I heard the floorboards creak behind me. I recognized the groggy voice. But the face that I saw when I turned wasn't quite what I was expecting.
Sure, Agent Townsend's hair was damp from a shower, and his clothes were fresh and neatly pressed, but his eyes were red and puffy. When he pushed past me and walked to his desk at the front of the room, he carried himself delicately, like a man who dearly wished the world would stop spinning. (His teeth, on the other hand, did seem significantly whiter.)
Note to self: never volunteer to help Elizabeth Sutton test one of her experiments.
The lights were off in the CoveOps classroom, but when Tina Walters paused by the door and reached for the switch, our teacher grumbled, "Leave them off."
As we made our way to our chairs, Townsend squeezed his eyes shut as if our footsteps were rifle shots in the dark.
"I don't care what you do with the next hour," he said softly, easing into the chair behind his desk. "I don't care how you do it. Just do it . . . quietly."
People have bad mornings at the Gallagher Academy all the time - yawning girls who have pulled all-nighters, aching bodies struggling to climb the stairs after a particularly hard week in P&E. The first time I met Agent Townsend, I'd wanted him to feel as badly as I felt; and standing there that morning, I thought maybe he did.
Especially when the lights suddenly flashed on and I heard my mother say, "Well, hello."
I saw him squint and jump - watched him turn to take in the woman by the door, but I don't know what if surprise would be the right word to describe it.
"Welcome to the Gallagher Academy, Agent Townsend. We're so happy to have to you here."
Note to self: Rachel Morgan is a totally awesome liar.
"I wanted to say hello at breakfast, but . . ." She studied his haggard face. "I can see that you perhaps needed to sleep in."
Townsend slowly turned his gaze toward me. "It must have been something I ate."
"I'm very sorry to hear that, our chef usually gets nothing but rave reviews." Mom strolled across the front of the classroom. She kept her arms crossed, staring out the window, before slowly turning to the rest of the class. "Hello, girls."
There was a splattering of hellos and welcome backs, but for the most part we were quiet
- waiting.
"I must say, when the Gallagher trustees told me that the CIA and MI6 had recommended you for the position, I was surprised. I hope the pace at our little school isn't too slow for you."
"No," he said, sinking to the corner of his desk. "If Joe Solomon can do it . . ."
I felt a flash of rage at the name, but if my mother felt the same, she didn't show it.
"And how are you finding things?" she asked. "Is there anything you need?"
"You mean besides access to the sublevels?"
My mother nodded. "Yes. Professor Buckingham has apprised me of the new safety concerns as far as the subs go. We're working on it.
"I see," Agent Townsend said, but the words sounded more like yeah, right.
Then a sort of shocked look crossed my mother's face.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Agent Townsend. Please, continue. Don't let me interrupt your lecture."
She took an empty seat in the front row on the far right side of the room, and it was Agent Townsend's turn to look surprised.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan. Are you . . . staying?"
"Yes," Mom said.
"Well if I'd known, I would have prepared something special for the occasion."
My mother smiled. "Oh, whatever you had slated for today will be fine, I'm sure. I just like to pop in occasionally to hear all of our faculty teach. Please, don't let me stop you."