The Atlantis Allegiance Read online

  “Plant toxicologist, to be exact. I study plant poisons,” Stephen said, busy with the paperwork.

  Dr. Hollis resisted the urge to frown. Did this guy think he didn’t know what “toxicology” meant? “Hmm, yes. Well, Jaxon has quite a talent with plants. She seems to be working on some sort of growth serum, although she never talks about it.”

  Stephen Grant stopped writing and looked up. “Is that so?”

  Dr. Hollis nodded. “I’m hoping that living with a botanist will bring out her natural talents.”

  Both Grants smiled.

  “We’ll make sure she reaches her full potential,” Stephen Grant said.

  Half an hour later, Jaxon stood with her suitcase on the driveway of the Forever Welcome Group Home, looking forlorn and resigned. Dr. Hollis felt sorry for the kid. She had been in this situation far too many times. It was a shame she had to uproot herself once again. At least she was getting a nice place, judging from the airport limo Stephen had called to pick them up.

  Stephen and Isadore stood next to her, telling her about the room she’d have in their home in Los Angeles. Jaxon didn’t seem to be listening. The social worker stood a little apart.

  Frustration and a sense of helplessness rose in Dr. Hollis’s chest. This shouldn’t be happening. Why had her social worker been replaced? Why this sudden change in Jaxon’s placement? Why hadn’t he been consulted?

  The limo pulled up the driveway. A uniformed driver got out and tipped his hat to them.

  As the driver opened the back door, Dr. Hollis turned to Jaxon. “Best of luck, Jaxon. I hope you find some happiness at your new home. If you need anything, you have my number. Feel free to call me anytime.”

  “Okay,” Jaxon said in a tone that told him she wasn’t even considering it. The girl was so used to leaving that everyone here was already fading into the past.

  Mahone shook hands with everyone, got into her own car, and left. A minute later, the limo pulled out.

  As they disappeared around a bend, Dr. Hollis realized that other than signing the appropriate forms, the new social worker had done and said nothing beyond what was absolutely necessary. Usually someone new on a case had a whole string of questions for him. It was only natural.

  Dr. Hollis bit his nail. Everything seemed in order. The message from CPS had been clear enough. Something nagged at him though. This didn’t add up.

  He’d have to do some more research on Olivia Mahone, and more research on Stephen and Isadore Grant.

  Chapter 3

  MAY 28, 2016, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

  3:30 PM

  Jaxon lay back in her first-class seat as their plane took off from San Francisco airport, headed for Los Angeles. She took a deep breath. Another move. Another set of fake parents.

  She studied Stephen and Isadore Grant out of the corner of her eye. They seemed okay. A bit cold, but at least they didn’t come on with all that false friendliness like some foster parents did on the first day. “Welcome to the family!” “You’re our daughter now!” God, how many times had she heard stuff like that? So lame. A bit of coldness made for a nice change, although it did make her wonder. People took on foster kids for two reasons: they needed the money the state gave them or they wanted to feel good about themselves. The Grants obviously didn’t need money—who paid for first-class seats for a one-hour flight?—and they didn’t seem to get all mushy about having a kid in the home.

  So why had they picked her? And why was this done over Ms. Jenkins’s head?

  Jaxon watched as the ground fell away, buildings and cars becoming like miniature toys. She felt a spike of fear as she wondered if the Grants were like the Spencer family who had taken her in when she was nine.

  That had been when a lot of her troubles began.

  The Spencers had seemed nice at first. Mrs. Spencer had been friendly and helped Jax with her dyslexia, patiently coaxing her to do her homework as the letters floated in confusing patterns before her eyes. Mr. Spencer had been friendly too, always taking her on long walks in the woods and swimming with her in the pool. If he hugged her and stroked her hair more than the other foster parents had, she didn’t think much of it, figuring that was just the way he was.

  Then one night she learned the truth.

  It was half an hour after bedtime, and she was almost asleep. Mrs. Spencer was out of the house, leaving her alone with Mr. Spencer. A sound in the hallway outside her open bedroom door made her open her eyes.

  Mr. Spencer’s silhouette took up much of the doorframe, lit by the dim hallway light. Jaxon figured he was just checking on her and closed her eyes again. She didn’t hear him walk away.

  Just as Jaxon was drifting off to sleep, he entered the room. At first, when he sat at the edge of her bed, she thought he was checking to see if she was asleep. Then he slipped his hands under the covers and tried to pull off her pajamas.

  She screamed and slapped his hand away. There was a sharp crack. Mr. Spencer howled, staggering back and holding his wrist.

  Her memory was hazy after that. She remembered Mrs. Spencer coming home and Mr. Spencer claiming that Jaxon had tripped him as he was going down the stairs, causing him to break his wrist. The ambulance arrived, then CPS, and she was hustled off to a group home.

  That was the first time her unnatural strength had manifested itself. At nine years old, she was too confused and scared to tell anyone what had happened. She didn’t even say anything when a caring social worker asked if Mr. Spencer had really fallen down the stairs. Her mind was still trying to register the fact that she had broken a grown man’s wrist with a simple slap.

  So she got a new label. She already had “learning disabled,” “poorly socialized,” and “withdrawn.”

  Now she had “violent.”

  Nothing like a label to make you second-guess yourself.

  Since then, she had been tempted to use her strength so many times. Luckily none were like the incident with Mr. Spencer, but she’d encountered no shortage of bullies, angry foster parents, racist remarks on the street, and cruel pranks against the new kid in class. She could have left a trail of dead people in her wake. She could have killed every one of her tormentors, and there were times when she was seriously tempted.

  She wasn’t that kind of person though. That’s what she kept telling herself. Even if everyone laughed at her for being different, even if she would never fit in, she was never going to be one of the bad ones. She could be something better.

  Jaxon realized she was gripping the armrest of her seat. She forced herself to let go and saw the impressions of her fingers pressed into the hard plastic. She quickly covered it up with her arm and looked over at Mr. and Mrs. Grant.

  Just in time to see Mrs. Grant looking away.

  Had she seen? Jaxon stared out the window at the distant land below. No, she told herself, Mrs. Grant hadn’t seen. Jaxon had been hiding in plain sight for so long, she was beginning to believe the whole world was blind. People sensed she was different, but no one could see she was special. Her new foster parents would be no different.

  An hour later, they landed in LAX. The Grants ordered another limo to take them home, and they cruised in comfort all the way there.

  Jaxon gasped as they pulled up to a beautiful home in a rich area of the city. The house was simply stunning. It was a huge Classical-style mansion with white walls that gleamed in the California sun. As the driver pulled up a broad driveway flanked by spreading oak trees and flowerbeds bursting with color, she saw the wraparound colonnaded porch. A wide green lawn spread luxuriantly on all sides, and the nearest house stood far away. Jaxon estimated they had five or six acres of land. Between that and the house, the property must have cost them a couple of million at least.

  “Wow, what do you guys do for a living?”

  “Disaster insurance,” Isadore Grant said with an enigmatic smile.

  “Lot of disasters, I guess, huh?” Jaxon said, shaking her head in wonder.

  “More now than ever befor
e,” Isadore Grant replied. “Perhaps you’ll get into the family business.”

  Jaxon bit her lip and said nothing. So you want me to think I’m part of the family already? Right. I’ve heard that one before. It’s not like I’m even going to be here more than a year before the system sends me somewhere else.

  The limo stopped at a walkway leading up to the front door. As they got out, Jaxon saw a large greenhouse in the backyard. Excitement and pain mingled in her. She had loved her time in the greenhouse back at the group home, yet it had been the place of her worst memories too.

  Poor Otto. I wish I could see him again.

  Stephen Grant came up beside her. “I see you like my greenhouse. That’s where I do my experiments.”

  “I thought you were an insurance salesman.”

  “No, that’s Isadore. I’m a botanist, although I guess I’m in disaster insurance too. We have to save the earth from destruction. Maybe you can help. I heard you have quite the green thumb.”

  Jaxon shrugged. While she cared about the environment as much as anyone else, she just didn’t see what she could do about it.

  “Come on in,” Isadore said, heading up the stairs as the limo pulled away.

  Jaxon followed, dragging her suitcase. Stephen came after with the rest of the luggage. Jaxon passed through the front door and gasped. A huge front hall, painted white and decorated with a variety of potted plants, greeted her eyes. A grand curving staircase led upstairs.

  “Let me give you a tour,” Isadore said. “Steve, will you take the suitcases upstairs?”

  Stephen nodded, took Jaxon’s suitcase, and headed up the stairs.

  Isadore inclined her head. “This way.”

  They passed into a large living room that had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard and greenhouse. The furniture was all of Danish design, with clean, precise lines. A few minimalist paintings hung on the walls. Jaxon suppressed a smirk. A couple of years ago, one of her foster families had taken her to a modern art museum, and it had been filled with pointless stuff like this. They were modern stuff made up of single rectangles of one color, or a few lines splashed every which way across a canvas. Most were signed and looked like originals instead of prints. Jaxon wondered how much the Grants had paid for them.

  The décor reminded Jaxon of Isadore—high class and impersonal. She suspected that Mrs. Grant had the real money in the family. The only flair in the room was some more potted plants, no doubt a human touch provided by Mr. Grant.

  They carried on to a dining room with similar décor and a long, rustic table that looked like an antique. A weird bronze sculpture sat in the center. It was made up of big globes attached by little rods and a couple of spikes sticking out of it. Jaxon saw a title engraved on the base—“Consciousness Rising IV.”

  Jaxon couldn’t keep from giggling. What a dumb name.

  Beyond lay the kitchen with marble countertops and clean steel utensils hanging from a rack above them.

  “Hungry?” Isadore asked without warmth and apparently without concern.

  “I wouldn’t mind some fruit juice or something.”

  “How about a smoothie?”

  “Sure!”

  Isadore went over to a huge bowl containing every kind of fruit Jaxon knew and a couple she didn’t. They looked tropical and rare, probably shipped in special to some high-priced boutique. Isadore grabbed an armful of fruit, peeled them with a few expert cuts from a knife that looked five times bigger and sharper than she needed, and put everything in a blender.

  “We live a healthy, natural lifestyle here,” Isadore explained as the blender made a loud hum. “Lots of fruit and raw vegetables, and everything is organic. Our meat is all free range.”

  “Um, okay.”

  Isadore studied her. “You’re probably not used to that sort of diet.”

  Jaxon laughed. “Institutional food isn’t exactly the best, and some of my foster parents weren’t all too good in the kitchen.”

  “I am.” Isadore gave Jaxon one of her cold smiles and flicked off the blender. She poured some of the smoothie into a glass and handed it to Jaxon.

  Jaxon took a sip. It was delicious.

  “Like it?” Isadore asked.

  Jaxon got the impression that saying she didn’t wouldn’t go down well. Luckily she could tell the truth.

  “It’s great,” Jaxon said with a dutiful nod.

  “Healthy too. We’ll put you on a diet that will get you in prime health.”

  Jaxon looked down at her body self-consciously. “Am I getting fat?”

  Isadore laughed. “No, you’re a lovely girl, and from what I’ve heard, you’re quite the athlete. With a carefully monitored diet, we can bring out your true prowess.”

  Jaxon took another drink of the smoothie to hide her smirk at being called “lovely.” She was anything but lovely, as every girl in every school she’d ever been to had made sure she knew. Still, she shouldn’t be too hard on Isadore. The woman was just trying to be nice. She was a bit weird, but if she prepared food like this all the time, living here wouldn’t be so bad.

  “We live as free from modern distractions as possible,” Isadore said. “You won’t find a TV in this house, and while we can’t avoid having computers, we use them as little as possible. Could you put your cell phone on the counter, please?”

  Jaxon took out her phone and placed it on the counter, staring at Isadore curiously. Her foster mother picked up Jaxon’s phone and put it in her pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Jaxon demanded.

  “As I said, we avoid the distractions of the modern world. You don’t need this.”

  “But it’s mine!”

  Isadore fixed her with her cold blue eyes. “If you need to make a phone call, you can ask me for it. Is there anyone you need to call?”

  Jaxon flushed. Isadore had a point. Who would she call? Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t her social worker anymore, Otto must have had his phone taken from him when he got locked up, and Dr. Hollis wasn’t her counselor anymore. Who did she have to call?

  She thought back on all the schools and group homes she’d been to, all the roommates and foster brothers and foster sisters, all the study partners. None of them had kept in touch. Jaxon couldn’t remember anyone even offering except for Ginger, and Jaxon wasn’t about to call a few hours after saying good-bye. That would look totally pathetic. Jaxon looked at the floor.

  “Jaxon, is there anyone you want to call?” her foster mother repeated.

  “No,” Jaxon mumbled.

  “That’s settled then,” Isadore said with a flat smile. “Now let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  Jaxon followed her, dejected. She knew there would be something wrong with this foster home. There always was.

  On the other side of the main hall was a gym. Jaxon felt a tug of nostalgia seeing all the weights and machines. Working out with Otto and his friends had been one of the few good times she had enjoyed in the past year. Now that was all gone.

  Isadore indicated all the equipment. “We have a holistic view of education. In addition to enrolling you in a leading school, we’ll also work on training your body. Dr. Hollis said you enjoy the gym. We’ll get you in tiptop condition.”

  She led Jaxon to the main hall again. They ascended the broad, curving staircase to the upstairs hallway. Like the rest of the house, it had white walls, a bare wooden floor, and sparse decorations except for a few bits of modern art. Jaxon looked around. The place didn’t look very lived in—everything was too clean and orderly. It was like one of those houses in a magazine.

  Isadore showed her the bathroom, the upstairs lounge, Stephen’s office (off-limits), Isadore’s office (off-limits), the Grants’ bedroom (off-limits), and finally her new bedroom.

  Jaxon wasn’t surprised to see that it was large and mostly empty. She had a queen-sized bed, a desk, an ergonomic metal office chair that swung around, a bookshelf filled with all sorts of books, a walk-in closet that was comp
letely bare, and big windows that, when she parted the lacy white curtains, revealed a wonderful view of the backyard and greenhouse. Her battered blue suitcases sat at the edge of her bed. Stephen stood outside the greenhouse door, and when he saw her looking, he gave her a wave and a smile.

  Jaxon waved back and forced the edges of her mouth upward.

  “I’ll let you get settled,” Isadore said. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

  Once she left, Jaxon stuck her tongue out at the empty doorway. Get settled? Yeah, right.

  She flopped down on the bed, feeling glum. She had slept in homier rooms in institutions than in this mansion. She didn’t even have any decorations on the walls. She decided to talk to Stephen and Isadore about that and immediately realized that would be a bad idea. They’d either say no or put up some of that ugly modern art. It was weird that these guys had so much money but couldn’t set up a nice house.

  At least the bed was comfy. Maybe she should just sleep until she was eighteen.

  Isadore’s voice called from downstairs. “Jaxon! Once you’re finished up there, come on down. We’d like to talk to you about your work schedule.”

  Jaxon groaned and forced herself to sit up. “Home sweet home.” She sighed and started to unpack.

  Chapter 4

  MAY 30, 2016, ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO

  1:10 PM

  General Hector Meade flipped through the latest Top Secret dossier that had been sent to him from a little-known office at the Pentagon. The public wasn’t aware that office existed at all, of course. Even most of his fellow generals only knew of it as an unlikely rumor. The existence of the Extraterrestrial Evidence Bureau was on a strictly need-to-know basis.

  General Meade needed to know.

  The dossier contained the usual radar tracking data and some long-distance photos taken by powerful terrestrial cameras. They showed what he had seen so many times before—irrefutable evidence that a variety of strange craft had shown up once or twice a week from various points in the solar system to circle the earth for a couple of orbits and occasionally dip down into the stratosphere.