The Bigtime Series (Bigtime superhero series, e-bundle)

by Jennifer Estep

  As I dressed, I tried not to look at the bed, tried not to think of what had happened in it. How I’d begged him to pleasure me.

  Me, begging a superhero.

  I’d never thought it would happen. Well, Debonair wasn’t exactly a superhero, but he wasn’t an ubervillain either.

  I tried the door, of course. Rattled it until my arms ached. But the wood was so warped it didn’t budge. I doubted even Fiona could have opened it with her superstrength. I didn’t have superstrength—just capricious, whimsical, unpredictable luck. And precious little of it to start with.

  So, I did the only thing I could—I reached for my power.

  Normally, I did my best to ignore the static electricity crackling around my body. Ignored the sudden pulses of energy. Ignored my itchy fingers and mile-high hair. As if, by ignoring it, I could pretend it wasn’t there. That it wasn’t real. That I wasn’t the unluckiest woman in Bigtime.

  My power, my luck, my jinx rarely brought me anything but misery and embarrassment. But now, I concentrated on it. Imagined the force field around me, gathering strength, gathering power. My fingers twitched in anticipation. So did my hair.

  I looked at the door. I couldn’t go through it, but maybe I could get around it another way. My eyes flicked to the hinges that held it to the wall. I focused my attention on them, my energy, my power, my luck. Imagined them popping off as easily as I could crack open a bottle of water. Then, I willed my power, my charged-up luck, all my jumbled emotions at the door.

  I didn’t really expect it to work.

  But somehow it did.

  Perhaps it was my desperation. Or maybe my luck just decided to give me a break for being so supremely stupid already. But I pulled on the top hinge. It snapped off like popcorn in the microwave. I repeated the process on the second and third hinges. They, too, popped off into my waiting hands.

  It took me a few minutes to shove aside the heavy door, but when I did, I found myself in a long, carpeted hallway. I quit concentrating on my power, ignoring it like usual, and took a step forward.

  And promptly tripped.

  My foot caught on a nonexistent wrinkle in the smooth carpet, and I smacked into the wall before falling to my knees. I huddled there in the hallway, grimacing at the pain pulsing through my body. It wasn’t serious, wasn’t anything I hadn’t felt a thousand times before. In the morning, I’d have a few more cuts and bruises to add to the collection Hangman had given me.

  So, I ignored the dull throbs in various parts of my body, got back to my feet, and walked forward. I moved as quietly as I could, stopping every few feet to look ahead and back and listen. I didn’t want Debonair to find me roaming the halls. He’d teleport us both back into his Lair of Seduction, and then who knew what would happen? He’d be angry at me for trying to escape. And I couldn’t help but feel he’d be hurt and disappointed as well.

  I bit my lip. Why should I care if he was hurt and disappointed? He was the one who’d kidnapped me. Who wouldn’t let me call my grandfather. Who’d started this game. Not me.

  The hallway ended at the bottom of a flight of wooden stairs. I hugged the wall and crept up them. One of the stairs creaked, and I froze, afraid that he’d heard me. But Debonair didn’t pop into sight, and my power kept to its usual, low buzz. I kept climbing.

  I stopped a few steps from the top and peeked over them. A large, open space lay up ahead, with another long hallway on the far side. I spied a set of doors several hundred feet away at the very end. That was my goal. Surely those led outside the house or mansion or wherever I was. If I could get outside, I could get away.

  I entered the open room and slithered along the wall, keeping to the shadows as I moved around the perimeter. My eyes flicked over the empty space. It might have been a living room or even a ballroom at one time, but nothing remained inside now but dust. Large outlines of what I assumed used to be furniture sat in the gray film. Thick cobwebs hung in the corners, as though the room hadn’t been used or cleaned in a very long time. The air smelled wet and musty.

  I eased into the hallway and slid down the wall, stopping every few feet to peer into the rooms that branched off it. They were all curiously empty, just like the area I’d snuck through. I could see outlines on the walls where paintings had hung, as well as scuff marks on the floor where sofas, armoires, and other furnishings had stood. Even the light fixtures had been taken out, bathing the interior in long, murky shadows. Well, at least none of them could plummet from the ceiling and almost bonk me on the head.

  It might have been a grand house at one time, but now, everything was empty and barren and rather sad-looking. In fact, the only furniture I’d seen had been the items in the subterranean Lair of Seduction.

  I thought back to Debonair’s talk of hard times. Perhaps he’d been telling the truth. Or maybe he was one of the superheroes and ubervillains who weren’t independently wealthy. But this place, this house, didn’t look abandoned, merely rundown. It was the home of a very rich person. At least, it had been at one time.

  I stuck my head into another room and stopped. This one was different from the others. For one thing, it had a smattering of furniture. For another, the Star Sapphire rested on a pedestal on top of a table, along with some microscopes and other scientific equipment. I stepped inside and looked at the papers and gadgets, careful not to touch anything. My luck cooperated, and I didn’t crack the lens on a five-thousand-dollar microscope just by looking at it as I threaded my way through the area.

  I stopped in front of the sapphire. A few papers lay scattered about it. I squinted, but they were written in Debonair’s indistinguishable scrawl. I could make out the words carats and reflective properties? among the mess, but that was about it.

  I slid the sapphire and papers into my stained purse and put the long strap over my head so I wouldn’t lose it. Debonair might not be able to figure out what Hangman wanted with the sapphire, but the Fearless Five surely would. Besides, he’d taken something from me—my dignity. I wanted to return the favor. Petty, I know. But it was the only thing keeping me going.

  I left the room and continued on my prison break. I started to ease by another door when a splash of color caught my eye. I turned my head and gasped. A menagerie of paintings and sculptures and drawings crowded inside the room, along with tables full of paint, brushes, and other art supplies. It was sort of like being in a wing at the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art—albeit a rundown version.

  My eyes roamed over the jeweler’s eyes, paint scrapers, and other art paraphernalia. I walked toward a painting of irises leaning on an easel on one side of the room. I recognized it as the one Debonair had stolen from Berkley’s house. Notes covered the wall next to it, pointing out flaws and a small patch of mold on the painting.

  I frowned. It almost looked like he was restoring the painting. Debonair? An art lover? Was that why he stole paintings? To restore them? I didn’t understand. Then again, I’d never understood what drove a person to make himself a spandex suit, dress up in it, and call himself by another name. Sheer lunacy, if you ask me.

  I turned to go when another drawing caught my eye. The one that I’d done of Debonair. The one with his illegible signature. It lay in the middle of a small table, with no brushes or paints anywhere near it. Instead, a heavy silver frame sat next to it, as though he’d planned on keeping it. I stared at the drawing, looking at the face I’d sketched. The face of the man I’d slept with.

  I took the drawing, rolled it up, and put it in my purse. I don’t know why I did it. Perhaps I wanted something to remind me of my time here. Or maybe I just wanted to take back what was left of my sanity. I didn’t know anymore. For once, my calm, rational sensibility had deserted me.

  The art room was the last one before the doors. I tried the knob. Unlocked. I slipped through and found myself on a wide, stone balcony, as empty as the rest of the house had been. But the emptiness wasn’t what made my heart squeeze in on itself. It was what lay beyond it.

  Water. It st
retched out for miles in front of me before the dull gray waves faded into the early morning skyline of Bigtime. A horrible suspicion filled my body.

  I ran to the other side of the balcony. It had the same view. I sprinted to the third side. More of the same.

  Water, water everywhere.

  An island.

  I was trapped on an island in the middle of Bigtime Bay.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I stared at the shimmering water. An island. How the hell was I supposed to get off an island? The shore was miles away, much too far for me to swim. Besides, it was November. I’d get hypothermia if I even tried.

  I let myself panic for about thirty seconds. Let my heart pound. My hands shake. And little whimpers of panic tighten my throat.

  Then, I took a deep breath and started thinking about my predicament. There had to be a boat here somewhere. That was the only way to reach the islands in Bigtime Bay. Of course, Debonair could just pop! over whenever he wanted, but surely he had other people out here sometimes. He’d have to bring them by boat, if he didn’t want to risk blowing his real identity to his guests.

  I hurried down a set of spiral stairs that wound down one side of the overlook. A carpet of grass rolled out from under the balcony, shaded by rows of pear trees. Their scarlet leaves provided a colorful contrast to the grass. It was a beautiful spot, the perfect place to take a long nap or enjoy a picnic. Normally, I would have stopped a few minutes to do some rough sketches of the trees and the way the gathering sunlight brightened the dew drops on the crimson leaves. But I didn’t have time for such fancies now.

  I had a boat to find.

  I walked underneath the trees, keeping to the shortening shadows. It couldn’t have been much past six or seven in the morning, because the sun had just crested over the tops of the distant skyscrapers. A wet chill hung over much of the bay, along with a thin, soupy fog. I shivered and put my hands in the pockets of my jacket, grateful Debonair had left it behind. A few birds twittered in the trees while an occasional frog croaked from a hidden spot in the grass. Everything smelled of salt and brine, and my nose tingled at the rough scent.

  I broke free of the trees and headed for the water’s edge. The grass gave way to a rocky, pebble-filled beach. The grayish sand reminded me of the color of Hangman’s uniform. I put one hand on a rock for support and stuck the other in the lapping water. My hand turned to ice in an instant. I shuddered. Much too cold to swim.

  So, I moved on and kept looking for a boat or a canoe or a kayak or something, anything I could use to get off the island. I’d walked about a half mile along the shore when I spotted a dock. It stretched out into the water about thirty feet, a long, pale arrow pointing toward the city. Like the rest of the house, it looked like it had seen better days. The boards appeared warped and weathered, with more than a few cracked or missing altogether.

  But my eyes scanned past the wet wood and latched onto the prize at the very end—a small sailboat. My ticket off this rock and away from Debonair and all these strange, unwanted feelings he stirred in me.

  I stepped onto the dock. The wood moaned, and the board sank down under my weight, but it didn’t break. I took another step. Then another, walking slowly and carefully. Putting each foot down before I lifted the last one up. A small slip and I’d get dumped into the bay. Then, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting rescued. I’d freeze to death before anyone found me.

  I navigated past the missing boards, but the closer I got to the boat, the more my heart sank. The vessel couldn’t be more than twelve feet long and appeared just as ratty and rundown as the rest of the house. The scarlet paint had cracked and peeled so much I couldn’t even tell what the boat’s name had been. Mold and mildew blackened the sail, and the ropes tying the vessel to the dock looked like they might snap at any moment. Still, it bobbed up and down with the gentle waves and looked seaworthy enough. It was going to have to be.

  I didn’t know anything about sailing or seafaring, but I stepped down into the boat and untied the flimsy ropes that held the craft to the dock. The boat drifted out into the bay, pulled along by the brisk current. There was little wind, but maybe I could fix that. I reached for my power again and focused my attention on the limp sail, willing the wind to come along. My power flared, and a breeze whistled down.

  I smiled, pleased my luck cooperated for a change. But the breeze didn’t last long. After about thirty seconds, it died away altogether. Ah, well. I’d take what I could get.

  Still, the boat floated farther out into the bay, pulled on by the occasional gust of wind and growing current. I used the opportunity to dig through my purse and grab my phone. The signal was clear and strong now, and I dialed 555-5555, the emergency hotline for the Fearless Five.

  Carmen Cole picked up on the first ring. “Bella! Where are you?!”

  “I’m in a boat in the middle of Bigtime Bay,” I said. “I’m fine. For the most part. Didn’t Debonair get a message to you guys? Or my grandfather?”

  “No, we haven’t gotten any message from him. We’ve been looking for you nonstop. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  I bit my lip. He’d lied to me. He hadn’t sent a message to Grandfather. He hadn’t sent a message to anyone. What a fool I was.

  I told Carmen about Debonair saving me and holding me in his Lair of Seduction. I left out the part where I’d slept with my captor, though. I didn’t want Carmen to think I was one of the nutty people in the Slaves for Superhero Sex club who put themselves in danger on purpose so they could cozy up to heroes. Or that I’d enjoyed being a prisoner, despite the fact part of me had.

  “How’s Grandfather?” I asked.

  “I’m fine, Bella. I’m right here.” Bobby’s sharp, strong voice came through the line. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, Grandfather. He didn’t hurt me. Just scared me a little.”

  Carmen came back on the phone. “All right, Bella. Stay on the phone. Henry and Lulu are working on pinpointing your location. Sam, Chief Newman, and I are heading out now to come get you. Look for a big, black boat.”

  “You guys have a boat?”

  “Of course we have a boat,” Carmen replied. “We’re the best superheroes in the city. We’re prepared for anything, and we have everything, thanks to Sam. Now, here’s Bobby again.”

  “Grandfather?”

  “I’m here, Bella.”

  Now that help was officially on the way, I leaned against the rail and told my grandfather the same story I’d told Carmen. Debonair had teleported me around the city before taking me to his Lair of Seduction.

  “Lair of Seduction? Bah!” My grandfather snorted. “If I were ten years younger, I’d hop on my motorcycle and mow him down for scaring you like that. Johnny Angel could teach him a thing or two about how to treat a lady. These young superheroes just don’t have the proper respect for anybody.”

  “Don’t talk like that. Debonair didn’t hurt me,” I protested. “He saved me from Hangman. In fact, he was very kind and generous.”

  Especially in bed, but I couldn’t tell Grandfather that. I couldn’t tell anyone that. Ever.

  An odd noise penetrated my conflicted thoughts. Music—wild, happy music with a pulsing, calypso beat.

  Calypso music? In the middle of the bay?

  “Hold a second, Grandfather. I hear something strange.”

  I looked around, trying to find the source of the sound. The hum of a powerful motor filled the air, and a moment later, a boat cut through the dissipating fog—the most colorful, buoyant vessel I’d ever seen. The ship was painted in wild, tie-dye colors that ranged from electrified orange to vitriolic violet and every other shocking shade in between. All swirled together. Free love! Free beer! Free seas! declared a banner hung between two billowing sails. It took me a minute to put it together, but I realized whose ship it was.

  Cap’n Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches. Cap’n was another one of Bigtime’s shady characters—not quite an ubervillain but definitely not a superhero eithe
r. The modern-day pirate and his band of Saucy Wenches sailed out on the bay almost every day on their psychedelic party barge. Sometimes, they’d help lost fishermen get back to shore or tow in a broken-down boat. But they spent most of their time waylaying the big cruise ships and stealing all the liquor and food they could carry. The cruise ships didn’t mind so much, though. The pirate was good for business. People flocked to the ships just on the off chance they’d run into Cap’n, be shanghaied, and get taken over to his boat to party with the crew.

  The ship sailed by, and I got a good look at Cap’n Freebeard. He was a tall man with sun-kissed skin and hair so blond it was almost white. Tiny silver bells and bits of coral dangled from the ends of his dreadlocks and the bottom of his thick, curly beard. Cap’n stood in front of a shining, silver wheel, flanked on all sides by topless—and sometimes bottomless—beauties. They all had rather buoyant personalities, if you know what I mean. Especially since it was so cold this morning.

  Cap’n spotted me too. He took off his floppy straw hat and tipped it to me in a respectful fashion while the wenches hung over the railing and blew me flirty kisses.

  “What’s that noise?” Bobby asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied, trying not to stare at all the bare, naked, oily flesh passing in front of me. “Nothing at all.”

  Cap’n Freebeard and his merry band sped on by, and I kept talking to Grandfather. But after a few minutes, a weird whooshing sound caught my attention. At first, I thought it was fish, splashing and leaping and playing in the salty water. Dolphins and whales and other interesting creatures populated Bigtime Bay. But then, my fingers started to itch, and my hair frizzed. The whooshing sound came again, louder this time. My heart started to pound. And not in a good way.

  A tall shadow fell over me.

  Boots smacked against the deck.

  And I turned to find Hangman standing behind me.