by K.N. Lee
Livia flushed when he gazed down at her. She’d never get used to the look he gave her.
She bit her lip. “Can I talk to you?”
He nodded and stepped aside to let her in. “Come in.”
Once inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it. Reaching behind him, he flipped the lock, securing their privacy.
She inhaled sharply.
“What’s up?” His attention dropped to her chest.
She moved her hand to the top of her breasts, unsure whether she wanted to draw attention to them or shield them.
He swallowed.
Livia wrung her hands as she looked around his office. Framed certificates, attesting to his many accomplishments, lined the walls. Papers lay stacked in orderly piles on his shiny desk. He was impeccably neat, which was surprising for someone who had such a temper. She guessed hotheads could be tidy as well.
She glanced at the reports on his desk.
“Egan,” she said. “That’s what’s up.” She tipped her head to meet his gaze.
His face tightened, and he stepped away from the door. “What is it this time?”
“You know. We’d like for you to show us a little appreciation for all we do.”
He strode toward her until they were chest to chest. “Is that so?”
Livia swallowed, unnerved by how close he was to her. She forced herself to look up at him. “You know we do more for this department than anyone.”
When he pressed her against the front of his desk, she gasped.
Instead of replying, he lifted her onto the desk, disturbing a stack of papers, and kissed her on the lips. She surrendered to the kiss.
He pulled away and studied her. His eyes were nearly black with desire.
She couldn’t help the grin lighting up her face as he lifted her skirt up.
“I’m happy to show you some appreciation,” he said into her ear. He kissed her throat. “I don’t know if I can show Egan the same though.”
Livia giggled and wrapped her arms around his thick neck. “A simple thank you would go a long way with Egan.”
Done,” he said, and inched her panties down her thighs.
She placed her hand on his solid chest. “We have to stop doing this here. Someone is going to catch on.”
“So, your place?”
She shook her head. “You know that’s not going to happen. I was thinking of yours.”
“Why?” He lifted his brow. “It’s been months and you’re still ashamed to bring me home?”
“First, you’re my boss and we have to be very careful. Second, do you really want Egan to know about us?”
His grin faded. “You’re right. My place then. When can you come over?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Fine, but I thought Egan was your best friend, practically your sister.”
“Trust me, Egan wouldn’t like it if she knew what was going on.”
“I’ll try not to take that too hard.”
“She’s just trying to protect me. She has since we were kids. She’s the only reason I’m even standing here in front of you.”
“Well, remind me to thank her,” he said, pulling her panties off and dropping them onto the floor.
Egan
That night, Egan drifted into horrifying memories as she dreamt of Dr. Beal Wreston, head of the Psi-3891 Children’s Hospital freak ward.
Looming over her twelve-year-old self, he clutched a long hypodermic needle in his nitrile-gloved hand. Dr. Wreston’s other hand pressed tight against her mouth, preventing her terror from bursting free.
“That’s a good girl.” Dr. Wreston peered through his wire-rimmed glasses, grinning his toothy smile.
The powerful lenses of his glasses made his blue-black eyes look like those of a pop-eyed goldfish. He smelled of medicine and something metallic, like copper or iron.
Egan tugged against the metal restraints binding her to her bed. Her breathing came so fast she thought she might hyperventilate. The concrete gray walls of her bedroom seemed to close in on her, suffocating her.
“Easy, child,” Dr. Wreston soothed. His gaze swung to the needle in his hand. “This will only take a second and then you’ll be calm.”
He jabbed the needle into her neck, a smile of satisfaction accompanying the stab. The tip of his tongue balanced against the corner of his mouth as he slowly pressed the plunger. Searing hot pain spread into her muscles.
She screamed into his hand. In a few short seconds, her screaming and writhing ceased. A drug induced calm flooded her bloodstream, and she fell into a listless dissociative state.
“That’s my girl,” Dr. Wreston said. He released his hand from her mouth and stroked her hair. “Now we get to have some fun. Won’t that be nice?”
He intoned the words like they were heading to the park or maybe the circus. He smiled benignly at her, his pock-marked face looking waxy, covered in a sheen of sweat. Cocking his head like a crow, his smile grew as her mind became more vacant.
“There we go,” he said. “I think you’re ready.”
She fought against the sedative. Come on. You’re stronger than this.
He unbuckled the restraints.
Find your power. It’s inside you. Use it. The drugs tugged at her, urging her to stay comatose.
He stroked her hair, like she was a kitten or a puppy. All the while he kept his same sick smile trained on her face. “That’s my girl,” he cooed. “That’s my sweet, sweet Egan.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I’ve never seen such dark power as yours. Once you harness it, you’ll be invaluable to us.”
His breath stunk of fish and rice. It assaulted her nostrils, jolting her to stay conscious.
He chuckled and stood upright. “Let’s begin.”
No! I won’t let this happen. Egan’s leg shot out in a vicious kick, hitting him in the stomach. She bolted from the bed and raced clumsily from the room, into the sterile hallway. It took every ounce of concentration she had to resist the force of the drugs.
Dr. Wreston’s boots struck the floor. Each footfall sent chills shooting up her spine. If he caught her, she’d be punished. The only thing that mattered was resisting the experiments conducted on her daily.
Where’s Livia?
As if in answer, Livia’s screams sounded down the hallway. Egan sped along the halls toward the sound, fighting the narcotics thrumming through her bloodstream. She seized a wheeled cart outside of another patient’s room and whirled it at Dr. Wreston.
It slammed into his legs, sending dishes and silverware clattering to the floor.
“Stop!” Now Dr. Wreston’s footsteps clumped behind her in an uneven, limping gait, the sound echoing against the walls.
Egan’s adult-self writhed on the bed in her New York apartment, beneath her sweat-soaked sheets.
Come on, wake up. Get out of this dream.
The copious amount of alcohol she had consumed before bed, had its way with her and she crashed back into her dreams.
This time, she stood in a windowless laboratory, facing a much younger Livia. Chains, bolted to stainless steel girders affixed to the white walls, bound their wrists and ankles. Dressed in skimpy white gowns, they each eyed the other.
A series of silvery nodes had been attached with surgical adhesive along each of their arms, shoulders, backs, and foreheads. The nodes connected to wires feeding a display on a computer monitor.
Egan eyed the colorful swoops and swirls appearing and disappearing on the screen, wondering what they meant.
Dr. Wreston, dressed in a brown wool suit and blue tie, stood next to a comely nurse in a crisp white uniform.
They peered at the translucent clipboard in his hand, their faces bunched in thought.
Dr. Wreston tapped his pen against the clipboard. “Let’s try this experiment next with Egan. Let’s see how it affects Livia’s mental abilities. She’ll witness her friend doing things against her will. That should set off panic in her nervous system. Then, we’ll try
this experiment…” He indicated another place on the paper clipped to the small, flat board. “I’d love to see good results from the effects of stress on Livia.”
The nurse’s head lifted and she regarded Egan with…sympathy? Compassion? Egan was never sure. The only thing she felt certain of was her loathing for being stuck at Psi-3891.
Her parents, unsure of how to deal with their firstborn child’s unusual abilities, had checked her into the Psi-3891 institution at age seven when she began burning holes in the walls with her fingers. Since then, they would pop into the institution at random intervals, their best “I’m a good parent, really, I am” faces on. They would smile at Egan, listen to the doctor, and then quickly depart.
Egan sighed. The only good thing about being here stood staring across the room at her.
Her eyebrows lifted as she looked at her friend.
You all right?
Livia shrugged. Then, she shook her head back and forth.
It’ll be okay, Egan thought, taking advantage of Dr. Wreston’s focus on whatever stupid thing he planned to do to her.
Livia nodded, her chin quivering. Then, she pressed her lips together and a fierce gaze replaced the fear.
“Good girl,” Egan mouthed.
Dr. Wreston shoved the clipboard in the nurse’s hands and turned to face Egan.
The nurse stepped toward the monitor and the large steel machine next to it. Setting the clipboard beside her, she reached out to touch an orange dial on the front of the machine.
Not the orange dial again.
Egan’s eyes widened as her limbs began to shake.
Now it was Livia’s turn to soothe.
“It’ll be okay,” she mouthed, same as Egan had done. “You can do this.”
“Nurse, please proceed,” Dr. Wreston said. He peered at Egan, as if she were a three-eyed hamster or a two-headed snake, then looked over his shoulder at the nurse. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Egan forced her mind to fill with pleasant memories of the time she and Livia spent together at lunch…in the game-room playing checkers…anywhere but here. Her eyes tracked the movement of the orange dial as the uniformed nurse slowly turned it to the right.
Electrical impulses pulsed through Egan’s skin. Her limbs itched as she squirmed.
Her eyes sought Livia.
Livia crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, trying to make Egan laugh.
She started to smile but then the electricity grew stronger, shooting through her veins. She yelped and tugged the chains binding her to the steel girders. The metal restraints bit into her wrists, and a ringlet of blood drops formed, like a tiny bracelet.
Livia made another silly face.
Egan, covered in sweat, let out a chuckle.
The nurse cranked the dial.
The doctor stared at her, like a Blue Heron about to stab a fish. “Here we go. This is good. We’re about there. Just…about…”
As the heat flashed through her bloodstream, Egan’s hands burst into flames. She gazed impassively at the blue-tipped orange flames covering her skin.
Dr. Wreston leaped back, blinking wildly. Then he clapped. “Oh, goodie!”
The nurse gazed at Egan again with that same sappy look she always gave her.
Egan’s head fell back as the pleasurable force of fire shooting from her palms filled her. She wondered if the sensation mimicked the pleasure she read about in romance novels she snuck from the adult section of the hospital. It flowed as an ecstatic, pleasurable tingle from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
But then it—the ability the clinic called Umbra-Pyrokinesis, or dark fire manifestation—grew stronger. Power surged through her.
She wanted to destroy things. She longed to torch the doctor’s face before melting the machinery near the nurse. Then, she’d love to set fire to this whole place, even if it meant death to everyone, including herself. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything to harm Livia.
Grinding her teeth together, she fought to quash the firestorm inside.
Livia stood watching, her eyes pools of tears, her forehead furrowed into a knot.
The doctor nodded, a ridiculous expression of satisfaction plastered across his face.
“Wonderful,” he said.
His hand reached out to touch Egan, shivering, like he was in the throes of rapture.
Adult Egan bolted awake.
“Goddamn dreams,” she muttered. Searching for her phone, she found it on the floor. She reached her fingers to turn it toward her so she could read the time display. “Three a.m. What’s new? Same damn nightmares, every night.”
No amount of drink or drug could dull them. Night after night, the children of Psi-3891 paraded past her vision. Many of the kids had died from the experiments conducted on their small bodies, or from the heartbreak of knowing what freaks they all were. Kids with psychic abilities of every kind, including telekinesis, bilocation, astral projection, precognition, extreme empathy, divination, death-warning, scrying, and her special powers of dark fire manipulation, all found their way into the underground clinic.
She wouldn’t get back to sleep tonight, so she rolled out of bed and grabbed her pink silk robe from the floor. Slipping her feet into soft, furry slippers, she wiggled her toes. Then, she padded across the marble floors of her penthouse bedroom suite, staring at the glowing streets of New York far below.
She moved as quietly as she could, so as not to wake Livia. She made her way into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of bourbon, and headed into her home office.
Neither of them ever believed they’d live like majestic birds, high above the grungy, grimy streets of the Upper East Side. Up here they could get away from everything, restore, and live to see another day, doing what they did best—solve New York’s grittiest crimes involving freaks like them.
Powering up her computer, she opened a browser and typed in the address for Facebook. After logging in, she reached for the glass sitting across from her on the desk. After filling it with a finger of the amber liquid, she scanned the news feed, stopping when a picture of someone caught her eye.
Medical Examiner Rion Hunter stared back at her, smiling broadly.
Her breath hitched. She kind of had a crush on him. More like had the flaming hots.
She touched the screen and spread her fingers apart, enlarging the photo. He’s a Fae. He’s bound to be trouble.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a swallow. Like her and Livia, Rion kept his Fae abilities on the down low. Few of the people he worked with knew him as a fairy, just as few people knew about her Umbria-pyrokinesis skills or Livia’s telepathic skills. She and Rion had discussed it once, while waiting for some lab results in his office. While it was known people like them existed, it wasn’t freely talked about. It made most humans uncomfortable—or, envious. Sure, the media might feature a supernatural on the news, but it would be some sort of mutant-fest over-exaggeration. Maybe it would be good to date a supernatural…a freak like me. She’d always shied away from it, preferring to blend in, not make waves. Besides the fact childhood torture kind of makes me not trust anyone.
“Why are you still up?”
Egan lifted her head. Livia stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, sheathed in a purple satin robe that matched her long hair. She smiled at Egan.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Egan slammed the lid shut before Livia could see the screen. Lifting her glass, she said, “Cheers,” before tossing back the fire-water.
“Keep your wits about you, Egan,” Livia said, hints of disapproval revealed through her furrowed brow. “We’ve got to get dressed.”
“Why’s that?” The scotch burned as it rolled down her throat.
“Danvers called. A body’s been found. We’ve got to suit up and head back to the station.”
At least it beat dealing with nightmares. Egan would take a dead body any day over reliving her and Livia’s childhood, trapped at Psi-3891. But something told her this next case might make
her change her mind.
Livia
Livia raked her hand through her nearly-dried hair as she and Egan parked their car. They stepped out into the cool night air and hurried down the dark road toward the dead body. Overhead, the dim glow of a sliver of moon struggled through the clouds, casting an eerie glow over E. 72nd street on the Upper Eastside. The street lights in this part of the city weren’t working, making it hard to see.
Livia spent most of her evening in her bathtub, soaking until it cooled and she had to let it out and run more steaming water. It was what she did to calm her nerves…and her mind.
She didn’t think she’d be up in the middle of the night, dealing with another murder.
Peaceful sleep was a rare luxury. She could scarcely remember a time when she wasn’t plagued by nightmares, haunted by her memories of growing up—and being experimented on—at Psi-3891. Both she and Egan had trouble sleeping.
A cold breeze snapped her from her dark thoughts.
The body had been dumped at a group of abandoned warehouses, overlooking the East River. The only business ever conducted out here consisted of drug deals, or…murders. Livia shivered. She wondered if she’d ever get used to the sight of a corpse. Her humanity would be in question if she ever did.
“You know what’s near here, right?” Egan’s voice dispersed her dark memories.
Livia pulled her jacket tight. “What?”
“That Satanic cult. They live in an innocuous looking house on this very street.”
Livia shivered. “How do you know?”
“I read about it down at the 12th precinct.”
“Do you think it’s connected?” The last thing Livia wanted to deal with was Satanism.
“I don’t know. I’m just saying, is all.” Egan gave her a somber look.
As she scurried toward the gruesome scene, marked by yellow crime tape and flashing lights, Livia turned to say something to Egan. Where’d she go? She glanced over her shoulder to see her, dragging her feet, staring at the ground. She turned to look ahead. Then, she smiled. She pivoted and kept walking backward as she spoke to Egan.