by Liana Brooks
“Can I have my water?” Angela asked. The girl blushed and hurried away. Angela picked up the spare cupcake and walked over to Ty. “Here.” From her earbuds the Brutal Cheerleaders crescendoed into the chorus: I am not that girl. I am not the woman in your dreams. I am not the one holding on. I am not that girl.
He glanced down at her with a frown.
She rubbed her arm again as she waited for him to match her face to the one he’d almost kissed on the movie set.
“Thanks.” He nodded at her earbuds. “You’ve got good taste in music.”
“Um, thanks.” Angela wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Maybe a, “Hi, AJ.” Or a smile. Recognition, at least. Shaking it off, she grabbed her water and stepped back into the all-embracing warmth of the L.A. sunshine and smog. Heat kissed her skin.
Basking in the warmth, she sipped her water and devoured her cupcake. Angela tossed the wrapper into the little garden next to the shop, where the seeds pressed into the paper lining would become another round of cheerful, heat-resistant flowers. The orchids were her favorite.
After one last sip of water, she dumped the rest over her head and tossed the cup in the recycling bin. A stray thought tickled her senses; someone was watching her intently. She looked around, but saw only Ty, standing in the window, nibbling at his cupcake. Weird.
By the time she arrived home her legs were shaking and the cupcake just a memory.
Mia and Aaron glanced up from the front step of the apartments where they were reading their textbooks. “Hey,” Mia said. “How was your run?”
“Good.” She sat down next to them. “Homework? Isn’t school out yet?”
“Two more weeks,” Mia said.
Aaron grumbled, “Finals.”
“Can you help us? The teacher told us to read Chapters seventeen and eighteen because they’re on the final, but we haven’t covered them in class yet.”
“It makes no sense,” Aaron said. “All I see are letters.”
Angela nodded. “Yeah, let me get a quick shower.”
“Real quick,” Aaron pleaded. “My brother is coming in an hour.”
She nodded again. “The fastest shower ever.” And it was. The water heater was broken for the third time this month but the pipes weren’t well buried, so the water was still warm enough. She raked a brush through her wet hair, pulled on the first shirt and shorts she could find, and dashed back downstairs.
Mia giggled. “Nice shirt.”
Angela glanced down at the white tee that had ZEPHYR GIRL emblazoned on it in sparkling blue letters. “What? It was my mom’s. I like it.”
“Help!” Aaron shoved his book at her. “What is this supposed to mean?”
They were still working on Chapter seventeen when Aaron’s brother roared up the street on his bike. Aaron groaned. “I gotta go. He has to work tonight. Can I come back for Chapter eighteen? Please?”
“Yeah, I should be around this weekend.” Angela smiled fondly at him and handed the book over. “Call Mia and she can get a hold of me.”
Aaron shoved his books carelessly in his bag and put on his helmet. “Bye, Mia!”
“Bye!”
Aaron’s brother waved too.
***
“Get a shower,” Arktos said, tossing Aaron’s bag against the wall. “I have work to do.” Aaron ran off upstairs as Arktos plucked old binders from the bookcase. Every superhero started their career by interning at the main offices on the east coast; he’d gone to NYU on their dime and worked at the offices scanning copies and filing paperwork in his free time. It would have been mind-numbing if the subject hadn’t fascinated him: the whole history of superpower mutations had been collated in the four years he’d been there. He’d read about the first superpowers, about the heroes and the villains, about the ones that got away and the ones who were laid to rest in a quiet cemetery outside the city.
During his last semester, Katrina, the Company boss, made the move to a paperless office. He’d been in charge of shredding everything. The binders he retrieved now were filled with the papers that had escaped the purge, mostly original profiles handwritten by the heroes he’d always admired. He set them on the table and flipped through the binder full of villains.
My daddy is a super villain.
Males and females alike stared back at him as he turned the pages. They weren’t ugly, per se—the mutation seemed to grant good looks to most of them—but none looked like the kind of person you’d call ‘Daddy.’
And then there was the other thing: most people didn’t introduce themselves as the oldest unless they’d grown up with siblings. Most. It was a gamble, but something about the way Rage had said it made him think she’d grown up in a nuclear family. That was her dream after all: mom, dad, the kids, maybe a dog.
The water shut off upstairs, and he considered her accusation that The Company was lying about children. Having Aaron around was already violating part of his contract. But what else was he supposed to do? Grandma could barely take care of herself, and Aaron was always getting into fights or ditching school. Moving him off the reservation to a private school in L.A. had made sense.
At least it had when he’d moved Aaron out two years ago. Since his little brother insisted on getting kicked out of every school in a thirty-mile radius, his prospects had dwindled to a single over-crowded public school on the poor end of town.
Aaron fit in perfectly. They’d grown up poor.
And letting him date Mia seemed to be a good choice so far. Mia was a level-headed kid and her tutor...
Arktos took a deep breath and rubbed his still-tender ribs. He’d almost driven straight past Mia’s house because all he’d seen were long tan legs in too-short shorts. With her hair wet like she’d just stepped out of the shower, his mind had gone from brotherly concern for Aaron to tallying up his ten best pickup lines. And then swung straight to guilt, because he was mentally cheating on Rage, who didn’t want him anyway.
He leaned his head back. The stuccoed ceiling offered no inspiration for his women troubles. Beautiful blondes; there were two too many in his life right now.
Forcing the memory of Rage’s kiss from his mind, he opened the second binder, full of the forgotten ones. The super villains who got away, the superheroes who went rogue, all the people who had dropped off the radar for whatever reason.
Most of them weren’t even in the computer system. No one had felt the need to file the cold cases. But some of them were promising: at the very back of the binder was a model photo, a handsome man in a three-piece suit who was smiling at the camera like his career depended on how many people swooned. At the bottom of the same page, Arktos had tucked an old print photograph of a blonde woman with a warm smile and the words ZEPHYR GIRL printed across her white shirt in metallic blue.
He took the photograph out and set it to the side. Doctor Charm and Zephyr Girl were in the wrong folder. They were both dead, killed in an explosion at Doctor Charm’s lab during a fight.
The smile on Doctor Charm’s face drew his attention, though. Rage had the same chin, a similar bone structure. And Charm was the sort of villain someone would take as a lover.
“Hey,” Aaron said as he headed for the fridge. “What’s for dinner?”
“What are you making?”
“A sandwich.” Aaron stopped to look over his shoulder. “Nice job, big brother. Did you get her phone number too?”
Arktos’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Whose?”
“Angela’s.” Aaron reached down to grab Zephyr Girl’s photo. At Arktos’s stumped expression, Aaron wiggled the picture. “Mia’s tutor? The hot chick teaching me math? The one with the legs you were staring at?”
Arktos colored and snatched the photograph away. “That’s Zephyr Girl.”
“Really?” Aaron shrugged. “Then AJ is her clone. Barbie doesn’t have outfits that match that perfectly.”
Arktos looked at it again. “Rage said her name was Angela, and that her father was a super villain,” he to
ld Aaron as the pieces slowly fell into place.
“Did she mention her mom was a superhero? That’s the sort of thing I’d mention.”
Arktos flipped the pages to check the death dates of the hero and villain. “Go upstairs. Get the blue book in my closet, the big one.”
“Okay.” Aaron gave him a long, critical look.
“Hurry!”
Aaron ran and came back with the book. “What’s in here?”
“Superhero missions. It’s one of the books Katrina wanted tossed because of water damage, but I managed to find somebody who could redo the binding. Check page ninety-two, I think it’s that. Operation Poisoned Apple.”
“Sounds cheerful,” Aaron said as he sat on the table and turned the pages. “Here it is.” He slid the binder across the table.
Arktos studied the photographs. “What’s it say?”
“Ah, not much, it’s a summary of an operation that was busted. Some heroes went rogue and wanted to kill the kids of super villains, but it was busted up by some heroes. Um, why can super villains have kids if you can’t?”
Arktos pressed his lips together. “Good question. Are there any names?”
“Rolling Shock. The Rainbow Dane.” Aaron chuckled. “Oh, here, Zephyr Girl; she’s the one who broke the ring up after going undercover as a rogue.”
“Year?”
“Twenty-twelve.”
Arktos’s heart skipped. What did this mean? He held the photograph out to his brother and caught his gaze. “Aaron,” he said slowly. “Zephyr Girl died. In 2005.”
Chapter Eleven
Dear Mom,
I’m trying to picture Maria joining the U.S. Forestry Service and I’m drawing a blank. The mind boggles.
By the way, do you have Delilah’s work number? I asked her to look into something for me and she’s refusing to answer her cell phone. I need to talk to her ASAP.
Love,
Angela
The apartment wasn’t meant for pacing, but Angela tried anyway. Five steps to one corner, six steps to the next—three if she didn’t want to go into the kitchen—five, six... “Delilah, pick up your phone!” Picturing her sister diving for the ringing cell didn’t do any good. Delilah’s playback tune circled around for its second replay, because everyone wanted to spend their night listening to orchestral arrangements.
“Hello?”
Angela clutched at the phone. “Delilah! Where have you been?”
“At work.”
Angela checked the clock. “Isn’t it a little late for work?”
“I had to go back to the office after a funeral.” Delilah sighed on the other end of the line. “Is someone going to die if I ask you to call back next week?”
“Maybe.”
Delilah remained silent for a moment. “Someone we like?”
Angela bit her lip. “Yes?”
“Angela, what are you doing over there? I thought you were supposed to be lying low and keeping out of trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble. I’m observing trouble. There’s a difference.” She resumed pacing. “There’s...it’s complicated. I’m sorry. Whose funeral were you at?”
“Midwestern Fury’s; he was the main superhero for Chicago.”
“And you killed him?”
“No. I went to his funeral to see if I could find his killer. He’s the second superhero we’ve lost this year.”
Angela checked the phone to make sure she had the right number. “Why do you care? I thought you were firmly anti-hero.”
“I am, but the same big game hunters who go after superheroes like to hunt my big name clients. I told you about that stalking case back in February. I think it’s the same person, or the same group. Atlanta’s Golden Hunt is the name the man gave me, but I still don’t have enough evidence to hand the case over to the police and get them shut down.”
“They hunt humans?”
“Just apex predators in general, but to join they need to kill a human, yes.” In the background Angela could hear the soft clicking of a keyboard. “The stalker and I had a good chat before the police arrived. All right, I have your data. The earrings are custom work made by Jorge Fidel out of Brooklyn. He made two sets of twisted silver and platinum—good call on that. One set is still in the Brooklyn showroom, the other was sold to Tyler Running Fox. According to the gossip, he gave them to his girlfriend.”
“Ty doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Angela blurted out. She rolled her eyes at herself and continued. “At least not that anyone’s mentioned to me.”
“Glee Keni? The actress?” Delilah made an exasperated sound. “Why am I the one who knows who’s dating who in Hollywood when you’re the one who lives there?”
Angela shrugged and readjusted the phone. “I’ve worked on set with both of them. If they’re dating then it’s a low-key relationship.”
Delilah snorted. “Wishful thinking, kiddo. In the past month, a man acting as Running Fox’s agent has purchased close to a million in jewelry for Glee. Rings, necklaces, lots of bracelets.” More clicking followed. “Hmmm. Does Running Fox have a gambling problem?”
“Not that I’m aware of, why?”
“His net worth is a fraction of what it should be. Let me check... Good grief. He spends an estimated ninety percent of his income on charity. That’s ridiculous.”
“Ten percent of his income is probably more than normal people earn in ten years.” Angela flopped back on her couch. “So, I guess that confirms most of my worst fears.”
“Oh? Am I missing some sisterly gossip?”
Angela mumbled under her breath, and then with a sigh, told her sister about the pyro and Arktos. “Both are familiar. I knew I’d bumped into them before, but this just makes it worse. The blonde dropped the earring. She and Pyro are close. I guess it makes sense that it’s Glee and Tyler. And Jacob told me when we first met that he was a superhero.”
“You don’t sound certain.”
“Jacob...he’s nice. I guess. I don’t know. He gives off a weird vibe sometimes. Very possessive. Very controlling. Arktos isn’t like that.”
“It could be that he feels like a different person in uniform. Or maybe Jacob is a superhero but isn’t Arktos. Either way, you need to stay away from them.”
“I know.” She crossed her arms. “I told Arktos it wouldn’t work. That we couldn’t...couldn’t anything, really.”
“Good, because you can’t. Not without blowing your cover sky high. He’s Company, Angela. They’re monsters.”
She rolled her eyes. “One day that attitude is going to get you into trouble. No,” she said over her sister’s protest. “Skip it. What about Travys? Have you found out anything about him?”
“He’s buried deep. The case never made it to public records. I’ll work on it tonight after I go over the data I collected from the funeral.”
“Delilah, this Golden Hunt thing. Don’t try to attract their attention. Okay?”
“Would I do something like that?” Delilah asked with an air of innocence.
“Yes.”
“Meh. I’ll be careful. I’m collecting data in my role as a security advisor. I’ll let the police handle everything. I’ll call you when I have something on Travys.”
“Okay. Love ya. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Angela stared at the silent phone. It took her a moment to realize she was holding her breath. She shivered as she forced herself to draw oxygen into her lungs. Poor Travys. Poor her. Why couldn’t The Company just leave her alone? All she wanted was a normal life: a job, PTA meetings, maybe someone to go to the movies with on a Friday night.
There was a knock at the door before it swung open. “AJ, you need to lock up. This is L.A.,” Luiz said as she walked in. “What are you doing?”
“Um.” Angela waved the phone. “Waiting for a phone call and moping.”
Luiz’s forehead wrinkled. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I guess. It’s just...family stuff.” Angela shoved her phone under the couch
pillow. “What do you need?”
“Mia’s school is holding a fundraiser tonight at the Salsa Bar. The whole charter school funding thing. I’m trying to drum up some support.” Luiz did a quick rumba step. “Want to go dance?”
“Sure. I...” Well, why not? It was better than moping. “Yeah. Sure. How much is it?”
“Twenty-five will get you in, but all donations go to the school fund so they can buy the old building. If they can get enough by July first they can open the school after Labor Day in September.” Luiz gave her a cheesy grin. “How’s that for a sales pitch.”
Angela smiled back. “I’ll grab some cash.”
“Great! I’m going to go knock on some more doors. I put flyers up at the studio but the Salsa Bar is the low-rent district and I don’t think we’re going to get a great turnout.”
“I promise to put on something pretty and flirt with anyone who makes eye contact as I drive over. With my helmet on. Visor down.”
Luiz rolled her eyes. “Very helpful. Thank you.”
Angela retrieved her phone and went to raid her closet for dancing clothes. She didn’t own much in the way of flirty, super-short skirts, and she wasn’t going to wear a skirt on her bike anyway. Instead she grabbed tight white jeans and a shimmering blue blouse with an asymmetrical hem. If the party got really hot she could kick off the jeans and just wear the shirt as a super-short dress. She pulled it on and did a practice turn in the mirror. It covered all the important bits. Good enough.
It took thirty-five minutes to work her way through L.A. traffic to the little shack on the beach that served up Latin dance music, south-of-the-border food, and the best selection of homemade salsa in the state of California. Angela found herself checking her side mirrors the whole way, watching for a familiar black bike. But if Arktos was out tonight, he wasn’t on her side of town.
Which was good, she reminded herself. They’d kissed. That was it. It was time to laugh it off and move on.
Angela parked her bike at the end of a long row, trying to make sure she wouldn’t get boxed in. Mia was on door duty, smiling winningly with the line of people dropping twenties into her cash box and flirting with Aaron, who sat beside her with a proprietary air.
