Aberrate

by Wendi Wilson

  “It’s been too long, man,” Slade replies.

  “Way too long,” Rafe adds, gripping each of the boys in one of those sideways bro-hugs guys like to give each other.

  “You know each other?” I ask, unable to mask my shock.

  “Yeah,” Silas says, throwing an arm across my shoulders. “We used to come in here for coffee after baseball practice.”

  “And bore us with stories of their athletic greatness,” Rafe quips, shoulder bumping Slade.

  I force out a smile that I’m sure looks like some sort of comical grimace. I don’t know why the four of them knowing each other makes me so uncomfortable, but it does. Maybe it’s because I feel so comfortable with Rafe and Gabe. Like I’m somehow being disloyal to the Madsens.

  It feels a lot like guilt, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.

  “Lizzie?”

  Savanna’s voice pulls me from my thoughts and I look at her with brows drawn down. “Huh?”

  “Are you going to tell us why we’re here?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, shaking myself.

  I hadn’t explained anything in my texts to them. I just asked them to come, and they came. They trust me.

  Pushing the guilt aside for another day, I start talking. “Rafe and Gabe got an invitation to join President Worth’s youth outreach program.”

  The collective gasp is almost comical.

  “What is it?” Gabe asks. “Why are you guys all acting like that?”

  Rafe doesn’t speak as he crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow at me. I look from him to Savanna to the boys, sure my expression is as helpless as I feel.

  “How much should we tell them?” I ask the room at large.

  “Everything,” Jett says, slumping into a chair at one of the tables. “I think we have to tell them everything.” Silas and Beckett push two tables against Jett’s and Wyatt strides over to lock the door and turn the “open” sign to “closed.” I hadn’t really noticed, but the coffee shop is empty save for us. I wonder if it’s really paying the bills like the boys said, or if this invitation to work for the president really is a Godsend to them.

  I become aware of the silence and look around, seeing all eyes on me. I take a deep breath. I guess I’m starting.

  “I grew up in the Purist Church,” I say, noting the widened eyes of the Davila brothers.

  When they don’t respond, I continue, skimming over some of the details. I’m trying to downplay some of the nastier things I did to Savanna and the Patton triplets. I don’t want to come across as a bad person. I’m not.

  At least, I’m not anymore.

  When I get to the Washington, D.C. portion of the story, Savanna takes over.

  “Dr. Patton wanted the president to pass some sort of law to detain, imprison, and ultimately eliminate all Alts. But, that was never going to happen.”

  “Why not?” Gabe asks, looking only slightly less shocked by our tale than his brother.

  “Because,” Silas says, “President Worth surrounds himself with Alts. He uses them to persuade people into supporting him, his views, and his decrees.”

  “All under the guise of his youth outreach program,” Beckett adds.

  “Wait,” Gabe interjects. “What are you saying? That all the kids in his program are Alts?”

  “How does he hide that?” Rafe adds.

  I arch a brow at him. “They wear contacts. They persuade people to support the president and then persuade them to forget they were persuaded.”

  “He used to have them persuade girls to…submit to him, to like it and forget it ever happened afterward,” Savanna utters, her voice almost a whisper.

  “What?” Rafe barks out, disgust written all over his face.

  “Savanna took care of that. He didn’t know she’s an Alt. When his lackey tried to persuade her, she turned the tables on him. She persuaded him to never take advantage of another girl in that way.”

  “But, what about the Alts in the room? Wouldn’t they tell him what she did?” Gabe asks.

  Savanna and the Pattons look at other briefly before Wyatt chimes in with, “She persuaded them all.”

  Silence. So thick, it suffocates me for a moment before the twins explode with denials.

  “That’s not possible,” Gabe sputters.

  “I don’t know what kind of game you guys are playing,” Rafe adds, surging to his feet.

  “Sit down,” Savanna says, her voice firm.

  Rafe sucks in an audible breath as his butt hits the chair. His eyes are so wide, they look like they may pop out of their sockets at any moment.

  “What is it?” Gabe asks his brother.

  “Be quiet,” Savanna says, though her expression is fully apologetic.

  Gabe’s lips press together, so tight they’re nearly white. Savanna quickly utters the words to release the boys from her commands, her eyes scanning the wood grain of the table in front of her. When Rafe sits up and Gabe sags with relief, she looks up at them.

  “I just persuaded you both, individually, then released you simultaneously without eye contact. That is what I can do. Dr. Patton and his experiments made me this.” She pauses for a moment, making eye contact with each of them. “He gave his followers, including Lizzie,” her eyes flit in my direction briefly, “my blood, and now they cannot be persuaded.”

  Jett hands her a silver flask, and she untwists the top before taking a swig. Recapping it, she hands it back to him and he drops it into his pocket. Alts need blood when they use persuasion, and the sight of Savanna drinking blood doesn’t even cause me to bat an eyelash anymore. It’s just part of who she is.

  “This doctor sound like a real piece of work,” Gabe mutters.

  “He was,” I say, swinging my eyes toward him and joining the conversation, “but he’s dead. Our main concern now is the president and what he wants with you.”

  “Well, now that we know what he’s doing, we won’t join. Obviously.”

  “It might not be that easy,” Jett says, drawing all eyes toward him. He nods at Savanna. “Tell them.”

  “The Alts I spoke with about the program told me that the invite came at the perfect time, right when their lives blew apart. Homes destroyed. Jobs lost. The timing was…suspect.”

  “So, you think the president made it impossible for them to refuse?” Rafe asks.

  “Exactly,” she says. “In their eyes, he was a Godsend, pulling them from disaster and giving them new lives. They will do anything for him, because he saved them.”

  “But,” I say, pausing a moment to order my thoughts, “this I different. Gabe and Rafe have this place. They don’t need saving. Wouldn’t the president… I don’t know… burn this place to the ground before inviting them to the program? So he looks like a savior?”

  “It’s different because we applied,” Gabe says, squeezing his hands into fists.

  “You what?” I ask.

  Rafe nods, confirming his brother’s words. “We saw an advertisement online. The government has opened up the program to the public. Anyone can apply.”

  “Why would he do that?” I ask the room at large. “He only wants Alts. With an online application, anyone can apply.”

  “Including Alts he may not know about,” Beckett muses.

  “We were homeschooled,” Gabe says, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the table. “Our parents kept us out of the public eye until we turned sixteen and started working here at the coffee shop. Even then, our dad made us wear contacts. It wasn’t until he died that we stopped hiding what we are.”

  “So, if the president is tracking down Alt children, kids like you would never make it onto his radar,” I say, my eyes unfocused as I think about how lonely they must have been as children.

  “Was there anything on the application that would tip him off? Let him know whether the applicant is an Alt or not?”

  Gabe barks out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yes, there is. One of the questions asks if you are a Homo Altiorem o
r not. It’s under the food and lodging needs section. They need to know whether or not you’ll need a supply of blood.”

  “Okay, so he’s widening the net, but it still doesn’t make sense to me,” Savanna says. “The Alts we met would do anything for him because they feel so indebted to him. They see him as some sort of God. If he’s accepting applications, these new kids won’t feel that same level of allegiance. What if they feel uncomfortable with his orders? What if they leave the program and talk about what they experienced? His whole plan would fall apart.”

  “Why would he take that chance?” I ask.

  “Maybe he needs them for something else,” Slade says.

  “Yeah,” Silas adds, “he probably has some sort of broader scheme, one that won’t require that level of commitment. Something he can disguise as normal work.”

  “Or, now that he knows they exist,” I say, wringing my hands together, “he will burn this place to the ground to earn their undying loyalty.”

  “He could have already done that,” Rafe says. “We applied six months ago. Why would he wait?”

  “Has anything changed around here in the last six months?” Silas asks.

  Gabe leans back in his chair with a huff. “Actually, our sales have dropped significantly. Not enough to drive us into the ground yet, but it’s gradually getting worse and worse.” He looks at me. “You were our first customer this morning.”

  “So this acceptance letter couldn’t have come at a better time,” Jett muses.

  “Exactly,” Gabe replies.

  “Maybe we should go,” Rafe says.

  The table explodes with shouts of shock and denial. Rafe holds his palms up in front of him, asking for silence.

  “We could go undercover,” he says. “Now that we know what he’s up to, we can go in with our eyes wide open. We could find out what he’s really up to and report back.”

  As the rest of them debate back and forth, arguing the merits and dangers of turning Rafe and Gabe into spies, I press my lips together, staring down at my hands. I have a bad feeling about this, but I refuse to speak up about it.

  Something inside me wants protect them, to shield them from President Worth and his immoral machinations. It feels a little like fear with a dab of longing mixed in.

  I have two boyfriends, for God’s sake. I shouldn’t be feeling anything for Rafe and Gabe. But I do, and those feelings are skirting the edges of friendship, threatening to dive into romantic territory.

  That is so not going to happen.

  Reigning my emotions in, I refocus on the conversation at hand, hoping the others can talk some sense into them before they get themselves hurt. Or worse.

  8

  “What the hell?”

  No one is home to hear my shouted question. I shouldn’t even be here. We all have midmorning classes, and the others are at school. I came home to grab a notebook I forgot this morning and, two seconds after I closed the front door behind me, the staccato rap of knuckles against the wood echoed around me.

  An official-looking man in a three-piece suit stood on our porch, holding a manila envelope. He stated my name like a question and when I answered in the affirmative, he handed over the envelope and turned to leave. When I opened it and read the enclosed letter, my insides iced over as shock rippled through me.

  Pulling out my phone, I open a group text thread I have going with the others. My fingers fly across the screen as I ask them to meet me here after their class ends.

  I have a test next class, Wyatt shoots back.

  I’m sorry, it’s important, I type out. I got a letter from the White House.

  Everyone meet in the parking lot, now, Jett responds, taking charge as usual. Lizzie, we’ll be home in a few minutes.

  Are you okay?

  That last text comes from Silas in a separate, single thread just between us.

  Yeah. See you in a few, I send back, not wanting him to worry.

  But it’s not really true. I’m not okay. I’m scared.

  Less than ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the living room couch when the front door swings open. Savanna hurries in, her eyes scanning the room until they land on me. She rushes over and sits next to me as the others file inside.

  Silas approaches and, brushing a hand over my head, across my hair to my shoulder and down my arm, he gently tugs the sheet of paper crumpled in my fist. Smoothing it, he waits for everyone to find a seat before clearing his throat and reading it aloud.

  “Dear Ms. Williams,” he reads, his voice clear, “I shall be travelling to New York later this week, and would like to request the pleasure of your company for dinner. Meet me at McGivern’s Tavern in Manhattan on Thursday evening at eight o’clock. I look forward to making your acquaintance and I know you won’t disappoint me. Sincerely, President Gregory Worth.”

  “What the hell?” Savanna exclaims, her reaction mimicking mine when I read those words.

  “What does he want with you?” Jett barks out.

  “You’re not going,” Slade says at the same time.

  “How does he even know you exist?” Silas asks, passing the letter to Jett, who has his hand extended for it.

  “Maybe he’s keeping tabs on Savanna,” Wyatt offers, scanning the page over Jett’s shoulder. “Lizzie’s a Norm living in a house full of Alts. Maybe he’s just curious.”

  “No,” I say, “that’s not it. We were all in his office that day. Savanna persuaded him to forget us. If he remembers her being there, then he’d remember the rest of it. And he’d be far more interested in meeting with Savanna, for sure.”

  I run a fingertip across my lower lip as the wheels turn in my head. My eyes drift from one face to the next, meeting set after set of silver-gray eyes until landing on Savanna’s mostly blue ones. A side effect of Brother Earl’s experiments, her characteristics have always been more human in nature. Until he attempted to bring her Alt side to the forefront with another injection.

  “That’s it,” I exclaim, jumping from my seat to pace the length of the room. “It has to be.”

  “What is it?” Slade asks when I don’t clarify.

  “Brother Earl must have said something to him. Maybe he tried to use me as leverage to secure his release before he died.”

  “What could he say about you that would interest the president?” Wyatt asks.

  “I can’t be persuaded. A man that surrounds himself with Alts could use that immunity, right? To ensure they can never turn on him and use their powers against him?”

  “Sure, that makes sense,” Beckett murmurs.

  “Brother Earl made me his second in command. He gave me access to his lab, to his equipment… to Savanna’s blood. Maybe he didn’t have time to remove me from the system after I turned against him.” I look back at Savanna, meeting her eyes. “Maybe my fingerprint still opens the lockboxes that hold your blood.”

  “If he knows Savanna’s blood can make him immune, wouldn’t he just try to take her?” Silas asks, prompting a growl from Jett.

  I deflate a bit. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe he doesn’t know she’s the source. Maybe Brother Earl didn’t want to show all his cards. Maybe he gave just enough information to implicate me, then he died before he could tell the rest. We won’t know for sure until I meet with the man.”

  “What? No,” Slade says, jumping to his feet. “No way. You’re not going.”

  “I’m with my brother,” Silas adds. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I don’t think you can really decline an invitation from the president of the United States,” I say, my voice bland. “Besides, how else are we going to find out what he knows?”

  “She’s right,” Savanna says. “She has to go.”

  Silas and Slade narrow their eyes at her, silently accusing her of being a traitor. She holds her palms up in front of her, a placating gesture meant to calm them down.

  “I didn’t say she should go alone,” she says, her tone slightly defensive. “We’ll all go. We can stay close an
d, if the need arises, I can jump in and persuade the president and his minions so we can get her out of there.”

  “That could work,” Beckett says.

  The other Pattons nod in agreement, but Silas and Slade don’t look convinced. I step forward, pulling them into a group hug. Taking each of their hands, I lead them away, up the stairs and into our bedroom.

  After closing the door, I turn to find them standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed over their chests with identical frowns on their faces.

  “I can do this,” I say, stepping closer to them. “I have to do this.”

  “Lizzie,” Silas responds, his voice tight with emotion, “we can’t risk it. What if something happens to you?”

  The crack of fear in his voice strikes a chord in me and I lunge forward. Silas’s arms open a fraction of a second before I slam into him, closing around me as my own arms snake up around his neck. Pure instinct takes over as my fingers tangle in his blonde hair, yanking it to the side as my lips press against his neck.

  Some beast dwelling deep inside me takes over as his hands slip down to grip my ass. Kissing my way up to his mouth, I bend my knees and jump, wrapping my legs around his middle and locking my ankles behind him.

  Silas stumbles back a step before regaining his balance and widening his stance. His expert hands knead the flesh of my ass as he takes over our kiss. His tongue ravages my mouth, causing my body temperature to spike as I take everything he’s giving.

  That heat spikes even further as a warm chest presses against my back. An iron grip encircles my ankle as Slade reaches around and tugs at it, unlocking my leg-grip on Silas. My legs slide down and my feet barely touch the floor before the room spins around me.

  It’s actually me spinning, one pair of hands on my hips and another on my shoulders, twisting me like a ragdoll until my back is pressed against Silas’s chest and I’m staring into Slade’s steely eyes. My view of him is blocked out for a split second as my shirt flies over my head.

  Then Slade is kissing me and my mind goes blank once more. My hands find their way into the fabric of his shirt. I yank it up and slip underneath, my palms pressing against the ridges of his stomach, which pulse and contract at my touch.