by Amy Sumida
Spectra
A Cynical Superhero
Amy Sumida
Copyright © 2018 Amy Sumida
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781729078495
Legal Notice
This book is copyright protected. It is only for personal use. You cannot amend, distribute, sell, use, quote, or paraphrase any part of the content within this book without the consent of the author or copyright owner. Legal action will be pursued if this is breached.
More Books by Amy Sumida
The Godhunter Series(in order)
Godhunter
Of Gods and Wolves
Oathbreaker
Marked by Death
Green Tea and Black Death
A Taste for Blood
The Tainted Web
Series Split:
These books can be read together or separately
Harvest of the Gods & A Fey Harvest
Into the Void & Out of the Darkness
Perchance to Die
Tracing Thunder
Light as a Feather
Rain or Monkeyshine
Blood Bound
Eye of Re
My Soul to Take
As the Crow Flies
Cry Werewolf
Pride Before a Fall
Monsoons and Monsters
Blessed Death
In the Nyx of Time
Beyond the Godhunter
A Darker Element
Out of the Blue
The Twilight Court Series
Fairy-Struck
Pixie-Led
Raven-Mocking
Here there be Dragons
Witchbane
Elf-Shot
Fairy Rings and Dragon Kings
Black-Market Magic
Etched in Stone
—Completed Series—
The Spellsinger Series
The Last Lullaby
A Symphony of Sirens
Harmony of Hearts
Primeval Prelude
Ballad of Blood
A Deadly Duet
Spectra
(Spectra)
Fairy Tales
Happily Harem After Vol. 1
Including:
The Four Clever Brothers
Wild Wonderland
Beauty and the Beasts
Pan's Promise
The Little Glass Slipper
Other Books
The Magic of Fabric
Feeding the Lwas: A Vodou Cookbook
There's a Goddess Too
The Vampire-Werewolf Complex
Enchantress
Special Thanks:
To my best friend, Karmen Dinello for checking and correcting my military terms and forms of address. Thank you for helping me bring my new world to life.
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Chapter One
The clicking of my heels echoed like gunshots throughout the empty street. It was a little after midnight, and I was heading home from the corner where my cab had dropped me off. I lived in the Supermarket. No, it's not a grocery store; it's an area of town reserved for supernaturals. Most normal people don't know it exists and can't even see the way in; thus the drop-off point for my cab. However, the U.S. Government is aware of the supermarkets in most of their major cities, but even their highest officials couldn't get past the gates without permission. Every supermarket had an entrance that was protected by a simple misdirection charm; simple but effective. If you weren't a supernatural and you tried to walk into a market without a supe escort, you'd be diverted in a circle and find yourself back where you started.
I was nearly to the elusive Market entrance when a flash of red caught my attention. It wasn't something anyone else could have seen. I'm a unique supernatural with the ability to see and manipulate colors. I see the full spectrum—all spectra, actually—when I focus on it; from ultraviolet to infrared. I can even see auras when I look for them or when they burst into being due to extreme conditions. When something highly emotional happens, it triggers a response in the light wavelengths surrounding a body. Happiness will flare out in pale yellow, love with blushing pink, and violence is usually a shade of red; a dark, dirty red.
The red bursting out of the alley before me was all kinds of dirty.
“Damn it to hell,” I muttered. “I was nearly to the arch.”
I was always on guard when I walked home, but it was more in self-defense than out of any desire to help people. Don't get me wrong; I'm not heartless. I want to help others just as much as the next person. I just know better than to stick my nose into every altercation that I happen across. That being said, this particular altercation looked as if it needed some immediate nosing into.
I clicked my way to the mouth of the alley and peered down it in irritation as I clutched my new Christian Dior saddle bag tightly under my arm. I could hear the muffled sounds of whimpering and the shuffle of bodies pressed tightly together. Despite the thick darkness, I knew exactly where they were. The colors condensed around them; two auras being forced together. And one of them was not happy to be there.
I abhorred rapists.
I blinked to clear my vision as I sighed deeply. Unfortunately, the odor of garbage and urine permeated my breath. You'd think that the alleys of Washington DC would be cleaner, and you'd be wrong.
I coughed delicately from the stench, and the would-be rapist peered over a moldy cardboard box to narrow his vicious stare at me. I instantly saw the dirt in his aura spread and thicken into mud. He lifted his fist to punch the woman beneath him—most likely to disable her while he dealt with me—but before he could land the blow, I blasted him with purple.
The despicable defiler reeled backward; his lust and violence swept away by the sexually dampening color. While he floundered in confusion, I worked the wavelengths around him; twisting and shifting them to create the illusion that his eager appendage—which was sticking straight out of his pants—had fallen off.
I don't care how psychopathic or brutish a man is; make him think that his dick has fallen off, and he'll turn into a puddle of sobbing jelly. This particular jelly-puddle screamed as well as sobbed; snatching up the illusion of his severed member to hold to his chest like a baby. The woman scrambled out from beneath him and came stumbling out of the alley; sobbing nearly as much as the man was.
“Thank you!” she cried as she grabbed my arm. “I don't know what you did but—”
“I didn't do anything,” I said meaningfully. “I just startled him. But you're welcome.”
The woman's eyes went wide as she nodded vigorously. “Of course you didn't,” she stammered. “I sure as shit didn't see anything.”
I smiled tightly at her. “Are you all right? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“My fucking dick!” The man screamed. “What did you do to me, bitch?”
“Oh, do shut up. Your disgusting manhood is better off without you,” I huffed as I shoved a thicker wave of purple into his brain.
The man fell backward into a heap and started to snore.
“I...” the woman stared from the man to me. “No; I'm okay.”
“I'll call you a taxi then,” I offered as I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. “And then the police.”
A woman answered, and I gave her the address; she informed me that a cab was right around the co
rner. Good; I wouldn't have to babysit for long.
“Won't I need to give a statement to the Police so they can press charges?” The almost-victim asked.
“That won't be necessary,” I said after I hung up with the taxi company. “I'm confident that as soon as he awakens, the Police will determine that he's unstable and take him swiftly to an insane asylum. Justice has been dispensed; trust me.”
“I... uh, I think they're called mental health facilities now,” she stammered. “Insane asylums are horrors of the past.”
“What a pity,” I murmured as I stared at the living piece of filth in the alley. “He could have done with some horror.”
The woman followed my gaze and her stare hardened. “You're right, and if they're just taking him to the psych ward, you don't mind if I...” She waved her hand toward him.
I lifted a brow and smiled wickedly. “By all means; take your vengeance.”
I called 911 as she stomped back to the man and kicked him in the balls ferociously. He whimpered in his sleep, and I suppressed a chuckle as I was transferred to the police. That pain was going to solidify the illusion I'd left him with. As soon as I was connected to the DC Police, I notified them of the madman who was attacking women and then hung up before they could ask for my name.
“Thank you,” the woman said as she straightened her dress. Then she held out her hand, “I'm Mary.”
“Amara,” I said. “And here's your cab.”
I waved down the taxi and saw Mary settled into it. Just before I closed the door, she grabbed my hand.
“You saved my life,” she whispered. “That son of bitch was whispering in my ear the ways he was going to kill me after he raped me. I know I've already said it, but thank you. Thank you for startling him.”
“You're welcome.” I squeezed her hand gently and then looked at the wide-eyed cab driver. “Please see to it that she gets inside her home safely.” I handed him a twenty. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, Ma'am; I'll make sure to see her safe,” he said with all seriousness. “You gonna be okay out here alone?”
“Oh, yes,” I said with a smirk. “I'll be just fine.”
I shut the door and started clicking my way back down the street. As the cab pulled away, Mary's grateful face stared out at me through the window, but then her gaze shifted to my left and widened. She pointed violently, and I swung about; ready to defend myself.
But there was no one there.
I glanced back at the cab in confusion. Mary was staring out of the back window; her expression as confused as mine. I waved her off, but as I did, I searched the area for any color shifts; auras that hadn't been there before. All living things have auras, even plants. So, there were some softly pulsing colors shifting around the trees lining the road, but other than that... wait.
“It can't be,” I whispered in disbelief.
Flares of bright white were emanating over the railing of a flight of concrete steps. The stairs led to an apartment building, but the light came from the hollow on their far side. He must have been ducking quite low in the depression because only the edges of his halo were showing. Yes; I said “halo.” There are three types of supernaturals: Alien Races, Evolved (also know as Mutated), and Transformed (through accident, experiment, or magic spell). The guy hiding so ignobly behind the cement wall was a Triari; one of the first types of supernatural. You may know his kind better as Angels.
Don't get too excited. There are several races who have been greatly misunderstood by humans, and the Triari are at the top of the list. These aliens have nothing to do with God or Heaven; they're just an advanced race with ingenious toys and powerful weaponry. Right beneath them on the Falsely Labeled List are the Bleiten, aka Demons. Triari tend to be the nicer of the two, but not always. In fact, the Triari and the Bleiten have been at each other's throats for years, and neither of them seems to care if their battles bleed onto foreign soil.
Both races are known for their unearthly good looks, but the Bleiten can shift their appearances into something monstrous to intimidate their enemies. The Bleiten-Triari War spread to Earth a few, unforgettable times; leaving its mark on human religions worldwide. The myths of Angels and Demons were born; the Bleiten's brutal battle-forms setting them firmly in the role of villain. Not that it wasn't accurate; the Bleiten are savage killers.
But back to the Triari. To counter the Bleiten battle-forms—many of which included leathery wings—the Triari created battle wings of their own. Those massive, feathered appendages seen in angel paintings everywhere are real, but they are manufactured, not grown. The Host provides each of its soldiers with a pair of feathered, flying devices that meld with the muscles in the shoulders and are controlled via brainwave sensors. The higher ranking the Triari, the nicer the wings he's given. Humans revered the Triari; not just for those awesome flying devices, but also for their beauty, strength, and shining auras—their halos.
The question was; why was an angel following me?
I turned around as if I hadn't seen him and started heading toward the Supermarket again. With my senses on high alert, I could see him coming up behind me; his blinding aura was like a spotlight pointed at my back. In fact, halos were so bright, that most humans could sense them; they believed it was proof of angelic purity. Purity; what drivel. It couldn't be further from the truth.
Triari soldiers—pretty much the only Triari who came to Earth—were trained to suppress their emotions. This didn't make them unfeeling precisely, just very calm and aloof; the perfect demeanor for battle. Triari soldiers could switch on their emotions as soon as their mission was complete, but when they were on the job, they kept their feelings under wraps. This tight control resulted in an aura that flared white. Allow me to explain; you may have heard that white is the absence of color. That's not altogether true. White is a compression of all the colors in the spectrum. The colors are there—within the whiteout—they're just squeezed so tightly together that they seem to be one.
“You can ignore them, but you can't get rid of them, darling,” I muttered as I pulled one of his controlled colors to the surface.
I heard a startled groan and the shuffle of stumbling feet behind me. I casually turned on my heel and strolled back to where the Triari had fallen. He stared up at me in shock; one hand pressed to the sidewalk and one over his chest—directly over a spot of determined walnut-brown that was bleeding into his shiny halo. A nearby streetlamp shone directly into his eyes; making them shine like polished sapphires. The light glossed his fine hair as well; making the blond appear as pale as his halo. He had high cheekbones, a long nose, and swooping brows, along with the radiant complexion his kind were known for—a step away from being an actual inner-glow. He was exceptionally handsome, but that was common for Triari. He was also tall—just a foot shorter than me on his knees—with a body on the athletic side but not what I would call muscular; more water polo player than wrestler. My gaze lowered to the gold pin on his lapel; a symbol of three sets of wings joined together and splayed out so that one set pointed up, one went straight out, and one angled down. The Trinity Wings.
“An Arc?” I asked with shock and horror.
Arcs were nearly the highest order of the Host—the Triari military—one rank beneath the Princes who were, in turn, just beneath their King. And no; there's no H in Arc—silent or otherwise. Although, I suppose it's the least of what humans got wrong about them. Arcs were only sent on the most dangerous or important missions, and I had one on his knees before me. That was bad. Very bad.
I released his aura and backed away warily.
“How did you do that?” He whispered in a low voice that I inappropriately found to be sexy.
“What do you want?” I countered.
“Just to talk.” He held out his hands in the universal I-don't-want-to-hurt-you gesture.
I didn't believe it for a second.
“Then why are you stalking me like a miscreant?” I asked as I lifted my chin in challenge.
The Arc's lips twitched and his shoulders relaxed. “After watching you mess up that other miscreant, I wasn't sure how to approach you.”
“You saw no such thing,” I said calmly. “All I did was startle the man. He must have been on the verge of a mental breakdown.”
“So, he was about to rape that woman, but because you startled him, he lost his mind completely and then fell into an exhausted slumber?” He asked with a wave back toward the alley and the sleeping rapist within.
The sound of a lone police siren cut through the quiet. I glanced down the street and grimaced; that would be the cavalry. When you want them there, they take forever, but when you needed them to take their time, they were suddenly punctual. Go figure.
“Let's get into the Market, and then we can talk,” I said irritably.
“Don't want to deal with the authorities?” He said the last word as if it were laughable than anyone could have authority higher than his own.
“Not particularly.” I started walking crisply toward the Market's entrance.
The Triari came abreast of me and looked me up and down.
“You're not what I expected,” he murmured.
I glanced down at my Chanel suit and frowned as I brushed a piece of lint off it. “Since I have no idea why you're stalking me, I can't decide whether or not to be offended.”
“You're lovely,” he said with a grin. “Sophisticated. You speak with a refined accent. I expected someone a little more... casual.”
“Casual?” I lifted a brow. “I can be casual. You just happened to accost me on my way home from work.”
“I did not accost you.” He rolled his eyes. “In fact, I believe I was the one who was attacked.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.” I sniffed as I passed beneath the red, Chinese arch that led into the Supermarket.
Red is a very powerful color; it gives off energy and boosts sexual desire. It's the perfect color for a charmed entryway. As we passed beneath it, the sound of the approaching siren faded and the dull drone of the Supermarket replaced it. Not that the Market was noisy; it just had a sound and a feel of its own. The Supermarket was active twenty-four-seven; supes had all sorts of sleeping habits and peak hours so there were always people strolling about the streets. I instantly felt safer; the Triari wouldn't attack me out in the open in front of so many witnesses. But I didn't want to lead him to my home either.
