Wearing the Cape 4: Small Town Heroes

by Marion G. Harmon

  “Phase two,” Shell whispered in my ear so I wouldn’t go tense when Jacky made her debut.

  Jacky had purely hated losing the specs and her guns, but if it turned into a mess the last thing we wanted was to give the crazy pyrokinetic villain stuff he could make go bang. She’d also ditched her hood and body armor and now she just looked like a dominatrix out clubbing. The two men with her made contrasting bookends, and when MC looked at their chosen table and made its occupants aware that they were in the way they cleared out without even a protest.

  The table to our left, next-closest to our friends.

  Now I heard our targets shift behind me, and I imagined Red and MC sizing each other up, two big alpha-males with too little space between them. Red was probably imagining fun scenarios, but the puff of impatient breath was one of the other two telling him not here. After all, they were in Upright Men territory.

  So Jacky and her boys ordered drinks in peace. And they got to work.

  Vampires aren’t obvious unless you know what you’re looking at, at least not to anybody who doesn’t have nifty vision that sees into the infrared spectrum where the living look like walking lightbulbs. I could see that MC and Léroy were the temperature of the outside air, but living and daywalking Jacky was the temperature of every other “breather” in the room and none of them showed fang unless they smiled really wide. In the dim café lighting, even Jacky’s pale shade and the boys’ almost complete lack of pallor wasn’t that easy to see.

  But they didn’t have to hiss theatrically to start emptying a room. Not when they could push.

  Darren stopped leering at me and shivered, and he’d been braced for it. The noise-level from the tables around us actually dropped as patrons became increasingly uncomfortable. Three vampires extending their mental influence, whispering there are predators here to the monkey-brain, started clearing tables. More to the point, they focused our target’s attention on themselves beautifully. They weren’t leaving.

  “Shit,” Darren muttered next to me, tearing his eyes away from their table and leaning closer. Instinctively protecting me? Wasn’t he used to this stuff? Then I figured it out—I’d made a mistake; now we looked out of place, not clearing away as the people around us shifted, tried to restart conversations, and decided that the party had gone flat here and it was time to move on. Even the girls decided Darren wasn’t that interesting anymore.

  I almost stood myself, trusting Darren to follow my lead, when Shell whispered “Stage three,” and Mr. Black walked in.

  He’d come to watch. It was his job.

  Now it became a lot easier to tell the locals, who came in all shades after all, from the tourists who didn’t know what an Upright Man was. Galahad knew; I could see him now through the thinning crowd and he’d backed away from the bar. Then he reached below it, looking at me, and my breath hitched. He thought the Upright Man was here for the obvious Bad Guys in the room and they were sitting at the table next to me. He was actually going to come to my rescue if things went really bad.

  The tide became an exodus, and I stood because anything else would look too wrong.

  Mr. Black stepped away from the door, calmly letting the more panicked patrons lead the rush. He ignored Galahad to turn his complete attention to the table full of fiends of the night. Now I could look at them—it would be out of character not to. They stood one by one, the Master of Ceremonies first and looking as masterly as it was possible for any human being to. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, clasped his cane.

  And they attacked.

  Straight at our targets, who had totally been expecting them to go the other way and probably wondering if they could get out quietly while the Upright Man took care of his obvious targets.

  MC and Jacky went straight for Red, lunging into mist to clear the tables and chairs in their way. Léroy went for Brainworm, armed with a sandman pack. I went for Flashpoint while Darren hit the floor behind me.

  Thinking later, I had to admire their training; Flashpoint zeroed on me before I hit him and my cute dress went up like a cotton ball held over a match. Then I had his shirt in my fist.

  I flipped him around and onto his knees, wrapped my right arm around his neck, bicep against one side, forearm against the other, braced his head with my left hand to point his face at the floor, and carefully squeezed. He struggled, not moving me at all, and the table in front of us caught fire.

  Ignoring the action behind me I held him till he slumped, out of it. Releasing my sleeper hold, I made sure he was breathing and then looked to see what everyone else was doing. Léroy had Brainworm on his face on the floor, shoulder of his shirt ripped away and sandman pack pressed against his pinned shoulder. MC and Jacky had Red in a double lock and Jacky was… I looked away.

  Lowering Flashpoint to the floor, I signaled for Darren to bring the SF cap in my purse. When he knelt beside me with the cap, I unfolded and opened it, checking the red light. Fitting the cap, I closed the straps and flipped it on. The green light by Flashpoint’s ear said it was working and I exhaled. Easy. Crossing myself, I promised God and Mary a few prayers later.

  Darren watched our slumbering villain. “Why didn’t you use that first?”

  “I didn’t want to risk him seeing it and frying its circuits,” I said softly. “Caps aren’t exactly robust.”

  “Gotcha.” He looked behind me at the fang-action I wasn’t listening to, smiled. “Does that bother you?”

  “Are you a…”

  “A donor? A fang-fan? No. I make a good beard, though—everyone assumes Marcus and I are a couple.” His playful smile was back, this time without the over-acted theatrics, and my knees went a bit weak. “He’s in a long-term commitment, but if you ever come to the Big Easy…”

  I knew I had a goofy smile on my face, but I shook my head anyway. Shell ghosted into sight behind him, mouthing “What are you thinking?” and when I rolled my eyes Darren was smart enough not to ask.

  He sighed, giving up. “You do know you’re still on fire, right?”

  I groaned and stripped the smoldering remains of the dress away, patting out the flames against the floor; Flashpoint was lucky I hadn’t caught him on fire while clinching. The booming roar of a fire extinguisher signaled Galahad’s arrival to put out the merrily burning table.

  * * *

  After that it was my turn to step out. The other employees had fled with the customers, and I supposed they were all locals. Standing in the café’s doorway with Galahad and Mr. Black, I finally realized why Guantánamo City’s police weren’t arriving with screaming sirens: Mr. Black. Galahad—his name was Tim—had shown impressive presence of mind so far; he’d found me a coat left behind by a patron to cover my blue and white beach-volleyball uniform.

  “Shouldn’t I know you?” He looked down at me from his occupationally useful bartender’s height again, and this time I did giggle. My sports-bra top had my star on it.

  “You should. Don’t worry, it’s the glasses.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “How long are your friends going to be in there? I really need to clean up the mess.”

  “They shouldn’t be long.” I tried to ignore the sounds from inside. “And they won’t leave a mess.” The sucking sounds had been bad enough; one of our prisoners was crying. Never mess with a vampire—if he’s feeling nice, all he’ll do is put you in a completely suggestible state and then ask you what your mother would think of what you’ve been doing.

  “I meant the table. I can drag the torched one into the backroom, and as soon as you guys are gone I’ll be pouring drinks and telling stories all night. Serious tips.”

  That got a chopped laugh out of me, and I made a mental note to tell Blackstone about him, see if he could recruit him onto the Dome staff.

  Mr. Black turned to look at him. “You will say nothing about the three vampires. You will simply say that they were very strong.”

  “Um, okay.”

  I patted his arm. “Thank you, I appreciate it, too. And thank yo
u for earlier.”

  His smile came back. “You’re welcome.”

  The noises stopped. Hearing sighs, I assumed that they had just administered the remaining sandman packs. Jacky appeared at my elbow.

  “They were paid to do a fast strike on the Navy base’s armory.”

  I frowned. “Then they’re still missing team. They don’t have a driver, someone to help them get out fast.”

  “They haven’t met their employer yet—he was supposed to show up tonight.”

  I looked at Mr. Black, but he didn’t have the grace to look embarrassed. He gave us a nod that was almost a bow.

  “If we find him, we will let you know. In any case, may I say it has been a pleasure and an education? Good work, ladies, and good night.” He tipped his hat and was gone, leaving me pretty sure he hadn’t just teleported away but not able to remember how he’d left.

  Jacky looked up and down the street. “Nice trick. Our new friends won’t remember anything from when we jumped them till they wake up in Navy custody. We should stop by their hotel rooms on the way and collect their gear.”

  Balini brought the car up in back, followed by a van sent by the base, and we loaded our sleeping prisoners before anyone out in the street decided to see if Mr. Black was really gone. We drove slowly through the streets like they were enemy territory, back to the Hotél Washington where our three were coincidentally staying, and Jacky and her boys retrieved everything including their own things; they weren’t staying. From there it was a drive straight up Main Street and out of Guantánamo City. Leaving its outskirts, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Not a deep one. We had the Three Horsemen. We’d learned their mission. We’d won. But… “Good work,” Mr. Black had said. Why did it feel like I’d been complimented by the Devil?

  Episode Four

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “Dear Mom and Dad; —— isn’t summer camp, but it’s hard on my wardrobe and Shelly’s here so it feels really familiar.”

  A recovered redacted email, preserved in the Hope Corrigan Library.

  * * *

  Captain Lauer took custody of the Three Horsemen at the base, and everyone was happy except Corporal Balini who was still grumbling about being left out of the action. The captain offered MC and Léroy secure beds for the coming day and a flight home tomorrow night, which they accepted. I was just beginning to realize how big a deal it was that they’d come out here with Jacky; for a vampire, the idea of spending a day sleeping in a hotel room that just about anybody could get into, with big windows and only curtains separating them from a good day’s sleep and fiery death…

  Jacky had explained on the drive back that they brought tailored mummy-bags (the sleeping bag variety, not ancient Egyptian wraps), and Darren pretty much stuck to the room from sunup to sundown. Naturally they’d chartered a private plane, checked in under assumed names, done everything to make sure insane vampire-hunters couldn’t find them, but still!

  “He is so into her,” Shell whispered as we watched Jacky say goodnight to MC (she’d cut her link to Jacky’s earbug again). “Or wants to be.”

  “Shell!” I choked, turning it into a red-faced cough when everyone looked. They went back to ignoring me.

  MC tapped his cane. “Jacky.”

  “Lichter.”

  “Will you be coming home soon?”

  “We’ll see. Thank you for looking after Acacia for me.”

  “See? See?”

  I rolled my eyes, wishing I could think a response to my obviously delusional BFF, and then almost busted up when Darren decided he wasn’t having any of that.

  “Who’re we kidding? C’mere, you!” He stepped up and wrapped Jacky in a big-brother hug, winked at me over her shoulder. “And don’t you be a stranger, y’hear?”

  Okay, I went a little weak again, which was just wrong. I was a big girl, darn it. At least I couldn’t get redder.

  Then we were out of there with a promise to Captain Lauer to file a report tomorrow—which would promptly be lost since obviously the US Navy had had nothing to do with tonight’s little action. And Balini and the other corporal had just gone out for evening drives. And returned with internationally wanted war-criminals…

  Sometimes I think all government organizations are functionally insane.

  “And what about that?” Shell squeed, bouncing beside me as we exited the base while Jacky projected Nothing to See Here vibes. “That was a proxy hug! He is so, so hot for you, her Majesty Oblivious the First, Queen of Oblivia, defender of cluelessness and ruler of all she refuses to see. Tell me you’ve never seen that before!”

  I choked on my laugh. “I can honestly say that I haven’t.”

  Jacky looked at me sideways, shook her head. “Shell?”

  “Acting twelve.”

  “Hey!”

  * * *

  Shelly texted as soon as the Garage flashed us back into Littleton; switching between Shell and Shelly was getting disorienting, and when I went to text back I found that Shell had slipped a share file into my phone, an edited video-file recording and translation of her feed through my neural link; everything from the moment we left Littleton to the moment we got back. The file dumped before I could figure out how to stop it, leaving me groaning at a smiley-face screen with an animated wink. Great, now Shelly’s going to bug me about Darren, too.

  Our flight back to the B&B was as uneventful as a sleeping town could make it, which was great because I was done. We pulled out the trundle bed for Jacky and she gave me the first turn with the shower. She was gone when I got out, leaving a note that read Gone to find the nightlife. Don’t wait up.

  I stared at it for a long minute, and then texted Sheriff Deitz. Maybe he didn’t know about Jacky’s dietary requirements or chosen means of tapping a vein, but if Jacky ran afoul of the town’s Orwellian security I hoped he’d call me first. Changing into a fresh set of indestructibles, I crawled into bed and dove into slumberland the moment my head hit the sinfully fluffy pillow.

  * * *

  I lay on the grass, warm wind tickling my skin, and watched the great wheel of the Milky Way turn above us as bright as it only ever looked from the very edge of space. The silver fox lying on my chest sat up and pricked his ears.

  “What is it?”

  He yawned. “Be still and listen, child,” he advised me.

  Closing my eyes, hands clasped under my head, I listened. Wind in the grass. The soft rustle of cherry blossoms clinging to branches, ready to fly. Crackling. Fire.

  * * *

  “Hope?”

  “Mmm?”

  “How do you turn off the alarm?”

  “Throw a pillow at her.”

  * * *

  Missing breakfast should have meant that all we got was fruit and cereal, but Mr. Darvish knew how much I adored his waffles and he made us a fresh stack. My waffle was a perfect warm puff, the butter rich, the maple syrup the real deal, the fresh orange juice and strawberries pure bliss. I took my uniform gloves off to keep syrup off of them, but halfway through my little slice of heaven the dream came back to hit me between the eyes. I dropped my fork and it rattled on the plate, spattering melted butter and syrup about.

  How could I forget that? It had never happened before with a Kitsune dream, which it absolutely had been. Maybe the fox had a hard time pushing the dream through Mr. Darvish’s bubble of peace? Which I didn’t feel now; the B&B’s proprietor must have stepped out after serving us and why was I even wondering about that?

  “Hope? Are you okay?”

  I must have looked as pale as Jacky as she watched me over her own piece of waffle. She’d woken fresh and as late as me (I vaguely remembered something about an alarm clock), which meant she’d had a good drink last night and didn’t need as much sleep.

  “We’re not finished. It’s not over.” How could it not be over? We’d found the firestarter— Oh. “Their target was the navy base.”

  “What?”

  “Their target was the base!
They have nothing to do with my dreams!” I put my face in my hands.

  “Shit,” Jacky said. She thought for a minute. “Those dreams are never literal, are they?”

  “No, but their allegories are pretty specific.” I groaned. “I wouldn’t have seen the town burning if it wasn’t the town. Probably.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But he snuck into my dreams again last night. It’s still on and we’re not going anywhere yet.”

  She cut another slice of waffle. “Well, okay then.”

  After breakfast Sheriff Deitz took my prediction just as unflappably. I wondered if he should, but I was beginning to feel like the Oracle of Delphi—my dreams were certainly vague as riddles or oracular pronouncements. The town will burn. Why? When? Who? Hot-line psychics did better.

  “Relax,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “First, all your dreams have put the fires at night, so you don’t have to be on full alert 24/7. Second, Navy Intelligence, the CIA, the FBI, they’re all pulling on the strings this is attached to; sooner or later they’ll find the right string, follow it back, and all will be right with the world. Well, as right as it ever is but you’ll be able to go home. Third, the guys you brought in last night are a huge help, first confirmation this is serious. Resources were retasked while you slept.”

  “Resources?”

  “Oh yeah. The details are above my pay grade, but I’ve been told that in a couple of days we’ll have reinforcements. They’ll be settled in with plenty of time before the conference. Till then, Captain Lauer has pulled the two light armored squads out of the Garage to reinforce the base—that’s where the projects most vital to national security are, and the holding facility. We’ve still got Corbin’s heavy-armor team guarding the door.”