by A A Woods
“Joe! Do you know why your parents chose to be part of the conspiracy?”
“Conspiracy?” Joe said before he could stop himself.
Her eyes lit up even as his narrowed. No one had called it a conspiracy, at least no one outside of the Eckelson Estate. Even in Scottstown, most people believed the media’s spin.
Not her, apparently.
“Who are you?” Joe asked, taking a step toward her. “Who do you work for?”
She smiled, and for some reason the expression sent a chill down Joe’s spine.
He took another step.
An arm on his elbow stopped him.
“Never speak to the press, honey,” his mother hissed, steering him into the museum. “You know how relentless our rivals can be.”
“Sorry, yeah,” Joe mumbled, glancing over his shoulder. He shook himself, trying to stay present as his mother all but dragged him into a room full of the most famous and rich people in the world.
But Joe couldn’t get her out of his head.
Cover-up job last fall.
Conspiracy.
How did she know?
“Joe.” His mother’s sharp tone pulled him out of his thoughts, forcing him to focus. “Your father and I would like you to meet Hans Schneider. He’s a good friend of ours.”
Joe blinked, taking in the man in front of him. Tall, broad, with snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes. Norwegian, perhaps? Behind him lingered two younger figures: a small, slim man in his twenties and an attractively curvy, bored-looking young woman with a choppy bob.
“Joe Fagan,” said the blonde man in the middle, holding out a square-fingered hand, heavy with gold rings. His voice had an odd camber, an accent Joe couldn’t quite place. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
Joe could sense the tension in his parents, but he didn’t understand it.
Were they worried he was going to embarrass them?
“Nice to meet you too, sir,” Joe said, accepting the crushing handshake and doing his best not to respond in kind.
“How has your visit to the city been?” Joe’s father asked, arm draped almost protectively around his son’s shoulder.
“Educational,” Hans said, cleaning his hand with a handkerchief patterned in racehorses. Joe frowned, wondering if he should be offended. “As always, the city never fails to surprise.”
Joe’s mother cleared her throat. “I was sorry to hear about Daniel. He was a good kid, lots of spunk. He came up through your youth program, didn’t he? Before he got into drugs?”
Hans offered them a sad smile that somehow didn’t reach his eyes. “Apparently not as good, or as wise, as I expected.”
There was a beat of awkward silence and Joe felt like a tourist in a group of locals. It was as if they were speaking a language he’d never been taught, exchanging coded information in words that should have been obvious and surface-level but weren’t. He shifted, fighting the urge to fidget.
“Well,” Joe’s dad said, breaking the silence. “I—”
“Hans!”
A new body joined their loose circle, as tall and lanky as Joe but in a classy, fluid sort of way. Victor Smith, owner and main anchor of Victory news, with social media personality Scarlett Hill on his arm.
Finally, Joe thought in relief. Two people he actually recognized.
“Hans old boy, how are things?” Victor said, Scarlett’s hand resting on the inside of his elbow. “It’s been ages.”
“Indeed,” Hans said, still cleaning his hand. “Too long, one might say.”
Victor winced good-naturedly. “I’m sorry I haven’t checked in. But you know how things are. It’s wild, honestly. Must be doing something right, eh?”
If things had been awkward before, it was nothing to how Joe felt now. Victory News was the number one competitor of his parents’ news channel, HNN. For some reason, Victory News had been exploding lately, leaning hard on conspiracy theories and off-beat coverage of the ‘Abnormal Kids from Scottstown.’ Where HNN was point-blank refusing to talk about the Vagabonds, Victory News had given the story a can you believe it spin that watchers had flocked to.
Joe couldn’t help himself.
He fidgeted.
“You’ve all seen my Scarlett, haven’t you,” Victor said, casting the woman on his arm a proud look. He laughed. “Hell, you probably see more of her than me!”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, her voice effortlessly seductive.
Joe wanted to step away, leave the circle. It was bad enough to be talking to people like Hans and Victor, but Scarlett made his hands sweat. She was statuesque, gorgeous, with sleek black hair and a long neck accentuated by the Chinese-inspired silk embroidery gown that hugged her narrow frame. Beautiful enough to make anyone’s head spin, there was something about the Instagram star that was magnetic. It was more than just her looks and grace. Every eye in the circle—heck, in the room—followed her with dazed compliance, as if her very presence was unspoken order to stand at attention.
For her.
Joe was so stricken that he almost didn’t notice that Hans and his companions weren’t looking at Scarlett with awe.
No, Hans seemed to… know her.
The big man bowed his head. “Scarlett.”
Was Joe imagining it? Did Scarlett’s smile flicker. “Hans.”
“You should stop by the estate sometime,” Hans said, finally putting his handkerchief away. “You’d love the new horses I’ve acquired.”
“I prefer my animals free-range,” Scarlett answered with an elegant smile.
“Nothing is free-range these days. Not anymore.”
Joe’s dad let out a nervous laugh. His mother’s eyes flicked between Hans and Joe.
And Joe couldn’t take it anymore.
“Excuse me,” Joe said, backing away. “I’ll be right back.”
Before his parents could grab him, Joe was throwing himself into the crowd of beautiful faces and expensive clothes, hating every single one of them.
When had his life become so complicated?
He never thought he’d miss Meru, with its bullies and petty politics. But this was so, so much worse. This was a game he didn’t know the rules to, a gossip-fest where he didn’t even know what the gossip was. At least in high school, the enemies were clear. The hierarchy was laid out.
Maybe it was here too.
He just didn’t understand it.
Thinking of Hans and his cold blue eyes, Scarlett and her beautiful face, Joe decided he needed air. Veering to the side and edging around an empty dance floor, he almost ran toward a balcony that overlooked the river. Without thinking, he burst through the gossamer drapes, clutched the railing, and gasped, not caring if anyone was out there.
In a stroke of the first luck he’d had all evening, Joe found himself alone.
He sucked in polluted city air, happy that it, at least, wasn’t thick with secrets. He detested this life. It was why he’d begged and wheedled his parents to send him to Meru. It was why he’d never tried to leverage his family’s fame, as so many other media kids did. Joe didn’t want the suits or the money or the fancy cocktails that he wasn’t supposed to drink but could if he wanted. All he wanted was to go back to last fall, when he and Eliza would hang out and watch movies and worry about nothing but the next midterm.
He exhaled, straightening his suit.
“Fuck. This,” he said to himself, relishing the curse. Eliza had taught him that there was something cathartic about swearing, something powerful in a powerless moment. He used to scoff at her language, saying that people only swore when they couldn’t think of better words to use.
Well, he couldn’t think of a better word for right then.
“Eliza, why did you have to go into that stupid base?”
But of course, the noise of the wind and traffic below was hardly an answer.
Gathering his strength and courage, Joe pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. He’d go back in there like the equal he was. These people could
n’t do anything to him. They were just rich. He’d been around literal superheroes, people with real powers. Not like these posers.
Not like his parents.
He sighed, turning.
Something caught his eye.
A flicker of movement against the far wall of the balcony.
It was so small, so brief, that a blink would have made him miss it. But Joe paused, squinting. There was something there, a black smudge in the shadow.
And a glint of something suspiciously shaped like a knife.
“Hey,” Joe said before he could stop himself. “Who’s there?”
“Should have kept moving, Joseph Fagan.”
A figure materialized out of nothing, as if shimmering into existence. It was a young woman, short and small and muscled. Her head was bare, as if covered by a skullcap. Or… bald? She was wearing a leotard that only covered the essentials, despite the chill, and her hand gripped a hunting knife as long as Joe’s forearm.
Because of the weapon, it took him a moment to realize her skin was changing. She’d somehow blended into the wall behind her, matched the pattern of the brick and filigree. But as her face took on a dark hue, Joe recognized the button shape of her nose, the sly, knowing smile.
“Oh my God,” Joe whispered, his body going slack. “It’s you!”
“Too bad,” she said, stalking toward him. “You were cute.”
Blade flashing in the starlight, the conspiracy-theorist reporter from out front bent her knees and lunged for Joe’s throat.
Chapter Nine: Temptation
“Eight pm behind the museum, eight pm. I’m here at the right time, aren’t I?”
Moose paced while he talked to himself, eyes scanning the alleyway behind the three-story marble building, rubbing his arms. He’d felt bold and brave leaving Delilah’s apartment, but the courage had leaked out of him on the walk over, especially when he’d seen the enormous crowd in front of the building, complete with red carpets and flashing cameras. It made Moose think of old Hollywood, the kind of world that he’d only ever understood in movies.
Which only reminded him what a fraud he was.
What was he doing, meeting internet strangers in back alleys? He was special, sure, but he wasn’t invincible. Moose didn’t know the first thing about real crime or gangs or weapons. The closest he’d come to understanding guns had been practicing on empty cans behind the mansion under Tori’s hard-eyed tutelage.
Aquila’s voice popped into his brain.
Who do you think you are, idiot? Superman?
Moose straightened, pulling down his sleeves and trying not to shiver in the February wind. Moose wasn’t an idiot. No, Aquila was the dumb one, the one abdicating their responsibility to the world, the one failing to live up to his calling. At least Moose was out here trying, wasn’t he? Maybe he hadn’t quite cracked the code to successful heroism, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing.
Moose might be delusional, but Aquila was a coward.
Feeling better, Moose turned to pace down the alley again.
“Nervous?”
He swung toward the voice in a blink, tripping then straightening and trying to make it look like nothing but a glitch.
A man stood in the mouth of the alley, black hair, olive skin, dressed in a tuxedo.
Moose tried to channel his best Tony Stark arrogance. “Hope I’m not interrupting the party.”
The man strode toward him, steps echoing against the brick and harmonizing oddly with the orchestral music drifting out a window above them. “You’re one of the Vagabonds.”
Moose didn’t answer, even though it took everything he had to hold back the torrent of questions that were straining to be let loose.
“My employer has been following you closely. He thinks you have potential, even if your current efforts are… lackluster.”
Moose couldn’t stop himself. “Hey!” he said, throwing his arms out. “I don’t see anyone else trying to make a difference.”
“That’s just it,” the man said, pausing about six feet away and folding his arms. “You don’t see them.”
The implications hung in the air, heavy as ash.
Moose was first to break the silence, asking the question that seemed to loom above all others. “Who’s your employer?”
“A powerful man. Someone with leverage and connections. Someone who does, in fact, want to make a difference.”
Moose folded his arms, imitating the stranger’s posture. “That’s not very specific.”
“He will, of course, reveal himself to you. Should you choose to work for him.”
The distinction wasn’t lost on Moose.
For, not with.
Aquila would have strangled him for even considering it.
But Moose wasn’t working for Aquila either.
Still, he stared down his nose at the stranger. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
The stranger smirked, lifting one dark eyebrow. “Is that so? I take it you enjoy browsing the internet, looking for nonexistent trouble? Wandering the streets hoping a robbery will fall into your lap? Saving cats?”
Moose was glad the alley was so dark. It hid the flush creeping up his neck.
The stranger dropped his arms and turned away. “Well, whenever you’re done with the small-town heroics, let us know. We’ve got much, much bigger fish to fry.”
“Like who?” Moose called.
The man stopped. Turned. “You’ve seen the story of the YouTuber who was killed in his home?”
Moose frowned. “He wasn’t killed. He had an allergic reaction. Something about drugs.”
“I’m surprised that you, of all people, believe everything the news tells you.”
Moose swallowed. Tightened his grip on his biceps and tried to convince himself he wasn’t scared. “Ok, I’ll bite. The guy was murdered?”
The man smiled, flashing white teeth. “And we’re going after who did it.”
Puffing out his chest, Moose narrowed his eyes. “So what is this guy, like Thanos or something?”
“You could put it that way.”
“And you need me because…”
“Because if you want to change the world, this would be a good place to start.”
For a moment, Moose didn’t move. He could feel himself vibrating with excitement, every molecule in his body like a firecracker waiting to explode. Suddenly this didn’t feel like a bad idea at all. This stranger in the fancy suit was legit. Moose was entering the big leagues. He was going to take down villains.
“So would you like to meet my employer?” the man asked.
“I suppose I can hear him out.”
With a quick, graceful move that even Moose found impressive, the man slipped a card to the tip of his fingers and held it out. “Address and time are on there. Come around back. Make sure no one sees you. I assume you know how to avoid cameras.”
“Pshh, that’s amateur stuff.”
“Good. Because you’re well past amateur now.”
Moose was so full of excitement he wondered if he might spontaneously combust.
Stay cool, stay cool.
“I’ll be there.”
The man smiled. “Good. It would be a pity to see your talents wasted.”
And with that the man left a grinning, giddy Moose alone to wish that he could make the night pass faster.
He was ready to get started.
Chapter Ten: Fighting Fancy
Joe didn’t think. Instinct surged through him as the knife arced toward his neck, moving his arm, shifting his body weight. He caught the handle of the blade in one hand, wrapping his fingers around the young woman’s fist with a snarl and squeezing hard.
She gasped, eyes filling with tears as her bones threatened to break.
The blade clattered to the floor.
Shocked, Joe released her, staggering back a step. Control yourself. “I’m sorry, I—”
She immediately leaped out of reach, crouched down, and whipped out another knif
e, coming at him again. Before he could choke down the surge of aggression brought on by the Superman virus, her knives were slashing at his face, her feet swiping at his head. He threw himself backward, blocking the door, holding up his hands.
“Stop!” Joe said as he ducked her roundhouse kick. “Wait, you don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t know what I want!” she snarled back, slicing toward Joe’s middle while scooping up her dropped blade. She swung down, ripping open the black fabric on his arm when he made to block her.
No.
He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to do this. Inviting in the rage was like playing with fire, and he had no idea if he could stop himself once he started. He was too strong. Too unpredictable.
But his parents were inside.
And whatever this girl was planning, it wasn’t good.
“I. Said. Stop!” Joe growled, dropping his defenses and allowing that feral thing to take over.
The world seemed to slow to the pounding of his heart. He watched, as if from a great distance, the short young woman bounce off the railing, using her momentum to twist toward his leg. But he could see the feint, see the way she was distracting him so that her other blade could come for his shoulder, land a wound that would confuse him long enough for her to make a killing blow.
Clever.
That wild part of Joe, the part that had either been born or awakened last October, admired the strategy even as he adjusted his posture. He opened his hands, waited a heartbeat, and snapped them around her wrists with a snake-bite movement that would have made Moose proud.
Everything stopped.
His awareness telescoped to the tender bones in his hands and the spitting, hissing, pissed-off young woman in his grip.
It would be so easy to break her…
He swallowed, blinked, tried to regain his normal senses while keeping hold of his enemy. Disgust welled inside him, a nauseating undercurrent to the pounding adrenaline.
Finally, he was able to ask, “Who are you?”
“You’re one of them,” she panted instead of answering, squirming against his hold. “You’re Abnormal.”
“So are you,” Joe said dryly, jerking his chin at her forearms as they swirled with color, as if her panic was causing some kind of automatic camouflage response.
