The Light of Redemption

by Natalie Damschroder

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, to keep the brownie in. Good Lord, these were good.

  Conn swallowed. “Simon used these as a major selling point to get me to the barbecue. And holy crap, he didn’t undersell them, did he?”

  “No.” I tried to scrape crushed brownie off my fingers but didn’t have much success. “Why’d he have to give you the hard sell?”

  He froze for a second, his gaze locking on to mine, and the flirtatious mood vanished, getting heavy like it had been at Emeraud.

  Before he answered—assuming he was going to—Simon walked in through the back door. The screen slapped against the frame and he winced at the noise. “Hey, you two. Glad— Hey.” He scowled at my fingers. “Did you get into the brownies already?”

  “I didn’t get one last year! I think Mrs. Vrabel tripped me with her cane on purpose. And this is Conn’s first Dragosovich barbecue. Don’t you think he deserves a sneak preview?”

  “You are way too good at debate.” Simon grabbed my wrist, raised my gooey hand, and stuck my fingers in his mouth to clean off the remains of the brownie. “You can bring them out when you go. I have to get more ice from the garage.” And he walked away.

  I stared after him, my mouth hanging open. He had never, ever done anything like that. I didn’t know what to do about it. The ghost of Harmony-with-a-crush wanted to squee, but Simon’s mouth on me hadn’t even caused a quiver in my belly. Was he seriously going to make a move after I’d gotten over him?

  Conn was still looking at me. I snapped my mouth closed and stepped over to the sink to wash my hands. It got my face out of his line of sight, but put me closer to him than I’d been before.

  And there was the quiver.

  I grabbed a towel and backed away, trying to think of what the hell to say next. Conn stood with a kind of awkward cockiness, and his brows had bunched into not-quite-a-frown. He seemed as undecided as me about what to do. He jerked his head up and opened his mouth, closed it, and then heaved a breath and braced the heel of his hand against the counter.

  “Are you and Simon a thing?”

  I choked on my own spit. “A thing?” I asked after clearing my throat. “You mean a couple?”

  “Yeah. Or whatever.”

  “No. We’re not . . . whatever. We’re friends.”

  He squinted through the archway where Simon had disappeared. “You sure?”

  Of course, he was referring to Simon going all deep throat with my fingers. “I’m sure. I don’t know what that was.”

  Conn relaxed and folded his arms, a soft smile curving his mouth. His eyes lightened to a paler green-gold. “I think that was jealousy.”

  I couldn’t protest, because that was what it had felt like. And if it was, it pissed me the hell off.

  “Too bad for him,” I said without considering the wisdom of the reveal.

  “Oh, yeah?” Conn looked even happier.

  “He’s had plenty of time to exercise any interest. If it took—” I swallowed back the next words, appalled that I had almost assumed, out loud, that Conn had his own interest. How stupid would I look if he was just being friendly?

  But he knew exactly where I was going. “If it took another man’s attention to make him see you, he deserves to lose.”

  My heart thumped hard, and I twisted my already-dry hands in the towel. “Well, it’s not a competition, but yeah.”

  “Of course it is.”

  I cocked a brow.

  “Any time a beautiful, smart, funny woman is available, there’s going to be competition.”

  Okay, now I was blushing. Fiercely. Like, I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks. “Oh, stop,” I teased, but my blood rushed through my body, heightening every sensation.

  “So just to be clear, are you available?”

  “I’m not involved with anyone.”

  “But are you available?” he pressed.

  I loved that he understood the difference, even if I hadn’t been trying to hide anything. Not deliberately. In fact, it shocked me a little that I didn’t want to run from this. I’d decided that secretly being Eclipse meant relationships were too risky. Conn already knew, though, so maybe that was why I didn’t have Monty Python’s “Run away!” echoing in my head.

  “Yes. I am available.”

  “Good.” He smiled, and our eyes locked, and my breath caught and held.

  But I had more important pursuits that still made this flirtation wispy. “So, about Emeraud.”

  Yep. He closed up. Straightened, moved away, and shoved his hands in his pockets in the most obvious back off body language ever. “What’s Emeraud?”

  “Come, on, Conn, don’t pretend. It’s a waste of time and an insult to my intelligence.” I threw the towel on the kitchen island. “I need your help.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Fine. I want your help. You’re the only superhero I’ve—”

  “Ssst.” He glanced around with just his eyes. I almost laughed, because I wouldn’t have said it if anyone was nearby. I could hear Simon out back, calling out to someone about the ice he’d dragged out the back door of the garage. The room was completely empty, and his reaction was more suspicious than the words themselves.

  “I just—”

  “We’re not talking about this here.”

  Satisfaction settled into me, a balm over the urgency I’d felt since watching him at the accident scene. “Okay, then where?”

  He thought for a minute, then shook his head. “I’ll text you.”

  “You don’t have my number.”

  He rolled his eyes, and I knew he’d been intending to put me off. He was hoping I wouldn’t think of that, then when he didn’t contact me and I tracked him down, he’d have that to blame. He’d say he forgot he had my email address, if he had to say anything, because he was probably hoping I’d just let it drop if I didn’t get anywhere.

  But I wasn’t going to let it drop, and he could tell, because he handed over his phone and let me put my number in it. Then I sent a text so I’d have his number, too.

  “I can be relentless,” I warned when I gave the phone back. “There’s no point in trying to duck me.”

  “Fine.” He shoved the phone in his back pocket and grabbed the plate of brownies. “I guess we should get these out there before everyone starts coming in looking for them.”

  I followed him out, and he quickly disappeared into the crowd around the dessert table. Angie grabbed my arm. “You were gone forever! Dish.”

  “Later. Not here.” I dragged her to the grill—because she wouldn’t let go of me—and grabbed a plate from the table next to it. “Sark tell you anything else?”

  “Nah, he just rattled on about some food drive they’re doing for the county shelter. Almost got me to pledge half my grocery budget.” We filled out plates and took them to a picnic table that had a little room at the end of each bench. Everyone budged up a little to let us sit, but continued their own conversations. I didn’t know any of them, except one woman who I thought was on one of the town’s committees.

  I was about to start a conversation with Angie when I realized they were talking superheroes.

  “It’s a lost cause,” one guy was saying. “San Diego’s been struggling since the zoo incident there, and Chicago disbanded. Big-city superhero agencies are a thing of the past, I’m telling you.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “What about DC? They were attacked, and they’re stronger than ever.” A bell went off in my head. They’d been attacked by a group called CASE, Citizens Against Superhero Existence. Typically driven by hatred and envy, they’d caused incidents in a lot of major cities, trying to turn the public against superheroes in general. People often died, and in San Diego and Chicago, that included som
e of the superheroes themselves.

  And that was why the rhetoric in the leaflets left at the library had sounded familiar. The tone was far milder than most CASE materials I’d seen, but the sentiment was similar.

  I shuddered. Was Olive a member of CASE? It was unbelievable that they’d send someone here. They had far bigger targets than Pilton. But this was her old hometown, so maybe she was operating on her own, using them as her inspiration.

  “The exception that proves the rule,” the guy answered my question with false sageness, and I turned my attention to my hamburger. There was no point trying to argue against that ridiculousness.

  “Individually, they’re fine, though, aren’t they?” A guy at the end of the table tipped his beer bottle toward the distant highway. “I mean, that guy at the big accident last week helped them get the woman out.”

  “But she died,” argued the first guy. “He didn’t make a difference.”

  “What about Eclipse?” a woman chimed in. “She makes a difference every day.”

  Finally. I was getting seriously chapped that everyone kept bringing up Conn but acted like I didn’t exist.

  The second guy waved her off. “She’s just an extension of the police. Keeps drunks from driving and drug dealers from gaining ground. Plus, her power is just turning the lights on and off. Big deal.”

  Angie kicked my shin, probably concerned that I might blow my cover. But I wasn’t getting angry, just depressed. The guy was right. I’d decided to change that, but really, how much more could I do?

  “I saw her,” chimed in another, younger guy, who might have been the adult son of the couple across from him. “A few months ago, when all those houses were being broken into? I saw her with the perp wrapped up on the lawn that day she caught him. Man, she can light me up any day.” When everyone laughed or hooted, he insisted, “Seriously, that catsuit. Rrowr.”

  Okay, that was enough for me. I dropped the burger I’d managed to take one bite of and was about to get up so no one would wonder why my face was flaming. But then someone stopped at the far end of the table. Olive Cruz.

  “You guys are talking about Eclipse?”

  “Yeah, and The Brute.” The first guy looked up at her. “Hey, Olive. Wanna sit?”

  “No, that’s okay, there’s no room. I just overheard and wanted to see what was going on with Eclipse.”

  She got a couple of shrugs and “nothings,” and frowned. “I’m surprised no one has done anything about her. Did you hear she attacked an old man the other night?”

  I bit my tongue. I couldn’t protest without revealing my identity, and she knew it. She might have guessed I was Eclipse, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting it. I didn’t understand the animosity she had toward me. I’d never done anything to her—but maybe that was it? Maybe she’d come to the library looking for a friend, and I hadn’t made time to be one.

  “What are you talking about?” the woman asked her.

  “She attacked an old couple in the middle of the night. Put the guy in the hospital.”

  The others didn’t seem to notice that she didn’t describe what kind of attack or mention that he’d had a heart attack, not injuries. And again, I couldn’t defend myself.

  “I can’t believe she’d do something like that. What were they doing?”

  Olive shrugged. “Just coming home late. Who knows what her motivation was. Maybe they know her identity or something.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Angie, who was glaring a little at Olive. “Simon talked to the couple and they said Eclipse helped them when the guy had a heart attack.”

  Olive didn’t look abashed. “They were too nice to say Eclipse caused the heart attack in the first place.”

  “Why would she try to hurt an old couple?” Angie demanded, a little too vehemently, making Olive smirk. She was getting what she wanted, dammit.

  “She’s never hurt anyone,” one of the guys agreed. “Even the drug dealers and muggers and whatever. She’s always careful to secure them without causing injury.”

  “Yeah, there’s no reason to be afraid of Eclipse.”

  “I feel sorry for you people.” Olive had stiffened, her fingertips pressed hard against the surface of the table, her chin raised. “Superheroes are dangerous, and you’ll learn that the hard way.” She stalked off, leaving everyone looking around the table with various degrees of bewilderment and agreement. The first guy, the one who’d called superheroes a thing of the past, pushed to his feet.

  “Maybe we don’t have to be afraid of Eclipse.” He gathered his plate and cup. “But that Brute guy might be another story. Time for dessert. Oh, crap! Simon’s mom’s brownies are out!”

  The table cleared in seconds, leaving me and Angie alone. But I shook my head at her. I didn’t want to talk about any of that here, if at all. I picked at my food, wanting to leave but not willing to rush her. She’d driven over with me.

  I didn’t want people to be scared of me. So why did it bother me so much that they weren’t? Was it just natural resentment at being dismissed?

  If I’d overheard someone call me an extension of the police a few weeks ago, I’d have been pleased. That was my goal, after all. Helping them do their jobs. Making our town a little safer. But being compared to The Brute—I mean, to Conn—and to the superheroes in the big cities who really saved people’s lives, I felt more and more inadequate every time someone brought up Eclipse around me. And so far, my attempts to rectify that had failed miserably. I was starting to think that maybe I should just give up.

  Chapter 7

  By late morning on Monday, I was getting really tired of the thoughts spinning in my brain. I’d caught Angie up the night before on my run-in with Conn in the kitchen—I hadn’t seen him the rest of the afternoon, so he must have left the barbecue shortly after—and thanked her for defending Eclipse. We’d spent a good ten minutes griping about Olive’s apparent agenda against me, but I’d blocked any conversation she tried to start about Eclipse’s inadequacy.

  I hated thinking I wanted to do more so that people would like me better. That was so stupid. I’d never thought of myself as having such a huge ego. I really did want to help people with my ability. If wanting accolades and recognition had been important, I’d never have kept it all a secret in the first place . . . right?

  The library was closed because of Memorial Day, and I hadn’t made any other plans because I wanted to be able to go out as Eclipse. Last year, I’d gotten stuck at the concert on the town green, and a bunch of drunk kids had vandalized the high school. Two of them wound up in the hospital getting stitches from the glass they’d broken. I could have prevented all of that.

  But declining invitations for barbecues and memorial services at the cemetery might have been overkill. I was so bored. I wound up deep cleaning the kitchen, and of course was wrist-deep in oven grime when my cell phone chimed.

  I climbed to my feet, groaning at the ache in my knees from the hard tile floor. I could have let the text sit for a while, but like I said—bored. I rinsed my hands and poked the phone screen to see who it was from while I dried my hands. The pulse in my neck quickened. It was my lab friend, Julie, up in Cleveland.

  Got results. Weird. Call me when you can.

  I hadn’t told Julie anything about the circumstances where I’d found the stuff, so I was dying to know what made it all weird to her. The oven went ignored while I called Julie and waited through four slow rings, snapping my fingernails against the kitchen table in nothing resembling any kind of rhythm. Where was she?

  Finally, she picked up halfway through the fifth ring, sounding breathless. “Harmony! Hi! Sorry, sorry! I didn’t think you’d be calling so quickly and I left my phone on the other side of the lab, and my hands were covered in ook. Well, my gloves
were. But it took me a minute to get them off and everything. Anyway! Sorry.” She laughed. “You don’t care about any of that. You must be on your lunch break.” There was a pause, and I heard her swallow. “I’m glad you called, or I’d have missed my own lunch! I’m always working through meals. That’s why my Baba is always saying I’m too skinny.”

  Julie’s animated babble was part of the reason I loved her, and it made me miss her. I had to keep in better touch, and not just contact her when I needed something.

  “Ignore your Baba,” I told her. “You’re perfect. But maybe on my next day off I’ll come up and take you to lunch so you don’t waste away.”

  “That would be awesome! I haven’t seen you in ages. When was it, Christmas? No, New Year’s. Because we watched the ball drop in New York from that bar.”

  “Yeah, and you were working on a holiday then, too, and never would have left the lab if I hadn’t dragged you out.”

  “Too? What do you mean, too?”

  I laughed at how confused she sounded. “It’s Memorial Day. Aren’t you guys closed?”

  “Oh! Is it? Right. It is. That’s why everything is so quiet.” She laughed back, completely unconcerned at her level of focus. Or distraction. Whatever you wanted to call it. “Oh, snap! That means I have a date tonight. So glad you called me. He’s really sweet, but the number of times I forgot is starting to test his patience. Okay. Let me get . . .” A few faint mouse clicks, and then in the background, some kind of alarm went off. “Oh, shit! Hold on!” There was a clatter, the phone probably being dropped, and pounding feet. I heard a hissing sound under the alarm, which shut off. Then the hiss disappeared. The returning footsteps weren’t as urgent.

  “Sorry!” She laughed. “I need to stop rushing hither and thither and pay attention. Okay, your results.”

  “Do you want me to call back another time?”