Trance (11 page)

I forced my eyes open; the world had gone purple, like someone had taped a sheet of colored plastic over my vision. Another cramp seized my guts, and I swallowed hard. On my left, a small sign indicated locker rooms down the hall. I took a deep breath, launched out of my kneeling position, and bolted. I overshot the bathroom door and almost crashed into a wall as I turned around.

Ignoring the fact that it was the men’s room, I shoved the door open, ran into the nearest stall, and vomited into the toilet. It didn’t take long to empty what little was in my stomach. Mostly water and grit particles (probably that sand I had swallowed), all colored purple like the rest of my world.

The pressure in my abdomen decreased without going away completely. I spat again, trying to rid my mouth of the sour taste of bile, and pushed the manual button to flush. I pulled up on shaky legs to the tune of water swirling and stumbled over to one of the sinks. After a few mouthfuls of tap water to clean out that horrid taste, I hazarded a look at myself in the mirror.

My pupils were dilated, but I couldn’t judge any other changes with my eyes acting so strangely. Now I knew how Renee felt when she looked in the mirror and saw blue skin and wished it had been ivory.

“It figures,” I said to my reflection. “Not only did you possibly inherit your grandmother’s powers, but now it looks like you’re allergic to them. Bravo.”

The cramping subsided enough to convince me that I wouldn’t internally combust during dinner. I washed my hands, checked my hair for any residual barf, and left the safety of the men’s room, praying for the strength to get through the day.

Eating food that looked the wrong color—on top of having an upset stomach—made dinner an exercise in durability and stamina. The two-person kitchen staff surprised me with a selection of roast beef, parslied potatoes, and steamed carrots, and I surprised Gage by taking only a small helping. I made a joke about watching my figure and being hungry again in an hour. He didn’t push, and I appreciated that.

He did, however, watch me like a hawk as we ate. I tried to ignore the concerned glances and keep up idle banter. We hadn’t heard from the other group in almost two hours, and that elephant stalked the room and dulled conversation.

The cafeteria sparkled in a way that the rest of the building did not. Tiled floors were freshly mopped, each homey wooden table wiped down and waxed. The chairs were wood, with upholstered seats (the exact color I’d have to figure out later), and quite comfortable. We were the only people in a room large enough to hold two hundred.

Gage pushed half-eaten roast beef around his plate and asked, “Is this how you usually spend your Saturday evenings?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “I used to slave away at three different menial, dead-end jobs to pay my rent and buy food, because most good employers have a problem hiring convicted felons, so I blew off my steam any night I had a few free hours. I’d find a nice, dirty dive bar within walking distance of my place, hustle drinks from losers I wouldn’t let touch me with a three-meter pole, dance away my frustrations, and then go home and sleep it off.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is, especially in heels.”

His left eye twitched with … what? Annoyance? I almost added to my statement, wanting to assure him that I hadn’t slept with any of my dancing partners, only I had no need to defend my (lack of) sex life.

“So what about you?” I asked. “How do you normally spend your Saturday nights?”

“Saturday was movie night,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Since the only open cinema was in the city, it was a once-a-week trek. Sometimes I’d go with a buddy from work, sometimes I’d have a date. Usually I went alone. Didn’t matter much what was playing or who was in it.”

He mentioned work again. I didn’t have the energy to pursue the opening, especially if he pulled his standard deflection. “I can’t imagine you had a lot of film options, with there only being four movie studios left in Vancouver.”

A few years before the War even began, serious inflation and a failing economy had already forced the consolidation of several major studios. One year into the fighting, a showdown between a fire-starter Bane named Blaze and a
water-manipulator named Ariel led to the devastation of everything south of I-10, all the way to Anaheim. The remains of a theme park that had been shut down a decade ago were featured heavily on the newscasts that week.

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.