Through friends at school, Quinn learned that Blake had run away from home and was living in an undisclosed location that he suspected The Order’s Agent Victor Kraze arranged for him. In the three weeks that followed Blake’s disappearance, Ralph and Stella Hargreaves, his parents, appeared at Quinn’s doorstep—drunk—and tried to pick a fight with Quinn’s dads, to sue them for encouraging Blake to run away. Their illogical assertions made no sense to Quinn, but they refused to believe Blake would want to leave their perfect family for any reason.
Quinn turned on Penhallow Street and cut across the parking lot behind Breaking New Grounds and the Irish pub. With everyone’s attention focused on the parade, no one noticed when a teenage boy dressed as Superman became invisible. He gathered up the red cape in his arms so it wouldn’t be seen trailing behind him and then launched himself into the air, flying toward the Memorial Bridge so he could fly over the parade route.
Becoming visible again, his eyes and body glowing blue, he flew up Bow Street over the parade at about twenty-miles-per-hour. Seconds later, when the crowd noticed him, cheers and thunderous applause erupted from the sidewalks below as people shouted his superhero name and waved at him. Even a few police officers walking with the costume parade waved at him while others stared at him with wide eyes. The police force had become unofficially split. Some officers maintained a rigid adherence to department policy while others appreciated his efforts and applauded with bystanders when he saved someone.
As he flew over the crowd toward his fan club, he spotted Keegan and his friends. He made sure to wave at them, so they’d have something to brag about when he returned from using the restroom. When he flew over the Blue Spekter group, he hovered for a moment and waved at them. Then, he pushed on and made his way down the parade route, waving until he disappeared over the buildings near the coffee shop.
Thunder rumbled above him. He looked up and saw heat lightning flashing through the clouds. How is there thunder at the end of October?
Shrugging and becoming invisible again, he returned to the spot he had lifted off from and double checked his surroundings to make sure no one would see him suddenly appear. Certain the coast was clear, he let his red cape hang normally and ran back to his friends, ready to join in the excitement of seeing his alter ego fly over the parade.
“I can’t believe you just missed Blue Spekter!” Ravone whined when he rejoined the group.
“Oh, no I didn’t,” Quinn responded, grinning. “When I came out of the coffee shop, I saw him flying over Market Square. It was so cool! Did you guys get pictures?”
Ravone shook her head. “It happened too fast.”
Loren held up her phone and showed him a picture of a luminescent blue smudge. “I tried, but the stupid camera wouldn’t focus in the dark, so yeah, it’s blurry.”
Quinn looked at Keegan, who shook his head. “Sorry, handsome, but Batman doesn’t have pockets and my phone didn’t fit in the costume’s fake utility belt.”
They laughed. “Well, someone must have gotten a photo. I’m sure it will be on Instagram or Facebook tomorrow…maybe even YouTube if someone saw him coming.”
“I’m getting hungry,” Ravone said, watching as the last of the costume parade passed by.
“Me too,” Keegan added.
“Maybe we should make our way to dinner before the parade ends and all the restaurants jam up,” Loren suggested.
“That’s a great idea, let’s do it,” Quinn chimed in. Hand-in-hand, Quinn and Keegan followed Loren and Ravone through the crowed to the River House restaurant.
❖
Blake
Blake awoke as the early morning sunlight filtered into his bedroom through the semi-transparent window shades. He opened his eyes and stretched, his toes pushing against the loose covers of his bed. Yawning, he tossed the covers off his body and sat up, stretching his arms over his head.
Pulling on a pair of boxer shorts, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, enjoying the smell of freshly brewed coffee that filled the main level of his condo.
His condo, he thought, pouring himself a cup of French vanilla coffee. Although Victor had secured the luxury condo on Badger Island in Kittery for him, Blake paid a meager rent from the generous salary The Order now paid him. Victor suggested it would be a good idea for Blake to learn about renting property because he believed it would grant Blake autonomy and control in their arrangement.
He shoved a cold brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tart into his mouth and made his way back upstairs to shower for school.
Living under his parents’ house and their lax rules, Blake was often left to fend for himself. This simplified his transition to living on his own. For the first time in his life, Blake didn’t wonder about how he would pay for his next meal, new clothes, sports gear for school, or other basic necessities. Now, he could more than afford whatever he needed.
After using the restroom and showering, he dressed for the day in new jeans and a white t-shirt, opting for black Doc Martens instead of his usual Converse All Stars. To finish, he sprayed cologne on the back of his head and his wrists. He had never used cologne before, but the woman at Macy’s convinced him to try and buy a woodsy fall scent she felt suited him.
Satisfied with his appearance, albeit only heading to school for the day, he grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys from his dresser and made his way back downstairs. At the interior door, he pulled on his new, all-black motorcycle jacket. It had white stripes down the arms on the outside of each sleeve. Then, he picked up his book bag and track bag from the floor.
A moment later, he dropped his track bag to the floor. I’ll run on my own today around town.
He shut the door to his condo and the electronic doorknob beeped and locked behind him as he walked down the short hallway to the elevator that led to the private garage under the condo complex. As he approached, he noted a young red-headed girl—no, a high school girl—waiting at the elevators.
“Hi,” she said, turning to giving him a salacious head-to-toe once over. Her eyes met his and she smiled. “Did you just move in?”
“Yeah, a few weeks ago,” he answered.
“And do you go to school?”
Blake looked at her funny. “Do I look like I don’t?”
“Well, I haven’t see you at Traip Academy,” she said, referencing Kittery’s high school.
Blake smiled. “That’s because I don’t go to Traip. I go to Portsmouth High.”
“Oooh, you’re one of those kids,” she responded, smiling, a nervous tease evident in her voice.
“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, ind
icating 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: To 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!”
3-2 | 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, o
pening 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.”
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