by Lucas Flint
The idea that Rubberman knew me well enough to guess my next course of action was both comforting and a little terrifying. Comforting because it meant he would always be able to help me, but terrifying because it meant he knew how I thought almost better than my own parents.
I decided not to think about that for now, however. “Well, it’s good you’re here anyway. We need to figure out how to beat Iron Angel and the Vigilante Legion. They’re still looking for both of us.”
“I know,” said Rubberman grimly. He suddenly looked around. “By the way, where is Adams? Did he manage to escape with you?”
I hesitated, partly because I didn’t know what Adams’ current status was, but also because I suspected that he wasn’t with the world of the living anymore and I didn’t want to say that to Rubberman and end up making him depressed.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He helped me escape the Elastic Cave, but last I saw, he was still lying on the floor of the Elastic Cave with his chest torn open. I don’t know if the Vigilante Legion is holding him prisoner or if … if …”
I couldn’t finish that sentence, because I didn’t want to voice the idea that Adams was dead. Maybe it was superstitious thinking, but I felt like if I voiced the idea that Adams was dead, then it would somehow cause him to die on the spot if he was still alive.
Rubberman seemed to understand, however, because he nodded and said, “Adams is stronger than you think, Alex. And even if he isn’t alive any longer, it’s clear to me that he was willing to give his life for you. He knew how important it was for you to reunite with me, so he was willing to give his life to ensure you would escape and meet up with me again.”
I blinked. “I never thought Adams would be willing to sacrifice his life for me. I didn’t think he liked me that much.”
“Adams doesn’t much like anyone,” Rubberman said with a chuckle. “But he is a man with a strong sense of loyalty. He sees his job as serving you and me to the best of his ability, which includes being willing to sacrifice himself if necessary.”
“I knew he was loyal to you, but I didn’t think he’d ever extend his loyalty to me,” I said. “He always seemed to, well, treat me like a kid.”
“Adams has an odd way of showing his affection sometimes,” said Rubberman. “In any case, whether Adams is still alive or not, we should not let his sacrifice be in vain. We must stop Iron Angel and his minions before they achieve their goal.”
“You mean before they kill us,” I said. “Right?”
Rubberman shook his head. “No, that’s not their goal. At least, that’s not Iron Angel’s goal, anyway.”
I frowned and exchanged a puzzled look with Greta before looking back at Rubberman. “What do you mean? Iron Angel is the Superhero Killer. He gave me a whole speech about how the vigilantes are going to destroy all superheroes and the entire superhero industry. I don’t know how you can say that that isn’t their goal when it clearly is.”
Rubberman folded his arms in front of his chest. “That is the overall goal of the Vigilante Legion. It’s what most of its members have signed onto. But there is a difference between the goal of an organization and the goal of an individual. Sometimes these goals are the same, but most of the time they’re not. For example, Beams, in your case, your desire to save up money for a car is a personal goal, while my desire to make my business more profitable is the organizational goal for the Rubberman business.”
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “Then what’s Iron Angel’s personal goal?”
“That’s simple,” said Rubberman. “He wants to resurrect his sidekick, Winged Gal, and he wants to sacrifice me to do it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Excuse me?” said Greta. “Sorry, Mr. Rubberman, sir, but did you just say that this Iron Angel guy wants to bring his old sidekick back to life?”
Rubberman nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’ve gathered.”
“And he wants to sacrifice you to do it,” I said.
“Right,” said Rubberman. “I know it sounds crazy, but it is the truth.”
“Um, Mr. Rubberman?” said Greta. She spoke in the kind of calm, level voice I usually associated with psychiatrists talking with crazy people. “You know that it is impossible to bring people back to life, right?”
“I know, but Iron Angel apparently doesn’t,” said Rubberman. “Either that or he believes he’s found a way to do it. Either way, he’s going to need me for the ritual, which is why I had to run away before he could catch me.”
“How do you know he wants to do that?” I said. “I’m not saying you’re lying or anything, but I didn’t get that kind of vibe from Iron Angel. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy to dabble in black magic or anything like that.”
Rubberman creaked his neck back and forth, like it was getting too stiff. “Earlier today, when Iron Angel came to the Elastic Cave and I took him on a tour of it, we talked a little bit. He told me about how much he missed Winged Gal and how he felt very guilty for letting her fight Black Poison alone like that. It was actually the main reason he retired from the superhero business. He felt that he didn’t deserve the title of superhero after letting a young teenage girl get killed under his supervision.”
I had suspected that might have been one of Iron Angel’s motivations for retiring, but until Rubberman said it, I hadn’t known for sure. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean that he’s plotting to bring her back to life, does it?”
“I’m not finished,” said Rubberman. “Like I said, during the tour of the Elastic Cave, we talked a little bit. He said something odd to me then, about how he had visited Winged Gal’s grave in the old Golden City Graveyard, the one near the Old Albertson Mansion.”
I frowned. “I know where that is, but I don’t think it’s used anymore since they built that new cemetery a few years back. But I don’t see what’s so strange about wanting to visit the grave of a loved one. Seems pretty normal to me.”
“It was the way he phrased it,” said Rubberman. “He said that he wanted to visit her grave and asked me to come with him. Normally, I would have said yes, but I had to decline because I had some urgent business to attend to. When I told him that, he made a strange comment about the Necromantress. He said that her powers were interesting and wondered if she could actually bring people back to life or not, rather than just reanimate their corpses like she did earlier.”
“Uh huh,” I said. “Is that all he said or—?”
“There’s more to it than that,” said Rubberman. “I noticed that Iron Angel was carrying a small glass jar in a bag he had with him. I only caught a glimpse of its contents once, when Iron Angel was putting a gift I’d given him in his bag, and I saw that it was the same purple potion which the Necromantress had used to reanimate her corpses.”
“Are you sure that was what it was?” I asked. “Maybe it was actually grape jelly.”
“No, I’m sure of it,” said Rubberman. “Iron Angel tried to hide it from me, but I saw it anyway. It looked exactly like the potion Shawna had made. Same shade of purple, same glowing color, same everything.”
“He must have stolen it from her cauldron yesterday,” I said. “That’s the only time he could have gotten it.”
“I agree,” said Rubberman. “At the time, though, I didn’t understand why he had it. I thought maybe he had gotten permission from the government or something to take a sample for research purposes, but now, I realize he must have taken the sample to resurrect Winged Gal.”
“Okay, but why do you think he needs you to do it?” I asked. “Iron Angel only talked about killing you when I met him.”
“Because when I was attacked, Iron Angel didn’t kill me, even though he had plenty of opportunities in which to do it,” said Rubberman. He winced and rubbed his forehead. “He beat me up and gave me quite a few serious injuries, but I could tell he was holding back. I imagine that’s the only reason I managed to escape. If he had been trying to kill me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Th
at’s all well and good, Rubberman, but this still seems hard to believe,” said Greta. “I mean, not to be rude or anything, but you’re talking about literal magic here. Maybe Iron Angel had another reason for sparing you.”
“I thought so, too, but no other explanation makes sense or fits the facts,” said Rubberman. “See, when Shawna and I were married, she once told me about a particular spell she was reading up on—”
“Wait, didn’t you tell me that the Necromantress only delved into black magic after your divorce?” I asked.
Rubberman shrugged. “Even before our divorce, Shawna was always interested in learning about magic and spell work from all of the different cultures around the world. It wasn’t until our divorce that she began actually putting into practice what she learned, rather than just read about it in a book.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. Continue.”
“Anyway,” said Rubberman, “before our divorce, she told me about a particular spell she had read about in a very, very old book. The book was so old that it didn’t even have a title or an author. Shawna mentioned something about how the book was considered cursed, having been found in one of those pyramids down in the South American jungles, but I can’t remember much about the book itself. I wish I had, though, because I think that book would be helpful right about now.”
“Well, just tell us what the spell is,” I said. “We’re listening.”
“Right,” said Rubberman. “Well, Shawna translated the spell from the book, which was written in no known human language. She told me that the spell claimed to be a resurrection spell. A real resurrection spell, not mere reanimation like what she does. She couldn’t translate the entire thing due to how faded some of the writing was, but she translated enough to tell me that the spell requires mixing the blood of four humans with the reanimation potion. The resulting admixture should then be poured on the grave or bones of the one you wish to resurrect, which will then bring that person back to life as if they had never died at all.”
Greta put a hand on her mouth. “That sounds scary. Does it work?”
“I don’t know,” said Rubberman. “Like I said, Shawna only described it to me. As far as I know, she’s never put it into practice herself. In fact, she even told me that she didn’t think the spell had ever been practiced, because the book in which she found it described it mostly in theoretical terms. What has me convinced that it will work, however, is the fact that Shawna has been able to reanimate corpses, a spell I know she got from that same book.”
“Meaning that if the reanimation potion is real, then the spell about resurrecting the dead should be real, too,” I said.
“Exactly,” said Rubberman. “I don’t know why he needs my blood specifically, but I can guess he’s gathering the blood of superheroes, which is one reason he’s been killing us off one by one. He’s already got Barriers, Rose, and Tech Man. He just needs blood from me to complete the ritual.”
“You’re assuming that Iron Angel knows about the ritual in the first place,” said Greta. “If that spell came from that old, rare book, I don’t see how Iron Angel could have learned about it.”
“Why else did he help us defeat Shawna unless he knew about the spell?” asked Rubberman. “I don’t know if he read the book himself or not, but I do know that he must know it. He wants to use it to bring his sidekick back to life.”
I gulped. “This is getting very, very weird. Like, very weird. I know I’ve dealt with weird things before, but this takes the cake.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Rubberman. “Anyway, the most important thing we can do right now is figure out a way to stop the Vigilante Legion.”
“Why don’t we leave Golden City?” I said. “If we leave Golden City, we’ll force the Legion to come after us. They’ll leave the rest of the city alone.”
“Much easier said than done,” said Rubberman. “Iron Angel has probably already anticipated we might try that. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has people watching all the roads leading into and out of the city to make sure we don’t escape. Besides, I don’t want to leave Golden City in the hands of these people. For all their talk about wanting to be ‘real’ heroes, I don’t trust them to actually protect the people.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?” I said. “If Iron Angel needs you to complete his ritual, then we should try to get you as far away from the city as possible, right? We want to keep you out of his reach, not within.”
“We need to beat Iron Angel,” said Rubberman, punching his fist into his other hand. “If we can defeat him, then that will cripple the Vigilante Legion. The feeling I got from them was that Iron Angel, as their leader, wields a lot of control over the lesser vigilantes. Without his leadership, the Legion will probably fall apart or at least be forced to retreat and regroup. Either way, defeating Iron Angel is what we need to do.”
“But Iron Angel is one of the best superheroes of all time,” I said. “He’s strong, fast, and very skilled. He probably has more years of experience as a superhero than both of us put together. That’s not even taking into account his fellow vigilantes, who all seem to be powerful ex-superheroes and sidekicks themselves.”
Rubberman sighed, like he was about to say something he was going to regret. “Well, as it turns out, we’re not going to fight him alone. We’re going to have some help.”
“Help?” I said hopefully. “From who? Myster and Cyberkid? Or some other superhero friend of yours? Or the remnants of the police?”
Rubberman shook his head. “No. It’s … well …”
“Dennis,” came a familiar harsh feminine voice from the shadows. “There is no need to introduce her, for she can introduce herself quite well.”
I looked over at the darkened corner of the study. From out of the shadows walked a familiar woman in a witch’s outfit who I had not expected to see again. Her eyes were as crazy as ever, as was her smile, and she walked without even the slightest sign of fear or hesitation, although I could tell she despised all of us.
“No way …” I said. “The Necromantress? What are you doing here?”
The Necromantress stopped. She put one hand on her hip, her smile never leaving her lips. “The Necromantress is here to get revenge, of course, but against the man you call Iron Angel, not against you. For without her help, you will not be able stop Iron Angel’s black magic that could destroy the whole city.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I immediately stepped between Greta and the Necromantress. Raising my fists, I tried my best to not look afraid, but it was hard because I knew from experience just how crazy the Necromantress was. I kept expecting one of her zombies to burst out of the shadows and attack all three of us, but it seemed like she was by herself this time, though I wondered why she didn’t seem even remotely phased to find herself standing against me and Rubberman on her own. Then again, if she was as crazy as I thought, she might not even realize just how outmatched she was. Or she had some kind of trick up her nonexistent sleeve, which was always possible.
“What are you doing here?” I said to the Necromantress. “I thought you were in jail.”
“The Necromantress was,” said the Necromantress. Her eyes darted toward Rubberman. “But Dennis got her out of prison for this specific instance.”
I looked at Rubberman in bewilderment. “Boss, what’s she talking about? Did you really get her out of prison yourself?”
Rubberman nodded, albeit very reluctantly. “Yes. When I realized that Iron Angel was going to cast that resurrection spell I told you two about, I went to the Golden City Penitentiary and asked for the Necromantress’ aid. She may be crazy, but she does know more about black magic than I do, so I figure she could be helpful in stopping Iron Angel.”
“But how did you break her out of prison?” asked Greta, who was hiding behind me with her hands on my back. “Why would the police let you take her away?”
“I didn’t break her out of prison,” said Rubberman in annoyance. “I simply used a little known
legal privilege that all superheroes have access to, which is called ‘right to aid.’”
“Right to aid?” I repeated, never taking my eyes off the Necromantress, who I still didn’t trust. “What does that mean?”
“It means that, under certain circumstances, a superhero working for a particular city can go to the local prison and ask to take one of the prisoners out for the day,” said Rubberman. “Usually, it is because we’ve run into problems or situations that we can’t solve on our own, but which a prisoner might be able to help us with. For example, it’s fairly common for superheroes protecting the southern border to recruit former members of the drug cartels in order to get specific information about the drug cartel they used to belong to.”
“How come you’ve never told me about this?” I asked.
“Because I rarely use it,” said Rubberman. “And for good reason. Even though it is illegal, most prisoners who are let out for the day usually try to escape. Most superheroes in general don’t use it. I’ve heard more than a few stories of these boxed crooks killing the superhero in question who tried to get their help. I would not have asked for aid from the Necromantress if I didn’t think I absolutely had to.”
“This doesn’t seem very smart,” I said. I pointed at the Necromantress. “What’s to stop her from running away when we’re not looking? Or, heck, killing us outright and turning our bodies into zombies?”
“Simple,” said Rubberman. He looked at the Necromantress. “Shawna, show him your collar.”
The Necromantress looked annoyed at being called by her real name, but she nonetheless lifted up some of her hair, allowing me to see a metal collar with a blinking red light on it around her neck. It looked almost like a dog collar, except made of solid steel.
“That is the tracking collar the prison guards put on her before she left jail,” said Rubberman. “If she somehow gets away from us, the government will be able to track her every movement. She could go all the way to the other side of the planet and they’d still be able to pinpoint her location exactly.”
