“Or we can leave the subway altogether!” responded Slugger. “I’m dying for sunshine here, and that’s coming from someone whose skin fries quicker than a potato chip.”
“No—this is now our first priority. Finding out who is here,” I hissed back, “and keeping my mother from blowing her top. If we move, it’s back to a cramped apartment. You won’t be seeing sunlight.”
“This is creepy as all Hell,” said Lucio, dropping the flier on the ground and casting a longing glance at it, “though this would make excellent material for a horror movie. Just a thought, SC. Consider it. Names in stars.”
One of us kept watch while the others examined the prints. There were twelve footsteps in all, the first four leaving long streaks on the concrete from when the victim had panicked from the exploding balloon. The next eight showed signs of slowing down, giving us a better look at the pattern of the tread.
“Tennis shoes, for sure,” said Lucio. “If we catch anyone, we can verify using the prints.”
“And they’re small, or at least, smaller than mine,” I added. “But what the hell happened here?”
I crouched, trailing a finger through a the last footprint that had morphed into a puddle of ink. About a foot wide, it was thicker here, splotched, as if someone had dropped the full balloon from a height and it had exploded on contact. But there the footsteps ended, stopped, though the last imprint was still well covered with ink.
“As if they flew away,” I said, bouncing on the balls of my feet before straightening. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a Regular here. Let’s get this cleaned up. The last thing we want is my mother freaking out even more. In the meantime, Lucio, start thinking of more traps. Maybe something with a little more oomph than ink.”
Chapter 10
We took shifts, keeping watch for the hidden intruder. Or, more accurately, listening in the near pitch-black subway after my mother shut off the lights for bedtime.
I volunteered to go first, but the task proved near impossible. In the darkness, there were dozens of sounds. There was the dripping of water from pipes far overhead, splattering on the floor in irregular intervals and distances. There were the squeaks and pitter patters of the rats in the distance, seeming to hold midnight conventions, and the rustling of those who had learned to climb the electrical wires high above. Even the train tunnel seemed to generate its own sound— hollow, like a seashell, and regurgitating the noise of everything in its depths.
But among these, I heard nothing human. No footsteps on the floor, no voices hushed in the chill air, and no cabinets creaking open for stolen snacks. Twice I thought I saw a shadow dancing against the concrete, but it was likely a trick, for it was so dark that even shadows could barely exist. And so, as the night progressed, my eyelids grew heavier, though I refused to succumb to their draw.
Then halfway through my shift, with no warning at all, I heard a whisper just behind my left ear, the hot breath accompanying it condensing on the lobe.
“Hey, it’s time.”
I nearly squealed as I whipped around, adrenaline rushing through me, drawing a sharp intake of breath that expanded so quick in my chest, it felt as if I were about to burst a lung. Two floating white orbs waited to match my two fresh black orbs, darting back and above before I could strike.
“Relax, it’s me, Arial,” came the whisper. “Can’t hear me when I hover. I call it stealth mode. It’s how I sneak out of the house when Father’s in his study. And what’re you doing up so late?”
“Long story,” I answered, releasing my breath. “What’s going on?”
“You can explain it on the flight, then. Let’s go! Cop cars converging, loads of them, house on Allelia Street. Got close enough to hear they think they found someone.”
“You were supposed to wait for us!”
“I did. That’s why I came back. Duh.” Even the darkness was not enough to hide her rolling eyes. “But do you know how many times the cop cars converge in one night? I’d be zipping in and out of here like a bee hive if I came every time. Besides, I’m good at sneaking, just like I did here for you. Now, ready?”
She swept forwards, her hands underneath my armpits, and my stomach lurched as she pulled me upwards. We zigzagged in the dark towards the exit, Arial flying low until we were out of earshot, then dropping me to the cement as the homemade tunnel thinned.
“Let’s go!” she hissed and took off running. I followed, only to be rocketed into the sky once again when I stumbled across her waiting just outside the tunnel, nearing the top of the skyscrapers at an alarming rate.
“You’re getting faster,” I choked as we arced high above the city, the lights streaking below us, goosebumps rushing across my skin.
“Thanks, been getting more practice!”
“It was more of a complaint than a compliment.”
In response, Arial clutched me tighter and pulled a corkscrew through the air, laughing as we completed the second turn, too high for our voices to be heard on the ground.
“Like I said, I’ve been practicing!” she shouted. “Father never liked to see me fly, and I’d always hidden it. Felt like it wasn’t worth using, that it wasn’t good enough to use. But since the academy forced me to start using it, things have changed! Guess that’s the one good thing that they did.”
She slowed, and we coasted to a stop, peering below as several police cars surrounded a house. Multiple others were parked in a small radius of the surrounding streets, officers posted outside and waiting.
“How’re we planning on getting down there?” I asked. “It’s surrounded on all sides.”
“We drop fast. Like a hawk. Bad visibility to the backyard except through the windows. So as long as we find a hiding spot quickly, we should be fine.”
“On it,” I answered, removing an orb from the pocket above my wrist. “Choose an open patch of grass. Just like we practiced.”
Arial nodded, her eyes lighting up as she understood. She initiated her dive, feet first, accelerating faster than gravity alone would allow. Below us, I enlarged the dark orb, stretching the space as wide as our shoulders like tossed pizza dough.
In the weeks after the academy, Arial had practiced flying with me, ensuring that she could support my weight before trying to haul me to the top of the skyscraper. But that was not all we had practiced—and now, the memories above a soccer field at midnight came rushing back.
“Rounding the corner now, prepare to fire!” Arial had shouted back then, her voice cracking with excitement as she had swooped towards a goal. I had unleashed two dark orbs, driving one through the net and carving a rut into the dirt beyond, while the other orb hooked left and destroyed a goalpost.
“Almost!” she shouted and banked left. “Coming in for another pass! Reload!”
After a few attempts and as I grew more accustomed to her flight patterns, my aim improved to the point where I could choose a corner of the goal and successfully hit it without damaging the metal. Retrieving the orbs after I had thrown them proved far more difficult, as once they left my control, their collapse became nearly inevitable.
But firing black orbs was just one of the ideas we had developed. The second, and happening just now as the ground rushed towards us in the police-surrounded backyard, still made me clench my teeth even after we had nearly destroyed an entire corner of the soccer field practicing it. I braced for impact as she refused to pull out of her dive.
We hit the ground at breakneck speed, or we would have, had my orb not been below us. Instead, it absorbed the grass and the dirt, drilling down deep into the earth to carve out an underground tube for us to fit. Arial rapidly decelerated, reaching a stop fifteen feet down then bobbing like a cork back to just below the surface. Far below, the orb waited, still under my control, bits of dirt flaking off the tunnel wall to join its mass, each addition making it heavier and more difficult to maintain.
We held our breath, only feet away from the back door but still underground, obscured by a row of bushes th
at ran in front of the window. Inside, we could hear voices and conversations, the words clearly distinguishable through the thin glass pane.
“Success,” breathed Arial as we hovered in the hole.
“Right, but we’re short on time,” I answered, my voice strained. "Not sure how long I can hold this."
“Why is that?”
“Hear that trickling? We cut through a water pipe on the way down, and that’s getting pulled into my sphere. The water’s getting heavier each second. I give us two minutes.”
Chapter 11
“This is against all protocols and an absurd breach of police power, Lacit,” came the voice from inside, one I recognized as Roland, the police chief who had arrested Siri in the subway a few weeks back. “You’ve practically stripped the paint from the walls.”
“Because you were a role model, weren’t you, Roland?” drawled the second voice, one I recognized as the leader from the raid on James’ house. Lacit. “Your history says otherwise, and that’s just what’s been recorded. There are plenty of gaps. Gaps that I could inquire about, that may not be gaps at all, but rather intentional snippets cut from the record books.”
“Threaten all you want,” growled Roland, “but you’ve torn this house apart. People are going to start to notice.”
“When you look for something that is very difficult to find, thoroughness is imperative, another quality that you have been shown to lack. They should notice, Roland. That’s the entire point. I want to know who among them cries the loudest when they see, for those are our enemies.”
“They wouldn’t have been our enemies yesterday,” Roland retorted, and I heard cabinets creaking as he closed them.
“And if you were chief, you could still decide that. But need I remind you that you’ve been stripped of the position? That you begged to come with me tonight? And now you criticize my work after you have failed so spectacularly. Perhaps it is now time for you to watch and notice, instead of crying to yourself.”
Roland was quiet for a moment, though the silence bore more weight than words. Then he spoke.
“You’ll regret this. The people will not be silent.”
“And that is the problem I seek to change,” stated Lacit, his voice cold and firm. “But on regrets, I know yours, Roland. One specific one, not involving another life but another death.”
“That was an accident.” Roland’s voice came quick but thin.
“Tell that to the small coffin,” sneered Lacit, the words meant to rip Roland. “Now we act with no room for error. So if you’ve had any sort of hand in this, contacting your Hunter or any others who might be of aid, pull away. Our method is just as important as our outcome. And through our method, we teach the public who holds the power. We must give them no leverage.”
Additional footsteps entered the room at that moment, accompanied by the creaking of a door.
“Results?” inquired Lacit before the feet had a chance to stop.
“Nothing, sir,” came the response, the voice horse. “No signs at all anywhere in the house.”
“A pity. Then our search shall continue. As expected, it’s proving difficult to find what isn’t there, though there are always other options. You do realize this is the reason I was sent here, Roland? To find this missing piece, this bartering chip. With or without it, we will move forward, but much easier with it. It’s in your best interest to help, for once I find it, I’ll be gone.”
“Gone where?” asked Roland, his voice suspicious, “and for what?”
“Allow me to explain. When I was a child, Roland, I did not share my abilities—not because they were weak, but because they were strong. We were poor, my family, through no fault of their own. Regulars. My father had inherited his father’s debt after the bastard perished, the red numbers on balance sheets all that he had left us. Those that were wealthy came calling often, men and women who could raze our house with the lift of a finger. Demanding money under the threat of death that was siphoned from our meals, that let the rain trickle through our roof, that made my father’s hair grey before I had lost my baby teeth. And I convinced myself that to use my power would make me just like them, his tormentors. The collectors.
“Each year, their calls became more common as our debt was passed down to more callous hands, and their methods turned more harsh. When I was twelve, one left a burn on my father so terrible that the scar never left him. Of course, it only had two years to heal, because they killed him when I was fourteen.
“Even my father was unaware of my abilities until that day, when one hand held him choking against the wall, the powered strength lifting him as if he were made of feathers. I hit the aggressor with our cooking pot then, screaming in rage, knocking the man away. His accomplice showered the room with lightning in retaliation, one of the streamers finding my father’s heart and stopping it cold. I still remember their eyes widening as I called my power forth for the first time, and how they fled before me, scrambling to escape. But despite my strength, my father was gone. Their bodies were little comfort.
“Perhaps, had I acted sooner, the results would be quite different.”
Lacit cleared his throat, pausing, and I heard a glass drop heavily upon the table.
“That day, I learned the value of power, Roland. How I no longer was a step above a beggar—that such an attribute within myself changed the entire world. Those who would spit upon me now welcomed me with open arms, and just as the physical world bent beneath my fingers, so too did the societal one. I learned my lesson the hardest way possible, that power molds this world, and left untouched leads only to the clay being shaped in ways most unfortunate, then fired so it can never be undone.
“To answer your question, I leave to chase a new power, as uncertain as this search we currently hold. But should it be true—well, there are those who push us now like my father was pushed when I was a child. Either they will be molded or we will.”
“So you’ll answer me with stories and riddles, then?” said Roland after the leader finished. “What, are you seeking certain Specials to recruit to your side?”
“Something like that,” said Lacit, the smile coming through to his voice.
In the pit outside, I felt my grasp on the black orb faltering as it began to vibrate, growing too heavy for me to hold. The trickle of water had become too much.
“Arial,” I whispered, my voice strained, “we have to go.”
“Now?” she asked with a slight annoyance.
“Now, or else the explosion will shoot us out of here like a cannon. Hurry!”
She leapt into the air as we left the voices behind, and seconds later, the explosion sounded below us, throwing clumps of dirt high into the air and making police sirens wail. Bushes now decorated the yard with their roots facing upwards, and the windows of the house had shattered inward with the shockwave.
As we sped away, the door of the kitchen flung open, and two figures rushed out onto the lawn. By now, they were tiny, too far away to make out their appearances. They peered right and left, then upwards, searching.
But we were already a pinprick in the sky, a speck of darkness among the stars.
Chapter 12
“Where is he?” my mother hissed when only Lucio and Slugger arrived at breakfast, rubbing their eyes with sleepy confusion. They were silent, staring across a plate of steaming pancakes, Lucio’s fork paused halfway to the stack. After a moment's hesitation, he started moving the utensil forwards again at a snail’s pace, then froze as my mother slapped it away. He recovered with a flourish that fooled no one, and set the fork back down on a napkin.
“Well?” she demanded, her eyes daring them to disturb the serving plates.
“Well, don’t look at me,” protested Lucio, still eyeing the pancakes. “If I knew, you’d have a fresh set of memories by now. At least I cover my tracks.”
“And you?” Her gaze swiveled to Slugger, who shrugged.
“I’m just as surprised as you are, Miss, though neither of us actu
ally should be. Seems to be a habit, no?”
“Well, no breakfast until I get the truth,” she retorted, pulling the plates away as they grimaced, Lucio’s face particularly devastated. “Now, where would he be?”
Lucio’s expression fell further as she whipped away the plate full of bacon, and her mood turned livid as she searched my quarters, finding the note I had left on my covers.
“At the library, doing some research. Back after dinner, might be running errands.”
“By dinner?” she spat, the note falling to the floor. “And errands? I expressly forbade that; we have to stay hidden. You heard me loud and clear, did you not? I did say that, did I not?”
“Yes, ma’am,” chirped Slugger and Lucio together, sharing a look between each other. I had informed neither of the note I had written the night before when I returned, or of my current location where Arial had carried me as they slept, high above them, lying on top of a ventilation pipe with nothing but a coil of rope for company, and trying not to think of the distance between myself and the floor. Even if they were to look directly at me, I would be hidden by shadow and there was no reason for them to suspect my position.
“Well then, get dressed!” my mother snapped. “We’re going at once. Lucio, get your hands away from that bacon; nobody’s eating until we return. Nobody. Let’s go!”
I held my breath as I watched them trudge out of the tunnel, my face hidden in shadow as Lucio cast one final despairing look behind him. There, neatly settled on the counter, was a full breakfast. One that no one would likely notice had been touched if a pancake went missing, or a slice of bacon untangled from its home. My own stomach growled as I stared at it, but instead I waited, keeping a careful watch, grateful that Arial and I had come up with the plan on our return.
Negative Film (Star Child: Places of Power Book 2) Page 4