Heroes 'Til Curfew

  He kissed me, soft and slow like he had all the time in world.

  “I love you, too,” I told him.

  I felt more than saw his smile. He hugged me closer. “Well, that was worth having a serious discussion for.”

  I actually said it. And it was okay.

  It was good.

  * * *

  Joss

  “Joss!”

  When my dad called my name, I jumped out of bed. An instant later the room flooded with light and he was in the doorway, looking half wild. “Joss, we gotta move. Get your p— What the hell are you doing in my daughter’s room?!” His voice, already over-loud, rose to a bellow, waking me up completely.

  My head snapped around. Dylan had jumped out of bed on the other side and stood there, totally visible, in all his half-dressed glory.

  Shit.

  The shock on Dylan’s face hardened into the sullen look he’d had when squaring off with Marco at Vinyl Salvation.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. This was really bad.

  “I asked you a question, boy.”

  “Nothing happened.” I said. “He was just sleeping over.”

  “You expect me to believe this is a goddamned slumber party?!”

  “Mr. Marshall, your daughter hasn’t done anything you’d be ashamed of. This is all on me.”

  “Oh my God, will you cut the crap? Dad, I asked Dylan to stay, but just to sleep. Really. I swear.”

  “You asked him to sleep in your bed? Young lady, you are seventeen years old!”

  We all turned toward the door at the sound of Mom’s voice.

  Jill ran up in her PJs holding Tinka, the plush pink unicorn she was way too old for. She collided with Mom, almost bumping her out of the doorway. “Joss did what?”

  Mom took Jill by the shoulders. “Jilly honey, go to your room, put some warm clothes on. Pull the pack out from under your bed. I’ll be there to help you in a minute.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked her.

  Jill didn’t move.

  “She’s talking about what you’ve brought down on this family!” My father roared. “You’ve pushed your luck too far and now we’ve got to go. You need to get yourself ready. And you need to get the hell out of my house and away from my daughter before I kill you.”

  “Gene!” my mom exclaimed. That’s when I realized she was hovering. She should have taken Jill to her room, away from this. But she was afraid to leave Dad’s side.

  “This is all his fault. She learned her lesson with the fire and then we never had any problems with her until he showed up. Now she’s running wild, running from the police, getting in fights. She’s showing off her ability any time she feels like it—”

  “That’s not true!” I protested.

  “—and making enemies of his friends who are mixed up with the fucking Syndicate! The Syndicate, Jocelyn, do you understand what that means? It means no one’s going to help you. It means they have people everywhere, including the police department. Maybe even NIAC.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “They’re coming for you! His buddy Marco—the one you were so sure wouldn’t move against you—and his Syndicate friends have threatened the merchants into going to the police.”

  “About what?”

  “To frame you. And him,” he said, jerking his head at Dylan, “for what happened to our store—for all the downtown crime. McGuffey found me at the shop tonight and told me they’re supposed to go into the station as a group tomorrow and tell the police about how you and your boyfriend—and some of your other Talent friends—have been terrorizing them, demanding money and destroying property. Businesses have already been destroyed, Jocelyn, and now they’re threatening these people’s families. It’s going to happen. There’s nothing we can do to stop it. If we’re not long gone from here, this time tomorrow you’ll be on your way to State School. You need to get dressed, get your stuff, and we need to move. So get your shit together and be downstairs in ten minutes. And I don’t care where you go,” he said to Dylan, “but you’re out of here right now. Get moving.”

  I stood there, shocked into silence while Dylan yanked his jacket and boots out from under the bed. “Wait a second. What are you doing?” I just needed a minute to think about this. To run the what-ifs and figure out what to do.

  “Joss,” Dylan’s voice had a warning note, and he cast a wary glance toward my dad. But that was all he said. He pulled on his jacket without looking for his shirt, stuffed his socks in his jacket pockets while he shoved his bare feet into his boots. Just like that, he was all ready to leave me.

  “Just hold on,” I said, clambering onto the bed as the quickest route to get to him.

  “Don’t make me do this, Joss. He has to leave now. Just let him go.”

  It was like the room froze when Dad leveled the gun on Dylan. I couldn’t even breathe. Couldn’t think what the hell was happening. Then it flew out of his hand.

  For just an instant, I thought I had done it. I thought that instinct had taken over and I had whipped the gun out of his grip without even thinking. But I hadn’t. Before I could finish the thought, Mom was taking it from Jill’s hand.

  “‘You never point a gun at anybody, ever, unless you intend to kill them,’” Jill scolded.

  “Jillian…” he growled.

  Mom untangled the gun from the vine Jill had grown and thrown out to wrap around it. She dropped out the clip and stuck it in her back pocket, ejected the round in the chamber and stuck that in her pocket too. “Gene, you have to stop this.”

  “Okay, yeah, you have to go,” I hissed at Dylan. “Phase out and go out the window. I’ll call you later. We’ll meet up and figure this out.”

  “No way I’m leaving you now. Not with him like this.”

  Dad whirled toward him. “Get out of my house and stay away from my daughter. I don’t need a weapon to kill you where you stand.”

  “Jill,” Mom said, quiet but firm, “I need you to go downstairs and call Jayce. She’s on speed dial. Tell her your Dad’s sick and we need her and Ben to come over.”

  A sob escaped my throat and in my head there was nothing but no, no, no, overlaying the echoes of the past.

  Dad turned toward the door again. “Go to your room.”

  Jill turned and fled. Down the stairs.

  “You see what you’ve done?” Dad advanced on Dylan and I jumped between them. “Stand aside, Jocelyn.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Joss,” Dylan said calmly, “I don’t need you to—”

  “Phase out, Dylan. Please.” I was shaking all over. I’d only seen that look in Dad’s eyes once before.

  Dad reached out to grab me and a burst of focused air knocked his hand aside. I watched the shock turn to something else on his face as I crossed my arms over my chest. I imagined drawing in the atmosphere around us, imagined it concentrating in front of me, thickening, forming a wall.

  “Daddy, please don’t do this.” I heard the tears in my voice, tasted them sliding over my lips.

  “Gene, please,” Mom pleaded. I reached out with my mind, sent a gentle push of air in her direction and slammed the door.

  “Jocelyn, open this door!”

  “It’s him, don’t you see that?” Dad’s eyes glittered. “You know that at least one person at that school is working for NIAC.”

  “I know that because Dylan found that out. When he was helping me.”

  “He’s been working against me, trying to get you to slip up, give yourself away. And you’re so starry eyed you can’t see it. But I can. It’s my job to protect you.”

  He lunged at us and I did what I had to do. I yanked my arms down, my mind releasing the shield, pushing it out and shoving him away from us. Dad flew back, arms and legs flailing, and smashed into the wall.

  He got right back on his feet, hands up in front of his face, eyes glittering with rage.

  “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came for her. But I’m never gonna let you
have my daughter. I know. I know better than anyone what you are, and I’ll never let you get to her.”

  At first I thought he was talking to Dylan, but he was looking at me. “Dad,” I said calmly as we circled each other, “it’s me, Joss.”

  “Don’t you say her name. You don’t get to say her name!”

  “Dad! You need to stand down!” I was panicked, afraid I was going to have to hurt him. Afraid that he and Dylan would hurt each other. I didn’t feel Dylan behind me anymore. He was still somewhere in the room and I couldn’t see him.

  Dad came at me with a series of quick, hard jabs. He was just testing me as an opponent, but already I could feel the difference in his style. We weren’t sparring anymore. He wanted to hurt me.

  Not you. Whoever he thinks you are.

  Like that’s supposed to make it better.

  He stumbled to the side, his arms seemingly pinned in place. Dylan. I went for Dad’s middle, launching myself at his ribcage from the side, wrapping my arms around his waist, trying to wrestle him to the floor. But even pinned to his sides, his hands were still free. He grabbed my head and forced it down as his knee shot up.

  Pressure exploded into my face, a tingling, numbing sensation that wasn’t pain yet, but would be. I went down hard, rolling to my back.

  Dad used the distraction to twist in Dylan’s hold. I tried to get back into it, but I wasn’t fast enough. He got a foot planted, bent, heaved, and flipped Dylan over his head.

  Dylan phased back into view when the back of his head bounced off my floor. He was already rolling over, scrabbling up, but the seconds I spent watching him cost me. Dad’s fist plowed into my gut, driving the breath from my body and doubling me over. I got my Talent guard up just in time to protect most of my injured face. Dylan came up off the floor, aiming at Dad’s midsection. With the size of his shoulders and the strength in his long legs unbending beneath him, it was a move that usually worked well for him. But Dad wasn’t another teenage boy, he was an experienced fighter with the muscle and mass of a grown man. They grappled for a moment before Dad raised his hand over the back of Dylan’s neck, preparing the a strike I knew to be potentially lethal.

  Something flashed through me. Dad didn’t know me anymore, and I didn’t know him either. I whipped my leg around and drove my foot into the small of his back. The kick might have lacked some power because of my positioning, but I beefed it up with my Talent. The force of it made Dylan stumble and lose his grip. Dad fell forward over him, and they went down in a tangle.

  My father and my boyfriend were wrestling on the floor of my bedroom like kids on a playground, and I couldn’t find an opening to separate them. Dylan stayed in it by his wits, disappearing and reappearing to keep Dad confused and off-balance. Every time I almost had a hold on Dad to even try to drag him off, the battle shifted and they rolled again.

  The door flew open. Ben stood there for a second, filling the doorway with his massive frame, then came straight at me. I was so shocked by the attack that he was wrapped around me with my arms pinned to my sides before I knew to defend myself.

  Dad had finally subdued Dylan who lay on his face, both arms bent up behind his back. Just a little shift and Dad would break his bones.

  “Nichols! About time you showed up.” Dad said.

  “What’s the situation, Sarge? Who are these guys?”

  What the hell? Ben’s last name is Duncan, not Nichols. And Ben’s never called Dad “Sarge” before.

  “NIAC agents, I think. Undercover at my daughter’s school. They came to take Joss.”

  “Joss is fine. All your girls are downstairs, safe. These guys should have found an easier mark,” Ben laughed.

  “We need to interrogate them. Find out if there are more.”

  “Jayce’s here. She’s got her bag of tricks. I’m sure she can shoot these guys up with something that’ll make them talk.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Jayce! We’re ready for you!” He leaned down to my ear and muttered, “You might want to struggle or something, kid. Make it look good?”

  It wasn’t like this happened every day. In fact, nothing like this had happened for over a decade. Jayce and Ben were always around when I was a kid, but then when Jayce became more my dad’s doctor than a family friend, they didn’t come around anymore. Yet they acted like this was some kind of game, and they were totally used to it. I made some attempt at struggling against Ben’s hold, but I was too busy trying to figure it all out to ‘make it look good.’”

  Jayce came in with a small, black zipper case. She smiled at my Dad. “Joe, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

  “You’re hilarious,” he told her.

  She held a syringe up to the light, flicked her finger against it and knelt down by Dylan. She yanked his jacket down to bare his upper arm and then pulled a little package from the case which she opened with her teeth. She rubbed the alcohol pad over Dylan’s bicep.

  “Is that really necessary? Give him the stuff already.”

  “Do I give you pointers on how to knock heads together? No, I don’t.” To Dylan she said, “Now you’re going to feel a pinch…”

  Then she jabbed the needle into Dad’s neck and depressed the plunger.

  Dylan cried out as Dad’s grip tightened, and Ben was already on the floor with them, pulling Dad gently away, rolling him onto his back.

  “I’ve got you, Sarge.”

  “Brian, she…what…did she…?”

  Dylan moved away from them, pulling his jacket back into place and shaking his arms. Dad’s arm fell away from his body and Jayce touched his pulse point and looked at her watch.

  “It’s all right now, Joe. Just take a break. I got this,” Ben told him.

  Dad was struggling to speak, to keep his eyes open. He kept jerking his head in Ben’s lap, trying to rouse himself. “Got to…take Joss…away from here. Not gonna get my girl.”

  Then he went under.

  Chapter 15

  Dylan

  “Tim, I told you to stay downstairs.”

  “Dispatch is on the phone.” I recognized the kid in the doorway from the fire at Mueller’s. Joss had said his dad was the Fire Chief. He was holding up a cell phone, wiggling it in the air. “They—”

  “Tell them I’ve got a personal emergency and I’m taking a friend to the hospital. They can call White.”

  “Okay.” He started to leave.

  “And tell Joan she can come on up.”

  “Okay.”

  “And take these two downstairs, clean ’em up, make ’em drink some water.”

  “And see if you can find some bananas or some source of electrolytes,” the woman with the needles added.

  “Anything else?”

  “We’ll let you know,” the man called Ben—and Brian, apparently—said, giving Tim a look.

  Tim ducked back out of the doorway to relay the message into the phone, but he was hanging out, waiting for us. I stretched my neck and rolled my shoulders as I made my way over to Joss. Everything felt sore and slightly out of place.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” I told Joss, hunkering down. “Let’s go down and see your sister. Show her you’re all right.”

  With blood all over from the nose down, she didn’t really look okay. And she didn’t look at me. It seemed like she wasn’t really looking at anything. When she didn’t move on her own, I stood and pulled her up with me. She was steady on her feet, just…not really there.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Marshall grabbed Joss away from me and wrapped her arms around her. Joss didn’t really move. “Look at your face.” Mrs. Marshall’s voice broke a little, and tears were spilling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t sobbing. It was hard for me to watch, but Joss just stood there while her mother dabbed at the drying blood with her own sleeve.

  “Aunt Joan,” Tim said awkwardly, “Dad said to tell you to come up.”

  “Are you hurt, sweetheart?” Her thumbs felt along Joss’s nose.

  “It’s no
t broken,” Joss told her in a weak voice.

  Tim pulled an ice pack out of the freezer. “Go ahead. I got this.” He said it like his father said it, and I could see the resemblance, how he was a much smaller and scrawnier version of the mysterious man upstairs who had burst into the room, called Joss’s father ‘Sarge’ and had his immediate trust. What was that about?

  Mrs. Marshall kissed her daughter’s cheek and patted me on the shoulder as she left the room.

  “Want some hot chocolate?” Jill asked as I maneuvered Joss into a chair. She had whipped cream-stache.

  “Not so much sugar for these guys, kid,” Tim told her. “Not until they get some of the adrenaline out of their systems.”

  Was everyone around here some first aid expert except Jill and me?

  “Here,” Tim said, holding the ice pack, now wrapped in a dish towel, out to Joss, “put this on your…whole face.”

  She just stared at it, so I took it. I sat in the chair between her and Jill, pulled her chair around to face me, and set it gingerly against the side of her nose. She winced a little, but didn’t say anything.

  “Can you get me a damp—”

  “I’m on it,” Tim said. He brought back a warm cloth, and then moved away so he wasn’t hovering. I kind of liked him.

  “All right, Marshall,” I said, putting her hand over the ice pack. “You just hold that right there while I go to work on this mess.” Her hand stayed where I put it.

  “So what’s up, slacker? How come the first aid kit isn’t out here?” I asked Jill as Tim cracked open the caps on some bottled water and put them on the table.

  “If I’d known you were still here, I never would have put it away.”

  I chuckled, turning to her. “You were awesome, you know that? What did you do?”

  She grinned hugely, swiping her sleeve across her mouth, the same way her big sister would, and stood up. She pulled a little drawstring bag that was hanging around her neck out of her shirt and knocked out some of the contents into her palm.