Holding out an envelope, she looked away from me. “Your last paycheck. I added what I could.”
With every muscle in my body, I longed to rip up that scrap of paper and throw it in the shredding mixer. I plucked it from her fingers. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorr—”
“I have to go now.” If I didn’t, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Maybe I’d cry.
Maybe worse.
She followed me to the door. Rique was just parking. He stared through the driver’s window at her. And then he looked at me and smiled.
I had to get out of here.
Somehow, I made it to the Fiesta, out of the lot, and halfway down the street. The pounding of my pulse eased a bit. But less anger just made room for more worry.
Alling’s company had invented this shit. Brayden had infected me with it. Dane wanted it. And they were all willing to do terrible things because of it.
But what was it?
Time to start experimenting.
I needed someplace big and open, with plenty of people where I could blend in so that it’d be harder to snatch me. Someplace where enough dumb shit happened that I’d have plausible deniability if anything strange went down.
I went to the mall.
I’d have to dodge security cameras, but at least I knew the layout of the place and could bolt if necessary.
Walking past the rent-a-cop made the back of my neck prickle, and I stuffed my hands into my pockets. He didn’t even glance at me. Because, really, why would he? I could’ve worked at any one of these stores. Heck, maybe I should fill out some applications while I was here…
The shops weren’t open yet, but the main doors opened early to let the senior citizens do their morning walks in smooth-floored, climate-controlled comfort. I went to the movie theater foyer that adjoined the food court. Lots of room. Plenty of snacks. Not too many people this time of day.
Settling into one of the hard plastic seats, I pulled out my phone and propped it up in front of me so I could legit look like I was doing something not sketchy at all. Also, I didn’t want to accidentally fry it. Next to my table, a half dozen big stuffed animals, the motorized kind that kids could ride around, were parked at a kiosk. The animals were powered down, a cable threaded through their wheels to keep them from wandering off, but a small screen showed an annoying, chirpy video of how much fun it would be if someone let them loose.
The first two times I’d accidentally triggered the electric purple power, I’d knocked holes in the drywall. Then I’d stalled Dane’s car.
I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I might also have to defend myself. And soon. I needed to understand this thing inside me.
The articles I’d read about BantaMatrix’s projects had been vague, partly because it was all proprietary, hush-hush research but also because it was complicated. The most in-depth article I’d found—written for a tech trade magazine—had explained how Adley Ruskin, the company’s founder, was leading the world in hyper-efficient energy cells, replicating robotics, and miniaturization.
“BantaMatrix thinks bigandsmall!” was the pull quote attributed to her. A portrait of her showed her all in crisp pale gray with her dark gray pixie slicked back and safety glasses emphasizing her sharp green eyes. She looked like a really super fancy monochrome Desert Freeze employee. And she was holding a test tube up to the light.
The tube was half-filled with a shining violet liquid.
If I hadn’t shot bright purple energy from my fingertips, I might’ve scoffed and said the image was just for show. Last night, waiting for Dane, I’d stared at that photo for too long, as if the goo could tell me what it was.
The article had been too technical for pre-dawn perusing, but from what I gathered, BantaMatrix’s primary work had to do with nanotechnology. Ruskin had gotten rich from perfecting nanofibers for manufacturing and construction, making materials stronger and lighter. Reading between the lines, I imagined the military had also thrown money at her for high-tech armor and weaponry. But she was also literally trying to find a cure for cancer and other diseases by developing tiny robot warriors to fight mutations or broken cells inside the body.
And now it seemed some of that tech was in me.
I’d seen the damage it could do—the damageImight do. Ireallydidn’t want to hurt anyone. Instead of being frustrated, angry, and scared, I had to…shit, somehow focus and learn, figure out this power lurking inside me that had already erupted three times.
I flexed my fingers of my left hand, and the tendons tightened, the purple pucker on my skin rippling. This was so fucked up.
I took a surreptitious glance around to gauge potential witnesses…or victims. On the far side of the food court, a guy behind the café counter pulled a sheet of cinnamon rolls out of an oven. A couple of spry old ladies with hand weights powered past me as they chatted and were soon halfway down the concourse toward Dillards. And at the Kid’s Club store on the opposite side of the food court, someone had just turned on the lights.
If I waited much longer, more people would be around to witness or get fried.
I pointed my finger at the table’s upright ad—choral concert in the fountain area on Friday—and attempted to zap it with the echo of my memory.
