Ignite Me Read online

  “You’re telling me you can just, like, rip that apart or whatever?” Winston says.

  I nod.

  “Do it,” Kenji says. He’s practically bouncing in his seat. “Do it do it.”

  So I do.

  I pick it up, and literally crush the weight between my hands. It becomes a mangled mess of metal. A fifty-pound lump. I rip it in half and drop the two pieces on the floor.

  The benches shake.

  “Sorry,” I say quickly, looking around. “I didn’t mean to toss it like that—”

  “Goddamn,” Ian says. “That is so cool.”

  “Do it again,” Winston says, eyes bright.

  “I’d really rather she didn’t destroy all of my property,” Warner cuts in.

  “Hey, so—wait—,” Winston says, realizing something as he stares at Warner. “You can do that, too, can’t you? You can just take her power and use it like that, too?”

  “I can take all of your powers,” Warner corrects him. “And do whatever I want with them.”

  The terror in the room is a very palpable thing.

  I frown at Warner. “Please don’t scare them.”

  He says nothing. Looks at nothing.

  “So the two of you”—Ian tries to find his voice—“I mean, together—you two could basically—”

  “Take over the world?” Warner is looking at the wall now.

  “I was going to say you could kick some serious ass, but yeah, that, too, I guess.” Ian shakes his head.

  “Are you sure you trust this guy?” Lily asks me, jerking a thumb at Warner and looking at me like she’s seriously, genuinely concerned. “What if he’s just using you for your power?”

  “I trust him with my life,” I say quietly. “I already have, and I’d do it again.”

  Warner looks at me and looks away, and for a brief second I catch the charge of emotion in his eyes.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Winston says. “Our plan is to basically seduce the soldiers and civilians of Sector 45 into fighting with us?”

  Kenji crosses his arms. “Yeah, it sounds like we’re going to go all peacock and hope they find us attractive enough to mate with.”

  “Gross.” Brendan frowns.

  “Despite how weird Kenji just made this sound,” I say, shooting a stern look in his direction, “the answer is yes, basically. We can provide them with a group to rally around. We take charge of the army, and then take charge of the people. And then we lead them into battle. We really, truly fight back.”

  “And if you win?” Castle asks. He’s been so quiet all this time. “What do you plan to do then?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Let’s say you are successful,” he says. “You defeat the supreme. You kill him and his men. Then what? Who will take over as the supreme commander?”

  “I will.”

  The room gasps. I feel Warner go stiff beside me.

  “Damn, princess,” Kenji says quietly.

  “And then?” Castle asks, ignoring everyone but me. “After that?” His eyes are worried. Scared, almost. “You’re going to kill whoever else stands in your way? All the other sector leaders, all across the nation? That’s 554 more wars—”

  “Some will surrender,” I tell him.

  “And the others?” he asks. “How can you lead a nation in the right direction when you’ve just slaughtered all who oppose you? How will you be any different from those you’ve defeated?”

  “I trust myself,” I tell him, “to be strong enough to do what’s right. Our world is dying right now. You said yourself that we have the means to reclaim our land—to change things back to the way they were. Once power is in the right place—with us—you can rebuild what you started at Omega Point. You’ll have the freedom to implement those changes to our land, water, animals, and atmosphere, and save millions of lives in the process—giving the new generations hope for a different future. We have to try,” I tell him. “We can’t just sit back and watch people die when we have the power to make a difference.”

  The room goes silent. Still.

  “Hell,” Winston says. “I’d follow you into battle.”

  “Me too,” Alia says.

  “And me.” Brendan.

  “You know I’m in,” Kenji says.

  “Me too,” Lily and Ian say at the same time.

  Castle takes a deep breath. “Maybe,” he says. He leans back in his chair, clasps his hands. “Maybe you’ll be able to do right what I did wrong.” He shakes his head. “I am twenty-seven years your senior and I’ve never had your confidence, but I do understand your heart. And I trust that you say what you believe to be true.” A pause. A careful look. “We will support you. But know now that you are taking on a great and terrifying responsibility. One that may backfire in an irreversible way.”

  “I do understand that,” I say quietly.

  “Very well then, Ms. Ferrars. Good luck, and godspeed. Our world is in your hands.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “You didn’t tell me what you thought of my plan.”

  Warner and I have just stepped back into his room and he still hasn’t said a word to me. He’s standing by the door to his office, his eyes on the floor. “I didn’t realize you wanted my opinion.”

  “Of course I want your opinion.”

  “I should really get back to work,” he says, and turns to go.

  I touch his arm.

  Warner goes rigid. He stands, unmoving, his eyes trained on the hand I’ve placed on his forearm.

  “Please,” I whisper. “I don’t want it to be like this with us. I want us to be able to talk. To get to know each other again, properly—to be friends—”

  Warner makes a strange sound deep in his throat. Puts a few feet between us. “I am doing my best, love. But I don’t know how to be just your friend.”

  “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” I try to tell him. “There can be steps in between—I just need time to understand you like this—as a different person—”

  “But that’s just it.” His voice is worn thin. “You need time to understand me as a different person. You need time to fix your perception of me.”

  “Why is that so wrong—”

  “Because I am not a different person,” he says firmly. “I am the same man I’ve always been and I have never tried to be different. You have misunderstood me, Juliette. You’ve judged me, you’ve perceived me to be something I am not, but that is no fault of mine. I have not changed, and I will not change—”

  “You already have.”

  His jaw clenches. “You have quite a lot of gall to speak with such conviction on matters you know nothing about.”

  I swallow, hard.

  Warner steps so close to me I’m actually afraid to move. “You once accused me of not knowing the meaning of love,” he says. “But you were wrong. You fault me, perhaps, for loving you too much.” His eyes are so intense. So green. So cold. “But at least I do not deny my own heart.”

  “And you think I do,” I whisper.

  Warner drops his eyes. Says nothing.

  “What you don’t understand,” I tell him, my voice catching, “is that I don’t even know my own heart anymore. I don’t know how to name what I feel yet and I need time to figure it out. You want more right now but right now what I need is for you to be my friend—”

  Warner flinches.

  “I do not have friends,” he says.

  “Why can’t you try?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why? Why not give it a chance—”

  “Because I am afraid,” he finally says, voice shaking, “that your friendship would be the end of me.”

  I’m still frozen in place as his office door slams shut behind him.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I never thought I’d see Warner in sweatpants.

  Or sneakers.

  And right now, he’s wearing both. Plus a T-shirt.

  Now that our group is staying in Warner’s traini
ng facilities, I have a reason to tag along as he starts his day. I always knew he spent a lot of time working, but I never knew how much of his time was spent working out. He’s so disciplined, so precise about everything. It amazes me.

  He starts his mornings on a stationary bike, ends his evenings with a run on the treadmill. And every weekday he works out a different part of his body.

  “Mondays are for legs,” I heard him explain to Castle. “Tuesdays I work chest. Wednesdays I work my shoulders and my back. Thursdays are for triceps and deltoids. Fridays are for biceps and forearms. And every day is for abdominals and cardio. I also spend most weekends doing target practice,” he said.

  Today is Tuesday.

  Which means right now, I’m watching him bench-press three hundred and fifteen pounds. Three forty-five-pound plates on each side of what Kenji told me is called an Olympic bar, which weighs an additional forty-five pounds. I can’t stop staring. I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to him in all the time I’ve known him.

  Kenji pulls up next to me. Nods at Warner. “So this gets you going, huh?”

  I’m mortified.

  Kenji barks out a laugh.

  “I’ve never seen him in sweatpants before.” I try to sound normal. “I’ve never even seen him in shorts.”

  Kenji raises an eyebrow at me. “I bet you’ve seen him in less.”

  I want to die.

  Kenji and I are supposed to spend this next month training. That’s the plan. I need to train enough to fight and use my strength without being overpowered ever again. This isn’t the kind of situation we can go into without absolute confidence, and since I’m supposed to be leading the mission, I still have a lot of work to do. I need to be able to access my energy in an instant, and I need to be able to moderate the amount of power I exert at any given time. In other words: I need to achieve absolute mastery over my ability.

  Kenji is also training in his own way; he wants to perfect his skill in projecting; he wants to be able to do it without having to make direct contact with another person. But he and I are the only ones who have any real work to do. Castle has been in control of himself for decades now, and everyone else has fairly straightforward skills that they’ve very naturally adapted to. In my case, I have seventeen years of psychological trauma to undo.

  I need to break down these self-made walls.

  Today, Kenji’s starting small. He wants me to move a dumbbell across the room through sheer force of will. But all I’ve managed to do was make it twitch. And I’m not even sure that was me.

  “You’re not focusing,” Kenji says to me. “You need to connect—find your core and pull from within,” he’s saying. “You have to, like, literally pull it out of yourself and then push it out around you, J. It’s only difficult in the beginning,” he says, “because your body is so used to containing the energy. In your case it’s going to be even harder, because you’ve spent your whole life bottling it up. You have to give yourself permission to let it go. Let down your guard. Find it. Harness it. Release it.”

  He gives me the same speech, over and over again.

  And I keep trying, over and over again.

  I count to three.

  I close my eyes and try to really, truly focus this time. I listen to the sudden urge to lift my arms, planting my feet firmly on the floor. I blow out a breath. Squeeze my eyes shut tighter. I feel the energy surging up, through my bones, my blood, raging and rising until it culminates into a mass so potent I can no longer contain it. I know it needs release, and needs it now.

  But how?

  Before, I always thought I needed to touch something to let the power out.

  It never occurred to me to throw the energy into a stationary object. I thought my hands were the final destination; I never considered using them as a transmitter, as a medium for the energy to pass through. But I’m just now realizing that I can try to push it out through my hands—through my skin. And maybe, if I’m strong enough, I might be able to learn to manipulate the power in midair, forcing it to move whichever way I want.

  My sudden realization gives me a renewed burst of confidence. I’m excited now, eager to see if my theory is correct. I steel myself, feeling the rush of power flood through me again. My shoulders tense as the energy coats my hands, my wrists, my forearms. It feels so warm, so intense, almost like it’s a tangible thing; the kind of power that could tangle in my fingers.

  I curl my fists.

  Pull back my arms.

  And then fling them forward, opening my hands at the same time.

  Silence.

  I squint one eye open, sneaking a look at the dumbbell still sitting in the same spot.

  Sigh.

  “GET DOWN,” Kenji shouts, yanking me backward and shoving me face-first onto the floor.

  I can hear everyone shouting and thudding to the ground around us. I crane my neck up only to see that they’ve all got their hands over their heads, faces covered; I try to look around.

  Panic seizes me by the throat.

  The rock wall is fissuring into what might be a hundred pieces, creaking and groaning as it falls apart. I watch, horrified, as one huge, jagged chunk trembles just before unhinging from the wall.

  Warner is standing underneath.

  I’m about to scream before I see him look up, both hands outstretched toward the chaos. Immediately, the wall stops shaking. The pieces hover, trembling only slightly, caught between falling and fitting back into place.

  My mouth is still open.

  Warner looks to his right. Nods.

  I follow his line of sight and see Castle on the other side, using his power to hold up the other end. Together they control the pieces as they fall to the floor, allowing them to float down, settling each broken slab and each jagged bit gently against what remains of the wall.

  Everyone begins to pop their heads up, realizing something has changed. We slowly get to our feet, and watch, dumbstruck, as Castle and Warner contain the disaster and confine it to one space. Nothing else is damaged. No one is hurt. I’m still looking on, eyes wide with awe.

  When the work is finally done, Warner and Castle share a brief moment of acknowledgment before they head in opposite directions.

  Warner comes to find me. Castle to everyone else.

  “Are you okay?” Warner asks. His tone is businesslike, but his eyes give him away. “You’re not injured?”

  I shake my head. “That was incredible.”

  “I can’t take any credit for it,” he says. “It was Castle’s power I borrowed.”

  “But you’re so good at it,” I tell him, forgetting for a moment that we’re supposed to be mad at each other. “You just learned you have this ability, and you can already control it. So naturally. But then when I try to do something, I nearly kill everyone in the process.” I drop my head. “I’m the worst at everything,” I mutter. “The worst.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” he says quietly. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “Was it ever hard for you?” I look up, hopeful. “Figuring out how to control the energy?”

  “Oh,” he says, surprised. “No. Though I’ve always been very good at everything I do.”

  I drop my head again. Sigh.

  Warner laughs and I peek up.

  He’s smiling.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he whispers.

  I hear a sharp whistle. Spin around.

  “Hey—jazz hands!” Kenji barks. “Get your ass back over here.” He makes it a point to look as irritated as possible. “Back to work. And this time, focus. You’re not an ape. Don’t just throw your shit everywhere.”

  Warner actually laughs.

  Out loud.

  I look back at him, and he’s looking toward the wall, trying to suppress a wide smile as he runs a hand through his hair, down the back of his neck.

  “At least someone appreciates my sense of humor,” Kenji says before tugging at my arm. “Come on, princess. Let’s try that again. And plea
se, try not to kill everyone in this room.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  We’ve been practicing all week.

  I’m so exhausted I can’t even stand up anymore, but I’ve made more progress than I ever could’ve hoped for. Kenji is still working with me directly, and Castle is overseeing my progress, but everyone else spends time training on all the various machines.

  Winston and Brendan seem to be in better spirits every day—they look healthier, livelier—and the gash on Brendan’s face is starting to fade. I’m so happy to see their progress, and doubly thrilled Delalieu was able to find the right medicines for them.

  The two of them spend most days eating and sleeping and jumping from the bikes to the treadmill. Lily has been messing around with a little of everything, and today she’s exercising with the medicine balls in the corner. Ian has been lifting weights and looking after Castle, and Alia has spent all week sitting in the corner, sketching things in a notepad. She seems happier, more settled. And I can’t help but wonder if Adam and James are okay, too. I hope they’re safe.

  Warner is always gone during the day.

  Every once in a while I glance at the elevator doors, secretly hoping they’ll open and deposit him back inside this room. Sometimes he stops by for a bit—jumps on the bike or goes for a quick run—but mostly he’s gone.

  I only really see him in the mornings for his early workout, and in the evenings when he does another round of cardio. The end of the night is my favorite part of the day. It’s when all nine of us sit down and talk about our progress. Winston and Brendan are healing, I’m getting stronger, and Warner lets us know if there’ve been any new developments from the civilians, the soldiers, or The Reestablishment—so far, everything is still quiet.

  And then Warner and I go back up to his quarters, where we shower and head to separate rooms. I sleep on his bed. He sleeps on the couch in his office.

  Every night I tell myself I’ll be brave enough to knock on his door, but I never have.

  I still don’t know what to say.

  Kenji tugs on my hair.