Superheroes Anonymous (11 page)

The latter raised his eyebrows. “Okay. I'm going to get a few hours in on
Call of War
.” He did a really geeky hang-­ten sign with his right hand. The move felt old and familiar in a way that had tears gathering unexpectedly at the back of my throat. “Got a level-­42 druid requesting a private meet-­up.”

“I hope she's female this time,” I said.

“Get catfished once, never live it down.” He peered at Guy for a moment, shrugged, and gave me a sunny grin. “See ya, babe.”

I gave him a smile because it was simpler than giving him the finger. He knew I'd always hated that pet name. “Good night.”

Once Jeremy had strolled off with his hands in his pockets, Guy turned to me. “He grows on you,” I said.

“Yeah, he has his moments.” Guy pushed his shoulders back, and I thought of all of the times we'd stood like this, waiting for the police to show so they could get me to safety. Only then his mask had been on rather than crumpled up in one of his hands. It made me want to ask a thousand questions. Why me? What is it about me that the villains came after me and not somebody else?

I wasn't sure I was ready to know the answer to that one yet.

“C'mon,” Guy said, clearing his throat, “your room's this way.”

“So, Vicki,” I said to break the quiet as we walked. “She's interesting.”

A line appeared between his eyebrows as he gave the matter some thought. “Don't always believe what you see with her. You'll be hanging around with her a lot, and what she presents and who she is, they're . . . not the same.”

“You're close?”

“She's a good friend. We came to Davenport at the same time.”

“You did?” That was a surprise though I had no idea why it should be. After all, I knew nothing about Guy Bookman. Blaze, I could quote you chapter and verse about. But the man behind the mask, to put in it in cliché form, he was a mystery.

“Yeah. I'll, um, I'll tell you about it sometime.” We stopped outside of Room 704, my new home. “After all, it's the least I can do.”

“For what?” I asked, puzzled.

“For . . .” Guy looked away. When he looked back at me, his stare was as intense as it always had been behind the mask, whether he was pulling me out of a flaming volcano or fighting off the latest death-­ray-­wielding super-­genius. No wonder I'd never noticed his eyes as Guy, I thought distantly as I waited for him to control himself. They'd always been hidden behind glasses. With those out of the way, I could see every fleck of gold and brown in the brilliant green.

“It's all my fault,” Guy finally said, and I blinked, drawn out of the trance his gaze cast over me.

“What? What is?”

“This whole mess, that's what.” Where others might have tried to pace, Guy stayed entirely still. “Every time I saw you at work, I wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. But I couldn't. Not without giving up my secret.”

“Whoa,” I said. “Bl—­Guy, what are you doing?”

He gave me a pained look. “I'm trying to apologize.”

“Well, stop trying. I don't want your apology.” I also didn't want his intense gaze focused on my face like that. Even with my new muscles and body, it made me feel oddly vulnerable, and I really didn't like this feeling, on top of everything I'd been through.

“But it was my fault,” Guy said.

“Really? Did you tell all those villains, super-­geniuses, and madams of evil to kidnap me?”

“No, not exactly—­”

“Then you don't owe me an apology. If anything, I owe you my gratitude.”

“You don't,” Guy insisted.

“We could probably stand here arguing this all night,” I said, and looked at the door. Guy's intensity was the last thing I needed on top of this unending day. I wanted to get horizontal and stay that way for a few hours. And even more, I wanted to get away from the intensity of Guy's stare. “But I'm a little wiped out. Would you be terribly offended if I declared a temporary moratorium on this conversation until I'm better able to handle it? My brain's swimming as it is.”

Instantly, Guy took a step back. “You're right,” he said. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pressing the matter. I imagine you're tired.”

Bone-­weary was more like it, but I just nodded. “I could use some sleep. It's been a long day—­hell, a long month.”

“Right. Right. I'll, um, I'll let you get some sleep.” Guy took another step back. “Good night, Gail.”

“Good night, Guy.”

Guy looked like he might have liked to go in for another hug or a handshake or something, but he chose just to nod at me and walk back the way we had come. I deliberately turned away as well, to face my door.

“Um, Guy?”

Immediately, he stopped and looked back. “Yes?”

“No, um, just there's . . .” I gestured at the door, a blank white expanse. “There's no doorknob.”

“Oh.” Guy smiled, and the effect was instantaneous, transforming his whole face into handsome lines. “Just put your hand on the screen. It'll let you in.” With a final dazzling smile at me, he turned and left.

With a shrug to myself, I placed my hand on the screen. It heated for an instant, then words began to scroll down the screen, as they had outside Medical. Fascinated, I leaned closer and realized they were listing my statistics, name, age, weight, class.

Wow. Was that going to happen every time I touched a screen in this place? Good thing I didn't have anything to hide.

I would have liked to explore my new place, to poke through cabinets and see exactly what it was that Davenport Industries issued to a newly minted Class C. But my body had other ideas. With Guy out of sight, I no longer had to conceal my exhaustion, so I dragged myself through the suite until I found the bedroom. I toed off my new sneakers and fell face-­first onto the bed. Even with the fountain of new knowledge in my head begging to be reviewed, I was out before the mattress had even settled.

 

Chapter Eleven

“T
HE GOOD NEWS,
Girl, is that you're dying.”

I looked up from the glossy introduction packet I'd been handed and gawked at Cooper. My heart began to pound. Maybe I'd just misheard. “I b-­beg your pardon?”

Cooper swiveled a computer screen toward me. All I saw on it were a bunch of graphs and charts with words that meant nothing to me. He tapped one finger against a graph in the corner. “Your dying rate.”

Oh god, I hadn't misheard.

“You're dying, yes,” Cooper went on, “but the chances are you'll live a nice long life before that happens.”

Again, it took a few seconds for the meaning to cut through. “Are you messing with me?” I asked, putting a hand over my chest as if it could possibly hope to calm my heart rate.

“A little.” He smiled, and I sagged back into my seat.

I was back in Medical on my second day at Davenport. About ten minutes after I had woken up, Vicki had shown up outside of my new apartment to escort me on the long trek back. I'd been brought to Cooper's office, which was mercifully a lot darker than the rest of Medical, where they had the lights set to full glare. Cooper been hard at work on three different screens, all of which had something to do with me. And as amused as he had seemed during our testing session the day before, I could already tell he was in his element, surrounded by all of that data.

So cute, and so very much a geek. Neither of which took away from the fact that he was also a sadistic bastard.

I cleared my throat and glared at him, unimpressed with his little stunt. “A long life? How is that possible? Dr. Mobius was pretty clear that I'd wither away without the, um, ‘upgrades' as he called them. I've got the stuff in my bloodstream, don't I? It didn't magically vanish.”

“It didn't.” Cooper swiveled the screen back toward himself and moved another one to where I could see it. “When we took your blood, I had no idea it would be this fascinating. I've never seen anything like this.”

“What's so fascinating about it?” I asked.

“I don't know what Mobius was trying to do to you, but it clearly didn't work the way he wanted it to.” Cooper pulled on a pair of wire-­framed reading glasses, peering over the top of them as he typed. He never slowed or stopped talking. “From what you've been telling us, the end goal was certainly not to make you a superhero. I haven't run enough tests to be sure, but you're now on the cusp of Class B. Not quite there but still, either way, it's neat. Congratulations.”

“Um, thanks.”

“Now, what Mobius didn't take into consideration is that whatever he used in this solution of his had some sentient properties.” Cooper rolled over to the other side of his L-­shaped desk. “According to his file, he was held in Detmer for twenty-­two months. The day after he escaped, you got kidnapped. So that tells me he didn't have time to whip up a new batch of his Solution of Doom. Which means either he had a partner or you got the two-­year-­old compound that had been sitting in a rotting, dank lab for all that time.”

“He gave me expired junk? Ugh.” I shuddered. I'd never been overly careful about what I put in my body—­I liked cheeseburgers and caffeine a little too much for that—­but the idea that there could be rotting, foul chemicals in my blood made me want to squirm. And then it caught up to me, the rest of what he'd said. “Wait a minute. Sentient properties? Coop, are you saying the stuff inside me has a
brain
?”

“Not a brain, exactly.” Cooper's lips quirked into a smile, but he didn't look away from the computer screen. “No reason to freak out. The ‘stuff,' as you call it, doesn't have a brain. But it has a survival imperative, and we found out by studying your blood sample that it's self-­replicating at an intriguing rate. In fact, it's taking over for the carbon in your body.”

I stared at him. “It's doing what? That means it's reproducing on its own, right? Like, I won't have to worry about an injection from Dr. Mobius again?”

“Chances are, you wouldn't have had to worry about injections anyways. Even if you hadn't gotten powers, Davenport would have reverse engineered the formula for you.” Cooper shrugged, a twitch of his massive shoulders. “It would have been a challenge, but I'm confident we would have been able to. Might've gotten a good paper out of that to present in Fresno at the Superhero Convention next year.”

“Sorry to deprive you of the opportunity,” I said.

“I have a feeling that I can get a good paper out of your, er, more interesting properties anyway.”

“Why's that?”

Cooper rolled over to swivel the original screen at me again. This time when I saw the graphs, I immediately understood them, which gave me some pause. Science had always been my worst area in school. There was a simple BMI chart, EKG and EEG readings, the results for the lie detector test I'd taken in Psych the day before. A graph charting my heart rate during my run. And, of course, in the corner, my death-­rate chart.

“You're human, Girl, but you're . . . extra,” Cooper said. When I gave him another blank look, he smiled indulgently. “It's like this. We'll use your, ah, friend Guy as an example.”

I wasn't surprised that his tone implied there was more between Guy and me than just friends. I was used to it. The name being Guy and not Blaze, though, that was new to me.

“He went through a pretty typical experience to become Class A. The explosion that changed him caused a change at the molecular level, altering him to be pretty damn near invincible. You're going through a similar molecular change. This semisentient isotope is altering your molecular composition.”

“Altering
how
?” I asked. “Is this thing going to take over?”

“I don't think so. It's not that smart. I think, and this is just a theory, as we'll need to keep a close eye on you—­it just wants an enhanced host, so it's replacing all of the carbon in your body with Mobium, which is stronger and denser.”

I felt a bit like retching, but I forced myself to nod. A host meant that the thing in my bloodstream was a parasite. “But it's not controlling me. I'm still me, right?”

“You're still you. But a better you. Right now, you're in the best shape I've ever seen. Your brain is operating incredibly efficiently—­but your thoughts are still your own! No worries there. Every sense you have is heightened: hearing, sight, smell, everything. You're still transitioning, so it'll take you a little while longer to be at full capacity. But when that happens? I can't wait to run those tests.”

“I'm sure.” I wasn't entirely sure I quite understood, but I had Cooper's packet of information. I could always read it later.

“Even better is that you're going to have muscle memory like none other,” Cooper said. “We teach you something once, and you're going to know it forever.”

“Makes me wish I could go back and retake all of those high school classes I barely passed.” I leaned forward, set the packet on Cooper's desk, and rested my elbows on my knees. I gave him a look. “You said good news.”

“What?”

“At the beginning, you said the good news is that I'm dying. Good news implies that there's bad news, too.”

“Oh, pessimism.” Cooper swung away, back to the other desk, and tapped something into the keyboard very rapidly.

“Try living a day in my life sometime, and you'll see why pessimism is a necessary survival skill. What is it? What's the bad news?”

“Well, it's not terrible news, but . . .” Cooper pushed his fingers together in a steeple and met my eyes. “You need to promise me that you'll remain calm.”

“You started this conversation with ‘you're dying, but that's okay!' I don't see what could be worse.”

“Gail, we found traces of cancer.”

I stared at him, once again positive I'd misheard. Cancer? I had cancer? The words felt like a punch to the gut from Chelsea's bee-­stinging powers. Where had all of the oxygen in the room gone? I grabbed the edge of the desk. “You just said I'm in the best shape of my life,” I said.

“Yes, and that's true, but—­”

“You
also
said I was going to live a good, long life!”

“And chances are, you will.” Cooper held my gaze. “It's not your typical situation with cancer. You're a special case.”

“Special case, how?”

“Gail, this cancer isn't dangerous. Not to you. Because it's coming from the solution in your bloodstream.”

“The one that's making me healthy,” I said.

“Right. And while it's making you as superhuman as they come, it's also giving you cancer. It's a cycle.”

The knowledge was a lump in my chest, a lump that sat heavier and heavier and refused to dissolve. I whispered around it. “What kind? What kind of can . . .” I had to swallow hard to keep going. “What kind of cancer?”

“It's called Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia, and there are a few articles about it in that packet I gave you. The thing you need to know, Gail—­Gail, look at me.”

I lifted my gaze up from the shiny packet of information on my knees.

“Gail, you're going to be fine.”

“How? It's
cancer.
”

“Yes, it is. And it's serious business. But you've got the symbiotic parasite in you, and that's not going to let you die of cancer.” Cooper leaned a little closer, his eyes just a little more emphatic. “There's a chance that once you've fully absorbed this solution inside of you, it'll eradicate the disease completely. In fact, it's likely.”

“And if that doesn't happen?” I asked, feeling hope begin to trickle through the numbness.

“Then there's just a balance to find. The isotope wants to keep you healthy because of the survival imperative. So it will do its best to keep you alive.”

“And if it's not good enough?” I asked, my stomach slowly creeping downward.

He shrugged in a way that indicated he wasn't going to answer that.

I leaned back and took a deep breath. “So I've got cancer.” Saying it aloud gave it a potency that made the air feel colder; I shivered.

“Yes, you do. But we're going to do everything we can for you, so you don't have to worry.”

“How?” I asked him, feeling blind and desperate. “How will we do that?”

Cooper smiled and pressed a button on the panel on his desk. “You're going to like this next bit.”

The door, which was only a few feet to my right, opened. I blinked as light from the hallway flooded in, silhouetting a woman in perfect shadow. “Wow,” I said before I could stop myself. “Dramatic.”

I couldn't be sure, but the woman might have smiled. I squinted, but she wasn't looking at me. In turn, she was squinting at Cooper. She reached her arm out and—­

I yelped as the overhead lights flared on. My eyes adjusted almost instantly, but Cooper looked pained. “Must you do that every time?” he asked.

“It's dark in here,” was all she said.

In the light, I got a much better look at her though the main impression was a study of contrasts. Obvious muscle that spoke of a true dedication to the gym rippled under her olive-­toned skin. Her ink black hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. But her dark eyes flashed with amusement, and she wore tiny silver hoops in each ear.

“It was dark in here for a reason, Angélica,” Cooper said.

Angélica crossed her arms over her chest in amusement. “Yes, but how else will the rest of us get to see your pretty face?” Abruptly, she shifted her attention from Cooper to me. She looked me up and down once. “Are you my victim?”

“Gail,” Cooper said, “this is Angélica. She's going to be your trainer. Angélica, probably not a good idea to bring up torture.”

“Got it, leave the thumbscrews at home.” Angélica's smile wasn't exactly reassuring. She looked about my age, but she exuded an air of authority that I could never achieve. “You done with her, Coop?”

“I'm leaving her at your mercy,” Cooper said before he flashed me a grin. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I rose to follow Angélica out, not certain about what was going to happen to me next. I stopped in the doorway. “Cooper?”

“Hmm?” He'd already turned his attention to the computer screens and away from me. But now he swiveled to look over at the doorway.

“Tell me one more time—­”

“You're going to be fine. Just listen to Angélica. She's never steered one of her trainees wrong.”

A
NGÉLICA LED ME
into another part of the complex, and I did my best keep up. It wasn't hard: Angélica was only a ­couple of inches taller than I was. She wore workout clothing, which made me wonder. Did she train other superheroes? Did Guy and War Hammer (whose real name I still didn't know) have to go through sessions with trainers? Maybe they still did. What exactly did trainers do, anyway?

“Big place,” I said when I was tired of the quiet. We'd been walking for a good five minutes in absolute silence.

“Davenport's huge,” Angélica said amiably. “And growing all the time. Medical sent me your folder this morning. How do you feel?”

How did I feel? Overwhelmed. But not like I had cancer, and not like I was being built up by a weird chemical parasite. I shrugged, dithering between confessing and my usual hang-­up about revealing information to ­people I didn't know well. “I feel okay, I guess. Surviving.”

I began to suspect that Angélica might have had psychic powers, for she asked, “Hungry?”

“A little. How'd you know?” There had been three breakfast sandwiches in my refrigerator, which I'd had time to wolf down before Vicki had shown up. But they felt like a distant memory already.

“It's my job to know.” Angélica dug into the satchel she wore slung over one shoulder. She handed me a candy-­bar-­sized silver package. “Go ahead, eat that.”