Shine

Part One: Childhood’s End

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part Two: Roses in the Ashes

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Part Three: Pandora’s Daughters

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Part Four: Renegades

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Part Five: Who’s Gonna Stop Me?

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Note from the Author

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright Notice

Part One:

Childhood’s End

1

Seattle Center

Seattle, Washington

Eleven Years From Now

Aura didn’t know why her heart went out to the young girl with the Asian eyes and the oversized flip-flops, why she cared so much so quickly. But she did. She couldn’t help herself.

And the moment she reached out to the girl, the world shattered.

The day started innocently enough. Bainbridge Island was her favorite place on earth. She often wished it didn’t take so long to travel from LA to Seattle. Bainbridge freed her from stress and oppression and everything she hated in LA. And everything that hated her. She could hike for hours on the island and never get lost or bored. A thermos full of Earl Grey, a few sandwiches in her backpack, and she was good for hours. Deep in the forest, she found peace. Calm. Contentment.

Everything her so-called real life didn’t have.

Of course Beverly would want chapter and verse on where she’d been all day. And she would provide as few details as possible and another drama-queen episode would follow. Beverly would say Don’t you disrespect your mother, little girl, you have a bad attitude and a smart mouth. She would prove Beverly was right. Taj would wonder why she left him behind.

She didn’t like disappointing people or hurting their feelings. But sometimes she needed to be alone. Sometimes she got so mad at the world she had to escape. She didn’t like hiding or keeping secrets. She did that every day of high school. Would she have to do it the rest of her life?

She thought Seattle Center would be just as soothing as the island, so after the ferry docked, she hopped onto the monorail express. She loved the Experience Music Project. Most museums were lame, full of pretentious people gaping at stuff they didn’t understand, but this one was completely razor. She barely knew who Jimi Hendrix was, but she loved playing with the instruments, recording the random sounds she heard in her head under the blanketing shadow of the Space Needle.

And then, on the pavilion outside, she saw the girl.

A tiny girl, maybe seven years old, ran down the sidewalk. She looked so happy, so carefree, with the brightest eyes on earth. Had she felt that kind of pure joy at that age, before her father disappeared and her mother changed? Before she realized she was different?

As she watched, the girl tripped, probably because of those gargantuan flip-flops, and fell hard onto the pavement. Her face contorted with pain and fear.

No! Aura cried but did not cry. Stop!

All around her, everything seemed to freeze. The world went silent. Light suffused the plaza, whiting out the color. Nothing existed but that tiny girl. She couldn’t let that child lose her inner radiance. She didn’t want to see her scraped and cut and bloody.

She ran forward, just seconds after the girl’s face hit the concrete. She was already crying. Blood pulsed from a cut on the left side of her face. Head wounds always bled the worst.

I can’t find my daddy, the girl gasped. I want to go home. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. You have funny hair.

True enough. Strawberry blonde with blue-fringed bangs. Not so much funny as tragic. What does your daddy look like?

He’s big. Tall. He was just here.

Let me see if I can find him. Children usually trusted her, in part she thought because even though she was seventeen, her petite size caused them to guess she was younger. What’s your name?

Lara.

Okay, Lara, I don’t—

That’s when she saw the other abrasions. Blood oozed from Lara’s hands and knees in at least three different places. The injuries were far more serious than she’d realized.

Lara’s eyelids fluttered, then closed.

She had to staunch the bleeding. Such a tiny child could not bleed for long before cranial asphyxiation set in or her heart slowed. She focused on the damaged arteries, the torn tissue. Concentrate. She tried to remember what she’d learned in high school physiology, the only class in which she’d actually paid attention. Sometimes it helped to create a visual image.

She focused all her energy on repairing the damage. Accelerating Lara’s natural healing capacity. First one tissue layer, then the next. At the cellular level, the molecules began to stitch themselves together, one nucleus at a time, regenerating at a dramatically augmented rate.

Only when the work was almost done did she realize the ground was shaking…

She blocked that thought out of her brain and finished the task at hand. Arterial damage complicated the healing process. She didn’t know why, but repairing arteries took longer and required more effort. The girl was so tiny. It was like stitching doll clothes with a scythe.

She concentrated all her mental energy on a single arterial wall, restoring normal aortic pressure till blood flowed as it should.

The girl’s eyes opened.

Thank Gandhi. Lara, you’re gonna be fine. Let’s find—

Her words were buried beneath the sound of rubble crashing all around them.

This was more than a minor tremor. Seattle Center was falling apart.

Quakes were supposed to occur back home, not here. What gave? All around her cracks rippled up the sides of concrete walls. Huge chunks of rock and metal rained down around them. Pipelines and rebar thrust through the cement.

This could not be a natural phenomenon. This could only be caused by something else, some unnatural force…

And so far as she knew, there was only one unnatural force currently operating in the neighborhood.

Someone slammed into her from behind, knocking her to the ground. Another explosion rocked the pavilion. Fire erupted from a crevice in the ground accompanied by a booming noise that blotted out every other possible sound. She felt an intense heat scorching her. More fires broke out. Walls of flame surrounded them.

The plaza no longer resembled Seattle Center. This was a war zone.

The pavement shuddered beneath them, the biggest quake yet. She took Lara’s hand.

All at once, the girl’s eyes went wide. Look out!

She whirled around. A huge piece of rubble soared toward them, barely a second away.

There was no time to think. She closed her eyes, grabbed the girl, and dived to the side, escaping by inches.

She hugged the screaming girl tightly. Stay calm, sweetheart.

What’s happening?

I have no idea. But try to stay calm. We’ll find your daddy and he’ll get you out of here.

The thunderous rumbling rocked them one way then the other. She ran for a nearby park bench and grasped it tightly. She saw other panicked pedestrians rushing for cover, fleeing the lower level of the Space Needle and the other nearby buildings.

One of the supports on the monorail crumbled.

We’ve got to get out of here. She scooped Lara up and ran as far and as fast as she could, trying not to be trampled by all the other desperate people fleeing for safety.

She gazed out at the horizon. So far as she could tell, Seattle was in flames.

Then the world exploded. The overpowering tumult became a solid wall of sound. She couldn’t hear anything, not even her own breathing. The ground split apart. She watched concrete divide right before her eyes. Their park bench, their only support, broke loose and slid down toward a crevasse. She sprang forward, barely making it to level ground.

Enormous blocks of rubble tumbled down from the surrounding buildings. The foundation of the Needle splintered before her eyes. Tourists poured out of the gift shop, running for cover.

She knew it couldn’t possibly be long before the whole Needle came rocketing down upon them.

Frenzied people streamed into the plaza, scrambling into the botanical gardens and pushing toward the monorail station. They dashed frantically in all directions, crashing into one another.

In less than a minute, a full-scale panic seized the plaza. The wall of noise gave way to a wall of screaming.

Another booming explosion followed. The ground shuddered. More flames erupted. She thought she smelled gas, which guaranteed more eruptions and flames and death. She searched for some clear path of escape but found nothing. A thick cloud of billowing smoke choked her.

Another stone support for the monorail crumbled, sending the train derailing down the center of the plaza. People screamed and struggled to get out of the way—but they didn’t all make it. A man just to her left was crushed when a stone block hurtled into his face. His head crumpled like aluminum foil.

She felt that familiar tingling inside.

Without even thinking about it, she started scanning. But there was nothing she could do. The crushed man was already gone, almost dead, his face obliterated. There was too much pain surrounding her, too much damage. She couldn’t possibly save everyone. But maybe if she focused. Maybe if she focused just as hard as she possibly could…

She heard another cry to her left. A middle-aged Hispanic woman fell to her knees. A piece of rebar with some cable jutting out had somehow embedded itself in her leg, pinning her down like a collector’s butterfly. The woman’s pain was so intense she could feel it.

She ran to the woman’s side, taking Lara with her. She couldn’t see any way to escape. The girl was safer with her than anywhere else. She dodged people and gaping crevasses and flying debris.

She didn’t have time for introductions. This is going to hurt, she said to the woman, and without waiting for permission, she jerked the rebar out of the woman’s calf.

The woman screamed and collapsed.

Come on, Aura, she told herself, focusing. You know you can do this. Might be the hardest damn thing you’ve done in your entire life. But you can do it.

Blood gushed out of the wounded leg. Focus.

With great effort, she managed to staunch the bleeding. Then she concentrated on repairing the damaged tissue, at least enough of it that the woman could survive until emergency services arrived.

Are you magic? Lara asked.

No. She focused on the broken bone, the mangled arteries. Concentrated as hard as she possibly could. Stitch, stitch, stitch. Her brain was the surgeon, and her thoughts were the scalpel.

After about a minute, the damage was largely repaired. Not completely. That would take more time. But enough that the woman could move. Could find a path to safety, if one existed. They all needed to get out of there.

The woman pressed a hand against her chest, gasping for breath amidst the chaos, obviously dazed. How—How did you do that?

You don’t want to know.

You’re one of them.

Lady, this place is burning down. We need to leave. As fast as possible.

The woman grabbed her bag and struggled to her feet.

And you need to get out of here, too, she told herself. She didn’t know what she feared most—that they wouldn’t make it out alive, or that someone might’ve snapped a glasses-shot of her in action. The sooner we’re gone, the better.

Somewhere in the midst of the smoke and flame and chaos, she spotted an opening, a path near the botanical gardens not yet completely engulfed in flames. That was where they needed to go. It was their only chance.

Then she heard Lara scream. Her jumper had caught on fire. Flames lapped up the sides of her legs, searing her flesh.

She could feel Lara’s pain, just as if it were happening to her. And she knew a child couldn’t bear that for long. Seconds at best. She used her jacket to pat down the flames, but Lara continued screaming.

She inhaled the sickening smell of charred flesh.

She spotted a crowd of people watching. Including the woman she’d just saved. Some were taking pictures with their watches or glasses.

Damn. She couldn’t— She shouldn’t—

She had no choice.

She gritted her teeth. Her lips curled into a feral snarl. She focused every erg of her mental energy as if it were a laser. She channeled all that power on one narrow target. One little girl.

Shine! she commanded herself. Shine!

2

Four months later

ANTI-SHINE PROTESTS INCREASE AS CONGRESS CONSIDERS RESPONSE

(AP) 26 October SEATTLE

Today President Patterson announced his support for an unprecedented three trillion-dollar rescue plan to reconstruct Seattle, but he acknowledged that the effort would take decades. In the meantime, he said, most citizens will be forced to relocate. Despite the unprecedented efforts of FEMA, first responders, firefighters, police officers, and hundreds of civilian volunteers, downtown Seattle remains an uninhabitable desolation usually referred to by locals as Ground Zero. Heroic efforts saved many lives, but despite hard work and quick response times, the current death toll from the Seattle disaster is 229, and most believe that number will increase as workers continue sifting through the rubble.

The National Guard joined police, riot squads, and the Washington State SWAT team in their efforts to quell looting and rioting. Senator Sharpe of California joined with Governor Haskins in a demand for increased legislation to deal with the Shine threat. This tragedy should be a clarion call for Congress, Sharpe said. Something has to be done about these girls.

Seattle is not the only city to see rioting in the wake of this disaster. Most capital cities have hosted some sort of citizen occupation or civil protest.

The fact is, people are scared, said Reverend Algernon Trent, president of the Shine Surveillance Society, a non-profit organization dedicated to alerting the public about what he calls the Shine disease. And when people are scared, they do things they shouldn’t. This is another reason it’s so important for the federal government to take action. Until they do, no one is safe.

The Seattle disaster began on June 16th when the alleged acts of an unregistered Shine resulted in catastrophic damage to the city. The famed Space Needle, constructed in the 1960s for a World’s Fair and a popular tourist attraction ever since, was leveled. Seattle’s downtown area and many of the neighboring areas were destroyed.

The Shine allegedly responsible is believed to be in custody. Her name has not been released because she is a minor, but anonymous sources have suggested that she was a teen from the Los Angeles area.

President Patterson has issued an executive order requiring the immediate referral of any known Shine to designated institutions for threat assessment and treatment. Several bills currently before Congress propose more systematic approaches to Shine control. One such bill, designated PA2, likens Shine activity to a form of terrorism, thus permitting the detainment of Shines of interest for an unspecified period of time. We must be able to tell our children that there will never be another Seattle, Senator Sharpe said.

3

Transforming Your Light Institute

Antolina Island, off the California coast near Malibu

Aura felt as if she had accidentally stumbled into someone else’s pool party. Like that would be fun, even if these people were her friends, which they weren’t. All the crystal blue water in the world couldn’t make her forget that she didn’t want to be here.

On the deck between the pool and the Pacific, seven other girls sat in deck chairs arranged in a semi-circle. They wore matching outfits. She suspected the two supermodel types chose the chairs on the west side so they could catch maximum sunnage.

An older woman sat in the center. She must be the doc. The latest one. And the girls must be the other Shines. Razor. This was going to be a complete clownfest.

Please take a seat, Aura. We’re so glad you’re here. The middle-aged woman with narrow tortoise-shell glasses flashed one of those welcoming smiles that always made her want to spew. Fortunately, the choppercar that brought her here did not serve breakfast, though it did make good time, soaring over LA congestion. I’m Dr. Emily Coutant. I’m the acting director of the Institute and I’ll be leading these group therapy sessions. Was your journey pleasant?

Beat the hell out of house arrest. Probably not the best answer. She never did well in forced social situations. She remembered something her idiot gym teacher said about her that might actually be true: she’d rather mangle than mingle.

Was the choppercar ride pleasant?

Quicker than taking the ferry.

Good. I know you may feel self-conscious, Aura, this being your first day. But Harriet has only been with us a week. Coutant gestured toward a young woman with dishwater blonde hair and more freckles than she thought it was possible to cram onto a single face. So she understands how you must feel. Isn’t that right, Harriet?

Harriet didn’t respond. She seemed to close in on herself, as if she were trying to sink through the crosshatching on her deck chair. Then her hands danced around before her face, like she was typing an invisible keyboard.

Wonderful. Rock and razor.

At least you’re relatively local. Most of the girls in this group have come from someplace else. Harriet is from Maine. Twinge is from Georgia.

Twinge? Could that really be someone’s name?

I’m sorry. That’s our nickname for Alice. Coutant gestured toward the African-American girl with the dreadlocks sitting in the deck chair to her immediate right. She was one of the supermodels, pretty face, impossibly thin, fabulous bone structure. Which was more than enough reason to hate her. You know how nicknames are. Once they go viral, there’s no stopping them.

Why Twinge?

The hefty girl on her other side laughed. She had a butch haircut and looked incredibly muscular, like a Mr. Universe who OD’d on steroids. She had a tattoo on the back of her neck of a souped-up choppercar. You don’t wanna know.

Well, I asked, so obviously, I do want to know.

Coutant gave the large girl a stern look. Madeline. We’re here to support one another.

Madeline was wider than the deck chair she had somehow smushed herself into. Sorry, Doc. But she covered her mouth with her hand and whispered. It’s her Shine, Aura. Twinge can do some crazy-ass stuff.

Madeline—

Call me Tank. Everyone else does.

Coutant drew in her breath. Tank, then. Do we get to choose our Shines, Tank?

No.

Would you have chosen yours, given the opportunity?

Definitely not.

Then is it fair to make fun of someone else for theirs?

I wasn’t making fun. I was just explaining. Helping the new girl fit in. Don’t chainmail me over it.

The other supermodel spoke. If you have to make fun of someone, take a look in the mirror.

I can’t help how I look, Tank replied. Or how I act. My dad raised me and he didn’t know anything about girls or makeup or accessorizing or any of the other stuff your life revolves around, Dream. But he had a hell of a right jab.

At least you had a dad, the Asian girl on the other side of the semicircle said. Try growing up with no parents at all. Now that’s a pool party.

Be glad no one calls you Tank.

Like Mnemo is better? She turned to Aura and explained. That’s ‘Mnemo,’ pronounced like the captain of the Nautilus, but spelled with an ‘M,’ as in ‘mnemonic.’

Coutant tried to reestablish control. Getting back to the subject at hand, ladies, I don’t object to these little nicknames you’ve created for one another, but I will if they become cruel.

I don’t think ‘Tank’ is cruel. This from Supermodel Number Two, the blonde apparently called Dream. It’s just stating the obvious. In a videogame, everyone wants to be the Tank.