by Angel Lawson
Chapter Nine
Astrid
She doesn’t shake his hand. Or move an inch closer. Her senses may be slightly stabilized around him but everything else is knocked for a loop. Instead, she stares at her mentor and asks, “What the hell is Project 12?”
“Language,” Atticus says, knowing it’s futile. She raises her eyebrows, waiting for an answer, but he just presses the button that reveals the staircase to his office below ground. Astrid is struck still. Never, not in all the time they’ve lived here, has Atticus shown someone the lair. Not even Jensen.
“Oh man,” Quinn says. His blue eyes perk with a mixture of sadness and interest. “I’ve heard about your epic workshop. Holden says you’re a genius.”
“Me? Holden was considered the brightest of us. He helped me with many of the tools I’ve created. He was the brains.”
“But you were the idea man. He always said that.”
Atticus smiles with pride and Astrid thinks she may blow a gasket. Are they fucking kidding her? She pushes past them both, still unbelieving that she can be so near Quinn and not have a reaction. Okay, no reaction is a bit of a stretch. She’s reacting. Totally reacting. Even brushing his shoulder is possible, which sends her into a whirlwind of panic and anxiety.
They’ve been hidden for so long and this one man—this boy that came back from the dead—has changed everything.
At the bottom she stumbles over a step and Quinn reaches for her. Even though her body craves something different, she jerks back. “No. You don’t get to do that.”
“Look, Astrid, I’m sorry it happened like this. Trust me, things in my life are upside down too. It’s been a couple of crazy weeks.”
“Really? Because I thought you were dead, Quinn. I was certain that you were blown up in the house with everyone else, because no one,” she glares at Atticus, “ever alluded to anything different. So excuse me for taking a minute to cope with all of that.” His eyes dart to the side. She spins to face her mentor. “They’re all dead too, right?”
Atticus steps between them. “I know I owe you an explanation. And I have for some time. Come on, I’ll show you everything.” When she doesn’t move he gives her a sympathetic smile. “I promise. Everything.”
She wants to storm off, but she’s not a child and hasn’t been one for a long time. Astrid inhales deeply, ignores Quinn, and follows her mentor into the other room.
The office is set up with wide screens on the walls and a state-of-the-art computer system, designed and created by Atticus himself. He moves behind the desk and she hears the click of the keyboard. Moments later, the screen on the wall comes to life and video fills the space. It’s old footage but Astrid instantly recognizes it. Quinn stiffens next to her. He remembers it too.
The house is exactly how she recollects. It’s nothing more than a small four-square building, surrounded by open land. The siding has gray peeling paint and the yard was filled with weedy clumps of grass. The attic was huge and all the boys lived up there, save one. The girls had rooms on the second floor.
“The group home didn’t mysteriously explode that day. It was an organized hit to take out Project 12 and eliminate all evidence that it ever existed.”
“What was Project 12?” she asks, trying to hold back her frustration.
“In short, twelve kids identified as having natural abilities and talents beyond the norm.”
“Like my heightened senses.” She glances at Quinn. “And his ability to do whatever it is with electricity. Yeah, I remember all the shit you pulled on Miss Rosalie.”
Atticus sighs at her tone and her cursing. “You’d been selected specifically by a private organization wanting to test and expand the enhanced abilities you were born with.”
“The doctors.” She rubs her arm. “And the shots? What were those?”
“An accelerant. You had some exaggerated senses when you arrived. A touch of something—nothing dangerous. More of a nuisance, really. You covered your ears and wrapped tight to keep the sensations at bay. Quinn fired small electrical charges, resulting in what would seem like static electricity. Maybe blowing the occasional fuse as he passed.” He leans back in his chair. “But the participants also had a few other markers they were looking for, Including increased physical durability. You and Quinn both survived tragic accidents that killed the rest of your family. Most participants had very few, if any, sick days as children. The shots were developed to alter that unique structure and cultivate it into something more.”
“I’d always had sensory issues. I remember that from before—even when my parents were alive, but the doctors are the ones that brought out the echo.”
“Yes.”
“And turned me into a human Taser,” Quinn adds.
The room grows quiet and Astrid tries to process this. “How did they find us?”
“The organization behind Project 12 was far reaching. Your parents may have said something to the pediatrician about your extreme sensory discomfort, who submitted it to a larger group of physicians, who were on the lookout for subjects.”
“And it was just luck that we were all orphans?” The minute she says it she knows. Oh god. Quinn’s hands ball into tight fists beside his seat. She feels the current pass over his knuckles. “What? Did they kill our parents?” It doesn’t seem a stretch after the group home.
Atticus doesn’t meet her eyes and she’s not sure she wants him to. Her emotions swell, opening a dark hole she’d long filled. Unearthing those feelings—it’s not what she wants to do. She’s not sure she’s capable of handling it.
“So who did it? Who took out Project 12?”
“My office had been investigating the program for a while. Rosalie—your house mother—she worked with us as an informant. She knew you were different, but she also knew your powers were increasing and, frankly, becoming dangerous. She tipped us off that day. Why or how, I never learned. She didn’t make it out of the house.” He touches a key and images begin flipping by. Miss Rosalie with her kind face. Demetria holding her unicorns. Arial images of the black SUV and then the charred remains of the house itself. “The scientists and agents working in my program agreed to raise and mentor the survivors. Astrid, you came with me, and Quinn went to live with Holden.”
“Where?” she asks Quinn.
“Arizona.”
She looks back at Atticus. “And you knew?”
He shakes his head. “No. We were able to communicate but we did not know where the other survivors or their mentors were hidden.”
“Other survivors? How many others are there?”
Quinn leans over to hear the answer. There are things about this he doesn’t know either.
“I don’t know. At least four.”
“Four out of the twelve?” The chill down her spine nearly paralyzes her.
“Yes.” He holds up his hands when she starts to argue. “I don’t know who they are. Things at the time were chaotic and we worked very hard to keep things inaccessible. Even to ourselves. It was simply too dangerous.” His eyes dart to the side. “Holden and I took a big risk maintaining contact. But we gambled it for the sake of science and our shared vision for you.”
Despite keeping these secrets, Atticus instilled in her an understanding about the power she held. She was strong, fast, and had accelerated healing. She also could see into people’s deepest secrets and that gift was something others would want to exploit.
She just never realized how dangerous he meant.
The intercom buzzes on the desk and Atticus reaches to press the speak button. Mick, from upstairs, says, “The candidates are finished with their workout. One of you want to come up and talk to them?”
Astrid and Atticus stare at one another over the desk. He presses the button. “I’ll be there in a minute. Have them wait.” He stands and adds, “I’ll go up.”
He leaves quickly, before Astrid can argue or disagree, leaving her and Quinn alone.
Chapter Ten
Quinn
Quinn takes in the girl—no, woman—in the chair next to him and marvels at how much she’s changed since the last time he saw her. Back then she was a small runt of a girl. White-blonde hair always tucked under a hat, usually one with cat ears poking out of the top. He was scrawny then too, and not much interested in girls, but now? She’s the kind of beauty that men chase and fight over.
Astrid is tall and curvy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her the other night or today when he walked into the gym. Her Elite shirt clings to her body and her leggings leave little to the imagination. She’s strong, with lean muscles, and an easy confidence in her moves and physicality.
But there’s also something else. She’s guarded. Angry. And from the few touches they’ve shared, he suspects she’s severely deprived of intimacy.
“For what it’s worth,” he tells her, “I didn’t know about you until a few weeks ago.”
She’s staring at her gloved hands, non-reactive. But he didn’t come all the way to Virginia for an awkward reunion. He came for information and to find out who killed Holden.
“You look different,” he says, cocking his head. He waves his hand around the top of his head. “Less…hat and accessories.”
Her bright blue-green eyes snap at him and she looks him up and down in a way that feels like a kick in the gut. “Yeah well, you’re not the scrawny little nerd from back then, either.”
“I guess we both grew up, despite all nefarious attempts otherwise.”
There’s a moment of silence as he recalls the last time he saw her: going down the front stairs and leaving in the SUV. One of his first thoughts when he woke up after the blast was that maybe she’d survived. He’d never fully believed it but now that they’re here together…he knows it is a miracle.
“Do you know why can’t I read your echo?” Her gloved fingers ball in her lap. She’d covered them somewhere between the ring and coming down here.
He holds up his fingers, tentatively, so she realizes it’s no threat. Astrid watches closely, more interested than afraid. He flicks his fingers and they hum. “Jesus that’s weird.” She narrows her eyes. “Your scent changed when you did that. Cooler. Sulfur and another gas.”
“My scent?”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks flare red. “I should have noticed it in the alley—a touch of vanilla and well, probably ozone? I didn’t know what that was at the time.”
“Well you can’t read my echo but you can still use your heightened senses on me. I have a feeling you’re immune from my power, too.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugs. “Just a theory Holden came up with. He thinks the subjects in Project 12 were made to work together—like a finely tuned weapon. It would be too risky if we could turn on one another—accident or not.”
She holds out her arm—not her hand. She seems entirely too resistant of doing that again. Her skin is pale, probably from too much time inside. His fingers hum and he clamps down on her forearm, both of their eyes wide.
Nope.
Not a thing, not the slightest spark or jolt.
“You’re right!” she says, a smile tugging at her lips for the first time since they’d met.
“I usually am.”
She rolls her eyes. “I remember that, too.”
“What?”
“That you were very self-assured. You were constantly testing Rosalie and messing with the power. Most of the others were scared of their abilities.” Although, that wasn’t entirely true. Demetria certainly wasn’t. And Junior embraced his strength.
“I just remember you were really small. And seemed scared like you wanted that crazy pink hat of yours to keep the whole world away.” He’s still touching her arm and she looks down at the contact before pulling away.
The intercom buzzes on the desk and Astrid leans over to answer it. Atticus speaks. “Jensen called. You’re going to need to suit up.”
Chapter Eleven
Astrid
Astrid doesn’t hesitate, moving quickly to the dressing area across the room.
“What did he mean? Suit up?” Quinn asks.
Her suit is hanging where Atticus left it. She sees that the camera has been repaired, but the outfit itself is unchanged. He hadn’t had time to make alterations. She sighs at the thought of her sore butt and slides the curtain to force some privacy.
“Atticus created an outfit for me to wear when I go out. It has protective fabric and a way for us to communicate.” She squeezes into the tight outfit, the woven leather-like fabric giving with her curves. She looks in the mirror, securing her hair with a tight band. The uniform hugs her lean biceps, accentuating her muscles.
Astrid steps from behind the curtain, tugging the cuffs over her wrists and securing her gloves. Quinn pauses, taking her in, his eyes dragging toe to head.
“Atticus lets you out like that?”
“Excuse me?”
He blinks and self-corrects. “I mean, he made that?”
“Yes.” She pretends she doesn’t notice the way his eyes linger over her body, or the way his scent alters.
He steps forward, reaching for the cuffs. “I saw this prototype on Holden’s computer.” She lets him inspect them, cautioning him about the triggers. “When you sprayed that compound on Tink, it all clicked. It was one of the reasons I knew I’d found you.”
She bends to buckle her boot. “Why were you even looking for me?”
“Holden sent me out on a job—spy work, mostly. I never really understood who or what I was tracking, until two weeks ago he told me the truth about my past, Project 12, and you.”
“So who had you been tracking?”
“The people behind the program. He suspected there were still supporters out there, either collecting a new group of kids to work on or trying to find us.” He shrugs. “I never found much.”
Astrid leans her hands against the chair and studies Quinn. He seems so familiar—just like when he was a kid. Nice, a little overly confident, at least in the ring, but overall a good person. “I’m sorry about earlier. All of this is a little shocking.”
“Tell me about it. It’s been a crazy few weeks.”
“I’m sorry about Holden. Who do you think killed him? And why?”
He shrugs. “Maybe we were getting too close to something or someone? I don’t know. Holden sent me to an office complex asking me to gain access and download the contents of their computers. When I came back, he was dead. Shot in the head near his car.”
“Had they been inside?”
“In the upstairs. Not the bunker below.” He rubs his head with his palm. “I went in and completed the emergency procedure. I’d assumed it sent a notice to Atticus, but apparently not. I wiped the whole system. Fried it, then followed the only lead I had…you.”
“Echo, you ready?”
“Coming,” she replies. Quinn looks at her questioningly. “Atticus. He’s in my ear.”
He laughs. “I bet.”
She tugs at her cuffs and walks toward the door. “Let’s go see what kind of trouble is happening in Crescent City tonight.”
*
Jensen got a tipoff about Captain Hook, or whoever it is running the Pixie Dust trade in Crescent City. No surprise it’s in the crappiest, shadiest, dirtiest part of town, the area called The Swamp.
“So, what? You want me to go in first?” Astrid asks, a few blocks away from the target. Atticus and Quinn are across the street in an unmarked van. Her mentor is worried about her hitting the street so soon after taking Tink out. Not to mention how fried her nerves are from finding out the news about Quinn and Project 12.
“Just a little surveillance. Give us something to work with before the team goes in. We need to know if the tip is legit and what kind of setup we’re looking at.”
“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”
“Take it from the outside,” Atticus says in her ear. “Top floor.”
“You want me to scale the outside of the building?” She curses under her breath and th
en gives Jensen a tight grin to let him know everything is okay.
“Yeah. Test the gloves and the grip on your boots.”
“Showing off for your tech for the new guy?” she asks, knowing full well that Quinn is listening to every word.
He doesn’t reply.
“I’ll get what you need,” she tells Jensen, then slips out of the car and down the block with graceful ease.
A gust of cold air blows off the river and Astrid draws on her senses. Mostly it’s smoggy, industrial air. Dirty, old grease seeped into the cement. The grit of bricks. But vibrations lead her to the warehouse, to the people working diligently inside. Her sharp eyes spot the corner of the building with a jutting edge to start her climb.
In the movies, climbing like this looks easy. The hero jumps from ledge to ledge like a cat. In real life, even with enhanced abilities Astrid relies on the gummy grip of her special gloves and the ridges Atticus built in the toes of her boots. It makes it easier, but she doesn’t look down—not even once—until she climbs to the upper ledge by the long row of windows that overlook the entire warehouse floor.
Astrid takes a moment to catch her breath and absorb the whole scene. “Holy shit. Wait ‘til you see this.”
“Adjust the camera.”
Astrid detaches the pin and holds it up where Atticus can get a good view. He’s silent on the other end, probably as overwhelmed as she is. “Their operation is massive. No wonder they’re willing to kill for it.”
The old warehouse is several stories high and wide open. Once used for tobacco sorting, it’s also the size of two football fields end-to-end. Astrid looks down on table after table of production. The shiny powder is piled at the end of each table, and down the row is packaged into clever little bags stamped with images of Tinkerbelle that make it look more like a child’s amusement than a deadly drug.
“Okay, that’s good. I’ll send this footage to Jensen and he can get his team organized.”
