Chapter 14

Iexpect to be thrown into the back of a van where we can roll helplessly, our bound hands doing nothing to protect us, but instead we're loaded into a vehicle with oddly plush leather seats. It's so well-insulated that I can barely hear the engine noise as we roll through the streets.

"This is nice," I say, twisting my body so I can pat the seats even though my hands are tied. "What is it? A Buick?" Honestly, with no more information than what I have, I wouldn't be surprised if it's a Range Rover like mine, but I refuse to think I have anything in common with henchmen. Well, with real henchmen, which these guys clearly are. Not morally conflicted and altruistic ones like Jasper. He and I were finally starting to find delicious common ground. How rude of these assholes to interrupt us.

My jibe about the Buick makes someone in the front seat chuckle softly. Beside me, Jasper hisses something that sounds distinctly like "Morgan, shut up."

I don't listen. If my true superpower is picking fights I can't win, I better go all in.

"I imagine hench money doesn't go very far, but you don't have to buy American if you don't want to. I know a guy. If you save up all your hench pennies, I could probably help you get a good deal."

The henchman laughs a little more, and I curse that we were so careless. We let fatigue and attraction distract us, and Walter Wolfe's thugs got the jump. If anyone at SPAM ever hears about this, I won't need a bus or a tainted pickle. The embarrassment will be enough to kill me on its own.

When the vehicle stops, we're led into a building. Then there's a ride in an elevator that seems to go on forever. Longer than the ride to Walter Wolfe's office. Longer than the ride to my office at Ziro Labs.

The floor as we exit is carpeted and I stumble, but firm hands on my arms keep me from falling. Just as I'm starting to feel steady, the hands give me a shove and I drop, collapsing onto what feels like a leather sofa. Jasper groans as he lands next to me.

"This is no way to treat a colleague, you guys." Obviously he's figured out what's going on too.

The hood is pulled from my head, and I squint on reflex, but the room isn't as brightly lit as I expected.

Also, the muzzle of a gun is about a foot from my face.

I jerk my head back, but the hands on my shoulders tighten, and even if I wasn't tied up, I don't think I could escape their grip.

The gun stays where it is, but since I'm still alive, I take a moment to examine my surroundings. Somehow, I thought we'd be in a warehouse. Maybe a cage at the zoo while a lion paces anxiously in the background. But we're in an apartment. A nice one. Penthouse, if the view of the city is anything to go by. The only light is a sparkling chandelier over a massive dining room table on the other side of the space.

I glance at Jasper, and his hair is mussed up—worse from the hood than his hat ever did—and he's glaring at everyone around us like they've interrupted him during the best sex of his life, which frankly, we should have been so lucky. What was about to happen was desperation sex at best and an ugly feelings sandwich at worst. Also, I was about to spill the beans on my mother, the one thing I swore I would never ever do. The zip ties are excessive, but the hench thugs saved us from ourselves.

"What the hell is this?" Jasper asks. "Dex? Carter? What the hell is going on?"

The blank-faced henchmen remain speechless. The guns, the one in front of me and the other held in front of Jasper, stay where they are.

"I think you know what's going on," a slippery voice says, before its owner appears.

Walter Wolfe. Billionaire. His tech and pharmaceutical companies employ a third of the city, either directly or indirectly. He's perpetually having his picture taken with the mayor or handing off a giant check to a homeless shelter or an after-school program. Always in a perfectly tailored suit with an equally well-pressed smile.

Today's smile is not so gracious. If we weren't already stuck on the couch, Wolfe's smile would freeze me in my tracks.

"Mr. Wolfe," Jasper says. "What's going on? I was at home, I was—" His words cut off sharply as the closest henchman swings his gun down to collide with the side of Jasper's head.

"Jasper." Wolfe is staring down at his phone. For all the interest he gives us, he might as well be ordering takeout while waiting for a conference call to start. "Don't play coy with me. We've already done that, and it ended up with you working here. I told you our agreement would only work if you stayed in line."

"And I have, Mr. Wolfe."

Wolfe shakes his head, tsking. "Don't lie, Jasper. I always know when people lie to me." He comes forward, pushing the man with the gun back. The henchman takes a position by the door. Wolfe turns his phone around, and on the screen is a black-and-white security video of Jasper and me in Wolfe's office. The resolution is shockingly clear, which means the sight of Jasper plugging in his phone into the computer tower is undeniable.

"Now," Wolfe says. "Leo and Bobby could only say that you tried to sneak your friend here into my office for shits and giggles." The way Wolfe is speaking, he may have the video of us in the office, but he doesn't have any sound. All he's got is Jasper plugging in his phone and me crawling into Jasper's lap. I could try and argue Jasper was only trying to charge his phone, but the gleam in Wolfe's eye says he won't buy that. And there were too many seconds of Jasper doing his tippy-tappy hacker thing on the keyboard for him to just be looking for a quick boost on a battery. Even if they can't say for sure what Jasper was looking for on Wolfe's computer, there must be ways to find out. Jasper said what happens next would be slow and painful. How long would they draw it out while someone tried to track Jasper's mouse clicks and keystrokes until they discover what our target was?

Though Wolfe doesn't seem inclined to wait.

"Here's how this is going to work," he says, settling into an overstuffed armchair across from us, bracketed on either side by his armed goons. "Tell me what you took, and your boyfriend lives."

The gun closest to me is cocked, and I have to bite my lip to muffle a giggle. My mother never had much tolerance for theatrics when it came to bad guys. It's an alpha male thing, she said. They want to remind you they're smarter than you, even if you'll be dead before you have a chance to tell anyone.

But I must not be quiet enough, because Wolfe's eyes narrow.

"Something funny?"

Another lesson from my mother. Less is more. Don't speak unless it's literally the only way to save yourself. Keep your mouth shut and wait for your opportunity.

I shake my head but get interrupted midway through the gesture when a clenched fist collides with my skull. I'd fall over, but the man behind me tightens his grip on my shoulders.

"Hey!" Jasper says. "Stop. He doesn't know anything."

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't," Wolfe sneers. I bristle and have to force myself to relax when Jasper softly clears his throat in warning. "He wouldn't be out with someone like you if he could do better."

Well, fuck you very much. I keep my face neutral as I strain against the zip ties behind my back because I'm going to need to defend myself in very short order, but they hold fast. I close my eyes for a second, hoping they'll assume it's because of the punch to the face and not because I'm trying to centre my power. Even if it basically has the oomph of a Zippo lighter, it's better than nothing—enough to melt the plastic.

"So, Jasper, this is your last chance," Wolfe says. "And you know I've given you more chances than I would normally, because your skill set has been useful to date. So I'm going to make you an offer."

The gun barrel pressed against my forehead is cold. It's so hard to concentrate on the binding around my wrists. I keep tugging, but they won't break.

Never take the first offer. That one I didn't learn from my mother; I learned it from Ezekiel, who has turned down so many offers to buy his research and technology. But I have no way of telling Jasper that, so I jump in before he can answer.

"We were pulling records on the drug trial. My niece has the same thing Jasper's sister does. I wanted to see the results."

Jasper nods, picking up my train of thought. "I knew you'd notice if I tried to hack my way in again, but I figured if we did it from your office, I could wipe the trail."

As lies go, that one's better than most. Definitely better than me being an electrician or someone with a kink for making out in a crime lord's office. The man with the gun retreats until he's standing with his hench buddy by the door. I hold my breath as Jasper and Wolfe glare at each other and count the seconds.

Finally, Wolfe says, "You've got a soft heart. Jasper, these things are going to get you into trouble."

Jasper hangs his head in apparent shame. "I know. I'm sorry."

Wolfe puts a hand on his shoulder. "I've taken care of your family, haven't I?"

"Of course, sir. Lexi's doing great." Jasper nods quickly. Watching him grovel makes my stomach turn, and I pull at the zip ties. Do they feel warmer? Or is it only friction where my skin rubs against them?

Wolfe's eyes slide to me. "And I'll look after your friends too. We're all family here, aren't we?"

I give him a tight smile I hope looks grateful. Just what I've always wanted. My very own godfather, only more of the "I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse" variety than the "make sure you're home by midnight" fairy kind.

When Clarissa said she had someone she wanted me to meet, I did not expect to get adopted into a crime family as a result.

"I'm sorry," Jasper says. "It won't happen again. You can trust me."

Wolfe frowns. "Can I, though?"

My chest tightens, and Jasper sits up straighter. "Of course. You've always been able to trust me."

But Wolfe strolls over to the open sliding door at the balcony. "Jasper, I think you overestimate my generosity."

"What?" He shifts, pulling at his ties, and my heart squeezes in echoing anxiety.

"I said we'd let your friend live. I didn't say anything about you. You broke into my office. Broke into my files. Him"—he glances over his shoulder at me—"I have a use for him. But you? No, I'm sorry, Jasper. Your time in my family is done."

A use for me? Is it Walter Wolfe who's been slingshotting me through time since the beginning? Somehow, I didn't think it was. It's too high tech for his usual MO. But he's got the plans, and he even told Ezekiel he had a time machine.

Jasper's got other concerns, though.

"What? Mr. Wolfe, wait." He tries to rise, but the henchman behind him holds him down. "Mr. Wolfe."

But Wolfe turns and walks back into the penthouse, through an archway and out of view. By the door, the first man with the gun takes aim.

"No. No!" For a second, I escape the henchman holding me down, and I lunge for Jasper. If I can get in front of the bullet, this all starts over.

There's a muffled pop. I squeeze my eyes tight, waiting for the pain. All I get is a spray of blood on my cheek before the thug wrestles me back into place. Beside me, Jasper slumps, gasping. Red seeps out over his T-shirt, and he looks at me with terrified eyes.

"Morgan," he wheezes.

I've been powerless my whole life. And I don't only mean the way my superness is not-so-super. When it became clear I wasn't going to follow in my mother's footsteps, I took what little zap I had and got a desk job at SPAM. A literal desk job. I made coffee and formatted slides. My mother stood her ground on the roof as Indigo broke free of her trap, and I was powerless to save her when she had spent her whole life saving everyone. I couldn't even grieve properly because I couldn't tell anyone what had truly happened. I was powerless to do anything but hide. Nothing heroic at all.

And as I'm held on a sofa, and Jasper bleeds out against me, while the goon holsters his gun and the others all look like they'd as soon start talking about sports scores, I hate it. It might even be better if they laughed at me for my failures, but they hardly even acknowledge I'm there. Like I'm nothing. Insignificant. I'm not even worth shooting. I hate myself. Hate this hollow powerless feeling and the guilt that comes with it.

I hate the people who have left me feeling like this over and over.

And I scream. I don't even know if it's out loud or not, but it doesn't matter. Because my mother died and now Jasper's died and all I can do is sit there with my hands tied behind my back and let bad powerful people hurt them and it's not fair.

I scream, focusing on the pressure of the man's hands on my shoulder. I dream of what I would do if I had even an ounce of the capabilities my mother did. I would suck the life right out of him. I would build a force field around me and Jasper and watch the rest of them wither and die. My power would follow after Walter Wolfe wherever he's gone, and it would make him hurt the way I do right now. It would be like Indigo. Painful and inescapable. They would know it was me who did it, even when I look like I can't do much of anything. I scream until the heat goes out of me, until I'm numb and shaking, and then I scream more, embracing the cold because it's better than pain and shame.

The sound echoes in my head and in the penthouse for a long time. The room has gone completely black. Except it hasn't. My eyes are closed, squeezed shut so tight I have to think about how to open them again. My throat is raw and my skin is burning.

The first thing I see is the white puff of my breath in the air.

The next is Jasper's body, the slick of blood, red and shiny. He's breathing hard, but the terror in his gaze is directed at me, not at the wound on his chest.

Then, finally, I glance around and see what I've done.

The men—the henchmen—are frozen. Icicles drip from their noses and their ears. One is still holding his gun in front of me, and when I go to knock it away, the gun—along with the hand frozen to it—shatters into a million tiny shards and falls to the glittering floor, covered in a fine layer of frost and ice like a glazed donut.

I gasp, and it sounds more like a hiccup, then I gasp again, and this one is a sob. Relief. Grief. I did this. I stopped them, but I was too late.

Beside me, Jasper groans softly.

"Oh." I reach for him. The zip ties have a second of resistance before they snap, the plastic gone brittle in the cold. I grab for Jasper as he falls toward me. He coughs and cries out as I try to prop him up and break his ties too.

"Ow. Jesus. Fuck." He gasps and slumps against me.

"It's okay," I say, heart racing. "It's okay."

"Morgan?" His lips are coated in blood and even the few syllables of my name come out in a garbled string as his teeth chatter.

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. I didn't know that was going to happen."

"What . . . what . . ."

Jesus, of all the times for the med student among us to need help.

"It's okay." He groans again as I slide my hands under his armpits and pull him from the sofa, away from the frozen statutes of his former colleagues.

"Why is it cold?"

"It's okay." My feet skate on the floor as I drag him toward an open door that leads to a rooftop patio. Fortunately, my rage frost or whatever this is didn't make it past the threshold. Outside, the air feels comparatively warm.

"Morgan."

"Yes." I drop to my knees. It's like a reverse of the night with the bus. Only bloodier. So much bloodier. Jasper's shirt is soaked, and his breathing is shallow and wet. "Yes, I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"What for?"

"I blew it. I thought I knew what... I thought..." He coughs again, spewing blood down his chin. I lay him down on the roof. He's scarily pale, and he tries to lift his hand toward me but only gets a few inches off the ground before he has to drop it down again.

"Shh. No. It's okay," I say. "It's okay. Help. We'll get you help." I pat my pockets, looking for my phone, but I'm still in Jasper's borrowed clothes, and my cellphone is somewhere in his apartment.

Wolfe. He must have a phone. The ones on the goons will all be frozen. Wolfe wasn't in the room. If he was far enough away, maybe he didn't freeze completely.

I push to my feet. The warm evening air makes my insides thrum, like I'm recharging. I still don't know what happened in there, but I can feel it. Now that I've touched it once, it really is like a lighter, and since I've finally learned the proper way to flick the spark, I can do it again.

"Morgan," Jasper gasps.

"I'll be right back."

"Please." And his voice is so soft, he doesn't need powers to stop me where I stand. I glance over my shoulder, and he's lying there, red spreading over his clothes. His movements are sluggish, his eyes unfocused.

"No." I shake my head. "No. I can save you. I can get help, I can—" But I drop back to my knees and crawl toward him.

"It's okay," he says. "Guess we'll find out if it's just you who starts the day over."

My tears start unexpectedly. "You better come back."

He gives me a bloody, toothy smile. "I'll try. Want to see how this ends."

"I can't do this without you."

"Sure you can." His fingers brush against mine, flexing unpredictably. I think he's trying to take my hand again, so I take his instead. "You've been holding out on me. That was a pretty cool trick."

I laugh, sniffling. "You have to come back. I have to tell you. So many things. I want to tell you all about me."

His gaze is unfocused, but his smile fades, and oh fuck, he can't die. I need him. I want him. Want to tell him and to trust him.

"I'll try," he says.

"No." I'm begging now. Sobbing. All the things I never got to do for my mother. "That's not good enough. You can't just try, Jasper. You have to come back. We have to get out of this together. Jasper."

But he's gone. His face goes slack, and he stops struggling for breath.

I close my eyes and count to ten, waiting for the air to change. The background noise. Wait for this empty penthouse on the tallest building in the city to transform into a superhero-themed diner with a painting of my mother on the wall. Wait for Jasper to come through the door so I can tell him that he's late and that his hat is hideous and that I'm so glad he's back.

But it doesn't.

I'm still on the roof with Jasper's body. He's dead, and he's staying that way. We aren't starting over.

The wind catches my hair, dragging my tears over my face, and my gaze goes to the edge of the building. It's not far. I could run. Three steps and a hop over the railing into empty air, a few seconds of gravity, and I'd be all set. Back at Wench. Jasper would be alive.

But I can't. I run straight for the patio railing, but the second my hands touch the metal, instinct kicks in and my feet come to a halt. I try twice more but the same thing happens, leaving me to scream in frustration even though no one will hear me. We have to bring Jasper back, but I can't jump. I'm afraid and I'm sad, but in the end, I'm not suicidal.

I'm going to have to do this alone.