Read Trance for Free Online Page B

man about my age stood on the sidewalk, his lean, athletic body dressed snugly in black jeans, a black sweater, and a leather bomber jacket. He had a firm jawline, tousled brown-blond hair, and dark eyebrows that creased in a sharp V as he stared at me as if a third arm were growing out of my forehead. His face had changed, narrowed and aged, but those beautiful eyes were unmistakable. Eyes I hadn’t seen in a lifetime.
    “Gage?” I asked.
    “Call me Cipher. Remember?”
    I did remember. Vividly. Then fifteen years old, Gage “Cipher” McAllister had been the senior trainee. The last time I’d seen him had been at a hospital in Princeton, New Jersey, two days after we lost our powers. The day MHC (Meta-Human Control) separated us kids and divvied us up to foster homes ill-equipped to handle us. We’d passed each other in the corridor. His dark brown eyes had looked so empty, the silver barely there. Haunted. Dead.
    He stood in front of me again, those engaging flecks sharp and bright; the last person I’d seen then, and the first I was seeing now. I was surprised as hell by his random appearance at a highway truck stop. At the same time, I felt an odd sense of rightness in having him there.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked.
    “Interrupting something, apparently. Everything under control?”
    I spared an eyebrow quirk for Cliff, who winced and closed his eyes. “Yep.” I gave Cliff a sharp nudge. “Hey, buddy, remember what we talked about?”
    He nodded. Each bobble shrank and expanded the doughy flesh beneath his first chin.
    “Good.” I stepped back and waved a hand at the open parking lot to my left. “Now get the hell out of here.”
    Cliff wasted no time scrambling to his knees and then his feet. Something greenish-brown stained the back of his shirt and trousers, and I didn’t want to imagine what nasty things had pooled together to create that special color. He lumbered down the row of trailers, stumbling a few times in his haste, hurling curses each time he stepped on his own foot. His ample backside made quite a nice target. I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, creating lavender sparks, and debated a parting shot.
    Gage’s hand gripped my forearm, warm and firm and unmistakably telling me not even to think about it. The sparks diminished. I yanked out of his grip and took a step back, scowling.
    “How are you, Teresa?” he asked.
    “I’ve had better days.”
    “You look different.”
    I quirked an eyebrow. “Different good or different bad?”
    “Just different.” He reached out and flicked at a lock of purple hair. “I remember this—not the eyes or those powers. That wasn’t you.”
    “No, it wasn’t.”
    My fingers trembled as the adrenaline surge from Cliff’s attack began to wear off. Thank God for my new powers. Having Gage there made me feel strangely safe when I should have been more cautious; I didn’t know this adult. I yanked off the cap and let the rest of my hair tumble down around my shoulders. “So can I assume your powers are back, too?”
    “They came back last night.” A flash of pain passed across his face, leaving its shadow behind. Deeper shadows lurked beneath his eyes, hinting at hidden agony he couldn’t quite put into words. “Not an experience I want to repeat. Ever.”
    “I hear that. And I think whatever reactivated us had a few flaws. I seem to have gotten my grandmother’s powers back this morning, or some screwed-up version of them.” I snapped and an orb flared to life. I tossed it at an empty glass bottle; it exploded in a shower of shards.
    “Wow,” Gage said.
    “I’m still getting the hang of it.”
    He glanced around at the shifting shadows and rows of quiet semis. “We should get out of here.”
    “Definitely.” I slung the knapsack over my shoulder with the grease spot facing outward and followed him through the parking lot. “How did you find me, anyway?”
    He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, a very boyish gesture