Shadow Boy

by R. J. Ross

  “No, but you can yell at him later?” she offers.

  “But I doubt it’d work that way,” Nico finishes, ignoring that little conversation. “So we’re going to hit up the Villainy Artifacts Museum. You’re going to try and steal a few of the old school relics from villains gone by,” he tells me. “Most of them are wrecked beyond repair thanks to the heroes, so it’s no big deal if we mess them up more. But hey, it’s still an interesting place for a field trip—”

  “I WANT TO GO!” Carla shouts, stopping long enough to grab onto Nico’s shirt. “Can I? Can I?”

  “I’m not sure we can trust you around that many old bombs,” he tells her, not even blinking at the “Carla-outta-nowhere” attack. She gives him a sheepish grin and lets go. “Already over the caffeine rush?” Nico asks.

  “I only took a sip! It tasted funny,” she says, giving me a look as it was all my fault that MY coffee tasted funny to HER.

  “Fine, next time you order coffee and leave it where she can get it, make sure it doesn’t taste funny,” Nico tells me.

  “But she shouldn’t be drinking coffee in the first place!” I protest.

  “I agree with Rocco,” Vinny says. “Now, can we get to work?”

  I take a step back as he holds out his hands in his typical “lighting up” pose, and sink into the shadows. Sure I’m going to find out if I’m fire proof here, but there’s no reason to start out that way. I take two steps forward and jump through a portal, appearing behind Vinny and shoving him hard. Before he can turn back, I step back again, slipping into the Shadowlands.

  Okay, so this isn’t the way a hero would fight. I guess Nico was right to make me a villain. I don’t have to admit—

  The portals are disappearing, I notice as the one in front of me closes. I dive for the next one, slipping out onto the field again. A flaming fist slams into my face, sending me flying backwards. I hit the ground, catching my balance quickly before racing forward. I jump, slamming into him in a full-out tackle, even though he’s on fire. My clothes catch on fire, but it only feels unpleasant, so I ignore it, slamming a fist into his face.

  For a moment we brawl, trading blows. My clothes are flaming, but I just shrug them off as it gets to be annoying. Soon I’m standing in boxers (thank GOD we wear the same size—I’d hate to have them tear,) and I hear the crowd cheering.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Max shouts, making us stop. “This isn’t NEARLY entertaining enough!” he says, taking to the air just so he can look down on us. Napoleon complex, I swear. “There needs to be some sort of chemistry between the two of you—”

  “I like girls,” I say before he can go on. “Although I guess Vinny’s kind of—”

  “For the love of God, please don’t finish that sentence,” Vinny says dryly. “I’d rather NOT know what you think I am.”

  “Not that kind of chemistry,” Max says. “Look at me and Trent—there’s an ongoing argument there. We clearly want to piss each other off. You two are acting like this is just doing your duty! How will you ever get a fan club if you do it like that?”

  “We’re not out to get a fan club—” Vinny starts out.

  “Actually he’s right,” Nico says. “Getting the norms’ attention is a big part of this job. They need to either love you, or hate you. And Rocco, you’re in the perfect position to get plenty of attention… try to give Vinny a hard time.”

  I look at Vinny. I look at Nico. “You do KNOW him, don’t you?” I ask after a long moment. “Getting Vinny angry is impossible.”

  “Then throw him off guard,” Nico says. “Vinny, can you go along with that?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Vinny says with a shrug.

  “I’m not really the mic type, though,” I say, looking at Max. He’s the KING of mic drops. “So it’s not like—”

  “Max, loan him your mic, we’ll see if he’s right,” Nico says. The ever-present gold mic drops and I grab it automatically. “Now! From the beginning—and since you’re stealing a super villain’s weapon… Zoe, go get me something shiny, would you?”

  “I’ve got the ghost trapper I made last week!” Zoe says.

  “That’ll do perfectly. We’ll call it a torture chamber.”

  “But what do I need with a torture chamber?” I ask blankly.

  Everyone stares at me. Was it something I said?

  ***

  “Senator Herold, your one o’clock lunch appointment is here,” Herold’s secretary says. “You have a table at Picadillo’s booked for one fifteen.”

  “Thank you,” Herold says, standing and reaching for his coat. He glances up, pasting on a smile at the tall Texan steps through the door. The smile slips, though, as he sees Charles Benton in person for the first time.

  “Senator Herold,” Century says, holding out a hand and daring him to take it. “I have to say just how pleased I am that you could fit me into your schedule.”

  “I can’t say how honored I am that you’ve decided to support me,” Herold says, his smile snapping right back into place. “I’ve seen good things about how you’ve been redeveloping your refinery.”

  “I brought in a consultant a bit back,” Century says. “But I can tell you all about that over lunch, I’d say.”

  “I can almost guess who you brought in,” Herold says casually as they head out.

  “Hope you don’t mind using my driver,” Century says, as if they’re old friends. “I’m paying an arm and a leg to keep them for the week, I figure I might as well get my money’s worth.”

  “No, not at all,” Herold lies.

  “I thought you might say that,” Century replies, nodding to the secretary as they walk past and out the door. The limo on the curb is a Hummer type, and has bull horns tied to the grill. “So I went ALLLLLL out,” Century finishes with an evil grin. “I thought I’d bring some southern comfort with me—I hope you’re not allergic to cow hide.”

  “Tell me,” Herold says silently as he poses and smiles for a camera in the crowd, “are you planning on killing me in the car?”

  “And ruin a perfectly good cow hide interior?” Century asks. “No sir, that would be a sin against nature. We’re going out to lunch, where we’ll pretend to be nice and friendly for the on-watchers.” He slides into the car as a black suited man opens it for him, and waits as Herold follows.

  “Something tells me you’re not really willing to be one of my financial backers,” Herold says after the door closes. He leans back in the chair across from Century, watching the man with an unreadable expression. “You’ve made your feelings quite clear when we ran into one another before now.”

  “I don’t like you, I won’t lie,” Century agrees, crossing his legs so his right ankle rests on his left knee. He’s wearing jeans. Herold’s eyes go down, taking in the ornate cowboy boots.

  “You’re really pushing the redneck look, aren’t you?” he says.

  “I find it makes people underestimate me. And these are thousand dollar boots, son. It's called Cowboy Chic.” There's a little grin pulling at his lips when he says that.

  “You’re not paying anything for this driver, are you?” Herold says, looking around the limo.

  “It was a pretty penny to get it brought all the way here,” Century says. “Now you and me are going to have a nice little chat, Herold. And when that chat is over, you’re going to withdraw from the presidency run.”

  “That’s an interesting theory,” Herold says. “But by all means, let’s have that chat.”

  ***

  I’m sore. The rest of the group is clapping, but all I can think of is relaxing in a bath, or something. We’ve been fighting for over an hour—and no matter what I tried, nothing seemed to phase Vinny. Not really. You can tell because there’s this second of thought before he reacts. Vinny isn’t the greatest of actors, but then again, neither am I.

  “Okay, we’ll call that done for the day. Everyone get to class—Vinny, Rocco, go grab a shower before going. And some pants,” he adds with a pointed look at me. “We�
��ll get you suited up in a semi-fireproof uniform before this weekend.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say, rubbing a particularly painful bruise. I’m healing up already, thankfully, but I swear that Vinny hits the same spot every other punch. He’s got to be doing it on purpose. I head for the nearest shadow, stepping through. It’s just a few more steps before I can crawl into a hot shower and—

  “Rocco.”

  I go still. There’s no way that Shadowman can be on this side of the force field. But I’m not surprised that I can hear him through it, I think reluctantly. “Get over here, kid, we need to talk.”

  “I’m going to be late for class,” I say as I head for the force field. Sure enough he’s standing on the other side. Down here you can see through it. “Is there something Nico needs to know?”

  “There’s something YOU need to know,” Shadowman says. “You were caught coming out of a shadow—Herold has it on video. He doesn’t know if it was Skye that did it or you, but either way, he wants me to ‘fetch you’ for him.”

  “Oh, so you’re going to kidnap your own kid to keep on his good side?” I drawl. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “It’s worth thinking about,” he says, his expression turning thoughtful. “I could drag you in and make it look like I’m faithful, and then you can escape when he’s not looking—or better yet, have someone come in and ‘rescue’ you. I really should have done that instead of taking all this time to warn you,” he goes on. I glare at him. “Why are you naked, anyway?” he asks. “You have some extremely strange hobbies in that school?”

  “I was sparring with a fire type,” I say, shoving down embarrassment. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to debut,” I say.

  “What? You can’t do that!” he says, sounding honestly shocked. “The LAST thing you want to do right now is debut! It’ll just get Herold MORE interested!”

  “I’m going to be an official Hall villain—not one like you,” I say, scowling at him. “That means I debut and the world knows about me.”

  “It means Technico is using you as bait,” Shadowman snarls. He steps forward, reaching for me only to curse as the lasers hit his hand. I watch his skin heal, but it did some definite damage. He stares at it for a moment before glaring at me. “This isn’t the end of this conversation, boy,” he says, "just a strategic retreat.”

  “You were planning on using me as bait, too,” I say as he starts to walk away. “You were going to throw me under the bus! At least if Nico uses me as bait, I’ll have backup!”

  “But Herold will know EXACTLY what you can do—and that we’re related,” he says over his shoulder.

  “I never asked for that relation,” I say.

  “Too bad.” He’s gone before I can come up with a reply. My phone beeps and I let out a groan, realizing that I’m late for class. I don’t care, I decide as I head for my room. I didn’t do my homework, anyway.

  ***

  Even if it’s supposed to be a more discreet restaurant, Picadillo’s has several people turn slightly to watch the two men walk past. The young woman leading them has a slight tremble in her hands as she motions them to a booth in the back. It’s somewhat separate from the rest of the diners, and Century notes that fact without even blinking. “Thank you, darlin’,” he says as he sits down and takes the menu.

  “Picadillo’s is one of my favorite places for business lunches,” Herold says pleasantly as he makes himself comfortable. “It’s the perfect place to have a private conversation without it looking private.”

  “I’m flattered,” Century says, his good ole boy act in full swing, “being brought to your favorite place. I take it you come here often?”

  “Often enough,” Herold says, flipping through the menu briefly before putting it down. “Now tell me, Cen—ah, should I call your Charles?”

  “Charles is fine,” Century says, staring at the menu as if actually looking for what to eat.

  “Then tell me, Charles, how do you plan to stop me from running for president?”

  “I’m going to blackmail you,” Century says. “I always feel a bit wary, getting Mexican this far from home—I’m pretty picky about my Mexican food.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find it excellent,” Herold says. “And if you think threatening to tell the world I’m what you are, well, you can see how I can’t take that seriously. You in the game are so intent on secret identities that you won’t even tell who the villains are.”

  “You really think that, do you?” Century says, closing the menu and looking up. “I will admit it’s true—for those that are playing by the rules. But you see, Senator, you’re not playing by our rules. And when you don’t play by our rules, there’s no reason why we should play by yours,” he says, leaning back in the booth and stretching his legs out. His knees bump against the bottom of the table. “You realize just how dangerous a position you’re in? If the norms find out that you—”

  He stops as the waitress shows up, taking their drink order. He waits a bit impatiently until she’s gone. But before he can say anything, Herold speaks.

  “You just exposed your secret identity to me,” Herold says. “It seems we’re in the same position.”

  “Not particularly,” Century says. “You see, there are no rules against one of our kind owning a personal business. Nor do I have a family to threaten. Of all the Hall Leaders, I care least about whether or not my true identity comes out.”

  “As an oil baron?”

  “Technico redid my system not too long ago. I’m being heralded as an eco-lover, now. Tell me, Herold, what do you think would happen if I came out as who I am, on top of that?”

  “Every super villain in the area will target your company to attack you,” Herold says. “You think so highly of Technico, but you forget—I’m one, too,” he says silently, leaning forward.

  “Oh, I’m not forgetting,” Century says. “I’m just confident that you’re not as good as he is.”

  The look of pure rage that crosses Herold’s face disappears quickly, but not so quickly that Century doesn’t notice it.

  “You all think you’re so superior,” Herold says, his voice measured in a way that says he’s being very restrained. “This is why your type needs to be put in their place.”

  “No, boy, this is why YOU need to be put in your place,” Century says, leaning forward slightly. “We know exactly what our role in society is. It’s you that’s blurring the lines.” He looks up as the waitress approaches, smiling as if he hadn’t just threatened the other man.

  “Have you decided what you’d like to order?” she asks, smiling hesitantly at him.

  “Well, I’m having a bit of trouble deciding,” Century says, his accent traveling ten degrees to the south. “Tell me, darlin’, what do you think is best here?”

  “Oh, um, well I’m a huge fan of—”

  Century’s left hand reaches out, touching Herold’s. The other hand drops on the table. A blue light shoots out from the hand, flowing through the room in all directions. The waitress goes perfectly still, her mouth still open to talk. The sounds of silverware clinking stops, the soft mumble of conversation stills. The world around them is completely stopped in time.

  “A bit showy, don’t you think?” Herold asks, pulling his hand away. “Is this a threat?”

  “No, son, this is a promise,” Century says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and propping it up on the table, "from the entire Hall.”

  The other Hall leaders appear on the screen, each in their own square. “Hello, Senator, as always, it’s an experience,” Mastermental says.

  “Do you really think a show of strength and a threatening phone call is heroic?” Herold asks with a little smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “This is just a friendly little reminder, Herold. We don’t want to start a war, now do we?” Isotonic says. “We want to offer a truce, supers to super.”

  “A truce,” Herold sa
ys. “Is this bribery, then?”

  “Of course not,” Century says. He has a glowing green syringe in his hand. When he pulled that out, Herold has no clue, but the sight of it sends a chill down his spine. “It’s just a little… negotiation period.”

  “And that is?”

  “A way for you to stop being a hypocrite,” Marigold says. “You can take the serum and become what you’ve been pretending to be, a norm. Your little war against us can go on, and we won’t be able to touch you again—at least not like we are now.”

  “Or you can choose to stay a super and open yourself up to our laws,” Mastermental finishes. “I believe you’re young enough that it won’t kill you.”

  “Is that how you finished off my mother?” Herold asks, his eyes glued to the serum.

  “Why yes, yes it is,” Century says. “Courtesy of a woman that if we dig deep enough, has a tie with you.”

  “Fascinating,” Herold says. “Shadowman, if you would—” A hand reaches out of the shadows beneath the table and he grabs it, pulled through. Century curses, hitting the shadow just as the portal closes.

  “We just showed him our ace,” Negatia says. “You meant for that to happen, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did,” Mastermental says. “Now, we sit back and see how he plays it out.”

  “I won’t lie, this stuff gives me the chills,” Century says, staring at the syringe with fascination.

  “It won’t work on you without the power blocking gun shutting down your abilities first,” Mastermental says, waving it off. “Now clean up there and return to your base. He’s going to go after you, first, I think.”

  “I know,” Century says. “I’ve got Nico working on it.” He stands, digging out a wad of cash and tossing it onto the table before walking away. Once outside he taps the building’s door and time jerks back into motion. He’s long gone by the time the waitress realizes the table she’d been serving is now empty.