by Angel Lawson
Sunlight on her face. Her favorite hoodie. Demetria making the fairies fly over the bed. Harry’s soft fur. Rosalie’s apple pie.
These were the things she thought of night after night to help her get through. Heat warmed between their hands and the sadness and sorrow faded. She pushed harder. Dreamed bigger, and soon the pain disappeared.
Astrid stood not long after, tugging her gloves over her hands and headed back to bed.
*
Pretending her eyes aren’t red from crying and that she didn’t hear Quinn tossing and turning all night, Astrid prepares for the day like any other. The last twenty-four hours have changed her. She lost a mentor, but looking across the kitchen bar at the man intently studying his coffee cup, she realizes she likely gained something else.
An ally.
She walks past him, Harry close on her heels, pretending like she doesn’t notice everything about Quinn. The length of his broad shoulders. The rounded, hard muscle of his slightly flexed bicep. The way his jaw looks when he takes a sip of coffee.
Get a grip, Astrid.
“There’s coffee in the pot,” he says. “I dug around and made some. Hope that’s okay.”
“Sure,” she replies. She passes the pot, coffee is not her vice. She opens the refrigerator and Harry meows and bangs into her shins. “Okay, okay. I’ll get your freaking cheese. Calm down.”
“Cheese?” Quinn asks.
She pulls a slice of white, packaged cheese out of the drawer and unwraps it. Kneeling, she pulls it into tiny pieces and feeds it to Harry bit by bit.
“Seriously?”
“Don’t judge me.”
Once Harry is finished and settled down a little, she ducks into the open refrigerator and pulls out a green bottle. A hiss follows the twisting of the cap and Quinn watches as she gets her morning jolt, gulping down a swallow of Mountain Dew.
Again she narrows her eyes, “I said don’t judge me.”
He holds up his hands in surrender.
“Everyone has a vice. Mine is crappy soda and potato chips and greasy hamburgers. Harry’s is processed cheese.” She nods at him. “What’s yours?”
She’s not prepared for his answer. “Well, I don’t know. This is the first coffee I’ve had in three years. I’m more of a tea guy. Actually, I found this mushroom coffee thing that’s pretty good. Total jolt to the system. But I have to balance it with my supplements and really watch my carb intake…”
He stops, aware that she’s staring at him like he’s a freak. “So you’re a health nut?” She mutters under her breath. “Great.”
“I just try to take care of myself,” he says, watching in horror as she pulls a bag of powdered donuts from the pantry.
She shoves one in her mouth and chews it, feeling a little more awake. “Look, I want to apologize for anything I said or did last night that was out of—”
“You don’t—”
“Let me speak. This may be the only apology you’ll ever get out of me.” The tension eases, just a little, and Astrid continues. “I’m not that much different from the girl that you knew back at the group home. I wish I could still wrap my head in a hat and wear six pairs of socks to bed, but I can’t. I’ve had to learn to live with my enhanced senses. Atticus helped me with that. It took years of patience and pushing my limits. I have no doubt that he knew all along that I could use my enhancement for the greater good and not let them overtake my life.” She takes another calming breath. “And I’ve been doing that, for the most part. I train people for the Elite program at the gym. I go out on the street as Echo. I’m not great at it yet, but I think I’m making a difference.”
“You are,” he assures her, but that’s not why she’s telling him this.
“On a personal level I have not made as much progress. I’m not used to touching people. I don’t want to touch them. Even if a person is essentially good, it’s a challenge—seeing what’s in their heads. The bad stuff rises to the top. The guilt. The lies. Sadness. If it’s not that, it’s monotonous and painful in a whole other way.”
Astrid and Quinn are across from one another and the room is filled with awkward revelation. He opens his mouth and shuts it more than once and finally says, “Although I couldn’t go to school, Holden enrolled me in a variety of activities hoping to give me a chance for socialization. Most were athletic, non-contact sports, and there was an unspoken understanding that I shouldn’t overperform. I also spent the summer I turned eighteen as a computer instructor at what was basically nerd camp.”
Astrid laughs. “Bet that caused a scene. Hunky guy like you teaching computer? Science suddenly got interesting.”
His pupils dilate at her comment and he clears his throat. “Before that summer I had very little, uh, intimate contact with others. I was literally petrified that I would hurt someone. I’m sensitive to electrical currents and when I was younger my emotions affected my abilities.”
“How?”
“Anger, sadness, fear. I had to learn how to control all of it. If I got too upset or too emotional…” he uses his hands to mimic an explosion. “But I practiced and that summer I met another instructor at the camp. Shanna. We got close.”
“How close?” Astrid asks, genuinely interested.
Quinn’s cheeks tint red and she smells a change in his scent. “We took it slow. We were both inexperienced and it made it a little easier to back off when I needed to. But she was my first kiss. Then later my first…everything else.”
Astrid unscrews the green cap of her drink and takes a swig. She mulls over her next sentence. If she’s brave enough to tell this man—basically a stranger—her truth. She locks eyes with him and feels the urge to tell him what she’s never admitted to anyone else before.
“I’m not a virgin,” she declares. Quinn, to his credit, doesn’t react other than the slightest lift of his right eyebrow to this sudden announcement. “But I’ll be honest, it wasn’t a good experience. Not at all, and I’ve spent the past four years trying to pretend like it never happened.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Astrid. That’s not why I said all of that.”
“I know.” She twists the cap on and off, letting the built-up carbonation hiss with each turn. “I’ve worked in the gym since I was fifteen. Atticus had me training walk-ins early on. One of them was a guy named Jay. He was cute. College student. Abs like a step ladder.”
Quinn laughs. “And he’s the one?”
“I let him get close. And here’s the thing…crushing on someone with my sensitivities? It can be really, really good or really, really bad.” She holds Quinn’s eye. “Jay was a little of both. When I was around him I felt alive. Like my skin would burst just being in the same room with him. His smile? It gave me chills. And his touch? I felt it to my toes.” She pauses, thinking about the good stuff, but then she wrinkles her nose. “After a few months we were kind of a couple—at least around the gym. And I really thought I could do it, you know? That my feelings for him would outweigh anything else. I was the one that took off my gloves—wanting to experience the whole thing. All of the sensations.”
“Sort of like screwing without a condom.”
Astrid can’t help but smile. “Exactly. But when you do that god knows what you’re going to get, right? But what really happened is I let my brain get overtaken by my hormones. I didn’t pick up on the signals and by the time I knew the real Jay, it was too late.”
“Did he hurt you?” he asks.
She touches her chest but shakes her head. Not wanting to continue, she asks, “What happened to Shanna?”
“I think she went to college in New York or something.”
Harry jumps on the counter, walking over to Quinn and rubbing his chin on his hands.
“Ah, watch out. He likes you, now you’ll never get rid of him.”
He strokes the cat down his back and Harry arches into his hand.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits.
He frowns. �
��Do what?”
“Work with someone—someone who knows my secret and is immune to my abilities. Or to have an ally. That’s weird.” She swallows. “But most of all, I don’t know how to live without Atticus.”
“We’re in the same boat, Astrid.”
“The next few days are going to suck.” Anxiety rises in her chest. “There’s a funeral to arrange. I bet the police will be here soon to talk about everything. Jensen at the very least. Then the gym. God, what am I going to do with the gym and the training program?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“This isn’t your problem, Quinn.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” He keeps his hands firmly on his mug, circling the wide cup with his large hands. “I think Holden and Atticus wanted us together and I suspect there’s a bigger plan we don’t exactly understand yet.”
Astrid frowns. “You do? Why?”
Quinn holds up his hand. A black flash drive with a gold symbol etched on the side is in his fingers. “Take me down to Atticus’ workshop. I’ll show you there.”
Chapter Seventeen
Astrid
Unnerving is the word for it. Even after their heart-to-heart, Astrid feels conflicted about taking Quinn into the workshop. Atticus had brought him down to the lair but that was his decision, not hers. In all these years, no one had ever been in here but the two of them. Not his friend Jensen. Not even Harry, who Atticus worried would knock something over or injure himself. But her mentor brought Quinn in immediately, which means something. She should trust him. Work with him.
She’s dealing with this, along with a dozen other warring emotions, when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She glances at the screen and says, “Give me a minute. You can look at whatever you want. Just be careful.”
“Hello,” she says, watching Quinn as he scans the large room. He slips a flash drive out of his pocket and walks to the computer.
“Astrid,” Jensen replies. His voice sounds tired. He’s probably been up for hours. “Just finished up at the crime scene. You ready to tell me what happened down here?”
“Which part?” She asks. “The warehouse part or the Atticus part.”
“Either. Both.”
She tells him what she can about the warehouse—how she’d gone in there just for surveillance, as they planned, but she went to get a closer look. “This group is strange,” she says. “The main guy, James, he started talking about Pixie Dust as a state of mind or something. He’s really buying into his own game.”
“And everyone else?”
“They seem scared of him.” She thinks for a minute. “Well, except this one guy. He mouthed off some. That’s when everything fell apart.”
“What caused the explosion?”
There’s no way she can describe the cave-in, or what she thought was a cave-in. Had she imagined it? It happened just as Quinn arrived and at the time she’d thought he’d done it—managed to rip reality apart. Something with electrons? But now she’s not so sure—something about that guy in the green shirt nags at her. She’ll have to find out more before ever mentioning it to anyone.
“We were spotted and I think they were just willing to let the place go up in flames before handing it over. Did you catch anyone?”
“No. That place went up fast and burned hot. They must have used some kind of accelerant.”
There’s no doubt Jensen is avoiding talking about Atticus so she finally says, “He was dead when we got back to the van.”
“We?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Me. Sorry, it’s been a long night. My brain is mush.” Astrid takes a deep breath and tries to get her story together. I would be easier if her hands would stop shaking. Atticus always handled this part—the Jensen part. “He stopped answering my calls. When I got back to the van the window was smashed and he was dead.”
“You think it was this drug dealer?”
“Or one of his men, I guess. They must have gotten the jump on him.” Astrid knew this was unlikely and Jensen probably did too. The van was filled with sensors and equipment that kept them safe out there. An idea sparks in her mind and she looks over at Quinn, who is working at the computer. “Do you need anything else?”
“No. I’ll call you if anything comes up. And I’ll get you details on releasing his body for services. Okay?”
“Okay.” Services. Reality slams back. That’s going to be on her to plan and organize.
“You let me know if you need anything. Or someone to talk to. I know you guys were pretty isolated.”
She’s still watching Quinn and he must sense it because he glances over with the ghost of a smile. It’s a weird thing. Seeing him here. A good thing. “Thanks, Jensen.”
She hangs up and stares at the man across the room. He’s focused on the computer and the lines and lines of data pulled up from the flash drive. Beneath the black Elite hoodie she notes the tension in his back; the stiff way he sits at the desk. Over coffee, there was no mistaking the shadows of exhaustion under his eyes.
She feels relief since their talk upstairs. Unloading that private information from her past was hard, but if Astrid is going to work with Quinn, she’s going to have to loosen up—open up. And it’s not like she can’t or shouldn’t. Having a guy walk into her life that she can actually physically withstand? That’s a big deal.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
She pulls up a chair close enough to view the screen. “Yeah, he’s probably too exhausted to worry about the holes in my story.”
“Maybe he’ll cut you some slack—you did just lose a loved one.”
“They were best friends. Jensen helped develop the training program with Atticus. He didn’t know about this—about my secret--but they were tight. It’s going to be hard on him, too.” She rubs her head and gestures to the information on the computer screen. “What’s all this?”
“Holden knew what you and Atticus were doing here. The vigilante stuff.”
“I’m not a vigilante.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, whatever you want to call it. He knew. That’s why he told me about Project 12. He felt like it was risky. That maybe you were making too many moves publicly.”
“We’ve been careful. I’ve only gone out on a few missions.”
He flips to a different tab to reveal a blurry photograph attached to a news article about the overdoses. “People noticed.”
“Fuck.”
“You didn’t know?” he asks.
“No.”
“Huh. Well, Atticus did. He talked to Holden about it.”
She stares at the photo. Her blonde hair is visible. This was the mission she went on before the one where he insisted she wear the wig. Now she knew why.
“You think they’re looking for us,” Astrid says.
“I think it’s possible they’ve already found us. Killed Holden. Maybe Atticus.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “That was the drug dealers. That dirt-bag, James.”
“You don’t know that.” His blue eyes meet hers. “Something is off, Astrid. We have to keep our options open.”
“What? Or we’ll be next?” She’d already considered this.
“No.” He turns back to face the monitor and enters in a long sequence of numbers and letters. He types fast and hits the return button. The screen blinks a few times, then turns black. She’s about to accuse him of triggering a virus when an image blinks on the screen. It’s a symbol with Roman numeral XII in the center. Underneath, it says: “P12: The Elite.”
Astrid frowns. “What is that?”
He enters another code and the screen changes. A full page of information comes to life. “Atticus and Holden weren’t just protecting us. He was protecting the others, or trying to. He said at least four others made it out of the house that day. Some of that information is here. Who they are. Possible mentors.”
Speechless, Astrid moves closer, breaking a dozen rules about proximity to others. She scans the page. Her face, name
, and information are on there. So is Quinn’s. There are also code names like the one he’d give her; Echo. She points to the name Charger.
“That’s me, I guess.” He shakes his head at the name.
“Right? Atticus is—was—awful at making up code names.”
Under Charger is another profile. Astrid stares, blinking at what she’s seeing.
“He lied to us,” she says. “Atticus said he didn’t know if any of the others survived, but look.”
He hovers the mouse over the next profile.
Casper: Cyberkinesis. Manipulates and controls technology.
His picture is an avatar. A cartoonish image of a brown-skinned man.
There’s no other information.
Quinn scrolls further down the page.
Junior: Peak Human Condition
No picture but there’s a notation: Last seen in Brazil with his mentor, Emma.
“Wow,” is all she can say, reading the slim profiles. “So there are others.”
“Yep.”
The information isn’t much to go on but she spots a tab at the top of the screen. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
Impatiently, she reaches over to move the mouse and brushes Quinn’s hand with her gloved one. It’s not a big deal, but he moves back, giving her control. “Go ahead.”
His heartbeat quickens at their interaction and his scent turns a little salty. Nerves. Does she scare him? Or maybe just intimidates. She can live with that.
The tab is labeled Super Suits. She opens with a click of the mouse.
“What the…” Quinn says, leaning forward.
The label is exact and a 3-D rendering of a black leather costume fills the screen, complete with accessories, weapons and masks.
“I had no idea,” she says, looking at the one he’d created for her. “I mean, he’d been having me go out in a protective outfit and I know he’d been working on making it better—you saw it—but this…” She looks at the image again. It’s gorgeous, a sleek design of sensory-compressing black pants, a killer top and elbow-length gloves. Redesigned cuffs that Astrid suspects contain an arsenal of weapons, along with sheathes in the pants and boots. There’s a sleek black eye mask to protect her identity. The woman in the photo is a simulation of Astrid down to her blue-green eyes and her long blonde hair is twisted in a tight braid over her shoulder. “This is a whole other level.”
