The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(64)

And for a moment, Tate was sure he heard his mother’s voice whisper back, Oh, I am proud of you, Son … I am …





20


EVE


Eve tried to calm her excitement as she rushed into her brothers’ cottage. “I got your text. What did you find?”

Matthew looked up from the computer screen and grinned at her. “I found Tate’s grandfather.”

Eve almost collapsed with relief into the chair beside her brother while Mark and Luke emerged from the kitchen, cracking open bottles of IPA and handing one to her as they pulled up dining room chairs, sat, and studied Matthew’s computer screen with him.

“There!” Matthew pointed at a grainy digital newspaper image from The Daily News. “That old guy in the middle. That’s the boy’s grandfather.”

Eve read aloud. “Linus Bowen, retired high school coach and biology teacher, led the charge to save Galveston’s Corner Café from demolition and have it declared a National Historic Landmark. But don’t call Coach Bowen a hero. He’d be quick to correct you. ‘Nope, nope—I’m no hero. I’m just an old dog who doesn’t want to learn a new breakfast spot. Been coming here Monday through Friday for decades. I have no intention of stopping until you plant me in the ground.’” Eve glanced up at her brothers, a relieved smile shimmering in her dark eyes. “This is good work, guys! Really good work. So, Tate’s grandfather lives in Galveston. Nice coincidence that we have to be there in a few days anyway. How about we go early and pay Mr. Bowen a little visit?”

“We’ll have to visit him at this café. The old guy is like a ghost. It’s why it took forever to find him, and it was really just a lucky Google accident that I did. He’s retired, but I can’t find property listed under his name—or any name even vaguely like his. As far as I can tell old man Bowen doesn’t own a computer or a cell phone or a home—or even a damn car. He does have a driver’s license, but it’s expired and the address on it is the same as the café’s.”

“I wonder what this old man’s hiding,” Mark said. “It’s strange that he’s so tough to find.”

“Or he’s just a grumpy old hermit. Guys, let’s not start making up conspiracy theories,” Eve said.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should leave that crazy bullshit to Father,” Mark grumbled.

Eve shot him a “be quiet” look before continuing. “Okay, I’m going to give Father this good news and have him get the jet ready. I’m going to ask for wheels up in just a couple of hours. Mark, how’s the weather coming?”

“I’ve been increasing the waves in the Gulf every day—focusing on the Galveston area because we know Charlotte is enrolled in Texas A&M this semester. Surfers are flocking to the Gulf, and since Bastien left home without one damn credit card or cell phone, we can only hope that the waves are calling him there, too.”

“They are,” Matthew said firmly. “Tate and Foster were drawn together by my manipulation of air in Missouri. It’s going to be the same for the water, fire, and earth kids.”

“It better be.”

The four of them jumped in guilty surprise as Dr. Stewart soundlessly entered the cottage. Eve studied him as he moved toward them. He looked rough—thin and ashy-skinned. His usually meticulously trimmed goatee was scraggly and his linen pants and flowered button-down shirt were stained and wrinkled.

It had been two days since he’d last drained crystal power from her, but it looked like he hadn’t had a fix in weeks.

He’s getting worse … so much worse, she thought.

“Father!” Eve rose gracefully and hurried to his side. “I was just going to come to you and tell you the wonderful news. Our Matthew found Tate Taylor’s grandfather!”

The mean, haunted look in Stewart’s gaze softened slightly. “Matthew, well done my boy, well done. Where is he, and are Tate and Foster with him?”

“Linus Bowen is in Galveston, Texas, which is a happy coincidence! It’s going to be like killing two birds with one stone.” Matthew beamed under his father’s rarely given praise.

Stewart dismissed Matthew with barely a nod and turned to Eve. “Which means Tate and Foster aren’t in Galveston.”

“Father, it means we’re not sure about Tate and Foster, but we are sure about Charlotte and Bastien,” Eve said.

“Charlotte? The kid I altered’s name is Charlie. Charlie Davis. You have the wrong teenager.”

“Charlotte used to be Charlie. She’s transitioning from male to female and hasn’t used her birth name for years, remember? Or are you having memory problems?” Mark said. Eve tried to catch his eye—tried to tell Mark with a look that now was not the time to test Father—but her brother had locked his gaze with his father’s and didn’t even glance her way.

“No, Mark. I did not remember. And why? Not because I’m having memory problems as you call it, but because his or her gender preference is irrelevant. His, her, or its bond with water is all that should be important to me or to you.”

Mark had been sitting beside Luke. Slowly, resolutely, he stood—squared his broad shoulders—and faced Rick Stewart.

“They’re kids,” Mark spoke quietly, but there was no denying the anger that colored his voice. “Barely eighteen. Not even adults yet. But we’re tracking them and setting traps to draw them out like they’re animals. For what, Father? For the chance that maybe you can create an antidote to my hallucinations, Matthew’s disappearing body, Luke’s burnout, and Eve’s crystal tumors?”