The Light of Redemption

by Natalie Damschroder

Nothing.

  I frowned at Conn, then pushed the light to the ceiling, spreading it out like I had for Angie at Emeraud, lighting the entire store. It was empty. All the cases were intact. Someone could have been hiding behind a case or the main counter, or even more likely, in the back room. But as far as I could tell, nothing in the showroom had been taken, which made no sense. They’d had time to smash and grab while we ran over here.

  Conn loomed over me, peering around the edge of the window. “What’s that on the back wall?” he asked.

  The sirens were loud now, two cars, and probably only a couple of blocks away. I squinted, trying to see. Something seemed to be smeared on the wall behind the counter. But the light was too bright. I lowered it and carefully stepped over the sill, more light ready in my hands to act as a shield or lash if someone attacked. But nothing happened.

  With shadows, the stuff on the back wall was easier to see. It was a large dark patch, almost colorless, making the wall appear wet. But there was texture to it, as if it had been a paste when applied. I eased closer, sending a light ball over. The wall sparkled. Glitter? I was halfway across the room now, Conn’s tension half a pace behind me, filling the room even more than the light had a minute ago. He was braced for something to happen. I didn’t let myself get too focused on the wall, but I was pretty certain no one else was here.

  My nose twitched, and I realized the room smelled funny. Familiar, but nothing I could pinpoint. For some reason, I thought of Wig and Kyle, and the gunshots I’d blocked. That didn’t make sense, but I formed a shield anyway, in case that was what my subconscious wanted me to do. I sent the light just a littler nearer then stepped one step closer, trying to put the scent and the paste together.

  The sirens had stopped, but I heard engines approach outside, closing in fast.

  “Harmony.”

  The way he said my name struck a note inside me, and I flinched just a little. Just enough for the light ball to brush the wall.

  And then everything blew up.

  Chapter 9

  The world slowed down as a brilliant flash of yellow-white edged in flame rolled toward me. I was already airborne, arms and legs whipped out in front of me, the thin, stretchy fabric covering my body no barrier to the jagged edges of glass that scraped my back, forearm, and thigh as I went backward through the window. There should have been a roar of sound. Had my eardrums blown out? Conn. He had to be behind me, flying as I was, about to land hard on concrete. Concrete that could break our heads open.

  All of that took a microsecond to process, and I knew I had to act before we landed and probably died. With a thought I sent a shield behind and under us, trying to gauge where we’d hit, hoping I was fast enough. My heartbeat, a slow thud-thump just like in the movies, marked our progress. But my brain was logging input just like a computer, making it comprehensible even though it was happening so fast.

  Or something like that. Maybe not. Suddenly snapped into regular speed, I bounced with a whoof, flipped backward off my shield cushion, and landed hard on my hands and knees. My injured one smacked against the edge of the curb, making me scream. I thought. I couldn’t hear it. The cushion of light disappeared, my hold on it lost by the impact.

  Conn. I tried to get up, but my body lurched sideways and I had to catch myself before my head banged into a metal signpost. My palms and fingers stung and my knee sent another shooting pain in all directions. “Owwwww.” I had to ignore it. To focus. To find Conn. And the cops. Had they been hurt, too?

  A body lay sprawled to my left, the hood of Conn’s sweatshirt still over his head so I couldn’t see his face. There was no blood that I could tell, but the sweatshirt and his jeans were torn, and he wasn’t moving.

  My ears popped. Sound was still muffled, but I heard shouting voices, more sirens, and a half-scream choked off. One thought kept running through my mind as I stumbled to Conn’s side and dropped to the ground next to him. Trap trap this was a trap it is a trap get out of here get them safe get him safe. But I had no idea how.

  “Conn.” I knew better than to roll him over or move him at all, but I had to determine how injured he was. I felt for the pulse in his neck and found it immediately, strong and not too fast. Good. I put my hand in front of his mouth and nose and the expulsion of air increased the stinging in my skin. He was breathing. I checked him up and down for blood, but the flashing lights and floating dust made it difficult to see anything in the darkness.

  Roughly gentle hands drew me back. “Eclipse. We’ve got him. Move away, let us help him.”

  The voice was unfamiliar. I coughed and somehow managed to wriggle out of the way, recognizing the paramedic patch on the woman’s shoulder. Someone else wearing a surgical mask helped me to my feet and a short distance to a gurney standing in the street. I realized cop cars surrounded us, along with two ambulances, and patrol officers held spectators at bay. Where had everyone come from? Less than two minutes had passed since the blast. Hadn’t it? Had I lost consciousness, too?

  “What—” I stopped because my voice was barely audible. I tried to clear my throat, and it turned into a hacking, lung-shredding cough. What was in that dust?

  Apparently, the paramedic read my mind. “Your friend is being assessed by another team. He’ll be taken to the hospital.”

  “The cops?” I coughed again. “The police that got here just as the blast—”

  “They’re fine. The cars shielded them, and they were far enough away.”

  Behind me, a male voice was cataloging someone’s injuries. “Multiple lacerations of the trapezius, forearm, and right lateral thigh. Abrasions of both palms and anterior fingers. Right knee appears swollen with possible laceration as well. Ma’am, do you know if you hit your head?”

  He was cataloging my injuries. A hand braced my temple and lifted my eyelid while a penlight flickered into and out of my vision. It combined with the flashing emergency lights around us and made my head swim. The streetlights were still dark. I should release their light, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to think of how to do it.

  “I don’t think so.” I squinched my eyes shut when they let go of me.

  “Pupils are equal and reactive. Where does it hurt? Do you have any other injuries that you’re aware of?”

  “Just where you listed. And I’ll need a chiropractor for a little while.” I stretched my neck to either side and reached to rub it, but stopped when I saw my hand. It was a shredded mess. Superficial, but with bloody, balled-up bits of skin embedded with grit from the sidewalk. Oh, that was going to be fun to clean up. They’d be squirting it with saline and prying stuff out with tweezers . . .

  Crap. “I have to go.” I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the gurney, trying to ignore the fresh flow of blood staining the sheet where it had just poured out of my thigh. I couldn’t go to the hospital. I shouldn’t be this close to anyone.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The woman pressed a surprisingly strong hand against my chest. “You’re not going anywhere except with us.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” My mask. I raised my left hand, which seemed to hurt less, and touched the mask that had somehow remained in place. Which, of course, called attention to what I was afraid of.

  “Don’t worry, we got your back.”

  “But—”

  “Patient confidentiality, dollface.”

  Wha— Had he just called me dollface? I craned to look over my shoulder at the man who’d been listing my wounds in a melodious Puerto Rican accent. He winked at me and leaned me forward, pressing a bandage onto the back of my shoulder. The breeze hit more skin than it should have, and I realized he’d torn my catsuit open to get to the cut back there.

  “I’ll treat the leg in the rig,” he told the woman. “Let’s load her up.”

  They took turns asking me questions while they went through
a very efficient process. No, no allergies that I was aware of, no medical conditions, I didn’t wear contacts, have any artificial body parts, or feel nauseous or lightheaded.

  “My friend. Did he regain consciousness yet?” They exchanged looks that said nothing good, then shook their heads.

  “We don’t know,” the woman clarified before closing the back doors. A moment later, the front driver’s door opened and closed.

  “Just relax,” the guy told me, hooking a bag of clear liquid over a stand. They’d already put an IV in my hand. I hadn’t really noticed that happening, either. “I’m giving you a light sedative, okay?”

  No. But I thought I nodded, and then things went fuzzy after that. I wasn’t out, but only cared a little about what was happening as we drove to and arrived at the hospital. By the time my mind cleared, I was surrounded by curtains in what seemed to be a crazy-hectic ER. I still had on my catsuit and mask, though the suit had been cut open so much it was practically indecent. My thigh was swathed in bandages and gauze that wrapped all the way around it, which had to be a pain to deal with. Ditto with my forearm. But they’d done it anyway, to assure me of my preserved anonymity. I was still wearing my mask, though I couldn’t be certain it hadn’t been removed and replaced.

  A monitor beeped behind my head, the rhythm interrupted when I moved my hand. The sensor was clipped over my left index finger. My right hand was also bandaged. Well, at least I hadn’t had to endure that treatment while conscious.

  I lifted my hand to the mask, which was digging into my skin and super uncomfortable. But before I could remove it, someone cleared his throat.

  Simon sat next to me.

  I hadn’t seen him because the mask reduced my peripheral vision, and I’d had my head turned just enough that he’d been beyond the edge of it. My heart slammed against my ribcage and I could barely breathe. My fingers squeezed the edge of the mask, and if I hadn’t been so burdened by bandages and sedative, I would have taken off running out of the room and straight through the front doors.

  “It’s okay,” he told me in a low voice. He reached over slowly, his fingers slipping beneath mine, and tugged off the mask. “I know who you are.”

  There should have been panic, but I didn’t have the energy. Or maybe the drugs were still working on me.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice was awful, ragged and harsh and scraping its way out of a throat that still felt coated in dust. Simon picked up a squat pitcher with a straw sticking out of the lid and held it so I could drink. The water was icy cold and immediately soothed not just my throat, but my flight instinct. It was done. He knew. Now I had to figure out what that was going to mean, for both me and Eclipse.

  “Emilio called me. The paramedic,” he clarified when I frowned, trying to think of who Emilio might be. I remembered him telling me they had my back, and calling me dollface. I smiled, but the weight of implication took it away.

  He’d called the guy who owned the freaking newspaper. “Who else knows?” I hated myself for asking. There were so many more important things. How many people were hurt. If Conn was okay. Who had done this, and why.

  If worse was coming.

  But those three words made my throat flare again, and Simon saw me wince. He gave me more water, and then, being a good reporter who specializes in questions and answers, he addressed most of them so I didn’t have to ask, in a very low voice that wouldn’t carry outside the curtain.

  “No one. Emilio knows we’re friends, and knows what kind of respect I have for Eclipse. For you. He made sure the nurses and doctor did what they could to preserve your identity, but he thought you needed someone here who could protect you. And I will, Harmony. I promise.”

  My eyes welled, and I nodded and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  “No one else was hurt,” he continued. “The police were in their cars and far enough away. The fire went out immediately and damage to the store was confined. They don’t have any suspects yet, and nothing else has happened tonight that’s likely to be tied to it, except, as you know, that sonic boom.” His expression grew grave. “Conn Parsons is being monitored for a possible cranial hematoma. He’s got some abrasions and lacerations from going through the window and landing on the concrete, but the cops who’d just arrived at the scene told me your light barrier thing—”

  “Shield,” I croaked. “I tried to cushion—”

  He wrapped his hand around my fingers, gently but with enough of a squeeze to stop me from talking. “Okay. Your shield. It saved both of you, probably. They’re not sure if he hit his head going through the window or when he bounced off the shield. He’s The Brute, Harmony. He’s going to be okay.”

  I’d made a noise of protest when he used the stupid name, and he shook his hand, still clutching mine, as if emphasizing his reassurance. But just because Conn had strength and that shockwave power, that didn’t mean he healed fast. A lot of superheroes did, because their powers were tied to metabolism and other things that can speed the process, but not all of us had that. And anything to do with the brain was frightening. Even if he healed fast, the effects could be serious and long term.

  “Did they see the back wall?” I waved him off when he tried to shush me. “There was something on the back wall, and my light brushed against it, and that caused the explosion.”

  “I’m sure they’ll investigate everything.”

  But they wouldn’t share the results with me, and since I seemed to be a target, I had to know what it was. And what was their goal? Just to hurt me? I slid my hand from Simon’s and curled my fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. “I need my phone.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking.” He opened a drawer in the rolling table and handed me the prepaid. I shook my head.

  He started to put it back, but something fell from between his fingers and landed with a tinkle in the drawer. He grimaced. “Good. Looks like it got smashed, anyway.” He set it down and handed me my regular phone. “Text, don’t call.” Then he grumbled when I ignored him.

  “Harmony!” Julie answered, her voice echoing through her car’s speakerphone. I could hear rushing traffic sounds in the background. “What’s got you calling so early? Not that it’s not great to hear from you, as always.”

  “Julie.” I sounded like an eighty-year-old man.

  “Harm? What’s wrong?” The rushing sound changed, then her engine turned off. She must have pulled over. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, and that helped a little. “I’m okay, but I almost wasn’t. I need your scientific expertise. Any way you can come down here?”

  “Of course!”

  My eyes filled with tears at her readiness. She had no idea what I was asking. We’d been long-distance friends for years, keeping in sporadic touch but not visiting each other as often as we should. And yet, she had no hesitation when I asked for help. I explained in as short a manner as I could—thanks to Simon glaring at me—what I needed her for. She told me she’d take a few days off and be here in a couple of hours.

  Simon took the phone and flipped to the recent calls list, putting Julie’s number into his own contacts. “I’ll arrange to meet her at the store and make sure she can get access. This is the Julie I met a couple of Christmases ago?”

  I nodded, remembering that they’d hit it off at my Christmas Eve party. “You can tell her who I am.”

  He studied me, his expression free of any hint of whether he thought that was a good idea. “You sure?”

  “The people I trust have a right to know.” Saying that felt good. A relief. And like I was far less alone, when I hadn’t even known that was a problem for me.

  He smiled and dropped a kiss on my forehead as he stood. “I’m going to go find out about your checkout and see if there’s an update on Conn. Then I’ll take you home.”

  “Thank you.” I
had no intention of staying there. I’d get cleaned up and changed into Harmony clothes, then come back to the hospital to sit with Conn. It still wasn’t clear whether I was the sole target or if they were trying to get both me and Conn, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  It took an hour to get me freed and then transported to my house, only partly due to hospital bureaucracy. Every muscle in my body ached like a son of a bitch. Like, every muscle. And the ones that had been sliced by broken glass were even worse. Then there was the tape securing my bandages, which was secured to abraded skin, so every tug added a new layer of pain. Add the sprained knee, and I was not moving very fast. “Glacial” wasn’t even an appropriate word.

  “Really, Harmony, I can carry you.” Simon had his shoulder under my arm, trying to help me take the weight off my knee as we went up my front porch steps. It was awkward as hell, but it did make it a little easier for me. Not so easy on his back, probably.

  “I’m too heavy, and I’m all bloody still.” The hospital had given me a pair of scrubs to replace my catsuit, and I’d removed my Eclipse mask and hood, tucking them away as soon as Simon had driven away from the hospital and there was no one around. But the truth was that I didn’t think he’d be able to do it, and that would be too embarrassing. I wasn’t the slenderest of women, and he wasn’t the strongest of men.

  “I might surprise you, Harmony.” He sounded irritated but didn’t let his unusual macho streak heft me over his shoulder or anything.

  “You already have, Simon.”

  We got inside and he lowered me onto a kitchen chair instead of the couch, at my insistence. Blood and ick was easier to get off polished wood than it was upholstery.

  “Do you want a cup of tea or something?”

  “I have some lemonade in the fridge.” My taste buds flared at the thought of icy cold tartness. “Homemade.”