by Liana Brooks
When he’d originally joined The Company, he’d been a distrustful teen who was unwilling to give them too much power over him. Eighteen years of other people picking everything from his name to the food he ate to the clothes he wore had left a mark. He liked the freedom of adulthood, and The Company’s standard contract was too restrictive for his liking.
The dead drop had been the compromise. A Company operative left him messages that he’d read and leave untouched in the forgotten space between boarded up buildings. There’d been a dearth of communication since the death of the Wooden Wonder, but last night there’d been a message.
Two women stood under a broken street lamp, one rather elderly with an uptown style and primly pinned gray hair. The other wore a leather catsuit with a slash of red that matched her matte lipstick. Katrina, The Company boss, and the superhero Lead Feather who often acted as Katrina’s bodyguard. The Wooden Wonder had once said Lead Feather could kill with a touch, turn people to stone, and stop superpowers from working. That was probably office gossip, but he made a point of avoiding her all the same.
“Katrina.” He stayed a shadow, hovering in the darkness out of reach of human touch.
She turned to face him with a scowl. “The Spirit of Chicago? You’re exactly how I imagined you.”
Lead Feather’s fingers flexed in black gloves. “I expected more.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Alan lied smoothly. “How may I be of service this evening?”
Katrina glanced at Lead Feather, a sidelong expression she probably didn’t intend him to see. “We need to know the city is safe.”
“As safe as I can make it.”
“And you know of no other mutants here? No rogues or villains?” Katrina asked.
“I’ve encountered none on my patrols.”
“Very good. If you find one, trap them and hold them until we come. The Company has lost too many operatives in recent years. We’re to the point where we have to offer even rogues a second chance of safety with us.”
“Are fewer mutants being born?” Alan asked.
Again Katrina shared a look with Lead Feather. “We believe so. Super powered humans can’t breed. Every experiment and attempt to provide us with another generation has failed. I fear the time will come when you are alone, Spirit of Chicago. The only one who remembers us and our noble purpose.”
He and all of Delilah’s family, if he’d understood Delilah correctly. “There are rumors of others—”
“We know,” Lead Feather cut him off with a snap. “That’s why we’re here.”
Katrina held up her hand for silence. “We’re aware of the Russians.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, but Alan didn’t correct her. Better to leave Delilah’s family out of this, though he suspected that if they were anything like Delilah they could take care of themselves. “You want me to follow them?” he guessed. The only Russians in Chicago were not super-anything that he was aware of, but if The Company knew something different, he wanted some skin in the game.
“No,” Katrina said. “Tomorrow night you’ll come with, unofficially. Once we have the location, I’ll place it in the dead drop.”
“You can’t fight,” Lead Feather said in a bored voice. “You can’t open doors or repel bullets, but you may be useful in other ways.”
“Agreed,” he said. “What are we meeting the Russians about?”
“They are rumored to have a black market toxin that is fatal to even our fastest healers,” Katrina said, but the way her eyes darted away told him it was a lie. “We need you to watch them. Possibly follow them back to their hide out.”
Warning bells sounded in his mind, a sixth sense that something wasn’t quite right. “If you wish. I will be as silent as a... ghost.” That was almost the truth. Ghosts were known for rattling around, moaning, and generally causing a raucous when no one wanted them to, and that’s exactly what he had in mind.
Fading out of their sight, Alan watched. Curiosity and dead cats and all. There was no logical reason for them not to have an extra person with them unless they were trying to limit witnesses.
“Do you think—” Lead Feather began.
Katrina waved her hand for silence again. “Not here.”
They walked nearly a mile of city streets before getting into a plain black four-door sedan. Alan ghosted into the darkness behind the seats, a pool of shadow hidden from sight.
“Do you think the ghost will listen to you?”
“He’s not a ghost and I doubt he’ll listen entirely, but he’s been reasonably good at following directions before,” Katrina said as she started the car.
Lead Feather buckled her seatbelt with more force than necessary. “You should have let me take him out. Any super being not under our control is a threat to our existence.”
“No,” Katrina said. “The ghost is expendable enough, but not yet.”
“Do you think Locke will try to recruit him?”
“She’s taken others like him. Amber Gris in Maine? That had the thief’s fingerprints all over it. And the one in New York last year, the school teacher.”
“Rage?” Lead Feather asked. “She only escaped for a few months.”
“Long enough to put our operation in jeopardy. We lost Arktos trying to bring her in.”
Lead Feather snorted. “He’s not lost.”
“He’s useless if he can’t fight or fly.”
The superhero snorted in disagreement. “If you thought he was useless, he’d be six-feet under by now.”
“He’s momentarily useless,” Katrina said. “Once we have the Grecian formula we’ll be able to bring Arktos back to the fold, and make ten more like him if we want.”
Alan slid out of the car; he’d heard enough. He’d always harbored a suspicion that The Company wasn’t exactly on the side of angels; this was the confirmation he’d been waiting for. The seller with the Grecian formula was more of a concern. There wasn’t an outfit in Chicago that wouldn’t like a super powered freak on their pay roll. If he didn’t get the drug off the market, Chicago was going to be Ground Zero for World War III.
Brooding, he walked down the dark and empty street to the train station, his body reformed around him. His phone rang. “This is Adale.”
“Mayor Adale, this is Chasten Huntley from the office. I was Mayor Arámbula’s social secretary,” he added in case Alan had forgotten the hyper young man rushing around the office like a fruit fly on a bad dose of meth.
Alan sigh with resignation. “I thought you headed home at five.”
“Well, I was, but I came back because I... ah... forgot something and then Mister Kalydon called.”
“Kalydon?” Alan searched his memory for the name. “He’s an older gentleman, isn’t he? Not a native.”
“That’s him,” Huntley said. “He’s a major player in the financial sector of Chicago. You probably didn’t meet him as an alderman, he’s a bit of a recluse, but he’s decided to make some time for you.”
“How generous of him.” Alan rolled his eyes.
“Great, then I’ll tell him you’ll stop by the club for dinner at eight.”
Alan stopped walking and stared at his phone. It was already after six. Factoring in time for dinner, he had less than five hours before he needed to leave for the meet site. “Listen,” he said, resuming the conversation. “Tonight isn’t going to work for me. Tell Kalydon I appreciate his invitation, but I can’t accept. If he’s upset, remind him I’m only the temporary mayor. After the voting in January, if I’m elected, I’d be happy to meet him.”
“Mister Kalydon is very influential,” Chasten wheedled. “I’m sure he could be of great use to the mayor’s campaign.”
Alan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to forget you said that. Any meaning would be unethical. I’m not in the business of buying votes.”
“S-sorry, sir. Would you, um, be willing to stop by the office again tonight? If you can’t meet him for dinner, Mister Kalydon could stop
here. Or meet you at your home.”
The last thing Alan wanted was a stranger in his apartment. “I’m a couple blocks from the office. If Kalydon can be there in the next twenty minutes, I can meet with him.”
“He’ll be here, sir. I’ll see to it personally.”
Alan checked his phone, then turned it off. Kalydon... Kalydon... The name bounced around his head as he walked through the slush to the nearest pedway entrance. Chicago’s underground passages, once used for bootlegging, were now the warmest way to move around during the winter. He jogged down the cement stairs to the crowded underground.
An Apple billboard toting the latest in home computer equipment caught his eye. Ah ha. Kalydon was the man who lived at 77 Wacker where Delilah had been scouting, the man Arámbula had gone to meet the night he died.
Alan walked into his empty office twenty minutes later. Everyone was gone for the night except for Chasten Huntley, who was hovering out in the foyer in anticipation of their guest. He’d made a mental note to check into Huntley’s background when he had some free time. The boy was way too eager to please, and inferiority complexes were a liability in politics.
Chasten knocked on the doorframe. “In here, sir.”
An elderly man followed him into to Alan’s Spartan office. Kalydon was an octogenarian who looked a breath away from natural mummification. Wisps of white hair brushed across his liver-spotted scalp. The tatty suit he wore was several decades out of style and sewn for a younger, more muscular, man. He wore rings, thick bands of gold and silver, but nothing else. No glasses, no cane, even though his stride was uneven. His eyes were filled with burning hatred.
“Mr. Kalydon,” Alan said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Kalydon sat and lifted his chin. “You’re a liar. A pretty liar, but still a liar.” Chasten stationed himself behind Kalydon, broadcasting his loyalties loudly for those who cared to notice.
Alan nodded. “Right. It’s good to know where we all stand. Why are you here, Mr. Kalydon?”
“To see matters settled. I’m moving to Chicago, and I was working with Arámbula to make sure my needs are met.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Why do you need the mayor for this?”
Kalydon creaked as he leaned forward. “I have more money than God. I can make you. I can break you. Give me what I want, and we’ll be friends.”
Alan shook his head. “I’m sorry, what are you looking for? Tax breaks? A license to kill? Introductions to a golf club? I’m very sorry that Arámbula misled you, but that’s not what mayors do.”
“You can get the superheroes out of my way,” Kalydon said. “That’ll be enough.”
Alan hid his thrill of nerves with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think Chicago has superheroes.”
Kalydon sneered at him. “That’s what book learning does for you. Makes you think you’re smart when you’re stupid as a pig. There’s at least two in the city right now, maybe more. Monday morning I want you to draft some papers kicking ‘em out of the city.”
Alan raised an eyebrow. “I’m not Hitler. I won’t pin the proverbial Star of David on anyone so you can be happier. And I certainly won’t knock on doors to ask people if they’re mutant freaks. As long as they’re living the laws of the land, I don’t care what they do.”
“So change the laws,” Kalydon said. “Or watch your back. Your choice.” He stood up with Chasten’s help. “I expect you’ll see reason soon enough. If not?” He shrugged. “Politicians are cheap in Chicago.”
Chapter Twelve
Delilah,
I’m not going to make it up to surprise Blessing for Christmas like we talked about. There’s a mission I need to run. Something last minute. I’m sorry. Tell Blessing I’m sorry. She’ll understand. I’ll be home by New Years.
Blessing’s gift is being mailed to you. Please make sure she gets it on Christmas. Tell her I love her.
Respectfully yours,
MJR Noah Cobb
5 SFG(A), 2nd Battalion
Fort William Henry Harrison, MO
Office: (408) 555-2152
Alan stood in the cold, staring at the light shining through his apartment window as snow flurries fell around him. Getting shot had been a very bad idea. Getting shot again because an assassin was waiting in his living room sounded even worse. Two press conferences in twenty-four hours was something that should be banned by the Geneva Convention. And keeping Chasten Huntley on staff was definitely against the eighth amendment. First thing tomorrow he and Chasten were going to have a little chat about acceptable political behavior, and then Chasten could check out with HR and go find a new job. Preferably a long way from Chicago.
But that was a problem for tomorrow.
Frowning, Alan typed in the passcode to get into his building and took the private elevator to the seventh floor. All three of his neighbors were the married-to-work types who saw apartments like this as a place to sleep when in town and nothing more. Alan felt he fit right in.
He unlocked the door and waited for the sound of movement. The light stayed on. Alan pushed the door open and the scent of Chinese food wafted out into the hall.
Delilah sat on the couch reading, legs curled up, high heels lying neglected by the front door. It hurt. The pain of wanting was staggering. How many times had he dreamed of this? Of coming home to something other than a cold, empty house?
Delilah glanced up, smile warm and engaging. “Are you all right?”
No. “Yes.”
“You look a little pale.”
“Long day at the office.” He couldn’t seem to convince his feet to move. Everything he wanted was just across the threshold and he couldn’t take that step. Delilah stood up, long limbs stretching like a ballerina ready to dance. The way her hips moved as she walked toward him was mesmerizing. Every curve begged to be touched. Caressed. And oh, how he wanted to reach out and hold her. But he couldn’t.
She stopped in front of him. “Alan? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“No worse than I was.” She took his hand in hers, and the warmth broke the spell. He shook his head. “Sorry. Tired.”
“Shock,” she said with the authority of one who had seen it before. Delilah tugged at his arm and brought him inside. “Let’s sit down and eat.”
Alan took his coat off and tried to reorder his thoughts. She wasn’t doing this on purpose, he was certain of that. At least, ninety-five percent certain. He’d been on the receiving end of seduction before and it usually involved less clothing on the part of the seducer. One girl had gone as far as to wait for him in his dorm room wearing nothing but a bright blue thong. Delilah was still dressed in her suit from the office.
“Alan?” She laid the plates on the table with efficient ease. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re shaking.” She came to him, hands brushing his arms. “Are you cold? Sick?” Concern and fear filled her dark eyes. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” He stepped away, retreating to the familiar comfort of his overstuffed couch. “It’s... silliness. I’ll tell you after dinner.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow. “It’s really hard to partner with someone, or guard them, if they’re keeping secrets. I find it particularly annoying.” The muscles around her eyes tightened with anger.
He sighed in defeat. “It’s been a bad day and to come home to this...” The words trailed off as he choked on the rest.
She sat down across from him. “I didn’t think I’d scare you. I didn’t even think about how shocking it must be to get shot like that. I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.” She shook her head in disgust. “You weren’t here at eight and I didn’t want to sit on the landing while the food grew cold.”
“It’s not that.” He licked his lips as he tried to think of a way to explain. “I’m not good with emotions I guess. It’s getting shot, the press conference, Arámbula’s viewing, police reports, there was a lot of emotional stress today. Other things. I came h
ome on the defensive. And then you were just here. Sitting here.”
“I’m so sorry.” Delilah stood up and slipped on her shoes. “Try to eat, please? And I’ll, um, send you a text or something if I hear anything about our mutual friend.”
Alan spun around in confusion. “What? Where are you going?”
Delilah stood frozen by the hall closet, coat in hand. “Home?”
“I thought we were going to eat dinner together. Catch up. Talk.”
“Not when you’re already stressed out.” She pulled her coat over. With a sweet smile she walked over and kissed him on the forehead, a virgin-saint blessing the sick. “It’s not a big deal. This can wait until you recover.”
“I’m not stressed!” Alan protested.
“Then what’s wrong?”
He sat back, staring at the curtain-covered windows. “I was happy.”
Silence filled the room with an unwelcome chill.
“I’ve never had someone waiting for me. Never had someone care if I was sick, or late, or dead.” Old pain stabbed at his heart. “I’ve never come home to a hot dinner before.”
“Well, it’s not like it’s home cooked or anything,” Delilah said with the brittle laugh of someone desperately trying to escape the deep end of the emotional spectrum.
He nodded, still refusing to turn around. A hot meal made him tear up? Very manly. Very romantic. He sighed and waited for the door to creak open as Delilah left.
Her coat flopped over the back of the couch beside him.
“That wasn’t a guilt trip,” he muttered, vaguely ashamed. “I wasn’t trying to make you stay.”
“I was going to leave because I thought you needed space.” She sat down beside him.
“And now?”
“Now I think you need someone here. To be a friend, if nothing else.”
He glanced sideways at her. “What if I wanted more than a friend?”
Her smile turned seductive. “Hmmm.” Delilah leaned toward him, hand resting suggestively on his knee. “I’m sure that could be a topic of discussion.” Her lips were a breath away from his. “I do have a weakness for brainy blonds.”