by Lola Dodge
“This is madness.”
“This is Sparta.”
“We’re in Los Angeles.” What was wrong with this man? “And why are we going to New York?”
His broad shoulders shook with laughter. “Did you not watch any in-flight movies in the last decade?”
“Answer the question.” I had no plans to follow him anywhere. If I wasn’t going to jail, I needed to put myself back together.
“Our organization’s called the Manhattan Ten. You’ve heard of us, yes?”
“Yes.” They appeared in the news often enough, but I wasn’t interested in such things. I tended toward travel blogs when I had a moment to read.
“Right now we only have nine on the roster. After all that, I think you’d make an excellent number ten.”
“No.” I did have a life of my own, as hellish as it would be now. Returning to my routine was the only way I’d be able to rescue myself from the danger zone. “I’m going home right after I speak with the authorities.”
We neared the exit, but the door opened to a set of rolling stairs instead of the passenger bridge.
“I told them you were working with us to get you out of trouble.” Jag froze in the portal. His frame blocked the airfield, but not the roar of activity outside. “There’s no going back.” He descended the steps.
It took all my courage to follow him. Officials swarmed the runway, ushering terrified passengers into a secure area. News vans and copters teemed just outside the airport’s boundaries. The telephoto lenses were tangible on my skin.
They had pictures and eyewitness accounts, and Jag was right. I couldn’t go back in the middle of the storm. Not to my apartment, and certainly not to my homeland.
My mother would execute me on sight partly for revenge, but mostly to absorb my powers.
I hadn’t spoken to her since I stole to the south, but leaving the tundra— especially in secret—was a traitor’s action. My absence would be a perpetual source of shame to the family.
I couldn’t go back. Ever. To save myself from death, I could only follow this man’s lead. Things would cool down eventually.
Jag waited at the bottom of the stairs. All the officials looked our way, but Jag waved and strode past their blockades, heading toward the sleek G6 that idled nearby.
With snow-white knuckles, I gripped the railbar on the way down. It couldn’t really happen like this. It couldn’t be so easy.
I followed him into the private jet. The cabin was better than anything I’d ever flown in, with custom leather seats so large that he and I both fit like regular passengers without folding in half.
He took the seat across from me and smiled his cat’s grin. “What kind of wrestling?”
“What?” His question knocked away the feeling that this wasn’t happening to me.
“You said you’d have to go back to wrestling.”
“Nothing you need to know about.” It was a women’s league in Slovakia. A tight, dirty little gym for the desperate. Those had been the dark years, before I’d adjusted to modern life, and I didn’t plan to share them with Jag.
“Hmm.” He leaned against his headrest and again, I was struck by his size. His muscles weren’t for vanity. They’d been formed from hard use, and he moved with a fluid grace that showed he could put them to action.
My younger self would’ve challenged him to a fight, but I’d grown wiser. I couldn’t be easy around him, especially when I was already so off-center.
“Don’t open up much, do you?”
“I’m being functionally kidnapped.” He’d gotten me out of a bad situation, but now I was at his mercy, and I didn’t like being out of control in any sense.
One loss could lead to another.
“I’m making good for getting you into trouble. That was my mark you stabbed with the icicle.”
“You were tracking that man?”
Jag must’ve heard the disdain in my voice. If he’d been responsible for that, then I doubted his eyesight, let alone his abilities as a super hero.
“I know. Not a very good job. But there was this gorgeous stewardess—”
“Flight attendant.” I gritted my teeth. He was unbelievable. “And why were you letting such a dangerous man wander around my plane?”
“I was tracking him to find out who he was meeting in LA.” Jag pulled back his smile for a moment of seriousness. “Our information suggested he was stable unless he was around supers. I’m guessing he noticed your little contribution to the air conditioning.”
I cursed my carelessness. Jag had figured me out on the plane.
“I’ll take the flak for letting the guy out of my sight. Your actions were all justified. Though you did beast out.”
I’d never heard that expression, but I didn’t disagree. My warrior hadn’t slipped in ages, and it felt dangerously good to give her rein.
That was the problem.
Now my powers were that much closer to the surface, and they wanted out. Willpower kept me solid, but without a few weeks of yogic meditation, I’d be a time bomb. Best case, I’d call down an unseasonal summer blizzard or turn a few innocents into ice cubes.
Worst?
I’d be a full-time raging warrior woman. With the power came a lack of... Peripheral vision was the nice way to say it.
I’d be nothing but a frigid huntress, fixated on my prey at the expense of all else. Then it wouldn’t be just a few innocents to worry about.
“That whole rage thing happen often?”
“What about you?” I was tired of answering all the questions, and as dangerous as I was, Jag didn’t look like any saint.
“Now and again.” Jag’s grin reappeared. His canines pointed a bit more sharply than standard. Not enough to be deadly, but enough to recall my first impression of him. This man was a hunter. “It’s good to let off steam.”
“What is your power?”
Jag lifted one of his dinner-plate hands and wicked claws emerged from his fingertips. “Technically it’s a jaguar thing. My tribe used to be in with the Mayans, but there are only a few of us left.”
His liquid yellow eyes glittered, and I reminded myself to keep cold. Perhaps he’d understand me better than I thought. I had my own tribal worries, but that was the life I’d left behind.
I’d already hinted too much. Instead of revealing anything more, I closed my eyes. Both of us knew I couldn’t sleep under the circumstances, but it kept Jag from asking anything else.
In New York, a helicopter waited on the runway. After so many hours in flight, I was eager to get to our destination, wherever that was. My skin would always be flawless, but I craved a shower.
A short trip later, we perched on a skyscraper’s helipad. Jag offered me a hand down, but I leaped without him. I was quite capable on my own.
A woman waited for us at the rooftop doorway. Once we were inside and the helicopter’s noise muffled, she offered a firm handshake.
“Lovely to meet you, Ivory.” She was curvy and probably Latina, with dark hair and warm brown eyes without a threat in them. “I’m Angel. Welcome to the tower.”
“My name is Valdís.” I frowned at Jag. “And I’m not sure I’ve gotten a good explanation...”
“Useless!” She swatted Jag with a manila folder. “Go see Tank. I’ll take care of your mess. Again.”
“Mi princessa.” Jag blew her a kiss, winked at me and disappeared down the stairs.
“I’m sorry about him.” Angel sighed. “We’re still figuring out what happened, so you must feel caught in a whirlwind. In any case, it’ll be a relief to have a woman on the team.”
“You’re a hero?” I followed her down the steps. “You don’t seem...”
“Like a super hero?” She tapped her temple. “Super brain. Mostly photographic memory. I’d call myself a glorified manager, but the boys insist I’m part of the team, even if I don’t do field work.”
We entered an elevator lobby, but Jag was long gone. Angel punched the button.
“And Ivory?” I was sluggish from such a long day and tapping into my powers after so long. I felt like I’d missed several things I shouldn’t have.
“Ah.” Angel hugged her folder. “The media caught the story and your picture. They’re calling you Ivory.” The door pinged and I followed her inside, wondering how so much had changed so quickly. “We can start a PR counter if you’d rather push your real name, but the public loves naming newfound supers. It would be hard to unstick.”
“Ivory’s fine.” I didn’t plan to associate with their group long enough for it to become permanent.
“Wonderful.”
I expected the doors to open to another lobby, but instead they revealed a penthouse with floor to ceiling Manhattan views. Elegant surfaces of chrome, leather and glass furnished the room and choice Ansel Adams photographs hung on the walls.
They weren’t prints.
“Sixteen will be your exclusive floor.” Angel handed me the folder. “I gathered you information on the basics, with access codes to the relevant data on our intranet. You can key your door closed, but there’s no need. It’s totally secure, and the boys will respect your privacy. The main offices are on three, and I’m on seven if you need anything. I had the fridge stocked and—”
“I’m sorry.” I had to stop her. “I have no plans to stay permanently.”
“Oh.” Angel’s face fell a little, and I regretted it, but this was all too much and happening faster than the G6. “We thought otherwise, but it’ll be a few days before this blows over, so we’ll have time to talk it out. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. You must be exhausted.”
That much was certain.
She moved for the elevator. “Ring zero for the concierge if you need anything. We’ll sit down with Tank tomorrow and figure everything out.” She shot me a wistful smile as she stepped into the elevator. “And I hope you change your mind about staying. From what I’ve heard, you’d love it here.”
“Thank you for your help.”
She waved and the doors closed. Why I’d want to meet with a “Tank”, I wasn’t sure.
I wanted to collapse on the spot, but I couldn’t feel at ease in such a strange environment. A sweep of the space didn’t make me feel much better.
It was an entire floor of luxury furnishings and chrome. The parts done in white were exactly to my taste—they reminded me of home in a good way—but Angel had meant the entire floor. It was nothing like my cramped flat in Amsterdam, and a world away from the tents where I’d been raised.
What kind of people had I landed myself with now?
JAG
Tank’s thoughts hit me as soon as we touched down on the helipad.
What did you do, Jag?
On the way, Boss. Don’t make me look like any more of a tool in front of our recruit.
I could hear the eye roll in his mental voice. Hurry up.
I didn’t want to leave Valdís, or Ivory, if that was what we were going with, but she was on the verge of ice-skewering me and would be in better hands with Angel.
Tank sat in his big oil baron chair, waiting for me, though he could’ve interrogated me from wherever.
“I like to do my interrogating in person.” He leaned on his desk. “What the hell happened?”
“Dropped the ball hard.” The plan was perfect until Ivory hit the first-class cabin. “Our ice girl leaked some power and the mark picked it up. Went ballistic. She took him down rock star style.” I replayed the scene in my mind for Tank’s benefit.
Tank’s eyes glazed as he relived the moment. “Damn. We could use a fighter like that.”
“Right? I want her.” I’d never seen a woman with that kind of fight, and I wanted to see more.
“I can see that. Less projection.”
“Sorry, Boss.” I couldn’t help it. He must get all kinds of freaky shit in his head, reading minds around the guys and me.
“We’ll deal with her tomorrow. I’m more concerned that we lost our lead.”
“I’ll hit the streets again. Maybe break Ivory in on some old-school investigation.”
“Do that. We’ve got five dead supers and we owe the community justice.”
“Agreed.”
Tank dismissed me and I headed back to my floor. I might’ve stopped by Ivory’s but Angel hadn’t given me the number.
She knew me too well.
Ivory was the only bright spot to come out of this clusterfuck. It was looking more and more like a super serial killer was out there, and I’d blown our best lead.
I couldn’t beat myself up too much over the guy’s death. He was a card-carrying anti-super, and there’d always be people who feared us or hated our power.
We still busted our asses keeping the world safe for those assholes.
But with him went his contacts. We needed to find out who was organizing the anti-super sentiment into cold-blooded murder, or the next victim could be one of our own.
Three
IVORY
After a few hours of fitful sleep, I got up and made coffee. Expensive coffee. Angel hadn’t lied about stocking the kitchen.
Crossing time zones always unsettled my internal clock, but this was a new low. It was so much travel I couldn’t remember what time I wanted it to be.
The bed was lush, but too soft for my tastes, and the penthouse had a stale, unlived-in aura that jarred. I couldn’t relax.
Nor should I have, given what had happened. I clicked on the nearest plasma television with an apprehension of dread.
The news ticker at the bottom of the screen flashed bombing in the Middle East and flooding in Thailand, but the airplane shooting in Los Angeles was the main event.
Or I was.
IVORY plastered the screen in bold letters with a disturbingly accurate list of known facts about my past. They’d only unearthed the recent history, and that was bad enough.
My stomach churned when the old wrestling pictures flashed into their photomontage. I looked like an Amazon in laced knee-high boots, with flowing blonde hair.
Desperate days.
Why did the world even care?
I couldn’t imagine until the Manhattan Ten propaganda entered the coverage. That was the full headline.
IVORY: THE M = 10 AGAIN!
The man who’d died seemed not to matter. A new super hero was born.
Only I wasn’t super, and I hadn’t been asked.
Frost formed at my fingertips. I shook it off, but I needed to meditate or kill something, and I hated being so on edge that the latter came to mind.
“It was terrifying.” The eyewitness’s face was blurred, but I recognized little Madeline’s mother. “The gunshot just missed her, but she wrestled that man to the ground. We didn’t know what was happening, and she was so intense...but she saved us all.”
I was surprised she thought so. Last I’d seen of her, the woman was holding Madeline away from me like I was a rabid ice bear.
I was contemplating a call to the concierge about getting a yoga mat sent up when a doorbell rang from the elevator. Angel exited with several hangers of clothes swathed in dry-cleaning plastic.
“Good morning. I would’ve had these to you last night, but it took a minute to have the tailoring done on short notice.” She set the clothes over a sofa back. “Did you sleep well?”
The plastic hid an assortment of expensive clothes in various styles all cut to fit my height. Not easy to find under the best of circumstances.
Did this woman ever sleep?
“Everything is fine. Thank you for taking so much of your time.”
“It’s nothing.” Angel perched on the arm of the pristine white living room sofa. “I’m still hoping I can convince you to stay.”
“You mentioned a meeting with Tank?” After all of the news coverage, I’d gathered he was the M-10’s leader. I needed to speak to some kind of authority figure.
“Any time you’re ready.”
Angel waited while I went off to change into one my new outfit
s. The selection was excellent, and all my size. If the whole team were as large as Jag, she’d have to know where to find the big and talls. I picked a pencil skirt, which would’ve fit me as a mini if it were a regular woman’s size, and a soft white cashmere sweater. I considered slipping back into my uniform shoes, but if we were among supers, it was better to be comfortable.
And more alert. It was easier to sense my surroundings when vibrations could travel through my toes. Angel didn’t bat an eye at bare feet. She did live with Jag and a tower full of other unknown supers. I doubted much would trigger her shock reflex.
The elevator deposited us on the third floor, and I was the one in for a shock. I’d expected the offices to be more like a police station, where each super had their own desk on the floor.
This was a regular corporate operation, with buzzing workers, low-walled cubes and a real water-cooler. The workers didn’t pay me special attention, but I regretted the bare feet instantly. These were no supers. “What do they do?”
“It surprises everyone who sees it.” Angel smiled with coral-painted lips and led me into the warren. “Most are PR. We need a lot of that, as you can imagine. For the most part, we’re a regular business. We’ve got groups managing cases, technology, licensing, and finances. Even a fan-mail team.”
She paused before knocking on the door to the corner office. Its nameplate read THINKTANK, which seemed a silly thing to emboss on a door. “Fair warning, he’s a mind-reader. He won’t be invasive, but he can’t really help himself.”
The door opened. Some fair warning. If I’d had anything I wanted to hide, it was much too late.
Tank sat in an oversized chair on the other side of a larger desk. He was a big man, not quite Jag’s size, but solid. And dangerous. He wore a suit that couldn’t hide fighter’s muscles, and his nose and fingers were slightly crooked from old breaks.
“Valdís. I’m sorry for all the hassle.” He stood and offered a firm handshake. “You’ve gotten tangled into our operation.”