Super Natural: The New Super Humans, Book Three

by T. M. Franklin

  Dylan felt a curl of warmth in his stomach. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, guys.” Beck collapsed onto the ground next to Dylan, making him jump. Dylan hadn't even noticed him approaching.

  “Sorry about earlier,” Beck said. “I didn't mean to—”

  “Oh, don't worry about it,” Dylan replied with a shrug. “I kind of asked for it.”

  Beck grinned. “Yeah, you kind of did.”

  “Anyway, I actually owe you one.” Dylan stabbed a finger at him. “If you hadn't scared the crap out of me, I don't know if I would have ever figured out how to access my gift.”

  “Yeah.” Beck nodded. “That shield is pretty cool. Strong,” he said, flexing his fist as if remembering the feel of the impact. He shot Dylan a look. “I wonder how strong.”

  Dylan's eyebrows shot up. “Is that an offer?”

  Without another word, they got up and faced each other.

  “Guys, are you sure this is a good idea?” Miranda looked nervously from one to the other as if she was considering stepping between them at any moment.

  “It's fine,” Dylan replied.

  Beck cracked his knuckles, then his neck, and picked up a broken branch about the size of a three-foot two-by-four. Dylan's cocky smile wavered just a little. “It'll be fine,” he repeated, unsure if he was trying to convince Miranda or himself.

  Dylan closed his eyes and reached for that spot within that was actually pretty easy to find, now that he knew where to look. He gave it a push, surprised when it popped open like an umbrella, and opened his eyes to find it enveloping him in a glowing sphere, circling his body about a foot away in every direction.

  “Ready?” Beck didn't wait for a response before swinging the piece of wood. It hit the sphere and bounced back, and Beck stumbled a bit before adjusting his stance and trying again.

  Dylan could feel the impact, but it was deadened, like when someone tried to slap you underwater. It rippled toward him, but the force field held, and he smiled as Beck continued to pound on it, his own hand glowing where he clutched the branch.

  “You okay?” Beck asked after a few moments.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Dylan replied. “Give me all you've got.”

  Beck centered himself and swung the branch, so quickly Dylan couldn't even make out the movement. He felt it, though. Felt the ripple grow to a wave as the wood splintered into a million pieces and the shield finally gave, a shower of wood chips raining over him.

  Yeah. It was pretty strong.

  The town had been quiet and, looking back, they should have been worried.

  Training continued for the following week. Sometimes two or three would meet in the clearing, or at one of their houses. Usually, the only time the whole group could get together was after dark. Maia would sneak a group in under her cloak of invisibility, and Wren did the same using her gift, transporting them through a time-frozen world without anyone noticing.

  They hoped.

  Dylan was impressed with how quickly the group took to the self-defense moves he showed them. He figured they understood the very real fact that their lives could depend on the skills he was able to share. They took it seriously. They practiced hard.

  Those with gifts worked those skills just as thoroughly. Wren and Maia, now able to stretch their gifts to encapsulate others without touching, focused on extending them even further. They helped Dylan to do the same, although he hadn't been able to expand his shield over more than three people, so far. Beck tore apart rocks and fallen trees, pounded holes into the ground and ran around so fast they couldn't see him.

  The rift between Dylan and his father continued to grow with every lie, every night he snuck out, leaving a human-shaped pile of pillows under his blankets and a guilty conscience in his wake.

  “You should just move in with us,” Chloe offered, more than once. “We have the room, and it would make things easier for you.”

  Dylan just couldn't do it, though. Not only would his father definitely know what he was up to if he moved into the Victorian, but leaving him behind felt like it would create an even deeper chasm between them. And Dylan wasn't sure it was one they could ever cross.

  Plus, there was the rent money. Dylan barely made enough to cover his tuition and books, when combined with his scholarships and student loans. And he definitely couldn't ask his father for money to move out.

  So, he kept on pretending that everything was fine. And his father did the same.

  The skirmishes in town were few and far between—fist fights, a dumpster fire. or smashed window here and there. But they always felt the threat of more on the horizon, hovering over them like a shadowy cloud. The proverbial shoe waiting to drop.

  It was a Friday afternoon when Dylan sat in class, staring out the window and trying not to think about anything when he noticed it: A pillar of smoke in the distance, followed by the whine of sirens. He sat up, squinting as he tried to see more, but the trees blocked his view. Still, he had a feeling . . .

  “Mr. Kennedy, am I disturbing you?” the professor asked, loud enough that Dylan could tell it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get his attention.

  “No, sorry.” He straightened, forcing his gaze to the front of the room, but his knee bounced anxiously under his desk.

  The professor assigned the reading for the next class and had barely gotten the words out to dismiss them when Dylan shoved his way out of the lecture hall, only to come face to face with Miranda.

  “Something's happening,” she said. “Come on. We're meeting everyone in the parking lot.”

  He trailed after her, nervous energy causing the power within his chest to pulse. He shifted his backpack to cover his glowing sternum and took a breath to try and calm himself.

  To his surprise, nobody in the quad seemed to be concerned at all. They lounged around, talking and laughing, a large group watching a pickup game of touch football on the other side of the fountain. Dylan and Miranda made their way between the bodies, and it appeared everyone but them seemed to be oblivious to the sirens and smoke.

  “Okay, this is weird,” Miranda muttered.

  They found the others near the stairs leading down to the football practice field. Chloe and Ethan were deep in discussion, while Beck and Wren stood a few feet away, trying to look like they weren't listening.

  “We've gone over this before,” Ethan said through gritted teeth.

  “I know, but you—”

  “Chloe, I'm not letting you go without me, so just stop.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

  “Stop,” he said, and she deflated.

  “Everything okay?” Dylan asked, trying to cut the awkwardness that had settled.

  “Obviously not,” Chloe snapped. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  Maia rolled up on a bicycle, breathing heavy. “What in the world is going on?” she asked.

  “Not sure, but it looks like something,” Beck replied, rolling his neck. “Everybody ready?”

  Chloe nodded, swallowing thickly and determinedly not looking at Ethan. “Remember, we don't want to hurt anyone. Just stop them.”

  “Maybe we can grab one,” Dylan suggested. At the shocked looks he got in response, he shrugged. “Step one in beating your enemy is knowing him,” he said. “Maybe we can figure out how to get it—the thing—out of one of them.”

  Miranda chewed on her lip for a minute, eyeing Chloe. “It's a good idea.”

  Chloe let out a heavy breath. “Okay, first priority is stopping the fighting—or whatever's happening—and keeping people from hurting themselves or others.” She raised her voice to continue speaking when Dylan opened his mouth to protest. “If we're able to grab one of them safely, then we do it.”

  They exchanged grim nods and divided up, avoiding the crowded parking lot and heading for downtown on foot at a slow jog. Adrenaline coursed through Dylan, making his gift throb in his chest and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, holding it ba
ck until he needed it.

  They rounded a corner and could make out the smoke, thicker now, and a glow of flames in the distance.

  “I think that's the city library,” Maia said, propping her bike against a brick wall.

  “Stay together.” Chloe glanced at each of them quickly as she grabbed Ethan's hand. “Dylan, we may need you.”

  He nodded and they headed toward the center of the disturbance, now able to make out the sounds of shouting and breaking glass. As they drew nearer, Dylan spotted a crowd in front of the library—a building much older and smaller than the one on campus—a pile of debris burning on the lawn before them. They'd overturned trash cans, tossing the garbage onto the flames, laughing one moment, and breaking into spontaneous fist fights the next. Black smoke that had nothing to do with the impromptu bonfire swirled about them, twisting between their legs and flowing in and out of their mouths, their noses . . . eyes black with possession. With darkness.

  The group turned toward Dylan and the others as one, shouts and laughter ceasing as their attention focused on the incoming group.

  “Guys, this doesn't look good,” he murmured, only a moment before a brick came flying through the air, heading straight for Chloe's head.

  On reflex, Dylan threw up a hand, his shield billowing out to encompass the three of them at the front of the group, and the brick hit it and fell to the ground, just inches from Chloe's feet.

  She let out a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

  “Don't thank me yet,” he replied. “Here they come.”

  Sure enough, the mob had abandoned the fire and the fights, its combined focus now centered on their little group.

  Dylan tried to expand his shield, but although it felt strong and steady, it refused to grow any more. He scanned the area for a defensible position, anything they could use as a weapon, and when he spotted the broken windows of the hardware store across the street, an idea began to form.

  “Wren,” he said, grabbing her hand as he dropped the force field. “Do your thing. I have an idea.”

  Without asking any questions, Wren squeezed his hand and time slowed to a stop around them. Dylan inhaled sharply, taking in the black-eyed, frozen faces heading in their direction.

  “Well?” Wren asked, shaking his hand a little. “What's your idea?”

  He shook off the distraction and started toward the store. “Come on.”

  They entered the store and Dylan found what he was looking for almost immediately. He practically dragged Wren to the end of the aisle and began piling coils of rope into her loose arm.

  “What are we going to do with this?” she asked.

  He hooked more rope over his free arm and stopped to grab two box knives on the way back to the door.

  “We don't want to hurt anyone, right?” he said. “So with you keeping them still, we're going to tie them all up.”

  She glanced skeptically out the window. “There are an awful lot of them out there. It might take a while.”

  He grinned. “That's why you're here. We have all the time in the world.”

  It was actually a bit more complicated than that. It took all of Wren's concentration to isolate Dylan, Beck, and Ethan and bring them out of the time flow without touching them. They bustled about, bringing groups together and wrapping them in rope as Wren stood in an open spot, brow furrowed in concentration and sweat forming on her upper lip as she drew long, deep breaths.

  “Guys, you better speed it up,” she said in a shaky voice. “I'm not sure how much longer I can do this.”

  Dylan noticed a leaf, frozen in mid-air, dropping ever-so-slowly before it stopped a few inches closer to the ground.

  “Almost there,” he shouted to her in encouragement as Beck picked up an older man, hands and feet bound by a length of rope, and laid him down on the ground near about a dozen others—an attempt to keep anyone from tripping and hurting themselves once time started up again.

  The leaf fell a few more inches. The smoke started to curl along the ground again, lapping at their feet. Dylan jumped away in reflex.

  “Guys—” Wren warned.

  Dylan finished tying up a petite woman—he was pretty sure she worked at the library—and lowered her to the ground at his feet before darting over to help Ethan with the last two men.

  “I'm losing it . . .” Wren said through gritted teeth as everything started up in slow motion around them.

  “It's okay, we've got it,” Dylan replied as Ethan tightened the last knot.

  Wren let out a whimper and fell to her knees as regular time resumed. Chloe, Maia, and Miranda looked around in confusion, but that quickly cleared when they saw Wren. Everyone rushed toward her, ignoring the struggling people writhing on the ground and complaining loudly.

  Beck grabbed Wren’s face between his large palms. “Are you okay? God, we should have been faster—”

  “I'm fine.” She took a deep breath and got to her feet. Beck wrapped an arm around her waist to support her and she smiled weakly at him. “Just overdid it a bit, but it worked, right? Everybody's safe.”

  “Well, I'm not sure if safe is the right word,” Chloe said, taking in the prone figures lying on the asphalt. “But it looks like everything's somewhat under control for now.”

  “Can we grab one of them?” Miranda asked.

  “Don't know if it'll do much good. Look at that,” Dylan murmured, pointing to one of the bound rioters. Black smoke poured out of his mouth and slithered across the ground, merging with more smoke oozing out of the others.

  They all stiffened at the sound of a nearing siren as a fire truck turned the corner a few blocks down.

  “I think we better get out of here,” Ethan said as he grabbed Chloe's hand.

  “Don't you think we should wait—” Maia waved toward the approaching truck.

  Dylan snorted. “How exactly are we going to explain the bonfire—let alone why half the town is hogtied on the front lawn of the public library?”

  They ducked around the building and raced back toward campus, only slowing when they neared the parking lot.

  “That was weird, right?” Dylan asked. “The way it left them?”

  All eyes turned to Beck and he stopped, holding his hands up. “What?”

  “Relax,” Chloe said, nudging his shoulder. “You've interacted with this thing. I mean, it was inside you—”

  “I'm well aware of that.” He shuddered a little at the memory. “But so did Ethan.”

  “But I don't remember much. Anything, really,” Ethan said.

  “So, maybe you have some insight you can share with the group?” Miranda prodded Beck.

  “I don't know anything—”

  “You don't have to know it,” Wren said. “I mean, it seems like feelings are just as useful as knowledge lately. So, what do you feel? What does your gut tell you?”

  Beck frowned, thinking about it for a moment. “I think . . . I think it can't just take over. Like I said before, it's not a possession. The person can resist it if they’re strong enough—if they know what’s happening, maybe. But if they’re weak, or if they choose to let it in, to give into the temptation . . .”

  “Then it gains power,” Dylan said.

  “Right.” Beck nodded and pointed a finger at him. “And I think maybe what happened back there took a lot out of it. To work in so many people at one time. Maybe it left because it couldn't sustain it?”

  Miranda hummed. “That makes sense with what I've read in the journal.” She started toward her car and the others hurried to keep up with her. “It gains power with conflict. But it exerts itself when it tries to ignite that conflict. The goal—at least from what I can make of what I've read—is for the conflict to kind of ignite itself.”

  “A chain reaction,” Maia said. “Mob mentality.”

  “Exactly.”

  Dylan pulled out his keys and spun them around on a finger. “So the hope is that this . . . thing . . . can get the ball rolling, but then the fighting and the violence and whate
ver will escalate, and it can just gobble up all that delicious chaos so it can get strong enough to—what?”

  Miranda looked at him gravely. “To not need people at all anymore. We can destroy each other and It can sit back and reap all the benefits.”

  They all stood in uneasy silence for a long moment.

  “Right,” Dylan said, spinning his keys again to ease the tension. “Well, on that note, supernatural crime fighting really works up an appetite, so who's in for pizza?”

  In the end, Miranda and Dylan ended up grabbing a pizza and taking it back to the Victorian. Beck and Wren said they needed to study, Maia joined them at the library to work on her thesis, and Chloe and Ethan had some mysterious “stuff” to do. Dylan wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but Chloe's smug grin and Miranda's scowl led him to believe some shenanigans were underway.

  Shenanigans to get him and Miranda some alone time together.

  Not that he minded, but it did make him a little nervous. They sat awkwardly on the couch, the pizza laid out on the coffee table before them, and neither one said a word for an hour.

  Okay, so it might have only been a few minutes, but to Dylan, it felt like forever.

  “We could watch a movie,” Miranda suggested, picking up the remote. “Find something on Netflix, maybe?”

  “Sure.” He nodded and served them each up a slice as Miranda flipped through the menu.

  They settled on a superhero movie he'd seen a dozen times before, but Dylan didn't mind. He chewed on his pizza, his body vibrantly aware of Miranda sitting next to him.

  “I don't know why everybody wants them together,” Miranda said, pointing to the couple on the screen. “Why don't people understand that sometimes it's better when a man and woman are just friends?”

  Dylan's heart sank, just a little. He had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to let him down easy. “Oh yeah, sure. Friends. Totally.”

  “I mean, not everything is about sex,” she grumbled.

  Dylan choked on his pizza, spraying bits of cheese across the table. He grabbed his bottle of water and took a gulp as Miranda pounded on his back.

  “Are you okay?” She wrinkled her nose and handed him a napkin. He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and wished the earth would open up and devour him.