“Fuck.” I ran a hand through my hair.
“We’re gonna need a Tock to give you enough time to write the spell.”
“I know,” I growled. Only about four percent of the population had the power to manipulate time. It didn’t give me a ton of options. My damn pick for Tock had gotten himself arrested for felony breaking and entering. Stupid ass Andros Traylor. I pulled out my laptop and hacked into the Hidden City police reporting system. “He’s on hold. Meaning another state wants him.” I pursed my lips and shook my head. If I could go break into the Hidden City prison and fucking smack him across the face, I would. Of course, if I could break into the prison and get to him, I’d probably drag him right to the Pinnacle to help me. But the chances of pulling off that kind of break in and going unnoticed … I needed the Pinnacle to be my only job. I didn’t need people looking for me before I even got to it.
“What state? Are they gonna transfer him?” Dad asked.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t say. Lazy ass admin probably hasn’t gotten around to figuring it out and typing it up.” As pissed as I was at the cops for finding him, I was twice as pissed at him for getting caught. Stupid fucking criminal. As far as I could tell, the bank break in was a drunken dare or something. I rolled my eyes. “Now, I don’t even know if I want him, if he can get caught so easily.”
Dad sighed. “Well, you better start looking for another.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know.”
“You could try a girl.”
I shook my head. All the recruits I had in mind were dudes, because, frankly, they were less drama than women. Plus, I had zero time for romantic theatrics and shit going down in my group, so I didn’t want a mix. We needed to get in, out, and move the fuck on with our lives. Like a one-night stand with no fake phone number exchange afterward and no regrets. Mutual benefits followed by mutual disinterest.
I was not gonna hash out the old girl versus guy topic with my dad again. So, I pulled open some other profiles. “My two other top picks are solid.”
To even get inside the Pinnacle’s main building, I’d need someone to cause chaos and distraction. Malcolm Bier fit the bill there. I swiped to open the file that held all his personal details, from favorite breakfast cereal to anarchist magazine cover with him on it. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and shirtless, because All-American hot abs were clearly the best way to recruit new anarchists, at least that seemed to be Resist Magazine’s strategy. Malcolm was an Icefire, like seventy percent of the natural born magical population. But … he was also a nineteen-year-old prodigy with a penchant for using his fire power to blow things up. His anarchist tendencies were what made him appealing. Not the six pack abs or that 1950’s flip to his blond hair. Definitely not the chin dimple. I went back to the magazine cover and pinched, zooming in to see if they’d photoshopped that in. But nope. Looked like Malcolm scored a 10/10 for brains and brawn. I studied his eyes and hoped that his hatred of the Pinnacle would help tip him over the edge and get him to help me.
“Anything new on Malcom Bier?” I asked.
“No, he’s been low key since the bombing. Staying at that school. Probably trying to keep the heat off him so he doesn’t end up caught like that Traylor fellow.”
I sighed and nodded. “Well. He’s still a go then. He and Grayson are both at MAD.”
I closed out Malcolm’s file and pulled up the picture of Grayson Mars. Again, this guy was on a magazine cover where he (eyeroll) posed in his underwear, showing off his rich-boy-has-a-personal-trainer body. His chocolate eyes bored holes into me while I reread the gossip. He was the son of the billionaire who’d gotten us commuter rockets to the planet Mars. Now there was an entire colony being built there. All because Grayson’s daddy could work wonders with air. His hardworking father was an African American with incredible natural born Force power, power he’d passed onto his son. I looked back up at Dad.
“Grayson Mars?” I asked. Whenever dad could slip away from the Pinnacle, he was shadowing these guys for me. When he remembered, that was.
“Cops still can’t prove he started Crush,” he reported. Grayson was rumored to have spearheaded the first magical motorcycle gang. “But seems like he skipped out of MAD at least one night last week and met up with a couple guys on bikes. I saw him make one of the bikes hover.”
“Nice.” My heart beat faster. Hovering a motorcycle took a shit ton of control. I licked my lips as I pictured it. The gossip magazines called him the orgasm king, because he could use his force to create the best suction. But air pressure, lifting objects—I was far more interested in that.
“Not proof of concept,” Dad warned. “We don’t know if he can hover a person. A machine is a lot less fragile.”
I waved away his concern. “It’s totally proof of concept.” Grayson had bad boy streak and an ability to cover his tracks. Perfect qualities in a man. And he hated his daddy with a passion—hatred that was good for me, since his Dad was running for a Pinnacle seat. I hoped his hatred of Daddy would translate into hatred of the Pinnacle.
The billionaire’s son part was the worst of it, because Grayson had proven multiple times that he had an ego and sense of entitlement a mile long. It meant the way I’d have to go about recruiting him would be … unique. I glanced at my father. I was definitely gonna have to keep Dad busy while I brought these guys around. Because I’d do whatever it took to get them on board. No need for my old man to get all ragey.
“You could always just climb the building to the seventh floor,” Dad protested. The seventh floor had the least protection, because the Pinnacle security team didn’t think people would penetrate mid-building. The bottom six floors and the top three were where most of the security was focused. Where a helicopter might try to land, or where most magicals would try a first or second floor entry. But most magicals weren’t Grayson Mars. Lucky number seven was going to be our entry point.
“If I’m climbing, I can’t be covering all of us in shadow. If we fly, I can basically make us invisible,” I countered. “I can suck all the light out of that patch of sky. We need Grayson.”
“His dad has a press conference coming up for the election.”
“Is that relevant?” I asked.
Dad shrugged. “I dunno.” He blinked and his expression dulled as he looked around the car. “Wait. What are we doing in the car? Where are we going?”
And there it was—his memory had gone out again. I pressed my lips together. I had difficulty swallowing for a minute as I watched his animated expression fade. But I didn’t quite give up. Not yet.
“Dad?” I tried. Once in a while, prompting his memory helped. “Do you remember that time we went to the grocery store and I announced I was a fruitarian?”
Dad’s eyebrows furrowed and he didn’t respond.
I pursed my lips and blew out a breath, trying to stay focused on him even though a sheen had started to form over my eyes. “Do you remember how you went out and hired this chef to make meat fruit?” He’d hired some guy to make a minced meat dish dipped in custard and painted to look like apples. “I almost puked to death.” I laughed at the memory, triggering the tears that had built up in my eyes. They splashed down my cheeks. But as Dad’s face remained impassive; the tears of laughter turned into tears for another reason.