Superheroes Anonymous (18 page)

They led me through the Annals together, sometimes talking over each other as they remembered various stories about the costumed superheroes on the walls. Vicki was quick on the draw, verbally, while Guy tended to take a moment to consider his answers. It felt completely different from all of the times he'd saved me, usually by charging forehead first into danger. As Blaze, he seemed resolute and he rarely hesitated. As Guy, the word I would have used to describe him was “careful.”

“That kind of looks like Chelsea's nose, I think,” Vicki said, stopping at a portrait of Major Quirk.

I tilted my head. “You were paying attention to her nose?”

“Photographers, darling. They always accentuate the body parts rather than the whole.” Vicki motioned in front of her face. “Hence the mask.”

“That, and you don't want to get picked up on red light cameras when you fly too low,” Guy said, tucking his hands in his back pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“Green boy here is scared to fly around traffic.” Vicki jerked her thumb at him.

When I gave him a questioning look, he grimaced. “I hit a semi once.”

“It was hilarious. I wish somebody had caught it on camera.”

After that, we continued to stroll along, stopping at every few portraits to discuss the superheroes within, or to trade stories that we remembered from growing up. Vicki and Guy had the inside scoop—­or “Scuttlebutt about the Supes,” as Vicki termed it—­so their stories differed from the ones I'd slept through in history class. None of them looked overmuch like Chelsea, either. But it was eerie, like walking in some sort of superhero cemetery. Most of the ­people whose pictures adorned these walls had died in the line of duty.

Like Guy, or Vicki, or Sam, or hell, even Angélica if she decided to take up fighting on the front lines again, might. Like I might if I decided to join the good fight.

Even though I'd stared death in the face more than fifty times, the thought made me uneasy.

“And here,” Guy said, his fingers resting on my shoulder, “is the
pièce
de
résistance.
My brother, Samuel Lee Bookman.”

“Samuel Lee?” I said.

“He got the normal name. By the time I came around, Dad didn't care enough to give me a proper name. Hence, Guy. Looks pretty serious, doesn't he?” Guy nodded at the portrait, and I took a minute to really study it. The familial similarities were more obvious here. I could see that Sam's eyes were the same shape as Guy's even if the color was different. They had the same chin.

But there would always be that odd sadness in Sam's face. Guy kept a clear-­eyed view of the world.

“I think he's cuter than you,” Vicki said. “No offense. I don't have a thing for gingers, unlike Girl here.”

“I don't have a thing for gingers,” I said.

Vicki turned and gave Guy a pitying look. “She just took your heart and stomped all over it, you poor thing.”

“I'm sure I'll live,” he said, his voice bone dry.

“What happened to you and Sam?” I asked, looking back at the portrait. “You seem frighteningly normal, all things considered, but he's . . .”

Guy opened his mouth, only to be cut off by a buzzing noise. Irritated, he yanked his cell phone out and read the view screen. His face immediately closed down. “I've, ah, I've got to take this. Excuse me.”

And he flew away. It was the first time I'd seen him fly without the uniform, and it was just weird, like a cognitive disconnect in my brain.

“Ah, the hero phone,” Vicki said. “I tried to change his ringtone for that once to the sound of a whip since he was always so busy rescuing you. This is, of course, before I knew you.”

“Of course,” I said. “How'd that go for you?”

“He rather meticulously replaced my entire mattress with bubble wrap and remade my bed around it. So when I tried to go to bed that night . . .” She made a noise like an explosion. “Scared the hell out of me
and
cost me my security deposit. Sneaky, sneaky.”

I started to ask her about the security deposit, but then I remembered that in addition to the flight and super-­strength, Plain Jane had the ability to shoot fire.

Whoops.

“He might take awhile,” Vicki said, glancing over her shoulder at the way Guy had gone. “Let's just keep looking around.”

We wandered the hallway while Vicki rambled on, keeping up with the narration. In the Annals, several of my favorite childhood heroes were finally given real faces. Songbird was a mousy woman with brown hair and black eyes. Surf Warrior had an overbite. Jester looked like a devilishly charming rogue, even out of his uniform.

“And here's where we take a turn for the bummer,” Vicki said, as the hallway curved.

I carefully looked back at the entire hallway full of (mostly) dead superheroes behind us, then raised an eyebrow at her.

“Those ­people were heroes. It's expected of us, you know? But these ones?” She walked up to the nearest painting, which had a silver plaque below it as opposed to a gold one. I watched her run her hand down along the right side of the frame, where the wood was already worn. “These ­people were the ones we loved and lost.”

Inside the portrait was a stunningly pretty woman with sad eyes. She had no name, but the plaque read
BELOVED WIFE OF INVISIBLE
VICTOR
.

“Oh,” I said. “Um.”

“Yeah,” Vicki said, stepping back.

“Did you know her?”

“She and the other Feared Five were before my time. Gail Garson's boyfriend has a portrait down that way a little bit—­we lost him at Honolulu in '72, I think—­and everybody's here but Rita Detmer. Kurt Davenport wanted her in here.”

“Even though she's Fearless?”

“Hey, love is love. She's not in here because she's still hanging out in Detmer. And also because I don't know if there's a portrait artist on this world talented enough to capture the amount of crazy that lives in those eyes. And no, before you ask, I haven't met her.” Vicki rubbed her thumb along the edge of her mask. “You just hear stories. And here we have . . .”

I turned to look at the next portrait, and it jolted me back a step. The woman pictured had Guy's smile and Sam's eyes.

The plaque below didn't list her name, but it did proclaim her to be the
BELOVED SIST
ER OF WAR HAMMER AND
BLAZE
. The date of death listed below was from over four years ago. She was beautiful, stunningly pretty in a way that even wealth couldn't buy, with corn-­silk hair like Sam's. But her smile was crooked like Guy's. It was hard to tell from a portrait, but it seemed like a smile she used a lot.

So Guy had two siblings in the Annals. No wonder he'd looked worried.

“Guy had a sister?” I asked.

“Petra,” Vicki said. “I met her a ­couple of times—­models and rich ­people, you move in the same circles. She was Sam's twin.”

“What happened to her?” I asked, but I remembered and shook my head. “Right, no sharing other ­people's origin stories. Sorry, I forgot.”

“I'm sure Guy will tell you,” Vicki said. “But let's keep going for now.”

I sent one look over my shoulder back at Petra. Whoever had painted her portrait had done that trick where her eyes followed me all the way down the gallery.

We'd only made it a ­couple of portraits down when Guy returned. He wasn't flying this time, I saw with a surprising stab of disappointment. As weird as it was, I liked watching him fly.

“Sorry about that,” he said immediately. “It's urgent. Vicki, I could use a sidekick.”

“Sidekick, my ass. If anybody here's the sidekick, buddy, it's you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Guy said, and turned to me with a pained look. “Can I get a rain check?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it's probably nothing, but . . .” He shrugged. “No rest for the weary, right?”

“Right.” I don't know what had me reaching out to touch his arm again. “If it's bad, whatever it is, feel free to come and find me later. I mean, you might have to wake me from the coma I fall into every night, but I'm always there to talk to.”

He nodded once, tightly. “I might take you up on that.”

“You two are sickening,” Vicki said.

Guy ignored her. “You know how to get back?” he asked me.

It was a straight shot down a long hallway and a trip down the elevator, but it was oddly sweet of him to worry. So I gave him a smile. “If I don't remember, my body undoubtedly will. One of the perks of my very own pet isotope.”

“Right. Bye, Gail.”

“Knock 'em dead.”

“Ha!” They took running leaps and flew off at the same time. Right before they turned a corner, she flipped onto her back and tossed me a little wave, and I grinned as I waved back. They were probably going to go grab his uniform first, I thought, and after that they were off to face the problems of the world, as they did most nights. No rest for the weary, indeed.

 

Chapter Seventeen

B
ACK IN MY
suite, the first thing I did was check the cell phone I'd accidentally left in my gym bag to see if I could find where Guy and Vicki had gone. The Domino usually had up-­to-­date reporting on which heroes were engaged in battles and where, thanks to their street team, but there weren't any alerts yet. Wherever they'd been called, the battle was either too fresh, or it hadn't started yet.

I'd wondered how heroes knew to show up in certain places before, but now I was extra curious.

I pushed that curiosity aside since there were four missed calls from a number I didn't recognize. Evidently, Naomi had changed phones again. She hadn't left a voice mail, though, so I texted her back a “What's going on?” message.

Almost immediately, the phone rang. I swiped the
TALK
button.

“Oh my god!” The voice on the other end wasn't Naomi's, but it was familiar. “You actually picked up for once. I was starting to wonder if you were
dead.
”

“Portia,” I said, closing my eyes and flopping back against my couch cushions. Why hadn't I checked the caller ID before accepting the call? “No, I'm not dead.”

“Then why the hell haven't you been returning my calls?”

Mostly, I thought, because I had no desire to explain how a spreadsheet worked to somebody who had once spent an entire afternoon of work perfecting her duck-­lips face. “I've been a bit busy,” I said instead.

“You don't have a new job, do you?”

Technically, my job at the moment was to get through my transformation into a Class C alive. Davenport was supporting me. I wasn't actually cleared to leave the complex or anything, but they were providing clothes and a place for me to stay, and handling all of my outside bills, like maintaining my apartment. Angélica had pointed out that I could stay on at Davenport indefinitely, provided I contributed in some way after I'd adjusted to my new powers.

She seemed to think I had the guts to head for the front line. I wasn't so sure about that myself.

But this wasn't anything I could tell Portia about, so I said, “Sort of?”

She groaned, long and loud. “Angus will give you a raise, I know he will. You just have to come
back,
Girl. I am begging you. No, this is beyond begging, this is—­what's beyond begging?”

“Groveling, I think.”

“Then that. I am doing that. Please come back. Please, please.”

“Portia, I can't actually think about this right now.” The truth was, I didn't know if I wanted to keep living at Davenport. I mean, I'd actually kind of liked the freedom of the outside world. Right now I felt like I was being watched all the time by quite a few ­people: Vicki, Angélica, even Guy to an extent. They all hovered, which could get annoying. But when I'd lived in my tiny little apartment in Irving Park, I hadn't done much besides try not to be a target for villains, and work. My social life had been Jeremy, and that was it. No wonder I'd kind of reeled at having friends again when I'd come to Davenport.

But did I want to stay?

“Portia,” I said, biting off the sigh before it could escape, “I need a ­couple of weeks before I decide anything.”

It was like her whole demeanor changed. I could hear it through the phone: her straightening up, the breath she sucked in, all of it. And I wondered if I was just imagining things or if the isotope was improving my perception until she said, brightly, “Excellent!”

“What?”

“I'll just tell Angus you need some more vacation, and we'll see you again in a ­couple of weeks!”

“Wait, no, what—­”

But before I could lodge the protest that I
hadn't
agreed to come back to work for Angus and Mirror Reality, Inc., she trilled a farewell at me and hung up.

I stared at the phone. “Somebody's in for a rude shock in two weeks,” I said though I was alone. Angus and all of the others would just have to deal with the fact that I wasn't coming back. Probably. Assuming I wanted to stay at Davenport. It would not be long before the Mobium would take over all of my cells and reach its optimal balance in my bloodstream. Whether or not it would keep giving me and curing me of cancer had yet to be seen, but Kiki and Cooper seemed to think it was working to adapt my body.

Was that why they'd put me into such rigorous training instead of Superheroes 101?

I frowned and pushed the questions aside as I thumbed over to my missed-­calls list. As fun as it wasn't to spiral into worry about the sickness in my blood that I couldn't actually feel, I couldn't forget the three missed calls. Though I figured I had very little chance of Naomi's answering if she hadn't responded to my text, she picked up on the second ring.

“Girl?” she asked.

“What's going on?” I asked. “Did you figure out what Chelsea was after?”

“That's not important.”

“Not impor—­how is that not important? You've been texting me for updates like crazy.”

“Girl! Pay attention.”

“To what?” I asked, and I heard the indicator beep that she'd switched over to a video call. Hastily, I pulled the phone away from my ear. Her face filled the screen. She'd somehow had time to get a nose ring in the past ­couple of days though I had no idea when. Wasn't she supposed to be running away from a Class B villain? “Uh, Naomi?”

“Shh,” she said, and pressed a button on the screen. Instantly, the view changed from her face to a street. I could see cars parked along the sides of the road, some shops, and a street café off to the right. Most of the chairs and tables in the view had been knocked over—­likely by the three super-­powered beings fighting in the middle of the street. It was easy to make out Blaze and Plain Jane, but the third, dressed head to toe in white with a pink band over her chest and cowl, was unfamiliar to me. “Your boyfriend showed up,” Naomi said needlessly, as I saw Guy swerve to avoid being hit by a flying chunk of concrete.

“He's not my boyfriend,” I said.

I could
hear
Naomi roll her eyes.

“Who's the one in white?” I asked.

“Three guesses, and the first two don't count,” Naomi said, just as the woman in white raised one of her hands. Yellow and green sparks streamed out, narrowly missing Vicki, who easily leapfrogged away and took off for the sky. The sight of those sparks made all of my limbs lock with a brief, harsh terror that stole my breath. “Yeah.”

“Chelsea got a costume?” I asked.

“Guess she finally saw the value of not being recognized.” Naomi's voice sounded grim.

“Where are you? What's going on?”

“Good help is so hard to find,” Naomi said. “Especially when minions leave their wallets within easy reach of ­people with pickpocketing skills. Long story short: Chelsea hired some goons to find me, I figured out who they were, put a bug in some of their computer systems so I could break in and get phone records—­”

“This is not a very short story,” I said.

She sighed. “Fine. I tracked down Chelsea's cell phone and followed her. Better?”

“Where are you?” I asked, peering hard at the screen. Guy, who'd been trying to fly in and knock Chelsea out, took a full blast of the green stinging ray. He merely rolled out of the way and flew off, shaking his head.

“Another bank. I think she was trying to hit the safe-­deposit boxes again. Whatever she's after, it's in a lot of pieces.”

“Did you ever figure out who owned that first box?” I asked.

On the screen, Chelsea abruptly launched herself into the air—­oh, great, she could fly, too, that was just
swell
—­and Guy and Vicki took off in pursuit. The video call switched back to voice only. “Shell corporation,” Naomi said. “Dead end. You get any luck identifying that piece?”

“None whatsoever.” So Chelsea was definitely building something, and now she had a bright costume. I didn't understand any of it, so I focused on Naomi instead. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I hid until your boy showed.”

“He's not—­” I seemed to be having that argument a lot today. Maybe it was better not to protest. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“Why, Girl, I'm starting to think maybe you care about me a little.”

“Don't be stupid, of course I don't want Chelsea to zap you.” I didn't want Chelsea to zap
anybody.
“Can you give me any more information?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I'm not sure,” Naomi said. “Not over the phone, at any rate. Can you meet?”

Could I? Angélica didn't want me wandering out in society and around ­people until they'd assessed all of my abilities and made sure there weren't any nasty surprises in store. But like it or not, I was involved in this Chelsea business because of Naomi, and she was obviously in danger.

Was this how Guy had felt about me?

“Girl?” Naomi prompted, since I hadn't answered.

“It might take me a little while,” I said, making up my mind. What I could do, I had absolutely no idea. I wasn't a flyer or on the front lines like Guy or Vicki, but I had a feeling that Naomi wasn't going to come clean with anybody, possibly not even me. But she was in way over her head, and something was going on. “But I can do it.”

“I'll let you know when and where,” she said. “You're still in Chicago, at least?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“I'm going to go talk to the bank manager and make a nuisance of myself, then,” Naomi said. “I'll dump this phone and get in touch later.”

“Okay,” I said, and she hung up.

I immediately switched over to the Domino website, hoping for some kind of coverage. There wasn't video, but social-­media updates were already flooding in, pursuing the fight across downtown Naperville and into less populated areas. They'd driven the battle away from ­people. Angélica had mentioned that she'd be teaching me tactics like that eventually, once we got past all the rudimentary core work.

Finally, after somebody mentioned seeing Blaze and Plain Jane fly away without the mystery woman in white, the updates stopped. I didn't bother to wait for the recap. Instead, I tabbed over to check some of the pages from my Hostage Girl days. Blaze had been my primary hero, so I'd always watched his tag on the Domino. In addition to that, I'd kept an eye on the Hostage Girl tag, and some of the heroes I thought were either dashing or just humorous. Not everybody believed in covering up with a mask or a cowl, but apparently a code of silence about Davenport Industries remained strong within the entire community. I'd been browsing sites like the Domino for years, and I'd never heard a word of it.

I made myself a few club sandwiches to nibble on while I browsed, thankful that Angélica had finally seen fit to bring me food from the commissary a few days before. I was fully absorbed in the latest gossip about some of the L.A. superheroes when I heard the footsteps approaching the door. Before Guy could knock, I called, “Come in.”

His hair messy and stuck to his forehead with sweat, Guy poked his head in. “It's a little spooky when you do that,” he said, as the door closed behind him.

I made a “What can you do about it?” motion with my hands. “It's life now. It's kind of useful though I don't imagine it would be if I decide to go back to Chicago. My neighbors were kind of loud before.”

He stopped just inside the door. “You're thinking about leaving?”

“Maybe. Portia called, and apparently I'm on an extended vacation rather than fired. How are you? You look a bit . . .”

“Messed up?” Guy pushed irritably at his hair. I'd never seen him post-­fight, either as Guy or Blaze, I realized. I'd seen him in the middle of battles with the enemy, in those lulls where he needed to catch a breath, but the aftermath, I'd never been privy to. He'd always flown off, usually leaving me at the hospital in Dr. Dimarco's capable hands. Right now, his Blaze uniform clinging to his chest and neck with sweat, I could see the exhaustion I'd never been allowed to see before. “Yeah. I'm sorry. I probably should have stopped home to shower and change first. But—­really, Chicago?”

“What's wrong with Chicago?”

He frowned. “You just never seemed to like it that much, that's all. What's wrong with here?”

I looked around the suite. As nice as it was not to have to worry about rent, there was nothing personal in my apartment, and the lack of windows made it feel like a bunker. My clothing came from Davenport. My schedule came from Davenport. “It feels a little clinical,” I said. “And now that I don't have to worry about keeping my job to hold on to the healthcare, I think things can change for the better. Maybe I'll pick up some hobbies again.”

“Like what?” He accepted a sandwich when I nudged the plate at him and took a huge bite. “Knitting?” he asked once he'd swallowed.

“I don't knit.”

“Drat. My ears get cold in the winter. I could use a new hat.” He gave me a tired smile.

“You live in Miami,” I said, and he shrugged as he took another big bite. “But yeah, hobbies. Maybe it'd be fun to join a softball team or something, provided I can regulate my strength to appear normal.” I'd played in high school, but afterward, I'd been too busy working two jobs and saving up to escape my dead end of a hometown. And in Chicago, I'd been too busy getting kidnapped to do anything but work and recuperate. “I haven't really thought about it. It feels so weird to be in charge of my whole life again.”

“Must be nice,” Guy said, so quietly that I wouldn't have heard it without my enhanced hearing. When he saw my confused look, he shook his head. “Sorry. Ignore that.”

“Okay,” I said. I wouldn't have with Jeremy—­if left alone with the things muttered under his breath, he tended to get passive aggressive—­but with Guy, I didn't actually know him well enough to push. And frankly, I didn't really want to push him. I worried that our connection, which felt so natural because he was Blaze, and I was Hostage Girl, was a little more tenuous than I suspected. “Were you here to tell me you ran into Chelsea today?”