Spectra: A Cynical Superhero

by Amy Sumida

  “You have the most amazing eyes,” Prince Atren purred.

  “A gift from my father,” I said coolly as I pulled my hand away from the Prince.

  Kyrian's lips twitched.

  “Your father was an amazing man,” Atren went serious. “I would like to speak to you about him after this meeting.”

  “I assumed so,” I said; keeping my tone neutral.

  “You knew Amara's father?” President Colton asked in surprise. “This is an odd coincidence.”

  “He doesn't know?” Atren asked me with similar shock.

  “I didn't know up until a few days ago,” I said with narrowed eyes. “And this meeting is not about me.”

  “Still, I'd like to know what he's talking about, Amara,” Colton said sternly.

  “My father was Triari and my mother was human,” I said crisply. “Now, if we're done wasting time on my lineage, perhaps I should wait outside.”

  “Nonsense,” Prince Atren waved an elegant but large hand. “You are Triari, and you have skills that may be useful. Please attend us, Lady Amara.”

  I frowned at the title he gave me, but I didn't say anything. I just nodded and stepped back so the President and the Prince could take their seats first. Two men from the Prince's entourage sat to either side of him, and the rest of the Triari stood along the wall and watched. The VP and Secretary bracketed the President as well, and the three aides sat further down. I took a seat beside Kyrian at the end of the table and sipped my coffee. I knew that the only reason I was there was that Atren wanted to keep an eye on me.

  Kyrian had already explained the situation to Prince Atren and informed him about the safety deposit box registered to Samuel Devlin. So, Atren needed just the briefest of recaps before he watched the video. Then he passed the tablet to his guards, and they watched it. None of them gave anything away in their expressions, but Atren's aura turned a bright, angry red.

  “Arc Kyrian has informed me that Samuel Devlin was in the Triari's employ,” Colton said to Atren. “Can you tell me what he was hired to do?”

  “Mr. Devlin came to our attention around fifteen years ago for his work in bio-engineering,” Atren said. “He made some discoveries that were of interest to us.”

  “What kind of discoveries?” Colton asked.

  “He was able to isolate a type of bacteria that reacted aggressively to Bleiten cells,” Atren said grimly.

  President Colton stared at Prince Atren a moment before asking, “Did the Triari hire Devlin to create a bioweapon against the Bleiten?”

  “Yes,” Atren said without hesitation. “However, before he succeeded, we released Dr. Devlin from our service.”

  “You fired him?” Colton asked in surprise.

  “His morality came into question,” Prince Atren said stiffly. “There were reports of him luring homeless humans into his lab to experiment on.”

  “Why would he experiment on humans if he was creating a bioweapon geared toward Bleiten?” Colton scowled.

  “Precisely,” Atren said as if Colton were proving his point, instead of asking a question. “It was assumed that he had lost his wits. We have our own scientists who continued Devlin's work. Unfortunately, none of them have had any results.”

  “I've heard some horrible things about the Bleiten,” Colton mused. “But I don't know if they warrant biological warfare. Those kinds of tactics usually have repercussions that spread to innocents.”

  Atren shrugged noncommittally. “The point is, President Colton, whatever there was in that bank box; it was most likely deadly.”

  “You think that he created the weapon?” Colton asked.

  “It's possible,” Atren said. “The Bleiten seem to think it's probable.”

  I looked back and forth between the two men with exasperation. Was no one going to come to the same conclusion that I had? Finally, I cleared my throat. Everyone at the table glanced in my direction.

  “This may be completely off-base,” I said. “But what if Devlin got angry over being fired and approached the Bleiten? Or perhaps the Bleiten found him and offered to fund his work if he created a different bioweapon; one targeting Triari. That would be far more valuable to the Bleiten, wouldn't it?”

  Atren's expression went still and then horrified, Colton cursed vividly, and Kyrian lifted an impressed eyebrow at me.

  “It's only a theory,” I pointed out, “and it relies on several assumptions; the first being that the Bleiten somehow lost contact with Dr. Devlin and never received their bioweapon.”

  “But it would explain why the Bleiten wanted that box,” Colton said. “There could be notes on how to create a bioweapon in it.”

  “There's also a chance that they simply wanted to destroy any references to a bioweapon that could hurt them,” Kyrian pointed out. “But I think Amara's theory is more likely.”

  “We need to find these criminals,” Atren declared as he glanced at one of the Triari seated beside him.

  Both of the men seated at the table with the Prince wore Arc pins on their lapels; Atren had a hell of an entourage. Or a heaven of one, as the case may be. One of the arcs was dirty-blond and the other had dark hair. The blond was the one who Atren had looked at; he stood up immediately and started for the door.

  “One moment please,” Colton held up his hand.

  The blond looked back at the Prince, and Prince Atren nodded. The Arc took up a military stance with his hands behind his back and waited.

  “Yes?” Atren asked Colton.

  “We need to coordinate our efforts in this,” Colton said. “If we both run off and conduct separate investigations, it could take us twice as long to find the criminals.”

  “Perhaps,” Atren conceded.

  “Jane can take your man to the Homeland Security office we've set up for Amara to work with,” Colton offered. “One of the agents is there; he can speak with her and see where he'd be of best use.”

  Jane—a mousy woman in her late twenties—stood up and stared at the blond arc with wide eyes. Prince Atren nodded, and the Arc waved Jane out the door ahead of him with a polite bow. The poor woman looked as if she were going to pee herself. She hurried out the door—clasping a leather binder to her chest defensively—and not only did the Arc follow, but two other soldiers who had been standing along the wall also went with them.

  The meeting was wrapped up shortly after that, and the President rushed off to do other presidential things while Prince Atren and his group were taken outside the White House to a line of waiting vehicles. In a show of American hospitality, President Colton had offered to house the Prince and his entourage in one of the finest hotels in D.C. for the length of their stay. Since the Prince still wanted to speak with me, Kyrian and I went along for the ride. But Prince Atren didn't wish to have our conversation overheard by our secret service driver so we didn't speak until after we reached The Willard Hotel. Prince Atren took my hand and whisked me across the lobby in a herd of Triari. We received several curious stares as the secret service agents checked us in, and then I was pulled along once more and deposited in an elevator; sandwiched between Kyrian and Atren. At the door to the Jefferson Suite, our secret service escort handed over the keys to one of the arcs along with a number to call when they'd like to return to the White House. He made sure that we all safely entered the suite before he left.

  We walked into the set of luxurious rooms through a black and white, marble foyer. While the Prince got settled in the regal master bedroom, Kyrian took me past several sitting rooms and into an oval office. Yes; the presidential suite was indeed presidential. Fifteen minutes later, after room service had been delivered (none of them had eaten what the White House offered), the Prince strode into the oval room in a casual button-down shirt and slacks. He poured himself a glass of Coke and took a seat across from me on a bland, beige sofa.

  “Amara Madison,” Atren said in a musing tone. “You took your mother's name.”

  “Did I?” I asked.

  “Your father's surname wa
s Elyonne,” he dropped that gem casually.

  “Then I'm glad I went with Madison,” I shot back just as casually.

  Prince Atren laughed suddenly; causing the other Triari to stare at him in surprise. He ignored them.

  “When we first discovered that you were not only alive but had also been the recipient of the Amaranthine Elixir, we were shocked,” Prince Atren said.

  “Yes; I'm sure their eyes widened a whole fraction of an inch,” I said dryly. Then I scowled as I realized what he'd said. “How did you find out about me?”

  “We knew immediately that you needed to be located and protected,” he went on without responding to my sarcasm or my question. “But now, it appears that there may be more to this situation than we originally thought.”

  “More? Are you saying that you believe these criminals have something to do with me?” I asked.

  “It's too much of a coincidence.” Atren pursed his lips briefly. “First, we learn that you survived the murder of your parents, then we hear that Bleiten are hunting you, and now a bunch of supernaturals with connections to the Bleiten are making the U.S. President very nervous.”

  “There are supernatural women disappearing too, Prince Atren,” Kyrian added. “And they all have eyes similar to Amara's.”

  “So, they are looking for you,” Atren concluded as he stared at me. “Scientific notes stolen and a hunt for a woman with eternity in her eyes. I'm not sure what the Bleiten are after; immortality our destruction. Perhaps it's both.”

  I blinked in surprise.

  “At least I came up with one theory on my own,” Atren said teasingly. Then he went serious. “For now, I think you should stay here with us, Amara.”

  “No, thank you,” I said politely.

  “You misunderstood,” Atren said with a soft smile. “That wasn't an offer, it was an order.”

  “I'm only half Triari,” I stood as I spoke. “And as far as I'm concerned, you abandoned that half when you sent my father here.”

  “We sent your father into hiding, not banishment,” Atren said as he surged to his feet. “We were protecting him!”

  “And we both know how that worked out for him,” I said in a low, dangerous tone. “I think I'll take my chances on my own.”

  “Sit down, Amara!”

  “You sit down, Prince Asshat; sit right down on that enormous ego of yours and spin,” I said calmly.

  Kyrian made a choking sound as he stood.

  “Get her out of my sight!” Atren said to Kyrian.

  “I can do that all on my own,” I said as I strode toward the door.

  Two Triari soldiers slid in front of it to block my way.

  “Well, what is it; out or in your sight?” I shot back at Atren.

  “You're leaving this room but not this suite.” Atren waved at Kyrian.

  Kyrian grabbed my arm, and the door guards moved aside for us. He roughly escorted me from the room and down the hallway.

  “Kyrian, darling, if you don't remove your barbaric grasp from me this instant, I will lay you low again,” I growled beneath my breath.

  “Not in front of them, you won't,” Kyrian said as he glanced at the Triari in the sitting rooms we passed. “If that was an option for you, you would have done it already. But you don't want them to know what you can do.”

  That angel asshole called my bluff.

  “And turning yourself invisible won't work if I'm holding your arm,” he went on.

  “How do you know that I went invisible?” I smiled smugly. “I could have simply disappeared.”

  I doused Kyrian in sour orange, and he released my arm as he started to gasp for air. Orange light has a direct effect on breathing, and I knew how to manipulate it to hurt as well as heal. As Kyrian clawed at his throat, I covered myself in the colors of the hallway and went invisible. Kyrian smacked the wall with his fist to get the attention of the other Triari, but I was already down the hall and through the suite's door by the time they noticed. The Triari ran for Kyrian—in the opposite direction of me—as I ran for the elevator. I pulled back the orange light as the elevator arrived and leapt inside to frantically push the button for the first floor. The elevator dinged, the doors shut, and as I descended, I heard Kyrian shouting my name.

  I giggled all the way home.

  Chapter Twelve

  I was a block away from my house when I realized that I probably shouldn't go there. I was fairly certain that Kyrian had been watching me the other night, which meant that he knew where I lived. It would be the first place he led the Triari to. The Wilds would be the next, and I didn't want to bring trouble into Landry's bar, nor did I want Mama involved. I had a few friends, but I didn't want to strain those precious relationships with Triari/Bleiten stress. There were a couple of hotels in the Market, but that would be another obvious place to look for me. I suppose I could have gone back out of the Market and found a human hotel, but I would have felt exposed there. I stood on the sidewalk and chewed my lip as I debated and then finally made a pained expression.

  “I can't believe I'm going to do this,” I muttered as I turned down a side street.

  “Do what, pretty-eyes?” A low, growling voice asked casually.

  I flinched. Even from behind me, I could see his aura; it was that imposing. A powerful dark gray base was slashed through with splotches of red in cardinal, crimson, and terracotta. Terracotta; another word for dirty-red. The cardinal red of excitement and crimson attraction didn't bode well either, but it was the streak of pure black evil that made my blood run cold. I had a sneaking suspicion of who this guy was, and he wasn't a Triari.

  I didn't try to run from the Bleiten. I knew that would be useless, even if I made myself invisible; Bleiten can see in infrared. So, I had to attack him and in such close quarters, that could be tricky. My biggest weakness is my sight. Take away my vision, and you took away my abilities. The easiest way to explain it is to explain color itself; color exists only in the mind. Objects give off light that receptors in our eyes perceive to be color. Technically, spectral power distributions exist in the physical world, but color only exists in the eye of the beholder. Without my eyes translating those frequencies into colors, it was difficult for me to manipulate them. I could probably alter colors, but I'd have no control over what I was altering; I'd be shooting in the dark. In short; if I didn't have to expose my eyes to my opponent and risk being blinded, I wasn't going to. And, with the Bleiten's bulging aura, I didn't have to; I could see it just fine from where I was.

  I twisted the reds to pastel pink—the color of submission—and drove that demon bastard to his knees as easily as I had done to Kyrian. The Bleiten groaned, and when I glanced over my shoulder, our eyes met. His were toxic yellow and wide with shock. I didn't gloat or take the time to kick him while he was down—as tempting as that was—I just ran.

  I didn't stop running until I reached Davorin's door.

  “What the fuck?” Davorin asked as he looked over my rumpled state. “Get in here, Amara.”

  Good; he was using my given name. That meant he knew it was serious. Davorin yanked me into his apartment and then leaned out to search the stairwell before he slammed the door and slid a bolt into place. Then he helped me to a leather sofa that looked as if he'd found it on the street. Despite its appearance, it was comfortable, and when Davorin pulled a thick blanket off its back and tucked it around me, it became even more so.

  “Tell me,” Davorin said simply.

  “Bleiten,” I whispered. “About two blocks from here. He tried to grab me.”

  “Motherfucker!” Davorin surged to his feet and headed for the door.

  “What the hell do you think you're doing?” I nearly screeched.

  “I'm going to find him and follow him to wherever he's hiding those women,” Davorin said as he slid into a leather jacket.

  “Don't go out after him alone,” I said urgently. “He was big; really fucking big and there was evil in his aura.”

  “You worried about me, P
rism?”

  “Prism?” I grimaced. “That doesn't even make sense, and it sounds like something obscene.”

  “Obscene?” He frowned. “What do you... oh. That's gross, and I'm shocked that you even know that word.”

  “I know all of the words,” I said as if he should have known that. “And I know the connection you were trying to make with colors, but it's not applicable to what I do.”

  “Whatever,” Davorin huffed. “If I have to explain the name, it's no good.”

  “None of those idiotic names are any good,” I growled.

  “Well, what the fuck would you call yourself?”

  “I don't know!”

  “Then don't get mad at me for trying! You have to come up with something better before you can knock my suggestions and act so damn superior.”

  “Spectra!” I shouted.

  “Spectra?” Davorin got a goofy look on his face. “That's actually really cool. I dig it. But isn't it called a color spectrum, not a color spectra?”

  “Spectrum is singular; the distribution of colors produced when light is dispersed by a prism.”

  “See? Prism.” He waved at me like I had proven his point.

  “Yes, but as I said earlier; it's not applicable. I see more than that,” I pointed out. “I see—and can manipulate—all the spectra.”

  “Spectra is the plural form,” he concluded.

  “Yes; well done,” I snapped. “You got it after I explained it to you.”

  “Hey, relax,” Davorin said as he came back to the couch. “I'm not going out there, okay?”

  Davorin put his arm around me and eased me against his side. I sat stiffly for a moment before I relaxed against him. He was surprisingly comfortable for a guy who was so solid, and I enjoyed the scent of man and leather that rose up around me.