Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) (32 page)

“Beautiful.”  She purred, tracing the hood of the car with her finger.

“Yes you are,” Dave replied.  Samantha cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth crooked. She leaned against the hood of the car, watching him through lowered eyelashes.  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

She slid her gaze to his lips, “I always fantasized about—I can’t tell you, it’s silly.”

“No, tell me.”

“About, you know...on the hood of a car like this.”
“Really?”  Dave glanced around, suddenly glad he had decided to park in the rear of the building.  He came towards Samantha, putting his hands on either side of her.  “This evening isn’t turning out half bad...”  Leaning forward, pinning her between his arms, he kissed her.

When they emerged for breath, Sam was gasping, “I’ve got to hand it to you,” she said, “You are a good kisser.”  Dave laughed and started to go in for a second.

Click.

Dave froze.  “What was that?”

“My gun.”  Sam was proud of that fact.  After their run-in with the motorcycle rider, she’d waited until the three guys were distracted getting the car onto a tow truck.  Then she’d snuck over to the place they’d hidden the gun and in turn had hidden it in her purse.  Sensing Lane would disapprove, she hadn’t told any of them.  But she’d thought it might come in handy later as insurance.  She’d been right, as usual. 

Feeling the hard metal against his abdomen, Dave backed off a step, raising his hands.  “What’s it for?”

Sam released the safety, “Pre-emptive strike.  Come on, Hal,
David
?  Didn’t think I’d figure it out?  I’m tipsy, but I’m not an idiot.  Plus you’re a ten.  Tens let girls come on to them.  They don’t hit on girls.  Especially girls like me.”

Hal shrugged, “You’re being unfair.  Making out with you is a perk, not a chore.”

“That’s sweet.  Thanks.”  And she pulled the trigger.

A bang rang out and she yelped, dropping the gun. She cradled her hands, now badly burned.  

“Come on now, Sam.”  Hal advanced to his original position.  Planting his hands on either side of her, he neatly pinned her in position.  “A gun?  Against a fire Talent?  Are you sure you’re not an idiot?”

He snapped his fingers and a neat little flame emerged from his finger tips.  “Besides, guns are so crass.  You need some finesse in this life.  Otherwise, things get so dull.”  Opening his palm, the flame snaked out into three vines, spinning down to the ground and flowing towards her legs.

Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  Sam cringed as the flame hit her pant legs, burning her as it crawled up her body.  With a yell and a shout, she pushed Hal away, hopping backwards and trying to put out the flames.  Hal stood there laughing.  Like she was the best joke he’d heard in a long time.

Shoot
.  Sam thought,
I guess fighting fire with fire
doesn’t
work.  All right, time for Plan B.

And what was Plan B again?  Hal advanced on her. 
OK
, Sam thought, hastily backing away from the car,
maybe this whole free-spirited acting without thinking doesn’t work for me.  Maybe in the future I do need to think things through thoroughly and with great concentration.  Good to know.

Here it came, a glowing orb, hovering above her.  Little droplets of stinging fire began to rain down on her, sizzling as they touched her skin.  And here she was planning for a future that, to be honest, may never come.  Time for Plan C.  Sam turned and took off running, crashing into the woods as Hal laughed behind her.

#

At this hour, on a Friday night, the parking lot was packed with cars and people, laughing and talking and taking a break in the cool air as they sipped their beers.  Unfortunately, not one of them was Samantha.

“Why does she keep
doing
this to me?”  Lane snarled.

Al and Harry looked at him and wisely said nothing.

“Tess?” he asked. 

“She’s not within my range.  But I don’t think he could have taken her far.  She’s about one drink away from puke-ville,” Tess announced, looking around the lot.  “Plus, she’s too smart to get into a car without a struggle, and there are lots of witnesses here who would have seen.  I bet he took her ‘round back.  Come on, if we can get within a hundred yards I can find her.  But we have to hurry!”

#

Plan A, Plan A, what had happened to Plan A?  Samantha crashed through the forest, trying not to curse as she plunged through yet another thicket of blackberry bushes that snagged and grabbed and scratched her to death. 

Plan A had been so deliciously simple and perfect, the Occam’s Razor of plans.  She’d first thought she’d seen Hal while Tess recited her monologue.  Sam waited, planning on broaching the issue with Lane when a free moment arrived.  But then Tess had said all that stuff about her being helpless and, all at once, it seemed like a good idea to... figure this one out herself.

At the bar, when Hal had caught her eye and smiled, she knew she had him.  He must have thought he was being clever, that she’d never recognize him.  But he’d underestimated Sam’s instincts.  She may never have seen his face, but she knew a psychopath when she met one.  Her hackles had gone up the second he’d walked in.

And he didn’t know she knew who he was.  And that presented so many delicious opportunities.  So Plan A was put into action: Pretend to have fun, get Hal alone, and shoot him.  Pretty straightforward.

Simple, she knew now, wasn’t always best.  Plan C, also known as strategic retreat, also known as running away, wasn’t going so hot either.  In the woods in Washington, Sam discovered, there were blackberry bushes and thistles and fallen logs and branches that all reached out to snag unsuspecting runners and bring them down.  Not to mention little holes that threatened to twist your ankle.

But Sam was leggy, and she’d had a lot of practice running for her life lately.  For example, she now knew that rather than trying to outrun her pursuer and risk another asthma attack, it was better just to get far enough ahead to hide.

When she stumbled down a steep embankment and into the freezing chill of a large creek (or was that small river?), she didn’t curse but took it as a good sign.  Water, water was good against a fire elemental.  Or at least she hoped.  Stumbling upstream a few yards she found a wide, low-hanging footbridge and slid underneath.  The water was shallow enough that by leaning up she could hold her head slightly above the surface, keeping her torso and legs submerged.  Skittering under, she had a good foot or two of planks on either side shielding her from view.  Her body submerged in the bitterly cold creek, Sam felt a stinging sensation as the scratches from the brambles touched the water.  She ignored it, until her stitches hit the cold water.  Then she couldn’t quite keep the hiss of pain from escaping.  Stubbornly, she put the pain out of her mind and shivering from the cold, or adrenaline, or both, she waited.

He wasn’t that far behind her.  Thin as he was, he still sounded like a bear, pushing through the underbrush.  He headed further upstream, as though he guessed she would escape in the creek and he wanted to cut her off.  Slowing her breathing, Sam forced herself to lie still.  She wouldn’t want her wheezing to give herself away. 

This was the perfect place for an ambush, she reasoned, if she could figure out how, exactly, to ambush him.  She had no gun.  She had no talent.

But.  Her dad had pulled energy from Lane as easily as they both pulled energy from the environment.  What if she could do that, too?  What if she could take his power away, drain him to mortal status?

And then what?  Beat him up?  Run away again?  Beat him up, she settled on.  That’s what she’d intended to do from the beginning, after all.  Besides, she was developing a distinctive dislike for running.

“Sammy,” Hal called softly, “I know you’re here somewhere.”  He took a step or two downstream.  From underneath the bridge, Sam could see him from the knees down.  But every step closer he took, the less she could see.  When he was close enough, he’d be lost in the blind spot created by the bridge floor.  It was now or never.

Reaching out, Sam felt the bright, burning nebula of power that was Hal and pulled.  The resulting boost in her own energy was unmistakable.  She felt the thrum roll through her.

Hal paused in mid-step, cocking his head.  “Uh oh.  Do I sense a slight tugging at my senses?  What are you doing?”  He didn’t block her, exactly, but the strands suddenly felt slippery and harder to pull.  And he had so much energy that Sam didn’t know what to do with it.  With no way to use it, all she could do was let it build.  It made her feel dizzy and a little nauseous. 

Whistling, Hal disappeared from view.  Sam flipped her head, to see if she could catch sight of him downriver.  Nothing.  She could sense his power, still strong and pulsing, despite the steady stream Sam had been draining from him.  He seemed to be hovering around the entrance to the footbridge. 

And then she heard something.  The snap of a flame, and a strong, sibilant hiss of steam.  Sam looked upstream.  Oh shit.  The river was on fire.  As impossible as it should be, drifting lazily towards her, flames danced on top of the creek water, looking for all the world like a merry orange and red blanket.

No time to think.  Sam took a deep breath and slithered into the middle of the creek, where the water was deepest, grabbing on to a large boulder to keep the current from pulling her out from under the bridge and into the open.

And from above came a heat, growing steadily.  Minnows slipped past her, slippery and ticklish, leaving their hiding spots and fleeing the sudden change in environment.  The water shielded her to a degree, but she couldn’t hold her breath.

With little other choice, Sam let go of the rock.  Once she was clear of the bridge, she leapt to her feet, breaking through thin blanket of fire that hovered mere inches above the water.  Gasping for breath, swearing, she jumped out of the creek and scrambled on her hands and knees up the embankment.  Luckily, her dampened state made her clothes somewhat resistant to catching fire, else she might have been a flame-sicle by this point. 

“I knew you’d have to pop up sometime.”  Hal stood over her, smiling nicely at her, like she’d just stopped by his table at the corner coffee shop.  

Soggy and bedraggled, she stood up, brushing her pants off.  “OK,” she said, “Let’s do this.”

Hal snapped his fingers.  Nothing happened, he looked at his hand, confused.

“Kind of hard to tell you’re being drained clean when you’re busy spouting out blankets of fire.”  Sam snarled, and threw herself at him.  They collided with a grunt and thud, rolling back down the embankment and into the creek, punching and kicking, and, in Sam’s case, biting.

Thanks to luck and gravity, Sam wound up on top.  With her knees pinning Hal’s shoulders to the ground, she started raining punches down on his head and chest.

Hal reached up and grabbed her arm, effortlessly pulling her to the side and down, so she landed hard on her elbow in the water.  Kicking up and towards his stomach, she managed to scramble free of his grip.  She straightened awkwardly, taking two steps backwards, wishing again for the ability to do TK, to do something with her power—
anything
—but it was futile.  All her talent could do was insure she had a level playing field.  The rest was up to her.

Hal stood, dripping wet, his lip bleeding.  He reached up, touching the cut gingerly, but his focus was on her.  Sam reached down and picked up a good-sized rock that had some pointiness to it.

In response, Hal pulled out a switchblade and snapped it open.  Long and thin, this knife wasn’t for intimidation, like the motorcycle rider’s had been, but for business.  For ending unpleasant ordeals quickly and quietly.  Unpleasant ordeals like herself.

Not a word was said.  They were past that now.  Instead, he just ran towards her. 

Movement was slow in a foot of water.  Sam knew better than to try and run.  Instead, she sidestepped, ducking under Hal’s outstretched knife arm.  Spinning, she barely had time to counter his next strike by swinging the hand with the rock up and into his incoming blow.  She got lucky, hitting the back of his wrist hard enough so that he dropped the blade. 

The knife disappeared into the water.  She could use that.  Sam dived for it, but Hal snagged her by the back of her shirt, tossing her forward.  A disturbing crack rang out as her left knee smacked into a boulder.  Before Sam could recover, Hal was on her again, grabbing her by her face, forcing her backwards and into the water.  Sam kicked and punched like a fury, but Hal had a good hundred pounds of body weight on her.   

She went limp, but Hal was smarter than that.  His grip remained firm, his fingers digging into her forehead as he pushed her down into the water.  Her body acted on its own and tried to breathe, pulling in a great lungful of gritty creek water, which it immediately tried to force out.  Feeling her chest spasm, Sam panicked.  Her brain screamed in the frustration of having power and not being able to use it.  Her nails dug deep scars in Hal’s wrists, but still he held firm.  She was drowning, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Chapter
28

In the midst of her flailing, Sam felt something scratch her right hand, a branch.  No time for thought.  No room for planning.  Her body reacted purely on instinct, the instinct to live.