Dead Waters - Anton Strout [102]
The credits were rolling now and Jane was finally able to take her attention away from the screen. She nodded. “It was easy peasy,” she said. “Even without my power, I could have done it.”
“Awesome,” Trent said, agitated. “Can I at least get a popcorn or something?” He leaned forward, looking over at Jane. “Is he a cheap date? He is, isn’t he?”
“Don’t get fresh,” I said, pushing him back into his seat. “I’m not going to get you a popcorn. This isn’t a date.”
Trent looked at me, horrified. “You’re so not my type.”
“What?” I asked him. “Not evil enough for you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Just the wrong set of chromosomes. Sorry.” He turned and looked off into the darkened theater. “What if they notice me?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve got the situation under control.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Like when you tried to capture them last time? No offense, Mr. Canderous, but I take very little comfort in that.”
“No,” I said. “This time we’ll get them. Your friends know more about the reborn professor than they let on about, maybe even the water woman. Look at it this way—at least you’re not tied up this time. That’s an improvement for you already.”
Trent looked around the half-full theater. “What about the rest of these people?” he asked.
“We shut down the theater for the day,” I said, “and filled it with any available agent we could spare.”
“It’s far emptier than I’d like it to be right now,” Jane said.
“Elyse is so going to catch on to this plan,” Trent said. “She’s going to sniff them out before they even sit down. She’s smart like that.”
“Don’t worry about your old friends,” I said. “Right now, you should be more worried about all of us in here.”
“Great,” he said, but sounded unconvinced.
“Fine. If you want to worry about something, worry about your pals not showing up. If they don’t, there’s going to be trouble for you.”
“I’m with Simon on this one,” Jane said. “I don’t think they’re going to show. Why would they come out for this at all when they can just watch them on television?”
“It’s not quite the same,” Trent said.
“Exactly,” Connor said from a few rows ahead of us. “Movies were meant for the big screen . . .”
I shushed him as the coffeehouse curtain opened and Trent’s three friends walked in. Jane, Trent, and I sank lower into our seats, doing our best to keep unnoticed, hopefully so we could get the drop on them once they settled in.
The three students were still in the clothes they had escaped in the other day. Elyse wore her hair pulled back in a short ponytail, but Mike and Darryl both looked like they hadn’t showered. I could have been wrong, though. Maybe bedhead was all the rage at NYU right now. Mike looked like he was trying to pick the best seat in the house, which made sense considering the fact that he was always carrying a camera on him and probably planned to bootleg the film. He found what he considered to be at least a passable viewing spot, and then started into the row before Elyse and Darryl did. “Hurry,” he whispered. “The credits are already rolling.”
“So what?” Darryl asked, ducking down as they worked their way across the aisle.
“It’s the best part!” Mike said, practically spilling his drink as he tripped over something.
“Shh!” Elyse said, and sat down once Mike stopped.
As they finished settling in, the new film began and the screen filled with a shot of a graveyard. It reminded me of Good Mourning: How to Tell a Funeral Party from a Zombie Horde, the short training film I had been shown during my initiation into the Department.
Jane grabbed my arm. I turned to her. She looked worried. “This film is clean, right?” she asked. “I don’t want to have a repeat of Mason Redfield’s resurrection.”
“Looks like we’re going to find out, I guess,” I said.
Trent leaned forward in his seat, staring ahead at his old friends. “I don’t believe it,” Trent whispered. “Is Mike. . . bootlegging this?”
“Oh,” I whispered, “is that where you draw your criminal line now?”
“Stop bickering and