The threat of hostile encounters remained, however. Wisp knew the risks associated with nightly patrols. And if the new Evolved she’d spotted turned out to be hostile, then the Survivors might be in for a whole new category of unpleasant surprises.
Stop, brain. This isn’t the time to jump back to Mr. Spooky Stranger.
Wisp set the pen on the wooden crate she’d used to climb to her seat and rapped her knuckles on her head, mussing up her already disheveled hair. She stared into the distant northeast, where a scattering of city lights illuminated Berlin’s still habitable sectors, and the densest clusters of illumination were restricted to the tops of tall buildings. Even though the Deadening had never spread beyond the Spree River, people were increasingly afraid of living next door to a deadly phenomenon whose exact cause could never be determined.
Wisp could relate to their fear. She had her own reasons for staying in Dead City, but as the seasons shifted and living conditions for the locals continued to deteriorate, she often wondered if she wasn’t just being bullheaded and stupid. Her gang of equally stupid, bullheaded young people had shrunk more and more of late. Many of the founding members had eventually moved out of the city, a small handful had died or disappeared.
Maybe I should go home for a day. Make myself remember why I’m still sticking to this place like a butterfly in a spider web.
Struck by a fit of melancholy, Wisp reached into her blouse and touched the silver chain with the turtle pendant resting against her skin. The pendant had been a gift from her father. Whenever she traced its domed shape with her fingertips, the smooth metal infused her with a sense of peace and purpose so deep the sensation was almost physical. Sometimes she imagined it as the source of her powers, an infinite battery charged by her father’s affection. He had been her protective shell before she learned how to make one on her own.
“Hey, Dad, wherever you are,” she whispered into the cool nocturnal breeze. “I’m sorry I never told you about my powers when you were still around.” She put her head back and raised her gaze to the star-sprinkled sky, enjoying the countless tiny beacons that mirrored her own. “But since you know me better than anyone … do you think I could be an actual heroine? The Covenant and the UN are never going to let me stick the hero label to my forehead, but if I can find a way to help Hannah, then maybe I don’t have to be recognized by anyone. Maybe protecting the four people I care about is enough…”
The night sky failed to give her a response. Yet the fresh breeze caressed her face, gentle and comforting in its own way.
Turning to the west, Wisp located the patch of sky overlooking Berlin’s Roman style opera house, the site of Radiant’s first appearance the year before. She remembered that day all too well. The hero’s visit had been announced on television and on social media, prompting hundreds of thousands of Berliners to huddle on balconies and other lookout spots. They’d kept their cameras trained on the evening sky. At the scheduled time, the Lightshaper hero blazed across the firmament with the speed of a falling comet, leaving a trail of golden luminescence in his wake.
His physical manifestation above the opera house marked an unforgettable moment in Nicoletta Gehring’s young life. The hero’s wings, twelve-feet long and formed of pure glowing energy, flared with majestic grace, marking his presence for anyone in the city. Osmotic had not yet received the villain label at the time, but Radiant’s first appearance was still intended as a warning and a symbol of reassurance for the citizens of Berlin, letting them know the world’s most renowned hero was looking out for them.
The hero who ended up triggering the Breakdown. The irony of it all still inspired bitterness in the Survivors who had stuck around.
“It’s okay, Radiant,” Wisp told the gloomy sky above. “I know you tried to help and did your best. Would be nice if you still showed yourself every once in a while though.”
The Lightshaper’s first visit coincided almost perfectly with Wisp’s discovery of her own powers. Unlike the majority of those who’d gained powers in the aftermath of The Pulse, she’d realized her potential alone in her room, confused and overwhelmed, without anyone to talk to. The thought of reporting her transition to the UNEOA had crossed her mind, but she’d pushed it away. Back then, she was still Nicoletta Gehring, an ordinary teenager living a normal life with her grandmother. She liked that life. The revelation of her powers to the public would have entailed a storm of media attention, interviews, and evaluations, and a whole slew of new expectations she wasn’t sure she’d be able to meet.
Naturally, word about her powers began to spread soon after she changed her name and assumed leadership of the initial Survivors group. Powers always set the tabloids and news outlets ablaze with speculation. If those powers emerged in a place that was under lockdown, it only took the rumors a little longer to percolate.
Equipped with her luminescent finger paint, Wisp drew her finger across the night sky with slow, deliberate motions, taking advantage of its afterglow to create a winged humanoid above the opera house. If she narrowed her eyes, it looked almost real. But when she put her head back to inspect her light painting, she couldn’t fight the feeling that something was missing from the picture. One last detail to make it feel complete.
Preserving the shape she’d drawn was easy enough; all it took was for Wisp to designate a small amount of her innate energy for upkeep. The golden glow would remain in the air for a little while at least.
Wisp touched the glowing tip of her finger to a number of unlit windows, adding an illusion of human habitation to long abandoned apartment complexes. But since she couldn’t actually touch them, the illusion only lasted until she changed perspective. So she sat completely still, moving only her finger, barely daring to breathe while more and more of the city lit up in front of her. The sight of all those window lights filled her heart with a child-like joy she hadn’t felt in a long time.
But it didn’t last. Before long the sound of swift footsteps and creaking wood startled her from her reverie. Wisp twisted on her seat, sending her personal beacon off to the stairway so she could make out her visitor’s face in the dark.
Of course it was Luca; the footsteps should have told her as much. Sara scuttled like a hen and Max chuffed up the stairs like a locomotive on the march.
“Hello there, Boss Girl,” Luca said as he emerged from below.
In the light of Wisp’s hovering beacon, his narrow face appeared drawn and his chin-length curls tinted a faint shade of green. An affable smile offset the otherwise spooky appearance, and his dark eyes from his Brazilian-Italian heritage sparkled with good-natured mischief.
Wisp teased him with a decidedly terrible accent. “Ciao, bello. If you’re back to calling me boss, come here and give me a shoulder rub. I’m feeling real tense for some reason.” She rubbed the back of her neck for emphasis.
He clicked his tongue as if to consider her proposal. “Better not. You’ll purr and fall off the ledge.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Make me a cup of cappuccino with foam, then. Pronto.”
“You don’t drink coffee. Besides, Max disassembled the coffee machine and used the parts to fix the radio.”
She sank against the stone arc in a theatric display of despair. “You could have just offered me water, you know. There’s a bunch of bottles in the crate right over there. Some minion you are.”
After rubbing his cheek in feigned remorse, he moved over to the arc-framed ledge Wisp sat on and stood behind her, his chest touching her back. Luca was a good head taller than she was, so the ledge only came up to his waist and he was able to lean into her, parking his chin on her shoulder.
“What’s this?” He pointed at the myriad of golden lights she’d drawn in the air.
“City beautification, maybe,” Wisp said. “If you look at it from the right angle, Radiant is right above the opera house. And look, there’s people living in the surrounding buildings again.”
“Hmmm.” Luca’s frown was evident in his voice. “Why di
d you draw Radiant?”
“Not sure. The mood just hit me.” When he didn’t respond, she scooted sideways to wrap an arm around his hip and craned her neck, squinting sidelong at his face. His thick, black brows were furrowed and his full lips pursed, the cinnamon hue of his skin whitened by the pale moonlight. “What are you thinking?” she asked, giving him a friendly squeeze.
There was a subtle shift in his expression as he peered at her. “I was wondering if you’d like to go over our previous martial arts lesson before we head into enemy territory.”
“Nope, you did not. You were making your worrywart face just now.” She touched the stubble on his cheek with a finger.
He pulled away. “A warm-up wouldn’t hurt. They’ve got guns, but I bet most of Constantine’s thugs still don’t know how to aim. In a gunfight against amateurs, the guy who strikes first wins.”
“Fine, but I want to go through the motions alone. You’re the only one of us who doesn’t look ridiculous when you tackle someone, so maybe you should get another hour or two of sleep.”
Luca brushed her cheek with a finger, his voice warm and mellow. “As should you.”
“Five hours is plenty.”
She gave a soft snort, struggling against the warmth that flooded her chest. His touch, combined with that sappy tone, always had that effect on her. She couldn’t let him have that effect on her. Because if she gave in, if she opened the floodgates of her heart to a level of affection deeper than friendship, they’d both be headed down a path she wasn’t ready to take.
“Hey, Luca,” Wisp whispered.
“Hmm?” His face had taken on a half-lidded gaze and his attention was half on her, half somewhere else.
Startled by her own initiative, she paused to find the right words before she went on. “Depending on how things pan out tonight … if we can’t make peace with our neighbors, maybe we should leave. Grab Hannah and get the hell out before the situation gets worse. I just … I don’t think I can stand to lose anyone else. There’s only five of us left … five of twenty-three.”
To her surprise, Luca, who had vehemently vetoed the idea when the discussion came up in the past, didn’t object. He leaned his head against the stone arc and squeezed his eyes shut. “If that’s what you want, then I don’t think anyone’s going to stop you. Max and Sara will try to change your mind, of course, but they aren’t blind. Let’s talk it through after we visit Constantine.”
“Right. Let’s do that.” Wisp turned her back to the gloomy cityscape. Most of the lights she’d created had faded by now, extinguished by the lack of attention she’d been paying to them. Even the sky above the opera house loomed dark and empty.
She squinted sidelong at Luca. He was staring across the city, curls stirred by the breeze, the angular lines of his face softened by a half-lidded look of melancholy. His rugged face enticed her to say something stupid. Some cheesy sentimental bullywhap she was going to regret the instant it left her mouth. So instead she reached over, twined her fingers in his, and held his hand tight. He blinked in surprise but didn’t pull back.
Maybe there’s another reason I’m not ready to leave just yet. Compared to all the pretty girls in that other world, she wasn’t much to look at. Short and not particularly curvy, with a mop of shaggy black hair that tumbled in all directions unless she twisted it into a bun. Perhaps somewhere deep down she was afraid to discover that once they had the time to really feel out the depth of their relationship, Luca didn’t, after all, like her all that much.
“You should give yourself more credit, Wisp.”
She sat up straighter. “Huh?”
“You’ve kept this ship afloat for more than a year. The only one doubting your problem solving is you. I think you’ll do fine tonight. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh.” Wisp deflated a little. “Thanks.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then disentangled his fingers from hers. “Want me to wake you up in two hours?”
“Sure. I might use the time to cook up another brilliant, awe-inspiring strategy instead of sleeping, though. I mean, there’s more at stake tonight. More than usual.”
Instead of responding, he flicked two thumbs up and turned to the stairs. With nothing to distract her, Wisp’s attention flicked to the foam mat and sleeping bag she’d positioned in anticipation of a sudden bout of weariness. The hard, birdshit-stained floor didn’t look particularly appealing, but the clean air up here made it easier to think.
Not that there was much latitude for strategy. Only one form of pressure had ever worked on Constantine, and Wisp intended to exploit it to the fullest.
CHAPTER 3
“According to gun violence data, gun-related deaths have increased significantly since 2010. The latest report suggests an estimated 75% increase in firearm sales in 2011, especially in the months following the Liquidate Incident and the era of fear and insecurity it ushered in. This figure will rise again in 2012. If Evolved people threaten us, what have we got to rely on? Who will protect our families from out-of-control superpowers? According to many Americans, the answer is more guns.”
- USA Now article, 2012
Midnight began with a thin blue-gray veil of clouds and the smell of distant rain. The air had cooled considerably, and apart from a few wayward drifts of Smog that still clung low to the ground, the Deadening had withdrawn for the time being.
When the Survivors gathered outside the tower entrance, all of them turned their eyes to the sky, hoping for a good rainfall to wash the city clean.
Max and Wisp both carried handguns holstered to their belts. Max carried a semi-automatic 19mm Walther P99, loaded with a full magazine. Wisp’s Glock G29 was a dud intended for show and intimidation only. According to Max, it worked fine, but the Survivors had never managed to get any ammunition for it. Firearm rounds numbered among Dead City’s most sought after resource.
Wisp wasn’t completely unarmed though. Far from it. Instead of sleeping, she’d invested a good chunk of her prep time to conjure up a wide array of light orbs of different sizes. They floated around her in a wide circle, adjusting their pace to hers. Since they were the only weapon she knew how to handle, she couldn’t risk entering the lion’s den without them. The glowing, pale yellow orbs were the Survivors’ collective life insurance. The largest and brightest ones were about the size of Wisp’s fist and emitted enough luminescent power to cause permanent blindness. The damage wasn’t immediate, but since there was no guarantee of the affect ending with Wisp’s death, the presence of the beacons kept the bad guys from provoking her too much.
Nine more tiny lights, each one less than half the size of her pinky nail, rested inside the opaque wax paper box she kept strapped to her forearm. If negotiations went reasonably well, she wasn’t going to need these. If, on the other hand, shit hit the fan … then she’d need these sneaky little bastards as a last-ditch emergency measure. They were large enough to enable her relocation ability but too inconspicuous to be spotted in a well-lit room.
There was also the matter of her alternate pretend persona. Her ace card, kept in reserve for later. She couldn’t think of it as one of the weapons in her arsenal, so she didn’t allow it to occupy much space in her mind. It would come to her naturally when she needed it.
“Sara, are you good to go?” Max gazed at his younger sister while he adjusted her headphones.
The girl gave a single brave nod. She clutched the music player with both hands, her blue eyes distant and unfocused. To her credit, she didn’t look afraid. Max’s presence seemed to have a calming effect on her.
Luca rubbed his chin, glancing from Sara to Wisp. “I’m not sure about this.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like we have a choice,” Wisp said, then turned to Sara. “Hey, Sara. Keep the music turned up so you can’t hear those northie buffoons talking, okay? Constantine’s going to try and scare us like he always does, but he’s all talk. We won’t let him or his bullies bite you.” She puffed up her cheeks and deflated them with her index fingers
for emphasis.
“Okay.” Sara stared at the small green-yellow orb of light that was hovering in front of her. “But if my light turns red, I’ll hunker down and call out, or run away if yours is doing the same.”
Wisp nodded. “Right. Pay attention to your little bodyguard. And if I give the evac signal, you run. You remember the evac signal, right?”
Sara balled her hand into a fist and swept it to the right in a swift gesture.
Wisp flicked two thumbs up and turned to face the boys with a grin. “The girls are ready. Come on, you slackers. Waggle your cracks.”
Max put on a mock scowl. “I was ready ten minutes ago. Let’s get this done and over with; save the pep talk for Hannah’s grateful face when I pull her out of there.” With that, he stalked off in the direction of the two-lane street that bordered the church square to the north. The street ran past the hexagonal building and continued northwest between two of the huge hotel complexes Wisp had traversed during her earlier investigation.
Max’s assigned danger beacon trailed behind him, casting a dull yellow glow over the paved square as he strode onward. Wisp and Luca caught up within seconds, and Sara soon followed, lagging a short distance behind. After patting Max’s broad back, Wisp walked ahead of the group, scanning the nightly scenery for signs of approaching trouble.
The darkness didn’t affect her as much as it would have affected the others without her leading the way. Her package of minor powers included increased photosensitivity after sundown, giving her night vision that was almost comparable to that of a cat’s. She made out distinct forms where others saw blurry shapes, though she couldn’t identify colors or faces that were more than thirty yards away. Still, her night vision came in handy more times than she could count. Especially when she had to use one of her other powers to dim the lights of a room she was in.
To the other members of her group, the darkness of the empty streets was almost absolute, pierced only by the ghostly sliver of moonlight that made its way past the peaked silhouettes of silent buildings. Pieces of old plastic trash rustled underfoot, and the sharp aftertaste of Smog clung to the air, smothering any hope of an unspoiled morning. Because it always came back the next day, until the next rain or temperature drop.
Gift of Light_A Powered Destinies stand-alone novel Page 4