Miracle's Touch

by J. A. Cipriano

  A satisfied smile graced his handsome face as he glanced sidelong at me. “Insightful. It makes me happy to see that you have the intelligence to match the strength and toughness.” He focused back on his handiwork, giving the drying skin a critical eye. “The security system at S.O.S. stores all data to a central server. On review, it was obvious that Dr. Blair, the scientist presenting, caused the explosion in a fit of frustration.”

  “So, that still doesn’t quite tell me why.” The play of emotions on his face, something that was usually constructed to be the perfect image of heroism, was starting to turn my reporter’s curiosity and fangirl attraction into something more.

  One of those perfect eyebrows arched as he began to carefully wind the gauze around the sealed wound. “Well, once I knew you were not the cause, I still felt it was my duty to make contact with a potential new heroine. As I said, it pays to be prepared … and I still had to be sure there wasn’t some deeper scheme at work.” He chuckled deeply, a certain chagrin visible to my eye on his heart. “But it’s also something of a challenge from my associate. Let’s say that he wishes me to expand my deductive reasoning more.”

  There was more to it, plain only to me, I think. There was a certain desire, not just a sexual one. It was the simple wish to not have to be alone. Did Paragon see a potential companion in me? That was the height of arrogance on my part to think so and maybe a touch insane to boot. Still, it was an insanity I was willing to believe in.

  I smiled softly as he finished with the dressing. “Thank you.”

  “There. If you continue to heal as quickly as you are, I think you will be in perfect health in a day or so at most.” Paragon rose to his full height as he put the first aid kit away, restoring my costume to its pristine glory, though he couldn’t do anything about the drying blood on my glove. It was organic matter, after all. “Now, if there’s nothing else …?”

  I stood along with him, careful not to aggravate my just-bandaged shoulder. “Hey, hold on,” I said, my voice full of steel. A small part of me deep down was shocked that I was forceful with the world’s greatest superhero. “I know there’s always something that needs your attention, but there are a few important things left right here.”

  He stopped in mid-hover, and though he didn’t let it show, I know he was surprised and maybe even a little thrilled at my cheekiness. “I’m not sure what you may be talking about, but please, continue.”

  “First, did you know that those would-be rapists had weapons from Hardware? That means he’s back on the streets and after the Omnitech affair —”

  Paragon raised a hand. “I’m aware.” He cast a glance out over the skyline, out to Halcyon Bay and the twinkling light of the Panopticon, the world’s most secure supervillain prison. “As much as it disgusts me, Hardware made a plea deal with the U.S. government after getting caught colluding with that corrupt company. He was released free and clear last week.”

  His disgust was honest and matched my own. I had put in a lot of work at the Sentinel to uncover the supervillain’s conspiracy to steal one of the most advanced suits of power armor from the U.S. Marine Corps. To have Hardware out on the streets after less than five years behind bars galled me to no end.

  “Can’t we … you do something now that we have evidence he’s back to his old ways, dealing supertech to the crooks in town?” I planted my palms on my hips, narrowing my emerald eyes on Paragon.

  “Maybe we can, but not without real evidence.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Due process still exists in this country.”

  I nodded. “Good, as long as we do something. Now that I’m like, well, that I have this power,” – I raised a silver-gloved hand and clenched it – “I’m not going to stand by and let people like him get away with things like this.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled with amusement, his cape whipping in the high-rise winds. “What’s your second question?”

  “There’s three, actually,” I corrected him. “The second is simple. How are the victims of the explosion doing? What happened to Dr. Blair?”

  The only thing I knew from the news was that no one had died, most of them still in intensive care. Jackson decided not to assign me to the follow-up stories about the blast, to keep me away from potential discovery, and I couldn’t find a reason to disagree.

  The concern in my voice sank into Paragon, his measured expression melting again into a smile. “Thanks to your timely intervention, they are recovering. No one died, and some of the reporters are set to leave intensive care shortly.” He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “And speaking of Dr. Blair, she was the first to recover. She was out of the hospital within a day, as a matter of fact.”

  A disappointed sigh escaped his lips. “Unfortunately, her misconduct requires that she be put on administrative leave for a period of time. I admire her drive, but to endanger that many people, well, that cannot be allowed.”

  I chewed on my lip. Not that I didn’t agree with that. We should have all died there and only whatever luck led to me getting these powers saved us. Still, even if bordering on obsessive, Dr. Blair was an obvious genius who seemed to only want the best for people. Her heart was in the right place, even if her methodology was wrong.

  “I hope the best for her,” I settled on saying, “and I’m relieved to hear that everyone will turn out all right. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was fast enough to save everyone.”

  “You were.” Paragon’s smile broadened, and I almost melted myself under the warmth of actual admiration I felt inside him. “Now, I shouldn’t linger, not with so many people in trouble. What is this third thing?”

  “Don’t you want to know who I am? Win this little contest with your ‘associate’?”

  I would have shared that with him. It was only fair; I knew who he was. The entire world did.

  But no. Paragon, Robert Washington, the most powerful superhero ever, cracked a smirk as he rose into the sky. “That, Ms. Miracle, would be breaking the rules of the game.” He snapped off a casual salute, two fingers to his brow. “Good night. I’m sure we will meet again soon.”

  And with that, he was off, a shining comet streaking across the night sky, leaving me on a skyscraper with the desperate need for a cold shower.

  7

  Taking a deep breath, I looked over the edge of the skyscraper, putting order to the emotions roiling in me. Christine Klein would have thought she was insane to even contemplate going after Paragon. It was a fangirl's crush at best and sheer craziness at worst, but that cold loneliness I saw in him … I would have tried as a mere mortal if I had known.

  This was a man who could have anything and everything, yet he tirelessly devoted himself to the rest of the world. He shouldn’t have to be alone, and the way he looked at me, I couldn’t deny what my empathic sense gleaned from those guarded looks. And while Christine might never have had a chance of even getting Robert Washington’s attention, Ms. Miracle had gotten Paragon’s. If I could help him, if I could take away that loneliness, well, that was an even better thing than kicking a bank robber in the teeth.

  “You’re crazy,” I whispered to myself, “but you have to try.” That affirmation brought on the same tingly warmth from right after the accident, rushing from my heart and the center of my thighs. Whatever the power was inside me, it agreed with me, filling me with desire, not entirely sexual but emotional as well, matching my need to soothe the pain I saw in Paragon.

  Nodding slowly to myself, I had to figure out how to get down from here, well after business hours, and get home. There was an easy way, of course. Patting my sash, my fingers traced the thin plastic square of my Superhero ID Card. One of the perks of registering was low-level access to most security systems in New Harbor, like opening the lock on the upstairs elevator of, say, an office building. I could just scan my ID and ride in relative comfort back to ground level.

  Of course, that would be a bit embarrassing. Even though capes, cowls, and costumes were common enough here, superheroes ge
nerally didn’t walk out on the streets and call for an Auto-Annie robocab. I didn’t think he was capable of it, but I had the suspicion Paragon left me up here for more reasons than an urgent call. He said you always had to be prepared in the hero business, and you never knew when you’d be trapped dozens of stories above the ground with no way down.

  A shiver of fear danced up my spine as the thought of jumping ran through my head. While there were some lower buildings around this one, they were all at least a city street away and more than twenty feet below, if not more. Every sensible impulse inside me was to admit I had a bit more thinking to do to be ready for hero work, suck up my embarrassment, and take the elevator.

  Or I could listen to the tingling impulses inside me, follow the crazy thoughts, and do what Ms. Miracle would do. Lips curling into a smile, I turned towards the middle of the roof, jogged back a dozen big steps, and then turned to the edge, breaking into a full sprint. Legs pumping, arms moving, each stride moved me further. After a few, those strides were hops, and by the time I was on the ledge, I made one last tremendous push with both legs.

  A joyous cry cut through the air as I rocketed up and forward, arms and legs pinwheeling, wind blowing through my hair and sash. The feeling of freedom and speed was exhilarating, and fear was forgotten as the lights from the traffic below rushed by. Time seemed to slow as I crested the low arc of my leap. Gravity took hold and pulled me down towards the next rooftop.

  Instinctively, I held my arms out at my sides to try and control my descent, bracing my legs while keeping my knees loose. The roof rushed towards me but right before I would have slammed into it, my descent slowed to a touchdown that was as soft as landing on a feather bed. Soaking the last bits of force by bending my knees with it, I rolled forward and through the leap, coming up to my feet as if I was a circus acrobat.

  The rush of excitement raced through my veins, and I didn’t stop for a moment. From that roll, I kept running, picking up speed, steps turning into floating strides. With every alley, street, and building, every jump became surer and bigger, practically flying as the city rushed by. Before I knew it, I was landing lightly on the rooftop of my apartment building, the only thing weighing on me was the throbbing soreness still lingering in my shoulder.

  “Not bad, Ms. Miracle,” I whispered. “I’ve read about far worst first nights for a superheroine.”

  Sleeping that night was hard. Dreams of Paragon’s strong arms around me and nightmares of that Tank Buster bullet blowing through my body kept me tossing and turning. I woke up the next morning soaked with sweat. As much as I wanted to, though, I couldn’t ignore the incessant buzzing of the most annoying alarm clock I could find, bought entirely for the times like this. Rolling out of bed, I forced myself to face a normal day at the office.

  As Paragon guessed, my wound was healing amazingly fast. While it was still raw and tender, the hole in my shoulder had sealed to the point that most of the instant bandage pseudo-flesh had flaked off. It still ached like a bitch, but all it needed was some careful cleaning and a fresh bandage to be almost as right as rain. The rest of my morning routine from showering through make-up and dressing and on to the Auto-Annie ride to the Hudson Building went by in the dreary grind of routine.

  The entire cab ride, I found my eyes were not glued to my phone as usual. Instead, I looked longingly up through the concrete canyons of Downtown, remembering the joy of bounding between the rooftops.

  You would think that the life of an investigative reporter on the supers beat would be anything but rote, but on the day-to-day average, it was a job like any other. It didn’t help that Jackson had been giving me softball assignments and puff pieces to work on since the explosion, even though he knew I didn’t really need the time to recover. He meant well, though, and if I read his emotions right, he only wanted me to have time to adjust to the changes in my life the sudden onset of superpowers had brought.

  Still, I realized I had an amazing resource at my fingertips as I sat at my cubicle desk. Sure, it took about three cups of coffee and getting through a slog of e-mails and calls both in and out of the office, but it came to me before noon. If we needed evidence of Hardware’s activities and wrong-doing, well, what better source of information could I ask for than the New Harbor Sentinel’s database?

  I started opening browser frames on my desk’s integrated computer, the glass top acting as one big display. In one, I started a database search on supertech related crime reports starting in on the day of Hardware’s release from the Panopticon last week. While that ran, I dug through the reports of the release itself, surprised Jackson hadn’t put me on that story considering my past with the supervillain.

  The news story the Herald ran on the parole was uncharacteristically scarce, but it confirmed what Paragon had told me in broad strokes. The U.S. government must want something from the East Coast’s number one supplier of illegal supertech, something that only he could give them.

  “The Omniarmor,” I muttered to myself.

  After Hardware’s arrest and Omnitech’s own legal troubles in the aftermath of their collusion with him, the actual target of their scheme had gone missing. That pissed off the Marine Corps something fierce, no longer getting to have their prototype super power armor to play with, but the immediate assumption was that the nanomachine-powered suit had been destroyed or had simply broken down from lack of maintenance.

  But what if it hadn’t? It would have been the perfect bargaining chip for Hardware to use, or even if hadn’t survived, he may have analyzed it enough to replicate it. That would be even better in the government’s eyes.

  There was one man who might know more, the only person who I considered the least bit trustworthy that had touched the Omniarmor. It had been years since we last met when I presented the evidence from my investigation that saved him from criminal charges. I might have saved Major John Munroe, Jr. from a life in prison, but I couldn’t save him from the politically motivated court-martial that threw him out of the Marines. If I tracked him down, would he even give me the time of day after I failed him?

  That was when the Search Complete chime brought me out of my thoughts. Closing the parole story, I let out a low whistle at the ninety-two hits my search had come up with. It was a lot to sort through, and while it wasn’t nearly as fun as leaping through the skies or rewarding as taking down a trio of rapists, it could wind up being just as important.

  I fetched another cup of steaming coffee, cracked my knuckles, and dove in. Normally, a puzzle like this would get my undivided attention, but between Paragon and John Munroe, I spent almost as much time thinking of handsome men in one form of trouble or another.

  It didn’t help that many low-key super geniuses stepped into the void that Hardware’s arrest had caused. The huge market that catered to the superhuman population was as big for supervillains as it was for heroes, maybe even larger. After all, villains were more likely to have henchmen and gangs of normal humans that needed a ton of hardware to be worth a damn when the good guys came to stop their crimes. When Hardware was busted, imitators and successors came out of the woodwork and at least half of these reports were from those people, if not more.

  By lunchtime, all I had managed to do was cut out all the clear Johnny-come-latelies. What was left were a bunch of vague reports that could be attributed to any enterprising super arms dealer and a couple of possible specific hits. Chewing on the end of my stylus, I was about to dig deeper when Jackson appeared, still walking a bit … lopsided from our attempt at lovemaking the night before.

  “Hey, Chris,” he nodded with a smile.

  As he leaned against the cubicle opening, I turned my chair towards him, tucking my pencil behind my ear. Happiness mixed with a small undercurrent of wistful sadness and mild surprise wafted off him like a strong cologne. “What’s up, chief?” I said, putting on a smile for him.

  Jackson’s own smile brightened a shade and the wistfulness faded. “So, I received an unexpected request from an unexpecte
d person just now.”

  “If you could make that any vaguer, you should run for mayor,” I grumbled. He did this sort of thing on purpose, knowing that dangling unknowns in front of me was like jangling keys before a baby. “Could you maybe clarify some of that for my benefit?”

  “Robert Washington is the who.” I managed to keep my eye bulge of surprise to what would be reasonable for anyone. “The request is for the Sentinel to have one of its best reporters cover the 4th Annual Sarah Washington Charity Ball to help fund the New Harbor Philharmonic Orchestra.”

  Amusement joined the mix of emotions in Jackson’s smile. He knew better than anyone just how much of a superhero fangirl I was. Even if last night hadn’t happened, I would be drooling for a chance to cover this event, even if it was the puffiest of puff pieces.

  “That’s tonight.” I tried to keep a sense of professional propriety as I cleared my throat, fighting the tingles of heat that danced up and down my body. “Did he request a specific reporter, or are you asking for my input on who to send?”

  He shifted painfully for a moment, sending a twinge of guilt through me. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, but my guilt compounded when a bit of envy and an injection of jealousy colored Jackson’s emotions. “Odd that you should ask that. He did, actually.”

  My editor and former lover inclined his head at me. “He asked for you.”

  8

  A dozen questions were racing through my mind, but I had to keep priorities in mind. I would have to find a way to soothe Jackson’s hurt ego later while keeping my rampant speculation about whether Paragon knew who I was to a minimum. This could be a coincidence (unlikely) or a gathering of suspects (possibly), but what was certain was my job. If I was going to cover a fancy charity ball, I was going to handle it like any other assignment.