by Jade Kerrion
“The music in his head.”
“There’s music in his head? What kind?”
“It keeps changing like a radio station. Rock. Classical. Jazz. It depends on his mood and what’s on his iPod, I guess.”
Dee gritted her teeth. “I didn’t know.” Willpower kept her arms glued to her sides when she would have pressed them against the throbbing ache in her chest. What else did alpha mutants like Jessica and Danyael know about her own brother that she did not?
“Oh.” Jessica’s gaze darted between Dee and Dum. She wet her lips. “Danyael probably has cleaning supplies over at his apartment. I’ll go get them.”
Coward. Dee cast the thought at the slim figure dashing out of the apartment.
Jessica did not stop to respond.
Dee stalked over to her brother. For a long, silent moment, she stared into his familiar face as he bopped along to whatever music was blasting from his iPod. He did not even look at her. When had he become a stranger? She smacked him on the side of his head and remained unmoved when he raised his aggrieved gaze to her. “Are you saying that this place is okay for you?” she asked, raising her voice so that he could hear her through his ear pods.
He nodded.
“Are you sure about that? We’re moving here so that you can train with Danyael. I’d hate for you to feel inconvenienced about leaving the comfort and protection of the council for this dump.”
He frowned, his eyebrows drawing together, and turned away.
All right, so he understood sarcasm. How was she supposed to argue with a person who would not argue back, but who could hurt her just by walking away? Dee was still scowling and blinking back the tears from her eyes when Jessica returned with an armful of cleaning supplies. Dee ignored Jessica’s compassionate glance. “I thought Danyael said he worked all day. I didn’t think he would be around.”
“He isn’t.”
“You broke into his apartment?”
Jessica put the cleaning supplies on the grimy countertop in the kitchen. She tapped the side of her head. “I flipped the lock on his door. I did tell him, though.”
“Before or after you broke in?”
Jessica cocked her head to the side. “Why are you so uptight about stuff like that?”
“Because when I do it, I run the risk of being caught and labeled a criminal. You do it, and nobody cares.”
“Sure, they care. They just don’t notice.”
“And you don’t care?”
“Look, I got his permission. Who cares if I got it a microsecond before or after I flipped the lock? You need to chill out.” Jessica snatched up a spray bottle and a rag, and stomped off toward the bathroom.
With a sponge in hand and her teeth clenched, Dee scrubbed out the dirty brown spots on the kitchen counter. Jeez, I’m becoming my mother. Except that Mom had never been a nag. When she wasn’t sunk in depression, Mom had been cool, even though she had been a mutant. Dee cast a narrow-eyed glare at her brother, who was washing down the windows. Mom had not been an alpha mutant; she had not possessed the prerequisite weirdness that accompanied most alpha mutants.
I am not weird. Jessica’s irate voice snapped through her head.
Dee hurled the sponge into the sink and stalked into the bathroom. For a long and silent moment, she stared at the rag, apparently under the control of an invisible hand, as it scrubbed down the shower tiles. She looked back at Jessica who sat on the closed lid of the toilet bowl. “And that’s not weird?”
“No, it’s who I am, and I don’t like being called ‘weird.’”
“Fine, but that—” She pointed at the hardworking rag. “—is not normal.”
“What’s not normal is how gross the shower is. I’m not stepping in there to scrub it out.”
Dee’s passing glance at the shower became a hard look, and she chuckled. “Is that green thing in the corner alive?”
“Yes, and it’s really close to sentient thought. In a year, it might be able to talk.”
Unlike Dum.
Jessica’s gaze darted to Dum and then flashed back to Dee. She switched to a telepathic conversation. He can talk, you know. I asked Danyael. He said there wasn’t anything wrong with Dum physically.
I know. The problem is just in Dum’s head. What else did Danyael tell you about my brother?
Jessica shrugged. If you want to know, you can ask Danyael directly. It’s not like it’s a secret.
Who knew what other telepathic and empathic conversations were taking place around her? It sucked to be human in a world dominated by super-powered alpha mutants, and worse, she could do nothing about it. Dee released her breath in a heavy sigh, patted Jessica on the head, and turned away. It was time to get back to work.
Later that evening, Dee sat upright, her shoulders squared against the blast of cold air from the vents above her as much as against her jagged nerves.
The mustached man in the seat across from her raised his gaze from her resume and looked her over, before glancing back down at her driver’s license. “You don’t look twenty-one.”
Dee forced a smile. “Good genes. Mom was routinely carded until her forties.”
“Hmph.” He set her resume aside. “You look too much like jail bait. I can’t take the risk, sorry.”
“But I need the job—”
“Hey, this isn’t about what you need.” He leaned forward, set his elbows on the table between them, and jabbed both thumbs at his shoulders. “It’s about what I need. I need waitresses, but you’re not it.”
“What about a job in the kitchen?”
“You don’t have any experience in the kitchen.”
“Actually, I’ve done all kinds of job in food service.” For years, she had helped out in the kitchens at Elysium, and done every possible job in food service, ranging from dishwashing to food preparation, from cooking to serving.
He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, but he finally shook his head. He tapped her fake driver’s license. “This doesn’t smell right.” He slid her resume and driver’s license across the table to her. “I hope you find a job somewhere else,” he said sincerely, if perfunctorily.
Jessica was waiting outside the nightclub. The alpha mutant arched an eyebrow as Dee stomped toward her. “Guess you didn’t manage to fool him either.”
Dee adjusted her black halter-top, mourning her lack of cleavage.
“That’s not going to help,” Jessica told her, a cynical twist to her lips.
“Do you have a better idea?” Dee tugged a piece of paper out of her slim-fitting denim jeans and struck another name off the list. “I’m down to one more nightclub in Anacostia, and if this one doesn’t hire me, I’ll have to look elsewhere for work.” And travel further for it.
“You already have the job at the diner.”
“I need more hours. Lunch shift at the diner isn’t going to swing it for me.”
“I could have convinced the owner to give you dinner shifts as well.” Jessica looked smug.
“At someone else’s expense?”
Jessica shrugged.
Dee scowled. “Your sense of morality is fluid, isn’t it?”
“I am a leaf in the wind,” Jessica said with mock solemnity, but the wicked chuckle that escaped her lips ruined the effect.
“I’m not that desperate.”
“So you say. At some point you will be, though, and your options then won’t be as plentiful as they are when you start out.” Jessica nudged her chin at the list in Dee’s hand. “Just let me come in with you to your next interview.”
Dee laughed, raking her gaze over Jessica, who looked like an elite preparatory schoolgirl in her button-down white blouse and navy-blue skirt. “I’m barely passing for twenty-one. You look like you’re fourteen—”
“I’m fifteen.”
“The bouncers will never let you into the club.”
“Never say never to an alpha telepath.”
The burly bouncers in front of Legends nightclub scrutinized Dee’s fake driver’s license u
ntil she twitched with worry, but waved Jessica in without giving her a second glance. Exasperated, Dee huffed her breath out as they walked into the club together. “All right, you win.”
With a gracious smile, Jessica slid into a dimly lit booth. “The owner is over there…white suit next to the dance floor. His name is Mario.”
The club was largely empty at ten in the evening. Unoccupied barstools lined the two bars on either side of the badly scuffed dance floor. Bored bartenders loitered on the edge of the dance floor and chatted with scantily clad hostesses. No one paid Dee any particular attention, though the owner of the club, an elderly gentleman, looked up as she approached. The smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes reminded Dee of her grandfather, a man she had known only through photographs, which had been reduced to ash in the ruins of Elysium. She inhaled deeply. “Hi, I’m looking for a job.”
Dee’s rush of words dispelled any illusion of age or sophistication. The man chuckled. “You look a little young.”
“I’m twenty-one,” Dee lied, offering him a resume and her driver’s license.
He squinted at the resume, tilting the piece of paper to catch the sparse light in the nightclub. His eyes narrowed. “Elysium?”
“Yes, I lived there for several years, but I’m human,” she assured him quickly.
“Humans are more troublesome than mutants, I tell you,” he muttered and then winked at her when her jaw dropped. “You looking to wait tables here?”
“Yes, I can work any night, any number of hours.”
“We’re closed Mondays. Tuesdays to Thursdays, you’ll start at ten, and the last call for drinks is at two. Fridays through Sundays, it’s ten through three. You’ll dress the part, of course—” He nodded at a passing hostess who was wearing a skimpy white top and tiny black shorts. “—but if anyone gives you trouble, you get the bouncers. They’ll handle it. And by the way, this is a package deal.”
“Huh?” Dee asked, too flabbergasted by her immediate hire to come up with a more intelligent response.
“That telepath in the corner booth? She works on weekends too.”
How had he known that Jessica was a telepath? “She’s…uh…fourteen.”
“I’ll make exceptions. This bar gets rough on the weekends. The gangs hang out here, all five of them. This place has been trashed to hell and back, and I’m tired of it. I can’t keep anyone employed beyond a month.”
“I don’t think Jessica’s going to be any good at waiting tables.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want her to wait tables. I want her to keep the gangs from tearing my place up.”
“I don’t know if she can—”
“You’re giving me a job too?” Jessica asked.
Was that a hopeful lilt she heard in Jessica’s voice?
The man’s gaze shifted. “Yes. Fridays and Saturdays. Fifty an hour, with a bonus if no fights break out.”
Jessica stuck her hand out. Her smile was bright and genuine. “Cool. You’ve got a deal.”
The man shook her hand and then Dee’s. “Tomorrow’s Friday. The both of you be here tomorrow at ten.”
“Got it.” Dee hustled Jessica out of the nightclub. Once they had put some distance between them and the entrance of the club, Dee slowed and turned to Jessica. “How did he know—”
“Strong psychic shields. He’s not a mutant, but some humans are capable of strong shields. He sensed it when I pushed.”
“He hired me because he wanted to hire you.” The knowledge rankled, but her relief at having a second job quickly drowned the flicker of grumpiness.
Jessica shrugged. “Whatever. You got the job, right? And now I’ve got a job too; I’ve always wanted one.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was never allowed to have one before. This is great. I’m making my own way in the world now.”
That statement, coming from the alpha mutant who was instrumental in stopping Sakti’s assault on the nation’s capital, was banal. “Hey, whatever floats your boat, right? Let’s go get Dum. His training with Danyael should be done by now.”
The streets of Anacostia were no less dangerous, but threats were irrelevant in the presence of an alpha mutant. The shadows seemed less dark, and the coil of fear around Dee’s spine loosened. The coil relaxed further when she turned the corner and saw the fluorescent sign over the door of the free clinic. She glanced at her watch. Ten thirty. Danyael and Dum should have completed their training session.
Dee’s quick pace slowed as a sleek black car pulled up to the clinic and parked in front of the “No Parking” sign. The driver’s door opened, and a woman stepped out onto the cracked pavement. She was tall and slender. Her long, dark hair framed a face that was more exotic than beautiful, likely the result of a mixed racial heritage. She paid little attention to her surroundings as she opened the back door of her car and leaned in to retrieve something from the back seat.
From the alleyway beside the clinic, two figures peeled out of the shadows and stalked silently toward the woman.
Dee’s heart pounded in her chest. She grabbed her friend’s wrist. “Jess—”
Jessica shrugged. “She’s fine.”
The thugs closed the distance. Ten feet became five. Five became two.
The woman stepped back and turned.
The men froze. The man closest to the woman stared unblinkingly into the muzzle of a handgun an inch from his nose.
Her ruby red lips curved into a smile. “Run away, children.” Her voice was a soft purr. “I don’t have time to play, and you don’t want to die.”
The men pulled out switchblades and lunged at the woman.
Dee blinked, recoiling instinctively. Gasps and thuds filled her momentary disorientation. By the time her mind sorted through the blur of motion, one man was on his back, groaning, and the other had fled, limping. The woman stood, unscathed. “Get lost,” the woman said, an undercurrent of steel in the seductive purr of her voice.
Muttering curses under his breath, the man hobbled to his feet and limped away, his hands pressed against his crotch. The woman watched until he slunk into a dark alley and then glanced over at Jessica and Dee. “Hello, Jessica.”
Jessica raised her hand in an acknowledgment that was more salute than wave. “Hi, Zara.”
Zara slipped her gun back into the shadows of her leather jacket and extracted a toddler from the car. Dee gasped, recognizing the child’s genetic heritage instantly. “That’s Danyael’s daughter,” she said, her voice a whisper.
Jessica nodded. “Yup, that’s right.”
The beautiful, golden-haired child bore little resemblance to her caramel-skinned mother, though when Dee approached, she did notice that the child had inherited her mother’s violet eyes and sulky pout.
Is she an empath, too? Dee asked the question silently.
Laura Itani? As far as we know, no.
And Zara’s not a mutant?
No, she’s human, but some alpha mutants panic when they hear her name.
Why?
She’s an assassin, and she’s proven time and time again that telepathy can’t stop a bullet.
But couldn’t a telepath do that mind blast thing before she fired the bullet?
Jessica shrugged. Most telepaths don’t know that a bullet is coming their way from a mile away until it passes through their skull.
She can do that?
Nine known kills, and there are many more that aren’t officially attributed to her.
Why hasn’t she been arrested yet?
Jessica rolled her eyes. Who do you think paid for those kills?
Dee’s jaw dropped. Our government?
You really are an innocent, aren’t you?
Dee bristled.
Don’t piss her off, Jessica cautioned.
Why? Because she’s an assassin?
No, because Danyael loves her.
The door clicked as Dee reached for it. Jessica had flipped the lock with her telekinetic powers. Dee yanked at
the door and held it open for Zara, who nodded her thanks as she strode into the clinic with a drowsy toddler in her arms.
Danyael emerged from his office, limping slowly. Dum stood behind him.
Zara walked up to the alpha empath. She did not offer a greeting—no hug, no kiss, not even a hello. “Can you take her tonight? I’ll be back for her in the morning.”
Danyael was similarly restrained as he nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Let’s get her back to your apartment. I have to get to work.”
“I can take her,” Dee offered. “We live on the same floor as Danyael.”
Zara turned to study Dee as Danyael made the introductions. “Zara, this is Dee and Dum. They were at Elysium with me.”
An expression flickered in Zara’s unusual eyes—recognition perhaps, or a memory. “Are those your real names?” she asked.
Dee resisted the urge to twitch under Zara’s gaze. Not even Seth exuded that aura of quiet, deadly competence. Zara was most definitely not a safe person to be around. “No, but Mom gave us nicknames after characters in a book.”
“Alice in Wonderland.”
“That’s the one.”
Zara glanced at Danyael as if for confirmation, and he nodded.
“All right.” Zara transferred her daughter into Dee’s arms. Laura Itani wriggled until she found a comfortable spot on Dee’s shoulder and settled down with a huff. Zara stroked her daughter’s pale blond curls before turning away.
“Be safe,” Danyael called out as she left the clinic.
Zara flashed a smile—confident, even brazen—and stepped into the car. The engine purred to life, and the car vanished down the street and into the night, leaving behind the faint smell of exhaust.
If that was love, Dee did not want to see hate.
She followed Danyael, Dum, and Jessica from the clinic while carrying the child, who smelled of baby shampoo and lavender. Laura was a chubby handful, and a cuddly one; the toddler snuggled closer, burying her face against Dee’s neck, and grunted contentedly.
Jessica waved and headed toward the Metro station, alone and unafraid. Danyael seemed to have no qualms over allowing Jessica to travel on her own. Dee scowled. The problem wasn’t age or maturity—Jessica was younger and less mature—it was about power. Jessica had tons; Dee had none.
