Wearing the Cape 4: Small Town Heroes

by Marion G. Harmon

  “So, what’s going on?” Deitz asked after I’d stripped my mask off and taken an obligatory sip. I kept my eyes on my cup.

  “How much did the DSA tell you about why I’m here?”

  “Just that you’re an asset the DSA wants to exploit for a while.” He grinned at my look. “And I mean that in a nice way. Consensual. Probably mutual.”

  “And why they gave me the badge?”

  “Well, that just makes sense while you’re here…but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

  I looked over at Angel. Her smile was gone.

  “I’m here because of a dream.” And I told them. I was getting pretty good at it by now. They didn’t interrupt, and I finished before my coffee got cold.

  Deitz sat back when I finished, absently rubbing his long nose.

  “Well, that explains just bunches of things. So, just so I have this straight, right now you’ve got a public-relations nightmare playing out in Chicago…”

  I sighed glumly, realized I was fiddling with my hair and stopped. “Unmitigated. Without mitigating circumstances. No upside.”

  “And in the middle of that, you have a dream—which you are pretty sure is a warning—that a town you’ve never heard of is going to be lit on fire, and your response is ‘I want some of that’.”

  “Um, pretty much?”

  He chuckled, leaning way back. “What a totally cape thing to do.”

  “What would you do?”

  “What will we do. We’re going to prepare the town, deputy.”

  * * *

  Preparation didn’t involve a lot of the steps I would have recognized.

  “Look,” Deitz said after I’d spent five minutes trying to absorb what the big screen on the wall was telling me. “The security situation in Littleton is a bit…different. Think of it like being tucked away in the world’s most impregnable fortress. Nobody is coming at us over the walls. They can only come in through the gate, and the drawbridge is up.”

  I nodded, watching him flip through grid maps on the screen that had looked like an innocent white-board. He was right; someone trying to fight their way in wouldn’t just have to capture the Garage, they would have to gain control of the “translation” equipment that flashed us into Littleton.

  He followed my thought. “Yeah, anybody who wants in has to already have access. You can bet that in a frontal assault the Navy will let us know what’s happening outside and then blow the crap out of the bridge. We’ve got enough stored food for months if they have to rebuild the whole Garage, but I’ll bet my last paycheck that they have a backup system stored far far away that they can fly in and rig up once they beat back an attack.”

  “No bet.” Sweet finished assembling her gun, holstered it.

  “And we’re not looking at a stealthy insertion over the wall, either. Littleton is its own little extrareality world, and we can count the known breakthroughs capable of any kind of extrareality travel on one hand.” Deitz stayed focused on the board. “Since they’re not getting in through the door, if they can get in then it’s the same as a teleport drop. Anybody popping in from outside will set off every alarm we’ve got when echo-location maps something that just wasn’t there a second ago.”

  Now the Orwellian Panopticon security system made sense. “What about inside buildings? Doesn’t surface-mapping stop at the walls?”

  “Air pressure sensors. Any sudden arrivals displace several cubic feet of air…”

  I nodded. We had those at the Dome; any teleporter popping in would find himself painted and isolated in less than a second. Then Shell would taunt him until we swept him up—she might clean up personally using a Galatea.

  “So what are you looking for?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off the board.

  “Just running a grid check. We want everything green before we start drills—it’s been long enough since the last ones.”

  “Drills?”

  “The Institute is responsible for its own security. We have the rest of the town.”

  Behind me, a voice I knew said “And what are you going to do with the rest of the town?”

  I spun in my seat, almost fell out of it. Jacky stood just inside the rail separating the “office” from the visitor’s area—and how she’d managed to enter without the street door making a sound was one of life’s mysteries.

  “Jacky!” I couldn’t keep the huge grin from spreading across my face.

  Her smile showed fang. “What part of ‘don’t say anything to anyone’ wasn’t clear?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “There never is.”

  “Ma’am, can we help you?” Sheriff Deitz didn’t sound at all put out, but Jacky kept her eyes on Deputy Sweet—who had her service pistol out and pointed at my friend. It took me a moment to realize what that meant.

  “You snuck in? Into Littleton?”

  “And into this office. I got in last night and you have conveniently accessible storage space, Sheriff.”

  I closed my eyes. At least Jacky wasn’t in uniform; showing up as Artemis, all black leather and guns, would probably have had Angel shooting already. Not that my pale dark fiend of the night didn’t look scary enough in shorts and a beach top—she’d probably look scary in nothing but folded arms and a stare.

  Deitz still hadn’t moved from in front of the board but his hand fell to his belt, inches from his own gun. “So trespassing goes without saying, which on US Navy property is espionage. Are you turning yourself in? Just asking.” My super-duper hearing picked up the clicks and latches as doors and windows sealed themselves. “And how did you get in?”

  He wasn’t asking about the office, but I knew. Not the little details but the biggest one, and I almost laughed. “Your mist form! The transition to solid isn’t instantaneous, so it didn’t trigger the alarms.”

  “Smart girl.” Her smile got thinner. “Smarter than the government—and they’ve hosted vampires here a couple of times. I hitched a ride with some grocery pallets, Sheriff. It was easy. But I’ve been here before, I know the territory.”

  He nodded. “I can see that. Angel.”

  Deputy Sweet holstered her gun.

  “So you’re not an in-house test?” He smiled wryly. “I ask only because it will be easier to fix if somebody gave you permission to make a run at us.”

  “Sorry.” She didn’t sound it. “I’ve got the security clearance but not the permission slip.”

  “Then we’ll sort it out later. And you’re here because…”

  “Because of Princess Sunshine here.”

  “Hey!”

  She ignored me. “She thinks someone is going to light up this town and I want to be here for the festivities.”

  The sheriff coughed, trying real hard not to laugh. “Well, not that that’s not…admirable, but this sort of thing usually requires an invitation.”

  “Like I ever wait for those.” Now she just sounded bored. “Check with the DSA and tell me if I need to move my things into one of your cells.”

  * * *

  Jacky got more than one appreciative look walking down Main Street; her Evil Snow White, sunlight-never-touches-my skin goth look was a hit, and somehow Shell had gotten her to pack one of her printed tops or slipped it into her bag: Bite Me, red on black.

  “Jacky, how could you! They could have—”

  She smirked. “The DSA thinks I’m a valuable asset in the vamp community, the only blood-sucker not delusional enough to believe she’s really a vampire. Worst case they’ll tell me to get out of town, but they won’t. The department is full of cowboys. They’ll make bets.”

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say to that, but we were almost back to Holybrook Rest. Sheriff Deitz had given us homework, procedures to get to know while he got approvals for us, and sent us on our way for the day. Now Jacky stopped and looked at the cute B&B, too picturesque for words in the afternoon shade of a dappled oak, then glared at me.

  I smiled innocently. “What, you never stayed he
re?”

  “Are there any talking animals?”

  “No, but my alarm clock giggles. C’mon, they have great coffee.”

  Episode Three

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

  Winston Churchill

  “If you stop before you’re dead, you aren’t trying.”

  Atlas

  * * *

  I almost held my breath, watching Jacky’s reaction to Mr. Darvish’s saintly Be At Peace field. Jacky had once described her own vampiric powers of psychic influence as pushing, and her eyes widened as she recognized the effect from experience. Then she…relaxed and my breath caught.

  I’d known Jacky for nearly two years and thought I’d seen her in all moods, from homicidally angry to happy and mellow. I’d been wrong. Under Mr. Darvish’s influence she softened, lines of tension and alertness in her face smoothing away, her whole body unstringing from the graceful and tight predator’s lines I’d thought were natural to her existence. Maybe they were, but here they flowed away and for the first time I could see what she must have been like before her psychotic “master” killed her family and made her what she was. I had to blink wet eyes and swallow before I could introduce her to our host.

  Jacky’s unexpected arrival meant Mr. Darvish didn’t have a room available, but taking us up to my room he flipped up the bed skirts to reveal a trundle bed for her to sleep on, and he got bath items and an extra robe hung before she finished putting away the bag of things that she’d brought with her. It wasn’t much more than her costume and gear—we both needed to shop, especially since we were going to dinner. Shelly had texted the invite for Jacky the second I’d texted that she was here.

  As a species, vampires love shopping; I think their obsession with The Beautiful is part of their psyche. But Jacky hated it—all you had to do was mention accessorizing to make her eyes glaze, and I was pretty sure she had her own professional dresser in New Orleans. Fortunately for her, a dash down to the town square turned up only two boutiques with party dresses and we found everything we needed at Stuff and Things.

  In the spirit of being prepared, I kept my special phone with me. Jacky brought her guns and a belt of clips in a bag. The shopkeeper at Stuff and Things found me a cute thigh-length dress with a high waist you could draw tight under your breasts with a ribbon. For Jacky she found a colorful flared skirt and matching vest to go with a white peasant blouse. I grabbed some new shorts and shirts for myself, Jacky reluctantly chose a pair of sandals with me, and we were good. I got Jacky out of the place before her glares upset anyone.

  I’d come to think of shopping with Jacky as combat-shopping, and since pulling it off without the Bees was a stunning accomplishment—possibly due to lingering effects of Mr. Darvish’s aura—I insisted we celebrate at the ice cream shop next door. Where she turned out to be a French vanilla and red velvet girl, and the sidewalk tables under the street awning turned out to be the perfect place to relax and indulge.

  From where we sat, I could see the top of the Institute building over the trees and I watched it as I licked my cone. “So…we’re sitting outside the most top-secret labs in the world. Eating ice cream.”

  “The most dangerous labs are outside in the naval base and a lot of people know it’s here—they just don’t know what goes on inside.”

  “They tested you here?”

  “Yes.” That was it, no details. The only thing she’d ever said about it was that it had been unpleasant and that I didn’t want to know. Once in a while I’d wonder how you tested to make sure a vampire couldn’t reliably sire progeny and kick off a vampire apocalypse—and my mind would scream at me to think about something else. Bunnies. Rainbows. Ice cream.

  Jacky read my face. Or my mind—it was hard to tell, with vampires. “This isn’t a black-research lab dressed up in Pleasantville. Nobody needs saving here.”

  “I know. Or I think I do. I’ve met good people, they wouldn’t—”

  “Anybody will do anything if they have to. But if our side keeps that kind of place it isn’t here. Trust me, I’d know.”

  I nodded and focused on my cone.

  She shrugged, careful of drippage. “Anyway, the Institute isn’t our problem, the town is. Do you really think something’s coming? That it’s not all a con? A diversion, maybe?”

  “‘By the pricking of my thumbs,’’” I quoted, “‘something wicked this way comes.’” I really did think it was real, but a feeling wasn’t enough, was it? “How long do you think they’ll let us stay here?” My appetite for the fudge-and-chocolate goodness of Extreme Moosetracks was gone. “How long can I ignore— How long can I stay away from Chicago?” And where is Kitsune?

  Then I saw the naked man.

  Jacky forgot about her cone. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

  I fumbled for my phone, hit one for Shelly. She got it on two rings. “How’s shopping? Jacky threaten anyone yet?”

  “No… Shelly, is Littleton clothing-optional?” I tried looking everywhere else but at the black-haired man ambling towards us down the street and nodding to other pedestrians.

  “Arion is out again? Wait and tell me who gets him!”

  “Arion— Who gets— Shelly!”

  “He’s the Server of Ganymede, you know, an ‘extraterrestrial visitor’ here on Earth with a message of peace and universal beinghood.” I could hear the bracketing quotes that signaled extraterrestrial visitor meant delusional breakthrough.

  “And part of his message is ‘no pants’?”

  “No, but if he decides he’s in the mood for some loving he goes for a walk without them and waits for somebody to bring him a coat and take him home.”

  “And they do?”

  “There’s a betting pool.”

  “And they do? I mean—”

  “I know, and yeah they do. All they’ll say about it is it’s unique. Mom says even she has no idea what they mean.”

  “I—” I stopped because Angel had pulled up in the sheriff’s jeep, lights flashing. She got out with a coat.

  “Bet’s off. Angel just arrived.”

  “Really? Cause Mom picked her for the pool.”

  I closed my eyes, something I should have done a couple of minutes ago. “Too much information.” Hanging up, I glared at Jacky; I had to be red—the day had gotten hot and she was laughing. “This town is weird.” Sinking down in my chair I focused on my cone. It had taken advantage of my distraction to drip all over my hand.

  My cellphone chimed and I jumped. Jacky smiled and kicked her bag.

  “Maybe that’s them telling us this is it. We could get a good workout and be flying home tomorrow.”

  I fumbled again, handed her my cone. The cell wasn’t screaming or flashing red, but my heart raced anyway until I read the text. “It’s from the base. The naval base. They approved my request to see Brick, and want me to go there now.”

  “Really? Then I need to change.”

  * * *

  I hadn’t expected them to say yes, and now my brain raced in circles asking why? Either Jacky was much more Zen, or better at hiding confusion. We took our loot back to Holybrook Rest where she stripped and skinned into her Artemis outfit complete with hooded half-mask and all four guns—her real ones, not the stunners she used in Chicago. I flew her to the Garage and from there to the base, touching down on the same pad we’d landed on yesterday. Lance Corporal Balini met us there, in full Scoobie armor but minus the ordnance mounts, and took us inside.

  “Who’s your friend? Kidding—I know. Great to meet the infamous Artemis.” He turned all his charm on her. “Listen, I know this great place in Guantánamo that serves—”

  “No.”

  “We could get drunk and make bad decisions.”

  “You just did.”

  I smiled since he couldn’t see it, and didn’t look at Jacky. The part of the base we were walking through looked and smelled ne
w, newer than the Garage, and I couldn’t smell the tinge of water’s-edge rot that was part of every seacoast not too cold for it. That meant a sealed environment and an air-scrubbing AC system. Proof against Jacky’s mist-form? Probably, making it even more secure than the Garage.

  Balini took us through three doors, two with guards that I could see. Past the third one, my ears told me we were under echo-location surveillance. Surface-mapping would be a good way to make sure that a visitor wasn’t covered by a visual or mental illusion, so the Invisible Man wasn’t getting in here either. The walls and doors were solid enough that no noise got through to tell me anything was on the other side, and each layer of security I spotted wound me tighter. There was no traffic, no bustle like I’d seen at the Institute. This wasn’t a research facility, at least not this part; it was a holding facility for superhumans.

  “Who do you keep here besides B Class Ajax-Types, Corporal?”

  He looked back at me. “You’re quick! Relax, Winman’s not going anywhere and he’s an easy guest. There’s a few we have to be lots more careful for—guys you couldn’t handle. Here we are.”

  Instead of a door, the hall ended in a framed wall of silver liquid—like someone had managed to paint a layer of mercury to the wall and make it stick. I could see the three of us in its not-quite-solid surface, me standing small beside Jacky’s supermodel-height and Balini’s hulking shape. My eyes looked huge in my mask and caught the reflected light. Then the wall flowed away, receding into the frame around it, and I realized it was some kind of force field.

  The room on the other side was a big hexagonal space. Each wall held an open-framed cell and force fields filled the open frames, translucent instead of reflective. Half the cells were occupied, and three guards in sealed armor watched the prisoners from a recessed station under an inverted quicksilver ceiling dome in the middle of the room.