Hopefuls (Book 1): The Private Life of Jane Maxwell

by Jenn Gott

  An animal darted in front of her. Something large, maybe a deer growing brave in the absence of summer tourists. Brakes squealed, the animal bolted. Cal’s car swerved, nearly spinning out as Jane jerked it to the side. It crashed into the tall grass beside the road, and Jane didn’t even bother putting it in park as she leapt out of the door. She raced across the road into the dry grass, kneeled over, and upchucked the one slice of banana bread that she’d accepted from her mother.

  What had she been thinking, taking Cal’s car? She should have used the bike. A car was . . . God, Jane might not ever be able to get into another car again. She fell back, her ass smacking against frozen dirt, and buried her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body.

  Didn’t her mother understand? Jane couldn’t go back there. She might never be able to go back there again, but certainly she couldn’t do it to face . . . that Jane. Not after what she’d done.

  She hadn’t meant for it to go that far. In truth, it was supposed to have been easy. Fun, even. Jane thought back to two days earlier, a bitter laugh escaping her chest as she remembered the giddy anticipation that had coursed through her. She’d had it all planned out: an outfit that matched this lesser Jane, her hair loose, contacts swapped out for glasses. She’d purchased a prepaid phone from a street vendor, called Clair at work, arranged to meet up for lunch. Jane had walked through the streets of Grand City, familiar and yet somehow distinct, practically skipping down the sidewalk in her glee. She even bought Clair flowers. Clair had lit up at the sight of her, cradling the flowers and cooing over how sweet it was, what a nice surprise. “God, Jane,” she’d said, “this is so great. Thank you.”

  Then she’d touched Jane’s face.

  It was a loving gesture. Her palm flat against Jane’s cheek, her fingers threaded around Jane’s ear and into the tangle of her hair. Jane was sure a kiss was going to follow, and her heart skipped a beat, but instead Clair had gone still. She stared at Jane, her lips slightly parted.

  Clair leaped away from her. She recoiled. Horror and revulsion replaced the joy upon her face as she threw the flowers at Jane’s chest. Jane scrambled to catch them, confused. If it had been Amy, well, okay, her powers would have easily explained the reaction . . . But Clair?

  “Get away from me,” Clair said. She said it softly, barely more than a whisper, but to Jane it might as well have been shouted from the rooftops. Rejection seared through her, hot as a branding iron.

  “Clair, what are you talking about? It’s me. It’s—”

  “Bullshit!”

  Several people turned their heads, previously content to ignore them, drawn now by the spectacle.

  Jane’s cheeks burned. Both from shame at being called out, and embarrassment at this taking place publicly. Her power twitched, and Jane clenched her teeth with her effort to quell it. “Fine . . . I’m—I’m not Jane,” she snarled. “But can we please find someplace a little quieter to have this conversation?”

  Clair shook her head. She was backing away from Jane now, panic flooding her eyes. “No . . . I know what you’ve done. Oh God, I know what you’ve done.”

  “Clair—”

  “No!” She turned and ran, shoving through a crowd of nosy spectators.

  Jane threw the flowers aside. She gave chase, ignoring the shouts of alarm as she and Clair went racing down the sidewalks. Power and humiliation boiled through her. Talk. That was all Jane had wanted to do. Clair had information, some bizarre connection to Jane’s own world that gave her insight into what was going to happen there, and all Jane wanted was to find out what this world’s Jane was going to write in the next story arc of Hopefuls. That’s it. That’s all she needed.

  But oh, no, Clair had to go and make it complicated. Had to run, triggering the hunter instinct that had been drilled into Jane from so many years spent chasing criminals down these very streets.

  Clair fled to a nearby parking garage, found her car in record time. Jane had to jump aside to avoid being run over as Clair squealed past, the sound of her engine revving loudly against the surrounding concrete.

  Looking back, Jane probably should have left it there, but what would happen when Clair got home? When she ran to her own Jane, telling her everything? Maybe this world’s Jane wouldn’t believe her, but Jane couldn’t take that risk. Self-preservation guided her to the nearest car, and within moments she was barreling down the city streets.

  She had almost caught up by the time they reached the tunnel. Jane surged forward, her car’s front bumper connecting with Clair’s rear one. And then . . . Clair must have panicked. Swerved when she should have used the brakes, or something, because the next thing Jane knew, the taillights were crawling up the wall beside her. They traced the line of the tunnel, all the way to the arched ceiling, where they seemed to hover for one endless second. Jane saw the gap between the tires and the ceiling, and then Clair’s car slammed against the road with a sickening crunch.

  “Amy!”

  Jane was out of her car before she realized what she was doing. She leaped up, jumping across the tangled mess of Clair’s wreck.

  The driver’s side door was crunched shut, but it didn’t last long under a concentrated laser beam. Jane ripped the door off. She scrambled down. Clair was upside down, pinned between airbags and seat belts, her head smashed against the roof of the car. A pool of blood was already soaking into the fabric.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” Jane said. “Clair, come on. Come on. I’m here, it’s okay.” She reached in, groping around for the seat belt release. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a warning about moving injured people, but Jane couldn’t listen to it. She dragged Clair out of the car. Cradled Clair’s head in her lap. Clair’s eyes were slowly blinking, like she couldn’t quite wake up. Jane brushed Clair’s bangs aside.

  “Why couldn’t you have just listened to me?” Jane whispered. “It didn’t have to come to this.”

  A muscle in Clair’s face twitched, as if she was still trying to flinch away from Jane’s touch. Even now, as Jane held her, bleeding in her lap. Even now, as she was dying. Even now.

  Jane’s hands curled into fists. A siren was wailing somewhere in the distance now—they didn’t have long.

  “Dammit, Clair. Talk to me. Tell me what you know. I know you have a connection to my world—I know you can predict what’s going to happen there. I need you to tell me what you’ve learned, do you understand? Clair? Clair!”

  It wasn’t working. Clair’s eyes had fallen shut now, and she was stubbornly making no more effort to open them back up.

  “Fine,” Jane snapped. “You want to do this the hard way? Let’s do this the hard way.”

  Jane dug around in her pockets. Her fingers curled around a small disk—a prototype of a device she’d once hoped to use on this world’s Jane, before she learned that Jane didn’t have powers over here. Jane didn’t know why she’d brought it with her. Maybe, on some level, she knew that it would always have to come to this.

  A twinge of guilt stabbed Jane as she moved Clair off her lap. But . . . really, what difference did it make now? Clair was dying—and anyway, it’s not like it mattered. This wasn’t really Amy, after all, merely a cheap copy of her. Someone who didn’t even possess a fraction of Amy’s true power. There were probably hundreds—thousands?—of them out there, in the spread of parallel worlds. Just because Jane had only ever managed to figure out how to cross over to this one . . . that didn’t make it any less likely.

  She had to work quickly. The sirens were growing louder. A few people were coming over to gawp at the wreckage, but for the most part everyone crept their cars around it, wrapped up in their own concerns. Jane threw a temporary wall around them, warping the light so that anyone glancing over wouldn’t see what was happening. She tore open the top of Clair’s shirt and stuck the cold metal disk to the skin between her breasts. Tiny white electrodes were housed inside, which Jane hurriedly dragged out and spread to Clair’s temples.

  This, at least, got a little bit o
f Clair’s dwindling attention. She blinked once or twice more, a frown marring her forehead. “What . . . ?” she started to ask, but that was as far as she was able to get.

  Jane leaned over, planting a fast kiss on Clair’s cheek. “Just remember that you did this to yourself,” she whispered.

  She pressed a button.

  Clair flared. Her mouth and eyes flew open, her body jerked up, flopping against the asphalt like a fish. She coughed, blood spurting out of her mouth and spraying Jane in the face. A thin wail escaped her, though it fast trickled down into a moan, like a dying animal.

  Jane slapped Clair’s cheek. “Stop it! You have to focus, Clair. This isn’t going to last long, not in your state. Tell me what you know.”

  Clair’s eyes flew wildly around the tunnel. “Where . . . ? What happ—?”

  “UltraViolet,” Jane said. She pinned Clair’s shoulders down, and leaned over until there was nothing above Clair but Jane’s own stern face. “What happens to UltraViolet? Tell me!”

  “Ultra . . . ,” Clair started. Her breath was coming so fast that it was difficult to hear her, her pulse beating so hard that veins were popping up all along her forehead. Clair’s pupils were constricting. The device was drawing Clair’s power to the surface all at once—dangerous, even deadly, for someone in a normal state, but with the extensive injuries that Clair had already suffered? It was a long shot, but it was Jane’s only shot.

  “Come on, you bitch,” Jane snarled. “You’re dying, just give it up. UltraViolet!”

  Clair’s gaze settled on Jane, her pupils dilating just a little in recognition. “UltraViolet,” Clair managed to whisper. She stared, in what looked almost like a state of awe, at Jane.

  And then she started to laugh. High and loud, her mirth barking out and echoing against the walls of the tunnel. Her teeth were shockingly white against the ribbons of blood seeped between them, the sharp red flick of her tongue.

  Jane gripped Clair’s shoulders harder, nails cutting through Clair’s shirt. “Stop it!”

  But Clair didn’t stop. She laughed and laughed, laughed until she started to cough. Jane jerked back, and Clair turned herself partially toward the road, coughing out a pool of red. When Clair was finished she groaned, falling onto her back once more. She closed her eyes.

  “Jane,” Clair whispered.

  The sirens were almost here. Shrieking as they plowed through the knot of traffic, splashing the walls red and blue.

  “Fuck,” Jane said. She yanked the device off Clair, electrodes popping, and hastily stuffed it back into her pocket. She drew the bubble of distorted light tighter around herself as EMTs raced to Clair’s fallen body. Jane stole one last look back: Clair’s face, Amy’s face, looked almost peaceful as blue gloved hands strapped an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Jane’s heart twisted, and she hastily turned away.

  Nobody saw her leave.

  * * *

  Jane had run to her mother in panic, and when she did finally tell her, she told her in the desperate hope of confession. Granted, she . . . she’d skimmed over certain details. But you couldn’t blame her for that. Jane had wanted a mother’s forgiveness, had needed a mother’s forgiveness.

  Instead, she’d gotten a lecture. Mrs. Maxwell had gone all high and mighty, telling Jane about how she needed to go back and explain Clair’s accident to that other Jane, about how she needed to stand up and do the right thing. Even if it was the last thing that Jane wanted to do—it was the right thing to do, and Captain Lumen always does the right thing.

  This is when Jane had stormed to her feet. The bar stool that she’d been perched on went toppling back. She’d been managing to hold it together, staying remarkably controlled (given the circumstances), barely even raising her voice.

  No longer.

  “What if I don’t want to do the right thing?” she shouted. “What if I’m tired of always being the pillar of moral fortitude?! Shit, don’t I do enough? Don’t I save enough lives? Do I always have to be the bigger person, too, in every aspect of my fucking life?”

  Mrs. Maxwell set her coffee mug down so heavily on the counter that Jane jumped. “Um, yes? That’s not only a large part of being an adult, that’s what you signed up for when you put on that mask. You’re not just a person anymore, Jane, you’re not even really you—you’re a hero. A symbol. You’re supposed to represent everything that is good and honest and true in people. You’re supposed to be better. Even when anyone else would want to quit, you turn around and fight the good fight. So that when the rest of us are tempted to give into our baser instincts, maybe we can remember everything that you stand for, and maybe we’ll be able to find a piece of that inside of ourselves, too. So that we won’t . . . We won’t—”

  Mrs. Maxwell broke off. She turned away, her hand pressed against her mouth as if she’d said too much.

  Jane stared at the hunch of her mother’s shoulders, too stunned to even feel anger.

  A hero. A symbol. Not even really a person.

  Jane knew that was how some people saw her, although she might not have ever put it quite so directly. But certainly the idea was there. It’s what had been making her uniform slightly uncomfortable lately, like it didn’t quite fit anymore. Not since Other-Jane. Not since her powers had expanded tenfold, her ability to manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum shooting up into and beyond the ultraviolet range. Not since she’d made the decision to seek out another parallel world, another Jane that would help her expand her powers even further.

  But it was one thing to know that other people saw her like this—it was quite another to hear it coming from her own mother. Her mother, who had seen every ugly stage of Jane’s childhood, heard every rebellious curse from her angsty teenage mouth. Her mother, who should have known better.

  Jane’s rage came rushing back to her, even stronger than when it had left. A burst of light coursed through her, and she narrowed it down to shatter her mother’s coffee mug. It was one of Mrs. Maxwell’s favorites, and Jane enjoyed the gasp of surprise as her mother turned and realized what Jane had done.

  “You know what?” Jane said. She made sure to stand tall, her spine straight. Her hero pose. She pointed at her mother. “Fuck you. I am still a person, Mom. I don’t always have to do what’s right—and if that somehow makes it harder for you to maintain your own humanity, then you can kiss my fucking ass.”

  Mrs. Maxwell’s eyes flew wide in shock. “Jane . . .”

  Jane’s hand snapped up, cutting her off. She spun on her heel. She was halfway to the front door before her mother seemed to realize what was going on.

  “Jane, wait!”

  She didn’t wait.

  “I’m sorry!” Mrs. Maxwell shouted, as Jane let a burst of light blast the front door off of its hinges. “I’m sorry! Jane, please! Come back—you’re right, I—That wasn’t even really about you, I just feel so guilty, I—”

  Jane wasn’t even listening. She yanked open the door of Cal’s car, slamming it shut as the engine roared to life.

  “Jane!”

  But a spray of white gravel and a puff of exhaust were Jane’s only parting remarks.

  * * *

  Three weeks ago . . .

  It was a glorious explosion.

  Jane and Cal watched it from the rooftop of the headquarters. A green arc of energy streaking like reverse lightning toward the sky. The blackening of the clouds, roiling thick across the city. The energy burned bright as it flashed back and forth from sky to ground, over and over again, until the whole city started to tremble. Cal steadied himself against one of the many satellite receivers that lined the roof of the headquarters, but Jane stood tall as she watched. She would not flinch away from this. She felt in her bones that this was the path she was meant to follow. As the energy reached its crescendo, pouring down into the building where Doctor Demolition had set up his device, a sense of peace settled thickly over Jane’s shoulders.

  Freedom, she thought, as every window of the building exploded all at
once.

  The blast was so bright that everyone else had to shield their eyes, but Jane saw it all. Glass and metal flying; girders ripped apart like toothpicks; flames billowing out, destroying everything in their wake. The building burst outward, taking several of its neighbors with it, singeing several more.

  “My god,” Cal whispered.

  Jane reached out, patting his shoulder reassuringly. It had been a delicate balance, swaying Cal to her way of thinking. To get him to see these masks for the prisons that they really were. But she knew that she needed to secure his loyalty if she had any chance of dismantling the Heroes of Hope from the inside out, and so she’d stuck with it. Long days and longer, grueling nights.

  It would be worth it. Jane knew this, as a stirring of hope rose in her chest. Smoke was billowing up from the blast site now, the familiar wails and screams of people running around madly down below. It was a sound she knew well, except this time, it was Jane who had caused it.

  Correction: UltraViolet had caused it. For that was who she was now, or at least it would be very soon. Jane rolled the name around on her tongue, savoring it, as the first of the calls came in. The rest of the Heroes, reaching out in a panic. How had their plan failed? How had they not managed to reach the building in time? What were they going to do??

  Jane muted her earpiece, laughing at them as she and Cal made their way down the tower. She zipped up the last piece of her familiar red uniform, the prison that she would soon be freeing herself from. Her plans were taking shape—she’d just finished her new uniform, rigged out with smoke bombs and lightning-generating gloves to disguise her powers—but she still had work to do: they had to capture Doctor Demolition, they had to worm out the admission of who he was really working for. Then Jane, as UltraViolet, would need to carefully set up her grand chess move, the one that would necessitate the capture of the parallel Jane. This was assuming that they could trigger what Jane believed to be the parallel Jane’s latent superpowers, and assuming that she would prove capable of controlling and growing them. But then . . .