I’ve been watching him for days now. When he leaves his house to go to
school, I’m the one carefully tailing him, switching cars every day to
make myself look less suspicious. If he ever sneaks out of his
second-story room, I’ll be the one silently watching from a nearby tree.
In class when he turns, feeling eyes on the back of his head, I’m the
one who sent the hair on the back of his neck up on end. I am the girl
whose shadow is always slightly overlapping his.
Being assigned to watch him almost makes me
feel like I’m not a stalker. Though I’m only 17, I’m a full-fledged
member of the organization known as O.P.U.L.E.N.C.E. I’ve been with them
since the tender age of five. It’s my home. Being an orphan, my office
is also my permanent residence, the couch a fold-out bed. There are
many others like me: no family. A lot of us are loners and haven’t
chosen this route for ourselves.
I’m a tracker. I have been for years and some might say that I am the
best at not being the best. In other words, I’m great at being
invisible. Or at not being noticed. It’s not as hard as the others in
the organization think. Being young and female is good, since most we
track are young. Seeing me around younger people – my age, actually –
doesn’t raise alarm bells. It helps that I’m cute. With a small frame,
light hazel eyes, and short blond hair that curls under my chin, I don’t
appear threatening. Of course, my organization-funded training doesn’t
back that theory.
Soon I won’t be tracking down others with the power. They are finally
going to give me an apprentice. After years of mastering everything I’ve
been taught, they see my potential. That’s not to say I know
everything. Even with my extended life I won’t be able to learn all the
things I want to. If only this annoying boy would show the signs. It’s
been almost a week. If he doesn’t show soon, they’ll reassign me. That
much longer until I get my apprentice.
So here I am, sipping a latté and waiting for the Target to leave for
school. I have been put in all of his classes in case something happens
there, though I graduated high school years ago. Private tutors sped
things up. With no family or personal ties, I had lots of time to devote
to my studies. Martial arts black belts. Twelve languages, not
including English. Everything a girl needs for a serious career in the
agency. Such positions of power are not handed out easily. You must
prove yourself many times over.
The Target and I have never spoken, but I know a lot about him. His file
told me some, but after watching him for only a few days, I feel
confident in saying that I know things no one else does. Not just the
obvious, either. He resents his father and is protective of his mother,
which makes me suspect the father is less than faithful. He smiles often
but doesn’t make a lot of eye contact. He usually only speaks when
spoken to. Although he has many friends, he isn’t close with any of
them. The Target is observant, a watcher. This leads me to believe we
would get along if he shows any promise.
I look down at my watch, then back at his house a few blocks away. The
Target is late, which means I’ll be late too. Today my ride is a shiny
black sports car, not out of place in this suburb full of midlife-crisis
men. I turn on the engine impatiently. I’m fiddling with the radio when
I hear something. I don’t feel any immediate danger, and I know to
trust those feelings. But I also know that something is off.
Just as I am about to get out of the car and pretend to look in the
trunk, the passenger door opens. I look up in surprise as the Target
slides into the seat next to me. I grin, quite pleased by this turn of
events. This is definitely a good sign. Perhaps intuition is strong in
him. That would be good for my apprentice to have, complementary. I
could handle having to deal with that.
“Hello, Lenna. Why have you been following me for a week now?” the
Target asks lightly, conversationally, his first words ever said in my
direction.
Ah, one of my many aliases. The organization set it up so that whenever
I’m on a case, I get a new name, past, and present. It’s very powerful.
The organization can basically do anything it needs; it has people
everywhere imaginable. I’m just one of many, though there aren’t that
many at the top, as I am. They don’t trust many to be trackers. Or to be
apprentices. All of the full members have the power, though we control
others to get things done.
My smile deepens as I say in my authoritative, professional voice, “My
real name is Jade. I am a witch of the moon and a tracker for the
organization known as O.P.U.L.E.N.C.E. You are also a witch. We would
like to formally welcome you into the organization as my apprentice.
Here is my card for verification.”
Jade Wordsworth
Tracker for O.P.U.L.E.N.C.E
Official Political Understanding Lending Everyone Navigation for Co-Existing Ethereals
Office hours: 8 a.m.-3 p.m. Mon-Sat
Phone: 555-5555
Proud league of witches of the sun and moon.
Worldwide.
“What do you mean ‘moon and sun’? Or ‘tracker’?” he asks, still looking at my card like it’s going to disappear.
“Types of magic. Moon is all about spells, the sun is more potion-based,
though each type of witchcraft involves the other somehow. As a
tracker, I find people like you and I bring them to O.P.U.L.E.N.C.E.
Every witch must register, train, and become a member by law. In fact,
the organization is like a government targeted toward witches,” I
explain with a smile, loving the fact that this time I get to teach the
newbie.
“Magic? Seriously?” he asks, eyes wide, meeting mine. They are large, yellow, and catlike.
I click a button on my left, automatically locking the doors. I put the
car into drive, pulling out onto the road. As an afterthought I add as a
courtesy, “I think you had better come with me.” .
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