Spark (from Jared)

My pencil scuffed down the side of the page. I finally finished sketching the left flank of the cathedral. 

“Oh sorry!” 

I jumped back, stepping off the collection of colorful scarves a street vendor had spread out on the sidewalk. The woman glared and straightened up her merchandise. 

SNAP

I spun around. 

A double decker tour bus pulled around to my right, tourists overflowing from the top deck. They snapped pictures of the cathedral from their seats. Probably blurry.

SNAP SNAP

That was new. Something charged and alive in the air that I’d never felt before.  Like a static warning crawling up the back of my neck. I froze, listening.

The cathedral's bells weren’t ringing. A drum beat echoed in the distance. Car horns blared, vendors shouted, a mournful panflute droned…

But none of that noise matched the spark.

SNAP

Then I whirled around again….vendors with handmade bags, keychains, shirts, wallets, fabric dolls, and even painted shoes extended on blankets clogged the sidewalk. I could hardly fit between all the goods.

I flipped my sketchbook shut and slid it into my backpack. Then I scanned the Zócalo, combing through a sea of faces, sun hats and ball caps. 

No one seemed frightened. No one was in danger.

But still, a panicked frequency hummed in the muggy air. To the left, in front of the cathedral. 

I shifted my backpack onto my shoulders, squeezed past the Aztec dancers, and snaked my way through the crowd.

I picked up the pace, jogging around hoards of tourists…nearly got clipped by a stroller…and there she was.

The epicenter of the crackling panic. And, apparently, the literal power source.

A teen girl stood just outside the exit to Metro Zócalo. The rippling rage in the air pulsed directly from her.  My ice crawled up my forearms, like it was reaching out to her on purpose. I got closer.

Then I saw it. Undeniable proof.

A neon green electric arc lunged from her hand. A local shoe shiner recoiled from the shock. The girl pulled back, terror etched into her face.

She couldn’t contain it.

Whatever it was. 

Nobody else seemed to notice the supernatural light show in the middle of Zócalo. The crowds swelled as usual. 

And the guy with her–her dad, I assumed–didn’t seem to get it, either. 

I stepped forward to help, before she could detonate the rest of the city.

******

Wanna see what Aly was thinking here? Check out the first chapter of PULSE: BEFORE THE STORM.

Second half of your secret password: ETA

Want the first half of the password? Well…someone else might have left it lying around here. Keep reading. It’s around here somewhere.