Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1) Read online

  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.”

  She grasped Dream’s point. Hard to say for sure, since Tank was seated, but she estimated the girl to be at least six feet three with the build of a refrigerator/freezer.

  “And I don’t see what’s so bad about Twinge,” Tank said. “There are a lot worse things we could call her. Like High Colonic Girl or—”

  Coutant cut her off. “Let’s not go there.”

  Up till now, the girl in question, the so-called Twinge, had stayed out of the discussion. But apparently she could hold it in no longer. When she finally spoke, it was as if the radiator cap blew off an overheated engine. “Would you stop already? See, Aura, they’re making fun ‘cause I have the world’s most disgusting Shine. Go ahead and laugh, everyone. Have a chuckle at my expense. As if I’m not miserable enough already.” She folded her arms across her impressive chest.

  Coutant’s eyelids fluttered. “Alice, please don’t tantrum. We’ve talked about this. It’s good to be in touch with your emotions. But venting is rarely productive.”

  “If I wanted to vent, they wouldn’t still be sitting in their stupid little pool chairs. They’d be clutching their guts and running for the bathroom.”

  “Alice, you know Shining is not permitted here. And don’t be hostile to—”

  Twinge stretched out her arm. “Talk to the hand, doc. Talk to the hand.”

  Coutant sighed. The group fell silent.

  Twinge settled back into her deck chair.

  She knew she should probably keep her mouth shut, but curiosity overwhelmed her. “Okay, would you just end the suspense already? You know I’m going to find out eventually. What’s the big secret Shine?”

  Twinge drew in her breath. “Anytime you have a desperate need to induce projectile vomiting, I’m your girl.”

  “Stop.” Coutant twisted her chair around. She wore a business suit and white coat with a suspiciously high skirt. Coutant must be twenty years older than the rest of them, but she hadn’t let herself go. She should blow off this rehab gig and get a reality TV show. Counseling for the stars, like on that Dr. Freddie show Beverly thought held all the secrets of the universe. “Why don’t we do the introductions in a more orderly fashion? Let’s go around in a circle. Starting with you, Al—er, Twinge.”

  “I’m Twinge. Duh.” She wiggled her fingers.

  Softer than a whisper: “Harriet.”

  “Beth. But like I said, call me Mnemo.”

  “Dream.” This was Supermodel Two and the best looker in the bunch, hands down. That waist couldn’t be more than nineteen inches. And a rack every guy on earth would drool over.

  “Kadey,” the next girl said, staring at the deck. She had gym girl arms, which suggested she might be plenty strong, even if she weren’t built like Tank. She had piercings all over her face—but what you couldn’t help but notice was the Mohawk. Although perhaps that was an inaccurate term, because she was pretty sure there was never a Native American tribe with pink hair. “Kadey Brown.”

  “Gearhead,” Twinge muttered.

  “Is that another nickname?”

  “A better one would be, Five Finger Discount Dame,” Dream muttered.

  “Shut up,” Gearhead snapped.

  “And the sad thing is,” Dream continued, “her parents have enough money to buy all of Rodeo Drive.”

  “Girls!” Coutant slapped her hand against her tablet. “No sniping. Let’s continue with the introductions.”

  “I’m Tank,” the girl to her left said. “Which you already know. You need a brick wall knocked down, I’m the one to call.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I’m Merena,” said the last girl, a willowy s
lip with long black curly hair. “They call me Perfume. And that does relate to my Shine. I’m really good with odorifousness.”

  “Like…you can identify smells?”

  “Even in itty bitty traces. Or I can implant them. Make people think they smell what isn’t really there. By the way, I love that lavender body soap you’re using.”

  “Wow. I don’t know if that’s cool or creepy.”

  “You should hear what I smelled down—”

  “Stop.” Coutant raised a finger. “Not one word.” If Coutant had a Shine, it would probably be the power to kill with a single expression.

  “I’m sure you’ll all get to know one another in time,” Coutant said. “Let me tell you a little about why you’re here, Aura. Why all the girls are here. As you know, recent events have caused some people to feel we might all be safer if Shines were given…more hands-on supervision. And why not? Everyone faces challenges on the path to adulthood. Some greater than others. No one knows what another has endured till they’ve walked a day in their moccasins, right? We tend to magnify the faults of others while ignoring our own. But some people develop problems they cannot control on their own. Instead of living in the moment, they live in fear and misery. And they engage in inappropriate behavior in a misguided effort to cope.”

  She stared back at Coutant but said nothing.

  “The smart ones don’t let themselves be trapped in self-destructive patterns. They seek outside help. And that’s what Transforming Your Light is about. Trying to help each of you find the light you need. That’s why we have that big lighthouse in the center of the facility. It’s a symbol.”

  “I’m here because my only other choice was Mordock.”

  “I can see why you might be bitter, Aura. No one your age wants to be compelled to do anything. But this is no time for you to be out on your own, especially with the rioting and SSS members running around tasering unsuspecting Shines. I can assure you that we only want to help you get this problem under control so you can live a normal healthy life. To give you a chance at a better tomorrow.”

  “If that’s all you want, why are we on an isolated island in a compound completely surrounded by a twelve-foot wall?”

  “For your own protection. This facility has been equipped with every high-tech security device imaginable. We’re more impregnable than the White House. I believe you’re all too aware of the hostility out there toward Shines. The SSS is a hate group, in our view, even if they do have official lobbying status.

  Just thinking about the SSS gave her a shiver. “What exactly are we going to do here?”

  “A very good question. Would any of you young women like to answer it?”

  “Lots of group grope,” Tank said. “We talk about our feelings till you’re ready to hurl. Even without Twinge’s help.”

  “We learn to live in the moment,” Dream offered.

  “They try to get inside our heads and find out why we’re such flaming psychos,” Twinge said. “Are you a flaming psycho, Aura?”

  She looked deeply into Twinge’s eyes. “Big time.”

  “Emotionally unstable?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Totally.”

  “Cool. You can be my new best friend. Because even though you may think you’re the most screwed-up chick here—you’re probably not. There’s fierce competition.”

  “Getting back to your question,” Coutant said, “you’ll have a full day of programming and therapy. You’ll also have private one-on-one therapy with Mark Maddox. You’ll have a spiritual counselor and a personal trainer. We have regular sessions of neurolinguistics, hypnotherapy, yoga, and metaphysical studies. There’s a mandatory community service activity each week, which not only helps raise your self-esteem but we hope in time will improve the outside world’s feelings about Shines.”

  “If they don’t kill us first.”

  Coutant smiled. “You won’t be bored. And perhaps in time, as you work through the twelve steps, you’ll learn to overcome your problems. Do you think you can do that, Aura?”

  “Do I have a choice?” She knew that was snotty, but the tone Coutant used reminded her way too much of her high school guidance counselor.

  “So, first item on the agenda, attitude adjustment.” Coutant tapped the tablet in her lap. “I would be remiss if I didn’t go over the fundamental requirements for your continued enrollment at TYL. First and foremost, you must attend all your assigned sessions. All of them.”

  “Got it.”

  “The second rule is that no fighting is permitted.”

  “Okay.”

  “Third, there must be no continuation of…the behaviors that got you sent here.”

  “You mean I can’t Shine.”

  “Exactly. And no sex. No inappropriate touching.”

  “Did you explain that to the woman who did the strip search on me when I arrived?”

  “You’ll be given an itinerary each day at breakfast.”

  “Just set it beside my Cocoa Puffs.”

  “We want you focused on your recovery. So that means no calls, no email, no texts, no tweets, no tweaks, no IMs, no stims, no boosts.”

  “They took all my toys when they searched me and my bags.”

  “You’ll be grateful in the long run. You’re also required to attend a twelve-step meeting every day.”

  “Will there be cookies?”

  “You’ll share a room with other girls. The usual California state rules governing rehabilitative treatment centers have been waved during this crisis.”

  “I’ll have roommates?”

  “And they’ll all be more than happy to help you acclimate to this rehabilitative environment. Won’t you, ladies?”

  Dead silence was the only response.

  “Aura,” Coutant said, “I can see you think of me as the enemy, but I can assure you that I’m not. I care about you very much. More than you can possibly imagine.”

  “Well, remember the no-inappropriate-sexual-contact rule.”

  Coutant pushed herself out of the chair. “That’s enough for now. I hope you’ll all take the time to become better acquainted with Aura.”

  “I got a question before you go. What happens if someone breaks the no-Shine rule?”

  Coutant peered into her blue eyes. “Aura, the whole point of treatment is to teach you to live without dependence on dangerous and destructive activities. If you ever hope to be reintegrated into society, that’s a necessity. So we have a zero-tolerance policy on Shine.”

  “And if I violate your policy?”

  “Mordock. For the rest of your natural life.”

  4

  Somewhere Beneath the Transforming Your Light Institute

  Antolina Island

  Agent Coal pressed the transceiver on her glasses stem, using the silencer and psychic encryption app to make sure she had no unwanted eavesdroppers. A second later a transparent holographic control panel appeared before her. A few virtual button-pushes later she had a secure connection to the Chief.

  “Is she safe?” the Chief asked.

  The audio hookup worked fine. She could hear the Chief’s voice in her head, but no one else could. “She’s safe.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Just the usual. Doesn’t want to be here. Pissed off about it. Frustrated that she can’t control her own life. Rebel without a choice.”

  She checked the report on her tablet, drawing a finger over some of the key personality attributes described by the choppercar driver, the greeter, the woman who searched her and her luggage, and various other TYL personnel. Everything was about what she would expect. Given the circumstances.

  “And how are you?” the Chief asked.

  “Ready to get out of here.” She crossed her legs, knowing full well the effect this would have on the hemline of her skirt. Hardly her standard operational uniform. But here at TYL, she had to blend in. And the fact was, she kept herself in terrific shape. Might as w
ell use it. “So how about a transfer?”

  “Your time will come. There are worse assignments. And you volunteered.”

  “Do you have a dictionary app on your tablet?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Because I think you need to look up the meaning of the word ‘volunteered.’”

  The Chief’s neck stiffened. Amazing that she could detect it. This image emanated from a secure location on the other end of the country. “Does that mean you don’t want to continue your work? That you no longer believe in the cause? Even when you know what’s coming?”

  “No.” She ground her pumps into the carpet. “Of course not.”

  “Then what’s your problem?”

  “You know what my problem is. I never saw myself as housemother for a psycho sorority in the first place. Now you’ve got me supervising something…hideous.”

  “But necessary. If we’re going to stand a chance.”

  “Are you listening to me?” She allowed her voice to rise a few notches. Just enough to sound forceful. Not enough to seem strident. She knew what the Chief liked and she knew how to get what she wanted.

  She brushed a loose strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear. “I’m going crazy. I’m a highly trained operative with extensive field experience. I have a black belt in three different martial arts. I’m wasted here. Every day we get a new report of an unregistered Shine popping up somewhere in the world. I should be going after the ones who aren’t in custody. Not babysitting the ones who are.”

  “But that’s your assignment, so you’re just going to have to live with it. Any problems with Aura’s integration?”

  “No. She’s a nonconformist, but in this circle, ironically, that makes her a conformist.”

  “And the others?”

  “All the children are in their playrooms, going to meetings and bonding and sharing eyeliner and such. But as you well know…” Her lips pursed. “I spend most of my time underground.”

  “Any causes for concern?”

  “No worries.” She smiled slightly, batting one long painted fingernail against her lips. “I’m nothing if not efficient.”