by Ekeke, C. C.
“She’s his communications advisor,” AJ said. “But as an interviewer, she sucks.”
Hugo snort-laughed. “I bet Blur likes the sucking part.”
AJ was aghast. “Ewww! Whatchu mean?”
Hugo eyed his naïve brother. “Rebecca friggin’ Reyes is the ultimate cape chaser.” He turned on the faucet over the dinnerware. “That whole interview, she looked like she wanted to eat Blur!”
Horror filled AJ’s blocky features. “You’re right. God, she’s older than Mom.”
“Hope that’s a compliment, Junior.”
Both boys turned, high-heels click-clacking from upstairs. When Mom emerged at the bottom of the staircase, Hugo gawked. “Wow.”
His mother approached her sons in a white blouse and dark maroon skirt. Her hair fell in glossy curls down her back. Minimalistic makeup highlighted her prettiness. “Is this too formal?” she asked anxiously.
“Nope,” AJ denied.
Hugo shook his head, heart brimming. “When’s the job interview?”
Mom relaxed hearing their approval. “Before lunch. I’m really nervous.”
Hugo approached, waving off her fretting. “You’ll do great.”
Mom loved treating patients and was good at it. An OR nurse’s salary allowed her to raise two children. But seventeen years of ten-plus hour shifts had worn Mom down. The breakup with bland-as-broccoli Larry spurred her applying to be a nurse manager.
“This is a management position,” Mom pushed back. “Some people applying have MBAs and way more experience.”
AJ rubbed her arm reassuringly. “They aren’t you.”
Hugo had no doubt what she could do. “You keep telling us how you know more than the nurse managers you work with.” He smiled at her. “You got this.”
Mom’s eyes sparkled as she drew both her sons close. “My wonderful boys.”
“I am, at least,” Hugo quipped, earning a jab from AJ.
“Shush!” Mom squeezed them tighter.
When they pulled apart, she turned to Hugo. “Be careful on morning patrol.” Despite him being a powerful superhuman, his mother still worried.
Hugo rolled his eyes. “Always am—” The sentence caught in his throat. Dainty footsteps approached from outside, along with a familiar heartbeat. Ignoring Mom’s and AJ’s stares, Hugo reached the foyer in half a second and opened the door.
The thirteen-year-old girl at the door was leaner than Hugo remembered. Her bouncy coppery ringlets had also grown longer. But Zelda’s sorrowful expression, much like her mother’s, left Hugo paralyzed and tongue-tied.
Thankfully, Mom weaved around him. “Taeao, sweetie!” she greeted and guided Zelda inside.
AJ brightened and scurried forward. “Hi, ZiZi!”
Hugo snapped out of his deer-in-headlights stupor and closed the door.
“What brings you here so early?” Mom inquired after a long hug.
Zelda gestured at Hugo.
Mom gaped and quickly faced AJ, who was still clueless about Hugo’s true father. “Go brush your teeth.”
Hugo breathed deep and nodded at the guestroom. Zelda hugged herself and trudged past him.
“Why does she only want to see Bogie?” AJ complained.
“Teeth. Brush,” Mom ordered.
Hugo closed the door and sat on one side of the bed. Zelda took the other side. A weird, ugly tension flooded the room. “Hi.” Hugo sounded wooden and awkward.
Zelda waved limply. “Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s fine, Z.”
“Do you hate me too?” The whisper held so much hurt.
Hugo suddenly wanted to sprint across the country. “No. NO. You did nothing wrong.”
Zelda’s eyes flashed. “Then why are you avoiding me, you asshole?” She didn’t raise her voice. But her anger was unmistakable.
Hugo felt so self-centered and cowardly. The truth had a bitter taste. “I didn’t know how to face you.”
Zelda looked at her knees. “I’m still me. It’s just…that…”
“You’re my sister.” Hugo saying those words shifted the entire mood. Dizzying feelings crackled up his chest. He watched Zelda’s face tighten. “See the difference?”
“Yeah…” Her whisper sounded like a pained sigh.
The tension broke. Buttery warmth encircled Hugo’s heart when he stared at Zelda Ortiz, his half-sister. “When did you know?”
Zelda opened her eyes, which were identical to Titan’s. “Three years ago. My mom told me not to say anything until you knew. When we saw you last summer at Morro Bay, you looked so much like my…our dad, it freaked us out.”
Hugo smiled, remembering their hysterical reactions. “Makes sense.” The mirth was brief. “Did your mom send Justice Jones to guilt me into forgiving her?”
Zelda’s face shifted in understanding. “No. But she and Uncle Manny were arguing about you last night.” She glanced away. “They’ve been arguing a lot lately.”
Just as Hugo suspected. Justice Jones was a good man kept in the dark. But it was time for Hugo to be a good man too. “I’m sorry for ghosting you. That was stupid.”
Zelda pouted. “Yeah, it was.” She threw herself at Hugo and embraced him.
Hugo melted at her exuberance, returning the hug. “Come over anytime.” As they pulled apart, he added a caveat. “Alone.”
A cloud descended over Zelda’s face. “Could you ever forgive her?”
“I…” A month ago, Hugo would’ve answered no. But Zelda back in his life clouded everything up. “Dunno yet.” He wasn’t interested in discussing Lady Liberty. “Your mom isn’t technically a super. But since…our dad is, did you inherit anything?”
Zelda beamed and nodded.
I knew it! “Show me,” Hugo encouraged.
Zelda spread her arms and floated inches off the floor. Within moments, her whole body was glowing so bright that Hugo had to shield his hypersensitive eyes.
“Still learning to control the light energy.” She floated down to her feet as her radiance dimmed.
Hugo lowered his arm, feeling light and joyful. “We’ll figure it out together, ZiZi.”
Several minutes later, Hugo had suited up for a quick patrol before school until Detective Beale called.
Hugo’s heart sang. Finally, the cops had found Vincent Van Violence.
They hadn’t.
Currently, Hugo stood inside someone’s Oldtown San Miguel apartment.
A dead someone…
All that remained were charred walls, scorched furniture, and a woman’s shriveled body burnt to a crisp. Normally, San Miguel PD’s Homicide Division handled murders. But if superhuman involvement was suspected, then San Miguel PD’s Superhuman Task Force got involved. A superhuman officer and one normie officer were paired off. Occasionally, superheroes were called to consult—like Hugo right now.
He was used to seeing bodies, but they still left him queasy.
Detectives Beale and Dawson, the latter a super, stood back as Hugo scanned the room with his senses.
“Any thoughts?” the taller detective inquired after several minutes.
Hugo sniffed again, turning slowly to absorb his environment. The Samoan silently thanked Lady Liberty and Geist for showing him how to case a crime scene and recognize specific smells. The pungent burnt odor didn’t match with a gas explosion. “There’s gas everywhere except the body.” Hugo was careful not to step on the chalk surrounding the corpse. “No gas or flame accelerant were used to kill her.”
Dawson slapped Beale on the chest, annoyed. “That’s what I said.” He turned back to Hugo. “The gas leak from the stove seemed perfunctory to obfuscate the truth.”
Hugo swallowed a smile. Dawson always served up the ten-dollar words. “Perfunctory. Great word. My guess? A pyrokinetic burned the victim alive.” Beyond the gas and burnt flesh, the lingering stench smelled oddly familiar. Like the fires in Colorado. Hugo shook off the coincidence, equating it to the déjà vu of putting out forest fires two nights in a row
. “The murderer must’ve burned some of the walls then let some gas fill the apartment.”
Detective Beale nodded and approached. “We were thinking that too.”
Hugo’s pride soared. He felt more and more confident each time doing these crime scenes, trusting his senses. He turned a dispassionate eye to the body. “Who was she?”
“Nina Smarts. Senior geneticist at Salto Research Institute’s South Carolina branch,” Dawson said. His indifference was no doubt from seeing countless corpses. “Travels between there and San Miguel often.”
Hugo turned away, stomach knotting from staring too long at the body. And the smell. “Any word on V3’s whereabouts?”
Dawson and Beale exchanged dark looks. “We nearly trapped him last night,” Beale explained. “But he got skittish and no-showed.”
Hugo bristled. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He forced his voice to a more neutral volume. “I could’ve tracked him down.”
Dawson stepped in, alarmed by whatever he saw on Hugo’s masked face. “V3 is a piece of shit but desperate. We’ll draw him out.” He gave a reassuring smile.
“Then you can take him out.” Beale’s attitude was unflappable. “It’s just taking longer than expected.”
Hugo forced his expression into blankness. Getting mad over something that couldn’t be controlled helped no one. “Okay.” From there, a subtle alert went off in the corner of Hugo’s eyescreen.
Fifteen minutes until class started. Shiite! He said his farewells and flew off.
Minutes later, he was hurtling over lofty architectural corridors in downtown San Miguel at over ninety miles an hour. This was a usual flight route he took so that San Miguel citizens could see him. Several buildings remained sleeved in drape-covered scaffolding as repairs from Black Wednesday continued. The worst damage had been cleaned up and fixed around the accursed Paxton-Brant business center. Hugo would get home with enough time to change and superspeed over to school. Still, taking a crime scene this early was risky. Superheroics wouldn’t compromise his grades.
He turned a corner, his shadow soaring over the major veins of morning traffic. There was another shadow to his right, similar but much smaller.
“What…the hell?” Hugo realized that shadow had tailed him since leaving Oldtown. Irked at himself for just noticing, he turned in mid-flight to see his pursuer.
And a dazzling violet blast drilled him.
“AAHH!!” The energy attack struck like a mule kick. Excruciating pain seared through Hugo, exactly like when Spencer Michelman had blasted him. But Spencer’s under house arrest.
He had little time to process, now in rapid freefall. A traffic-packed street rushed up, various pedestrians pointing and shouting in alarm.
Hugo pushed through the pain and pulled up at the last instant.
“Sorry!” he shouted while climbing back into the air. The sting was already fading. A quick check revealed his costume intact and mask in place. Small blessings.
Relief quickly became fury. Some motherfucker shot me. Making first period English was the last thing on his mind.
Hugo zoomed to where he’d been struck, scanning the sleek buildings and rooftops in every direction. No trace of any shooter as far as his telescopic vision could see.
And the shadow following Hugo was long gone. He clenched his fists in impotent anger. But that blast, matching Spencer’s energy signature?
A new awareness left Hugo cold all over.
Had his attacker been employed by Paxton-Brandt…or the OSA?
Chapter 12
Connie’s arrival that evening was a godsend.
Parked on their couch in this spacious condo, Greyson listened proudly as his wife discussed her mission. Meanwhile, his secret festered. He’d told no one yet, never leaving the condo except for food.
Once Connie finished, he confessed his run-in with the Natural Born Thrillers. That made his stupidity much more real.
But Connie didn’t waver in her supportiveness, sitting while he paced back and forth in escalating panic.
“It’s okay, Hirsch,” she assured, watching him with fond eyes.
Greyson shook his head, unable to accept the assurances. “I don’t think so.” He pointed at his head. “They saw my face.”
Connie stood and advanced. “It’s a setback.” She cradled his bearded cheeks in soft, gentle fingers. “And you only used your nuclear powers?”
“Yes.” Greyson couldn’t see how exposing himself was an advantage. “I should’ve let that dumbass die,” he grumbled. “No one would miss one less cape-chasing paparazzo.”
Connie cuffed him upside the head, stunning him out of his self-pity. “You had a lapse in judgment,” she stated tersely. “But you saw them in action as a team.”
Greyson let his shoulders slump as her words sank in. “You have a point.”
“I know.” Connie shrugged. “Now what?”
Greyson couldn’t think on an empty stomach. “I’m getting us some food before Asher arrives.” He gave her a big sloppy kiss then grabbed his coat. “Glad you’re back.”
The crisp afternoon air was just what he needed on the walk to Alley’s Bakery in Valley Square. This part of Shenandoah was fresh and livable, bustling with regular professionals on lunch breaks.
Greyson had grabbed two bagel sandwiches and some salads, pleased with the short wait.
“Levi?” a woman called from his right.
Greyson kept walking.
“Levi Katz,” she called again, tapping his shoulder.
Greyson winced. Right, Levi Katz, the new public identity Paxton-Brandt had provided. He turned to see a slim woman slightly taller than him, chocolate-brown-skinned with thick glasses. She somehow knew his new identity, bundled up in a tan peacoat with a beanie hiding a pile of hair underneath. The young lady seemed quite eager to meet him.
Greyson frowned in dismay. “Hello?”
“Remember me?” The woman lowered her glasses. “From the car lot?”
Greyson gaped. Erika Skye. They found me. He backpedaled, nearly having a heart attack. “You—”
Erika grabbed his forearm. “Relax,” she muttered. “I’m just here to talk.”
Greyson froze. Making a scene would exacerbate a bad situation. This mission was over before it began. He quickly scanned the café. Everyone was either on their phones, ordering food, or conversing. Everyone except one man near the door in a cap and hoodie, average height and slim, watching them intensely.
The fucking empath? Greyson jerked his arm free. “Yet you brought your boy,” he whispered harshly. Gravitational energy flowed like fire through his veins, about to erupt.
Erika looked impressed. “He’s backup.” Her eyes narrowed. “Should he be worried?”
She had the element of surprise yet didn’t attack. Greyson considered this briefly and relaxed. “No.”
Erika’s relief was obvious. Subtly waving Shattershot off, she guided Greyson to a table. “Shall we?”
“How did you find me?” Greyson asked once they sat in a corner booth far from prying eyes. He’d been careful about not getting tailed. What did I miss?
Erika smiled. “Had the police do a discreet search of your face. You’ve come here twice a day this week.”
Greyson squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” The closest restaurants weren’t great, except this place. And now the police were onto him.
Erika laughed. “It’s a Shenandoah original. The cheesesteak sandwiches?” Her eyelids fluttered in ecstasy. “To die for.”
Greyson had no interest in small talk. Her team was his enemy. “What do you want?”
Erik sobered. “To discuss what happened three nights ago.”
Greyson clenched his teeth. “Just helping out.”
Nearby, four young girls whispered among themselves.
“I know,” Erika assured, resembling an undergrad with the glasses and regular clothes. “That’s why I didn’t tell the police who you were. This city has laws against using powers without regi
stration.”
Greyson’s cheeks flushed. “Are you threatening me?”
Erika waved her hands in a truce. “I’m letting you know the reality here.”
Before she could continue, the four girls shuffled up to their table, all smiles and nerves.
Greyson leaned away. But he might as well have been invisible.
“Excuse me,” an olive-skinned girl said, shaking like a leaf. “Are you—?”
Erika took it in stride. “Yes, I am,” she replied gently.
The girl turned to her friends, and they whisper-yelled at each other. Greyson snorted.
“Can we get a picture?” another girl asked with utmost reverence.
Erika waved the girls forward. “Of course.” She eyed Greyson expectantly. “You mind?”
He sighed, taking that girl’s cellphone to snap pictures of Erika with her adoring fans. After thanking her, the quartet scurried away, quietly squealing amongst themselves.
Erika watched them go as she and Greyson sat back down. “That rarely happened when the Thrillers first started.” She turned to him and slumped back in her seat heavily. “God, Shenandoah used to be a city of gods and angels.”
Greyson wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading. But he’d play along. “Can it reach those heights again?”
“Definitely.” Erika’s mouth became a taut line. “We need more time to earn the city’s trust.”
“Plowing through a full car lot won’t help,” Greyson snarked.
Erika looked down like a scolded child. “Not our finest moment. Which is why we’re speaking. You have great situational awareness and combat-ready powers.” Her eyes sparked. “My team has an opening.”
Greyson blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. “You’re recruiting me?”
Erika’s enthusiastic nod was adorable. “This is just a tryout. What do you say?”
“No, no, NO!” That was Asher Martin’s barking answer an hour later when Greyson had told him, his team, and Connie what transpired. The Paxton-Brandt folks were in a panic over this meeting, Asher was about to tear chunks of hair out, and Connie just laughed.
