“That might have succeeded if you hadn’t picked up a sidekick.” He was on that again, and he was staring me down. It took me a second to come to a conclusion about that, and I called it out immediately.
“You jealous, Detective?” I asked, a little playful.
The corner of his mouth crooked up. “I don’t know. Are you into boys … or men?”
“I’m into stealing the souls of the people I touch for more than about twenty seconds,” I said, without a hint of suggestion.
“A dangerous woman,” he said, sounding more than a little amused. “My mother told me to stay away from those types. Made it seem irresistible.”
“Either you’re heavy on the flirting,” I said, “or you’ve got a death wish.”
“Could be neither,” he said, “could be both. I heard you’ve had boyfriends before. I guess I just figured maybe …” He sort of shrugged like it was nothing. “… maybe there was a little more to the story than the general line would indicate.”
I brushed against his shoulder, leaning toward him. “Maybe there is. Maybe where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Detective Calderon?” a voice called, and I saw Calderon grimace as a man in one of those rubber suits approached, big plastic goggles obscuring his face. “We’ve got something here.”
“Another skull?” Calderon asked. That kind of took the air out of the moment. Once again, I found myself macking on a man at a crime scene. Clearly I was developing a type.
“Well, yeah, that too,” the tech replied. “We’re up to seven. But something else, also. Some of these bones, they’re uh …”
“Be right there,” Calderon said.
“Can’t,” the tech said, waving him off. “You don’t want to walk over anything important.”
“I got this,” I said, and grabbed Calderon around the waist, lifting him up under one arm as I floated into the air.
“Holy crap,” the tech breathed as I floated toward him with Calderon tightly against me, like we were just taking a spacewalk. No reason to rush, after all.
“How you doing?” I asked Calderon, who turned his head to favor me with a look that I had a hard time decoding. His dark skin didn’t wrinkle at all in reaction.
“I’m being carried through the air by a metahuman,” he said nonchalantly. “I think some of my boyhood fantasies might have just come true.”
“So you don’t have a problem with strong women?”
“Only if they drop me,” he said with a smirk.
“You are kind of heavy.”
“I’m like two hundred pounds of ripped steel. That’s a lot.”
I shifted him like he was nothing more awkward than a pillow. “Oh, yeah? I didn’t notice.”
We made our way over to where the tech guided us. He’d extended a tarp over his find before leaving. There were tents going up to preserve the area in case of rain, I guess, but the guys who were setting them up must have been on a long dinner break, because they didn’t seem to have made much progress.
“This is something,” the tech said.
“Something … what?” Calderon asked.
“Well, it’s …” The tech just stalled. “Maybe you should just see for yourself.” And he yanked back the tarp.
Bones. Bones. And more bones.
My eyes could see the shapes, the patterns, and I knew immediately that something was … off. I was getting used to seeing the familiar shapes, things I’d learned about from an anatomy textbook probably from the 1980s that my mother had purchased. Still, the shape of human bones hadn’t changed over those years, and so when I looked at what the tech revealed from under the tarp, I knew immediately that something was …
… wrong.
The bones under the tarp were stretched. Distended. They weren’t broken, exactly, but they looked like maybe they had been at some point and had grown back … strangely. Not like a clean break and healing, or something that a doctor might have found in an abused person. No, these bones looked like they’d been broken, and had been pushed apart so that they couldn’t heal naturally, just to see if they’d … rejoin in strange ways.
And oh, they had. There was a femur that looked like it had an extra three inches of disjointed bone running at forty-five degrees right down the middle of it, a strange bridge like the bone had desperately tried to heal itself, contorting into a bizarre shape in the attempt.
But normal human bones didn’t do that when healing.
Meta bones did. But only if someone had intentionally kept them from healing properly.
“What the hell?” Calderon asked, summarizing my thoughts perfectly. “What … is that?”
“A dead meta,” I said, staring at the remains of someone who had been … tortured? Experimented on?
Murdered.
“Looks like you called the right person,” I said, as a cold fury settled into my own bones, causing me to shake—just a little—as I floated there over the latest victim.
14.
Augustus
Work moved the slowest I could remember since … uh, the day before, I guess. I normally didn’t mind work, but it was dragging now. I was counting the hours until I could be done, until I could go do my apprenticing thing. In spite of Sienna’s “Scared Straight” approach to mentorship thus far, I was still excited. It was tough to dampen my enthusiasm. I mean, I’d been watching superhero stuff from a young age, and when the announcement had come out that superheroes were real, it had been like a dream coming true. I was glued to the television for a month straight.
Having what happened yesterday happen, that was a dream, too, but a different one. A crazy dream that I couldn’t have hoped for in a million years. We live in a world of super powers, and I’d acclimated to that. But I didn’t expect to join it, and that was the most pleasant surprise of all, one that could never be topped, I figured.
“Mr. Cavanagh is coming to see you,” Laverne Dobbins said, looming over me as I stood next to the line with my clipboard in hand. He nearly scared the hell out of me, voice still deep and full over the machinery’s light rattle. Cavanagh’s factory was a lot quieter than most factories. He’d put time and research into muffling the machinery, decrying the effects of noise pollution on his workers’ hearing.
“I … what?” I asked Laverne, who stood there like a big, imposing mountain, his expression utterly flat.
Laverne evidently didn’t feel the need to repeat himself just because my brain was operating at half-speed. He just stood there until I saw a familiar face cutting through the crowd, though with less of an entourage this time—none at all, actually.
Edward Cavanagh worked his way around a piece of miniaturized assembly machinery and came toward me, smiling. “Augustus!” he called when he was in earshot. “You looked great on the front page this morning.” He had a paper under his arm and unfurled it to show the picture of me sandwiched between him and Mr. Weldon. The headline read, “Local Hero.” That was it. Big letters. And they’d cropped the photo to put me front and center, with Weldon and Cavanagh each losing an arm in the process. “Good timing on the pic, huh?” Cavanagh said as he came closer. He was grinning wide. “Seems like yesterday was a big day for you all around.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to catch sight of the paper. A picture of Sienna in flight was in the left-hand margin, attached to the story I was in. “Does that say …?”
Cavanagh just grinned. “Your secret is out, and what a splash. Saving the life of the most famous meta in the world? Good way to get your name out there. I’m sure the papers were overjoyed that they just coincidentally had a fresh file photo of you on hand. First time I’ve ever been unceremoniously chopped like that.” He moved his arm to hold it close to his side. “Well, if you and your new friend are looking for the one-armed man, I can assure you it was not me.” He popped his hand out.
“I’m sorry about that, sir—” I started.
“Sorry about what?” He looked at me, almost incredulous. “I see nothing b
ut good news all the way around here. You did something great for this community and—okay, I guess the bad part would be all those bodies they found, but I mean other than—God, that just sounds bad, doesn’t it?” Now he was grimacing. “I try to look on the bright side of things, that was all I meant by the—anyway.” He just sort of shrugged. “I think your heroism is wonderful. Your powers—also wonderful. I’m endlessly fascinated by metahumans, just like everyone else is, and I wish we were in the biotech space, because I’d love to know more about what makes your powers happen. But in regards to all this—I just want to say thank you, for the community, from Cavanagh Tech, for being you, Augustus.” He held up the paper again. “Congratulations. You’re a hero. And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.”
I found myself more than a little stunned. “Thank you, sir. I … I … I’ve been so fortunate in so many aspects of my life … having this job, getting that opportunity and recognition with you and Mr. Weldon yesterday, and then finding out I had my powers yesterday.”
Cavanagh looked like he was about to choke. “You found out yesterday? And saved Sienna Nealon last night?” He laughed. “You are every bit as ambitious as everyone says you are.”
“I don’t believe in wasting time, sir,” I said. “I feel like we have a responsibility to do something when we have the ability to, you know?”
Cavanagh nodded. “I feel the same. I’ve built my whole company’s philosophy around that idea. I’m just glad to see it shines through in all areas of the business.” He clapped me on the shoulder and leaned in. “Can I … can you just … show me … real quick … what you can do?”
“Uhm,” I looked and felt around me, seeing if I could get a grip on some dirt, something, in the area. I could almost feel like I had my fingers on a thread, and I tugged hard on it. I caught a glimpse of Laverne Dobbins, giving me a look as I strained, and something came floating through the air from the big, open garage door on the opposite wall.
It was a clod of dirt that must have been just … sitting there?
“Wow,” Cavanagh said, nodding his head, impressed. “I heard you had earth-based abilities. I brought that in for you.” He grinned again. “Didn’t want you to think we just had clumps of dirt lying around. Janitorial might feel like they’d been smeared on that one.” He slapped my shoulder again. “That’s just amazing. I predict big things for you, Augustus. I hope you keep your talents local, because … let’s face it … every town could use more heroes.” He extended a hand to me and I took it, and he shook mine firmly. “You need anything from me, let me know, all right?”
I paused, thought about it for a second. “Well, there might be one thing, but I hesitate to ask …”
“Don’t,” he said, looking a little offended. “Don’t hesitate. You can ask me for anything. Anything I can do to help you—money, resources, time—whatever. Ask. It’s yours.”
“I could … use some time off to help Ms. Nealon,” I said. “She was going to include me in her investigation.” I saw his eyebrows go up at that, and he nodded to Laverne.
“Make sure Augustus gets all the paid time off he needs for his hero work,” Cavanagh said. “And give him my phone number, too, so he can call me direct if he needs anything else.” He looked me in the eyes, and I felt his sincerity. “Really. Need a car, a plane, a helicopter—whatever. You or Ms. Nealon. Call and it’ll be done. Okay?” He shook my hand one last time. “Take care, Augustus. Make us proud.” With a last nod, he started away, that purposeful stride carrying him across the factory floor. Someone called his name and he headed straight for them, willing to give them a moment of his time.
Yeah, he was some guy, that Edward Cavanagh. I guess you don’t get to the top without learning how to make an impression.
“Here’s Mr. Cavanagh’s private number,” Laverne Dobbins said, stepping up to me. His suit looked expensive. I felt a sudden desire to ask him if I could have one of those, too, but I figured I’d just take the card and save my requests for help for when I really needed it.
“Thank you,” I said as I looked over the white rectangle of paper. It had a hologram in the corner, next to the Cavanagh Tech name, that made it shine like a silver-tinged rainbow as I turned it over. I was going to put the number in my phone right away, but the card? I was probably going to keep it forever.
“You can call any time, day or night,” Laverne said and then started away. “Consider your PTO request approved. Please apprise your supervisor of any day you need off, and he’ll forward that to me.” I expected something from him about not wasting Mr. Cavanagh’s time with trivial requests, or not to call about getting a free suit, but he didn’t say anything. Just nodded and left.
I just stood there for a minute, staring around, looking back at my line like someone was going to jump out and yell at me for not working. Of course, no one would, because that was my job and that’s not how I ever handled it. “Okay, then,” I said, mostly to myself. “I guess I’ll just … go and … be a hero.”
No one answered, so after a moment more I started walking toward the exit, tentatively at first but picking up speed as I went. This being a hero thing was not turning out half as bad as Sienna had made it sound.
15.
Sienna
I’ve long ago given up trying to understand men. It should be a warning to me that anyone with half a brain in his head would go running, not walking, away from a woman who can kill with her very touch.
Most don’t, though, which leads me to believe most men are out of their damned minds.
And very occasionally, I meet one with which that particular attribute doesn’t bother me much at all.
I was lying tangled in Detective Calderon’s—is it bad that I’d forgotten his first name? Of course that’s bad—in his sheets. It was mid-morning, I was feeling lazy and quite contented, and he’d disappeared into the bathroom a while ago and not come back quite yet. It had been a busy night at the crime scene, and I should have been exhausted afterward, ready for sleep. But I hadn’t been. Seeing craziness like this started a slow itch in the back of my head.
No.
Wait.
I don’t think this craziness started it at all, now that I think about it. I think it might have started earlier, with Ariadne and Reed in the training room. Like a symphony, warming up. Bows across strings, discordant noises, horns blowing out of tune and time. It was that isolated feeling, that sense of being cut off from the world, from everybody, from having Andrew Fricking Phillips sending me hourly email requests, updates and orders.
Not having received an email from him in a while had been a nice change of pace. I’d “accidentally” disconnected my email account from my phone and couldn’t remember my password. Whoops. I probably needed to call J.J. about that.
I don’t think I’d even realized how stressed I was until I was hovering over that crime scene, Calderon pulled close to my side. He smelled good, even with that musk of sweat from a day’s work underlying it all.
Marcus! That was his name. I remember it now.
All those thoughts of Kat, of what she’d done to me, all the media onslaught. The orchestra was done with the warm-up, was in the middle of the damned overture, and it sounded like cats howling in pain to me. There was other stuff, too—guilt that made up the supports beneath, kept it all from falling down on itself.
If this had been a normal night when I was at home, I think I would have retired early to my closet and shut the door, leaving the world outside.
But I wasn’t home, and there was no quiet, safe space to hide in, and the symphony was playing so loud in my brain that it made my hands shake.
So instead, I’d just clutched tighter to the handsome man who had been pushed in my direction and shown him how someone who can’t touch people with her skin has figured out oh so many different ways around that particular obstacle.
I didn’t hear any complaints from him. Maybe one about slowing down once, but other than that …
M
y head sunk into a thin pillow. Calderon’s place had the scent of masculinity about it—deodorants and shampoos and stuff that smelled unmistakably manly. Laundry soap that lacked any perfuminess to it. Straightforward, bare-bones, clean but not frilly or whatever. I liked it; it reminded me of my own personal aesthetic.
But it was still a little uncomfortable, and I hadn’t slept super well. I didn’t really love being away from my own bed, but under the circumstances, I couldn’t complain. Besides, I always won the cover tug-of-war. I am meta woman, hear me rip cotton sheets completely by accident. Whoops.
“You coming out anytime this decade?” I asked the blank door to the bathroom. “I thought girls took a long time in the bathroom.” I presumed he could hear me through it. Calderon had an apartment not too far from the crime scene, and it wasn’t too big, but it was well kept. People were on the stairwells at midnight when we’d come in, and they cleared out at the sight of him. Or me. Probably him. I just looked like a bloody mess, that was all. He was just a cop.
Okay, it might have been me that caused them to flee.
“It takes a while to keep all this looking tip top,” he said and cracked the door. He was shirtless, standing in front of the mirror but not giving it so much as a look. Dude was reasonably ripped, looked like he worked out. Only a light layer of black chest hair covered his dark skin, and he was fiddling with the phone in his hand. “Got the preliminary back from the scene.”
I clutched the torn sheet (I’m super strong; it seriously happens) in front of my body, feeling the mood shift back to all business, and suddenly a little self-conscious about my lack of clothing. “What does it say?”
“A lot,” he said, looking up. “A whole lot.” His dark eyes were slightly wide, like they’d just taken in a whole heap of info in one big eye-chug. “Here’s the biggest nugget: we have identification on two of them through dental records.”
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