Arc Angel (8 page)

***

“Thank you for your help, Detective.”

The relocation of the ancient artifact had gone smoothly, and the piece now rested in its new home in the east wing of the Elder’s Grove Museum. Kate played no part in the actual move, but as head of the task force was required to be present for the event.

“You made it easy, Mr. Fredricks. I appreciate you being willing to close down the entire museum for us on a Friday afternoon.”

The museum director waved a wrinkled hand.

“It’s not our busiest time anyway. Besides, the security of the artifact took priority over a few field trips.”

“Well, thank you again. Please give me a call if you have any questions or need anything else. We’re planning to continue the extra staffing through the grand opening.”

“I’m sure I won’t need anything else. You’ve been very thorough.”

Kate smiled her thanks and turned to leave.

“Detective?”

She pivoted and looked at the older man again.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to see it?”

Kate’s mind went blank. “See it?”

“The artifact. Would you like to see it? You’ve certainly earned a sneak peek.”

She almost said no. The word sprang from her throat, almost to her lips before she forced herself to swallow it. Why shouldn’t she take a quick look? What would it hurt? She smiled to cover her sudden uneasiness.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Mr. Fredricks motioned her closer to the case.

“The security on the display case isn’t turned on yet, so you can get quite close if you’d like.”

Kate trudged over to the case, stopping a foot away. She made herself look down.

She’d expected something fancy, maybe encrusted with jewels or crystals. But the artifact was nothing more than a stone tablet with a number of markings on it. They didn’t quite look like pictures, but they weren’t exactly letters either.

No one should be seeing this. It wasn’t meant to be seen.

What had made her think that? The artifact was simply an old rock. Nothing special. But she could barely manage to keep her face turned toward the case. Dammit, she was a police officer. She believed in facts and evidence, not strange woo woo feelings. She’d be damned if she let herself be spooked by a stupid artifact.

And yet a shimmer of energy seemed to flow up from the artifact and settle around her head, seeping into her nose, mouth, ears. She desperately wanted to shake it off, but decided she was being crazy. She forced herself to hold her ground for another 15 seconds, counted off in her head, and then turned and paced back toward the museum director instead of sprinting from the building like she wanted to.

Mr. Fredricks looked at her expectantly. She cleared her throat and wracked her brain for something to say other than “get that thing the hell out of here.”

“It’s very… interesting. I’m sure it will attract a lot of visitors.”

Mr. Fredricks beamed at her. “We’re counting on it! This is quite a coup for the museum, you know. We were so fortunate that the private collector made the offer directly to us, rather than putting it up for auction. We’d never have been able to afford it that way.”

He walked over to the case himself and looked down, his face genial as always.

“I think it likes being here too. It’s supposedly from around Elder’s Grove, you know. I think it’s happy to be home.”

Kate couldn’t stop a shiver from running down her spine.

“I’m sure you’re right. I hope you have a wonderful weekend, Mr. Fredricks.”

He didn’t look up from the glass case. “You too, dear.”

Kate marched toward the exit, rubbing her arms over her prickling skin. The artifact may be home, but she definitely didn’t get the sense that it was happy.

Chapter 8

The cab ride back to Miranda’s apartment passed in a blur. She sprinted up the steps and into her apartment for the second time in so many days. Once she made it safely inside, door locked, the pain she’d suppressed since leaving Bryce’s came flooding back. A choked sob escaped her lips and she sank to her knees in the entryway, unable to find the strength to even stand.

Miranda covered her face with her hands and wept. The trauma of the past day settled over her, enveloping her so she could barely breathe. All she could do was cry and cry. She’d been a freak before, but now she’d taken that to a whole new level. Even Bryce, who she’d thought would help her, maybe even be a kind of friend to her, knew she was a freak. She wanted to turn back time, to go back to last night. And this time, she wouldn’t leave her apartment. Then none of this would have happened.

But then Mrs. Dobrusky would have been hurt.

Anyway, what did it matter? Time travel wasn’t possible.

Though apparently superheroes were.

Finally, Miranda ran out of steam. Sniffling, she slumped down and curled herself into a ball on the shabby carpet.

Okay, Miranda, pity party is over. So no one is going to help you. Big deal. You’ve been on your own for years now. You can handle this too.

But how did one “handle” suddenly having super powers? How did normal people cope with a dramatic change in their lives?

Miranda envisioned herself meeting with Dr. French. “Yes, Doctor, still having the social anxiety disorder. And now, by the way, I’m also a superhero. Any tips on how to handle that?”

Miranda snorted and smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. Okay, talking to Dr. French was out. An image of Bryce flashed through her brain, and her frown returned. Talking to anyone was out.

But surely she could do something herself. She’d started with a little research last night, reading through her Arc Angel comics, but maybe she needed to take the research to a new level.

Maybe Bryce had been right, in a way. Maybe she did need to run some tests, see what she could do. She hoped she could get rid of her powers entirely, but until then, or in case that wasn’t going to happen, she should at least try to learn to control them. She’d never been a Boy Scout, but “be prepared” made a lot of sense. And testing them didn’t mean she had to use them.

Miranda sat up and looked around. Her apartment’s hallway offered little of interest, with its standard white walls that she hadn’t gotten around to hanging pictures on, but it did have an overhead light, which she hadn’t bothered to flip on when she came in. Well, she had to start somewhere.

Every other time the power had come, it had come of its own volition, so she had no idea how to consciously call it. She reluctantly tried to conjure the memories of what it had felt like when she’d zapped the mugger. She raised her right arm toward the light fixture. And felt like an idiot. She forced herself to hold her stance. Wait, should she concentrate on the fixture or the switch? No, the fixture seemed like a more logical choice.

She focused her attention on the ceiling above her, trying to remember how it felt when the electricity had coursed within her. She stared at the light, imagining the wires that led to the bulb and how the power would need to flow through them, like the power flowed through her. She could sense the power in the wires, just waiting to be tapped.
Okay, Miranda, take that feeling and turn it inward. Find the power and tap it.
She easily located it, humming deep within her core
. Now run it through you, like you’re the wire.
The power buzzed up and fluttered into her arms, down to the tips of her fingers.

Okay, I’m ready, the light fixture is ready. Now all I need to do is make the power… jump.
Her fingers tingled as she willed the power toward the light. A tiny flicker of light appeared inside the fixture. It glowed weakly but darkened almost immediately.

Well, that was close, at least. I’m on the right track. I just need to crank it up this time.
Electricity crackled from the tips of her still-raised right hand, shooting into the light fixture. This time, the bulb sputtered to life and stayed lit.

Yes! I did it!
A surge of confidence surged through her, parallel with the power. For the first time since last night, Miranda felt like maybe she could handle this. She stood up straight, drawing her shoulders back, and looked in awe at the power still pulsing out of her arm.

A strange calm settled over her as she stared at the blue light.

YOU’RE DOING IT.

The flesh on the back of Miranda’s neck crawled and her arm trembled. She tried to shrug off the sense of unease that the voice somewhere outside of her consciousness had brought on and tried to focus on the light. Her arm steadied.

I’m doing it!

Miranda James, recluse extraordinaire, may be a freak, but damn, she was a powerful freak. Flush with new-found confidence, she poured even more power out toward the light. The bulb flared, searing her eyes with its brightness. She jerked her head down, disoriented by the sudden flash. A sunspot danced before her eyes, and she blinked to make it fade. Her arm wavered, and the power began to dance and skip, causing the light to dim and flare recklessly.

Stop it!
Miranda tried to stabilize the flow with a burst of current. But as the push of power reached the bulb, it flared like a miniature sun and then exploded. Glass from the bulb and the surrounding fixture rained down onto the scruffy hallway carpet.

Miranda threw her arm up to shield her eyes as shards of glass pelted her body. After the blast ended, she stood frozen for a few seconds, still partially braced against the impact. Her body got back in action before her brain did.

She lowered her arm and tried to assess the damage. Light fixture: destroyed. Hallway: giant mess. Miranda: miraculously unharmed. Somehow, most of the glass had either missed her completely, or hadn’t made it through her thick clothing to pierce her skin. She reached a hand up to a stinging sensation on her forehead and felt the warm stickiness of her blood. Apparently one piece had gotten to her. But the bleeding was mild and the pain dull, so she knew it was only a nick. She wiped her bloody fingers off on her thigh.

Physical damage assessed, her brain kicked back in. She couldn’t do this. She’d thought she could, she really had, but look where that kind of thinking led. She’d blown up a light fixture. It was a miracle she hadn’t seriously hurt herself or someone else. Not that there was ever anyone else there with her. But if there had been, they could have been seriously injured as well.

And now the shock started to fade, and her body began to shake. She leaned against the wall for support, no longer able to trust her legs to keep her upright.

So much for thinking she could control her powers. She’d completely botched it, and discovered in the process that her newfound powers weren’t only inconvenient and embarrassing, they were dangerous. She could seriously hurt someone.

And so much for keeping her powers without ever using them. She could stop doing deliberate tests, but the next time she got into a tense or dangerous situation, the power would kick on automatically and then who knew what hell might break loose.

She had to make this stop. Whatever it took, she needed to figure out how to get rid of her ability. Maybe she needed to get over her issues and go to a doctor. But the idea that her freakiness would be analyzed and recorded for posterity made her squirm.

The doorbell buzzed, its shrill tone echoing through her small apartment. Miranda jumped and took a step back in panic, her boots crunching on broken glass. The electricity surged back up within her, and her fingertips crackled with power. This was supposed to be a secure building. Visitors had to be buzzed in by a tenant.

The doorbell squawked again, followed by a brisk knock on her front door.

“Ms. James?” A muffled masculine voice crept around the edges of the thick door. “Miranda?”

Bryce
. It had to be Bryce. He’d been worried about her and had come to check on her. If anyone could charm his way into her building, it was him. Miranda relaxed a notch and stepped toward the door. But when she extended her hand to flip the lock, she hesitated. Instead, she went up on her tiptoes and looked through the door’s peephole.

The fisheye view distorted the proportions outside her door, but not enough to distort her view of the two men standing there. She sank back onto her heels and swallowed slowly, working around the lump that now clogged her throat.

Not Bryce. Gavin Brooks. And a cameraman.

Disappointment and annoyance warred within her; she let annoyance get the upper hand. Why couldn’t this guy leave her alone? She’d told him she didn’t want to talk to him.

Another sharp buzz of the bell, followed by a pounding on the door.

“Miranda, I know you’re in there. I saw you look through the keyhole. Come on, honey, I want to talk to you. Why don’t you let me in, and we’ll have a little chat.”

The reporter’s voice made her skin crawl. Even if she’d been comfortable with giving an interview, she’d never be comfortable with Gavin Brooks. Hiding behind that slick urbanity lurked something… predatory. And the silent but hulking cameraman didn’t set her mind at ease one bit.

“I d-don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know that’s what you think now, but I’m sure once we sit down together you’ll feel much better. Confession is good for the soul.”

“Why w-won’t you l-leave me alone?”

“Because this is the story of a lifetime. A real-life superhero. I break this story and I’ll have my pick of cushy Hollywood jobs. I could be on 48 Hours or Dateline! I’ve got the talent and the looks, I just need one big story to get the attention of the network bigwigs. And Miranda, you are that story. I am not going to miss out. And definitely not due to some small reluctance on your part.”

He spoke with the fervor of an evangelist, and Miranda knew she’d never be able to sway him with logic. She switched to threat.

“G-go away. Or I’ll call the police.”

He had the gall to laugh. “And tell them what?”

“You’re trespassing.”

“Your lovely downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Dobrusky, invited me in.”