by Lexie Dunne
A buzz started as I stepped into the center of the room. The CRT monitors on the wall all flickered to life at the same time. For one cranky moment before the picture faded in, I wondered why it wasn’t possible to put all necessary information into a simple email. Why be so dramatic that we had to come down to the Feared Five’s old headquarters? What even was this Perihelion Protocol?
Not a protocol, I saw as the image sharpened into focus. A person. One I knew.
“Hey, Sal,” I said as the bartender of Mind the Boom’s face filled the screens.
“Gail.” She nodded at me with her usual brusqueness. Other than that time I’d wrecked her bar, I still didn’t know why she didn’t like me. “How much has Jessie told you?”
Jessie. Not Raptor. I tucked that distinction aside, wondering how a bartender had access to the Raptor’s ultrasecret base. “She hasn’t told me much. She gave me the passcode for a protocol, and that was it,” I said.
“She didn’t tell you who I was?”
I shook my head.
“Interesting.” Sal had some kind of wall behind her, fake wood paneling from the seventies. She must be in the Mind the Boom office. Without her eye patch in place, her bionic eye scanned across the screen, occasionally causing red light flares across the camera lens. “I was led to understand that there would be only one of you.”
“I’m Raptorlet, and this is my team,” I said, though it wasn’t technically true of Naomi. “Whatever Jessie intended for me to learn, they can know, too. Why did Jessie tell me to activate this protocol and what does a supervillain bar have to do with any of this?”
“Hold on a second. I hate talking to a camera.” Sal did something offscreen that made the buzzing around us change in pitch.
I blinked, and I was standing in the middle of Mind the Boom. For one panicked second, I thought I’d somehow ʼported there, but the buzzing never changed. Hologram, I realized, looking about. There was the tacky nautical-themed décor, the fish nets and faded giant crabs and starfish. The booth layout had changed since the last time I’d been in the bar. The Hostage Girl selfie wall of fame remained stubbornly fixed in place. I chose not to look at it, even though Naomi wandered over. Thirty Polaroids of an unconscious me with shutter-happy supervillains was something I’d only needed to see once in my life.
“Neat trick,” I said to Sal’s hologram, who stood by the bar, now bearing an eye patch.
“It helps me feel more at home. Take a seat, if you like.”
I chose one of the shorter servers, which had been disguised as a bar stool. “You didn’t answer my question. Why does this base have a direct connection to a supervillain bar?”
“You think Mind the Boom is just a bar?” She chuckled.
Well, now I didn’t.
“I wish this were an actual bar,” Naomi said. “Like less than an hour ago, I had tiny robots in my bloodstream. I could use a drink.”
Angélica remained standing with her arms folded over her chest, though I could see her injured leg quivering subtly. “Who are you to Jessie?” she asked Sal.
“We’re colleagues. She installed me at Mind the Boom seven years ago. I’m its guardian and Chicago’s greatest kept secret. Only her assistant knew.” Sal mimicked Angélica’s stance. “Guess I’d better show you the video.”
Sal snapped her fingers and the hologram shifted until one of the old monitors on the wall became visible, right in the middle of a tacky orange life saver. Footage began to roll. A very young Kurt Davenport stepped into frame, leading a group of men and women around an industrial park in some kind of tour. From the suits and the graininess, I placed the time line somewhere in the fifties or sixties.
The woman in the floral print dress and cat eye glasses at his side made me and Angélica take simultaneous deep breaths. Rita had been a brunette in her youth. She smiled playfully at the investors, apparently the coquettish young miss. Angélica and I both shifted uncomfortably as the camera followed the tour, stopping at various labs to point out new inventions. A mechanical arm stole Kurt Davenport’s watch at one point, to the delight of those gathered around him.
“Why are we watching this?” I asked, and Naomi shushed me.
In the next clip, I recognized Drs. Sarah Mann and Victor Singh showing a set of controls. The camera panned over the gigantic, state-of-the-air sterile room behind them, though I had no idea what that could mean. With Kurt standing proudly between them, there stood three of the members of the Feared Five. Invisible Victor, Phantom Fuel, and the original Raptor.
When a woman with a voluminous bob stepped forward and began to ask questions of the two scientists, I recognized the fourth member: Gail Garson, intrepid reporter. They were only missing the Cheetah.
This must have been the explosion that had started the Feared Five’s powers.
“Dr. Mann and Dr. Singh were on the edge of a new breakthrough in sustainable energy,” Sal said. “Gail Garson and a cameraman were allowed to be on-site the first time they fired up the experiment. In fact, they kept most of the staff away, too, so the facility was mostly empty that night. Both scientists, the owner and his young wife, a reporter, a cameraman, and a security guard. Who, unbeknownst to the others, had ordered a pizza.”
The video changed to a clip of Dr. Mann firing up the machine. Light emanated from the center of that clean room beyond the controls, growing brighter and brighter until the screen went white. There wasn’t any sound to accompany the video, but all three of us flinched at the inevitable explosion.
The origin of the Feared Five. And Rita Detmer.
The picture returned within seconds. Blurry and out of focus, it tilted like the camera had been knocked askew. In the foreground, I could see a body, indistinct at this distance, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine that it might be the unfortunate cameraman.
Beyond the body, the explosion had turned into a giant fireball before everything had gone white. It should have vanished, or finished combusting. But it remained, a giant, swirling vortex of orange-and-red power. Sparks shot from it, scoring burn marks along the walls of the clean room. Dr. Mann, glasses broken, had both hands raised to the vortex-explosion, straining mightily. We watched Dr. Singh, his body flickering in and out like a bad signal, suddenly warp to the other side of the room, and the explosion turned the same blue as his powers.
The body in the foreground moved. Not the cameraman, I saw, but Kurt Davenport with a bleeding gash over his left eye. He looked over his shoulder, shouted soundlessly at the scientists, and then turned back to the camera. Grimly, he turned it off.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, standing up and pointing even though the video had been replaced by the hologram of the life saver. “That thing. That explosion. What was it?”
“It’s what Rita Detmer is looking for,” Sal said. “We call it the Provenance.”
“It was a little big to fit inside Mind the Boom,” Naomi said. She glanced at Angélica and me for affirmation. “Right? I wasn’t imagining how massive that thing was?”
“It’s only grown bigger,” Sal said. “Dr. Mann and Dr. Singh spent the rest of their lives attempting to stabilize it, and so far their methods have worked. But it has the potential, if unleashed, to destroy all of Chicago. Seven years ago, it was moved to a new facility. I was put in place as Mind the Boom’s proprietor and the Provenance’s guardian. The only safe way to reach it is through me.”
Silence fell as we all gaped at her.
“You’re telling me,” I said for the three of us, “that there’s a device out there capable of leveling an entire city, and we deliberately set up a supervillain bar over its access point?”
“Yes,” Sal said.
“On purpose. We did that intentionally,” I said, just to make sure.
She gave me a patient look.
“How,” Naomi asked, “are we not dead?”
“The best way to hide something is in plain sight. And up ’til now, it’s worked. But it looks like our time’s run out.” Sh
e reached under the bar and pulled out a shotgun, craning her neck to look out the windows at something the hologram didn’t show. She aimed at the door. “Hope you read the files on Rita, Raptor. You’re going to need them.”
The door to the bar slammed open, and people in bright costumes began pouring in. Sal fired off two shots. She launched herself into the air, flying across the bar. As she did, she burst into purple flame, barreling straight for the door as Rita Detmer stepped inside.
The hologram flickered and died, leaving us in the old base, stunned speechless.
Chapter 22
“Sal!” I leapt forward even though I knew Sal and the villains were hundreds of miles away. In the echo of emptiness left behind, my heart pounded. If Raptor and a hundred other HEX members couldn’t take out Rita Detmer, Sal the Bartender didn’t have a hope in hell of doing so either. Even though she’d burst into flame—and something seemed eerily familiar about that—she couldn’t fight Rita on her own.
Which meant we didn’t have long.
I turned to Angélica, whose face had settled into grim determination. As one, we glanced at Naomi.
“Go, go,” she said, already running for the door. “Don’t wait for me, I know my way out.”
Angélica phased first, and I followed on her heels. She had to pause at the end of every phase so I blitzed past her, gathering energy with every turn. Mercifully, I didn’t even hit the corner I normally clipped even at regular speed. I phased right into the center of the hub, stopping in front of Eddie. Paperwork flew up in a vortex around me as I unleashed the energy. I heard a coffee mug crack and wanted to wince.
“We’ve got a problem,” I said. “Rita’s in Chicago.”
“You think?” Eddie gave me a thoroughly peevish look as he pointed at the monitors.
I glanced over, then did a double take. I recognized that Ferris wheel. Even worse, I recognized several of the people that had been chained to the exterior of it. Just like I knew most of the brightly colored uniforms guarding the sky around said hostages and Ferris wheel.
How the hell had Rita’s people gotten the hostages out of New York and onto the Centennial Wheel at Navy Pier so quickly? They hadn’t even been abducted that long ago.
“I appreciate the update,” Eddie went on sarcastically, “but we’ve got other things to worry about, go back to your corner and—”
“Rita’s not at Navy Pier,” I said.
Angélica finally reached us. She glanced about at the still-settling tornado of papers and broken ceramics I’d kicked up. “Rita’s at Mind the Boom,” she told Eddie without preamble.
“Oh, she’s having a drink, is she?” Eddie said.
Curse the Davenports and their penchant for keeping secrets away from each other. “Navy Pier is just a distraction. The real target is Mind the Boom,” I said.
“This distraction,” Eddie said, emphasizing every syllable of the word, “happens to include the mayor and half of the city council of New York City, all of whom are currently dangling from a Ferris wheel that I’m not entirely sure is safe on its own. So pardon me if I treat it as a priority.”
I ignored the dig about the Centennial Wheel—if there was one thing Chicagoans knew, it was architecture—and stepped into his path. “I’m telling you, Mind the Boom has to be the bigger priority. Send everybody you can there. Right now.”
“You—” He broke off as every news channel cut to the multicolored off-the-air slate. “Good lord, what now?”
The screens filled with shaky handheld footage of the Centennial Wheel, gleaming in the midafternoon sun. The camera zoomed in on a man in his midforties chained to one of the cars near the top. “Greetings,” said Mr. Midas, who had somehow broken out of Davenport custody. “Everybody, meet Dennis. He’s a waiter. He’s one of you. Just a normal, average Joe. Nothing special.” The camera scuffled about.
“Get me everything you have on Dennis,” Eddie barked at his team.
Mr. Midas appeared in front of the camera. “Soon, I’m going to set this entire wheel on fire. See Dennis? Dennis will die a horrible, flaming death if you don’t listen to my demands.”
“This is a distraction,” I said to Angélica, frustration making me want to stomp my feet.
“Here are my demands,” Mr. Midas said, and began to list several fairly absurd requests. Why he wanted twenty-four ferrets, I didn’t want to know.
“We need to go to Chicago,” Angélica said. “Grab what you need, and I’ll get the files on Rita. Meet me at the jet.”
“—and the deed to at least twelve beachfront homes in Miami,” Mr. Midas said, finishing out his ransom demands. “I’m feeling a little pasty. Deliver all of these to the account listed at the bottom of the screen within three hours, and Dennis gets to live. Say hi, Dennis!” The last was shouted at the very terrified man dangling from the top of the Ferris wheel.
Needless to say, Dennis did not wave back.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Mr. Midas said as I stalked toward the armory. “Bring me Hostage Girl.”
As one, everybody in the room turned to look at me. My pulse had frozen temporarily at the sound of my old handle. I scoffed. “I’m going, I’m going,” I said before Eddie could speak. “Chicago, Navy Pier. I’ve got it.”
I phased out before anybody could think of grabbing me to ensure that I hadn’t been lying.
But of course I was lying. I wasn’t going to Navy Pier at all. Somebody had to stop Rita from getting to the Provenance, wherever it was. And I had a horrible, sinking, doomed feeling that somebody might end up being me.
I grabbed the Raptor armor and every single gadget that I thought might be helpful from the armory. I must have looked ridiculous, a tiny woman buried under three bulging bags of gear. When I swung into the jet, I found not only Angélica, but Naomi and Kiki waiting for me there, too. Vicki flew in right behind me, bumping her shoulder against a jump seat. Guy, in his Blaze gear, hopped up the ramp.
“Hail, hail,” Vicki said, stealing the copilot seat, “the gang’s all here.”
Angélica gave her a dirty look and reached up to shut the hatch. Right before she did, I heard “Wait up! I’m coming, too!”
Rodrigo hauled himself up and squeezed through the last foot of space as the ramp closed. He wore his armor, and smelled vaguely of sewage and Hudson River water. “We’re going to Navy Pier, right?” he asked as Angélica punched the engine, sending the jet skyward.
“Not quite,” said a new voice, and all of us jumped as Jeremy’s avatar appeared in the middle of the jet. He looked at me. “That’s right, isn’t it? We’re not going to Navy Pier. We’re taking on the big kahuna.”
Rita would hate that nickname. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I need to do some research.”
Vicki gave me a disbelieving look. Research? Before a battle? I could only shrug at her as I made my way up to the front of the cockpit, stepping through Jeremy’s avatar—we’d never had this many people in the Raptorjet before—so I could reach Angélica. “Did you find those files?” I asked.
She held them up over her shoulder. One was marked Fearless and the other Provenance. How Rita had missed finding the latter while ransacking the base, I didn’t know. I shoved that file at Naomi and snagged a jump seat, flipping open Rita’s file instead.
“What’s happening?” Guy asked.
“Rita’s using Navy Pier as a distraction. She’s actually after something in, possibly below, or adjacent to Mind the Boom.”
“The supervillain bar?” Rodrigo asked. “She wants a drink at a time like this?”
“Hell, I want a drink at a time like this,” Kiki said, looking more than a little harassed. Having to perform surgery on her girlfriend on the same day she’d discovered a mole out to get her in her own company—not the first time this had happened—had clearly begun to take a toll.
“There’s a wet bar in the back,” I said, studying the first page of Rita’s file. It listed her birth date, maiden name, and hometown. She’d apparently been
born about two miles from where I’d grown up. God, I hoped that wasn’t a sign that we were somehow fatalistically linked. Raze was enough of a mortal enemy. I skipped past all of the details about her young marriage to Kurt Davenport, the birth of the twins, and then focused on everything listed in the file from the explosion onward. She’d been pregnant with Marcus at the time of the explosion, I realized with horror, glancing once toward Kiki. Kiki’s father had been present, even if he could never possibly remember it.
Had that led to the Villain Syndrome?
The next page was where things grew more terrifying. Psychiatrist notes described a woman who grew ever more calculating and erratic. They noted an obsession with the explosion at the lab, which wasn’t unusual in itself. The focus on that obsession, though, began to give the doctor some concern. Rita Detmer somehow believed that it was incomplete and needed to see it through. His notes indicated that he thought Rita might be in danger of displaying pyromaniacal tendencies.
It wasn’t a bad conclusion, based on what he was working with. For Rita, a loss of empathy followed, then signs of emotional detachment, and disassociation. Her family seemed to be her only touchstone. A prescribed course of rehabilitation listed made me grateful we no longer lived in that time period as I flipped the page.
Finally, I reached the page listing her powers. Near invulnerability—I knew that much. Enhanced speed: I’d experienced that myself. The words Suspected Precognition jumped out at me. No wonder fighting Rita had always been like trying to fight my own shadow. She’d known ahead of time what I was going to do. She’d never have to fear a single opponent. Fearless.
The name finally clicked.
I groaned out loud, which made all conversation in the jet cabin abruptly cease. “What is it?” Guy asked.
“She’s precognitive!”
