Wearing the Cape 6: Team-Ups and Crossovers

by Marion G. Harmon

  And finally there were “thrill villains,” breakthroughs who just reveled in their powers. They loved to show them off and stroke their egos by pulling off supervillain capers as flamboyantly as possible. Since they tended to be egomaniacs as self-centered as spinning gyroscopes, if not a little crazy, I’d rather just give up than trust one of them.

  A second read of the tags confirmed my sinking hopes; Dante’s was full of mostly professionals or wannabe professionals, maybe three or four I’d fit into the other categories, but none of the ones I might take a chance on had the right power-sets. Where—

  “There!” Shell exclaimed gleefully in my head. A patron she hadn’t tagged since all we could see was the back of his head turned to laugh at another guy at his table, and we saw him in profile. “There’s our driver!”

  I almost spit my drink. The boy she tagged was Jamal.

  I never read a virtual tag so fast in my life. Juvenile record sealed (multiple assaults), adult conviction for marijuana possession, one charge of trafficking in stolen property (dropped).

  All that because I hadn’t been there to steer him to Sifu? Something cracked, and looking down I realized I’d crushed my shot-glass. Whiskey and tiny shards dripped from my fingers and made a mess on the table.

  Heads had turned for my oops, and Mother came back with a bar towel and new glass. “You alright, honey?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “You sure? New to your strength?” I could just see her wondering just how young I really was—forget about what my ID said.

  “No, ma’am. And I’m fine, really.”

  She laughed softly. “I’m nobody’s ma’am. Call me Mother, everyone does.”

  Hah! I grinned. “Okay, Mother. Um, that boy over there? Black, cornrowed hair?”

  “The one who shouldn’t be drinking either?”

  “Um, yeah. Could you give him a strawberry lemonade? Strawberries in it? Virgin?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “That’s pretty specific, hun.”

  “Yeah. Could you give it to him?”

  “Sure.” She finished wiping the table and went away. I watched her make the order and wait for it. Shelly nudged me. “What’s going on?”

  “I know him, back— You know.” I wasn’t going to say He’s a Young Sentinel in my own reality! Not where someone could easily be listening in with their X-power. Shelly’s eyes widened.

  “You trust him?”

  “I trust him there. Here, we’ll see.” We watched Mother deliver his drink. He looked at it, asked her something I didn’t hear over the noise of the soccer game, and looked at us as he tasted it. Dropping a bill on his table and laughing at the guys he sat with, he was sitting at our table with barely a detectable blur of super-speed motion.

  When I didn’t flinch, he grinned. My Shellys thought he was the bees’ knees, and this Jamal had it too. He set his drink down.

  “Which one of you girls thinks you’re my mother?”

  I raised a finger. “I’m pretty sure Mother thinks she’s your mother, but I bought the drink. I want to talk shop and alcohol shouldn’t be involved.”

  He looked pointedly at our bottle of Jack. “Yeah, right.”

  “I burn it off fast. Are you open for business?”

  “Do I look stupid?” He sipped his drink and I smiled. He did love his iced strawberry lemonade. “Look at you two, all clean and shiny. Are you slumming, or cops?” When Shelly actually stuck her tongue out at him I nearly put my face in my hands. Had I thought she was more mature here?

  “Shows what you know,” she snarked. “Call Calvin, ask about El.”

  Jamal looked as stunned as I about the whole tongue thing, but he found his grin, pulled out his cell, and started texting. He looked at the reply, back at Shelly.

  “Black hair, smart ass, yeah I guess that’s you. Say cheese.” He took her picture and sent it, read the next text. “You really pay that well?”

  “Well enough to get you to Disneyland, so, yeah.”

  He turned back to me. “Smarty here is your moneybag?”

  “She knows him.”

  “So what do you have in mind?”

  I shrugged like it was no big deal. “Some B&E with not much B. The package is digital, not physical. We just need a designated driver to make sure we’re home in time for dinner.”

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “And no cut of the package? Then it’s ten grand a head.” He held up his hands before Shelly could get her word in. “Hey, driving safe is worth it.” His eyes stayed on me. So who’s the crew boss here?

  I smiled to let him know that was me. “Ten grand a head. You can ride all the rides in the Magic Kingdom. In all of them.”

  “Deal. What’s your number?” It was evil, but I gave him Shelly’s. He put it in his phone and then a hand came down on my shoulder. It was a big hand, but I managed not to jump. I turned my head to follow the hand up back to its owner. Its big owner.

  I named him Harry, because he was; he had a mullet and a dark beard that hadn’t been washed in too many days. His muscles had muscles, pumped like he’d just come from the gym after curling a few hundred pounds while snacking on raw steaks and steroids. Another Ajax? Lots of Ajax and Atlas-Types didn’t look any different after their breakthrough (I was a regretful example of that), but lots more got transformed outwardly as well as inwardly—if you’re going to be strong you should look strong.

  He checked me over with the kind of eye that saw a potential toy instead of a potential threat. Not very experienced? Well, I could be his first real experience if I had to. “Do you want to lose that?” I nodded at his hand.

  He actually leered. “Be nice little girl, and you’ll enjoy it.”

  “I’m not charmed. Go away.”

  “You’re not listening.” His leer turned nasty and he squeezed, which confirmed what the virtual tag Shelly popped up said about him. And that was good, since beside me Shelly was getting to her feet; my BF was going to do something, and I couldn’t let her do that. Our little drama had caught the attention of the tables around us, and whatever she pulled out to smack him with would be a lot less generic than what I could do.

  I sighed theatrically. “Fine, I’ll enjoy it. Gimme a second.” I grabbed the bottle of Jack with my free arm and guzzled it down, dropped it back on the table. “Alcohol does it for me.” I wiped my lips, and hit him.

  He really was stupid; when his squeeze hadn’t made me shriek in agony and start begging he should have realized I was one of those, but he didn’t even try and move as I rose and pivoted around his grip to punch him into the wall behind us.

  Not through the wall; it had obviously been reinforced. He stuck in it comically, like a cartoon-character trying to exit and leave a human-shaped hole, head buried deeper than the rest of him. His bellow and the smash grabbed the attention of the rest of the bar.

  Harry didn’t seem that popular; only two guys stood up looking indignant at my refusal of his advances. Unfortunately, one was Rhino Skin, and he didn’t seem all that impressed by the way I’d turned Harry down. He cracked knuckles and more bone spurs popped out. Aha. I kept the shock off my face, but even though that changed things up I still needed to play it out. I reached for Harry; he’d make a great first missile.

  Whangggg.

  The sharp sound startled me, and Rhino Skin sank to the sticky floor. Mother stood beside him holding a baseball bat that I had to guess was made out of a piece of steel girder.

  She pointed it at the rest of the bar. “Sit down, you posers! She’s paying for the wall, Billy and Bony are paying the bar fine for starting shit, and who else wants to pay?”

  Nobody else wanted to pay. “El?” I said softly. “Bony?”

  “A Class Ovid-Type.”

  “Riiiiight.” I sat back down, scooting my chair out of the way as Mother stepped around me to yank Billy out of the wall and drag him through the tables as he protested feebly. I might have hit him a bit hard. “Pay up, El,
we’re leaving.”

  “Really? But—okay.”

  Jamal had sat there through the whole thing. “Call tonight,” I told him on my way past. Shelly threw some bills on the table and scooted after me, but didn’t say anything until we made it to the parking lot.

  “That was sick,” she exulted as soon as we were clear. “Again! Alcohol does it for you? When did that happen?”

  “It didn’t. It doesn’t.” Actually, chugging almost the entire bottle of whisky hard was hitting me a bit and I did feel a little light, but it would go away in maybe five minutes. “It was a show.”

  “It was badass is what it was. Why did you do it?”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “I’ve got a capacitor in my left arm with enough juice to drop an elephant.”

  “Oh.” That would have actually been subtler than what I’d done. Was Grimworld getting under my skin?

  “But we didn’t find another muscle for the crew!”

  “Yes we did. I’ll just have to make our pitch privately.”

  We road back to Westcamp, and as we wound our way through the different neighborhoods I realized that I was beginning to get a feel for the gradations of control. The ones closest to the Southcamp I still hadn’t seen were half-abandoned, and a lot of the people we passed on the street seemed to be “loitering with intent.” Their business was street business, and the police I could see patrolled in armored cars.

  Getting closer to Westcamp we passed fewer abandoned businesses and empty streets. People were using the streets, on foot or by car, to get somewhere. I actually saw fewer armored patrol cars, but I also spotted marked private security vehicles and even security kiosks.

  More private solutions to government breakdown?

  Westcamp itself had a two-block ring around it where I saw police, conspicuously armed citizens, and even a pair of orange-vested Westcamp Public Safety Officers. Only one or two businesses were abandoned, and the streets bustled. So maybe West Chicago as recovering.

  We put the bike back in parking, showing our passes at the Public Safety booth—the officers didn’t even blink at our “villain-rap” outfits—and got beef kebobs for lunch at a Greek food kiosk.

  And I felt a tug on my leg.

  “Hello.” Big brown almond eyes under a dark mop looked up at me. He had a firm grip on my leather bike pants.

  “Hello back. What’s your name?”

  “Jun. What’s your name?”

  “It’s—” What was my name? Jun watched me expectantly, and I had no idea how to answer him. I’d lost track.

  Peeking around my shoulder to see who I was talking to, Shelly leaned down. “It’s Susan, but you can call her Awesome Girl. Or you can call her Awesome.”

  I almost squeaked, glared at her before making myself smile. “That’s right, I’m Awesome Girl. Are you alone, Ju—” Obviously not; a harried looking Asian woman bearing down on us with an eye lock on the little guy said otherwise.

  “Jun yah!” She grabbed his hand and turned to me. “I’m sorry—”

  “It’s alright, ma’am,” I cut in hurriedly. “It’s nice to meet your son. Really.”

  “She’s Awesome Girl!”

  My blush matched Jun’s mom’s.

  “I am sorry,” she repeated. “Jun collects capes, their pictures for his wall and webpage.”

  “He already has mine,” Shelly laughed. “Piggy-back.” She gave me a look I read easily.

  “Would you like one with me, Jun? Is that alright, Mrs…”

  “Bae. And yes, thank you.”

  “Okeydokey!” I handed Shelly my kebob and when Mrs. Bae let go of Jun I snatched him, screaming laughter, into the air to lightly turn and drop him onto my shoulders. Obviously a veteran of such maneuvers, he didn’t even grab my hair. Mrs. Bae took the first picture with her phone, after which I held the little guy upside down by one leg for more pictures just for good measure. I’d have tickled him, but he was already laughing so hard I was pretty sure he’d pee himself.

  With a last loft and flip, I set him down and held onto his shoulders until he looked like he wasn’t going to fall over.

  “Thank you!”

  A beaming Mrs. Bae echoed Jun’s sentiments with more restraint, then captured his hand again to lead him away while lecturing him on touching without permission. I watched them disappear into the crowd as the knot of people who’d stopped to watch us broke up.

  We started walking again, me watching Shell out of the corner of my eye. “Jun’s webpage? Awesome Girl? You did that on purpose.”

  She shook her head, grinning. “Nope. But it’s a good thing. The pics will be up before dinner.”

  “But Awesome Girl?” That had been my teen cape-name with Shelly before. I didn’t think anyone would recognize it—it had been a private joke—but still not a good idea. Even so, dark shades, wig, generic if colorful villain-fashion, I was safely unrecognizable. (And if Jun thought I looked cape, the lines around here might be blurring a bit.)

  On our way back to Shelly’s place, I told her which muscle I’d spotted at Dante’s. She got the abstracted look that said she was doing her cyber-thing.

  “Dante said he’d pass along your message, but don’t come back to the bar. He’ll get us a contact number if there’s interest.”

  “That hardly seems fair.” I’d been banned from a supervillain hangout. Cool, but still.

  “Billy’s out, too. Dante doesn’t give a lot of second chances, and Billy was on his second. As for you, he apologized but said if you came around again there’d be a line of idiots wanting to test themselves against you.”

  “What, to fight?”

  “No, to drink. That whole bottle of Jack thing was cool, but not smart.”

  I threw back my head and laughed. I felt good. Winding my arm through Shelly’s, I tugged her along. “C’mon, let’s get off the street and out of these clothes before someone else wants to fight or take pics.”

  Back at her place Shelly “stepped out” again to devote more of herself to Vulcan stuff, leaving Galatea to act as hostess. When I asked, she set me up on Shelly’s completely-for-show personal computer (I assumed she kept the thing as both a red herring and Trojan horse for anyone who actually penetrated “El’s” physical or cyber security). I spent the next few hours web-searching the post-Pulse legal situation (it was cool to see that Legal Eagle was leading the plaintiff’s legal team in Turner v. Illinois) and the status of people like Jamal who I’d met post-Whittier Base. Then I made the mistake of looking to see what was going on with friends.

  Annabeth was dead.

  The New York Red Bulls had been playing in Kansas City, and Annabeth had flown down to cheer for Dane. He’d survived the night of the Pulse, but her plane had gone down over Kansas.

  It wasn’t possible. I felt like I was floating outside my body.

  Cold, barely breathing—breathing meant I was here and not dreaming—I did multiple searches, even found a federal post-Pulse database of the dead and missing. Everything confirmed it, and I stared at the heartbreaking memorial on her social page.

  Had she been scared? Had it been quick?

  And what had they gone through, Julie, Megan, and Dane? Oh God, Dane. Just the thought turned my heart to a lump of ice in my chest. He’d been my second young crush and never, ever, known because wonderful, beautiful Annabeth had picked him out for herself. It wasn’t that I couldn’t have worked up the courage to let him know, but I’d have never done that to Annabeth. He’d always been her Lancelot, her faithful and devoted knight. They’d been a fairy tale.

  I read everything, carefully and over again. Not because I disbelieved it anymore but because I hadn’t been there, with Dane and the rest of the Bees, to live it with them.

  “Do you need anything?”

  I blinked, tore my blind gaze from the screen. Galatea watched me with an expression as close to concern as she could manage.

  “No. No, I’m fi— I’ll be alright.” I couldn’t lie now
, not even to a gynoid robot who was sometimes possessed by my friend.

  “Your heartrate is elevated. Your breathing is irregular. You’re crying. How may I help you?”

  “You can’t. But thank you.” Standing without thinking, I threw open Shelly’s closet and found my bag. I’d carefully repacked everything, and now I dumped it all out on her bed, tore open the protective box I’d picked up for the snow globe two realities ago.

  Flakes of snow floated loose around Chicago’s skyline. Sometime between yesterday morning and today it had recharged. I could go. Now. Before I saw any more. I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t.

  “Hope, I’m sorry.”

  I looked up and Galatea’s face had changed, filled with pain and regret. Shelly was back.

  “You lied. You said everyone was alright.”

  “Yes, I did.” She dropped to the bed beside me, wrapping her arms around me as I clutched the globe in both hands. “Tell me everything I need to know about the Ascendant and I’ll finish the job. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “This place sucks.” I choked on a sobbing laugh, sniffled wetly and messily.

  “It hasn’t been much fun for me, either.” That brought more choking laughter as I cried into her hair.

  “I hate this thing.” I shifted my shaky grip on the globe, held it close in my lap. “I want to go home.”

  “Go.”

  “Can’t.” I straightened with another sniff. “You know that.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed and let me go. “I know. Not until the job’s done. You always were stubborn.”

  “Me? Right.”

  “Well, when you really knew what you wanted. Which wasn’t that often—usually you left that to me. Come on.” She took the globe and set it on my pile of stuff before pulling me up. “It’s time for the double-fudge.”

  We toasted Annabeth with clinking spoons over ice cream while I told her all about the best of the Bees.

  Then we got in our first fight. Dante reached out to Cypher and let her know that the muscle we were interested in was interested back, and gave us a time and a place. I insisted on going alone to minimize exposure, and Shelly didn’t think being my virtual wingman would be enough.