by Lin Lustig
“And that makes it okay? Her parents didn't just sign her up to be a guinea pig, they sold her. The hospital owns her like property. She's a fucking kid. I don't care how many lives she can save; she has the right to her own body.”
“Technically she doesn't. I know shit-all about guardianship, but these documents seem clear even to me. She's been signed off, and until she's eighteen there's nothing we can do.” Nothing. John gritted his teeth at the legal immorality of it. He'd started this. It was his fucking fault. There had to be a way to fix it.
Licia got to her feet, the ice in her eyes jumping to a blaze. The fierce righteousness bleeding from her made John sit rod straight. He hated when her emotions seeped into him, but at least he was getting used to telling the difference between his natural emotions and her incited ones.
“She is a child and I will not let her suffer.”
“She's five years younger than you. You're barely an adult yourself,” he wanted to distract her, make her mad at him instead of the situation. He deserved her ire, but she was likely to do something bloody if he wasn't careful.
“I will get her out, with or without your help. You came to me. You needed me, not the other way around. If you want out, then get the hell out of my place.”
“This isn't even your place. You took it from some crack whore.”
“That 'crack whore,’” Licia's voice mocked him, “is a smart young man in a bad spot. Do you think his drug addiction makes him less human? Do you think I shouldn't have given him the urge to get clean, to have hope for his future? To fucking live?”
“Calm down, I didn't mean that.”
“People are nothing to you. They're points on a chart, fans to bolster your already over-inflated ego. You're sick, but there's no rehab for people like you.” She was huffing with the force of her words. Her emotions spilled out, hitting John with a slap of affront and a punch of disgust. At least he knew that one and let it slip through him and right out. She caught the deflection. “What was that.” It wasn't a question; her tone hadn't lightened up enough to dare lift for inflection.
“What?”
“You did something, pushed an emotion away. It barely touched you.”
He laughed without humor. “Disgust is nothing new to me.” He relaxed back now that Licia was properly distracted.
She looked at him like she had X-ray vision and was trying to find his hidden armor. When she couldn't seem to find anything, she sat back and nudged her toast. “Why?”
Glad to have anything to talk about, he decided to tell her the truth. She'd killed for him, what was the point in holding back now?
“I slept my way to where I am.”
“You're an actor, isn't that kind of your job?”
He made a face, accompanied with a scoff. “You can't get on my ass about judging a crack user if you assume all actors are sluts.”
She bobbed her head in acceptance. “True.”
“My, uh, abnormality popped up when I was sixteen.”
“Popped up did it?” She smirked, which made him grin.
“I was a little shit back then. I ruined marriages. There were pregnancy scares. My mom sent me to an all boy's boarding school. Let's just say I got a couple of teachers fired and made students seriously question their sexuality. My family disowned me. To find a place to sleep I'd turn on a crowd and see who picked me for the night. I got really, really good at my 'job.' I met Aubrey when I was eighteen. She was enamored and offered me everything when I was at my most desperate. We struck a deal; she'd be my beneficiary if I married her. She paid for acting school, and my vasectomy, but she was fascinated with my ability and started testing me on different age groups and ethnicities and sexes. I was WHRP's first subject.”
“So, the guilt and disgust thing...”
John shrugged. “I did some horrible things. Now I'm a sex icon, which makes people love me or judge me.” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “I mean, not sex, how horrible!” He feigned passing out. It made Licia laugh. A real laugh that raised the hairs on his arms as dopamine tickled his spine. Such a small sound changed her. She wasn't just a failed gang-leader, a law breaker, or a murderer, she was a young woman on her own, fighting for her life. By the look of her, her life wouldn't last long like this.
“You should eat, you know.”
Her laugh cut off and she gritted her teeth.
“I've been watching you for a while now, you're worse than the runway models. What's your thing with food?”
She chewed her lip but seeing as how he'd flayed his life bare for her, he hoped she'd open a little more.
“Emotions leave a flavor in the back of my throat. It's hard to eat around them.”
“What do emotions taste like? Are they gross?”
She quirked a brow at him. “You ask the weirdest questions.”
He grinned. “Come on, we're in this together.”
“Are we? Are you going to help me free that girl?”
Damn. Hadn't meant to open that back up. “I'll help you give her a choice. If she wants to dedicate her life to saving others, then we leave her. If she wants to be free, then we free her. Deal?”
Licia's cloudy blue eyes sparkled like flickers of lightning through a storm. “I can work with that.”
When the memory faded, John was still standing outside her door. It had been his second vision since the killing and it felt somehow desperate. They were convinced the visions were coming from the patient, but they hadn't yet asked why.
He was about to knock when the door swung open. Licia had a pinched expression and if he had to guess she wasn't in the mood for his usual shit, so he went real instead.
“We need to talk about how we're going to handle this all, but first, eat.”
“Thanks, but I'm not really hungry.”
He'd needed so badly to keep an eye on her, but all the memories were bringing up things he'd rather not think about. The mistakes he'd made and the pain it caused people. The new patient was his fault, perhaps not directly, but he'd started everything years ago to appease his deal with Aubrey, and he hated to admit it, but she still held power over him even now. But seeing Licia in his memory like that frightened him. He could lose her.
“Do you think the visions mean anything?” He let the plate hover between them, the pasta growing cold.
“They're just memories.”
“But what if they aren't?”
She tilted her chin as she thought about it. “Go on.”
“Em needs to hear this, too. Come on.” He handed her the plate, then returned to the living room. Emerson was at the counter eating, and John pulled the stool out beside him and sat facing the room at large. Licia set her plate down untouched and crossed her arms.
“I think the memories are trying to tell us something.” They both looked at him skeptically. “Hear me out, I've had four so far, but each time I thought they were because I'd been thinking about the person or situation, but what if the visions are guiding us?”
“Towards what?” Emerson paused, then said, “What if they're warnings instead?”
John hesitated. He hadn’t thought about them as warnings. What could they be warning him of?
“From past events?” Licia mulled it over. “Even if they are intentional, at best they'd only be prodding us to avoid past mistakes. Reminding us not to screw up again.”
“We have no frame of reference on these. I started charting out the other abilities from the Anons, but the only pattern I see is a lot of hormonal influence. Arousal? Check. Metabolism? Check. Emotions, behavior, body regulation—all specialized abilities from basic human functions.”
Emerson paused. “That's smart. I didn't think of charting them based on effect.”
John glanced at Emerson's thoughtful expression, absurdly pleased by the praise. They met each other's gaze, but Emerson went back to unnecessarily stirring his pasta. It hurt to miss him this much already.
Licia made a face. “You two are going to give me a migr
aine.”
“Or you could stay out of our emotions.” Emerson took a bite.
“I'd love to,” Licia snapped. “But none of our abilities have off switches.”
Emerson swallowed. “It's not impossible to shut them down.” He pushed his plate away and turned to face her, his shoulders tight.
“Um, Em?” John reached out. Now wasn't the time to be picking a fight.
“Is this just about last night in the park, or your resentment towards me for how John feels?” Licia's voice was as cold as her eyes.
Emerson stood in a rush, his stance solid and ready. John stepped between them. “Okay, enough.”
Licia slinked around him with a feral grin. “You want to try it, don't you? You want to see if you'd be able to suck me dry before I could influence you. Go ahead.”
“Stop it. That's not why we’re here.” John turned on Licia. “Don't goad him.”
“Shut up. This is how I settle all my disputes. If Emerson's going to work with me, he needs to respect me.”
“I'm not going to work with you.” Emerson glared. “I'm going to help John and make sure you don't hurt him.”
“And the three of us are going to free a kid from UHP, but only if you can get over yourself.”
Em's eyes darkened. John felt his energy wane, siphoned away as Emerson seemed to take up all of his vision. A familiar tendril wrapped around John’s chest. Then he felt...nothing. He had no desires, no cares, just a wet blanket of disinterest. Why had he been so worried? It didn't matter if Emerson loved him or not. And Licia? She would never change. She didn't care about life, death, their people, or even him. He didn't care, either.
“Nice try.” Licia spun towards the foyer and snatched some keys. John could only think about the bother it would be to call after her. “John, I'm taking your phone. Call me when he's figured out his priorities.”
John counted his breaths, something about the situation tickling his memory. When five breaths had passed the feeling of a wet blanket on his mood began to lift. At seven, a pang of sadness slipped into his heart. At ten, he let out a shaky huff and rubbed his eyes.
“What was that?” Emerson shook himself.
“She hit us with ennui to prove her point.” John laughed. He couldn't help it, it felt so good to feel that he let it out. “You must have really irritated her,” he said, which made Emerson chuckle. “It's not funny.” But John's grin betrayed him. He cleared his throat and tried to stop smiling, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate.
Emerson pinched his lips together and looked away, but his cheeks strained against the smile threatening to break through. “The hell? I can't stop.” He slapped his hands on his cheeks and made a face. “She took off. Do we need to follow her?”
“No, I think she went to calm down.” After all, she was still the same stubborn girl he met all those years ago, and he knew he could trust her to play this game to win. Still, he wished he would have gotten her to eat something just to make sure she wasn't exactly the same.
CHAPTER 24
Licia
Licia walked without direction, turning down dark streets at random. It was cold enough that she shivered and grumbled to herself about buying a proper coat. Boston was cold, bitterly so, but she'd left Noah her coat so he didn’t freeze his skinny ass off and hadn’t bothered to buy a new one yet. She followed the fresh smell of bread, then the elusive quiet. She slipped into a small park wedged between two apartment complexes. The plants were overgrown and the walkway uneven, but there was a bench and a deserted piece of playground equipment. It was as close to silence as she'd find in the middle of the city.
Without crowds around she let down her walls and wards, tasting only hints of the nearby people, and possibly influencing them with her frustration. It wasn't a surprise that Emerson would challenge her, all the strong ones did, and she'd bested him as expected, but she couldn't see how they'd work together. Or how they'd get that teenage girl out of UHP. Last time had been different. WHRP hadn't been as well established, hadn't had the security, and John had a way in. This time they were starting from scratch.
And this time it was harder to be around him. His feelings hadn't changed, even if he'd put a thin layer of sour green apple over them.
I’m not in love with her!
His voice had been so hard and honest in the park, but his emotions said the opposite. She’d hoped after a few years apart that he’d let her go. But it was like eating a caramel apple every time he looked at her. She couldn’t tell if it was infatuation or real love, but it left a film on her skin, like oil refusing to wash off. His ability felt like ants crawling across her, tickling her senses, and causing a knee-jerk reaction to flick him away. Because she wasn't going to play that game, especially not with someone she felt attracted to. Normally she had to feel something for someone before she'd feel something, but with John she couldn't tell if it was just from his ability, or something real.
She’d felt like that for another once. Brady had been her best friend—until she killed him. Hard to forget her first.
He was a haunting presence that never left. His smug face and cocky attitude made her ire rise. The way she'd let him use her—because she'd been convinced to let him—lost in the romantic idea of making others happy, in finding love through toxic niceness. She’d let him do what he wanted with her body. Let him have his way in the name of friends helping friends. She'd agreed to it, and she was a moron.
But he's dead. Nothing good would come from self-pity, so she sprawled out on the bench, changing her body to change her mind.
Nineteen. The girl inside UHP was only nineteen. Only? Licia had killed a cop at nineteen and taken over a gang. But now nineteen seemed so young.
She'd do whatever she had to, to get her free and stop UHP's experimentation for good. Even if it meant walking right into their headquarters and crushing them with ennui. Though now with Jammers, what if she didn't have the power?
The cold bench seeped through her clothing and made her lose feeling, but she couldn't muster the verve to move. Not yet. Evil didn't deserve warm homes and cozy beds. She should be back in Boston in her closet-sized apartment with tea to keep her warm and a family of troubled teens to obey her.
She might be evil, but they weren't. They needed guidance and routine, somewhere safe to sleep. She could provide that, but she made sure they knew what she was, what she could do. Separating herself as untouchable had backfired when she was young, but not this time.
Just like listening to John had backfired twelve years ago. If the visions were showing her anything, it was mistakes she’d made. She'd let John lead her, set the terms, stop her when it came down to choosing their safety over his wife. This time would be different. No holding back, and no bending to his will. If her ability wasn’t enough, she’d find another way.
That girl wouldn't suffer because of her failings; Licia was already damned, so a little more darkness wouldn't hurt, especially if it kept others in the light.
She let herself wallow for ten more minutes before shutting off her emotions behind tight walls of will. She reset her wards as well to keep out the taste of New York's emotional stew, then wandered vaguely towards John's condo. His building was a scar on the skyline, a tower of sloping metal and glass at odds with the brick rectangles around it. At least it made it easy to find.
Her stomach gurgled at her and she wondered if there was still pasta. She should have eaten some, but the situation was making it hard to eat. Too many flavors, too much pressure. Was that why John had brought her the plate? A pleased bubble formed behind her walls and wards. What did she care if he worried about her health? She squashed the feeling and massaged her forehead. She couldn't give in to him. Not this time.
CHAPTER 25
Emerson
Emerson woke Tuesday morning with his shoulders aching. The couch in what they called the theater room—big screen, couch, nothing else—was not meant for someone of his size to sleep on. His shoulder felt jammed into its sock
et and he had to crack his back in three places just to move.
There was one news article on the “suicide” in Central Park. Yesterday morning there had been only a small blurb on the New York Times' site, and not even on the front page. At first it was thought the man was murdered—because he was—but today's article said he'd cut his own neck—because, well, he had. That was it. Case closed.
The determination to keep John safe didn't waiver, even if his heart had ricocheted around enough to cause motion sickness. He couldn't be with John, but he couldn't condemn him either. There was comfort in knowing he'd made his choice, even if being around him strained his resolve. All he had to do was remind himself John loved a murderer, and then it was a little easier to find distance.
His stomach growled, as did the pit of hollowness inside him that craved vital energy. The stress was making the hollow worse, but he had to shove it aside to keep them safe. Licia might be right that they didn't have convenient off switches, but they weren't entirely without control either. She just didn't want to admit she was too weak or disinterested in giving people the privacy of their own emotions. But for his own sake, he'd call Dr. Wallace and ask for something to help get him through this. He didn't want to risk losing control.
As he picked up his phone to contact his doctor, a video call was incoming. Prisha? He made sure his shirt was—nope, no saving the rumpled mess. Oh well. He answered.
“Hey, everything okay?”
Prisha sat at a vanity with her phone propped up so she could brush her unusually long hair. “I just got off with John, he—” Emerson smirked despite himself and Prisha snorted. “Oh get your head out of your cock—I just got off the phone with John. He filled me in on what happened between you two. I wanted to offer an ear.”
Emerson grinned wide and easy. “Isn't it customary for one to pick the side of their best friend when there's a breakup?”
“As if I'm going to do anything by tradition.”
His smile slid away. “Did he tell you about Licia?”