Tempest Read Free Page B

in the junk.
    “I cannot guess as to their reaction,” Ainsworth said. “However, they’re free to contact me through the proper channels to voice their concerns.”
    Marco hissed.
    Renee made a disgusted noise. “In other words,” she said, “drop your pants and bend over.”
    I snorted.
    On the television, Mayor Ainsworth shook Winstead’s hand, then went off-camera. Winstead gave some horseshit closing remarks I could barely listen to, I was so disgusted. When the broadcast switched back to the studio, Renee turned the volume down.
    “It’s no wonder they didn’t want us there today,” Gage said. “She’s trying to erase us.”
    During her high-pitched wake-up call earlier, Renee had told me that while I was sleeping, the Secret Service had called Hill House (the freaking Secret Service!) and politely asked that no one from our organization attend the speech. No kidding. Good thing, too, considering the bomb Winstead had just dropped on the city.
    Teresa launched off the sofa and stalked over to the television, as though she could reach through it and yank Winstead into the lounge. Her fingertips sparked with purple energy, a testament to her temper. She shook her head, lavender-streaked hair flying around in thick waves. “He can tear down buildings and pretend we don’t exist,” she said in her no-nonsense leader voice, “but we’re not going away. We matter, damn it.”
    “Who are you trying to convince, T?” Renee asked.
    “No one. Just making sure you guys all remember that.”
    “If Winstead is elected, we are in serious trouble,” I said.
    “That’s still a big if, Ethan. A lot can happen between now and then.”
    “Like a complete personality transplant?”
    Teresa’s mouth twitched. “We’re not that lucky. Best thing any of us can do is what we’ve been doing, which is proving the Metas in Manhattan are no longer threats, and doing our damndest to keep the Greens in line.”
    Okay, so I could agree with the last part of her declaration regarding Greens, but I stood by my inability to declare the Banes in Manhattan a collective nonthreat. Teresa possessed the amazing and beautiful ability to want to see the best in people, no matter their past, and she envisioned solidarity among Metas—especially now that we had another potential superpowered enemy lurking around the corner in the form of the Overseer and his Recombinants.
    Recombinants, we had learned recently, were genetically engineered “humans,” like the hybrid Changelings, Aaron/King and Noah/Ace, and (to our collective shock) Dahlia and her ability to absorb fire and heat. They were created in test tubes and raised in labs. We’d come up against their powers—a pyro had burned Renee, and it was an earth manipulator who’d tossed me through a window—and we had no idea how many others existed. We also had no idea who Overseer and Friends were loyal to. Aaron, Noah, and Dahlia were on our side (for now), but the other Recombinants were wild cards.
    Plus, you know, the general public hated Metas, too.
    For me, the Banes were dangerous until proven otherwise. Yes, Simon Hewitt turned out okay, and he’d been a loyal ally since our repowerment in January. But there were still a dozen or so Banes that Simon hadn’t been able to contact directly, and ever since one of the Manhattan residents used their powers to short out the tracking mechanism on the collars they all wore, he hadn’t made any further progress.
    A harsh buzz came over the intercom—front gate. Already closest to the nearest unit, Teresa hit the box on the wall. “Hill House.”
    “It’s Detective Pascal. Do you have ten minutes, Trance?”
    Tension filled the room like a stink bomb, fast and furious. Next to me, Dahlia tensed up, but no one else outside the people in this house (except Simon Hewitt, who was in New York) knew she shared a body with Noah. On the middle sofa, Aaron and Dr. Abram Kinsey sat up straighter. Dr. Kinsey had created and raised