credit cards, driver’s license, and a Starbucks gift card worth a whopping ten bucks.
Focusing on the bus driver, I stuck my arm out. The bus pass hallucination in my real hand tapped the reader, and I added an approving green light before shuffling toward the back of the bus. As I sank onto a seat across from the rear door, the bus accelerated away from the café.
Breathing slow and deep, I closed my eyes.
It hadn’t gone to plan, but I’d done it. I’d escaped.
Well, sort of. There was the telethesian problem. All Agent Cutter had to do was find my trail at the bus stop and he could, in theory, track me forever. Imagine a predator—a bearded, plaid-adorned, axe-wielding predator—who could always find you. It was the ultimate “you can run, but you can’t hide” situation.
It was almost as scary as the Predator predator.
I knew a few methods to slow down or throw off a telethesian, but they weren’t all that convenient. My best shot was sticking to vehicular travel. Though it wouldn’t obscure my psychic trail, it would hamper Agent Cutter’s tracking progress.
The bus took me into the downtown core where I switched to another. After a few blocks, I got off and grabbed another one headed in a different direction, each time using my bus pass hallucination to board.
One more bus change and I found myself heading into a coastal suburb called Deep Cove that had a sleepy, Hallmark vibe to it. The sun had set and the streets were quiet.
Not good. Not good at all.
Don’t get me wrong; I desperately wanted to buy an artisanal donut, get some organic kombucha, and book a week-long stay at a cozy bed and breakfast. But if I rounded up all the people I could see on the street, I wouldn’t be able to field an entire baseball team, and that was a problem, because mixing in with a crowd was another way to muddy a telethesian’s tracking.
But taking this bus back into the crowded downtown core, where Lienna, Agent Cutter, and any number of other agents would be tracking my wacky bus trail, wasn’t smart either.
The thought of Lienna desperately chasing me across the Greater Vancouver area set off a pang of guilt in my gut that hit much harder than I’d expected. I didn’t want to think about her reaction when she realized I’d tricked her—her shock, disappointment, shame, and vindicated loathing for the traitorous, untrustworthy crook. She’d vouched for me. She’d offered to take care of my most precious belongings. She’d given me an evening out of my jail cell, and it’d been the most pleasant night I’d had in recent memory—even before my arrest.
On top of the emotional slap to the face I’d given her, Captain Blythe wasn’t the forgiving type. When Lienna returned to the precinct without me, Blythe could and probably would extract a career-destroying punishment from the rookie agent.
I clenched my jaw. Guilt pangs or not, neither Lienna’s feelings nor her career ranked as high on my priority list as my life.
Standing, I pressed the “next stop” button on the pole beside my seat. The bus doors opened, and I hopped onto the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure what time it was—I didn’t have a watch or a phone—but my best guess was after ten p.m., which meant most businesses were closed.
Choosing a random direction, I started walking. As I rounded a corner, the sidewalk declined steeply toward the town center: a cutesy row of coffee shops and clothing boutiques. All closed. Apparently, Deep Cove wasn’t a “lively nightlife” sort of place.
Near the end of the street was a small hotel with a French restaurant on the first floor. Behind the hotel, a pier stuck out into the town’s eponymous cove, and a couple dozen boats were docked alongside it.
Jackpot.
The best way to elude a telethesian: water. Taking a long shower wouldn’t hide me from Agent Jack Cutter, but taking a boat out onto the ocean would sever my trail. It was the only sure-fire way to escape those pesky, mythical bloodhounds—well, aside from jumping on an airplane, but I didn’t have any of those handy.
I entered the hotel lobby, painted almost entirely in a pastel blue color. To match the ocean, I guess. The receptionist, a guy in his mid-thirties with spiky, bleach-blond hair and bags under his crazed-looking eyes, greeted me.
“Hey, man!” he said with jittery excitement. “How can I help you?”
“I’m just looking for a restroom.”
The receptionist nodded with the same vigor