Broken Elements (Elements, Book 1)

by Mia Marshall

The effort I put into looking like someone incapable of immolating an ex-boyfriend was exhausting, and the ten minutes I spent waiting for the door to open felt like an hour.

  Finally, Agent Johnson slipped into the room and sat across from me. He didn’t say anything, but he did push a white paper bag across the table. Inside, I found a cheese sandwich. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was starving. I devoured half the sandwich before he could change his mind, but he showed no signs of yelling, “Psych!” and running from the room, food in hand. I slowed down a little for the second half, but not much. The entire time I ate, he merely watched, his face as impassive as ever. When nothing but crumbs remained, I nodded at the agent. “I thought Carmichael was the good cop.”

  Johnson didn’t respond. He definitely wasn’t the fun cop.

  Johnson stood and picked up the now-empty bag and placed it in the room’s trash can, leaving the table as cold and impersonal as it had been a moment ago. He returned to his seat and silently removed a notebook from his suit’s inner pocket. It was my notebook.

  “How did… you shouldn’t have that,” I stammered. I had recently cut a slit in the lining of my purse to better hide my journal. It was next to a pocket that had been stiffened with cardboard intended to protect tablets and phones but which hid small notebooks equally well. Apparently, not well enough.

  Someone had already reviewed my words. Several passages were marked with multicolored post-it notes. Johnson opened the book to a spot marked with a green post-it and slid it across the table. “I’m interested in what you say here.” His voice was quiet and well-modulated and gave no hint to what he was actually thinking. I remembered what Carmichael had said, that Johnson had never been convinced of our innocence. Considering my current location, I assumed that hadn’t changed. “Could you please read this aloud?”

  I picked up the book and scanned the passage he had marked. Although I took precautions with the notebook’s physical safety, I also wasn’t so foolish as to write openly about our world, no matter how much my words would have seemed fictional to anyone who stumbled across them. I used code, was frequently vague, and relied on initials rather than full names. Even so, I was terrified what a clever person could discover hidden between the lines—and I suspected Agent Johnson was a very clever person, based on the passage he selected.

  I looked at him several times, cleared my throat, and tapped my fingers against the table, all in an attempt to delay. I needn’t have bothered. Johnson was as hard and unmoving as a boulder. Finally, I began reading in a quiet voice.

  “We’re all getting scared. We can’t seem to stop what’s happening. I don’t understand why this evil has returned, or why it has chosen to focus on me and Sera. I know we are powerful—her more than me, of course—but we feel powerless in the face of these events, unable to control what happens. One by one they fall, and all I can do is wonder who will be next. If only I could control myself better, control my own power, maybe we could have stopped this years ago. I ruined it once before, and I’m terrified that, even if we get another chance to stop him, once again I won’t be strong enough.”

  I stopped reading. Apparently, I hadn’t used code as carefully as I should have. “That could be about anything. I could have been talking about the perils of reality television.”

  “You think you have the power to stop reality television?”

  “Well, turn off the channel, at least. But it’s harder than it sounds. Those shows are compelling, you know?”

  He wisely didn’t respond. After all, it’s never a good idea to feed the lunatic. Instead, he took the notebook back and flipped to another page. “Tell me about this.”

  I didn’t read aloud this time. There was no need to, since Johnson likely knew the words by heart. In my small, precise handwriting, I saw the words that could damn me. I don’t know how to live my life this conflicted. The two sides of me are at war. Every time I think I understand myself, that I can control myself, I am proven wrong. Something within me sabotages that control every time. I am walking chaos, and until I am able to harness my own power, people might get hurt. I don’t know how to stop.

  Things really weren’t looking good for me.

  “I was talking about emotional control. I’m something of a mess, psychologically speaking. I really shouldn’t be allowed near people, at least not without a warning sign. But I’ve never killed anyone.” Not intentionally, at least. “And those words don’t say that I have. They only suggest I’m in serious need of some counseling.”

  Johnson plucked the notebook from my frozen fingers and returned it to his jacket pocket. I tried not to reveal how much it pained me to see my private words stolen from me.

  “You’re right. On their own, they don’t prove anything. Combined with your connection to all the deceased, relationship with Sera, and history of living here when the previous murders occurred, it is evidence. You and your friend are drowning in circumstantial evidence, and that should be enough for any jury.”

  “I have an alibi.”

  He waved his hand, dismissing any suggestion of my innocence. “From a man trying to be a white knight to your damsel in distress? You give no indication in your writing that he is anything more than a friend.”

  “It just happened last night,” I said, hesitantly. I wasn’t certain I wanted to drag Brian any further into this than he had already dragged himself.

  “You suddenly succumbed to his irresistible charm, and despite years of platonic friendship—” here, he tapped his pocket, indicating my journal, “—you invited him into your bed.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed, unsure what else I could say.

  “Maybe,” he said, though his tone suggested he wasn’t remotely convinced of my version of events. “In either case, we have forensics over at the house right now. They’re picking hairs off both your pillow and his. If you and your friend are telling the truth, DNA will certainly confirm your version of events. Unless you slept with a hat on, of course?” He courteously paused, giving me the opportunity to admit that, indeed, I wore a shower cap during my more amorous moments.

  Instead, I glared. I didn’t know what else to do. He was mocking me, so secure in his knowledge of my guilt that he could afford to toy with me a little—and I had walked directly into his trap. Anything else I said would certainly be used against me, and the evidence was already too compelling to ignore.

  The way I saw it, I had two options. One, I could shut up, request a lawyer, and hope that a pile of circumstantial evidence in a sure-to-be sensationalist trial wasn’t enough to convict me or lead to a made-for-cable TV movie. Two, I could tell them the truth.

  I would go to great lengths to avoid appearing on the Lifetime network.

  I knew what might happen. My family could reject me, just when I was finally ready to see them again. I could lose a home I’d always loved and hoped to see again. I’d likely be a pariah for years to come, if anyone found out what I was about to do.

  But considering the self-inflicted solitude of the last years, that possibility didn’t sound as dreadful as it otherwise might have. I’d already been through it all. At least this way, I would still have Sera.

  “Could I see my friend?” I asked, quietly. “You can be in the room. I just want to ask her something. It could help you better understand what happened.”

  Johnson considered me quietly, weighing the pros and cons of my request. Just as he started to shake his head, Carmichael entered. He handed a folder to Johnson and paced the room while he read, tension etched into each muscle. I waited, knowing that whatever was in that folder would directly impact my fate.

  “No accelerants?” asked Johnson.

  “Not a one. A man was burned alive without a single drop of gasoline,” Carmichael spoke through his teeth. He whirled around, placed both hands firmly on the table, and stared intently at me. His eyes roved over my face, and he saw everything. The furrow between my brow, the lip slightly chapped from biting, and the undeniable fear in my eyes. “Ms
. Brook. I feel we have been here before. Imagine how different things could be if you had only cooperated.”

  His face held no sign of the friendly boy scout I’d come to know. The man standing over me now was frustrated and confused, tired of bumbling around in a world whose rules kept changing.

  I wanted to wipe the confusion from his face. “I couldn’t. Not really. Look, you think I want to be here? If I thought I could have helped you, I would have. I’m not even sure you would have believed me.”

  “What does belief have to do with any of this? I believed you were innocent before. Maybe I still do, more fool me. I understand none of this, but of one thing I am certain. No matter what I believe, given the current set of circumstances, a case will be made against you, and it will be compelling enough for a jury to convict you or Sera, or possibly both.”

  The other agent nodded, accepting our inevitable convictions as fact.

  Carmichael continued. “You need to tell us what actually happened and let us help you, or you will spend the rest of your life in jail. Those are your only choices now.”

  He was telling the truth. I was out of choices. I could take the risk of a lengthy trial and hope for an innocent verdict. We still had all Josiah’s resources, and I had to trust that my mother wasn’t so angry that she’d let me rot in prison. Even so, it was a huge risk to take.

  If we lost, it would be too late. The secret would be out, either way. My longevity made a long prison sentence impossible. A jailbreak would be catastrophically public. There was only one way to control what information was shared, and with whom. And if the elementals found out what I was about to do, I’d simply have to live with the consequences of my actions. Given the options, I was okay with that.

  “I can trust you? I mean, you’re still the good cop, right?”

  “We’re good agents, Ms. Brook. We’ll be fair,” Carmichael said.

  Johnson briefly looked like he wanted to argue with that assessment, but wisely let Carmichael’s earnest face speak for him.

  “Get Sera,” I said quietly, attempting to show the same authority Carmichael just had. “Put irons on us if you need to, but there can’t be any other agents or officers. Just the two of you. We didn’t kill these men, but if you take us to one of the campsites, we’ll show you how they died.”

  Chapter 17

  We were brought separately to the site of Jeff Brown’s murder and, once we arrived, were kept at least ten feet apart at all times. The restraints were lighter than I’d expected, with only our hands cuffed in front of our bodies. To be fair, we were both unarmed, and between Sera’s size and my absolute lack of muscle tone, we didn’t look very threatening. They had guns and bodies that had spent many hours in the gym. They had no reason to question their safety.

  Johnson shadowed Sera, while Carmichael kept one hand wrapped firmly around my upper arm. This was, of course, intended to keep us from conspiring, but it also ensured that Sera had no idea what I was planning. To look at her, one would never guess that she was ignorant of anything. She stood relaxed, one knee bent and her hip slightly cocked, looking around the campsite with a bored expression. She caught my eye once and only quirked one side of her mouth, a tiny indication that she was nothing but amused by the new circumstances.

  There was no evidence a crime had been committed here. The police tape and chalk outline had been removed, and the forensics team and detectives had finished their work and returned to the warmth of their offices. The four of us were alone.

  And I was the center of attention, with no idea how to broach the subject. “So, either of you fans of The X-Files?” I asked brightly. Sera’s head snapped to face me, but she didn’t look surprised. She looked mildly irritated, perhaps, and maybe a little relieved. She knew that if we did this right, we could prove our innocence. We could also be cut off from elemental society, but hey, everything came with a price.

  “I did what you asked,” I told her. “I didn’t tell them anything until you were with me.” Her eyes narrowed at my liberal interpretation of her earlier instructions. “So, The X-Files.”

  Carmichael cast a dark look my way. “Ms. Brook,” he warned.

  “No, seriously. I know you don’t know me very well, but I swear this isn’t my inappropriate comment face. I’m going somewhere with this.”

  “Get there faster.”

  “I’m asking if you believe there are things beyond our current scientific knowledge.”

  “Ms. Brook, if you brought us out here to have a discussion about aliens or monsters or leprechauns, I swear that I will find a way to make you spend two lifetimes in prison.” The boy scout was still taking an extended coffee break. Carmichael only looked annoyed. Johnson, on the other hand, looked curious. No, more than curious. The dark, accusatory look he’d been leveling at me since we met was missing. Instead, he looked… eager.

  “Remember the days when you weren’t threatening me with incarceration, Agent Carmichael? Those halcyon days of last week? Those were good times, weren’t they?”

  “Am I correct in assuming that is your inappropriate comment face?”

  I snorted. “The point is, I need you to remember that I’m not the bad guy here, and neither is Sera. We are innocent, and what we’re about to show you in no way changes that. In fact, if we were guilty, this is the last thing we’d choose to show you, okay?”

  Carmichael looked around the clearing, obviously seeing nothing but the trees, the water, and two women in orange jumpsuits. He shrugged, unimpressed. “Fine. Astound me, Ms. Brook.”

  I understood that he was frustrated. I understood that he needed to do his job, and my comments and apparent obstruction of justice might have been enough for this otherwise nice guy to use such a caustic tone, but understanding isn’t always the same as caring. I had spent most of the day in a jail cell and eaten nothing but a small cheese sandwich, and his snide tone proved to be the final straw for my control. Sure, I could have eased the two men into the knowledge of elementals’ existence, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying as dumping water on Carmichael’s head.

  “What the—” he sputtered, spinning around to seek out the source of the watery missile. It would have been humorous, if his gun hadn’t been drawn. I immediately regretted my faulty impulse control. I needed Carmichael to not just believe me, but to believe in me.

  “Unless you’re going to shoot me, please put that away,” I asked, as quietly and calmly as I could. “I’m the reason you’re wet.”

  “You’re…” he crossed to me and patted me down with one hand, apparently looking for a contraband Super Soaker or water balloon. He hadn’t holstered the gun yet, and I stood stock still, waiting for him to calm down. I had never told any humans about our existence before, so I had nothing to compare it to, but I was pretty certain there weren’t usually firearms involved.

  In sharp contrast to Carmichael’s panic, Johnson was staring at me in wonder. I guess it was his turn to be the good cop. “Where did that water come from?” he asked.

  “The air. I can pull water from the air. And if you’ll please put that thing away, I’ll do it again, slower.” I held Carmichael’s gaze until he holstered the weapon. He still looked slightly unhinged, but at least he was no longer an immediate threat.

  Carefully, I pulled several drops from the air and rolled them into a small ball, then enlarged it. The agents’ heads made quick, jerky motions, trying to watch my face and the water at the same time.

  “I can control it better if I have my hands free,” I said, maintaining the neutral tone I’d used since the gun had appeared. “There isn’t any specific power in my hands, but they work as a focusing tool.” In demonstration, I held them up. They were locked so close together by the cuffs that I couldn’t really separate them, but I was able to rotate them slowly. The water followed suit. Finally, I released the ball, letting the water drop harmlessly to the ground, soaking the earth.

  “I can control water,” I ended simply.

  T
here was a long minute of silence. Carmichael stood in the midst of the clearing, shoulders hunched, watching me with a look that hovered somewhere between fear and disbelief. “You tell me you can control the elements—after several of your exes were killed by the elements—and I’m supposed to believe you’re less guilty?”

  “Not all the elements,” I corrected. “Just water. Sera and I, we were born to a race of people that take power from one of the earth’s elements. Only one. I can only manipulate water, and no one was killed by drowning. And there are a fair number of us, Carmichael. I don’t know if this makes you feel better, but there are a lot of elementals who could have done this.”

  While Carmichael worked to process not only new information, but a new world view, Johnson looked like Christmas had come early. “What can you do?” he asked Sera. She grinned and drew a circle of fire in the air, then used a similar motion to extinguish it. As the fire’s tail disappeared, Carmichael suddenly remembered his job. “A man was killed by fire.” Suspicion rang through his words.

  “And I was in jail,” she told him. “We can’t control anything more than a hundred feet or so from our bodies.”

  “The magic doesn’t stretch that far.” The m-word felt foreign spoken in front of these humans, but they needed to know exactly what was happening. “Sera could not have killed that man, or any of the others. I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to understand. If other elementals find out we told you, we could be ostracized for years. We’re taking a huge risk here. Why would we ever do this if we weren’t innocent?”

  Carmichael nodded, weighing my words. “Those people that died years ago with frozen hearts, they were killed by someone who could manipulate… what, ice?” His voice sounded doubtful and a little cautious, as if he was speaking to an adult who still believed in the Easter Bunny.

  I nodded. “And the recent deaths were by someone who controlled…”

  “Earth,” finished Johnson. “There are people who control earth.” While Carmichael still wore a dumbfounded expression, Johnson was grinning ear-to-ear. “My great-grandma, she could feed an entire town from the vegetables she grew in her garden. People with five times the land produced less than she did. No one ever knew how she was able to till it—she was bent and weak, and she never told anyone her secret—but that land was worked like no one’s business.”