Project Spies (snippet 2)

In all honesty, this might not end up in the final book.

Rowan understood that the U.R. didn’t often recruit people like her. They didn’t work with miscreants who’d probably make a better villain than a hero. They didn’t recruit people who had lived on the street most of their lives. They didn’t tolerate thieves who got into knife fights in alleyways, nor did they have sympathy towards those who had little understanding of their world. The U.R. wasn’t made for her, and yet it had accepted her with open arms… or open jaws. She was simply waiting to see if it chewed her up and spat her out or accepted her into its pack.

Rowan knew she had lived a different life from the rest of the recruits. She’d been living on the streets since she had run away from foster care at the age of twelve. Her parents had dumped her there when she was three, long before she could remember. Although she wasn’t a fan of being toted from house to house, she knew it wasn’t where she belonged. She caused too much trouble for any family to want to take her on long-term, and was too restless to stay anywhere long. Rowan wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t have something no one else did.

She’d discovered a proficiency for fire when she was thirteen. With a cheap lighter, she’d start a small fire, typically in a trash can. All Rowan would need was a distraction; the fire was out as soon as she got out of the building. It was easier to steal when you could make objects move on their own accord, a talent Rowan discovered on a particularly hungry day. She’d thought it was a hallucination– she must have snuck into the store and picked the apple, there was no way she could have moved it with her mind. And then she’d done it again. And again. She’d done it enough that a few of the local shops had her picture up. But the police couldn’t pin it on her. Rowan hadn’t even been in the store when the food went missing.

Other than the occasional angry store owner, no one noticed her. Rowan lived pretty much alone, minding her own business. Occasionally, she’d run into another homeless person, and they’d exchange a few words, but Rowan trusted them as little as they trusted her. So she largely kept to herself. It wasn’t hard at first. No one came looking for her. Then came Elliot.

  She’d just stolen a coat from a store using her powers. It had been the coldest winter ever. She was a skinny thirteen-year-old, shivering even when the wind wasn’t blowing. Rowan knew she wouldn’t have survived without it.

Rowan had just grabbed it and was zipping it when she turned to leave and saw him watching her. She froze, certain he’d seen her use her powers and was going to begin crying out to the people around her, calling her a witch. Instead, he gave a twist of his hand, and the jacket changed from a subtle grey to a bold orange color.

For a foolish moment, she’d thought they’d be friends. She hadn’t talked to many people since leaving the last foster care house, let alone discovered someone else with powers like hers. But then his face was hard, and Rowan quickly understood he meant to turn her in to whatever authority he worked for.

He managed to find her at least once a month, seemingly just to keep an eye on her. They’d fought a few times and spoken a few more. When they were sixteen, he got the nerve to ask her what her name was, which she refused to answer. He frustrated her to no end, but she couldn’t deny, having an enemy gave her something to do. She took to stealing while he was at school, heading to stores during the early morning rush to lessen the risk of running into him. She wasn’t sure why he hated her so much, but she was certain she hated him just as much.