Spectra: A Cynical Superhero

by Amy Sumida

  “Yes, Ma'am; he was absolutely a pansy,” Washburn said as he turned to face the other agents. “I'm making an executive decision to move Ms. Madison to another secure location. If anyone feels that I'm acting traitorously, you may stand down and report me or simply stand down. I won't hold it against you.”

  “I think President Colton will understand and approve, Sir,” Agent Stayton said.

  The rest of them nodded, and just like that, it was decided. The agents quickly led me through the main hallways of the White House and then into its back corridors. We wound our way out through a garden and then to a hidden parking lot where the men hurried me over to a Jeep Wrangler. Washburn got in the driver's seat, and I was put in the back; between Agents Greene and Rogers. Stayton climbed in the front, and as we pulled out, all of them shrugged out of their jackets.

  “I have some hoodies in the back,” Washburn said to the men.

  Greene reached over the back seat to grab the hoodies and then passed them out. He also fished out a baseball cap and handed it to me. I twirled my hair into a ponytail and stuck it through the back of the cap as I pulled it low on my head. By the time we pulled out onto the city street, we looked like a bunch of college kids.

  “You've done this before,” I said to them with an impressed tone.

  “Snuck a woman out of the White House on behalf of the President?” Stayton asked with a sarcastic smirk my way. “No; never.”

  “Did I just get taken out like one of President Colton's dates?” I asked in horror.

  “Does it really bother you?” Washburn asked in surprise. “It worked.”

  I chuckled. “Yes; well said, Agent Washburn.”

  “There are a few safe houses we can take you to,” Washburn offered. “Or would you prefer to leave the city entirely?”

  “Oh, I think you've misunderstood,” I said. “I'm not running away from everything. I just need to get away from the Triari. Take me to the Supermarket; I'll be safe there.”

  “But the Triari can enter the Market,” Greene pointed out with wide eyes.

  “Yes; I know, Agent Greene,” I said slowly. “But the Triari will be less inclined to kidnap me out of the Supermarket than they would from the White House.”

  “How do you figure?” Rogers asked.

  “I don't want to offend any of you,” I said gently, “but the greatest threat humans pose are their numbers, and the Triari are showing an inclination to even that out. In the Market, I become an unknown threat. I have friends whom they may not be prepared to deal with. Supernaturals can be tricky.”

  “You're not asking us to just drop you off at the gate, are you?” Washburn narrowed his eyes at me in the rearview mirror.

  “It may be the best option,” I pointed out. “You can race back to the White House and act as if you've been searching for me this whole time. Tell Kyrian that I just vanished; he'll believe that.”

  “Why will he buy that?” Stayton asked suspiciously.

  “Because it's something I can do,” I confessed.

  These guys had taken a risk to help me out; they deserved to hear a little of my truth.

  “You can turn invisible?” Greene asked in surprise. “No way.”

  “I'll show you when we get to the Market,” I promised.

  “We're not dumping you at the Market Gate,” Washburn growled.

  “She has a point,” Stayton said. “It may be better to make it appear that she did this on her own. Otherwise, the Triari might think that President Colton is complicit in her disappearance.”

  Washburn grimaced and took a turn that would lead us to the Supermarket.

  “Thank you, Agent Washburn,” I said softly. “Thank you all for helping me. I'm sorry to put you into this position, but I think the President will appreciate what you've done if you decide to confess to him.”

  “Oh, we will,” Washburn said. “We'll have to brief him as soon as possible. There will be footage of us leaving the White House that we'll need to erase and there's no way that the President won't find out about it.”

  “You want me to text him?” I asked.

  “You have POTUS' private number?” Washburn asked in surprise.

  “Yes.”

  The men exchanged man-smiles. You know; those tight grins that express their knowledge of another man's intimate intentions toward a woman.

  “It's not like that,” I said primly. “He gave it to me just before you were assigned to watch over me; it's merely so that I may reach him with any important information.”

  “Yes, Ma'am,” Washburn said in a manner that expressed his disbelief but also his refusal to argue about it.

  “Do you want me to text him, or not?” I asked in a huff.

  “He won't be holding his phone right now,” Washburn said. “An aide will have it. We'll take care of it.”

  “All right then.” I sighed deeply.

  “I hope you have people to watch your back, Ma'am,” Stayton said. “Things could get tense.”

  “Actually, I think I know the perfect bunch of heroes for the job,” I said with a smirk.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I did get a text from the President. It read; If you need help, call me. That's it. I was glad that he saw the wisdom in my disappearance, and I hoped that Washburn and the guys weren't in any trouble for the parts they played in my evacuation.

  I had kept my promise and showed Greene how I could turn invisible; doing so just after exiting the Jeep. Then—as they gaped after me—I had hurried into the Market and gone straight to The Wilds. As soon as I found Landry, I had him put the bar on high-alert. He approved of my decision to ditch my secret service agents, but he wasn't too thrilled with who I was planning on replacing them with.

  “What the fuck is the Stupid Squad going to do for you that I can't?” Landry asked me later that evening.

  “There are more of them, for one thing,” I pointed out as I slipped on my boots. “And they want to be heroes, Land. They'll be on-point, if for no other reason than to prove themselves and possibly get the President's attention.”

  “You don't even know any of them,” Landry huffed. “All you have is Davorin's assurance that they're competent. And frankly, Davorin doesn't seem too picky about who he lets into his superhero club.”

  “If they aren't competent, I'll come straight back here, and we can figure out another plan,” I said. “But I can't just hide out forever. I need to return to my job if nothing else.”

  “Job,” Landry huffed. “You can tell people what other people are saying anywhere. You could leave the planet if you want to.”

  “Do you think I should leave the planet?”

  “No,” he said sternly. “I think we should fight those bastards and finish this once and for all.”

  “Which ones?” I asked. “The ones hunting me down like an animal or the Bleiten?”

  “Ha-ha.” Landry grimaced. “You always thought you were funny.”

  “No; I always thought that I was cynical and sarcastic,” I corrected. “And I've always been right.”

  “Not about everything, kid,” he chided me. “Remember who raised you.”

  “I won't ever forget that, Land,” I said as I went to give him a hug. “Or how good a job you did despite being on your own. You're the father of my heart; even better than blood.”

  “Ah, kid” Landry hugged me tighter. “I love you. Be careful tonight.”

  “You kept me safe for twenty-five years,” I said softly. “Whatever happens, you did right by me. My parents would have been so grateful.”

  “Hell, kid, you saved me too,” he said gruffly. “I never would have had a family without you. Now, don't you take that away from me.”

  “I'll do my very best not to get abducted.” I smoothed my bodycon, red dress down my thighs. “How do I look?”

  “Like a floozy who wants to be abducted.” Landry grimaced. “Aren't you going to put something else on? That thing looks like underwear.”

  “Of course I'm put
ting something else on.” I rolled my eyes as I went to my dresser and scooped up a tube of red lipstick. “I can't wear a red dress without red lipstick.”

  “Fucking kids,” he muttered as I swiped on the lipstick.

  I gave Landry a wink on my way out of the room, and he followed me down to the bar; grumbling the entire way. Sal and Ella were working the bar and the tables tonight so Land just went to his stool behind the bar to supervise.

  “Well, excuse me, Miss Thing,” Sal called out to me.

  “You're looking fierce,” Ella added as she carried a tray over to a table of evolved supes.

  “Thanks, Salmonella,” I called over my shoulder. “Catch you later.”

  The couple had been working for Landry for years, and it had quickly been discovered that when you said their names together—fast and in the right order—it sounded like salmonella. It stuck, and the couple had adopted it as their unified moniker. Granted, it wasn't the best nickname for a couple working in a bar, but at least they didn't work at Mama's.

  Outside The Wilds, I flagged down a Market taxi.

  “Hey, Alan,” I said as I slid into the back. “Flamethrower's, please.”

  “Sure thing, Amara.” Alan waved a blue hand back at me before stepping on the gas.

  Flamethrower's was on the other side of the Market from The Wilds; the side where supernaturals went to—ironically—be wild. Restaurants in the area had tables outside for patrons to socialize with passerby. It wasn't just people-watching in the Market; it was a community experience. It was like a condensed city; not everybody knew each other, but it was rare that you went out without running into someone you recognized. So, when Alan pulled up in front of Flamethrower's, I wasn't surprised to see a friend of mine leaning against the outer wall as she smoked a cigarette.

  “Amara.” Belina waved me over. “I haven't seen you in ages!”

  “Hello, darling,” I said as I hugged her. “You look fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” She struck a sexy pose as she flicked her cigarette. “Dylan and I felt like dancing.”

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  Belina swung back her voluminous blonde hair and grimaced. “I needed to take a break from him before I beat him soundly with his own fists.”

  “What did he do now?”

  “I caught him staring at tits again,” she huffed.

  “Whose tits?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No; I suppose not.”

  “It should be illegal for him to open his eyes,” she grumbled.

  Dylan—aka Dylan the Deviant—had what every little boy dreams of; X-ray vision. He could look through cement, wood, plastic; whatever he wanted to. And what he usually wanted to see through was clothing; women's clothing. We were all naked when Dylan was around. Belina, on the other hand, could give people muscle spasms, and she had kept Dylan in check for years. When she caught him misbehaving, he wound up punching himself in the face... or lower.

  “I'm surprised that he hasn't had an accident tonight,” I noted pointedly.

  “Oh, he will, if he doesn't stop being a perv,” she promised. “Come on, let's go in.” She threw down her cigarette and squished it out with her high-heel. “If we walk in together, we'll have every male eye on us.”

  “If you say so.” I chuckled.

  I was by no means ugly, but Belina was a bombshell. When I went anywhere with her, I didn't have to use my abilities to make myself invisible; I simply went unnoticed. Belina had an hourglass figure that she wasn't afraid to show off and an attitude that came across as slutty and innocent all at once. Men just gaped in awe at her. None of us could figure out how she had ended up with Dylan. But I suppose she was the only one who could tame him, and Dylan was an attractive man. For me, his attractiveness made his perverted ways even worse. For Belina, it made them a challenge.

  Brock was working Flamethrower's door. He was big and muscled, as most bouncers are, but Brock's talent was what made him indispensable. He could stick to people. I don't mean that in a figurative way. I mean that Brock could make any part of himself so sticky that once he touched you, you couldn't escape him. It came in handy for breaking up fights or throwing people out of bars. He just activated the stickiness, touched someone, and dragged them outside. Then he released them and blocked their way back in. It worked every time.

  “Hello, ladies,” Brock said in his deep voice. “Have fun. Let me know if you need help getting out of a sticky situation. Or getting into one.”

  He waggled his brows at us. Yes; unfortunately, Brock was also a major playboy and a tedious employer of worn-out come-ons. But since he was working the door, we had to be nice to him. So, we smiled and laughed until we were far enough away to roll our eyes at each other.

  We were halfway to the bar—easily found by the flamethrower replicas that bracketed it and spurted fire every few minutes—when Davorin stepped into my path.

  “What are you doing here?” He asked urgently. “Are you all right?”

  “Hello, rock-hard...”—Belina waved her hand to indicate Davorin's body—“everything.”

  “Hey, Belina,” Davorin said absently as he continued to stare me down.

  One of the things I liked about Davorin was his disinterest in Belina.

  “I'll meet you at the bar,” I said to her.

  “Oh, my,” Belina's eyes went wide with excitement. “Is there something going on between you two? The Rock and the Hard Ass; I wouldn't want to get between you.”

  “Belina.” I gave her a look.

  “Fine, but I expect details,” Belina said as she left.

  “I ditched the President,” I said to Dav.

  “You what?” Davorin gaped at me.

  “I'll tell you about it later,” I said. “I was just wondering if maybe you and your Rocketeers would like to save a damsel in distress?”

  “You want us to protect you?” He asked in surprise. “Amara, you've got abilities, you can protect yourself.”

  “That's a different song than the one you were singing this morning, Mr. Superstone,” I said in confusion.

  “I'm building up to something,” he said with a smirk. “Join my group, and they'll be guaranteed to say yes.”

  “I don't even know your group yet,” I said. “I'm not agreeing to anything.”

  “All right; meet them and then decide.”

  “They could score points with the President if they help me,” I cajoled.

  “I thought you said that you ditched him.”

  “I did; for his own good,” I admitted. “He's okay with it. He'd be even more okay if he knew I had some supernatural backup.”

  “I get done at 2 AM,” Davorin said. “Hang out here until then, and I'll take you to meet them.”

  “Okay,” I started to head to the bar, but he grabbed my hand.

  “Amara.”

  I turned to look back at him, and Davorin gently pressed his lips to mine. Despite the lightness of his touch, tingles ran down my whole body, and I inhaled sharply. When he eased away, Davorin's aura was full of crimson, but the crimson was starting to lighten. One shade more and the boy would be well on his way to rosy love.

  “Thanks for trusting me,” he whispered before he let me go.

  I just nodded and tried to walk away steadily. Why did he have to go and kiss me like that; like some romantic white knight? And why did I have to wear my stupid stiletto boots? At least the bar was packed; if I fell, I'd just bounce off someone and back into a standing position.

  To get to the bar, I had to make my way across the dance floor and then through a half-ring of little, round tables. I could have gone around the perimeter, but with the place being so crowded, going around the edge would have taken me a good fifteen minutes. So, I braved the dance floor; a grinding mass of bodies with a blood-red, lusty haze pulsing around them. People pressed against me as rock music blared in my ears and vibrated through my bones. I tried not to focus too much on the colors that seemed even louder to me
than the music; I just angled my head down and plowed my way through.

  And that was my mistake.

  A hand slid around my waist and pulled me tightly against a hard chest. I thought it was some drunk jerk, and I was about to turn around and tell him where he could shove it because it wasn't going to be inside me, but then he pressed his warm cheek against mine and wrapped his other hand lightly around my throat. His aura was lost among the others around me so I couldn't latch onto it. Still, I could have attacked him directly and not bothered with altering his aura. I could have thrown several colors at him that would have targeted all sorts of organs; all I'd have to do was glance over my shoulder. But before I could decide on which color to use, he spoke.

  “Hello, Amara,” he purred into my ear. “You look amazing tonight; practically devilish.”

  His voice was like thunder on a dark night; something scary and exciting all at once. The enticing scent of man, leather, and something spicy tickled my nose and made me inhale deeper. In combination with that voice, it made my head spin. Then the hand around my throat moved up to my chin and his thick thumb rubbed gently across my lips. I exhaled a shuddering breath over the tip of his thumb, and he made a surprised, aroused sound as his body jerked against mine.

  “I should have known you'd be beautiful and sensual,” he murmured as he rubbed his fingers together over the lipstick stain on his thumb. “Only a woman with deep passions could shift a man's emotions so swiftly.”

  I have to admit that startled me; I'd never been called passionate or sensual before. My abilities must have confused him. Still, the mere thought of it—of letting my desires rule my life—made my stomach clench in longing.

  “You're a Bleiten?” I asked warily.

  He chuckled as he began to sway me to the music; his hand sliding back along my chin to press my cheek against his.

  “I am Lord Malik,” he said. “My team and I were sent to Earth to secure you. I have never, in all of my military career, ordered my men to stand down, Amara. But I've seen what you can do, and I think you require a softer touch; my touch.”

  Malik swung me around to face him; keeping his hand on my waist but moving the other one to the nape of my neck. He began to massage my muscles gently.