by Lin Lustig
It felt like a warm finger hooked into her sternum and beckoned north. There were too many cameras and faculty to trust her ability to stay hidden for long. Instead she focused on the clusters of students, felt for their desperation and tasted their stress. She'd have to find the right in-group to build her network, but she'd have time.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she checked a text from John asking her to come back. Part of her regretted letting him have her number, but after what had happened in the park, she couldn't stand his sour fear and rich compassion. It was like his heart was breaking, and she could feel the swelling sadness consume him, so she'd caved and given him her new burner phone info. For safety. Not because she couldn't stand his pain. She liked pain... in other people who wronged her, but John hadn't wronged her. Not really.
Outside felt colder after being in the warmth. She ducked her chin and missed the student heading straight at her. She dodged, only just bumping his shoulder, then caught a familiar logo on his backpack.
UHP: Humanity for Humanity. Columbia University Program.
She followed him back inside, tailing him to a far wing of the building before hitting him with a coil of trust and comfort. She tapped his shoulder.
“Hey, I saw your UHP patch. Are you in their program?”
He grinned, his white teeth almost unnatural against his rosy umber complexion. “Yeah, well kind of. I'm not in the nursing program, but I volunteer.”
UHP had satellite locations across the country, but she'd kept her tea shops at a safe distance in her previous cities. Here UHP peppered the city like someone had unscrewed the shaker lid. “What kind of program is it?”
“They run a lot of blood drives and some student health centers. There’s a teaching hospital, too. It's at the north campus, but I'm just volunteering a couple times a week for one of my gen-ed classes.”
“How do I get up there?”
“Take the subway to the Washington Heights stop. Can't miss it from there.”
“Great thanks.” Licia quickened her pace away, but he called after her.
“Hey, you wanna grab a tea or something?”
She retracted her influence. “Depends on what it's laced with.” She got a hint of his confusion before turning down another hall and leaving him.
Once she was outside, she paused and sucked in a deep breath. She loved the smell of rain.
CHAPTER 28
John
The intercom chimed from the foyer. Prisha, lounging with her long legs draped over his, gave him a look. “I wasn't enough for you?”
He waved his hand at her and checked the time. Shit, when had it become so late? “Guess it's time for you to go.”
“What? I can't go out there yet. Like you said, I need to talk to Emerson.” Her voice was more of a tease, throwing his concern back at him to get her way.
“He's at the doctors, but I have a friend from out of town visiting.” John gave her a warning glare, but he couldn’t hide the playful twist of his mouth.
She laughed. “You have more friends?”
“Ha, ha. Hilarious as usual, come on.”
“Just introduce us. As your best friend, it's my job to vet others for you.” She sipped her third martini. He was about to argue when she pursed her lips. “I really don't want to go back yet. Let me hang around a little longer?”
Glen implied the press release wasn't for a couple more hours, and he couldn't deny a friend in need, or maybe just a Prisha in need. “Yeah, okay. Try not to judge me too harshly for this one.” He slid out from under her smooth legs and padded into the foyer in his socks. Hitting the entry button, he watched on the video feed as the door unlocked down on street level and Glen pulled it open. He carried a suitcase. Great, it would be impossible to get him out while Licia was still here.
Prisha leaned over the back of the couch and watched him. “You've piqued my interest. Do you want me on aggressive mode or disarming beauty?”
“Inebriated and distracted, preferably.”
The elevator came to life. Prisha rolled out her shoulders like a tree swaying in the wind, then sank into the couch with a glazed look of far off focus. A magnificent performance. When the elevator slid open, John crossed his arms and leaned against the foyer door frame with a half-smile. He didn't hate Glen, but he'd always rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe Emerson had been right and their shared affections for Licia caused them to repel each other like two north magnets.
Glen hesitated, his dapper blue suit wet around the ankles and his long tan overcoat beaded with water along his sharp shoulders. He kept his grey-flecked black hair crisp and swept back from his forehead, accentuating his high cheekbones and alarmingly green eyes. Whatever his ancestry was, it had produced a begrudgingly attractive man. Didn't mean he wasn't an ass, though.
“Come in,” John nodded at him, then back at the living room. “I have a friend sobering up. Or at least she will when she stops drinking.”
Glen looked like he was perpetually displeased, but it might have been the severity of his glasses and the hard part in his hair. He looked a little like a businessman from the 50's, except that his glasses and watch were smart. He hung his coat by the bench and sat to remove his shoes. “Is Licia in?”
“No, she's looking up some potential business locations.”
Glen made a face. “And Emerson?”
He knew of Emerson, and Em knew of him, but they'd never had the displeasure of meeting. “He'll be back soon, then he'll help Prisha out.”
“Your co-star? The underwear model and Miss America winner? That Prisha?”
Hah! So he’d managed to surprise Glen. Prisha was going to love messing with him. The thought brightened John's mood, but then Glen dashed it again.
“We need to talk without being overheard.”
“When Emerson—”
“Without him, too.”
John's stomach churned. What couldn't Emerson know? Nothing good. “Alright, we can talk in the other room, but what's with the suitcase?”
Glen unwound his wool scarf and set his shoes under the bench in line with the others. “In case I'm needed.”
“That pun better have been accidental.” It took a lot of effort to swallow the rest of his snark down. “I'll show you around.” Glen followed him out of the foyer. “Living room, kitchen, office, and my best friend, Prisha. Prisha, this is Glen, a friend of mine from when I lived in California.”
Prisha stood. She edged out John's height by an inch but compared to Glen she towered. “Hello there.” She stuck out her hand.
Glen blushed and looked away. “Nice to meet you.”
“Can I get you a drink? John has excellent gin.”
“Thanks, but no. John, show me where to put my things.” Glen’s tone was direct and unapologetic.
John led him towards the hall as Prisha said, “More gin for me.”
“Prish, go easy. I don't have any more guest rooms to put you up in.”
“That's fine. I'll share yours.”
John ignored her and led Glen back to the theater room, only to remember Emerson had slept in there the previous night. Would he keep sleeping there until they figured out how to save that girl?
Glen closed the door behind them, then paused as he caught sight of the rumpled pillow and blankets. “The patient's name is Tarrah West.”
John shoved the bedding to the far end of the couch and sat. “Okay. I'm guessing that's not all or you would have texted instead of showing up.”
Glen didn't sit but stepped into the room and lowered his voice. “Your place is a mess by the way. The press release is related to Abnormals.”
John kept his expression closed and hid the spike in his blood pressure. “It could be another announcement on the abnormalities in kids. Another mission statement, that kind of thing.” When the kids started presenting with abnormal signs after The Shift, both GANF and UHP made statements to the effect of protecting children by returning them to “normal.” From his perspective, tryin
g to eradicate a naturally occurring difference was inhumane. No one called the kids Abnormals, at least no one beyond UHP’s study and them. The world at large gave them other diagnoses like autism, mood disorders, or a plethora of neurodiverse occurrences that mostly explained what was happening. But there were still those caches of aberrant traits that refused to thread into the narrative.
Glen shook his head. “The CEO is going live at the D.C. office. They had a crew setting up and...” He trailed off and fixed his glasses, then his cuff links. “They had a familiar face on the floor, visiting from New York.”
John felt his brow crease in confusion. Who did they know in New York that was helping UHP? “You've got me hooked, don't leave me on the line.”
“It's Aubrey.”
John sucked in a breath and choked. His eyes watered and he thumped his chest to find his voice, but it came out strained and gravely. “She's in prison.”
Glen perched on the edge of the couch. “She was. I dug into her files. She was released a year ago and hired on at UHP, I'm guessing to continue her work.”
The coughing stopped and he was able to hold his voice even as stress flooded his system. “How the hell didn't we know this sooner? She should have been locked up for at least another eight years.”
Glen held up his hands. “She must have made a deal with someone, but she knows Licia is out there, even if she doesn't know her name or how to find her.”
“Fuck. Licia's going to storm the gates when she finds out.”
“Exactly. We need to convince her to stay and wait. Tarrah needs you two to get her free.”
“I think she needs Emerson, too. The three of us are having these memories—visions—sent from Tarrah, we think. If the three of us are connected, then the three of us need to get her out.” Something tickled John's brain until a thought rushed through him. “New York?”
Glen made a face and leaned back on the couch, then straightened and brushed himself off like he’d been contaminated. “I was wondering if you'd catch that.”
“She's in fucking New York?” John put his head in his hands feeling suddenly ill. “Do you know where?” For an entire year Aubrey had been here? That couldn’t be a coincidence. She had to know he was here, too. It was too easy to find him on social media. He was on Broadway. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“No, but I'll find out.” He fidgeted with his cuffs again. “Everything we know is from her. I know her methods are cruel, but if we're going to understand how Abnormals came to be then—”
“Stop. Her experimentation only told us that people like me are rare, mostly hormonal, and, in theory, associated somehow with The Shift. Torturing people to understand more is wrong.” John stood and crossed to the door, needing to move, needing to get the hell out of there before his head burst. Aubrey couldn’t be free. He was never naïve enough to believe the experimentation would stop, but he’d believed that without her the cruelty might end.
“I'm not saying it's not. I'm saying experimentation might be necessary. You hold so much untapped potential, if—”
“We're done with this. I'll call Licia. We need to give her a heads up, regardless.” John stared Glen down, but he didn't submit and squared his shoulders.
“Good. Licia's the only one who can stop what you started anyway.”
John turned his back on him and left the room. That asshole. He had no idea what he was talking about. Glen hadn’t been there, he’d been safe at home behind his computer while he and Licia broke Azami out. Glen was a Normie who'd take all he could from the situation to benefit his position. He might be loyal to Licia, but that didn't mean he could trust him.
Prisha was where he left her on the couch, except her martini glass had magically refilled. She was about to say something, then took in his demeanor and seemed to settle further into the couch. “You sure he's a friend?”
He tried to settle his fear and frustration. “He's more a friend of Licia's.”
“Her again? She certainly likes to keep you on your toes. Something tells me I'm going to like her.”
Shit, he hoped not. The two of them together would be terrifying in multiple ways. “That's what I'm afraid of. I need to make a call, help yourself to whatever.”
“I always do.”
CHAPTER 29
Licia
Licia rode the subway back towards Chelsea instead of heading north to check out the hospital. It’s not like she expected it to be any different than any other UHP satellite clinic, and as annoying as it was to admit, John needed her, and she couldn’t say no to him.
John's voice over the phone had said her name like a plea—he hated dealing with Glen on his own. Phone calls were the worst. She couldn't decipher inflection well and couldn't even get a hint of his emotions. Her ability to interpret the tastes around her had become a crutch. The walls she kept up weakened and she knew the passengers around her were getting dosed by her anxiety, but even her years of practice controlling her emotions hadn't wiped out the power behind her worry.
At 23rd Street she wove through the crowd and took the stairs two at a time up to the street, then jogged through the cold rain towards John's condo. The air smelled like steel and ice. It should snow soon. She slipped on a patch of ice around a corner and caught herself on a railing. She slowed her pace enough to watch her footing, but by the time she reached his building, she was breathing hard in white plumes and shivering against a thin layer of sweat across her skin. The lobby was blessedly warm, and she soaked it in, letting it melt away her tension, but then she saw a familiar outline waiting for the elevator and raised her walls and wards.
Emerson stepped away when she slid up with the air of giving her room, not retreating. He wore a thick jacket and massaged the crook of his right elbow, a grocery tote hanging from his free hand.
The words slipped out of Licia without permission. “I'd never hurt him.”
“It's usually people who say things like that who do the most damage.” The elevator doors opened, and he let her step in first. It shut and they both lurched with the ascension.
“I don't need to be your friend. Once we free that girl, if you're lucky, you'll never have to see me again, but until then, work with me. People need us.”
Emerson ran a hand over his cropped coarse hair and let out a deep breath. He was three times her width and several inches taller. Intimidating without the tricks she had to employ. Most of his bulk was muscle, and it would be too easy for someone like him to overpower someone like her. But she let down her wards just enough to have a hint of his emotions and tasted a tart consideration that made her cheeks salivate. All she really knew of this man was his dedication to protection. She hoped it would be enough to create a temporary truce between them.
“You'll do whatever it takes, and I'll do whatever I can to keep you from hurting anyone else.”
“Fine,” Licia agreed. It wasn't quite the working relationship she wanted, but it would do. The elevator slowed, and as the doors whooshed open, she couldn’t help but wonder if Emerson was really naive enough to believe no one would get hurt in all this. Her only goal was to make sure it wasn't one of her people. She'd protect her own and let Emerson worry about the rest.
A TV created dull background noise beyond the foyer doors. She tested the room and tasted the annoyance of Emerson beside her, the worry of John, a splash of familiar desperation from Glen, then an unexpectedly sweet and playful taste like dissolved cotton candy. Who the hell was that?
Emerson slid off his shoes and carried the tote to the kitchen where he set three bottles of wine on the counter. He paused when he noticed the others in the room. “Prish? What are you doing here?”
“Drinking John's gin. You?”
“I live here.”
“Just checking.”
“Emerson, this is Glen,” John introduced him. Glen stepped up and offered his hand. Emerson shook it twice, then Glen pulled away and came to Licia.
“Hello again.” He clasped his hands behind his back a
nd made no motion to reach for her. She’d requested he not touch her years ago and she had to admit she was impressed with his memory. The last time she saw him she was passing through D.C. on her way to Boston.
She remembered sitting in a little shop not far off the National Mall eating ramen. She’d slurped the noodles while keeping her wards up, so when she looked up and caught familiar green eyes, she’d startled. But all Glen had done was bring his bowl of ramen to her table and eat with her in silence. John might hate him, but Glen was loyal and reliable, but mostly, obedient.
“What's everyone doing here?” Emerson asked and scrunched up his right sleeve to rip off a strip of medical tape.
“There's a thing on the news that Glen wanted us to see. Can you tail Prisha home? She has a stalker.”
“Another one? You didn’t crush any testicles this time, did you?” Emerson sighed, but the unusually beautiful woman grinned with straight teeth and wicked eyes before ignoring his question.
“Is this the infamous Licia?” Prisha asked.
“Infamous?” Usually she cultivated a quiet reputation.
Prisha’s gold top and rosy pants felt too bright for the otherwise muted room. Licia would feel like she was wearing a Halloween costume in something like that, but on her it just looked... right.
Prisha sashayed over to her. “I look forward to vetting you. See if you're worth all the drama.”
“Okay, Prish. Time to go.” John grabbed her shoulders and steered her towards the foyer. Emerson followed. Once they left, everyone settled in the living room to watch the press release.
Glen said, “The release will be starting soon, but there's still no mention of it.”
They caught Licia up on the impending press release, and their suspicions on it having to do with Abnormals. She made a face at the term. “Maybe the CEO is going rogue with this one?”
