Catalyst: A Superhero Urban Fantasy Thrillride (Steel City Heroes Book 1)

by CM Raymond

  “You mean like the function of perfect multicollinearity?”

  “No idea what that even is,” he replied.

  “Exactly. Never used most of that shit in running the business.” Brooke nudged Elijah in the ribs, which sent a quick shock of pain through his side. “Tell me about one of yours.”

  Elijah sat for a moment running through the list of Who’s Who of his most eccentric professors. “Okay. Got it. Dr. Nicole Moore,” Elijah said.

  “Ooh, Nicci Moore. Sounds cute.”

  “She might have been, back in the late 19th century. That old bird was a trip. She taught Medieval European Artifacts.”

  “Wait. That’s even a course?”

  “Not just a course. An entire specialty.”

  They looked at each other, and both cried at once, “Dr. Jones!”

  Elijah laughed. “Exactly. But she was nothing like Indy, and no one fawned over her, especially around finals week. It was pure hell, and she was the serpent incarnate.”

  “Do tell…”

  They sat like that, laughing and telling college stories through the first and second drink. Elijah couldn’t be sure if it was the alcohol, but he was beginning to feel something he hadn’t felt since he had left Boston—maybe since long before the day that he left.

  Comfort.

  Picking up the bottle, which had made its way over to the coffee table, he poured another round. “You forgot your toast.”

  “I try to stay away from wheat products. Bad for overall fitness” She smiled waiting for a response.

  “Don’t use that one again,” Elijah said, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Come on! That was good.”

  He shook his head. “I can say, with a moderately clear head, that that joke was objectively bad.”

  She ignored him and raised her glass. Without breaking her gaze on his eyes, she said, “To new beginnings.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  They tilted their tumblers, and Elijah reveled in the strong brown liquor. Then her words hit him.

  “Wait. What the hell does that mean?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Brooke pulled a foot up underneath her and leaned back as she sipped on her whiskey. As she shifted positions, her knee rested on Elijah’s thigh, causing him to instinctually flinch, but not draw away. The touch sent a warmth through her body, a warmth she hadn’t felt for a long time.

  Alarawn Industries had taken its toll, not least of which was the completed sapping of her relational life. Her most intimate human interactions lately included begging suppliers to keep their prices low and running through profit and loss statements with her CFO. The historian’s presence meant the world to her, and a little innocent touch was exactly what she needed.

  Evidently, Elijah wasn’t paying attention to her leg resting on his. His brain still processed the bomb she dropped, trying to make sense of her words. The look on Elijah’s face was almost comical.

  “Are you saying you’re done?” he stuttered. “With AI?”

  Brooke sipped her drink, not breaking eye contact with him. “Technically I won’t be done until tomorrow. But no one could fault me the early celebration. The board rode my ass again. Van Pelt and friends have no plan on letting me succeed. They knew I was as good as done before I moved back to Pittsburgh, I imagine. I guess they didn’t expect that Little Orphan Alarawn would be able to hold on for so long.”

  “Shit.” Elijah exhaled long as slow, finally looking away from her and off into the distance. “Brooke, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  Brooke turned her glass up and finished the third round. “I’m not, surprisingly. When I finally made the decision, it felt like a load came right off my shoulders. Felt something I never experienced before.”

  “Oh, yeah. What’s that?”

  She shrugged. “Freedom, I guess. With AI behind me, the entire world is ahead. There are so many things I can do, and frankly, I’ll have the resources to do just about anything I want.”

  “Sounds nice. Guess I’m out a job then, huh?”

  Brooke shook her head. “My last act as CEO will be to guarantee your funding. I doubt they’d fight it. The report will still be good for the company, and I don’t think they’d want to get into a tussle over your contract.”

  His eyes became vacant, and Elijah nodded slightly. “I imagine this last chapter will be a doozy.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “I better say that all of this is off the record, Dr. Branton.” She laughed, and he followed suit, his eyes cutting down to inspect her hand still on his arm. “But I didn’t come to talk about work. And don’t worry, if Van Pelt cans your ass, I could always keep you around as my houseboy for a while. Until the money runs out.”

  Giving his arm a gentle squeeze, she reached for the bottle.

  “Only one more,” Elijah said. “I need to hit the library tomorrow and keep turning out the pages before the paychecks stop rolling in.”

  “We better make it a big one then,” Brooke said as she refreshed their tumblers and pushed one into his waiting hand.

  Elijah shifted and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his Levis. “Join me for one of these on the balcony?”

  She repositioned her body and placed her feet on the floor. “You don’t smoke.”

  “Your background check was that good, huh?”

  “The best,” she said with a smile. “Okay, but just one.”

  The three-by-five balcony was modest but afforded a great view of the city. The blue lines of the David H. Lawrence Convention Center fluttered a few hundred yards away. Elijah leaned against the cold wall and inhaled the Marlboro.

  “Need to work on your form—you look like a thirteen-year-old girl.” Brooke took a deep drag from her cigarette and held it. She blew it out over the balcony railing.

  “Well, you’ve got it down,” he admitted.

  “Old college habits,” she said. “Didn’t help much on the soccer pitch… And if I get hooked on these again, I swear I’ll make you pay.” She spun the liquid in her glass. “But there’s nothing like a glass of mid-shelf whiskey and a smoke. That’s for sure.”

  Brooke stood looking out over the city. She spent her days going on and on about the virtues of Pittsburgh, and her deep love for the place. But she had no idea when she took the time to just stop and admire it all.

  “You know what those blue lines are?” Brooke asked, pointing at the bright blue lights that swept up the arching roof of the convention center.

  Elijah watched the lights. “Diodes, LEDs, or something?”

  Brooke closed her eyes. “The depression deepened to the sound of voices chanting that prosperity was just around the corner, the country was fundamentally sound.” She opened her eyes and locked them on his. “It’s Thomas Bell, Out of this Furnace. Mostly anti-business propaganda—of course—but a beautiful fiction. That blue light isn’t a static line. It’s actually the scrolling text of several famous Pittsburgh authors. I much prefer Dillard’s American Childhood.” She paused. “This city, it loves deeply. Those blue lights are a monument to our creative past.”

  Elijah nodded. “A lot of hurt in this town.”

  “A lot of hope, too,” Brooke shot back.

  He leaned against the brick wall and took her in, apparently a little too drunk to talk local literature. “Hard to imagine which will win.”

  Elijah Branton was an odd character. Brooke was certain of that. But this is precisely why she came. All she needed was some human connection, no matter how odd the partner. Every moment they spent together, she enjoyed him more. In another world, maybe they would have been something. After AI, maybe they still could. She could only imagine what the tabloids would do with the unlikely couple.

  Feeling the urge of the booze in her bloodstream, she stepped up closer to him. Grabbing his chin, she turned his head to the side and looked more closely at his wound.

  “I don’t know, but maybe you should consider getting a second opinion. This doctor y
ou picked up in Oakland, you just found him online or something?”

  “Nope. We met a couple of weeks ago. He gave me his card, told me to let him know if I ever needed anything. He actually helped me before. I had another night like last—or at least I think so. Woke up with these weird bruises and a scar on my face.”

  “Helluva sleepwalking problem you got there, Doc. Or a drinking problem.”

  “You’re not helping with the latter.” Elijah half-laughed, half-coughed as he held up his glass of whiskey. Smoke seeped out several orifices. “The first time he patched me up and took some blood. I’ve been meaning to ask him if he ran the tests.”

  Silence settled over the balcony.

  Brooke took a step back and stared at him. “He took your blood, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which hospital does he work at?” Brooke asked.

  He cocked his head, which drew a grimace. “I’m sorry?”

  “This doc of yours, where does he work? If you want I can call in a specialist. We like to take care of our employees. I mean… you are still my employee for the twenty-four hours or so.”

  Elijah took a long draw of Gentleman Jack and a final drag on his cigarette. “Well, he doesn’t actually.”

  “Doesn’t what?”

  “Work at a hospital. Never finished his residency. Actually, he’s a chemist by trade. A researcher at the university.”

  She stared at him for a second, then laughed. “You are an odd, odd bird, Elijah Branton.”

  “I’ve been called worse. Odd enough to scare you away?”

  “Not a chance. I find it endearing. Charming even.” She stepped closer so that their toes were almost touching. “It’s strange, but being with you makes me feel different.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it. But being here…” she motioned toward the city. “Being here like this makes me feel more human.”

  Elijah reached out and grabbed her hand in his. His touch was warm on her skin chilled by the deep winter night. Their fingers interlaced, and she could feel like they were somehow two opposites coming together. Like hot and cold. Brooke tilted her head back and finished her glass. She took a slow, sexy drag of the cigarette—doing a French inhale.

  “When I drink like this,” she said. “There’s only two things I want to do. Smoke cigarettes.”

  “What’s the other?”

  “This.”

  Brooke closed the gap between them and stepped up on her tiptoes, gently placing her lips on his. They were soft and warm, like his hand. Almost hot. Reaching up, she swept her fingers through his hair.

  “Whoa,” Elijah said, taking a step back. She almost laughed at the look of shock and awe on his face.

  Brooke deposited the burning butt of the cowboy-killer into the balcony ashtray and opened the sliding door. She turned her head back toward the open-mouthed historian. “Let’s go inside before this wears off. I’ll take it easy on you—in your condition and all.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The magic worked faster this time. Willa used the same spell as before, and she used it without hesitation. Once again, the man in the mask was nowhere to be found. Nor was the walking foundry, which meant that Elijah seemed to be keeping his demons at bay. But this time, Willa wasn’t looking for a threat. She was looking for a victim.

  She was looking for Sean.

  The park was silent. She returned to her spot with her spellbook and one new addition.

  A tattered slip of paper, torn from an old textbook.

  Willa stared at Sean’s poem, using the memory of him to ground her. She channeled her magic out into the city, praying for answers. Hours later, she got a faint response—almost a whimper. It was music, like last time. But unlike last time, the song was quiet, like a dying breeze pushing through tall grass.

  This spell was still new to her. She was still unclear how it worked, but she would have to trust it. She had nothing else but the worry in her gut.

  The spell led her toward the river.

  She had the driver drop her off at a bar several miles from where the magic pulled her. Then she hoofed it down to the water at a decent pace. At this time of the night the river access area was empty, or at least it should have been. All dark warehouses and empty parking lots. But Willa could see she wasn’t alone. Two men in cheap suits stood guard next to a nondescript building. If she had been there in the daytime, she would have walked right past it.

  The guards spoke to each other in hushed tones, and yet their whispers pierced the still air like bullets.

  “Damn it’s cold.” The smaller one bounced back and forth from one foot to the other. It could have been from the low temperature, or more likely tensed nerves.

  “Wear a thicker coat next time.” This guy was older. He had a gray goatee trimmed tight. But his age didn’t detract from his bulk.

  “Next time? Don’t understand why there’s even a this time. Freakin’ waste if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t ask ya. And neither did the big man. I don’t go around questioning his orders. I’ve seen what happened to those who do.”

  The small man looked hard at his partner. “You really believe what they say about him? What he really is?”

  Goatee paused for a second. Willa could barely hear his reply.

  “Yes. Now shut your damn mouth, Johnny, before you get us both killed.”

  She crept as close as she dared then prepared to make her move. It was foolish, charging in one against two. But she knew the big man they spoke of, and her magic had led her here. Which meant Sean might just be inside.

  The only choice she had was which man to go after first.

  She picked up a loose brick, one among many scattered in the brush beneath her, and started chanting.

  “Hey, did you hear something?” Johnny twisted back and forth searching. His partner didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes bulged and his face turned purple.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Johnny’s voice shook a little. “Mac? Snap out of it man.”

  But Mac couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe like a tremendous weight pressed down upon his chest. By straining his considerable muscles he was able to lift his arm and point, just past Johnny’s head.

  The small man spun to look and took a brick to the face. He dropped without a whimper.

  Willa stood over him, making sure he was really out before she released her spell on Mac. He fell on his hands and knees. With a cough, he looked up at her. Terror filled his eyes.

  “What are you?”

  A boot to the goatee was her only reply, and the big man laid in the dirt next to his partner.

  Willa grabbed the door handle and entered the darkness.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Yellow light filtered in through the windows, illuminating the otherwise dark building. Willa’s first thought was that she had the purpose of the building all wrong. It wasn’t a warehouse, but some kind of small boathouse. She could hear the splash of the water outside echo off the metal walls.

  It wasn’t the sound that grabbed her, but her other senses. Something smelled.

  Something rotten.

  Willa’s heart thumped in her throat.

  A narrow set of steps led her downward, and she walked quickly. Small boats of varying kinds filled the room, stacked haphazardly. She weaved through the maze, hands clenched, the words of a defensive spell ready on her lips.

  Her grandfather’s words rang in her ears. To be careful. To be cautious. To be safe.

  In the back corner of the building, underneath a cracked window, she found a small canoe. She moved toward it, trying to keep the panic at bay. She failed the moment she saw the body.

  Sean’s body.

  She didn’t even try to stifle the rage that overtook her.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  A faint buzzing sound woke Brooke from an easy dream in which she was making snow angels in a warm bed of fluffy white snow. She opened her eyes in the da
rkness, in a strange bed.

  Elijah Branton’s bed.

  Brooke shook her head. She couldn’t believe she had just slept with someone who had the potential to be more than a one night stand. It was hasty. Irresponsible. And exactly what she needed.

  Since taking control of Alarawn Industries, keeping men at a distance had become her status quo. Detachment was safer. Gave her more space to focus on work.

  She would have far more time for things like this once she was voted out.

  She smiled, then looked over at the man. He snored quietly on his back, sheet pulled down to his stomach. A large scar covered his chest—one she hadn’t noticed while taking his shirt off in the dark.

  Brooke leaned in closer. A distinct shape fought to show itself. Something familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

  Buzzing interrupted her thoughts.

  She reached for her phone, but there were no new messages. Then she heard it again, coming from the nightstand on her left.

  She pulled open the drawer and saw Elijah’s phone. A message from someone named Chem blinked up at her.

  Dude—stop being such a dick and return my call. We have to talk about your shit. I’m close to figuring out what caused the reaction. Call me before you melt all over the city.

  Brooke read the message again, trying to make sense of it. She thought about unlocking his phone to get more of the context, but she didn’t want to overstep and invade his privacy. Plus she didn’t know his password.

  She returned the phone to the drawer and saw that it sat upon a manilla folder. The words PROJECT COLD STEEL in bold letters on top.

  Her curiosity got the better of her. She figured it couldn’t hurt to get a sneak peek at his research, especially now that it didn’t really matter. She had commissioned it after all.

  She opened the folder. Her great grandfather’s medallion stared up at her. She ran her fingers across it’s carved lines, feeling the unique shape.

  She gasped as she recognized what it truly was.