Super Powers: The New Super Humans, Book Two

by T. M. Franklin

  Beck climbed the steps to the second floor and headed to his math class. His father was right, of course. They had to do this legally. By the book. And eventually, Tru would be with them for good.

  He refused to think of the alternative.

  “Mr. Leighton? You planning on joining us today?” his professor asked as Beck hovered by the door.

  Beck nodded and made his way to his seat, trying to focus on differential equations for the next hour, instead of the women in his life.

  The town was ripe for the taking.

  The people had no idea. Settled and secure in their limited existence, they knew nothing of what they couldn't see with their eyes, comprehend with their miniscule brains.

  But they had their uses. Until It was strong enough, they'd have to do. It settled in their jealous breasts, their angry minds, twisting truths and prodding at insecurities. They nearly always resisted at first, but eventually they gave in—let it overwhelm them, let their rage, their fear and hate consume them.

  Violence was its greatest victory.

  It fed off it, grew stronger with every blow—every word screamed in fury. Every act of vengeance, envy, or greed.

  It relished the chaos and counted the hours until It no longer needed them.

  Until It would be ready. Strong enough to take what It wanted.

  Strong enough to take everything.

  “You okay, Bird?” Dylan nudged Wren with an elbow as he set a mocha on the counter and wiped the steam nozzle with a damp towel. “You seem a little distracted.”

  The bell over the coffee shop door dinged, and she tried valiantly—and fruitlessly—not to check and see if it was Beck.

  “Just expecting someone,” she said, straightening the paper cups and glancing surreptitiously at the clock. Again. It was only four-thirty, but business had been slow for the past half hour, giving Wren plenty of time to obsess. And worry. And obsess some more.

  “Oh really,” Dylan said, drawing out the word with an evil grin. “Only in town for a couple of weeks and she's already nabbed a hot date.”

  Wren fought the blush, but was again unsuccessful. “It's not a date. It's just a study . . . thing.” Thing. That was one way to put it, she supposed. Part of a plan to get Beck to join her in this crazy, super-powered world she now found herself in was another.

  “Study thing.” Dylan pursed his lips with a nod. “Right.”

  “It is.”

  He held up his hands. “Okay. So who's this study thing with?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Just a guy.”

  “This guy have a name?”

  “Yes.”

  She could feel Dylan's eyes piercing into the side of her head, but refused to look at him, or say anything more. After a few weighted moments, she sighed heavily. “Beck. His name is Beck.”

  Dylan leaned back against the counter, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Beck . . . Beck . . . tall, black guy? Swim team?” He eyed her sideways.

  “You know him?” she asked, surprised.

  Dylan shrugged and popped a chocolate covered espresso bean into his mouth. “He comes in sometimes,” he replied.

  The bell dinged again and they both looked over. Wren fought a surge of frustration when Chloe and Miranda walked in. Dylan straightened next to her, and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were wide, bright, and red spots bloomed on his cheeks. She looked from him to the girls approaching the counter.

  “Really?” she said quietly, a smile tugging at her cheeks. “Which one?”

  Dylan cleared his throat and avoided her eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He busied himself dumping the used coffee grounds and refilling the portafilters.

  Wren would get more answers later. For now, she turned her attention on Chloe and Miranda.

  “What are you guys doing here?” she asked, putting on a fake smile. “I thought we were going to meet up later.” She gave them a significant look meant to reiterate their agreement that she'd meet up with Beck alone in an attempt to not overwhelm him.

  “I know, I know,” Chloe said, waving a hand. “We're not staying. We just—” She cut off as Dylan sidled up next to Wren.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” he said with a smile. “The usual?” His gaze lingered just a touch on Miranda, and Wren made a mental note.

  “Yeah, sure,” Chloe replied. “And would you mind if we borrowed Wren for just a sec?”

  “I think I can get by,” he said, gesturing around the near-empty shop. “I'll bring your drinks by when they're ready.”

  He waved off Wren's thanks and she came out from behind the counter. “What's wrong? Did something happen?”

  Chloe waited until they were seated at a table in the corner before she answered. “I had another vision, and I think it had something to do with Beck.”

  Wren's stomach gave a nervous swoop. “What happened? What did you see?”

  “Nothing particularly helpful,” Miranda muttered.

  “She's right,” Chloe agreed. “It was just flashes. Quick images. A woman in the darkness. Someone screaming.”

  Wren couldn't stop the shudder that ran down her spine. “Beck?”

  “No, not Beck,” she replied, teeth gritted in frustration. “I couldn't tell who it was. It was too dark.”

  “But you think it has something to do with Beck.”

  “I can't explain it. It's just a feeling.”

  Miranda leaned over the table to whisper, “Her feelings are usually right.”

  Dylan took that moment to appear with their drinks, and Wren was distracted from Chloe's disturbing vision by the painful flirtation—if you could call it that—between Dylan and Miranda. He headed back to the counter and Wren arched a brow at Chloe.

  “I know. It's pathetic.”

  “What?” Miranda asked, cheeks flushed hotly.

  “Never mind,” Chloe replied. “We don't have time to dissect your love life at the moment.” She glanced at the clock. “We should go. I just wanted to warn you before you met with Beck. I'm not sure you should. Not alone, anyway.”

  “What? Why?” Wren asked.

  “Because of the vision,” Miranda replied. “He could be dangerous.”

  Wren scoffed. “I'm dangerous, in case you hadn't noticed.” She tried not to let them see how the words cut, her still-hot guilt over what she'd done burning in her gut. She’d killed a man. And although she knew in her head that it was necessary to save her friends—to save a lot of innocent people—her heart still ached with remorse.

  Chloe got to her feet, tugging Miranda with her. “Just stay in public places, okay? And keep your phone with you?”

  “I'll be fine,” she said. “Beck's a nice guy. He wouldn't hurt a fly.”

  “A fly's not what I'm worried about,” Chloe replied. “Just . . . be careful, okay?”

  They left without another word and Wren stared after them, lost in thought. Beck wasn't dangerous, she was sure of it.

  But then again, not too long ago, she would have said the same thing about herself.

  Beck was about five minutes early to meet Wren at the coffee shop. After swim practice, he'd killed as much time as he could in the library, not wanting to wait around for her where she worked like a weirdo. When he rounded the corner, he spotted Chloe and Miranda coming out of the shop, but they turned and walked in the opposite direction, so he didn't bother calling out to them. He cut diagonally across the street and slipped between two parked cars, taking a deep breath before he opened the door of A Whole Latte Love. The bell rang overhead, and he spotted Wren behind the counter. She smiled as he approached.

  “You ready?” he asked. “I'm a little early.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Wren replied. “Just let me go grab my stuff.” She disappeared through a doorway behind her and Beck noticed the other barista eyeing him.

  “Hey,” he said. Dylan, according to his nametag. “Beck, right?”

  “Yeah. How's it going?”

  “Good.” He gestured toward the esp
resso machine. “Can I get you something?”

  “Nah, I'm good. Thanks.”

  Dylan adjusted the steam nozzle and let out a few quick bursts. “So,” he said. “You and Wren?”

  Beck let out a little laugh. “Me and Wren what?”

  Dylan grabbed a towel and slowly wiped down the counter. “She says it's a study thing.”

  “It is.”

  “That's good. Studying is good.”

  “It is.” Beck was trying hard not to laugh. The guy was tall, almost as tall as Beck, but probably thirty pounds lighter and hardly intimidating. Still, it was obvious he was looking out for Wren, and he had to respect that.

  “Wren's my friend, you know,” Dylan said. “And she's new in town, so—”

  “Oh my god, Dylan.” Wren emerged from the doorway and gave him a little shove. “Stop it right now.”

  “What?” he asked, blinking innocently. “I was just chatting with your—with Beck, that's all.”

  She glanced at Beck, cheeks flaming. “Sorry about him.”

  “It's fine.”

  “See? He says it's fine,” Dylan said, waving a hand toward Beck.

  Wren glared at him in response as she came out from behind the counter. “We'll talk later,” she said, emphasizing her pointed finger with a glare. Dylan ignored her, whistling as he organized the cup lids, apparently unconcerned.

  “Ready?” Beck asked, swallowing a laugh.

  “God, yes,” Wren muttered, and they walked out of the shop. “How was practice?” she asked after a moment.

  “Fine. The usual,” he replied. “How was work?”

  She smirked. “Fine. The usual.”

  “Seems like you're settling in just fine,” Beck said. “New town. New job. New defender of your virtue.”

  Wren let out a groan. “Oh my God. You couldn't let it go.”

  “So Dylan is—” He wasn't sure how to finish the thought, but almost held his breath while she made him wait for an answer.

  “Dylan is a friend,” she said, shooting him a sideways glance. “A rather enthusiastic one, who I think has his eyes on Miranda, if you must know.”

  “Oh.” He tried not to grin. He failed.

  Wren didn't comment, though. And she seemed to be fighting a smile as well.

  “So that's why they were at the shop,” he said.

  “Sorry?”

  “Chloe and Miranda,” he explained. “I saw them leaving the coffee shop as I got there.”

  “Oh!” Wren chewed on her lip, her cheeks flushing suddenly. “Yeah, right.”

  That was weird.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Oh! Oh no.” She waved a hand, but wouldn't meet his gaze. “Just thinking about other stuff? I do that sometimes. Think. You know.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, dragging out the word. Something was definitely up, and Wren definitely didn't want to talk about it. That was okay. Beck could wait. “My place is a few blocks that way.” He pointed. “But . . . I guess you know that.” Since you were attacked in the alley next door.

  “Um, yeah,” Wren said quietly.

  “We can grab my car,” he explained. “Unless you'd rather drive yourself—”

  “That would be good,” she said quickly.

  “Okay.” He stopped, waiting for her to tell him where to go, then Wren shook her head as if to clear it.

  “I mean, it'd be good to take your car. I don't have one. I walk everywhere so—”

  “No prob—”

  “I mean I could call my mom or—”

  “No, that's fine. Really—”

  “—she's supposed to be at work in—”

  “Wren.” He grabbed her arm mid-flail. “It's fine. We can take mine and I'll drop you off later. It's no problem, really.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay. Great. Thanks.”

  Why did she seem so nervous? Beck couldn't put his finger on it, but something was definitely off. This was more than first date nerves—if this even could be considered a first date to begin with. She kept darting glances at him and chewing on her lip, even wringing her hands together from time to time before she seemed to notice and stuffed them in her coat pockets.

  They walked in silence to Beck's car as he tried to think of something interesting to say. Or ask. Something to break the awkwardness and maybe show Wren that he was an intelligent, interesting person with more going for him than a spot on the swim team. Something to alleviate whatever was bothering her.

  They approached Archie Hall and he was sure he didn't imagine the stiffening of her posture as the alley came into view, his black, hand-me-down sedan parked at the curb next to it.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Wren seemed to force herself to visibly relax. “Sure. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

  He didn't answer, but opened the car door for her and she got in with a small smile. When he finally got behind the wheel, he turned to her. “So, what do you feel like?”

  “What?”

  “To eat, I mean.” Yeah, so smooth. Great job, Beck.

  “Oh,” she laughed. “I don't care. I'm new in town, remember? What's good around here?”

  Beck winced. “Well, you basically have three choices. Burgers, pizza, or the Pancake House.”

  Wren wrinkled her nose. “Not the Pancake House. My mom's working and I won't hear the end of it if we show up together.” She flushed, eyes wide. “Not that there's anything to hear about. I mean, we're just studying, but she gets kind of excited about things—”

  “It's okay.”

  “—not that it would be bad if there was something. You're a nice guy, but . . .” She looked out the window, obviously embarrassed.

  “But what?” This was too much fun. Beck made sure to look offended.

  “But nothing!” She threw up her hands. “Just ignore me. I don't know what I'm saying.”

  Beck fought to keep from smiling. “No, that's fine. You're ashamed of me. I get it.”

  Wren glared at him sideways. “You're not funny.”

  He pressed a hand to his heart. “And you wound me yet again.”

  “Shut up and drive,” she muttered. “Pizza.”

  He laughed, relieved that the tension had been eased a bit. “Yeah, sounds good.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb.

  “So, did it help?” she asked, after a few minutes. Beck looked over to see her waving a hand over her head. “You know, shaving off the dreads. Has it made you faster in the water?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Cut three-tenths off my hundred free anyway.”

  “I have no idea what that means, but it sounds good.”

  Beck grinned. “It is. It's good.” He shrugged as he turned the corner. “Needs to be better, though, if I'm going to make it to state.”

  “You'll make it,” Wren said quickly, then blushed a little. “I mean, I hear you're good. You know, fast.”

  “Asking about me, huh?” He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. “You're really very annoying. I'm starting to rethink this whole friends thing.”

  “Too late. You're committed now.”

  “I signed under duress.”

  “Talk to your lawyer.”

  She laughed, the awkwardness from earlier melting away as they pulled into the parking lot at Francino's Pizza. They shared a medium pepperoni and split the bill—at Wren's insistence—and chatted a little about the research paper they were working on: A critical analysis of Dr. Patrick McMahon's Saint to Sadist: How Good People Go Bad utilizing personal anecdotal research as well as at least five published sources.

  Yeah. Right.

  After dinner, they relocated to the school library and spread out their books and papers on a table in a quiet corner. Beck flipped through his notes to organize his thoughts and turned on his laptop.

  “I had the weirdest dream last night,” Wren said.

  “Yeah?” Beck logged on
to the library Wi-Fi.

  “Yeah, kind of creeped me out a little. It was about this house—a blue house—and when I went to open the door, all this weird black smoke kind of seeped out through the cracks.”

  Beck looked up, confused. Wren was watching him closely, almost expectantly. Did she think he could interpret her dream or something?

  “Black smoke?”

  “Yeah.” She sat up, and seemed kind of excited for some weird reason. “Thick black smoke. But it wasn't like, ordinary smoke, it was kind of . . .”

  She waited, and he wasn't sure what to say other than, “Extraordinary?”

  “Yes!” Wren nodded furiously. “Yes, extraordinary. Exactly. You know what I mean, then.”

  “Um. I guess?” This was such a weird conversation. “I really don't know much about dream symbolism and stuff.”

  Wren seemed to deflate. “Oh. So, you've never had a dream like that?”

  Beck shrugged. “No, not really. My stress dreams usually involve being naked in class. Or not being able to swim at a meet or something. Not hard to interpret those.”

  “No, I guess not.” She chewed on her lip, her cheeks pink. “Can I ask you something kind of weird?”

  Beck smirked. “Weirder than if I ever had a dream about black smoke?”

  Wren flushed. “Yeah. Um . . . okay, this is not—” She sat up straighter. “In for a penny,” she muttered. “Can you tell me about the mark on the back of your neck?”

  He reached up to touch the star-shaped birthmark now clearly visible since he shaved his head. “What about it?”

  “How'd you get it?”

  Beck felt his own face heat with a wave of self-consciousness. “I was born with it. Why?”

  “Just curious, I guess.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly before turning back to his computer.

  “Have you ever—” She paused, chewing on her lip again.

  “Ever what?”

  She thought for a moment, brow crinkled in concentration. “Ever had a feeling of déjà vu?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, who hasn't?”

  “No, I mean—” She shook her head in frustration. “I mean, you think it's déjà vu, but then you realize it's more than that.”