Trance (8 page)

Fabulous. “So what if Specter takes one of us? God, what if he manages to take over me? I could kill everyone.” Fear sent shivers down my spine.

“You’re very strong, Trance. Specter always had some degree of difficulty taking over powerful Metas. Their minds are stronger, less likely to give in to a foreign invader, which is why he generally stuck to willing Banes and innocent bystanders. I can’t guarantee that Specter won’t try to possess you. I am, however, confident that he’ll fail.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to bank on Seward’s confidence, despite his sincerity. Especially if I fried myself again and ended up susceptible to takeover. “You said Specter is still in prison. Have the island guards brought him in for questioning?”

“They sent a squad onto the island to collect him, yes. We should have something from them within the hour.”

“Good.” I pushed my lunch tray to the end of the bed and tossed the blanket aside. “Call me when you know something.”

Gage walked to the other side of the bed to offer his hand. I looped my arm through his and stood up. My knees buckled as a wave of dizziness smacked me around the head. His strong arm slid around my waist and held me upright.

“Take it easy, Trance,” Dr. Seward said. “You’re relearning your body just like we are.”

“Yeah, then make a note,” I said. “I’m an impatient patient and a very grumpy sick person. And curious. Is this cafeteria open all the time?”

“Once we’re at full staff again, the cafeteria will be open twenty-four hours. Before things began to deteriorate, we had more than one hundred eighty full-time Rangers living here. Until then, though, we’ll arrange what we can.”

Deteriorate was an interesting word choice for what happened to our mentors and families. I would have chosen massacred, or even serial-killed. Deteriorate made it sound like they all aged and went feeble-minded.

“All of your things are in your room,” Gage said. “I’ll take you up, if that’s okay with Dr. Seward.”

Dr. Seward nodded and stepped to the side. Gage led me out, and I leaned against him, the dizziness finally starting to go away.

R
anger Corps Headquarters was larger than I remembered. Built on several acres of land that had once belonged to a movie studio, the HQ was actually three enormous buildings. We passed through the Medical Center, which housed dozens of labs, emergency medical services, hospital facilities that once rivaled the most advanced in the country, and a basement that stored two hundred years of Ranger history.

Between the Medical Center and the Housing Unit stood the Base. Partially enclosed, the Base was both a dream and a nightmare. The world’s strangest gymnasium—designed to accommodate Rangers with powers that spanned from simple telepathy to shapeshifting to elemental transmutation—came complete with a pool, a track, exercise equipment, a firing range, and an open court for practice of just about any kind. It once bustled with activity, full of eager faces and toned muscles. Now everything seemed empty, displaced. On hold.

And why not? The entire facility had been shut down after the War. No Rangers meant no need for an active HQ.

I leaned on Gage the entire walk to the Housing Unit, enjoying the novelty of his protectiveness, and of being physically close to someone who wasn’t trying to cop a feel. He’d saved my life by getting me here, earning my trust in a big way. He was also the best friend I had at the moment.

The main lobby looked like a shabby hotel with a bank of windows in need of washing, lush red carpet in need of vacuuming, and dark wood walls that tried to be homey and just felt fake. Not everything on the lot was in perfect order yet. The first floor hosted the cafeteria, and even though I’d just eaten, the scent of cooking food made my mouth water. There was also a social lounge, a recreational lounge, a film room, and an art studio. I recalled the oily scent of the paints I had used on a daily basis, nurturing an art talent that evaporated along with my old Trance powers. I hadn’t painted a stroke since the War ended.

The top eight stories housed everything from single-bunk dormitory style rooms to full-fledged family apartments. I had lived in one of the latter with my parents, all the way on the top floor. My room had a lovely view of the ocean, always dark blue in the distance. I never went back to clean it out afterward.

“They set us up on the second floor,” Gage said. “Those are the single rooms. The other floors haven’t been cleaned yet. There’s still a lot of work to do.”

“I can imagine,” I said.

He let me go once we stepped into the chilly wood-paneled elevator. My waist felt cold everywhere his arm had been, and I tucked my hands under my armpits. I’d have to
ask someone about the heat in this place. Anyone who thinks it’s always sunny and eighty degrees in Los Angeles needs a swift kick in the head. Although the January chill was downright balmy compared to a Portland winter.

The short ride up ended with a sharp jolt. The second floor corridor reeked of disinfectant, furniture polish, and glass cleaner. The burgundy carpet looked swept and the walls freshly scrubbed. Loud music blasted from a room down the hall. Gage steered me in the opposite direction. He stopped in front of room 28 and handed me an index card.

“Your room and the lock code,” he said.

I read the numbers on the card, punched them into the pad by the knob, and pulled. The door clicked and swung open. The interior of the room was large, twice the size of our motel room, with the same freshly scrubbed odor as the hallway. The walls were painted pale yellow (or had yellowed with age, I couldn’t tell) and were blessedly free of any garish artwork.

I had a full-size bed, neatly made with clean sheets and a navy blue coverlet. A long dresser and matching mirror took up one wall, a freestanding armoire a second, and against the third stood a writing desk and chair. My knapsack rested on the dresser next to a stack of folded clothing. I stood in the middle of the room, looking for another door.

“Don’t tell me,” I said when I didn’t find it.

“The bathrooms and showers are in the middle of the hall by the elevators,” Gage said. “Communal. It was the first section they were able to clean and renovate fast enough to accommodate us. I’m across the hall in twenty-seven.”

“Teresa!”

A blue and black blur rushed past Gage, and long, thin arms looped around my shoulders and squeezed.

“Oh my word,” a breathy, female voice screeched in my ear. “It’s so good to see you, Teresa, you look amazing, how’re you doing, sweetie?”

“Uh, you too,” was all I could manage. I gently patted the woman’s back, hoping her death-grip of a hug didn’t smother me.

“Easy there, Renee,” Gage said, saving me from asphyxiation. “She’s had a hard day.”

“Oh, right, sorry, so sorry.”

Renee “Flex” Duvall let go and stepped back, and I got my first real look at the woman she had grown into. Every bare inch of her skin had a smoky blue hue; even the whites of her eyes were the palest shade of blue around the cobalt irises. Only her lips retained some mundane color; they stood out like cherries. Both colorations contrasted sharply with her butt-length, straw-colored hair. She wore a form-fitting black body suit, textured like snakeskin, with a deep V cut down the back, showing off more shimmering blue skin. We had been good friends once, a lifetime ago—stuck together like peanut butter and jelly, my dad used to say.

“Wow,” Renee said, her head bobbing up and down as she looked me over. “I mean, Gage said that you’d changed, but wow. You look different, but different in a good way, of course.”

“You look the same,” I said. “Taller, and your hair’s longer.”

“Yeah, and look!” She ran her hands over her breasts,
neatly protected in black leather cups, and a bit too large for her small frame. “I got them three years ago, aren’t they great? For a minute, I thought they’d go back to normal size when my powers returned, but I got to keep my boob job!”

I had absolutely nothing to say.

Gage saved me with “Renee was a dancer in Las Vegas.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Goodness, but I love dancing. I got into an act with a brilliant manager who had the other girls dress up in blue body paint, so something good came out of being blue back then. I thought about trying out a new act now that I’ve got my powers back, but then William called me, completely out of the blue—no pun—and said we should gather here, so here I came. Have you seen William yet? Doesn’t he look great?”

Wow, had that been one breath? “Yeah, he, um, really fills out his uniform,” I said.

“Yes, he does. Oh, you guys need to pick out uniforms, too! They have all of them downstairs, and not first floor downstairs, the basement downstairs. We raided yesterday, but there are still tons left.” She ran her hands up and down her arms, scraping her cobalt fingernails over the material. “Dr. Seward said this one would stretch pretty well, so it’s a good match for my powers, and I love the texture, don’t you?”

I would never understand how so many words came out of one mouth so quickly. Renee Duvall had the excitability levels of a cocker spaniel puppy and giggled like she had inhaled a helium balloon. If our current situation bothered her at all, she showed no sign—only pure joy at life itself and an eagerness to interact.

She had not changed a bit since we were children.

Except for the boob job.

Renee left us in front of the elevator and bounced back down the hall to her room, yelling over her shoulder about forgetting something. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of wearing a uniform. As children and trainees, we’d worn primary-colored jumpsuits—something I’d learned quickly to despise. Uniforms came after official Corps membership and were often assigned based on powers and mobility needs. Rangers were meant to stand out from the crowd. For the time being, I’d rather run around in my jeans and T-shirt.

As Hinder, my dad’s uniform had been straightforward and simple, just like him: a black body suit with a graffiti
H
emblazoned across the chest in green. The collar of the suit had covered his neck, stopping at his shorn hairline. He wore a small eye mask for effect, he said, more than for protecting his identity. His identity
was
Hinder.

“So we just what?” I asked. “Put something together?”

“Sounds like it,” Gage said. “Any thoughts?”

“As long as it’s not purple. Might be overkill.”

He chuckled. “We could put you in orange and make you look like a carrot.”

“A cute carrot,” I amended.

“Very cute.”

Something rubbed against my ankle, which gave me an excuse to look down before I blushed. A black house cat sat by my foot and gazed up at me with big green eyes. For an
instant, I expected it to leap for my throat, hissing and clawing—which was stupid. Specter couldn’t inhabit animals, only human beings. The cat meowed and licked its lips.

“Hey, Renee?” I shouted as I bent to pick up the slim beast. It didn’t struggle, just sniffed my mouth.

“Yeah?” Her head appeared in the hallway, stretched from the neck in comical proportions.

“Do we have a cat?”

Renee looked at the animal in my arms, then at me, and laughed. Her head disappeared, the laughter going with it.

“What?” I looked down at the cat, perplexed. It tilted its head, licked my nose, then leapt to the floor.

It began to grow, every part of its body increasing in size. The black hair disappeared, as though erased by a magical pencil, revealing smooth, color-mottled skin. The legs lengthened while the front arms shortened. Toes separated and grew, and its face flattened out. The entire transformation took less than five seconds and sounded like fingers rubbing across sandpaper.

“I should have known it was you,” I said.

Marco “Onyx” Mendoza grinned at me with perfectly straight teeth, glaring white against his black and brown skin. At first glance, he appeared to be covered with bruises. Closer inspection showed that the coloration matched the fine hairs on his arms and chest, mottling the bronze skin inherited by his mixed Colombian-Japanese heritage. His jet-black hair was combed back neatly, and his eyes—iris and sclera—radiated green, something between emerald and lime. Except for a pair of black briefs, he was also completely naked.

“
Dios
, William was right,” Marco said. “You are a looker.”

I rolled my eyes. “You licked my nose.”

“You picked me up.” His accent had faded a bit over the years as his English improved. He’d come to the Corps in the most unusual way imaginable—rescued from game smugglers in Brazil who were trying to sell him to rare animal collectors in New Jersey. Regular police had made the bust and called in the Rangers when they realized one of the panther cubs wasn’t quite what it seemed. He’d initially been kept separate from the other children, because he was feral—no matter his form—and could barely communicate. He had just started coming out of his shell by War’s end.

The man in front of me now seemed completely in control of his limited shapeshifting abilities. I was still the only Ranger with the wrong powers.

“Don’t tell me you’re going out in public in that thing,” Gage said.

“I was testing the material,” Marco said. “Dr. Seward says it is a prototype developed years ago. It is supposed to shift with my body and become part of the change. I will not ruin or lose clothing each time. A good idea, no?”

“Sounds great,” I said.

“Come on, you two,” Renee said. The top half of her body appeared in the hall. An instant later, the rest of it walked around the corner, her torso slowly shrinking back into itself. It looked like a taffy pull in reverse; it was simultaneously fascinating and disgusting. “We can all play catch up at dinner, but we aren’t a proper Corps Unit until all are fitted for their uniforms.”

I rolled my eyes. Given the situation, her fixation on our clothes seemed misplaced. I didn’t care if we all went out in pink spandex and bike helmets, as long as we neutralized Specter before he attacked us again.

“They’re making us a unit?” Gage asked.

“First ones here, first ones assigned,” she said.