A glint of silver flashes on the walls. She notices the paint then. A blocky signature across the back wall. “Yeah, they’ve been here.”
She passes through the room until she finds a door on the other side. It leads to another hall. A sign points to the gym. The chemical smell is still strong but out here she finds evidence of tagging; brightly colored graffiti coats the walls. The images are amazing—little anime-style characters. It’s impressive work. A sound tickles her ears. “I hear something.”
“Hold on,” Casper says, fussing with his systems. Her screen pops up. Fuzzy bodies move behind the wall ahead. “I’m counting four. Wait outside the door. I’ll call the others.”
She follows his directions and waits, listening to the voices inside the gym. There’s laughter. Some of it high-pitched while still male. Teens. Astrid tugs on her light, flipping it on. She shines it down the hallway, looking at the artwork again.
The smell is awful.
She pulls off her gloves and touches the surface. Sticky—almost wet. She holds her fingers to her nose and flinches from the toxicity.
“Echo,” Quinn says over the com. “Location?”
“South exit.”
“Pan?”
“Stage entry.”
“Charger is in the gym lobby,” Casper says. “Be quiet and careful. Remember, they’re probably kids. But they could be armed.”
“I do not want to be on the news for hurting teenagers, okay?” Astrid reminds them. “That is not the kind of PR any of us need right now.”
On the count of three, they enter the gym.
The kids are completely involved with their project, unaware that anyone else is in the room. They’ve got the bleachers pushed back and use the flat surface as a wall. Lights are clamped to the top of the stairs and a few lanterns sit along the floor. The scent of weed lingers over the spray paint.
“Shit,” Owen says.
“What?” she asks quietly. None of them have made a move.
“Look at the painting.”
It’s a city—their city—complete with the harbor and landmarks along the way. Astrid sees the park and then her gym. In the middle, high above the others, is the WIND-E building. A unicorn flies overhead. She steps closer, trying to get a better view. That’s when she spots the people.
Not just people.
Her team.
Anime-like characters like the ones in the hall stand out to her, dressed in their super suits and brandishing their weapons. It’s an incredible rendering even if it’s supposed to mock them. Her foot hits something and the sound of metal spins across the wooden floor.
She doesn’t even have time to react to her mistake before Owen and Quinn are by her side. The kids turn, startled from the racing of their heartbeats.
“Dude,” one says when he sees the trio. “It’s them.”
“He said they’d come,” another says.
“Who?” Quinn asks, his fingers twitching.
Astrid shoots him a look. “Don’t mess with your energy. There’s so much wet paint in here it could spark.”
Fuck.
“I think you guys need to get out of there,” Casper says. “Look at the bottom of the buildings.”
She narrows her eyes and sees it. Flames lick the bottom of everything on the mural. The buildings, the unicorns, and the heroes.
The kids take their distraction as an opportunity. Three scatter to the left. One to the right. “Don’t let them get away,” she says. “Someone got them to do this. And we need proof.”
There’s no hesitation with their roles. This is where their teamwork shines. Casper gives them each individual information and Astrid follows the kid she’s chasing through a set of doors into stairwell. He races down the cement steps, his long legs creating a distance between them. She looks over the railing. Three floors below. She slings her legs over the side and drops, falling and falling until she uses her hands to slow her speed. With her knees bent on landing, she stands two feet away from her runaway.
“Holy shit, Echo,” Casper cackles in her ear. She ignores him and grabs the kid, who is already turning back up the stairs.
Pushing him against the wall, his brown hair flops in his eyes. “Who told you to paint that?”
“Nobody. Artist interpretation.”
“Bullshit,” she says. The images were too specific. “You can tell me, or I’ll make you tell me.”
“No offense, but he’s way scarier than you are.”
With dread she holds him against the wall with one hand and pulls her glove off with her teeth. His eyes are wide and confused when she takes his dirty, paint-stained hand in hers.
“Don’t worry,” she tells him. “This won’t hurt.”
Fear. Panic.
That’s what he feels now. She needs to know the other stuff. The echo of his memory. She pushes in deeper.
Laughing. Stoned. Tagging Under a Bridge. A face. Black hair. Pale skin. A roll of cash in his hand.
Astrid blinks. She’s seen the guy before. One of Kincade’s goons.
“Kincade put you up to this?”
“Who?”
He wouldn’t know that. She tries again. “Who paid you that money?”
The confusion and fear rolls off him like a stank sweat. “How do you know about the money?”
“Kid, don’t mess with me. Just tell me the truth. If not, I’ll get it out of you another way. It will hurt me and then it will hurt you. Using your words is way better.”
He thinks for a half a second longer, too long, and Astrid tightens her grip on his hand. She dives in again.
Small house. A bed. Sick woman coughing. The kid standing over her. Grief.
Astrid shakes off the last one but it’s real. Deeply embedded. It tugs at her. “You took the money for your mom? She’s sick?”
He nods. “Grandma.”
“Whoever is doing this is using you. He’ll torch this place and you guys will end up in jail. Is that what your grandma needs? Is this guy worth it?”
“I don’t know his name,” he says in a cracking voice that reveals his youth. “But he found us where we tag under the bridge. He gave us the paint. Told us what to put up there. He said to be done by midnight.”
“Or what?”
He shrugs. “I have no intention of finding out.”
Astrid has a feeling they’re cutting close on the deadline.
“We need to get out of here.”
“But we didn’t finish. He said he was going to check.”
“Cas,” I say into the com. “Where are the others?”
“Outside. One kid caught climbing the fence. The other two are cornered by the old baseball field.”
“Your friends bailed. You need to go with them. I’ll deal with the guy.”
“He’s dangerous.” His eyes dart to the door. “I’ve seen what he can do.”
“What can he do?”
The kid holds up his hand in offering. He must have figured out what Astrid can do and how she does it. “What’s your name?”
He hesitates but says, “Luby,” with a sigh.
“I’m Echo,” she replies, wrapping her fingers around his.
Luby painting the underside of a bridge. Silver cans. He coughs. Nausea. The man raises his hand and a small spark appears. Luby backs away. The man tosses it at the wall. Fire ripples up the surface.
Astrid gulps for air.
“It was so hot,” Luby says. “And he made the fire with a snap of his fingers. I’ve never been so scared.”
“Go,” she says, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Find your friends. Lay low.”
He nods and runs to the back door. “One last thing,” he calls. “He has a street name. It’s lame but…”
“What’s that?”
“Blaze.”
*
“I’m heading upstairs. Luby told me he’s coming back.”
“Who’s coming back?” Casper asks.
“Blaze—the guy starting the fire. I saw him in Luby’s echo. He’s one of the guys working with Kincade. He was at the warehouse that night.”
Astrid doesn’t say what’s really nagging at her. She’s seen this power at work before and he was at the group home, a member of Project 12.
“Where are Charger and Pan?” she asks, reaching the doors to the gym. The toxic smell is stronger up here.
“They chased the other kids down. I think Charger is lecturing them about private property right now.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sounds about right.”
“Echo, I really don’t like you being in there alone right now.”
“I’m not alone,” she says, pushing open the doors. “You’re with me.”
“You know what I mean.”