by Pen
“I can teleport to anywhere I know really well, or someplace I can see.” Warren sipped at his drink. “I always wanted to come to Hawaii, but TV shows and movies aren’t live images, and I can’t go to a place if I can’t see it live. Even most sports are on tape delay because of the time zone difference.”
“So how are you here at all then?”
“I found a live beach feed online and went for it. Scariest thing I’ve ever done. It felt like it took forever, but next thing I knew I was on the beach instead of in a strange house in Milwaukee. I walked around for awhile, sat on the beach, watched the surf.”
“And got your ’okole burnt up. You’re a ginger, brah, you’re always gonna be shark bait. Can you go back home?”
“No. The only place I know good enough back in Milwaukee is my folks’ graveside, and I don’t want to go back there.”
“So you’re stuck here.” Akamai knocked back some of his drink, relishing the burn in the back of his throat.
“Yeah. I heard about you and I thought maybe you could use a—”
“A what? A sidekick?”
Warren might have blushed, but Akamai couldn’t see it beneath the boy’s vicious sunburn. “A partner.”
Akamai burst out laughing, so loud he even surprised himself. Tourists looked up, whispered to each other about the strange native rituals, and went back to their fizzy pink and blue frozen concoctions. “Brah, you lolo. First of all, I never needed no wingman. I get all the wahine I want on my charm and good looks. And this glow don’t hurt either. Second, you’re just a kid. I could be liable or something. And third, what kind of weird sidekick would you be? I got the glow of the sun-kissed in me, and you teleport. That’s lame, haole.”
For a moment, Warren looked like he was about to cry again, and Akamai thought maybe he’d pushed the kid too far. Then the kid vanished right into thin air with a loud popping sound, as if someone had cracked open a huge bottle of wine. A sudden wind gust flipped Akamai’s hair. He glanced at the tourists in the bar. They were staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment. He put on a supreme effort to appear unfazed by the boy’s sudden disappearance.
“’K den.”
He finished his drink.
* * *
The rest of the day was as typically uneventful as most days in Hawaii. Akamai prowled the beaches, signed autographs (and also signed some really amazing breasts he was looking forward to encountering again by nightfall), took photos with tourists, and soaked up lots and lots of rays. By evening, he was glowing like an earthbound star, and had a couple of possible companions lined up for his evening’s entertainment.
“I want to make love on the beach,” said one of the girls. “It looks so romantic in the movies.”
“No, you no wanna do dat,” said Akamai, playing up his native accent as much as he could. Girls liked it when he seemed more exotic. “Get sand up in your ’okole. Mo’ better you come back to my place.”
“Yeah, but which one? I saw you first,” said the tall brunette with a pout.
“Yeah, but once you go black, you don’t want no white girls after that.” The girl with the chocolate skin and dreadlocks hiccuped and patted her belly. “Oof. I had a lot of daiquiris.”
Akamai put his arms over both their shoulders—having to stretch to reach the black girl’s, as she was a good eight or ten inches taller than him—and steered them toward his trailer. He realized he was about to cross a very specific item off his list of fantasies and his glow had grown a bit more pronounced because of it. “Ladies, ladies. No need to scrap over me. I got plenty to go ‘round.”
The girls tittered and Akamai walked a little faster.
But when his trailer drew into sight, he pulled up short. The lights were on. He never left the lights on. Most of the time, his personal glow was sufficient illumination and the rest of the time, he used candles, because girls loved that kind of thing. If the lights were on, it meant someone else was inside the trailer, and given recent events, he has a pretty fair idea who that might be.
He looked to his left, then to his right. He wondered if either—or both, to be fair—of the lovely creatures clutching at his forearms would be around the following evening. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could find suitable companion, but finding two of them willing to play in a threesome? That might be a good long while yet.
“Ladies, I am super sorry, but I’m gonna have to say good night now. Aloha.”
The girls both went “Awwww,” in stereo and pouted so sexily that Akamai almost gave in anyway. But no, he had to man up and do some adulting.
Hand in hand, the girls walked back toward the hotel, looking so fine in the torchlight of the beach that he almost called them back over just so he could watch them walk away one more time. Instead, he turned back to his trailer. “Man, I’m gonna kill that lolo haole,” he muttered.
He pushed open the door and there was Warren, sitting on Akamai’s ratty couch, watching Akamai’s TV, and eating a bag of popcorn from the stand at the end of the beach. He saw Akamai. “Oh, hey.”
Akamai sighed. “Kid, what you doing here?”
“Watching Cinemax. They show boobies.”
Akamai felt like punching himself in the face to put himself out of his misery. “Kid, I know they show boobies. I was gonna get hold of some real ones if you hadn’t been here. Two pairs, haole. You know how rare that is?”
Warren scrunched up his face. “You met a girl with four boobs?”
“No, kid. You really are from Milwaukee, huh?”
“Not no more. I live here now.”
“Not in my trailer, you don’t.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Haole, I really don’t care.”
“What’s that mean? That name you keep calling me?”
“Haole? It just means white dude.”
“Oh, I thought you were being mean.”
“No, kid. It’s just . . .” Akamai paused as a close-up of a truly spectacular pair of tits graced the TV screen.
“Da-a-a-amn,” he and Warren said together. Then they looked at each other and matched smiles.
“Look, kid, I get it. You need a place to stay. You need ohana. That’s family. You don’t wanna get it here, ‘kay? I’m just a glorified beach bum. I got a lame power and if I lived anywhere else but Hawaii, I wouldn’t be nothing at all.”
“One day. Just give me one day. Let me be a superhero with you. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll find somewhere else to go. If it does, though . . . If I make a good sidekick, you have to promise to keep me around.”
Akamai had no intention to say any such thing, so it surprised him completely to hear himself say Roger dat.
* * *
For the first time in his recent memory, Akamai awakened the next morning without having had any female companionship the evening before. He stirred, trying to collect his sleep-jumbled thoughts. What had awakened him? There was an unfamiliar scent in the air of his trailer, like something was . . . burning!
He sprang out of bed, his glow casting odd shadows upon the walls, and raced down the short hall to his kitchen. He skidded to a halt as he saw what the lolo haole had wrought upon his kitchen.
Warren had bread in a frying pan, dripping with butter, and had just cracked an egg into a hole in the middle of it.
“What the . . .” Akamai couldn’t even. Not yet. Not before . . .
“I made coffee,” said Warren, grinning behind his sunburn. “I figured you probably wanted some. And eggs and toast. That’s like the only thing I know how to make.”
“But . . . I don’t have any eggs. Or bread. Or butter.”
“Yeah, I know. I got up early and went to the market up the beach. I, uh, said you’d be by later to pay for it. They were cool with that.”
“Course they were. This is Hawaii, haole. Everyone is chill here. But you didn’t need to do that.”
Warren flipped over the piece of fried bread with the egg in it. Akamai had to admit it sm
elled really good. The extent of his cooking skills was limited to pushing the right buttons on the microwave. “I wanted to. I want you to keep me around.”
“I promised you one day, kid. Nothing else.”
“So let’s make the most of it. Let’s go patrol.” Warren handed Akamai a plate of food.
Akamai grabbed a fork and shoveled it in, even though it was steaming hot. He was determined not to enjoy it, but the creamy, eggy center mixed with the perfectly-toasted bread and butter to make a tremendously satisfying meal. “Oh man, that just about broke da mouth.”
Warren grinned. “Is that good?”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
“Can we go patrol now? I mean after you have your coffee?”
Akamai poured himself a cup. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had coffee at home instead of from the shop up the beach. “What exactly do you think patrolling is?”
“Uh . . . Walking around, looking for trouble to stop? People to save?”
Akamai shook his head. “No, it’s more complicated than that. It’s . . .”
“What?”
“Okay, so maybe that is what it is. But you got to know where to look in the first place.”
“On the beach, right? Isn’t that your beat?”
“My beat? You make me sound like a cop.”
“Well, aren’t you?”
Akamai was getting frustrated. “No! Well, kinda. Shoot. Maybe you’re right.”
Warren held up a plastic tube in one hand and one of the cheap fake straw hats from the tourist gift shop. “I got some sunscreen and a hat, so I won’t burn so bad today. Can we go?” He nodded at Akamai’s glow, noticeably fainter than normal. “You look like you need some sun.”
Akamai sighed, wondering which of the Hawaiian gods he’d offended to get saddled with the kid from Milwaukee. Oh well, it was only for one day. He could tolerate anything for one day.
* * *
Two hours later, Akamai wasn’t so sure.
Warren had an unending stream of questions for Akamai, most of which he had no idea how to begin to answer. What was it like to be a superhero? Pretty cool, mostly. Did he see a lot of action? Outside of his bedroom, not really. Why was that? Probably because no supervillain gonna come to Hawaii to beef when they can come to chill on the beach and soak up some sun.
It seemed like every time Akamai saw a girl smile at him with a twinkle in her eye, Warren stepped into his line of sight to ask another inane question about how did he choose where to patrol or did he have a special hotline for people to call if they needed his help.
At last, Akamai had enough. He stopped trudging along the shore, unmoved by the graceful sparkling waves, the sweeping arc of blue sky, the pristine white and gold sands, the breeze scented with sea salt and coconut lotion. “Kid,” he said. “This ain’t gonna work out. I think you better move on.”
A flashing in his eyes distracted him. Exasperated, he turned back to look out at the ocean and see what was trying to blind him. The flash was coming from one of those overpriced tourist boats. Someone was reflecting sunlight toward him, which would normally do nothing but power him up except now it was irritating him. Then he saw someone standing on the deck waving a red flag back and forth, and realized it was an actual call for help.
“Hey, you see that? Someone needs our help!” Warren almost bounced up and down like an excitable puppy.
“And they’re gonna get it, too, soon as I find me a jetski to borrow.”
“You don’t need a jetski,” said Warren. “I can carry you.” He seized Akamai’s hand. A sudden icy breath washed over Akamai. His world became a swirl of dark and light, like cream diffusing through coffee. All the air rushed out of his lungs into the void beyond, leaving him nothing with which to scream.
Just as quickly, he returned to the warmth of sunlight and a hard, swaying deck had appeared beneath his feet. He realized he was standing beside Warren on the boat.
“Oh thank God,” said the gorgeous blonde in the blue and green string bikini. Three other equally hot wahine clutched themselves in fear and excitement, all different shades of sun-darkened skin, bottle-bleached hair, and smelling of lotion.
Akamai slipped into his best working-it personality almost unconsciously. “Ladies, what seems to be the hurrrk—” A sudden upset stomach made him lean over the rail and puke without any warning. “Ugh.”
“Sorry, dude,” said Warren. “Sometimes that happens. What’s the problem, ladies?”
“Ohmigawd, are you guys actually superheroes?” one of the girls gushed. “Our engine thingie stopped and won’t start again. We’re, like, totally adrift! You have to help us!”
Akamai wiped his mouth, feeling completely off his game. He started to reply but Warren beat him to it.
“Don’t worry,” said the chubby ginger. “We’re here to help you. Come on, Akamai, let’s go look at the engine.”
“But I . . .” Akamai leaned in to Warren. “I don’t know anything about engines.”
“It’s cool, bro,” Warren said. “I got this.” He half-led, half-pulled Akamai to the back of the boat. The aft, Akamai remembered. On boats it was called the aft.
“What are you even doing, haole?” Akamai watched as Warren undid some wing screws on the casing over the outboard motor.
The sunburnt kid pried it off. “Ha! Just as I suspected. You’re missing a fuse wire.” He held up a frayed piece of wire or cable.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Something wasn’t right, but Akamai couldn’t figure it out.
“Don’t worry, I’m on the case. You keep the sharks away from the boat and I’ll go get a new amperwatt connector to fix this bad boy right up.” Warren evaporated into thin air.
“Wait,” whispered Akamai after him. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“O. M. G. Are there sharks?” one of the girls shrieked. “Are we going to die?”
Akamai concentrated his light and made some seawater boil. “Not, uh, not while I’m here. Ladies.” They cooed and squealed in approval and Akamai shot more heat rays into the water. “Take that! And that! No sharks here, brah. Paddle on.”
Warren reappeared on the deck, holding a piece of wire. “Got it, bro. Everything golden here?”
“Uh, yeah. Shoots.”
Warren connected the wire to two different places in the engine. “Try starting it now?”
The shortest of the blondes went to the wheel and touched the starter. The engine coughed and then started. “Yay, it works!” she cheered.
“Our heroes!” said one of the others, and she wrapped her arms around Warren and gave him a big kiss on the lips.
The third duplicated her friend’s gratitude upon Akamai. She was a damn good kisser. “Girl, you just ‘bout broke da mouth.”
She lowered her eyelids in a sultry way. “That’s not all I’m going to break, you gorgeous superhero.”
Akamai glanced over at Warren. The kid was making out with the other blonde like she was starving and he was a buffet. The kid had set all this up, somehow. He’d played Akamai, played the girls just like a pro. “Hey, haole.”
Warren disengaged himself from the girl’s kisses. “Yeh?”
“Okay, you can stay.”
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SMOKE SHADOW AND SHADE
Landon Porter
“—brings to five the number of Chicago police officers injured while off duty just this month. CPD spokesperson Micheal Howie denies any connection between these incidents and the ongoing crackdown against the terroristic Corbin Street Gang, which has been described as open war since the near fatal torture of CPD Sergeant James Lawson late last year. Howe also denied that last night’s assault on a presumed Corbin weapons cache was the work of the vigilante known as The Shade. If you will recall, the assault left eight alleged members of the notorious and brutal gang hospitalized, some in critical condition.”
The television clicked off.
“He’s getting worse,” Candace McC
artney murmured to herself as she dropped the remote on her kitchen table and shifted her attention to what was taking up most of said table’s surface. She’d placed a paper map of Chicago, marked in red where confirmed reports of appearances by The Shade had taken place and in green where possible sightings had been reported, front and center. Next to it was a bowl of water scented by various herbs with a silver cross pendant at the bottom. There was also a small baggie of white sand, the lid off a peanut butter jar holding an aromatic oil, and a cheap pen knife she’d just purchased from the convenience store down the block.
There are two kinds of witches in the Hollywood style of things: striking exotic beauties who hid sorcerous deeds behind feminine wiles and hideous hags whose evil was rivaled only by their foulness.
Candace was best described as ’cute’ with a round, youthful face, large brown eyes and a perpetual friendly look to her even with—as it was now—her face was creased by a worried expression.
But a witch was what she was; a self-taught practitioner who just happened to come across a book of spells that worked—a literal Book of Shadows. In a few short months, it had changed the way she saw the world. Tonight, she hoped she might use it to change the world itself for the better.
The first step, she mused as she extracted the cross pendant from the water bowl, was finding a man who was doing just that already—before he changed for the worse.
* * *
“Be careful with those! Those are rockets—rockets!” Bertram LeBlanc slammed the heel of his hand against the side of the truck his men were loading for emphasis, ignoring the fact that there were already boxes of grenades and rockets on board. “You want to make things explode or you want to be the one exploding? Think!”
He mopped sweat from his brow with his sleeve before adjusting the machine gun with under-slung grenade launcher where it hung at his side from a strap. “You see what idiots you send me as new recruits? All I ask is they follow orders and they’re throwing crates of rockets into the truck. Throwing.”
