Superluminary

by Olivia Rising

  “No,” the Counselor said. “But Chayton’s disappearance wasn’t reported immediately and by the time the tracking dogs were brought in, the scent was already cold. I know the direction he went, and I believe his belongings are somewhere out there, but I’m not sure we have the time to investigate further. I’ll pass our findings to the authorities. We may need to leave Chayton’s case to the police.”

  “If the Indian guy didn’t get killed, and is traveling with his new buddy, why can’t Queenie track him?” Overdrive asked. “Because they’re underground?”

  Good question.

  In a slow methodical rhythm the Counselor answered, “I can only guess the reason they can’t be tracked has something to do with our serial killer’s powers.”

  Kid looked at Overdrive with bright eyes. “A bunch of people have managed to avoid her attention, so it wouldn’t be a first, right?”

  “Yeah, like O’s fancy European girlfriend.” Noire drew out the last word in her long, Southern drawl.

  The Counselor paid no attention to her. “Maybe our suspect affected Chayton in a way that allows both of them to travel underground, undetected. There have been multiple cases of Evolved who could employ a power-sharing effect.”

  “Kinda like powerset piggybacking?” Kid ventured.

  The Counselor inclined his head. “Yes, that’s a good way to put it.”

  “Maybe he had one of those creepy power surges.” Noire narrowed her eyes and curled her fingers into pretend claws for additional effect.

  “Thank goodness it doesn’t fit what we know about the surge pattern,” the Counselor said. “Power surges only add abilities strictly in line with what the individual can already do.”

  The Covenant wouldn’t have left this case to us if it involved power surges, Chris thought. Those UNEOA guys get all worked up about surges.

  “Is it possible the killer is absorbing the powers of his victims?” Overdrive asked. “Because that’s what happened in some superhero TV series. Creepy shit.”

  “Of whoever he devours,” Chris corrected, recalling the prophecy from the day before. “Which would explain why he’s only going after Evolved.”

  “That possibility has been brought up before,” the Counselor said.

  “Wait. So the bossmen already knew, and sent a bunch of amateurs after a power-absorbing serial killer without filling them in on all the details?” Noire sounded angry now.

  The revelation irked Chris, too.

  “Hey, who’re you calling an amateur?” Overdrive retorted.

  Chris’s mind was racing. “Wasn’t there a teleporter among the victims? What if he decides to come after us?”

  “Only a handful of people know where we are,” the Counselor replied, patting the air in a placating manner that failed to placate. “Additionally, the teleporter’s reach was limited to just a few destinations in South America. So even if you were correct—and I’m not saying you are—we are safe here, at least for the time being.”

  “We’re not seriously sticking around here, are we?” Noire asked. “I mean, we’re out of leads and you don’t want to keep going after Chayton, so what’s the point?”

  “That’s not quite true,” the Counselor said. “We do have one more lead, and it’s more important than locating Chayton’s belongings. Our target came from the North East. The far North East, most likely Canada.”

  “But no one’s disappeared from up there,” Noire said. “Plenty of Canadians doing nobody knows what in those woods, but no missing Evolved.”

  “There was the Historian,” Overdrive reminded them excitedly. “But he went missing a long time ago, right? Like a couple of years ago?”

  The Counselor flashed him a smile. “Correct. I recall that the Historian had an extensive library on Native American customs, too. It might explain how our suspect convinced Mr. Wallace to come with him. It’s as good a lead as any.”

  Overdrive looked at Noire smugly and wiggled his eyebrows, looking impressed with himself.

  The Darkshaper rolled her eyes.

  “So we’re flying to Canada now?” he went on, revitalized by his recent contribution to the investigation.

  “Maybe you’ll get to hit on a frosty forest nymph.” Noire’s tone dripped sarcasm as thick as molasses.

  The Counselor pulled his cell phone from his jacket. “The direction certainly fits with the connections I see, but I’ll have to run it by Mr. Turner first.”

  Chris looked at Kid. “Do you want to go to Canada? Don’t let the grown-ups tell you what to do.”

  “No, I want to go,” the girl said, meeting her eyes. “I want to help. We gotta find the bogeyman.”

  Chris sighed. Yeah, I guess we do, she decided. Especially now that they were potentially dealing with a power-devouring manipulator. She wasn’t about to let Kid handle it on her own.

  Kid shouldn’t even be a member of the Wardens, she thought. She should go to school and lead a normal life. It was almost enough to make her want to run. Almost, but not quite. She looked over at the child Empath, whose eyes were now on a blue jay perched in an oak tree. The Counselor had his phone pressed to one ear and looked occupied with his call.

  When the need to calm her nerves became overwhelming, Chris gave in and retrieved a cigarette packet from her bear costume, hoping Kid wouldn’t notice. She felt bad about it even after she walked a short distance into the forest, but she needed a smoke to think. The relaxing effect kicked in after the first few drags, helping her get her thoughts in order.

  She didn’t have any illusions about why the authorities wanted their little team to capture the killer. It certainly wasn’t because of Noire, who referred to herself as Monster Momma and somehow managed to scare almost everyone she met. And Overdrive would probably blow something up by accident while trying to impress a girl. Chris, who was following a strict therapy schedule, didn’t consider herself a proper heroine, either.

  No, the reason why the whole team had been pulled into this was Kid. She was popular, and America loved her. The tax payers who happened to fund the hero program wanted to see her on TV. They wanted to celebrate her while the authorities intended to exploit her popularity. The Wardens team needed a likeable figurehead to guarantee a base level of acceptance at the public level.

  After everything they had learned about the serial killer, Chris agreed that someone had to put an end to any more Evolved disappearances. If no one else was going to do it, she supposed the Wardens would be up for the task. They had come this far. Canada was only one step farther.

  The Counselor finished his call just as Chris finished her smoke and was tucking the extinguished butt away in the packet. Their team leader scowled at her without giving her a speech about her responsibility as a role model. She was grateful for that.

  “Come on, guys. Mascot, grab your helmet,” he ordered. “As soon as Canada gives the okay, we’re headed to Quebec.”

  ***

  It was dusk by the time the Wardens reached the small town of Grand Marronnier, Quebec, about two hundred miles northwest of Quebec City. It was too late to head to the cabin the Historian had called home. The near non-stop traveling had drained even Kid’s spirits. None of them were in the mood for any more serial killer tracking that day.

  The Wardens drove straight to the bed and breakfast booked for them by the authorities. As they passed through the center of town, they all agreed that Grand Marronnier looked pretty much like every typical small town in the U.S. The only French architecture they identified in the twilight was a large Gothic church complete with decorative adornments and pointed roofs.

  Although the authorities had assured them that no other guests were booked in the quaint bed and breakfast that night, Mascot spotted an audience of maybe two dozen gawking townspeople—men, women, and children of various ages—clustered on the sidewalk opposite their lodgings.

  News travels at hyperspeed in a small town, she mused.

  Naturally, Overdrive waved at the crowd the instant he
stepped out of the car, flashing poses and showing off all the lightning adornments on his Kevlar-reinforced costume. Only two children waved back.

  The owner of the bed and breakfast was a tall stick of a man with a long graying ponytail. He met them in the parking lot before ushering them inside to their rooms—one for each of them because there was plenty of room. Chris couldn’t deny that she looked forward to some alone time. It had been a long couple of days.

  As soon as she was shown to her room, she shut the door behind her and flopped down on the queen-sized feather bed. From that vantage point, she surveyed her surroundings. The room looked okay, clean, with an adjacent bathroom. The polka-dotted curtains and forest scene paintings were a little tasteless, but whatever. She was about to take off her costume and catch a nap when someone knocked on her door. She thought about pretending to be asleep, and changed her mind. What if Kid needed her?

  “Yeah?” she called.

  “Hey, it’s us,” came Overdrive’s voice through the door. “We’re going to grab a bite at that diner we passed. You wanna come?”

  “Do I have to?” she called back. She didn’t dislike the others, but she craved her privacy.

  “The boss isn’t with us,” Noire added. “He went off to do his own thing, whatever that is.”

  As if that will convince me. It did, a little.

  “Um … I don’t know,” Chris wavered. She honestly felt a little peckish.

  “Who’s gonna protect me from the crazy lumberjacks if you don’t come?” It was Kid’s voice this time.

  You little rascal. Chris grinned in spite of herself. You know just how to manipulate me. “Fine,” she reluctantly agreed.

  “Yay!” Kid cheered.

  With a groan, Chris sat up in bed and grabbed her bear helmet from the bedside table. She would have preferred to go in her civilian clothes, but the authorities wanted them to wear their costumes in public and she didn’t want to risk breaking one of the rules that actually mattered. Not when they had more important matters to consider. With the helmet under her arm, she joined the others in the hallway. Noire gave her a thumbs up when she appeared.

  That has to count for something. Mascot made sure to put on the helmet before leaving the bed and breakfast.

  During the ten-minute walk to the diner, they passed a laundromat, a gas station, and a whole bunch of slightly run-down homes with occupants staring at them through illuminated windows. Mascot felt a bunch of eyes follow the Wardens’ meager hero procession as they passed.

  Let’s just hope we don’t make big news headlines, she thought, concerned about alerting whoever it was they were tracking. Maybe that rule about always wearing costumes in public was just another asinine proclamation.

  She noticed how the majority of the distrustful glances were directed at Noire. The Darkshaper had her hands jammed in her pockets, refusing to look at anything except the section of pavement ahead of her. It didn’t take a genius to realize they weren’t welcome in Grand Marronnier.

  As Mascot recalled it, Canada had experienced some of the worst luck in regards to superpowers. Liquidate had emerged in Ottawa with terrifying consequences, and Ashstorm went on a pissed-off rampage in Niagara Falls several months later. His powers weren’t lethal, but they had left people spooked. Especially about Darkshapers.

  The Wardens arrived at the Café Bistro Charles, which was deserted except for a few local teens who were sitting at a table near the bar. The kids’ conversation stopped and a boy with a Montreal Canadians jersey stared at the Wardens with blatant wariness as soon as they entered.

  After an uncomfortable moment standing in the doorway, Mascot led her teammates to a cozy booth near the back of the wood-paneled diner a good distance away from the locals.

  “This definitely looks like the kind of place where crazy Canadian lumberjacks would hang out,” Overdrive mumbled, surveying the cabin style décor.

  The bistro was lit with a series of dim vintage lamps hanging over the bar. The pine-clad walls were decorated with a mix of historic photographs and old-fashioned logging equipment, and loud French pop songs played from speakers mounted by the door to the kitchen.

  “Don’t piss your pants,” Noire scoffed, tossing a handful of her long braids over one costumed shoulder. “You got three girl guards to protect you.”

  “I think it’s you who should be scared,” Overdrive retorted. “Those locals look like they want to burn you at the stake.”

  In between the banter, Kid settled on the bench beside Mascot. “I want fries!” she ordered, a little too cheerful. “The bossman isn’t watching, so let’s order all the unhealthy stuff.”

  “My mom never let me order unhealthy stuff growing up.” Overdrive flashed a roguish smile that showed off a row of well-kept teeth.

  Kid looked over at Mascot and raised an eyebrow. “You ever going to call your parents?” she asked out of the blue.

  Mascot tensed up beneath the costume, for once she was glad for the cover it provided. She had worked hard not to think about her parents over the past week. She grabbed a menu off the table and opened it up, hiding her masked face behind the list of homemade cakes.

  “Are all of you in touch with your families?” she asked, her eyes fixed to her menu.

  “Yeah, of course,” Overdrive said. “They’re constantly worrying about me even when I’m not doing anything.”

  Noire nodded. “Mr. Turner flies my mom in from New Orleans once a month. It’s the only thing keeping her sane, I think. And Em’s dad was offered a job with the government in San Francisco so she spends as much time at home as she does at HQ.”

  Mascot looked over at Kid. “Yeppers,” the girl said. “I love knowing they’re close.”

  “It’s the only reason her parents agreed to let her join us,” Overdrive added. “Since she’s a kid and all.”

  Mascot set the menu down and crossed her arms over her costumed chest, not at all surprised the authorities pulled a few strings to get Kid on board. God, I hope they don’t offer my parents an incentive to move to California. The idea alarmed her. Although I doubt my parents want to be anywhere near me right now.

  She settled back in the booth, trying to make sense of her feelings. There were things she missed about home, sure. Some memories had been nice. Mostly ones from before Dylan.

  “I don’t think they’re mad.” Kid slipped an arm around Mascot’s waist.

  “Huh?” Mascot stammered, stunned by the girl’s words. She didn’t want to talk about this right now.

  “I was outside Mrs. Clarence’s office when she called your mom.” The girl put a finger on the bridge of her nose while squinting at Mascot with a Little Miss Know-It-All expression.

  “I can’t imagine not talking to my mom,” Noire declared.

  “Besides, what’s a phone call when you’re chasing a super-powered serial killer?” Overdrive added.

  Mascot heaved a long sigh. “Will you all promise to get off my back if I call them when this is over?”

  “We promise!” Kid clapped her hands.

  “We should find her a boyfriend, too,” Overdrive suggested. “Maybe she’ll be less grumpy.”

  All of a sudden Mascot was glad for the blaring Franco-pop music. At least it kept anyone from overhearing their conversation. “I’m not grumpy,” she said, swaying the conversation away from boyfriend talk.

  “Yes, you are,” Kid countered. “Grumpyface Grumpkin.”

  Overdrive snickered. “Exactly. That’s why she needs a boyfriend. Or at least a date.”

  Somehow, the prospect of dating was almost as intimidating as tracking a super-powered serial killer. “I’d rather the authorities just kill me now,” Mascot joked.

  Unfortunately, no one laughed.

  She winced. I must’ve inherited Dad’s gene for lame jokes.

  Kid and Overdrive exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

  “What’s wrong?” Mascot asked.

  “The Covenant nearly offed Nora when she transitioned,”
Overdrive said after a moment of silence. “We assumed you knew.”

  Mascot could have kicked herself. Of course she knew, her mind had just blanked out.

  Noire snapped her head around, her long braids dropping from her shoulders. Her dark eyes flashed at Overdrive. “Doncha bring that up. Especially not now.”

  “Hey, calm down,” Overdrive urged. “I just think she should know the truth if we’re going to be working together, that’s all.”

  Noire fell into a sullen silence.

  “Anyone want to share my fries?” Kid asked in an obvious attempt to diffuse the situation. Nobody answered her.

  “I think the Covenant kinda threatened to kill me, too, if I didn’t join your hero team,” Mascot offered, imitating Mrs. Clarence’s sympathetic tone. She wasn’t getting her tone of voice right, but it was an improvement over Grumpyface Grumpkin.

  Noire glowered at her. “If you think that’s the same kind of shit, you’re wrong.”

  Mascot wanted to hide her face behind a menu again. Just shut up already, she told herself. You’re not helping.

  Overdrive turned to face Noire. “How about you quit the intimidation?” he said in a mocking tone. “We all know you’re just doing it because you’re ‘sensitive and insecure.’” He stressed the last three words with air quotes.

  “What about splitting any chicken wings instead?” Kid asked, still unsuccessful at changing the subject.

  Noire’s eyes narrowed. “I dare you to say that to me again.”

  “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Overdrive said, exasperated. “I’ve had a chat with Mrs. Clarence, you know. She asked me to keep an eye on you.”

  “When the fuck was that?”

  “Right after Nato.”

  “The psycho bitch thinks I’m gonna smear myself across a wall?” Noire snorted. “Well, she’s wrong.”

  With a pained expression on her face, Kid had given up on turning the conversation to food, stuffing both her index fingers into her ears to block out the arguing.

  She suffers more from our emotions than we do, Mascot realized.

  She leaned over to set a hand on the girl’s arm to comfort her. “I’ll make them stop in a minute, promise,” she assured Kid, hoping to be heard over the girl’s finger earplugs.