As soon as the words lodged in my mind, my body obeyed them. I cried out and shattered, rubbing myself against the hard length of his thigh. He moaned and fisted his hands against the mattress, and I could tell he was riding my climax as it washed me up and back down again, warm like waves in a shallow sea. I had no way of knowing how deep in my head he’d gone, but I knew it was deep enough. His hips jerked, and he shuddered and collapsed on top of me, his face pressing against my neck for the barest second before he rolled away from me.
“I want to touch you,” I said, languid.
“I know.” He wrapped his hand in his shirtsleeve, pulled my hand toward him and laid it flat on his still-clothed chest. I wished that I could press against his skin.
“Shh,” Jackson said. “Sleep, now,” and whether from exhaustion or some bone-deep mental suggestion, I did.
Chapter Fifteen
When I woke up, he was gone.
“Shit,” I said aloud. Had I misread things? He’d certainly seemed okay with it last night. Morning-after regrets? I was wrapped tightly in the blanket, and I vaguely remembered Jackson cocooning me in it last as I’d drifted off. Protection.
I hadn’t bought curtains yet, and the bedroom was bright with midmorning sunlight. It made me notice how bare the place was. I didn’t even have a bedside table. I groaned and got up, keeping the blanket wrapped around my body so I didn’t put on a show for the neighbors I hadn’t even met yet. I wanted coffee and eggs and sausage and pancakes and a glass of orange juice. Then maybe I’d be able to process what had happened last night. Of course, the only things in my fridge were ketchup and a jar of pickles.
The box with all my pantry items in it was still packed. I tore it open and started digging. Crackers, uncooked pasta, white rice, peanut butter, a few cans of soup. A box of cereal—but I was out of milk. I settled on crackers and peanut butter and resolved to go grocery shopping as soon as I got dressed.
Still in the blanket, I shuffled into the kitchen and washed one of my butter knives. Why hadn’t I unpacked the coffeepot? That should have been the first thing I set up. Food first. I sat at my table with my knife and my sad breakfast.
Keys in my front door startled me. Was it Bridget’s sister? Who had keys to my place? Where were my clothes? I was scrambling around my bedroom with my shirt in my hand when the door opened. It was Jackson.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing in the door sideways. His arms were full of bags, and he was wearing fresh clothes.
“Oh,” I said. “You’re back.” At least I’d managed to get my pants on. I picked up a rumpled shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head. Screw the bra.
“I would’ve left a note, but I couldn’t find a pen.”
“Yeah. I, uh, still need to unpack a few things.”
“So I noticed.” He set the bulk of the bags down in the hall. “I got coffee.” He waved a cardboard cup holder with two to-go cups of coffee.
“Oh, thank God,” I said. He sent a cup soaring over to me, and I was glad his powers were still intact. We’d been careful, but there was no telling what had happened while we’d been asleep. I took the coffee and sipped. It was perfect. “So, what’s in the bags?”
“Curtains,” he said.
“Curtains?”
“And breakfast.”
“What?”
He held up a grocery store bag. “Your kitchen is pathetic.”
I sipped my coffee again. “I did only just move in, you know.”
“I know. Come on. I’ll make you an omelet.” I followed him into the kitchen, and he started unloading the bags. Eggs, butter, chives. Chives?
“What? Chives are good on omelets.” He was grinning. I leaned against the counter and watched him wash my saucepan and set it on the stove. I’d never seen him cook. His kitchen in the high-rise was stocked with a ton of high-end cookware, but I’d figured it was all for show. Watching him beat eggs with a fork while he sent a pat of butter soaring into the pan, I realized he might actually know what he was doing.
He poured eggs into the pan and turned around. “Do you have a spatula?”
“Uh...” I dug through the cardboard box marked Kitchen and came up with a black plastic one. It had a row of melted indentations along the handle from the times I’d let it sit on a hot skillet too long. I handed it to Jackson.
“I got bacon too.” He held up a package wrapped in butcher paper. Behind him, the butter and eggs sizzled.
“And here I was expecting flowers.”
He grinned, and for a moment, our eyes locked. His expression slipped into something softer, and I felt like the space between us was gone, like there was no air left in the kitchen and didn’t need to be. Then the smoke alarm went off.
“Shit!” Jackson flipped a slightly crispy omelet onto a waiting plate. “That’ll be mine,” he said, and cracked more eggs into the bowl.
“I’m...gonna go finish getting dressed.”
“If you must.”
I blushed and scrambled back to the bedroom. My bra was wedged between the futon mattress and the frame, and I dug it out and put it on with my shirt around my neck. I checked my hair in the mirror attached to the closet door and decided I’d deal with it later. When I got back to the kitchen, Jackson was buttering toast. He passed me a plate loaded with an omelet and bacon, and I leaned against the counter next to him and ate while he made a plate for himself.
“This is pretty delicious.”
“I have some useful skills.”
We sipped our coffee and had seconds of bacon. He tried to do the dishes afterward, but I wouldn’t let him, and he disappeared into the turret room. When I went in a few minutes later, he was holding wood screws in his mouth and using a power drill to put up curtain rods.
“Where did you get that stuff?”
“Hardware store down the street,” he said around the screws. I realized I didn’t know the neighborhood well enough to know where he meant.
“I’ll pay you back,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to get this stuff anyway.”
“It’s no big deal. They’re for me too.”
“Planning on staying over again?”
“Depends.” He popped a screw out of his mouth and used it to attach the second bracket. “Planning on asking me to?” He climbed off the chair and came to stand in front of me, the drill hanging by his side. He tugged at the sleeve of my shirt to draw me closer. I batted him away.
“You shouldn’t be touching me. Isn’t that job with your dad tonight?”
“Plenty of time for it to wear off,” he said, and he caught me by the waist with his free hand and drew me up against him.
“Rebel.”
“Tease.”
He kissed me, quick and hard, and I melted against him like wax in the sun. I did my best to hold off the transfer the way Simon had shown me, but it was difficult when Jackson was using his tongue like he intended to stay another night. He released me just as my lips began to tingle with the power transfer.
“Now who’s the tease,” I said, and he laughed and turned back to the curtain rod, threading one of the curtains onto it. They were bright yellow with a pattern of tiny orange flowers. Cheerful. Pretty.
The kind of thing I would’ve picked out a year ago. Before.
“I thought you might like them.” His voice was soft; his hands were tangled in bright fabric. “You can always exchange them—”
“I love them,” I said. “They’re perfect.”
“Good.” He slid the last grommet into place.
“So are you going to tell me more about this job your father wants help with?”
He stiffened, then sent the curtain rod floating up to the newly mounted bracket. I waited for him to finish.
“You really don’t need to take part in this,” he sa
id. “It won’t be like the other time.”
“You mean it’ll be more dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“I want to do this, Jackson. It’s not just about Conner. It helps keep my powers down. I don’t like worrying about grounding people in the speakeasy...” I didn’t add, grounding you.
“I know.” He paused, and the curtain rod shifted and settled into place. “We’ll hunt him down this evening. In the meantime, you could really use some curtains for the bedroom.”
* * *
At midnight that night, we walked to Cordova Park from the 24th Street Muni station, James half a block ahead of us. Jackson and I had come up with a plan on the way over.
“What does he look like?” I asked. Fog had rolled in thick over the city, and I was cold despite my jacket.
“Five-eleven, dark hair, piercings in his ears. His name is Thomas.”
“And you’re sure he’ll be here?”
“He almost always is. We’ve been watching him for days.” We rounded the corner, leaving the more heavily populated Capp Street for a smaller side street, and Jackson stopped.
“Don’t say you don’t want me to do this,” I said, holding up a hand. “You’ve said it enough.”
He blew out a breath that ruffled his hair. “Just...say you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll be careful.”
His hands went to my hips and tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might lean in, but he closed his eyes and shifted away.
“Okay.” He squeezed once more and let me go.
James was waiting, standing in front of a shuttered coffee shop and pretending to smoke a cigarette. We didn’t acknowledge him as we passed. The bills in my hand were crumpled and damp with sweat. I forced my fist to relax. We passed the gated entrance to the park and stopped in front of the window of the closed convenience store next door.
“If you get into trouble, all you have to do is think it,” Jackson said.
“I know.”
“You won’t even have to call me. I’ll be listening. I’ll be right here.”
“Jackson, I know.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Please stop asking me that.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded. I took a deep breath and walked up to the gate.
The park took up a quarter of a block between two mixed-use wooden buildings, both of them covered with graffiti from the second floor down. The majority of the space was paved, with green-painted metal benches set at intervals around a half-pipe and an urban container garden that had seen better days. In the corner opposite was a playground for kindergarteners. One of the swings was occupied by someone well over the appropriate age. The gate creaked when I opened it, and he looked up.
I didn’t make eye contact, not yet. I was using every bit of concentration I had to push the images of Jackson and James out of my head. The kid—he couldn’t have been older than nineteen—was twisting around in the swing, and he kept doing it as I got closer, as though he hadn’t noticed me.
“Hey,” I said, and settled myself in the empty swing next to him.
He flicked his eyes up, and then down again, gave a barely perceptible nod. I opened my hand and let him see the cash.
“I’m looking to score.” The words felt strange in my mouth.
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“C’mon, man, I really need a hit.” I didn’t raise my voice, but I let the pitch creep up, pleading. “How much will this get me?”
His eyes flicked from my face to the cash in my hand, and he shrugged. “Depends. What you lookin’ for?”
I’d been afraid of this. We didn’t know the street name for the drugs, and I didn’t want to risk being made. Time to wing it.
“You know...that shit that makes you...stronger.” I used my feet to get closer to him, pulling the swing chains as far as they’d go.
“I ain’t got what you’re looking for,” Thomas said.
This was it. I grabbed his hand and pressed the sweaty bills into his palm. When he tried to pull away, I didn’t let go. “You gotta help me out, you gotta.” I had his hand in both of mine now. The transfer was starting. He hadn’t felt it yet, but he would. I focused on it, tried to strengthen the connection the way I’d once created focused, shielded lines for mindspeaking. It didn’t feel the same, but it felt strong.
“Look, girl, I can’t help you...the guy you need ain’t around.” He was tugging hard now. He put a hand on my shoulder for leverage, trying to pry himself away. It must’ve finally dawned on him that something wasn’t right because he stopped struggling and stared at me. I knew when Jackson started exerting force on his legs, because panic made his eyes go wild.
“What the fuck?” he said. Then Jackson came into view.
I couldn’t help it—I smiled. When Thomas saw my expression and followed it to its source, he redoubled his efforts to get away. He was stronger than me, but whatever he was on was making me dizzy with adrenaline. A difference from when I’d grounded Paulie and Jackson. The enhancers.
For a moment we were caught in a telekinetic tug-of-war. I was grounding Thomas, and Thomas was fighting off Jackson’s attempts to restrain him. Whatever he was on, it was effective—I’d barely made a dent in his strength. It took about ninety seconds for the balance to tip in Jackson’s favor. Thomas felt it. He looked at me with sudden, panic-ridden understanding.
“You—fuck!”
I grimaced and tightened my hold on his arm. He changed tactics. He stopped fighting Jackson off and focused all his power on me. He sent me flying—right at Jackson.
Jackson reached out instinctively to catch me. His hands closed over my arms, and I tried to twist away, but was too late. For a few moments—too many, enough for me to start to ground him—we struggled in a tangle of limbs and skin, and Thomas didn’t waste any time. By the time we’d fought our way free, he was running down the street, flat out.
Oh, hell no, I thought, and took off after him.
He was fast, but I was pretty fast myself. I was surging on Thomas’s power plus what I’d gotten off of Jackson. I heard Jackson yell after me to stop, but I kept going. I could see Thomas—I knew I could catch him. He turned down Capp and kept running. There was a gated parking lot up the street, and as soon as he saw it, he darted for it, leaping to the top of the iron fence with a burst of telekinetic power. The whole thing clanged and rattled, and he clung to the top, trying to boost himself over the fancy finials. If I hadn’t grounded him, he probably would’ve made it over.
I hit the fence, his power still thrumming over my skin. I hadn’t dissipated it yet. Thomas was scrambling up, and if he got over, there was no way we’d catch him. He’d have too much of a head start.
If I’d had time to think I couldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have. But I was riding the panic from what I’d taken, acting on instinct. I looked up at him and let the energy I’d stolen loose into the metal fence. The whole thing sparked bright white, and Thomas yelped and fell backward onto the concrete with a thud.
I rushed forward, terrified it had been too much, worried, for a heart-stopping instant, that I’d killed him. My hands hovered ineffectually over his still body, panic rising despite the fact that I’d dissipated the adrenaline surge. Thomas groaned and flopped over, then got unsteadily up on all fours. Relief flooded me.
“Shit, man, what was that?”
The sound of running footsteps let me know that Jackson had arrived, and Thomas’s eyes rolled in fear. He tried to get up and run, but Jackson got there first, restraining him telekinetically. I looked at the place where I’d touched the fence. The paint was scalded, peeling away from the spot in blackened curls.
“Are you okay?” Jackson said.
“Fine,” I said, just as Thomas said,
“Hell, no.”
“Quiet,” Jackson said to Thomas, then turned to me. “Did he hurt you?”
“She hurt me!” Thomas said. “She shocked the hell out of me! Freak!” He struggled to stand, but Jackson was more than a match for him.
“You’ll be fine,” Jackson said.
James arrived and took out a pair of handcuffs, and Thomas looked resigned. Jackson jerked him to his feet and started patting him down.
“Didn’t think you were fucking real,” Thomas said, looking at me as James cuffed him. “Thought Greg was full of shit.”
I stiffened when he said Greg’s name, and Jackson told him to shut up. James was pulling a pharmacy’s worth of orange plastic bottles out of his pockets, stuff I didn’t recognize and didn’t want to know the identity of. Then there was a single baggie with only three crumbling pills left in the bottom. James held them in front of the kid’s face.
“I dunno what those are,” he said, but he looked scared.
“We do,” Jackson said.
“Where did you get these?” I asked him, but he shook his head. I turned to look up at Jackson. “Why the hell is everyone so secretive about these pills?”
I leaned down to get closer to the kid, but before he could answer, I felt a disturbance in the air around me. It was like a bird had flown past, right next to me. I covered Thomas instinctively, and a second later, pain ignited in my side. I let out a strangled gasp and fell to my hands and knees. Blood dripped on the pavement.
It still didn’t occur to me to be afraid. I thought maybe Thomas had cut me, but he looked as confused as I did. Jackson took a moment to figure out what had happened, and then he threw his hands forward in the direction of the street. I could almost feel the surge of power from him, followed by a strangled cry of pain and loud crash.
“Go!” yelled Jackson to his father, and then he turned to me.
I was panting. The wetness on my stomach was spreading, and now I could feel the pain, an acid-burn in my belly. I lifted my fingers from where I’d unconsciously pressed them to my stomach, and they came up dark. It was a moment before I realized they were wet with blood. Blood and something else, a thin, watery fluid, were soaking my shirt. I let out a keening sound I hardly recognized as my own.
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