Fear wins out on his pasty face as he nods reluctantly. I clap him on the shoulder, and he winces. I stand, pausing for a moment as I look down at the man who would’ve easily taken a life tonight without a second thought.
“If I see you around here again, Mitch, you won’t see me coming.”
He looks up at me, taking in a deep breath before he spits out, “What are you?”
So he has no clue what I am—even better. I force a demure smile on my face and take a couple steps backward, really hoping that I don’t trip over my untied shoelaces.
He doesn’t need to know that I’m an Oddity. And I’m certainly not going to tell him that I’m a Harbinger—an Oddity who can make someone’s worst fears come true.
I turn when I’m back in shadow. Sam looks at me, peering at me in a strange way that makes me want to cross my arms over my chest. He’s not afraid, and I realize that I kind of prefer fear. Whatever this is—this figuring out look—I don’t like it.
“You should go,” he says lowly. “I’ll make sure Gabe’s safe.” Behind me, I hear the sounds of Mitch trying and failing to stand in the thick sludge. He’s not going anywhere.
I want to ask why he’s willing to cover me, but I swallow the question down.
Despite the massive property damage, I’m almost feeling like I might actually get away with this. Mitch won’t say anything. Sam is covering for me. I might be able to get a ticket out of this town, get to Paynes Creek, and disappear.
For a moment, my mind flits back to the moment before I lost control, when the water bent to my will and my power was just that . . . power. I was in control.
I shove the thought out of my mind, because it’s a stupid hope to have. I can’t risk having regular hope at this point, let alone the stupid kind. Nothing good comes from a Harbinger. We only bring fear. That’s why my best shot at a life that doesn’t hurt anyone means slipping into the shadows until I’m dead. If I can do that, things might be okay.
This is what I’m thinking when the sirens pull me out of my thoughts and I hear the shouts. Paramedics, cops, and firefighters surround the parking lot, and I know there is nowhere to run. I feel the bright glare of headlights, accompanied by the two worst words I could imagine, cut through the freezing night:
“Police. Freeze.”
Previous optimism redacted.
Dad told my mom I was feeling sick and that he would take me home. I curled up in the back seat and watched the smoke from the fireworks smear across the moonlit sky as he drove home in total silence.
It wasn’t until we were safe in his study that he finally looked at me. Then he started riffling through his drawers. He opened his laptop and clicked the keys at a furious pace.
“Something’s happened then,” he said.
“What’s happened?” I asked, frustration rising in me like a scream. Finally, my dad kneeled in front of me. He took a deep breath and then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his Tommy Bahama shirt.
“You know the story of this scar,” he said, more a statement than a question. I knew the story. Everyone did.
Knotted pink tissue weaved and curled in a mass the size of a dinner plate just below his right collarbone, a permanent reminder of the motorcycle accident that almost killed him when he was in his twenties, right after he met my mom. He’d been in a coma for over a month.
I nodded, and he shook his head.
“You don’t. It’s a lie.”
It was the first of many.
Six
My forehead is pressed against the brick of Aloa’s Café, my palms resting on either side of my face, as an officer older than my mom pats me down. I can’t tell if I’m shivering because I’m freezing or scared. Getting on that bus was the worst mistake I’ve made since I decided to try gas station sushi two months ago. If I get out of this mess, I’m hauling my ass down to the middle of nowhere. I’ll work on an almond farm and never speak to another human as long as I live.
“This is just a precaution. We have no clue what the hell happened here, so you need to stay put until we figure it out,” the officer says, clicking handcuffs around my wrists and securing them to a drainpipe. She narrows her eyes at me and flips her no-nonsense braid over her shoulder.
“What do you mean ‘what happened here’? It was a burst pipe,” Sam replies. He’s in the same position next to me.
Another cop kicks a soggy loaf of bread next to his foot as he pats Sam’s legs. “One hell of a burst pipe,” he says, eyeing the officer who cuffed me. They don’t believe us. She meets my eyes as the cop finishes patting Sam down and pulls him toward the patrol car behind her.
A sound rips through the night. One of the headlights on the patrol car shatters. Crack.
Then the other. Crack.
It’s so fast I can’t see what’s doing it. Then the streetlights around the parking lot are gone, and we’re left in a dull darkness, the glow of the city lights nothing but a vague promise through the thick fog. There are shouts and the sound of cocking guns. I look up—a girl with cropped black hair appears on the edge of the café above me and lifts her hands. A strange hum rolls over us. The pressure in my head changes, like my ears need to pop.
“Where did they go?” the officer behind me screams. She is looking straight at me but not seeing me. Something is blocking her vision. Her words become muffled, like there’s thick glass between us. I can barely hear her. The girl above has shaded us—blocked us from view. I pull against my cuffs to look over my shoulder. I don’t know why I look, why I care—but I turn to Sam. He’s muffled as well, his eyes darting over me, unseeing.
“Madam, are these people bothering you?” a voice asks from the darkness. A guy steps out of the shadow. He’s tall and broad, with dark skin that looks luminous in the orange light. His black hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, and tattoos stretch up both arms.
“I said no attempted wit, Aldrick. In and out,” the Shader calls from the rooftop. Her hands shake.
“I’m being polite. God, Alanna,” the guy named Aldrick calls back in a fake Valley girl accent.
“Let me rephrase—hurry the hell up.”
“Who are you?” I ask, trying to step as far back as I can with these cuffs on. He steps closer, and I can see that he’s only a little older than me. He throws his arms out into fists at his sides. His skin crackles and stretches, turning an ashen gray. His tattoos fade, becoming shadows. He’s a Stoneskin.
“The good guys.” He reaches over to yank my hands free of the pipe, and then the cuffs. He snaps the metal with his fingers like he’s breaking a pretzel.
“Good guys? Do I look twelve to you?” I reply sharply.
“Now is not the time to debate the very complicated nature of good versus evil, so how about I just start with the basics? You’re an Oddity. We’re Oddities. You were arrested. Now you’re not. Shall we?” As he gestures to the alleyway, I decide I’ve had my fill of hilarious male repartee tonight. And for the rest of my life.
“Theo!” Alanna shouts. The officer with the blond braid lifts her gun as she steps closer to us, breaking through the shade for just a moment. Alanna shrieks as the shade shatters, and the police officers see us again. A red-hot stream of what looks like reddish liquid glass streaks through from the dark alley behind the café and knocks the gun out of her hand, though from the look of horror on her face, I can tell the cop has no clue what just yanked it from her fist. The snake of glass whips out once more, knocking the other gun from the other officer’s grip with a clatter. There are more shouts—more chaos—but Aldrick’s running, and I’m following him. I stop suddenly, my arms pinwheeling as I whip back around. Sam is still by the cop car, his eyes wide with confusion.