Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (12 page)

Smaller battles in Burbank and Van Nuys added to the ruination of a once-sprawling metropolis. Residents fled as neighborhoods were shut down and evacuated. It was the first major city to fall during the five-year conflict.

In a last-ditch effort to save themselves, the final three studios relocated to Canada. The money went with it, leaving the rest of Hollywood a virtual ghost town. With its main sources of income gone, L.A. struggled hardest to recover during the postwar years. The folks left behind had rebuilt small communities of services, businesses, unremarkable restaurants, and bars. It would never be what it was during the Corps’ heyday.

“People want interactive entertainment,” Gage said, “not moving pictures in two dimensions. It’s a shame, really, because some of the films from a hundred years ago are really quite good.”

“I admit, I am not a fan,” I replied. “You’ll have to introduce me some time.”

“I’d like that.”

The purple potatoes on my plate looked less and less appetizing the longer I stared at them. Movement caught my eye, just over Gage’s right shoulder. Someone was standing near the far wall, by the door. Even from a distance of twenty feet, the woman’s eyes flashed brightly, the only part of her that wasn’t dulled, almost opaque. That was silly, though—people weren’t see-through.

“Teresa? What are you staring at?”

“The woman over there.”

He turned around. I blinked and she was gone, like she’d never existed. That was impossible. I would have seen her leave, or heard her shoes squeaking on the tile floor. Gage didn’t say anything, just faced forward and folded his hands on top of the table. I waited for him to speak and realized too late he was clocking me; listening, smelling, observing everything he could.

“You’re not okay, are you?” he asked.

“I’m just a little off. It’s been a stressful day, Gage. I think I need to lie down for a while.”

“Maybe Dr. Seward—”

“Forget it.”

I stood up and the ground dipped. I gripped the table and stayed upright somehow. The tabletop was vibrating. I backed up, hit my chair, and plunked back down into the seat. A pair of handprints marred the table’s wood surface, burned right into the grain, dark enough to appear black even through the purple glaze.

“Teresa—”

“Don’t!”

I only meant to hold up my hand as a “stop right there” gesture, and then something entirely unexpected happened—a haze of purple energy, like a wad of cotton candy, surged from my palm and hit Gage directly in the chest. He fell backward, bounced off a nearby chair, and landed on the ground in a groaning heap.

Oh, God. “No …”

The deep-seated nausea returned, twisting my stomach in its iron grip. The purple hue over my vision deepened to a shade one step up from black. I ran to the door, propelled by panic. I thought I’d explode if I couldn’t release the energy churning inside me.

Sight dwindling into nonexistence, I continued on by instinct until I slammed against a glass door. It shattered. I felt no glass cutting me, no bursts of pain. My boots crunched across the littered shards until chilly air brushed my face. The sun must have set; I couldn’t feel its gentle warmth.

I tilted my head toward the sky, eyes wide and unseeing, and let go. The explosion of energy surged upward with the dizzying force of a water hydrant bursting open. Up to the sky it went, and I felt it more than saw it. Felt it until I had nothing left, and the blackness rocked me to unconsciousness.

T
he strong, medicinal odor of antiseptic placed me back in the Medical Center before I fully registered waking up. My body was too heavy, as though held down under a thick, oppressive blanket. I was also warm—so warm I wanted to stay asleep. Cocooned in velvet, rocked by indifference, avoiding all purple.

Gage.

“Gage!” I shouted the word louder than I thought possible, torn from my dry throat by panic and fear. My eyelids peeled apart, letting in glaring light. Yellowish, fluorescent light.

Warm hands pressed against my arm, and then, “I’m right here, Teresa, I’m fine.”

A shadow distorted my vision, and it took some effort to pull him into focus. Then he was there, tired and concerned, but unhurt. The silver in his eyes sparkled as he took me in.

“I’m sorry,” I said, groping blindly for his hands. They were warm, strong, comforting. I had almost killed him and the idea of it made my insides freeze.

“It’s okay.” He pulled me close, and I snaked my arms around his waist and pressed my face into his shoulder. He held me, his heart thumping wildly against mine.

“It’s not okay.” My words sounded muffled, ineffective against the fabric of his cotton shirt. “I couldn’t control it, Gage. I didn’t know what I was doing. I should have said something.”

“I’m not hurt; it’s fine.”

His voice rumbled in his chest, a sound as soothing as the gentle way he stroked my hair with his hand. My stomach fluttered. The cramps were gone, replaced by hunger. That final dispersal of power had released whatever force was building up, turning my insides to mush. I felt tired, but better, and was reluctant to let go of him.

After a few minutes, he helped me lie back against the pillow, and then raised the bed into a sitting position. Same room as before, complete with a small dent where I’d hit the door this morning. Yesterday?

“How long this time?” I asked.

“Just a few hours.” Gage perched on the side of the bed. “It’s a little after midnight.”

“Are the others back yet?”

“An hour ago.” The change in tone alarmed me.

“Frost?”

He picked at a piece of nonexistent lint on the bed sheet. “It looks like she got into it with Specter. She was hurt pretty badly when they found her, had lost a lot of blood. Dr. Seward is with her down the hall. He’ll be along soon.”

“Is she going to die?”

“I don’t know.”

Grief came like a gut punch, as strong as before. Five dead, one critical. Only six alive and ready to fight. Five if Dr. Seward strapped me down to the bed and ran his damnable tests. Sedatives were the only things that would keep me out of this, and only in strong doses. I had the power to stop Specter, I knew I did. I just had to learn to control it.

“So I guess I’m stuck here overnight, huh?” The idea depressed me.

“At least. Dr. Seward wants to keep an eye on you for a while, make sure you don’t go nova again. You know, you turned the clouds purple for about thirty seconds.”

“I’m lucky I didn’t bring down an airplane. At first I thought having new powers meant that I was chosen for something special. Now I wonder if it was just some sort of cosmic mistake.”

The door swung open. Dr. Seward and William entered in a mirror image of yesterday, with grimmer expressions. William moved stiffly, as if afraid of getting too close.

Great, now I was scaring my teammates. “So what’s the diagnosis, Doc?” I asked, uninterested in contrived greetings. “Am I dying?”

I meant it as a joke, but Dr. Seward didn’t smile. He just looked at me. I’ve heard the expression “blood ran cold,” just never understood it until it happened. Every extremity went numb, from my face to my toes. I think I forgot to breathe for a few seconds, and then Gage’s hand tightened around mine. I sucked in a ragged breath through clenched teeth.

“I believe you may be, Trance,” Seward finally said. His
voice had that cool, doctor-mode thing going on, but his face was a study in frustration—like he couldn’t quite believe he’d come up with such a diagnosis. I couldn’t quite believe it, either.

“What do you mean?” Gage asked.

“Please understand, this is still very new to us. We’ve never experienced a powerless Ranger receiving different powers before, so no one knew what to expect.” He scratched his unshaven chin, radiating frustration. “Traditionally a Ranger’s body adapts to its power, especially when the power develops before adolescence. Your body was attuned to your original Trance powers. You weren’t built to channel this much energy. It’s like forcing one hundred megahertz of energy through a cable capable of carrying a quarter of that.”

“I
am
allergic.” The words escaped before I could stop them. It had seemed crazy the first time the thought occurred to me—not so crazy now. This was stupid. I couldn’t stop Specter if I was dead from power overload. “You’re wrong, you have to be. We just need to figure how to get that extra current through, is all.”

“You are not a lamp in need of rewiring, Trance, you’re a human being.”

“I’m MetaHuman. My body will adapt.”

“Maybe.” Seward stepped closer, as stern as a prison warden. “Every time you use your powers, you run the risk of stroke, heart attack, an aneurysm, and any number of things that are equally fatal.”

“Yeah, and Specter could jump into you next time you
take a nap and then take me out with a syringe and an air bubble,” I retorted. “I get it, okay? Don’t you dare try to make me feel sorry for myself. Just give me whatever drugs you can, and let me do my job. Which hasn’t changed, by the way. We still have an island prison to watch and a homicidal Bane to neutralize.”

“We’re on that,” William said. He still looked like I had just killed his cat, but his voice retained every bit of its formidable tone. “Flex and I are heading to New York for first patrol at 0600 hours. We’ll rotate every thirty-six hours. The four that are still here can work on locating Specter.”

I turned his words over in my mind. It was a good plan. “Okay.”

William nodded and left, as if his only reason for being there was getting my approval. They should learn to take orders from someone else in case their faith turned out to be misplaced. I didn’t want to lead, any more than I wanted to die.

No, I couldn’t think that way. This was a minor setback. I’d figure out how to channel the energy, even if I had to blast it to the sky every three days.

“We’ll get you started on metabolic supplements,” Dr. Seward said. “For now, get some rest. At least until morning. And I do mean rest.”

“I’ll rest, I promise,” I said.

With another pointed look, Dr. Seward left and pulled the door behind him. I stared at it, unsure why he’d done that.

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” Gage said, “if you let me stay with you tonight.”

I arched both eyebrows; I’d have been less surprised if he’d asked to shave my head bald and paint it with green polka dots.

He chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that, Teresa. We don’t know when or where Specter will attack again. You’ve just been through a trauma, and I’d feel better staying close than being halfway across the complex.”

I wanted him to stay; I was also scared for him to do so. Not that I’d ever admit to the fear—a fear that had nothing to do with thinking he’d hurt me, not like in the motel—so I put on some false bravado. Teasing him was easier than trying to understand why I trusted him so easily when I’d made an art out of keeping men at arm’s length. “Perfect gentleman, huh? That’s very selfless, Gage. You aren’t even going to try to steal a kiss? Something to remember me by, just in case Seward is right about my life expectancy?”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t really a joke.” Our lives were full of so many uncertain variables. Always at the top of that list was death, as we both knew well. I hated entertaining the idea that Seward might be right, but could I afford to ignore the possibility? “Look, I’m sorry—”

His head dipped, and his lips found mine, silencing the halfhearted apology. The kiss was tender, almost platonic, and it sent a shock of excitement through my system that settled deep in my belly, leaving me breathless. And frightened. I hadn’t expected him to actually kiss me.

It was brief, but wonderful.

Lips still tingling, I lowered the bed to a better angle for
sleeping. “Don’t tell me you’re going to spend the night in that chair,” I said, pointing.

He eyeballed the hard, plastic piece of furniture in question. “Well, it seemed a better alternative to the floor.”

I shifted over until half of the smallish bed was empty; he stood still, hesitating.

“You said you’d be a perfect gentleman.”

“This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“I know. And don’t take this wrong, but get your ass in my bed. I’m exhausted and want to sleep.”

He considered me a moment, his expression a mix of amused and wary—as if he thought I’d shock him with an orb if he got frisky. Not that I had any fear of that happening. Not with Gage. He shed his belt and sneakers, then slid under the thin blanket with me, still clad in jeans and shirt. I turned away to give him more room in the small bed, and I was careful to not tense when his elbow brushed the small of my back.

My inner ten-year-old smiled at his nearness, while my external grown-up slowly relaxed. I closed my eyes and drifted, lingering close to wakefulness, soothed by the sound of Gage’s steady breathing.

T
he monitor above the bed casts the only light in the room. A gentle blue glow outlines the shape of the door and the woman in bed. Her head is shaved bald and dotted with wired electrodes. A tube down her throat leads to a machine that breathes for her. The pulse monitor beeps slow, steady. Her skin is smooth, ageless.

I should know her, but I don’t.

Her face unfocuses, sharpens, unfocuses. She opens her eyes. Pale light glints off lovely luminescence. I know those eyes.

Who are you?
I ask.

Her eyes flicker sideways, at a second bed. Another shape on it, impossible to see. She looks at me again. Her words come, though her lips don’t move.
Stay the course.
Her voice is ethereal and lingers like a mist.

I fall into her eyes, into an abyss of color and light and sound and warmth as inspiring as it is terrifying. Voices speak all around me, unified and alone, one and many. Sanity and madness exist together, and I burn.