Struck Page 3

  “Invisible?” I repeated, glancing at Jones. He nodded, curtly, as Esther slowly started to fade from view.

  There was a slight shimmer in the air where she’d been sitting, a miniscule warping of the sunlight streaming in through the windows. My heart leapt into my throat and decided to stay there, cutting off my supply of oxygen.

  Adam elbowed the space where Esther had been and she snapped back into view. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Show off,” Adam muttered, fondly. She winked at him. I immediately liked her about 50% less, before my trying-to-keep-up brain reminded me that she’d told me she was gay less than a minute before my little bout of jealousy.

  “If I sound bitter, it’s because I am,” Esther concluded, rolling her eyes at Adam but smiling all the same.

  “I’m Tomas,” the tall, black haired boy sitting on Esther’s other side offered in gorgeously accented English. “The scientists here call me Number 9. I was Struck in Paris, France a few days after my 18th birthday,” he continued, his green eyes wide and sincere. That explained the accent, and the achingly cool/devastatingly handsome thing he had going on. “I have since acquired the ability to bend the human mind to my will.”

  “That’s just a fancy way of saying he can hypnotize people,” Esther explained as Tomas refocused his attention on the lovely redheaded girl sitting cross legged on the floor.

  “Laurel, you’re next,” Jones said, clearly referring to the petite girl sitting beside Tomas.

  “I’m Laurel,” she murmured, her voice surprisingly sweet. “Number 10. Telekinesis.” Her long, fair hair fell in front of her face when she dipped her head – no doubt an unconscious habit. I was dying to ask her more about her powers – she’d admitted to them in such a matter-of-fact way – but I knew it wasn’t the time to pry.

  “Your turn,” Laurel told the person sitting next to her.

  “Name’s K. Number 11. Non-binary. Power to mimic the physical appearance of other people.”

  “Ok, I’m about to reveal just how small-town I am,” I began, looking to Jones for support. “But uh, you’re really non-binary? I’ve never met anyone who actually identified as non-binary in real life.”

  “I don’t identify as male or female,” K said, brown eyes fixed on me as if daring me to make some sort of offensive comment. “That ok with you?”

  “Hey, I’m grew up queer in a town so small it doesn’t even have a Starbucks,” I replied, holding my hands up in a gesture of surrender. I was expecting some sort of reaction to my sudden admission, but no one batted an eye. I guess when you’re a teenage superhero living in a secret government owned skyscraper, meeting a gay kid isn’t really a big deal. Plus, they all seemed really comfortable with Esther, who’d admitted to being gay in such a cavalier way that I could tell she’d been out for a while.

  “I’m all about self-expression?” I added, hating the question in my voice. I should’ve taken a different tack – K had bubblegum pink hair, I could’ve complimented that, something to show how cool I was. Or how cool I could be, given the chance.

  K’s expression softened, delicate features settling into something almost like a smile. Jones nodded, clearly pleased with how well everything was going. I personally felt like I was going to spontaneously combust.

  “You should use gender neutral pronouns when referring to K,” Jones told me, clapping a supportive hand on my shoulder. “They, them and so on.”

  “Got it,” I mumbled, pushing my hair away from my face.

  There was just one person left, the redheaded girl that had caught Tomas’ eye. I could see why he was attracted to her – she was gorgeous in a way that would’ve driven the girls from my school crazy with jealousy. She was tall and athletic, her glittering hair falling down her back in lovely waves. She smiled and waved a dainty hand in my direction. I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “I’m Sierra,” she told me, her voice as bright as her smile. Usually I’d find that level of cheerfulness unnerving, but she seemed nice. “I’m from Omaha. Traded in Nebraska for the ability to fly. Now you’re here, I’m not the new kid anymore, so thanks!”

  “Sierra was the twelfth person to join the Lightning Project,” Jones explained. “You’re number thirteen.”

  “If I was in a better mood, I’d comment on the irony of that,” I told him, squirming in my seat as my mind ran through the math.

  If Jones was right – I had no reason to believe he wasn’t – there had been thirteen kids who had once been part of the Lightning Project. So where were the others? I could feel all seven pairs of eyes on me, like they knew exactly what I was thinking. For all I knew, one of them was psychic.

  “You should ask your question, Ethan,” Jones said with a weary sigh.

  “If I’m number thirteen, where are the others?” I asked. I hated that I was doing exactly what he’d expected me to do, but I needed an answer.

  “They died,” Adam replied, crossing his distractingly muscled arms. I reluctantly met his eyes, my heart hammering in my chest. Died?

  “Unfortunately, not everyone survives the process of being Struck,” Jones added, his broad shoulders slumped in something that looked like defeat.

  “What the fuck?” I yelled, leaping to my feet so quickly I felt dizzy. I couldn’t stay there, not for another second, no matter how sweetly Sierra smiled at me or how stunning Adam looked with the sun streaking gold through his dark hair.

  I could’ve died. My life could’ve been torn away from me, in a split second. If the weird science had gone wrong, I’d be rotting in an unmarked grave, another government secret buried so deep no one would’ve gotten anywhere near the truth.

  “Ethan, I know this is a lot to take in,” Jones said, slowly getting to his feet like he was dealing with a startled animal.

  “A lot to take in?” I repeated with a snort. “I nearly died! You could’ve fucking killed me and for what? I’m not a hero, I don’t want to be.”

  “Let’s not make any rash decisions. You’re still recovering from a massive trauma. No one’s asking you to be a hero, Ethan. Just stay here for a while, let the team here test your abilities. We’re not going to ask you to save the world – just help us understand what you’re capable of. Let us keep you safe.”

  It sounded so reasonable in his polished English accent, his voice full of fatherly affection and boring wisdom. I hated that he sounded so convincing. I hated that part of me wanted to stay.

  I hated that I was so scared.

  “Fine,” I sighed, shoving my shaking hands in the pockets of my jeans. “I’ll stay. But I’m not wearing one of those fugly jumpsuits.”

  I mean, the jumpsuits weren’t so bad. They were a deep navy with a lightning bolt embroidered on the left-hand side of the chest in gold thread. I was sure they wouldn’t look so flattering on me – they were skin tight, highlighting the frankly sickening natural athleticism of the surviving members of the Lightning Project. At least they didn’t have little capes attached, capes are so over. I mean, there was still no way in hell I was putting one of them on voluntarily, but I did have to acknowledge that they could’ve been much worse.

  Adam laughed at my declaration, a startled little chuckle that made my stomach clench.

  Yeah, I was staying.

  “Wakey wakey, new kid! Rise and shine!”

  I recognized Esther’s voice straight away, her sarcastic tone undercutting the cheerfulness of her greeting. I groaned and pulled the crisp white sheet over my head, hoping to hide from her and the cruel sunlight pouring in through the window of my bedroom.

  “I hate you,” I mumbled from my nest of blankets, cracking open an eyelid to glare at her.

  She smiled at me, with something like genuine fondness. I didn’t really believe it, couldn’t believe that she liked me. I’d sat in silence throughout our group dinner the night before, answering questions when asked, but without offering any information of real value.

  I liked them, sure. They seemed like my kind of
people – smart, funny, realistic without being cynical – but I didn’t trust them. I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted to. After all, they were the results of a top-secret government experiment. I had no idea what sort of training they had, or if they’d been brainwashed. Jones certainly could’ve managed it, with his super smooth English accent.

  “Well that’s a shame, newbie, because I just love you!” Esther gushed, flickering out of view. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see the tell-tale shimmer in the air that indicated her presence.

  My bed tipped violently. I flailed all the way to the floor, laughing and cursing her. I was all tangled in the sheets and I just knew my hair was sticking up in at least a dozen different directions, but I didn’t mind. It felt good to be caught up in something silly.

  Esther was laughing when she popped back into my field of vision, her hair glittering in the early morning sunlight. She looked so much younger when she laughed, her nose crinkled up. She offered me a hand and I took it, letting her pull me to my feet. I wasn’t surprised to discover she was incredibly strong. I got the sense that most of the Project kids were in peak physical condition and not just because they looked amazing (*coughAdamcough*). They just radiated self-confidence, like they knew they were in charge of their bodies and their powers. I envied them more than a little bit.

  “So what’s with the early morning wakeup call?” I asked her as I freed my legs from the bedding. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t appreciate being thrown ass first outta bed, but I thought a place as swanky as this would have alarm clocks.”

  “You’re one of us now, 13. That means you get teased and pranked just like the rest of them,” she replied with an almost wicked grin.

  “Oh goodie,” I muttered as I stumbled across the room to my bathroom. Yup, I had my own bathroom. It was a pretty good reason to stay, as far as I was concerned.

  “I knew you’d be pleased!” Esther chirped as I locked the door behind me. “Testing starts in half an hour; the white coats will send someone up for you!”

  I waited until she left my bedroom before starting up the shower. The bathroom was perfectly bland – the white tiles were spotlessly clean, everything smelled a little bit like lemons – and I found it kind of soothing.

  I spent way too long in the shower, relishing the way the warm water splashed across my skin. Part of me even debated locking myself in the bathroom forever, curling up in the stupid fancy bathtub and pretending I was at home, in Orchard Side, hiding from taunts and bullies instead of tests and superheroes.

  My old face stared out from the mirror, blue eyes and dark lashes, black hair and pale skin and the ghosts of my fading bruises. I looked like Ethan Thorn. I felt like Ethan Thorn – scared and lonely and just a little bit angry, under the sarcastic surface. I didn’t want to be tested on, I didn’t want some no-name scientist to tell me what I’d become. There had been moments, long, painful moments when I’d hated being Ethan Justin Thorn, but I didn’t want to be anyone else. I couldn’t be anyone else.

  The closet in my room was filled with new clothes, along with some of my old clothes from home. It was a smart move, I was sure Jones had been behind it. Call me cynical, but I knew it was nothing but a thinly veiled attempt to make me feel comfortable in the Tower. It only took me a few minutes to separate my old clothes from the new ones. I dressed in my old clothes from head to toe; soft gray skinny jeans torn at the knees (don’t ask), a black Mr Robot tee shirt with a fraying hem and my favorite pair of combat boots.

  There was a jumpsuit in there, of course, the gold thread of the lightning bolt logo glittering when it caught the light.

  The Lightning Project had been looking for a new superhero. I was going to make sure they got Ethan Thorn instead.

  “Ethan?”

  I froze at the sound of Adam’s voice, meeting my own panicked gaze in the mirror. Of course they’d sent Adam. He was the Project’s unofficial leader, from what I’d gathered at dinner. The others looked to him for guidance, lit up when they made him laugh. They respected him.

  I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about how freaking hot he was. Sitting at the dinner table, lit by the soft glow of the city outside, he was perfect. He smiled when the others spoke to him, but it rarely reached his eyes, something I’d noticed despite the overwhelming distractions that his face/body/general presence offered.

  “Give me a sec!” I yelled back, grabbing a black hoodie and shrugging it on before I opened my bedroom door.

  Coming face to face with him didn’t help the emotional wobble I was having. I glanced up at him, my witty greeting dying on my tongue when I realized there were flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.

  Pull it together, idiot!

  “Morning,” he said, completely oblivious to my inner torment. “Thought you’d need help finding the lab.”

  “Esther said one of the scientists would come up and get me,” I replied, feeling like an idiot. I didn’t realize it sounded like I was rejecting him until the words were out, heavy in the air between us.

  “Well, yes, usually you’d be assigned someone from the lab to um, look after you and show you around but Jones said you have a problem with authority figures and people you don’t know, so I thought a somewhat friendly face would, you know, help –”

  “Did he also tell you I talk a lot? Is that why you’re rambling, trying to connect with me on my level?” I asked, crossing my arms as I followed him out of the Project’s apartment and into the hallway.

  “I wasn’t rambling,” he replied, sounding sulky. I raised my eyebrows but didn’t respond. I may have been too busy enjoying the view and hating myself for being so easily distracted.

  He was wearing what I assumed was superhero work out gear. It was black and fitted him like a second skin, pulled tight across his lean frame. The shirt was sleeveless, revealing silvery scars that spiralled down his muscled arms from shoulder to wrist, even spilling across the back of his hands. I wanted to ask about them but got the impression it wasn’t really appropriate to ask a gorgeous super-powered stranger about how he got his scars.

  “This outfit is a little better than the jumpsuit. I don’t need to wear that, do I?” I asked him, gesturing towards his ridiculous/hot outfit. “Because I really don’t think I can pull off the whole skin tight, uh, thing that you’ve got going on.”

  “Right, like there’s so much room to move in those jeans you’re wearing?” He replied with a snort as I followed him into the elevator.

  “You noticed that, huh?”

  I grinned, he blushed, I fell a little bit in lust with him. Usually, I’d feel bad for making him uncomfortable, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked curious. I could work with that.

  He pressed the “B” button, muttering something about how the labs were located in the basement, for safety reasons. That should’ve caught my attention, really, but I couldn’t care less about the labs. I was going to find out what the hell had been done to me, how to control it and then I was going home.

  Or maybe I’d reinvent myself (the residents of Orchard Side thought Ethan Thorn was dead, after all) and become a cool city hipster, working in an independently owned coffee shop while critiquing my friends’ life choices with uncanny wisdom and genuine affection. I hadn’t really decided.

  “It’d really help if you could do what you’re told down here, Ethan,” he said, arms folded across his impressive chest. “The scientists here are at the top of their game, but more importantly, they’re good people. They want to help.”

  “They helped turn me into some sort of freak, without my consent. We must have really different definitions of goodness.”

  Hurt flicked across his features, raw and sharp, before he schooled his face into a carefully blank expression. I felt bad for hurting his feelings, even though I was being honest. I was sure the people who worked downstairs didn’t go around kicking puppies or stealing candy from babies, but that didn’t make them innocent.

  “Ethan…”

/>   He looked down at me, brow furrowed, a few strands of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t conjure up the words. There was something endearing about a speechless Adam, his struggle to express himself sparking some weird protective instinct in me.

  “They could’ve killed me,” I reminded him, my words tearing through the silence in the elevator like a scream.

  “I wouldn’t have let that happen,” he replied, arms dropping to his sides.

  I raised my gaze but didn’t reply. There were at least half a dozen things I could have said, cruel, sharp edged words that would have cut him more deeply than he would like to admit. We both knew that he wouldn’t have been able to save me – he hadn’t been able to save the other kids who’d died after being Struck, why would I have been the exception?

  I stayed silent.

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing a sprawling complex of massive glass walled rooms filled with enough scientific looking equipment to give me the creeps. The others were dotted around the room – Tomas was sitting on a gurney, talking to a pretty brunette girl in nurse’s scrubs. Esther was in a room filled with treadmills, jogging while she chatted to Sierra. K and Laurel were mapping out what looked like a fight, moves and countermoves, moving at a dizzying pace.

  Jones was waiting for Adam and I, looking as imposing as ever. He clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder, exchanging pleasantries while I took everything in.

  “Ethan, welcome to the basement!” Jones said, sounding obnoxiously cheerful. I glared at him. “Dr Lawrence will be conducting some tests on you today,” he indicated a small, dark haired woman. She wore big glasses and an even bigger smile. It put me on edge, just a little.

  Dr Lawrence came scurrying over, clipboard in hand, strands of hair escaping the severe ponytail she’d tried to trap them in. She was shorter than me, about 5 foot 4, giving her a childlike air that didn’t really put me at ease.