I had to find a way to help her and get the girls on the right path.
She put down the water bottle, wiped her mouth and looked at me.
“Mathilda,” she said, using my full name. Only Ruth called me that. Her gray eyes searched my face. “Who was that you were with just now?”
“Someone I used to know.”
“Someone from the Renegades.”
“I told him to fuc—I I told him to get out of here and not come back.”
“Why was he here in the first place?” Ruth was angry, but she did the under control type anger, not like me.
I squirmed. “He wanted to make up for something.”
“That was your friend Gus, wasn’t it?” Even sick, Ruth’s memory was sharp. There wasn’t any point in lying to her.
I shook my head. “He’s no friend of mine.”
“Seeing him breaks your parole.”
“I know, I know.” Tell me something I didn’t know. This wasn’t fair. I hadn’t wanted to see Gus.
Ruth waved at me to come over to the bed. I slunk over, feeling way shorter than six one and like I was ten years old again.
Ruth reached and had clasped my hand. “You only get one chance.”
I nodded.
“You can’t give up, Mat.”
“I’m not.”
Ruth let go of my hand, lifted her chin. “It looks to me like you are giving up.”
“I’m trying, Ruth, I’m trying!” The potpourri scent in her room suddenly made me sick.
Ruth uncrossed her arms. “You left your phone at home. Again.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” I hated carrying that thing. “My parole officer called?” Winterfield always ruined my day. He was one hundred percent pure hardass and he rode me nonstop about getting a job.
Ruth frowned. “Three times. You need to be reachable, Mathilda.”
“I know, I know.” I spent five years in Special Corrections always being reachable. Once in awhile, I wanted to be unreachable.
I knew what she was going to say next. Going to go over the whole "don't see any criminals" thing anymore. I tried to relax, slow my breathing. Tried not to get angry.
“Meeting with Empowered criminals is especially dangerous.”
Yep. Here we go. “Does it matter?” I retorted. “If I see any criminal, I go back to Special Corrections.”
Ruth shook her head at me, frowning. “Mat, you know there’s a difference. Seeing a normal criminal is a violation, but meeting with an Empowered criminal is a one-way ticket to Special Corrections without appeal.”
Okay, okay, she had a point, but I was trying to stay away from ALL criminals, not just Empowered ones.
“What did he want?” Ruth asked.
“To apologize. Like it mattered.” I couldn’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
“That couldn’t have been all he wanted to say.”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t going to listen to anything else.”
She squeezed my hand. “If your PO finds out, you’ll be in trouble.”
My face flushed with anger. “I told the creep to leave me alone!” I got up. “Where are Ava and Ella?”
Ruth sighed, suddenly looking not just old but ancient. “Change the subject, why don’t you?” she said in a low voice. She sighed. “Out, just like you were.”
“But you don’t know where they went?”
She shook her head, laughed sadly. “That used to be you,” she said.
“It did. That’s why I worry.”
The deep rumble of an eight-cylinder engine came from the parking lot, interrupting what Ruth was going to say next. I went to the window, and peered outside.
A newer model gold Lincoln Overlord pulled up below our apartment, whitewall tires and silver spoked-rims screaming ganger-mobile. A rear door opened and my younger sister Ella got out, followed a moment later by her twin, Ava. Ava’s raven black hair was nearly as long as mine used to be. It swung around her face like a curtain, while Ella wore hers in a short, curly perm.
Cute chicks. Way too cute. That was the problem.
A muscled arm reached out of the car, pulled Ava back in, and I caught the hard profile of a tattooed man. They kissed, and my stomach roiled. Ganger crooks made me sick.
“You didn’t say the girls hung with gangers!” I spat out the words. “You lecture me about Gus, and here they are hanging with gangers.” My skin was hot.
“I’ve told them not to.” Her eyes went hard. “I’ve got to pick my battles.”
“They aren’t listening,” I retorted.
Another racking cough. “No more than you did,” Ruth said when she could speak again.
“I’m trying now.” I turned back to the window.
The girls stood by the stairwell, watching the car drive off. Then they headed up the stairs, Ava in the lead as always, Ella following.
I met them at the door. “Where have you been?” Stupid kids, hanging with gangers. What were they thinking?
Ava tried pushing past me, but I braced an arm against the door frame. The twins were five feet eleven, but I was taller at six one, so Ava had to look up to meet my gaze.
“Out with friends,” Ava said when she couldn’t push past me. “That good enough for you, sis?” This last came out as a hiss.
I leaned forward, looking down at her. “Don’t be a fool like I was.”
“Yeah, you were a fool, all right. We all remember.”
The twins had been twelve when I was convicted.
“Good,” I said, blocking the doorway with my arm. “Those creeps down there won’t do you any good. How long have you been seeing them?”
Ella spoke up, fast, trying to please me. “Just for a couple of weeks.”
I clenched my hand. How the hell had I missed that? Because I’d been out pounding the pavement looking for work and getting leered at by creeps in interviews for dead-end jobs.
Ava gave me a defiant smile. “You’re just jealous.”
I laughed. That was too funny for words. I ignored Ava and kept looking at Ella. “How about you, Ella? Why are you hanging with gangers?”
Ella looked away. “They’re fun,” she mumbled.
“You going to let us in?” Ava crossed her arms. “I have to pee.”
“I just want you both to understand something first.”
Ella raised her head and looked at me, expectantly. She was the good one, always willing to listen.
Ava brushed her hair back. “What’s that, sis?” Ava, on the other hand, was a stone-cold bitch in training. Ruth said we were alike—we were nothing alike.
“Those creeps are hanging with you for only two reasons.” I tried to look less angry. “One, they want sex.”
Ava’s eyes flashed. “So what if they do? You weren’t a virgin back in the Renegades, were you?”
I hadn’t been, but that didn’t matter here. “Two, they are just using you to get to me.” Checking things out, taking their time. I’d have to figure out a way to end this thing the twins had with them.
Ava gave a loud, sarcastic laugh, and even Ella looked angry.
“It’s not all about you,” Ava said. Ella nodded sharply in agreement. She was the follower when it came to Ava.
Ava shoved my arm out of the way and they marched past me. “Stay out of our lives,” Ava shot back at me over her shoulder.
I stomped outside and slammed the door behind me.
The Lincoln Overlord pulled out onto Powell. The car’s engine revved, and it sped away, out of sight beyond the line of firs. Gangers off to have fun elsewhere. Scum.
The hum of the trees in my mind tugged at me as I gripped the handrail. My power couldn’t help me. The trees certainly couldn’t. I had to deal with this just like any normal would. I couldn’t go to the police. I needed to get out and find a job that would get us out of this dump. And away from those gangers.
Chapter 2
The next morning I had to meet with Winterfield, my parole officer, at that greasy spoon by the I
nterstate we always met at. The day was cloudy with likely rain, according to the radio. Great, that meant I had to deal again with all the plants shouting happiness in my head.
I drove Ruth’s old Buick, because she insisted, even though it ate through gas money. Two bus transfers would have made me leave way early anyhow.
I wore my “meeting with the PO" uniform of white blouse, sweater, slacks, and the only sensible shoes I owned, a pair of beige low-heels. I hated the low-heels, but needed to look the part when meeting with my tight-assed PO. I’d kill to be wearing jeans and work boots, but nothing doing.
The radio was tuned to a news station, all Ruth listened to when she was in the car. I was about to change it when the talking heads started discussing a Hero Council operation in Seattle, some sort of sweep against “rampant criminality and rogue Empowered.” I turned up the volume, heart pounding, flashing on the Hero Council coming after the Renegades five years ago.
The radio said the Hero Council of North America’s First Team had led a joint FBI, UN, and Support task force against unspecified “rogue elements.” It sounded like a huge deal. The radio announcers sounded awestruck, like normals always seemed to whenever they mentioned the Hero Council. Made me sick.
Was it the Scourge? Had Gus been telling the truth? But the newscasters didn’t give any more details. Instead, they started talking about the latest building projects in the greater New York City area, Long Island this time, another Galestorm Memorial Center. The Three Days War and the irradiating of NYC had happened a half century ago, but the Big Apple still wasn’t so big these days. Even though the City had been rebuilt by the end of the 1980s, people kept tinkering with it, trying to make it the New York of old again.
I changed the channel to a rock station. I was not looking forward to this meeting.
Being interrogated by my PO was right up there with getting my teeth cleaned, but it was necessary.
Winterfield always made me wary. He had the no-nonsense look of a cop, or a corrections officer. He must have been in the military, but I wasn’t about to ask. I knew better. There was no chance of getting an answer. I figured he’d just tell me to focus on me and getting a job instead of asking questions about things that didn’t matter.
I just hoped to God Winterfield never found out about Gus attempting to “recruit” me for the Scourge.
It wouldn’t matter that Gus’s story about the Scourge being back from the dead was completely nutso. Gus was a rogue Empowered, the last living member of the Renegades except for me. I was through with living the criminal life, but Gus sure wasn’t. He must have spent the last five years skulking around the Northwest, living in abandoned houses and stealing what he needed. As long as it was something he could carry, it would blend in with him.
I still couldn’t figure out how Gus had remained free for so long, even with his power. Maybe the Hero Council and their lackey Support thought he was dead. Maybe he didn’t matter to them. That seemed damned unlikely. He’d be the first rogue Empowered they let go. The sanctioned Empowered of the Hero Council never let us rogues go. They hunted us down.
I parked the Buick next to a dogwood tree that was bursting with anticipation of budding. Feeling its pleasure was like drinking fortified wine; it made me dizzy. I had to stop in the entryway and take a few slow breaths. Clear my head. Didn’t want to set off those spook specs of Winterfield’s. Maybe I’d get lucky and he wouldn’t have them on today.
Winterfield waited for me in a booth by the restrooms. His back was against the wall, like always.
I don’t know about other parole officers, but Winterfield was no fun at all.
He wore that navy blue windbreaker he always wore and a knitted polo shirt. His shaved head glinted in the weak yellow lighting. Maybe he waxed it.
My stomach did a somersault when I spotted the mirrored sunglasses on the table in front of him. Damn it. Winterfield had brought his spook specs.
He nodded at me as the waitress left me at the booth. I slid in across from him. It was a big booth, but with Winterfield there, I felt like I was trapped in a tiny closet. I couldn’t take my eyes off the spook specs.
He tapped his windbreaker. “You are carrying your phone today, aren’t you, Brandt?”
I ripped my gaze from the folded spook specs. Damn those things.
“Yeah.” I pulled my phone out of my purse and laid it on the table.
Winterfield gave me his no bullshit look. “It isn’t just me you need to stay in touch with, Brandt, remember. What if your grandmother needs to reach you?”
My breath froze. “She knows where I’m at.”
Winterfield raised an eyebrow. “Really, Brandt? You should know by now you can’t fool me. Why don’t you try not fooling yourself?”
“Okay,” I mumbled and glanced at my hands. Looking at Winterfield was like staring at a brick wall. I had no idea what lay under that hard surface. Probably something colder and harder than steel.
I didn’t want to find out.
Ivy hung in a planter from the ceiling, leaves curled. It needed water. If I strained, I could pull water from the air, push the plant to grow, unspool it like a living thread, until vines looped and tightened around Winterfield’s muscled neck and choked off his breath. The leaves stirred and I looked back at my hands, fast.
Winterfield had followed my gaze to the ivy. “You’re still Vine, Brandt.”
I shook my head. “I’m just Mat now.” I was sweating. Winterfield always made me sweat.
His smile was thin, with sharp edges. “The world won’t think so.”
“I’m not anybody special.” The lie felt good. I just wanted to take care of Ruth and the twins, even if the girls were ungrateful brats. Was it really a lie if I wanted it to be true?
“You may be nobody, Brandt, but you are an Empowered nobody. Society is not going to forget that.”
Yeah, I was no Galestorm, or Titan for that matter, anyone else on the Hero Council. My power was no big deal. I couldn’t fly. I wasn’t a super genius. I couldn’t throw a bus. I sure as hell couldn’t stop a nuke like Galestorm did. Growing plants, no matter how fast, isn’t going to impress people wowed by real superpowers.
And I wasn’t a sanctioned Empowered. I’d been a rogue, the kind of Empowered that scared normals shitless, because the Hero Council didn’t want someone with a lame power like mine. So, I only got one option, sign on the dotted line and give up using my power forever. I was fifteen, and pissed that the world thought my wonderful power was nothing. So I ran away to join the Renegades.
The waitress returned, took our orders, left. If she knew what I was, what I’d been, she’d be frightened and angry I was there. But she had no clue. I stared at the tabletop, traced a pattern in the fake walnut. “Ignorance is bliss,” I whispered.
“Only if you want to have no control over what happens to you.” Winterfield tapped the tabletop. “The problem is that you know things ordinary people don’t.”
“I just want to be as ignorant as everyone else. I don’t want to know what I once knew.” I’d give anything to forget, to start over.
“What you still know,” Winterfield insisted.
He was wrong but so sure he was right.
The waitress brought our breakfasts. Winterfield asked me about my job hunt while we ate. I gave him a no-frills account, and he listened, not asking any questions.
I finished, took a gulp of coffee.
“You’re going to end up back in Special Corrections if you fail to find and hold down a job.” He didn’t have to take it further. We’d had this conversation before. If I couldn’t hold down a job, I had no money, and would just be a burden on my family. Winterfield assumed I’d turn to crime to get the money rather than put the family deeper in the hole for feeding me.
Wasn’t going to happen.
Period.
“I’ll find work.”
The waitress cleared our plates, refilled our coffee cups.
Winterfield waited until she was go
ne before saying anything else. He ran a finger along the bridge of the folded spook specs.
I suppressed a shiver.
“Not the way you are going.” He snapped his fingers and I practically jumped out of my seat.
“I’m not Vine anymore.”
He gave me the sharp smile again, laid a finger on the spook specs.
“Time to be checked out,” he said.
Easy for him to say. “I feel fine today,” I said. “No need for the exam.”
His smile vanished. “Funny, Brandt. Very funny.”
Yeah, I could see he was laughing inside.
He picked up the spook specs, opened the glasses with a snap and put them on.
Pinpoint red lights flicked on above the bridge, like demon’s eyes. The mirrored shades hid Winterfield’s ice blue eyes, so I kept looking at the demon’s eyes, and blinking from the bright lights.
Winterfield started “the exam” with the same question he always asked.
“Why did you became a criminal?”
I gave him the same answer I always did.
“Because I was young and stupid, dumb enough to think it sounded like fun.” That was my story and I was sticking to it. Always.
I looked up at the ivy. It knew nothing of the larger world beyond this diner. I thought again about the ivy stretching down, looping around Winterfield’s neck and strangling him. I pushed the thought away. What if the spook specs could read my thoughts?
“Please look at me,” Winterfield said.
I ground my teeth. Looked at him.
“Have you used your power since our last meeting?” he asked “As per the terms of your parole, you must not use your power, specified as a botanical catalyst.”
Botanical catalyst was a fancy way of saying I could control plants. Big deal.
My skin itched. It felt like tiny pinpricks all along my face, neck, arms, chest. A dull headache settled in around my temples.
Empowered: Agent (The Empowered Series Book 1) Page 2