Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “Vince, the biggest lie I told in our days together was to myself. I wanted to believe that we had a future together, that we could make something of it. But we were always on different paths. I’m a thief, always have been, always will be. And you’re . . . you.” Eliza swallowed hard, then willed herself to let go of his hand. Somewhere, deep in her gut, she was afraid that if she touched him, his truthful nature would flow into her. She couldn’t have that, not now. There was one lie left, and she needed to pull it off. She would do anything, say anything, to keep him from the truth.

  “If I’d stayed with you, I’d have pulled you down. We were both homeless, both with nothing, and I wasn’t content to stay that way. I was always going to use my powers to make my way in the world, law be damned. If you’d tried to stay with me, I’d have just made you into the kind of person you were never meant to be: a criminal.”

  “There was another option,” Vince told her, looking down at the table. “We could have found a way together. One without crime, or compromise. It’s a big world; we could have searched for a place in it where we fit.”

  “I envy you for still believing that. I wish I had your optimism. Genuinely, I do. But I’m me, and I don’t have the strength to think good of the world. I’m sorry, Vince. I’m sorry for lying to you, and to myself, and for hurting you. I’ll never stop being sorry for that. All I can offer is that I genuinely thought it was for the best.”

  Vince sat silent for a moment, hand idly plucking the corner of the menu Eliza had set down. “We don’t have much time left, do we?”

  “No. We both need to leave soon.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, however you’re solving this problem of yours, finish it quick.” He looked back up at her and did the one thing Eliza had never expected: Vince flashed a small, but warm smile. “I want to talk more. I want to understand you better. Maybe you’re right about the different paths, but it sounds like yours has taken some strange turns since we met. I don’t know what to think or feel or anything right now. I just know I don’t want us to go our separate ways yet. I think we both need that.”

  Eliza nodded, unable to trust her tongue as she watched him rise from the booth. Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t he just toss her aside? She’d abandoned him, and then given a half-baked reason for it. Why couldn’t he just hate her like any sane person would? And then, as he was almost completely out of the booth, the reason hit her.

  Because he was Vince, and he was nothing if not unflappably, stupidly loyal to the people he cared for. Before she could stop herself, before reason could interject with some semblance of forethought, the words slipped out of her mouth.

  “Nicholas Campbell is back at Lander. He lives next door to me.”

  Vince froze, halfway out of his seat, face saddled with an expression somewhere between excitement, confusion, and utter madness.

  “I have to go,” Eliza continued, hurrying up from her seat. “Mary will fill you in. Don’t think ill of her for hiding it; they wanted to wait until you were on an even keel after meeting me. But I know you better than that.”

  All logic and planning now officially out the window, Eliza leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. He stared at her, a new layer of uncertainty piling atop his already extensive confusion.

  “I know that your friends are what keep you stable, not what send you over the edge. Be in touch.” With that, she whirled around and darted out the back door, leaving Vince with a long jog and a lot of things to resolve when he got home.

  110.

  Mary heard his thoughts long before Vince came near the Melbrook dorm. Though Mary generally dialed back the telepathy when relaxing, after Alice’s brush with Nathaniel, she’d grown more accustomed to staying on watch. Like a five-foot-tall mother hen, Mary was making damn sure no one messed with her chicks. That was why she’d said nothing as Vince headed out to meet Eliza; he had the right to get some sense of closure and perspective. What she had never expected was for him to come back knowing that Nick was here, in a manner of speaking, and that she’d kept it from him.

  Vince wasn’t even surprised when he stepped into the Melbrook lounge and found it empty; Mary had been given ample warning she could use to clear the others out. He found her sitting in a chair that had been turned to face the door. There was no charade, no attempts at subterfuge. She knew what he was here for.

  “How long?” Vince was sweating slightly, though it had nothing to do with the run back. He’d kept a steady pace, and even if he’d pushed himself, it wouldn’t have made a dent in his HCP-grade stamina.

  “Since he’s been back? Start of the year. Since we’ve known? Varies by person. I knew early on. Alice found out a couple of months back, when she saw him on campus. Roy, and by association Hershel, knew on Halloween, which was the night you were supposed to find out too. I made a spur-of-the-moment call to put that off when you and Eliza reconnected. I thought you’d had enough sudden revelations for one night.”

  “You made the right decision,” Vince agreed. In spite of everything, he was managing to keep an even head about all of this. Part of him wondered if he’d just had too much surprise too frequently, and now his mind was burned out on the concept of it. “But that was weeks ago. I got stable after talking to Dr. Moran. Why not tell me then?”

  “Partly because I wanted to let you sort things out with Eliza, partly because their group has some issues of their own they need to deal with, and finally, because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

  “How I’d react? Mary, Nick is back. Why would I be anything less than overjoyed?”

  “Because it isn’t Nick who came back. It’s who he was pre-Lander, the version before he grew into the scoundrel with at least a heart of tarnished bronze. He goes by Nicholas now, and we’ve been calling him that too. It makes it easier to draw mental lines, to separate the friend we remember from the doppelganger we see.”

  “That’s crazy,” Vince said. One of his hands ran quickly through the sweaty silver hair plastered to his scalp. “He’s still Nick. No matter what happens to him, he’s always going to be Nick.”

  “Vince, you know his memories got wiped.”

  “Yeah, his memories, not his whole mind. He’s our friend, no matter what name you use. And I’m going to go see him.”

  Mary pulled herself up from the chair very carefully. Exercising any sort of authority around Vince was a delicate balance. While he was a respectful person nearly all the time, something that targeted his friends could easily override his judgment.

  “You can’t. Shouldn’t, I mean. Not yet. I know Eliza told you they were dealing with a problem. Nicholas is handling it, in his own way. Give him space to work in.”

  “I’m not going to mess up his plans; I’m just going to see my friend.” Vince started for the boys’ lounge, weaving past Mary.

  “This is a fight,” she said, desperately grabbing a term he had familiarity with. “It’s his fight, something he needs to do. Whether you mean to or not, showing up will affect his battle. You would never interrupt one of our matches, nor would you expect us to do so for you. We respect each other’s abilities and goals. So do that for Nicholas. Respect him enough to let him finish his fight before you go barreling into the cell.”

  Vince paused, almost to the doorway. He turned around slowly and looked at Mary, taking in the sincerity and forcefulness in her voice.

  “I’ll wait a week,” he said at last. “One week, then I’m going to see Nick.”

  “What if he’s not done by then?”

  “Mary, come on, this is Nick we’re talking about. The week is just courtesy. He’ll probably have it finished before the weekend.”

  “You might be overestimating him,” Mary warned. “Nicholas lacks the experience and insight he gained while living with us.”

  “You’re the one who is misestimating,” Vince replied, opening the door to the boys’ lounge. “I know Nick, and no amount of telepathic ability can bury who he is, at least not for long. Fo
r someone who can see into people’s minds, I’m amazed you missed something that obvious.”

  Vince shut the door behind him while Mary stayed in place, staring as it relocked. He was going to be in for a world of disappointment when the week was up. Vince could carry all the faith in the world, but Nicholas wasn’t Nick. Yes, Nick was still stuck under there, trying to get out, but—

  Mary blinked in surprise at that realization. Vince didn’t know about the memory fragments, couldn’t have even guessed at what was going on in his friend’s head, yet he’d called it perfectly. No one could bury Nick Campbell, at least not for long.

  In all her time dealing with Nicholas, Mary had been focusing on how to minimize his damage and use him most efficiently. She had never really allowed herself to hope that Nick might come back; the pain of the letdown would be too harsh. But Vince had committed to that idea without even knowing if it was a viable option. He’d assumed, on nothing more than blind faith in his con-man friend, that Nick Campbell was not the sort to go quietly.

  Perhaps it was time she took a page out of Vince’s book and showed a little faith of her own.

  111.

  Alice knew there were more layers to the cipher than she was seeing. While her code-cracking skills weren’t top-of-the-class grade, she had absorbed enough knowledge to recognize patterns when they cropped up. That same ability told her that everything beyond the first code was too complex for her to crack. Yes, given infinite time and a thousand monkeys with typewriters, she might be able to make sense of it all, but Alice didn’t have infinite time. Or a thousand monkeys with typewriters. And the final exam was only two weeks away.

  She was sitting on her bed, notepad open in front of her. One word. That’s all that had been at the end of the rabbit hole the first code had led her down. A single word scrawled in the locker of a gym changing-room. Presumably, there had been one on the men’s side too—she didn’t think that even Professor Pendleton was jerk enough that he’d make them break into rooms for the opposite sex. Alice had pictures of it, and had even gone back once to double-check that the word was all there was. But no matter what angle she looked at it from, the conclusion was clear: this was the prize she’d been working for.

  Alice started to set the notepad on the bed, but then thought better of it. Instead, she created a very small, very specific gravitational anomaly that pulled it from her hand and sent it careening toward the desk. Just before it hit, she reversed the pull, killing its momentum, and let it drift down gently under gravity that was only at a quarter of its regular strength. While she didn’t have the finesse or speed of a telekinetic, Alice’s ability had grown by leaps and bound in terms of functionality. Whatever the test was, she could almost certainly ace it from a Control aspect. So why was she trying so hard to win through Subtlety?

  The answer was, unfortunately, tied up in the subjects she’d been trying not to think about for the last month. Alice was surrounded by mysteries. Her mother’s fake death, her father’s lies, the dream-walker who seemed to hold answers, yet never surfaced; except for her Melbrook friends, Alice didn’t have anything in her life that was solid and real.

  A small snicker escaped her throat at a rogue thought: she’d mentally included Nick in her cast of Melbrook friends. Of all the things in her life, the one she counted on least was thinking of Nick Campbell as a person she could count on. It was odd, looking back, realizing how often Nick had told the truth, while burying it in sarcasm and teasing. If he were here, he’d tell her in no uncertain terms why she was so stuck on Subtlety. He’d say she wanted to prove she had the skills, because it meant she could start unraveling all the mysteries around her. She wanted control of her life, instead of a Control certification for her power.

  With a minor grunt, more from exasperation than effort, Alice got off her bed and walked over to her desk. She picked up the cipher, page nearly worn through from all the manhandling as she carried it about, and grabbed a pen. True, the odds of her cracking one of the harder codes was damned near impossible, especially given how long the first one had taken her, but Alice didn’t mind daunting odds. She’d come into the HCP as a flier, with no combat experience and a life spent being a rich and sheltered Powered. In two and a half years, she’d clawed her way to the top ten students, and in two weeks, she was going to kick ass in every direction, daunting odds be damned. Alice Adair was a woman who would at least go down swinging.

  Even if, tonight, she was only swinging a pen and some brain cells.

  * * *

  Walter set down the last of the trashcans and stood up to survey his work. The carpet was covered under plastic sheeting, the kegs positioned in a triangular shape near the kitchen, and various liquors were stacked in the makeshift bar they’d set up on the dining room table. As he scanned the room, he caught Cameron heading toward one of the kegs with a tap in hand.

  “Don’t even think about it. The party is still two days away.”

  “Oh come on, just a few cups,” Cameron whined.

  “We’re using pump taps. That means the beer will go flat within a day or so of being opened,” Walter reminded him. “I’m already running behind on this thing, throwing it weeks after it should have happened. The last thing I want to do is serve flat beer.”

  “Can I at least hit the liquor?”

  “Fine, but you’re in charge of replacing whatever you drink before the party,” Walter relented. From anyone else, Cameron’s behavior would be a serious concern and probably signal the need for intervention. For a Super whose body converted alcohol into strength, energy, and health, however, it made sense for him to keep a semi-constant stream going into his bloodstream.

  “Look at you, Mr. Serious, suddenly caring so much about a party.” Candi walked down the stairs as she taunted him, dressed in something that was halfway between workout clothes and pajamas. The further they got in the HCP, the more they viewed everything as workout clothes.

  “It’s an important milestone for the freshmen. Remember how excited and nervous we were last year?”

  “I mostly remember Cameron having a sparring match with Roy Daniels, and idiotically going in without so much as a sip of hard liquor,” Candi replied.

  “Hey, I’ve gotten better about that,” Cameron defended. He walked over with a tumbler full of assorted liquors and some red-colored fruit juice. “Speaking of, ice-maker is on the fritz again. Walter, can you help me out?”

  “Fine, but we need to get it fixed before the party.” Walter focused on the drink, isolating the water mixed throughout the alcohol. It, like all water, obeyed Walter’s wishes. He lowered the temperature while swirling it about to make sure the cold reached the entire drink. After a few seconds, he nodded to Cameron, who took a test sip and nodded with approval.

  “Think ours will be as much fun as last year’s?” Candi asked.

  “Well, Cameron might start a fight with someone, so it’s possible,” Walter said. “Though last year’s had The Five from Melbrook. I don’t think we can match that.”

  “We might be able to get Roy, since we have free beer,” Cameron suggested. Ever since their match last year, he’d spoken of his upperclassman in reverent tones that only heavy drinkers and fighters who’ve lost to a superior opponent could understand.

  “I’m not sure the freshmen are even aware of them,” Candi replied. “It’s not like when we came in, and there was the kidnapping scandal. They’ve got their own stuff to worry about; they don’t care as much for rumors.”

  “Candi is right,” Walter said. “Besides, this is about the freshmen, not the juniors. We need to make them our focus.”

  “Too bad, I bet they’re up to all kinds of exciting shit,” Cameron said.

  “Keep things in perspective. They're just juniors like the rest of their class,” Walter told him. “Whatever they’re doing right now, I’m sure we’ll be doing the same thing this time next year.”

  112.

  It was the smell that finally tipped him off. Everything e
lse had been normal as Smitt walked up from his car, nothing to raise a mental flag that perhaps his apartment was not as secure as it seemed. Even the minor bit of trash he’d stuck near the doorway had been undisturbed. Whoever had broken in was good, damned good, which gave Smitt a very short list of immediate suspects. The scent wafting to his nose was expensive cologne; a pungent aroma that had clearly been left on purpose. They wanted him to know that they were here, which could only mean it was too late for him to get away.

  A quick glance to the rear showed him an empty hallway leading back to his front door. He could try and make a run for it, no counter-measures were perfect, and he might slip away. For a half-second, he was tempted, but then he changed his mind. This was as much a chance to gain information as it was to be pumped. So far, he hadn’t made any headway with the apartment trio; this might be his best shot at changing that.

  Smitt stormed into the living room, unsurprised to find the young man who lived in the solitary apartment—Dig Bixby according to his mail—sitting at Smitt’s dining room table. He’d helped himself to a glass of scotch and greeted the homeowner’s entrance with a smile.

  “Mr. Smitt, what a pleasure to see you. Please, come in and have a seat.”

  “How kind of you to welcome me into my own home.” Smitt scanned the area, checking for anything that seemed out of place. This kid was good, but he’d only been gone for twenty minutes; there was no way they’d had time to locate and remove every weapon squirreled away throughout the apartment.

  “I strive to be the epitome of hospitality. In fact, I’m such a gracious host that I even allowed you to walk in under the power of your own legs. Truly, I am magnanimous.” Nicholas couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but the further he slipped into this mocking, biting tone, the more familiar it felt.