not know it?” I can’t imagine how scary that would be. At least Ben knew he went through a portal.
“Like some poor guy could drive home for dinner, show up at his house, and he’s got two sons instead of three daughters, and another version of himself is sitting at the table.”
I raise my eyebrows, and Barclay nods. “It was a case I read about at North Point. The veil had gotten so thin that there was a very small point where it actually intersected and sometimes people would just slip right through.
“Anyway, in my case, the disturbances were bad electrical storms, and witnesses had reported that the storms had a magnetic pull. Like this one woman was washing dishes when the storm rolled in. She had her kitchen window open, and the magnetic pull was so strong that all of her metal silverware was yanked from the sink, through the window, and up into the storm.”
“Creepy.” I have a talent for understatement, but it makes Barclay smile.
As he talks about the intricacies of electrical storms and a lot of science that goes over my head, I drink my tea and study the way his face has changed. He’s still smiling, and his eyes are alive with the excitement of the story. This is the first conversation we’ve ever had where I haven’t wanted to punch him and he hasn’t been arguing with me about something.
“So what was causing the storms?” I ask when I can get a word in.
“Well, that’s just the thing. The magnetism was being caused by field distortions between universes, which always means some powerful science at work.”
I don’t exactly grasp what Barclay is talking about. I probably won’t ever grasp it. His understanding of the natural world is just way different than mine. But I get the important thing—this was a man-made event, not something that was just happening on its own.
“So who was the bad guy?” I ask. Because isn’t it always about a bad guy?
“I did some research and a lot of math to trace the magnetism back to this man who was essentially a reclusive mad scientist working out of his garage,” Barclay says. “He was trying to contact his doubles in all the other universes. We think he had some kind of plan for them all to work on together, but he never got that far.”
I can’t help laughing at the image of Barclay apprehending this guy without a gun or credentials. “What did IA say? I mean, they essentially let you take on a real case rather than just some research assignment.”
He nods. “That’s how I am where I am, baby.”
Oh yeah, the smugness is back and it’s bad. “Seriously, what did they do?”
The smile falls a little. “They gave me Eric as a mentor and let me tag along on all his assignments. With him I was in the middle of all the biggest cases.”
“He was a big agent?” I ask, trying—and failing—not to think about the fact that he had a lot more experience than we do, that he’d been trained to handle people like human traffickers and I’m not. And now he’s dead and we might be next.
“The biggest,” Barclay says, running a hand through his hair. “He was a legend, the kind of guy who gets a monument named after him for all the shit he’s accomplished.”
“So IA has high hopes for you then?” I’m trying to get him in a better mood. Smug Barclay is slightly better than depressed Barclay.
But he doesn’t bite. “They might have had at one point. I doubt now.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t realize this was a pity party.” Please, like I’m not in a worse position than he is. I’m the one on the hit list.
Barclay is quiet for a second. He sets his empty mug on the coffee table, and while he’s looking down, he says in a quiet voice, “There’s a monument built for Clyde Tolson. He’s the guy who founded IA. It’s near here. I used to walk by it every day on my way to school when I was a little kid.
“He accomplished so much, Tenner. For the world, not just Prima. I mean, the whole multiverse is different because of what he discovered and because of the legacy he left behind. Eric was on track for that. He’d made an impact.”
“I get it,” I say. And I do. I don’t exactly have dreams like Barclay—I don’t even know what I want to do with