by S W Vaughn
"You are really weird."
"Yep.” Megan grinned. “And you're really dead.” The chart disappeared and the music restarted.
"Hey!” David snapped back toward the screen and pushed buttons with renewed fervor. In less than a minute, one of the characters crumpled to the ground. “Ha! You suck,” David said.
"First round, champ. You still have to beat me again."
"Watch me.” The screen went black and displayed Round 2. “Grace, will you do me a favor?” David said without turning.
"Like what?"
"Ask Ace if he'll play with me when the wuss quits? He's in the weight room. Back there.” He jerked his head to the right. His eyes didn't leave the television. “Please?"
"Sure.” Grace moved to the side of the stairs. The main room narrowed behind them and light shone from a recess at the back wall. “Down that hall?"
"Yeah, that's it. Crap! How'd you do that?"
Grace started to reply, but realized David was talking to Megan. She headed for the light, turned the corner, and spotted a single door on the left side of a short hall toward the end. A soft knock yielded no response. She rapped a bit harder, and called, “Ace, you in there?"
Nothing. He probably couldn't hear her through the door. She pushed it open and stepped through. “Ace? Hello..."
The clink of metal on metal sounded to her right. Ace lay on a weight bench, angled away from her, his hands on a barbell. White wire led from a slim plastic device clipped on his shirt to a set of headphones nestled in his ears. She heard tinny strains of rock music even from her position a good ten feet away.
No wonder he hadn't heard anything.
Ace sat up slowly and swung a leg over the bench to perch sideways facing her. His eyes were closed. Sweat plastered tendrils of dark hair to his temples, beaded across his forehead and dripped down the sides of his face. A dark, inverted triangle moistened the front of his gray tee shirt. He exhaled long and low through pursed lips, grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it to mop his face.
Grace drew a shocked breath. The scars on his wrists paled in comparison to his stomach, where thick ridges of pink-white skin spelled PIG in crude capital letters.
The shirt dropped down, covering the horrific sight. Ace opened his eyes, stood, and finally noticed he had company. Smiling, he clicked a button on the player and removed the earbuds. His smile faltered. “What? Can't get a workout if you don't sweat a little."
"I...” Grace swallowed. Her gaze flicked to his stomach.
"Oh. That.” He sighed and sat back down. “I don't suppose you're just wondering how I keep up my incredible six-pack."
Grace shook her head. “You don't have to explain,” she said softly. “I can tell you don't want to talk about it."
"No, it's okay. I don't mind explaining ... if you really want to know."
Grace wasn't sure she did. She hesitated and at last said, “All right. What happened?"
Ace looked at his hands. He rubbed a thumb over a scarred band, held his hand out. “Wire."
"What?"
He lifted his gaze. “If I touch people, I can see memories. I found out the hard way when I started high school two years ago. Tripped over my own feet and landed in a bully's lap. Lenny Jackson. Big guy. Senior for the second time, more than his share of testosterone, with the IQ of a spiral notebook."
"Sounds like a winner."
"Oh, yeah. Dipshit of the Century.” Ace gave a weak laugh. “Obviously I wanted to get off Lenny fast, and the closest solid object was his fat head. I pushed on him and had a ... vision, I guess. A locker full of pot. And somehow I knew he'd gotten it that morning, and he planned to cut it with d-CON and sell it at school. He'd heard rat poison enhances a high—but that's not how he thought it. I think his actual words were fucks you up good."
"Oh, God."
Ace smirked. “Of course, I told the principal to check Lenny's locker. Kids would've died. Lenny wouldn't have been a loss, but I didn't think he should get to take more with him. They expelled him that day. Permanently."
Grace shivered. “I take it he did that to you, then."
"Yep. He was patient though. I'll give him that.” He clasped his hands until his knuckles whitened. “I spent three weeks looking over my shoulder, convinced he was going to kill me. He didn't, but it was close."
Ace stopped, long enough for Grace to assume he didn't want to elaborate. He drew a deep breath and continued in low and shaken tones.
"Bullies never work alone. There were four of them. They dragged me into the woods and beat the shit out of me, but that wasn't enough.” He rubbed his wrists, stared at them. “They tied me to a tree with baling wire so Lenny could carve his little masterpiece. A warning, he said, for any other dweebs who might want to squeal on him.” He shrugged. A slow smile spread on his face. “At least he spelled it right."
Grace closed her eyes against the nausea rolling in the pit of her stomach. She tried to express regret, condolences, a murmur of comfort or sympathy, but words would not form. Had they all suffered for their abilities? Her years of aching solitude seemed a pittance in comparison to what Ace had experienced. Finally, she found her tongue and said, “I'm so sorry. That's just ... awful.” Jesus, can I sound any lamer?
Ace shrugged. “Hey, it's over. After that, Mom decided school wasn't the best place for me. She kept me home, and Michael showed up after I healed."
"Michael?” A flash of anger crept into her voice. If he'd “saved” the rest of them, why had he snatched her and Megan against their will? “How did he know about you, where to find you? It seems kind of strange."
"I'm not sure how he knew, but he did. To be honest, I'm glad to be here. People can be pretty stupid sometimes."
"Yeah. I guess you're right.” She'd witnessed first-class stupidity often enough—the stares, the whispers, the unspoken and the outright hatred.
Ace grinned. “I'm always right. You'll figure that out soon."
She stared at him, then laughed aloud.
"Hey, what are you guys doing in there?” David spoke from just outside the door, his voice drenched with indignation. “Are you gonna come out some time this year? Me and Megan have been done forever!"
"Oh, I almost forgot.” She turned to Ace and smiled. “David wants to know if you'll play some video games with him."
In the hall, David snorted. “You haven't even asked him yet? Geez, you're slow!"
Ace chuckled, shook his head. “Sure, I'll play for a while. I want to change my shirt first, okay? If I don't, it's not going to smell pleasant down here."
"Right.” Grace started for the door. She paused. “Ace?"
"Yeah?"
"Nothing. I'm ... sorry.” If there were appropriate words, she didn't have them. Maybe what Michael did here was a good thing for people like Ace, and for Dawn and David—as long as he didn't kill them. Kids with no one to understand them and protect them from the assholes of the world. Fine. She'd give him that.
But this setup wasn't for her. Especially if it meant staying anywhere near Kendra.
"Don't be. It's not your fault.” Anger flickered through his gaze and dissipated fast. His voice lowered as he said, “Just do me a favor and don't mention this to David, okay? He's too young to worry about it.
So are you. At fifteen, Ace shouldn't have to know what kind of horrors people were capable of visiting on each other. “Sure,” Grace replied aloud. She nodded and stepped into the hall to let David chatter at her.
* * * *
After dinner, Grace excused herself and headed outside alone. Sorting out her thoughts lately had seemed an almost insurmountable task. She wasn't sure whether it was the drug or the despair. She had to get out of here. So far, though, she'd seen no way to escape.
Kendra's absence for the past few days neither concerned nor surprised Grace. Her mother had better things to do than ensure her daughter's welfare. In fact, Grace doubted she was even staying here. There were no parties, no opportunities to make a scen
e or attract the press. Boring.
The term “polar opposites” had been coined with her and Kendra in mind.
Grace wandered the grounds with no direction or purpose in mind. She passed the enclosed pool and discovered a small garden tending toward the wild side. Vegetables grew in clumps and crooked rows, thriving somehow despite the weeds and vines that choked them. She'd never seen an actual garden. Weren't they supposed to be more organized than this? It looked like someone had tossed random seeds at a patch of ground and waited to see what grew.
In the distance she spotted a small building with stacked stone walls. It was the old camp, the place she remembered visiting as a child. Beside the building rose a wooden frame structure covered with opaque plastic sheeting. She doubted it contained another pool.
Grace glanced over her shoulder. No one seemed to have followed her. She headed toward the place, curiosity overruling caution. When she drew near, she made out vague green blurs inside the plastic building. Was it a greenhouse?
A simple frame door on springs stood at the end of the building. It wasn't locked. Grace slipped inside and the door creaked shut behind her. Warm air greeted her, carrying the fresh, earthy scent of the plants that grew in wide dirt troughs along both long sides of the greenhouse.
Plant, she soon realized. It was all the same plant.
She'd never seen anything like it before. It was some sort of shrub with zigzagging stalks that sprouted long, pointed leaves at each bend. The green leaves bore pale outlined edges ranging from white to a delicate pink. Some of the plants featured clusters of red blossoms with green undersides that resembled tiny birds.
Grace leaned in to examine the closest one. Toward the base, a few stalks had been snapped off. The remaining ends oozed a milky white substance. She knelt and reached toward the broken stems.
"I wouldn't do that."
Grace flinched and whipped her head toward the voice. Michael stood just inside the door. She hadn't heard it open or close. Her eyes narrowed. “Why not? Is it going to kill me?"
"It might. We've never used it raw."
"Excuse me?"
Michael moved closer, running a hand lightly over the tops of the shrubs. “This stuff is kryptonite for us. We use it in the drug. Pedilanthus tithymaloides ... Devil's Backbone. Appropriate, don't you think?"
"Appropriate?” Grace straightened and backed away. “How?"
"Well, we're half angel. It makes sense that a devil plant would weaken us."
A peaceful feeling crept over Grace, similar to what she'd felt in the basement with the bodies, though not as strong. She fought it and wondered if this was how he kept the others happy with their fates. “No, that isn't right. You think we're aliens. Your website..."
Michael laughed. “It's not my website. They're a different branch, a splinter cell. Crazy, every one of them. Actually, we've been trying to shut them down."
"You're lying.” She couldn't summon enough emotion to shout.
"Do you always believe everything you find online?"
"At least I don't believe I'm an angel."
"Half-angel. Nephilim. It's a Hebrew word, derived from fallen. Like our so-called heavenly parents.” Michael drifted closer to her. “And that's too bad, because I am. And so are you."
"I know the word. But angels aren't real.” Even as she said it, Grace realized she'd started to believe anyway. Angel. It sounded so beautiful, so enchanting. Like a fairy tale. If she accepted the truth of it, she would have to believe Silver and Lorin really were angels. There was nothing enchanting about them.
Michael smiled. “It took me a while to accept it, too. You will in time."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Trying to manipulate me. I don't like you. You tricked Megan, and you kidnapped me."
"I'm sorry. Really.” Michael's shoulders sagged. “I had to get Megan here somehow and I didn't know about you being with her until ... well, it was too late."
"Why? Why do you need Megan, or any of us for that matter?"
"To keep you safe. You know what it's like out there.” Michael gestured at the greenhouse walls. “Regular people are afraid of us. They don't know what to do about it, so they either try to use us or lock us up."
"That's what you're doing. Locking us up.” Despite her protest, she recalled Ace's scars and shuddered. She couldn't deny the logic behind Michael's actions, twisted as they were.
"No! I'm giving you a chance at a normal life.” Three steps brought him directly in front of her. His fingers brushed her cheek.
She slapped them away. “Did you not hear the part where I said I don't like you?"
"I did. I just didn't believe you."
"Believe this, then.” She shoved him hard and stalked past. “Go ahead and get your goons to tie me in bed again. I don't care."
"Grace ... wait."
Grace stopped. She didn't turn around.
Michael exhaled slowly. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. It's just that I didn't know what to do with you. No one has ever not wanted to stay."
Slowly, Grace pivoted to face him. “Well, I don't. So why don't you just let me go?"
"I can't do that."
"There's a shock."
"You don't understand.” His lips compressed, relaxed. “If you left, you'd be wandering around out there knowing all about this place. I can't risk letting ... certain people find us. If they did, they'd try to kill everyone here."
"What certain people?"
Michael paused. “The Host,” he said at last. “The angels. They don't like us."
"Really. I hadn't noticed."
"You've met angels?” Michael stammered.
"Two of them, apparently. I ran across them in Vegas when one of them tore a girl's—a Nephil's head off in front of me. The other one got into my mind and told me I was next."
"And you're still alive?"
"Last I checked."
"Can I see them?"
Grace frowned. “I didn't stop to take pictures."
"No, I mean...” He took a step, stopped. “If you let me touch you, I can see your memories. It won't hurt."
Bitter laughter erupted from her. “So you make the rest of us take this black crap, but you don't have to? What a hypocrite."
"I'm taking it too. It's a lower dose, but I'm still on it."
"Yeah, right. You can still use your abilities."
He smiled. “Ah, that's what you don't understand. The drug lets you learn to suppress your power so you can look normal but still access it when you have to. Watch."
Before she could stop him, Michael reached out and touched his fingertips to her temple. His dark eyes grew lighter, turned yellow. And glowed. Her head swam with his presence.
Abruptly, he pulled away. His eyes shut off like a switch being flipped. “Shit. That's the Stalker!"
"The what?"
"The Stalker. He's killed dozens of Nephilim. Maybe hundreds. No one knows anything about him or the angel he travels with, except that he's a monster and can't be stopped.” Michael folded his arms and frowned. “I'm sorry, Grace, but there's no way you're leaving now. Not until you're ready to safely join the Bureau."
"What if they find me anyway?” Grace shivered despite the warmth of the greenhouse. “They were able to do it before. You'd be safer without me here."
Michael shook his head. “The Host track us with our powers. When we use them, especially for something big, they can sense it and hone in on it, depending on how far away they are. They can't find you as long as the drug is masking your abilities."
"So, if I leave..."
"They'll find you. Through you, through your memories, they'll find us. And kill us all."
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Chapter 20
Grace fled the greenhouse. Michael called after her, but she ignored him. The sun dipped the horizon ahead, its dying rays blazing above distant trees and rolling mountain swells. She squinted against the light and kept running.
Part of her insisted Michael was right. She'd already experienced the angel's ability to plunder minds firsthand, and she knew she couldn't have resisted for long. As if that wasn't enough, she couldn't do a thing against the monster. No amount of mind reading or controlling machines could compete with a being capable of ripping people limb from limb.
Grace slowed her pace and stopped. She'd accepted it. Angels.
A moment later, she started walking again. Regardless of the danger, she wanted out. She didn't want to work for the government for the rest of her life. There had to be another way. She could get a new identity, change her appearance again. But a new look hadn't stopped them from finding her outside of Vegas. When she changed course, they'd resorted to torturing people who knew her.
Images of twisted, swollen fingers and shattered legs rose in her mind. She couldn't let that happen to Megan. Or the other kids here. Not even Bailey deserved anything like what they'd done to Comp. The protective instincts she'd always reserved for herself had begun to spill over and infect the way she dealt with others, starting with Megan. She'd discovered profound relief, an almost holy experience, in calling another living being a friend.
No way in hell she'd let that angelic bitch hurt her friend.
The screwy little garden lay ahead, and beyond that, the house. Grace considered walking by, finding out how far she'd get before someone shot her. She dismissed the notion and instead tried to envision the good points of being forced into the FBI. Nothing came to mind.
She didn't even see Megan until she walked into her.
"There you are!” Megan clutched her, slightly breathless. “I went all over the house like four times looking for you. Come on, I want to show you something."
The girl grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the house toward a thick stand of trees Grace hadn't noticed before. Something wooden and out of place huddled in the branches of the largest one. When they neared, she made out a large, well-constructed tree house.
"Neat, huh? They built it for David and Ace, but they're more interested in video games. They hardly ever come out here.” Megan paused at the base of the tree, waited for Grace to catch up, then clambered up a rope ladder dangling from the bottom of the structure.