Dana had been right about at least one thing last night. There were plenty of nasty-ass bad people living in this broken-down, messed-up world who would come after me if they found out I was a G-T with super abilities.
And she was also right about the fact that they would hurt or even kill my family and friends to get to me and my Greater-Than super-blood. And that scared me most of all.
I had to be ready for anything and hone my powers to the best of my still sadly limited abilities.
So, Cal and I had done our training thing this morning as usual, then gone home and showered. We now were on the verge of heading out of our wealthy, gated community of Coconut Key, in southwest Florida, and into the destitution of neighboring Harrisburg.
We were scheduled to meet Dana and Milo near the old Lenox Hotel at eleven o’clock, which meant we had to be relatively swift with our “ammo resupply.”
That was why I looked over as Calvin hit the button to unlock his car door.
“Hey. I wouldn’t complain if I were you,” he told me. “Your abilities are greater than any normie around…and way more impressive than anything I could ever do.” He glanced pointedly down at his wheelchair-bound legs. “Anyway, Dana’s gonna be there, so refilling the guns is really just a precaution.”
But as last night had reminded me all too well, Dana wasn’t infallible. “Don’t you mean your High Goddess Dana the Magnificent? She of pure sexy sexiness, for whom you, her lowly minion, would gladly lay down your life?” I teased him, adding, “I got this.” Meaning, no need for him to take the time to get out of the car.
But Cal pressed another button, and the wheelchair ramp slid out from the driver’s side, gently nudging his chair out of the car and onto the ground. “Lowly minion sounds about right,” he said with a grimace that made me realize I’d struck a nerve. “Fill ’er up. I’m getting the other ammo.” He nodded toward the store’s adjoining CoffeeBoy.
I didn’t know what to say. “You’re not anyone’s minion,” I blurted as he started to wheel away. Although we didn’t talk about it all that often, I knew he had a huge crush on Dana, but he was convinced she’d never go for a guy in a wheelchair. “I was just kidding. You know that, right?”
“Just a normie,” he agreed. As usual, he refused to get too serious. “With a caffeine addiction. Who desperately needs a little java mojo to be alert. Quicker reaction time and all.” Cal sliced through the air with a stiff palm, ninja style.
“Just go.” I waved impatiently for him to continue toward his beloved CoffeeBoy. “Hurry.” But I also smiled despite myself. “Goofball,” I added.
“I heard that, even with my incredibly average normie ears,” Cal called out gleefully without turning around as he wheeled through the entrance.
I opened up the back door to Cal’s car, picking up the first plastic gun in the pile. It was the size of a double-barreled shotgun—the kind I pictured being used by old men who lived in log cabins as they “greeted” intruders at their door. Except this particular shotgun was neon pink. It was also made from the same kind of thick, dorky plastic as my mom’s lunch Thermos.
A lethal weapon, clearly.
But I ran my debit card through the water machine, punching in a full gallon purchase, and filled its holding tank. I put it back in Cal’s car, then started filling the next—an orange power blaster.
As much as I rolled my eyes over our colorful arsenal, I felt more secure venturing out of Cal’s car and onto the streets of Harrisburg with a pair of these babies cradled in my arms. I’d learned to use my TK to provide significant velocity to the water that shot out when I pulled the triggers. That, plus my rapidly improving aim, could send a blast of water at an unfriendly’s head, knocking him down so that we could run away.
The truth was, I didn’t like going into Harrisburg. It was dangerous and depressing. And Dana had been going there, day in and day out, for the past few months. She’d been trolling the crumbling streets, searching for any and all information about the Coconut Key connection to the Destiny farms in Alabama where we’d found and rescued Sasha.
As I filled gun after gun—buying a second and then a third gallon of water—I thought about how much my life had changed since that night last autumn when Sasha’s mother had pounded on my front door, desperate because her daughter had gone missing. I’d babysat for Sasha at least once a week, and I loved that little girl. In fact, I loved her entire family—Sasha’s mom and dad were both warm and wonderful people. And I still don’t know if it was sheer coincidence or somehow connected to my feelings of grief and loss, but at the same time Sasha went missing, my Greater-Than powers had begun to awaken.
Yeah, that had been weird.
But just a few days after Sasha was snatched from her bed, the police found blood in the back of her father’s truck. There was so much blood that the little girl was immediately presumed dead, and her own dad was arrested for a murder that I knew he didn’t commit.
It was right around then that Cal and I first met Dana and Milo. They’d come into town because they’d heard about Sasha’s kidnapping—because Dana’s own little sister, Lacey, had been similarly kidnapped and presumed dead, her blood found in the back of their father’s truck. The parallels were striking—right down to Dana’s unswerving belief that her dad had been framed and was on death row for a crime that, like Sasha’s dad, he couldn’t possibly have committed.
Dana told me that someone—someones—were kidnapping special little girls like Sasha and Lacey—and even older girls like Dana and me. Those very nasty people held girls captive in so-called “farms” where they stole our very special blood and used it to cook a dangerous drug nicknamed Destiny.
Last fall, even though Sasha had been declared dead, I remained convinced that she was still alive and out there somewhere. We finally used my Greater-Than psychic homing ability—the same power I’d used to find Milo last night—to lead us to little Sasha. It pulled us north, all the way to Alabama, where we found her chained up in a barn along with twenty other girls. Sasha was battered and abused but still alive.
And—this is the part that’s both wonderful and awful—when Dana used her G-T powers to break Sasha’s chains, the little girl had looked up at her and called her by Dana’s little sister’s name: Lacey.
We never got to question Sasha because she immediately went into shock and started to scream. Dana mind-controlled her back to sleep, and the next time Sasha awoke, she had no memory of any of it. No recollection of the entire terrible ordeal—or of meeting Dana’s long-missing sister.
But Dana now had hope that Lacey was still alive, that her little sister was still out there, somewhere, like Sasha had been, even after all these long years since she’d vanished. And Dana was doing her damnedest to track down any possible clues to try to find her. And Cal, Milo, and I were doing our damnedest to help. If that meant going into Harrisburg, we’d go into Harrisburg, whether we liked it or not.
I finished filling a blue plastic pistol and was reaching into Cal’s backseat for an identical green one when a voice startled me.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped and hit my head against the inside frame of the car door. “Ow!”
“I’ve been standing here, watching you for a while, and I just can’t figure it out.” The voice came from behind me, clear and deep and disturbingly familiar. “I keep thinking you and Williams both come from money. If you’re looking to war-game or play whatever the hell you’re going to play, you should be able to afford paint guns. I mean, they’re just not that expensive.”
It was Garrett Hathaway.
As in the Garrett Hathaway who had claimed his spot at the tippy-top of my ish list, mainly because he had proactively, albeit quietly, tortured “Williams,” a.k.a. Calvin, for years.
Yes, it was the same douche-tastic Garrett Hathaway who had hit on me relentlessly a few months ago—mostly to piss
off Calvin, but also because he truly believed that all he had do to was point his finger, and whatever girl he wanted would fall at his feet. I could tell that he still didn’t quite believe that I’d turned down the fantastic opportunity to sleep with him. He was rich; he was tall, dark, and handsome; he was a football player and insanely popular—and he was an incredible douche.
He stood in front of me now with his blue eyes, his ever-present spray tan, and his rippling muscles. Beneath his football jacket, he wore a snug-fitting designer T-shirt that probably cost more than most Harrisburg residents’ entire annual salaries.
As usual, I wasn’t impressed.
And since I’d managed to whack my temple on the door frame of the car, Garrett was no longer just a pain in my ass; he was also a pain in my head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered as I focused on finishing the task at hand. Cal and I needed to hit the road sooner rather than later. Dana wasn’t exactly a patient soul in the best of times, and in her current searching-for-Lacey state, she’d be really unhappy if we were late for our date in Harrisburg.
“Are you and the Cal-ster going gunning for old people down by the duck pond?” Garrett asked. “I did that once—it was awesome.” He held up his hands as if to block his head as he did a quavering and insulting imitation of an elderly woman. “No, no, I just had my hair done! Today would be super-diabolical because it’s so cold.”
“Oh Lord,” I said. “No, we’re not gunning for little old ladies.” But I was standing there with a neon water gun in my hand, and it occurred to me how absurd I probably looked. Especially since Garrett was right—it was cold today, for Florida. This morning we’d been hit with a front, bringing the temperature down into the fifties. It definitely wasn’t Arctic—having lived for most of my life in New England, I knew what cold really was—but even in my fleece hoodie, I felt chilly. It was a decidedly weird day for the most epic of epic water gun attacks that Garrett clearly believed Cal and I were on the verge of perpetrating.
Garrett’s smirk was enough to bring my irritation to a semi-boil, and I felt my cheeks heat up. Maybe I wasn’t so cold after all.
“So, you’re filling that Super Soaker to…?” He let his voice trail off.
I had nothing—no reason, no excuse—to give him, so I stood there silently, just staring at him.
It’s possible he thought I was speechless from his hotness, because his smile turned a little too I know you want me, and then he ran his hand through his perfect hair in a move that made his muscles flex.
“Ew!” I said it aloud even as Calvin saved me.
“Car radiator has the tendency to overheat,” he told Garrett flatly as he wheeled up. “Water bottle I was using sprang a leak. Needed something to put water in, and these were in the garage.”
He’d returned from the ’Boy with an extra-large travel mug of coffee steaming in his chair’s cup holder. As I sent him a silent thanks, he shot me back a WTF look.
I shook my head. I had no idea why Garrett had stopped to chat. His car was parked on the other side of the lot—he must’ve pulled in while Cal was in the CoffeeBoy and I was busy with the water machine. I definitely would’ve noticed if the midlife-crisis-mobile that he drove—his plastic surgeon father’s sports car—had been parked there when we’d arrived.
I did know, however, that I needed a confrontation between Garrett and Cal about as much as I needed a hole in the head.
“Oh! Hey, Cal,” Garrett said nonchalantly, as if he were greeting a casual acquaintance he hadn’t seen in a while, instead of a victim of his relentless bullying. “’Sup, bro?”
Calvin rolled his chair right between Garrett and me, moving fast enough that Garrett needed to take a quick step back to avoid getting his designer sneakers smushed. “’Sup?” Cal repeated disbelievingly. He chuckled. “Right. Okay. Bro. Sky? You about ready to get going?”
“Yup.” I stashed the last water gun in the backseat and closed the door. The machine still owed me a few more cups of water that I’d already paid for, but I was willing to forfeit that in order to get away from here as quickly as possible.
“Where are you guys headed?” Garrett asked. His tone was weird. Something about Garrett being here at all was just off. He suddenly both looked and sounded less certain, like he was maybe going to ask if he could hang out with us.
I checked the sky for the coming apocalypse—negative, the world was still turning—and then went point-blank. “Aren’t you supposed to be on some fabulous vacation right now? In some fabulous, far-off land?” Before we left school for the Christmas break, he’d made sure everyone had heard about his impending Swiss mountain getaway. I’d applauded the news—the farther Garrett was from Coconut Key, the better, as far as I was concerned.
Calvin rolled his eyes, clearly disinterested in Garrett’s answer. He beeped open his car door and lined his chair up with the ramp that would pull him behind the wheel. “Girl, we need to get going, for real. Dana’s going to be pissed if we’re late.”
“Wait. Dana, as in that hot-ass blonde with the leather?” Garrett cracked an obnoxious grin. And, just like that, we were back in familiar douche territory.
Cal gave Garrett his own obnoxious smile—which was really more like a hundred-watt expression of joy. “As in that hot-ass blonde with the leather who couldn’t keep her hands off me at your party?” Some months ago, Dana had blown Garrett’s tiny mind by pretending to be Cal’s girlfriend, which had been epic to watch, but probably even more epic from Cal’s perspective. He continued, “The hot-ass blonde who referred to you as Tic-Tac dick? Oh yes. That Dana. Yup.”
I laughed. Our leather-clad Greater-Than friend’s ability to be insultingly blunt in her brush-offs was an art form, and it was clear that hanging out with Dana was wearing off on Cal in an awesome way.
I waited for Garrett to try to put Cal in his place with a typically dick-ish response. Truth be told, the real whopper insults toward Cal were usually administered when Garrett thought no one was around to hear them. But bullies like Garrett didn’t pull punches, especially when cornered.
The weird thing, though? When I looked over at Garrett’s spray-tanned face, I saw nothing except an intensely grave, almost humble expression. And then, unbelievably, he nodded. “Yeah, man,” he said. “Listen. About that. About everything. I just… Well, I wanted to say sorry, is all.”
I think Calvin’s jaw made a little clunking sound when it hit the ground. He was that surprised.
My mouth hung open as well. “Wait. What?” I said. “Did you just apologize? To Calvin?”
“Listen,” Garrett said, and nodded his head some more, staring first at his sneakers and then up at Calvin. “I’ve been a real dick to you. I know that, and I am sorry.” His hands were shoved into the pockets of his football jacket, shoulders hunched like he was freezing. But it wasn’t that cold outside. The language of Garrett’s whole body was humble. Meek.
Like he actually felt bad about all that crap he’d done.
I wasn’t exactly buying anything that Garrett was selling, though. He wanted something from us. But what?
Garrett turned to me. “I also want to apologize to you, Sky. I’ve really been—”
“A total giant douche?” I finished his thought.
Garrett nodded miserably.
Calvin had finally picked his jaw up off the ground. He engaged his ramp, and his chair went up and into the car. “Well, awesome. Kumbaya and yippee-ki-yay! We still need to get going. Dana’s waiting.”
“Wait!” Garrett exclaimed. “I just… Can I talk to you guys for a second?”
Cal started the car as he shot me a look. “Another time, man, all right?”
I was about to get into the passenger side when Garrett kinda exploded. “No! This can’t wait!” He actually threw his hands in the air in exasperation, which was such a strange posture for him, I wished I had
my phone out to take a photo for posterity. “Look! I didn’t follow you guys out to this sketchy-ass CoffeeBoy gas station for nothing! I really need your help! Please!”
“Wait. Follow us?” I narrowed my eyes as I stood there, looking at him over the top of Garrett’s car.
Garrett, genius that he was, realized he’d said too much, and his face flushed with color. “Well, I mean… Let me start over—”
“No,” I said, pointing a finger at him. “You said you followed us here. Why are you following us? And don’t even try pretending that you wanted to apologize.”
“Look,” Garrett said again, playing it cool and failing. He couldn’t have appeared guiltier if he’d actively tried. “I can explain everything.”
“No time,” Cal said without hesitation. “Call my assistant, Jane, at 555-Screw-you. She’ll set up an appointment for… Hmmm, how’s never? Does never work for you?”
It was an old and tired joke, but Calvin’s delivery was pretty damn awesome, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I climbed into the car.
But Garrett opened the back door and got in, too, pushing aside the water guns to make room. “Just—let me ride with you, wherever you’re going, it doesn’t matter, and I’ll explain.” And then he repeated that word I thought I’d never hear from his entitled lips. “Please.”
As I looked back at Garrett, I saw tight desperation on his usually too-cool-to-care face. I could smell Calvin’s surprise, and then I caught a whiff of something else, too.
It was that god-awful fish smell. The smell of all-encompassing fear.
Yes. As I’ve mentioned, one of my unique skills as a Greater-Than, besides being able to move water around with my mind, is my ability to smell emotions. And yes again. It sounds crazy. But it’s not made up. It’s a thing.
I narrowed my eyes at Garrett again, because that fishy smell was emanating from his pores like stale BO. He was scared about something. But his fear smelled slightly different than what I thought of as the usual nasty dead-fish Help, Mommy, I’m gonna die smell that most people gave off when under duress. Garrett’s fear had an overtone of lemon to it, which made it oddly less awful.
Wild Sky Page 3