Super Bad (a Superlovin' novella)

by Andrews, Vivi

  “Agreed.” Wroth smiled, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Julian didn’t need his gift to know Lucien would make sure his sister never saw the inside of Area Nine again.

  He’d fight that battle when he came to it. His eyes bounced back to the monitor yet again. She was compelling, the same way watching wolves hunt was compelling. He knew instinctively she wouldn’t be tamed. The faster he confirmed that for a fact, the quicker he could get back to his own misery. “Let’s do this.”

  As if in response to his resolve, the screen flickered and went black, Eisenmann’s phone ringing instantly. The doctor cursed and yanked up the receiver, and from the expressions on DynaGirl and Wroth’s faces, they already knew what was coming before the doctor slammed down the phone and surged to his feet.

  “The feed was on a loop. She’s out.”

  Chapter Three: I, Houdini

  Mirage didn’t remember her escape. One minute she was in her cell, her mind twisting in a melancholy spiral, wondering if it would be best to just take whatever magic pill Eisenmann could find to disengage her powers, and the next she was blinking back to awareness inside what was, unmistakably, a bank vault.

  “Shit.”

  She quickly scanned the vault, checking for open safe-deposit boxes, signs she might have already lifted something, but apparently whatever her subconscious had wanted her to steal hadn’t yet made the transition to her possession. So the limit of today’s sleepwalking was breaking and entering, rather than felony larceny. She’d take her victories where she could.

  Mirage raked a hand through her hair. It had come loose from her usual ponytail and felt greasy and thick—like it hadn’t been washed in days. Crap. How long had she been loose and unaware? Right now, she felt surprisingly lucid, but she knew better than to expect that to last. For all she knew, she’d had other moments of lucidity since she left Trident that she couldn’t remember. Just the fact that she remembered Trident at all was a victory.

  She should leave the vault. She should call Lucien. He would come for her. Along with the men in the white coats who would take her back to Trident’s Crazy Nutters wing where she belonged. Or to Area Nine, where perhaps she truly belonged.

  She knew what she should do, but instead Mirage sank down to sit on the floor of the vault, her legs too gummy to hold her. Tucking her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms tight around them. This was neither the time nor the place for a nervous breakdown, but Mirage pressed her forehead to her knees and began to rock back and forth.

  Was it day or night? Was there a security guard on duty? Had she already twisted his mind to get him to ignore her or were the authorities on the way? She didn’t hear a siren, but that didn’t mean much. Who would they send for her? Lucien and Darla? Or a SWAT team with superstrength Tasers? If it wasn’t Lucien, should she let them capture her or blind their senses and keep running?

  The vault door clanged and Mirage jerked, crab-crawling to the far corner of the vault and squeezing herself tight against the rows of safe-deposit boxes. The heavy metal door swung pendulously inward. She instinctively reached into the mind on the other side, disguising herself, even though she still wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t just let herself be caught.

  Then the door stopped, cracked partway open. Mirage held her breath, waiting to see what would come through. Gas canisters to knock her out? Luc? Would he use his superspeed to rush her?

  But the figure that came through the opening and shoved the vault door closed behind him was slow, giving her plenty of time to adjust to the sight of him.

  And what a sight.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Blond hair, blue eyes and a firm, square chin gave him a sense of All-American sex appeal. Her first thought was poster-boy, though for what she wasn’t sure. Virtue? Heroism? Truth, justice, and the American way?

  Justice…

  He was in street clothes—dark, crisp jeans and a soft, grey sweater over a starched, white-collared shirt—but she recognized him even without his supersuit. Captain Justice. The sanctimonious super whose primary claim to fame was the fact that he was banging Kim Carruthers from The Sentinel.

  She only knew what she’d read in the papers, but he didn’t seem like the sort who would be forgiving of a confused former-villainess who just happened to find herself in the middle of an accidental heist. Definitely best to stay hidden and sneak past him. Back to Lucien.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the view. The man was certifiably drool-worthy. She could have stared at him all day.

  Until she realized he was staring back.

  “Hello, Mirabelle.”

  Panic flashed, hard and cold, through her bloodstream. She reached for his mind again, frantically throwing a veil over his senses to mask herself, but he didn’t even blink. What was happening? Had Lucien neutered her after all? Without even talking to her? Or had he talked to her and she just didn’t remember? Had she given permission? God, had she asked for this? Was it permanent? Her breath started coming fast, hyperventilation imminent, as Captain Justice came toward her, slow and casual.

  “Easy now,” he said, his deep voice surprisingly soothing. “My senses won’t lie to me, so your power doesn’t work on me. Understand?”

  She shook her head, a denial of the idea that her powers didn’t work more than an indication that she didn’t understand him. Her powers worked on everyone. Always. She could do this.

  But even as she focused, concentrating harder than she’d had to since she was thirteen, nothing happened. He just sat down next to her, not touching, but close enough to be strangely companionable. Just two supers hanging out in a bank vault. No biggie.

  Wrong. Everything was wrong.

  She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye—as if she could be invisible to him if she avoided looking at him head on—only to find him watching her, eyes intent, from a distance of inches. He saw her. Even when she was invisible to the rest of the world.

  Oh God, the entire time she’d been ogling him when he first walked in the room, he’d been able to see her. A flush burned her cheeks. Captain Justice had the grace to pretend not to notice, though as pale as she was, everything showed in Technicolor.

  “You wanna tell me what you’re doing in a bank vault at three in the morning?”

  “I appear to be having a nervous breakdown in the middle of a heist. What are you doing here?”

  His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Your brother sent me to get you.”

  Lucien. Something tight in Mirage’s chest unraveled. She recalled with crystalline clarity the look of disappointment that flashed across his features whenever he looked at her now. “How long have I been missing?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Right now the sum total of my memory for the last few days is coming to in this vault about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Justice frowned. “You aren’t lying.” He sounded confused.

  “Not much point in it.”

  “Three days.”

  “What?”

  “You disappeared three days ago.”

  Her heart stuttered. God. She could have done anything in three days. Flown halfway around the world or slept in a gutter. Where had she been? How many minds had she bent? Dear God, what had she done?

  “Mirabelle? Stay with me here.”

  She turned her head, looking at Justice full on. His blue eyes grounded her. “I’m okay.”

  He almost smiled again, this time with a rueful twist. “Liar.”

  She gave a low huff, a dry, mournful shadow of amusement. “Fine. I’m not okay. I’m going crazy in fits and starts and it’s slightly disconcerting.”

  Then he did smile and something warm and wanting twisted in her chest. He wasn’t the type of guy she’d ever be attracted to. Too wholesome by half. She liked her men with an edge. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy the scenery. It wasn’t every day a girl got up close and personal with Grade A Premium Beefcake. Even if he was dat
ing Kim Carruthers.

  Not that she cared who he was dating. Mirage had gotten more than her fill of dating when her last boyfriend had mind-fucked her into stealing a catastrophic weapon and then tried to use it to kill her brother. After that, she’d just as soon stay single for a good long while, thank you very much. Like for the rest of her life.

  But if anyone could tempt a sinner back to the dark side, Blondie here could.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, needing a break from his penetrating gaze. “What now?”

  “Do you want to go back to Trident?”

  She opened her eyes, surprised. “Does what I want matter?”

  “My question first.”

  She shrugged. “I guess. Though I don’t know how much good it will do.”

  “So you want to get better.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “I’d like the world to stop sliding sideways every time I blink, yeah.”

  “And if I could help you with that?”

  Mirage blinked, unstable fragments of her world shifting briefly into logical order. “You’re Darla’s friend. The one she wanted to fix me.”

  He frowned. “They told you about that?”

  “You’d be surprised how easy it is to eavesdrop when you can make sure no one sees you.”

  His frown darkened. “I doubt I’d be surprised.”

  She grimaced. “Careful, Justice. Your disdain is showing.”

  “I’m not—” He broke off, regrouping. “You know who I am?”

  “Sure. You’re the one dating Kim Carruthers.”

  If she hadn’t been sitting inches from him, she might have missed his subtle flinch. Trouble in paradise? No. Not for Mr. Perfect and his headliner honey.

  “My relationship status aside, I may be able to help you sort fact from fiction. If you’re serious about wanting to leave your criminal past behind.”

  “Do I have to take a vow of virtuousness or something for you to consider me worthy of your help?”

  “Would that be a problem?”

  Mirage tried to sift through her thoughts, never a hundred percent sure anymore that everything inside her head belonged there. Memories, opinions, nothing was sacred. She was forced to rely on instinct beyond logic, and on a gut level, a piece of her soul down deep at her core rebelled at the thought of turning hero. “Yes,” she said finally. “It would.”

  Captain Justice recoiled a few inches, as if physically repelled by anyone who didn’t long to be wholesome and pure. “You mean that.”

  “Is it so shocking that I might not want to be a hero?”

  His expression locked down, darkening with disapproval and something else she couldn’t quite name—regret? “So you’re an unashamed villain.”

  “No,” she snapped, and the unfiltered irritation that flashed through her felt brilliant. It felt like her. Her thoughts. Her opinions. No one else’s. If only she could be positive that feeling wasn’t a lie. “Just because I don’t want to be a fucking hero doesn’t make me a villain.” Sanctimonious prick. “There is a middle ground. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the population lives in that middle ground.” Asshole.

  “Sure they do. Just not the super percentage of the population.”

  “So because I have some little quirk of my brain that I didn’t ask for, mind you, I have to choose between being the uber-bitch from hell or a squeaky-clean Marine like you?”

  “Yes,” he snapped, muscles bunching and jumping even though he didn’t get up from the floor. He looked like he could’ve snapped her like a twig even without superstrength. “Your powers give you a responsibility to your community—”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Was I unclear? Bull. Shit. Who died and made you policeman of the world?”

  “My parents. They gave their lives for the public good, protecting the world from villains. They saved millions when they brought down the Consortium.” He flung the words at her like weapons and they landed hard, but Mirage refused to flinch.

  “That’s a tragedy and I’m sorry,” she said, too worked up to be able to put much sincerity into the words, but Justice looked too angry to care about her sympathy right now anyway. “But my mom was just an average, everyday lady who died when a hero chose to save someone else.”

  “And your father is one of the most notorious supervillains in the world,” he barked. “Are you proud to follow in Daddy’s footsteps?”

  “You don’t know shit about my family. My father is a scientist. He’s never hurt anyone. We only steal the supplies he needs for his research from major corporations who can afford it—”

  “Demon Wroth? What world are you living in?”

  “The real one. Not the one defined by rigid moralistic assholes who named themselves Protectors of the Universe just because they happened to be born with superstrength.”

  “Are you such an authority on what’s real?”

  This time she did flinch, cowering away from the words. Who’d have thought a hero knew how to fight so dirty? She didn’t know reality. She didn’t even know her own mind. Were these even her words? Her opinions? How could she be sure? The tower of anger she’d built crumpled in a cascade of rotted stone.

  “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Justice’s voice was soft, his remorse apparently sincere, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. Mirage studied the fingers clasped in her lap as he went on. “I want to help you. Do you even know what you came here for?”

  “No.” The word barely made it out, her throat closing to shut it in.

  “I think I can help you figure it out. If you’ll let me.”

  Captain Justice, poster boy for everything heroic and good, wanted to help her. There had to be a catch. But right now, Mirabelle didn’t care about catches. She just wanted to know what had happened to her during the last three days. Where she’d gone. What she’d done. If he could really help her, she couldn’t walk away from that. Supposing he let her walk away. She couldn’t mask herself from him, so she didn’t know how she would escape even if she wanted to. He didn’t have to be nice. And yeah, he hadn’t exactly been nice, but the man had superstrength. He didn’t have to try to talk her into anything. He could force her to do whatever he chose. But he hadn’t. He’d tried to talk her down—even if neither one of them had been able to stop it from becoming an argument, he’d tried. She owed him her own effort, but her throat was tight and she could only get out one word.

  “Please.”

  Chapter Four: Hero-In-Training

  The plea startled him—but then, there was little about Mirabelle Wroth that matched his expectations. He knew better than to question her capitulation and came to his feet quickly.

  “Shall we get you back to Trident?”

  She made a face, but came out of her fetal curl. She straightened to her full height, which was still a good ten inches short of his, and tugged on the lock of hair framing her face that had come loose from her ponytail. “Do I really have to go back there? I get…confused. Everything feels wrong when I wake up there and it makes it harder to keep my head clear. If I could just stay with Lucien... Be somewhere more familiar…”

  “Trident should be plenty familiar to you by now. You’ve been there for three months.” Julian went to the vault door, but Mirabelle wasn’t moving. He turned to see why she’d frozen and saw her face had drained of color. Shit. Had no one told her how long she’d been institutionalized? “I’m sorry. Didn’t you know?”

  “Three months.” She made a choked noise and he could see her begin to shake from across the room. “I forgot… Lucien said, I mean I heard him, but… What year is it?”

  Julian crossed the vault in two strides and caught her upper arms, hoping the contact would be enough to stop her impending freak out. She looked like she was on the verge of hyperventilating and he felt the weight of the syringe Eisenmann had given him in his pocket. He didn’t want to use the tranqs unless he had to. He wanted her to trust him, though he wasn
’t sure why. She was obviously amoral, with no grasp on right and wrong—who else would willingly choose to be a villain and not even bat an eye at grand theft—but her enormous, haunted eyes made him ache to save her. Even if he was saving her from herself. “Mirabelle. Look at me.”

  “Mirage,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused.

  “What?”

  “My name. It’s Mirage. My father changed it when I was ten.”

  “Lucien calls you Mirabelle.”

  “Habit.”

  “So you’d rather people refer to you as an illusion?”

  She nodded, then kept nodding as if she couldn’t stop.

  “Mirage.” He said her name sharply and her gaze snapped up to his face, sharpening and focusing. Her eyes were blue. A weird dark blue. Cobalt.

  “How could I have lost three months just like that?” He was still holding her arms and she brought her hands up, fisting them in the front of his shirt, her expression so earnest it was impossible to believe she’d ever been a villainess. “You have to help me, Justice. Please. And please let me stay with Lucien. I’ll be more clear there, I know I will.”

  “I’m pretty sure your brother is living with DynaGirl now. Her place will be even less familiar—”

  “So Lucien’s loft is empty. It’ll still feel like home.”

  “I can’t let you stay there alone.”

  “Why not? Because it isn’t secure? Because there isn’t a cell to lock me in? Trident is secure and you can see what a bang-up job they’ve done keeping me penned. Why not just send me back to Area Nine?”

  Because Area Nine is where villains go when they’re beyond hope. Utterly beyond redemption. And he didn’t want that for her. For whatever reason, probably some failing of his own stubbornness, he needed to reform her. To prove she could come back from this.