Erica Hayes - Scorched

Adonis's voice drifted in from the sun deck, with that sarcastic edge that meant he was talking to our sister. "Yeah, whatever. I'll bring her in, you can talk to her yourself… Well, cancel the fucking meeting, then… Jesus, E., don't go out of your way or anything."

My mouth twisted. That was my sister, all right. Not Thank God Verity's still alive! or Is she okay? or even Where the hell's she been all this time, I'll wring her telekinetic neck for making me worry.

Just grief about cancelling some damn meeting.

I raided the fridge while I waited, hunting for waffles or eggs. I pushed aside a bottle of Moet, a gift box of Belgian chocolates, a wheel of triple cream brie. "Jeez, don't you do anything but seduce debutantes? Haven't you got any real food?"

"Blow me," came the reply.

"The places you've been? Not likely." I grabbed the OJ and swigged, a fresh burst of sweetness. Finally, I unearthed a box of Pop-Tarts and dropped four into the stainless steel toaster. My mouth watered harder at the fruity scent. How long since I'd eaten properly?

The tarts popped, and I burned my mouth wolfing the first one down. Oh, God. My knees weakened, and my taste buds had their own little private moment on that hot strawberry goodness. Mmm.

I unfolded the Sapphire City Chronicle on the breakfast bar as I munched, wiping drool from my chin. All those computers and Adonis still had this thing for newsprint. VILLAINS ON THE RISE!yelled the headline, above a half-page, blurry security camera photo of masked bandits heisting an armored van. They had balls, to rip off a van in full view of the cameras. Hubris, not to shoot the cameras out first. Arrogance, even. The guy in front was giving the camera the finger, his sawed-off shotgun brandished above his head in victory.

I peered closer. A glint showed on that cheerily-displayed middle finger, so tiny you could barely see it. But I knew what it was. A Gallery ring, marking him as one of Razorfire's petty minions. His Archvillain-ness despised normals, sure. Didn't stop him recruiting all kinds of petty criminals and bad-asses to wreak havoc and perpetuate the kind of climate he reveled in: fear.

As I read, I frowned. The article listed a grotesquery of heists, sieges, kidnappings, shootings, and assorted mayhem, all in the last couple of weeks. A crime wave, in fact.

Adonis walked in, dropping phone number four into his jacket pocket. He looked great in black, and his suits always fit him perfectly, from square shoulders to neat white cuffs to the green or violet or sapphire-blue ties he liked. He flipped a tart from the toaster and bit into it. "Typical. Back for five minutes and already you're into my secret stash."

"Hey, I'm the one who's been eating stewed puke for nine months. Give over." I swiped the tart from his hand with my talent, and it flew across to splat onto my plate. But an ache flared in my skull. I couldn't control it. The plate spun onto the floor and smashed to shards.

"Sorry." My cheeks burned, and I felt queasy. Had they broken me in that place? If I couldn't control my talent, I was useless. I knelt and scrabbled for the mess, but my fingers were just as clumsy. I smeared strawberry jam, splinters stabbing my knees.

Adonis knelt beside me. "It's okay."

The broken plate cut into my fingers. I didn't care. I had to fix it, make it right. Chipped glass slices my palms as I climb… the poison vial, smooth and cool under my fingertips. I reach for my mask, force my thumbs underneath, drag it off…

"Verity, stop." Adonis's voice pulled me back to the present. He grabbed my hand, forcing me still. "It's okay, damn it!"

I shook my dizzy head to clear it. "Uh… sure. It's all good. I just made a mistake, that's all. Tired, I guess."

He helped me up. "I heard you last night. Didn't sound like nice dreams."

I didn't remember. Probably a good thing. I'd had enough nightmares to last a lifetime. I shrugged, and reached for another tart.

Adonis watched me. He hadn't said anything about my face, and I was grateful. What was there to say? "Finish up, already. Big sister wants to see you."

"Whatever. Like she cares." I pushed the newspaper over the counter towards him, my mouth full of strawberry goo. "What's wrong with this picture?"

He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." I stabbed my finger at the photo. "Where are FortuneCorp in all this? Are we letting the Gallery get away with this stuff now? Jeez, I take a few months off and the place goes to hell."

"Did you read further down?"

"Huh?"

He flipped the folded newspaper over. Bottom half of page one, beneath the crime picture.

MAYORAL RACE HEATS UP ON CRIME

Villains Won't Drag Us Down, Says Fortune

Sapphire City's mayoral race is still too close to call, after candidates campaigned yesterday in the inland suburbs, the scene of many of the violent incursions that have terrorized citizens in recent weeks. Experts are predicting that policies on law and order will play a decisive role in the poll, to be held in just under two weeks, and it seems the candidates agree. The newest man in the race, local businessman Vincent Caine, visited a Bayview housing project where he promised long-time residents that, under his governance, their community would not be forgotten. "Too long, our disadvantaged communities have been easy prey for the unchecked violence of these power-augmented criminals," Mr. Caine said. "Only by regulating these people's activities and neutralizing their psychotic outbursts will our citizens once again feel safe." To that end, Mr. Caine promised the Chronicle that he will make an announcement on his innovative law and order policy in the next few days.

By contrast, the opposing candidate, Assistant District Attorney and socialite Equity Fortune, gave an impassioned speech at a charity luncheon, saying that she will not rest until the violence is stopped—but that conciliation, not regulation, is the key. "All Sapphire City's citizens must have a voice," Ms. Fortune said, "and that includes those with whose methods we do not necessarily agree. Freedom of speech is sacrosanct, and if sectors of our community must resort to unsavory acts in order to be heard, it is because we are not listening. If you elect me your mayor, I promise you, citizens: I will listen."

I tossed the paper away, disgusted. Typical. Equity was the eldest, and she'd always liked getting on TV, either with her mask on as Nemesis, the bringer of justice, or in the clear as assistant DA, trying high-profile cases and putting the villains away. "Our sister's running for mayor? God help us. What's all this crap about conciliation?"

Adonis shrugged, and flipped the paper back to the security photo. "As you see. FortuneCorp's taking a step back."

"So Equity can win votes from the bleeding-heart civil liberties sector? Give me a break. Has she unmasked? Told the world she's augmented?"

"Of course not."

"Of course not," I echoed ironically. "Even the bleeding hearts wouldn't vote for that, would they? And who's this other moron…?" I checked the name. It seemed familiar. "Local businessman Vincent Caine," I read. There was a picture of him, typical guy-in-a-suit. I squinted at it, trying to remember. "Oh, right. The smartphone guy?"

"That's him."

"'Neutralizing their psychotic outbursts', huh? Nice. Sounds like a hater to me." A few of Sapphire City's prominent citizens insisted all augments were bad news, whether good or evil, and that we should all be locked up for public safety. Apparently, this Caine was one of them.

"Maybe. A clever one, if he is. His company invents new-generation IT hardware, and they say he's still the brains behind it. But he's got the common touch. Self-made man, and all that. A lot of people like what he's got to say."