One More Day

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  “Yeah. But you stepped up,” he said, watching me.

  “Well. I’m not a superhero,” I said with a smile, and he shook his head. “Keep me updated on anything you find, okay?”

  “I will.” He paused, then kind of ducked his head, like he was embarrassed or something.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I kept watching him, and he finally shook his head and laughed. “Fine. I was wondering if I’ve done something to piss Jenson off.”

  “Jenson?”

  “I can’t get her to talk to me lately, like, at all. And I’ve tried.”

  I studied him. “Jenson isn’t the most talkative person in the world. Unless she’s telling my ass off about something.”

  “Yeah, I know. But we’ve gotten pretty close in the past few years and we’re usually great. But lately she seems to actively avoid me.”

  “And are you actively not avoiding her?” I asked with a grin.”So cute.”

  “I’m trying.”

  I laughed.

  “She doesn’t realize it, does she?” he asked.

  “No. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t,” I said.

  “Good.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s a good friend. We work really well together. We pretty much know what the other one is gong to say before it’s said. I don’t want to lose that, and she’s not looking for a relationship. She steers clear of that kind of thing.”

  I nodded, remembering Jenson telling me pretty much the same thing. I patted his hand. “Well, it’s too bad, really. I think you two would be ridiculously dorky and adorable together.”

  “Thanks. I think.” He stood up and went to the door, and I followed him. “We’ll get this all worked out. It’ll be fine,” he told me.

  I nodded. “About Jenson… get her involved in helping you with those files. She loves that kind of stuff, and maybe if you’re working on something together, she’ll open up a little. Or not. She’s not the most open person.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for the tip. And for not saying anything.”

  “Sure.”

  I got up and started to leave. “If you’re able to crack any more of those files, let me know.”

  “Not if. When,” he said.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, grinning at him.

  “You should get some sleep. You look exhausted,” he said, and I nodded. We walked out of the training room and I headed up to my suite. I did get into bed, but then I ended up thinking, unable to turn my mind off, thinking about all of the crap Connor had told me the night before. I got back up, kicking off my covers, and grabbed my laptop from the living room.

  I crawled back into bed and did a search for “Raider.”

  A lot of what I found was the current Raider, of course. She was vicious, vindictive, and, from the articles I read and what I’d already heard about her, she got a kick out of causing pain. Of scaring her prey, of messing with them the way a cat toys with a mouse.

  I tried not to spend too much time wondering how it was that Connor had been married to someone like that. People change.

  Right.

  After a while, I found older articles about the original Raider. Newspaper articles, blog posts. Official dispatches from law enforcement. The first newspaper article had a full color photograph of Raider… Connor. The uniform was similar to the one the current Raider wore, midnight black with slashes of blood red across the arms and torso, a black mask that left the mouth and chin exposed. Two long, deadly-looking swords were sheathed at his hips, blades glinting in the glow of a nearby street lamp. In the photograph, Connor as Raider stood over a body, the line of his mouth grim, angry, fists clenched like he was hoping the guy would get up so he could hurt him again. I looked for the caption.

  The super villain known as Raider moments after killing London’s Marvel, who was the leader of the city’s superhero team, Legion.

  I felt sick to my stomach. I clasped my shaking hands in my lap and stared at the caption. “Damn it, Connor,” I whispered. I sorted through more articles. Lots of articles about how hated Raider and his team were, about how they’d singlehandedly destroyed entire neighborhoods in parts of England, Ireland, and Scotland. After a while, I set my laptop down on the bed, rested my elbows on my knees, and stared at the screen without seeing it.

  How did I reconcile this? How did I put this sadistic super villain together with the man who watched over my mother when I couldn’t, who sent me ugly socks and pestered Jenson, politely, until she let him see me when I was in the hospital? Someone who could cause that kind of damage with the man who kissed me in a way that made me feel like I was flying without ever leaving the ground?

  I stared at the photo of him as Raider. To believe it was possible, I had to believe that people could change. I didn’t know if I had it in me to believe that. I’ve certainly never seen anyone change that much, especially not over the course of just a few years. And his demeanor the previous night hadn’t exactly made me feel much better about it.

  This. This right here is why I’ve been single for so long.

  I sat there for a while longer, until I heard someone knocking on my door. I got up and looked out to see Jenson in the corridor, and I opened up.

  “You look exhausted,” Jenson said in greeting.

  “I am. Lot of crap on my mind.”

  She sat down and I sat on the couch next to her. She was still in her full uniform, which meant she’d probably just gotten back from a patrol shift. “How’d it go?” I asked her.

  “We had a Daemon sighting.” Daemon was one of Dr. Death’s teammates. Another of the several villains who just kept slipping away from us. “Amy actually did a good job trying to capture him, but he got whisked away by their teleporter again.”

  “I hate that,” I muttered, and she nodded.

  “What’s bugging you? Why so tired?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Bad dreams. Stuff on my mind.” Killjoy, mainly, but I didn’t feel like talking about that, like telling Jenson, who had her shit together more than anyone I’d ever known, that I’d gotten myself involved with a former super villain and I was still trying to figure out how okay I was with that. Then I remembered Connor’s advice. “Do we have anyone who can teach me some wrestling holds?”

  “Yeah. Your partner. He has training in all of that stuff.”

  I wanted to laugh. Of course. Considering he already had a bug up his ass about how much time I was spending with Caine, Connor would just love hearing that I’d be spending even more time with him now.

  “Thanks. I’ll ask him.”

  I just ran into Beta,” Jenson said. “He asked me to tell you that he went back to his lab after you two talked earlier and he thinks he made some progress on a couple of Alpha’s files.”

  “Seriously? We should go check it out.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Now. The sooner we get some questions answered, the sooner we can get Alpha, Nightbane, and Crystal moved to international confinement.”

  We headed down to the second floor, which was where David’s lab was. When he wasn’t officially on duty, he could almost always be found there, and he’d been responsible for working on some of our newer tech, as well as security stuff. Jenson and I walked into the lab and found David in his usual place, head bent over his keyboard as he tapped away. He looked up when he heard the door whoosh open.

  “Hey, Jolene,” he said, sitting up. He transferred his gaze to Jenson. “Hey Jenson,” he added, his tone changing a little. I was pretty sure he was blushing and it was kind of ridiculously cute.

  “Hey. How’s it going?” I asked as I hid a smile, and Jenson gave him a small nod.

  “Okay. I think I’m making some headway on those encrypted files.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Look at this,” he said, waving us over. Jenson and I went next to where he was sitting and I bent down so I could see the monitor he was pointing out. “This was the first file I was able
to crack.”

  I started reading. “It’s an email or something.”

  “Yeah. Keep reading.”

  I glanced at him. The tension in his voice sent a trickle of fear down my spine. I looked back at the monitor. A lot of it was bullshit about weather and vacation spots and stuff, and then, toward the end of the document, there was a short paragraph: “Regarding your inquiry about the possibility of sharing samples and information, I must admit that I’m intrigued. Especially at the price you offered. As you know, I have many exceptional samples at my disposal, collected for much the reasons you stated. At this time, I will have to decline, as I believe my assets are worth a bit more than even your generous offer. I’m sure you understand. However, I would be willing to consider it for an increased offer. We can continue these discussions when I return from Paris. Cordially, Michael A. Fendrath.”

  “Michael is Alpha?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Samples. So someone was offering him what I guess was a lot of money for samples of something. Any idea what?”

  He clicked, opening another document. “This was the next one. Looks like an inventory. See what you think, and I’m going to hope it’s different from what I think.”

  I bent down again, and he stood and offered me his chair. “Thanks,” I murmured as I looked at the screen and Jenson crouched next to me to read. David stood just behind me as I started reading.

  It was a spreadsheet. In one column, there was a list of things:

  Self-Replication

  Invisibility

  Super Strength

  Super Speed

  Contact Toxicity

  Heightened Senses

  Flight

  Alter Outcomes

  Teleportation

  In the next column, a list of amounts, corresponding to the items in the first column. Numbers in the millions. And in the final column, it looked like some kind of ranking, from one to five.

  “Powers of the original StrikeForce members,” I murmured, matching up the power with the hero. “My guess is the second column is a dollar amount. And if I’d known y’all were worth this much, I’d have sold you myself,” I said, and Jenson shook her head. “I think the final column is some kind of ranking, but it doesn’t say of what.” I turned and looked at David. “Is that what you were thinking?”

  He nodded, then looked up at the ceiling.

  “Did he… so he was talking about samples in the first file. Did he mean, like you guys in particular? Or do you think he meant like blood or DNA samples? Did he even have anything like that?”

  And then I remembered. He did. He had DNA. Because one of the very first things I’d had to do was submit to a mouth swab when they’d forced me to join.

  “He took blood from us, too,” Jenson said. “In the med wing. He had us give blood, he said, to bank it for if we ever lost too much and needed a transfusion.”

  “They never took mine,” I said.

  David nodded. “I was able to dig into the metadata. This list was written before you were on the team. These are all individual powers. You have a bunch of them. And I think the dollar figure beside your powers would have been significantly higher, based on what they were talking about for these,” he said, nodding toward the screen.

  I closed my eyes. “I think it’s probably too much to hope that his contact was someone working for the good guys.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any idea who it was yet?” I asked, opening my eyes to look at him.

  “Not yet. But I’m not resting until I crack the rest of this mess.”

  Jenson and I stayed and chatted with David for a couple of minutes, and then we started back up toward my suite. We were just getting off the elevator when Portia came on my comm.

  “Daystar?”

  “Yep. What’s up, Portia?” I asked.

  “We have a Dr. Death sighting near Midtown. Do you want it?”

  “Hell yeah,” I said, quickening my pace. Jenson did the same.

  “Figured so. We’ll meet you in the meeting room.”

  “Copy,” I said. I dashed back to my room to change into my uniform, and then we made our way through the corridors, up the stairwell to the floor where the team meting room was. When we got to the room with its sleek black table, walls of glass, and arrays of monitors, Portia, Amy, Monica, Dani, and Toxxin were already there.

  “What, we’re all going?”

  “If it’s him, we’re gonna make sure we get the bastard,” Monica said from where she was perched on the table beside Dani. “Caine and Beta are staying here.”

  “I want another crack at him, without a doubt,” Toxxin said, and I nodded.

  “Let’s go then,” Portia said. The next second, we were standing behind one of the parking lots near the Detroit Institute of Arts. The museum was lit up, white limestone glowing in the night. Across the street was the main branch of the Detroit Public Library, more limestone.

  “We’ve got a report of an alarm in the art museum,” Beta said over our comms. When Jenson wasn’t on, watching and directing from Command, it was usually Beta. David. I would eventually get used to using my teammates’ actual names. “I’m looking at the security feed now. We got Dr. Death and Daemon near the Kresge Court.”

  “Try not to break any art,” Jenson muttered to me as we moved, running, keeping to the shadows toward the nearest entrance.

  “I’ve alerted the security guards that you’re on your way,” Beta said.

  “Thank you,” Portia told him. I glanced around at our group. Portia was the tallest of us, wearing a half mask, a gray arrow insignia on her chest. Amy, who’d decided to go with the code name “Steel,” had already turned to metal, which I thought was the single most awesome power any of us had, because she looked freaking deadly. Monica, AKA “Swoon,” had a wavy line as her insignia, representing her telekinetic powers. Dani’s red hair flowed from beneath her cowl, and she had a shard of broken glass as her insignia. Screamer. They were silent, serious, and I was surprised to find that I was glad they were with me.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  “Try not to break anything,” David said over our comms.

  “We know, man,” Monica said.

  “I was mostly talking to Jolene,” he said.

  “Seriously. Why do you all assume I’m just gonna break shit?”

  Jenson cleared her throat, smothering a laugh, and I rolled my eyes. Portia tried the door.

  “Still locked.”

  I stepped forward and gave the handle a hard pull, and the door swung open. “Not anymore,” I said, and we walked in. We were in a lobby area, and there was a short staircase straight ahead.

  “Knights and armor is in that gallery,” Jenson said quietly. “Rivera Court is just past that.” We nodded, and Portia and I exchanged a glance.

  “I’ll do my thing,” I said.

  “You do that,” Portia said with a slight smile. I rose into the air and flew through the museum, past the large, open gallery that held glass cases full of medieval armor and weapons, though to be honest, if the situation had been different, I would have stayed in there longer. Seeing the elaborate coffered ceiling up close was the kind of thing I was grateful to my powers for. I could see things other people never got to see, not the way I could.

  Another day, maybe. I swooped toward the Rivera Court.

  “Jolene, security updated us. They’re in the Egyptian gallery upstairs now. Third floor. Death is messing with one of the sarcophagi in there.”

  “Ew. Meet me there,” I said.

  “Copy.”

  It was easy to find my way up once I figured out where the staircases were. I took it up, flying just above the floor, since I could fly so much faster than I could walk or run.

  “Are they still there?” I asked, pressing my comm.

  “Yeah. We’re on two now.”

  “Move your asses unless you want me to have all the fun,” I said. I picked up speed. I could see the Egyptian gallery st
raight ahead of me now, statues of scribes, pharaohs, and, in the smaller gallery beyond, mummy cases. I could hear something scraping, low voices.

  “Hold that,” I heard a male voice say, and then I burst into the gallery, through the wide doorway. Daemon and Dr. Death were there, Daemon holding some kind of stone sculpture in his hands, looking bored, which, on my limited contact with him, was how he usually looked. Death was rummaging through the nearby display case, and he picked something up. They both seemed to notice that I was there at the same time, and I made my move. Of the two, as far as I knew, Daemon was the more powerful, so I plowed into him, knocking him into the side of a large stone sarcophagus that sat in the center of the room. His head hit it with a hard thunk and he went limp. I tossed him to the floor and took a step toward Dr. Death, who clutched one of those jars that the Egyptians kept body parts in when they mummified people. I couldn’t remember the word for it, I just knew it was gross as fuck and the dude had issues if he went through all this trouble to get some kidneys or whatever the hell was in there.

  “Stop right there,” Dr. Death said, and I smiled. I took another step toward him. I tried to look like I was focusing completely on him. And I was, but I was also trying to keep a look out for his little blond transporter. She always seemed to get them out of trouble at the last moment.

  “We’re here,” Jenson said in my ear. “Just outside.”

  “Well, at least I didn’t find you doing something really inappropriate with the bodies,” I said to Dr. Death, and he sneered at me. If he wasn’t a psychotic super villain, I guess he could have been considered handsome. He wore a dark suit, black shirt and tie. A fedora pulled low over his dark eyes. Olive complexion, wavy hair peeking from beneath the brim of his hat. Not extremely tall, but muscular looking. He was probably in his late forties, and had that distinguished gentleman look going for him.

  Except for the mummified body parts he was holding, of course.

  “What are you going to do with that?” I asked him, taking another step.

  “This!” he shouted, and threw the jar at me. I dodged it, and the distraction gave him just enough time to bolt for the next gallery.