Lost Energy (14 page)

"Whatever. That it?" He
pointed to the water bottle clutched in my hands.

"Ah, yes?"

"It's not a trick question. A
buck five." He held out his fleshy palm.

One hand released the bottle long
enough to dig out two dollars. When he went to hand over the change, I shook my
head, not willing to let go of that damn bottle again. It was the only thing
keeping my hands from shaking. "Keep it."

He threw the change in the red
plastic penny container by the register. "Ain't you generous? Next."

When Winston began to leave, the
cashier tried to reach over the counter. Good thing his fat belly prevented him
from actually grabbing Winston's arm. "Hey, you paying for that?"

Ignoring him, Winston crooked his
finger at me until I followed him to the door.

"Hey, buddy, you pay or I'm
calling the cops." The poor guy's face blossomed into a bright tomato as
he rounded the counter, the other customers staring on in surprise.

Winston sighed and aimed a hand at
the struggling, heaving cashier. "Stop."

The guy froze.

"Now, I'd pay for this, but I'm
a little short this week. Let's agree to an IOU."

The guy's eyes glazed over and his
jaw slackened. It was the same look my dad and mom had when Mateusz used
persuasion on them. "Yeah, sure, okay."

Winston turned his focus on all the
other people, his blond-tipped dreads slipping over his shoulder. "Y'all
go on about your business, all right?" When they gave him a glassy-eyed
nod, he added, "And for the love of… Take a damn bath."

Holding my elbow, he guided me out
the door.

I forgot all about nerves as soon
as we left the store. The guy washed a few brains for a goddamn Mountain Dew.
Not cool. I yanked my arm from his hand. "Why the hell didn't you pay for
that? Christ, you turned a whole store into zombies for a soda."

He smiled as if he didn't give two
shits–which he probably didn't. "Like I said, a bit short."

"A bit short?" Even
though I yelled, annoyed by his apathetic attitude, I followed him when he sauntered
across the parking lot, sipping on his pilfered soda. What other choice did I
have? My moral compass wouldn't get Farren out of jail. "I'd have spotted
you the cash."

He pulled out his buds and kept on
walking until we reached a bright red crotch rocket. "Don't need your
charity, Tainted."

My eyes grew so wide, I swear they
were gonna roll onto the cement. The Tainted remark didn't bother me. I'd heard
it enough in the past five months. But…my charity? Brainwashing a bunch a
people was better than asking for a five-spot? I flailed my hand at the house
of zombies. "But…those people…you…can't…"

"Yeah, I can."

I dug my fists into my hips, the
water bottle cold against my skin. "You're… That's…"

He threw the half-full bottle into a
trashcan lining the lot and unstrapped a helmet from the back of the bike.

Well that was a big slap in the
face. "You didn't even finish it? You brainwashed people for a half bottle
of soda."

That smile–no, it was a goddamn
smirk–returned to his lips. I sputtered on for a few seconds longer while he
watched, nodding his head…patronizing me.
Ass.
When I finally shut up,
he handed over the helmet. "Put that on."

The black helmet might as well have
had snakes slithering from the tinted visor. No way was I getting on that bike.
I backed up a few steps, shaking my head. "Nope. Not a chance."

He jammed it on his head. "Suit
yourself." He climbed on the bike and started the engine. "Get on."

"Ah, maybe you didn't understand
me. I'm not getting on that thing."

His shoulders slumped as he shut
down the engine. Leaning back, his feet braced on the ground to support the
bike, he flipped up the visor. "If you don't get on the bike, I'm leaving
you here."

The way he looked at me, as if he
could see right inside. "I'm… I don't like motorcycles."

He kept staring, and if I didn't
know better, I'd swear he actually succeeded in persuading me. As the seconds
ticked by, my fear of the crotch-hugging rocket dwindled. In a slow, almost enchanting
gesture, he slipped the helmet off his head and handed it to me.

When I still didn't accept it, too busy
locked onto his ancient eyes, he said, "Been watching your latest activity
on the news. Good job, by the way, going public this time." The helmet
moved closer to my hands. "You need my help getting that Protector out of
the clink, but if you don't come with me now, my offer's off the table, you
heard?"

Really, I wanted to talk, but…
how
the hell did he know me?

The helmet somehow managed to find
its way into my hands after I put the water in my bag and strapped it on my
back.

"Good girl. I guarantee you
got eyes on you everywhere. We need to ditch the tails, and we can't do that
taking the bus."

The man had a point.

I put on the helmet and he kicked
on the engine again. When the eye contact broke, I found my voice. "Don't
kill me."

His chest vibrated with a laugh as
I clenched his waist and held on for dear life. "I'll do my best."

We zipped through town, and indeed,
a car followed our every turn. Winston didn't rush through traffic, though. He
took his time, obeying all the traffic laws–until we hit the interstate ramp.
As soon as we merged with traffic, my stomach dropped and I screamed. Or at
least I tried to scream. The pressure from going a bazillion miles an hour gave
me enough oxygen to squeak. I squeezed his waist so hard I had to wonder if
Winston was still able to breathe. But he didn't slow down, especially when a
silver Mercedes kept pace with us. He looked behind him before kicking the
rocket into a higher gear.

Then we were flying. He ripped in
and out of lanes with sharp, quick movements, his dreads hitting my helmet. I
concentrated on that tapping sound so I wouldn't give in to the panic and do
something crazy, like jump off. We passed a few police cruisers, but none
zoomed out behind us. I'm sure Winston did some freaky mojo on them. Christ, he
did it for a half-bottle of Mountain Dew. I don't know how long we were racing
at that speed, but when we slowed down to hit an off-ramp, I almost cried with
relief. My life flashed before me on I-80. Something I'd never forget. At least
no Mercedes joined us.

When he drove into a restaurant and
parked, I had trouble peeling myself from his back. To his credit, Winston didn't
throw me off. He just pried my fingers from his waist and gestured to the side.
"Go on, now."

I slid from the bike, stumbling as
my tingling feet touched asphalt. Fried food smells coming from the diner didn't
sit well in my stomach, which was somewhere near my tonsils. The helmet made my
head too heavy, propelling me to the ground. I palmed the lot, trying to regain
control of my breathing while on all fours. For the record, I didn't give a
shit about how stupid I looked.

Not even when Winston laughed.

Okay, maybe a little when he laughed.

A little.

He squatted in front of me and unhooked
the helmet's strap. Soon as the head coffin pulled free, gushes of air inflated
my lungs. Even the sticky humidity felt cool and refreshing.

I stayed on the ground a minute
longer, taking in greedy gulps of oxygen. No way did I look in Winston's
direction. The smirk he probably had plastered on his face would've made my
position more humiliating. Not until he moved to lean against his bike did I
think to get up to find my self-respect.

Playing like the last five minutes
never happened, I shrugged off my backpack and with unsteady hands, pulled out
my water. After downing half, I screwed on the cap and looked around. "You
plan on stealing lunch, too?"

He didn't answer, his attention glued
on the diner's front doors.

Whatever. He could hate me all he
wanted. As long as he helped me.

I sat in a patch of brown grass at
the edge of the parking lot, the dead fauna scratching my thighs, and finished
my water. If he got off hanging out in restaurant parking lots, so be it. The
guy had the ability to persuade an entire store, and so persuading a few
rent-a-guards who might accuse us of loitering shouldn't be a problem.

But our little parking lot powwow
ended when a pretty Latina woman walked from the restaurant. She obviously
worked there, seeing as most people who were smoking hot didn't walk around wearing
black aprons and sensible shoes.

Winston stood, meeting her halfway.
Her smile made her prettier when he picked her up in a hug while her arms captured
his neck. After he kissed her, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. I watched
the whole scene like it was Shakespeare in the park.

Freak, much?
I felt like a peeping Tom. But how
Winston, a hard ass from Exemplar who had no problem brainwashing for a soda,
could make any woman smile confused the shit out of me.

Unfortunately, her smile
disappeared when her eyes gravitated toward me the longer Winston whispered in
her ear. She pulled back from his hold, her body movements telling me how
unhappy my presence made her. When the woman stalked over, I hopped up on my
feet. Whoever she turned out to be, I wasn't gonna let her take a swing at me. I
set my bag on the ground and waited.

She was a few feet in front of me
when the accusations flew. "Who are you?"

I wanted to sound like a bitch, at
least a little intimidating, but her dark eyes were a lot more intense than
Winston's. "Lena?"

She held her hands out, her whole
body moving, reminding me of Jake when he got pissed. "What? You asking me
who you are?"

I looked to Winston for some help.
He stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest, saying nothing.

"Um…no?"

When she went on a tangent in
Spanish, pointing her finger from me to Winston, I'd had enough. There were
bigger things to worry about than a jealous girlfriend. I looked over her head–not
hard, because she was five-foot-nothing–to glare at Winston. "Seriously? Can't
you scr–"

"Take a lap, Tainted."

What?
When I didn't move–my ears
assaulted with what were probably not very nice Spanish words–he nodded toward
the back of the restaurant, near the dumpsters.

"You want me to…what?"

"Gone on, now. Don't come back
until I give you the signal."

"The signal?"

This signal. Now leave.

Damn. His voice sounded a little
more aggressive inside my head. I didn't want to stick around, anyway. "Fine.
Whatever."

I snatched up my bag and made sure
to swing wide, away from the now quiet, seething girlfriend.

The loud vent fans from the
restaurant didn't mask the yelling near the crotch rocket, no matter how far I
walked behind the building. The woman was pissed. Christ, jealousy annoyed me.
If
she could see my giant, she'd
–

Damn, even my thoughts made me
sound thirteen.

All for you, Farren. And I'm gonna
kick your ginger ass as soon as we get you out.

I endured the rotting smell of food
and dirty dumpsters for fifteen long-ass minutes while I, and everyone else
within a fifty-foot radius, heard Winston get his balls handed to him. When
squealing tire sounds ricocheted off the rusted, metal garbage bins and the
yelling died down, I figured I'd get my signal. Another twenty minutes passed
before
come on back
echoed through my head. No aggression laced his
voice, only defeat.

That didn't stop me from taking my
time. I circled around, going the long way until his bike revved. Then I ran,
afraid he might leave me. Maybe save that payback for a better time.

I made it to his side, and he
handed over the helmet, not bothering to look up. Before I pushed the thing
back on for another terror-filled ride through the mountains, I had to ask the
burning question. "Why don't you scrub her mind?"

He glanced up, the hard edges of
his face softening. "Because I love her."

Oh…oh, wow.

Respect blossomed in my chest.
Every crap thing he'd done up to that point forgiven. I hopped on behind him. "Try
going for just eighty this time. I don't like having my stomach in my throat."

Winston's shoulders relaxed some as
he started the engine. "I'll think about it."

JAIL
BREAK

W
e raced over more back roads than I
knew existed, twisty roads with steep hills that dropped off in an instant.

On a red crotch rocket doing at
least sixty.

By the time we turned into a
driveway belonging to a gothic house under obvious construction, I didn't give
a shit if Uncle Fester came out or bats flew from the windows. Whatever waited
in the old place would be ten times better than taking another suicide trip on
the back of a motorcycle.

We didn't stop in the driveway. That
would've been too rational. When we were two feet from the front door, Winston
held out a hand and wiggled his fingers. The padlock near the knob unlocked,
and the heavy oak door swooshed open as we rolled through to a huge living room
with no furniture except for a mattress and a mini-fridge.

As soon as the engine died, I got
off and wobbled to the mattress, plopping down on a few blankets. Actually,
even though my body still hummed, the mattress was comfortable and the blankets
were soft.

Winston didn't say a word while he pushed
the bike under a little alcove. He then went to the fridge, which sat on the
bottom step of a wide staircase that led to…well, the obvious answer would've
been upstairs. What met the top step was scaffolding that held paint cans,
spray paint, and brushes strewn all over platforms. Curious, I lay back and
found the ceiling half-painted with scenes so beautiful, so rich and deep, they
took my eyes hostage. When I noticed the floating city in the far right corner,
tears threatened.

Empyrean.

Wilma and Teenesee.

They were in trouble while I…damn.
I needed to get to them.

The slamming fridge door distracted
me from the tears, thank God. I brushed away a few on my cheeks and rolled to
my side as Winston walked over holding two Styrofoam takeout containers. I sat
up when he offered a box to me. The wings inside smelled amazing, and cold
wings, especially BBQ cold wings, were almost a delicacy in my neighborhood.

We ate in silence, with me staring
up at what I assumed was his masterpiece and him looking straight ahead,
seemingly not loving the wings as much as I did. He ate mechanically, as if it
were just for sustenance. Which, obviously, was the reason why we all ate, but most
of us when given wings ate with some pleasure.

My nerves couldn't take the silence
anymore. I had questions–also a big request. I licked some sauce off my fingers
before pointing up. "This all you, Michelangelo?"

Again with the nods.
A simple yes would've been nice.

"They're, um, pretty."

He reached into his pocket, stuck
an earbud in his right ear, and kept eating.

Nope. It'd take more than that to
shut me up. "So, you wanna talk about it?"

He took another bite before
answering. "No."

I scooted closer. "Listen, I get
it. I understand. When me a–"

"Don't care, Tainted."

"I'm trying to say that I get
how difficult loving someone is when you're…different. You don't have to be an
ass."

He sighed. "What do you want
me to say, huh?" A pause. "Shaina…she's everything, okay? That's all
you need to know."

Farren's voice echoed in my head.
Protectors
aren't so easy to kill. Still had to pay, though…

I wouldn't push. I didn't really
want to know, anyway. It'd make what I needed to ask harder. "Yeah, sure.
Okay."

He finished his lunch and took my
empty container before getting up to throw them into a trash bag by the door. "All
right, here's the plan. We go tonight, around midnight. I get your guy, and
then you two get gone. Understood?"

I stood, wanting to be fine with
that, really. But, no. "That's not exactly all I need from you."

He laughed a little, shaking his
head. "Well, that's all you're gonna get."

I pulled the list from my bag and handed
it to him. "Um…Avery doesn't know Farren is in jail. She thought you might
be able to help find those people. I-I need your help getting Farren.
We
need your help finding an army."

The small laugh turned into a huge
one. "An army? You dumbasses planning on taking out Exemplar?" If his
voice weren't so musical, I would've been more pissed.

But I still fumed. I had to bite my
tongue. Literally bite it to keep from going off. "No, not yet, anyway. We
need the army to stop Exemplar from taking out Empyrean."

The laughing stopped, replaced with
paper crinkling, his hold tightening on the list. "What're you talking
about?"

I told him the story.

"Goddamn, you can't ever stay
out of trouble, can you? Whatever life you live." He unfolded the list and
skimmed through it. "You're never going to find these people."

"I know. That's why we need
you."

Paint cans rattled and the
scaffolding shook as Winston stared at the papers, his fists curling around
them. I backed up, ready to throw the mattress over my head if cans and metal
started dropping on us.

When he finally spoke, the urge to
hide grew stronger. "I don't know where the fuck they are." His eyes
pointed to the ceiling. "I've spent twenty years making sure you people
didn't find me. Stayed off the radar, stayed hidden…now this."

"Hey, I love Empyrean, too. I
don't want to–"

"You don't get it." His
voice stayed soft, his eyes glued to his paintings. "It's not about
Empyrean. Not really."

"Well, then I don't get why
you're so pissed."

He finally looked down. The dread in
his eyes made him young, vulnerable. "Where do you think Exemplar gets
their power?"

I shrugged. "Farren said the
sun."

He shook his head. "That's a
lie they tell everybody. You ever see those green orbs during your illegal
trips to Empyrean? The ones buried in the ground?"

"How do you know I've been–?"

"I know everything about you,
Tainted. From this life and the last. Answer the question."

Well, that was disturbing. But the
picture of those farmers hurling the orbs at the Protectors entered my head, erasing
the weird stalker comment and causing my throat to dry up. Those green balls I
thought looked like emeralds exploded into fire as soon as they touched
something solid.
What the hell…?
"Yes. They were like bombs or
something."

"They ain't bombs. That's
power. Those orbs, they
are
energy, some sort of magic Empyrean
shit." He handed the list back to me. "They're the reason why people
like you and me exist. Why our energy is so fucking strong."

Fear tickled the back of my neck
and left goose bumps on my arms. "I don't understand."

"You, me, all Exemplians,
we're science experiments. Science experiments created with help from those
magic balls…Empyrean power."

∞
∞ ∞

He wouldn't elaborate, even when I
begged, demanded, and begged again. All he'd say was it didn't matter. That
part he got right. What mattered was making sure Exemplar didn't succeed–something
Winston still refused to help us with.

I didn't stop nagging about
responsibility and concern for others–Wilma taught me well.

Until he froze my mouth.

When I decided to use my feet and
fists to get my point across, he lifted a hand, sending me flying onto the
mattress, freezing my entire body. "Get some sleep."

Fighting against his hold made my
lips ache. I managed a few closed-mouth screams, but with my head unable to
move and my arms at my sides, all I accomplished was screaming at the
unfinished painting on the ceiling. Oh, and giving myself the mother of all
headaches. The shitty part about the whole thing was how Winston managed to
ignore me. He slept, called who I assumed was Shaina, and showered. What I
would have given to take a piss, maybe wash the layers of sweat from my body.
Drown the bastard in the toilet.

At some point, I fell asleep, the
exhaustion from the past two days too much to fight. I lay curled on my side
when I woke up, once again in control of my body. My sore lips felt like I'd
spent hours holding my mouth wide open.

Jackass.

I sat up, my bladder ready to
explode, and scrambled to the room I'd watched Winston go in to take a shower.
When I came back out, feeling ten pounds lighter, Winston stood by the front door.
Under his T-shirt, a sizzling undercurrent zipped light from his neck to his
stomach. A taser rested in the lip of his sweats.

"You think the fairy suit's a
bit much? I doubt brainwashing guards will require Exemplian protection."

He shot me that stupid smirk. "Ain't
the guards I'm worried about."

"You really think Protectors
are staking out the place, waiting for me to break him out?"

"Of course they are."

I snorted. "Yeah, because they
think I'm that crafty."

"No, because they think you're
that stupid." I opened my mouth to give him a verbal ass kicking, but he
held up a hand. That worked. No way would I give him a reason to freeze my
mouth again. "They don't have high opinions of people who are not
Exemplian. It's their flaw and our advantage."

"And how are we gonna use
that?"

He crossed his arms and shook his
head. "Imma give you a minute to think of the answer on your own."

What a cocky sonofa–oh. Oh, yeah.
"Use me as bait."

He tapped his temple. "See,
you ain't all stupid."

I stretched, annoyed. So what if
the asshole wouldn't help find the list people. As soon as he freed Farren, we'd
head to Arcus–where decent people were ready to help. Screw this guy. "What
time is it?"

He opened the door, his bike
already in the driveway. "Don't worry about it. Let's go."

Dick.

∞
∞ ∞

Since Farren still sat in county,
we'd have to go right into the heart of Mount Pocono. The jail connected to the
courthouse, something I found stupid. But, hey, I'm no criminal expert or
anything.

As we drove down Main Street, the bar
scene was in full swing. Drunks staggered too close to the curb, their driving
counterparts too close to the sidewalk. Police patrolled, but they never
bothered anyone much unless a fight broke out or the driving got too erratic.
The perks of living close to East Stroudsburg University. College students on a
mission to be complete idiots got some leeway from Pocono's finest.

The courthouse hid two streets
behind Main, which made it a virtual ghost town, with the whispers of Main's
party curling into the shadows. Winston kept the bike at a crawl, going about
three blocks past the courthouse before parking. He even put a couple quarters
in the meter.

"You don't have to feed those
after six." The guy would steal a soda, but needlessly pay for parking? Whatever.

He shrugged and headed toward the
back of the jail. I followed, though not liking the whole trailing-like-a-puppy
feeling. The way he walked, as if he owned the damn sidewalk. Man, I really
didn't want to be impressed. I had to cling to the hours he kept me frozen.
Okay, maybe it was fifteen minutes or so, but still. The fucker froze my mouth.

Yeah, Winston was pretty badass.
The epitome of cool.

Asshole.

But when he turned away from the
courthouse and toward the party, I had to question his intelligence, at the
very least, his sense of direction. "Um…wrong way."

I mumbled that little directive
under my breath. No one ever accused me of repeating mistakes. The guy didn't
like questions–proof being my sore mouth.

He heard me anyway. We stopped and
he pointed at the loudest crowd, drinking on the patio of an old bar. "Imma
hang out here for a minute. You go on and take a lap around the courthouse."