I nodded. The chief always did his very best to keep his word, both in his day job and at night, when he was moonlighting as Mr. Sage. He was also Fiona’s dad, a fact that few people knew, so I trusted him much more than he realized. Unlike earlier tonight with Wynter, I managed to keep my mouth shut and not blurt out his secret identity to everyone within earshot. Maybe my superfan brain was finally giving me a break.
Chief Newman stood by my side as Blue’s body was placed on a stretcher and carted out of the alley. I wiped away a few more tears, while Rascal whined and whined, pressing his small, warm body against my legs and offering me what comfort he could.
The coroner had just loaded the body into the back of his van when the screech-screech-screech of tires sounded, and a SUV emblazoned with the Superhero News Network logo skidded to a stop at the corner, right where the ice cream truck had been parked before. The truck was gone now, and the cops had cordoned off the alley and the surrounding block with yellow crime scene tape.
The SUV had barely skidded to a stop before Kelly Caleb was out of the vehicle and striding toward the crime scene tape, a digital recorder clutched in her hands and her high heels clack-clack-clacking on the concrete sidewalk.
Chief Newman let out a loud, weary sigh. “Please excuse me, Piper,” he rumbled. “I need to go prepare a statement for the press.”
I nodded again, and he moved off to speak to one of the police department’s public information officers who was on the scene. I wondered if Chief Newman was trying to put some sort of spin on Blue’s death. If so, why? There might be dozens of heroes in Bigtime, but that didn’t mean that the city was crime-free. Good Intentions Lane was proof enough of that. Even some of the villains wouldn’t go into that neighborhood after dark. And muggings, robberies, murders, and more weren’t just limited to the bad parts of the city. They could happen to anyone anywhere at any time.
Just like Blue’s senseless death here tonight.
Kelly Caleb stopped at the yellow tape and looked at the chief, waving and trying to get his attention, but Newman turned his back, pointedly ignoring her. I frowned, wondering what she was doing here. Kelly was the star reporter for SNN, and I wouldn’t think that the murder of a former, minor villain like Bustling Blue would blip this high on her radar, especially not this quickly.
Unless…there was something else going on here that I didn’t know about.
Curious, I headed over to her.
Kelly saw me coming. She smiled and waved, and I waved back. Rascal followed along beside me. I ducked under the crime scene tape, and Kelly stepped forward and hugged me.
“Piper!” she said. “It’s so good to see you!”
“You too, Kelly.”
Kelly and I had gotten to know each other quite well when I’d been dating Kyle, since the two of them were cousins, along with Devlin “Debonair” Dash. Kelly was the only one of the three of them who didn’t seem to have a superpower, though. At least, none that I’d ever seen her use, although I often wondered if she might really be Confidante, since Kelly got almost as many scoops as the comic book writer and artist did.
Kelly noticed my red, puffy eyes from when I’d been crying. She frowned. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? Were you a witness to the murder?”
“Not to the murder, but I found Blue…afterward,” I said, my throat closing up and tears welling in my eyes again. “It was…awful.”
Kelly’s face creased with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Piper.”
She squeezed my arm, but her sharp blue eyes had already taken on a speculative look.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “And why does Chief Newman seem so determined to ignore you?”
The police chief was still standing with his back to us, although the information officer he was talking to kept glancing over at Kelly.
Kelly waved her hand, as though she were brushing off my concerns. “Oh, that’s nothing new. I’m not the chief’s favorite person. I never have been, and I never will be.”
Her words were true enough, but the evasive tone in her voice told me that there was something else going on.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are you really here? If you know something about what happened to Blue, please tell me. He was my friend, and I want whoever did this to be caught as soon as possible.”
Kelly reached up and fluffed out her blond hair, buying herself some time to think about my request.
“Please,” I said. “Tell me what you know.”
Kelly quit messing with her hair. She hesitated a second longer, then crooked her finger at me. Curious, I followed her over to the SNN vehicle. Kelly glanced around to make sure that no one was listening or paying any attention to us. Then she opened the trunk, pulled a tablet out of a large black bag, and called up several photos on it.
“Someone’s been going around the city killing heroes and villains,” she said in a low voice.
She turned the screen around and swiped through several photos of various heroes and villains in their costumed glory days. I recognized all of them. Minor players in the supergame, all with a variety of low-level powers. Radio Randall, a hero with enhanced senses. Muscular Mila, a hero with some extra strength. Catwalk, a former fashion-model-turned-villain who had the ability to summon up bright, blinding, camera-like flashes of light with her bare hands. She could also strut dramatically and yet still move without making a sound at the same time.
I knew these elderly heroes and villain especially well since I’d spent time with all of them recently, interviewing them for the library project. Nice folks, for the most part. Even Catwalk, although she’d been a little overly dramatic, wanting her story to be the focal point of the history project. They hadn’t deserved to be murdered.
“And now, the not-so-nice photos,” Kelly said. “Brace yourself. These aren’t pretty.”
I nodded, and she swiped through several more photos. Somehow, Kelly had gotten access to the crime-scene photos of the previous murders. Radio Randall, Muscular Mila, Catwalk. They all lay sprawled in their homes, eyes closed, as if they were asleep. But it was just a gruesome illusion. Nothing could hide the crimson blood spattered all over their clothes, the deep wounds crisscrossing their chests, and the ugly, red puncture marks in their necks—the same sort of wounds that had ringed Blue’s throat.
My stomach twisted with horror and disgust, and more tears scalded my eyes, but I blinked them back and forced myself to focus on the images.
“What are those neck wounds?” I asked.
Kelly shrugged. “I don’t know exactly, and neither does the coroner, according to my sources. But each victim was missing more than a pint of blood, according to the autopsy reports. The coroner suspects that it’s some sort of collar made out of needles that was snapped around and then jabbed into their necks to help drain their blood as quickly as possible. Before they had a chance to fight back.” She paused. “After their blood was taken, the killer finished them off by cutting them to pieces with some sort of knife.”
Blue had fought back—he’d said as much—but the murderer had killed him anyway.
My hand crept up to my own neck, phantom pinpricks stinging my skin there. “How awful. But why would someone want to take a hero’s or villain’s blood…”
The answer was obvious.
“Their powers,” I whispered. “Someone is going around Bigtime stealing superpowers.”
Kelly nodded. “That’s what it looks like. And that’s what Chief Newman thinks too, even if I can’t get him to say so on the record. But he let it slip to me that the Fearless Five are investigating the murders. They’ve been quietly warning other heroes and even the villains they encounter to watch their backs until they figure out who is doing this.”
“But nobody warned Blue,” I said in a sad voice. “And now it’s too late.”
Kelly winced. “I’m sorry, Piper. I remember you telling me how much you liked talking to him.”
“I really did. Blue was always happy to s
hare stories about all the heroes and other villains that he battled over the years. He said that it was a simpler time back then, that everything wasn’t so carefully controlled and managed like it is today. That the heroes and villains could just be themselves and didn’t have to worry about their brands or corporate images or fan bases.” My throat closed up again, and my voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m going to miss him.”
“Hey, Kelly!” A cameraman rounded the side of the SUV and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Newman’s going to give a statement in another five minutes or so. Thought you might want to do a quick piece before he does, or before the folks from The Chronicle and The Exposé get here.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Saul. I’ll be right there.”
Saul nodded back, grabbed some equipment out of the SUV, and lumbered off toward the crime scene tape.
“I’m sorry that I have to go,” Kelly said. “Maybe we can grab lunch one day soon and catch up?”
“Sure. That would be great.”
She smiled, then reached into the open trunk and pulled her black bag closer, unzipping the top and searching through the equipment inside. Something fell out of one of the side pockets and fluttered to the ground. Kelly didn’t notice it, so I bent over and picked it up.
It was a single red rose, with a black ribbon tied to it. See you soon was printed in white letters on the ribbon, along with several small white hearts.
“Looks like someone has a secret admirer for Valentine’s Day,” I teased, holding the rose out to her.
Kelly looked up and gasped. Her blue eyes widened, and her pretty face paled as she stared and stared at the flower. She wet her lips, her gaze darting left and right, scanning the shadows around us as if she was afraid that someone was lurking in them, watching us.
Watching her.
“Where did you get that?” she asked, her voice a low, ragged whisper.
“It was in your bag,” I said. “It fell out of one of the side pockets.”
Kelly snatched the rose out of my hand and stared at the message printed on the black ribbon. For a moment, her hand trembled, but then her mouth hardened into a flat line. She marched over to the trash can at the corner and tossed the flower inside before spinning around and storming back over to me.
“I take it that’s not from a Valentine,” I said.
“Not even close.” Kelly shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a…present from an…overeager fan.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” I said in a gentle voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She gave me a wide smile, but her eyes were dark and troubled. “Don’t worry. I can handle it. This isn’t the first time someone’s left me a…present like this, and I doubt it will be the last.”
Kelly grabbed a wireless microphone and some more equipment from her bag, closed the SUV trunk, and went over to her cameraman, who had already set up in front of the yellow crime scene tape. Saul adjusted his camera lens and turned on the light on top of the device, while Kelly checked that her microphone was working properly. When everything was ready, Kelly positioned herself in front of the crime scene tape, with the red and blue lights of the police cars flashing on the street behind her.
“In three,” Saul said, pointing at her. “Three, two, one…”
Kelly tightened her grip on her microphone and stared straight into the camera, her face serious. “Good evening. This is Kelly Caleb with the Superhero News Network reporting from the scene of yet another grisly murder on the streets of Bigtime. We’ll be hearing from Chief Sean Newman in a few minutes with some more details of the brutal crime, but here’s what we know so far…”
Kelly went into full-fledged reporter mode, recapping all the facts.
I watched her for several minutes, but everything she said just made me feel that much more melancholy and heartbroken. Blue hadn’t deserved to be killed for his speed power. And neither had any of the other victims.
At my feet, Rascal let out a small, sad bark.
“Yeah, boy. That’s just how I feel too.” I sighed. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
We reached my apartment about fifteen minutes later. I unlocked the door and let myself in. I removed Rascal’s collar and leash, and the puppy bounded forward, sniffing everything in sight. I put down my things, stripped off my bloody, ruined coat, and stood in the kitchen, staring out over the rest of my apartment.
Superhero memorabilia stretched out from wall to wall and from the front to the back of my apartment. A wide range of heroes were represented on everything from the Swifte clock hanging on the kitchen wall to the thought-a-day Mr. Sage calendar sitting on the coffee table to the Fiera electric blanket that was crumpled up at one end of my couch. Practically everything I owned had some sort of hero, symbol, or official logo on it. There were even a few villain-themed items in the mix, like the Caveman Stan zebra-stripe kitchen towels that Abby had bought me as a gag gift for Christmas.
Normally, I loved coming home to my apartment, to all the cool and quirky things I’d collected over the years. But tonight, the sight of all the memorabilia just depressed me.
Especially the vintage Bustling Blue lunch box sitting on the kitchen counter.
I walked over, reached out, and traced my fingers over Blue’s smiling masked face. I had found the metal box last week at the downtown comic book store. I had been planning to shine it up, pop the dents out of it, and give it to Blue, since I knew that he’d get a kick out of it.
But it was too late now.
Another wave of sadness rippled through me, and I dropped my hand from the box.
I still had Rascal to take care of, so I put out some food and water for him, as well as arranging his wicker basket in the corner and scattering his chew toys all around it. The puppy slurped down some water, had a mouthful of kibble, and curled up in his bed. He must have been as exhausted as I was because a minute later, he was asleep, his brown, furry paws twitching as he dreamed about bounding after something.
It was late, and I needed to go to bed too, so I grabbed my coat, which was covered with Blue’s blood, and balled it up so I could stuff it into my Hermit trash can. Something slid out of one of the coat pockets and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and realized that it was the bit of jagged, torn fabric I’d found in the alley. Just like I’d suspected, it was a shimmering ice-blue, although the edges of the fabric were stained with what looked like blood.
I frowned. Fiona absolutely loathed ice-blue, and none of the clothes she had made for Blue had been even close to this color. So where—or who—might the scrap of fabric have come from?
Had…had Blue’s murderer dropped it?
Blue had said that he’d fought back against his killer. Maybe he’d put up more of a struggle than I’d realized. Maybe he’d even managed to rip the other person’s clothes.
The gears in my brain started grinding together, and I turned on my laptop on the kitchen table, which was embossed with the Fearless Five logo. I washed my hands and microwaved myself some dark hot chocolate while I waited for the laptop to boot up. Once they were both ready, I sat down at the table, scrolled through my files, and clicked on one titled Fandemic.
Documents, photos, voice recordings, and more popped up onto my screen, all part of A Bigtime Past, the library’s project chronicling Bigtime’s heroes and villains. I had been planning to volunteer to help with the project anyway, but after Kyle had dumped me, I’d thrown myself wholeheartedly into it. Working on the project hadn’t helped me get over Kyle and our breakup, but it had kept me from sitting in my apartment and moping for hours on end. And it had been more fun than I’d thought possible.
I had always loved facts and figures and learning obscure bits of information, so something like the history project was right up my alley. I’d become so interested in Bigtime’s superhistory that I had done some extra research, just for my own enjoyment, digging up old photos of heroes and villains from the Chronicle and Exposé newspaper
s, reading about hero-and-villain rivalries in the library archives, and even doing a spreadsheet of all the city buildings that had been destroyed in various battles and how much it had cost to repair them. (Five hundred billion and counting, by my estimates.)
But my favorite part of the project had been tracking down former heroes and villains, interviewing them, and recording all their wild, fascinating stories about past battles, feuds, and more. Most of them were retired from crime-fighting or committing and had been happy to talk about their time roaming the streets of Bigtime. For some of them, it had brought up fond memories they hadn’t thought about in years.
Clicking through the photos made me think about that phrase Blue had kept repeating before he’d died. Wings and snowflakes… Wings and snowflakes…
I frowned. Could his words have been a warning? Practically every hero and villain identified themselves with some sort of symbol or logo. I wondered if Blue had been talking about other people’s symbols, other folks who might be the killer’s next targets.
So I went online, logged on to the web page and database for the library’s history project, and typed the words wings and snowflakes into the search engine. More than three dozen hits popped up on my screen. Heroes and villains loved symbols, and wings and snowflakes were some of the more popular ones, since so many superfolks could fly or had cold-based powers.
I scrolled through page after page of information. Talon, Johnny Angel, Snow Globe, the Winged Whistler… The list went on and on, although two very familiar names kept popping up over and over again.
Swifte and Wynter.
I frowned again. Swifte’s speed and Wynter’s strength and icy abilities. Those would be good powers to have. No, scratch that. They would be great ones to have. So would the powers of all the other heroes and villains on the list. The killer could be targeting anyone in the database, anyone in Bigtime, but I kept clicking back to the information on Swifte and Wynter.
Maybe I was way off target, but I couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that slithered up my spine at the thought that Kyle and Sabrina might be in danger. Sabrina was my friend, and Kyle, well, I didn’t know what Kyle and I were right now, but I still cared about him. I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. I’d have to warn them both tomorrow. Even if Chief Newman and the rest of the Fearless Five had put the word out about the murders to all the heroes in town, I wanted Kyle and Sabrina to hear it again from me. It was the only way that I would feel better about things.
Fandemic Page 5
