It was still odd for me to think of the Baltimore team as having actual, real names. To me, Lark, Topher, and Berenice had always been the masked and dangerous Valkyrie, Argentine, and Artemis. My enemies. However, if I wanted them to think of me as an ally, I had to meet them in the middle and give them the humanity of names.
Abby shook her head. “Artemis tell Abby go home.”
I massaged the bridge of my nose as I reviewed the information. Abby had killed Peter in defense of her friends, if not self-defense, then ran off at Berenice’s behest. If Berenice and Lark were injured, they’d have to either go to a clinic or the Super hospital in Virginia. However, the Super hospital was an hour and half away by car, which I was certain Berenice didn’t have.
A small part of me longed to leave the Baltimore team to their fate and go after Jillian.
As her name passed through my mind, a fleeting image of our hands bound together by medical gauze—our wedding ceremony—caused my chest to throb painfully. Focus. You need to focus.
“Who’s the leader now?” I asked, my voice slightly choked. “We need to talk to them.”
Abby’s large eyes filled with sorrow. “Reuben.”
Reid put a hand to his chest. “Where is he?” The last time Reid had seen his older brother, Reuben had been recuperating from a flogging. I’d heal him as soon as I could, provided Reuben trusted me enough to let me get that close.
Abby pointed to the hole in the front door. “Gabriela.”
“Then let’s go,” I barked, moving to climb through the hole again. “We’ll find him, figure out a plan, then—”
A firm hand on my shoulder made me stop and spin around. Reid let go of me and shook his head. Oh, yeah. He was the leader, not me. I crossed my arms. “Sorry. What’s your call?”
Reid glanced at Ember. “Take Marco and Abby to Gabriela’s and guard them until we return. Ben and I are going after Berenice and Lark. They’re injured, so I doubt they’ve gone too far from the fight scene. Abby, where was the showdown?”
Abby looked again at Ember. Ember nodded. “Johns Hopkins,” she said. “By the dorms.” Ember and Abby then shared a strange look. Abby shook her head a little, then Ember’s eyes widened. “Who was that?” she demanded.
Abby lowered her head. “Berenice normal friend.”
“Huh,” Ember said. “I didn’t expect that. Do you know where she is?”
“For the love of God, just tell us what she’s saying,” Marco growled. “This just in, Em, but we all hate it when you do this.”
Ember shot Marco an evil glare, then turned back to Abby. “After Abby killed Peter, a civilian ran up to Berenice and insisted that Berenice and Lark go to the hospital. Berenice knew the woman well. They were arguing over going to the hospital when Abby left. The woman called Berenice by her name,” she said thoughtfully. “Interesting. Berenice called her ‘Jen.’ They must be friends.”
“Benjamin and I are going to find this Jen person,” Reid said. “Ember, go with Marco—”
“And sit around uselessly while you guys search for a single person in one of the biggest cities in the country,” Ember finished, disgust in every word. “How about the medic hangs out with the guy who was whipped, and you take the telepath with you to find Jen?”
Oh, God. My gaze darted around the room, settling anywhere that wasn’t on the couple who’d just broken up. I didn’t let myself simmer on the fact that Ember had chosen now to do this. If I did, the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her might become overwhelming.
Reid let out a long breath. “You still have the stomach flu, and Berenice and Lark were injured. Benjamin can heal them, and then we will all rendezvous with you.”
Ember crossed her arms. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
Reid threw his hands up in angry exasperation. “I can’t say I’m loving anything about this moment, but I’ll bite. What is it now?”
Ember scowled. “You love that you can make me go sit in the house where I’m safe, even if it makes more sense for me to go out with you.”
Instead of an angry retort, Reid’s face smoothed over, though there were new spots of pink in his cheeks. He turned to Marco. “If we’re not back by nightfall, defer to Reuben.”
Ember’s scowl deepened. “North Broadway and Jefferson.”
“What?” Reid asked.
“The intersection, moron! Where the fight was!”
I opened the front door and shoved Reid through it before he could shout back, as was his habit these days. We hurried back into the truck. Snow had started to fall, blanketing everything in a thin white layer.
While I started the engine and put the truck into drive, he rested his head against the window. “Where did I go wrong?” he murmured.
“No idea,” I said, never taking my eyes off the road. I wasn’t accustomed to driving in snow. Now I had to contend with inclement weather on top of the hot steaming turd that was our situation. “Can we get back to the mission, please?”
He rubbed his eyelids. “She was right. Damn it, I can’t even argue with her like a normal guy because she can just read my mind. She was always complaining about how she never had combat training and felt unsafe all the time, so I figured she’d like to be in the house instead of out on the street. But even that didn’t make her happy.”
“You know what would make me happy?” I muttered. “You shutting up about this.”
“Do you think she’s just doing this to be petty?” he mused.
I slammed on the brakes, causing the truck to slide a few feet. Though a car behind us honked for several seconds, I whipped around and laid on Reid an expression of pure rage. My chest rose and fell raggedly. “I have watched my brother burn people’s feet with a blow torch,” I hissed. “I’ve watched my mother put needles under a grandmother’s fingernails. I’ve watched Alysia break bones with a smile on her face. I’ve heard men and women scream for hours on end in the night as Will and Beau played with them for the sheer freaking fun of it.”
I put my face closer to his and lowered my voice. “And I have spent every minute of the last nine hours determinedly not letting myself believe that they will do every single one of those things to my wife. Now,” I spat, “Get over your issues. You can complain about your ex-girlfriend after Jillian is safe.” My voice shook on the last few words.
Reid had covered his mouth with his hand. He lowered it and looked down. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s just focus on Jill right now.”
I shoved the gear stick into drive again, then pealed out into the intersection.
We drove in heavy silence until we reached the cross streets Ember had seen in Abby’s mind. Johns Hopkins University Hospital stood to our right, imposing and stately. To our left, a small barren area of dead grass and trash cans contained a few straggling students.
A telephone pole bore a large handmade sign announcing an anti-camp protest that had taken place on campus earlier that day. I was grateful that we’d missed the protest. I’d always been led to believe that Baltimoreans loved their team, but who knew how idealistic college students felt? As the Sentinels had showed us, it was easy to conflate the camps and the people who represented them. We were safer going unnoticed.
I parked the truck in a spot by the sidewalk. “Your call, leader,” I said, struggling to keep resentment out of my tone.
Reid swallowed hard. “Word will have gotten around about the fight.” He pointed to a campus police officer sitting in a nearby cruiser. “I’ll go speak to him. Ask those students what they know. Maybe someone will have heard a rumor about two injured superheroes.”
So much for going unnoticed. I hopped out of the truck and immediately made my way towards two huddled students I’d seen minutes before. They were bundled tightly in winter gear, sipping steaming drinks from paper cups and chatting amicably. As I approached, I saw that they were garbed in US Army uniforms and GI fleeces—cadets, most likely. Even in my agitated state of fear, I felt a stab of envy. I’d almost bee
n a ROTC cadet once.
They smiled in surprise and interest as I approached.
“Are you a superhero?” one of them asked as he eyed my uniform. He was tall and blond, like myself. For some reason, I thought I saw a bit of envy is his eyes.
Another cadet, a young woman with Jillian’s dark hair and fair skin, stuck out her hand. “I’ve seen you online,” she said genially. “I’m Cadet Prose. This is Cadet Irvin. How can we help you, sir?”
My face heated up. “There was an incident near here yesterday,” I said, injecting as much authority as I could into my words. It worked; they straightened, their faces instantly professional. “My team is here to find out what happened. We need to speak to the Baltimore team immediately. Do you know where they might be? They’re not home.”
Cadet Prose’s forehead wrinkled. “There was a campus email alert about that. They mentioned at the protest that Artemis was taken to the hospital. Not that I was at the protest,” she said quickly. “I was just walking by to class and heard it. We’re not allowed to go to rallies and protests in uniform, no matter how we feel about injustice.”
I hid my smile. There was something very Jillian-like about Cadet Prose.
Cadet Irvin opened his mouth to speak, then craned his head to peer around me. “Um, someone’s watching you.”
I turned to see whom he was referring to. Across the street, a young woman stood by the truck, her eyes all but boring holes into me. She was petite and possibly Asian, though I couldn’t be sure at the distance. Like all the students walking past her, she was clad in drab winter gear. A rainbow-print scarf provided the only color in her wardrobe.
What stuck out most was the expression pasted on her face. It was more than dislike—it was hate. As far as I knew, the only people in Baltimore who hated me were the Baltimore team. This woman wasn’t one of them. That pointed to one conclusion: she was on the strike team.
I was about to tell the cadets to run when Cadet Prose raised her hand and waved energetically. “Oh, that’s just Jen. Jen! Come here!”
Jen…
“Oh, crap,” I murmured. Jen, Berenice’s mysterious friend, apparently knew about my past with Berenice. I turned to the cadets. “Thank you for speaking with me. I need to speak to Jen alone.”
They took the hint and hurried away. Jen stormed across the road, shaking with obvious fury. “Are you here to kill Berenice?” she demanded. Though she wasn’t taller than five foot four, she seemed larger than life. “Because you can think again. She’s so well-protected that—”
“I’m not here to kill Berenice,” I said quickly. “I’m here to help her and the whole team. Are you the friend who tried to convince her to go to the hospital?”
She drew herself up, her face red. “Nice try,” she growled. “I know who you really are, Mr. Trent. She told me everything. You tried to kill her.”
“And now I’m trying to save her. But there are people in the city who do want to kill her, and I need to warn her team. Are you going to help me or not?”
Uncertainty passed over her features. “She did…mention…that someone might come for them because of what Tiger did. How do I know you’re not that person?”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this,” I said, waving her off.
I stalked away toward the truck. I didn’t need to prove, again, that I wasn’t a psychopath. What was I supposed to say to Jen anyway? I stopped on the sidewalk and turned my head back and forth. Would I have better luck trying the front entrance or the ER?
Reid wasn’t in sight anymore, so I began to walk purposely towards the front entrance.
“Mercury, wait!” Jen called from behind me. I ignored her, continuing to walk up the front steps. “Wait!” She ran up beside me, huffing and puffing little breaths of condensation. “Dammit, I’m not going to let you hurt her again!”
“I’m not going to hurt Berenice!” I shouted. Several people turned to stare at us. I lowered my voice. “For Heaven’s sake, I’m here to help her.”
“Mercury? Are you Mercury?” a pleasant female voice floated from behind me.
Groaning internally, I turned to see who’d spoken. A pretty young woman approached me. She was tall and sturdy, with incredibly long, straight black hair that fell to her waist. My distinct initial impression was that she was Native American, though her eyes were the exact gray shade of Reid’s.
“Can I help you?” I asked dully.
“You’re the medic for the Saint Catherine team, aren’t you?” she said, a hint of shyness playing around her eyes. “I saw your picture online. I…I was wondering if you could heal the cut on my face.” She moved her bangs aside, revealing a bandage on her forehead.
“Yes, fine,” I said, moving to pull off my right glove.
She held out her ungloved hand.
For a quick second, the world seemed to stop as I took in several details at once: the woman’s shy gaze becoming alert and fixed, her muscular build, and her ungloved hand. Why wasn’t she wearing gloves? It was below freezing out. And something else…something else was wrong.
There was no healing energy spiraling in my stomach. My inborn sixth sense always sensed a nearby injury, even when my eyes couldn’t see it. If she had a cut on her forehead, my power would’ve sensed it.
I withdrew my hand. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but my power isn’t working right now. As a medic, I advise you to keep your cut clean and dry.” She took a step forward, her hair rippling in the light breeze. It was so long—as long as camp women kept their hair. “I need to go now,” I said. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run.
“Emily?” Reid called from behind me. “Emily Begay?”
Emily’s eyes widened. I looked over my shoulder to see Reid walking up the steps, bewilderment clear on his face. I turned around and saw Emily’s furious expression. Cold understanding hit me like a train: if he knew her, then she was from the camps. And that meant—
I dodged Emily’s knife just in time. The blade, which she’d pulled out of god-knows-where, sliced the air by my ear. Before I could recover, she slapped me across the face, stunning me momentarily. She grabbed Jen and held the knife against the small woman’s throat.
“Don’t take another step,” she hissed. Jen froze, probably too scared to even whimper. The few civilians lingering out in the cold shrieked and ran inside.
I held my hands up. “We’re not moving,” I said hastily. “Just let her go. This is between superheroes. She has nothing to do with this.”
My words were calm, but my mind was reeling. What kind of superhero used civilians as shields? If Emily was on the strike team, what could we expect from the team at large?
“Emily, it doesn’t have to come to violence,” Reid said softly. “I’m your friend. Let the civilian go. We can work this out. I’m the same guy you’ve always known. I’m your friend.”
For one second, I thought I saw Emily deliberate. Then she plunged her knife into Jen’s neck.
“NO!” I lunged forward to grab Jen, but Emily kicked Jen’s limp body down the stairs, then threw her knife—or was it another knife?—into Reid’s neck. He collapsed where he stood, his head hitting the cement step with a terrible crack. Blood began to pulse from his skull and drip down the steps. Emily fled down the stairs and down the sidewalk.
I was at Jen’s side immediately, my hand on her face. While the electric healing energy flowed from my body into hers, I twisted around and touched Reid’s face. The knife popped out of his neck and to the ground with a clatter. Both sat up and coughed uncontrollably for several seconds.
Though I was just as concerned for Reid as I was for Jen, I clasped Jen’s thin hands in my own. “Are you okay?” I asked. I knew she was, but the question made people feel better.
“Who was that?” Jen choked, stroking her throat repeatedly.
The motion made me aware of how warm my own neck was. And now that I was thinking about how I felt, I became aware of a fast-growing headache in my temples. I unzip
ped the collar of my thermal fleece a little to let in some cold air, but it didn’t help.
“That was Emily Begay,” Reid said with a groan. He rubbed his neck, then picked up the bloody knife and scowled at it. “My deceased fiancée’s older sister, and one of my many relatives. I remember her being sent away for service, though I didn’t know she was on a strike team. Now that I think about it, her power would be useful for assassinations.”
“What does she do?” I asked, kneeling to help Reid to his feet, though I wanted to sit down next to him. I felt weird, like my head was filled with water.
“She makes you sick,” Reid said. He helped Jen to her feet. “When we were kids, if you pissed her off she’d make us throw up or have diarrhea or something. Since you’re not throwing up or soiling yourselves, I guess you got off scot-free. Sort of,” he added quickly, patting Jen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in this, miss.”
Reid’s voice sounded odd, simultaneously near and far. I lowered myself down to the cement step and put my hands on my knees. Dammit, why was it so hot suddenly? I dropped my head back to stare up at the snow clouds. Fat, fluffy flakes fell on my nose and cheeks, offering blessed cool relief from the heat under my clothes.
Jen and Reid were talking. Jen pointed to the hospital and I thought I saw her mouth form the word “Berenice.”
The cement step was cold. It was cold because of the snow. If I just laid in the snow a little…bit…
“Benjamin!”
The world dissolved into a mural of heat and color.
Item Three
Wedding Announcement in the New York Times, Saturday, June 5, 1897
The wedding of Miss Cristiana Sangiacomo, daughter of Mr. And Mrs. Marco Sangiacomo, to Mr. Patrizio Sangiacomo will take place next Saturday afternoon at four o’clock at St. Peter’s Catholic Church, Barclay Church and Church Street. A reception will follow the ceremony at the home of the bride’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Sangiacomo will reside in Richmond, VA.
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