I closed and locked the front door, then leaned my forehead against it.
When Patrick came back, we’d be ready.
33
I pushed play.
“Heroes,” began the garbled, vaguely human voices. “You have three days before I kill all five of you.”
I pushed stop and passed the phone back to Captain Drummond, then sighed. “I picked up at least two dozen distinct voices, but I don’t recognize any of them.”
All of the previous five death threats had been crafted with the same incompressible technique, but each employed a unique jumble of varying ages, sexes, and accents. If taken at face value, we were being threatened by hundreds of people, though I thought this unlikely.
Captain Drummond, clad in grungy civilian clothes that made her appear to be anything but a police officer, made a little note on her notepad. “Aside from the threats themselves, we don’t have any leads. Our tech guys isolated the same electronic signatures, so we’re positive that it’s the same person as before, but other than that, zilch. Sorry.”
Marco frowned. “That was a short message. He’s usually more, er, creative.”
Reid and Benjamin exchanged a dark look—last week’s recording had detailed, among other things, how Ember and I were going to die. I’d had to physically pull Reid from the door to stop him from going on a crusade.
Captain Drummond flipped her book shut. “Yes, he is, and that’s why I dropped by in person. Messages that break a mold usually don’t bode well. Not only was this one shorter, it mentioned a specific date. You guys need to be on guard.”
I’d noticed that. Something else stuck out to me, too. “‘All five of you,’” I repeated. “Common knowledge is that we’re a team of four, unless you told people about Benjamin.”
Captain Drummond shook her head. “By law we can’t make digital copies of your registration forms. Mercury’s form is under lock and key, and at my house, no less. Nobody knows about him except me.”
“So who’s number five?” I asked. “Patrick?”
“It must be,” she said. “Or maybe our anonymous friend isn’t as clever as he thinks. Maybe other teams are getting messages from this guy and he reused this one.”
“Now that you mention it, that’s a possibility,” Reid said. “The average team is five people strong. ‘All five of you’ could refer to, what, sixty teams around the country?”
“I’ll look into it,” she replied. “In the meantime, don’t get complacent.”
“We won’t,” I assured her. “Thank you.”
This was one of the larger downsides to being a superhero: every lowlife, scumbag, crackpot, and psychopath this side of Mars tried to flex their muscles by taking us on. We’d even received a bomb threat during my first month in Saint Catherine. Like most threats, it had come to nothing.
But these were different. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it in my bones. Something was coming.
Captain Drummond packed up, then headed towards the door. When her hand was on the doorknob, she turned to me. “I meant to say before…I like what you’ve done with the place.” She gestured around the living room, which had had a facelift over the last few weeks.
“Thank you,” I said graciously. “And thank you for helping us in the doing. The workout equipment, especially, has helped immensely.”
She shrugged. “It’s the team’s money.” She nodded her head once, then stepped out into the night.
Marco let out a huge sigh. “Three days, huh? What’s the plan?”
“For the moment,” I said slowly, my hand still on the lock, “Just go back to what you all were doing. I need to think. Whatever you guys do, though, don’t worry.”
They didn’t need telling twice. Reid and Benjamin gravitated back to the small training room in the far end of the convent. Ember curled up on the couch and took up the spool of yarn she’d been holding for Marco, who picked up his knitting needles and launched back into reading a world history book aloud, balancing the book on his knee.
The quiet sounds of clicking needles, Marco’s warm voice, and the soft whumps of fists colliding with a punching bag mixed together to create a perfect domestic idyll. For me, anyway.
I walked upstairs and down the hall to my office, shutting the door quietly and pulling off my boots. Critical thought was easier when I was barefoot.
I sat in my rolling chair, then opened my desk drawer and removed the most important sheaf of papers, which I’d wedged into a folder marked TEAMS. I’d printed them out just this morning, but hadn’t had time to review them yet. Better now than ever. I flipped open the folder, an online article about the Billings team facing me.
Okay, focus. Billings. You’re going to read about Billings.
The faceless threat-maker was Patrick. Of course it was. Everyone else in the world thought we were in Leesburg, but the sender knew to contact the Saint Catherine Police Department. They knew we were in the city and were trying to flush us out. The fifth person alluded to in the message was Benjamin. Patrick had seen him in the library and…assumed he’d join the team? No, that wasn’t right.
I flicked my own cheek. “Woman. Focus.”
I needed to get through this stack. Work now, give myself an ulcer about Patrick later. That was the rule. I’d spent weeks researching each team in the country, scouring the data to find a team that would stand by our side when we faced Patrick, which was possibly in three days.
But as I turned over each sheet, the truth pounded into my brain: we were alone in this venture. As long as I was the leader, and as long as the team I led insisted on reading and learning, we were outsiders—and nobody was going to help outsiders.
Not that I was about to stop learning, though. I’d had six weeks of near-constant study under my belt, and with each passing book, I wanted to learn more.
Learning was like drinking sea water; the more I ingested information, the more I wanted it. The books were portals to new worlds and ideas, pouring width and breadth into my thoughts in ways I never could’ve fathomed before. Why, just last night I’d had a conversation with Reid about philosophy. We had spent hours talking about the nature of life and death while sparring.
As my mind grew, so did my desire to travel and explore. I wanted to see England, home of William Shakespeare. He’d written the most beautiful poem I’d ever read.
And the Rocky Mountains—no picture could possibly do them justice. I had to see them myself, feel the ancient stone under my feet, smell the crisp, piney air.
I needed to hold the sand of the beaches of the Pacific Northwest in my hands and let it cascade through my fingers.
But I could never leave Saint Catherine. The information in the folder was abundantly clear: there were teams in almost every major city in the United States, and they would not be understanding if we wound up in their domains. Superheroes existed to fight, not learn and develop.
However, that hadn’t stopped me from trawling the internet to find evidence that maybe one person on one team was…like us, whatever that meant.
The Norfolk, Virginia team spent a lot of their time on or near Old Dominion University’s campus—were they secretly attending classes? Or merely keeping students safe in the troublesome nearby neighborhoods?
The Texas teams were unanimously the most popular teams in the country. They were in parades, showed up at civic events, and even wore the Texas flag on their uniforms. They were flashy and personable, oh yes, but I knew enough about our methods now to see that it was all still a calculated ploy. Texans were proud of their state’s history, and it followed that their teams would plug into that pride.
My finger brushed the face of the man pictured on the last sheet.
Piranha, or Milo Saur, was from my camp. He was one of the few superheroes who allowed his picture to be taken, which the fourth estate of Phoenix, Arizona happily did. Handsome, rugged, and lantern-jawed, Milo was extremely popular—which was why it was such big news that he’d disappeared overnight a month
ago. The team had issued a formal statement that he’d gone missing on patrol.
But I knew the truth: Milo Saur was dead. The fact that no supervillain had gloated about killing him indicated that he’d done something to piss off the elders, and a strike team had zeroed in. He probably had gone missing on patrol, taken out by someone like my older cousin Kyle, who’d been chosen for strike team duty years before.
I wasn’t a coward—hell no, I wasn’t a coward. I was going to fight Patrick to the bitter end. But we couldn’t call for help now, and if we ever left Saint Catherine for anything less than truly dire circumstances, a strike team would zero in on us, too. We could live here in peace as long as we continued to patrol.
Now that I knew about Milo, it was no longer a surprise that we hadn’t heard from the elders about Patrick. They’d put off dealing with the naughty elder’s son until they were sure we were still alive—since we hadn’t been in contact with them—and when the focus was finally off of Saint Catherine and had moved to some other team’s drama.
Speaking of drama…
My lips twitched as I stapled the print-outs from the Baltimore team’s fan page. I’d found a new thread on Reid’s brother’s fan forums. Obsidian was extremely popular in Baltimore, and some giddy fangirl had showed up outside the team house with a sign that read, “Obsidian, will you marry me?” The ensuing declarations of love in the comments, along with rumors that Reuben that was already secretly married to Berenice, were highly amusing.
No wonder Benjamin had been obsessed with superheroes growing up. We were the best entertainment after television.
The distant rumble of thunder made me turn in my chair.
Far in the distance, lightning lit up the sky like a battle in the clouds. I put all but the Baltimore sheets away and walked to the window, which I opened. Muggy air flooded over me, filling my nostrils with the salty air that rolled in from the Atlantic. Overhead, churning storm clouds heralded another summer thunderstorm. However, this one would have extra firepower thanks to the system currently hurtling past the southeast.
I wasn’t worried, though; the amusingly-named Hurricane Ben was slated to continue north and hit closer to Virginia. Still, the pressure tickled my sensitive skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
I shut the creaky window and left the room, heading towards my bedroom. I was too keyed up to study, and reading my novels would be beyond me. I didn’t want to interrupt anyone, so sparring wasn’t an option.
The quiet fury brought on by the newest death threat, and the fear that underlined the anger, demanded action. My instincts mandated that I wrench open the door and scream for Patrick to come out and fight.
So, instead, I sat down at my early birthday present from Benjamin: an old upright piano. I had discovered that my peerless hand-eye coordination and an excellent memory added up to being a natural piano player.
My instinctual decisions, statistically, had been stupid. Patrick had repeatedly used them against me to great effect, and then I’d almost gotten kicked off the team two days into my position. If sitting around and studying had taught me anything, it was the value of calming down before I reviewed my options.
My fingers soared over the keys, weaving together a sweet melody I’d memorized. Occupying my hands helped me focus on the workings of my brain.
In a few quiet minutes, the tune wrapped around me, teasing out the answer I’d avoided all evening: we needed to get back out on the street tonight. If Patrick was planning an attack in three days, he was most definitely in the city. If we moved first, we had the upper hand. We could surveil, maneuver, and move in for the kill on our terms. Ember’s telepathy would be the most important element in the mission. She hated scans of that magnitude, but what else could we do?
The notes dropped into the minor key.
Benjamin had never been in combat before. I had to consider his greenness, and plan around it.
We’d focus on his speed. While he didn’t have super strength, running at full blast at someone would do the job. He’d picked up basic offensive and defensive moves during the week that he’d been healed, but he really was radiantly untrained in martial arts.
“Jill?” His soft voice came from the doorway.
I brought the music back up into the major key.
He walked up behind me and began to massage my shoulders. “You only play this song when you’re bothered. Talk to me.”
“We have to patrol tonight,” I murmured.
I turned around to say something, but the words were stolen out of my mouth when I was met by his naked torso. He’d been working out shirtless again, a new habit of his that cheered me endlessly. I gazed up at him, and he grinned down at me.
“Thank you for that,” I said. He’d even wound tapes around his hands like a warrior. Yum.
He gently turned my head forward and began to massage the knots in my neck. “Do we have time for the menu planning before patrol? Reid and I were talking about some specific ideas for this week to incorporate more proteins.”
“Was meat in any form one of those ideas?”
“Sweetheart, Ember’s vegan, and she’s dating the chef of the family. Ergo, we’re all vegan by default.”
“Goody.”
“But to answer your question, no. Reid wants her to be able to eat anything he makes in peace. God knows she deserves peace. We all do.”
I stopped playing and reached across my chest to catch his hand in mine. “He loves her very much.”
I did not relish the thought of telling Ember to go back out while Patrick was out there. Not yet. There was literally no point in telling Reid to leave her side if she did go out—he’d disobey his own father in that matter. I’d seen the murder in his eyes when our anonymous foe had threatened to kill her, reminding me that I was lucky he was a trusted friend and not my enemy.
Benjamin combed through my hair with his fingers. “I’m more concerned about the brunette.” His thumb grazed the nape of my neck, relaxing me more than the rest of the massage did. “You’ve got shadows under your eyes. Have you been staying up all night again?” He sat on the stool next to me and put his arm around me. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Damn him and his sexy northern accent. I could never refuse anything he whispered into my ear. I leaned into his embrace. “I don’t want you all to fight Patrick. He’s hurt all of you enough. I just want to meet him in the street and end it right then and there.”
He pressed his warm lips to my temple. “He’s never hurt me. I’ll fight him for you.”
I smiled. “My champion. Are you ready for your first mission?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’m working out the logistics of an impromptu patrol. It’s going to be raining, so that impacts things. I didn’t want your first patrol to be in inclement weather, but I don’t think we have a choice anymore. Speaking of which,” I said as I stood, “I need to tell Captain Drummond that we’re back in business. She might have preliminary measures in mind for Hurricane Ben, even if it’s going to pass us.”
“Oh, that reminds me…if Marco makes one more joke about that stupid hurricane, I’m going to kill him.”
“Just ignore him. I’ve been doing that for seventeen years.”
Benjamin snickered and pulled his shirt on, and we went downstairs to the living room, where our new laptop sat on the side table. I’d refused to put it in my office, since my teammates respectfully didn’t enter that room without my permission, and I wanted computer access to be unhindered—and mine to be accountable. I sat down on the couch and put my feet on the table.
Marco, who was still knitting, glanced up at me. “I know that face. Are we going on a mission tonight?”
“Yes. I’ll work on the details as soon as I email Captain Drummond. I think it’ll just be Reid and me, though.”
I typed in the address for my favorite weather website in one tab and my email server in another, then began to compose a message to the captain.
/> The phone rang. Benjamin picked it up. “Hello?” We never identified ourselves on the phone. “Oh, hi, Captain. Sure, here she is.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Captain Drummond, and she sounds, uh, stressed.”
I held out my hand for the phone without looking up from the screen, though I did glance at the clock on the task bar. It was near midnight. “This should be fun. Captain Drummond. To what do I owe—”
“The storm has turned. NOAA just issued a warning about Hurricane Ben. It’s heading straight at us, and now it’s a category four. It’s gone up two categories in twelve hours—we have to assume it’ll be a five by the time it’s here.”
I caught Marco’s eye and pointed to the television, which he immediately switched on.
It was already tuned to the 24-hour news network, which was displaying an enormous circling spiral of clouds barreling down on the southeastern United States. A red bar flashed across the top of the screen, information scrolling across in large black letters. The official seal of NOAA bracketed each end of the bar. Ember tossed aside the yarn and ran out of the room.
I stood, images of hurricane devastation in other cities rushing through my mind. “How far off is it?”
“We’ve got thirty-six hours.”
“Do you need us for evacuations?”
Reid and Ember ran into the room, dressed in their sort-of uniforms: hoodies, khakis, and boots. Marco and Benjamin left, no doubt to get dressed themselves.
“If we’ve only got a day and a half, then the mayor won’t issue the order. More likely we’ll all be told to shelter in place. The interstate system hasn’t kept up with the city’s growth, so gridlock is a threat even in normal weather. If there’s flooding, and there will be, people will die in their cars.”
I swore. “Okay, I hear you. What do you need from us?”
“You’re staying in the city?”
Battlecry Page 27