by Lin Lustig
Chloe dropped off the costume Prisha had approved after spending most of yesterday testing different styles with her. All he cared was that it came with a full-coverage mask. He slipped on the post-punk revival outfit and tested it. Leather vest, fake tattoo sleeves, torn skin-tight black jeans, blacked out Converse, and even a wig of too-long brown locks to cover his blonde. Good. No one would be able to tell it was him at a glance.
Movement caught his attention, and he turned to find Licia leaning against the door frame.
“How long you been there?” Seeing her now felt different. He’d been so anxious after the show and stressed about the gala that he hadn’t had to think about them. Not that there was a them. He’d always wanted something to happen, but he knew it was next to impossible.
“Long enough to know you're not wearing boxers.”
Was the color in her cheeks out of embarrassment or anger? He didn't feel any tendrils of her spreading power, but for once he'd have liked to.
“About tonight,” she began. “You need backup.”
His mood darkened. “I don't want the kind of backup that gets Aubrey killed.”
Licia's eyes flashed with irritation. “As if she wouldn’t deserve it. You know I'm in control.”
John flopped on the edge of his bed. “All I really know is that you hate her and UHP. We can't trust that they won't be using Jammers. I'll fill you in when I'm back.” It didn’t matter if the tension between them was worse, what mattered was keeping her out of Aubrey’s reach.
“Trust me.” Licia stepped forward, closing the distance between them in two hungry steps.
John raked back his hair. Her eyes were blue beacons of cold fire, calling to him. Slowly, he reached out and rested his hands on her hips. She let him.
“I trust you with my life, but I can’t let you kill her. I know what it does to you.” Aubrey was cruel, but she didn’t deserve to die—and Licia didn’t deserve to shoulder the emotional aftermath that hollowed her out.
Her frustration overflowed, tendrils of it licking at John's heart and inciting a hot flush to fill his body. He kept his cool, fighting through the emotional overlay—acting. Licia held his gaze for too long, but he couldn't blink.
“Everything okay?” Emerson's voice broke the moment and Licia looked back at him, quickly disengaging herself from John's hold.
“Fine,” she said, her voice tight and sharp. She skirted his bulk in the doorway and disappeared down the hall. Emerson gave John a what-was-all-that-about look.
John shook his head. Something tickled the back of his mind. It seemed familiar. Pressure and creeping stillness.
“Em?” John tried to warn him, but the room flattened, and his vision whited out.
He stood in an elevator. Azami—young and broken—hunched in her wheelchair. The hum of the elevator was one thing, but the smell of antiseptic pulled John completely out of his present awareness and into the vision.
One of the buttons was illuminated for the ground floor. He should care, right? All he felt was a strange sense of meh, like he was hearing and seeing through murky, tepid water. The elevator descended and with each floor it dropped, the weight of ennui lifted from his shoulders.
“Licia, you little shit.” John punched the eleventh-floor button. No way was he going to let her go off on her own and take out his wife. He had married a monster, but she was still a person.
“What's happening?” Azami slumped in her chair. John pushed back her hair.
“Hey kid, we're going to get you out of here.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
Azami's eyes cleared and she focused on John. “I don't have anyone.”
“You got us, we'll keep you safe. You can even stay with me if you want.”
Azami teared up and nodded. “I want to go home.”
John was taken aback. As she let out a soft sob, he realized she was longing for a physical place he could never give. He stroked her back, careful not to touch her skin directly. Last thing she needed was a surge of physical arousal.
Back on the eleventh floor the door opened to the same hall they'd been in, except instead of Licia and his wife, six hospital security were collapsed on the floor, scattered like dead on a battlefield. Visions of Licia manipulating their attacker to blow out his brains flit across his memory. He checked the pulse of the one nearest. Alive, just out cold. Good.
He couldn't go after Licia and leave Azami. “Kid? I'm going to have to carry you.”
“Where's Licia?”
“She ran off ahead, but she's no good alone.” No good and all bad, more like. Azami raised her arm an inch for John to get a grip and hoist her over his back like a school bag. He detached the IV, then clasped her hands to keep her from slipping. She whimpered, and he adjusted to take her wrists. He kept his vibe under strict control, jamming the cork down as far as he could.
“Squeeze your legs. Good girl. Let's go.”
If Licia had Aubrey on the run, then she'd aim for her office. He had to get there before either of them could get a hold of Aubrey's gun. The thought of his wife's brains all over her office made him gag. He coughed and kept running.
The pressure released John's mind and his eyes snapped back to the present. Emerson was alarmingly close.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Emerson sighed and sat down.
John palmed his face and scrubbed some of the memory away. “Sorry.”
“What did you see?” Emerson adjusted on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress so John had to consciously keep from touching him. He forgot how ridiculous he looked in the punk costume and began stripping out of it. Emerson didn't react, nothing he hadn't seen before.
“Licia sneaking off to murder my wife years ago.”
“What the fuck?”
“I stopped her, obviously. But she won't sit by when she knows where Aubrey is.” John slipped on a pair of sweats. He still had a few hours before the gala, the costumes could wait. “I need you to watch her tonight.”
Emerson nodded, but sadness crept into his eyes. “You care about her a lot, don't you?”
It was John's turn to let out a strained breath, his thoughts caught between the past and present; the Licia he thought she'd turned into versus the Licia she'd always been.
“Yes. I do love Licia, but it’s not the same as what I feel for you. I fell in love with her back then. She's a part of me, but she's never loved me. That's okay. All that matters is keeping her from killing again. It does something to her—breaks her a little more each time. Will you help?” John risked a look at Emerson, but he was staring at his clasped hands instead.
“Then I was right. I thought it would feel better knowing, but it doesn't.”
“Em...”
“I'll keep an eye on her.” Emerson's movements were heavy, and when he passed by, John wanted more than anything to reach out and tell him it would be okay. Except he was tired of lying.
CHAPTER 46
Emerson
After John left for the gala, Emerson’s phone rang. The ID said Dr. Wallace.
“Mr. Caldwell, this is Frances from Dr. Wallace's office. We have some concerns about your recent test results. Are you available for an appointment?”
Emerson felt his blood pressure drop. “What did they find?”
“Your LDL levels have suddenly jumped. We need to run an echocardiogram on your heart and possibly a chest X-ray. He wants you in as soon as possible for another blood test and to discuss some more aggressive medications.”
Emerson glanced at the clock. It was almost five. “How late are you open?”
“Until eight. After that Dr. Wallace only does house calls.”
One of the perks of using a private doctor was definitely the flexibility.
He was supposed to watch Licia, but he needed to put himself first for once—not John’s needs. Besides, Licia looked content in her chair and, like John had said, there was a ton of security at a high attendance event like this
.
“I can be there in forty-five minutes, if there’s an opening.” He’d probably make it back before the gala even started.
“Perfect. We’ll see you then.”
Em hung up and then found Glen, putting him in charge of keeping Licia on a leash. It felt strange to do something just for himself. Stranger still that he wasn't putting it off to better suit everyone else. But if Dr. Wallace was worried about his heart, he couldn’t stay.
Glen took the request like a soldier. “I won't let her out of my sight.”
“I think you're the only person I trust that to be a literal statement.” Emerson still wasn't sure what to think of Glen stalking Licia, but at least he was reliable for keeping tabs on her.
Glen adjusted his cuffs. “We all have our talents. Mine are keeping track of my assets.”
Emerson hesitated. Weird way to describe it, but he didn't know Glen well enough to tell if he was being funny. He thanked him, then slid into his coat and boots and headed out.
JOHN
Once at Prisha’s, it took them a combined two hours in hair and makeup before they were ready. Her costume was hot as hellfire. Fire engine red lips, black smoky eyeshadow, a vast fauxhawk inverted braid, a simple white tee with strategic tears, and a series of fake tattoos that matched his own. John already had his black feathered mask on, and a raccoon-worthy ring of charcoal eyeliner to help disguise him further behind it. His outfit was only to compliment hers with ripped black jeans, a studded belt, and a white tank-top so tight his nipples were entirely visible. Henry wolf-whistled her when he arrived to accompany them.
Prisha sped down 59th, aiming for The Plaza's main entrance. Most guests of note were delivered in limos or Bentleys, but Prisha's image included her lead foot and flashy red Porsche. How she managed to drive in her three-inch heels was a mystery of the universe. He briefly wondered if he could get her to wear them in bed.
John sat in the front while Henry lounged in the back. He was a tall man with curly brown hair and a strong jaw. His primary skill was blending in like a polar bear in the snow.
Prisha pulled up to the red carpet and John obsessively checked the elastic holding on his mask for the eighth time. Still there. He should have used eyelash glue to stick the whole thing in place.
Prisha handed Henry the keys. “Scratch it and you’re guarding me the next time my sister visits.”
Henry saluted and took the keys to personally park the Porsche instead of relying on valets.
As they exited the car, paparazzi and media blinded them and other new arrivals. The bright flashes overwhelmed his vision, making him wistful for Hollywood premieres and award shows. If he played the new role right, he might get to bask in the flickering lights again. But this time the center of attention was Prisha, and he was only the prop to her costume.
Prisha took his arm, her matching mask in place. John prayed no one would recognize him as they strolled down the corridor of flickering lights and entertainment reporters.
A plucky young reporter who stood at least eighteen inches shorter than Prisha snagged her for a brief interview. John stayed in the background, waving awkwardly and doing his best to look like he didn't belong here. His vibe fizzed at the attention, and he tightened the lid on any slippage. They had to stop at a UHP logo backdrop for publicity shots, then followed the stream of attendees into the grand ballroom.
Black silk drapes fell from the ceiling, each panel lined with twinkling lights and connecting into massive vases of twisted branches. The architecture was a stunning, castle-like opulence with rounded ceilings and detailed columns. Everything not decorated in gauzy black was dripping in gold and cream. A live band filled a stage playing a rendition of the Monster Mash—which he swore had been around since the dawn of Halloween. The dance floor was filled with costumed couples moving in styles from waltz, to modern depending on their costume.
Prisha kept a tight hold on John's arm, but he needed to search for Aubrey. Tucked inside his leather vest were the divorce papers signed and ready to go. His lawyer, Rachel, hadn't even batted an eye when he explained, well, everything. Everything. She'd shrugged it off and had a courier deliver the papers the next day. If he was going to have any kind of support in his back pocket, an entertainment lawyer was ideal.
“What really made you decide to come with me?” Prisha led him around the dance floor to the open bar near the band. The music shifted to a new beat and a song he didn't recognize. Henry caught their eye, having returned from parking and taking up his sentinel position.
John turned back to Prisha. “I need to research UHP and GANF's position with Abnormals before I misspeak.”
Prisha ordered a club soda and vodka with a wedge of lime, leaving a few bills in the tip jar and picking up their conversation as she waited. “Something tells me that's not the whole truth.”
The bartender delivered her drink. John declined to order and steered Prisha back through the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled. “I don't believe UHP and GANF have Abnormals’ best interests at heart.” John tried to keep his voice soft and light.
“Duh. When religion and business agree it never ends well, but unless you know something I don't, I doubt getting the information in person versus a live broadcast is going to change your charitable approach to these Abnormals,” Prisha said with distaste.
She hadn't been off put by his press release or their earlier talks, so he wasn't sure where her attitude was coming from. He was about to ask when a flicker of a familiar face caught the corner of his eyes. He spun to catch sight of a slight build and angular features just as the shadowy figure disappeared into a crowd. Except it wasn't Aubrey.
CHAPTER 47
Licia
Licia slipped through the crowd of overdressed fools, laying on a thick disinterest as she went. Sneaking in had been surprisingly easy given how high-profile the event was. All the staff wore black outfits with simple black masks and a name tag, and contrary to John's concerns, none of them were on Jammers.
Getting out of the condo, however, had left an aftertaste of guilt. She shouldn't have used Azami to help her slip out. Glen was willing to do anything. Anything, if it meant serving her. Occasionally, she needed that level of devotion, but Azami had the underutilized skill of being underestimated. John, Emerson, and Glen treated her like a broken vase, but they forget shattered glass cuts deep. There was no way Licia was going to miss a chance to gather information on Tarrah and hunt Aubrey. John could be paranoid all he liked, but if Jammers weren't yet fully funded, then the average chump attending this event wasn't going to be on them.
It didn't matter who she used if she got the job done. She'd repay Azami by removing Aubrey so history wouldn't keep repeating over and over. Thinking of Tarrah trapped in a hospital like Azami had been made Licia's stomach churn. She didn't know the girl, only tastes of emotions and a flicker of a hopeless expression on an otherwise soft face, but no one deserved that.
The back of a trim woman with fiery red curls poking out from the strap of a complex mask caught her eye. She had to make sure. It had been years since seeing the bitch and with all these damn costumes it was nearly impossible to identify anyone. Somewhere John was out in the crowd looking for Aubrey, too, and Licia needed to find her first. She had to end this. The crowd shifted until a deer trail opened between party goers. Licia slid and danced around, following the hint of red hair. A little closer and she could open her sense to the woman, feel for the misfiring alignment that was Aubrey's and Aubrey's alone. Licia had felt others who were neurologically unique, but never anyone quite like her.
A hand shot out of the crowd. Vice-like fingers snatched Licia's upper arm and yanked her back behind a decorative planter of cobwebbed branches. She bit back an alarmed cry as the contact made her heart race and face flush. Behind the beautiful glittering mask were crystalline hazel eyes and the imprint of familiar flavors. Fucking John.
“What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in?” he hissed at her. His wi
de eyes darted around the room, making sure no one noticed their moment, but the crowd was too self-involved to see. They circled the banquet tables or circled each other on the dance floor. Either way, it made Licia think of vultures.
“Trust is an emotion too, you know.” She yanked her arm free and shook it out. When he shrugged in a what's-your-point manner, she explained. “I forced the staff to trust me and they let me in through the delivery entrance. Stole an extra mask. It's not like it's hard.” She'd used that tactic for years to get in and out of places she shouldn't be with contraband she shouldn't have.
John went to rake back his hair but knocked into the mask. He righted it with a jerk. “You can't be here. You can't do what I know you're thinking of doing. There are cameras everywhere. If they catch on that you're behind a murder, there will be mass panic. It will only give UHP's agenda legitimacy.”
Licia crossed her arms and lifted her chin. Her wards and walls were as thick as she could make them, forcing all her mental strength into holding back her own emotions and the tidal wave of the hundreds of guests and staff. She didn't have the capacity for this shit. “You don't get it. The visions have been telling me not to fuck this up like I did last time.”
“Letting a woman live isn't fucking up.” John's voice dropped even further. He stepped into her space, towering above her, his eyes hard.
“Don't try intimidating me, John Beechum.” It wasn't a subtle warning, but there was only so much she'd let even him get away with. He stopped, but his sharp eyes didn't soften. She kind of liked it when he looked at her like that. She deserved his hatred, even if he was too stupid to realize it. “You don't get it. There are guys like you who can work in the light and make a difference. Then there are people like me who must get dirty to keep the sewage out of your path. No one will notice what I do.”
