Chaste Widow
Edmund Hughes
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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Edmund Hughes
Kindle Edition
CONTENTS
Contents
Chaste Widow
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 1
The car’s tires let out a hideous screech as it skidded around the corner, ricocheting off a parked car as it went. A car alarm began sounding an instant later, no doubt waking half of the sleepy Vanderbrook neighborhood.
Malcolm was in pursuit. He pushed himself through the air with his wind manipulation, sizing up his fleeing opponents. There’d been a botched robbery that night. Several people had been shot dead in a liquor store, including the owner, and the perpetrators had only escaped with a few wallets after discovering that the cash register was practically empty.
The car was a four-door sedan with five people in it. He felt bad for whoever was being pulverized in the center seat in back, especially given what he was about to do next. Malcolm adjusted his speed with the wind, matching the car’s speed, and then carefully descended, landing prone on top of its roof.
“Hey!” he shouted, banging down with his fist. “Pull over, morons. You can’t escape me.”
He wasn’t sure if they’d heard him or not, but one of them had stuck his head out of the window, and had definitely seen him. Malcolm’s costume was simple, consisting of just sweatpants, an ironically named “wind runner” style jacket, and a black ski mask.
But it was also very recognizable, given how often he’d been on the news over the past few days. They knew that the “Gifted Vigilante,” Vanderbrook’s renegade defender with unorthodox methods and unknown motives, was after them. What would they do next?
Several bullets blasted through the car’s roof, one of them missing Malcolm’s crotch by about an inch. He made a noise of mocking disbelief, less because he didn’t think that they’d shoot at him, and more over the fact that they’d fired a gun multiple times inside of a car.
Well, if I did have a chance at convincing them with words, it’s gone now. Hope they enjoy their tinnitus.
Malcolm gave the car’s roof a not so affectionate punch, and then pushed off into the air again. He circled overhead, content to let them make the next move.
The car pulled off the main street, speeding down a long alleyway. They weren’t attempting to lose Malcolm, as far as he could tell, but a small helicopter that had been trailing after the getaway car, keeping it in spotlight. Malcolm assumed that it was the local news, given how much Vanderbrook’s police presence had dimmed over the past few weeks.
He twisted through the air, tossing himself forward with his wind manipulation until he was ahead of the car, and then landing on the roof of the building directly to the left of the alley’s exit. Malcolm took a slow, focusing breath, and reached his awareness out toward his second superpower.
“Oh, you gentlemen are going to have a surprise waiting for you,” muttered Malcolm.
And gentleladies too, of course. Probably better not to assume anything about the genders of this little band of thieves.
He grinned as fire coalesced over his palm, forming into a sphere the size of a basketball. It was his brother Danny’s power… or had been. Malcolm was still learning the ins and outs of heat manipulation, but he knew enough to create fireballs, and as he’d quickly discovered, there was a lot that could be accomplished with a globe of flame and a little bit of moxie.
He launched it down toward the tiny alleyway exit. As it hit the ground, Malcolm shifted to his other power, feeding the fire blast oxygen with the wind until it spread to form a wall of flame, blocking off the criminals’ escape.
The screech of tires filled the air again. The car had too much speed to be able to stop in time. Malcolm wondered whether any of the occupants would require a change of underwear, before deciding that it probably wasn’t their most pressing worry.
As soon as the driver of the car realized that they would hit the fire no matter what, the car sped back up. Malcolm heard a muffled cacophony of screams as it passed through the wall of inferno.
He’d tried that trick a couple of times before. Usually, the driver of the car stopped. Malcolm stroked his chin, very curious about whether the passengers had escaped injury. He watched the car as it took a sharp corner and then crossed over a grass median and onto a road that led to the outskirts of town.
Malcolm followed slowly. Over the past couple of weeks, his job as a super vigilante had provided a great deal of insight into how easy it would be to overuse his powers. He could already feel the heady euphoria and manic confusion pulling at him, pushing him toward hitting the car with a fire blast and being done with it.
Not today. That’s not how the Gifted Vigilante does things, despite how the media likes to portray me.
Instead, he moved from building to building, keeping the car in sight but not attempting to overtake it. The helicopter had given up pursuit, which was just as well. Usually the video footage the news took of him was edited to fit their narrative, instead of the truth.
The car was speeding down an empty road, out of Vanderbrook’s populated neighborhoods. That was ideal, as far as Malcolm was concerned. If things had to get messy, he would prefer not to have to worry about stray bullets hitting innocents. Or, accidentally setting a house on fire, something which he’d discovered was far easier to do than expected.
Malcolm followed with long, super power leaps, each one carrying him several hundred feet. He never actually touched down, instead using his wind manipulation to double jump each time he came within a few feet of the ground. He saw the car pull onto a new road and slow down. He smiled, amused at the fact that they thought they’d lost him.
CHAPTER 2
Malcolm got the feeling that it wasn’t the first time that this particular group of criminals had pulled a stickup job. Crime had exploded across Vanderbrook in the aftermath of Savior’s exile.
Demons and sprytes, emboldened by the Champion Authority’s weakened state, had been the catalyst for a complete loss of law and order. Regular criminals had, like the ambitious entrepreneurs they were, taken advantage of the chaos.
The car drove by several old buildings, and then pulled into an abandoned auto garage, the door closing behind it. Malcolm adjusted his sunglasses, mak
ing sure his disguise was still in place, and then headed after them.
I should probably knock first, before heading inside.
He still had enough stored heat in his body for a few more fireballs. He made a small one in his hand, knowing that it wouldn’t take much to cause damage to a building that was probably full of old oil rags and stray gas cans. He took aim at a small, open window, and hurled his blast forward.
Malcolm heard air rush from the resulting impact of the flames, followed by several surprised screams. He scratched at his chin and waited, smiling as smoke began to trickle up from inside of the building. It reminded him of watching something burn inside an oven.
His opponents came out of the garage to meet him, eight of them in total. Too many for Malcolm to feel comfortable taking on, if he’d had a choice about it. A bald man with a scruffy beard appeared to be their leader, and he stepped forward to point an angry finger in Malcolm’s direction.
“We’re not afraid of you, fucker,” shouted the bald man. “We’ve fought demons before.”
“First of all, no you haven’t,” said Malcolm. “Do you want to know how I know? Because you’re still alive.”
Even the weakest monsters Malcolm had encountered usually packed enough of a punch to take care of a disorganized group of gun toting thugs.
“And secondly, you got me all wrong,” he continued. “I’m not a–”
The opening salvo of gunshots popped off in loud, rapid succession. Malcolm deflected one of them using his wind manipulation, and then immediately dove for cover behind an old, rusty car. He had superpowers, but he wasn’t invincible. It was a fact that had become increasingly evident to him over the past few weeks.
“Shoot him in the fucking head!” shouted the bald man.
Malcolm forced himself to stay calm, waiting until one of the thugs had enough courage to attempt to rush into the open. He moved with wind assisted speed, flying forward and slamming a fist into the thug’s stomach.
More gunshots rang out. Malcolm pulled the thug to the ground with him, surprised that his fellows had so little qualms with the potential for friendly fire. He disarmed the man for good measure, and then leapt into the air with his wind manipulation.
“He’s in the air!” shouted one of them.
It was too dark for any of them to track him effectively. Malcolm rose up a few dozen feet, and then descended directly into the center of the group. He pushed out hard with the wind in all directions as he landed, knocking loose a few guns and stunning all of them.
“He’s–” The nearest thug, the one who’d shouted about him being in the air, took Malcolm’s fist to his face before he could proceed to state the obvious again. Malcolm spun, kicking out behind him and catching another one in the chest.
I need strategy, not brute force. This fight isn’t going to last long if I try to be Rambo.
As if in response to his thought, one of the thugs opened fire with their weapon. Malcolm ducked in time to avoid getting shot, but several of the shooter’s friends weren’t so lucky. Malcolm knocked a man off his feet with a wind assisted push, and rolled back into cover behind a pile of old tires.
“You fucking shot me!” screamed one of the thugs.
“It was an accident!” said another. “He was in the middle of us. I couldn’t let him–”
Malcolm heard the sound of someone getting punched.
“Hey!” snapped a different man. “Jeremy was trying to fucking help. At least he had the guts to pull the trigger.”
Somebody fired another shot, and somebody else screamed. Malcolm glanced at the scene from his vantage point, watching in disbelief as the criminals eyed each other suspiciously. He cleared his throat.
“Gentleman,” said Malcolm. “It’s been fun, but I think I’m going to have to call it a night.”
He called the wind. The pile of tires in front of him spread out into the air, circled overhead as each individual rubber projectile picked up speed, and then struck the group of thugs with more intensity than a hailstorm. More shots were fired, though Malcolm wasn’t sure if they’d been aimed at him, or at the tires.
Two men remained standing at the end of it. Malcolm rushed forward, disarming the one that still held a pistol with a concentrated blast of wind. He threw a punch at the other and surprised by how effectively the man blocked it.
Malcolm took a step back as the man countered. He fumbled to guard his head, barely managing to block the strike. The man was light on his feet and exploded into a follow up, grappling and getting a hold of one of Malcolm’s arms.
Big mistake. I’m basically a hot stove.
Malcolm pushed heat into the section of his forearm the man had a grip on and heard him let out a surprised yelp. Immediately, Malcolm spun, twisting himself with the wind and throwing an elbow into the thug’s face. The strike was solid, and the man crumpled into a limp heap on the ground.
He spent a couple of minutes gathering up all the weapons he could find and melting the barrels with his heat manipulation. He called 911, though given how barebones the police presence in Vanderbrook had been lately, he didn’t expect them to arrive for a while.
CHAPTER 3
With the thugs defeated and unconscious, there wasn’t much left for Malcolm to do. He took a look around the inside of the garage, melted a few more guns, and was about to leave the scene when a car pulled up.
Malcolm froze, fearing that it might be another group of potential enemies. He took a closer look at the car and suddenly realized that it was one he recognized. He was staring at Tapestry’s black BMW.
Two figures approached the garage, surveying Malcolm’s handiwork as they walked. They made no attempt to quiet their conversation, and listening to it made Malcolm feel like he was in the middle of a vivid dream.
“None of them are dead, Tapestry. Even if it is a demon who did this, they obviously aren’t out of control.”
That’s my voice. That’s… Second Wind. The copy of myself I made using Multi’s power.
“You don’t know that,” said Tapestry. “And it’s an assumption that we can’t afford to make. Stay on guard.”
Malcolm chanced a glance out the window. It had been more two weeks since he’d last seen Tapestry in person. Her blonde hair was tied back in the usual pony tail, and she wore a leather jacket over a white blouse. Her jeans were tight enough to show off the curves of her butt and thighs, though Malcolm knew that he had no business considering such things, under his current circumstances.
Standing next to her was, well, him. Or rather, Second Wind. Malcolm had created the copy expecting to be dead within the following few hours. When he’d survived, the only reasonable solution that didn’t involve the two of them fighting to the death was to let Second Wind continue on under the identity of “Wind Runner”, while Malcolm created a new persona for himself, “Gifted Vigilante”, as the media had taken to calling him.
“Well whoever it was, they did our job for us,” said Second Wind. “No need to get our jimmies in a jam over the how and why. This group is the one that hit the liquor store downtown tonight, I’m sure of it.”
Malcolm smiled. He and Second Wind had continued to meet with each other in secret, when they could. They shared information with each other on the state of the city and its going ons. Second Wind knew that Malcolm was the “Gifted Vigilante” and was already doing what he could to pull Tapestry’s attention away from him.
“No,” said Tapestry. “He could still be here. I’m checking inside.”
Malcolm scowled. He heard the garage door creak open. There was nowhere for him to hide, so he settled for not making any sudden moves, other than to adjust his mask slightly to make sure all of his face was covered.
Even still, part of him expected Tapestry to recognize him. A shaft of moonlight filtering in through one of the garage’s broken windows illuminated her features, and there was no glimmer of recognition in her expression. She lifted her pistol and leveled it at him.
“Ha
nds in the air!” she shouted. “I will shoot if you try anything funny!”
“Relax,” said Malcolm, pitching his voice downward and roughening it up. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“If you’re not a champion, and you’re gifted, you aren’t one of the good guys,” said Tapestry. Malcolm was a little surprised by the anger in her voice, though he knew that he shouldn’t be.
There aren’t many stories of the gifted who refuse to join up with the champions that don’t end in them becoming monsters.
Malcolm shifted slightly, making sure his jacket covered his stabilizer. It was a telltale giveaway of his past, one that he wouldn’t be able to explain away easily. When he’d created Second Wind using Multi’s power, his doppelganger had been without a stabilizer, and only by coming up with a convincing story about it slipping off his wrist in the fight against Rain Dancer had he been able to get another one from Anna.
Without a stabilizer, someone with a superpower would be unable to properly contain their emotions and avoid the pitfall of turning into a demon or spryte, which is what power abuse eventually led to. That’s why Tapestry had the gun leveled at him. Malcolm knew that her fear was probably justified. Even with stabilizers, champions occasionally turned when they pushed themselves too far.
That’s where the bomb, and the tracking device in the stabilizer comes into play. All the more reason for me to keep her from seeing that I have one.
“Get down on the ground!” said Tapestry. “I’m taking you into custody.”
Malcolm sighed.
“I think it’s time for me to take my leave,” he said.
He hesitated, looking at Tapestry’s face. He’d missed her in the past few weeks. Becoming a vigilante of the night had meant more than putting on a disguise and running patrols. Malcolm had given up most of his old life in the process, her included. He’d become someone who she’d never see as anything other than another enemy to hunt and fight.
Chaste Widow (Vanderbrook Champions Book 4) Page 1
