Page 92 of All Saints Day
The scents of my fated mates radiate from the back of mytongue as I become aware of them in the space—every cell in my body feeling as if it were somehow charged, vibrating on a new, higher frequency.
Compton eyes me with horrified confusion, his gun pointed directly at my face.
For the barest of seconds, fear rises in me—my eyes flit to his finger on the trigger.
Then something deep within, at my very core, hums back—warm and sure.
As naturally as breathing, I lift my hand into the air and close my fingers into a fist.
Compton lets out a strangled, gurgling noise as the handgun crumples like a sheet of paper into a wrinkled ball, his fingers narrowly escaping the crushing metal as he allows the twisted hunk of scrap to fall to the ground.
Without missing a beat, he pulls a black remote from the pocket of his slacks, preparing to set the drones into motion.
I close my eyes, the resonant humming in my body and mind spreading like ripples in a pond.
As each ripple expands and laps against the laser turrets positioned high and out of reach, my mind begins to map the location of each device—the inner workings of their circuitry, motors, and wires painted in lurid color across my closed eyelids.
Without opening my eyes, I reach my fingers up into the air, twirling them gently as if encircling the skeins of their inner workings in my clutches; snapping their circuit boards and ripping out their wires as I close my hands into tight fists, twisting my wrists downward—somewhere between pantomimed fighting and conducting a silent symphony of destruction.
When I open my eyes, plastic, metal, and glass rain from above as every laser unit in the room crumbles as if crushed from within.
As soon as the green laser pinpoints disappear, my Saints are in motion—though they are still careful to give me a wide berth—disbelief still written plainly on everyone's faces.
Dennis rushes forward, barreling through the flabbergasted Compton to free Frank.
Quentin gets as close to me as he dares, but stops just short of reaching for my arm.
When I look down, I see my own hands—actually glowing from within.
While it hurts me to see my loved one's look at me in fear, I will do what I must to get us out of here safely.
Compton takes a step backward, but as I raise my hands, he falls still.
“The Omicron—it’s real,” he weeps, incredulous.
As my eyes fall on him, it's as if I can see all the complex systems that make Walt Compton a living, breathing man. His eyes, bringing the sight of me—illuminated by power and strength—to his brain, awash in the chemicals of panic, while his muscles clench his hands into fists at his side and force his jaw to lock tight. He holds his scream at bay, his lungs holding a captive breath as his heart pounds—circulating blood through his body.
“Goodbye, Walt. If there's a Hell, say hi to Susan for me. I'll see you there soon enough.”
I sweep my left hand through the air like a conductor calling the string section into a full, vibrant crescendo before I clench my fingers closed and drop my fist like a stone toward the floor.
Compton grabs his chest as his heart suddenly stops beating—his eyes widen, wet choking sounds issuing from his slowly working lips.
The other Saints watch in breathless horror and admiration as Compton sinks to his knees before falling face first on the floor—his body still.
All around us, alarms sound—sirens screaming and emergency lights flashing.
I do my best to follow the source of all the commotion back to the brain—the central security system, but it appears my new powers have limits. There's too much noise, too many pieces to control all at once.
No matter. I will make us a way out. I will carve our path to freedom with my own two hands.
I open my eyes, my vision filled with the sight of my fated mates.
In this new heightened state, I can see each of them with fresh eyes. Dennis and Frank with their brilliant red alpha auras, Sébastien with his cloud of emerald gamma energy, Caz with his nimbus of smoky purple, and of course, Quentin with his golden halo of omega light.
I look down at my own hands—splintering prisms of rainbow flaring from my fingertips. All the Saints connected to me with a single, unbroken thread.
Dully, I understand that this new power comes in waves—cresting then falling away with high and low tides.
