Trance (5 page)

“Let me go,” I said, “and I won’t shove this orb up your ample ass.” I found hitherto undiscovered confidence in the oxygen and my newfound powers. Okay, maybe they weren’t actually
my
powers, but they were proving seriously useful.

“What the hell are you?” he asked, tightening his grip again. The lack of constant air was making me light-headed, and I struggled to keep the orb bright enough to scare him.

“I’m annoyed.” He wanted to do this the hard way, fine. “And you’re in pain.”

His eyes widened. I slammed the orb into his left shoulder with a solid crack. His entire left side snapped backward as he bellowed—surprise or pain, I didn’t care which—and his hold loosened. I shoved. He hit the filthy pavement with a splat and rolled onto his left side, groaning.

Inhaling greedily, I touched my sore throat, disgusted by the slick substance I found. I wiped my hand on my jeans, then snapped my fingers. A second orb flared to life, roughly the size of a chicken’s egg. Paler and translucent, this one wouldn’t hurt as much; the larger the orb, it seemed, the less solid its form.

Probably. Granny Dell’s orbs had been nothing quite so controlled—one of the reasons, according to Dad, that she’d retired so young. Further testing of my orbs was required, and the perfect subject was squirming at my feet.

I pushed Cliff’s shoulder with the toe of my sneaker, and he rolled onto his back. He stared up at me with glassy eyes. His shirt wasn’t torn and the area of impact wasn’t bleeding, but I bet he’d have one hell of a bruise. I loomed over him with the orb and poised my hand dramatically over his crotch.

“Something tells me I’m not the first girl you’ve demanded your twenty bucks’ worth from,” I said, indignation boiling over.

My entire life I’d felt helpless to stop the violence around me. Compared to the more powerful Rangers and trainees, Trancing someone seemed weak and stupid. My cowardice
in Central Park had haunted me through my adolescence and four different foster homes while I ignored the school bullies I should have stood up to and absorbed the taunts of my foster siblings, who knew I was different but weren’t sure why.

I came to understand that I couldn’t count on anyone but myself, so I kept my head down and lived my life, the rest of the world be damned. I tried to block out the violence running rampant in the decaying cities and in the hearts of people I passed in the street every day. For years I’d felt weak and naked and unreliable, and now I stood with the power to take some of that control back. To make my life mean something.

Very cool.

And really friggin’ scary.

“Please,” he muttered.

“Please what?” I asked. “Please don’t burn my balls off? Would ‘please’ have stopped you from raping me?”

He didn’t respond, which was answer enough. I bent at the waist. Several strands of my hair fell loose from the disheveled cap and curled purple around my face. In the pale parking lot lights, I must have looked terrifying, because he started to whimper like a puppy whose tail I’d just ground into the pavement.

“How about we make a deal?” I said. “You get to keep your dick, and in exchange, you tell your friends about this. Let them think about me the next time they pick up a hitchhiker with the expectations of getting a blow job in exchange for miles.”

He nodded, still whimpering, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Who are you?”

“Trance?”

The new voice broke my concentration. The orb disappeared. I snapped my head toward the sound, intent on giving the arrival a taste of my annoyance. The barb died on my lips, as did all thoughts of the man at my feet. I gazed at a pair of black and silver eyes that shimmered and danced, swimming in brilliance, like a starry night sky.

A man about my age stood on the sidewalk, his lean, athletic body dressed snugly in black jeans, a black sweater, and a leather bomber jacket. He had a firm jawline, tousled brown-blond hair, and dark eyebrows that creased in a sharp V as he stared at me as if a third arm were growing out of my forehead. His face had changed, narrowed and aged, but those beautiful eyes were unmistakable. Eyes I hadn’t seen in a lifetime.

“Gage?” I asked.

“Call me Cipher. Remember?”

I did remember. Vividly. Then fifteen years old, Gage “Cipher” McAllister had been the senior trainee. The last time I’d seen him had been at a hospital in Princeton, New Jersey, two days after we lost our powers. The day MHC (Meta-Human Control) separated us kids and divvied us up to foster homes ill-equipped to handle us. We’d passed each other in the corridor. His dark brown eyes had looked so empty, the silver barely there. Haunted. Dead.

He stood in front of me again, those engaging flecks sharp and bright; the last person I’d seen then, and the first I was seeing now. I was surprised as hell by his random appearance at a highway truck stop. At the same time, I felt an odd sense of rightness in having him there.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Interrupting something, apparently. Everything under control?”

I spared an eyebrow quirk for Cliff, who winced and closed his eyes. “Yep.” I gave Cliff a sharp nudge. “Hey, buddy, remember what we talked about?”

He nodded. Each bobble shrank and expanded the doughy flesh beneath his first chin.

“Good.” I stepped back and waved a hand at the open parking lot to my left. “Now get the hell out of here.”

Cliff wasted no time scrambling to his knees and then his feet. Something greenish-brown stained the back of his shirt and trousers, and I didn’t want to imagine what nasty things had pooled together to create that special color. He lumbered down the row of trailers, stumbling a few times in his haste, hurling curses each time he stepped on his own foot. His ample backside made quite a nice target. I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, creating lavender sparks, and debated a parting shot.

Gage’s hand gripped my forearm, warm and firm and unmistakably telling me not even to think about it. The sparks diminished. I yanked out of his grip and took a step back, scowling.

“How are you, Teresa?” he asked.

“I’ve had better days.”

“You look different.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Different good or different bad?”

“Just different.” He reached out and flicked at a lock of purple hair. “I remember this—not the eyes or those powers. That wasn’t you.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

My fingers trembled as the adrenaline surge from Cliff’s attack began to wear off. Thank God for my new powers. Having Gage there made me feel strangely safe when I should have been more cautious; I didn’t know this adult. I yanked off the cap and let the rest of my hair tumble down around my shoulders. “So can I assume your powers are back, too?”

“They came back last night.” A flash of pain passed across his face, leaving its shadow behind. Deeper shadows lurked beneath his eyes, hinting at hidden agony he couldn’t quite put into words. “Not an experience I want to repeat. Ever.”

“I hear that. And I think whatever reactivated us had a few flaws. I seem to have gotten my grandmother’s powers back this morning, or some screwed-up version of them.” I snapped and an orb flared to life. I tossed it at an empty glass bottle; it exploded in a shower of shards.

“Wow,” Gage said.

“I’m still getting the hang of it.”

He glanced around at the shifting shadows and rows of quiet semis. “We should get out of here.”

“Definitely.” I slung the knapsack over my shoulder with the grease spot facing outward and followed him through the parking lot. “How did you find me, anyway?”

He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, a very boyish gesture that betrayed his discomfort. He fished into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Vox. “I picked up your signal briefly outside of Salem. I found it again ten minutes ago when, I’m assuming, you arrived here at the truck stop.”

I nodded, affirming his assumption. There were only so many direct routes from Oregon to L.A., so running into each other wasn’t entirely implausible. “My dad’s Vox was with my stuff. I’m glad it still works.”

“Me too.” His mouth twitched into a pained frown. “Controlling my powers again is a bitch. It’s hard trying to filter everything like I used to. Putting all of the information in its own place.”

“I bet.” Relearning control of his hypersenses had to be a pain (no pun intended). My stomach grumbled, reminding me again of its empty state. The adrenaline was gone and a gentle ache had begun at the base of my skull. “You know, I wish you’d found me before we left Salem. I think the trip would have been a lot more pleasant.”

Gage’s eyebrows knotted and his eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, just unnerved me a bit.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” I said before I could stop myself. The last thing I needed was to explain why the diner was out of my price range. “Where’s your car?”

“In front of the motel.”

“Staying the night?”

“I planned to, yes, and then get a fresh start in the morning.”

Not a terrible idea. I felt disgusting and was desperate for a hot shower. “I don’t suppose they have any more rooms available?” I asked, even though I couldn’t afford one. No sense in saying so and advertising my poverty to Gage. For all I knew he was a successful investor.

“The desk clerk said I got the last one, but there’s plenty of space to share,” he replied.

Share? Spend the night locked in a room with a strange man. The idea raised my hackles, but knowing it was Gage—a former Ranger who understood what I was going through, to an extent—kept me from falling into full-on panic. And it beat sleeping in an alley or under a car.

I flashed him a smile, using it to hide my apprehension. “Should we flip a coin to see who gets the floor?”

He shook his head. “I’ll take the floor.”

“It’s your room, Gage, I was kidding.” I rolled my eyes at his mile-wide gentlemanly streak. “It’s not like I think you’ll attack me in my sleep, and as long as you’re not a warrants officer, we’ll get along fine.”

Gage stared, and I could have bitten off my own tongue. What was wrong with me? I don’t let things like that just slip out.

“Warrants officer?” he repeated. “Were you in jail?”

I tried to shrug it off. Four years ago, an accessory to burglary charge had landed me in the Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, where I spent the worst twelve months of my life. Which had, naturally, led to lack of good employment opportunities and the current state of my craptastic life. Not that I was doing so hot before I agreed to drive the van for a guy I thought I loved in exchange for 20 percent of the fenced merchandise. The money was supposed to buy us tickets to Arizona and a fresh start.

Now I couldn’t technically leave the state of Oregon for two more years. Not that it had stopped me last night. “Let’s
just say I had a rebellious, misspent youth and not dive into details.”

“Fair enough. You know, we got our powers back, so there’s a chance the Banes did, too. I think the state of Oregon can forgive your debt if we’re being called back into service.”

Called into service. Put like that, it sounded almost noble. Would the American public, still recovering from the previous decade’s atrocities and the loss of their largest cities, readily embrace a new generation of Rangers? Or would they sooner burn us all at the stake?

“You know, you’re really starting to look the part,” he said as he led the way toward the motel. “The purple becomes you.”

“I’m glad.” I tossed a lock of hair over my shoulder, relaxing under the spell of the friendly banter. “I’d hate to be stuck with a color that looked awful. Can you see me with green hair? Or orange, even? I’d look like a carrot.”

“But a cute carrot.”

I grinned. At the tender age of ten, such a simple compliment from Gage would have sent my girlish pulse racing. I noticed our direction and asked, “Hey, aren’t we eating?”

“The motel room has take-out menus. It might be better to eat in until we know for sure what’s going on. Room’s the third one over,” Gage said, pointing.

I followed his lead, a few paces behind. The door next to ours opened abruptly and a man in torn jeans and a stained flannel shirt stepped out, right into my path. I backpedaled and started to fall. The stranger caught me by the arm. Before my instinct to groin-kick him took over, a greasy blonde stepped
out next to him. Her hair was unkempt, her clothes frayed, and she had a big black duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” the man said. “Didn’t see you comin’.”

“S’okay,” I said and ducked my head, hoping to hide my face and eyes behind a curtain of hair. Should have been faster about that.

The man glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Gage, who offered only a steely, suspicious gaze. His attention jumped to me. I winked at Gage, my head still angled away from the pair, and he relaxed just a fraction.

“Cool contacts,” the woman said. “Very risqué.”

Definitely not fast enough. “Thanks.” I ducked around the man and followed Gage into his room.

He locked the door and slid the bolt. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, bare minimum rating on the scare-o-meter.” The question surprised me. It was nice having someone around who cared, even if the question was probably more knee-jerk politeness than genuine concern.

I turned the motel room’s heat up to a balmy 75 degrees and dropped my small knapsack on a cheaply upholstered chair, which matched the striped bedspread. Two abstract prints hung opposite each other on plain ivory walls. Ugly, but the quality was a step up from my personal squalor.

Gage’s expensive-looking suitcase sat in the middle of the king-size bed, leering at me. I eyed it, not bothering to hide my jealousy. He probably had three sets of clothes, all neatly folded, a leather shaving kit, and clean underwear.

Damn.

“What?” Gage asked.

I snapped my mouth shut, unaware I’d made a noise. Or maybe he heard the spike in my heart rate. Gage’s powers had fascinated me as a child. Instead of supersight or superhearing, all five of Gage’s senses were enhanced to an extraordinary degree. He could increase and decrease the amount of information they collected and received. Eyesight and hearing had been the strongest, with smell in the middle, and taste and touch trailing behind. That could all be different now, but I imagined I was close enough for him to hear my heartbeat if he tried.