Scorched

"Verity," Equity said, with all the warmth she could muster, which wasn't much. "Welcome back."

"Hey, E.," I replied grudgingly. If my ruined face shocked her, she'd hidden it admirably, and it cost me nothing to be pleasant. "Nice haircut. You look like President Palin. I'd vote for you."

Equity smiled, gracious. Obviously, she'd been practicing. "Adonis told me your tale." The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm sorry for what happened to you. That was a vicious attack. Quite uncalled for. I'm glad you're safe."

She sounded like she meant it. "Thanks," I muttered. "Listen, I want to get back to work—"

"Of course. Please." She ushered us to her little plush sofa arrangement by the sunlit window. A vase of silk orchids sat on the glass coffee table. Dad never liked fake flowers. I missed his big Chesterfield armchair, his smell of leather and cigarettes. When I was little, he'd play hide-and-seek with us, me and Chance and Dad's shadows. Equity had spoiled the game then, too.

I sat opposite her, and Adonis stood by the window, sunlight gilding his hair. Equity crossed her long legs, stockings gleaming. "How are you feeling, Verity?"

Dr. Mengele's blue gaze stabs mine like an iced needle. Her fingertips cool my fevered cheek. Static prickles in my hair, the stink of ozone and sweat. "How do you feel now?" she asks. My stomach knots in terror, and I vomit in her lap…

I blinked, dizzy. How the hell did Equity think I felt, after nine months in the loony bin? "I feel fine."

She and Adonis exchanged glances. "You've had a horrible experience," she said. "It's only natural you'd be suffering some ill effects—"

"So my head hurts," I interrupted, scratching my itchy palms. On the way here, I'd filled Adonis in on everything they'd done to me. What had he told her? "Yours would, too, if you'd had the Augmentium Helmet of Death bolted to your skull. I'm fine."

"Even so," Equity said coolly, "you should see a doctor."

"No!" I'd jerked from my seat before I realized I'd moved. My guts cramped, and for a horrible moment I thought I'd wet myself. "A shrink, you mean. No fucking way. Never again!"

Sweat stung my burned cheek. My palms hurt, and I realized I'd jammed my nails into them. I was shaking. Jesus.

Adonis touched my arm. "Steady, Vee," he whispered. "No one's making you. She's just worried about you."

I sucked in deep breaths, trying to quiet my screaming nerves. I stuck my hand in my pocket, where I'd shoved my mask. It felt smooth and warm, soothing. I gripped it tightly for a moment. Only one thing could put the howling horror in my soul to sleep: Razorfire, drained and dying at my feet. "I don't need a doctor," I insisted. "What I need is to get back to work. Dad's dead, and R—and he's still out there, spouting his burn-it-all bullshit. I'm gonna remedy that."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait." Equity poured me a frosted glass of water from the carafe, her favorite set of gold bracelets clinking on her wrist.

I gulped the drink. "What? Why?"

"The situation is very delicately balanced out there. I've put a lot of work into negotiating a peace."

I snorted. "Yeah. I saw the police barricades, the shitfight on the front pages. Gallery goons running amok all over town. How's that peace working out for you?"

She strode to the window, and rounded to face me, hands clasped behind her. "Be sensible, Verity. If we've learned one thing in all these years, it's that you don't provoke this psychopath. If you go after Razorfire, the city will erupt. It's what he wants. Now's not a good time."

"Not a good time?" Water splashed my hand, and I set the glass down hard before I broke it. Muscles twitched in my thighs. I wanted to kick something. "He murdered Dad, E. He had me tortured. He tried to poison the whole damn city, and you don't think it's a good time?"

Equity eyed me coldly, augmented light glinting fiercely in her eyes. "This campaign is important. If we win, we'll have a blank slate to start making changes. I won't have you stirring up trouble."

"Stopping villains is not stirring up trouble," I retorted. "It's what we're here for. Razorfire is a murdering bastard. He doesn't deserve to live. If Dad was still alive—"

"I'm in charge now!" Angry white light flashed from Equity's fist. Swiftly, she quenched it, her jaw popping with the effort. "Dad's policies were outdated. Times have changed. War is no longer our objective. You'll do as you're told or I'll have you suppressed."

"Suppressed?" I repeated in astonishment. "What the hell does 'suppressed' mean? You gonna arrest me, is that it? Lock me up?"

"If I must."

Adonis raised his hand. "Calm down, kids—"

"No," I interrupted, furious. "I want to hear this. Let me get this straight, Equity. Razorfire has been our archenemy ever since we were kids. We've fought him and his filthy Gallery on the street since forever. Dad devoted his entire life to this war. Now Razorfire's winning, and you want to back off?" My fist clenched, warm. It felt good, after all, to say his name. It gave me power.

"No one's backing off." Her glib politician's tone only infuriated me more. "We're rejecting violence as a solution."

I guffawed, it was so ridiculous. "Are you insane? I bet the Gallery are just hanging out to renounce violence."

"I don't care what the Gallery want. Sinking to their level is no longer acceptable."

"Sinking, my ass," I snapped. "What are you so afraid of?"

She flushed, ugly. "I'm not afraid."

I strode up and stared her down. She was taller than me. I didn't care. "The hell you aren't," I said, my voice shaking. "You're a coward, Equity."

Adonis tugged his hair behind his neck and sighed. "Verity, chill out, will you?"

"Shut up, Ad. You know it's true." I laughed, and it tasted bitter. "Sure, let's sit down with Razorfire. It'll be fun. Hell, I'll even buy the sick freak a beer, just to let him know it's okay that he murdered our father!"

Equity's face stormed over, like it did when we were kids and I stole her toys, and I knew I was going too far. But I couldn't stop. The truth just frothed up, tainted with rage, and I spat the words into her face like poisoned darts. "He might as well kill the rest of us, too. Torture us, do whatever he wants. No need to worry, because FortuneCorp is rejecting violence as a solution!"

"Oh, grow up, Verity," Equity snapped at last. "There's more at stake here than the mess on your ugly face."

My throat swelled shut and, inside, my mind exploded in blood.

I shrieked, and slapped her. The crack of her cheek on my palm was loud, satisfying. But it wasn't my slap that sent her flying across the room.

My power erupted, thundering like monstrous drums in my head. Equity flew backwards into her desk. Paper and hardware scattered. A glass globe on the desk shattered, falling shards prisming in the sun.

Equity stumbled to her feet. Her mouth twisted, and she flung up one angry fist and hurled light at me.

So bright, my skin scorched like sunburn. My retinas seared blind. I screamed, and something in my brain stretched itself to the limit and tore. Somewhere, a window exploded, and dimly, I felt Adonis crash-tackle me to the floor.

My head clanged. Water poured from my eyes. My throat was swollen, I couldn't breathe. I wheezed, gulping for air.

Gradually, the glare faded. Adonis hovered into focus above me. I blinked, reeling, my eyes burning like acid. He gripped my wrists, shaking me. "Verity. Let it go. Chill. C'mon."

"Okay… Fine… Get off me." I scrambled to my feet, panting. The window behind me was smashed, and breeze swirled in, ruffling the plants and scattering paper on the floor like tumbleweed. What the hell had I done? Equity pissed me off, but attacking her was uncalled for. "Jesus. I'm sorry, E. I didn't mean it. Guess I'm still a little tense."

"I think you should leave now." Equity advanced on me, her eyes alight with chilly fury. Silver light glittered between her fingers, and sparks crackled from her hair. "I don't want to see you. I don't want to talk to you. See a doctor, don't see a doctor, I really don't give a shit. But I swear to you, Verity, if you interfere with my campaign I will come down on you like an act of God. Now get out of my office, and don't come back."

My vision swirled. "What? I said I didn't mean—"

"Didn't you hear me? You're fired. Get out."

"What?" Adonis was incredulous. "Jesus, E. Give her a break."

I laughed. "I'm a Fortune. You can't fire me."

Equity smiled back, thin and cold. "I can. I just did. Get out."

My jaw dropped. Speechless, I looked to Adonis for something—anything—but he just gave a tight shrug, his gaze guarded. Later, it promised. Don't make this worse.

I swallowed. Flexed my fingers. Coiled my power tightly. "Fine," I said calmly, and walked out. Behind me, Adonis swore and started arguing with her. I didn't stop. Didn't look back.

On the way down in the elevator, I let my forehead fall against the cold metal wall, and closed my eyes. She'd fired me. My own damn sister. Fine, I shouldn't have hit her. But she was letting my enemy get away with murder…

Wind whips my hair back. Tears scorch my chilled cheeks. I scrabble for the poison vial. It's just out of my reach. I stretch out with my power, but something yanks me backwards. I fall. My face slams into metal, and a lick of razor-sharp flame slices the floor apart an inch from my nose…

My head swam, images and memories mingling like water. FortuneCorp were the good guys. We were meant to fight villains, not encourage them. Not—the word stung sour in my mouth—negotiate with them.

I stood straighter, and scraped my hair back, automatically checking my look in the mirror, a second before I remembered what I'd see.

My stomach tilted, sick. My eyes looked dark and hollow, my mouth a tight line. Still burned. Still scarred. Still hideous.

There's more at stake than your ugly face.

Oily rage boiled inside me, and I shoved it away, pounding my fists against my thighs until my burning blood subsided. She was wrong. Yes, I wanted revenge. For my face, my shattered memory, all those months of agony. I wanted to make Razorfire suffer like I'd suffered, scrape that knowing smile from his lips, watch the fire flicker out in his hate-bright eyes and whisper, this is for what you did to me.

But it wasn't just about my face. It wasn't even that Razorfire killed Dad and had me tortured until my mind nearly shattered. Razorfire was a public menace. A terrorist and mass-murderer. A psychopath who despised everyone and everything, who'd stop at nothing until he owned the world, or burned it all.

He didn't deserve to live. And I wasn't going to let him.

Hot determination forged to steel in my heart. I pulled my mask from my pocket and wrapped it tightly around my fist. The leather's soft stretch across my skin felt safe. It gave me strength. If Equity wasn't on my side, fine. I'd talk to Adonis, our cousins, Dad's old friends, even Chance. And if they wouldn't help me? I'd just have to do it on my own.

The elevator pinged as it reached street level. The doors slid aside, and I walked out.

Into two big guys, who grabbed my shoulders and yanked me forwards.

I stumbled, but they dragged me to my feet. A woman in a pale suit smiled at me. A blond woman with glacial blue eyes, who held a gleaming silvery helmet.

Dr. Mengele.

No. My blood screamed cold. My muscles spasmed in terror, the remembered stink of piss and fear. I'm not a bad person. I can't go back there. I can't.

Someone had betrayed me. They were sending me back to the asylum.

A wail of denial ripped my lungs raw. Escape, or die.

6

I yelled, and let my power explode.

The glass walls shattered, and crashed in silvery waterfalls. Breeze swept in from the street, dragging my hair wild. People in the double-story lobby screamed and ran. The two heavies stumbled, and something sharp scraped the skin between my neck and shoulder, the hot sting of a needle. A plastic syringe tumbled onto the tiles. They'd been about to stick me, fill me full of sleepy-time shit so I wouldn't struggle.

Good luck with that.

Mengele kept coming. Should have killed the evil bitch when I had the chance. More of her people came out of nowhere on all sides, running for me. Behind the reception desk, the lobby security guy reached for his radio. I crouched, panting, and sized up my enemy. Surrounded. No way through. No way out.

I gathered my power beneath me, and leapt.

Force flung me skywards. I somersaulted, and fell, dragging the air downwards with all the strength I could muster. The heavies looked up. I landed in a crouch in their midst, slamming my fist into the tiles with a crack like thunder.

Boom! The shock wave rippled outwards, shattering ceramic as it went. The floor quaked. Mengele and her heavies staggered, and I sprang to my feet and sprinted for freedom.

I hurdled spiky broken glass and screeched out onto the sunlit street. People gawked. I shoved them aside. Behind me, heavy footsteps pounded, Mengele's goons coming after me. I had a few seconds' head start, if that. Better make the most of it.

I ran across the street, dodging honking traffic. Despite the danger, it felt good to run, wind in my face, blood pumping in my legs. But my scratched shoulder felt hot and numb at the same time, and I knew with a sinking stomach that some of their helljuice had made it into my system. It was only a matter of time before I fell and couldn't get up. If I wasn't safe before that happened…

I ran faster, my thighs protesting with a fresh burst of lactic acid. Tires squealed and drivers yelled abuse as the goons followed, not as agile as I was. I ducked through a corner coffee shop, leaping the tables with a flex of power. The goons would have to go around. Score another few seconds for me. I skidded around another corner, out of sight for a few precious moments. A brick two-story was jammed in between two ten-floor glass office buildings. An old guest house or something, converted into a bank, its sloping tiled roof shimmering in the sun.

No time to think. I leapt onto the roof, and crouched beside the chimney pot, dying to gasp for breath but barely daring to inhale.

The goons tumbled around the corner. My chest ached for air. I didn't dare move. Sweat trickled down my neck. My shadow loomed frighteningly large on the roof tiles. Surely, they'd see me. The buildings either side were too tall, even for me. I can jump, sure, but I can't fly. And I couldn't climb those smooth glassy walls…

My sweaty fingers slip as I clutch the glass. The stairway's cut off, enemies everywhere. I have to climb. Fifty stories below, the ground looms. Swirling wind threatens to sweep me away. My stomach plummets, but I scrabble and drag myself skyward…

I swallowed, dry. The numbness in my shoulder was spreading. I had nowhere else to run. Surely, they had to see me.

But the goons didn't look up. They just kept running.

I let out my breath in a rush, and gulped for air. They weren't dumb. I didn't have much time before they realized their mistake and came back. Gotta get out of here.

I stood, and dizziness rinsed my balance thin. I staggered, clutching the chimney. Jesus. My fingers were numb. I couldn't stand straight. Fighting creeping nausea, I crawled to the rear of the building and peered over the edge.

The ground telescoped, shimmering. I closed my eyes, lowered myself over the gutter. Dropped to the ground, cushioning my landing with a clumsy flex of power.

The narrow alley was shadowed and caked with grime. A few plump black trash bags heaped next to a dumpster. I leaned against the wall for a second or two, sweating, struggling to straighten my thoughts.

I had no other clothes. Couldn't disguise myself. And I had nowhere to run to. I couldn't go back to Adonis's place. Someone in my own family had betrayed me, and they'd know where to look. I was on my own…

Someone shoved me, and I bounced off the brick wall and fell.

Terror squeezed my guts. I scrabbled to get up, run. But a boot slammed my shoulder, pinning me down. A smoke-roughened voice taunted me. "What have we here, lads? An uppity little augmented bitch, that's what."

Huh? I fought to clear my vision. Big blond kid, sleeveless black hoodie, steel hoop earrings. Not a Mengele goon. Three of his friends slouched behind him. A skinhead one spat nonchalantly on the sidewalk, the chains on his jeans clanking. A dreadlocked girl popped pink bubblegum, stretching it around one tattooed finger. Another fat one sweated, his pasty skin gleaming, and clutched something shiny and round in his fist.

Haters. Great.

I struggled to rise, but my thigh muscles softened like pudding, and the ground kept sliding out from under me. Frustration jabbed me sharp in the belly. I didn't have time for this. "Look, just lemme 'lone, 'kay."

"I seen you jump onto that roof, bitch." The leader prodded my collarbone with his boot, cracking my head back into the bricks. "Who the fuck you think you are, Supergirl? You're not welcome here. Geddit?"

"Uh-huh. Whadebba … " My mouth was stuffed with sticky string. Goddamn it. I tried to focus, to stretch the air like elastic and fling these assholes away from me, but I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't flex. I was just plain Verity, and I couldn't get away.

Shit.

He kicked me. I barely felt the pain, just my ribs bending under the force, my skin swelling. Again, more, all four of them getting into the act.

Hysterically, I laughed. These morons would kick me to death before Mengele's goons could get to me. And thanks to the drug, I couldn't even feel it. That was some funny shit.

I tried to crawl away, to cradle my head in my arms. The sidewalk scraped my elbows raw. Crimson splotched from my nose. A punch slammed me into the wall, dizzy. I spat red, and crawled some more. What else could I do?

The leader loomed over me, his spiked blond hair dripping with sweat, and dragged my chin up with a fist in my hair. "Like that, bitch? Where's your power now?"

Dimly, I fumbled for my list of oh-so-witty replies. Up your butt, you stinky hater. Your momma wears jackboots. Or just plain screw you. That's always a good one.

The fat one gave a slobbery grin. "You ever make an augmented bitch squeal, Bro?"

"I don't believe so, Slugger." Bro's smile split wider. "I'm thinking we should see to that."

"I'm thinkin' you're right."

The girl popped her bubble gum, shuffling. "Jesus Christ. You can't do that."

"Shut up, Cookie." Bro dragged my head back harder, and reached for his belt buckle.

I coughed out a bloody mouthful. Take that out and I'll bite it off, you whiskey tango son of a bitch, I tried to say. "Urrphh…"

He screamed, and clawed at his own face.

I scrambled back, bewildered.

He kept screaming. Kept digging his fingers deeper into his own eyes. The others did the same, howling and flailing about in unseen agony, and finally they hurled curses and staggered off.

Huh? I hadn't done that. I couldn't do that. What the hell just happened…?

The air shimmered like heat haze, and a shadow coalesced on the bloodstained concrete.

A tall, broad shadow, in the shape of a man.

I scuttled away like a dizzy crab, fumbling on the rough sidewalk. Who the hell was that?

But my eyelids drooped. My numb lips drooled. I dragged my swimming head up, forcing my blurry eyes to focus. There he was, leaning against the dumpster. Long legs in jeans and boots, a scuffed leather coat. A glimpse of tousled black hair and white teeth, mingled with shimmering shadows. I couldn't see his face. Need to see…

I fought my clogged tongue, my sinking wits. Who are you? I wanted to say, but the drug overcame me. I caught the warm scent of vanilla as the stranger lifted my limp body in his arms, and the world dissolved into murky nothing.

7

I awoke sluggishly, in dim electric light that hurt my eyes. Soft cushions squished beneath me, a whiff of dark vanilla. An ancient incandescent bulb swung above on its cord, an inch one way, an inch the other. The tiny breeze stirred my hair. The air smelled crisp, recycled. Overhead, I heard rushing water, and something large and mechanical rumbled distantly.

The subway, I registered dimly. I was underground. But where? And how?

I sat up on the bed, wincing. Thirst tore my throat, and my body ached like poison. I stretched, popping my vertebrae one by one. Bruises everywhere, purple and yellow. Those assholes had really kicked the shit out of me. And… uh.

I wore a man's white shirt. Soft and clean, buttoned over my chest. Underneath, I was naked.

My ribs itched, and when I scratched them I found gauze and white paper tape. Someone had washed me, tended my bruises. I touched my face gingerly, and my fingers came away clean and smelling of antiseptic ointment.

Whoever had tended me, they didn't necessarily mean well.

But hey, at least I wasn't wearing hospital scrubs and an augmentium helmet. That had to be an improvement. Right?

I swung my legs over the bed's edge and tried to stand. Instead, I fell, a six-foot drop. I landed, shaken, on a cool concrete floor. Roughly, I tugged the shirt down over my butt. Very funny.

The bunk bed was jammed into an alcove behind me. I squinted into the gloom. Large square room, low ceiling, walls fading into darkness. Next to the bed, in another alcove, sat a claw-foot bathtub with a rusted shower. Somewhere, a generator hummed, and a keyboard clattered as someone typed.

I swallowed, my throat crispy. Would I discover my shadowy rescuer's identity at last? I might not like what I found. Sapphire City vomited up new villains as fast as we could wash the old ones down the drain.

But I had to know. Mr. Mysterious had probably saved my life—not to mention my dignity—from the haters at least, and probably from Mengele's goons too. Presuming it wasn't all a trap, of course. If we didn't get along, I'd just flip him a quick thanks for nothing and run again. I was getting good at running.

I followed the clickety-clack of keys, tiptoeing past gray metal shelves loaded with books, files, boxes of photographs, newspapers, cables and electrical components I didn't recognize. Light flickered between the shelves. I clenched my fist, readying my power for a swift onslaught, and crept out.

A double row of screens gleamed—websites, television channels, CCTV—above a long desk covered in a mess of paper and photographs six inches deep. In a high-backed chair hunched a long lean figure, his shadow looming huge and monstrous on the wall.

He didn't stop typing. Didn't look up. Just jerked his head towards the corner of the room. "Door's that way."

So much for stealth. I cleared my throat, and stepped out where he could see me. But I still clasped my hands tightly behind my back, ready. "Excuse me?"

"You can leave whenever you want. I won't stop you. No need to break things." His voice was rough and rich, like old bourbon. His battered leather coat hung over the back of his wheeled chair. He finished whatever he was doing, and swung his chair around, skidding into the light.

Strong, lean, the same tight black T-shirt and jeans he'd worn before. A few days of beard shadowed his chin, dark against his olive skin, and his wild black hair had a single albino splash at the front. He wore a leather band buckled around one wrist, and a silver ring on his right ring finger.