by Angel Lawson
“Owen.” She pauses until he falls in step with her. Then she links his arm with his. “Did you tell everyone we’re old friends?”
“Aren’t we all old friends?” he replies, with a smirk. “But, yes, I told them we’d met.”
She smiles wide. So weird. So creepy. “Owen and I reconnected years ago after the tragic death of his aunt. He was a sad soul back then, even more than during our childhood. I should have known he’d find his way back to you, Astrid.”
“Yeah, that was a strange coincidence.”
The dining room is as ornate as the rest of the house. Soft music carries through the air and candlelight flickers in silver holders on the table. A familiar figure waits for them at the door.
Draco.
“Draco, you’ve met Astrid, obviously. These are her partners, Owen and Quinn.”
The man acts as though they’ve never met—never sparred and beaten the crap out of one another. He certainly doesn’t act as though he’s given Quinn a busted lip, provided them intel on his boss, or supplied them with the one way to overpower her.
“Mr. Perfect,” Astrid says, smiling at the man. Both Owen and Quinn stare.
Mr. Who?
“Astrid,” he says, taking her gloved hand and giving it a squeeze. “Nice to see you again.” He nods at the men in greeting.
“Well, I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Please sit,” Demetria says, pointing out chairs for each of them. Astrid and Draco on one side. Owen and Quinn on the other. Demetria herself at the head of the table. Servants appear and set a bowl of soup before them. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know why I’ve called you here.”
“Yes,” Astrid says, placing her linen napkin in her lap. Quinn can’t help but notice she’s removed her gloves. “We’re dying to know.”
“As you know, Kincade has escalated his activities in the Swamp—including nearly killing you. It’s unacceptable, ruthless behavior.”
“We have no actual evidence he’s behind these fires,” Quinn says. “Well, there is one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Astrid thinks—”
“I don’t think, Quinn. I know.”
He nods. “Astrid says the man that started the fire is one of us. A survivor.”
Demetria and Draco share a surprised look.
“Who?”
“Devin,” Astrid says. “He calls himself Blaze.”
Recognition lights in her eyes. “He told you this.”
“Yes.” She considers. “Well, close enough. He seemed quite proud to be an arsonist and for his abilities to be used as a ’weapon.’”
Demetria tents her fingers on the table, hovering them over the steaming bowl of soup. “I was certain Devin died that day. In fact, I was certain he was the one that started the fire and killed himself in the process.”
“The fire wasn’t started by someone in the house, Demetria. It was started by someone affiliated with the project. Someone that wanted to kill all of us,” Astrid tells her. “Devin is alive and is proudly burning down all your property for Kincade.”
The news seems to rattle her—anger her more than Quinn would expect. Maybe the fact that another one of her Lost Boys got away from her is too much to handle. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like the dark glint in her eye that flickers for a moment before she composes herself.
“I don’t like fighting with these people. Not in this dark and dirty way. I believe in beauty, love, and light. I want the best for this city, you all know that.”
“We’re trying to find a way to stop them. This is why we came here tonight,” Quinn says, but there’s no mistaking the mania that has taken over.
She ignores him and says, “What we need to do is have something that will bring us all together. The rich, the poor, the Swamp, the city. Tie our bonds. I was wrong before, pushing people apart. What would be better is proving to the city that the Swamp is valuable. The Harbor Line is for everyone!” She gasps and everyone at the table, including Draco, freezes. “A parade. Wait! Not just a parade—a lantern parade!”
“What?” Draco asks, thrown off his composure.
“Yes, darling, a lantern parade! A grand event that will show our support for the people on the Harbor Line. We’ll have a float and thousands of lights and lanterns. The whole community can be involved.” Her eyes light up at the idea.
“I’m sorry,” Owen says, speaking for the first time at the table. “You think a parade will stop Kincade.”
“Yes!” her eyes twinkle. “A beautiful, magical parade. We’ll start by the water and end at the Elite facility. Everyone can join—bringing their own lanterns or lights. WIND-E can provide supplies for the children. Your gym can be a sponsor! We’ll show Kincade we won’t back down. I’ll invite Mayor Steed and all the school children. We’ll have floats and a marching band. It will be truly magnificent.”
“Are you sure this won’t be too taxing?” Draco asks. Thankfully, because everyone else is too stunned to speak. “Putting on a parade with the rest of your schedule will be a big undertaking.”
Astrid and Owen nod in agreement.
She sighs. “You’re right, it will be a lot, but I don’t think I have any choice. And all of you will help! We must bring hope and happiness. I hate all this darkness and evil.” She frowns at Astrid. “Like your dark suit. Wouldn’t it be better to have something brighter? Like white or maybe purple?”
“I, uh,” Astrid looks around the table for help. No one offers assistance. “White would get dirty and purple is so, um, very purple-y.”
“I see,” she says, obviously not understanding at all. “Well, we’re doing it. You’ll ride on my float and the Mayor will have no choice but to grant me the zoning permits to rebuild.”
“So that’s your goal?” Owen says, speaking for the first time since they sat down. “Zoning permits and winning over the Mayor?”
Draco’s face has paled. Quinn can’t help but notice that he watches his boss carefully. He also notices that Astrid has shifted her attention to him and that her expression is identical to his.
“Yes, I’ll win over the Mayor,” she says, picking up her spoon. She dips it in and gets a heaping spoonful of soup. “And when Kincade retaliates, I’ll send you in to destroy him.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Astrid
Harbor Line Lantern Parade! This Saturday 8 p.m.! Meet by the water!
The signs are everywhere. Tacked to poles along the park. Hung in windows like the smoothie shop and yoga studio. Even the old garage and Mr. Scruggs the barber put one behind the glass of their businesses.
WIND-E Corp announced the parade the morning after their dinner. The awkward and uncomfortable affair. The wariness of being in Demetria’s demented house didn’t fade until after they were released.
“God, that was suffocating,” Astrid said, the instant the car dropped them off.
“Did I hear that right?” Quinn asked. He’d already removed his tie. “She wants to plan a parade so it will provoke Kincade and we can ’destroy’ him?”
“That’s what she said.” The lines of worry on Owen’s face never faded from the instant they walked in the door until they left.
“Blaze could take us out. Destroy the gym. There is too much to lose,” she said.
“Besides that,” Quinn said. “Is that what we really are? Henchmen?”
Fuck no. That is not what they are. The severity of the situation hit her right then and there. Things were out of control. They’d totally lost control of their own story—their own destiny. She couldn’t let it go on. They had to get out of this situation before it flipped back on them and they were the ones that were destroyed.
That realization came days ago. The parade is officially set for tomorrow. The Mayor seems thrilled. Owen and Quinn are irritable and finally sat down with Casper to release their stress over video games. Astrid heads to the changing room and zips up her suit. When she steps out, the two men in the room stop playing and glance over
, their confused expressions identical. She almost laughs.
“Where are you going?” Quinn asks. Casper’s avatar shifts toward her. The game pauses. “Did you get a call?”
“No. I want to check on the kids from the fire the other night. One of them, Luby? He gave me some good intel. I want to make sure they’re okay.”
“Let me change,” Quinn pushes himself out of his seat.
“No. It’s nothing dangerous. Promise.” There’s a moment of silence as they all mull this over. She glares. “Seriously?”
“We all know you have an impulse thing,” Casper says. “Tomorrow is a big day—it may be best to lie low.”
She rolls her eyes and walks out of the room. Her enhanced hearing tips her to their conversation and she walks back. Owen is already at the changing room door. “Don’t follow me or I will kick your ass.”
He holds up his hands. “I was just going to the bathroom. Jeez.”
With a head shake, Astrid leaves them, hoping for once they just do what they’re told.
It’s unseasonably warm and the breeze blowing off the Harbor isn’t too cold. She sticks to the shadows, not wanting to be seen wandering through the Swamp. Some people find her to be a symbol of help and hope. Others feel less friendly—she’s done her share of policing down here as well.
Casper located Luby for her right after the fire—he searched the police files for vandalism and graffiti tagging. He popped right up.
The kid lives in one of the shadiest parts of the Swamp—Crescent Homes—a dilapidated housing project that smells of sulfur from the paper factory on the other side of the Harbor. The apartments are well known for crime and violence. There’s an entry gate, worked by two young men in matching camouflage. They look official. They aren’t. Jensen explained that the housing projects are guarded not by security—but by the gang members and drug dealers who want to keep track of who is coming in and out of the area.
Astrid avoids the front entrance and runs down the side, easily climbing the stone wall that separates Crescent Homes from the rest of the area. She drops quietly to the ground and makes her way through the dark buildings looking for Luby’s apartment.
Crime is public and pervasive as she creeps through the area. Shouts come from inside homes. Beer cans litter the streets. A syringe cracks beneath her feet. Pixie Dust isn’t used down here—that’s a drug for the wealthy, it’s about leisure. It’s about Neverland. Something Demetria says she wants to bring down here, but Astrid can’t see how she plans on accomplishing it. She thinks about the echo she got off of Luby at the school. His grandmother is sick. He’s desperate. These people need help. More than she or any of the other supers from Project 12 can give them.
She locates Luby’s building but something holds her back. She senses a body in the shadows. Bulky. Heart rate even. She catches a scent over the stale cigarettes, urine, and sulfur. Something sweet. Clean.
Looping around the building, she takes a left instead of a right and curves around a car with no tires, up on blocks.
“Dammit, not again,” she says, throwing her hands up when they come face to face. Well, face to shadowy face because his hood cloaks most of his features, but she knows his smell. His body.
“Echo. I wondered how long it would take you to notice me.”
“Too long, Mr. Perfect,” she admits, crossing her arms and leaning against the car. “This is the third time. Why are you stalking me?”
“Third?”
“Picking me up off the street, the night of the fire, and now this.”
“I wouldn’t call it stalking. More like protecting my boss’s investment.”
Astrid narrows her eyes. “She knows you’re here?”
He doesn’t reply, because perfect people can’t lie. The minute she touched his hand under the table at Demetria’s dinner, she knew his every thought. His motive and nature.
Seriously though, he’s perfect.
And one of them.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Astrid says. “Can we cut the shit, Junior.”
Even Mr. Perfect is surprised when she calls him by his real name and it’s written all over his face.
“Yeah, I get it now. I mean, I had a feeling. I’m getting better about identifying the other survivors as time passes. A lot of that has to do with how close I am to Quinn and Owen. We’re delving into our memories together—exploring our power. It brings out a specific bond and when I come across someone else, I can feel it, and the other night at dinner I took a risk and read your echo.”
The surface of Draco’s echo wasn’t much more than what she sensed just being in his presence, but she used her newfound skills to push a little deeper. The PD-1 let her in.
Astrid, with three hats covering her head, holds Harry in her arms and lurks in the shadow of the garage. The older boy is in there. He’s always in there, listening to music, lifting weights, stacking them heavier and heavier with each pass. The rest of the kids in this place are freaks, she knows that. She is that. But this one? He’s something different. Maybe a god like the man in the movie. The one with big muscles and the hammer.
If he knows she’s there, he says nothing. Which is what she wants—to be invisible beneath the layers of clothing. When the garage door opens she slinks back, surprised to see Rosalie enter the garage.
“Junior, there you are. The car will be here soon.”
The car. It’s his day to go to the doctor.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you carry in the garbage cans before you go?”
He nods and she eyes the weights on the barbell. “You be careful.”
“I am.”
She smiles and closes the door. He’s helpful, unlike the other boys, and Ms. Rosalie prefers him. Astrid watches as he lifts the bar off the rack and raises and lowers the weight off his chest. His biceps bulge and his chest heaves but she can tell it’s not a challenge. Like the rest of them, he just wants to control his gift.
He racks the weight and sits up, sweat spreading through his shirt. Astrid shifts, knocking into a can of paint, but Junior doesn’t look up. He just says, “You don’t have to hide.”
Fear blooms in her chest at being discovered but she senses no danger with him, so she walks into the light.
“How long have you been watching?” He reaches for the cat and scratches Harry’s ears. The cat bursts into a deep purr.
“Just a little while.”
“Astrid, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you wear all those hats? Don’t you get hot?”
She shakes her head. “It’s the only way I feel safe.”
The older boy nods in understanding and eases to the edge of the bench. “Did you see how strong I am?”
“Yes. Like the man in the movies with the hammer.”
He laughs, and it lights up his whole face. “Maybe not that much but yeah, I’m pretty strong. If anyone bothers you in here, you let me know. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay.”
He tugs at her felt ears and moves to clean up the gym. Astrid feels safer than she has in a long time. The security stays until later that afternoon when she watches from the back step as Junior gets into the black SUV.
He may be strong, she thinks, but he still has to go to the doctor like the rest of them, and that makes her tug her hat close down over her ears.
“Why are you really following me?” she asks.
“Because I think you’re a good person and I believe in what you’re doing, and right now you’re running between two very powerful people: Demetria and Kincade. I don’t want you to get trapped in the middle of their gunfire.”
Seems a little overdramatic. “I’m just down here to check on a kid.”
“A kid that Kincade wanted dead. He and the other taggers were supposed to go up in that fire. You spooked them and they got away. You don’t think he’ll come back and clean up the damage?”
“What about your boss. You don’t think she can stop him?”<
br />
He chooses his words carefully. “I’m not sure she even knows how to do the right thing. She may think she’s helping people, but as you’ve seen, her reality is a bit skewed.”
She snorts but his words make her uneasy—nauseous. He’s right. They’re caught in the middle of a much bigger war.
“Why are you working with her?” Everything she gets off of him, from his echo, the memories and his basic emotions imply he’s a good guy. She’s not getting any kind of bad vibe off of him.
“That’s complicated.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Really? Your story isn’t complicated? How you got in that suit? Your friends? Your mentor?” It’s the first hint of anger she’s seen from him.
“We took the drug modifier you gave us, and I read your echo at the party.”
“I know. I sat next to you on purpose, to give you that opportunity.”
Of course he did. “You think this parade is going to be a disaster, don’t you.”
“I know it will. She can’t do it any other way.” He swallows and they’re quiet for a minute as a car with loud bass shaking the windows passes by. Two dumb kids with mohawks pass a cigarette back and forth in the front seat. “Demetria found me a year ago. I’d been living and traveling the world with my mentor, Emma. She was a scientist and professor that mostly spoke at universities and conferences as a guest. I was waiting for her to come back to our hotel after an event in Brazil. She never returned. The police found her body a week later.”
“I’m sorry.” Words aren’t enough. She knows that.
“I had no idea what to do with myself—but I knew enough about the project to start digging around. I found Demetria—she wasn’t really hiding.”
“Did you know about the rest of us?”
“Not before. Emma never told me anyone else survived and when I found Demetria I was just relieved. It felt good to be around someone that understood. She’s the one that told me about you and the others.”
“Yeah, it’s a little surreal but nice. Like, oh shit, I’m not insane.”
