Spectra: A Cynical Superhero

by Amy Sumida

  “True,” I murmured.

  “What were you two doing together anyway?” Landry asked as he looked back and forth between Davorin and me.

  “I spent the night at his place,” I started, and then I went on to explain the events of the day before. It took awhile.

  “Kid, you know you can always come home,” Landry said with irritation. “I'd fight off the whole fucking Host for you.”

  “I know, Land,” I whispered as I hugged him. “And that's exactly why I didn't want to come here. I went to the last place anyone would expect to find me.”

  “Hey,” Davorin whined. “Not the last.”

  “Smart thinking, kid.” Landry smoothed my hair with his rough hand and it calmed me as it had since I was a little girl. “Well, you'd best go and grab your human escorts; aka cannon fodder.”

  “I know they won't be of much use against a supe,” I agreed. “But they could give me some precious time to escape. Guns work on most supernaturals; Bleitens included.”

  “When you put enough bullets in one spot,” Davorin huffed. “If you don't, you'll only make them angrier.”

  “On second thought, Davorin, can you fetch those humans for her?” Landry asked. “I'd prefer it if Amara stayed indoors until the gun-wielding fodder arrives.”

  “Land, that's not nece—” I started to say but was cut off by Landry's glare.

  “No problem,” Davorin said as he headed out. “Keep your phone out, Spectra. I may need you to verify who I am. You know how those guys can be.”

  “Spectra?” Landry asked as he bolted the door behind Davorin.

  “It's my superhero name,” I said with a grimace.

  Landry chuckled, “You know; it's a good name—suits you.”

  “Shut up,” I huffed and poured myself a shot of Penbruth... to drink.

  “Easy on that, kid. You may need your wits about you.” Landry went behind the bar and pulled out a shotgun that looked as if it were made to hunt elephants. Correction; mammoths.

  “What is that?” I asked with a lifted brow.

  “My gun,” he said.

  “What kind of bullets does it take?” I asked. “Or does it launch missiles?”

  “It's Lesh-made,” he said. “I've been holding onto it for a special occasion.”

  “That's a Bleiten-Blaster,” I whispered as I ran a finger over the barrel. “Landry... how long have you had this?”

  “I got it about a year after I brought you home. It took me that long to find one, but I didn't give up until I did,” he said gruffly. “I wanted to be able to protect you if those fucking Bleiten bastards ever returned. And I'm glad I got it. We're going to get us some revenge; for your dad, your mom, and those of us who have had to go on living without them.”

  I swallowed roughly and blinked back my tears. “Thanks, Land. I love you.”

  “I love you too, kid.” He gave my hand a pat. “I was blessed to be given the task of raising you. I just wish it hadn't come at the cost of your parents' lives.”

  “Me too.”

  Our little moment was ruined by a pounding on the front door.

  “Who is it?” Landry called as he lifted the blaster and aimed it at the door.

  “King Arthur of Camelot,” Davorin called back. “Who the fuck do you think it is?”

  Landry made a face at me. “You'd better not be sleeping with that moron.”

  “I'm not,” I said.

  “Good.” He started toward the door.

  “But he may not be so much of a moron,” I muttered.

  “Amara!” Landry hissed. “The man thinks he can save the world just because he can turn into a fucking statue.”

  “I know.” I held up a hand. “But at least he wants to try. I just sit here and shake my head derisively. I give the world my contempt, but Dav gives it his heart. There's something to be said for that.”

  “You are not contemptuous toward the world! I've seen you help people,” he said. “You act when the opportunity presents itself. But you don't go out there looking for trouble like a damn nobbit.”

  “I just don't see the point.” I sighed. “It's all going to shit anyway. I'm just trying to keep my feet out of the filth for as long as possible.”

  Landry frowned at that bit of cynicism but didn't say any more. He just went to the door and let the men in. Davorin didn't need to convince the agents after all. I guess they assumed that any supe letting them into the Market was good enough.

  Four secret service men strode in, and over their shoulders, I glimpsed a black SUV parked at the curb. They immediately spread out, searched the bar, and then set themselves up around the room and at the front door. Once the place was secure, an agent with dark umber skin and even darker eyes approached me.

  “Ms. Madison, I'm Agent Washburn,” he introduced himself. “I'll be leading the team in charge of your security. If you need anything, let me know. If you want to go anywhere, I will coordinate the mission.”

  “Going out is a mission?” I asked dryly.

  “Now, it is,” he said just as dryly.

  “How exciting,” I continued the tone. Then I waved at the men. “You've met Davorin. This is my foster father, Landry.”

  “Sir.” Agent Washburn nodded to Landry, but then he noticed Landry's gun. “What in the world is that?”

  “It's not from this world,” Landry said with a smirk. “This is a Bleiten-Blaster.”

  “Shit,” Davorin whispered as he leaned in closer. “I've heard of them but I've never seen one.”

  “Very few people have,” Landry said proudly.

  “A Bleiten-Blaster?” Agent Washburn asked. “It kills demons?”

  “That it does,” Landry confirmed. “It's one of the few weapons that can manage it with a single shot. It was invented by the Lesh; the one race who not only survived a Bleiten invasion but actually sent them running.”

  “Unfortunately, they're not big on sharing,” I said. “It's nearly impossible to get a blaster, and that's about all you can get from them. The Lesh are serious about keeping strangers off their planet. They just want to be left alone, and they have the strength to ensure that happens.”

  “They hoard weaponry that could save lives?” Washburn asked. “That seems selfish.”

  “They look after their own,” I said with a shrug. “And as far as they're concerned; the strong are meant to survive. If you can't defend yourself, it's your fault.”

  “Sounds a little like someone I know.” Davorin looked pointedly at me.

  “It's not as if humans don't do the same thing to each other,” I pointed out. “Sharing weapons isn't like sharing the cure for cancer.”

  “Fair enough,” Washburn conceded.

  “Well, if a Bleiten walks through that door, he'll find out exactly how well we can defend ourselves,” Landry declared as he gave his gun an affectionate pat.

  “But he won't live long enough to pass on the knowledge,” I noted with a smirk.

  “I'm beginning to wonder why we're here,” Washburn said with a chuckle.

  “You're here to keep the Triari off my back,” I said. “You can leave the Bleiten to us.”

  “Gargoyle, Spectra, and the Greenman are on it,” Davorin added.

  “Dav,” I said in a wincing tone as I shook my head.

  “I'm not green,” Landry growled.

  “Neither are greenmen,” Davorin said. “They're those nature gods.”

  Landry frowned in thought. “No; I think they are green. They have leaves around their faces and shit like that.”

  “Gargoyle?” Washburn asked Davorin. “Is that you?”

  “Maybe.” Davorin eyed the agent warily.

  “The D.C. Police are calling you a vigilante,” Washburn said. “In public, that is. A friend of mine's a cop, and he says that privately, most of them are rooting for you.”

  “That's nice to know. Thank you,” Davorin smiled brilliantly.

  “You're Gargoyle?” Another agent asked with an impressed tone. “
You got the entire Maretti Family quaking in their boots. I heard that you turned Lucky-Hands Maretti into an ashtray.”

  “Well, I intended him to be a bird-feeder, but ashtray works,” Davorin, aka Gargoyle, said.

  I looked at him askance.

  “I held the guy's hands out like this.” Davorin cupped his hands before him. “Then I stoned him.”

  “Stoned him,” Landry chuckled.

  I looked over at my foster father in surprise.

  “It's funny.” Landry shrugged. “Cause he turned him to stone, but it also means getting high.”

  “Yes; I know what it means, Landry.” I rolled my eyes.

  “It's a good thing you turned him back to normal,” Washburn said to Dav. “Or I'd have to take you in for murder. Stopping the execution of a crime is one thing, but when you execute someone, it becomes a crime.”

  “We have to be better than the bad guys or things get hazy,” Davorin said. “I wouldn't kill someone unless I absolutely had to.”

  “You realize that I'll have to report your identity to the President,” Washburn said.

  “You realize that will put me into one of those 'absolutely have to' situations,” Davorin shot back with a dangerous look.

  We all went quiet, and then Davorin laughed.

  “I'm just messing with you.” Davorin slapped Washburn's arm—which sent Washburn stumbling. “Tell the President if you want, but if you expose me, I'll have to stop helping, and then your police will lose their vigilante.”

  “The President will feel required to report him to the Police,” one of the other agents said.

  “Not President Colton,” Washburn said with a smirk. “Our boss knows that sometimes being the good guy means walking in the gray zone.”

  “I happen to like gray,” Davorin said as he shifted a finger into pale gray stone.

  “You may find yourself on the payroll, though,” Washburn warned him.

  “Payroll?” Davorin asked in surprise. He glanced at me and winked. “Looks like this may not be a thankless job after all.”

  I rolled my eyes and poured another shot of Penbruth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a few hours, it became evident that the Ungaru hadn't caught the scent of my blood. I felt confident enough—with my secret service escort—to head home and grab a few things to bring back to Landry's. Landry lived in a large apartment above the bar; it was where I'd grown up. He still kept my room set up for me. And now that Davorin had seen the blaster, he felt comfortable about leaving me with Landry.

  Davorin's hero job didn't pay the bills yet, so he worked as a bouncer at Flamethrower's; a nightclub owned by an evolved who could—you guessed it—throw flames. So, when I left, Dav headed home as well; to relax for a bit before he had to head into work. I hugged him goodbye, and—despite our audience—it was less awkward than our last hug had been.

  It wasn't far to my townhouse, but since the SS agents had brought a car, and it was easier to protect me when I was inside a vehicle, we drove to my house. When we arrived, we found Kyrian camped out on the cement stairs; confirmation that the Arc knew where I lived. Kyrian stood as soon as the SUV pulled up to the curb.

  “Ma'am, stay here,” Washburn instructed me. “We'll deal with Arc Kyrian and let you know when it's safe to exit the vehicle.”

  “Okay,” I agreed as I warily watched Kyrian through the tinted glass.

  Kyrian didn't appear to be angry, but his halo was firmly in place so I wouldn't have been able to tell either way. He could have been murderous, and I wouldn't know. Our eyes met as Washburn exited the car, but then the door was quickly shut between us. I watched Washburn's aura flash with bits of angry red and then flow over with blue as he tried to calm himself. Whatever Kyrian was saying to him wasn't going over so well. I kept my eyes on the Arc; if he made one odd move, I'd blast him with purple and put him to sleep.

  But I didn't have to blast Kyrian. After a long conversation, he finally moved to the side, and Washburn opened the door for me. The other agents got out with me—all except the driver, who stayed where he was—and we moved past Kyrian together.

  “No one was going to hurt you, Amara,” Kyrian said calmly. “We only want to protect you from the Bleiten.”

  “When you don't give someone a choice, it's abduction, not protection,” I spoke as calmly as he had.

  “Prince Atren can be difficult to deal with,” Kyrian went on as I climbed the steps. “He's an unusual prince, but he only wanted to help you.”

  “You think Atren's difficult because he doesn't have a halo?” I asked in surprise. “That's probably the best thing about him. He's a pompous ass, but at least he's honest about it; unlike some men who hide behind aloofness and duty.”

  “I have never hidden from anything in my entire life,” Kyrian said simply; no rancor or annoyance—which in itself was annoying.

  “Let's get inside, Ma'am,” Washburn suggested as he waved me toward the door.

  I nodded and unlocked the door for us. Washburn stayed beside me as the other two agents went to clear the house. Everything looked to be in order; no one had broken in and ransacked the place. I released a relieved breath; a little surprised that I'd been so worried about it. It would have been more surprising if the Triari had broken in and torn up the place; they just don't have the passion for that sort of thing.

  “How can I be related to them?” I muttered as I climbed the stairs behind Washburn.

  Then I froze. Was I like them? Did I keep a similar control over my emotions? I looked over into a mirror that hung in the stairwell and surveyed my face. Landry was right; I had a young face, but it was also stiff. My hair was a warm brown with reddish highlights, but I had it pulled back into a severe ponytail that made it seem darker. My lips were full, but I had them pressed into a harsh line, and my high cheekbones added to the sharpness of my expression. The softest thing about my face was the color of my eyes, but now I knew that wasn't me at all; it was the elixir. So, maybe I was more Triari than I'd hoped.

  “Ma'am?” Washburn was at my elbow. “Ms. Madison?”

  “Huh? Sorry,” I mumbled as I started up the stairs again.

  I went into my bedroom after Washburn cleared it and then started packing my bags. I also changed my dirty, rumpled skirt suit. I decided to wear something more casual since I wasn't going to work. I chose a pair of jeans and a flutter-sleeve blouse. Then, in a burst of panicked rebellion at both myself and my heritage, I tore the rubber band from my hair and fluffed out my soft curls. They fell to the middle of my back in feminine glory. Then I smoothed some lip gloss over my lips as I willed them to relax. I looked over my new reflection and nodded. Better; not so cold. Just because I had a slightly cynical view of the world, it didn't mean I had to broadcast it all over my face.

  I grabbed my suitcase and went downstairs with Washburn. He gave me a few side looks but didn't say anything about my new look; just waved everyone out before he took up the rear. Kyrian wasn't so discreet.

  “Amara, you need to...” Kyrian just stopped and stared at me.

  “What?” I snapped.

  And then I saw the splash of crimson staining his pure aura. It was quickly sucked back into the white, but I'd definitely seen it; the angel was attracted to me. Interesting.

  “You look nice,” Kyrian murmured. “I like your hair down.”

  “Thanks?” I lifted a brow at him.

  “Give us another chance, Amara,” Kyrian said with more fervor. “We're your people. We—”

  Something in Kyrian's jacket started vibrating just as Washburn's cell phone rang. Kyrian pulled out his little communication device as Washburn answered his phone, and both men went serious. Washburn's aura flared the orangey-yellow of shock while the barest tinge of red—bright, furious red—tinted Kyrian's. Kyrian's eyes widened as he stared at me, and then Washburn grabbed my arm.

  “Ma'am, we need to get you to safety,” Washburn said as he ushered me into the car.

  “I'm going w
ith you,” Kyrian said.

  “I was just about to make that offer, Sir,” Washburn waved Kyrian inside with me.

  “Really? You're letting him come along?” I asked in surprise as I slid down the backseat.

  But no one answered me; they were all too busy being secretive. But then, I guess that's part of their job. When we were all inside the SUV, Washburn instructed our driver to take us back to the White House using evasive tactics.

  “Evasive tactics?” I tried again. “Are we being followed?”

  “We may be,” Washburn said. “We're not taking any chances.”

  “What just happened?” I asked on the verge of panic.

  “The Willard Hotel has been attacked,” Washburn said.

  “The Triari have been attacked,” Kyrian corrected. “It seems as if we're both lucky that you decided to run off last night, Amara. They're all dead.”

  “Who are all dead?” I scowled at him in confusion.

  “The Prince and his retinue,” Kyrian said stoically. “Every Triari in that hotel is dead. The only ones who survived are Arc Zane and his soldiers—who were helping Homeland Security at the time—and myself.”

  “Was it the Bleiten?” I asked.

  “I'm assuming so,” Kyrian said.

  “But we don't have all the information yet,” Washburn added.

  What do you mean? It would take a bunch of Bleiten to wipe out that many Triari. How can you not know for certain?” I asked, and then my eyes went wide in horror. “Were all the witnesses killed?”

  “It wasn't a bunch of Bleiten,” Kyrian said. “And there weren't any witnesses.”

  “I'm not following,” I said. “Was it that group that robbed the bank?”

  “They are definitely involved.” Kyrian nodded. “It appears to be a biological attack. Something was released into the rooms on the upper floor, and it must have killed Prince Atren and his men rapidly because none of them were even able to make it to the door.”

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. “Devlin did make a bioweapon to kill Triari.”

  “It appears so,” Kyrian agreed.

  “Kyrian, I'm so sorry,” I said gently as I laid a hand on his knee.