Super Powereds: Year 3 (18 page)

“Thank you for the dance,” she said hurriedly, then rushed off the dance floor and back to her table. Only after arriving did she remember that he would be sitting only a few feet away, but there was nothing she could do about it without making everyone move—an act which would be unnecessarily hurtful.

“Hey there,” Vince said as she sat down. “How was your dance?”

“Lovely,” Camille lied. It wasn’t completely untrue—the music had been nice and her company had been cordial. It had only been terrible because of her own shyness. That, and the fact that Ross, while sweet, wasn’t Vince.

“Are you feeling okay?” Mary asked.

It took Camille a minute to remember that she’d been moving toward drunkenness before she left. The indications she’d been seeing were suppressed by the tremendous amount of fear-induced adrenaline that surged through her veins while on the dance floor. As she sat still and her heart rate slowed, she did notice a light sensation of relaxation beginning to fill her head.

“I think I’m okay,” Camille said. “Probably best that I stopped when I did.”

“No kidding,” Vince said. “The last thing you want to do is pull a me at Thomas’s party and get sick. Thank goodness I had you there to help.” At those words, he patted her shoulder, and the mellow calm in Camille’s head took a noticeable turn toward her usual embarrassment. Somewhere along the way it got lost, though, and no creeping blush ran across her cheeks. That was strange. She wondered if perhaps she was underestimating the impact of Alice’s shots, but then dismissed the worry. It was hard to stay worried about anything at the moment.

*              *              *

“Those two are strange, don’t you think?” Roy said, busting several now empty boxes and jamming them to the back of the bar until they could be disposed of.

“What two?” Chad asked.

“Camille and Vince. That girl couldn’t be any more into him without literally burrowing into his chest, and he seems to be giving her some glances too.”

“Attraction is not strange among two people of similar personalities and comeliness,” Chad said.

“No, I mean it’s strange that they like each other, yet neither seems to be making a move. It seems like, if you want something, you should go after it, don’t you agree?” Roy knew he was sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, and that his advice was unlikely to yield results, but all the same, he couldn’t help himself. He liked Chad, and obviously Angela did too, albeit in a much different way. There probably weren’t many women who would look past his weird, detached mental state, and it seemed a shame for him to miss his shot with a hottie that clearly fit that criteria.

“Sometimes, things are more complicated than mere desire,” Chad replied.

“People say that, but in my experience, all those complications are usually just people making excuses because they’re afraid. They might be scared of different things: commitment, rejection, betrayal, but in the end, it just means they’re always too afraid to swing at a ball they want to hit.”

“She’s my best friend’s sister,” Chad pointed out.

“Seems like it would be really easy to bring it up with him, then,” Roy countered. “All I’m saying is this: at the end of their lives, I don’t imagine many people lay in their deathbeds and say ‘Damn, I wish I had gone for less things I genuinely wanted.’ Just think about it.”

Chad gave a non-committal nod, which Roy chose to interpret as agreement, and then went back to work.

30.

Vince hefted Camille up the steps to Violet’s room, a task made easier by his frequent training and her relatively light weight. They’d gotten through the rest of the night without incident, even made it over to Roy and Chad’s bar for Camille and Mary to greet them; however, the late hour and undeniable effects of alcohol had begun to take a toll on all of them, though Camille got it the worst. She’d managed to avoid full-blown intoxication, however, halfway home, the soothing song of inebriation had lulled her into resting her head against the window and falling asleep. Neither being heavy drinkers, they called Violet to see if there was anything Camille might need, and the fellow Super had demanded they bring her over immediately.

“You sure she’s okay?” Violet asked, her rare motherly impulses actively engaged. She’d worried since their call, and was none too pleased to see her friend sleeping in Vince’s arms.

“She should be fine,” Mary assured her. “As soon as we left, she healed her liver; now, it’s just a matter of sleeping it all off.”

“I’m not that surprised she went down. The girl usually goes to bed long before now,” Violet said.

“Hopefully she’ll feel better in the morning,” Vince said, bumping the door open with his hip as he carried her inside. Once Camille was deposited on Violet’s bed, he took a trashcan from the restroom and set it on the floor beside her. While he did that, Violet produced an extra-large bottle of water and set it on the nightstand.

“I doubt she’ll need this stuff—her healing always takes away my hangovers—but I’ll still sleep better knowing she has it,” Violet said as she pulled back the covers and yanked off Camille’s shoes. The small girl awoke at her feet being exposed, blinking sleepily as she adjusted to the surroundings.

“Where’m I?” Camille mumbled groggily.

“Vince and Mary brought you over after you fell asleep,” Violet explained, sweeping the covers over her friend.

“I went to sleep?” Her confusion was broken up by a loud yawn that escaped her mouth before it could be stifled. Only after it concluded did she speak again. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, Mary and I are pretty tired too,” Vince reassured her. “You did what we all wanted to do. You just got there first. Sleep well.”

Somewhere in the mental fugue that was sleepiness and alcohol, Camille realized that Vince was in a bedroom with her, standing over her, close enough to touch. She wondered what he’d say if she asked him to crawl in with her and spend the night spooning. Luckily, cutting herself off when she did meant she was intoxicated enough to have such thoughts, but not so wasted as to act on them.

“Come on guys, I’ll give you a lift home,” Violet offered.

“It’s only a few blocks, we don’t mind walking,” Mary said.

“Forget it, I’m up, and it’s like a three minute drive. No big deal.”

The two women continued talking as Camille set her head back down on the pillow and was immediately retaken by the sandman’s minions. Vince lingered, only for a moment, to double-check she had everything she needed and turn off the light. As he eased the door shut, he whispered to her softly.

“Sleep well,” Vince said, pulling the door closed. Only after it had firmly latched did he complete his sentence, so low it would have strained the abilities of a Super with augmented hearing to make it out.

“. . . Cami.”

*              *              *

Angela was not a stupid person. She recognized that though she likely ranked in the top five percent as far as dangerous people in the world went, the fact that she was blonde, pretty, and young would always make her seem like a target to some people. Angela also recognized that immeasurable power was only useful if you used it before you were rendered unconscious. As a result of all this, she was keenly aware of the presence of another person following her when she left Six-Shooter and headed for her car that night. Instead of reaching for her mace or keys, however, she reached down deep for her power, readying herself to deal a world of hurt to the poor son of a bitch who’d dare thought to accost her. With no warning at all, she whirled around, ready to level someone.

Chad leapt back in surprise, immediately landing with his fists up and his weight evenly distributed, prepared to fight.

“Shit, Chad! You had me worried for a minute. I thought you and Roy left like an hour ago. Why the hell are you creeping after me in the parking lot?”

“I wanted to talk,” Chad said simply, letting his hands fall to his sides and taking a less offensive stance.

“Your version of talking starts the same way as a lot of other people’s version of assault,” Angela told him, taking a deep breath to calm her heart and let the adrenaline run its course. It was hard to shift from fighting mode to just chatting, but a lifetime of discipline and training did have a few positive side effects.

“I’m sorry,” Chad replied. “I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, and I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“We both have cell phones, you know?” Though her words were still harsh, Angela’s tone had lost its bite. Seeing Chad be awkward was disarming. Sure, normally, he was socially awkward as hell, but he never seemed to realize it. Now, it was evident he felt out of his depth, which just made everything ten times more confusing.

Chad shook his head. “No, I needed to say this in person.”

“Well, we’re both here—alone, and in person. Go ahead.”

“I want to fight you in a match,” Chad announced.

“Of course you do.” Angela felt some of the worry she’d felt vanish, replaced with a strange sense of disappointment. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought this would be something different. Training and fighting were all Chad thought about. It was why he made great eye-candy and was fun to flirt with, but ultimately was an unlikely prospect for anything serious. She knew that—it wasn’t like it was hard to figure out—so what made her think these new developments were anything different?

“I guess it has been a while. I think I’ve got some free time on Tuesday, so I could squeeze you in.”

“That’s too soon,” Chad replied. “It would need to be Friday.”

“Any special reason why?”

“Because I have to speak with Shane first,” Chad said.

Angela actually laughed at this, her strong voice carrying through the near-empty lot and bouncing off the buildings. “My brother doesn’t care who I fight, not in the slightest.”

“I am aware. However, he is likely to be more selective of who you date.”

“Come again?” For once, Chad had accomplished what so few people at Lander ever had. He’d taken Angela DeSoto by surprise.

“I like you, a great deal as it turns out, and unless my analysis is incorrect, you are similarly interested in me. I wish to take you out on a date. However, my friendship with Shane means that it wouldn’t be right for me to ask you out until I have first obtained his permission.”

“That’s pretty decent of you. Don’t you think you should ask me first, though? What if I say no?”

“Then you say no. Still, even asking would be wrong if I hadn’t first spoken to Shane,” Chad reiterated.

“I’m with you on that part, and I get it. One thing that confuses me, though. If all you want to do is ask me out after you square things with Shane, why the match?”

This time, it was Chad who looked confused. “Angela, you are a fierce, relentless, powerful warrior. I would never presume to court you without first proving I was strong enough to fight on your level.”

“Well . . . I guess I’ll see you Friday, then.” Angela turned away to conceal a smile that refused to stay suppressed. You could say a lot of things about Chad Taylor—he was strange, he was socially ignorant, he could be so blind to what was in front of him that it bordered on a mental disorder—but there was also something she considered wonderful about him. Chad was a warrior, and he respected her as one too. That meant he got her in a way so very few people did.

Instead of heading home, Angela angled her car toward the Lander campus. Friday was only a week away, and she had training to do.

31.

The candles gave off a subtle, soothing smell, one that said sandalwood on the label, but that Mary had no way of verifying. What was a sandalwood? How would she even know what one smelled like in the first place? Maybe they just chopped up a bunch of pine cones and ground them into candle wax, calling it whatever they wanted. That would be a pretty good racket. Heck, the candles had been four dollars apiece. Pine cones couldn’t cost that much.

“Focus,” Mary muttered, chastising herself and her wandering mind.

From her stereo came the soothing sounds of monks, vocalizing an ancient hymn meant to bring one closer to enlightenment. Credit where it was due, they were pretty good. Mary couldn’t remember ever hearing a bad singing monk, though. Was it just a byproduct of monkhood that one gained a great singing voice? Or maybe they had auditions before one got in. “
Great
,
great
,
you want enlightenment
,
but I’ll need to hear you belt out some show tunes before we let you in
.” Were there scouts out there scouring the vocal talents of a new generation and recruiting them to top-notch monasteries?

“Stop wandering,” she said, gritting her teeth in frustration.

When Professor Stone had told her meditation was a good way to sharpen her focus and improve her mental state, Mary had thought it would be easy. Unfortunately, it turned out clearing one’s mind was far more difficult than she’d expected. Perhaps she just had too much going on up there. Those people who meditated easily . . . Mary would bet they didn’t have entire teams of former Powereds to look after, or HCP trials to prepare for. Who could meditate with so much on their plate? Just getting to sleep should count as accomplishment enough. Maybe she could apply for a medal or somethi—