Malefica strolled over to the liquor cabinet. She plucked some crystal glasses and a bottle of amber-colored liquid out of the dark depths.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No,” I said, even though my throat was as dry as a sandbox.
“Are you sure? It’s Brighton’s Best.”
I recognized the reference from my months on the society beat. Malefica was holding a fifteen-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch. “No. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Pity.”
Malefica poured a couple of fingers’ worth into a crystal tumbler. Frost and Scorpion settled themselves on the love seat.
My inner voice whispered. Suddenly, I knew that Malefica and her companions weren’t going to kill me. Not tonight. They’d gone to too much trouble to bring me here when they could have murdered me on the sidewalk. They wanted something from me. More cold dread filled my stomach. But what could it be?
Malefica reclined in the leather chair behind the desk. She took a long pull on her drink then set it aside. Unless I missed my guess, the glass was a Hilustar tumbler. The crystal cups went for five thousand bucks a pop, making them a pricey way to quench your thirst. Then again, it would be terribly gauche to drink fifteen-thousand-dollar Scotch from a plastic cup.
“The reason you’re not dead by now is that my associates and I have a job for you.” Malefica’s voice reminded me of a purring, pleased cat. I hated cats.
My instincts had been right once again. Maybe I would live through this yet. “A job? What sort of job?”
“A very special job, one that only you can do.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Malefica tapped her long, scarlet nails together. “We want you to uncover the identity of Striker, the leader of the Fearless Five.”
Laughter bubbled up inside me like fizzy champagne. I tried to stop it, as it wasn’t very polite or good for your health to guffaw at an ubervillain when she was trying to cow you into doing her bidding. But the cork popped, and it spewed out anyway. I laughed.
And laughed...
And laughed…
And laughed some more.
Malefica pressed her scarlet lips into a thin, hard line. Her green eyes narrowed.
“I’m sorry. But you’re kidding, right?” I wiped away my tears of hysterical mirth.
“She’s quite serious,” Frost said in a, well, frosty sort of voice.
“You unmasked Tornado. What could be so hard about Striker?” Scorpion growled. He cracked a few of his massive knuckles. The sounds echoed through the room like gunshots. “He’s not really so tough once you beat on him a little.”
I stared at the mountain of a man. “Tornado was sloppy; he made a mistake. Striker doesn’t make mistakes. The guy’s a ghost. I researched him for months and months and found nothing. No habits, no hobbies, no girlfriends or boyfriends, no widowed aunts who need rescuing over and over again. He’s untraceable.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to find a way to track him down,” Malefica said. “Or else.”
I rolled my eyes. Ubervillains. Always so dramatic. My inner voice snickered, and a little bit of my courage returned. “Or else what? You’ll kill me until I’m dead, dead, dead? Sorry, you’ll have to be more creative. I’ve heard that one before.”
Malefica smiled. Chills zipped down my spine.
“Ah. Smart girl. I knew you’d ask. Let’s go for a walk.”
Malefica led the way to a large platform that overlooked another series of huge, metal vats. A bank of computers winked at one end of the room. Four large, glass tubes with wires and electrodes attached to them crouched next to the electronic equipment. Blue and green and red liquid dripped and bubbled and gurgled in beakers on top of a workbench. All sorts of odd-shaped gadgets and doodads and gewgaws covered another table. It was Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory come to life. What the hell was the Triad up to?
Malefica pointed to the vats below us. “See those? Frost has concocted a special sort of...what did you so scientifically call it?”
“Radioactive, ice-cold goo,” Frost said. “Actually, it’s called freezeterium, a special chemical that produces some rather interesting effects in clinical trials.”
Malefica waved her hand. “You know how your scientific blathering bores me. Let’s move on.”
We walked down a flight of stairs. A row of cages sat on the floor next to the bottom of the vats. Animals stirred at the crunch of our shoes on the icy floor.
“Go ahead,” Malefica said. “Get a good look.”
I crept up to the first cage. A large wolf crouched inside. I edged closer. The creature rose to its feet, and I realized it was twice the size of a normal wolf, almost big enough to be a mythological Fenrir wolf. It turned around, and I gasped. It was a wolf and yet not a wolf.
It had probably been a wolf at some time in its life, but the creature was now a thing of nightmares. Long, jagged tusks jutted out from its enormous mouth. Ice-blue eyes the size of saucers stared at me. The creature yawned, revealing a long, black tongue and row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, teeth that could rip a man to shreds in an instant. My gaze traveled downward. The creature’s fur was the color of new snow, but huge, ugly, black talons curved out from its paws.
“Keep going,” Malefica ordered.
I swallowed a mouthful of bile. Sweat froze on my forehead. I tiptoed down the row of cages. Nightmare after nightmare greeted me from behind the metal bars.
“What are these things?”
“Wolves, mostly. A few foxes, the odd squirrel or two. The bears all died,” Frost replied in a cold, clinical voice. “The creatures have all been given varying doses of freezeterium, with a variety of outcomes, as you can see.”
At the sound of Frost’s voice, the animals leapt forward. They snarled and clawed at the bars on their cages. I leapt back. The animals’ rage, their absolute hatred for Frost, and their shame at being transformed into such monstrosities hit me like an ice-cold wave. My stomach flipped.
“See how my pets love me?” he cooed.
“What are you trying to do?” I whispered.
“I’m seeing what effect freezeterium has upon various animals before I begin conducting human trials.”
“Human trials? Why?”
Frost gave me patronizing look. “It’s what I do.”
“Frost fancies himself a scientist. He wants to create his own little army of snow-bunny soldiers,” Malefica explained.
“I am a scientist,” Frost sniffed. “It’s not my fault the academic community refuses to acknowledge my brilliance.”
Malefica put a hand around my shoulder and led me away from the cages. I shuddered at her touch. Her perfume worked its way up my nose and down my throat. It was a sweet, cloying scent that made me want to retch.
The ubervillain steered me back up the stairs to the glass tubes and computers. I’d always known the Triad was the worst of the worst, but the depths of their depravity stunned me. Experimenting on helpless animals, planning to do the same to humans. Hot, sour vomit rose in my throat. Somehow, I forced it down. I would get through this. I would. Then, I would find a way to stop these vile people.
Yeah, right. As if I had a chance against three of the world’s most powerful ubervillains. Right now, I would settle for just getting out of this alive.
“So you see, our proposition is really quite simple,” Malefica purred in a pleased tone. “You will discover Striker’s identity, or else Frost will drop you into the radioactive goo until you come out looking like one of his little pets. Only worse, I imagine. After all, his project is still in the experimental stages.”
“I see.” I forced the words out from my stiff, frozen lips. “Why me?”
“Because you have the best success rate. You’ve unmasked thirteen heroes and villains in a little over three years. Nobody else has even come close to that number. You seem to have a gift for it. Maybe that’s your superpower.” Malefica laughed at her bad joke. Her peal
s of merriment rang like a dirge for the dead in my head.
“You have one month from tomorrow. When the month is up, go to Laurel Park in Bigtime. There’s a bench at the far edge of the park next to a wooden swing set. Be there at midnight. Do you know where that is?”
I knew the park well. It was one of my favorite places to go for a walk. “Yes.”
“Good. Then our business is concluded.” Malefica’s green eyes grew dark and sinister. “One more thing. Should you discover Striker’s identity before the month is out, don’t even think about going to him—or any other superhero—for help. They can’t protect you from us. I imagine they would turn you down anyway, as much trouble as you’ve caused them.”
She was right. No superhero in his right mind would have anything to do with me, unless the fate of the world was at stake. I didn’t think saving my own miserable neck would measure up to that high standard. Without superpowers and a safe place to hide for the next fifty or so years, the ubervillains would eventually get me, unless I did exactly what they said, when they said it. Malefica and the others were alarmingly persistent about taking their revenge. More than one of the Triad’s flunkies had spilled his guts about the group’s latest world-domination scheme and disappeared into witness protection, only to wash up in the marina a couple of days later—missing several vital organs. It might not be tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but the ubervillains would find me, corner me, and finish me off in the most drawn-out, painful manner possible if I crossed them in any way, shape, or form.
“We’ll be keeping tabs on you, Miss Cole, so don’t think about trying to leave town,” Malefica continued. “There’s nowhere you can hide. Ubervillains are surprisingly unselfish about sharing information when it comes to people who’ve done them wrong. But if by some miracle, we can’t find you, well, we’ll just have to take our anger out on someone else. Perhaps Henry Harris, that technology reporter at the newspaper. You seem to be fond of him. So, think carefully before you do anything rash.”
I closed my eyes. I was trapped, caught like a fly in a spider’s sticky web.
Malefica snapped her fingers. Something pricked my arm. Then, mercifully, I passed out.
Chapter Five
Sometime later, the black sedan slid to a halt. The door opened, and two sets of arms pushed me out. I hit the ground with a dull thud. My purse sailed out after me. The car sped off, its tires squealing. I coughed on exhaust fumes and pulled myself up. A low groan escaped my dry, cracked lips. Every part of my body ached, from the top of my throbbing head to the bottoms of my tired feet. I squinted. When the world came into focus, I realized I was in the alley next to my apartment building. Well, at least my kidnappers had been considerate enough to bring me back home after a night of hell. I grabbed my purse and staggered down the alley and around to the entrance.
“Rough night?” the doorman inquired in a bored tone.
“You could say that,” I muttered.
I rode the elevator up to my apartment, locked the door behind me, and collapsed on the couch.
* * *
I snuggled deeper into the groove on the soft sofa. What a crazy dream I’d been having. Being kidnapped and taken to the Terrible Triad’s secret lair. Seeing mutated creatures and vats of radioactive goo. I’d been reading too many comic books.
Sunlight warmed my face and told me it was well into the afternoon. Time to get ready for another night on the society circuit. I yawned and raised my arms over my head, stopping in mid-stretch. Needles of pain pricked their way up and down my body. My eyes popped open, and I eased up. I still had on the little black dress I’d worn to the gallery opening last night. Rips and tears dotted the jagged fabric, along with a variety of smudges and stains. I held out my arm. Two purple bruises marked the spots where I’d been jabbed with needles and injected with who-knew-what.
It hadn’t been a dream.
“Oh, bloody hell!”
Panic flooded my body. I jumped up off the couch, my eyes fixed on the door. I had to get out of my apartment. I had to get as far away from Bigtime as fast as I could.
I took a step forward. My foot snagged on one of the legs of the coffee table, and I fell for about the tenth time in the past twelve hours. I smacked into the floor, and the world went black for a moment. Silver stars exploded in front of my face.
The fall knocked a little bit of the panic out of me. I took deep breaths to slow my heart, which wanted to gallop up my throat and out of my body. I wrinkled my nose. The sour stench of stale beer, mold, and rotting garbage clung to me like a second skin. I smelled like I’d been sleeping in an alley all night. It wasn’t pleasant, but it brought me back to my senses. First things first. If I was going to panic, I at least wanted to be clean doing it.
After taking a long, hot shower, popping a couple aspirin, and eating massive amounts of chocolate, I felt a little calmer. But only a little. My temples pulsed and throbbed with every beat of my heart. My arm ached from the injections. A hard ball of fear sat in my stomach like a lead weight.
I picked up a Rubik’s Cube from my bookcase. I twisted and turned the pieces around and paced the length of my apartment, trying to puzzle out my next move.
My first option was, of course, to do exactly as Malefica had told me. Uncover Striker’s identity and report to the park in a month’s time. There were several problems with this option. First of all, I’d seen the Triad’s indifference to life up close and personal. If I gave them Striker’s identity, I knew they would kill him.
Then, I would have another superhero’s blood on my hands. I didn’t want that. I’d never wanted that. I only had wanted...what? Truth? Justice? The American way? But that was a question for another day.
And I knew it wouldn’t end with Striker. Malefica and the others would make me uncover the identities of the remaining members of the Fearless Five. The Triad would come back to me again and again, until they had eliminated every superhero who stood in their way. Or got bored and killed me.
No, that option was out. I clicked a row of colors into place and kept pacing.
My second option was to find a way to get a message to Striker or another member of the Fearless Five and tell them of Malefica’s plan. But I didn’t know how to contact them, other than running an ad in The Exposé that said, Help! Crazy ubervillains want me to expose your secret identities or they’ll throw me in a vat of radioactive goo.
Even if I did get a message to the Fearless Five, it didn’t mean they would respond. They might think it was an elaborate trick. Or worse, they just might let Malefica have her way with me. After what I had done to Tornado, I couldn’t really blame them.
I slid another set of colors into place.
My third option was to hightail it out of town and retire to some deserted island. But I didn’t have enough money to disappear, and even if I did, sooner or later, the Triad would find me, just as Malefica said they would. In my own way, I was as recognizable as the most popular superhero. But without the skintight spandex, leather whips, and flowing capes.
Another row of colors lined up.
But there was another option. I could try to uncover Malefica’s identity, then go public with it. Hopefully, Malefica would be too busy with the Fearless Five, various law enforcement agencies, and the IRS to worry about killing me. Then again, she would probably make it a point to personally thank me for unmasking her.
I frowned and undid some of the combinations on the Rubik’s Cube that I’d gotten wrong. I kept pacing.
No, that wouldn’t work either. I’d been working on Malefica’s identity for three months before Tornado’s suicide and had come up with less than zero. There was no way I’d ever uncover her identity in a month’s time. Besides, the superheroes always led me to the ubervillains, not the other way around. It was practically a rule, like putting the edges of a jigsaw puzzle together before you started working on the inside.
I stopped pacing.
The superheroes always led me to the ubervil
lains, not the other way around.
Perhaps...
Maybe...
Possibly...
What if I uncovered Striker’s identity first, then let him lead me to Malefica? Superheroes and ubervillains were always connected, whether they were family, friends, lovers, business associates, or even business rivals. I’d seen it time and time again. The Kilted Scotsman and the Blue Berserker had been best friends; the Joking Juggler and the Serious Samurai had been business partners; Matt and Karen had been lovers. The connection between heroes and villains was a weird sort of karma. One always followed the other around, like a dog chasing its own tail. The harder they tried to fight each other, the closer together they became.
If I could discover Striker’s identity, I might uncover Malefica’s as well. I would then give Striker Malefica’s true identity and hope I could slip away in the ruckus that would follow. It was my best hope, my only hope of getting out of this mess alive—and without fur. And perhaps by uncovering Malefica’s identity, I could earn a little redemption and ease the heavy blanket of guilt smothering me. Or at least receive forgiveness from the rest of the Fearless Five. Maybe even boost my karma a little bit. It was all I could do.
I snapped the final row of colors into place. For one brief moment, the puzzle seemed to be solved.
* * *
I opened a closet door, a door I had shut six months ago. I reached into the dark depths and pulled out a heavy cardboard box. The word Superheroes walked up one side of the cardboard, while Ubervillains ran down the other. Crudely drawn puzzle pieces and smiley faces wearing masks and capes and pointy boots took up the space in between.
I let out a long breath. I’d vowed never to open this box, this gigantic can of worms, ever again. Ah well. In the end, all promises were made to be broken. Matt had taught me that. The familiar pain of his betrayal pricked me, but I shoved the feeling aside.
I yanked the lid off the box. I was back in the game. For better or worse.
The Bigtime Series (Bigtime superhero series, e-bundle) Page 4