Superheroes Anonymous

by Lexie Dunne

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You’re special now. I got that after your trainer, that hot chick in Medical, your supermodel mentor—­”

  “The one you have a massive crush on—­”

  “—­and the greenie all lit into me after you passed out on me. And now you go running.”

  I looked down at my feet, pounding into the treadmill belt below me. “I didn’t ask for this. None of us asked for any of this.”

  “But you were lucky enough to get powers out of the deal.”

  I opened my mouth to point out that it wasn’t exactly luck if my powers were also giving me cancer. But I was still watching my feet, mesmerized by the way my legs were moving easily, optimized for a long run. All of that had come naturally to me. I stood differently now. I noticed more and reacted quicker, and I moved with an economy that I’d seen Guy-­as-­Blaze exhibit. I stood differently. I ate differently. My sight, sense of smell, hearing, all of them had been heightened.

  I felt powerful, a feeling I hadn’t really experienced much since walking up to that ‘L’ platform as a brand-­new Chicagoan. From the moment I’d picked up that beer bottle, I’d joined a game where every piece on the board had more strength and power than me. I wasn’t their equal yet, and might never be, but I was no longer powerless.

  “Yeah, I was lucky enough to get powers,” I said.

  “Exactly. So let me have this small victory where I crow over the fact that Blaze has screwed up.”

  “You’re a very small, petty man,” I said, but Jeremy grinned.

  “Seriously, though, what’s he done wrong? I need to know what I’m gloating about.”

  “Small,” I repeated. “Petty.”

  Jeremy grinned and checked his watch, which was buzzing. “It’s a little frightening how well they keep an eye on this place. You’re wanted up in Medical. It’s so nice to know that I don’t have anything better to do with my day than be the Girl wrangler.”

  “You do look like you’re kind of done with your workout, anyways,” I said, since he’d sweated through his shirt and was still breathing hard.

  “Now who’s small and petty?”

  We cut the cooldown short and because of it, I felt a bit weird when we stepped on the elevator together. The run had been nowhere near as satisfying as I’d been hoping for. Instead of allowing me to distract myself from moping about Guy, Jeremy had dug that topic right up and laid it on the treadmill at my feet.

  Two floors up, the elevator stopped, and a woman stepped on. She was blond, stocky rather than lithe, and her eyes were infinitely familiar. From the way Jeremy tensed, he’d recognized her as well.

  Jessie Davenport gave us both a nod. There was nothing of her twin brother’s genial air about her though she wore a well-­cut pantsuit that spoke of the same wealth. Jeremy, she dismissed easily, but her eyes lingered on me. My tongue abruptly tied itself into knots, and I was struck by the fact that I was now riding an elevator with the Raptor.

  “You’re the Godwin girl,” she said. Her voice had a low sort of rasp to it, like she had been chain-­smoking from birth.

  “Yes, ma—­yes, that’s me. Gail.” Foolishly, I stuck a hand out.

  “Jessie,” she said, shaking my hand. The minute she released her grip, she shifted, crossing her arms over the chest, and I recognized the stance as pure Raptor through and through. “You met my brother Eddie last year.”

  “I did. It was . . . memorable.”

  “Dunno why. He’s rather boring, all told,” Jessie Davenport said, turning back to face the front of the elevator.

  I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so I just said, “He seemed nice.”

  “Then he’s fooling you. But I can see why the Bookman kid would step in on your behalf.” The elevator doors opened on her floor, and she paused, looking me up and down again. “Welcome to Davenport, Miss Godwin.”

  “Uh, thank you. Thank you very much.”

  The minute the doors had closed behind her, Jeremy and I both sagged against the back of the elevator. “Is she always that intense?” I asked.

  He nodded emphatically. “That’s the first time I’ve actually seen her talk to anybody. Usually, she just stands there and glowers.”

  “Okay, okay, drama queen.”

  The brief, mildly absurd encounter with Jessie Davenport had only made me feel stranger. My instincts had categorized her as a threat so quickly that the fight-­or-­flight reflex had kicked in, and I had some leftover adrenaline. I kind of wanted to go run an obstacle course or two with Angélica to calm myself down. But instead, we disembarked on the right floor for Medical and made our way through the winding hallways once again. By the time we reached the now-­familiar door, I’d calmed somewhat. “You don’t have to go in with me,” I told Jeremy.

  “Maybe I want a lollipop. The receptionists always keep some.”

  The woman working the front desk waved me back and didn’t give Jeremy a second look, which meant they’d probably expected him to tag along. He reached the door before me and pushed through. “What’s up?” he said by way of greeting.

  About to scold him for not even bothering to knock, I hurried in after him and pulled up short. I’d been expecting Cooper and maybe Kiki, but they also had Angélica with them. Though they all turned right away with pleasant looks on their faces, I could read the body language as though it shouted at me. Angélica was incredibly displeased about something.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Cooper gave us a bright smile. “Integration Day,” he said.

  “What?” Jeremy asked.

  “We think the Mobium has stabilized. Pull up a chair.”

  Because he was gesturing at a ­couple of white wheelie chairs, I pulled them over, giving Kiki a wide berth. She seemed friendly, but my gut made me want me to keep a nice distance between us. It seemed the isotope hadn’t quite forgotten—­or forgiven—­her attempted mental intrusion after the episode on the simulators. Being farther away from her wouldn’t actually protect me, I knew, but I felt better on the other side of the room.

  She seemed to notice, for she gave me a sympathetic smile. I tried to give her an apologetic one in return.

  “What does that mean?” I asked Cooper as I sat. “Integration? Like, I don’t have cancer?”

  “Sadly, no.” He crossed to the computer bank against the wall. Instantly, the same charts I’d memorized from the handouts he’d given me at previous appointments appeared on the wall to my left. I raised my eyebrows. The numbers were significantly better across the board.

  “Huh,” Jeremy said, squinting.

  “What?” I asked him.

  He kind of waved at one corner of the screen. “Just kind of interesting to see it all broken down like that.”

  “Nerd,” I said, smiling.

  Before he could reply, Vicki strolled in, a little carry-­on tote over her shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

  Angélica narrowed her eyes at my mentor. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

  “I got the text that it’s Integration Day. I want to see Girl punch Cooper.”

  “I have to do that again?” I asked.

  “We’re testing everything we did at the beginning,” Kiki said.

  “Wait, where’s Guy?” Vicki asked, lifting her sunglasses to her forehead as she looked around.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “That’s the million-­dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “Oo-­kay,” Vicki said, drawing the word out. “I’ve missed some things. Got it. So what’s up first?”

  My friends waited around while Kiki and Cooper put me through my paces, testing my reflexes, strength, and endurance. Angélica remained silent, a stony look on her face, and I wondered exactly what she’d been discussing with Kiki and Cooper before I’d arrived. Mostly I was preoccupied by the empty chair in the corner, one t
hat no doubt would have belonged to Guy had he come. He never showed.

  But when it became time for me to punch Cooper in that goofy little apron, I nearly put him through a wall. He looked dazed for a second as he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Happy Integration Day,” he said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  EVEN THOUGH THE isotope and I had officially become one, I wasn’t actually cleared to leave Davenport until Angélica had been assured that I knew how to take care of myself. “We think you’ll kick the leukemia,” she’d said on the way out of Medical, and my heart had thumped hard in hope. “But until you do, better safe than sorry.”

  Though I should have been happier about that—­my strength and stamina were now permanent, which meant I wouldn’t be helpless again—­I felt an itch between my shoulder blades, like something was out of place. The feeling dogged my heels through dinner and more research on Chelsea and Mobius. As always, I slept like a stone, but my first thoughts in the morning when I woke up were of Guy.

  Disquieted by that, I rolled out of bed early, grabbed a crap-­cake instead of cooking myself breakfast, and started the hike across the complex to his apartment. He could have been at his Miami apartment for all I knew, or still out doing whatever it was he did all night, but I didn’t mind the walk. If I’d said something to offend him, I wanted to know about it.

  Sam answered the second time I knocked, squinting like daylight was a personal offense and not something that just happened. His hair had been brushed by wolverines. “Who’re you?”

  “Gail,” I said. When he continued to stare, I added, “Godwin? Gail Godwin?”

  For a minute, I thought he might have actually fallen asleep standing up. When he let out a massive yawn, I jumped. “Hostage Girl,” he finally said, pointing at my face.

  I gingerly pushed his finger aside. “Sure, okay, that’s not weird at all. Is your brother here?”

  “Upstairs.” He shuffled to the side and, leaving the door open, flew back to the second floor.

  Since the isotope hadn’t seen fit to give me flight, I took the stairs. As I approached Guy’s room, I could hear him moving about inside, so it looked like he didn’t share his brother’s apparent distaste for mornings. My hand wavered only a little as I raised it to knock.

  I heard his footsteps approach. “Sam,” he said, “it’s not like you to kn—­Gail.”

  Given the foot and a half height difference between his brother and me, it was actually a little comical to watch Guy abruptly lower his gaze. He kept his hands on his tie, which he’d apparently been in the process of tying.

  “Good morning,” I said, and it hit me too late: what if Guy had had company the night before? What if I’d interrupted something?

  Thankfully, Guy’s smile bloomed, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “Morning,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb. “What’s up?”

  “I just thought I would drop by and see how you were doing. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yeah.” His heart rate picked up, I realized. It had spiked upon seeing me, but at my innocuous statement, I could hear his heart actually begin to pound. “I had a work thing, and then I was on patrol for a bit—­Vicki should have passed that on?”

  “Oh, she did. I just”—­What, Gail? Thought you’d stalk him in the meantime?—­“thought I’d see how that was going.”

  “Because you’re really interested in the findings of the exploratory committee on the Bookman fiscal-­earnings policy report?”

  “Yeah, I thought it could use even more oversight, maybe some regulations or something,” I said, my voice absolutely droll. Guy threw his head back and laughed, and I thought that was as good an opportunity as anything. At least he seemed like he was in a good mood. “Hey, Guy, I have to ask: did I say something to offend you?”

  He abruptly stopped laughing.

  “You left in kind of a rush the other day, and a lot of ­people have told me that I can be pretty direct. So I wanted to make sure everything was fine between us,” I said.

  “Direct,” he repeated, giving me an odd look.

  “They usually say ‘blunt to the point of terrifying.’ Did I do something?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling them in close. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  That wasn’t exactly an answer to my question, I realized, but I couldn’t see a way to push the issue without fighting. So I just ducked my head. “Oh. Then I guess it might have been in my head after all. I’m sorry to bother you before work like this.”

  “You’re never a bother.” That, at least, sounded genuine. “If you’ve got some time, want to stick around? I am a master at breakfast.”

  “No, I already ate, and Angélica will get on my case if I’m late.”

  “Maybe later, then.”

  I nodded and gave him a little good-­bye wave, but before I reached the stairs, I turned back around. “Sam’s really not into the whole morning thing, is he?”

  “Never met one he couldn’t sleep through,” Guy said.

  “I figured. See you around, Guy.”

  “See you, Gail.”

  I wondered about it as I walked to the training rooms. Guy’s heart rate, his casual evasion, all of that seemed to indicate I hadn’t been paranoid at all. Something was going on. Either I’d done something, or someone else had, that night he’d come to visit me in his uniform. But whatever had happened, he didn’t owe me an explanation. He’d saved my life a staggering number of times, and I really liked having him around, both as Guy and as Blaze. Ultimately, though, I wasn’t in a position to ask him why he was so nervous and pretending not to be.

  So, feeling as though I’d accomplished nothing, I headed toward the training room, where Angélica was waiting. At least hitting something might make me feel better.

  HOURS LATER, I hit the mat with a grunt and an annoyed whine.

  “You’re coming along,” Angélica said, bouncing to her feet. She beamed. “Kid.”

  “Please.” I was panting and out of breath, but it was a good sort of winded. “I’m more than coming along. I’m kicking ass. And you can’t be more than a ­couple of years older than I am, so calling me kid’s just precocious.”

  “When you can consistently beat me, you get to decide what I call you, not before.”

  “I can think of a few things I’d like to call you.”

  “I’ve heard worse, amiga. Now, stop lazing around, I want to test a theory.”

  “What theory?”

  “Not telling.” Her grin spoke of pure mischief. “All you have to do is watch me and focus. Use that meditation technique I taught you.”

  I shifted my feet at that. Meditating was a skill I would probably never master, no matter how hard Angélica tried to make me sit and focus on my breathing. My thoughts always ping-­ponged around my head, and I hated the quiet moments. Keeping busy kept worries and memories at bay, and meditation left me vulnerable to that sort of thing.

  You don’t face down dozens of supervillains without ending up with a few nightmares, as much as I tried to pretend that wasn’t the case.

  But now, I did as bade, closing my eyes so I could imagine an open door in the black space of my mind. I kept absolutely still until I could discern every detail, from the rectangle of golden light seeping through the cracks, to the texture and grain of the wood. Once I could make out the glint of gold on the doorknob, I reached forward in my mind and opened the door.

  When I opened my eyes, the world jumped into sharp, almost painful focus. Colors brightened, the saturation deepening. Sounds became crystal clear. I could practically see Angélica’s skin jumping at the pulse points and hear the way her body moved. Her heartbeat sounded like a symphony.

  “Watch me,” she said, and my ears itched. She rolled her shoulders and weaved her hand
s through the air in some kind of tai chi move I didn’t recognize. When she brought her hand down against her thigh, the smack made me jolt.

  “Theatrical,” I said when she looked at me.

  “Smartass. Turn around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said to.”

  I turned and waited for the inevitable attack. “What now?”

  “Just listen. Without looking at me, what am I doing?”

  “Probably making face at my back,” I said. She sighed. “Angélica, the isotope doesn’t give me eyes in the back of my head. How am I supposed to know what you’re doing if I can’t see you?”

  “Try listening. Tell me what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing. I can’t see you.”

  “I’m doing something. What is it?”

  “Angélica, for the thousandth time—­”

  “What am I doing!”

  “You’re rolling your shoulders! It sounds really stupid, actually, and—­how did I know that?” I spun on my heel as she placed her hands on her hips, looking smug. “Are you telling me my hearing’s that good?”

  “Yup. Has been for a while, but I don’t think you’ve been picking up on it.” She stretched out her hamstring, idly. “You’ve got the basic movements down, and you’re comfortable with your body and how it moves thanks to the work we’ve been doing on the obstacle course. But now we need to work on your instincts, your awareness, and how you react to threats. You’ve been doing it subconsciously, but now we need to hone that skill.”

  “How do I use this to my advantage?”

  “Ideally, you’d have time to get the measure of your opponent before the fighting starts, but in practical application, that technique tends to lead to you getting punched in the face. So you’ll need to learn to multitask.”

  As with everything Angélica had taught me, it was easier said than done. I might have subconsciously been using my superior hearing, but consciously attempting to do so tripped me up. It was like trying to fight through molasses when I’d been sprinting through cotton candy for days, and Angélica didn’t hold back. More times than I wanted to count, I found myself on my back, staring up at a ceiling that I could see in remarkably clear detail. I wondered if all of Angélica’s trainees were this hopeless. Every time I moved, a spark of color at the corner of my eye would flash, distracting me, or my ears would pick up some new and unfamiliar sound, and before I knew it, I was on my back again, counting little cartoon birdies.