by C. C. Ekeke
That rankled Hugo considerably. He almost asked which failed business the money was for but held his tongue. Especially since Mom enjoyed Sione’s presence.
After kissing both Sione and Hugo goodbye, Mom raced downstairs to leave for work.
Hugo took Dad’s car, which Mom never had to the heart to sell, on the drive to Apple Farm. Kids his age relished driving. Hugo felt like he was moving in slow-motion. Twenty minutes’ driving was lengthy for someone who ran at subsonic speeds. Hugo considered being dead-on about Sione. The man had bulldozed through his room like it was nothing. If Hugo had arrived seconds later, Sione could’ve inadvertently discovered his secret. Who knew what someone with all his debt would do with that?
“Sorry about earlier.” Sione’s voice made Hugo glance over. His uncle’s face showed clear remorse.
“No worries.” Hugo offered a half-smile, relaxing his defenses. “Sorry I flipped out.” He meant it. “Just ask before going through my stuff.”
Sione nodded, running fingers through his curly hair. “Whatcha got in there? International secrets?”
Close. “Private stuff,” Hugo stated vaguely, focusing on the road.
They reached Apple Farm minutes later. The warmly lit restaurant was crowded for dinner, meaning a long table wait. Hugo spotted a few Paso High students he recognized.
“Gotta piss. I’ll pay you back for the takeout.” Uncle Sione beelined for the restrooms.
Hugo stared after him. “Seriously.” Mom just gave Sione like five hundred bucks. Whatever. Shaking his head, he got in line at the bakery counter.
Hugo ordered the family-style pancake meal for four. Mom would have leftovers tomorrow. While waiting for his order, Hugo focused his superhearing to discover why Sione was taking so long.
“He’s inside!”
Hugo glanced at Apple Farm’s entrance. That was AJ inside a parked car. Two other heartbeats occupied the car with him.
“I’ll come with,” said an older teen girl, sounding familiar.
“Not him, Abby. That’s Junior’s brother,” Dallas complained.
Hugo turned around completely. His stomach churned with anticipation.
“Hush,” Abby Dunleavy scolded her younger brother. “I’m just saying hi. C’mon, Junior.”
Minutes later, Apple Farm’s entrance swung open. AJ entered first in soiled soccer gear.
“Hey, uso,” Hugo greeted. But his attention landed on the near six-foot stunner gliding in behind AJ.
Abby was a sight to ogle at repeatedly. Soft porcelain skin, slender and sloping figure, decked out in snug jeans. Her tightfitting red t-shirt had Damsel Causing Distress in bold white. Her golden-blonde hair was a short, jagged pixie cut. Abby’s deep-blue eyes gleamed as she smiled mischievously.
Her proximity jolted through Hugo like electricity. “Hey, Abby,” he greeted, strangely dazed.
“Hello, Bogie,” she replied, walking up like they were old friends.
That doused Hugo’s lust in cold water. “Hey now. You don’t know me like that, Abilene,” he taunted.
“You didn’t know who my brother was, Hugo.” Abby’s eyes narrowed, but her smile widened in challenge.
Hugo’s ears burned. “Loudmouth,” he hissed at a sneering AJ. His gaze returned to Abby and stayed there. “You got me there.” How could anyone look away? Her face, that don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. Her hips moving seductively each step. Everything about Abby was mouthwatering.
Despite the nasty rumors he’d heard, Hugo had never spoken to Abby. As someone who’d also been misjudged by strangers, Hugo refused to do the same. “Let’s try again.” He held out a hand. “Hi, Hugo.”
“Abby.” She accepted Hugo’s handshake with an amused grin. “Pleasure to finally meet.”
Her smile was infectious, filling Hugo with dizzying warmth. “Same.”
She moved closer, invading Hugo’s personal space with her enjoyable fragrance. Not that he minded. “I heard a rumor,” Abby began, “that Grace Misawa hosts dance parties at random places around Paso.”
Hugo had to laugh. Grace had started this over the last three months as a gathering of the Fab Phenoms and some friends. Very exclusive and growing in guest lists. Now students all over Paso High wanted invites. “I can confirm,” Hugo stated, “that we hold auditions if you want an invitation.”
Abby’s eyes lit up. “In that case.” She did two slow twirls with a seductive shoulder shimmy.
AJ ogled. Hugo’s pants tightened. “I think we’ll need a longer audition,” he endorsed jokingly.
“Why, Hugo.” Abby placed a hand on her chest. “You wanna private show?” She batted her eyelashes.
Hugo gulped, nearly having a heart attack. What the HELL? “Uh…”
“Uncle!” AJ called.
Hugo turned as Sione walked from the restroom.
“Hey, Junior,” he said, gawking at Abby.
“Did you fall into a toilet?” Hugo asked, introducing her to his drooling uncle.
When their order arrived, Abby took her leave. “See ya at school.” She winked and glided out of Apple Farm, turning several heads.
“You tapping her too?” Sione exclaimed as the three Malalous walked to their car.
Hugo’s cheeks flushed. “Nothing to see there.” The sudden attention on his love life felt weird.
“Abby is Dallas’s sister,” AJ added, tossing his soccer bag into the trunk.
“She’s a teenager?” Sione looked flabbergasted. “What are they feeding those Paso High girls?”
Hugo tried steering the conversation away from his “romances” on the drive home, only bringing new questions from Sione.
“I’m happy you’re getting action.” He scratched his chin. “Last time I visited, you were crazy about this crazy beautiful girl with green eyes and a weird name.”
Hugo’s throat went dry. A glance in the rearview revealed AJ wincing. “Eeesh.” Sione had met Briseis at Dad’s funeral, a lifetime ago. Hugo had been a different person, weaker and pathetic.
Sione looked back and forth at his nephews, lost. “What did I say?”
“She and I aren't friends anymore.” Hugo refused to say her name.
“That sucks,” Sione said in a smaller voice, then cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you two losing your dad. I should’ve been here.”
Hugo preferred the romance talk. He couldn’t bring himself to see AJ’s reaction. “You have your life.”
“No excuse.” Sione shook his head adamantly. “You boys are growing fast, but you still need a man in your house. As long as your mom will have me.”
Alarm bells sounded in Hugo’s head. He hadn’t expected…or wanted Sione to stay beyond a week. But the rearview revealed AJ’s happiness.
Fuck. Hugo’s brother craved a father figure, hence why he hung out often with Dallas Dunleavy’s dad.
“Thanks.” Hugo’s doubts felt appalling, centered on protecting a fledgling superhero career. For AJ and Mom’s sake, he’d give Sione a chance. “Mom and AJ need that.”
“And you, Bogota.” Sione placed a large, calloused hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “Anything you need.”
Dinner was sinfully delicious. But Hugo couldn’t linger to hang with AJ and Sione on a training night. Hugo raced upstairs at normal speed, tossed his costume in a backpack, then scurried back down.
“Where do you keep disappearing to?” Sione demanded.
“Internship.” Hugo was out the door. “Has weird hours.” After jogging around the block, he zoomed off. Hugo found Ms. Ortiz’s training facility empty. A text on his second cell revealed tonight’s routine.
Business up north that needs my attention. Patrol the city in costume to get comfortable wearing it. No engagement with criminals or with civilians.
Hugo squeezed his eyes shut. “I gotta wear that?” It was bound to happen eventually. He slid off his backpack and pulled out the star-spangled Kid Liberty costume.
Fifteen minutes later, Hugo perched on a
rooftop overlooking an ocean of bright lights and crisscrossing traffic. Drinking in the City of Wonder this high up never got old. So far, his costume only sucked aesthetically. When he was moving, it felt like a second skin. The eye covers processed visual info better, enhancing his already fantastic 140/20 vision. He listened to downtown, losing himself in the rhythms and frequencies. San Miguel was a living, breathing organism that never slept. Before, taking this vast city in used to overwhelm him. Now, with more experience, Hugo felt humbled by the City of Wonder’s magnitude. This neighborhood was calm, small crimes being handled by the cops. Hugo rose and ran, bounding through the air, rooftop to rooftop—almost flying.
But not quite. Hugo still couldn't fly.
Barks from machine guns several blocks away caught his ear. Hugo leaped toward the crime in progress without hesitancy. Letting his hypersenses guide him just felt effortless.
Hugo reached his destination in seconds: a run-down neighborhood at the far edge of downtown. He landed in a crouch with a slight crack beneath him. Two local gangs below, armed to the teeth, traded gunfire that lit up the alley like paparazzi on a red carpet. Hugo noted twenty-five gangbangers ducking behind cars and shadowy corners, nine bodies down. He recoiled, hearing terrified residents cower inside nearby apartments. Responding cops were too far away. Someone has to stop this.
Hugo could see a strategy in his mind’s eye. Drop behind one gang, superspeed around to grab everyone’s guns, then knock everyone out. Anxiety twisted up Hugo's insides. “I’m actually doing this.” He stood upright to begin.
“Kid Liberty.” A gravelly voice in his ear startled the shit out of Hugo.
He whirled around searching the dark rooftop for several seconds before realizing the voice had come from his mask’s earpiece. Hugo frowned in recognition. “Geist? How do you have this frequency?”
“Don’t engage,” the vigilante ordered, curt and guttural.
Hugo prickled. Why was Geist giving him orders? “They’re criminals. I’m supposed to do nothing?”
The Midnight Son grunted. “And you wonder why you’re a sidekick.”
The clapback stung so sharply Hugo almost couldn’t speak while volleys rang out below. “She sent you to babysit me?”
“Clearly necessary.”
Hugo clenched his hands into fists as they quivered with outrage. Time to show everyone why he wasn't anyone’s sidekick. “Fuck that!” Hugo moved toward the rooftop edge. “I’m gonna—”
Lightning abruptly split the heavens in half, forking down into the alley.
Hugo fell onto his behind, momentarily blinded. As his vision returned, the hail of gunfire and bravado being exchanged turned to screams.
“What the…?” Hugo peeked over the rooftop and his bowels nearly liquefied.
The lightning strike had left most of the gangbangers horribly charred. The survivors were running from a giant man in Norse Viking gear with longish red hair and a bushy beard. He swung a dark iron hammer crackling with electricity, smacking aside any gangbanger in reach with crunching impact. Whoever his hammer struck never got up.
Any gangbanger out of the Viking’s reach had to face a Junoesque woman in golden Greek Hellenistic armor wielding two swords. She hacked them to pieces, a blur of brutal justice.
The only supers Hugo had seen move that fast besides himself were Titan, Blur, Whiz Kid, and the idiotically named Accelerator. Ms. Warrior Princess is a speedster.
As the Viking and Greek warrior finished slaughtering, Hugo backpedaled from the rooftop edge, his heart racing. A familiar whoosh of movement dropped behind him.
“That’s why I said not to engage,” Geist growled, no longer speaking in Hugo’s earpiece. “I was tracking the shootout and their approach.”
Hugo struggled not to vomit as sounds of sliced meat and bone floated up to him, proceeded by more death cries. Nauseated, he dialed down his superhearing and smell, turning to face Geist. “Are those…?”
“Thor and Nike of the Elite.” The vigilante’s glowing eyes narrowed in the dark. “Patrolling San Miguel.”
Hugo couldn’t shake off images of Nike’s and Thor’s brutality. How were they anyone’s heroes? “That amount of force…”
“Gratuitous,” Geist agreed. These ‘Elite’ had to be bad for him to criticize their excessive force. “I’ve been watching them for weeks. Not a fan.” Geist jabbed a warning finger at Hugo. “Keep your distance.”
Hugo didn’t need another warning. “Agreed.”
Chapter 11
Darkness swaddled Greyson in a cold, fathomless embrace. His life had ended in the Gulf of Mexico.
Finally…peace.
…until a pinprick of light twinkled in the center of Greyson’s awareness. The dot expanded. Feeling returning to Greyson’s dead limbs, starting at his fingertips. Greyson immediately recognized the horrible occurrence as the pinprick swelled into a floodlight.
“No.” He shook his head, trying to push back underwater. “Let me die!” Whoever was pulling him back to the land of the living wouldn’t listen.
“Please!” Greyson begged, not caring how pitiful he sounded. “Please let me die!”
A shrouded, slender figure appeared over him. And her dazzling smile gutted him. “Can't, Grey,” Lauren declared. “There’s still work to do.” Scalding floodlight washed the darkness away…
The next thing Greyson knew, he was violently coughing out briny water. Greyson felt so weak, goosebumps prickling his clammy skin. And he couldn’t stop shivering. A spotlight momentarily blinded him, with several silhouettes crowding his hazy vision.
Greyson was confused but too drained to speak. The shadows talked over each other. Their shared dialect sounded like a bastardized blend of Spanish, French, and maybe Dutch, but with a rhythmic cadence.
“This one’s alive,” one shadow said in accented English.
“You serious?” another asked incredulously. “He was a corpse when we pulled him out.” A finger prodded Greyson’s neck. He was powerless to recoil. “Getting a pulse.”
“Good.” The first voice sounded hopeful. “His energy levels are unreal.”
“Alright,” the second voice spoke. “You know what to do with him and the others.”
Others… Panic lurched through Greyson’s shivering body. Did Connie survive the attack? He wanted to ask...until bone-deep fatigue dragged him under.
Greyson couldn’t fathom how long he’d swum in shadows, yo-yoing between minutes and decades. This time, Greyson wanted out. Not for himself. For Connie, to know she was safe.
Her survival would mean all Greyson’s wrongdoings weren't pointless.
Worries festered while sensation returned to his toes and fingers. Then his limbs. And finally, his chest. Instead of cold clamminess, Greyson’s skin was saturated in balmy humidity.
Darkness enveloped him still, along with slight pressure around his neck. He sucked in deep breaths to recover some strength.
His diaphragm spasmed as soon as oxygen flooded his lungs. Greyson curled up, violent coughs overwhelming him.
“Ow,” he wheezed once the coughing subsided. Greyson squinted from the flood of sunlight. Lying on some itchy mattress, he stared at a greyish concrete wall.
“So, he lives.” The voice had the same heavy accent as those shadows.
Greyson yelped in alarm and spun around. His body ached in protest. Wincing, Greyson looked across the small room, which resembled a jail cell.
A young boy sat on the bed at the opposite side, fluffy black hair, a browned complexion, and a sunny smile. Drab grey pants and an oversized t-shirt clothed his rangy physique.
The same thing I’m wearing, Greyson realized, inspecting himself. Slight pressure lingered around his neck. He studied his cellmate, pressing against the wall behind him. If not for his powers, Greyson suspected this boy could easily take him. “Who are you?”
The boy’s smile widened. “Fastball.”
Greyson thought he was joking. Fastball’s smile held no sar
casm. “A made-up name?”
Fastball’s smile soured. “Who says it’s made up?” he snapped.
The last thing Greyson wanted was to share cells with some kid with superhero delusions. His only priorities were finding Connie and getting out of wherever “here” was. “What’s your real name?” he asked in gentler tones.
“Fastball” sighed as if caught lying by a teacher. “Birthname is Rodrigo,” he admitted. “Is your name Lauren?”
Greyson nearly choked at how casually Rodrigo uttered her name. How the fuck does this kid know that name…? He struggled to control his anger.
Rodrigo recoiled from whatever he saw on Greyson’s face, raising his hands in mollifying manner. “Not judging. You talk in your sleep.”
Greyson relaxed. Made sense that Lauren would dominate his dreams and his heart. As Rodrigo had pulled back, Greyson noticed a thin, gunmetal grey band encircling his throat. Touching his own neck, Greyson was startled to feel cold metal.
“My name’s Greyson.” He tugged at the unyielding band. “What are these neck collars?”
Rodrigo tapped his neck band with a sullen shrug. “Restrains our powers.”
Greyson stared at him. Another super. He cursed himself for revealing his real name. Greyson had to escape before someone discovered his identity. “Imprisoning us for being supers is illegal.”
Shockingly, Rodrigo laughed at his outrage. “Not on Amarantha.”
Greyson popped off his bed. This kid was joking. “Amarantha? The Caribbean island?”
Rodrigo cocked his head, confused. “Know another Amarantha?”
Greyson shuffled to the tiny window, standing on his tiptoes to look outside. All he saw was a forest of thick green shrubbery mixed with arching palm leaves. Cloudless blue dominated the afternoon skies. Greyson knew Rodrigo was telling the truth.
He turned to his cellmate, wiping sweat beading down his brow with shaky fingers. This humidity left him woozy. “How am I on Amarantha?” The barge had been at least a thousand miles away. “We were in the Gulf of Mexico.”
