Read Online Spark: A Novel by John Twelve Hawks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Twelve Hawks
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Miss Holquist?” I asked.
“She’s here … waiting for you.”
Lorcan was very close to my Shell—his face a few inches away from mine. Without the downloaded images on my smartphone I found it difficult to interpret emotions, but I knew, in mathematical terms, that Lorcan was my inverse integer. The most sensitive person in the world is not a poet or a therapist, but an intelligent sociopath. Lorcan instinctively found everyone’s weak point and then jabbed at it until he got what he wanted.
That tactic didn’t work with me. Because of my Transformation, I lacked both fear and desire. It angered Lorcan that I wasn’t intimidated by his energy. His sharp blades passed through my empty body and collapsed onto the floor with a useless clatter.
“You think you’re braver than me,” he said.
“I don’t think about you at all.”
Lorcan raised his fist. When I didn’t flinch, he sneered and stepped away. “You’re nothing, Underwood. Killing you would be like stabbing an empty trash can.”
“Where’s Miss Holquist?”
“Leave your suitcases here and follow me.” As Lorcan led me past the coffee table, I glanced at his computer. The monitor displayeda frozen image of a woman’s high-heel shoe crushing a white mouse. The rodent’s body was frozen in pain.
Lorcan led me down a hallway past a row of small private offices. Each room had a desk, a chair, a phone, and a shredder. No one was working in any of these cubicles. As usual, Miss Holquist had rented an empty office suite for this meeting.
When we approached a door marked CONFERENCE ROOM , Lorcan’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his head slightly. He knocked, paused for a few seconds, and then opened the door.
Wearing a headset, Miss Holquist sat on one side of a long conference table. She glanced up from her computer, wiggled her fingers to say “hello,” and continued talking with her southern accent. “Green? No, definitely not green. Your gown is ivory, and those two colors don’t go together.”
“Do you need anything, ma’am?” Lorcan asked. “Coffee? Lunch?”
Miss Holquist shook her hand and Lorcan left the room. When I circled around to her side of the table, I saw that she was looking at a photograph of a model wearing a long green dress. Miss Holquist clicked her cursor and the dress turned pink. “Pink? Does any grown woman really want her bridesmaids to wear
pink
? This is what a nine-year-old plans for her wedding.… What about blue?… A dark blue? Remember, Alicia is overweight and a dark color will keep her from looking like a weather balloon.… Yes … Well, think it over. I’m about to go into a meeting.… Brilliant. Love you, too … Bye.”
The photo disappeared from the computer screen, and Miss Holquist swiveled around in her chair. “My oldest daughter is getting married in nine weeks and she still hasn’t picked out her bridesmaids’ gowns. These wedding preparations were fun, but now the clock is ticking.”
I had no idea how to respond to this comment, so I remained silent. Miss Holquist typed a command and the computer screen displayed the Power-I plan that I created to neutralize Victor Mallory.
“I was very impressed with the plan you sent me for your recent assignment in Great Britain. I liked the delivery uniform, the box ofchampagne, and the fact that you went to an acting coach to learn the right accent.”
“It was necessary.”
“Yes, it was. And you actually
talked
to this actress for long periods of time?”
“Each lesson lasted an hour.”
“Mr. Underwood, I’ve underestimated you. I didn’t think you were capable of a sustained human interaction. I feel like I just bought one of those new voice-activated coffeemakers and then discovered that it can also speak French and feed the cat.”
“I don’t speak French.”
“That was a figure of speech, Underwood. It means that you’re more useful.” She moved the cursor and my plan disappeared. Miss Holquist’s
“She’s here … waiting for you.”
Lorcan was very close to my Shell—his face a few inches away from mine. Without the downloaded images on my smartphone I found it difficult to interpret emotions, but I knew, in mathematical terms, that Lorcan was my inverse integer. The most sensitive person in the world is not a poet or a therapist, but an intelligent sociopath. Lorcan instinctively found everyone’s weak point and then jabbed at it until he got what he wanted.
That tactic didn’t work with me. Because of my Transformation, I lacked both fear and desire. It angered Lorcan that I wasn’t intimidated by his energy. His sharp blades passed through my empty body and collapsed onto the floor with a useless clatter.
“You think you’re braver than me,” he said.
“I don’t think about you at all.”
Lorcan raised his fist. When I didn’t flinch, he sneered and stepped away. “You’re nothing, Underwood. Killing you would be like stabbing an empty trash can.”
“Where’s Miss Holquist?”
“Leave your suitcases here and follow me.” As Lorcan led me past the coffee table, I glanced at his computer. The monitor displayeda frozen image of a woman’s high-heel shoe crushing a white mouse. The rodent’s body was frozen in pain.
Lorcan led me down a hallway past a row of small private offices. Each room had a desk, a chair, a phone, and a shredder. No one was working in any of these cubicles. As usual, Miss Holquist had rented an empty office suite for this meeting.
When we approached a door marked CONFERENCE ROOM , Lorcan’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his head slightly. He knocked, paused for a few seconds, and then opened the door.
Wearing a headset, Miss Holquist sat on one side of a long conference table. She glanced up from her computer, wiggled her fingers to say “hello,” and continued talking with her southern accent. “Green? No, definitely not green. Your gown is ivory, and those two colors don’t go together.”
“Do you need anything, ma’am?” Lorcan asked. “Coffee? Lunch?”
Miss Holquist shook her hand and Lorcan left the room. When I circled around to her side of the table, I saw that she was looking at a photograph of a model wearing a long green dress. Miss Holquist clicked her cursor and the dress turned pink. “Pink? Does any grown woman really want her bridesmaids to wear
pink
? This is what a nine-year-old plans for her wedding.… What about blue?… A dark blue? Remember, Alicia is overweight and a dark color will keep her from looking like a weather balloon.… Yes … Well, think it over. I’m about to go into a meeting.… Brilliant. Love you, too … Bye.”
The photo disappeared from the computer screen, and Miss Holquist swiveled around in her chair. “My oldest daughter is getting married in nine weeks and she still hasn’t picked out her bridesmaids’ gowns. These wedding preparations were fun, but now the clock is ticking.”
I had no idea how to respond to this comment, so I remained silent. Miss Holquist typed a command and the computer screen displayed the Power-I plan that I created to neutralize Victor Mallory.
“I was very impressed with the plan you sent me for your recent assignment in Great Britain. I liked the delivery uniform, the box ofchampagne, and the fact that you went to an acting coach to learn the right accent.”
“It was necessary.”
“Yes, it was. And you actually
talked
to this actress for long periods of time?”
“Each lesson lasted an hour.”
“Mr. Underwood, I’ve underestimated you. I didn’t think you were capable of a sustained human interaction. I feel like I just bought one of those new voice-activated coffeemakers and then discovered that it can also speak French and feed the cat.”
“I don’t speak French.”
“That was a figure of speech, Underwood. It means that you’re more useful.” She moved the cursor and my plan disappeared. Miss Holquist’s
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