“I guess so,” Blake said, admiring her green eyes. I’ve never seen eyes that…confident…before.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Blake gestured, and she stepped into the elevator first and pressed the button for the garage. He followed her in and the doors closed behind him.
“You seem to be alone in your condo, are your parents…”
“You seem to ask a lot of questions,” Blake snarled, glaring at her.
“Sorry,” she said, turning to face the doors. They descended to the garage in awkward silence. Did I mean to snap like that?
When the doors opened, Blake ignored the girl and walked to his new, jet-black BMW 8 Coupe. When it detected the key fob in his pocket, the car unlocked itself and the lights flashed twice.
“That’s your car?” the girl asked, manually remote-unlocking the car next to his. It was a red Mustang GT.
“Yeah,” Blake said, smiling with pride. “It’s fun.”
“But, it’s not available yet,” she responded. She was right; the 8 Series hadn’t been released for sale in the United States, but somehow, The Order procured one for Blake.
So, you know cars?
“Apparently, it is.” He opened the car door and hesitated before throwing his backpack into the car. Then, having a slight change of heart, he looked at her and said, “If you’d like to go for a ride someday…”
She frowned at him and pulled her head back, indicating disgust. Then, she smiled at him. “Yes, I would. I should warn you, though; I have a thing for BMW’s.”
“Cool.” He tossed his bag into the passenger seat, then lowered himself into the driver’s seat and pressed the start/stop button. The car rumbled to life and he took a deep breath, smiling at the power he felt vibrating in his bones. The windshield’s heads-up-display came to life and Blake winked at what’s-her-name, who stared at him with envy. Then he drove the car out of his parking spot and out of the garage. After grabbing coffee at Lil’s Cafe in downtown Kittery, he made his way across the Memorial Bridge to Portsmouth High School.
❖
“Jab!”
“Cross!”
“Hook!”
“Uppercut!”
Blake responded to each strike his combat instructor called out, taking out his aggression on the fighting dummy. He briefly wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm.
“Groin kick!”
“Watch your footing!”
“Side kick!”
“Cross!”
“Duck!”
“Uppercut!”
“Lower your stance!”
Blake moved with ease, barely working a sweat as Ira shouted in his face, changing up the offensive combinations and making them faster. Ira, a behemoth of a man, was ex-military and a formidable close-combat fighter. His marine-style buzz cut and weathered face added to the look, if he was going for one, of a tough dude you didn’t want to meet in an alley. Victor Kraze, the newest Hegumen or territorial leader of The Order for New England, deemed a number of lessons—including strategic and tactical combat—necessary to fast-track Blake and turn him into a more effective warrior for the cause. Victor chose Ira to tutor him in this area.
“All right, focus on me. Human strength only, please.”
Blake chuckled as Ira jumped in and started swinging and kicking his foam-protected arms and legs at Blake while calling out blocks.
“High block!”
“Low block!”
“Side block!”
Blake heard the sharp, sliding metal sound of a knife drawn from its sheath.
“Side block!” Ira called again lunging at him with the knife.
Blake froze and didn’t move as the knife jabbed at the left pectoral muscle of his shirtless torso, stopping when it pressed against his impenetrable skin.
Ira also stopped and shook his head. “That’s not what you’re supposed to do, Blake.”
Blake shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ve been playing Victor’s little game for long enough. I’m not convinced I need any of this when I can do this.” He reached out with his mind and grabbed Ira, hoisting him up into the air several feet and pushing him back. He forced the man’s arms and legs apart, mimicking DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man, and splayed the fingers that held the knife. Blake pulled it around and pointed it at Ira’s heart.
“You’ve made your point,” Ira responded, clearly irritated.
Blake lowered his combat instructor to the floor and released his limbs. Ira grabbed the knife from midair and held it out, balancing the knife guard on the flat edge of his index finger, his palm open and flat, perpendicular to the floor. The knife teetered for a moment and then became still as it found stability on Ira’s unmoving, rigid hand.
“Do you see this, Dark Flame?” Ira asked, using Blake’s official codename.
Blake folded his arms and shifted his weight to his right leg. “Yup.”
“This knife is perfectly balanced. The weight of neither the blade or the handle compromises it. This knife can do two things. The blade could impart a damaging or lethal wound, or a blow from the handle to the head could startle, disorient, or incapacitate an opponent.”
“Okay,” Blake muttered, unsure of where Ira’s lesson was going.
“Combat is closely linked to psychological warfare. But before we get into the heavy stuff, let’s start small. There are physical tells you need to learn about your opponent if you want to successfully out-maneuver and dominate them in a combat situation. For example, with your super vision, you should be able to see this easier than most. Watch my eyes.”
Blake regarded Ira’s eyes. Suddenly, Ira’s arm flew up in a cross punch, but his fist stopped on the left side of Blake’s head. Blake side-stepped to the right, startled. Then, he frowned. “You surprise me like that again and I won’t be held responsible for accidentally ripping you apart with my mind.”
“Noted. Uh, come back? You disappeared.” Ira lowered the knife.
Blake smirked. “Sorry, sometimes when I’m startled I become invisible.” He made himself reappear. “I can’t always control that one.”
“That’s a cool trick, regardless. Now, what did you notice?”
“About your eyes? Well, your pupils got bigger just before you tried to punch me.”
“Exactly. The pupils dilate just prior to your enemy’s attack.”
“So? I’m not going to be dealing with people in close combat situations.”
“You think that now. You will however, need to make snap decisions about how you carry out your mission assignments. For instance, you will need to become adept at observing and noting details about a physical space, such as a room. You’ll also need to assess the people in that room and quickly note their postures and the general emotional energy flowing in the room.
“Why?”
Ira smirked. “In some cases, you may conduct a mission as an independent operative. In other cases, you may be part of a team who depends on you for their safety. You will have to watch their backs and they will have to watch yours, as well.”
Blake nodded. I’m the fire they don’t see coming, buddy. I just need to ride out this bullshit for a little longer…
“Learning and knowing simple tells about human behavior puts you above the crowd, so to speak. You’ll know things about people because their bodies will betray them without their knowledge. You’ll know when people are lying, and when people are telling the truth.”
I get where this is going, but… “Are you talking about mind reading?” Blake asked.
Ira laughed and clapped his hands together. “If only it were that easy, right? No, definitely not. Why, can you do that? Is that one of your super powers?”
Blake shook his head.
“That would be a really cool power, I think.”
“No, it wouldn’t. Always being in other people’s heads? That would get old, really fast.”
“You have a point.” Ira raised the knife again and balanced it on his finger. “My goal is simple: T
o make you realize you must become the perfectly balanced knife; an instrument that knows when a lethal strike is necessary over a non-lethal solution to a problem. Real life isn’t anything like epic stories or movies.”
“Okay, I hear you.” Blake responded.
“All right, enough chit-chat. We’ve got several more rounds to get through today.”
Ira picked up some punching mitts and pulled them on. “This time, aim for the mitts, human strength only. I like my hands and fingers intact. Remember to keep your legs bent and be aware of your center of gravity. If it’s too high, you’re much easier to knock over.”
Blake smirked and raised his hands defensively as Ira called out more strikes.
“Jab!”
“Cross!”
“Hook!”
“Uppercut!”
2 | And I'm Feeling Good
Quinn
“Have a seat and close your eyes,” Mr. St. Germain said, pointing to one of the front row desks in the science classroom. “I have a surprise for you.”
Quinn chuckled and sat down, closing his eyes. He heard his mentor rummage through his briefcase and then walk over to where Quinn sat. Something plastic slapped onto the desk surface.
“Okay, you can open your eyes.”
Quinn’s eyes landed on a navy-blue binder that had the words Superhero Responsibilities Manifesto printed on the cover.
“You seriously made this?” Quinn asked, opening the cover while glancing at his mentor with surprise.
“Of course. With what’s been going on, I felt it was more important than ever to finish this for you. I figure it sort of…balances out what Victor has done to Blake.”
“Wow,” Quinn said, reading through the simple, five-item table of contents:
1. With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility
2. Sacrifice
3. Don’t be a Jerk.
4. Victory isn’t the Point
5. Be Yourself
“Did you write all this?” Quinn asked.
Mr. St. Germain laughed. “I might have written a little, but you’ll find I sourced the information from various Web sites and comic books. I cited my references at the end of each section.”
Quinn sat forward and flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the vast amount of text, even if it was creatively arranged.
“So, let me give you a quick rundown of each section. Then, I have something much more exciting to show you.”
“Okay.”
“The chapter one title; you know where that line comes from, right?”
“I remember it from the first Toby McGuire Spider-Man movie. Uncle Ben said it to him just before he died.”
“Right, except it’s actually attributed to Voltaire. Anyway, that section is focused on the ethics of superhero-ness, if you will; why a superhero exists and what he or she is supposed to do for the greater good. That leads directly into chapter two.”
“Sacrifice,” Quinn said, flipping to the second tab of the binder.
“Right. Superheroes are often lonely, Quinn, because once the bad guys figure out who’s important to you and who you love, they know how to emotionally manipulate and compromise you.”
“Like the bad guys did with Mary Jane and Aunt Mae in Spider-Man?”
“Exactly. You will have the added weight of being mindful for your dads’, Keegan’s, and your friends’ safety because Blake knows all your weaknesses; I’m willing to bet Victor does, too.”
“Blake would never do that!” Quinn protested.
“He turned on you, didn’t he?”
Quinn sighed. “Yeah.”
“When push comes to shove, we’re all in danger. Even my family and I could be in danger because I’m your mentor and Blake knows this, too.”
“Shit.”
“I’m not trying to scare you, but I want you to know what’s at stake. If The Order didn’t exist, your life would be much easier because you wouldn’t have to deal with a sinister organization. Alas, that’s not how these stories usually work out, is it?
Quinn chuckled. “Nope.”
“So, be careful. You’ll be the one who has to take the blame, apologize more than you want to, and always be thinking about your loved one’s safety.”
“Uh-huh.” That doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a lot of fun.
“Chapter three: Don’t be a Jerk. Quinn, don’t ever forget your roots and where you came from, the struggles you’ve endured, or the failures you’ve learned from. Don’t be afraid to make more mistakes, so long as you learn something from there. Never think you’re better than anyone else just because you have super powers.”
“I think I can handle that.”
“Quinn, if it was easy, I would not have included it in the Manifesto.”
“Fair enough.”
“Second to last, Victory isn’t the Point. You should not confuse victory with glory and fame because it is intrinsically linked to chapter two, Sacrifice. Most of the time, your victories over crime and bad people will be small, thankless, and utterly annoying moments you need to accomplish simply because you can when no one else can. Given how the police have responded to your presence, you should already be acquainted with this.”
“But once Chief Applegate trusts me, I might be able to convince her The Order is bad news. I’ve already won over some of the lower ranking police officers. Maybe the more good I do, the more she’ll likely…”
Mr. St. Germain raised his hand and interrupted him. “Quinn, Chief Applegate may never trust you. You have to prepare yourself for that reality.”
Quinn sat back and frowned.
“Worst case scenario, the police and the DHS continue to hunt you down for the rest of your life. The good news is, I don’t think that will happen. With time, most of the authorities may trust you, but some never will. You have to remember that you provide an amazing opportunity and an extremely lethal threat. So does Blake.”
“I would never hurt people intentionally.”
“I’m sure that’s what Superman thought until he was compromised in the comics and hurt people. I know you only have the best intentions, but you have to understand the way the world works. It’s not a fair place and unfortunately, people choose violent actions over peaceful resolve far more than they should.”
Quinn nodded and flipped to the last section of the book. It contained only one page with the centered words: Be Yourself.
“The last chapter is self-explanatory. Your name is Quinton McAlester. You’re a good kid with a good family. When you’re not Blue Spekter, be who you were meant to be. Have fun and enjoy life responsibly.”
Quinn closed the binder and smiled at his mentor. “I can do that.”
“Great! Okay, I have another surprise for you. Let’s go into the supply closet, but leave the door open, please.”
“Sure.” Quinn followed his mentor into the science supply closet.
Mr. St. Germain pulled a medium-sized black duffel bag from one of the shelves and set it on the empty media cart next to him. “I want to make sure you like where this is headed before I keep going.”
He unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a blue, white, and black BMX-style armored motorcycle jacket. It had several patches that made it look futuristic and cool. He handed it to Quinn and then pulled out a matching pair of similarly colored BMX armored leather pants and held them up so the legs would unfold.
“What is this?” Quinn asked, mesmerized by the cool looking suit
Mr. St. Germain grinned from ear-to-ear. “It’s the first design iteration of your superhero costume.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped as he looked over the jacket, turning it over in his hands.
“Put it on,” Mr. St. Germain said.
Quinn pulled the jacket on and stared at his reflection in the glass cabinetry, letting his eyes glow. I look awesome in this.
“Now, I still need to get you a mask, but I have some ideas about that. I’m thinking something like the Flash’s cowl, but blue, wh
ere only your eyes and mouth are exposed. Your glowing eyes will keep people from recognizing your face.”
“Why not something skin-tight?” Quinn teased, pulling off the jacket and studying it.
Mr. St. Germain chuckled and peeked into the classroom then turned his attention back to Quinn. “One day, maybe, but right now I don’t have access to indestructible superhero fabrics, so for now, you’ll have to go with leather. It’s durable and will hold against anything but gunfire and knives. With your defensive shield power under control now, I’d suggest you keep the bullets away from your suit. This was pretty hard to come by.”
“You said you wanted to make sure I liked it before you kept going, going where?”
“So, although I don’t have access to super fabrics, my brother happens to own a textile business that makes extremely lightweight, super-strong, and durable materials that could be mixed with Kevlar weave or whatever the latest and greatest is. If you like the design, he would be more than happy to create something special for you based on this design. I don’t think it will be as amazing or indestructible as comic book hero suits, but it’ll get the job done and protect your identity.”
“You can trust him?” I’m not sure I’m ready to reveal who I am yet to his brother.
Mr. St. Germain laughed. “Quinn, if you think I’m a geek, wait until you meet him. He’s already mentioned his desire to make Blue Spekter a suit, so when I hand him your measurements…”
Quinn laughed. “He’ll go nuts and secretly make me a suit?”
Mr. St. Germain nodded. “Yes, and I won’t tell him who you are.”
The bell rang.
“Come get this after school today or tomorrow and try it out. If it works, we’ll make you something awesome.”
“Thanks, Mr. St. Germain. I can’t wait to take it for a test flight.”
❖
Blake
The next day at school, Blake stared at the clock and watched the second hand tick around the clockface. Ever since the best friends parted ways about a month ago, science class had become more awkward for Blake because Mr. St. Germain was the only person outside of The Order who knew the truth about their super-powered alter-egos. Today was no exception, and although Mr. St. Germain did his best to ignore what he knew about Blake and conduct class with impartiality and fairness, Blake felt he never looked at him throughout the entire class period.
The Rise of Dark Flame Page 2