courses on social
etiquette, and peer integration—and none of it ever changed the fact that I really
hated human high school. Every time I started a new school to get close to a new charge,
I found myself rethinking my career choice.
Back before I chose to go to tracker school, rather than finishing out Kanin high
school to become a farmer or a teacher or maybe a horse trainer, I remember watching
the trackers come and go from missions. They all seemed so worldly and powerful. They
earned the respect and admiration of everybody in Doldastam.
I imagined the kinds of adventures they must be having, traveling the world. Most
of them stayed in North America, but sometimes I’d hear stories of a tracker going
off to England or Italy, and some even went as far as Japan.
The prospect of traveling and protecting my people sounded exciting and noble. Then
I had graduated, and I spent the next four years actually doing the job. If only I
had known how much of my “missions” as a tracker involved wearing itchy school uniforms
and trying to keep up on slang so I could fit in with spoiled rich kids, I might’ve
reconsidered.
It was during lunch on my fifth day in Chicago, as I followed Linus off the high school
campus, when I realized they were watching him, too. I wasn’t exactly sure who “they”
were, but I’d spotted the car—a black sedan with tinted windows—parked nearby several
times since yesterday morning, and that was too much for coincidence.
As I trailed behind Linus and two of his friends, deliberately staying far enough
behind so he wouldn’t see me, I wondered if the mystery men in the sedan had noticed
me yet. If they were staking out Linus, then they had to have seen me, since I’d been
interacting with him. But that didn’t mean they knew who I was. At least not yet.
Tracking was usually simple when done correctly. The first step was surveillance.
I found the target—in this case Linus Berling—and for the first day or two I did nothing
but watch him. The goal was to figure out who he was and what he liked, so it would
be easier to earn his trust.
The second step was infiltrating his life, which was why I was wearing a ridiculous
prep school uniform with a blue plaid skirt and a cardigan that felt too warm.
With a combination of bribery, charm, and a bit of Kanin skill, I’d gotten as many
classes with Linus as I could, and started bumping into him “accidentally.” We’d talk
a little, I’d bring up his interests, laugh at his jokes, and ingratiate myself to
him.
This would lead to step three. Once I had the target’s trust, I’d drop the bombshell
on them about who they really were, and hope like hell that they’d believe me. Usually
they already had inclinations that they were different, and if I’d done my job right,
everything would fall into place.
Then it was just a matter of getting them back home, preferably with trust fund in
hand.
Now there was this issue with the black sedan, bogging things down right at the beginning
of the second step, and I had to figure out what to do.
Linus and his friends from school had gone into a restaurant, but I didn’t follow
them. I stayed outside, watching through the front window as they sat down at a table.
In his dark blue blazer, Linus’s shoulders appeared broad, but he was actually tall
and lean. After watching him fall half a dozen times during gym class, I knew he’d
be no good in a fight.
The restaurant was crowded, and his friends were talking and laughing with him. Whoever
was following him in the dark sedan, they were trying to be inconspicuous, which meant
that they wouldn’t want to create a scene in a place like this. For now, Linus was
safe.
I walked away, going around the restaurant and cutting through the alley. When I came
back to the street, the sedan was parked a few feet from me, but I stayed in the alley,
peering around the corner. I