Like a Surge Page 6

  “Dr. Yantar, I...”

  “Call me Russ,” Russ said. “You spilled my blood, you get to call me by my first name.”

  Maybe he was delirious from the shock of discovery, or from blood loss, or maybe the storm had lent the empty classroom an otherworldly feel that made the impossible the most natural thing in the world.

  Russ reached out with his blood-stained hands and pulled Paul closer, then closer still.

  “Your wounds,” Paul whispered. Encouraged by the fact that his first worry was over his injuries instead of over their increasing intimacy, Russ tugged him so hard, Paul stumbled and landed against his chest.

  A charge buzzed through Russ like a pleasant frisson of something familiar and welcome. Like he was finally coming home.

  Their lips were close and getting closer.

  “You want this?” Paul’s whisper was amazement and want and gratitude.

  “Yes, I want this. I want you.” Russ wanted him, this incredible man who glowed pink in the dark, and whose touch excited him on every level imaginable.

  Paul’s lower lip flared a bright fuchsia, and a white little arc of plasma jumped the space to his own lips, stinging and exciting all at once.

  Russ leaned in and claimed him in a hungry act of possessive lust, an act that was as primal as it was measured and sensuous. When their tongues tangled, a surge of energy traveled through his core and down below his waist, mingled with sugar-cottony softness and the sweet music of carnival merry-go-rounds.

  Only when Paul pressed their groins together with a needy moan, Russ realized that he, too, was hard.

  “We really shouldn’t,” Russ whispered between passionate kisses. “We should... we should wait until you graduate.”

  “I’m not here to graduate,” Paul said, his voice low and tentative as he revealed what had been, until now, a deeply held secret. “I’m here to learn how to dump my extra power into something useful. How to live...” They enjoyed another lip-lock, another frantic grind of interlocked thighs. “Fuck. To live in a modern society.” Paul bit his lower lip, nice and slow and easy. No pain, just a kinky tease. “So I don’t wreck it for others.”

  Russ sucked in more air, then expelled it with a huff and pushed Paul gently away. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up wrecking me instead. You’ll get expelled, and I’ll get fired.”

  Paul let go of his shoulders only hesitantly, and as his fingertips skimmed Russ’s blood-stained chest, he cocked his head, and smiled so wide, his grin was apparent even in the dark. “You have to come with me and meet everybody else. We need you, Russ.”

  CHAPTER 9

  On Thursday, two days before Halloween, a bulldozer and a back-hoe broke the ground of what used to be Ash’s forbidden, polluted plot by the river. Cooper stood by, wearing his yellow hard-hat more out of habit than out of necessity, dressed in jeans and construction boots and a padded plaid shirt that kept off the early morning chill.

  His tablet showed all the plans. All the construction permits were downloaded, as well as stored in Ash’s ancient minivan, which stood parked in its customary spot in front of the last rowhouse.

  Their rowhouse, which was their current home.

  The six houses would hold their crowd with room to spare, but Cooper had a sneaking suspicion that the available space would fill fast, and that he and Ash would soon have to relinquish their extremely comfortable nest and move out. It wasn’t just Ellen’s pregnancy that sparked his unease. A phone call with Grandma Olga, and her probing questions, had him on edge.

  Something was going down. Something was brewing, and even though grandma wouldn’t budge on her foresight and would not speculate on the probability of her various visions for the future, Cooper had a pretty good idea that the land called others of his kind as her need arose.

  With the frackers tapping well under the allowed survey boundaries and hiding both their extractive activity and the pollution it caused, the land was bound to send another massive S.O.S. The earthquake, which had surprised Pittsburgh toward the end of August, had been the clarion call of more disasters to come. Back then, it had not surprised Cooper that the epicenter sat half a mile south of the node, which they had pacified just days before. If Brian Clegg and his fracking clients kept sending their energy pollution, one that was composed of thousands of miniature earthquakes, toward the node Cooper and Ash had blocked off, the power would have nowhere to go.

  It would back up, creating pressure.

  That pressure would release in a desperate bid for freedom – just like in earthquakes where continental plates continued their stop-and-go grind against each other – and that pressure would find a way to escape. Just like it had when they had all been enjoying dinner at Smallman Galley when the lamps began to sway. The epicenter had damaged a few buildings about a mile away on Fifth Avenue, mostly those which were old and in ill repair. There was no reason to think that Brian Clegg would stop doing business, therefore they had to find a way to contain his mess next time around. One strategy – controlling the land – was already being implemented by building the house earlier than scheduled. If they secured the sealed-off node and its ley lines, and if they kept a watchful eye by living this close to them, Cooper would know if anything was about to change.

  Not only that, but the specter of another family invasion had convinced Cooper and Ash to accelerate their construction schedule and get the building up before the weather turned.

  “Hey, boss!” The backhoe operator had turned his machine off and waved him over. “Come check this out!”

  Cooper extended his earth-sense. The heavy, yellow machine sat right over one of the tunnels, exactly as he had planned. In his mind, Cooper saw not just the void of the tunnel, but also the huge blocks that made up its walls and the strata of old building foundations that the river floods had destroyed many years ago.

  “On my way!” He sauntered over. “What did you find, Bob?”

  Bob frowned, furrowing his bushy eyebrows as he pointed into the hole he was excavating. “Those rocks are man-made. It looks like a wall, or something. And we’re ten feet under, so if you want a solid basement, you’ll have to decide what’s going on here. You don’t want to build your house on top of an old mine and have your new place turn into a sinkhole.”

  Cooper grinned. “It won’t. It’s not a mine.” He jumped up on the heavy rubber belt of the machine, grabbed the handle by the operator’s cabin, and leaned in close enough to whisper. “How would you and Matt like to make some extra cash?”

  Bob beeped twice. Matt stopped grooming the flat ground by the street with his bulldozer. He sprang out of his machine, and jogged over. “What is it, Dad?”

  Bob gave him a significant look. “Young Cooper here seems to have a business proposition,” he said. Then he looked at Cooper. “So... I take it you have your plans all drawn up?”

  Just then, Cooper’s phone rang. “Sorry,” mouthed at Bob and Matt as he answered the unknown number.

  “Hi, my name is Jolene Tindal, and I’m with Uptim Development. I’m trying to reach Cooper Anneveinen, architect. Are you he?” Her voice was cool and measured, as though she didn’t call architects without due consideration.

  “Yes, I am he.” Cooper slipped into more formal speech with ease.

  A five-minute interrogatory ended with a frustrated jab at his mobile unit. “Dammit.”

  “Well?” Bob gave him a quizzical glance. “A problem?”

  “Not as such, no, but... this is a second client this week who won’t continue talking to me because they can’t meet me in my office.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t even have an office! I meet my clients at coffee shops.”

  “So will he meet you?” Matt interjected hopefully.

  “She. And no, she won’t. She thinks she needs a serious architecture firm.” Frustration boiled within him, hot and deadly.

  “Breathe, Cooper,” Bob said in a placating voice, although there were no back-slaps, no thumb-ups.

/>   “I’ m breathing,” Cooper said, “but I’m also treading water. This isn’t good, guys. If anyone you know has an office space let me know, okay?”

  “Will do,” Bob said. “Meanwhile, though, do you have the new drawings for your alternative plan?”

  “I do.” He pulled up his tablet and, knowing that he was taking a risk, he showed a cross-section of the underground to the two men.

  It took a trip to the local diner and a solid, two-hour discussion over a breakfast on Cooper’s dime, but the final result left all of them in a better place. Cooper and Ash would provide free earth-sensing and water-whispering services for their little contracting outfit in exchange for a secret access from the new house’s basement to the subterranean tunnels. The services, however, were contingent upon Bob and Matt keeping the existence of the Lawrenceville tunnel system a secret.

  And he didn’t even have to pretend he had an office and a secretary.

  THAT EVENING, ASH was running an hour late. Cooper was glad he had defrosted a lasagna they had made ahead over the weekend, and had put a salad together, because those could just sit and wait in the kitchen while he was kneeling on the living room carpet. The sheathed blade of Ash’s katana rested on the coffee table before him.

  He really should pick it up.

  Bow to it.

  Unsheathe it and greet it... feel it. Feel for the weirdness that might or might not have been Jared.

  Was he being haunted? Was that even possible?

  As the door swung open, Cooper jerked his head up, all too happy for the interruption. “Hey,” he said with a relieved smile. Having Ash home meant dinner, and eating dinner meant not having to deal with Ash’s disturbing sword.

  “Sorry I’m late, love,” Ash said as he swooped down for a sloppy kiss that was half mouth and half cheek. “The traffic was just insane. They’ll be upgrading the roads until hard freeze!”

  Cooper rose and followed Ash into the kitchen. The small breakfast nook table, which had done them such good service in his small Mary Street apartment, was pressed into service even here, in a kitchen just big enough to accommodate two small chairs and two big guys. Just as well they didn’t buy dining room furniture – not if they planned to move to the new house within a year.

  After Cooper dished out the hot, savory lasagna and served the salad, he sat with his lips pressed into a thin smile.

  Ash gave him a long look. “Okay, spill. What is it?”

  “What’s what?” Cooper asked innocently.

  “This expression you’re wearing generally means news. Usually good news.”

  “Mixed news, at least this time,” Cooper said with an appreciative nod. “Okay, bad news first. All that road construction that got you waylaid? It’s the state upgrading the roads and the bridges.”

  “I knew that.”

  “I know you knew that, but did you know where did they get the funding to get started early in the spring this year? And to keep going?” This question had popped up a few months before. The infrastructure maintenance schedule in Pennsylvania revolved around funding, and the powers-that-be usually bickered over the distribution of available funds until midsummer and started construction right before school began. Ironically, that gave the school bus drivers a bit of extra excitement.

  Ash swallowed, set his utensils down, and tilted his head thoughtfully. “Because Washington is cutting costs everywhere, and the states decided to use up their funding while they could?” Because, according to an unwritten rule of red tape, unused funding this year would mean an even lower funding level next year.

  “I can’t say either way, but in our case, the Commonwealth got a huge lawsuit settlement from the fracking companies. They aren’t upgrading the roads and bridges for us. They’re making them stronger so that they can support heavy construction traffic.”

  Their eyes met.

  “You know,” Ash said after he had been, quite obviously, biting back expletives. “Sometimes, weak bridges are the better choice.”

  They ate in silence, but now the lasagna was somehow less savory.

  “So what’s the good news?” Ash grumbled with his mouth full.

  Oh, yes. Not everything was doom and gloom today. “Two things, actually. First, Bob and Matt Wooley aren’t working just new house construction. Their main gig is taking down dams that aren’t useful anymore. Which they say is most of them. Did you know that?”

  Ash shook his head. “No. I mean, I know dams are bad for the rivers, but I didn’t know about the Wooleys. I got Bob’s number through a guy I know who does water quality testing. So...”

  Before Ash could get lost in his own world of what-if, Cooper broke in again. “And there are the tunnels we found. I measured right, and the basement is right over the old tunnel. Bob found the huge foundation stones.”

  Now that he had Ash’s full attention, Cooper leaned forward with a bashful smile. “I know it’s not procedure, and all, but I told them about... uh... about us.”

  He didn’t know whether Ash looked more puzzled, or surprised. “But we’re out and proud, Coop. What’s there to hide?”

  “Your water-whispering, my earth-sense. I let some of that slip, like, on purpose. We’re trading services. They’ll install a secret entry from the basement into the tunnel and keep mum about it. In return, they’ll call us to check out old structures. It will save them tons of time and money if they get instant feedback. And, if they need evidence using expensive instrumentation, like ground-penetrating radar, they can order those services only after we tell them they will actually show something interesting.”

  Ash leaned away from his half-eaten dinner. “Really.” His eyes were thoughtful. “That’s... that’s a good deal. Taking down dams, huh? Those projects are usually funded by such a patchwork of non-profit and state grants, I have been having a hard time finding the right people.”

  “That’s because you’re doing stuff on the sly,” Cooper said, relishing in a mock, accusatory tone. “Have you googled dam removal?”

  “I have,” Ash said with a sigh. “Despite all the information out there, it’s hard to find a local person to talk to about it. As you might imagine, the locals often don’t want to get rid of their dams, simply because they grew up with them.” He ate another bite. “It’s a political issue, and people need convincing. So, no. I haven’t found anyone who’s actually working on these projects. You, however,” Ash slid a glance in Cooper’s direction, “you did just fine getting the guys involved. Will they keep quiet?”

  Cooper shrugged. “I can’t be sure. I think so. No power signature to them that I can detect. And from what Bob was saying, they work with all kinds of tree-hugger, earth-loving types. People who all mean well, and have real skills, but who are, um...”

  “Non-standard?” Ash asked.

  “Yeah. Eccentric. So we’re just another bunch of helpful weirdos to him.”

  They laughed. Cooper let his glee trail off under the power of Ash’s focused gaze. “I saw the sword on the table,” he said. “Speaking of eccentric, I think you have some unusual work to do.”

  Cooper clenched his jaw. Slowly, as though it pained him, he nodded. He had loved his cousin Jared, and he was sorry Jared had passed on. Being haunted, or going crazy, wasn’t something he really wanted to investigate.

  Except there was no other way.

  He needed data.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, after the dishwasher was loaded up, Cooper was sitting seiza by the coffee table, with Ash settled in the reading chair on the opposite side.

  Slowly, as he had been taught, Cooper lifted the sheathed sword above his eye level, and bowed his head in greeting.

  Nothing happened.

  Gingerly, as though he expected a scalding burn, he set his hand on the hilt.

  Still, nothing.

  Cooper grasped the thin, lacquered wood sheath, and slid it off the razor-sharp blade. He set the sheath on the table and grasped the hilt in both hands, as though he was blocking a cut. Like he meant
it.

  The whole room lit up in a dizzying festival of color.

  Lines.

  Hot spots.

  Ash.

  His lover sat on the chair as though he was just another ordinary guy, patiently waiting until he could have his beer. Except he glowed.

  Power seeped from the hairline cracks of his shields.

  It was aqua blue and tinged with bright green in places, and it shone so brightly, Cooper closed shut his eyes in self-defense.

  Except Ash was still there, even with his eyes shut. As though Cooper were using an extension of his familiar earth sense, Ash was still five feet away from him, a bright outline of light and shadow.

  A thin, dark-red line of power ran through the living room, disappearing into the wall they were sharing with the neighboring house.

  A dim, blue line cooled his mind right next to it, and with a sudden clarity he knew he was sensing the house’s plumbing system. Keeping his eyelids screwed shut, Cooper said: “Ash. I want you to get out of that chair and move to the side. Don’t tell me which side.”

  “Oh-kay.” Ash’s surprised voice was like a dim echo in a huge chamber of his overloaded mind. The glowing outline straightened up from the chair and took few steps to the right.

  “You moved toward the door. You should be standing right next to the entryway’s tiles,” Cooper said in a voice that came out strained, like a raven’s croak.

  He opened his eyes.

  Sure enough, Ash was right by the door, shoulders hunched and eyes wide open. “What... what was it, Coop?”

  Cooper shook his head. He sheathed the sword, bowed to it, and set it back on the coffee table. Only once the world’s layer of light dissipated from his consciousness, he stumbled to his feet and rushed into Ash’s arms.

  “What is it, love?” Ash whispered, but not even his endearment could cover up the outright fear that was palpable in the tone of his voice.