by Lin Lustig
He should have said yes, even if it made him ill. It would have been better than losing him, right? Why did Emerson fantasize about marriage, anyway? It's not like it magically fixed anything.
To keep from spiraling, he threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom. He heard a toilet flush from the guest bath. At least Licia had stuck around. Good to know he hadn't driven everyone off in one night.
He washed away the images of death lingering in the back of his mind. Not just the death of the man last night, but of the man on the sidewalk years before, bits of his cranium and gore artfully sprayed across the cement.
He couldn't afford to let any more people die. It was time to get serious with the Anons and open up. If he hoped to keep their kind protected from UHP, then they needed to know everything. Well, almost everything. He sat at the living room desk and opened his laptop, prepared to spend however long it took to get a grasp on the community he'd started.
The anonymous boards had cryptic messages asking for advice on how to hide abilities, or handle them, and how to determine if a person was normal or Abnormal. But the responses were almost always the same: there was no rule on how they worked, or their individual tells. Every ability was as unique as the person wielding it—as far as they knew.
Licia was right, Abnormal felt cold. He found his original post under the name Anon87 where he warned about World Humanitarian Relief Program and its rebranding as Unified Humanitarian Project. Emerson moderated and approved every comment, filtering out potential scams and moles, making sure personal details were removed from users’ posts. Users could share stories and experiences, warnings, suggestions, but not their names, locations, or any personal identifiers—not even gender.
However, John knew a couple of them. Anon108 and 508 were Glen's contacts working inside UHP. Both were regularly active, unlike Licia and Glen. Even Azami lurked but rarely left a comment. It was the only place they had to be heard and believed. The occasional conspiracy nutter might sneak in, but they were easy to spot and root out.
He checked the ability registry—a list of supposed attributes the users specialized in. Some were clearly jokes; teleportation? Yeah no. Remote viewing? Debatable. It was the subtle ones that stood out. Controlled dyschronometria (which he’d had to look up. Time perception control, who wouldn’t want that?), super tasting, pain perception management, tetrachromat variations; all kinds of natural abilities that, exactly as Licia had said, were leveled-up in Abnormals. Yet there was nothing about controlling someone else's memories with inflicted visions.
He made a post asking about information on visions and memory related abnormalities, then he opened a new spreadsheet and charted abilities, attempting to cross reference them under similarities.
His phone buzzed, but it was just Chloe, so he ignored it. Five minutes later it rang.
“Early for you to be calling,” he said.
“Early? It's eleven.”
John checked the laptop and groaned. That's why Chloe had called, he had his audition at one. She probably wanted to make sure he was still breathing.
“Shit, I completely forgot.”
“Forgot?” Chloe's voice was never friendly, but today it sounded particularly harsh. “This is your career lifeline and you forgot?”
John cringed. “I'm moving, I'm moving. I'll be there soon.” He hung up on her and rolled back from the desk.
Licia squeaked and jumped out of the way as she passed.
He spun around. “Shit, sorry!”
Her hand hovered over her sternum and she dared him to continue speaking with her sharp gaze and hard breath. A threatening coil licked at his emotions with an unwelcome familiarity.
He apologized again. “I have an audition in a couple of hours. Do me a favor and stay here today? I'll treat you to my performance tonight. Whatever seat you want. Just stay here until I get back.”
“And what if your boyfriend comes back with police in tow, wouldn't it be safer if I wasn't here?”
“He's not going to involve the police.”
Licia crossed her arms and considered him. “You trust him.”
“With my life.”
“But not the past?”
He shook his head. “I don't trust anyone with that.”
Licia made a judgmental expression, then made herself at home in his kitchen, pulling out supplies for another PB and J. He wasn't going to tease her about it today, though. He was just glad she was eating after last night.
“I need to meet with an old contact.”
John sniffed. “What kind of contact?”
“The usual. If I'm going to stay here, I'm going to work.”
“Licia, no. I can't have someone living with me who brings in money illegally.”
She used a plate this time, but still licked the knife clean when she finished with the jelly. “I don't plan on living here. I just need to find the right real estate and I'll be out of your way.”
He didn't like that idea any better. “You could... you know, not run drugs in the city?”
Licia put away the cold peanut butter and slid her plate across the island to the seats on the other side. “Sure. Been here less than forty-eight hours and I’m going to go out and make it rain Adderall when someone is digging into our heads and implanting memories.” She scoffed.
He didn’t like that they were sharing vivid memories any more than she did, but they needed more information. “Then what were you doing in Central Park last night?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Tourism.”
“Come on. We should be working together on this.”
Tension along her jaw tightened. “You have your way, I have mine.”
“And we’re back to criminal behavior.” He glared at her food instead of her. It was safer.
“Do you know how dangerous unregulated drugs are? I'm actually asking.” She ignored her sandwich and leaned on her elbow to watch him.
“No, not really.”
“Neither do the kids that get hooked on them or get sold false goods. They don't understand how to handle a bad trip, and when they don't feel safe and cared for, they're more likely to overdose at some stupid party just because they're bored and lonely. Do you know how many overdoses there's been in my shops?”
John crossed his arms and waited for her to rationalize away her empire.
“None. I wean kids off and teach them how to work. I give them a safe environment and new skills. I show them how to be a family.”
“And the adults who come in for a hit?”
Licia grinned. “They make for excellent sales.” She took a bite.
“Whatever. I have an audition to get to.” He shook his head in disapproval. Sure, saving kids was admirable, but writing off adults was a shit move. But they'd had that argument before, and he didn't have time to rehash it right now.
“Hey John?” Licia called as he retreated down the hallway. He turned around to see her perch like a vulture. “If you want any chance with Emerson, you're going to have to tell him everything.”
“You're the only one who knows everything and look how well that's worked out.”
“You're a real ass, you know that?”
John was taken aback. “You're just now figuring that out?”
CHAPTER 20
Emerson
Emerson knew he should be tired. Not just tired, but dead on his feet, passing out at any chance, but no. He felt like he'd had a great night's sleep followed by two cups of real coffee. He'd taken way too much from John, and he suspected panic had him absorbing from anyone he passed.
Without sleep, the night felt infinitely longer, and it left the mental imprint of blood that much harder to wash away. When he'd left the condo, his mind was nearly blank with shock and horror, and not just because of the murder. It made him question all of John's choices and tastes.
Emerson checked his phone, pulling up the linked calendar Chloe shared. He texted her that he wouldn't be available for the audition today. Not a big de
al. John didn't need protection for that, and if Chloe thought he did then she could call out for Henry. That left Emerson with an hour before he could go back to the condo, clean up, and decide what the hell he was going to do.
It sickened him to admit it, but Licia had been right. He couldn't go to the police. The Abnormals couldn't risk exposure, even if Licia was evil—well, she had been threatened first. Emerson would have defended himself, too, but his attacker would have survived. Hers hadn’t.
He wandered through three parks on the way back to the condo, killing time until John left.
Except he wasn't alone when he returned. There was a killer in John's favorite chair and Emerson had no idea what to do about her.
Licia was tying up a pair of black Dockers and looked up as he walked in. “Welcome home.” Her voice was dry and disinterested.
“Why are you here?” He couldn't help himself.
Licia smiled with her teeth clenched. “Don’t worry, I'm not going to stick around.” She got to her feet.
“It doesn't matter if you do. I want nothing to do with you. Either of you.” His heart panged, but he overrode the ache with anger. Licia was everything he never wanted, and yet she was everything John craved.
“Your emotions are so transparent I don’t even need to feel them. Do you think I let someone like John determine any part of who I am and how I act? Do you think I give a shit about what people think of me? I'm in this for me. John's only a convenient ally.”
He was doing it again, absorbing without meaning to, losing the grip on his control as his rage blossomed. She hadn't seemed to notice.
“I think you turned up in L.A. back then because you feel more for John than you let on.”
Licia laughed at that, but weirdly it sounded genuine. “Everyone loves to tell me what I feel, but I'm the empath. I can taste your sap-like anger and the chocolate sorrow that you keep refusing to acknowledge. You love him, and if you're willing to let someone like me stand in the way of that then you don't deserve him.” She lurched forward and Emerson startled. “If you'll excuse me, I'm meeting with a friend.” Without another word she donned a ratty hoodie and stole the apartment keycard from the dish by the elevator, then left.
This all felt wrong, like wearing his left shoe on his right foot. Or worse, switching toothpaste and getting the wrong kind of mint. Licia might be right. Emerson flopped onto his bed, making the frame groan. Usually he knew what to do, knew which was the right choice and which was wrong, but loving John meant approving of Licia. Or at least approving of his affection for her. Was he willing to admit he'd been defeated by a hundred-and-fifteen-pound miniature murderess? He could take her. Emotion versus energy, and he was sure energy would win out. It always did whether he wanted it to or not.
His eyes were closed, so he missed the first sign, but recognized the pressure building in his skull. Then he couldn't move and his vision, black from his eyelids, began to white out. Knowing the signs didn't make sinking into a vision any less alarming.
Emerson was back in college, a stud with muscles to spare and a crazy high tolerance for alcohol. His dormmates loved him. His coach loved him. His boyfriend loved him.
Fuck. He hated this memory. There was a halfway point where he was aware of the memory being from the past before it seemed to take over. He tried to cringe away and break the scene, but it wouldn't disappear.
Alec, his roommate, asked him to join a frat party down the block. Emerson, a rising wrestling star who didn't see anything wrong in absorbing from such energetic friends, was all for it.
“The Tank made it!” Brian, fellow wrestler, high-fived Emerson as he strutted into the overcrowded entry hall of the Epsilon Rho's frat house. They all wore similar mixes of campus swag and jeans. Music blared, shouts barely broke through the beat, and a senior shoved past them both to get outside.
“This is it. This is the night we get you shit-faced.” Alec rubbed his hands together while Brian went for drinks. Alec was the smallest of them, all lean muscle of a runner with tight pants and a flat brimmed baseball hat. Brian sported a beer belly, but with strong shoulders and an affinity for polo shirts.
“Have you seen Benjamin?” Emerson asked over the roaring din of music, chants of chugging, and general chatter.
“Nah. He's too much of a nerd for this.”
Emerson playfully punched Alec in the shoulder. “Be nice.”
“It's not my fault you have a type.” Alec's attention snagged on two incoming red cups ferried by Brian. He plucked them both and handed them to Emerson. “Down the hatch.”
Emerson grinned and one after the other, downed the sour beer. After that came shots. Then more beer. He lost count and went from buzzed, to tipsy, to blacked out.
The next thing he remembered, it was two in the morning and way too quiet. The last party of this caliber had raged until first light, but his brain caught back up with the alcohol. He was surrounded by dozens of passed out partiers. People were on the floor, couches, counters, stairs, all without a care to how they were positioned.
He stood, waiting for the dizziness to hit, but felt remarkably stable and clear headed. Way too sober for how much he'd been drinking.
Alec and Brian were slumped on the couch when he found them.
“Hey guys. Come on, let's go.” Emerson shook their shoulders. Alec groaned and puked. Emerson leaped back, just missing the sick.
The whole room was in a similar state. Passed out, barely responsive. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He'd done it. It had been years since taking from anyone to this degree, let alone an entire house. He must have absorbed the house's vital energy to process the alcohol in his system.
“Brian?” There was something wrong with his pallor. The man's usually reddish-brown skin was turning ashen. He stirred.
“Greap party,” Brian mumbled.
“How much did you have to drink?”
“I alm-st had'ou.”
Shit. He'd tried to go drink-for-drink? “Let's go.”
“Mm. Where?”
“Hospital.”
The weight on Emerson's mind lifted as the memory faded. Muscle control returned, as did his sight. He jumped up, then remembered his body wasn't the same as the one he'd relived in the memory. The extra weight forced him to compensate with lighter steps and intentional movements.
A lot had changed since he had been twenty and reckless and alone. He’d never met another Abnormal until John. With him, he’d finally been able to absorb without the fear of killing someone. Just knowing there were others out there helped. Was that why John tolerated Licia? Emerson’s lack of control had hurt the people closest to him, but Licia didn’t seem to care about the pain she caused. She wasn’t a young girl making mistakes. Even if she was, she showed no remorse for taking that man’s life. She knew what she was doing.
What if John was more like Emerson than he realized? He had a past, even if he didn't talk about it much. With his arousing ability and impulsive nature, he must have done stupid things, too. Maybe it wasn't fair to judge him so harshly. Then again, Emerson had never knowingly helped a murderer, so he wasn’t about to forgive John for that.
CHAPTER 21
Licia
The shift in Emerson's emotions had been like missing a step in a dream and jerking awake. The sour and salty pickle-like taste of his fluctuating feels had killed her appetite for hours, but now her stomach demanded attention. She put extra effort behind her wards to keep the flavors at bay while she prowled the streets of Chelsea, looking for something indulgent.
Satisfied by a traditional cannoli, she turned up West 22nd and checked the address her contact had given her the night before. She hadn't run a gang in Manhattan but knew a few of the locals from about seven years ago when she'd passed through, and although she disliked this guy in particular, Ian was the best bet she had for finding real estate for her ventures.
She slipped through the gate to the back courtyard from the sidewalk, admiring the
clean facades and fancy landscaping. Four buildings used the courtyard, and she waited at building D for someone to exit so she could slip inside. Up on the second floor she knocked on his apartment door and steeled herself against the coming shock. She was probably exaggerating the way he looked. The mind was so unreliable after all.
The door swung open and Licia gripped her walls tight to keep her panic in. Ian looked so much like him. Older, broader, but the same structure. Same coloring. It was like staring at a ghost.
He grinned lazily at her, his too-white teeth at odds with the cream-colored hallway. “Little Licia.”
“Ian.”
“I go by Cash now.”
She snorted and the spell was broken. It wasn't Brady. He’d been dead since she was eighteen. She never needed to fear him again. “Are you going to insist I call you that? Little on the nose, don't you think?” Ian was, after all, a loan shark by night and a shitty landlord by day.
“You're lucky Knees told me you were coming.”
She rolled her eyes. Knees was actually named Zhang and got the name for constantly scraping his knees, not for taking out kneecaps as he would have liked them to believe. “Then you know what I'm after.”
“You got the capital?”
She handed over a prepaid debit card.
“I'll see what I can do.”
She didn't trust the oozing sharp-cheddar eagerness coming off him, but he was an opportunist: mostly harmless, but greedy and short-sighted. And an asshole. Still, if she took out every asshole in the world, there'd be like, two people left.
“There’s something else I need.”
“Oh?” He perked up, feeling the edges of the card absently.
Licia adjusted the hood on her sweater and realized she was fidgeting. It was hard to ask for specialized info when no one knew what was really going on. “If you hear of a new drug called Jammers, I need them. If you know who’s distributing, I need that, too.”
He raised an eyebrow and again she felt a chill of recognition as his face brought up unpleasant memories of another man.
