Tainted Energy (The Energy Series Book 1) (3 page)

The
CW right here in the Poconos…

Belva
smoothed her highlighted bangs to the side before putting her palms on the
table. "You get lost? This is our table, trash. Dogs eat on the floor."

She
flicked one delicate wrist and shoved my food to the floor. Chocolate milk and
ketchup sprayed everywhere.

Anger
burned my throat when half the cafeteria looked on. I wanted to punch her in
the face. Pull out all her shiny hair. Rip out her throat.

I pushed
my chair back and made sure to laugh as the rest of the predators pointed,
snapped photos with phones, and called me everything from trailer trash to
whore. Imagination wasn't their strength.

As I gathered
my stuff for a great escape, Wilma stomped over to the table, the scowl on her
face all too familiar. The only time I saw it was when I came to her house
sporting a new bruise on my face.

"What
did she do?" Wilma targeted me with her death stare.

"Nothing,
just stay out of it." All I wanted to do was disappear.

Wilma
put her hands on her ample hips, turning toward Belva. "Not this time."

Belva
laughed in her face. "What're you going to do? Write me up?"

When
Wilma's cheeks burned red, Belva's grin faltered.

"Like
I said, not this time." Wilma waved a hand in front of Belva's face. She
then moved her fingers lower, palming my predator's stomach.

Belva
just stood there, a dull sheen clouding her eyes as she stared at Wilma, mouth
agape.

Some of
her friends tried to come to her rescue, but Wilma shot them a glare. They
stopped moving forward, their eyes as blank as Belva's.

I
grabbed Wilma's wrist, trying to yank her hand off Belva's stomach. Electricity
zinged through my fingers as if I clamped onto an electric fence.

Holy
shit.
Her skin
sizzled with energy, almost burning me. "Let go, Wilma."

In an
instant, her skin returned to normal, and I released my grip, shaking my
tingling fingers.

Wilma
let go of Belva and scowled at me. "Go to class." She then limped
back to her stool.

Belva's
eyes cleared and her hand went to her stomach as a tear slipped from her left
eye. Her friends gathered around her, all of them back to normal as they left
my table. One of them mouthed
Bitch
in my direction, and I knew what
that meant.

Great...
This little incident wouldn't just
go away.

I
gathered my books and beat feet for the doors, the memory of electricity in
Wilma's wrist awakening something…

Oh,
damn.

She'd
done this before.

My mind
flashed on the image of
Him
flying across a field…and Wilma…waving her
hand.

Déjà vu
overwhelmed me.

Just
a dream, right?
It
had to be. I stopped as soon as I cleared the cafeteria doors and looked down
at my palm. I swear a flash of blue light zipped up my pointer finger.
No.
Impossible.

But…Him?

Son
of a bitch.

∞ ∞ ∞

Unfortunately,
Belva and I were in the same chemistry class. Which meant the incident in the
cafeteria would probably have an encore, and there wasn't a lunch lady in sight
to interfere.

As the
bell rang, everyone opened their notes and focused on the board. Luckily, my table
was in the back and Belva's was in front. If she wanted to continue with her
smear-Lena campaign, it'd have to wait until class ended.

For
thirty minutes, without a break, Mr. Collins droned on. My eyes stayed on my
notebook, writing down everything important. Going crazy or not, I had to keep
my grades up if I wanted a real shot at that scholarship. Stump stressed
grades. He said my secret weapon against other girls fighting for the free ride
was straight A's.

Someone
gagged, and I lifted my head to inspect the source. Belva, pale and green all
at the same time, held one hand over her mouth and the other in the air. When
Collins stopped to call on her, moisture seeped through the cracks between her
fingers.

"Yes,
Belva?" His annoyed face twisted to surprise when Belva stood, taking her
hand away from her lips.

Projectile
vomit spewed at least three feet, landing all over the clean Formica surface of
the table. Collins held a hand to his nose and motioned to the door. "Go
outside! Go outside!"

Belva
managed to stand, doing her best to make it to the door. Her designer white
pants showed the grossness was coming from both ends. The room filled with a
stench rivaling a mixture of week-old road kill and an outhouse. I covered my
face with both hands, my eyes watering from the sting of the putrid odor.

I wouldn't
have believed it if I'd not been a front row spectator. The bane of my high
school existence shit herself while puking on her horrified followers. When she
made it out of class, puddles of humiliation colored her seat.

As
Collins dialed maintenance, frantic and incoherent, I couldn't help thinking
Wilma's lunchroom voodoo had something to do with Belva's major slide onto my
side of the societal tracks.

∞ ∞ ∞

The rest
of the day passed with Belva's episode top of the gossip agenda. A few people
felt sorry for her, but most thought it was hilarious she shit her pants in
front of everyone.

I wouldn't
have traded places with her for one of those mansions cluttering her fancy
neighborhood any day.

Belva didn't
stay on my mind for long. Or at least Belva's embarrassing moment didn't. The
way Wilma waved her hand and walked away, especially considering how mad she'd
gotten when my tray crashed to the floor, replayed in my head. After everything
over the last couple of days, I had trouble trusting my own judgment, but the
coincidence was too weird. Highly unlikely Wilma had any kind of supernatural
powers, but the image in my head...
Him
flying through the air just by
her waving a hand...

When the
last bell rang, I went from Calculus straight to the employee parking lot.
Fifteen minutes came and went without any sign of my lunch lady. It wouldn't go
over well if I was late, since it'd only be me and Jake tonight. Zander was
scheduled, but who knew if he'd show.

Another
five minutes passed before I decided it could wait until tonight. I turned, and
there she was, irritated as always. My heart stopped for a second before speeding
up, threatening to beat out of my chest.

She
glared up at me, her hands resting on her hips. "Looking for me?"

"Yeah,
you have a minute? Maybe give me a lift to work so we can talk?"

"About
what?" She tapped her foot, clearly not wanting to talk to me.

"What'd
you do to Belva?"
So much for subtlety
.

She
narrowed her eyes. "I didn't do anything to her."

"Wilma,
she shit herself in class today, right after lunch." I switched gears,
deciding against asking anything too crazy. "Did you put something in her
food?"

She
shook her head as worry skidded across her face. "I didn't do anything to that
girl, though she deserved more than a little humiliation. Maybe it's God's way
of telling her to stop being a dipshit."

I
shifted my calculus book and ran a hand through my hair, tangled and falling
out of the braid. The inquisition needed to stop before another person joined
the Lena-is-nuts group. "Listen, don't get involved in…stuff. She'll just
come at me worse." I looked over her head at the teachers rushing out of
the jungle for the day. "Empirical evidence has proven that theory."

Her
anger came out of nowhere, surprising me. "Why don't you kick her ass? You
would've before..." She bit her bottom lip, her blue eyes flashing fire,
and stomped toward her car. Funny, her limp didn't show up this time.

I
followed. "Before? Before what?"

She didn't
elaborate, just kept going until she reached her car, shoving her body into the
driver's seat.

"Wilma?
What the hell?"

She
rolled down the window and started the engine. "You know how hard it is to
watch everyone stomp all over you and not be able to do a goddamn thing about
it?"

What?
"I've never asked you to do
anything, have I?"

Wilma
smacked the steering wheel with a frustrated yell, causing some of the teachers
to glance our way. "No, Lena, you haven't. You never have, but that doesn't
mean I don't feel like a total ass for sitting back and watching you deal with
things you don't deserve."

I
examined my hands, my cheeks growing warm. "I don't want your pity."

"Then
stop acting like a weakling." She put the car in drive. "You getting
in?"

Rage,
directed more at myself than anyone else, had my arms shaking around my book. "I'll
walk."

Wilma's
car pulled up beside me as I headed for the sidewalk, the passenger window
open. "Hey, I'm sorry. I'll stay out of it, promise."

I
nodded, keeping my eyes directed at my feet.

Wilma's
sigh hit me right in the ear. "Just...you need to stop being so afraid all
the time. You've got to be strong, now more than ever."

Jesus,
what the hell did that even mean? I stopped, and so did she. "Thanks for
the advice." I headed toward the theater, releasing tears as her engine
faded into the distance.

Tarek

Dimension of Exemplar, present day…

T
he screens showed the same thing
every day. Flashes of dimensions, some vivid and chaotic, others dull and
tranquil–they all mocked him.

Nothing.
Seventeen years of nothing.

Tarek
scratched at the knotted mat on his head that used to pass for hair and propped
his muddy boots on the beat-up table. They landed on piles of notes, years of
worthless research, as he stared at the screens, not really seeing, until the
noises from the boar caught his attention. The thing sputtered and coughed
grease as it turned on the spit, spilling juices into the fireplace that took
up the whole right wall.

Her
idea, the fireplace. He'd built it for her; every stone set and mortared by his
hands. When she left, he allowed the chute to get clogged and unusable. That
was how the first eleven years went. The last six, he built the fire every day,
the memories of her not as raw, and even welcomed, as the screens showed him
shit he didn't care about.

Those
countless dimensions ran across the screens in front of him while he slumped on
the ripped-up, worn sofa, forgetting about the pig. Old feelings of hope now
replaced with habit. After all these years, the screens and that fireplace kept
him going, even though breathing became a chore at times. He'd promised to find
her when the Synod's authority snatched her away. He promised.

Rubbing
his face, ignoring the thick beard from weeks without a razor, he went to the
window. The serenity of the field–their field–screamed at him. This had been
their place with the bright flowers always in bloom and the apple trees
constantly spitting fruit on the ground. Their sanctuary. He pulled up the
window to catch the breeze that always brought in the smell of apples and
lilacs, creating a bigger void in his chest. Didn't matter. Emptiness was his
best friend, the only reliable thing left.

He
adjusted the pig when the spit moved off-kilter. The savory smell reminded his
stomach of how empty he let it get before giving in to the weakness. No big
deal. He'd eat until his stomach stretched to its limit and put the rest in the
fridge. Maybe he'd eat it tomorrow–maybe throw it away in two weeks when rotting
carcass masked the scent of apples and flowers.

He
ignored his stomach's griping when the meat needed another hour and went to
study her bookshelves, touching nothing. Everything remained the way she had arranged
it, including the open book on Arcus sitting on the distressed wooden desk he
built. A thick layer of dust was the only change.

She'd
accumulated information on every known dimension, researched them all. Her
knowledge had made her so vital to Guides and Protectors alike. Who would've
thought it all made her vulnerable, too?

Sometimes
he hated her for it.

He
rubbed his face again, immune to the tears leaking out of his eyes, and trudged
into the kitchen already feeling the whiskey burn his tongue.

As he
rinsed his dirty mug, a knock sounded on the door and fuzz entered his brain. One
person cared enough to invade his space–and his self-induced isolation. He didn't
have to turn around to know the tenacious bastard already let himself in. "What?"

"Well,
that's no way to greet the only person who still shows up to your pity party."
A small man who looked and acted more like a scholar than a Protector, Mateusz
stopped giving him sympathy about a year after the authority took her. Had to
give the guy points, though. He hadn't stopped coming to check on him either.

The
whiskey filled Tarek's spotty mug before he turned to meet the eyes of his only
friend. "Then why do you still come here?"

"For
the lively company."

"Ha."
He took a deep drink, relishing the burn–looking forward to the inevitable
effect.

Mateusz
pushed his wire frames farther up his nose before he sat at the dining table
big enough for two. "Smells like dinner's almost ready."

"You're
not invited." Another sip warmed his stomach and loosened the tension in
his shoulders.

"At
least we can count on your unfailing manners." Mateusz's attention shifted
to the running screens. He peeled off his specs and cleaned the lenses while
squinting at the back wall. After clearing his throat, he said, "The
Guides need you, Tarek. You're one of the best Protectors we have. And the
Synod is...impatient for your return."

"Don't care what those
assholes want." So what if Exemplar's governing branch had a hard on for
him. It wouldn't be the first time.

"You should."

Mateusz
was head of the Synod's authority; a promotion he took ten years ago. The man
had a way of making sure they stayed off his back all these years. But from the
amount of time spent on this conversation lately, it sounded like Mateusz's way
wasn't working anymore.

"Let
them come get me," Tarek said.

Mateusz's
reasonable tone grew quiet. "It's a death sentence if it comes to that."

After another
sip and a refill when the bottom of the mug became too clear, he said, "Don't
care."

Mateusz
slammed a fist on the worn, scratched surface of the table but kept silent.
After a few seconds, his attention went back to the screens as a hand propped
up his chin.

Tarek
shrugged and took another sip. When the bastards did come, he'd be ready. Death
would be the outcome, but he'd take some with him. He should've killed a few
when they came seventeen years ago.

"You're
not the only person who has ever lost someone." Mateusz's voice broke the
silence filling the tiny space.

Wasn't
easy ignoring the guilt eating at him, but Tarek managed. Mateusz lost his
woman a couple years ago. He never shared how, and Tarek didn't feel right
asking. The only question he had for the guy was how did he function? Faith in
the Synod, in the cause, Mateusz had said, kept him sane.

Unfortunately,
Tarek never had the older Protector's gift of optimism. "Guess I'm not as
strong as you."

Mateusz
waved his hand in the air after a quick swipe at his eyes. "This
conversation…it's not what I've come to discuss for once." He shoved those
ridiculous glasses back up his nose. "There's been some talk...about Lena."