Atlantis Rising

by Gloria Craw

  A rumble yanked our attention to the street as a motorcycle pulled up directly in front of us, the April sun reflecting off the red lacquer.

  Our crew, along with every other student in the courtyard, stared at the biker’s broad chest encased in a blue tee, tan arms bunching as he throttled the bike down. “Yummy,” Hannah said. “And I don’t mean the cupcake.”

  Another bike rolled up between the red one and the curb. A black crotch rocket. Black helmet and black tee on a whole lotta muscle. Whoa.

  “Maybe my birthday won’t be so bad after all,” I murmured.

  I glanced down at my May the Mass Times Acceleration Be With You tank top. As I straightened the words across my chest, I licked my lips, checking for leftover frosting. In case the motorcycle guy looked my way, I needed to at least be presentable.

  Hannah gasped and hit my hand. “You didn’t happen to wish for a hot dude, did you?”

  Both riders cut their engines, kicked down the stands, and shifted to take off their helmets. I watched the guy on the black bike. I definitely had an image of what the perfect guy under that helmet would look like to make my every birthday wish come true. I wanted him to have longish hair. Like a dark-haired young Thor, not old-school, trying-too-hard Jonas-brother long. Light blue eyes. Some scruff, not thick. More scruff meant too old. And a tattoo.

  Pain shot through my eyes and magma must’ve taken the place of my brain. Nausea swept through me from head to toe, leaving a cold sweat on my forehead. It all happened in a matter of seconds. What the—?

  As soon as I recognized that I might actually yak in front of the entire student body—and the hot biker guy!—the urge was gone. No more migraine. I felt fine.

  I wiped my forehead and refocused on the guy in black. His arm flexed as he pulled off his helmet, and the sleeve of his T-shirt tightened over his sculpted biceps. Dark wavy locks fell into the guy’s face. The rest of his hair skimmed his broad shoulders. Holy hotness.

  He tucked his helmet under his arm, ran his hand over his face, then leaned down to look into his side-view mirror. “Are you shitting me?” he yelled.

  The other rider, who’d already pulled off his helmet, almost fell from his bike, laughing.

  Mr. Hottie scanned the courtyard. Who was he looking for? He swung his leg over his seat and continued to survey each table of students. Until he got to us.

  The guy stared. At me. Shit, he must’ve caught me checking him out. His eyes locked on mine, and he strode forward to imaginary music that played in my head. Each of his steps matched the beat of the song. Each step held confidence as he moved with the purpose and grace of a uniformed marine.

  When he was about twelve feet from me, I noticed the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve in the same place as Nick’s had been.

  The stranger drew closer. Black lashes outlined his brilliant blue eyes. The contrast between his lashes and irises was startling. Stunning. But there was something behind the eyes. A familiarity. The lingering frosting turned sweeter in my mouth. I swallowed. I didn’t know him…did I?

  Four steps away. His beautiful eyes widened as something flickered across his face. He halted abruptly, furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. He stared me down. “Son of a bitch,” he said slowly.

  Was he talking to me? I checked out my table, thinking maybe one of my friends was doing something that had earned the hot guy’s curse. Nope. They all just gawked at the dynamic duo like they were Batman and Robin.

  “Come on,” the sidekick said as he nudged the hot guy. The dude broke eye contact with me, and they sauntered past our table.

  I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the dull headache building. The guy had cursed when he saw me. What did I do? And who the hell was he?

  Reid

  We’d traveled halfway across the country to this chick, and she turned me into some dude on the front of a romance novel. I’d just buzzed my head last week. Good thing she didn’t want me in pigtails. Who was she hoping was under the helmet, anyway?

  Santos elbowed me as we passed the last of the lunch tables. “Man, you look good in long hair. Add a couple dreads and eye makeup and you’d make one helluva Captain Jack Sparrow.”

  “Shut it.”

  Santos gave me a shove, and we moved closer to the entrance of the school.

  She had to be able to see me in order to change my appearance, so I had naturally looked around for her. But a hot girl had caught my attention first. And then I’d realized the hot girl and Josie were one and the same.

  Josie still had the strawberry-blond hair and green eyes like she did when I had a crush on her a couple years ago, but she’d definitely grown up since we’d last seen each other. Cheekbones and curves. Boots and a Star Wars tank. Alluring in every way imaginable. Damn.

  I’d made sure she wouldn’t recognize me. It was easier that way—for now.

  Well, seeing as how she’d Pushed my new appearance, I guess that answered the question of whether she possessed abilities or not. And from the way she’d grabbed her head as I passed by, she likely wasn’t a stranger to the sickening eye pain and wicked headache that came with the talent. I needed to talk to her in private, preferably before she thought she was going nuts or accidentally hurt someone. Or someone hurt her on purpose.

  Most of us knew who her family was and what had happened, but I’d had an inside look. It wasn’t pretty. The worst part was that Josie had been kept in the dark. She didn’t know about…anything.

  Her safe little world had to be disrupted, and I was the one chosen to drag her into hell. It was my responsibility to keep her alive and in check. Her life depends on me. My throat felt dry. She didn’t deserve this, but she also didn’t have a choice. She was exactly where Nick had been two years ago—and look how well that had turned out. Sweat beaded on my brow at the thought. Josie’s brother’s death had destroyed a lot of lives.

  I shook her and Nick’s faces out of my head as we entered the second set of doors into the building and approached the security guard. The lack of windows coupled with two stories of concrete resembled a jail more than a high school. The sterile cleaning-supply smell didn’t help the illusion.

  “What’s your business, gentlemen?” the security guard asked, holding a metal detector wand at his side. “Arms out.” Add the guard, and it felt kind of like a prison, too.

  The knife I carried in my boot and the cool metal of the M9 Beretta pressing against the small of my back disappeared. Not a big deal. I could Push one of the weapons into my hand, if need be. I lifted my arms out to my sides, my helmet hanging from one hand. “Checking in at the office, sir. Registering as new students.”

  The wand made an outline of my body in the air. Without words, the guard waved me on, and then Santos stepped into my spot and cocked his head toward me. Santos couldn’t Retract, so I made his HK45C, the Navy Seal–inspired pistol, vanish. Like me, he could Push a weapon if and when he wanted to. The wand waved around his body. The guard gave a nod and said, “Welcome to Oceanside.”

  Santos tucked his helmet under his arm. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll do the talking. You have the paperwork, right?” I said once out of earshot of security.

  “Yep. Sorry you have to do high school again. Sucks. But on the plus side…” Santos nodded to a girl passing us. “Hey,” Santos said. The girl giggled.

  “Hopefully this is a short-term stint. Besides, I’m not worried about my grades this time around. ”

  Santos smiled widely. “You graduated a year early. I don’t think you had to worry about grades the first time.”

  “It was easy; I didn’t have any of those distractions.” I nodded my head toward the giggly girl walking down the hall. Santos took another few seconds to admire her again.

  “While you were cheering the home team and chasing girls on the playground, I got to run with knives,” I said.

  “Sounds like a badass school.”

  Santos hadn’t gone to school in the Denver Hub like I did. It was a diff
erent experience. “There were no football games or dances. It was nothing like a public school or private school—unless it was Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” I laughed at the thought of having Wolverine’s hair. Good thing Josie wasn’t envisioning Hugh Jackman when I pulled up.

  I hadn’t been in “school” for more than two years. It’s not like we’d be here, sticking it out, till the end of the semester. Extractions rarely took long. And I’d single-handedly managed a dozen of them. The protocol was the same. Approach the target. Determine if he/she possessed Oculi abilities. Establish trust. Assess if the target was Resistance material. If they weren’t…Yeah, that’s where this job got interesting. I didn’t want to think about what would happen to Josie if she didn’t agree to come along peacefully.

  “Yo,” Santos said. He lobbed his helmet over a streamer hanging from the ceiling like he was shooting a two-pointer. “You do realize this girl is going to hate you, right?” He hustled to catch his substitute basketball and jump-shot it over the next streamer.

  “Yep.” She would despise me, and I didn’t like it, but I had to put any feelings aside, because there were more important things at stake.

  Santos caught his helmet and faked it to me, then tossed it up again. I’d known Santos about two years. He’d had my back on several occasions and vice versa. He was, is, one of my few friends. But even now, he didn’t know the details of how I knew the Harper family.

  We passed a bank of glass surrounding the library. All computers, few books. I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass. Santos was right—hello, Jack Sparrow. A new day, a new face, it felt like.

  Santos was one of the few people alive who knew what I’d looked like before the incident two years ago. My change in appearance was the Resistance’s form of a witness protection program. Appearance changes didn’t happen unless it was absolutely necessary due to paperwork and identity shit. I didn’t mind looking different, though. It was all in an effort to keep me safe. And being alive was always a nice perk.

  Even with different looks, I was still in danger, and the same held true for Santos. Such was the life of a trainer for the Resistance. Until my trainee was ready for the Hub or life in general, I was also his or her protector. Always on the lookout. Never off duty. Potential death was just another occupational hazard.

  I’d already killed more people than I’d ever be okay with. And their friends would be coming after Josie. Soon.