Power Up: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Supernatural Prison Trilogy Book 2)

by Aella Black

  “Oh so you’re not gonna use your powers outside of matches, right?”

  “Fang…” Xander’s voice was almost inaudible, but I’d heard it.

  Fortunately, Warrick didn’t. He was focused entirely on Fang, who, for some crazy reason, seemed to be inviting Warrick’s wrath.

  “That’s it.” The guard turned glittering eyes on Titus. “You can thank your brother for this.”

  Fang stepped between them, but that didn’t make any difference with Warrick’s power. “Don’t—”

  He was cut off by his brother’s blood-curdling scream.

  I couldn’t watch. By some miracle—and yes, my mother—I’d avoided Warrick’s torture thus far. It was apparently so horrific Xander couldn’t even put in words what it felt like. Knowing he’d made it through more than once was the only thing that kept me rooted to the ground.

  “Stop, man!” Fang cried. But the screams continued.

  I glanced back to see Titus curled up on the ground, white with pain. Fang crouched beside him, helpless and shaking with fury.

  Heath clapped a hand on Warrick’s shoulder. “Enough.”

  Warrick ignored him too.

  Still screaming, Titus began to convulse, and then suddenly, everyone standing within ten feet of him flew backward. Even his brother, Fang.

  Fortunately, that included Warrick, but unfortunately, it also included Heath. His head cracked against the wall and he crumpled to the ground, completely knocked out.

  Titus hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, but he was now shaking violently.

  I watched in fascination as all the furniture in the room, even the chair I’d been sitting on, began to lift into the air. Tables, beanbags, boxes, and cabinets no longer obeyed the laws of gravity.

  Xander and Cathy each took hold of Birdie’s arms, probably afraid she’d float away too. Rocky appeared at my side, looking ready to knock away anything that came flying in our direction.

  No sooner had I had that thought than objects started floating in circular motions around the room. Inmates hollered and ducked out of the way as things began colliding with one another mid-air.

  I’d never seen telekinesis in action before, and Titus was obviously powerful. But at this moment, it seemed he had lost control of it.

  Guards came flooding in the room, guns out and at the ready.

  “Titus!” Fang shouted at his brother. “Get it under control!”

  Titus stopped spasming and items, both heavy and light, dropped around the room. Some landed on inmates and guards. The sound of furniture falling to the ground was deafening.

  The next sound was even more so.

  A single shot.

  And Saul held the smoking gun.

  Titus’s eyes widened, and he clutched his chest. A dark stain appeared on his jumpsuit, spreading quickly. He turned to his brother. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And then he closed his eyes.

  A guttural scream ripped from Fang’s throat.

  My mouth hung open in shock.

  No one moved except Saul, who holstered his gun. A smirk on his lips, he said, “We’ve got orders. Can’t control the situation? Take ‘em out.”

  Fang shook his brother, but Titus remained still. Deathly still.

  Blood pooled on the floor, and I had a flashback to Oscar. If I hadn’t hated guns when I arrived in prison, I certainly did now.

  Fang turned ferocious eyes on Saul. “You didn’t have to shoot him! He was getting it under control.”

  Saul merely shrugged.

  A string of ugly curses flowed freely from Fang’s mouth as he leaned over the body of his twin brother. “I’ve had enough of this,” he spat. He turned to the other inmates. To us. “We’ve all had enough of this.”

  Then he hopped up and was inches from Saul’s face in under a second. Smoke billowing from his lips and nose, Saul didn’t even flinch. “You’re about to see why you should really be afraid of us,” Fang warned.

  I watched as bear paws formed where his hands used to be. With an inhuman growl, he swiped, knocking Saul to the ground. The other guards rushed in to control Fang, but he had gone into full snout-lengthening, hair-sprouting, fang-growing beast mode.

  He reminded me a little bit of Wolf, but he was a lot scarier.

  With a roar, he took down another guard. Someone held up a gun, aiming to take him out, but suddenly the guard choked, falling to his knees. Water dribbled from his mouth.

  I spotted Mei, smirking with satisfaction.

  Then another guard started shrieking, cuts forming along his face and arms.

  Kendra.

  Chaos erupted and more inmates joined in the fight, though it was difficult to tell who was doing what since many had mental powers rather than physical. The ones who did use their brawns instead of their brains converged on the guards.

  Xander and I stared at each other, wide-eyed. We never in a million years could have planned a distraction like this.

  He nodded toward the exit, and I looked to see the door wide open, reinforcements running through it. “Now’s your chance,” he called out over the noise that surrounded us.

  My heart hammered, and I moved closer to him. “I don’t have the key.”

  “You can improvise,” he said. “You’ve done it before.”

  Xander was right. When things didn’t go according to plan during our escape attempt at Leavenworth, I’d made it up as I went along.

  He tucked Birdie behind him and eyed the fight. “I’m needed here.”

  “Be careful,” I told him.

  “You, too.”

  Rocky grinned, cracking her knuckles. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

  “Cathy, you take Birdie somewhere safe,” I said.

  “Where are you going?”

  I glanced over at the fight, which Xander and Rocky had already joined. “I’ll be back.”

  With that, I ran out of the rec room without a backward glance. I only had one shot at this, and I couldn’t miss it.

  Maybe it was the heat, humidity, and crowded conditions that created an environment conducive to spurring the other inmates into action. Or maybe Titus’s shocking death made everyone in the room realize it could have just as easily been them.

  Whatever it was, I recognized the look in Xander’s eyes just before he joined in the fight.

  Hope. If we could fight our way out, we could leave here today.

  And if all went well, my dad would be leaving with us.

  I was headed toward my mother’s office when a voice stopped me. “Phoebe! Where are you going?”

  I spun around.

  Dane.

  “Leave me alone. I’m busy.”

  “Clearly.” He jogged up to me. “Wherever you’re going, it’s not safe.”

  I gestured behind him. “You think it’s safe in there?”

  Dane’s eyes searched mine. “Let me help.”

  That was the last thing I expected to hear from him. And I didn’t have time to argue.

  “I need to get into a room, but I need the keys first. I think my mother has them.”

  Dane’s signature grin split his face. “You don’t need keys. Where’s the room?”

  Maybe he would be useful. “East wing. We’ve gotta find a black door.”

  “No prob.” He took off running, and since he’d been here longer than I had, I followed.

  We ran down the hall, which I guessed was empty because of the rioting in the rec room. Labs lined both walls, glass windows allowing us to glimpse inside the twisted world of whatever it was they were researching.

  Most likely, us.

  “Come on,” I muttered, searching for the elusive black door. Shouts and footsteps sounded close. Too close.

  We turned a corner and pulled up short. It looked like it should be a dead end, but there was the black door right in front of us.

  Dane stepped forward and tried the knob. Locked, of course. “Is this it?” he asked.

  “It has to be.” My heart beat loudly in my
ears. Was my dad in there, or had this been a waste of time?

  Dane clenched his fist a few times, then shook it out. I wondered if he’d try to punch his way in. He might have been able to make his body as solid as steel, but strength wasn’t his super—

  He inserted a finger where the key should have gone. It was like watching putty squeeze through a tube. His pointer finger bent and twisted, completely devoid of form as he worked it into the lock.

  “I’m not great at picking locks,” he admitted. “But I’ve done it before.”

  I stared at him, awestruck. “Here?”

  He snorted. “Of course not.”

  I shook my head, not wanting to say what was on my mind. He needed to concentrate, and I needed to not piss him off.

  Dane’s eyes lit up, and I heard the satisfying sound of a click. “Got it.”

  And just in the nick of time.

  Shouting was now right around the corner. Dane pulled his mangled finger from the lock and shook his hand until the digit returned to its normal form. Meanwhile, I reached down to grab the handle, holding my breath that his trick had worked.

  Twisting the knob, I opened the door just a crack and—

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when an alarm rang throughout the prison.

  Did that mean inmates were trying to escape?

  Dane placed his hand on my arm. “I don’t know what you’re expecting to find in here, but my job is done. I’ll buy you some time.” He kissed the top of my head, then dashed away.

  Maybe one day I’d forgive him for killing me. Maybe.

  Opening the door a little wider, I could now see it was dark inside. I heard the faint but oh-so-familiar sound of a heart monitor beeping steadily. Each time I was killed, that was the sound that greeted me when I came back.

  An involuntary shiver rippled through my body.

  My heartbeat was anything but steady as I pushed the door open more fully. An automatic light flickered on, a low hum now filling the air. The room was small but sterile. It wasn’t unlike the many hospital rooms I’d stayed in during my battle with leukemia.

  And there, lying on a bed, connected to more tubes than I could count, was my father.

  His eyes were closed, and he didn’t stir. “Dad,” I choked out.

  Carefully, I pulled the door closed behind me without letting it click shut, just in case it locked automatically. Then I rushed to his side and grabbed his hand.

  I almost fell backward in shock. His hand was stiff and unresponsive, and though warmth spread from his palm, his fingers were like ice.

  Tears formed as I took in his still form. His blonde hair had grown out since I’d last seen him. He had stubble on his cheeks, but obviously someone had shaved him or he’d have a full beard by now.

  Dad had always been trim, but he was thinner than I could ever remember. His face, in particular, was gaunt, his cheekbones pronounced.

  But he was here. And he was alive. Now I just needed him to wake up.

  I gently shook him. “Dad?”

  He didn’t so much as blink.

  Desperation clawed up my throat, and I shook him again—harder this time. “Dad, it’s me. Phoebe. Wake up.”

  Nothing.

  Through watery eyes, I looked at the heart monitor and all the other machines he was hooked up to. Breathing tubes, feeding tubes, a catheter… all there to keep him alive. Because he couldn’t do it on his own.

  “Dad,” I said, my voice so brittle it broke.

  Who did this to him? My mother? I knew she was cruel, but this?

  My eyes darted around the room frantically as if the answers I sought were in here somewhere.

  Then I looked back at the only face I wanted to see. Squeezing his hand, I said, “I found you, Dad.”

  But he’d never know. I should have known finding him was too good to be true.

  Tears now spilled down my cheeks. The sound of heavy boots moving at a fast clip signaled that I didn’t have long. I would be dragged away, forced to leave my father behind. Likely never to see him again.

  A sob wracked through my body, and I lowered my head onto his chest. It rose and fell steadily… mechanically.

  Sniffling, I lifted my head again and leaned to kiss his forehead. As I did, tears dripped onto his face, one splashing onto his chapped lips. I wiped a sleeve across my eyes and nose. Then I laid my head on his chest once again, waiting for the guards to arrive.

  I’d never hated my mother more than I did right now. She did this. To him and—by default—to me. She knew I was all alone, fending for myself, yet she still didn’t come back. Not once. Not even to check on me.

  What kind of person did that?

  On top of everything, the crushing weight of guilt made it hard to breathe. I should have searched for him. Called the police. Done everything in my power to find him. I should have known he was nothing like her, that he would have never left me of his own free will.

  “I’m here, Dad. I’m sorry. So sorry.” I rubbed a thumb along his hand as I held it, something he used to do to comfort me when I was younger.

  His hand twitched in mine, and I froze. Was that normal? “Dad? Can you hear me?”

  I felt a barely perceptible squeeze in response. “Dad, it’s Phoebe! I’m here. Can you look at me?”

  Ever so slightly, his head shifted. Then, miracle upon miracles, his eyes fluttered. He was trying to open them.

  “Dad!” I adjusted my position so I was in his line of sight. “It’s me. Phoebe. I’m right here, Dad. I’m right in front of you.”

  He blinked, rapidly at first and then more slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light. No telling how long it had been since he’d seen it.

  But I knew exactly how long it had been since he last saw me. His blue eyes, identical to mine, took me in. He inhaled a shallow, shuddering breath. “Phoe-be?”

  His voice was raspy from disuse. When had he last spoken? Was it the day he disappeared?

  “Marcus.”

  I whirled around to face the doorway. My mother stood frozen and slack-jawed. “Stay back!” I yelled. “Don’t come anywhere near him!”

  “Phoebe, you misunderstand—”

  “Oh no, I understand perfectly,” I shot back. “You did this. You took him away from me.”

  She shook her head. “Phoebe, I would never hurt your father.”

  Behind me on the bed, Dad shifted. “Wh-where…?”

  My mother’s usual stone-cold frozen demeanor was gone. She rushed past me before I could stop her. “This is impossible,” she murmured, her eyes locked on my father. “I tried everything. New medications. New doctors every week—”

  “You’re saying you didn’t do this to him?” My mind scrambled to keep up, but it wasn’t doing a very good job.

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “I saved him. Kept him alive, even when the doctors told me it was hopeless. And he’s awake now…” She shook her head.

  Then she turned her gaze on me. “What did you do?” she demanded.

  I flinched. “Nothing. I just, um… maybe he recognized my voice?”

  But even as I said the words, they didn’t ring true. I swiped at the remaining tears that had trickled down my cheeks.

  My mother frowned at me, searching my face as if she could find a lie hidden there. Then she looked back at Dad, who looked back and forth between the two of us, clearly confused.

  “Could it be?” I didn’t know who she was talking to, or what she was talking about. Apparently, neither did my dad.

  “Explain.” When she didn’t answer right away, he looked at me again. Then he did a double-take. His voice was stronger—angrier—when he spoke again, yet still as rocky as a gravel road. “Why is Phoebe in a prison uniform?”

  I looked back at my mother, waiting to hear what she was going to say. And more importantly, how she would try to justify it.

  She looked offended. “I didn’t bring her here!”

  I started to argue, but, technically speaking, that was true.<
br />
  “Wait”—my father glanced around the room—“are we in one of your supernatural camps?”

  Camps? Ha, if only! This was no summer camp. If so, I wanted a refund.

  Then it hit me.

  Dad knew about supernaturals? He knew about the prisons?

  “Yes,” Mom said, cool as a cucumber. “And you wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t been able to keep you here.”

  His eyes narrowed. “They tried to kill me, didn’t they?”

  My mother nodded. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  My gaze bounced back and forth between my parents like I was watching a tennis match. One with two players who were virtual strangers to me.

  They were both in on this the whole time? And someone tried to murder my dad?

  He closed his eyes for a moment as if remembering. “The SCC came for me. I think I was leaving work? I don’t recall. In fact, the only thing I remember is seeing the van, and I knew the second I saw it they’d come for me. Was I shot?” he asked, frowning.

  There were obviously gaps in his memory. Gaps, apparently, my mother could fill in.

  “I have some inside people,” she said strangely. “We got the bullet out, and they did everything they could to save you. But your brain was damaged, Marcus. You’ve been in a coma for the past year.”

  Dad’s eyes bulged. “A year?” He shook his head. “You should have let me die.” His frown deepened. “I don’t understand. If my brain was damaged, why am I awake now?”

  My mother shifted her gaze to me. “I believe you have your daughter to thank for that.”

  Both of my parents stared at me now. It was strange, having them in the same room again after all these years. I didn’t think that’d ever happen. And even if once or twice I did, I never would have imagined it happening like this.

  “I didn’t do anything, I promise,” I told them.

  She took a deep breath. “Phoebe, I never thought I would share this information with you, but in light of the circumstances. After what you did for him…” Was she getting choked up? “You deserve an explanation.”

  I ground my teeth. “Oh, now you want to share information with me?”

  “I’m grateful to you.” She brushed Dad’s hair back, her eyes softening when she looked at him.