Powerless

Powerless

Mortal Monsters

Book Two

By Monica Millard

Smashwords Edition

Powerless

Copyright 2015 Monica Millard

All rights reserved.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Also by Monica Millard

Mortal Monsters series

Faceless (book one)

Chosen series

Children of the Gods (A Chosen Novel)

Chosen – A Children of the Gods Short Story prequel

The Fall

The Final Offering

Entertaining Angels Series

Entertaining Angels (book one)

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~ For Ike

For taking something heartbreaking and turning it into the thing that gives me wings and helps me soar.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Other Titles By Monica Millard

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter One

I set the pink phone message sheet containing the note scrawled in chaotic, oddly blockish hand on the principle’s desk. You wanted to see me, Mr. Edmonds?

Before, I would have been terrified to receive a note calling me to the principal’s office. It feels different now. After all those days and hours spent with him hovering in my hospital room, there is a familiarity I haven’t quite reconciled with the man sitting behind the principal’s desk. Not to mention the fact that his nephew is walking by the office, all tall and beautiful, looking like a warrior about to go into battle. His appearance does nothing to lessen the effects of the jelly-knee rendering look he’s giving me right this second. In fact, I think it might actually enhance it.

Please, Mackenzie, I’d really like it if you’d call me Marcus.

His statement pulls my attention from his nephew and lands my focus entirely on him.

I think recent experiences have moved us beyond the role of student and principal into the sphere of friendship. His well groomed eyebrows inch up, but he must be fighting the inclination to give me the normal position of authority look, because they only get halfway up his forehead before stalling out. And depending on how your relationship with my nephew progresses, we are practically family now.

Whoa! Hands up and head shaking, I cringe. Let’s just slow down. I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I’m still struggling not to see him as the one who took a bite out of me, or that I fought, nearly to the death. Kind of puts a damper on any kind of relationship.

A single dimple emerges with a lopsided, subdued smile and his eyes stray from me to the window I was just ogling his nephew through. He gives me a knowing look, but it doesn’t mask the sadness. His claim that we’ve moved into the sphere of friendship isn’t far off, though I’d say he’s taken on more of the overprotective older brother roll, or uncle, I suppose. You’ll get there. You’re making good progress.

A stray piece of thread sticking out of the seam on my knee gets a strong jerk, loosening the stitching. I’m sure you didn’t call me down here to talk about the progress I’m making with your nephew.

He sits back in his chair, shoulders slumping before he straightens and pulls them back, like he’s pulling on his principle persona with the motion. He clears his throat. Uh, no. You’re right. I didn’t. I received your records from the school you attended in Anchorage, as well as the medical records of the boy who was injured in the incident.

They just gave you the medical records of a child from eleven years ago? One that doesn’t even attend this school, not that a school administrator would have any reason to request medical records anyway.

He does that smug, school principal smile. I have my ways. He sets his elbows on the desk as he leans towards me. The boy that bullied you, he had Lichtenburg figure burns on his shoulders and back. Do you know what that is?

No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.

They’re called lightning trees or lightning flowers. They’re quite beautiful and unique. Too bad you have to suffer through three hundred thousand volts to get one. You lit that boy up with a bolt of lightning.

The hair on my arms stands up as if reacting to just the mention of electricity. I grip the arms of the chair and ignore the way the air suddenly feels charged.

Humans are powered by electrical impulses. It makes sense that you fought back against this boy who was tormenting you by using the same thing that gave him his power, magnified significantly, of course.

I feel like scowling and telling him I’m not a lab experiment, but I’m just being defensive because he’s bringing up a memory I’d like to remain buried. I guess that explains why I always feel like I’m going to explode when the panic comes on, because I guess I sort of do.

I’d like for you to meet with Kaitlyn after school to work on your control.

I don’t tell him what I think of that idea, because he’s probably right, I do need to get control, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Oh yeah? And how does Ms. Fontaine feel about giving up more of her afternoons to work with me?

"Kaitlyn is excited to finally have someone else who has gifts that are similar to hers."

I open my mouth to lay down another soft, masked objection, but Mr. Edmonds is a smart man and he beats me to the punch.

I’ve spoken with your mother already and she thinks it’s a good idea as well. Being adopted, she didn’t have anyone to help her deal with her abilities as they blossomed. She had to figure out how to manage them herself. She doesn’t want that for you. She recognizes that while she has helped you learn to contain your abilities, pushing them down or repressing them isn’t going to help save you if you are ever in a similar position to the one you experienced so recently.

He straightens a pen on his desk that was already perfect in its alignment. A sure sign something unpleasant is about to come from his mouth. A tic I noticed over the course of many conversations with him in my hospital room.

There are bad people out there, Mackenzie, ones who would do anything to get their hands on you. I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening, to keep them from even knowing of your existence, but as you know all too well, things can slip through the cracks. Even among those that are here, there could be people that could try to hurt or kill you. Those that have more weapons at their disposal than normal humans. You need to be ready to defend yourself or those you care about. Kaitlyn can help you learn how to do that.

An image fills my head of Nicky splayed out on a hospital bed, her beautiful red locks all gone, shaved away so they could perform surgery on her brain to save her life. Guilt is still fresh and packs a heavy punch, especially since she isn’t back in school with us. She’s at home, still recovering.

Nodding seems the safest option, so that’s what I do.

She’s also a good listener and can probably relate a lot more than you’ll give her credit for, being the guidance counselor. She was only a child and has had years to learn to cope, but she was victimized, too. She saw her parents slaughtered like animals.

I’ll think about it, but don’t be surprised if I don’t get all warm and fuzzy and talk about my feelings. That’s not really my style.

I’m aware. His storm cloud eyes seem to swirl with some emotion I can’t quite fathom. He fixes me with his turbulent gaze. "Might I offer one more piece of advice? If you won’t speak with someone who is trained in helping with trauma, you should give Eli a chance. Talking with him could have the dual benefit of helping you see him instead of the shapeshifter, but he also has the unique experience to understand what you’ve gone through."

He holds up his hand to stave off my objection. He may have repressed it for many years, but he watched the shapeshifter destroy his family. On top of that, he has experienced torture at the hands of the one person who is supposed to protect him. The things his mother did to him, any normal child or even normal werewolf would have died from, long before I’d gotten there to save him. Werewolves do have accelerated healing, but it’s not like the movies. It’s not instantaneous. We just heal quicker than normal. Being a Fenrir, his metabolism is so fast, his healing so much better, it was just enough to keep him on the brink, to allow her to continue the torture.

I look out the window, expecting to see Eli out there. Not that I want him to see me with tears in my eyes. He’s smart and he knows me so well, he would know they were for him. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that he isn’t out there, waiting for me.

Maybe you could heal each other. There is hope in Mr. Edmonds’ voice. It draws me back to find him watching me. It might be selfish to ask of you. I’d give anything to be able to help him myself, but Elias doesn’t let anyone in. You’ve found a chink in his armor and slipped in through the crack. You’ve been so good for him. You have no idea. I’ll do anything I can to help that boy, using any resource available to me. If I can.

Chapter Two

I mash the heels of my palms into my eyes, scrub my hands over my face and exhale as heavily and loudly as possible.

Why don’t you give it another try, Kaitlyn prompts. I haven’t had many opportunities to spend time with our school counselor. If I had, I might have objected more vehemently to this whole staying after school to work with her business. If you look up perky in the dictionary it will have her picture next to the word. Also, synonyms might include: annoyingly sweet, makes you want to jab your own eye out happiness, perilously persistent.

Your father is aware that I may blow up the school, right? Because that’s what is likely to happen if I try again.

She chuckles and offers me a hand. I glare at her, ignore the offering and remain squatting just long enough that when I do stand up, it’s because it’s my idea not hers. Ha. I admit I wasn’t in my right mind when I was in the nurse’s office after my near blow up at Travis Foster a few weeks ago, but I remember her being sort of sarcastic and funny. I’m no longer amused.

Considering the type of student body in attendance and volatility of puberty and hormonal teens, Marcus had the school reinforced. He paid extra attention to this room in particular. So, you might be able to set the flooring on fire and burn us alive, but I find it a very slim possibility you could actually blow up the whole school.

I wonder if she can tell her head is exploding in my mind at this very moment.

Now, if you’ll just channel that energy for good rather than evil, we might get somewhere.

Guess that’s a yes. What exactly are your powers again? I’m a little fuzzy as to how you’re supposed to be able to help me harness mine.

"I’m not a super hero. I have no powers. Neither do you." She does air quotes and the urge to see her head pop with a movie style splatter of blood increases exponentially.

I can change into a giant werewolf and apparently shoot lightning bolts. What exactly do you call that?

Natural abilities. You have talents just like everyone else. I knew a girl who could hear any song and then play it perfectly on the piano, without ever having learned to read a single note. You wouldn’t call that a power would you?

I must be channeling Nicky, because it sort of felt like I was having a small seizure just now when I rolled my eyes at her. Though I’d rather die than admit it to her, the piano argument is a pretty good one. I might. It does kind of seem magical, considering I might actually be tone deaf. I turn up the radio in the car so I can’t hear my own self sing. Wanna hear?

No. Please. I would like to get back to practicing though, but I understand your reluctance to trust that I can help you.

Her lips twitch. It’s such a small movement, I almost don’t think anything of it. I pay closer attention as a sudden uncomfortable feeling swamps me. At first I can’t describe it, but then my clothes feel itchy and I almost can’t keep from scratching.

I have to make my hands into fists to keep from giving in and showing her she’s winning. The temperature in the room spikes, leaving me panting from the effort of keeping from scratching an itch that I know isn’t real or opening the exterior doors and letting in the winter cold.

When the lights go out, I nearly lose it. The problem with me losing it, is that I don’t know if I’ll just scream or shoot the school counselor with a few hundred thousand volts of electricity. Okay! Stop! Now!

The lights are back and the urge to rip all of my skin off is gone. I still feel a little overheated, but I don’t think she’s doing that one anymore.

You know I could have killed you just now, out of pure panic, right?

She doesn’t say anything, but I see the possibility register and the realization that it hadn’t before I said anything. Point taken. No more panicking the human lightning bolt.

So how did you do all that? Make me itchy, hot and turn out the lights? Is that some kind of power ability? Supercharging energy particles or something? Could you make a black hole?

Nothing so complicated. You weren’t itchy or hot. I just told you that you were. The lights didn’t go out. I told you it was dark and to you it was.

I open my mouth several times, but I don’t really know what to say to that. Explain, because it sure felt like I was itchy. If I hadn’t realized you were messing with me, I might have shredded my skin trying to satisfy that itch. I hold up my hands to show her my naturally long, thick fingernails that could have done a lot of damage had I given in.

What I do is similar in a small way to what you do. Every person is made up of energy. As you know, one type of energy is electricity. There are vampires who feed not on blood, but another type of energy. Psychic energy. I can see, read and manipulate a person’s psychic energy. The power I have over others is extremely dangerous, as you have proven. If I wanted, I could make you believe you were a bat and then send you up to the roof where you would spread your papery wings and fly away. Only your body would plummet to the ground and you’d probably die.

My perky mentor no longer seems so sweet or benign. Before all this, the only thing I knew about her was that as a child she read Mr. Edmonds future or his potential, or something like that, and deemed the good he’d do to outweigh the bad he’d done. She was like a little Lady Justice, holding up her scales, weighing and balancing him. Seemed like a bunch of mystical mumbo jumbo to me, but I’m having to re-evaluate my definition of reality on a pretty regular basis.

Looking at her now, I kind of want to take a big step back, but I have no room to be afraid. I could have killed her because I was scared. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay. I’ll try again, but how? I mean should I use my hands?

I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Lightning superheats the air around it. You could end up with burns on your hands. Besides the electricity doesn’t come from your hands. Where does it come from? She taps her temple.

You don’t think there will be burns if I shoot a lightning bolt out the top of my head? Or the distinct possibility of lighting my hair on fire?

Kaitlyn taps her lips with a manicured finger. Hmm. You make a good point. I think your mother would probably object to continuing our sessions if I send you home bald. How did you do it before?

Well, considering it was the most traumatic event of my life up until recently and I’ve done everything I possibly could to keep it from ever happening again, including repressing the memory entirely. I shrug and hold my empty hands up.

Explain what happens when you’ve had one of your attacks. Think about the feelings. Maybe that’ll help us figure it out.

I close my eyes and for the first time I try to invite the feelings that set me off. I let myself drift, floating back to that day in the lunch room. There’s a whining sound in my ears. My vision tunnels and I feel too big to fit inside my skin.

Good. Try now.

I fling my good arm out toward the dummy she has set up at the other side of the gymnasium, palm open. There’s a crack, so loud it’s like a fifty caliber rifle being fired. There’s a hot burst of air that accompanies the noise. A shock wave.

There’s an explosion and glass rains down from