She times it well, right when the light changes, and ducks between a few pedestrians and circles a baby stroller. A dog sniffs at her feet and she makes the turn quick, dashing back the way she came. The car is stuck at the traffic light.
Her heart pounds and the sound of the engine fades; she dares a glance over her shoulder and sees that the light has changed. A horn blares, demanding the silver car go. She smiles, laughs actually, and crashes into a brick wall.
“Mother effer!” she shouts, falling backwards. A pair of strong hands keeps her from landing on her ass. She’s struck dumb at the sight of the man. Sheer physical perfection. His face, his light brown hair, the muscles of his arms strained and bulging as he holds her. His teeth are perfectly straight. Not a scar or wrinkle mars his face. His heart rate is a steady beat, cool and calm. And his smell. God, he smells like rain on a summer day. The instant after an orgasm. Cookies.
He’s an alien, maybe. Or a supermodel, and instantly her guard drops.
Terrible mistake.
“Astrid Petta?”
“Yes. That’s me.” Her voice comes out a breathy whisper. It’s like it’s physically impossible to lie to him. He’s the embodiment of good.
“My boss has requested to see you.”
“Sure,” she replies, her senses knocked completely out of her. She stands. His hand is on her elbow, holding her steady. “Uh, who is your boss?”
His face gives away nothing but he does answer. “Demetria Holmes.”
*
The car ride is quiet. As is the entry through the building’s garage and ride in the elevator. Astrid has never been in the WIND-E Corp building, but she does feel her running tights and sweaty hoodie are probably not standard dress for executive offices.
“Should I go home and change?” she asks Mr. Perfect, knowing it’s a stupid question. “I’m a little gross. You know, from the run. I’m sure you’re familiar with this—working out. You work out, right?”
What has this man done to her?
He keeps his eyes on the elevator doors. “Ms. Holmes won’t mind. She’s very eager to meet with you.”
The elevator bell chimes, declaring they’d reached their floor, the twenty-third. She grabs on to his arm and says, “Does she know who I am? Like who I really am?”
He smiles. It’s kind and she’s pretty sure he’s not a supervillain. Or maybe she’s just sure that he’s pretty. God, he’s pretty.
The lobby stretches across one side of the building, giving a wide view of the city sprawling below. Along another wall are photos of WIND-E’s most popular toys. Rainbow-colored unicorns. Glittery fairies. All things Astrid has seen in the aisles at the store. One unicorn catches her eye in particular and she’s checking it out when the receptionist says, “She’s waiting on you.”
“Thank you, Marissa.”
“You’re welcome, Draco.”
Draco. Of course his name is something bad-ass like Draco.
She follows and just before they enter, she acknowledges to herself that she should be nervous. But she’s not. She’s excited about seeing her old friend. Her only friend way back when things were scary.
The step across the threshold stops Astrid cold.
Holy shit.
Demetria’s office is…her. Totally her—well, at least the twelve-year-old girl that Astrid knew. The walls are painted a shiny silver. Glitter is infused with the paint, giving it a sparkly sheen. Tall columns stand in each corner of the room, wrapped in rainbow-colored silk. Massive glass cases line the walls holding every toy WIND-E has ever produced. Tiny figurines, lunch boxes, backpacks, and everything in between.
“Draco,” a familiar, comforting voice says. “Thank you for being so prompt.”
Astrid peers around his hulking figure to see Demetria standing behind a massive purple and pink desk. A pink velvet chair sits behind her and frames line the wall. Astrid, ignoring the woman she came to see, stares at the pictures.
“You drew those,” she finally says, looking at Demetria.
“I did.”
“You drew every day. All day. Those hung in our room.”
“Ones like it, yes.” Demetria smiles, as if enjoying the memory. Her smile is calming, peaceful. A shock of undeniable grief rolls through Astrid’s body. Demetria moves from behind the desk and walks around it. “Obviously the originals were destroyed, but I’ve always saved as many things I could. I think it comes from losing my home—twice.”
Without warning, she takes Astrid’s gloved hands in her own.
“Thank you for your assistance, Draco. You may leave.”
“My pleasure,” Mr. Perfect says, leaving the room.
“I thought you died that day,” she says to Demetria, holding back a sob. She’s not sure why this is making her so emotional. “And then I saw you at the Gala and everything was so crazy.”
“Darling, come sit, I know this is a lot for you.” She directs Astrid to a sitting area across the spacious room. More velvet, this time purple. The chairs have gold fringe hanging from the bottom. A tea set sits on the table and Demetria pours her a cup. Astrid picks up the cup and takes a sip. Anything to calm her nerves.
“How did you know how to find me?” she finally asks.
“I’ve known there were others with unexplained powers around for a while. I’d heard about the vigilantism in the Swamp. Obviously the attack on my Pixie Dust warehouse. But at the Gala, I knew for sure. Things did not go as planned that night. It was unfortunate.”
Between Astrid, Owen, and Quinn, they made certain of that.
“But when you approached me at the Gala and took my hand in the dark I felt something. A kinship. We shared something in that group home, Astrid, a bond no one else can explain. I felt you. I sensed the others. But when the lights turned back on, you were gone.”
She pauses to drink from her own cup of tea before continuing. “I knew for certain when I watched the news the other night. The child from the home invasion explained it perfectly. That a superhero saved him. She touched his hands and all the bad things went away. I knew it was you.”
“Why?” She’d only recently tapped into that power.
“Oh, Astrid, even as a little kid you had a lack of awareness of your strengths. You used that skill at the group home.”
“I did?”
“Of course. More than once you settled my mind and helped me go to sleep. You brought peace to Rosalie when she was about to pull her hair out. You controlled the moods of the house—good and bad.”
An uneasy feeling builds in her chest. “Bad?”
Demetria laughs. “Oh yes, bad. Your anxiety was through the roof when you first came. The entire house was on edge. The others acted out. The boys harassed one another. The girls became catty and insecure. I sunk into my toys and drawing just to escape the noise.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me. I was definitely a basket case.” She holds the tea cup in her hands.
Demetria smiles. “Me too. But it did get better and you helped us, so when I heard about this little boy who went from terrified in one moment to peaceful in the next, I had a feeling I’d finally found you.”
Astrid looks around the room. At the toys and drawings. The grandeur and scenic view over the Harbor Line. “I don’t understand what you’re doing, Demetria. I don’t get the Pixie Dust and the attempt to steal from the patrons at the Gala. You have so much here. You’re wealthy, smart, talented. You’re a famous and important CEO. You want to help your community but why the drugs? The theft?”
Demetria places her cup on the table and gives her a reassuring smile. Or tries to. “My mother was killed when I was a kid. Just like yours. I was taken, housed and tested on. My body was manipulated. My mind probed. They tried very hard to turn me into a weapon. You, too.”
“Tried, Demetria. They didn’t succeed. Look at you, everything you do makes people happy. You fight for the people in the Swamp. You’re a good person.”
“Thank you. I think that I am, but I’m scared, Astrid. What if they did turn some of us into weapons? What if they come back and try to kill us. What if they turn us on one another?” Her voice raises as she speaks. “The people that did this to us are still out there. The doctors and organizers behind Project 12. They live in this city, in the shadows. They’re wealthy. Powerful.”