by Ekeke, C. C.
Hugo choked on laughter. “Nerd!” J-Tom loved pop quizzes. “Another name for superhero team?”
“ERAT or Emergency Response Action Team.”
That question was easy. Hugo chose something harder. “Superhero types with examples.”
“Government-sanctioned like you or all UK superheroes,” J-Tom recited. “Corporate-sponsored like the Extreme Teens. Street-level heroes like Ballistic. Vigilantes like Blackjack and Domino.”
Hugo nodded approvingly. He'd registered officially as government-sanctioned at the end of tenth grade. Lady Liberty had worked out his charter with San Miguel since Hugo was a minor. And the lucrative government salary didn't include merchandise royalties. They raced over the suburban maze of the Inland Empire. “Name five kinetic-type supers besides telekinetic.”
“Hydrokinetic, pyrokinetic, terrakinetic, aerokinetic, and chronokinetic.”
Hugo shook his head. This girl was a sponge. “Chronokinetic’s a made-up word.”
“All words are made up,” she disputed.
Hugo smirked. “Smartass. What ERAT is Cumulon part of?”
“Trick question!” J-Tom’s jubilance was infectious. “Cumulon isn’t part of any team but occasionally works with the Grand Circle when the threat's big enough.”
Hugo chuckled. “Damn!”
They reached his lair at the base of Arroyo Grande’s Picacho Peak in an hour, regaining time thanks to the Pacific-Mountain time zone difference. Geist had gifted Hugo this safehouse, a former military bunker. The Midnight Son had rarely used it except to meet with Titan and Lady Liberty. Those meetings must’ve been epic. Initially, Hugo hadn’t been impressed. The bunker was barely furnished and musty, with a training space and monitoring consoles patched into San Miguel’s traffic system.
Now, Hugo saw a second home. High-tech computers, wide monitors, costume racks, multiple bedrooms, a shower, and a stocked kitchen. All donated by Ramon Dempsey. Hugo called it the Clubhouse.
After showering and changing into a fresh costume, he was in the training center working on J-Tom’s agility and footwork.
With his hood pulled back, Hugo tossed several tennis balls in numerous directions. “Blast each one.”
J-Tom moved fast and fluid in her DIY armor. She raised her hand, the palm gauntlet flashing bright gold. POOM. One ball ruptured to ash.
She spun, left hand snapping up to fire. POOM! Another ball destroyed.
POOOM. POOM. POOM. She dusted all eleven. The eyes on her helmet gleamed.
Hugo nodded. “Your aim’s improved. Now.” He moved directly in her line of fire. “Hit me with your repulsor blasts. Full power.”
J-Tom backpedaled with hesitation. “Really?”
Hugo narrowed his eyes. Killer instinct—something J-Tom lacked. “Who better to test your limits than someone as durable as me?” Hugo beckoned with both hands.
She raised her gauntlets. Energy glowed like daylight in both palms.
Hugo expected a tickle—
A scorching beam mule-kicked him across the room.
The floor smacked his back, driving the air out.
“Oooh! Omigod!” J-Tom cried. A clomp, clomp of metal boots approached. “Are you okay?”
Hugo waved her off, struggling to a knee. “Yeah…good shot.” The pain throbbing through his torso subsided. He rose to his feet. In her armor, J-Tom stood eye to eye with him. “You need more power against supers like me.”
J-Tom’s helmet opened down the center and slid away. Her face was flushed and sweaty, wavy ginger hair untamed. “Got it. Another item to upgrade.”
Hugo moved on to a topic he’d been avoiding. “We need to meet Ramon Dempsey.”
J-Tom paled. “Why?”
“Your armor belongs to him.” Hugo explained. “He deserves to know.”
“I’m not trying to steal the Dynamo mantle—”
“Ramon’s a friend,” Hugo interjected. “We need his blessing.” Given how few close friends he had in the superhero community, this wasn’t up for debate.
J-Tom looked down and swallowed. “What if he wants it back?”
Is that a bad thing? But Hugo wouldn’t discourage her further. “You’re crazy smart, Jenny. You’ll find another way.”
J-Tom met his stare, forcing a smile. “Tell me when.”
Hugo smiled in relief. “I’ll schedule a meeting.”
J-Tom then trudged out of the training room. “I’ll clean up before we leave.”
“Cool.” Hugo watched her go. “I got trigonometry and Biology 2 homework.”
He strode down a narrow concrete corridor toward the monitoring center, the nucleus of his lair.
The monitoring center had a pale-blue lighting. Hugo found his cellphone on the island with monitors and consoles connected to San Miguel’s traffic grids. He saw missed calls from Mom and AJ, texts from Brie, Brent, Raphael, and Wale. No messages from Jordana, disappointingly. On his work cell, no info about Vincent Van Violence. He swallowed his frustration…again.
Hugo leaned on the half-circle table with its monitors, earlier guilt knotting up his innards.
He’d enjoyed training J-Tom these past six weeks. She was a quick learner and constantly improving. But it wasn’t just her using Ramon’s property that worried Hugo. This training seemed like a coping mechanism to get over Spencer. And what if J-Tom’s armor got destroyed in battle, and her along with it? Because I didn’t stop her…
Hugo’s mind drifted to The Vanguard’s implosion. Robbie Rocket paralyzed, Wyldcat dead.
He shook his head angrily. Hugo wouldn’t let that happen to J-Tom. She meant too much to him…
A freshly showered scent drew Hugo back to now. Somehow, twenty minutes had flown by.
J-Tom stood a few feet away in a snug sweater dress, cream-colored with an enticing V-neckline. Her wet ginger locks were pulled back tight, pale features freckled and makeup-free.
“Forgot to mention.” She glanced away demurely. “Jordana’s still not sure you guys can work.”
The words landed on Hugo like a ton of bricks. But they weren’t surprising.
J-Tom probed his face with curious hazel eyes. “What should I tell her?”
The Clubhouse seemed to shrink. Hugo’s gut said to have J-Tom tell Jordana how much he cared and would be a dedicated boyfriend if she gave him the chance. And J-Tom would deliver his message with sunshiny gusto. Except, Hugo didn’t see the point. “This didn’t convince her before.”
Something shifted on J-Tom’s face. “Do you love her?”
Hugo’s heart gave a lurch. Do I?
A sharp claxon broke the tension. Confused, Hugo turned to the monitors. “What the—?” He saw what caused the alert, and surprise seized him.
A six-foot-seven-inch biker paced outside one of the underground exits, with massive arms sleeved in tattoos. His broad-shouldered frame nearly burst out of a leather vest, and a red bandana wreathed his spiky head of hair.
“Aegis!” he barked. “Open the damn door and face me!”
J-Tom peeked over his shoulder, heart pitter-pattering. “That’s Justice Jones?”
Justice Jones, a nomad who fought for America's forgotten citizens, now resided mostly in San Miguel since dating Lady Liberty. And that told Hugo exactly why the Outlaw Superhero was here.
He turned to J-Tom. “Go hide and keep quiet.”
J-Tom scurried off without protest.
From there, Hugo typed an access code in the main console to open the entrance where Jones stood. Within minutes, he came stomping into the monitor center from the far-left exit.
Sharp dread speared Hugo, but he stood welded to the floor. With someone like Justice Jones, one couldn’t back down. “Yes?”
Jones was in his face, standing three inches taller. “Think you’re a man now, you obnoxious punk?” He fake-lunged at Hugo, who to his own shock, didn’t flinch. “I oughta kick your ass for disrespecting Libby.”
“Like you could,” Hugo threw back calmly. He didn’t fear him.
Jones knew this too. “This beef with Lady Liberty?” he growled. “End it.” Not a request.
Hugo experienced a deep disgust—but not for Jones. “Did she send you?”
Justice Jones’s lip curled into a snarl. Being anyone’s lapdog clearly offended him. “I sent me. Someone needs to knock sense into you. With words or fists.” The ex-biker’s massive hands balled up.
Hugo sniggered—almost. Justice was one of the most feared hand-to-hand fighters among superheroes. But against Hugo’s vast powerset and combat skills, a fight would end one way. “Did she tell you why we’re not speaking?”
Justice gave a brusque headshake. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course she didn’t,” Hugo fumed. Lady Liberty was at fault— again. “Educate yourself before barging in here being Libby’s white knight.”
Justice Jones’s eyes burned. “Geist’s lair,” he corrected contemptuously.
“You know the way out.” Hugo pointed to the exit, eyes never leaving him.
The ex-biker looked ready to clock Hugo. “Still got lots to learn, boy. So here’s another free lesson.”
Hugo rolled his eyes. “Okay.”
“Never turn your back on someone you respect…or fear.” Jones turned his back, storming toward the exit.
Once the monitor revealed the biker hopping on his motorcycle and driving off, Hugo let his shoulders sag. He didn’t know which gutted him most, losing Jones’s respect or the disgust on the ex-biker’s face. Hugo sat heavily into one of the seats at the monitoring station and massaged his forehead.
His hypersensitive ears caught soft footsteps emerging across the chambers.
“Wanna talk about it?” J-Tom offered, several feet away.
“No.” Hugo’s reply was flat and furious. Speaking would only make him angrier.
After five dainty strides, her breaths and steady heartbeat sounded behind his chair. Two slender arms slid around his neck and down his chest. She rested her chin on his crown. “Wanna hug?” she whispered.
Hugo deflated hearing that. J-Tom gave the best hugs. He sat up and turned his chair around, and she pulled back. “Sure.” He took her by the hand, drawing her onto his lap.
She curled up against him and slipped both arms around his waist, resting her damp hair on his shoulder. The twosome embraced quietly for several minutes. Her body warmth felt wonderful.
Hugo had actually told J-Tom first about Titan being his real father while Simon had still been in Korea. Between that confession and both of them losing Spencer, Hugo and J-Tom had grown very close.
“You still smell like smoke,” J-Tom murmured into his neck.
Hugo laughed briefly. But he kept stewing over Justice Jones, and by proxy, Lady Liberty.
“She’s said nothing about Titan for years,” he vented. “Even after she started training me. I can forgive my mom, even if what she did still pisses me off.”
A crushing grief he thought had passed reared its ugly head. “Maybe,” Hugo concluded, his voice rough, “I could’ve known him before he died.” Tears blurred his vision. Now he was embarrassed.
J-Tom held him closer, rubbing circles on his back, soothing his anger with affectionate hands and soft words.
She sat up straight after some time to meet his gaze. “You have every right to be angry at Lady Liberty.” J-Tom’s eyes looked glazed and heavy-lidded. “But does Zelda deserve to be shut out?”
Hugo recoiled from thinking about his half-sister, who he hadn’t seen in almost three months. But that subject was like touching a white-hot stove while swallowing a ghost pepper. In short, avoid.
“Have you ever wanted to meet your birth parents?” Hugo asked, focusing on J-Tom.
She considered this for a moment. “My mom and dad offered to tell me their names.”
“And?” Eagerness gripped Hugo.
J-Tom shrugged. “Wasn't interested.”
“Why?”
“I already have parents who love me,” J-Tom said. Her damp hair shone from the overhead lamps. “And you choose the family who chooses you.” She poked his chest, reciting Hugo’s own words back at him.
Hugo gave her an amused onceover. “Who told you that garbage?”
J-Tom giggled. “Some loser.” Looking up at him from under her eyelashes, she raised her brow naughtily.
Heat crackled up his spine. Hugo tried laughing it off, until J-Tom’s starving lips found his mouth.
Bad idea, a small part of his brain protested. But Hugo still responded to the kiss, overcome with need. Then J-Tom threw her leg over his to straddle him, tangling her fingers in his hair. Memories of their long summer nights together saturated Hugo’s brain and drowned that dissenting voice out.
They both had tried ending this fling before school started. But Jordana’s rejections and J-Tom’s heartache over Spencer kept whittling away Hugo’s willpower.
As they were making out, he gently slid his hands up J-Tom’s sweater dress. Her encouraging moans made the guilt easier to ignore.
Is this the real reason why I keep training Jenny? That was Hugo’s last coherent thought for a long and blissful stretch of time.
Chapter 9
“What did they want you to wear?”
“It was hideous, Con.” Greyson chuckled at his wife’s disbelief, clutching his cellphone with earbuds on. “These Paxton-Brandt marketing types are insane.” He walked through downtown Shenandoah, drawing his coat closer. The early evening sun cast a cherry-red glow across town while sinking into the mountainous horizon. Greyson marveled at that, and not much else.
“So, still no costume?” Connie asked.
“None that I’d be caught dead wearing.” That won more laughter from Connie. But Greyson was ready to change subjects. He weaved around a group of thuggish teens. “Anyway…”
“Anyway…” Connie teased.
“How is San Miguel?”
“Pretty and so sunny,” Connie gushed. “Think I might stay.”
“Not until I’m done with Aegis.” Greyson’s words held no mirth.
Connie laughed it off. “Fine. I’ll bring back some Paso Robles wine.”
“Please do.”
“How’s Shenandoah?” she asked.
Greyson took another dispassionate look around him. “Some areas are beautiful. Other parts…on life support.” He quickened his pace to escape the faint stench following wherever he walked. He’d arrived yesterday at a Paxton-Brandt condo in Shenandoah’s Palisades neighborhood. One day of meandering treks, and Greyson had this city figured out.
Shenandoah was actually three cities that never fully integrated. One city was a gateway to Shenandoah National Park and Shenandoah Valley, kitschy tourist centers on every major street, forest-covered peaks dominating every horizon. The second city was a Civil War tourist trap, boasting antebellum bistros, war museums and nineteenth-century styled hotels.
Enfolding the two cities was the neglected metropolis, its suffocating miasma palpable even on a cloudless day. Police cars and SUVs patrolled the more poverty-stricken parts. Unwelcome amounts of drones swarmed overhead like silent bees. Gorgeous antebellum-type structures stood next to buildings marred by graffiti and neglect. Homeless tent cities stretched for blocks around run-down buildings.
Giving Greyson pause was Paragon himself, or his twenty-five-foot statue crouched with arms thrown back. The statue captured him perfectly. The curly hair, Romanesque face, and Herculean physique. But the cape had been snapped off. And the statue itself was graffitied, dented, and covered in trash. Missing were the statues of Ace Steele and Sonya Bullet. Triumvirate, America’s first superhero team in the mid-1970s. Apparently, the other two statues had been removed due to excessive vandalism.
Greyson stared up at Paragon’s statue, childhood memories of watching Titan vs Paragon spilling through. “Did you know Paragon was from Shenandoah?”
“Yeah.” Connie sounded surprised. “I thought that was common knowledge, old man.”
Greyson sc
offed and kept walking. The skies had darkened to a velvety plum color. “Superheroes weren’t welcome in my household, young pup.” His past resembled a half-remembered dream, as if belonging to someone else. “What do they have you doing?” He was entering Luray-Boynton, one of Shenandoah’s poorest regions with the largest super population.
“Rescue op,” Connie answered. “Some Paxton-Brandt scientist is leaking company secrets and has his daughter under house arrest.”
Greyson straightened. What a repulsive human. “I bet your costume’s more practical.” Confusion blossomed as he pondered this further. “Why do they need you to catch a traitor?”
“The scientist is an ex-superhero.”
“Of course.” Another hypocrite superhero. Greyson pushed down his disgust, staying present for his wife. “Come back to me in one piece.”
“Always,” Connie remarked softly.
Greyson slowed, feeling strangely heavy. He leaned on a building, scanning around. Lengthy shadows spilled from every corner. Hero vs Villain rap floated out from the windows of gloomier apartments. Buildings showed damage from a past super vs super battle. More improvised tents and grungy sleeping bags were visible in the darkness. Tranquility settled over the streets tonight.
Greyson’s dinner talks with Olin and the new world Paxton-Brandt would build came to mind.
I’m the necessary evil for that world. Suddenly, the pressure weighed on Greyson’s shoulders. Everything he’d sacrificed had brought him here. To free the minds of Shenandoah’s populace…
Greyson squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he had to deliver for himself, for Connie and his crusade to open this world’s eyes. “My mission…our mission,” he said. “Now it feels real. It feels tangible.”
“I have to pinch myself sometimes,” Connie admitted, speaking whisper-soft.
Greyson sank to a crouch against the wall. “We can do some real good through Paxton-Brandt.”
“Is that why you were so chill about me going on this West Coast mission?”
Greyson didn’t hesitate to answer. “I trust you. And you doing well raises our standing.”
“Let’s not get too comfortable, Hirsch,” Connie cautioned. “Paxton-Brandt wiped our slates clean. But we still don’t know the full price tag for that.”
