Elites: The Supers of Project 12

by Angel Lawson

  He’s right, everyone looks thrilled at the fairies flying around the room. They’ll chalk it up to some kind of special effects or just being drunk. But really they’re being fleeced. Patrons drop everything into the baskets; money, jewelry credit cards.

  “What’s the point? Just robbery?” he asks Owen.

  “Control. She wants their minds, their money, their data. This isn’t about philanthropy. It’s about revenge.”

  He shakes his head and watches the woman on the stage. She’s now surrounded by a growing set—the fake garden from before comes to life. Flowers bloom. Trees thicken and branches grow. Birds flit around the stage along with bunnies and a fox and the woman cradles a baby goat.

  “Dude this is bizarre.” He’s still skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not doing this?” But Quinn knows it feels different.

  “The shit I do,” Owen says, flicking his fingers toward a nearby glass. A hunk of floating dirt appears. With another flick it vanishes. “It’s not real. Total mind games.” One of the fairies walks by and Owen touches her wing. It bobs and flutters in response. “That is real. Not fake-altered reality.”

  “If you’re not doing it, who is?”

  Casper calls his name before Owen can answer.

  “What?” he says into his com, feeling completely overwhelmed.

  “Astrid’s headed toward the stage. You need to get her out of there before you’re compromised. Jensen wanted you to observe. Not contact. You’ve already done that with Owen. If people see her on that stage there will be documentation that you’ve been there.”

  “Got it.” He runs his hands through his hair and lands his eyes on Astrid. Before he moves he says, “Look, I don’t know what your involvement in all of this is, but the police and FBI have you in their crosshairs. You need to keep a low profile.”

  “Not my style,” he says with a wide grin. “But thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Right, well, if you need help you know where to find us. Next time knock, okay?” He’s surprised when Owen nods, but he doesn’t have any more time to waste. He finds Astrid before he gets to the stage. She’s already there. And she’s already climbing the stairs. A weird look is on her face and he notices her bare hands.

  “Charger don’t let her approach her. Get her off that stage.” He curses. “Dammit. Too late.”

  “No it’s not,” he says, knowing there’s one thing he can do and he clenches his fists. The lights crackle and then pop. He’s killed the power, any recording devices hooked up through the electrical system and sends the entire room into complete darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Astrid

  The woman on the stage glows like a fairy tale princess. Her words…they hit Astrid in the gut. She feels them and when the stage comes to life, for the first time ever she wants to read someone’s echo. The urge to feel her—know her—is unbearably strong.

  The crowd is in an uproar, frazzled by the tainted champagne, then from the wild scene on stage. Normally this kind of crowd would set her on edge. The noise. The smell. The heartbeats and chatter and emotional tides. But once she settled in her senses dulled, except when she saw the floating eyeball in her own glass. That got her to react and she jumped, dropping it on the floor. Quinn looked at her like she was crazy. She doesn’t feel crazy. A little confused but overall, she feels good.

  The woman’s caramel-colored hair hangs down her back, her makeup sparkles in the lights of the stage. Astrid’s barely aware of the fairies flying around through the crowd like manic fire flies, with baskets in their hands. She ignores Casper yelling in her ear. This woman. She’s the key, and Astrid plans on opening the door.

  At the edge of the stage their eyes meet. A wave of familiarity passes through her. The scent—her scent. Sugar and ice cream cones. Baked cookies. Vanilla. She tilts her head to speak but the lights blink off. Shut off. The hum of electricity falls away. The room is pitch dark and the shouts of the patrons scrambling in the dark pounds against her skull.

  “Echo, get the fuck out of there,” Casper growls. There’s no mistaking his urgency; somehow his connection didn’t fry. “Everything about this place is too dangerous for you right now. We do not know who is behind this or how they’re doing it.”

  Astrid doesn’t need lights to find her way. All of her other senses heighten. The thrum of heartbeats. The smell of sweat. Her eyes adjust and the woman is still in front of her, although it doesn’t seem she’s aware of how close Astrid actually is.

  The protective gloves are in her hands, her hands are free—fingertips seeking. The woman is nothing more than a shadow in the chaos but Astrid reaches for her, making contact hand-to-hand.

  Joy. Glee.

  She feels around.

  Happiness, freedom. Power. All tainted with rage. Dark and dangerous.

  Astrid gulps for air and holds tighter. Pushes further.

  Twin beds. Unicorns on the wall. Glitter and fairies. An explosion—fire careening toward the sky. Tears. Piles of dust. A dead body. And a glimmer—the future—fire again but bigger. Total annihilation.

  She gasps, sucking in a breath of shock, no longer aware of anything but the sound of her heart beating in her chest.

  “Casper?” He’s right. This is dangerous, too dangerous. She stumbles back, feet hitting the edge of the stage.

  Strong, familiar hands catch her and Astrid’s feet are on the ground before Quinn can even speak.

  “Run,” she tells him, feeling the tears on her face. He can’t see them but he trusts her and together they push through the crowd toward the lights in the harbor. Halfway there, the lights jolt back on. They don’t stop, she keeps running, dragging him with her.

  Outside he takes over and drags her away from the people milling around the entrance. “Casper get us the hell out of here,” he says into his com, then runs a hand through his hair. He spots the tears on her face and frowns. “That was fucked up. All of it. Every bit. Casper!”

  “Quinn,” she says, watching him pace like a tiger. Her earpiece is silent and she knows he’s not getting an answer.

  His heart beats like a drum. Even the unflappable Charger is wound up after the scene inside. Adrenaline mixed with sweat clings to him. She hasn’t let go of his hand. He finally gets a good look at her. “You’re white as a sheet. What happened on the stage?”

  “I touched her.”

  He stops. “And?”

  “I know who it is and I think we’re in serious trouble. All of us.”

  “Why?”

  “You didn’t recognize her?”

  He shakes his head but doubt creeps in his eyes. “Who was it?”

  “It was Demetria. My old roommate. She’s from Project 12.”

  Chapter Forty

  Quinn

  Demetria.

  He tries to conjure the little girl from his memory. Skinny. African-American. Played with toys all day and night—her brown eyes glassy with fantasy.

  Even though it’s absurd, everything about the scene inside makes a lot more sense.

  His watch vibrates. The Project 12 insignia flashes on the screen.

  “Casper?” he tries again. Nothing. Astrid looks six shades of worried and he’s not feeling any more confident.

  “He talked to me in there—after the power went off.”

  “We must have gotten disconnected. I sent a pretty big shock wave through the system.”

  The crowd spills out of the building and a quick glance into the wide windows shows the fantastical scene from the stage has reverted to normal. Demetria, or whatever she calls herself, is gone. Quinn leads them to the valet and hails a cab. He pushes Astrid into the back seat and barks the address at the driver. He’d feel better on foot, away from the crowd, but their clothing is too unwieldy, the walk too far.

  The driver moves slowly through the throng of people, stopping and starting, trying not to run into someone.

  “What happened in there? Power go out?” the cabbie asks.

  “Someth
ing like that,” Quinn replies. He’s tense and leaning forward. The flash of a green suit catches his eye. Blond hair bobs in the sea of bodies. He reaches for the door handle. “Stop the car.”

  The cabbie grumbles but the vehicle lurches to a stop.

  “What are you doing?” Astrid asks.

  “Hold tight.”

  “Owen,” he calls and the blond looks over his shoulder. He approaches the car but there’s no doubt he’s surprised. “Need a ride?”

  Every inch of him looks as though he’s about to run but curiosity flickers in his eyes. “How do you know my name?”

  “That’s a long story,” he says, running his hand over his head. “We’ll tell you everything. But not here.”

  He peers in the open door and gives Astrid a wink. “Eh, I’m curious but not enough to get in the car with you two.”

  Sirens howl from the main road and blue lights wash over the crowd. There’s no doubt they’ll stop people from leaving. Quinn holds up his hand and shrugs. “Your choice dude, but they’re looking for you.”

  The blond grimaces, but he seems to know they’re the better option and quickly walks to the opposite side of the car. Astrid slides in the middle, sandwiched between the two men.

  “Cabbie, let’s get out of here before we’re stuck all night,” Quinn says.

  “Roger that.”

  It’s taken over a decade, but three of the twelve are back together. His watch vibrates again and this time he fiddles with the settings. A series of words pops up on the screen, flashing bright in the back seat of the car.

  “What’s that?” Owen asks, leaning over Astrid. The message moves fast. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

  “I’m not sure,” he says, reading the series of numbers and letters. He’s seen them before—on the Project 12 documents Atticus left them. He frowns. “It’s a code, I assume from Casper.”

  Astrid grips his arm. “What does it say?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it’s a distress signal. He’s in trouble.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Astrid

  There’s nothing but hollow silence coming from Casper’s side of the com. His message blinks on Quinn’s watch and all of it happens moments after Owen fully enters our lives. Oh, and Demetria.

  She’s the villain in this game. Shit keeps getting weirder.

  Quinn pays the cabbie and she lets Owen in the back door. “Invited this time,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I promise I didn’t go through your private things—well not like private-private. Just you know, getting a feel for who you guys were, that’s all.”

  “Did you learn anything?” she says, passing through the various stages of security. Her heart hammers in her chest.

  “Not much other than you’re a freaking slob.” He glances back as Quinn joins them.

  “Right?” Quinn says. “It’s ridiculous.”

  Owen nods. “Seriously. I had no idea women could even be that messy.”

  Her partner nods in agreement. “It’s astonishing—you should see her eat.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” she says, pausing before the doorway that leads to the Lair. Taking Owen down there is a risk—a huge one—but he’s one of them. Atticus wanted them to find one another and for them to work together. She ignores the concern marring Quinn’s handsome face and opens the door.

  “Holy shit,” Owen says, entering the room. His eyes are wide, taking in all the computers and technology. “What is this place?”

  Quinn walks over to a monitor and tries making contact with Casper. There’s nothing but a void.

  “Do you really not know who we are?” Astrid asks.

  “I know you’re Astrid Petta and he’s Quinn McCrae. That you work for Elite, an intensive recruiting program for the feds or undercover shit, and that you dress up like a sex fantasy.” He looks at Quinn. “Her—not you.”

  Quinn tightens his fists and Astrid feels the air charge. She shoots him a look to calm down. Owen seems to have one other special skill: pissing people off.

  “What do you know about Project 12?”

  He shakes his head. His heart rate stays even. “Nothing.”

  “The group home?” Quinn asks.

  His eyes narrow. “What group home?”

  Oh boy. “Owen, where were you raised?”

  “I’m an orphan. My family died in an explosion. I was raised by an aunt.”

  She and Quinn exchange looks. “Where is she now?”

  Owen’s jaw tenses. “Dead. Killed by that bitch on stage tonight.”

  “Demetria?”

  He frowns and a piece of his hair drops in his eyes. He brushes it back. “Who’s Demetria? That chick’s name is Wendy, like the company?”

  Back to the freaking Neverland stuff.

  “How did she kill your aunt?” Astrid has to assume this is really his mentor, but if he really has no memory of the program it would be an easy and understandable ruse.

  “Okay she may not have killed my aunt, but I came home and found her on the floor with two bullet holes in the head.” His sharp jaw clenches with unbridled rage. “There was a fucking Pixie Dust baggie sitting on the floor. She’d been battling it out with the local drug dealers—pissed they were selling on our block. She called the cops, took video, recorded license plates. And in the end, her desire to protect the neighborhood got her killed. One of those dealers—or someone in the ring--took her down. And my goal is to find out who.”

  Astrid and Quinn glance at one another. “What does Demetria have to do with Pixie Dust?”

  “Who do you think is spreading that crap around town? She slipped it into the champagne tonight. It’s a way to dull the masses and let her shady business take over the city—create her ideal world.”

  Suddenly it clicks.

  “Neverland. Demetria is building Neverland. A world of fantasy that she can control. All fake. Toys come to life.” She looks between the men. “She’s creating her dream world.”

  “And using the Pixie Dust to get people to comply,” Quinn suggests. He’s still searching on the computer but the tension in his shoulders affirms that he’s found nothing useful.

  “She doesn’t just want people to comply,” Owen says. “She wants to destroy their lives.”

  “And you went tonight to try and stop her?” Astrid keeps an eye on everything about Owen. How he smells (alarmingly good), to his pulse (consistent), to his movements (relaxed).

  “I’m not sure I can stop her,” he admits. “She has more power than the three of us put together—and I’ve seen you two in action. But I figured I could mess up her plan. Screw up her capital and fuck with her data mining. Get people to panic and leave. I got there late. Some shady cop has been following me all week—took me a minute to shake him.”

  Jensen.

  “Here’s what I don’t get,” Quinn says, spinning around in his chair, squaring his eyes on Astrid. “How did you read her echo? And see his manipulations in the glasses. Our abilities don’t work on one another.”

  No one has an answer to that. Owen just looks bewildered and confused. She and Quinn haven’t even told him everything yet. About Atticus. About their master plan. And Jensen. What the hell is she going to do about Jensen?

  “Nothing on Casper?” she asks, feeling the weight of the night crashing down.

  “No. It’s like he’s vanished.”

  Astrid doesn’t like it but there’s nothing they can do. Casper never gave them his location. He was convinced he was safe.

  “We’ll take a crack on it in the morning.” She nods at Owen. “If the cops are looking for you, then you better keep low. Come upstairs with us.”

  “And stay in your pigsty?”

  She shrugs. “Whatever dude, hit the road if you want.” But she’s bluffing. She’s terrified if he walks out that door she’ll never see him again.

  He sighs, exaggerated and suffering. “Fine.”

  And like that, two becomes three. Casper makes four. Slowly, wit
hout even trying, they’re fulfilling Atticus’ wishes.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Owen

  The standoff begins the instant he crosses the threshold. Owen doesn’t take his eyes from the animal. Not an animal.

  An enemy.

  Mercy, he loathes them. They’re filthy, disgusting animals.

  “You have a, uh, cat,” he says from the doorway. He’d seen the bowl the first time he was here. The cat had been hiding, he supposes. Seriously though, Owen really dislikes cats.

  “That’s Harry,” Astrid says, scooping the animal into her arms. She kisses him on the forehead. Owen wrinkles his nose even though she does look cute cuddling with a cat. “I’ve had him since…You really don’t remember the group home, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe I can forgive you for trying to do a ’magic trick’ on him back then.”

  He frowns, trying to recall the skinny, ancient cat Astrid is holding. “Huh, yeah that does sound like me.”

  “Don’t mess with my cat, Owen.” She narrows her eyes at him and he has no problem believing she’d cut his throat if he did.

  He notices the blanket folded on the couch. A pillow neatly stacked on top. So Quinn is sleeping on the couch, eh? Maybe he misread their relationship. Not that he would venture into that pigsty of a room, even for sex. He leans to get a good look in her open door. Piles upon piles of clothing, books, magazines, and trash litter the room. God knows what’s growing under the bed.

  “So you’re sleeping out here?” he asks Quinn casually.

  Astrid and Quinn share a long, loaded look. Okay, so maybe simply sleeping out there. And doing other things…he glances around. No surface seems safe.

  Astrid releases the cat on the ground and he strolls off toward her room. “Quinn, take Atticus’ room. Owen, you can stay out here.”

  He nods but Quinn hesitates. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. It’s obvious that Atticus wanted us all here together. He’d be fine with you staying in there.”