Mercury

by Emerald Dodge

  4

  Snow had fallen continuously since I’d passed out on the steps of the hospital.

  Almost a foot of snow carpeted Baltimore, making our journey to the truck—itself covered in thick white flakes—and the subsequent ride to Gabriela’s house slow, arduous, and cantankerous. Snow had melted into my socks on the way to the truck, and twice Berenice and Lark got into a shouting match over the route while I ignored them. Both times Jen had to bellow above both of them that she knew the way.

  The three women were squished into the back of the cab. Berenice had insisted that Jen accompany us to the Fischer house since she’d been pulled into our strike team drama. Lark stared out the window when she wasn’t yelling at Berenice, searching for the strike team. Or maybe she was wishing she was anywhere but in that truck. I couldn’t blame her.

  We pulled up to Gabriela’s modest, unremarkable townhouse after thirty of the longest minutes of my life. Snow was falling thicker than ever.

  I slammed the driver’s door and awkwardly marched towards the front door, noting that the front curtain had just moved. The front door swung open. Marco’s tired, worn face greeted me. “Bro, a fever? She kicked your ass with a fever?”

  “It could’ve been dysentery, so let’s count our blessings,” I muttered. “Get ready for the circus,” I added, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder. I walked past Marco into the warm living room.

  Reid came up next and spoke quietly with Marco. They disappeared upstairs.

  Ember and Abby were sitting on a rag rug by a crackling fire in the fireplace. They smiled at me as I entered the room. A pretty woman in her mid-twenties was perched on the arm of a couch. I guessed she was Gabriela Fischer, Reid’s sister-in-law.

  I’d heard the sordid tale of how her husband, Reuben Fischer, had been punished for his unsanctioned marriage to a civilian. I’d fought Reuben—whom I’d thought of as Obsidian for years—several times. He was brave in battle, and it appeared that he was equally courageous in his personal life.

  When my eyes had adjusted to the dim, I saw that she was bandaged and burned. I held out my hand. “I can heal you. I’m the Saint Catherine medic.”

  She took my hand and grinned, her expression softening me a bit. “And the former supervillain,” she said with a roguish wink. “I bet you get all the girls with that line. Bad boy chic, you know.”

  My chest throbbed yet again, but I couldn’t help a smile. I liked Gabriela already. “Yes. We’ll talk later,” I added in an undertone. I’d just looked up.

  A hilariously tall man stood in the corner, sipping from a mug with a Catholic icon on it and watching me with unapologetic amusement. I knew from his height alone that he was Argentine, the guy who could turn into metal.

  He looked me up and down and began to laugh silently, aiming a finger gun at me and pretending to shoot. I drew my eyebrows together, not sure what to think of this greeting, but he smiled at me and mouthed, “Relax.”

  Berenice stormed in, dragging her unique intense atmosphere with her. “Abby! Where’s Abby?”

  Abby jumped up and streaked towards Berenice, flying into her chest with a whumph. Berenice’s moodiness melted away as she embraced her teammate, who nuzzled her shoulder. Jen watched from the side, clearly familiar with this behavior.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Berenice said with a smile as she stroked Abby’s messy hair. “That was one hell of a stunt you pulled, girl. Ripped his throat right out.”

  Abby pushed away from Berenice and grinned. “Tiger hunt kill Peter.”

  Berenice gasped. “You can talk now?”

  Lark pushed past them. “Abby can talk, Trent’s a hero, Jill’s gone, the strike team is circling. Now that we’ve gotten all the surprises and talking points out of the way, let’s get down to business. Where’s Reuben?”

  Gabriela stood up. “In bed. Benjamin, can you heal him?”

  The room quieted.

  “Yes,” I said. “Let’s get this out of the way. Marco gets my stuff if I die.” I was only half-joking.

  All eyes in the room followed me as Gabriela led me up the narrow wooden stairwell. At the top of the stairs, a door stood ajar, allowing me to hear low male voices from within. Reid and Marco were speaking to Reuben, whose deep voice carried Reid’s northwestern accent.

  Gabriela opened the door wider. “Darling, Benjamin’s here.”

  I ducked into the room and took in the sight of one of my most formidable past opponents.

  Reuben Fischer sat propped up on pillows in the middle of his bed. Even in convalescence, he exuded authority. His light blond hair was combed neatly, and his gray eyes conveyed no pain, though I knew he felt it—his face, so like Reid’s, had been disfigured by a branded D on his right cheek.

  The burn was partially healed, but my power would erase it completely. He wore no shirt. Instead, his torso was wrapped in bandages because of his flogging injuries. Bloody, crusty bandages filled two small trashcans beneath the desk.

  Reuben folded his hands in his lap as he assessed me. “Benjamin Phillip Trent,” he said, completely calm.

  “That’s me.” I didn’t pause to wonder how he knew my full name. Superhero crap, no doubt.

  “I carried Berenice home, that night you shot her. I tended to the broken ribs.”

  I stared at my boots. “I’m sorry.”

  He chuckled. I jerked my head up. “Word in the underground is that you’ve made some new friends since we last met. Friends your family doesn’t approve of.”

  “You could say that.”

  A warm smile lightened his face. “And now you went and got married to the last person on earth you were supposed to fall in love with.” He extended his hand to me. “I’ll make you a deal. You help me protect my wife. I’ll help you save yours.” He shot a significant look at Reid. “Call me a romantic, but I believe in happy endings.”

  Reid glared at his brother. “You know better than any of us what Beau is—”

  “Don’t you dare take your failed relationship out on your teammates,” Reuben said, his volume increasing. “You’ve always been maudlin, and we’ve always put up with you, but the day you let your bad mood dictate whether you think your teammate is alive is the day I’m ashamed to be your brother.”

  He pointed at me without breaking eye contact with Reid. “Did Jillian sit around dithering over his chances of being alive after the tribunal? No. Did she bang her head against the wall and complain that she didn’t know where they were going? No. She laced up her boots and found him!”

  I took an instinctive step back from Reuben, whose ferocity entirely overshadowed the fact that he was bedridden. Reid, however, wasn’t chastened yet—perhaps he was used to such treatment from Reuben, who did have an air of “professional older brother.”

  Reid’s mouth twisted as though he’d tasted something foul, and then he said, “I have never implied that I don’t want to go after Jillian. I’m just being realistic about our chances. Her chances.”

  Reuben turned to face me and thrust his hand towards me. “Heal me so I can get out of this bed and kick my brother’s ass.”

  “Reid, leave,” I said, striding towards Reuben.

  Reid shoved past me, not bothering to excuse his rudeness before exiting the room. I clasped Reuben’s warm hand, once again relishing the relief of the turbulent healing energy that had been swirling in my stomach.

  He sighed, then threw back the covers. “Good grief,” he muttered as he stood up. He raised his long arms and stretched, rolling and cracking his neck as his brother often did.

  I was secure enough in my masculinity to admire the sheer power exhibited in his muscular frame—but at the same time felt a stab of envy. Even after six months of near-daily training, I was still as lanky as ever. Yet Jillian, ever mindful of my insecurities, had run her hands over my biceps and abs on our wedding night and almost purred in pleasure…

  The thought sideswiped me, causing me to stagger as fear and longing gripped my chest. Reuben finished
buttoning his shirt and turned to me. “Get my idiotic brother’s doom prophecies out of your head. He’s depressed about Ember.”

  “You think?” I mumbled, sagging on the bed.

  He rolled his eyes. “Be prepared for him to do something melodramatic. After Stephanie died he…well, no need to get into that. But he’s acting out, and if someone doesn’t slap some sense into him, he’ll keep acting out until he does something genuinely regrettable. Like I said before, our father and brothers all put up with it, but I must draw the line at letting his moods get in the way of his leadership ability.”

  I hung my head. Now that I’d been forced to stop and think about Jillian’s chances—about all that lay ahead of us—it seemed as though there was no “easy” option. There never had been. There’d been a cavalcade of impossibilities, improbabilities, suicide missions, and pipe dreams.

  Reuben gripped my shoulders and gave me a rough shake. “Hey. Look at me.”

  I obeyed, weirdly comforted by his decisiveness. It reminded me of Jillian. “What?”

  He stared down his nose at me. “Get up, get your team, and get ready for the mission briefing.”

  Item Five

  Telegram sent via Western Union from John Kettlethorpe to his brother Calvin, dated July 10, 1899

  MARTHA HAD BABY BOY STOP BOTH HEALTHY STOP NAME IS ALPHONSO LEWIS STOP HIS SISTER SAYS SHE CAN SEE THE BABY’S INNARDS STOP HIS BROTHER TOUCHED AL’S FOREHEAD AND SAW A GREAT WAR STOP GEORGE HAS NEVER BEEN WRONG STOP START STOCKPILING FOOD STOP ALSO SAW MAN ON FIRE STOP SO STOCKPILE FIRE BLANKETS MAYBE STOP

  5

  It was the strangest gathering of people in which I’d ever been included, and I’d sat down to dinner with terrorists.

  Berenice, Lark, and Abby sat on the couch. Jen sat cross-legged at Berenice’s feet, where she tickled Berenice’s calves from time to time, eliciting a small smile from Berenice whenever she did so.

  Lark’s face was utterly impassive, except for whenever she squeezed her eyes shut as though she’d had a particularly unpleasant thought. Abby shot continual, furtive glances at Ember, who remained in her spot on the rug in front of the fire. Ember frequently smiled and nodded at the silent conversation.

  Topher and Marco sat on the opposite side of the rug from Ember, an amusing contrast of short and tall. Gabriela sipped juice while sitting next to Reuben on a love seat. Reid glowered in a folding chair in the corner, though he occasionally turned his wrathful look on both Ember and Reuben. Neither of them paid him any attention.

  I sat against an empty wall, unwilling to get involved with the many powder kegs.

  Reuben cleared his throat. “This is the first mission of this kind I’ve ever briefed before. I want that to be clear. Does everyone here understand the risks of being here?”

  Everyone murmured assent.

  He continued, “Okay. Earlier today, a strike team member named Emily Begay attacked Benjamin in front of the hospital. My brother Raphael kindly informed the Saint Catherine team that his team, strike team four, was dispatched to eliminate the Baltimore team, and then the Saint Catherine team. So right there we have our first abnormality.”

  “What do you mean?” Marco asked.

  “I strongly suspect Emily was at the hospital to kill Berenice and Lark,” Reuben said. “Strike teams are extraordinarily singular, dispatched for one job at a time. Raphael said my team first, then your team. They had no way of knowing you’d be alerted and beat them to the city. So that begs the question of why Emily approached Benjamin and tried to kill him right then and there.”

  “She got sloppy,” Topher said with a little shrug. “Or scared. Or maybe just overeager. She saw another target and decided to go for it.”

  “Hunt kill,” Abby volunteered. Berenice nodded as if this were a profound statement.

  “Um, excuse me,” Jen said in a small voice while raising her hand. “If I may…?”

  “Of course,” Reuben said graciously.

  Jen blushed vermillion as we all looked at her. “I don’t know much about fighting or anything like that, but using a human shield is kind of desperate, right? She only did that when she saw Tank—I mean, Reid—coming up the steps.”

  “That’s a very cogent point, so thank you for bringing it up. Jen’s right. Strike teams aren’t like us.” He gestured in a circular motion to the gathered superheroes. “They’re allowed to bend the rules a bit if they can argue that the collateral damage couldn’t have been avoided. But grabbing Jen was stupid. It was open, it was flashy, and frankly, I wasn’t even there and I know it was unnecessary. She panicked because she knew Reid and realized the mission was compromised.”

  “Do you think they retreated?” Topher asked in his grating New York accent.

  “A strike team doesn’t retreat,” Berenice said, pulling a face. “They wait.”

  I hoped Berenice couldn’t see my shudder.

  “So what are they waiting for now?” Lark asked, her tone dark. It was the first time she’d spoken since we’d gathered. “Why haven’t they brought down the wrath of the Titans on us?”

  “Because Emily compromised the mission,” Marco repeated, his tone equally grim. “Their mission was to whack all of you Baltimore upstarts. The Saint Catherine upstarts were never part of the picture. I bet right now their leader is pacing back and forth like Jill used to and…” He trailed off, his eyes glazing over for a minute. “They think Jill’s with us.”

  “Who’s their leader?” Reid demanded abruptly.

  “Buck,” Abby said. “Elder son make Abby dizzy.”

  Berenice gazed sidelong at Abby. “Ozark guy, eh?”

  “And in English?” Reid asked.

  Topher raised his hand. “I know what she means. I met Buck McClintock a few years ago when I visited Ozark camp at a courting swap. He’s a few years older than you, Rube. He makes people confused and disoriented—dizzy, you might say. He needs eye contact, though, and I’m pretty sure it’s only for a limited time. He’s Elder McClintock’s third or fourth son or something. His younger brother Jim is the leader of the Columbia team.”

  “May he get hit by a bus,” Lark muttered.

  I hid my smile. James McClintock had once called Marco “unnatural” for being biracial. Lark, who was also black, probably had her own stories to tell about the unsavory Columbia leader.

  “Who else are we dealing with?” I asked. “We’ve got a walking biohazard and a guy who makes you drunk.”

  “Daisy Guarino,” Berenice said. “Last time Buck visited my camp, I overheard him telling Jill about a new teammate of his named Daisy. I don’t know what her power is, but she’s supposed to be a knife nut. That’s what he was saying to Jill, that Daisy was even better than Miss Stabby with bladed weapons. Jill just laughed.”

  Abby barked a laughed. “Miss Stabby,” she said to herself. “Name funny.”

  “Jill has a cousin on a strike team,” Ember said quietly. “His name is Kyle Johnson. We met his sister Christiana in Liberty. I don’t know for sure, but they might have deployed strike team four to take Jillian’s team out because of their familiarity. Kyle and Jill weren’t close, so we can’t guarantee that he’d recuse himself like Raphael did.”

  “I’ve never even heard of Kyle,” I said. “What’s his power?”

  “He’s like Topher, except he can turn to stone instead of metal,” Ember said. “And he doesn’t need to be touching stone to activate the change.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Lark said. Curiously, anger sparked in her eyes, though I couldn’t imagine why. I would’ve expected various types of trepidation, but not fury. “We’re facing a guy who can confuse us, a chick who can stab our eyes out before doing who-knows-what, a guy who can turn to stone, and someone who can literally slap a fever into us.” She slammed her fist onto the arm of the couch. “So what are they waiting for? Why haven’t they attacked?”

  All at once, I understood her mood—she was afraid, but the waiting had made her fear morph into anger. Lark wan
ted to get the fight over with.

  Reuben answered. “Like Marco pointed out, Emily compromised their mission. They didn’t expect the Saint Catherine team to be here. Plus,” he said, pointing to the curtained window, through which we could all see thickly swirling snow, “There’s a snowstorm. They’re coming up with a contingency plan, and then waiting until the opportune moment.”

  “So we attack first,” Reid said. “Break off into teams and hunt them down. Ember can search for—”

  “There are more than half a million people in this city,” Ember cut in, her voice harsh. “Do you know what that means, Reid? Do you understand the implication of telling me to listen in on that many minds? Can you conceive of what that’s like?”

  Her volume had steadily risen as she unleashed on Reid, who stared at her with a mix of worry and confusion.

  Before he could respond, she kept going. “Instead of suggesting that I invade the privacy of every human being in a ten-mile radius, how about you just raise a platform and fly us to Annapolis? That wouldn’t be hard, right? Who cares if your power requires immense strength and concentration? What does it matter if that task would be so taxing that you’d be useless for a day?”

  Ember jumped up, her slim chest rising and falling sharply as she surveyed Reid in his little folding chair. The occupants of the warm room waited, held back by the palpable tension, for Ember to continue her tirade.

  Instead, she fled upstairs. A door opened and slammed, and the faint sound of retching echoed down the stairwell. Reid paused as if he were about to speak, then silently folded up his chair, set it against the wall, and walked up the stairs.

  Even Abby was visibly stunned by the scene we’d all just witnessed. She looked at Berenice for confirmation, who held up her hands in a clear “don’t ask me” gesture.