by C. C. Ekeke
Rodrigo had an understanding look, head bobbing up and down. “You’ve been out for a while. And you’re with the new batch of supers that came in.”
Greyson didn’t enjoy that answer. “Define a while?”
“Four days,” Rodrigo explained. “Having bad nightmares.”
Greyson shuffled to his bed and sat heavily. His brain was still foggy from nearly drowning, making coherent questions hard to form. Had Amarantha captured him on behalf of the US government? Would they extradite him back to the US?
And Connie? Which cell was she in? Greyson scrutinized his surroundings closer. The cell’s sanitized aesthetic evoked a sinister abnormality. “What kind of prison is this?”
“One of many in Côte Royale that can hold supers.”
Greyson was lost. “Côte Royale?”
Rodrigo rolled his eyes. “You statesiders don’t know shit about other countries.”
Greyson leaned away from this child’s critique, which wasn’t entirely wrong. Lauren was the news junkie in their relationship—
He winced at the memory and contemplated what he knew about this Caribbean nation. Most was unpleasant. Amarantha, a tropical paradise, was one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere thanks to US sanctions over the last decade. Its biggest issue was the horrific treatment of Amaranthine supers, despite their overabundance.
“Hang on,” Greyson stated, irked by a toddler schooling him on world news. “How old are you?”
Rodrigo looked offended, puffing his chest out. “Old enough. I’m twenty-one, yea.”
Greyson smiled despite himself. Rodrigo reminded him of the East St. Louis community center kids… His throat tightened. Another part of his old life he'd lost. Greyson focused on the now before the tears came. “I get them jailing me, an American,” Greyson surmised. “But you’re Amaranthine!”
Rodrigo stared at the floor. Heaviness settled over his bright persona. “I manifested months back. Tried hiding in Noordaal, my hometown.” His soft brown eyes angled up, haunted by whatever had brought him here. “But the government does periodic sweeps to find new supers.”
Supers were jailed as soon as their powers manifested. That could have been Greyson if he’d been born here. Would’ve done my family a favor. Sweat stung Greyson’s eyes. He swiped it away in annoyance. “Please tell me what the hell is going on?”
Rodrigo watched him more sympathetically. “You were on a ferry or something, yea?”
Greyson nodded. “Yeah.”
“Probably got ambushed by Haitian or Amaranthine pirates,” he continued. “They snatch any supers worth capturing and let the regulars drown.”
Terror stabbed Greyson through the chest. “Good God…they smuggle supers onto Amarantha?”
Rodrigo was unfazed by his reaction. “What do you know about the island, Lauren?”
Greyson flinched again from his mockery. “Greyson.”
Rodrigo’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever. You Statesiders are no fun. Despite what the news tells you, a virus didn’t ravage Amarantha, and we have some exports.” Rodrigo stood and approached Greyson’s side of the cell. “Humans do whatever they want. If you’re a powerful enough super, you’re chosen.”
“Chosen for what?”
Rodrigo’s eyes glazed over as he continued. “Either be sold to other countries as weapons. Or fight for one of Amarantha’s ruling families.”
Greyson jerked upright. “What the hell?” The more he learned of Amarantha, the more he hated it.
“I know. Gladiator shit,” Rodrigo agreed with a morbid laugh.
Greyson got in the youth’s face. He was a bit shorter than Greyson, who barely made five-feet-nine inches. “Why haven’t other countries intervened?”
Rodrigo straight up laughed. “Amarantha doesn’t have much oil for Europe or America to care about us. Them baselines been scared of us supers for decades. Then, fifteen years ago, the rich regulars finally subjugated our kind. Now they rule Amarantha and get rich while supers stay enslaved and poor.”
Despite the weakness in his bones, Greyson’s mind was engaged. He took another long gaze out the window at blue skies and the blanketing green forest, no longer seeing the beauty. “Can’t the supers rebel?”
Rodrigo shook his head to dissuade such thinking. “Not with the tech the humans have to neutralize our powers. And after Summerhill…”
“Summerhill?”
Rodrigo hugged himself. “Don’t wanna know, yea.” He eyed the door as Greyson was about to inquire further. “Quiet. Daily inspection.”
Rodrigo darted to his side of the room and stood at attention.
The door opened, revealing two well-muscled guards in military fatigues carrying shock batons. The Amaranthine pair had swarthy complexions like Rodrigo. The guards scoured the room, ignoring the prisoners.
Greyson cleared his throat, hoping to get answers. “Excuse me.”
The two guards turned sharply, their eyes cold and hard.
“Shut up!” Rodrigo mouthed heatedly.
Greyson ignored him. “I’m with the latest batch of…supers who arrived. I was with an Asian woman named Constance Ishibashi. Is she here?”
The guards muttered to each other in their native Amaranthine tongue. The shorter guard raised his baton and clicked a button.
His neck collar instantly ignited. Fire scorched a torturous path down Greyson’s spine. His shriek flooded the cell. Now Greyson lay spasming on the floor, unable to move, unable to think. He welcomed the pain like a lover, knowing he’d earned it. And the world went dark again.
A slap across the face jarred Greyson back to life. He blinked away stars.
Rodrigo crouched over him. Greyson sat up in a panic. Thankfully, those guards were gone.
Rodrigo shoved him back down. “I say keep that piehole SHUT. We both get punished when one of us misbehaves.” He stood and plopped down angrily onto his bed.
Greyson gingerly stood back up, contrite over his actions. But not the reason. “I’m sorry. But my friend…Connie was with me in the barge.” Greyson sat on his bed, his last horrid words to her surfacing in his thoughts. For that, Greyson hated himself even more. “I can’t leave her.”
For several minutes, Rodrigo stared up at the ceiling in silence. Greyson was about to lie down and sleep when the Amaranthine replied.
“If your Connie survived the pirate raid, she’ll be at the auction in a few days. No biggie, no worry.”
Greyson turned to him. “Auction?” He had so much to learn about this island, it hurt, literally.
Rodrigo met his gaze. “You and I get sold off to one of the ruling families. Côte Royale be the port city where all new slaves get processed.” He turned away and smirked at the ceiling. “If our luck sucks, we be sex slaves or something. If our luck rocks, we be pit gladiators fighting to the death.”
Surprise jolted Greyson up into a seat. “Gladiators. You weren’t kidding.”
Rodrigo chuckled. “Not about that, yea. Better to have a quick death in the pit than die a little every day serving these baseline bastards.”
Greyson lay back down, pondering this windy, baffling journey. That Lauren ghost had told him his work wasn’t finished. Clearly, she meant finding Connie, Greyson decided, making sure she escapes to where no one can touch her.
And only then would Greyson accept his well-deserved fate.
Chapter 12
Quinn was waiting outside Cajun Station when the sharp uproar turned her around. She’d come straight from work, in a white blouse, tweed sports coat, and matching shorts she now regretted in this chilly mid-January evening.
The source of the commotion hurtled low over downtown San Miguel’s streets faster than a bullet, orange cape fluttering in his wake.
He paused in mid-flight, pulling up into the infamous standing-on-air pose that Titan had made famous. Several bystanders swarmed beneath him for pictures and selfies, provoking a symphony of angry horns. Tomorrow Man smiled like some benevolent deity, allowing pleb
eians to glimpse his magnificence. Quinn watched from afar, shaking her head at the obvious attention-grab.
The blond, blue-eyed pretty boy appeared perfectly carved out of granite in his orange-and-black costume, Quinn had to admit. And the fluttering orange cape actually worked close up, even though superhero capes were impractical. Tomorrow Man had been doing these pitstops around town recently, reminding people he was protecting San Miguel. Quinn didn’t mind, until learning how his managers speed-dialed TMZ and Herogasm whenever Tomorrow Man even rescued cats from trees. Gross.
He looked Quinn’s way, winked, and rocketed into the dusky skies to roaring applause.
“Subtle,” Quinn remarked. Tomorrow Man’s people had been pestering SLOCO Daily for her to profile him. Quinn had been torn between him or the Elite. But since Tomorrow Man was basically a superpowered Kardashian, she’d chosen the latter.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice declared behind her. “Don’t I know you?”
An eager grin split Quinn’s face. She whirled to see her favorite person in the world. “Giaconda!”
Annie Machado scurried over, arms spread wide. Quinn bear-hugged her taller bestie, not caring if Annie had on gym warmups. She’d been working with a trainer for her post-injury physical therapy and ahead of her wedding in a few months. The embrace went past a minute before the pair untangled.
“Beautiful Quinnie.” Annie cupped Quinn’s cheeks, eyes twinkling with affection. “I’ve missed your face.” She pecked her forehead twice.
Quinn’s heart lurched. She caressed Annie on the cheek lovingly. “I’ve missed your face too, honey bear.” Seeing this girl was a ray of sunlight. “Shall we?” Quinn gestured to Cajun Station’s entrance. The restaurant was packed tonight, the air infused with mouthwatering food.
“See Tomorrow Man’s flyby?” Annie inquired as they got seated.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “He made sure everyone saw.”
“Dinner would be easier,” Annie began, picking up a menu, “at my place.” Again, she prodded Quinn to forgive her fiancé. Johnny must’ve told Annie about the snub earlier this week.
“Your fiancé hasn’t apologized for trying to throw me out of your life,” Quinn replied evenly. She hadn’t visited Annie’s place since her friend had healed enough to drive unaided.
“I’ve yelled at him more than once. Johnny feels bad for hurting your feelings.”
Annie’s visible pain over this fracture between her best friend and fiancé was hard to endure. But Quinn wouldn't budge. “Then he can grow a pair and tell me himself.” Quinn had apologized for putting Annie in danger. Johnny still hadn’t apologized for his hurtful words. “Let’s switch gears.” She forced on a smile, pushing Johnny from her mind. “I’m not wasting another minute with my person.”
They talked about their jobs, both ladies work nerds. Annie was juggling so many projects, it stunned Quinn how she managed to squeeze in dinner. Then Colin came up. Quinn felt her cheeks turn piping hot while spilling details. “It’s very new, very casual.”
Annie was bouncing in her seat. “Yay! Just don’t run if things get serious.”
Annie knew her well. Quinn fought the urge to stick her tongue out. “Colin’s a coworker, so it won’t.” She smiled to herself, remembering last night in toe-curling detail. Quinn sighed in longing. “A warm body in bed is healing.”
Annie paled, processing her words. “The nightmares are still happening?”
Quinn suddenly found the menu more interesting than her friend’s gaze. “Yeah.” Only Annie knew the full extent of her night terrors.
“Might be time to try that support group I mentioned.”
Quinn shook her head immediately. “No thanks.” She had no interest in exposing her PTSD at some support group for superhero battle survivors.
Awkward tension followed her dismissal. She regretted that. Before Quinn could apologize, the waiter arrived with the wine menu. Quinn ordered a merlot. Annie asked for only water.
Quinn arched an eyebrow. That wasn’t like her. But with Annie trying to shed weight for the wedding, going dry made sense. “The taco salad seems promising. What are you getting?” She looked up, startled by Annie’s unsmiling stare. Quinn shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Something wrong?”
“I’m that bad,” Annie murmured, more to her than Quinn.
Quinn jerked back, confused. “Uhhh…what are we talking about?”
“I saw your face when I turned down the wine,” Annie accused harshly.
Quinn grimaced. She’d avoided further criticism of Annie’s drinking. The time she’d said anything had been out of anger, right before that horrific Mistura’s attack. Quinn chose her next words carefully. “I’m just surprised. You usually order a few glasses during meals.”
Annie grew so ashamed. “I’m trying something different. I guess you’re right about me being a drunk.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Quinn dropped her menu, stunned by the salvo. Time to de-escalate this misunderstanding pronto. “I never said that,” she said calmly. “The amount you drank that night at Carmelo’s was concerning. Did something happen, sweetie?”
Annie hugged herself and exhaled, near tears. “I brunched with Johnny’s sister, Agnes, to talk wedding planning last week,” she began. “And she goes ‘Want something to drink? It’s early for me, but I can open some wine for my future sister-in-law.’”
Quinn cringed. Agnes had the subtlety of a foghorn. “The Sherwoods are a fistful of A-holes.”
Annie coughed out a laugh despite her mood. “That got me thinking about what you said. And what Johnny says sometimes about my drinking.”
Quinn reached over and squeezed Annie’s hand. “I want you healthy and happy. If that means cutting back on alcohol, then I support you.”
Annie’s tight-lipped smile didn’t reach her gaze, which remained distant. Worry tremored through Quinn. Food first, then we discuss whatever that is.
Annie’s phone buzzed then. She snatched it up for inspection. “Shit.” Her eyes widened. “Gotta leave!” She lurched from her seat and grabbed her bag.
Quinn stared up at her. “You’re kidding. We just got here.”
“Work emergency,” Annie explained apologetically. She rounded the table, giving Quinn a quick hug. “Sorry, Quinnie. We’ll hang later.” She powerwalked out of the restaurant.
Quinn watched Annie go, rather stung. “Guess I’m eating alone.” She flagged down a waiter. After she finished her dinner, a call came through as Quinn exited Cajun Station. The reporter saw the caller ID and answered, “Hey, you.”
“Quinn,” said Mikaela Guerrero, the superhero named Seraph. “Can I stop by?”
Quinn furrowed her brow. While the Vanguard member had crashed at her condo before, the unexpectedness was new. “Sure… Everything okay?”
“I’ll tell you once I’m there.” Seraph then hung up.
Despite the fallout from Quinn’s Titan exposé, her and Seraph’s friendship had unexpectedly thrived. Seraph arrived a few hours later. For obvious reasons, she wore baggy clothes with her long hair bundled under a baseball cap. Like another San Miguel resident on an evening stroll.
“How are you?” Quinn greeted, shutting the door and embracing her.
“Just came from my usual in-town church.” The angelic hero sounded downhearted. She headed for the common room with fluent ease. Seraph removed her hat, thick brunette locks bucketing down one shoulder. “Needed a familiar face.”
“Your ‘usual’ church?” Quinn repeated in unmasked anger. That was Seraph’s code for her hookups with Extreme Teens’ leader, Blur. Quinn was in no mood for this tonight.
“No,” Seraph corrected, plopping down on the couch. “I went to church. Luke and I broke up last week.”
“Oh,” Quinn remarked, following her into the common room. “Good!” With Seraph engaged to Sentinel, and Blur dating K-popstar L.U.N.A., this affair had a recipe for self-destruction.
Seraph bowed her head, eyes closed. “I broke up wit
h Kurt too.”
Quinn stopped smiling. “Oh. Bad.” She parked beside the hero for more details. “What happened?”
“Kurt’s under so much stress with hate coming from everywhere,” Seraph began, hugging herself. “And the charities rejecting us gutted him. He loved those appearances. I prayed so long for the team to rise above it. But Kurt’s running the Vanguard like a prison camp. He and Robbie fight daily. Wyldcat’s trying to drink herself to death when we’re off-duty.” Seraph turned to Quinn with accusing eyes. “Saying Lady Liberty would be a better leader didn’t help.”
Quinn stiffened. She should’ve known this might come up. “I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”
Seraph glared a few moments more before her eyes fell. “I know.” She stared ahead. “Kurt’s become so unkind, lashing out at the slightest things in front of the team. So yesterday, I ended things.” The subject was a raw nerve, doubling Seraph over in a sobbing explosion.
Quinn pulled her friend in, cradling her grief. Seeing this loving woman in such agony was a lance to her heart. Yet the journalist in Quinn marveled over the bombshells Seraph had unknowingly revealed. Any of these tales would dominate the news cycle for days. And destroy the Vanguard.
But guilt overrode such thoughts. Quinn would continue protecting her friend’s secrets and provide a safe haven from the world. “Who else knows about the breakup?”
Seraph lifted her head, pushing back wavy locks from her tear-streaked face. “Benjamin Crane and the main Vanguard team. We’re keeping that contained until our reputation improves.” She shook her head, tears spilling in torrents. “But…it just feels like our team is falling apart.”
“How can I help?” Quinn inquired. Anything to ease her pain.
“Stop brutalizing us on your news segments.” Not a request. A demand.
Quinn narrowed her eyes. “No can do,” she replied, never raising her voice. “My boss called me out for going easy on Vanguard.” The thin moral line of a reporter befriending a superhero was tricky to walk.
Shame bled into Seraph’s face at the unethical appeal. “Sorry.” She wiped away more tears with her palm. “Can I stay here tonight? I need a break—”
