Like a Surge

by Olivette Devaux

  The door slid up just as easily.

  “Wow,” Russ said next to him. “Can we go in?”

  “I think so. Not inside the house, not while the guys are moving in.” Because Cooper was particular over where the furniture had to sit to a quarter of an inch, and Ash wanted to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before they caved and asked for help.

  A concrete pad connected the doors by the garages, narrowing out into a single-lane driveway and circling around the right side of the house. That’s where a thin, concrete sidewalk led to a newly-built stone garden wall with a small wrought-iron gate.

  “The plantings look good,” Paul said, soaking in the sight of his hard work. “Thank you for helping me with all that.”

  “We’re a team,” Russ said, and slowly, casually, he draped his arm around Paul’s shoulders. Paul allowed himself to be pulled in, and he welcomed the kiss on the cheek.

  “Although you should’ve heard Ash belly-aching about missing all the trees in bloom! It will look fantastic next year come spring.” They set out on a meandering flagstone path that lead into the garden. In fact, Paul had Cooper design a whole walking pattern through the property, which he planned to finish installing this year, and plant with something other than just lawn or hardscrabble weeds that Ash chose to call ‘biodiversity.’ There was no reason why the property couldn’t look absolutely stunning, and still be ecologically green and easy to care for, rain-gardens and all.

  “Come this way,” he tugged Russ, sliding his arm around his waist. “Here’s where Cooper wants me to fashion a berm and a mowing strip, just to keep the wild plants from taking over. Would you like to help me pick the plants? They have to look tidy but casual.”

  “Sure,” Russ said. “Maybe roses?”

  Apparently, ease of care wasn’t on the forefront of Russ’s mind, but there were several landscaping varieties that bloomed till frost. “Maybe,” Paul conceded. “I’ll check the catalogs.”

  “What’s this area for?” Russ asked when they reached the middle of the property. A staked-out rectangle of compacted gravel sat askew to everything else, oriented to catch the maximum amount of light during the day. A stone path meandered to what seemed to be a patio with a wide, rectangular umbrella, a gas grill, and a kitchen door.

  “Cooper wants to build a greenhouse,” Paul supplied. “He thinks we should grow our food year-round.” He met his partner’s incredulous gaze seriously. “Remember, Grandma Olga has foresight, and so does Cooper’s mom. I think Cooper might have inherited a bit of that, although he denies it at every opportunity. If he says the climate change will mess up supply chains and we should grow food, I say we listen to him.”

  Russ cleared his throat. “Normally, I’d totally disregard this kind of prepper talk,” he said, and Paul couldn’t shake off the feeling that Russ was distinctly uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. “You know I always tried to avoid anything extreme.”

  “Yeah.” Paul knew. If Russ had thought his touch on reality had been tenuous, it made sense that he would try and avoid anything too speculative. Anything outside of the accepted channels of normalcy.

  “Well, I hate to say this, but I’m feeling it too. The static electricity fields in the clouds, they look different than they used to. Stronger. The storms we get, the weather systems? They have more weight behind them, and ever since Ash explained that the polar air current slowed down, sank to a lower altitude, and reversed the jet stream, these new nor’easters and snow till the end of April make a lot of sense.” He stroked Paul’s back between his shoulder blades, as though giving Paul physical comfort would heal the ills of the world. “I wonder if the jet stream will go from west to east in our lifetime again,” he whispered quietly. “It’s not like the North Pole will cool down and rejuvenate the polar air current anytime soon. If the storms are here to stay, and if it snows through April every year, having a greenhouse is only a sensible precaution, not a stupid luxury.”

  Paul had never thought he would be relieved at Russ’s assent.

  Instead, a wave of existential panic rose within his body. The world was changing, and could it be that all these talented people popping up was not a mere coincidence?

  ALMOST AN HOUR of walking the property and strategizing about the future had left Paul in much better spirits. Russ walked erect next to him with a determined smile on his face. They had resolved to face the future with a can-do spirit, side by side. It wasn’t anything as dramatic as an official engagement, and it happened in inclusive little words and oblique phrases, but considering their unique circumstances, it was pretty darn close and as far as Paul could tell, they both knew it.

  They came onto the path again, with the green young grass of the emerging lawn peeking through the yellow straw. Breeze off the river stirred the air, bringing with it the scent of mud and vegetation eager to catch up after a long, winter-like spring. The private courtyard, which would soon be transformed into a meditation sand-and-rock garden, was barely visible through the leafy crowns of many newly planted fruit trees.

  Paul enjoyed the tranquil silence of the space as they turned to the right and up a mild hill toward the garages. This was nice – very nice – and he expected to be a frequent guest as well as a volunteer gardener.

  He pulled out his pencil to push the garage door opener with it, but before he did so he turned to have one last look at the main house.

  Ash and Cooper stood by their wrought-iron gate, and beyond it, power coalesced into a threatening cloud.

  “You see what I see?” Alarmed, Russ hissed next to him.

  “Yeah. Let’s go!”

  They broke into a run, cutting a shortcut across the tender lawn.

  “Whoever’s out there,” Russ fired off as his footfalls rent air out of his lungs, “he’s electric.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bad intent,” Russ gasped just before their sneakers slapped against the concrete walkway, just few feet behind Ash and Cooper.

  Ash stirred but didn’t turn. He was focused on the wild-eyed, angry Brian Clegg on the other side of the gate.

  Clegg grabbed the gate – and the vines and leaves of the wrought iron sparked with electricity before the charge drained into the ground. “Let me in,” he yelled. “I’m here to serve you papers, dammit!”

  “Slide it under the gate,” Cooper said. “I don’t need to deal with your juvenile power displays.”

  “Ha!” Clegg shouted. “I know what you’re hiding, and if you think you can steal our power, think again!”

  “Steal your power.” Ash said slowly. “Steal your power? You seem to have enough as it is!”

  A cunning expression crossed Brian Clegg’s freckled face. He raked his straight, blond hair out of eyes, and measured all four of them with his gaze. “You’ve been using the ley lines to suck power out of my friends, you unworthy vampiric pig! And I’ll get it back from you, and I’ll make you pay in the process. Whatever you’re doing over the node, it’s wrong. It’s bad, and I’m not gonna stand for it!”

  Paul knew the node was full and in need of draining, just as he knew that Ash already had plans for all that prime energy. They had never figured out where it was coming from. Was it really possible that Brian Clegg and his gang had been the unwilling donors?

  If that was so, they had somehow managed to disarm their opponent. He didn’t know how, and from the puzzled expression on Ash’s face, he didn’t know either.

  Ash shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you about your energy issues, but you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t come within touching distance. Last time we met in person, you tried to fry me with a lightning.”

  “And you don’t know how to deal with that, do you, pretty boy!” The sneer on Clegg’s face was punch-worthy. The low growls that came from Cooper told Paul that he wasn’t the only one offended by Clegg’s baiting. Unlike Cooper and Ash, though, he could handle the power Clegg could dish out.

  Probably.

  “Now, now, don�
�t be jealous of his good looks,” Paul said from behind as he slipped around Ash and approached the gate. He felt the heavy, watchful gazes of his friends on his back.

  “Paul, don’t get too close!” Cooper’s alarm was apparent.

  “No biggie,” Paul said, and smirked at the irate blond behind the gate. He came all the way up, reached out toward the artfully twining metal shapes, and grasped them.

  Power surged through him – not his power – but it was still the kind of power he was used to handling every day.

  Clegg’s jaw clenched with focus, and when Paul remained unaffected, he let go of the conductive gate that drained most of his charge into the ground without doing harm. An ordinary person would’ve been stunned if not killed – but this was electricity, and Paul was no stranger to his own spikes. “You think you can take me,” Clegg hissed in Paul’s face. “But you’re wrong. You and your bunch of friends robbed me of what’s mine, and you’re gonna pay.”

  “You’ll make us?” Paul asked, feeling light and flippant.

  “Not me,” Clegg laughed. “The courts! Here, take this, since that chicken-shit over there won’t. And have him sign over here.”

  Paul let go of the grate and took the papers from Clegg’s hands, along with a pen. Without turning his back on him, he walked sideways until he got to Ash. “He wants you to sign here, showing you got the papers,” he said.

  Ash glanced over the court summons, signed, and gave it back to Paul. To his left, Russ caught their attention with a brief hand gesture. “He’s charging up,” he whispered.

  Paul nodded his understanding and sauntered back toward the little gate. “Here you go,” he said, sliding the paper and pen toward Clegg’s hand.

  Clegg snatched it with his left but stepped back and wound up with his right.

  “Paul!” Russ’ cry of warning rent the air.

  Paul jumped back and spread his arms wide.

  With a flash and a crack, Brian Clegg sent a lance of pure power over the gate instead of through it.

  Masterful control, Paul thought with appreciation as he stretched for it as though he was catching a ball.

  He wouldn’t let it hit Ash or Cooper. He wouldn’t.

  Russ would survive it, but...

  A jolt of power rocked his left hand, like a baseball thrown too hard and caught without a glove.

  Paul swung his arm down and around, diverting its momentum. The power was familiar and electric, but the flavor of it was all wrong and not his own. He forced it through his body, out the other arm, he aimed–

  The lovely wrought-iron gate exploded. Brian Clegg shrieked as he clutched his hand to his bleeding thigh, where a hammered leaf decoration impaled his flesh.

  Paul was vaguely aware of his high-pitched scream, and of the blossoming scarlet flower on his acid-washed jeans.

  Then a sharp pain struck his chest and air became rare.

  Then he knew nothing.

  CHAPTER 28

  Russ knew what would happen a split-second before the whole scenario unraveled before his eyes. Paul was going to catch the lightning and throw it back.

  No problem. What could go wrong?

  Brian Clegg loosed his bolt.

  As Russ surged forth to ground Paul and help him absorb the shock, he was seeing the events as though in slow motion.

  Paul caught the bolt, threw it back – the gate exploded, the tortured screech of its metal punctuating the sharp crack of thunder.

  Only vaguely was Russ aware of Clegg’s painful collapse. His attention was riveted on Paul’s prone form. He had crumpled like a rag doll, falling forward, not breathing.

  Russ had been to many a site of an electrical accident. His training took over.

  “Call 911!” he shouted toward Cooper before he sank to his knees by Paul’s body.

  He turned him over and checked for pulse.

  There wasn’t one.

  Paul’s lips acquired that disturbing, indigo tinge that comes with stagnant blood and a still heart. A small part of Russ screamed with despair somewhere in the back of his mind, but most of him went through the motions as though muscle memory and frequent directed his body when his mind wouldn’t.

  Automatically, he stripped his shirt and wadded it into a pillow to prop Paul’s neck straight. He pinched his nose shut, tugged his chin down, and breathed into his mouth three times.

  Then he locked his fists together, anchored them on Paul’s sternum, and counted out his thirty chest compressions.

  Before he had a chance to move over to breathe for Paul again, Cooper was there. “I know how. We’ll take turns.”

  Ash was on the phone.

  Soon Mark and Ellen arrived, followed by Hank.

  Nobody asked what happened. They just took their places, as though giving CPR was one of those regular parts of life.

  Considering their powers and their lifestyle, it occurred to Russ that, just maybe, it was. Grateful for the help, he focused on the count of the chest compressions, putting his whole body behind it.

  The piercing sound of emergency vehicles almost made him lose count when Ash pushed him aside. “My turn. You go greet them, tell them it was a random lightning strike. You go with Paul, Hank will go with Brian Clegg. We can’t allow this to reveal our nature.”

  Stunned, Russ stumbled to his feet. He looked down. The blue in Paul’s lips gave way to a warmer, livelier color, but there still was no pulse. That pink electric haze that had become Paul’s trademark, and which only he could see, was still missing.

  The EMT’s rushed in and pushed them all aside. The police showed up, and a howling fire engine slowly rumbled down the old, ill-repaired street.

  Russ answered their questions with modest adaptations, providing them with only the truth they needed to know.

  Yes, there has been a lightning.

  Yes, they can happen with the weather being this weird this year. Yes, it struck the gate, which then flew apart.

  Yes, it also struck Paul. His... his husband.

  On the spur of the moment, he jumped the gun and staked his claim on Paul, if only to be let onto the ambulance – and, hopefully, there would be an ambulance ride in their future and not a coroner’s van.

  Capable people pulled out all their customary medical gear, an oxygen tank and a defibrillator and put it to good use... and suddenly, a subtle, pink haze so thin he thought it was but an illusion began to glow around Paul’s body.

  “Pulse! We got pulse!” The burly EMT who manned the oxygen tank and assorted gear said it half a minute after Russ already knew. They didn’t need to know that he knew, though, so he gave way to his emotions and sobbed with relief.

  As they loaded Paul onto the gurney and slid him into the ambulance, and as they let Russ ride along, he saw Hank play the role of a concerned lover, or brother, or next of kin for Brian Clegg.

  Brian Clegg, who looked stunned, and – surprisingly – even grateful.

  A truce would be nice, Russ thought just before they shut the ambulance door. Then he just sat there with Paul’s hand in his own two, and focused on absorbing just enough electricity to keep Paul from disrupting the systems of modern civilization.

  Paul regained consciousness as soon as they entered the ER but didn’t say much else than curt answers to the doctor’s questions.

  When a nurse mentioned his ‘husband,’ he smiled.

  Once his systems had stabilized, they let him fall asleep and said he’d stay for observation. As Russ sat in the plastic chair by Paul’s bed, he soon tuned out the smell of hospital disinfectant and the steady beeping of Paul’s heart monitor in favor of figuring out what had happened, and why.

  Paul had harvested power from storm clouds before, he had used it, controlled it...

  Except another bioelectric elementalist wasn’t a storm cloud. The static electricity within a cloud represented the whole spectrum of frequencies, whereas another elementalist probably used only one.

  Maybe Paul, as well as Brian Clegg, unconsciously
absorbed only what their bodies were born to handle. Maybe every bioelectric elementalist had his own personal frequency – which would make duels more than just a matter of sheer force. Paul had tolerated Clegg’s frequency well enough when most of it was being drained by the garden gate – but the lightning bolt was a different kettle of fish entirely.

  Wasn’t that why they had to install a transformer in the basement, to make sure Paul’s overnight donations, as well as his morning power surges, didn’t fry the storage batteries? The fact that Paul was a generator didn’t mean he was also a transformer.

  Russ let his gaze sink into Paul, taking in his soft hair and the dusting of freckles on his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. Paul was not a transformer, no – but maybe that ability was part of what made Russ so effective on the job. Maybe that was part of what allowed him to ground electrical discharge from just about any source.

  That made them a good team, he thought as he suppressed a yawn.

  If Paul was asleep, he’d need to bleed off excess electricity, and if Russ fell asleep in his chair and let go of Paul’s hand, he wouldn’t be doing his job.

  And that would never do.

  They wouldn’t be discovered on his watch.

  Russ stood up, gently edged Paul aside, and slithered onto the hospital cot next to him. They fit, and now that he had declared himself Paul’s husband, he might as well act the part.

  The thought made him smile as he drifted asleep.

  HANK’S LIVING room became a pizza-fragranced embassy of sofas and comfortable floor pillows to the outside world now, Ash thought as he surveyed his assembled team and their guests. Brian Clegg sat in the solitary reading chair with the foot rest in an upright position. His expression was grim, and the cheese on his pizza was growing stiff with neglect. His two employees, Sigmund Harte and David Rhea, had no such reservations, and tore into their slices with relish.