"They're a work in progress," the big man grumbled with a smile. He ran a hand over his polished dome and winked at me as I stood there blushing and speechless. "Aren't you going to introduce us, John?"
"Astra, Rook. Rook, Astra," the rat chuckled as I tugged my cape straight; he hadn't given me a word of warning, but everybody knew Rook. He'd headed to Hollywood after spending a few years with the Sentinels and got recruited to lead the Knights. A nearly seven foot tall black man, muscled like Conan the Barbarian and wearing a dark blue and black textured-spandex bodysuit, he was probably the second-most recognizable Atlas-type hero in the country. His domino mask, like Atlas's, didn’t really hide anything since everybody knew who Hank Sawyers was. He'd come from Chicago's south side, and if most Hollywood heroes were actors with super powers, Rook was a superhero who acted.
He shook my hand. "It's great to meet you, Astra, and I'm glad the team has more muscle on it again. Are they treating you right?"
I smiled self-consciously. "It worries me that people keep asking that."
That earned a laugh and he winked at me again.
"Someone as pretty as you, we'll have to do a Knights-Sentinels teamup. I'll get the script writers working on it, give you an excuse to get away from this town. Get you down there in the sun, you won't come back."
He glanced aside to catch Atlas' frown, eliciting another laugh.
"Seriously, though. You ever have dreams of going Hollywood, the Knights will get you started. You can't be a sidekick forever."
I nodded, not at all sure if he was serious or just ribbing his former teammate.
Whichever, Atlas wasn't playing; with a glare for Rook he put his hand on the small of my back and turned me to face the room, saying "Now let me introduce you to everybody."
There were a lot more than three of us in the room, and he took me through a whirlwind of introductions. Most of the Knights were hanging out there, including Baldur (so handsome I stared again), Starkness (a very scary woman), Ceres, and Seven (looking completely out of place in GQ-fashion blazer and khakis). Atlas seemed to know everybody, even though a lot of them were from CAIs as far away as El Paso, Texas.
I couldn't say I liked the El Paso guys. They called themselves The Guard, and all of them wore grey and black trimmed jumpsuit uniforms with army boots and leather gloves. Their shiny black masks were skull-hugging helmets that hid their faces almost completely. They looked hard, on edge even in the relaxed lounge, and I got the feeling they didn't think much of the rest of us.
Introductions made, Atlas asked Seven if he could squire me around. I didn't see how I could go anywhere without being mobbed, but Seven cheerfully agreed and we stepped out as Atlas, Rook, and the other CAI team leaders huddled to conference.
"So what do you think of the boys from the border?" he asked once the door closed behind us.
"The Guard?" Brrr. I shivered theatrically and he grinned.
"They're spooky," he agreed. "But they're keeping a lid on the most dangerous border in the world—the murder rate in Juárez just across the river is six times the Mexican national average, kidnapping is practically an industry, and there's a narcotics-driven civil war going on. Half the Mexican drug lords and their lieutenants seem to be supervillains these days. And not the fun and flamboyant kind."
"Wow." I looked back at the door.
"That's why they all have secret identities, and rumor is that not one of them is from El Paso—no family to threaten even if you knew who they were." He shrugged it off with a smile. "So what would you like to see?"
"I'm not sure what I can see," I said, returning the smile to show I didn't mind. "I've been to Metrocon before, as a fan. I know how crazy fans can get around the big names."
"Like adoring lemmings," he agreed happily enough. "And you're all new and shiny. That's why Atlas asked me to escort you."
He looked like a well dressed ex boy-band singer, a young and guileless Brad Pitt with artfully mussed blond locks framing bright happy eyes. Tweens and teens probably still swooned over him in herds, and somehow he could keep the fans away?
His grin widened, as if he read my thoughts. I blushed.
"Sorry. I just—"
"Don't get it, and that's okay. Don't follow the business much?"
I shook my head. "Till this happened to me I pretty much ignored it."
"I figured." He turned around to walk backwards down the hall in front of me. "I am Seven, the luckiest son of a bitch alive. That's my power. Total, godlike, serendipity. Get it?"
"Umm, not really?"
"I walk through firefights and the guns jam, misfire, come apart, get dropped, or just plain miss. Bombs don't go off when I'm in the blast-zone, or if they do I'm in a blast shadow. The world's greatest martial artist would trip and break his neck if he tried to hit me. If I need a ride, a taxi or obliging fan just happens to be there. I always have the correct change in my pocket." An even wider grin."And I always get the cool jobs."
His smugness was cloying.
"So you're lucky. How does that help with crowd control?"
"Simple." He pointed a finger at me like his hand was a pistol, and made a popping noise. "I want to enjoy your company without hassle. So I shall. Don't know how it'll work out, but from experience I'd guess that everyone who sees us will either be distracted by something else or assume that you're just a really good cosplayer."
"Really? Doesn't that mean you could win every lottery in the world? Why don't you live on your own island by now?"
He frowned.
"You know you're one of the few people to see the problem that fast?" We came to the stairs and he led me down them, still walking backwards.
"Truth? I don't know. It's like my luck is a guardian angel that keeps me safe and indulges my whims, but doesn't let me really go to town with it. It can be really annoying."
"But it does let you show off!" I said tartly. Watching him walk downstairs backwards made me twitch with wanting to grab him before he tripped up. Then a comical look flooded his face as his foot missed a step, and he windmilled his arms desperately. I reached out and grabbed him by his blazer collar before he could tumble, and found us nearly bumping noses.
"See?" he laughed softly. "Here I was thinking it'd be nice to get closer to you."
I almost pushed him down the stairs.
* * *
We came out in the expo hall, which opened to the public on day four. The noise was amazing. Most of the booths showcasing serious hardware and companies like Blacklock Security had departed, replaced by booths selling to the sea of conventiongoers.
Thousands packed the hall, surging down the wide aisles between the rows of booths while fliers swanned about in the air above them, lots of them carrying banners. Some of the rows were themed; the central isle, more of a boulevard, was lined by the big TV and movie production studios advertising their superhero drama, action, and reality series. Lesser-known and Grade B superhero-actors sat at signing tables or chatted with fans about their shows. The big and small comic publishers had their own row. Another row was dedicated to CAI teams from all over, there to push their own merchandise, talk about their activities, even recruit (we had our own booth, manned by staff).
Cosplayers mingled with authentic capes everywhere, and some of them were amazing impersonators but others made me shudder. Seven caught the direction of my horrified gaze, and winced at the thirty-year old guy with a serious beer gut stuffed into the most famous girl's costume in Japanese superhero anime.
The better cosplayers attracted small crowds and posed for pictures, but though a few appreciative glances came my way nobody stopped us. Seven was right, and I laughed when I saw why; one of the cosplay clusters revolved around a very pretty woman, obviously a model, wearing my costume better than I did. She posed solo and with convention guests as the crowd snapped pictures, and a table behind her displayed framed glossies of her in other costumes. They were obviously for sale. A professional cosplayer; who knew?
I
stopped at the Las Vegas Knights booth and bought a pricy Vegas Knights coffee mug just to annoy Seven (I made a mental note to buy a Hollywood Knights mug later for my desk at the Dome, to annoy Atlas). I finally got stares when I gave them the Dome's address for shipping, but they were too professional to make a scene and we got away clean, Seven laughing with me.
Then I spotted someone who was not a cosplayer, but who simply couldn't be here.
"Seven?" I grabbed his jacket arm. "Is your serendipity contagious?"
"Hmm? Sometimes, if what's good for someone else is good for me too. Why?"
"Because the odds of this are really steep," I said, diving into the crowd and pulling him along with me.
She didn't see us coming, more luck again.
"Artemis." I spoke right in her ear (or where it should be under her black hood), and found myself staring at two guns.
"Whoa," Seven said. "Those had better be props."
She holstered them with a twirl.
Amazingly nobody freaked, but we were attracting attention. Grabbing my arm, she turned us and smiled at the camera flashes before she started walking. I skipped to keep up, Seven right behind me.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I asked. "Or at least, I don't know, underground?" An imp took control of my mouth. "Ooh! Can I have your autograph?"
"Get serious!" she snapped back, and I rolled my eyes. This was Metrocon; nothing was serious. With all the memories waiting to ambush me I so hadn't wanted to be here, but I realized I’d actually started enjoying myself.
She pulled a tarp aside and stepped into an empty booth being used as storage space, then turned on me.
"How did you know it was me?" she hissed.
"One," I said, keeping the volume down, "who dresses up as a little-known urban myth for Metrocon, and, two, hello, room temperature?"
Seven looked confused, so I made the introductions.
"Artemis, Seven of the Hollywood Knights. Seven, Chicago's only Goth-girl vigilante."
"Cool," he said. "A caped-crusader dark-avenger teamup."
Artemis choked.
Chapter Twenty
No backing down, no giving in.
I pick my fights, but I fight to win.
Though the Reaper draws near me I cry,
Conquer or die!
From Conquer or Die by Have No Fear.
* * *
Seven got us off the expo floor, through a service door and back up some stairs to a hallway full of empty conference rooms waiting to be filled with seminars and speaker panels.
I'd thought about Artemis off and on since meeting her at The Fortress (between worrying about my parents, the TA/DA thing, why I was wigging about Atlas, etc). Our first meeting had involved a huge amount of overshare. Why? Maybe she'd simply decided that, since I'd noticed she was technically a corpse, full disclosure followed by mind-wipe if I totally wigged was the smart move. Maybe.
But at fifteen I'd lost my best friend in the world and it had hurt so bad I'd felt like I was dying. She had lost both parents and her entire life. I couldn't imagine it. If she'd become a Goth-girl and vigilante, at least she took out her frustrations constructively; I'd probably have just lain down and quit. Maybe she needed a friend.
So I'd studied up on her.
Or tried to: since she was a night-stalking vigilante who wasn't dumb enough to leave a calling card, there weren't a lot of Artemis stories going around. The local police thought she might be responsible for some beat-downs, late night saves, changes of criminal business location, and an apparently gang-free territory spanning several urban blocks. Some of the local business owners probably had an arrangement with her. To the police she was a "person of concern" but the local precinct wasn't about to devote time and resources to catching someone who actually lowered their crime numbers, at least so long as she didn't step over the line.
Where was the line? It seemed to be pretty much "don't kill anybody, don't beat up anyone we don't think deserved it, and don't make us take official notice." She was so good at keeping it quiet that even the tabloids, which still reported Elvis sightings after all, weren't writing about her.
Which made her reappearance out in the open at Metrocon a little alarming, even though I'd figured out how she'd done it (break into the convention center at night and stay away from windows, duh).
"Thanks for the privacy, Seven," I said as he closed the door behind us. "Can you give us a minute?"
"Don't think so," he said with a smile. "If you want to stay uninterrupted I need to stick around. Besides, this sounds interesting and you may need me."
"Listen, pretty boy—" Artemis began.
"Please," I stopped her.
"Really, though," Seven said, suddenly serious for the first time since we'd been introduced. It startled me. "I don't have jurisdiction in Chicago. Astra does even if she's a trainee, so if something's not right I'll follow her lead—and that includes keeping quiet, too." A cocked eyebrow dared her to question his word. She ground her teeth, attempting a rictus of a smile.
"Neither of you wants a piece of this. Trust me." She looked us both over, then gave up.
"Fine. I'm after a shapeshifter named Il Doppio, The Doppelganger. He's here to kill Baldur. Publicly and messily."
"Why?" Seven asked before I could open my mouth.
"Shortest version? Baldur has spoken out in favor of some form of federal superhuman registration and supervision. Moderately. He's no nutjob like Senator Davis was."
"Shit. So a supervillain wants to kill him for it? Is he insane?"
"No, he's paid. My source thinks the guys who contracted Il Doppio want to create a pro-legislation backlash."
"Wait," I said. "You're saying the plan is to make it look like Baldur was killed by an anti-government crazy for expressing his opinion?"
"But who would benefit?" Seven asked.
I realized my heart was racing. I could think of one: Dark A. It fit his program. "So how did you get involved?"
"Il Doppio is wanted by seven countries and Interpol, and in the US there's a death warrant out on him. Only a DNA test will identify him so he's been impossible to catch, but I have a source who keeps an eye out for me and he tripped over this particular contract."
"And how are you going to find him?"
"I've got a blood sample. If I get close enough I'll be able to smell him."
Seven ran his hands through his hair.
"And you were going to keep this to yourself? Jesus Christ!"
I thought the same thing without the profanity, but I waved him down.
"Artemis? What is your plan?"
"It's not as wide open as all that. To get the needed political juice out of it, Il Doppio has to make the hit in a way that pins the blame on superhumans and, like you said, anti-government crazies. So he's going to impersonate a known anti-government superhero or supervillain and do it up close and personal with plenty of witnesses. If he doesn't stage it right he won't get paid. He's supposed to take the shot during the cosplay competition, since Baldur's one of the judges and it's certain to be recorded."
"So if you can't find Il Doppio before then you'll get Baldur out of harm's way?"
The death-rictus grin came back.
"No, I'm going to let Il Doppio take his shot and punch his ticket before he can get away afterward. Because if he can't take his shot his orders are to perpetuate a random massacre before he bugs out. All for the cause."
* * *
An hour later we were back on the expo floor.
We had a Plan. Me? I'd wanted to quietly blow the whistle on the whole thing and let the manhunt commence, but Seven actually came around to Artemis' fallback strategy. With some additions he said it checked all the boxes: reduce possibility of collateral damage, catch hitman, expose plot. Of course if we couldn't make it all look spontaneous we were going to be swimming in the deep stuff for not reporting the plot to the Proper Authorities. I agreed to it because it had the best chance I could see of thwarting the Bad Guys
while keeping Artemis the urban legend she was.
The first part would be easiest since Quin, bless her, had originally signed Blackstone and Atlas up to be two of the four cosplay judges. In a lucky coincidence (of course) Baldur and Seven were the other two, so we would be right there together and Artemis could easily get in as a contestant or audience member. Seven felt sure that, since he’d become involved in the desperate mess, his Luck would bring it around in our favor.
But the cosplay competition wasn't until three that afternoon, and I had things to do first.
Wearing the Cape Page 13
