I Am Titanium (Pax Black Book 1) (12 page)

After a few blocks, he crossed some mysterious boundary and the first floors of all the buildings became shops. Diners. Uniform rentals. A deli. He passed skinny trees planted in grated holes in the sidewalk. There must be an underground watering system. The streets were busier, with people going in and out of the shops.

There were more taxis now, more traffic. More smells of food. People smoking on the street. Car exhaust. The smell of trash, dirt. Sometimes the smell of flowers—a couple of the trees were blooming. When the wind gusted, the petals blew off the trees like snow.

Pax wanted to taste something. He wanted to walk into a deli, or a diner, or even a restaurant. The problem was, he didn’t know which one he should try. Some of the better ones had menus posted on their windows, and he read through them. He thought about burgers and fries and fried chicken and nachos. He didn’t know which one he wanted, so he left them alone. There’d be time to eat later, and he wasn’t really hungry.

There was a 7-Eleven nearby. He bought a Slurpee and sucked gently on the straw, tasting the sweet, freezing concoction. It was delicious.

He still felt like he should be doing something more, but he had no idea what. Maybe he should have stayed up in Mom’s apartment and worked on his research. Maybe he should have just waited until Scarlett was out of school so she could show him around. The more he walked, the more out of touch and out of place he felt, but at the same time, he didn’t want to stop seeing the city, didn’t want to stop being outside.

The wind shifted again, and carried the sound of chanting toward him.

“God hates fags! God hates fags!”

And that’s when he saw the black tentacles.

Scarlett reached the front door of the school and felt her guts churning like they did every day. She
hated
school. She hated the way the teachers treated her with pity or scorn, the way the other students ignored her, or worse. The pretty girls treated her with contempt. The boys didn’t even know she existed. And in her heart she knew everything she’d done with her mind last night and her body this morning wouldn’t make any difference. Not to the people here.

She glanced down at her tighter T-shirt and nearly smiled.
Well, maybe something would be noticed.

Deep inside Scarlett, buried in tendrils of negative energy, Akllana’chikni’pai reached out. She had power now, more than Scarlett could imagine, and could see and feel everything Scarlett could feel. Now she wanted to do more. Despite what had happened to her, despite the negative energy that pulsed and surrounded her like a living thing, Akllana’chikni’pai felt confident. The negative energy couldn’t hurt her, so there was no harm in starting the job while she waited for an opportunity to break free.

She gently manipulated Scarlett’s mind, putting in the suggestion that, before class, Scarlett really should go back online and search what the humans called the Internet for her classes to find the information she hadn’t found last night. Scarlett checked her watch, decided it couldn’t hurt, and headed for the computer lab.

Akllana’chikni’pai waited until Scarlett was logged on and then took over.

It was easy to send Scarlett into a fugue state, easier still to reach one of the tendrils into the computer to access the Internet. In the next few minutes, Akllana’chikni’pai reached out beyond the silly little machines the school used, out into the main servers where the information was stored. Then she began truly exploring.

What she found horrified her.

Cities destroyed the countryside that fed them. The industrial farms, the underground pumping of chemicals in exchange for oil, the poisoned water and poisoned soil. Bees dying. Species murdered by the thousands. And those few species the humans did attempt to preserve were captured and forced to breed. People murdered each other for the slightest of reasons—mainly ownership disputes—and treated each other as property.

A thousand years gone and nothing had changed but the knives with which they sacrificed each other. The altars no longer ran with blood, but with money.

Slaves. All of them still slaves.

Once, Akllana’chikni’pai had thought she loved humanity. After her time trapped, she had learned better. Humans were a poison in every biome they touched. To bring them into the astral civilization would be madness: they would fear, then hate, then destroy what they hated, and then destroy every biome they touched.

They had to be isolated. They had to be left on this planet to die under the weight of their own poison. It was too bad they would take so many other promising species with them.

Akllana’chikni’pai turned her research away from humanity and searched for any information about the negative energy. All corporeal species gave off positive and negative energy, but the tendrils were something new, something she had not seen before.

When she finished her search, she realized the humans weren’t even aware of them.

But that makes no sense,
Akllana’chikni’pai thought. How could they not be aware of something that so drastically affected their lives? The negative energy could control the humans, make them do its bidding. How could that not be noticed?

What if it’s a new species? What if it’s intelligent?

What if it’s a worse threat than humanity?

Akllana’chikni’pai let her consciousness sink back into the
pacha
buried in Scarlett’s body. It was nearly time for her to break free of the tendrils. But first, Scarlett had to move. Someone else wanted the computer.

Around her, the tentacles shifted and rolled.

Scarlett blinked.

A teacher who hadn’t been there before was putting a stack of books and papers on the desk at the front of the computer classroom. A line of scrawny freshmen were shuffling through the door. She glanced at the clock and swore under her breath. She had to get out of here. She was going to be late for physics.

A girl was poking Scarlett’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re not in the right class. This is the freshman computer class. And that’s Emily’s spot. Not your spot. If you’re too poor to have a computer at home, go use the library’s.
Some
of us have class right now. And futures to think of.”

Something in Scarlett twisted. Rage, far greater than what the little bitch’s statement deserved, welled up in her. Scarlett stood, somehow gracefully swinging her massive, overstuffed backpack onto her shoulder at the same time. In a voice only the little overly-made-up blonde could hear, Scarlett hissed, “Don’t be such a cunt.”

“What?” The girl’s eyes went wide.

The desks were lined up side to side with an aisle down the middle. Scarlett had to walk right behind the blonde to get out. And as Scarlett did, she leaned over until her lips were touching the blonde’s ear. Scarlett whispered, “Someday you’re going to be old and fat and bitter, and nobody’s going to think you’re pretty anymore. And you’re
still
going to be a cunt.”

The girl breathed in sharply and bent over her desk, typing furiously and blinking away tears.

Scarlett walked out, wondering
what the fuck did I say that for?

Her skin pricked all over, like it was rubbing against ice. That wasn’t
like
her. Sure the girl was being a pretentious little shit, but that? That was overkill. Worse, it had felt good.

Maybe it’s all this astral shit,
she thought.
Maybe it’s that stupid bitch, trying to get back into my head.
Scarlett didn’t know whether to be more afraid of the idea that Lana was trying to get control of Scarlett’s body, or that she, Scarlett, was acting that way all by herself.

Either way, Scarlett ducked out of the room as fast as she could without looking like an idiot.

Black tentacles, slinking like snakes stalking prey, followed in Scarlett’s wake.

Chapter 9

P
ax walked through the streets, following the tentacles of negative energy. They oozed through the apartment buildings, heading toward a cross street. A sleeping homeless person tucked back in an alleyway had a deranged smile on her face and was repeating the word fags over and over to herself. “Faaaaags. God hates dem faaaaags.”

Pax remembered the tentacles from his hospital room. Terry had seemed worried about them, but they hadn’t appeared since and Pax had been thinking about other things. Mostly about Scarlett, to be honest. And sex. Sex had been…

Pax grinned and shook his head.
Giant black tentacles are slipping through the streets, and I’m thinking about sex? Focus, idiot.

Pax followed the awkward, fat eels of negative energy into the street, belatedly realizing the oncoming traffic—six taxis and a delivery truck—had the right of way. The chanting was lost under the honking and screeching and shouting as he backed onto the curb with the flats of his hands held out.

“Hey!” one of the taxi drivers yelled at him. “Watch where you’re going, you stupid fag!”

Pax crossed the street. The drivers seemed oblivious to the squelching sounds the tentacles made as they popped and crushed under their tires. The other people on the sidewalk sneered at him, unable to see the black snot rolling out of their nostrils.

Negative energy was an infection. The more of it around, the more it spread. Everyone knew that. Everyone experienced it. But this was different. This negative energy was more than just a bad mood or someone being a jerk. This was real and frightening and seemed to be sentient.

So where is it coming from?

An old guy, must have been sixty, with salt-and-pepper hair and dressed in a dark-gray shirt and a black vest, standing outside a Greek restaurant, spat at Pax’s feet as he walked by: an invitation to a fight. Pax passed the man without making eye contact.

God hates fags!
The chanting was louder now.

The next block had a new building going up; the structural supports were covered with sheets of flapping black plastic. The street was blocked off with orange-and-white sawhorses. A bulldozer bumped off the curb and into the street. A passageway made of plywood and chain-link fence lined the other side of the street. The negative energy, like a good citizen, followed the walkway, twisting around the ankles of the pedestrians, making some of them stumble.

Pax followed the flow of the energy to see where it was going.

Under the shade of the plywood the air felt as though the oxygen had been replaced with poison. Around him, the other pedestrians gasped for breath, their mouths opening and closing like fish dangling at the end of a line.

The walkway ended at a park, which was surrounded by protesters carrying signs.

YOU’RE GOING TO HELL.

GOD HATES FAGS.

GOD HATES AMERICA.

PRAY FOR MORE DEAD SOLDIERS.

GOD HATES YOU.

The protestors stood on the sidewalk, each holding three or four rainbow-and flag-colored signs. They looked like butterflies of hate.

In the park was a group of about fifty black people dressed in sharp black tuxes and suits and brightly colored flowered dresses. An Amazonian woman in a white, satiny wedding dress stood next to a small, slight woman in a tux—sans jacket—an arm curled around her waist, smiling stiffly. Under a green canvas rain shelter was a tiered wedding cake, stacks of sandwiches covered in plastic wrap, and trays of pickles and cheese.

The woman in the suit bared her teeth. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around her wife’s waist was in her pocket, gripping something. Keys… a knife. Her other arm was loosening. She was going to go off any second now.

Not that Pax could blame her. The whole park was seething with flopping, slapping tentacles of negative energy. They were smothering babies in strollers. They were fondling the cake.

The black tentacles writhed through the crowd, feeding off the hatred and spreading it in an ever-widening circle. The negative energy in the area was even starting to get to Pax. He could feel himself wanting to smash through the lines of picketers and beat them into bloody pulp. Which is exactly what the picketers wanted.

Suddenly, the woman in the suit charged the line of protestors. A set of keys whipped out of her pocket, flailing at the end of a self-defense keychain.

If he did nothing, the woman would get arrested. The protestors chanting “
God hates fags”
would get to press charges. Then they would sue the woman and probably win. And the media would be all over it. Cops and news trucks were parked at the end of the park. Waiting to pounce.

Pax wasn’t going to let it happen.

He shoved bodies out of his way, ignoring indignant shouts. Ignoring the hands trying to grab him. The woman in the suit was headed straight for one of the protestors, an old guy in shorts, sandals, and white tube socks. She was way too close for anyone to stop her. Pax sped up without thinking. He reached the old guy first and shoved him out of the way.

Way, way out of the way.

Oh, yeah. Superpowers.

One second Pax had his hands against the guy’s T-shirt (
GOD HATES FAGS.COM
,) feeling the tacky ink under his hand and catching a sudden whiff of the guy’s deodorant. The next second the guy was flying through the air, clinging to the signs like some kind of bat wings.

Across the street.

And into the construction area. Over the heads of the crowd, over the fence, and into the sheets of black plastic. The guy flew through a gap between two panels of plastic and disappeared.

The crowd went quiet. They’d been making an almost earsplitting level of noise Pax hadn’t noticed until it stopped.

A scream echoed across the street.

Something slammed into Pax’s back, knocking him onto his face on the side of the curb. If he’d been human, he would have broken his jaw.

Metal whipped against his skull, slamming his chin and cheek into the ground again and again. It hurt. Bad.

He remembered he could turn off the pain. He did. He rolled over, grabbed a fistful of keys, and looked up.

The woman in the suit had been attacking him. Not to defend the protestor he’d just flung across the street. But because she had to attack
somebody
. The negative energy was oozing out of her nose and eyes and her wide-open, gasping mouth. A huge tentacle had driven into her body, almost as if it was controlling her actions.

The guys in the tuxes jerked the woman off him. Her keys crashed onto the sidewalk and disappeared as someone kicked them. Her eyes bulged so much they looked like they were going to pop out. She got one arm free and it clawed for him until the guys in tuxes got her under control again.

“Tom!” A woman pushed through the crowd near Pax and howled. “Where is Tom? What did you do with Tom?”

I don’t know,
thought Pax.
But I can fix him. I just have to get to him.

Pax tried to sit up, but other hands pushed him back. Protestor hands. Pedestrian hands. Hands that ended in white satin gloves. They pressed him onto the warm sidewalk. He could have thrown them off, but he was trying not to hurt anyone else.

He saw the wooden stake at the end of the sign coming down toward his chest.

But it was too late.

Scarlett walked into her physics class just as the second bell rang. She was almost the last one to arrive. The teacher, Mr. Vogel, looked at her with sad, watery, old-man eyes, like he was a dog that had been waiting for hours and hours for her to come home and feed him. He turned toward the whiteboard and started writing formulas. The back of his shirt was untucked, and he smelled like too much mouthwash.

Scarlett resisted the urge to scratch his head. He was going bald, and if you wanted to see his sad white-guy face turn bright red, you made fun of his bald spot. Instead she sat down.

She was shaking. It felt like her knees were going to collapse. She even felt a little dizzy. Should she be feeling like this? She wasn’t even human anymore. She was vaguely aware of people staring at her. Did she look weird or something? She breathed into her hand. It smelled like latte. She wanted to run to the bathroom and check her appearance, but too many people were already staring at her. Ugh. She felt awkward. Sick-awkward. If Mr. Vogel said one word to her about being late,
one
word…

Mr. Vogel cleared his throat.

The door whipped open and three girls walked in. Mr. Vogel looked at them instead of her.
Whew.

Jamie McIntyre, Heather Simms, and Casey Jackson. Dressed in the same uniforms as everyone else, sure, but spiced up. They wore matching maroon-and-gold headbands. Long, silky brown hair. Matching maroon and leopard-spotted, custom nail art. Matching, calf-high, maroon Chucks. Their uniforms had even been ironed. Probably by their maids.

Behind their backs, they were called the Bitch Queens. The teachers even called them the Heathers after some old movie. Three of the most popular girls in the school, making an entrance the way they always did: late. They were so powerful that none of the teachers could give them detention anymore. Because of their parents, mostly.

Normally, Scarlett was invisible to them. Not popular enough to be either a friend or an enemy. Not rich enough to be tolerated. Not weird enough to be mocked. They were just a minor annoyance to Scarlett during physics class, mostly because Jamie McIntyre sat behind her and talked nonstop.

Scarlett took in a deep breath. Let it out.
I just need to get through the day.

Akllana’chikni’pai felt the change in the tentacles just before they attacked.

She took a moment to curse her stupidity. The tentacles hadn’t just been restraining her; they’d been
investigating
her. Searching out her weaknesses as they entangled and tried to crush her astral form. She’d thought her astral defenses were powerful enough to hold the smothering, slimy tentacles, and up until then, they had been.

Not anymore.

A single black tendril had stopped writhing, gone from being a tentacle to being a chisel that gouged and dug its way into Akllana’chikni’pai’s form. And it
hurt.

The negative energy in the room grew exponentially and poured itself into Scarlett’s body. Akllana’chikni’pai could feel its strength, not just in the tentacle that threatened to cut her in half, but in the changes in Scarlett’s body and the attitudes of everyone in the room.

Everything was about to go very, very bad.

Another pair of tentacles turned to chisels, and Akllana’chikni’pai, with no other choice, gathered the energy she’d absorbed from the sun and started using it.

The three girls paused at the front of the class, looking over their subjects, and something inside Scarlett’s chest went
pop
.

“Oh, look,” she said. “It’s the three little cunts.”

And then, because it was just too impossible to be happening, and the whole class was sitting there with their mouths open or tittering or staring at her with great, big, sad, old-person eyes (Mr. Vogel) or, in the case of the Bitch Queens, probably deciding how to punish her, Scarlett added, “They huffed and they puffed and they
blew
the football team down.”

She stuck her tongue into her cheek and made the blow-job face.