Tempest (15 page)

“I can show you around,” Alexia said. “You and your friend.”

Teresa glanced at Marco, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

I declined to join them, and the rest of our group broke up. I turned around, surprised that the one person I wanted to speak with was no longer there.

Aaron was gone.

•   •   •

After a bit of searching, I found him on the playground. I climbed the ladder to the wooden castle structure that housed the highest of the two slides, my stomach a strange tangle of nerves. In the two months we’d known each other, I’d never been nervous about talking to Aaron, not about anything. Not that we’d actually talked much prior to this trip. But something had changed this week and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

He’d dropped Scott’s appearance. The black eye was still there, along with a few angry scratches on his throat that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. He sat with his back against the sanded wooden slats, legs pulled up to his chest, fiddling with something in his lap. I sat down across from him. The platform wasn’t very large—it certainly wasn’t made for two grown men to have a private powwow—and seemed even smaller until he broke the pressing silence.

“Somebody left this,” Aaron said. He held up a small toy car, the thick plastic kind you gave to a toddler.

“They probably don’t have a very high theft rate around here.” The joke fell flat. I scrubbed both hands through my hair, clueless as to exactly what I wanted to say. No, that wasn’t entirely true. “I never said thank you.”

Aaron’s eyebrows lifted. “For what?”

“Saving my life yesterday.”

“You’re welcome. But maybe don’t jump in front of crashing helicopters anymore, okay? You scared the hell out of me.”

My pulse jumped. The truth of his statement shined through in his eyes. Green eyes. Aaron’s eyes.

Stop that!

“Well, I didn’t intend to get blown up and half-drowned, you know,” I said, trying to find some levity.

“Just like you didn’t intend to get blown through a window by Deuce back in June?”

Definitely not. That had hurt like hell, and I still had scars on my feet from the earth explosion that had propelled me up and out like a rocket—right through a plate-glass window. “I do seem to attract unwanted explosions. It’s all part of this superhero gig, I guess.”

“Risking your life for other people.” Not a question, just a resigned statement of fact.

“Sometimes.”

“I don’t understand that.” Aaron shook his head hard, a strange misery creasing his face. “I mean, I’d die willingly to save my father or brother, without hesitation. I just don’t understand dying for a stranger. How can you measure their life as more important than yours?”

An excellent question, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Both Aaron and King had grown up in very different environments from mine, with different values and beliefs. My mother had died saving the life of another. While I possessed no specific death wish, going out in the same way didn’t scare me as much as it probably should. It seemed like the only way to make her proud.

“It’s not about whose life has more value,” I said. “Rangers were no different from police officers or firemen. Our job is to help others, and sometimes that comes at a cost. What I do is no different from what Jimmy did for you.”

Aaron’s face twisted into something angry and grief-stricken. “Jimmy died because our sisters were psychotic.”

“Partly, yes. King was there. You know Jimmy and Noah would have done anything to get Aaron back safely, including die for him. It’s what family does.”

He didn’t respond, just pinched the bridge of his nose.

“My mother was killed the same way when I was twelve,” I said, hoping to get this point across. Aaron dropped his hand and stared at me, surprised. “She was fighting with a new Ranger, against some Banes, and one of them turned her own powers against her. She saved the other Ranger’s life, a woman who was practically a stranger to me, but my mother still died.”

“The Bane turned her own powers against her?” Aaron’s quizzical expression smoothed out into shock. I hadn’t intended to let so many details slip, but he knew the island residents and their powers just as well as I did. “Fuck, Ethan, did McTaggert kill your mother?”

My insides quaked for the intimate detail I was about to share with someone who, less than four days ago, had barely been a friend. “Yes, he did.” One more level of weight came off my shoulders with that confession. “Just like someone over there killed Teresa’s father, and probably Gage’s brother, too.”

Aaron stared at me with open surprise. “Yesterday, how did you look him in the face and not want to kill him?”

“Trust me, I wanted to kill him. He was part of the reason I volunteered to come out for this job. I’d created this monster in my head, someone I’d have no trouble killing. And then I met the man and he had a son, and he wasn’t the bogeyman anymore. Whatever McTaggert did in the past, I won’t be responsible for taking Andrew’s father away from him.”

“It’s never easy to lose a parent.” His eyes unfocused. “The Scotts died a few years ago, but it was one of the hardest times of my—of Aaron’s—life. When King almost lost Dr. Kinsey . . . losing two fathers . . .”

I got it. This wasn’t the conversation I’d intended to have when I sought Aaron out, but we were starting to understand each other, and I was glad.

“Can I ask you something?” Aaron said.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever know your father?”

Loaded question incoming in three, two, one . . .

I sorted through a dozen ways to answer him without lying, because I was really exhausted by it. Tired of hiding the darker parts of myself from everyone, because I was afraid of how my friends would react. Telling Aaron first seemed both perfectly natural and unreasonably wrong. Didn’t Teresa or Dahlia or Marco deserve to know these secrets first?

“I didn’t know who he was until just before my mother died,” I replied. “She finally told me, but then the War got worse, our powers were taken, and I never got the chance to seek him out.”

“Is he still alive?”

He was alive fifteen minutes ago, so— “As far as I know.”

“And you haven’t tried—”

“Can we not? Please?” Talking about this was going to lead to more lies, and I just didn’t have the stomach for it. “I’m going to be twenty-nine years old next month. I think I’ve grown past the point of needing my father’s approval, even if I thought he’d give it.”

“Fair enough.”

Desperate to shine the conversational spotlight away from me, I said, “Can I ask you something now?”

Aaron unfolded his legs and stretched them out across the floor of the fort, his feet coming to rest a few inches from my hip. He lifted both shoulders in an exaggerated shrug made less effective by the worried slant of his eyebrows. “Ask away,” he said.

“Earlier, when you were talking to Ji— McTaggert about teenagers who left home, sometimes without telling their family about their secrets . . . was that as personal as it sounded?”

He didn’t seem surprised by my question, but still hesitated before answering. “Yes, it was, but probably not for the reason you think.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I think. That’s why I asked.”

“I’m amazed Dahlia didn’t tell you.”

Dahlia knows? Which makes sense, you idiot, she shares his brother’s body and thoughts.

“You may have missed it,” I said, “but Dahlia and I haven’t been very close since she joined with Noah. It’s hard to have a private conversation when someone else is listening.”

“Good point.”

“So?”

“So I flaked out on my family when I was nineteen. I ran off. Even after my parents died, I was too much of a selfish prick to go back and help Noah run the shop and take care of Jimmy. I was living the worst possible stereotype of a life I could.”

“Doing drugs and partying?”

Aaron studied me a moment. “You’re not playing dumb, are you.” It was not a question. “No, you aren’t. I suppose Dahlia is better at keeping secrets than I thought. Not that I ever asked her to.”

All the double-talk was getting on my nerves. “Can you fill me in, please?”

“Ethan, I’m gay.”

Time came to a standstill for a beat while that sank in. Of all the things I’d expected to come tumbling out of his mouth, those three words were not it. Not by a long shot. And yet, it was somehow the only explanation that made any sense as our previous conversations clicked into place in vivid color. How had I not guessed? Or had I guessed and simply ignored it, like I ignored myself? Pretended it wasn’t there, because that made things simpler?

At least, it used to.

My shocked silence went on too long while I grasped for words, because Aaron frowned and said, “Is that a problem?”

“No. I just didn’t expect you to say that.”

“Obviously.”

An opportunity teased me from the other side of a canyon—an enormous crack in myself I’d yet to conquer and heal. An opportunity to begin trusting others with a secret I’d hidden for so long. I wanted to have the confidence to say it as plainly as Aaron just had, and to face the fallout with my friends and family.

But I despised going into basements for a reason.

“And before you ask,” Aaron said, “King knew going into the joining. It’s who Aaron was, and it’s who we are. Who I am.” He smiled. “Granted, the whole thing is a little jumbled sometimes. I mean, Aaron has all the sexual experience, while King has none.” Off my surprised look, he added, “The Changelings grew up in a lab, Ethan. They can’t reproduce, so they were never taught about sex or exposed to it.”

Sometimes trying to wrap my head around the motley crew of personalities in his head made me feel a little crazy. I couldn’t imagine being in his shoes—half of me a lab-rat virgin, the other a recovering party animal—the whole shebang stuck in a house for two months, unable to go out and explore. Experience life. Figure out what I wanted.

No wonder Aaron had jumped at the chance to come to New York.

“That’s . . .” I couldn’t find a word that summed it up.

“Crazy?” Aaron said, still smiling.

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Try being in my head sometime.”

I laughed. “No thanks. It sounds pretty crowded already.”

“That it is, but I’m grateful for the noise. It gave me a second chance at the life Aaron Scott had thrown away.” He ducked his head, fascinated by the toy truck once again. “I don’t like the methods we had to use, and I have to live with knowing I’ve destroyed lives to get here.”

Killed people, you mean.
But the more time I spent with Aaron, the grayer that definition became. I’d seen hints of Miguel Ortega come out in his persona of Scott Torres. I didn’t pretend to know what happened after death, or how that figured into where Ortega and the others were now. Restless? At peace?

So much gray.

“Why did you run away from your family?” I asked. “Didn’t they take your coming out well?”

“They took it really well, actually. My brothers, too. It was a little weird at first, obviously, but they never looked at me like I was diseased. I never felt like they loved me less.”

Envy seized my heart and refused to let go—and hot on its heels was utter disbelief. “So why did you leave?”

Aaron let out a deep, harsh breath. “It’s hard to explain. I struggled with being gay for years before I told my parents, partly because I was afraid of how they’d react. And partly, too, because I just did not want to be gay. I thought if I denied it, it would go away.” He rubbed his nose and looked a little nauseated. “I told them because I hoped they’d confirm it was wrong, that they’d help me change it. When they didn’t, I gave myself permission to self-destruct.

“I nearly OD’ed the night Queen kidnapped me. So I suppose that crazy bitch actually saved my life.”

“I’m glad.” Well, hell, that slipped out without permission.

Aaron’s eyebrows lifted a bit. “Thank you. So am I.”

We held each other’s gaze for a beat—until my walkie beeped. I yanked it out of my belt, both annoyed and relieved by the interruption.

“Swift,” I said.

“West,” Teresa said. “I finally got us permission to view the crash site. Meet me in front of the Warren in five minutes.”

Fourteen

Crisis Point

T
eresa forgot to mention that “secured permission” came with a couple of caveats, the largest being that Warden Hudson was accompanying us. I swallowed back a comment about being babysat, because I wanted to get out there and poke around a lot more than I wanted to irritate the warden. The other limit was the number of people who could go, so only Teresa, Simon, Aaron (with Scott’s mask back on), Marco, Derek Thatcher, and I boarded the copter for the short flight north.

The copter did a flyover before landing, giving us a bird’s-eye view of the blackened structure below. The building was gone, burned and blown to pieces, along with both pavilions. Only the stone patio and the two sets of steps remained, most of them blackened with soot.

Heavy odors of burned wood and oil surrounded us as our group walked up the eastern steps, past the spot where Andrew had lain bleeding on the ground. Warden Hudson led the way, and two armed guards brought up the rear.

I stuck close to Teresa and Marco, alert for their reactions to being back here after so many years. The last thing they needed to do was lose their shit in front of Hudson.

Bits of the copter’s frame poked out from the remains of the castle, a burned skeleton of the beast that had tried to kill us. Hudson told us the body of the pilot had been removed, but knowing someone had burned to death in there kept me far away.

“Walk me through it,” Hudson said.

I went first, describing where we’d each been standing and the events up until getting blown into the pond. Thatcher and Aaron added a few details, creating a vivid picture that the warden absorbed in silence. He looked where we pointed, nodded a few times, but offered nothing. We’d told him all of this before.

Maybe he needs it drawn in pictures, too?

“You say it was already halfway to the park before you got the alarm on your walkie?” Hudson asked after we’d stood in silence for a good thirty seconds.

“Yeah, about halfway,” I said. “I’m guessing, of course, based on the skyline, but I’ve studied maps of Manhattan. I know the distances pretty well.”

“And it was over the Park when it was shot down?”

“Practically on top of us already. The copter was on a straight path the whole time, right for this spot.”

“You’re sure of that? No deviation from their course?”

“The pilot flew like he was half drunk, but there was no actual deviation that I could tell.”

Aaron and Thatcher offered their similar impressions. Hudson’s questions confirmed my own suspicions that this hadn’t been an accident. We were targets the entire time. But how did the pilot know we’d be at the castle?

“Warden Hudson?” Teresa asked. “What’s the normal response time for determining if a bogey is hostile and then acting?”

Hudson gave her a thoughtful look, then replied, “That’s privileged information, Trance. However, the copter received multiple warnings before it entered restricted airspace, and twice again before it crossed the prison walls. I have those audio recordings.”

“And the order to shoot came from you?”

“It did.”

“May I ask what the time was between your order and the shot being fired?”

His lips pressed into a thin line—we weren’t going to like this. “Twenty-five seconds. Too much time.”

“Someone let the copter get closer,” I said, disbelief setting into my guts like ice. “They hesitated on that shot long enough for the copter to”—air quotes—
“
‘accidentally’ crash down on our location. Right?”

“I cannot comment on that at this time.” Something in Hudson’s expression, though, said yes. He had the same suspicions. A member of his staff had allowed the crash, maybe even participated in its planning. All the secrecy so far made a lot more sense.

Thatcher let out a string of impressively colorful language. “Three of my friends are dead because of you,” he snarled. He spun around to face me and, despite being a good six feet apart, I braced for a physical blow. “My best friend’s son is fighting for his life because I was stupid enough to trust you and come here.”

I bristled at the venom-laced accusations, and only someone’s hand on my shoulder kept me still. “How could I have known—?”

“They were monitoring your walkie! They knew exactly where we’d be.”

“So get pissed at him.” I stabbed a finger in Hudson’s general direction. “I didn’t cause this. I’m here to help you.”

“You can shove your help up your ass, kid.”

“Shut. Up.” Hudson’s shout turned one order into two separate but equal demands.

I turned away, shaking mad, and not surprised to see Aaron was the one who’d held me back. He was as deadly furious as I was. We’d been here. We’d seen the damage and the deaths. Hell, I’d almost died trying to stop the crash. On one level, I understood Thatcher’s anger, but he was throwing it at the wrong person. I wasn’t the one who’d betrayed us. That honor belonged to someone on Hudson’s staff.

Hudson’s phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it. Simon had wandered closer to the copter wreckage, probably trying to glean whatever emotional ghosts were left over. Marco shifted into panther form and started sniffing around. Teresa followed Thatcher to another corner of the patio. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but she had a knack for talking people down and getting them to see reason.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” Aaron said quietly.

“Of course I know.” Normally, I’d be agreeing with Thatcher and heaping guilt upon myself for my part in allowing the crash to happen in the first place. Not today. A bunch of terrified zealots were responsible, not me. Not anyone else here. And I would not play the what-if game. “Thatcher’s just angry.”

“No kidding.”

“And he’s scared. He’s used to being able to disappear into the city.”

“No one wants to feel like a target in a shooting gallery.”

“Exactly.”

“All right, people,” Hudson said, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. His phone was away, and he’d produced a tablet. “We’ve got two new problems.”

We gathered around, and I braced for bad news.

“First, Humankind has issued a formal written statement to the media,” Hudson continued. “They’ve claimed responsibility for yesterday’s crash, calling their pilot a heroic martyr to the cause.”

Marco-the-panther growled low and deep. I wholeheartedly agreed.

“Second, they’ve done something brand new.” Hudson turned the tablet around. It displayed a video, taken from what looked like a copter hovering above a fire. Only it wasn’t just a fire—burning letters spelled out the words
Metas Die
. Creepy demand (warning?) aside, I studied the landscape around the letters, recognizing a grid of city streets. Scale-wise, the letters were enormous, each one almost the size of entire city block.

“Where is that?” Simon asked.

“Downtown Chicago,” Hudson replied.

Humankind was making a statement in the second-largest city to be abandoned after the Meta War. A few steadfast people lived in the suburbs and surrounding areas, but the heart of Chicago was a ghost town. A ghost town now on fire.

Metas Die.

“The FBI has agents and emergency personnel on the ground, preparing to put out the fires,” Hudson said. “But these news clips will spread over the internet in minutes.”

“Statement made,” Teresa said.

“They definitely went subtle,” I said with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Was anyone injured?”

“No,” Hudson replied. “No injuries or fatalities were reported in relation to this incident.”

Unlike the last two “incidents.” Humankind’s body count was already at five and would no doubt climb in the near future. We needed to find these nut jobs and put them out of business.

“Do you think the authorities in Chicago will allow us access to the scene?” Teresa asked Hudson.

“I doubt it,” Hudson said. “You folks don’t have any official jurisdiction, well, anywhere in the country. The FBI is treating this as an act of vandalism.”

“Vandalism is spray-painting a message on the side of a public building. They set fire to eight city blocks.”

“I’m sorry, Trance, but unless your friend in ATF pulls some strings for you, I think your team is sitting this one out.”

She balled her hands into fists and pressed her lips together, battling to keep a lid on her frustration. “Then may I borrow your phone and contact my people in Los Angeles? I need to make sure they’re following up on this.”

I waited for him to deny the request. Hudson surprised me by handing over the phone with a gentle “Certainly.”

I just did not understand that man.

Teresa switched the phone to speaker and dialed, while Marco and I gathered around. Aaron hung back within earshot, and I almost waved him closer. Moving away was his choice, though; he still didn’t feel like part of our group. Even Simon had walked away with Hudson and Thatcher.

The line rang twice. “Hill House,” Gage said.

“It’s me,” Teresa replied. “You’ve seen the news?”

“Yes, and I’ve been in touch with McNally. She’ll try to get us copied on any Meta-related forensics, but that’s the best she can do. The feds are keeping a tight lid on Chicago.”

“That’s what we’ve heard on our end, too.”

“And you’ll be thrilled to know someone egged our mailbox.”

Egged our— “Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Gage made a half-snort, half-chuckle. “It was a juvenile prank, but the point was made. People around town are getting spooked. I hate to say it, but things are only going to get worse before they get better.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Teresa said. “The two cities damaged the most in the Meta War were New York City and Chicago, and both have been Humankind targets.”

“And Los Angeles was number three.”

“Bingo.”

Marco’s furry head bumped my hand. He blinked up at me, as worried as any two-hundred-pound panther could look. As worried as he’d let himself look, safe behind an inability to speak and further express himself. I scratched gently between his ears—something I had never actually done before—and he seemed to appreciate the touch.

“I know, pal,” I said softly. “Me too.” I was scared, too, more than I’d admit to anyone here.

“What?” Gage asked.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Has the mayor made any noise about postponing the HQ demolition, considering the potential danger?”

“No, but something tells me she’ll keep on schedule just to try to prove something.”

“I’m tempted to ask all of you to leave town,” Teresa said. Unlike a lot of leaders, she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or admit when she was uncertain. She valued input, and this was her way of asking us to talk her out of doing something that would send a horrible message.

“You know we wouldn’t, even if you tried to order us,” Gage said.

“I have a feeling if they’re planning anything, it’ll happen on Monday. For the free press at the HQ alone.”

“What about the police presence? Doing anything on Monday around HQ is pretty damn risky, especially now that Humankind has announced itself to the public.”

“They could use the demolition as a decoy,” I said. “You know Mayor Ainsworth will have half the city’s police force in Century City on Monday. That leaves a lot of places unprotected.”

“Right now we’re just guessing,” Teresa said. “If they follow pattern, Los Angeles is the next target. Exactly what they’ll do is anyone’s guess.”

“We’ll stay alert, I promise,” Gage said. “You guys do the same.”

“Always.”

They hung up without a good-bye—it would seem like a jinx at this point—and somehow those two managed to say “I love you” without ever uttering the words.

“What’s our next step, boss?” I asked.

Teresa looked over her shoulder at the charred reminder of the people who’d died yesterday, then said, “We do everything in our power to make sure this never happens again.”

•   •   •

Our actual next step was returning to the Warren for lunch.

Simon went back to the mainland with Hudson so he could “view” the pilot’s remains. I did not envy him that particular job. Simon wouldn’t have to actually touch the dead body to do his emotion sensing, but he’d have to get close.

Watching Teresa West walk into the Warren dining room was like witnessing a celebrity sighting—heads turned, mouths dropped, eyelids widened. She brought an energy into the room that was more than just the fact that she was (probably) the most powerful person in attendance. They knew her pedigree as the daughter of one of the most revered Ranger heroes of their generation. They knew how hard she’d fought against Specter when our powers returned, and that she’d dealt with receiving new and untested abilities. And they knew that, despite everything she had personally lost, she was on their side. She wanted to see them free and the prison walls torn down.

Teresa smiled as she gazed around the room, exuding the same quiet confidence she used to win over reporters and police officers. The spell lasted only a few seconds before everyone returned to their lunches, but her point was made. The woman who’d fought for them on the outside was now here, walking among them. Straddling the line that needed to be destroyed so we could stand as a united people.

For the first time in my adult life, I felt truly proud to be a Meta. And to be her friend.

Thatcher migrated to the far corner of the dining hall, where Jinx and the rest of their former band had gathered, together but separate. They would be most difficult to convince. Thatcher seemed somewhat open-minded, though. He’d be the one to convince Jinx to play nice.

Lunch was a subdued affair, especially after previous meals when I was regaled with story requests from Muriel. She ate several tables away with her parents, and never once looked in our direction. It hurt to see her so quiet, her natural exuberance tempered by the violence all around her and her spirit shaken.

The table conversation bounced from topic to topic as different folks came over to chat with Teresa. Some asked questions about the investigation (“We really don’t know anything yet.”), others to comment on her stand for their freedom (“You do your father proud.”). I saw the flinch beneath her smile whenever her father was mentioned; you’d have to know her to notice it.