Erica Hayes - Scorched

A double row of screens gleamed—websites, television channels, CCTV—above a long desk covered in a mess of paper and photographs six inches deep. In a high-backed chair hunched a long lean figure, his shadow looming huge and monstrous on the wall.

He didn't stop typing. Didn't look up. Just jerked his head towards the corner of the room. "Door's that way."

So much for stealth. I cleared my throat, and stepped out where he could see me. But I still clasped my hands tightly behind my back, ready. "Excuse me?"

"You can leave whenever you want. I won't stop you. No need to break things." His voice was rough and rich, like old bourbon. His battered leather coat hung over the back of his wheeled chair. He finished whatever he was doing, and swung his chair around, skidding into the light.

Strong, lean, the same tight black T-shirt and jeans he'd worn before. A few days of beard shadowed his chin, dark against his olive skin, and his wild black hair had a single albino splash at the front. He wore a leather band buckled around one wrist, and a silver ring on his right ring finger.

Intriguing. Younger than I'd expected, for a guy who'd sent a gang of haters screaming. Warmer, somehow. I wanted to see the rest of his face.

But I couldn't. He wore a mask. A black one, like mine, tied at the back of his head and cut around sharp cheekbones that made him look feral or crazy. All I could see were his eyes, deep and starlit black.

Uh-huh. I wanted to fidget. Handsome devil, to be sure. The crazies often are, in that offbeat, intriguing sort of way. It's a rule of the universe, or something. Sick equals sexy.

But suddenly I was conscious of my scarred cheek, my bruises, the fact that I was wearing his shirt and nothing else.

I dragged in a fistful of power and swept a pile of books off his desk. "That's close enough."

Paper drifted in dust, and settled. He didn't move. Just glanced at the mess I'd made, and then back at me. His black-and-white hair stuck up in odd directions, like a skunk who'd partied too hard. He reminded me of my little brother Chance, only Chance was cheerful and careless. This guy looked neither. "Threat taken," he said calmly. "You done?"

I studied him, wary. No reaction. No move to retaliate. Whatever his augment was, he was keeping it holstered for now. Was that stripe in his hair real? He didn't seem the type to make like a skunk. "For the moment," I said at last. "But you'll talk, or maybe I will start breaking stuff. Starting with you. Who are you?"

"You can call me Glimmer."

I recalled my assailants, clawing for their eyeballs though nothing was there. Glimmer . A hypnosis trick, maybe? "Is that what your friends call you?"

"I don't have any friends." He folded his arms, and muscles bulged in the sleeves of his T-shirt.

"Figures. You always wear your mask in the house, Glimmer?"

"I have a guest. It's only polite… oh, wait." He stuffed a hand into his back pocket and offered me a little black bundle. "This was in your jeans. I kept it for you."

My mask. I snatched it, careful not to touch him, and unrolled it, enjoying the warm softness in my fingers. It smelled of him: vanilla and danger.

Okay. So he knew I was augmented. I knew the same about him. Not a recipe for friendship.

Glimmer smiled, bittersweet. "Don't mention it."

"I didn't. How did you chase those idiots away?"

Strange watery shadows flickered over his face, from no light source that I could see. "I poured acid in their eyes," he said at last, and his black eyes gleamed with eerie starlight.

"No, you didn't," I accused. "I was there."

He scrunched his hair in one fist, and showed me a crooked smile. Bashful. Harmless. For an instant, I almost believed it. "Very astute. Of course I didn't. But they didn't know that. It's just a little illusion."

"A glimmer ?"

"If you like."

"Okay." I fidgeted, relaxing only slightly. We had mindbenders at FortuneCorp. Adonis, for one, and our shifty cousin Ebenezer with the fear talent. If this Glimmer used his hypno-mojo on me, he'd be sorry. "Why did you help me?"

He shrugged. "I don't like haters."

"Not good enough." It came out harsher than I'd intended. I was grateful, after all, that he'd saved me from another round of Dr. Mengele's sadistic games. But it didn't mean I had to like this, or him. "You could've chased them off and left me."

"I was passing by. You needed help. And you were drugged, probably against your will. Somehow, I didn't think hospital was a good idea. I'm no medic, but…" He indicated my bandages. "You feeling okay? You've been out for two days."

Great. More lost time. I shrugged, brusque. "What've you done with my clothes?"

"There was blood. I washed 'em." He pointed to a pile on a chair, my jeans and T-shirt with boots on top. "You hungry?"

Inwardly I cursed, but too late. My stomach croaked audibly.

He laughed, warm whiskey. "C'mon, lady, chill out. If I was your enemy, you'd already be dead. Whoever you're running from, they haven't found you so far. Will a few more minutes kill you?"

I sighed, defeated. "Okay. Fine. Can I wash up? And can I, uh, use your phone?"

"You gonna call the cops?"

"No." Like I'd tell him if I was.

"Then knock yourself out." Glimmer tossed me a cell phone, swiveled back to his glowing screens, and ignored me.

I grabbed my clothes and headed out back to the bathroom. My wound dressings got in the way of having a shower, but I washed up as best I could with a towel. The water from the bath taps tasted coppery, but it was hot, and his soap smelled of vanilla and spice. My freshly washed jeans felt crisp against my skin. I didn't see a washing machine. Had he done them by hand?

I pulled my T-shirt over my head, uneasy. Maybe he truly didn't mean me any harm. Then again, I'd heard of serial killers who treated their victims like pets.

I tied my boots and smoothed my damp hair. The mask, I stuffed into my pocket. He'd already seen my face, and clearly knew I was augmented. Probably knew everything else about me, too. What did I have left to hide?

I studied the cell phone he'd given me. Full reception, even though we were underground. Maybe he had a repeater or something. I squirmed, suspicious. It was a risk. But I didn't know what else to do. No one at FortuneCorp had this number. If I didn't stay on the line for very long, they'd never find me. Right?

I held my breath, and dialed my brother's number, the only one of his four that I could remember. Despite everything that had happened, I couldn't believe Adonis would lie to me.

He picked up after three rings. "PR."

I swallowed, dry. "Hey. It's me."

"Jesus." A muffled sound, like he'd put his hand over the phone. "Where are you?" he whispered. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"The doctor from the asylum. Someone told her where I was. I…" Stupid tears blinded me. Fuck. I'd forgotten how much I'd missed his voice. How much he gave me strength. "Someone's after me, Ad. I don't know what to do."

"Okay. Verity, listen to me." Calm, collected, in charge, like always. "You can't come home. It's not safe for you here. Find somewhere to hole up, and I'll sort this out. Equity will listen to us once she's calmed down. I know she will. But I can't protect you unless I know who your enemies are."

Relief sweetened my blood, but at the same time, tiny poisoned claws pricked my heart, sour with suspicion. He would say that, wouldn't he? a harsh voice hissed in my ear. If he was in on it, that's exactly what he'd say. "She'll listen to you, Verity, just tell me everything…"

No. It wasn't true. If he was in on it, he'd say, " Come home, Verity, I'll take care of you, it's not safe for you out there. Come home."