Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “You know, you may just have a point about the benefits of dream-vacations,” Mary said, eyeing the tiered dessert hungrily.

  107.

  When the door opened without so much as a knock or salutation, Dean Blaine could guess who it was without looking up. There were several people who would enter without knocking—a realization that made Blaine wonder if he needed to be tougher on propriety—but they would all announce themselves in some fashion. Only one person authorized to be down here would walk in silently. He looked up anyway, of course, because, while HCP security was some of the best in the world, one never took anything for granted when dealing with Supers. Thankfully, it was precisely the woman he’d expected to see: Professor Stone. She locked the door behind her, took a seat, and arched an eyebrow in unspoken question.

  “We’re as secure as we can be,” Dean Blaine told her. “It’s possible some new tech has been invented, or that there’s a power my own can’t squash, but so far as is currently possible, this meeting will be private.”

  Professor Stone gave a curt nod. “I thought you should know that Nicholas Campbell and Ralph Chapman are on paths with a high potential to collide with one another.”

  “How did he find out about Campbell? The records of those who leave the program are sealed unless one has specific permission.”

  “Chapman has no idea who Nicholas is,” Professor Stone clarified. “All he knows is that Vince was kissing Eliza Tracey on Halloween, and she’s connected to Nicholas. The investigator keeping tabs on them wasn’t able to discover their identities, but he did tip them off to his existence and put them on Chapman’s trail.”

  Dean Blaine paused to consider the situation. While Chapman and his fellow DVA counterparts had kept an eye on them since the year’s inception, Esme Stone, legendary telepath and tenured professor, had been keeping watch over Chapman. She’d kept Dean Blaine in the loop regarding Chapman’s deviation from approved resources. Technically speaking, it was enough to get him thrown off their case, but that would just result in getting a Chapman replacement that might not make such easy mistakes. They’d decided to sit back and watch, see if he would hang himself when given enough rope. But tangling with Nicholas Campbell wouldn’t be hanging himself; it would be burning his house down with his family inside. Nick Campbell, perhaps, would have shown more restraint.

  “What are the odds Nick will make it back before things with Chapman come to a head?”

  “Fair, at best. It depends on how long they wait to go after the investigator, how long he can hold out for, and how well Chapman has covered his trail. All of this is assuming Nick comes back at all. I didn’t exactly make it easy,” Professor Stone reminded him. “And I’m still not convinced that it was the right thing to do in the first place. He deserved to be expelled; you know that as well as I do. The level of manipulation and immorality he showed with his stunt was staggering.”

  “It was. Twisted, horrible, and coldly effective, that was Nick Campbell’s final exploit, as well as the one that summarized him so perfectly.”

  “Then why did you ask me to leave him a path back?” Not for the first time, or even the hundredth, Professor Stone wished she could have just the smallest of peeks into the mind of Blaine Jeffries. They’d worked together long enough that she trusted him, but trust and understanding were very different animals altogether.

  “To this day, I’m not entirely certain myself,” Dean Blaine said, leaning back a bit in his chair. “Maybe it’s because, despite his fluid morality, Nick’s grand finale was done for unselfish reasons. Perhaps I didn’t want to seal away some tidbit of information he might be holding on to. Most likely though, it was simply realizing that those kids are going to face an uphill battle throughout their entire lives, especially if they become Heroes. Vince is feeling it first because of his history, but sooner or later, all of them will end up under fire without good reason. It’s the price of who they were.”

  “And you think Nick Campbell can change that?”

  Dean Blaine gave the barest whisper of a smile. “I think Nick Campbell can do many things. But no, I don’t expect him to change the world’s opinion somehow. I just think they will fare a lot better with someone like him watching their backs. Someone a bit more . . . dynamic in his problem-solving capabilities.”

  “The company already exists to handle those sorts of situations,” Professor Stone reminded him.

  “Yes, but there are Supers all throughout it, Supers with their own personal prejudices. Having someone like that wholly on their side might make quite a bit of difference. This is all speculation, though. As you said, the way back for him is not an easy one.”

  “Should I try and curtail them from finding out about Chapman, then?”

  “No,” Dean Blaine said. “Let’s just keep an eye on the situation. Ralph decided to go outside the system. I think it will be an excellent lesson for him to discover what things are like in the real world. I don’t want to see him utterly destroyed, but he could stand to gain a bit of perspective.”

  “That’s why I like you, Blaine. You aren’t as soft-hearted as some of the other deans have been.”

  “Thank you, I think. I suppose, while we’re on the subject, I’ll go ahead and ask: anything suspicious from Clarissa?”

  “Not that I picked up on,” Professor Stone said slowly. “I listened to her thoughts as much as I could while she was here, and I never heard anything too suspicious.”

  “Too suspicious?”

  “Well, when she realized who Vince was the son of, her mind flew off on a bit of a tangent. Memories and fantasies all swirled together. Otherwise, her mind was clean and on topic.”

  “Which, ultimately, tells us nothing,” Dean Blaine said, fidgeting with the heavy pen in his hand. “Clarissa is a trained and experienced Hero; she knows how to keep her surface thoughts disciplined when she’s around telepaths.”

  “Or she really has nothing to hide,” Professor Stone pointed out.

  “I dearly, desperately want to believe that. But Globe has a teleporter on his side—the little bit we know of his activities makes that clear. It’s someone powerful, and Shimmerpath was one of the most versatile teleporters to hold the title of Hero.”

  “There are other teleporters out there.”

  “Sure, but none of them have been in love with Globe since before he wore the cape.” Dean Blaine set the pen down, watching it roll across the hard wooden surface before coming to a rest. “All I can do for now is keep her close and hope something clears her. I appreciate all you’re doing, by the way. We’d be lost in the woods without you, Esme.”

  “You’ve got the students’ best interests at heart, Blaine. So long as that remains true, you can always count on me.” Professor Stone considered something for a moment, then continued. “But try not to call on me before I’ve had my coffee. I’m not as young and eager to greet the morning as I used to be.”

  “I’ll make a note,” Dean Blaine replied.

  108.

  Vince didn’t know how it had gotten there; he just knew the note hadn’t been in his pocket when he first headed off to class. The thin, white slip of paper had been added to his left pocket’s contents (a phone and two quarters) at some point during his time in Lander’s normal classes. He became aware of it at day’s end, when he went to turn his phone off silent. It was then that his hand brushed the paper, but he resisted the urge to pull it out immediately. It was almost certainly connected with the Super side of his life, and Vince felt compelled to deal with all such matters behind closed doors. He was feeling emotionally stable thanks to Dr. Moran, but that didn’t mean he would permit himself to take stupid chances.

  So it was that, when Vince got back to Melbrook, he went immediately to his room, shut the door, dropped his backpack on the ground and pulled out the note. It was a simple index card, the kind some teachers allowed students to use as note-cards during tests. On it, in tightly-written print, was a message to him.

  Tights, />
  I wanted to tell you that I haven’t been avoiding you. Right now, things are dangerous, and meeting up could put you at serious risk. I know you’ve got to be dying for answers, though, so I’ve carved out a small window of time. Tomorrow night, from nine to ten, neither of us will be under observation. If you can meet me, I’ll be waiting at the address on the back of this note. If not, I’ll try again when it’s safe.

  -Thief

  Not for the first, or last time that year, Vince dearly wished Nick were around. He could make sense of this, could explain what she meant by “serious risk,” and why she’d used their old names for each other. Yearning didn’t change the fact that Nick was gone, though, so Vince was stuck with either bringing another person in, or puzzling it out himself. The former seemed too risky until he grasped the situation, which left the latter.

  Vince tried to keep a clear head and look at the message piece by piece. She’d said neither of them would be under observation. He didn’t know why she was being watched, but his own situation had been made clear to him. From the year’s beginning, he’d understood that there were people keeping a close eye on what he did, and seeing if any of it hinted at contact with Globe. How on earth would she know that he wasn’t being watched tomorrow?

  Another, more disturbing thought occurred to Vince. Was it possible that the time she’d suggested was the only time he wasn’t being watched? After a quick glance around the room and making sure the window blinds were closed, Vince shrugged off the thought. If people were covertly observing him 24/7, then they were too skilled for him to spot or stop. Best to just assume this was the timeframe when they were both free to move about.

  Next up was figuring out why she’d used the old names. Was she trying to reset their relationship to how it had been before the bar, putting mental distance between them? It might make having a discussion easier, for Vince as well as her, but a nagging part of him doubted that. Eliza had made it clear she was taking a risk in communicating with him—that wasn’t the sort of thing one did when they were trying to get space. No, more likely she was being careful. If anyone found this note, it had no ties to Vince Reynolds or Eliza Tracey; he could just claim to have found it on the ground. Well, most people could have done that, anyway. Vince’s skills at lying were roughly as adept as his skills at sewing: existent for necessity, but far from impressive.

  That left one last question Vince needed to figure out: whether or not he was going to go. Yes, he knew he wanted, needed, to see Eliza and get some closure, but depending on the amount of risk involved, it might not be worth it. It wasn’t just his own future on the line, after all. There were five Powereds that were turned into Supers, and one of them had already been expelled from the program. If another got tangled up in something criminal, even if he was only suspected, that cast the project as a whole in a pretty poor light. It might mean that future Powereds turned Supers wouldn’t be offered the same chance at HCP enrollment they’d received.

  Under his fear of what might happen, Vince realized he was also somewhat afraid of seeing Eliza again. He didn’t know what he’d say, what he’d do, or how he’d react to whatever she told him. She’d torn his heart out by leaving all those years ago; only now, when it was beginning to regenerate— thanks to a healer no less—did she return. Possibly to finish the job, leaving him so broken even Camille wouldn’t be able to fix the damage.

  It was that fleeting thought of Camille that set Vince’s resolution. She cared for him, and he had finally begun coming to terms with his feelings for her. Letting his past hang over whatever may come for them wasn’t a situation he was willing to accept. She deserved better, and for that matter, so did he. But the path to deciding what was right came from understanding. Vince needed to finally settle the chaos in his heart, and the only person who could do that was Eliza Tracey.

  He rose from his bed, pausing only to check the address on the back of the card. It was close to campus, only a few blocks away. That meant no need to bum a ride; he could easily walk the distance in under ten minutes. Vince pulled open his closet and glanced through it, wondering what one wore to a secret late-night rendezvous. Nick would have known; Nick probably would have had three different outfit options to make him choose from. But Nick wasn’t here anymore.

  Which meant Vince had to keep muddling through on his own.

  109.

  For a clandestine meeting place, Vince thought the coffee shop was awfully well-lit. True, his only knowledge of secret meetings came from old noir films that Hershel would occasionally leave on the lounge television while they studied, and those were hardly a beacon of accuracy or contemporary customs. Still, he’d expected the address to lead him somewhere a little more secluded than Jumpin' Joe’s Java Jamboree, a coffee and espresso bar several blocks from campus. There weren’t many people around, but that could easily be because the joe at Joe’s was generally considered awful. Vince had no idea how the place stayed in business, though, if he were even a bit smarter, he might have realized why a business with terrible products and a cash-only policy managed to flourish. He wouldn’t have needed Nick there to explain what a “money-laundering front” was.

  His eyes left the garish counter where a disinterested young girl was flipping through a magazine, sliding across the various tables until they came to rest on a mound of dark, curly hair popping over the top of a booth near the back of the shop. As soon as he saw that, Vince felt his stomach drop a few inches, but he began moving forward anyway. For all his faults and ignorance, Vince was the type to meet his problems head-on.

  Even when that problem was love.

  “Hey.” He felt self-conscious before the word was even fully-formed. Why hadn’t he said something more charming or smooth? At least if he’d asked if the seat was taken, that was an understandable cliché; which had to be better than his monosyllabic grunt of a greeting.

  Eliza looked up from the small menu in front of her, and though she’d been watching him through mirrors since he walked in, her face still lit up as she finally looked upon the genuine article.

  “Hey, yourself. You want anything to drink?”

  “I’m okay; I heard this place isn’t very good.” Vince carefully slid into a seat, examining Eliza as he did. She looked surprisingly normal, wearing jeans and a pink-plaid shirt. He was dressed in shorts and an exercise shirt. While he’d had no desire to lie to his roommates about where he was going when he left the dorm, donning jogging attire had kept them from feeling the need to ask any questions.

  “They’ve got a few decent things on the menu, but you’re right, a lot of it is dreck.” She set the menu down and caught the barista’s eye. A gentle shake of her head told the girl to keep her distance from the table; this conversation was not for prying ears. While the shop wasn’t under the control of Ms. Pips’s organization, she had enough influence for her people to be treated with deference.

  “So . . . where do we even start?” Vince asked.

  “I’d say we kick things off by my explaining why we needed to meet like this, and why it might be a while before we do it again. My people and I are being watched. We’ve identified the lackey, and we’re on track to run down who gave the orders, but until that problem is thoroughly rooted out, I don’t want to risk pulling you in.”

  “You say that, but I’m already under surveillance of my own,” Vince told her.

  “I know, I referenced it in the note. That’s why I want to keep some distance between us. You’ve got enough heat without being linked to someone like me.” Eliza’s tone was even, strong, and clear. She hid the fear and worry that had been simmering in her since seeing Vince’s file in Smitt’s apartment. Six years ago, it would have been impossible, she’d been too hot-headed. Only the Family’s training had finally given her some semblance of control.

  “And who are you?” Vince asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to protect me from, who ‘your people’ even are, or what you’re involved in. I don
’t know anything about you, Eliza, except for what I’ve got in my memories. Even among those, some of it has to be lies.”

  He reached his hand across the table and took hers, gently running his thumb over her fingers. Their gazes met, and Eliza felt all the years that had passed slip away as she stared into those big, blue, impossibly earnest eyes.

  “I want to know who you are. I want to know who I fell in love with. And, no matter how much it hurts, I need to know why you left.”

  She should distance herself, here and now. This was basic disengagement. Pull back her hand, break the stare, and tell him all the things he was afraid of hearing. Say she’d never meant any of it, that she’d only stayed by him out of guilt, that once he was healed she felt free. Finish what she’d started all those years ago; empty his heart of all affection toward her. Tell him she’d never loved him.

  Lie.

  “Who I am. I’m . . . a criminal. I work for an organized crime family. I use my powers to help them steal on levels far more massive than the petty crimes I was committing when we met. I lie, cheat, and pilfer as necessary. I’m immoral and unrestrained by any law except that of the organization I serve. I’m a bad guy, Vince. I’m the kind of person you’ve spent your whole life trying to stop.”

  Eliza lifted her hand, still clutching his, up to her face. She rested the back of his fingers to her cheek, letting her mind swim with memories that were tumultuous and peaceful, tainted and pure, a miasma of contradictions all packaged together.

  “But I was never lying about how I felt. I fudged some details here and there, I lied by omission on several occasions, but I was honest about what you meant to me.”

  “Then why did you abandon me?” Vince was surprised that he wasn’t crying. Whenever he talked about that moment, of waking up without her, whenever he dwelled on it for too long, the tears would come. Now, on the cusp of resolution, with the pain so raw it was like it had just happened, he found himself shockingly stoic.