Erica Hayes - Scorched

BURN IT ALL

My thoughts melted like ghosts, a haze of glassy memory come alive. Flames lick the hot metal walls. Radiant heat scorches my face, inexorable, hungry. No. I fling out my hand, grasping for my power. Chilling laughter taunts me, and flame stings my palm in warning, a threat or a caress…

My shoulder bounced hard off a lamp post, and I stumbled. I blinked to clear my head and walked on.

I stole some change from the tip jar in a fire-bright trance bar and caught the trolley car, downtown where neon-lit doorways beckoned and people spilled out onto the streets in their clubbing gear, tight rubber dresses and high-cut leather jackets and the silky slide of Lycra. Searchlights split the sky between skyscrapers and old town houses, amid sirens and thudding helicopter blades. One of the clubs was gutted by fire, just a charred shell, sprouting twisted metal and glittering with broken glass. Yellow crime scene tape strung tight across the gaping hole, and black-uniformed cops with truncheons moved people along.

I stared, pressing my nose to the trolley car window. The Gallery's work, no question. One entire corner of the building had been chopped off and burned debris littered the sidewalk. The exposed steel beams had bubbled at the ends, the ragged brickwork melted. Cauterized. Like a white-hot razor had sliced it clean through.

BURN IT ALL

I shuddered, and looked away.

The sidewalk was crowded with street performers and food carts selling pizza slices or hot dogs. Mmm, real food. My mouth watered at the delicious salty scent. We passed a police blockade, then another, the cops with their holster-locked sidearms and polycarbonate riot shields checking IDs. Gangs of youths in baggy jeans and hoodies slunk around and glared at each other. No one walked alone.

I frowned. Tense. Had the war erupted again? More work for FortuneCorp?

The tram turned right and rattled along the waterfront where, through the palm trees, the double-decked Bay Bridge suspended creaking across the water, its sweeping neon arcs glistening in misty moonlight. Overhead, seagulls wheeled and squawked. On the opposite shore, suburban lights sparkled like scattered jewels.

I hopped off and walked two blocks south, to an ornate redbrick apartment building, its gilt-etched windows hidden behind security mesh. I strolled casually to the next corner. Didn't see or hear anyone. No one did a sudden double take, or grew a lizard's skin and attacked me, or carved the street open down to the subway with burning razorwhips. When the Gallery are involved, you have to guard against everything.

I slipped alongside the building and jumped up to the second floor fire escape. My flip-flops slapped on the metal landing. Inside, a shadowy living room beckoned. No lights. No movement. No one was home. Fine. I'd just go inside and wait.

I twisted the security screen aside with a swift tug of mindsense, unlocked the window and quietly slid the sash upwards.

Cold hands grabbed my throat, and dragged me inside.

Lights flared, blinding me. I hit the floor, my bones jarring, and scrambled to my feet, ready to fight by ear and scent. A steely arm caught me across the chest, and slammed me into the wall. My breath sucked away. Struggling, I grabbed an invisible handful of power and prepared to throw it, hard.

"Verity?" The grip on my throat loosened. My vision cleared, revealing curly blond hair, broad shoulders. I smelled leather and cologne, and memory twinkled bright. "Is that you?"

I choked, eyes watering, and let my power ebb away. Damn, his voice felt good in my ears. "Christ on a cheeseburger. That's no way to greet your sister."

My big brother wrapped me in a hug, crushing my breath away all over again. I clung to him, overcome. He was so warm. So human. His voice muffled against my hair. "Verity. Holy Jesus. I can't believe it's you. Where the hell have you been?"

"Steady on," I grumbled, and pushed him away, but I couldn't help a tired grin. Adonis Fortune is sixteen months older than I am and, unlike me, he inherited Dad's patrician good looks: six foot two, blond and blue, with a smile that kills at twenty paces. No joke.

Adonis works for FortuneCorp in public relations, but he's also Narcissus, vigilante crusader for peace, wielding the power of charisma. Which sounds like a pretty lame augment, until you consider all the crazy things people will do if they think they're in love with you.

I've seen Adonis charm hardened criminals into giving up their weapons, talk suicidal teenagers down from the edge with a wink and a smile. Once, last year, when Razorfire and the Gallery were terrorizing the dockyards, we were holed up in this greasy warehouse and—

The world blotted black, and I stumbled to my knees in a dizzy whirlpool of misery.

Razorfire .

Goddamn it. I said his name.

It pierced my ears, mocking me, echoing like his eerie laughter, and jagged memories hacked deep into my brain.

I cling to the side of the skyscraper, my fingers wrapped tight around a glassy ledge. Raindrops sting my face, the October breeze chilled with the promise of winter. My hair blows wild. I grit my teeth and climb. My feet slip on the glass. Only seconds now, until the weapon goes off…

Dad calling my name, his shadows curling…

…silvery metal glints in the spotlights, a glass canister of poison gas on a cell phone timer. It's an aerosol weapon, ionized particles for maximum adhesion. The building is fifty-six stories high. From this altitude, the poison will spread rapidly, blanketing the city center within minutes. Maximum loss of life. Not a moment to lose. My hands shake. I reach for it, grasping…

…don't hurt her… last chance…

Something slams into my face, and I fall into iron-strong hands. Coiled lightning whips an inch from my cheek, searing me. I struggle, blood streaming into my eyes, but it's no use. They grab my legs, my arms, wrap a fist in my hair. I'm taken…

"Verity, stay with me." Adonis gripped my shoulders, dragging me from the shattered mess of my mind. His cool fingers stroked my face. "My God. What happened to you?"

I throttled down a scream, and forced my eyes open, willing the nightmare to leave me be.

BURN IT ALL. Razorfire, archvillain, wielder of flame and poison. My nemesis. Hell, that raging psycho was everyone's nemesis. Ruthless, rage-riddled, driven by indomitable conviction that he was smarter and stronger and better entitled to be alive than everyone else. But us augmented folks at least rated a fight and a wise-ass remark or two while he preached his hatred. Regular people weren't even fit to breathe the same air.

I'd crippled his weapon at the last second, stopped his insane poison plan. But I hadn't gotten away clean. Oh, no. I'd swallowed the full, sick force of his vengeance. Three endless weeks in that mediaeval torture chamber…

Adonis shook me gently. "Listen to me. Stay with me. What did they do to you?"

"What happened?" I gasped, blood trickling hot from my nose. "That night. Tell me. Did he… did Razorfire…?"

"He got away, Verity!" Adonis's words cracked like whip leather. "Don't you remember? We looked everywhere for you."

"They locked me up!" My scream broke, glass shattering on iron. I twisted from my brother's grip. "They bolted my head in augmentium so I couldn't do anything, and they tortured me. There was no point to it. They didn't ask me any questions. They just…"

Adonis stared, pale. He'd cut his hair, I noticed, and grown a short beard. Since when?

"Don’t stare at me like that! Why didn't you come for me?" Hot liquid rage welled in my eyes. I knew it wasn't Adonis's fault. Razorfire was clever. He'd hidden me well.