by H. L. Burke
“If you need time to think it over—”
“No, I know.” The words slipped out, but she didn’t regret them. She focused on Talon’s eyes. “I am so flattered by this, but this is where I need to be right now, sir. This is where my heart is.”
Sadness deepened the wrinkles around Talon’s eyes. “That’s exactly what your father said when I offered him the same position. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He reached across and squeezed her shoulder. “I honestly think he’d be prouder of you for this decision than he would if you had accepted my offer, but I still had to try.”
Regret toyed with Prism. She hated disappointing an old friend like Talon. What if they picked someone truly awful again? “Who are the other candidates for the position?”
“We’ve bandied about quite a few names, but other than you, the only sable we’ve seriously considered, and who I think will most likely get the job now that you’ve turned it down, is Glint.”
Prism relaxed. “That makes sense. He’s a good guy. A little arrogant, a little ... smarmy, but he means well, and he’s got the integrity to admit when he’s wrong. Not a lot of top sables are willing to do that.”
“True. I don’t dislike the man. I just think you would bring more to the table.” He released her shoulder. “If you reconsider, you still have a little time. We won’t be making an official decision for a few more weeks.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Prism agreed, but her heart felt settled and her mind clear. She’d made the right choice. “Politics aside, though, we don’t get a chance to see each other much anymore. How are things with you?”
“They’re fine. You know what they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same, and I find that applies doubly to DOSA.” He gave a wry laugh. “You, however, you’ve had a lot of big changes recently. Are you adjusting all right?”
“Nervous, but excited. Helps to have my team around me. Fade, especially, of course, but they’re all like a second family.” She hesitated before deciding to let it out of the bag. “We just found out we’re having a girl, so I’m a little giddy.”
He beamed at her. “Congratulations.” He took her hand for a moment before turning towards the door. “As much as I would like to stay, I have an appointment with the San Diego team leaders. I need to get going now if I want to beat the traffic.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
When Prism and Talon reached the lobby, they found Fade waiting for them. He smiled and held up Prism’s phone.
“Thank you.” She took it from him but tucked it into her pocket without looking to see how many missed calls and texts she had. No, that could wait. She needed to process everything that had happened today before she dug into that mess.
“Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk, Fade.” Talon offered his hand to Prism’s husband. “Congratulations on the little girl, though. I bet she’ll be a handful, just like her mother.”
Fade smiled. “I can’t wait.” He shook Talon’s hand before the man departed.
Fade peered at Prism. “What was that about?”
“Long story.” She considered the room. Tanvi and Keeper were nowhere to be seen. While she wouldn’t mind if they knew, Talon might want the fact that she’d turned down such an honor kept quiet. She gestured towards the door. “Want to take a short walk and I’ll fill you in?”
“Sure.”
Prism and Fade left headquarters, strolling along the road that wound in front of the building towards Lake O’Neil.
“Might as well jump into it.” She let out a breath. “Short version, he offered me the committee seat Cosmic left vacant, but I told him I was happy where I was.”
“Wow,” Fade said. “A committee seat is kinda a big deal.”
She brushed her hand down his arm before twining her fingers around his. “Do you think I should’ve said yes? I mean, I feel right about my choice, but you’re right, it’s a big honor to turn down.”
“If you feel right about it, then I think you made the right call. It’s your career, not mine. Also—” He looked up at the sky then down at her belly. “We’ve got a good thing going. We’re both working jobs we love with friends we care about. Financially we have what we need, and we’re starting a family. I’m fine being happy with what we have rather than scrambling for more.”
“We have been blessed.” She sighed happily. “Yeah, I don’t regret that I said no.”
“I wonder who will get the position now that you’ve turned it down.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.
She laughed. “I bet you can guess. It’s someone shiny with a love for the spotlight.”
Realization dawned on Fade’s face. “It’s Glint, isn’t it? Figures that schmoozer would have an in with the committee. He’s perfect for the job. I think the guy talks in sound bites.”
“Yeah, and while I can do politics in small doses, having to be perpetually cagey and insincere—” She shook her head. “It’s not me.”
“No, it isn’t.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. They paused looking out over the rolling hills of Camp Pendleton. His shoulders rose and fell in a great breath. “Yeah, you made the right call. I like our life.”
They stood in silence for a minute before he shifted uncomfortably. “Was there anything else we needed to talk about?”
“Not that I can think of,” she said.
“Good because as nice as this is, it’s nearly three, and I haven’t had lunch yet.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Tell you what, let’s go out for an early dinner. I feel like celebrating the job you didn’t get.” He squeezed her closer. “I want to order a big meal and maybe a bottle of wine.”
She frowned at him. “You remember that I can’t drink right now, right?”
“That’s what’s so great about this whole pregnancy thing.” He tapped the end of her nose. “Nine months with my own designated driver? Yes, please.”
She playfully punched his arm. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” She turned back towards HQ. “Well, if I am going to have to chauffeur your drunk butt home, I want a nice meal out of it. I’m going to change into that cute, polka dot maternity dress I haven’t had a chance to wear yet and some makeup. Make it like a real date.”
“Fancy.” Fade glanced down at his jeans and t-shirt. “You’re going to want me to wear something with buttons, aren’t you?”
“I’ll leave that to your conscience.” She winked.
“It’s a good thing for me that I’m a supervillain, then. Everyone knows, I don’t have a conscience.”
“Reformed supervillain.” She clicked her tongue at him.
They crossed the parking lot in front of headquarters. Fade stopped short, putting out his hand to stop Prism.
“What?” she whispered.
He pointed towards the sliding glass doors to headquarters. Someone stood in front of them, messing with the keypad .... Someone in a red jacket with a white flame logo on the back, knee-high black boots, and a visor over his eyes.
Prism’s heart leaped into her throat.
That’s Wildfyre. The supervillain!
Chapter Two
Wildfyre spun to face them, dark eyes widening.
Prism threw her hands forward, and a blast of light rushed from her. Wildfyre staggered back, arm over his eyes.
“Stand down!” Prism barked.
Fade grabbed her arm. His powers shimmered through her, making her practically invulnerable.
“Easy!” Wildfyre held his hands up over his head. “I’m not here to fight.” He opened one eye. “I just want to talk.”
Skepticism flooded Prism, but counting on the protection of Fade’s powers, she came closer to him.
She knew Wildfyre by reputation—he’d been a flashy newcomer around the same time she’d joined DOSA. He’d made headlines for politically motivated villainy like disrupting political rallies, torching big business targets, and vandalising public property before moving into more financiall
y motivated crimes such as arson for hire and extortion, still of political targets but with a more obvious monetary payout. Not unusual. A lot of villains started out as activists before finding out it didn’t pay very well. However, she’d never met the man and didn’t know his true identity. To her surprise, he wasn’t much taller than herself. He had short black hair and a face that suggested Asian heritage—maybe Filipino.
“Talk, huh?” Prism frowned at him.
“Yeah, when a known supervillain shows up unannounced at our headquarters the first thing that pops into my mind isn’t ‘oh, he wants to have a little chat,’” Fade scoffed.
Wildfyre shrugged. “I tried to call ahead.”
Prism’s stomach twisted, and her hand strayed towards her pocket. Dang it, couldn’t she leave her phone at home for a few hours without both sides of the law popping up in her face?
“Wait—” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Yep, sure enough, along with several missed calls from Talon and a series of emoji filled texts from Tanvi discussing gender reveal ideas, there were three calls from an unknown number within the last two hours. Prism narrowed her eyes at Wildfyre. “How did you even get my number?”
Wildfyre unfolded from his crouch to stand before her. “Fellow named Cody let me have it.”
Prism grimaced. She should’ve known giving her number to Thorax was a bad idea. The bug charming sable had no concept of the right to privacy—or personal space for that matter. “All right, so you tried to call. What do you want?”
“To turn myself in, specifically to you, specifically to the Supervillain Rehabilitation Project. You know ... to rehabilitate.” He dropped his gaze, looking every bit like an embarrassed middle schooler explaining why he hadn’t done his homework.
“Seriously?” Fade coughed.
“Yeah,” Wildfyre’s tone grew defensive. “That’s what you do here, isn’t it? You’re a former villain yourself. If you can do it, why can’t I?”
“It’s not that.” Prism considered her words carefully. “We do rehabilitate villains, but ... we’ve never had anyone turn themselves in for it before.” Even Fade, arguably the program’s greatest success story, had only joined the project after he’d been captured and incarcerated for his various crimes. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
He shifted from foot to foot. “It’s sort of personal.”
“So’s rehabilitation.” Prism crossed her arms over her chest. “If we’re going to work with you, I need to understand why this is important to you. It’s the only way I’ll be able to decide if you’re a good fit.”
He pursed his lips. “Can we talk somewhere private, just you and me?”
Fade balked. “Oh, hell no—”
“Fade, I can look after myself,” Prism interrupted.
Fade’s brow furrowed. “Maybe, but you’re not the only one I’m worried about, Luce.” His hand strayed to her stomach.
“You know I wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger either,” Prism whispered.
“I’ll wear a disruptor anklet if that helps,” Wildfyre volunteered. “Please, I promise, I’m serious about this. I wouldn’t jeopardize it by trying to hurt you ... or your baby.”
“I’d still be more comfortable if I were in the room with you,” Fade mumbled.
“But he wouldn’t, and if we’re going to do this, we need to start building trust.” Prism walked past Wildfyre and into the lobby. Behind the defunct reception desk, she kept an emergency kit that included a few disruptor cuffs. She picked out an anklet and its controller remote and returned to Wildfyre. She passed the anklet to Fade. “Can you put this on him for me?”
Fade obeyed, still eyeing Wildfyre darkly. In spite of his stated compliance, Wildfyre’s eyes took on a “cornered animal” quality when the disruptor snapped in place.
Fade straightened to his full height. “That should be enough to keep you from doing anything stupid, but just so we’re clear, if anything happens to Prism during this private meeting of yours, you’ll be dealing with me, not DOSA, about it.”
Prism’s mouth quirked into a smile. There was something sexy about Fade when he put on his badass act.
Wildfyre frowned. “I already told you, dude. Not here to hurt anyone.”
Fade stepped back, kissed Prism’s cheek, and murmured, “I’ll be in shouting distance, all right?”
“We’ll be in the break room.” She brushed her hand over his arm before leading Wildfyre down the hall.
Slipping the remote to Wildfyre’s anklet into her pocket, Prism led the supervillain into a small room with a kitchenette, a TV on the wall, and a table and chairs. She pulled out a chair for him to sit in and popped a pod into the single-cup coffee machine Fade had gotten her for Christmas.
“Want something?” she asked.
Wildfyre settled on the edge of the chair, toe tapping on the vinyl floor. “No, thank you. I’m trying to give up coffee ... and alcohol, and ... it feels like everything really.”
“So am I.” She patted her belly. “This is decaf, though. Over the last few months, I’ve learned to like it.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” He averted his eyes.
“Do you prefer to be called by your handle?” she asked. “I don’t actually know your other name.”
“It’s Aquina. Gordon Aquina, but Wildfyre is fine.” He sat up a little straighter. “Look, I know this must seem strange, but I’m trying so hard here. If this doesn’t work out—I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
She set her mug beneath the spout and pushed the button before sitting across from him. “You said it was personal. If I’m going to trust that you’re really serious about this, I want to know what you meant by that, but at the same time, I’m not blind. This is tough for you, isn’t it?”
He nodded, still avoiding eye contact.
“To start with, we’ve had a lot of success bringing villains into the hero life, but it’s a slow process. It won’t happen overnight. We’re running multiple teams now, and at least two of them have openings—”
“I want this team, your team,” he interrupted, his mouth hardening.
She drew back. “All right. I mean—” A thousand objections passed through her head. She had multiple SVR satellites to oversee and a baby on the way along with her own team and their crime fighting responsibilities. “Is there a reason you want this team? I promise you, all our satellite branches are equally capable.”
“I ... It’s just, I need someone who understands why I’m doing this. It took me ages to talk myself into coming here. I’ve been trying to go straight on my own for the last several months because as much as I want to do this, I don’t want to end up in jail. Putting myself at DOSA’s mercy—no, thank you.” He slouched in his chair. “However, with my old contacts all being in the villain scene, I’ve felt really isolated. I need someone who understands, and based on some research I did, I think that’s you.”
Prism’s shoulder muscles tightened at the idea of a villain “researching” her. Too many of them could go stalker at a push. “How so?”
He sighed. “I sort of have to start at the beginning. Do you know what it’s like growing up in a small town in rural Utah?”
“I can’t say that I do.” The coffee maker sputtered to a stop, so she claimed her cup. She held the warm mug between her hands and waited for him to continue.
“It’s probably a lot like you’d imagine. Extremely conservative. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. My dad wasn’t abusive, I don’t want you to think that, but he was strict and he had a high standard for me and my siblings—one that didn’t allow for much deviation in thought or belief. You see where this is going?”
“Considering what I know of your career, I’m guessing hard core backlash and rebellion?” She sipped her coffee.
“Yeah, I did everything I could to burn the bridges between myself and that life.” He shook his head. “Disagreeing with him in politics and religion wasn’t enough for me. I wanted him to see that I was
as far afield from his stances as possible. I got into activism bordering on terrorism, and when a member of the movement I was involved in said he could get me genetic manipulation to try to activate sable abilities, the first thing I thought was that my dad would think that was unnatural and an affront to God. I signed up immediately.” He flexed his fingers. A slight glow rose in his hands, only to fade away.
Prism stiffened. Even with a disruptor anklet, sable powers could be unpredictable.
He caught her expression and dropped his hands to his sides. “Anyway, that was over a decade ago. I spent my twenties jumping from one activist group to another before turning to what I do now—I doubt you need filled in on that.”
“I’m aware of your record.” She set her mug down on the table top.
“Eventually I kind of forgot the reason I got into this in the first place. My family, especially my father, seemed a distant memory, a past life I didn’t want to dwell on much because it was so alien to my current existence.” He focused on the wall behind her head, eyes distant. “Then about six months ago, I was online looking into some old accounts of my earlier exploits, back when I was still known mainly by my real name before the handle ‘Wildfyre’ took off, and I was surprised to see a recent search engine hit for Gordon Aquina.” His jaw clenched. “It was for Gordon Aquina, Sr., though, not ... not me. An obituary, dated a few weeks before.”
Her anxiety gave way to sympathy, and her expression softened. “Your father?”
“Yeah.” His voice cracked. “He was only fifty-two. Stroke, I guess, based on what I could find on Google. I ... I couldn’t bring myself to call home and ask. Not after how I’d left.”
