Agents of the Glass by Michael D. Beil Page B

observe, to listen, and to report
everything
back to me,” said Silas. “When in doubt, tell me. I’ll decide if it’s unimportant.”
    “If you’re right about Winter, and she does have the…
lumen
-whatever-you-call-it…I still don’t get how that makes her so dangerous. Or what you can do about it. You told me that the Agency doesn’t kill people. That wasn’t a lie, was it?”
    “We won’t lie to you, Andy,” said Mrs. Cardigan. “But you also have to understand that we can’t always tell you
everything.
At least not yet. You’re safer…you’re better off not knowing for the moment.”
    “Before you go, please allow me to try to explain why Winter Neale is so dangerous,” said Mr. Nakahara. “I think it’s crucial that you understand what is at stake. Winter isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met. In addition to her…gift, she comes from one of the wealthiest, most politically and socially and financially and just-about-any-other-way-you-can-imagine connected families in the country. One way or another, with her talent and looks and all those connections, she’s going to end up in the public eye. And when you combine that with the bottomless resources of NTRP…”
    Reza finished for him: “Frankly, it scares us all half to death.”
    “B-but why?” Andy asked. “What do…Syngians
do
? You make it sound like they have superpowers or something.”
    Mrs. Cardigan placed a hand on his shoulder. “They
do
have superpowers—not like Superman or the X-Men. But believe me, their power is all too real. They have a kind of personal magnetism that blinds ordinary people to their words and actions. People want to be—no, it’s more than that, they are
desperate
to be—friends with them.”
    “Actually, magnets are a good way to illustrate the point,” said Martin. “I’ve been tough on you, but I’m sure you’re a nice, personable kid who has no trouble making friends. So, imagine for a moment that you’re a magnet, maybe something stuck on your parents’ fridge, holding up that Valentine’s Day card you made for your mum in the second grade—you know, the one you finger-painted. Compared to you, Winter Neale is one of those huge electromagnets they use in scrapyards to pick up cars.”
    “He’s right,” said Reza. “The difference is that dramatic. You’ll see. People who should know better will fall under Winter’s spell, and she will manipulate them in ways that will shock you. You’re here because you’ve demonstrated many of the qualities that we hold dear, and an unusual ability to resist the ones that we have been fighting against—at least, so far. The real tests lie ahead, I’m afraid.”
    Mr. Nakahara rose from his chair and walked around the table to shake Andy’s hand. “We’re asking a great deal from you, we know. It may sound like something from a bad movie, but the very future of humanity—at least the way we know it—may be in your hands. This girl, Winter, in the hands of NTRP…is the stuff of nightmares for an old man like myself. Good luck, Mr. Llewellyn.”
    Reza gave him a quick hug; Martin stared aggressively, then nodded once and turned away without a word. Mrs. Cardigan reached toward him, her bony fingers landing so lightly on his arm that he barely felt them. The skin on the backs of her hands was waxed-paper thin and translucent; veins and tendons stood out when she gently squeezed his forearm.
    “You’re going to do just fine, Andover,” she said. “Trust your instincts—they have served you well so far. I hope to see you again very soon.”
    “I…uh, hope so, too,” said Andy.
    Silas opened the door and called for Penny. “Let’s get you two home, shall we?”
    “After you’ve seen Andy and Penny off, come back down for a moment, won’t you?” Mrs. Cardigan said to Silas.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said, following Billy up the stairs.
    “Man, why does that guy hate me so much?” Andy asked at the top step.
    “Martin? Don’t worry