“You wanted to talk to me, “ I said, just to fill the deathlike silence that had enveloped us, “so talk. You mentioned a formula. Does this formula have a name? What was in it?”
“I can’t answer those questions, “ he replied.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Won’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s classified.”
“Let’s see, “ I said, not bothering to raise my head. “I almost died from a formula you said I drank. You tried to ‘neutralize’ me because of it. And now you’re telling me I don’t need to know exactly what it is I allegedly consumed?”
“I’m not going to tell you specifics about the formula itself, but you can ask me something else.”
Fine. I would. “When did I supposedly drink this formula?” Let’s just see if he could formulate a believable answer.
His lips pulled downward in a tight frown, and he regarded me silently. I found his stare unnerving and strangely arousing. I knew I shouldn’t be able to experience any type of arousal in my condition, especially toward this man. And this was the second time he’d made me feel this way! Had he shot me full of some kind of aphrodisiac while I slept? I wouldn’t put such a lecherous act past the needle-wielding, clothes-changing bastard.
“Do you recall a man in a lab coat who stormed into the café a week ago?” he asked.
A week had passed? A whole week? The news hit me hard, dizzying, upsetting. So much time had passed, completely unnoticed by me. But despite the time lapse, I recalled that day very well. Lab Coat had swept into Utopia, created havoc, then left me and everyone else to clean up after him.
“Yes.” I gulped. “I remember.”
“That man is a scientist who ran off with a top-secret experiment, and he poured it in something you drank.”
“That’s impossible. That’s stupid. That’s—a mocha latte, “ I whispered, dazed. Dear Lord. After the chaos at Utopia had died down and Pretty Boy had begun questioning everyone, I’d chugged my too-sweet latte. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Now … I just didn’t know.
“We weren’t sure he’d given it to you. We hoped he hadn’t, of course. Then you didn’t show up for work, which led us to check on you here, where we discovered you were sick.”
“We?” I asked, the word barely audible. There were more men out there like this one? More men who thought I needed neutralizing?
“My employer and I.”
My blood ran cold. Was Pretty Boy his boss? If the CIA wanted me dead, I sure as hell was going to end up dead. “Do you work for the CIA?” I croaked.
“Hell, no. I actually don’t work for the CDC, either. I work for an agency that you’ve never heard of. Paranormal Studies and Investigations. PSI. We’re like ghosts. To the rest of the world, we don’t exist.”
So why tell me? I feared the answer: I’d soon be dead and couldn’t tattle.
Okay. Did Pretty Boy work for this same agency, then? That guy had been Freaky with a capital F. I could totally believe him capable of ordering my death. Wait. Did I even believe this man’s story? He’d already proved to be a liar, saying he was with the CDC when he wasn’t.
“You said the formula was changing me. What kind of changes?”
“Do you really need to ask? You called forth the wind. You commanded the air to solidify.”
“I didn’t call it, “ I protested. “It just came.”
“Did it?” His lip curled on one side, giving him a sardonic edge.
“Yes.” The word held a layer of uncertainty.
“If everything goes as we think, you’ll soon have power over the four elements. Air, fire, earth and water.”
My eyes rounded. “You’re saying I’ll have powers? Superpowers?” No way. Now I knew he was lying to me.
“No.” He gave one jerky shake of his head. “I’m saying you do have superpowers.”
I rubbed my temple, trying to subdue a sudden ache. “I hope you realize how insane you sound. Superpowers are for movies. Superpowers are for comic books. They are not for real life or average girls who can’t hold on to a job.”
“Tell that to your superpowers,” he said drily. “And FYI, you’re not average anymore.” As he spoke, he shifted in the chair.
I scrambled backward. Not that I got far.
“Whoa. Easy.” Slowly he lifted his hands, showing me he held nothing. “I was just getting more comfortable.”
I relaxed against the mattress again, saying weakly, “I don’t want you to get comfortable. I want you to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Sorry.” Amusement dripped from his tone. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Because you have to neutralize me?”
“Yes.”
I’d expected him to deny it, and that he hadn’t, that he’d flat-out admitted he still planned to neutralize (kill?) me, should have panicked me. It didn’t. He hadn’t hurt me yet, and I wasn’t going to allow myself to worry until he came at me again.
Besides, I did not want to believe him; I couldn’t believe him. That would mean I had superpowers. That would mean I had erected that air shield. That would mean something terrible truly had been done to me.
“I wish I could give you an antidote, “ he said, “but we don’t have one. Yet.” At least he sounded genuinely apologetic this time.
“There’s no need to hurt me. Honest, I’m not a threat to anyone.”
He snorted. “Very soon there’s every possibility you’ll be able to control the weather. You’ll be able to start fires without any provocation. Cause floods, tornadoes. How is that not a threat?”
“I’m not going to do any of those things, “ I ground out.
“You will. You won’t be able to help yourself.”
“How do you know that for sure?” I had to make him realize exactly how foolish he sounded. “You said it was an experimental formula. That means you can’t be one hundred percent sure of anything.”
“Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time with human lab rats and I know when trouble is coming.” He paused, his eyes growing dark. “The man who has done everything in his power to control the formula will want to experiment on you when he discovers you actually drank it.”
“Is he your boss?” Was he talking about Pretty Boy, as I’d suspected? “Because if he is, you can tell him I didn’t drink a formula, I don’t have powers and I need to be left alone.”
“Hell, no, he’s not my boss. And I can’t ‘tell’ him anything. He runs OASS, Observation and Application of Supernatural Sciences, a nongovernment agency that’s PSI’s biggest rival. Just so you know, PSI is the home of the good guys.” His brows quirked, and he grinned slowly. “Well, the better guys, at least.”
If I’d had the energy to throw my hands in the air, I would have. I had to be the last sane person in the universe. “This is crazy!” I said. “You’re an ass, he’s an O-ASS. You’re all asses!”
“Time will prove the truth of my words, “ he said with utter confidence.
A