr.

Kaufman's office aren't particularly helpful either. That's fine; I'll just have to wait a bit. Mr. Kaufman's office is small, without any good hiding spots, but the ceiling is made of those panels that can come out so you can easily get at the wiring and pipes. There's not a whole lot of space up there, barely more than a foot, and it's also unpleasantly dusty, so I keep glancing through the files as the sun comes up, even though I'm not expecting to find anything.

I make sure everything is back in its place by 7: 30, then hide above his desk, sliding the panel back into place behind me. Hopefully he doesn't run late, both because I'd rather not spend any longer than necessary in here, and also because I'm already skipping my first class of the day for this. I hear the first person come in around ten minutes before 8, moving around in the room outside. Mr.

Kaufman joins them a few minutes later, based on the greetings they exchange, and then a third person a couple of minutes after that. Someone comes into the office briefly, but then heads back out, and the conversations continue, people heading downstairs a couple of times. Finally, at around 8: 20, someone comes into the office and closes the door, and I hear him sit down in the chair beneath me with a grunt. Silently, I float the panel out of place and set it aside, then float through myself.

It's awkward, but I manage it without bumping against anything or making any noise. I come down precisely in the two-foot gap between Mr. Kaufman's chair and the wall behind him. Focused on his computer booting up, he doesn't notice a thing until I clamp my hand over his mouth. He jumps in surprise, letting out a muffled yell, and only my grip prevents him from falling out of his chair. I let him twist himself around so he can see me, and he freezes.

"Shh, shh, shh," I whisper.

"Nothing to worry about, just here for a little talk. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, now. You won't cause a fuss, will you?" He stays frozen for a few more seconds, then frantically shakes his head as much as he can.

"You're- you're Schwarzschild," he says with wide eyes when I let him go.

"Why- What d'you want with me? I'm just some nobody!" A paper lunchbag appears in my hand, which I then dump out on his desk, revealing stacks of ten and twenty dollar bills, eight grand in total. His eyes get even wider.

"I'd like you to tell me about any wiretaps your company has installed for the police in the last few months."

"... Ah, fuck," he says, slumping in his seat.

"Look, d'you know what'll happen to me if the cops find out I've talked about that kind of stuff? With anyone, but especially with you?"

"That sounds like a good incentive to keep our little conversation between just the two of us," I reply. Then I casually lean over and pluck a framed photograph off his desk.

"You have a beautiful family. I'm sure you'll be able to put the money I'm offering to good use, won't you? Maybe a nice vacation, or an extra special birthday?"

"Fuck you," he growls, but it comes out defeated more than defiant. There's a reason I wanted to do this myself. Even when confronted by men with guns, it's possible to imagine the cops protecting you. But pissing off a magical? That takes a near-suicidal level of bravery.

"... Fine. Just… Nothing connects me to this, got it?"

"Of course."

"Fine," repeats, taking a deep breath.

"I don't even know why you're asking anyway, the cops haven't asked us to put any new taps in place for at least two months now. There were… I think four or five numbers, I'd have to look it up to be sure, but they all suddenly went inactive at the same time. They weren't happy about it, but there wasn't anything we could do."

"And they haven't asked you for anything since?"

"Not a thing, I swear," he says, shaking his head.

"I see. That's all I need to know, then."

"It… it is?" he asks nervously.

"You don't, like, need the actual list of numbers or anything?"

"Not necessary. I'm sure I can trust your word alone, can't I?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course you can," he says, nodding fervently.

"Good. I'll be on my way, then. Thank you for your time." I turn and glance briefly out his window to make sure no one's in sight; fortunately, it just faces the back of some other building rather than the street. I open it, dive through, and immediately accelerate upwards at full speed. It's broad daylight, but hopefully I was fast enough that anyone who noticed me won't be quite sure what they saw. Even if someone does realize it was me, they'll have a real hard time figuring out where I came from.

I stop once I'm a couple of miles up, high enough to not even be a speck from the ground, then turn and fly south. I left my car a couple miles outside of town, parked on an old dirt road leading to some abandoned lot. It takes me a few minutes to find the exact spot, but there's plenty of trees for cover, so I drop down and transform. Then, I take my backpack off, no longer containing several thousand dollars in cash, and drive to school in time for my next class. It's still possible there's no informant.

The cops could be spying on us through some other method we haven't thought of, or Mr. Kaufman could have lied to me. But the far likelier explanation is that there is an informant, so I feel justified in taking a few risks in order to hunt them down. I call Officer Maloney and request a meeting for Saturday night. Officer Maloney isn't my only mole in the police anymore, but he is my most… trusted might not quite be the right word, but he has the most to lose by screwing me over.

He's no longer living in the apartment I first met him in, his new house paid for in no small part by me. Given the amount of intel he's passed to me, the only way he could possibly avoid prison if he flipped back is if he can hand the police my civilian identity, and I've been careful not to give him a single hint in that direction. Even if he's still not especially fond of me, I'm confident he knows which side his bread is buttered on.

The information I'm about to give him now could damage the Sun Eaters badly, but not fatally. I'd still prefer not to hand it over, but I can't think of any other method to pin down the informant. We once again meet in the park by the river. This time, he's wearing a dark gray sweater and a baseball cap. I descend a ways away as a courtesy and approach on foot.

"Good evening."

"What d'you need this time?" he asks without preamble. A small notebook appears in my hand, and I pass it over.

"I need to know if any of the names in this book have been arrested in the last nine months. The records of their arrest may not be publicly available." He takes it and opens it, pulling out a little keychain flashlight to examine.

"Lotta names in here. It'll take me a while to get through it all without drawing any suspicion. Couple of weeks, at least."

"Acceptable," I agree. There's more names than necessary; about half of them are decoys rather than actual members of the Sun Eaters, a small precaution in case he does try and screw me over. It's also limited to just associates for now, obviously excluding people like Alex. He snaps the notebook closed.

"Five thousand." I snort slightly. This has become almost a ritual at this point.

"You were paid your regular fee just the other week. Don't get greedy, now. Two thousand extra."

"My regular fee doesn't require me to actually go looking for anything, just passing on whatever I hear. You want extra work, pay for it. Four thousand."

"Shall we just skip to the part where we agree on thirty-five hundred?"

"Fine," he says, snorting as well. I produce the money and pass it over.

"You want regular updates?"

"No, not unless you spot something that you think I'll want to know immediately, as usual."

"I'll let you know when it's done, then. Anything else?"

"Nothing for now." We both leave without any other goodbyes. I'm not thrilled about leaving the rat in place for another couple of weeks at least, but they've probably already been in place longer than that, and so far there hasn't been a disaster. When I find them, though, I'm going to express my displeasure thoroughly.