by Lexie Dunne
I was dying of curiosity, but I nodded. Pushing Angélica to tell me something she didn’t want to usually ended in bruises. “Red, huh? How bright was it?” I asked instead.
“My outfit was not as garish as Guy claims. I like color. I do not feel there is anything wrong with that.” She batted at her ear so that the silver dangles with the bright yellow beads glittered and sparkled in the light. “And Guy had better stop giving away my secrets if he knows what’s good for him.”
Guy snickered. “She’s probably right, but you know how it is, Gail. It’s fun to bait her.”
“If you say so,” I said. “What about you, Guy? What’s your calling?”
I didn’t see him tense; I felt it. It was like the air currents between us electrified and jumped to life. I’d stumbled upon a touchy subject.
Angélica rescued me this time. “He likes to save the pretty girls,” she said, and tapped my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Step your right foot forward more and stretch out your hips.”
I asked the question that always seemed to be on my mind nowadays. “When’s lunch?”
“Stretch your hips, kid.” Angélica mock-scowled. “Now, for one more time, let’s review. Somebody says, ‘Hey, let’s go play in the simulators,’ and you say . . .”
I sighed. “No, Angélica.”
“Good.”
“But seriously. Lunch?”
AFTER LUNCH, ANGÉLICA declared herself tired of me, and headed back to talk to Cooper and Kiki about the effects of my stunt the night before.
“How do you feel?” Guy asked, as we left the cafeteria.
“Like I had a tiny, terrifying Brazilian woman glaring ferociously at me all morning.”
He grinned at that. “She really likes you.”
“If you say so. How long did you have to train with her before you went into the field?”
“Not long. I was . . . a special circumstance is probably the best way to put it. I was already seeking out villains to fight before Davenport discovered me.”
“So was I, though I didn’t actually seek anybody out,” I said. “Davenport wouldn’t have nabbed me if not for Chelsea. And if it hadn’t been Chelsea, it would have been some other villain some other day. I’m foolhardy that way.”
“Where are you getting that idea?”
“I don’t know. Past experience, probably.”
His frown deepened. “You don’t think the villain attacks are your fault, do you?”
“I didn’t always help things along,” I said. “You remember what happened with Shock Value—”
“Let’s not talk about Shock Value.” He made a face.
“Yeah, his costume, talk about design flaws.”
“No, I mean . . .” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Gail, do you know why you’re a legend?”
I turned my head to give him a look, trying to figure out where he was going with this. I wasn’t sure I liked being a legend within a secret society like this one. “Because there’s a chart betting on whether I’ll survive the next villain attack?”
“Who told you about that? Actually, never mind, I know who. You’re a legend because you’ve survived things that not even a cockroach could.”
I wrinkled my nose at that mental image. “Yuck.”
“I mean it. If it had been anybody else in all of those hostage situations and train derailings and every other thing those bastards put you through . . .” For a moment, he looked to be in actual pain. I almost reached up to pat his arm or something, but pulled my hand back. We weren’t on that level yet. “If it had been anybody else, they wouldn’t have survived it.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said.
Guy shook his head. “And you’re selfless. After all you’ve been through, you’d think you would be the first one out through the doors when the bank’s held up, or a madman takes over the mall. But you always insist on others going first. Every time.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You’re giving me way too much credit.”
“Am I?” Guy continued to stare at the floor. I wished he would look at me.
“You are,” I said. “I made the others go first because I knew you would be there. Corny as it sounds, until you went to Miami, you had a perfect batting average of saving my life. Others might not have been so lucky. So it’s not selfless if I know I’m going to be okay.”
“What if you hadn’t been okay?” Guy asked.
“I had faith that you were going to be there. And you were.”
Guy finally looked up from the tiles to meet my eyes. “You really did,” he said, tilting his head. “Didn’t you?”
“I tend to be honest to the point of blunt,” I said. Something fluttered low in my belly. Without the mask, his eyes looked different. Not as vibrant, and softer and friendlier. “I’m not that complex. If I like a person, I tend not to lie to them.”
Slowly, he smiled. “So you like me, huh?”
“I mean, you’re okay, I wouldn’t get a big head or anyt—hey!” I laughed when he gave me a tiny shove to the shoulder. “So that’s how it is, huh?”
Guy bit his lower lip, but he was smiling now instead of looking serious. “You asked about my place,” he said. “Would you like to come see it?”
“Sure. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
“I heard. I’ve got a fix for that.”
And he led me in the opposite direction of my modest little suite.
“WOW. JUST—JUST WOW. All of this is yours?” In wide-eyed wonder, I did a slow rotation in the middle of Guy’s loft, drinking in the sheer amount of space.
Guy shifted his feet, a bit embarrassed now that I was gawking like a tourist. “Not all mine. I share it with Sam.”
“War Hammer,” I said, and earned a surprised look. “Vicki had a date with him last night.”
“Yeah, they’re . . . a thing.” He tilted his head, considering something I couldn’t understand, and shrugged. “Vicki’s a big girl. She can handle him.”
I closed my lips over a lasciviously crude remark.
In a normal city, Guy’s rent would have been through the roof. Not that he’d have a problem with that, seeing as he had probably come into an inheritance that would make even the most miserly of bankers goggle. His place would have been one of those artsy apartments, ones that seemed real only in movies where you wondered how two poor twentysomethings could afford such a space.
It was an open, two-story area. A sort of sitting room was shoved toward the back beside a wall of windows, but the dominant feature of the room was a large, olive green training mat. Nearby was a set of weights and barbells, and a punching bag. “Sam uses this space more than I do,” Guy said.
“Aren’t you and War Hammer supposed to be extremely strong?” I eyed the denominations on the barbells with interest.
“Davenport’s got ways to make us normal if we want to work out like regular guys. You know, temporarily.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Sometimes it feels good to just let loose and lift some weights.” Guy shrugged. “Sam’s got a lot of frustration. I have . . . no, had. I had my fair share of it, too.”
I gave him a sage look. “You hated Angus as much as I did, didn’t you?”
“He’s such a jerk. Anyway, bedrooms are on the second level,” Guy went on, leading me out of the training area and gesturing at the spiral staircase. He headed into a kitchen area, with a huge fridge, an indoor grill, and at least three sinks. They even had a prep sink.
“You cook?” I asked, surprised to see so many chef’s tools on the counters. “I thought, being Bookmans, you guys would just have maids or cooks. You know, hired help.”
“We did when we were kids.” Guy smiled. “But I hate having too many people around. When I first came into my powers, I wa
s always hungry. Kind of like you now. Only I’ve always been a picky eater. So it was either hire a chef, battle it out at the cafeteria, or learn to cook.”
“Let me get this straight.” Surreptitiously, I ran a fingertip over the bread-dough mixer and checked it. No dust. “You can cook, you’re built, you spend your spare time saving damsels in distress, pulling kittens out of trees, and helping little old ladies across the street. And you’re telling me you’re not secretly a robot? I don’t think you exist.”
He laughed. “I’ve never helped a little old lady across the street in my life. Geez.”
“You didn’t deny my robot accusation,” I pointed out.
“Want a water?”
“Sure.”
He opened the fridge, pulled two water bottles out, and tossed one to me. “Trust me, not a robot.”
I narrowed my eyes at him over the water bottle. “Prove it.”
With a shrug, he yanked up his sleeve, and I saw a three raised lines of scarred skin just under his shoulder. “Robots don’t have these.”
“Clever ones might. And by these, do you mean—” I reached out and poked him. “The muscles or the scars?”
His grin was surprise and delight rolled into one. It lit up his face. “If I have to be a robot, I’ll be a clever one. There are worse things to be.”
Like radioactive, I thought, but Angélica had assured me that that had worn off . So I grinned back at him and dropped my hand to my side. “I don’t really think you’re a robot.”
“And I don’t really think I’m all that clever.” He ducked his head, still smiling. “But we all have our own battles to—”
Sensing something I couldn’t even describe, I tensed. And less than a split second later, a voice called, “Hello?”
Guy gave me an odd look before he turned. “Hey, Sam. We’re in the kitchen if you want to join us.”
I looked up to see someone coming down the spiral stairs. When he came fully into view, one of my eyebrows shot up.
Sam Bookman was like a finished version of his brother. Where Guy was built along slender lines, Sam was brute presence. A Cubs T-shirt strained over a heavily muscled chest, showcasing arms as thick as tree trunks. While Guy’s hair was burnished and coppery and sort of feathered around his head, Sam had a burnished blond buzz cut. They shared the same long, aquiline nose, though.
“Gail, this is my brother Sam. Sam, you remember Gail.” Guy gestured at each of us in turn with his water bottle.
A corner of Sam’s mouth tilted up. “I fished you out of a dumpster once.”
“For which I will be forever grateful to you,” I said immediately. “Especially if you never mention it again.”
Sam gave me a full grin this time and headed toward the refrigerator. “She’s cute,” Sam told Guy, as if I weren’t standing right there. Guy at least had the sense to shoot me an embarrassed look. “Any trouble on your patrol last night?”
“No, and I’ll talk to you about it later. Want to see the upstairs?” The latter was directed at me.
“Sure.” Though from where I was standing, there didn’t look like there would be much to the upstairs. The apartment was totally . . . Guyville, I decided, as Guy led me up the stairs. Solid, muted colors without any frills dominated, and the weight-lifting setup definitely said that two bachelors lived there.
“And, here we are on the second level,” Guy said. In the kitchen, Sam opened the newspaper and sat down with his orange juice, as though it were very early morning instead of the middle of the afternoon. “I won’t bother you with Sam’s room, he’s a total slob. My room’s this way.”
I narrowed my eyes at his back as I followed him. “It’s not going to be covered with stalker-type pictures of me, is it?”
He bit his lip again. “No, but that’s because I’m awful with a zoom lens.”
“Ha,” I said. I hadn’t known he could be funny, but I really, really liked it.
Guy inclined his head in a little bow and pushed open his bedroom door. Before I could see inside, though, he stopped in the middle of the doorway. He turned quickly, putting us face-to-face. “On second thought, never mind. Let’s go out and do something. I can maybe see about getting you a topside pass for the evening.”
I squinted up at him. “Must be bad.”
He propped an elbow against the door and attempted an innocent look. “What must be bad?”
“Whatever it is you’re hiding from me. Sam’s not the only slob, is he?”
“I, er, it’s not that, exactly.” Guy scratched the back of his neck. Standing as close as we were, it was exhilarating to breathe in his comforting scent. Blaze’s scent. “It’s just that, well . . .”
With a shrug, he moved out of the way and let me get my first full look at his bedroom. Since I knew he was watching my face, I didn’t let my jaw drop or anything. Really, I didn’t need to worry. I’d seen worse messes. Just clothing—and he always wore such nice clothes—thrown this way and that on the floor, shirts over the back of his desk chair and the recliner in the corner, where I imagined he’d tossed them when he’d stripped. The bed was a rumpled pile of green sheets and a dark blue comforter.
“I haven’t made the bed since . . .” Guy winced. “Ever, really.”
He hurried into the room ahead of me and began to scoop things up, tossing them toward the corners. “If I’d known I’d be having company, I swear I would have cleaned.”
“You saw my apartment when you came looking for me,” I said, wanting to cringe when I remembered that I’d thrown at least three or four bras over my own desk chair. Oh well. The man had seen me in the tattered threads of a pink teddy. There had to be a line. “There’s no need to clean on my behalf, Guy.”
“Still.” He dumped the pile in his arms into the corner and looked at me. “It’s kind of a moment.”
“Why is it . . . oh.” I caught his meaning just a little too late. It was a big moment, having me here. Knowing who he was and somehow standing in his bedroom.
Guy cleared his throat. “Yeah, so . . . this is it, really. Your gift.” With a snap of his fingers, he hurried across the room. The desk seemed to be the cleanest space in the room, which meant he either used it the most or the least. I couldn’t tell. He picked up a small white box. “I almost forgot. Here.”
When he held out the box, I tilted my head. That looked like . . . “A phone?”
“New line coming out next month. I got you one of the first ones. Jeremy mentioned you were going a little stir-crazy without any contact with the outside world, so I figured I’d help you out.”
Before I could reach out and take the box, though, I drew my hand back. The Universe phone was one that had always been out of my price range by quite a bit. I’d known Guy came from a wealthy background—his father was probably worth more than the GNP of several third-world nations put together—but it really hadn’t occurred to me until just that moment.
Guy’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s the matter?”
He had put a little green bow on top of the box, the same color as his uniform. It was such a silly little detail, and I stared at it. “It’s kind of expensive,” I said.
He gave the box in his hand a look, as if he was puzzled to still see it there. “I guess? I didn’t really look at the price tag.”
But I just shook my head.
He sighed and wiggled the box. “Remember the time with Dynamo-Lad?”
It took me a second to remember. The kidnappings had begun to meld together into a montage of supervillains in bad costumes spraying spittle when they yelled in my face. “Was he the psychic who tried to hypnotize me?”
“With your phone, until I smashed it. Just . . . I don’t know, consider this a replacement.”
I remembered now. I’d been walking alone on a hazy night in June, and Blaze had swooped in fr
om out of nowhere, snatched the phone out of my hand, and thrown it forcefully at a brick wall sixty feet away. It had shattered into bits of metal and plastic, and I’d come to realize that I was standing in the middle of the street in my polka-dot pajama pants with no memory of how I’d gotten there. Now, I fixed him with a look. “This phone is a lot fancier than the one you smashed.”
“Consider it interest.”
“Guy.”
“Look.” And he set the phone on the desk so he could cross his arms over his chest again. I was beginning to notice that he only did that when uncomfortable. He leaned against the desk, which put us on a more even height. “You don’t owe me anything if you take the phone. It’s not—you and me, I’ve never viewed us as a reciprocal thing. You’ve never been, and you never will be, in my debt.”
“I don’t know how you can say that to somebody whose life you’ve saved as many times as mine,” I said. “I kind of feel like I’ll always be in your debt. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“And you wouldn’t be here either if I’d been a little faster getting to that ‘L’ stop and had stopped Sykik myself.”
I bit my tongue before I could tell him I’d relived that memory while on Dr. Mobius’s operating table. Sykik, who’d had anemic look of a skinhead with a terrible mohawk, had been my first meeting with Blaze, and I suppose with Guy as well. I hadn’t started at Mirror Reality until a month or two after that little near fiasco on the tracks. “You knew he was there? How do you always know?”
“Police scanner.” Guy refolded his arms. “I have a system where—actually, it’s not important. I wasn’t fast enough that day, and Sykik fixated on you and sent your image to a bunch of local villains as retribution.”
I rocked back on my heels. “So that’s how it happened? I thought it was . . . something else.”
“Like the media said, that I was in love with you?” Guy shook his head hard. “Not that—not that you’re not great, you really are, you’re—” He took a deep breath and I watched him actually count to five right there in front of me. His cheeks seemed a little pink. “It was just a vindictive little—little pissant trying to get back at an innocent citizen. You were in my territory, and you kind of became my responsibility, but Gail, you don’t owe me anything. I don’t want you to be in my debt.”