by Jenn Gott
UltraViolet strode forward, her steps wide and sure, as if she was invincible, as if nothing that Jane could think of would be of any threat to her.
Not that Jane was doing anything. She knew that she shouldn’t just stand there. It was obvious that she shouldn’t just stand there. Just standing there was exactly what UltraViolet wanted her to do, and yet: Jane couldn’t get herself to move. Up close, there was something even more maddening about UltraViolet, some tangle that Jane couldn’t quite unravel. Intellectually, she told herself to move. Demanded it, screamed it in her mind. But there was a larger force at work here, something holding her in place, something demanding an answer.
“Let me make this easy for you, then,” UltraViolet said, her voice warbling as the distortion eased back, just a little. “Since it’s obvious you’ll never get there on your own.”
Jane’s breath caught in her chest. She did and didn’t want to know, but it didn’t matter what she wanted, anymore. UltraViolet was right in front of her now, their faces mere inches from each other, and the haze that forever surrounded her was shifting, the light and colors settling back into their proper place. With each new feature becoming clear, Jane’s eyes widened in horrible recognition, as the last of UltraViolet’s distortions faded away, leaving only a familiar face, smoky eyes and purple lips curled into a smirk of triumph.
A very familiar face.
Her own face.
“Hello, Jane,” Jane Maxwell said to her, grinning that purple grin. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Two years ago . . .
“Ten grand? Are you joking?”
Jane Maxwell smiled. She stabbed at her eighty-dollar salad, a blend of organically grown kale and avocado and a half-dozen other raw ingredients specially designed to contain high levels of antioxidants or whatever else the health craze of the year was. God, what she wouldn’t give for a drive-thru burger about now.
“You have to consider the honor,” Jane said.
“Honor doesn’t pay my client’s bills,” Blue countered. Blue Hamilton—agent to the very best artists in Grand City—and Jane went way back, to the days just after Jane graduated from Sutton University with a degree in art history. “This painting is easily worth five times what you’re offering.”
“Today, yes. But I only want to display it for four years. Imagine what it will be worth after that.”
“In four years,” Blue said, “Knisley can paint two dozen more masterworks.”
Jane set her fork down. “So? I’m offering you the chance to have your client’s work positioned directly behind the mayor’s desk. It will be in every picture of his office for the remainder of his term.”
Blue shook her head, a tender smile softening her otherwise harsh features. Blue was tall and angled—all jawlines and collarbones—with a nose slightly too large for her face. When Blue was younger, she’d tried to hide herself behind traditional hairstyles and carefully applied makeup, but these days she embraced a “fuck all” attitude that Jane couldn’t help but admire. Barefaced, her hair cut spiky-short and died a bubblegum pink that defied her name, it was a wonder to Jane that none of Blue’s clients had painted her yet. There were so many wonderful angles and shadows to Blue. If Jane was still an artist . . .
Jane looked away, biting her lip.
“Look, Jane . . . I understand that you’re excited to be in charge of this project. And I get that you’re working on a strict budget. But if I start undervaluing my client’s works just to help out a friend—”
“Forget it,” Jane said. “You’re right. I’m sorry for asking.”
Blue reached over, resting her hand on Jane’s and giving it a tiny squeeze. “You can always ask.”
Jane slid her hand away. The café was spacious, the tables positioned so far apart that you could easily fit twice as many in the same space if this was any other establishment. The odds of anyone looking over at the two of them at that particular moment were slim, but Jane still found herself glancing around for prying eyes. She had a reputation for being standoffish, even cold, around her female friends, which she laughed off as just not liking to be touched. But it was more than that. Jane couldn’t take the risk that one of these days she might let the hug last a little too long, that the look on her face might reveal more than she could afford.
In the café, though, no one was paying them any attention. Two waiters flitted like hummingbirds from one self-absorbed table to the next.
Blue sat back. She wasn’t offended—she was never offended. Her phone buzzed, facedown on the table, and Jane watched as Blue flipped it over and read whatever had just come in. Her lips always parted, just a little, as she read.
“I’m sorry,” Blue said, smiling, as she stood up from the table. “I’m afraid that I have to go. Can you . . . ?” She pointed at the remainder of their food. Most of it was still uneaten.
Jane nodded. “Yeah, I got it. You go ahead.”
Blue’s grin lit up the café. “Thanks. I owe you.” She leaned in fast, gracing a kiss on Jane’s cheek.
Jane sat there, still as a rock, trying to will the flush away from her face. She could actually do that sometimes, a skill that she always attributed to the mental discipline she’d acquired in the years spent mastering her superpowers.
Five minutes later she was walking down Forecastle Street, her head still buzzing with the effort of keeping her body in check. Her chest was warm. Jane took a deep breath. Think about Cal, she told herself firmly. Jane had finally broken down and started sleeping with him several months ago, just after her father had announced his candidacy for mayor. It would not do to have one of his two prominent daughters going so long without a boyfriend—it had been, God, what, six years since Jane had broken up with the only other man she’d tried to date? The press would have started asking questions, Jane was sure of it.
She was still trying to collect herself when an odd flash of light drew her attention. By now, she was three blocks away from the restaurant. The flash didn’t seem to register with anyone else milling up and down the street, and maybe Jane wouldn’t have paid attention to it, either, except that in her bizarre lifestyle, flashes tended to coincide with trouble. Light flashed again, from a nearby alley. Just ahead. Jane quickened her pace and ducked into the shadows between buildings.
The alley looked empty, but Jane knew better than to trust that. A buzz permeated the air. She kept the tickle of power in her fingertips, ready to use should worst come to worst—though she was hoping that it wouldn’t, since her uniform was back at headquarters. Halfway down the alley, the buzz increased. It was vibrating the air so badly that Jane could almost taste it, bitter like blood on the back of her tongue. She inched forward, pointed heel to toe. She undid the button of her silk blazer, to allow for better movement of her arms.
Even still, the blast caught her off-guard. Jane yelled, light flaring involuntarily, as something collided with her back. She fell forward, pinned underneath the weight of another person. Training kicked in and, within moments, she managed to flip her would-be attacker off her. She scrambled up into a crouch, one arm spread ready, the other steadying herself against the pavement.
But she was not being attacked. In fact, the person that had collided with her was thoroughly down, sprawled face-first in a puddle; her brown hair spilled across the water, her red uniform stained with the deeper shades of blood.
The first trickle of recognition ran like a chill up Jane’s spine. She scrambled forward, rolling the woman onto her back.
She was looking down at her own face.
Nausea roiled through Jane’s gut. There was no mistaking it—this could not even be her sister, who everyone was always saying looked so much like Jane. Jane’s mind raced, running down all the absurd possibilities: was it time travel, like last time? Some kind of cloning experiment? An alternate reality, bleeding through? Ordinary people may have scoffed at each of these options, but Jane’s life had gotten distinctly weird ever since that fateful day at the factor
y when she was fifteen. At this point, she couldn’t rule out anything.
Jane quickly checked the pulse of this . . . other Jane, whoever she was. She pressed her fingers against Other-Jane’s neck, nearly jumping out of her skin when Other-Jane’s eyes fluttered open. Other-Jane winced in obvious pain, which wasn’t surprising—Jane could find at least three sources of blood from just a cursory glance. She blinked as her focus seemed to come back to her, her gaze locking in on Jane.
Not a single hint of surprise ran across her face. In fact, she smiled. “It worked,” she whispered, raising her hand in triumph. A bulky cuff was strapped around her wrist, and Other-Jane’s last expression before she passed out was something near to bliss.
Jane hastily pulled her phone out. She ripped off a piece of her suit’s silk lining, pressing it against the gash on the side of Other-Jane’s head as she dialed the Heroes’ emergency number.
* * *
“This is so cool,” Marie said.
She was sitting at the table of the command room, the wrist cuff Other-Jane had brought with her splayed open like a dismantled sandwich.
Jane’s stomach growled. Dammit, she had definitely not eaten enough at her overpriced lunch. She drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, I’m glad that you’re so fascinated,” Jane said. “But what does it do?”
Marie shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Great.”
“Hey, did I say I was giving up? I’ll figure it out, you can bet your panties on that. I just don’t know what it does yet.”
“Yeah, and in the meantime—”
The doors hissed open. “Welcome, Amy. Welcome, Devin.”
“Well?” Jane asked. She leaped to her feet so fast that the chair she’d been sitting in spun several rotations in her wake.
“She’s in a rejuve pod,” Devin said. “But . . . I’ll be honest, Jane. I’m not convinced that she’s going to make it.”
Jane’s world tilted hard underfoot. She had to steady herself against the edge of the table. Don’t panic yet, Jane told herself, though her voice was dry as she asked, “What else?”
Amy hesitated. She was watching Jane as if Jane was a bird that she’d stumbled upon, and was afraid that one wrong move might frighten it off. “She’s . . . definitely Jane Maxwell,” Amy said finally. “But I don’t think that she’s you.”
Marie glanced up from her work. “What kind of zen bullshit is that?”
Amy shrugged. “That’s the best I can describe it. Her sense of identity screams Jane Maxwell. I dipped into a few of her memories, and she has Jane’s life . . . pretty much. But there’s something distinctly off about her. It doesn’t feel like our Jane.”
Jane nodded, taking this in. A cool wash of relief trickled down over her: so, not time travel, then. Which means that she was not destined to suffer this same fate, somewhere in her future. The impulse to smile crept up on Jane, but she managed to stamp it down.
Amy was watching her carefully. She was always doing that: studying Jane, as if she was constantly on the lookout for some sign or another. Jane didn’t know what it was Amy thought she would find—a couple of times, Jane wondered if maybe Amy harbored some kind of feelings toward her, but she’d dismissed that possibility when they were teenagers. And anyway, in recent years, her watchfulness had taken on a wary turn, which frankly pissed Jane the hell off.
She had to get out of there.
“I’m going to check on her,” Jane said, breezing past Devin and Amy, leaving Marie behind with her work.
It was hard to say what, exactly, drew Jane back to Other-Jane. It had started off as an excuse to leave the room, but as soon as she was in the corridor, she knew that she would follow through with it. An odd sense of fate settled over Jane as she walked. She saw herself as if from above: a long white corridor, snaking into the distance; a lone figure at the far end, a shadow trailing behind her like the train of a royal robe. Her powers still hadn’t settled from earlier in the day. Her chest felt warm and bubbly, her head light, her fingers tingling as if they’d been pinched asleep. It wasn’t good, Jane knew, to let her powers stay switched “on” for this long, but none of her usual routines had quieted them. Energy thrummed through her as she walked, her heartbeat seeming to echo against the walls.
Light was already snaking out from underneath the door as Jane approached Other-Jane’s rejuvenation pod. Jane shielded her eyes as she let herself inside. Though none of the monitors for her vitals were displaying any warnings, Other-Jane was obviously flaring. The entire room was basked in the purest white light, not a single shadow left standing.
Jane rushed up to her side. It was only because they were also her own powers that she was able to squint through and see at all; anyone else would have been blinded. Other-Jane was shaking violently in her bed. Perspiration lined her skin, which had drained of all color. Her eyes were open, but her pupils were so small that they almost weren’t there. They swiveled, pin-pricks searching the room, until they settled on Jane.
Other-Jane held up her hand. Jane grasped it, wrapping Other-Jane’s clammy palm tightly in her own. “It’s okay,” Jane whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She brushed sweat-soaked hair from Other-Jane’s forehead.
There was no denying it: Other-Jane was dying. Oddly, Jane didn’t feel anything about that. Now that she knew she wasn’t watching her future, all fear of what was unfolding before her had vanished.
Other-Jane’s lips parted. A faint creak escaped, like she was trying to say something. Her mouth gaped, open–shut, open–shut, but Jane rested her fingers across Other-Jane’s lips.
“Shh. Don’t speak.”
Other-Jane jerked her head, but Jane pressed down harder, straight over Other-Jane’s mouth. Jane’s fingers curled tightly against Other-Jane’s cold cheeks. Anger and power coursed through her, so bright that her mind cleared on its own.
“I said, ‘Don’t speak,’ ” Jane snapped. “God, you’re already dying. Why make a fuss about it? Just let go.”
Other-Jane’s already wide eyes widened even farther. Empty, ghostly, just the faintest dot in the middle of a bloodshot sea of white. She jerked again—and again, Jane clamped down harder. Jane’s own powers were raging so pure in her mind that it was like they’d started to whisper to her, do it, do it, do it, do it, and half of Jane’s lip curled up in a grin.
She released Other-Jane’s hand, and pinched Other-Jane’s nose shut instead. She watched the shock and panic flare through those unnatural eyes. Other-Jane’s hands flew at Jane, but her power was leeching out in so many different ways that the attack washed over Jane like water. Jane laughed, lapping up the light that was pouring off of Other-Jane. Other-Jane’s nails scratched down Jane’s arms, but Jane kept up a tight grip. A tongue tried to push against Jane’s hand, teeth tried to wrench out enough to bite down, but nothing was working. No matter how much Other-Jane bucked or struggled, Jane quite literally had the upper hand. The light from Other-Jane soaked into Jane’s skin, adding to the rush in her head. Jane felt it seep in, stoking her own powers.
She knew what she had to do.
“Shh, shh,” Jane whispered to her again. “It’s okay . . . I’ve got you.” She grinned.
Other-Jane jerked underneath Jane’s grip. Once, twice. Three. Weaker and weaker. Her nails dug less forcefully against Jane’s arms, until finally they dropped away completely.
She was still.
Jane stepped back, spreading her arms. A flare of light, so strong that it seared red across her eyeballs, burst out of Other-Jane . . . and plunged into Jane’s waiting embrace.
The force of it sent Jane staggering back. She hit the wall of the rejuvenation pod, knocking her head. She took several deep, gasping breaths, as the power of Other-Jane tore through her. For one awful second, she feared that she’d made a mistake, that the power was going to overwhelm her. That she’d flare bright and terrible, burning herself out. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Her head felt like it was splitting open. Jane cr
ied out, collapsing to her knees, a wail echoing through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, though it didn’t make any difference. She curled up on herself, waiting to die.
She didn’t.
The pain cut itself off. The wailing stopped. Jane cautiously raised her head, waiting for it to start up again.
When a few moments passed and nothing happened, she stood up. Her muscles felt raw, like she’d spent a week straight in the gym. Like she’d grown three inches overnight, and now her skin was tight, too small against the frame of her body. She took one tentative step. When she didn’t collapse, she let out a sigh of relief. She shut her eyes, grateful for her narrow escape. A piece of her mind shifted, the way she did when she needed night vision, and Jane frowned. She opened her eyes.
The world was aglow. A pale blue and purple haze filtered over her vision, colors popping odd and bright. Traces that she had never seen before now jumped out in brilliant blue. Jane stared, gawping for several minutes. She looked at everything: her hands, her shoes, the bed that Other-Jane’s body still lay sprawled upon. She took out her wallet, just for something familiar, and froze as the security features of the bills glowed obvious and in her face. Jane stared at a fifty, twisting it this way and that, while a quiet understanding fell around her, like snow in the night. A smile twitched at the edges of her mouth.
Ultraviolet.
* * *
Eighteen months ago . . .
Jane slammed the gas. Tires spun, kicking white gravel high, as she backed up and spun the car around in her parents’ driveway. Her mother, running out the front door, was framed in the rear view mirror as if it was a comics panel. Jane shifted, throwing the car into drive, and blasted past the guard posts at the entrance to the street. Her tires slipped as she turned sharply onto the road, then bit down against the pavement as Cal’s car shot forward.
The island whipped past Jane’s windows. She blared the air conditioning, despite the fact that it was freezing outside. Jane gulped down cold lungfuls, trying to steady herself. Her hands were shaking, but the car purred steadily underneath her fragile grip. The speedometer crept up—sixty-five, seventy . . . eighty.