Exposed (39 page)

Clayton roared, and another ball of crackling energy grew large in his cupped palms. Cora reared back and kicked her brother in the shins and twisted away from him just as another volley of energy raced for Butch. The man had to dive out of the way this time.

In the confusion, Ivan bolted to help Blanche, but she was already handling it. Her freezing power shattered the knife against her throat, and she slapped Veronica with one of her blue, icy hands for good measure. 

“Are you all right?” Ivan shouted.

Blanche’s hands were already thawing, and she rubbed her stomach. “I am … we are.”

Ivan raked his eyes through the turmoil, through the battle starting before his very eyes. Butch was running for the way out, his followers stumbling after him.

Ivan stretched his legs and raced after Butch, hatred pumping hot through his veins. He tumbled from the narrow exit and jumped aside just as another of Clayton’s blue orbs sailed past. This one exploded into the meadow, and Ivan’s flowers blew away to dust. Ivan coughed hot, gray ash and skidded through the field, but his eyes stung and he could barely see a foot in front of him. He nearly ran headlong into the chain-link fence and only just made it under the hole. He sprang to his feet.

Where was Butch? Where the hell was he? 

Gray ash swirled around him, coated his tongue and eyes. He wrenched his shirt up over his mouth and stumbled forward in fits and starts, twisting his head for any sign of Butch, of anyone. Out of the murk, a jet of water burst off to his left and someone screamed. He heard Veronica’s terrible wailing and had to ram his hands over his ears. 

“Butch,” Ivan roared. “Butch, you coward! Fight me like a man.”

A laugh echoed through the haze, and in the disorientation it seemed to come from all around. Ivan twisted in a circle, fingers of fear reaching down his spine. A dark shape hurtled out of the gray and only in the last moment did Ivan recognize Butch. The man rammed Ivan’s shoulder and sent him flying through the air. Ivan landed hard, his head snapping back. White hot pain seared across his scalp, and when he pulled a hand back from his head, his palm was red with blood.

Ivan staggered to his feet. The last remnants of the evening sun burned against his eyes, but finally—finally—the ash cleared.

The field around him was decimated, gray and barren. And all around him, people fought. Cora directed a jet of water against Kent, but the man’s impenetrable skin shone metal as he muscled his way forward. Ralph tried to use his speed to escape a pursuing Teddy, but Blanche threw up a wall of ice that blocked him for only a second before Veronica used her sonic voice to shatter the ice.

But it was Butch Ivan wanted. Butch who Ivan wanted to fight, to defeat, to make pay for what he’d done. And it was Butch who was using Don’s stretching power to climb over the foaming rapids below the mine and across to safety. 

Ivan vaulted a boulder at the edge of the road, Butch in his sights just across the rapids. His feet pounded through the debris of rocks littering the ground. He skidded down the steep embankment toward the old rope bridge. 

Far below, the rapids roared. Bone-crushing boulders lurked just under the surface and directed the river into chutes that dropped down a series of waterfalls. Ivan dragged his eyes away from the death below and slipped his fingers around the rope bridge. It hung limp above Miner’s Revenge, the ragged ropes unraveling and slippery with years of river spray. Ivan narrowed his eyes. The bridge was ready to give way at any second, but the steel hooks plunged into the rock on the opposite side seemed to hold strong. 

Ivan landed hard on his knees and planted his hands against the rocky ground. Working his power, he pulled tough vines from the soil and directed them to twine themselves across the rapids using the old bridge as a guide. The vines twisted and reached, binding together around the ropes until a thick, sturdy set of vines stretched high above Miner’s Revenge.

Hand over hand, Ivan inched out over the narrow canyon. Below, the rapids spit and sprayed, the roar of the water dashing against rocks echoing off the water-slick walls and pounding in his ears. Ivan couldn’t look down. He concentrated on getting across the bridge, one hand at a time.

There was a groan and a snap, and one of the ropes gave way. Ivan clenched hard at the vine above him and wobbled on his feet against the lower vine, but they held strong. Ivan allowed himself a single second to clench his eyes shut, then an explosion ripped through the air somewhere ahead of him, and he hurried on.

Behind and around him, others were finding ways across the rapids. Cora controlled the water to shepherd herself and Clayton across. Blanche froze a section and slid across, Kent fast on her heels. She pulled back her power as soon as she’d crossed, but Kent leapt for the rocky edge. He barely made it before the ice shattered and broke apart against the dangerous rocks. 

The far rock was so close. Ivan reached out one arm and stretched to grab the iron bolt in the rock. The very tips of his fingers slipped against the metal, but he was still too far away. Ivan inched forward, straining for purchase. 

Screaming—awful, brain-melting screaming—ripped through him. It vibrated the vines, trying to shake him loose. Ivan wrenched his neck around and stared straight into Veronica’s face. Her mouth was ripped open in the scream, letting it loose like a harpy. Ivan bore down and took one last giant step on the vine. 

There. The rock face was right there. 

Ivan grabbed hold of the steel bolts and hauled himself to safety just as the bridge collapsed entirely. The steel bolt on the opposite side had vibrated free of the stone. Ivan nearly retched, doubled over on his hands and knees against the awful sound issuing from Veronica, but then it cut off with a gurgle. He pushed himself back up and looked behind him. 

Veronica stood at the very precipice of a ledge jutting out over the rapids. The rocks at her feet were spidered with cracks from her awful screaming. But it was Teddy who’d stopped her. He held up a wooden board like a baseball ball and prepared to swing again. Veronica turned, moved just an inch.

An inch was enough. Ivan tried to yell, tried to stop her, but the rocks underneath her shattered and Veronica plummeted to the rapids far below.

“Cora!” Ivan’s voice was hoarse as it ripped out of him. 

Veronica was on the wrong side, but that didn’t mean she deserved to die. Cora wrenched her head up. She was below him, on the slope disappearing into the trees along the river. Ivan pointed down below, toward the terror of Miner’s Revenge, and Cora’s eyes opened wide in realization. She raced toward him, skidded to a stop and peered down into the froth of angry water.

“She fell. Veronica, she just—”

“Go. I can save Veronica. But Butch went into the trees. He’s headed toward—”

Ivan didn’t wait for her to finish. He knew exactly where Butch was headed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

June

June slipped through the back gate to a party in full swing. Or, half swing, perhaps. There was a nice smattering of smartly dressed ladies milling about the back garden with little plates of mini-pickles and cocktail sausages. But conspicuously absent were Mrs. Briggs and Mrs. Fields.

Honestly, what had her mother expected throwing a party during the annual picnic? But if June knew her mother, the absence of Florence Briggs and Nan Fields was already making her brainstorm new ideas to catch the ladies’ attention.

Annette snapped her head up from where she’d been filling a glass with tomato juice. Her platinum bouffant barely quivered with the movement. Annette kept a thin smile on her face, but she marched over to June, her heels sinking half-way into the grass and giving her an awkward gait.

“June Elizabeth Powell, where have you been?” Annette said through gritted teeth. She clung to June’s arm, her frosting pink nails digging into June’s skin.

June extracted herself and took a second to smell the gorgeous sweet pea trellis Ivan had created for them. For her. They’d have to plant some outside the cottage. She smiled and faced her mother.

Annette tapped one long nail impatiently against her glass. “Well, I don’t know what you’re smiling for. Late to your own party.” She clicked her tongue then quickly turned it into a smile as one of the guests wandered by. She leaned closer to June and hissed like a goose. “I’m already fighting an uphill battle after that little display at the dance. I trust you’re through with that boy, but who is going to recommend you now? You’ll find yourself twenty one—twenty one!—without a serious prospect.”

And still, June smiled. “Mother, that’s perfectly fine. That’s not the life I want.”

Annette gasped. Actually gasped. A few of the party guests tried to let their gaze wander idly toward the mother-daughter pair, giving it their best to eavesdrop without being noticed. Annette slapped a near-hysterical smile onto her face. “I don’t—” 

She stopped, savagely speared one of the olives bobbing in the red concoction. “I don’t understand. Then what
do
you want? What more
could
you want?”

June sighed and trailed her fingers through the sweet peas. “I want … happiness. The kind that comes from smiling for myself. Not just because it’s expected.”

Annette frowned.

“My entire life, I held others’ opinion of me above my own. But that’s not how it should be. That’s not how it will be from now on.”

“It’s that illness. Ever since you got that awful sickness, you’ve been acting odd.”

June wrapped her hand around her mother’s arm and looked into her eyes. “No, Mother. It opened my eyes. I have this power inside of me. And I’ve met—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But you need to. Things have changed.
I’ve
changed. I’m finally taking control of my life.”

Annette’s shoulders sagged. Her voice was a mouse when she spoke again. “But what will I do? I did all this for you, June. This beautiful party, the clothes that you don’t even wear anymore.”

June’s heart twisted. Her mother was trying, after all. In her own way, all of this—all these problems—stemmed from her trying to be a good mother. Or what she considered a good mother. June squeezed Annette’s arm and smiled softly at her. It must be hard, realizing one day your children no longer need you.

“I’ll give you today,” she said. “But, Mom. We have some things we need to talk about. Things you probably won’t like at first.”

Annette pressed her lips together, then nodded. “You’ll change, at least?”

“Of course. But I’m not wearing that pink thing.”

Annette sighed like the weight of the world rested on her purple paisley shoulders and waved a hand at June, dismissing her. Some things, June suspected, would never change.

June drifted through the party toward the house, saying hello to the guests. She passed ladies in wide skirts and wider eyes, eager for gossip. She heard the name “Ivan” on more than a few lips. June smiled and passed a table swathed in gold lame and practically sagging with food: salmon gelatin canapes next to cocktail sausages wrapped in pastry atop a gold-painted eagle; there was a whole selection of gelatins, some floating with pimentos, others with bits of orange and apple.

June left it all behind and stepped inside. Her father was in the kitchen, plating up a fruit tray made to resemble the American flag.

“There you are!” Peter made to lift the tray, but June stopped him.

“Dad, we need to talk.”

He sighed, closed his eyes for a moment. “I know.”

“The money …,” June found it hard to say the words. She didn’t want to embarrass her own father.

“I know.” He sighed again. “I’ve asked so much of you, handing over your paychecks like that. But it needs to stop. I know that.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could still help, but ….”

Peter grabbed June’s hands and held them close. “Junie, you’ve helped so much.” Peter frowned, his eyes darting behind June. Then he held up a finger and bustled off. He was back just a few seconds later with an envelope in his hands. “There’s enough here to add a nice cushion to your savings account.”

The envelope was thick and heavy in June’s hand, and her fingers shook just the tiniest bit holding it. Freedom. It was her freedom.

“Where did this …?”

Peter nodded toward the living room. “If you look out front, you’ll find a different car in the drive. Not as shiny as our old one, but it runs the same.” 

June peered out toward the living room just as the big picture windows shook. A deep
boom
reverberated up through June’s legs, and she frowned. It was barely past sunset. Surely the fireworks weren’t starting already?

Peter joined June at the edge of the living room and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “Your mom and I will have to live a bit more frugally. No more big Fourth parties.”

“Mom can still have parties,” June said. “Just not all the time.” She weighed the envelope, bit at her lip. It felt … wrong taking all this money. They had real bills to pay off, a real need for this. She pressed the envelope back into her father’s hand. “No, Dad. I can’t take this.”

“June,” her father started. 

She spoke over him. “Use it as a new start.”

Then with a peck at his cheek, June snagged some pickles from the tray behind him on the counter and went to her room to change.

“June,” her father called out before she’d made it down the hall. He popped his head around the wall and smiled. “I like that young man. Ivan. I couldn’t have picked better for you, even with a matchmaker party.”

June raced forward and puller her father into a tight hug. “Thank you, Dad,” she whispered into his shoulder.

She rejoined the party just as another giant
boom
rumbled through the ground. It rumbled up through June, set her on edge. Those weren’t fireworks. Those were—

An explosion ripped apart the air, made June’s ears ring. She grabbed her mom without thinking and pulled them both to the ground. All around, frightened ladies craned their necks to find the source of the explosion, crouched in their full skirts and kitten heels.