Dead Waters - Anton Strout [51]
“Great,” I said, feeling a bit defeated.
“But hey,” Aidan continued, “I’m pretty sure I could charm the truth out of some of these people. Does my natural charisma count as a supernatural ability?”
“Looking all emo in your Hot Topic hoodie doesn’t make you charismatic,” I said. “It makes you look like a tool. Especially at forty.”
“It not my fault that I look so much younger than my age,” Aidan said. “You can blame Brandon and his people for that. I’m just dressing my part. Trying to fit the fashion of the time for someone in their late teens. Otherwise, I’d probably go with Connor’s style, but I just look too fresh-faced and youthful to pull off an old man’s trench coat.”
“Hey,” Connor said. “Watch it. I’m still your younger brother.”
“You know,” the Inspectre interrupted, pointing at the brothers Christos, “that’s what I miss the most.”
I looked at him. He had filled his glass again and was halfway done with it already. “Sir?” I asked.
“That camaraderie,” he said. “That banter that comes so easily between people. Mason was a master of it.”
“If it helps, Connor and I could bicker some more,” Aidan said. “We’re still making up for lost decades of it . . .”
The Inspectre answered the vampire, but I didn’t quite catch what he said. My focus had just shifted, drawn to another table that caught my deep focus halfway across the back of the bar.
“Hold up,” I said, continuing to stare.
“What is it, kid?” Connor said.
“Those are some of his,” I said.
Connor shifted in his seat and looked off toward where I was staring. “His what?” he asked. “Whose what?”
“The professor,” I said. “Those are some of his students sitting right over there. I’m pretty sure I saw them when I was flashing on some of Redfield’s classes and lectures in one of my visions.” At least, I thought they were the professor’s from where we sat. It was hard to forget the cute blond actress with the short spiked cut, but the four other faces at their booth looked vaguely familiar as well. The girl might even make it as an actress, given how memorable her face was.
“So, those are Professor Redfield’s little doters, eh?” Connor said, also checking them out.
“You want some answers?” Aidan said, rising up, forgetting his preternatural strength and practically flipping over the table. The rest of us struggled to save the pitchers of beer and our glasses. Aidan was eyeing the group at the other booth now with a dead-eyed stare. “I’ll get you answers.”
The Inspectre stood to meet him. “No, Aidan,” he said. “Thank you. I appreciate your willingness, but as you’ve mentioned, your leader would rather your kind minimize their exposure.”
“You can consider this a freebie,” Aidan said.
“It’s all right,” I said, standing up myself. “I’ve got this. After all, I’m most likely to pass for college age, remember?”
“I could totally pass for a freshman,” Aidan said, sitting back down.
“Relax, forty-year-old,” I said. “You may look all of nineteen, but I’ve got this one.”
The Inspectre clapped me on the shoulder. “See what you can find out,” he said, looking around the bar with caution. “And remember what I told you: err on the side of discretion.”
“Don’t worry,” Connor said from behind his beer, “Simon’s a master of erring.”
“Thanks, drunkie,” I said, and headed off toward the table of students farther off across the room. The group of them was crammed into one of the deep booths, the table crowded with an assortment of pitchers, mugs, glasses, and book bags. There were five of them altogether and they were animatedly laughing and talking to one another as they drank. At the back of the booth was a young brown-haired kid sandwiched between a heavier one with greasy black hair to his left and a goateed Hispanic guy with blond punk hair to his right. More recognizable to me were the two people sitting at the outermost seats of the booth, both of whom stuck out from my visions. One end of