I scooted off my stool and opened the refrigerator. Cheeses, meats, vegetables, fruits, breads, juices, milk, and more. It was better than a grocery store. My mouth watered. I helped myself to some fresh fruit, orange juice, bagels, and cream cheese. I rustled through the various drawers and cabinets until I found dishes and silverware, carried my plates to the island, and chowed down. Ah, the breakfast of superheroes. Or nosy reporters.
Twenty minutes later, I popped the last bite of bagel into my mouth and polished off the rest of my juice. No one had appeared. I put my dirty dishes in one of the sinks that lined the walls. Well, if no one was going to find me, I was just going to have to find them. Like usual.
I went back upstairs, paying careful attention to the layout of the hallways and various rooms. This time, I made it back to my suite in only five minutes. I tried the intercom again. No response.
I found my laptop, flash drives, and two boxes of notes on the Terrible Triad and the Fearless Five and lugged everything down to the kitchen. I left everything on the island and scouted out the rest of the first floor. I wandered through all sorts of theme rooms. There was one filled with portraits, a room of statues, a room of crystal figurines, and even a game room with multiple pool tables and a big-screen TV. Finally, I found what I was looking for—the wine cellar. I trooped back to the kitchen, retrieved my laptop, flash drives, and boxes, and hauled them down to the cellar. I pushed open the door with my foot and walked past the rows and rows of wine bottles. I wrinkled my nose at the sour, musty smell.
I went to the far corner and put down the boxes. Empty walls stared back at me, and I felt along them. The stone felt cool and smooth and slightly damp under my probing fingers. I ran my hands up and down and sideways. My fingertips snagged on a jagged spot. A-ha! There it was. I took a step back. If you knew where it was, the secret panel looked just as fake as the plastic rocks people hid extra house keys in and put in their yards. I pried the panel open with my fingernails.
I squinted at the keypad. I hadn’t caught all of the numbers yesterday when Sam had punched in the three-digit code, but he’d started with a 5. I tried various combinations for the next ten minutes. The keypad beeped each time I entered the wrong combination. Frustrated, I smacked it with my hand. It beeped again. Stupid computer.
I leaned in and stared at the numbers. It was your typical ten-digit keypad, with an enter key and a few other sundry buttons to one side. I scanned the device, looking for fingerprints or telltale grooves or smudges—anything that would tell me which numbers were used. If I only knew the other two numbers, I could try all those combinations until one of them worked. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that a piece of paint had been chipped off the number 5. I leaned closer. In fact, the number 5 looked as if it was the only number ever touched. Hmmm. My inner voice whispered.
I punched in 555.
The door slid open. 555 for the Fearless Five. How...predictable. Why hadn’t I tried that combination first? It was so obvious. You would think superheroes desperate to keep their identities secret would be a little more creative. It was worse than using your birthday as your bank account PIN number.
I gathered up my things, blew out a long breath, and stepped into the elevator.
* * *
The elevator descended into the underground depths of Sublime and floated to a stop. I punched in 555 again. So far, the code on every one of the doors had been the same. The doors pinged open. I shook my head. Some security system. A child could break in here. What would the Fearless Five do if Malefica and her friends came to call one day?
I stepped into the hallway. “Hello? Is anyone down here? Anyone at all?”
No answer.
I felt sneaky, tiptoeing and creeping around the manor house, stealing breakfast for myself, and now breaking into the supersecret superhero lair. I squared my shoulders. I’d tried to call Sam, and I’d called out to anyone who might be lurking nearby. He was the one who hadn’t answered. I’d done nothing wrong. For a change.
I hauled my boxes through the labyrinth of hallways, past the sick room where I’d woken up yesterday. Someone had already replaced the glass window I’d broken. Well, they were certainly efficient. I wondered which one of the superheroes moonlighted as a glazier. Or perhaps Sam had a contractor on call to come out and repair anything around the manor that mysteriously broke. I wondered how he explained all the accidents. I imagined Fiona melted her share of furniture, doors, and walls. Oops, it just broke would only work so many times before a normal person got suspicious. Perhaps the contractor was paid to look the other way. Or maybe Chief Newman hypnotized him into forgetting.
I passed more sick rooms, five in all. A long, glass window on my right revealed a gym full of treadmills, elliptical trainers, stationary bikes, and other complicated-looking equipment. A hot tub bubbled on one side of the room, and I spied a wooden door that probably led to a pool or sauna. Interesting. I’d never thought superheroes would have to work out to stay in shape. Of course, it would be terribly embarrassing for a superhero to let himself or herself go, what with all the skintight spandex and leather they wore. After all, there was only so much flesh you could shove into a size 0 catsuit.
The brotherhood of superheroes and ubervillains probably frowned upon beer bellies, love handles, and stretch marks. There was probably even a superhero-ubervillain required attributes job application. Some long-winded form you had to sign before you could officially join up with the latest and greatest superhero or ubervillain team. Only tall, svelte women with big breasts and small waists, and muscle-bound men with chiseled biceps and rock-hard abs need apply.
I sucked in my own squishy stomach. Good thing I wasn’t a superhero. I’d definitely flunk that portion of the standard requirements. Sam wouldn’t, though. I thought back to that night in my apartment and the feel of his sculpted stomach under my searching fingers. Rock-hard didn’t do them justice. His abs probably were carved out of slick, sleek marble. Other things had also been rock-hard…
After a minute, I realized I was smiling and staring at nothing. I pushed away my lustful memories and walked on. Farther down the hallway was an even bigger version of the game room I’d seen upstairs. Clusters of chairs and couches crouched around entertainment centers filled with TV sets and stereo systems. A couple of pool balls sat on a table next to some abandoned cues. Someone’s game had been interrupted. A variety of pinball machines jutted out from one wall. I spotted shelves upon shelves full of CDs, DVDs, books, and even some board games. What did superheroes play to get themselves pumped up for battle? Carly Simon always worked for me. What did they listen to after they returned home? Jimmy Buffett was my choice for that.
Next, I passed the kitchen I’d explored during my escape attempt. It, too, was even larger than the one upstairs. Two refrigerators bore the name Fiera. The fiery superhero could eat two whole refrigerators’ worth of food by herself? I wondered if that was on a daily or weekly basis. Fascinating…and a little disgusting. What would the fanboys say if they learned that detail? It probably wouldn’t distract them from admiring Fiera’s other ample assets.
I continued on, past five doors with the names Striker, Mr. Sage, Fiera, Tornado, and Hermit embossed on them. Everyone had his or her own personal suite underground, just as Sam had said. How cozy. I paused in front of the door marked Tornado. My inner voice whispered, and I reached for the doorknob. No. I wouldn’t look in there. I dropped my hand. I had no right to snoop through the things of a dead man. No right at all. Especially this dead man. One I had driven to commit suicide.
I walked past, shadowed by my guilt and sadness. Finally, I reached a set of double doors. There was no window cut into the wall, so I couldn’t peek inside. Curious, I pushed one of the doors open and found myself in the biggest private library I’d ever seen. It almost rivaled the Bigtime Public Library for space and grandeur. Books and magazines and encyclopedias fought for space on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. A large film screen hung ha
lfway down one wall, while a massive table dominated the middle of the plush room. The hardwood floor gleamed underfoot in the places where it wasn’t covered by thick, colorful Persian rugs. It was the closest thing to a control room or Superhero Central that I had seen. Surely, somebody would come in here sometime soon to check up on something. Either way, I was tired of lugging my heavy boxes down the never-ending hallways, so I set them down on a small table in the far corner. I roamed through the room, peering into the bookshelves, pulling down maps, spinning the glossy globes round and round.
I moved over to the table, which boasted five chairs. Computers and wires and high-tech gadgets surrounded one chair. I smiled. Henry’s seat. A series of burn marks and scorches marked Fiona’s place. Two other chairs revealed nothing about their occupants. A layer of dust covered the fifth and final chair, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. I knew whose chair that used to be. A hard lump of guilt formed in my throat. I stared at the enormous F5 insignia, a circle surrounded by five pointed rays. I traced my fingers over the image carved into the heavy wood. My vision blurred, then cleared. I shivered, suddenly cold.
The door banged open. I yelped and turned to face it. Fiona stood in the threshold, her mouth open in surprise. Surprise that melted into red-hot anger. “What the hell are you doing in here?” Fiona’s blond hair burst into flames.
Uh-oh.
Chapter Seventeen
Of the four superheroes I could have run into while snooping, Fiona aka Fiera Fine was last on my list. Sparks shot out of her clenched fists, fists that looked like they wanted to pummel me into oblivion.
“Um, well, I was just—”
“How did you get past the security doors? And the codes?” Fiona’s eyes narrowed. They glowed with a red-hot intensity.
“Well, you see—”
“Are you spying on us?” Flames licked at her fingertips. “Secretly working for Malefica?”
“Of course not!”
My eyes darted around, looking for some means of escape. I took another step back and bumped into the table. I scooted around it, putting it between myself and the fiery superhero. Not that it would do any good; it was made of solid wood.
Fiona stepped forward. “I’ll get to the truth—one way or another.”
“Carmen! There you are!” Henry said, entering the library. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I had never been so grateful to see him and his polka-dot bow tie.
“I found her roaming around in here like she owned the place.” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. Smoke rose from her body. “Evidently, she managed to get past the security doors and codes upstairs.”
Henry blinked. “You did? How?”
I shrugged. “I figured it out. You know, 555 isn’t the safest thing to use.”
“I’ve been telling Sam that for years,” Henry replied. “But no. The code has sentimental value, he says. It’s the only thing we can all remember, he says—”
Fiona shot him a heated look.
“So, er, what are you doing in here?” Henry asked, changing the subject.
I pointed to my boxes. “I brought my things down. I was going to start working on Malefica’s identity. I thought you guys might have some high-powered gizmos or information that might help me.”
“So you thought you’d sneak down here and snoop around while no one was watching?” Fiona said, her eyes suspicious slits in her face.
I put my hands on my hips. “I tried using the intercom. Nobody answered. I called out. Nobody answered. I ate breakfast, and nobody showed up. I did everything but dial 911 to try to get somebody to answer me.”
Fiona glared at me. I returned her hot stare, even though sweat dripped down the back of my neck. I wasn’t going to give the other woman the satisfaction of looking away first. Not unless my eyeballs started to melt.
Henry looked back and forth between the two of us. “We might have some things that you can use, Carmen. I’m not sure exactly how you go about doing what, er, you do.”
“It’s really pretty simple.”
“Well, you two have fun,” Fiona said. “Some of us have to go to work today.”
She flounced out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her. The wood shuddered but remained in its frame. I winced at the big bang.
“I bet you guys go through a lot of doors around here.”
“You have no idea,” Henry replied. “Don’t mind Fiona. She’s just had a rough time of it since—”
“Since Tornado committed suicide.” I finished his sentence.
“They were engaged. They were really crazy about each other. She took his death a bit harder than the rest of us.”
No wonder Fiona hated me. Even though I didn’t think it was humanly possible, I felt even guiltier than before. Driving somebody’s fiancé to commit suicide was definitely not good for one’s karma. My own turned a little darker. Soon, it would be as black as Malefica’s surely was.
“So, where are Sam and Mr. Sage? I mean Striker and Chief Newman?” I shook my head. “What do I even call you guys? Henry or Hermit? I’m not familiar with superhero etiquette.” I’d never had to worry about such niceties before. No superhero in his or her right mind had ever wanted to talk to me.
“Generally, when we’re out on a mission or when we have our uniforms on, we call each other by our superhero names. The rest of the time, we use our real names.”
“Okay, got it. So where are the others?”
“The chief is at work. He said he’d try to drop by after his shift. Sam had some big business deal to tend to. He’ll be holed up in his office upstairs the rest of the day.”
“Oh.” A wave of disappointment washed over me. I’d been looking forward to seeing him, to just being near him. I bit my lip. His absence was for the best, though. Hadn’t I made a solemn vow last night to keep my distance from Sam Sloane? Here I was longing for his presence, for a mere glimpse of him. Geez. I was a mess.
“Well, we should get started. I have some files to go through. I’m trying to track down the Triad through their Internet accounts.” Henry booted up one computer after another. “So far, I’m not having much luck.”
I walked to the table where I’d dropped my boxes. I tugged the top off one and pulled out a stack of papers, along with my laptop.
“You could work over here at the table with me,” Henry suggested. “There’s plenty of room.”
I stared at the empty, dust-covered chair. My stomach twisted. “No, I’m fine where I am.”
A few minutes later, I was ready to throttle Sam and Chief Newman. They had made a complete mess of my carefully compiled and filed papers. Evidently, the two men had just shoved everything into the boxes without trying to keep it organized. As a result, all of the papers were mixed together and out of place. I finally just dumped the contents of the two boxes on the floor, sat down in the middle of the snowy pile, and began sorting through it all. Again. Henry’s staccato, gunshot-loud typing accompanied my work.
After about an hour, silence intruded on my thoughts. No more rat-a-tats sounded. Henry had quit typing. I looked up. He stared blankly at the screen. His fingers rested on top of the keyboard. He seemed totally absorbed in whatever he was looking at.
Curious, I walked across the room and peeked over Henry’s shoulder. Rows and rows of numbers and letters flashed on the screen. In an instant, they were gone, replaced by even more numbers and letters. A strange, bluish-white glow connected his hands to the keyboard. Even though the light crackled and sparked like electricity, it didn’t seem to bother Henry. He didn’t move a muscle, not even to blink. I stared at his chest to make sure he was still breathing. How strange. I reached out my hand—
“Don’t touch me,” Henry said. “Or you’ll get the shock of your life.”
I froze.
Henry’s hands lost their glow. His dark eyes cleared. He blinked several times.
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“Mind-melding with t
he computer. It’s my power.”
“Your power? I thought Hermit didn’t have a power, that you just—” I bit off my words.
Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “That I just provided technical support to the group? That I’m just some computer geek who spends his time hiding in a black van while the others go out and fight? A lot of people think that. But I do, in fact, have a power. I can open my mind up to computers and other electronic devices and use them. It’s called mind-melding. It’s actually a pretty useful skill. The human brain is far more complex than any computer and operates several times faster. I can view hundreds of characters in mere seconds. I also have a photographic memory, which comes in handy when you’re sorting through billions of bytes of information.”
“I see.” I fell silent for a moment. “How did you get it? Your power? Were you born with it? Or did something happen to you to cause it?”
“No.” Henry stared at his flickering computer screen. The light made the white dots on his bow tie gleam. “When I was a kid, I spent most of my time in my room, playing fantasy games on my computer, trying to hack into the FBI directory, your usual crazy kids’ stuff.”
I blinked. I’d done my share of stupid stuff as a kid, but I couldn’t ever remember trying to hack into the FBI mainframe. Drink a few wine coolers, sure. Break into a secure government network, not so much.
Henry continued with his story. “I didn’t have many friends, except for a few people I’d met online, and those didn’t really count. Anyway, one night when I was sixteen, there was this huge electrical storm. The rain was coming down so hard you couldn’t see two feet in front of your face. It was one of the worst storms we’d ever had, before or since. It flooded most of the city and knocked out the power for days. Despite all this, I was on my computer in the middle of the storm, because we still had electricity. My mom told me to turn it off, but I wanted to finish this game.”
The Bigtime Series (Bigtime superhero series, e-bundle) Page 17